Shadows from the Badlands

Michael woke abruptly later. It was unlike waking from sleep, or any other type of unconsciousness he had ever experienced. It was more like, the pain in his head just stopped and he was else where. He looked around the room he was in. His armor had been stripped from him and was not visible anywhere, and of course his weapons had been removed. He had been stripped of everything, and then dumped naked into a corner it seemed. The room was the dark crystal of the alien ship, and he assumed that he had been taken on board.

When he tried to move further into the room, he was met by a solid wall. It was unlike human force fields, which stuttered and flared when something came in contact with it. Instead it was almost like the very air solidified. He felt along it, reaching towards the floor, seeking a weak spot when he noticed that he appeared to be floating a very slight distance off the floor. He felt along the walls, and finally decided that the force field must fully surround him on all sides. It was the perfect way of containing someone.

The room around him was dark, only lit by the occasional gleam of crystal reflecting holographic displays. He could see nothing else.

He startled as the same voice from earlier again seemed to whisper to him from behind him, "Do not be frightened, human. You will not be harmed as long as you are not a threat to me."

Michael whirled around, trying to figure out how he had been snuck up on. "My people are telepathic, and I need not even be in the same room as you to communicate, human."

"Fucking hell, stop doing that creepy assed shit!"

The shadows rippled at the far side of the room, and Michael could once again see the alien standing before him. The creature seemed partially reptilian, and it's eyes glowed a deep blue. He took in the powerful form with his eyes, most of the musculature on display, with only strips of flowing dark cloth covering the face and lower regions. Michael could not stifle the stray thought that the alien was attractive in it's unusual way, and that only the juicy bits were being left to the imagination.

He seemed to feel the creature chuckling, and belatedly realized that a telepath could probably read the stray thought of his mind. He tried to clear away the thoughts of what the alien would look like underneath the little cloths it wore, but lacking the mental control, simply succeeded on focusing on the images in even greater detail. His face flushed, and even in his embarrassment he felt the blood begin filling his own member, still fully exposed.

The chuckling was more apparent, and the voice whispered in his mind, more clear, and no longer feeling like someone was standing at his shoulder, "There is no need for embarrassment human. I will return your cloths to you shortly. And I apologize for my own lack of control in communicating, it has been many centuries since I have been in the presence of another, and even longer since I've been around one with no telepathic abilities of there own."

Michael's blush only deepened, and in spite of the fact that the alien would be able to easily see through his facade, he adopted his normal brusk attitude again. "My name is Michael," he said bluntly, "Not 'human,' and I would like more then just my clothes back if you don't mind."

The creature did seem like it saw through his mask, and calmly replied, his voice getting clearer with each word, "I am sorry, Michael," his name was said in a hesitant manner, "My name is Dash'r. I cannot return your armor and cloths, as I'm sure you are aware." He paused, the tingling presence in his mind that Michael was beginning to identify as the alien, Dash'r his mind supplied, getting ready to communicate. "I will try to ignore the thoughts that come to you unbidden, as I have heard your kind are uncomfortable with others knowing your minds meanderings."

He turned to leave, already fading into the shadows, and yet paused, and cocked his head as the random thought entered Michael's mind that he had a nice, if unconventional looking butt.

"Your clothes will be hear soon." the humor was well apparent in the parting words, and Michael swore to himself and looked down.

"Traitorous thing, I need to stop thinking with you."

The crystals on a section of wall seemed to melt away on the other side of the room, revealing one of the hovering gold robots he had seen earlier. Floating before it was the clothes he had on underneath his armor. He tried to reach through the force field as the robot crossed though, but it seemed that the thing was malleable and bent and deformed as needed. The robot quickly departed after it had deposited the items on the floor, and Michael wearily set about dressing himself, noting that even though he had worn them non stop for at least a few days now in stressful, sweaty conditions, the had no odor. He checked some of his hiding spots, knowing ahead of time that it was futile to look for the hidden items he carried with him. They were indeed gone.

Underneath the pile of clothes was one of the packs of field rations. It too had been opened, and even the tiny knife included in them had been removed. He ate the food anyways, with as hungry as he was after a day and a half, even the prepackaged food tasted good to him.

He sat back, letting his mind drift. Wondering if it was even possible for a human to control there thoughts enough for a telepath not to pick them up. Yet again, trying not to think of something, namely what a naked alien would look like, simply brought forth those images in his mind. After several minutes of trying he began to get frustrated. He had gotten aching hard thinking about Dash'r while specifically trying not to think of the dark skinned alien. With a frustrated sigh he began actively imagining what the alien was hiding underneath the almost loin cloth. The shrouding cloth and the general darkness of the interior of the ship provided very few clues. He didn't stop even when the thought occurred to him that he didn't know what range the aliens telepathy encompassed. This would make fitting revenge for the capture and embarrassment.

He was just getting to the good parts in his fantasy when the force field behind him that he was leaning on deactivated, sending him sprawling backwards, hitting his head painfully on the hard crystal floor. He looked up and saw another one of the robots entering through a door that seemed to grow and reform as needed.

"I am sorry," he heard in his mind, distant, yet with a note of urgency, "but please equip yourself as fast as you can, and follow the probe."

Michael wasted no time. Unlike traditional combat armor the lighter gear that he had was able to be removed or equipped with great speed in less then ideal conditions. The worried tone in Dash'rs mental voice had him getting it on in record time, and he followed to probe out of the room at a trot, still checking the charge of his gear, and making sure his ammunition was in place and easily accessed.

The tinny probe led him out of the ship, where Dash'r was waiting. The alien turned to Michael, and the anxiety was all the clearer in his voice, "The zerg are approaching as we speak."

"Fucking great."