Page 29 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

Ry'eth

My quarters feel empty. Devoid of purpose.

I move through the familiar space with mechanical efficiency, packing equipment for my next assignment—environmental samples from the eastern coastal regions require analysis before the seasonal shifts alter their composition.

Work that would normally engage my full attention now feels like a hollow obligation.

It has been two days since my Council presentation. Two days of attempting to focus on upcoming research projects. Two days of failing to silence the persistent thought that follows me everywhere: I miss him.

The admission, even to myself, feels like a betrayal of scientific objectivity. Three days of assessment should not be sufficient to form a meaningful attachment. Not for a Nereidan researcher who has dedicated his life to data, not emotion.

And yet.

I place another sample container in my field kit, checking its seal with perhaps more thoroughness than necessary.

The eastern coast assignment is straightforward—routine environmental monitoring that will keep me occupied for approximately ten days.

Under normal circumstances, I would find satisfaction in this work.

Normal circumstances did not include meeting Owen Hayes.

The door signal interrupts my methodical packing. I'm not expecting visitors. My departure isn't scheduled until tomorrow morning, and most colleagues know better than to disturb me during preparation periods.

"Enter," I call, continuing my work.

The door slides open to reveal Kav'eth. My oldest brother stands in the doorway, wearing the formal Council robes he rarely removes these days. His expression is carefully neutral, but I can see subtle patterns of concern in the light beneath his skin.

"Kav'eth," I acknowledge, surprised. "I didn't expect you."

"Clearly," he replies, stepping inside and allowing the door to close behind him. His gaze sweeps over my quarters, noting the packed equipment. "You're preparing for your coastal assignment."

"Yes. I depart tomorrow at first light." I seal another sample container, focusing on the task rather than meeting his eyes. "Was there something you needed? Council business?"

"No," Kav'eth says, moving further into the room. "This is a personal visit."

That gets my attention. Kav'eth rarely makes personal visits.

Since his appointment to the Council, he has become increasingly focused on formal protocols and official duties.

The brother who once taught me to identify mineral compositions in ocean sediment has gradually disappeared behind Councilor Kav'eth's formal demeanor.

"I see," I say, setting aside my equipment. "Would you like refreshment?"

"No, thank you." He hesitates, then adds, "I wanted to discuss your Council presentation."

My skin betrays me immediately, a pulse of blue light that I cannot suppress quickly enough. "My findings were thoroughly documented. If the Council requires additional data—"

"This isn't about your data," Kav'eth interrupts, his tone gentler than I'm accustomed to hearing from him. "Your research was, as always, impeccable."

"Then what aspect of my presentation concerns you?" I ask, though I suspect I already know.

Kav'eth studies me for a long moment, his golden eyes—so similar to my own—seeing more than I'm comfortable revealing. Finally, he says, "You miss him."

It's not a question.

I turn away, busying myself with organizing equipment that's already perfectly arranged. "The subject was returned to Earth as scheduled. The assessment is complete."

"Yes, I'm aware of the protocol," Kav'eth says, a hint of impatience in his voice. "I'm also aware that you haven't been yourself since your return."

"I'm perfectly functional," I insist.

"Functional, yes. But not yourself." He moves to stand beside me, close enough that I can see the concern in his bioluminescent patterns. "What you're experiencing," he continues carefully, "is not unlike what Zeph'hai and I experienced with our humans."

"I am not experiencing anything," I say, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "Perhaps some lingering curiosity about certain aspects of human culture, but nothing more."

Kav'eth sighs, a sound I rarely hear from him. "You've always been stubborn, little brother. Even as a child, you insisted on figuring things out for yourself rather than accepting guidance."

"An effective approach to scientific discovery," I point out.

"Less effective for personal matters." Kav'eth picks up one of my sample containers, examining it with professional interest before setting it back down precisely where it was.

"When I met Derek, I was convinced our interaction would be purely professional—a straightforward assessment of human-Nereidan compatibility for the integration program. "

I look up, surprised by his candor. Kav'eth rarely discusses personal matters, especially regarding his human partner.

"I was wrong," he continues. "What began as scientific assessment became something I couldn't quantify or categorize. Something that didn't fit neatly into my reports or data analyses."

"Your situation was different," I argue. "You and Derek formed a bond almost immediately. Owen and I completed the entire assessment period without any indication of bond formation."

"And yet," Kav'eth says, his voice deliberately casual, "you spent much of your presentation explaining why this human would be valuable to our society, particularly because of his medical expertise."

"That was a factual observation," I say defensively. "His skills would indeed be beneficial."

"Undoubtedly." Kav'eth's expression softens slightly. "But is that the only reason you wish he had stayed?"

The question cuts too close to truths I'm not ready to face. My skin flares with involuntary bioluminescence, answering for me before I can formulate a response.

"I thought as much," Kav'eth says, nodding slightly.

