6

It wasn't long before the poorly lit corridor that James had followed opened up to another considerable large room. Had the room been exactly the same as the previous, James would have undoubtedly headed back and spend the remainder of his years trying to figure the locking system out.

But, it was quickly apparent that this room was different. Not because of the shape, not because of the size, but because what was contained within. Before James's eyes were seemingly some sort of capsules, large enough to harbor multiple humans, and way taller than a human could ever be, even the enhanced ones.

The room itself was a dead end, no exits presented themselves despite James's best efforts to locate some. All things considered, James couldn't help thinking that perhaps these pods were either some sort of prison cell, or some kind of transportation services.

He approached one of the capsules, that at first glance blended with the metal surrounding it: dull, gray and without much going on, really. That changed the moment James's touch met its surface inquiringly, and the machine was brought to life for the first time in millennia. Just as if no time has passed at all.

Already getting accustomed to the planet's antics, James didn't as much flinch when the pod was activated, since he had been expecting it too. Somehow, it was very clear that the Wanderer itself was highly sensitive to living beings, their organic structure capable of awakening its long dormant metallic heart. By now, it was apparent that the people of the Wanderer possessed deep knowledge of biological systems and the interaction with their inorganic environment. Or at least what he had assumed was inorganic metal…as time went on, he started to doubt that rash assumption on his part.

Before he got entirely lost in his inner monologue, he moved to see if it was possible to somehow open the capsule. Its interior would certainly reveal more of its function than the bland exterior. When he had first laid eyes on the machine, no details were discernible due to the low light on the room, but now that the capsule itself emitted light, the intricacies that littered its design exposed under his gaze.

Several marking were now visible, presumingly in the native language of the Wanderer. Also, a circular area was present, and it almost beckoned James to touch it, as it was only slightly bigger than his hands.

Thoughtlessly, his hands moved to the circular display, and lingered there…for a second, two seconds. It seemed like nothing would happen, but as the ninth second went by, the machine started to make a few angry noises. Rejection. It was funny that in spite of the different cultures all around the galaxy and beyond, an angry machine was always recognizable.

James frowned as he removed his hand from the display, now convinced that perhaps the pods were a prison cell. Still, unrelentless as he was, he could not bring himself to stop putting his hand on the display again, holding a breath for the duration of whatever analysis the machine was making. Same result. James scratched his head aggressively in frustration, and cursed under his breath. It was the capsules, or the locking mechanism. No other choices for him.

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He thought about going back to the first room, but his gut feeling told him the corridors all led to these capsules. Exasperated, he decided to once more place his hand on the stubborn machine. The seconds went by, and once again a torrent of unamused beeps reached his ear, as he sighed defeated. Without his tools, it would be very difficult to pry the capsules open and practically impossible to overcome the locks of the gateway. The beeps continued resounding in the room, until…a pause, an interruption.

Then, a series of other kinds of beeps that James couldn't quite decipher, almost like a conversation. He quickly removed his hand from the panel, and stood there, eyes trained on the machine, unable to look away. After a few moments of what seemed to be a back and forth conversation, the beeping stabilized to constant sound. And then, it opened. Without resistance, without force. As if the system had been going through a mood swing and had just decided to give him access, or had been overridden by a superior.

James felt the cold feeling of wariness washing over him. He didn't trust living beings prone to mood imbalances, much less machinery in a strange new planet. A part of him was screaming to go back to the room, maybe have another snack while he thought it through a little, and even rest a bit. Rest was a particularly seductive activity for James at the moment, because the stuffed air and the white lights seemed to be giving him a headache, a constant pressure at the base of his head that simply couldn't be shaken off. Or perhaps he had a concussion from the fall, despite the helmet's assessment that he was fine. What the heck did it know anyway? A nice rest would do it for James, he was certain.

And yet, another part of James was really intrigued by the machine and, if he was honest to himself, he was a tad fearful that it would close itself at any moment, changing its mechanical mind once again. That would leave James exactly where he was before, and he wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect. Massaging his forehead and letting out a mighty sigh, James moved to inspect the interior of the capsule.

For once, the pod didn't react to his approach,which in this case, was wonderful. James couldn't shake the image of himself trying to enter the pod to examine it, only to be clamped to death by the capsule's doors. None of it happened, to James's relief. Once inside the pod, James noticed that it's interior was well-preserved as expected, and yet displayed some signs of usage, to his surprise.

The floor itself was impeccable, being made of the same metal as the exterior, but the walls and the panels that were contained withing did seem to have seen better days. It was almost shocking to see the hands of decay in the Wanderer, even if they were slight, imperceptible.

Focusing on the panel before him with difficulty, James did his best to brush aside the persistent pain in his mind, enhanced by the obnoxiously bright interior of the capsule. It appeared that the panel presented different options ready for selection, despite James's ignorance of the language presented.

His first instict had been correct, for the pods were indeed the usual means of transportation that the people of the Wanderer employed regularly, long ago. Not really sure on what to select, James told himself it's probably best to start at the beginning and selected the first option. If it came first, it was bound to be good, or at least frequently used. He hoped.

After the selection and what could be a request for confirmation that he guessed his way through, the machine started to once again beep loudly, to his changrin. The doors closed gently, and without warning or preparation, the floor around James started to slowly envelop him, restricting progressively all movement. First, it stole the movement of his legs, encasing his need to escape in it's metallic coldness. Then, it spread its vice-like grip to his torso, and a shill permeated James's core.

Panic overtook James, as the metal progressively took hold of his arms, incapacitating all resistance he might have thought to present, before subjugating his entire being by submerging James's aching head in a sea of mercurial gray.