Page 24 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)
The admission costs me. My skin dims to almost gray, the emotional exhaustion finally showing through my careful facade.
"That sounds familiar," Jake murmurs, exchanging glances with my brother.
"It doesn't matter," I say quickly. "The assessment is complete. He's back on Earth where he belongs, and I'll be returning to my environmental restoration projects as soon as the Council reviews my findings."
"And what are your findings?" Derek asks. "About humans, I mean. Still think we're all environmental disasters waiting to happen?"
The echo of Owen's similar question from our last breakfast together resonates through me.
"My analysis indicates that our world could sustainably integrate humans in limited numbers, perhaps equal to five percent of our current population.
The resource allocation would be manageable with proper protocols. "
My brothers look surprised at this conclusion. They know how strongly I've opposed human integration on environmental grounds.
"So you've changed your mind about humans?" Zeph asks carefully.
"I've... refined my position based on new data," I reply, falling back on scientific language.
"That's scientist-speak for 'I was wrong,'" Jake says with a grin, uncannily echoing Owen's words from our last conversation.
The similarity makes my chest ache.
"It's scientist-speak for 'my data set was incomplete,'" I correct automatically.
Derek laughs. "Kav said almost the exact same thing when I first met him."
"And you'll be presenting these findings to the Council?" Kav'eth asks, his formal tone not quite hiding his curiosity.
"Yes," I confirm. "It's my professional assessment that human integration could proceed without causing irreparable environmental damage, provided strict population limits and resource management protocols are established."
It's the best I can do. The most I can offer without revealing how much this assessment has truly affected me. How much Owen has changed me.
"Well, that's something," Jake says, studying me with those perceptive human eyes. "Not what we expected from you, honestly."
"Expectations are often based on incomplete data," I reply.
A small silence falls over the room. I can feel all of them watching me, seeing more than I want them to see. The hollowness in my chest expands.
"I should go," I say abruptly, rising from the cushion. "I need to finalize my presentation for tomorrow."
"Ry'eth," Zeph says, his voice gentle in a way that makes me want to flee even more. "You know, bonds can form at different rates. Sometimes they're not immediately apparent."
"There was no bond," I say firmly. "The assessment is complete."
"Will you come back after your presentation?" Kav'eth asks. "We could discuss your next assignment."
"I've already received preliminary approval for the northern archipelago restoration project," I say. "I'll be departing as soon as the Council confirms."
"That's... quite remote," Zeph says carefully.
"The ecosystem there is extremely sensitive. It requires specialized attention."
"And it's about as far from the integration centers as you can get," Jake adds, not bothering to hide his disapproval.
I don't deny it. The distance is precisely why I requested the assignment.
"The work is important," I say instead.
"So are you," Zeph replies. "And we'll be here when you're ready to talk about what really happened during your assessment."
I nod once, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of their concern, their understanding, is almost more than I can bear.
"I'll contact you after the Council meeting," I manage to say, then turn toward the door before anyone can see the emotion I can no longer contain.
"Wait," Jake calls, grabbing a container from the food preparation area. He quickly slides the breakfast he made onto a portable plate and covers it. "Take this with you. You need to eat something."
He presses the warm container into my hands.
Through the clear cover, I see the food, pancakes, though larger and thicker than Owen's miniature versions.
The arrangement is different, the syrup darker, but they're unmistakably the same Earth food concept.
Different, yet similar enough to make my throat tighten.
"I—" My voice catches. "Thank you."
"Just take care of yourself, okay?" Jake says, his expression surprisingly gentle for someone I once considered a threat to our entire ecosystem. "Eat the pancakes. Get some hydration. We've all been where you are."
I clutch the container to my chest, unprepared for how even this different version of Owen's breakfast creation affects me. The scent that rises from the warm container is sweeter, heavier than what Owen made, yet carries the same undeniable essence.
"I'll try," I promise softly, then leave before the scent of the pancakes, so achingly familiar now, can completely undo what little composure I have left.
Outside, I pause to collect myself, letting the sound of the mineral sea wash over me.
Tomorrow I will stand before the Council and deliver my scientific findings with professional detachment.
I will recommend limited human integration with appropriate environmental safeguards.
I will answer their questions with factual precision.
And then I will go as far away as possible, to a place where nothing reminds me of blue eyes and gentle hands, of pancakes and shared hydration pools, of a human who saw the universe differently than anyone I've ever known.
Owen is gone, following the protocol we both agreed to. I should find comfort in that certainty, in the return to order and procedure.
Instead, I feel only absence, a persistent void that no amount of scientific data can explain away.
I look up at the stars, wondering which distant point of light marks Earth's sun. Wondering if, perhaps, at this same moment, Owen might be looking up at the night sky too.
"Maybe in another life," I whisper, echoing his last words before the transport took him away.
Then I turn and walk toward my empty dwelling, the sound of the sea following me like a reminder of all I've lost.