FOR A PLACE WHERE CARIAD had spent one hundred and eighty-four years of her life, the cryo chamber didn’t look much like home. In fact, it reminded her of a morgue, and she was glad that she hadn’t asked to see it before she’d been frozen in suspension all that time ago on Earth. The coffin-sized receptacles that held the bodies were slotted into the wall behind steel doors, and their -101 Celsius temperature chilled the room, frosting Cariad’s exhalations.
Beside each door was a panel that displayed the temperature, the occupant’s name and number, and his or her physical condition—sensors constantly scanned for evidence of decay. In the event that the temperature rose or the sensors detected a deterioration in the subject’s condition, the individual was supposed to be revived immediately
