The Lazarus Halls.

Like a sunrise, the lights eased on in the long hallways of the cargo hold.  A dull glow along the floor between brighter cylinders that fell through a few, largely separated, holes in the ceiling.  Along the sides of the many rows were doors.  Metal with no windows, a keypad just below shoulder height, and a seal around the bottom.  Behind these doors people were waking up.  They were done being cargo at this point, woken from a deep freeze to get up from their dead popsicle state and crowd out into the halls.  That would happen in the next few hours, perhaps sooner for some of the more hardy ones.  Needles and pills and electronic voices that informed them of how well the voyage had gone were their present state.  They also needed to get dressed, though in their haze of waking the voice had to prompt some more than others that it was in fact mandatory before unlocking the door.  So they pulled on pants and shirts, zipped up jackets, and walked like the exhausted down the long straight halls.  The ladders positioned on the walls under the light-cylinders were like insurmountable obstacles to them.  The voice told them they must go up, but braced against the cold metal walls, almost too tired to walk, they just looked blankly at the things.  The man who designed the ship and the waking process, almost guaranteed to be dead after so many hundreds of millenia, had underestimated the toll on the body.  Eventually the voice went silent, asking the captain what it must do to get them to cooperate.  The ship hummed to itself, lightening the spin of its core.  Gravity relaxed, letting the men and women straighten up.  A few looked to the holes in the ceiling then.  Some would take more time than others, but now slowly progress resumed.  Hand over hand, minute after minute and finally they began to reach the top of the ladder, twice the height of the ceiling that sat just out of hand-reach.  It was a neutral light on the ladders, not cold but without the warmth of any feeling.  The ship was made when feelings were cast aside for greater goals of survivability and thus reflected its creator's mind at the time.  The one consideration that was put in waited above.  Hardened translucent metal hulling stretched the far wall of the gigantic room they stood in.  Before they awoke it had been scrubbed of radiation, flooded with manufactured oxygen, and un-sealed from the rest of the ship.  A troublesome process, but the view warmed them as the ascended.  A bright yellow sphere on the horizon with small blue specks on the opposite wall.  They let out short gasps and moans, letting out more of an emotion than an idea, drawn forward to the hull like zombies to a feast.  Only a few of the thousands sleeping below had awoken, just enough to throw a seed to the blue specks behind them.  The first seed of many in this solar system.