Page 10 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)
"So what's the plan for the pool?" he asks, deliberately emphasizing the word. "You're going to adjust the air in there?"
"Yes. The hydration chamber has precise atmospheric controls," I explain. "I can modify the composition to match various Nereidan environments and observe your adaptation to these conditions."
"Will any of these conditions make me pass out, grow extra limbs, or turn purple?" he asks. "I feel like I should know that up front."
I stare at him, trying to determine if this is one of his jokes. His expression gives no clear indication.
"The conditions are all within safe parameters for human exposure," I assure him. "Though some may cause minor discomfort. The data is essential for understanding compatibility."
"Just messing with you," he says with a grin. "Lead the way to your pool. I'm all yours for the day."
The phrasing— all yours —sends an unexpected wave of bioluminescence flowing across my skin before I can suppress it. Owen notices, his grin widening slightly, but he doesn't comment.
As we walk, Owen continues, "So you're going to make it more comfortable for you, less comfortable for me, and then watch how I handle it, right?"
"That is... an accurate if simplified description, yes."
"Deal," he says. "But only if I get to make you blueberry pancakes afterward."
"Your assessment participation is not contingent on food preparation," I point out.
"I know," he says with that same sleepy smile from earlier. "But I want to. I'm going to introduce you to all the unhealthy, delicious human foods I can before our time's up. We've only got two more days, so I need to fit in pancakes, chicken wings, hot dogs, and pizza at minimum."
"That is an ambitious culinary schedule," I observe, feeling a subtle wave of something I refuse to identify as disappointment at the reminder of our limited time together.
"We'll make it work," Owen says confidently. "I'll start with pancakes today, and we'll fit in the rest tomorrow. Your food synthesizer is pretty impressive, I'm sure it can handle it."
"As part of the cultural exchange portion of the assessment, I suppose that would provide valuable data," I concede, ignoring the subtle pulse of light beneath my skin at the mention of "our time."
"Sure," Owen agrees, though his smile suggests he sees through my attempt at scientific justification. "For the data."
"For the data," I echo, knowing even as I say it that my interest has become something more complicated than pure scientific inquiry.
"So," Owen says, pushing his chair back and standing. "Pool now, pancakes later. Sounds like a good day."
"Indeed," I agree, rising as well. "The hydration chamber is already prepared for today's session. We can proceed there directly."
As we walk through the corridors, I find myself considering the strange path this assessment has taken.
My brothers both formed profound connections with their human subjects, connections that led to permanent bonds and a restructuring of their entire lives.
I had been determined to avoid such an outcome, to maintain scientific objectivity and demonstrate that such bonds were anomalous rather than inevitable.
Yet here I am, anticipating both the hydration session and the prospect of more human food experiences.
This is far from the clinical, detached assessment I had planned.
Still, I remind myself, gathering diverse data requires some degree of participation in human cultural practices.
If that includes consuming "blueberry pancakes" and "pizza," so be it. For scientific purposes, of course.
We reach the hydration chamber, and I activate the entry panel. The door slides open, revealing the familiar blue-green water of the pool, its surface gently rippling under the recirculation system.
"Let me just set the atmospheric controls," I say, moving to the control panel. "I'll adjust gradually so your system has time to adapt."
Owen nods, already removing his pants. He's only wearing the lower garment as he did yesterday, since the synthesized Nereidan clothing doesn't fit his broader human frame properly.
He moves with casual confidence, seemingly unconcerned about his state of undress.
As he steps into the water, I focus intently on the control panel, adjusting the oxygen levels down by increments of five percent while increasing the nitrogen and trace gases that make up Nereidan standard atmosphere.
"How's that feel?" I ask as I make the first adjustment.
Owen takes a deep breath, then another. "A little thinner, maybe? Like being at high altitude. Nothing too uncomfortable yet."
"Good. I'll continue adjusting gradually. Please report any changes in your comfort level immediately."
"Yes, sir," he says with a mock salute that I recognize as a human military gesture. "Were your brothers this methodical with their humans?"
"They were not conducting a proper assessment," I say, perhaps more sharply than intended. "Their... interactions... with their humans were compromised by emotional factors."
