Kav'eth
This is, without question, the most humiliating assignment of my diplomatic career.
I stand in the preparation chamber, staring at the formal documentation outlining the human acquisition protocols with growing disdain.
The data tablet's soft glow illuminates what can only be described as the most inefficient research methodology I have encountered in my three decades of Council service.
"The human must be made comfortable at all times," I read aloud, my voice carrying the precise measure of contempt the directive deserves. "Immediate attention should be paid to emotional responses indicating distress or confusion."
Emotional responses. As if the temporary discomfort of one human specimen should take precedence over the survival of an entire species. This is what happens when researchers become emotionally compromised—when my own brother allows himself to become attached to a research subject.
The memory of Zeph'hai standing before the Council, his bioluminescence betraying his completely inappropriate emotional investment in the human Jake Morrison, still fills me with a mixture of embarrassment and concern.
That the Council not only tolerated this breach of protocol but rewarded it by appointing him as official emissary is beyond comprehension.
And now, as if to complete my humiliation, I have been assigned to retrieve the human who was originally targeted—this "Derek Cross"—and conduct my own assessment. A Council member, reduced to the role of field researcher. The indignity is almost unbearable.
"Councilor Kav'eth," the ship's navigation officer says from the doorway, interrupting my thoughts. "We have reached Earth orbit. Acquisition coordinates are locked and verified. The human Derek Cross is at the designated location."
"At least something in this absurd mission is proceeding according to protocol," I mutter. "Prepare the acquisition beam. I want this completed with minimum deviation from the established timeline."
"Yes, Councilor." The officer hesitates, then adds, "The human appears to be... documenting himself. He is holding a small device and speaking to it while displaying various items of clothing."
"Documenting himself?" I move to the observation screen, tapping to bring up the visual feed from Earth.
The human comes into focus, and I immediately understand why my brother's assignment went so disastrously wrong.
The physical similarities between this Derek Cross and the mistakenly acquired Jake Morrison are significant enough that the initial error becomes, if not excusable, at least comprehensible.
But where Jake Morrison's file indicated an individual of moderate physical conditioning, this Derek Cross appears to have devoted considerable resources to muscular development.
He stands in what appears to be a small dwelling, holding a device toward his face while speaking with unwarranted enthusiasm.
"—super excited to be selected for this exclusive international ambassador program!
" His voice comes through the ship's audio system, unnecessarily loud and strangely performative.
"I'll be documenting the entire experience for you guys, so make sure you're following for all the behind-the-scenes content!
This is going to be epic for my fitness journey! "
I feel my bioluminescence dim with displeasure. This is the human deemed ideally compatible with Nereidan culture? This excessively enthusiastic specimen whose speech patterns seem deliberately designed to aggravate?
"Councilor?" The system is still waiting for confirmation.
"Proceed with acquisition," I say, my voice flat. "And prepare a sensory dampening field. I suspect this human will be... excessively vocal upon arrival."
As the acquisition beam initializes, I mentally review the assessment protocols. Three days. I am required to spend three days in close proximity to this human, evaluating his compatibility with our species, our culture, our very survival.
The blue light of the transportation beam illuminates the preparation chamber, signaling the imminent arrival of my assigned human.
I straighten my formal attire, ensuring every element is precisely aligned according to Council regulation.
Unlike my brother, I will not appear before a human in a state of undress, regardless of what the "research" supposedly indicates about human preferences.
The light intensifies, coalescing into the shape of a human form. Derek Cross materializes in the chamber, still clutching his recording device, his expression shifting from performance enthusiasm to genuine shock as he registers his new surroundings.
For one blessed moment, he is silent, frozen in place as his primitive nervous system attempts to process what has occurred. I take advantage of this brief reprieve to deliver the formal greeting.
"Derek Cross of Earth," I say, my voice carrying the full authority of my Council position. "I am Councilor Kav'eth of the Nereidan Research Collective. You have been selected for compatibility assessment under the interspecies partnership program."
The human stares at me, his mouth opening and closing several times before he manages to produce words. "What the actual fu—"
I raise my hand, cutting off what I suspect is an inappropriate expletive. "Your cooperation is appreciated but not required. The assessment will proceed according to established protocols regardless of your initial response."
"Dude," Derek says, looking around frantically. "Where am I? Is this some kind of prank? Did my followers set this up?"
"This is not a 'prank,' human Derek Cross. This is a scientific assessment of critical importance to both our species." I gesture toward the formal attire laid out on the preparation table. "You will change into these garments, after which I will explain the parameters of your stay."
"Change? Here? In front of you?" The human clutches his recording device closer to his chest, as if it might offer protection. "Look, I don't know what kind of weird cosplay scenario this is, but I'm not into it. I need to get back to my apartment. I have important content scheduled today."
I feel tension building in my neural pathways, an unusual occurrence for a Nereidan. Three days. Three long, protocol-filled days with this human.
My brother's final words before I departed for this mission echo in my mind: "Try the pancakes. They're quite illuminating."
Whatever that means.
"Human Derek Cross," I say, summoning every last reserve of diplomatic training.
"I assure you this is not a 'cosplay scenario.
' This is a formal assessment of your species' compatibility for potential integration into Nereidan society.
Your cooperation would simplify matters considerably, but as I stated, it is not required. "
I step closer, noting with some satisfaction the way he shrinks back slightly. "Now, you may change into the provided attire willingly, or I can have the ship's systems remove your current garments and replace them. The choice, as you humans are so fond of saying, is yours."
Derek looks from me to the formal attire and back again, his expression cycling through confusion, fear, and what appears to be desperate hope for a rational explanation.
"Wait. Is this the international ambassador program?" he asks, his voice slightly higher than before. "Is this like... an extreme immersion experience? Some kind of virtual reality thing? Because the effects are incredible but this can't actually be—"
I gesture to myself, allowing a brief flare of bioluminescence to emphasize the reality of the situation. "Your statement is demonstrably incorrect."
Derek's eyes widen as my skin glows with controlled light. He takes a step backward, then another, until he hits the chamber wall. The color drains from his face completely.
"Holy shit," he whispers. "You're actually... you're really..." His breathing starts to quicken. "This isn't a program. This isn't VR. You're actually an alien and I'm actually, oh god, oh god, I can't—"
He slides down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, head between his knees, hyperventilating. "This can't be happening. People don't get abducted by aliens. This doesn't happen in real life. This is—I need to get home. I have a workout scheduled. I have content to post. This isn't—"
"Derek Cross," I say, alarmed by his rapid deterioration. "You must regulate your breathing."
"I can't," he gasps, looking up at me with wide, panicked eyes. "I can't breathe. This is insane. What do you want with me? Why did you take me? What are you going to do to me?"
His breathing becomes increasingly erratic, and I realize the human is experiencing what the research files termed a "panic attack." The protocols mentioned this possibility but provided inadequate guidance for managing it.
"You are not in immediate danger," I attempt to reassure him, though I am uncertain of the appropriate response to this level of distress.
"Not in danger?" Derek's voice rises to near-hysteria. "I've been kidnapped by aliens! I'm probably going to be experimented on or, or dissected or turned into alien food or—"
His eyes roll back and he slumps sideways against the wall, unconscious.
I stare down at the unconscious human, completely unprepared for this development. The protocols had not adequately addressed total systemic failure of human stress responses within the first ten minutes of contact.
---
Two hours later
Derek awakens on what appears to be a medical examination table, though it has been configured to resemble human furniture based on our research files. I observe from across the room as his consciousness returns, watching his face cycle through confusion, memory, and renewed distress.