Page 5 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

Owen

"Ry. Hey, Ry."

I snap my fingers near his face, watching as his head jerks up from where it was slowly drooping toward his chest. The bioluminescence flares under his skin at the nickname, which is exactly why I'm using it. Nothing wakes someone up like irritation.

"I was not sleeping," Ry'eth says stiffly, blinking rapidly. "I was considering a complex environmental variable."

"With your eyes closed?" I settle back into my seat across from him. "That's impressive multitasking."

We're in what he called the "common area" during our tour, a space that reminds me of a cross between a lounge and a conference room.

Curved walls, of course, because apparently these aliens have something against right angles.

Comfortable seating arranged around a central table.

Soft lighting that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

It's been several hours since our meal in the nutrition center.

We moved to the common area afterward, where Ry'eth has been trying to work on some kind of report for the past hour, his fingers moving across a translucent screen that hovers above the table.

I've been watching him fight against exhaustion the entire time, his head gradually lowering until I intervene.

"You do not need to continue using that abbreviated version of my name," he says, straightening his posture with obvious effort. "I am cooperating with your medical monitoring."

"Yeah, but Ry gets such a nice reaction out of you." I gesture toward the glow that's still visible beneath his skin. "Keeps your circulation going. Very important for head injuries."

He gives me a look that suggests he doesn't believe that for a second but is too tired to argue. "The report must be completed."

"The report can wait." I lean forward, studying his face more carefully. His golden eyes are dulled with fatigue, the usual sharpness of his features softened. "You've been awake for how long now?"

"Nereidan physiology requires less rest than humans," he says, which isn't actually an answer.

"Uh-huh. And when was the last time you slept?" I press.

He hesitates, then admits, "Approximately thirty-six hours ago."

"Jesus." I shake my head. "And you got knocked unconscious in the middle of that. No wonder you can barely keep your eyes open."

"I am perfectly capable of—" He stops mid-sentence, his eyes drifting closed again.

"Ry," I say sharply.

His eyes snap open, along with the now-familiar glow. "I was listening."

"Sure you were." I stand up, stretching. My back gives a satisfying pop, those alien chairs are comfortable enough, but I've been sitting too long. "Let's try something else to keep you awake. What's your opinion on humans? I'm guessing we don't get high marks."

His expression shifts to something more animated despite his fatigue. "Your species has rendered significant portions of your own world uninhabitable through industrial excess and resource mismanagement. The patterns of consumption and waste production are unsustainable."

"Can't argue with that." I turn to face him. "So you're worried we'll do the same to other planets?"

"Our planet has maintained ecological balance for millennia," he says, with a hint of pride beneath the scientific detachment. "Allowing unregulated human presence would threaten that balance. Your species consistently prioritizes immediate gain over long-term sustainability."

"So that's why you're involved in this compatibility assessment," I realize. "You're evaluating whether humans would wreck your homeworld."

"The environmental impact of cross-species integration is a critical variable," he acknowledges. "Though my brothers seem to have disregarded that concern entirely."

I raise an eyebrow. "You have brothers?"

He looks momentarily surprised, as if he hadn't meant to mention that. "Yes. Two. Both currently involved with humans."

That's an interesting piece of information I file away for later. "And you don't approve?"

"Their personal choices are their own," he says stiffly. "My concerns are scientific, not personal."

"Sure they are." I resume my pacing. "So what's the solution? According to your expert alien opinion, how do we fix what we've broken?"

His expression shifts to something that might be surprise. Perhaps he was expecting me to defend humanity's environmental record. Not my job. I've seen enough of what humans do to each other and their surroundings to harbor any illusions about our collective wisdom.

"Comprehensive industrial restructuring," he says, sitting up straighter as he warms to the topic. "Transition to sustainable energy models. Restoration of key biospheres. Radical reduction in resource consumption patterns."

"Sounds expensive." I resume my pacing. "Who pays for all that?"

"That is a matter of resource allocation priorities," he says, his voice taking on a lecturing tone that I suspect is habitual when discussing his field. "Your species allocates substantial resources to military applications and luxury consumption that could be redirected."

I laugh. "Have you met humans? We're not exactly known for our long-term planning or collective sacrifice."

"Your species is capable of adaptation," Ry'eth counters, and I notice he's fully awake now, his fatigue temporarily forgotten as he engages with the topic. "Historical evidence suggests humans can implement significant behavioral changes when sufficiently motivated."

"Sure, when there's a gun to our heads." I shrug. "But gradual problems like climate change? We're like frogs in slowly boiling water."

"An inaccurate metaphor," he says with sudden precision. "Frogs will, in fact, attempt to escape water as it heats."

"So frogs are smarter than humans. Noted." I circle back to my seat and drop into it. "How'd you end up in this field anyway? Family business?"

The question seems to catch him off guard. "My academic aptitude assessments indicated compatibility with environmental sciences."

"That's not what I asked." I prop my feet up on the edge of the table, noting how his gaze flickers to this breach of decorum with mild disapproval. "I asked why you chose it. What made you care about environmental impact?"

Ry'eth is quiet for a moment, and I think he might be dozing off again, but then he speaks.

"There was a research outpost on our second moon.

An experiment in creating a self-sustaining ecosystem in a previously uninhabitable environment.

" His voice softens slightly, taking on a different quality.

"I visited as a child. Watched a barren rock transform into something. .. alive."