"And yours isn't?" Owen asks with a raised eyebrow, sinking deeper into the water.
The question sends an involuntary wave of bioluminescence across my skin. "I am maintaining proper scientific protocols," I insist, though the evidence glowing beneath my skin suggests otherwise.
"Right," Owen says, looking amused. "Very scientific pancake plans we made."
"Cultural exchange is a valid assessment parameter," I counter, making another small adjustment to the atmosphere. "How are you feeling now?"
Owen takes another deep breath. "Definitely noticeable. I can tell I'm working a little harder to breathe, but it's manageable. Nothing worse than when I was in Colorado for altitude training."
"Excellent," I say, genuinely pleased with his adaptability. "Your respiratory system appears to be adjusting efficiently. I'll make one more adjustment to bring us to Nereidan standard."
As I input the final atmospheric settings, I feel my own body relaxing. The air now contains the precise mixture I'm accustomed to on my homeworld, a composition I haven't experienced since departing for this assignment. I take a deep breath, enjoying the familiar feel of it in my lungs.
"That looks nice," Owen observes, watching me. "Your whole body just relaxed."
"This is my natural atmospheric composition," I explain, surprised by his perception. "It is... comforting to experience it again."
"I get that," he nods. "Sometimes when I was deployed, someone would cook something that smelled like home. Had the same effect, instant relaxation, even in a war zone."
He studies me for a moment, then asks, "Can these atmospheric settings be applied to the entire ship?"
"Yes," I answer, somewhat hesitantly. "The environmental controls are integrated. But the current ship settings are calibrated for optimal human comfort."
"Then change them," Owen says simply. "Set the whole ship to these levels."
I stare at him, uncertain I've understood correctly. "But the oxygen reduction—"
"You're more comfortable like this, right?" he interrupts. "Then keep it. I'm adapting fine. If I start to struggle, I'll let you know."
The offer catches me completely off guard. The idea that he would willingly adjust to my atmospheric preferences, potentially at his own discomfort, is... unexpected.
"That is... very considerate," I say, the words feeling inadequate for the gesture.
Owen shrugs, sending small ripples across the water. "It's your ship. You should be comfortable in it."
Without fully understanding my own actions, I move through the water toward him. Before I can analyze the impulse or stop myself, I lean forward and press my lips briefly against his cheek, a gesture I've seen humans perform as a sign of gratitude or affection.
I pull back immediately, bioluminescence cascading across my skin in waves I couldn't possibly control. "I—that was—" I struggle to find words, shocked by my own behavior.
Owen looks equally surprised, his hand rising to touch the spot where my lips made contact. Then, to my relief, he smiles. "You're welcome," he says simply.
But before I can fully retreat, Owen moves through the water with surprising grace. His arm slides around me, hand resting gently at the small of my back as he turns me to face him.
"Thank you," he says softly, and then he's leaning in, his lips meeting mine.
The contact sends a shock of sensation through my entire body, bioluminescence flaring so brightly I'm certain it's visible even through the water. His lips are warm, softer than I expected, and the kiss itself is gentle but unmistakably intentional.
For a moment, I forget everything, the assessment, my scientific objectivity, my reservations about humans. There is only this connection, this utterly unexpected intimacy.
Then awareness rushes back as I suddenly register our state of undress, both of us completely bare in the hydration chamber. I pull away abruptly, my skin practically pulsing with light.
"I—we—this is—" I stammer, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Owen seems to realize the source of my sudden panic and steps back, giving me space. "Sorry," he says, though he doesn't look particularly sorry. "Got carried away there."
"The atmospheric settings," I manage to say, turning back to the control panel with what I hope appears to be scientific focus rather than the retreat it actually is. "I'll adjust them for the entire ship."
"Sounds good," Owen replies easily, as if what just happened was entirely normal and not a complete disruption of everything I thought I understood about this assessment.
He moves back to the center of the pool, floating peacefully as if to give me time to collect myself. The water continues to soothe my skin, the nutrients and moisture being absorbed as they should, but my mind is far from the scientific readings I should be monitoring.