If Clair had married, her great-grandchildren might be alive now. Her great-great-grandchildren would be Eric's age. Clair's progeny, not Clair--because Clair was dust now, a light year back in space-- 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?" "Hey, I don't know him! Where'd he come from?" The girl, Janie, said, "Lookit his clothes. Lookit. They're different." The children wore loose tunics, pastel-tinted, to their knees. Freckle-Face said: "You know what today is, doncha?" George frowned. "Yeah, holiday. We're off from school." "What holiday, stupid? Which one?" "I--I dunno." "Lazzy-day!" Janie cried. "That's what it is. Then he's--he's--" "Lazarus!" Freckle-Face told her, and, as if on one impulse, the three of them bolted away from Eric, disappeared through another doorway. He did not follow them. He stood there, waiting, and before long he heard footsteps returning. A man entered the room, tall, thin, middle-aged. "You are Eric Taine," he said, smiling. "I'm sorry no one was around to greet you, but the way we had it figured, you wouldn't come out till later this afternoon. History says that's how it worked with the six before you, about four P.M. It's just noon now. Will you follow me, please?" Then the man flushed faintly. "Excuse me, but it isn't often we meet strangers. Everyone knows everyone else, of course. My name is Lindquist, Mr. Taine. Roger Lindquist."