"It doesn't matter," I say finally. "The assessment is complete. He's been returned to Earth. Protocol doesn't allow for—"

"Protocol," Kav'eth interrupts, "can be adjusted when circumstances warrant. The Council found your assessment compelling. Particularly the parts regarding the human's medical knowledge and its potential benefit to our integration program."

I look at him sharply. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he replies carefully, "that as a Council member, I have the authority to approve one final assessment period. Seventy-two hours to determine if there is potential for an empathic bond."

"A final assessment," I repeat, my mind racing with implications.

"Yes," Kav'eth says, his expression growing more serious. "But understand this clearly, Ry'eth. This is not standard protocol. The Council is making an exception based on the strength of your presentation and the potential value of the human's medical knowledge."

I nod, trying to process this unexpected opportunity.

"There are conditions," he continues. "First, the human must agree voluntarily.

Second, the purpose is specifically to assess bond compatibility—not just general integration suitability.

And third..." he pauses, making sure I'm listening carefully, "this is the final opportunity.

If after seventy-two hours there is no clear evidence of bond formation, or if the human declines to return permanently to our world, that is the end. "

"The end," I echo.

"Yes. No further exceptions, no additional assessments. The Council was quite clear on this point. If this final assessment doesn't result in bond formation and the human's permanent integration, you will need to put this entire matter behind you. Permanently."

The finality in his voice makes something cold settle in my chest. One chance. Seventy-two hours to determine if what I feel for Owen is truly the beginning of a bond or merely an unusual level of interpersonal compatibility.

"I understand," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

"Do you?" Kav'eth asks, studying me intently. "Because if you pursue this and it fails, you cannot keep revisiting Earth. You cannot keep retrieving this human. You will need to accept the outcome and move forward with your life and work."

"I understand," I repeat, more firmly this time.

Kav'eth's expression softens slightly. "For what it's worth, I believe there is potential for a bond. Your presentation revealed more than you intended, little brother. I saw how your bioluminescence responded when discussing him, even when you thought you were being objective."

I'm not sure what to say. This possibility hadn't occurred to me—that there might be an official, protocol-approved way to see Owen again.

"Of course," Kav'eth continues, his tone deliberately casual, "such a follow-up would require approval from the human as well. He would need to be informed of the purpose and duration of the additional assessment. His participation would be entirely voluntary."

"Yes. Of course." My mind is already calculating the probabilities, analyzing variables. Would Owen agree to return? Would he want to see me again? Or had he already moved on with his Earth life, relegating our time together to an unusual anecdote, nothing more?

"Ry'eth," Kav'eth says, pulling me from my thoughts, "I've never seen you like this about anyone. Not in all our years."

"Like what?" I ask, though I know exactly what he means.

"Conflicted. Distracted." He gestures at my skin, where patterns of light are shifting with my fluctuating emotions. "Illuminated by something other than scientific discovery."

I don't deny it. I can't. Not when my own biology is confirming his observation with every pulse of light beneath my skin.

"If you want my advice," he says, moving toward the door, "you should go get him. Officially, for a follow-up assessment. Unofficially..." He pauses, a rare smile crossing his features. "Well, that's between you and the human."

"I'll consider it," I say, attempting to sound noncommittal despite the sudden racing of my pulse.

Kav'eth nods, clearly not fooled by my pretense of indifference. "Your ship is already prepared. Council authorization has been loaded into its systems."

"You seem very confident in my decision," I observe.

"I know you, little brother," he replies. "Beneath all that scientific objectivity, you've always been the most passionate of us three. Once you decide what you want, nothing stops you from pursuing it."

He's gone before I can formulate a response, the door sliding closed behind him.

I stand motionless in the center of my quarters, my mind processing this unexpected development.

A final assessment period. Seventy-two hours to determine if an empathic bond is possible.

One last chance to see Owen again, with the understanding that if it fails, there will be no more opportunities.

I move to my data terminal and activate the secure connection to my ship's systems. The authorization from the Council is indeed there, along with coordinates for Owen's dwelling on Earth. Everything ready, waiting only for my command to initiate the sequence.

My finger hovers over the activation protocol. This is officially sanctioned now, but with clear conditions and consequences. No rules would be broken, but the stakes are considerably higher than I anticipated.

Yet I hesitate. Because despite all the official justifications, despite the scientific language and formal approvals, I know the truth that pulses beneath my skin with every heartbeat.

I want to see Owen Hayes again. Not just for research.

Not just to assess bond compatibility. Not just for the advancement of Nereidan-human integration.

For me.

The realization should be unsettling—a deviation from the scientific detachment I've cultivated throughout my career. Instead, it brings a strange clarity. A sense of purpose more compelling than any research project.

Seventy-two hours to determine our future. Seventy-two hours to discover if what I feel is truly the beginning of a bond.

I activate the ship's systems and begin the launch sequence.