Wrong Place, Wrong Time (2)

Sahara woke to the sound of hissing.

She shook her head, tried to pull her hands free, and remembered in a rush. Her eyes flew open, scanning the room. There was no one in front of her. But she felt like she wasn’t alone.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the throbbing from her split lip reminded her in time.

:where are you:  she mind-projected into the room.

She knew they were ignoring her. She felt them. Damn fucktards!

:HEY:  she ‘mindspoke’ louder. A mind SHOUT. Teach them to ignor-FUCK!

A slap across her rump made her cry out again. She wasn’t sure if they were still hitting her with their arm appendages, or a laser-whip, but whatever the Sam-fucking-Hill it was,  it fucking hurt! She felt the welt growing across her right cheek, overlaying the sore places from her first beating.

The hissing was annoying.

Trying to crane her head around, she could see from the corner of her eye, a “snowed out” panel.

“i could fix that” she said without thinking, and earned another swat from the ‘guard’ that hovered just out of her field of vision.


:beating prisoners is a violation of interstellar law:  she thought rapidly towards the one who had held back the next blow.

:we do not accede to bipedal law:  this voice was almost sneering. Definitely superior-sounding. Definitely full of distrust and dislike of her and her kind. She thought that if it could have spat the words into her head, it would have.

:i’m not the one with a white-out panel that needs repair: she snarked back.

She might be captured and suspended but by damn she wasn’t going down without a fight. Her ass throbbed, and she was startled to realize that her clit was throbbing too. Double fuck! She wondered if these bloaters could hear her thoughts as they chased around her head.

Or if they even understood what ‘turned on’ meant.

Without a sound, one of the Uralians was in front of her.

:you claim that you can fix our veiwport. is this fact:

Far from being monotone, the voice in her head was melifluous. The words carried tones and shadings, colors and sensation with them.






:duh:     she thought back at it, though ‘it’ had a definite masculine ‘feel’ to the thought patterns

:duh is not understood:

: you are cautioned that mockery is an offense to us:

Rather than get into a debate about sarcasm and earth idioms, she sighed. Much as she wanted to just scream and tuck into them with a few well placed punches herself, she was out of options. Hands and feet stuck fast, there was a limit to what she could muster for her self-defense.

:yes i can fix your fucking viewscreen. likely you blew a few ampules of jet juice:

:your words are strange, but we will allow you to try. understand the consequence of failure…you will be flailed. if you succeed, you will be rewarded with treasures none of your kind has ever before known:

Treasure? Now that sounded right up her alley! But the flailing had definite overtones of ‘dire consequences’.  She wondered if they meant beaten to a pulp, or deader than space junk?

She decided to not dwell on that. It wasn’t like pulling rabbits out the asshole to fix a vid screen, fercrissakes.  Making up her mind, she pushed her thoughts to the one that felt ‘in charge’, standing before her.

:i can’t do anything while hanging here:


For the first time, an Uralian was using anger-overtones in its thought-speech. It was the same ‘voice’ which was responsible for all the welts on her backside.

There was a sensation of colors and scents flowing in the room around her, thoughts so intense and alien that she could not get a grasp on what was going on.

It felt a bit like a psychedelic experience she’d vid-read about the 1960’s.

There was a silent war going on there that she couldn’t take in, just the fringes of volumes of discourse being exchanged by the being before her, and the tormenter behind, and several of the original ‘welcoming committee’.


It was offered quietly, the color of the words different.


: i demand that it be given the opportunity:

:all else has been tried to no avail :

There was a pause, and then a word that she did not understand in her brain, but felt, emotionally.

It was heartbreaking pain. Fear, sorrow, a sense of loss. The feelings flooded her and she felt tears welling up, spilling over to run down her face. Whatever the word was, it was powerful, painful.

A wave of warmth, soft tones of red and green and blue coated the room, emanating from every Uralian in the room, even the ones she hadn’t felt before, hadn’t known were present. All those thought waves brushing against her,  soothing her, easing the crushing sorrow.

Those…word-emotions- passed through her, then past, to wrap the unknown, unseen female in comfort, and, though it seemed strange from these cold, grotesque beings, love.

What the fuck was going on here?