It's the first time I've heard him speak with genuine emotion rather than scientific detachment or irritation.

"You wanted to create life where there wasn't any before," I observe.

"I wanted to understand the balance," he corrects, but without his usual sharpness. "How systems interact. How small changes ripple outward with larger consequences." He looks up at me, his golden eyes more focused now. "What about you? Why medicine?"

The question throws me. I wasn't expecting him to turn the conversation around.

"Seemed useful," I say with deliberate casualness. "The Army paid for my training. Good deal all around."

"That is not what I asked," he says, echoing my earlier words with what might almost be humor. "Why did you choose to heal rather than harm?"

The question hits closer than I expected. I've been both weapon and healer, sometimes in the same firefight.

"Bold of you to assume I didn't do both," I reply, avoiding his gaze by studying the stars outside the window. "Combat medic. It's right there in the job title. Combat first, medic second."

"Yet when I was injured, your first instinct was to provide medical assistance, despite the fact that I had abducted you."

I look back at him, surprised by the observation. "Force of habit."

"Perhaps." There's something evaluating in his gaze now. "Or perhaps your natural inclination is toward preservation rather than destruction."

The conversation has taken an unexpectedly personal turn, and I'm not sure I like being analyzed by the alien I'm supposed to be monitoring. Time to redirect.

"Ry," I say deliberately, watching the familiar flare of light beneath his skin. "You're getting philosophical. Must be the head injury."

He stiffens slightly. "I have told you—"

"That your species is resistant to cerebral trauma, yeah, I know." I wave a dismissive hand. "But humor the primitive human doctor, would you?"

He subsides, the energy of our debate fading.

It's been over four hours since I started monitoring him, and nearly six hours since our meal in the nutrition center.

His eyes look normal, no dilation or irregularity, and he's shown no concerning symptoms besides the extreme fatigue, which is perfectly understandable after being awake for so long.

"Hey, Ry," I say, my voice gentler this time. The nickname still triggers the glow, but his reaction is more subdued. He's running on empty.

"I am awake," he insists, though his eyes are barely open.

"I think we can call it," I decide, checking the time on a nearby display. "Your eyes look good, no confusion or disorientation beyond normal fatigue, no nausea or memory issues. The risk window for serious complications has passed."

"You are concluding your medical assessment?" There's cautious hope in his voice.

"Yeah. You're in the clear." I stand up. "But you need actual sleep now."

He attempts to rise but sways slightly, steadying himself against the table. Thirty-six hours without sleep plus a head injury would knock anyone on their ass, apparently even an alien with superior physiology.

"I will complete the report first," he insists, though he can barely keep his eyes open.

"The report can wait," I say firmly. "Doctor's orders."

He looks like he wants to argue, but fatigue wins out. He nods once, then starts to take a step and wobbles again.

I move to his side, ready to catch him if necessary. "Let me help you back to your quarters."

"Unnecessary," he murmurs, but he's swaying on his feet. "This location is... adequate."

Before I can respond, he sinks back down onto the couch-like seating we've been occupying. His eyes drift closed almost immediately, his body going slack as exhaustion finally claims him.

"Or you could just crash here," I say to his now-sleeping form. "That works too."

For a moment, I just stand there, watching him. Asleep, with his features relaxed and that perpetual look of irritation gone, he appears younger than I initially thought. Almost vulnerable. It's a stark contrast to the prickly, formal alien who greeted me with scientific detachment just hours ago.

I should leave him there, head to my own quarters now that my medical duty is fulfilled. But something stops me. The common area isn't designed for sleeping, the temperature feels cooler than it should be for rest, and the lights haven't dimmed despite the late hour.

I look around until I spot what appears to be a storage compartment in the wall. I open it, finding what I hope is the alien equivalent of a blanket, a softly glowing material that feels warm to the touch.

I return to the couch and carefully drape the blanket over Ry'eth's still form. He doesn't stir, already deeply asleep, but I notice the subtle patterns of light beneath his skin shift slightly in response to the added warmth.

"Night, Ry," I say quietly, and for once, using the nickname doesn't seem like teasing. It feels almost... affectionate.

I dim the lights using the control panel by the door, then glance around the common area.

There's another couch-like seating arrangement on the opposite side of the room.

I could easily go back to my quarters, but what if his condition changes during the night?

Head injuries can be unpredictable, and after thirty-six hours without sleep, he might not wake up naturally if something went wrong.

With a sigh, I settle myself on the opposite couch.

It's not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement I've ever had, but after years of catching sleep wherever and whenever possible during deployments, it'll do fine.

This way I can keep an eye on him through the night.

Just good medical practice, I tell myself.

Nothing to do with the strangely compelling way the light moves beneath his skin, or how different he looked when the sharp edges of his personality were softened by sleep.

I stretch out on the couch, suddenly aware of my own fatigue. It's been a long, strange day. As I lie there watching the soft rise and fall of Ry'eth's chest across the room, I find myself thinking about our conversation.

Your natural inclination is toward preservation rather than destruction.

It's been a long time since anyone saw me as primarily a healer rather than a soldier. I'm not sure how I feel about an alien seeing that part of me so clearly when most humans don't.

I close my eyes, listening to the subtle hum of the ship around me, the quiet sound of Ry'eth's breathing across the room lulling me toward sleep.

For medical observation purposes only, of course.