Page 27 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

"Researcher Ry'eth, your brothers both experienced empathic bonding with their human subjects. Did you observe any indications of similar neurological compatibility with your assessment subject?"

The question sends an involuntary wave of bioluminescence across my skin before I can suppress it. The Council members notice, of course they notice. How could they not?

"No empathic bond formed during the assessment period," I say, though my voice lacks the conviction I intended. "The human was returned to Earth as scheduled, in accordance with protocol."

"Yet your physiological response to the question suggests some level of emotional engagement," Councilor Lyr'tha observes, their clinical gaze assessing my involuntary reaction.

"I experienced normal biological responses to an unfamiliar species," I reply, struggling to maintain my professional tone. "These responses are documented in my full report. They do not constitute an empathic bond."

The words sound hollow even to my own ears. My skin continues to betray me, patterns of light pulsing beneath the surface in a way that any trained Nereidan could read as emotional distress.

"Researcher Ry'eth," Elder Va'ril says gently, "your scientific findings are not in question. But I must ask, are you satisfied with the conclusion of this assessment? With the human's return to Earth?"

The question catches me off guard. It's not a standard inquiry during assessment reviews. It's personal. It's asking me, not the scientist, but the individual, what I want.

"I..." I begin, then stop, unsure how to respond within the formal confines of a Council presentation.

My professional training tells me to deflect, to return to the data, to maintain scientific objectivity. But the persistent glow beneath my skin tells a different story, one that I've been trying to deny since the moment Owen dissolved into light and returned to his world.

"The assessment protocols were followed correctly," I finally say, my voice quieter than I intended. "The human subject was informed from the beginning that the assessment was temporary."

"That is not what I asked," Elder Va'ril observes, with the gentle insistence that has made them such an effective Council leader. "Are you satisfied with this outcome, Researcher Ry'eth?"

I look down at my hands, seeing the patterns of light that pulse beneath my skin, patterns that speak more truthfully than my carefully chosen words.

"No," I admit, the single syllable echoing in the Council chamber. "I am not satisfied."

Elder Va'ril tilts their head slightly. "Would you care to elaborate on why?"

I straighten my posture, attempting to reclaim my scientific detachment. "The human would have made a valuable addition to our society. His medical background would be particularly beneficial as we increase human integration."

"Medical background?" Councilor Lyr'tha inquires, their interest clearly piqued. "Your report indicates some concern about his combat training. Did you find his military experience made him unsuitable, despite his healing skills?"

"On the contrary," I reply, finding myself unexpectedly defensive of Owen. "Despite his combat training, he is a healer first and foremost. During our assessment, he demonstrated exceptional compassion and a fundamental drive to preserve life, values that align closely with our own."

I pause, realizing I've spoken with more emotion than intended. I continue more carefully, "His medical expertise with human physiology would be particularly valuable as we increase integration. Our own healers, while skilled, lack practical experience with human patients."

"You believe his healing nature outweighs any concerns about human military conditioning?" Councilor Eth'nor asks.

"Yes," I say firmly. "He described his combat skills as a means to reach those who needed medical attention in dangerous situations, not as his primary purpose. His adaptability and ethical approach to medicine would make him an asset to our society."

"And this is why you are unsatisfied with his departure?" Elder Va'ril asks.

"Yes," I say, then add, "From a practical perspective, our integration program will require medical professionals who understand human biology.

This subject demonstrated exceptional adaptability and a commitment to preserving life that aligns with our own values.

His return to Earth represents a missed opportunity. "

My explanation sounds logical, scientific, objective. But the persistent glow beneath my skin tells another story. Kav'eth's expression shifts almost imperceptibly, he knows I'm not being entirely truthful.

"A compelling observation," Elder Va'ril acknowledges. "One that perhaps should have been included in your formal recommendations."

"I..." I hesitate, caught between professional protocols and my growing awareness of what I truly want. "I believed it would be inappropriate to suggest extending his stay beyond the assessment parameters without prior Council approval."

"Yet you wish he had stayed," Elder Va'ril states. Not a question this time.

The chamber falls silent. All eyes are on me, all attention focused on my response. This is my opportunity to maintain scientific distance, to frame my answer in terms of research value and integration protocols.

Instead, I find myself saying, "Yes. I wish he had stayed."

A murmur ripples through the Council members, but Elder Va'ril silences it with a raised hand.

"Thank you for your honesty, Researcher. The Council will deliberate on your findings and recommendations. You are dismissed."

I bow formally and exit the chamber, my skin still betraying the emotions I've tried so hard to contain.

Outside, in the relative privacy of the preparation alcove, I lean against the wall and close my eyes, allowing myself to acknowledge what I've been fighting against since the moment Owen dissolved into light and returned to his world.

I miss him. More than I should. More than can be explained by scientific curiosity or professional assessment.

What would happen if I broke protocol the way Zeph'hai did? I've spent my entire career following rules, upholding procedures, maintaining scientific objectivity. Going back for Owen would mean abandoning everything I've believed about proper research methodology.

And yet, the thought of never seeing him again creates a hollow sensation in my chest that no amount of scientific rationalization seems able to fill.