He found a package of cigarettes in his jumper, took one out and lit it. He must not think of the past, not when it was only history now although he still felt very much a part of it. Today mattered, today and the new generations on the ship.
It crossed his mind that they might regard him almost as a god, a man who had seen Earth, who had slept while generations lived and died, who came from his impossible sleep and would live with them now to see that everything was going according to plan.
Three minutes after he started the mechanism, the door slid ponderously into the wall. It would open more simply from the other side, he knew, but then only Eric and the three who still slept could turn its complex tumblers. For a long while he stood there on the threshold and then he watched the door slide back into place.
The corridor glowed with soft white light, which meant it was daytime on the ship. Dimly in the distance, Eric heard voices, children at play. Would they know of him? Would their parents know? Was he expected?
Eric came closer. Through a doorway he could see the children, three of them, although they had not yet seen him. A chubby, freckle-faced boy said:
"Let's play Lazarus. I must be the Captain, and you, Janie, you can be the crew. George, you be Lazarus."
George was a big ten-year-old with dark hair. "Like heck I will! It was your idea, you be Lazarus, smart guy."
Eric stepped through the doorway. "Hello," he said. "Can you take me to your folks?"
"Who're you, Mister?"