Page 6 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

Ry'eth

I wake to a moment of complete disorientation.

This is not my sleeping chamber. The ceiling above me curves at an unfamiliar angle, and the lights are dimmed to night-cycle levels. My body feels heavy, my skin uncomfortably dry. I blink, trying to figure out where I am.

The common area. I fell asleep in the common area.

Memory returns in fragments. The human insists on monitoring me for a concussion. Our conversation about environmental preservation. My increasingly futile attempts to stay awake.

I shift slightly and feel something slide against my skin. Looking down, I find myself covered with a thermal blanket, one I don't remember getting. The implications are immediately clear, Owen must have placed it over me after I passed out.

The thought sends an unexpected ripple of light across my skin. I should find the gesture presumptuous, an unwelcome invasion of my personal space. Instead, I feel a confusing tangle of emotions I'm too tired to deal with right now.

A soft sound draws my attention to the opposite side of the common area. Owen is asleep on the other couch, one arm thrown over his face, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep sleep. He stayed. The entire night, apparently, to keep an eye on me.

Again, that unwelcome flicker of warmth beneath my skin.

I push the feeling away. His behavior is just consistent with his medical training, nothing more.

Humans are social creatures who form attachments quickly and without thinking, a trait that makes them particularly dangerous to ecosystems that need long-term, logical management.

I carefully sit up, wincing at the uncomfortable tightness in my skin.

It's been too long since my last immersion.

Normally I wouldn't go more than eighteen hours without a proper soak, but between the preparations for this assignment and yesterday's unexpected complications, it's been nearly forty-eight hours.

Not good. My skin needs immediate attention.

I glance at Owen again, making sure he's still asleep. Moving as quietly as possible, I get up from the couch, leaving the blanket carefully folded. My joints protest, another sign I've put off hydration for too long.

The door slides open with a soft hiss that sounds impossibly loud in the quiet room. I freeze, looking back at Owen, but he doesn't stir. Humans, apparently, sleep as inefficiently as they manage resources.

Once in the corridor, I allow myself a deeper breath. The hydration facility is two sections away from the common area. Not that I'm rushing to get away from Owen. I just prefer to take care of my biological needs without having to explain or be watched.

My skin grows increasingly uncomfortable as I walk, the sensation similar to what humans might call "itching," though considerably more intense.

The light patterns beneath my skin are sluggish, no longer flowing with their usual smoothness.

Another day without immersion would start to fog my thinking as well.

I reach the hydration chamber and place my palm against the access panel.

The door slides open to reveal the familiar space, a large circular pool dominating the center, surrounded by storage units for personal items. The water gleams with a faint blue glow, maintained at precisely the right mineral balance and temperature.

I remove my uniform quickly, placing it in one of the storage units. The air against my bare skin makes the discomfort worse, speeding up my movements. Three steps to the edge of the pool, then I slip into the water with barely a ripple.

The relief is immediate and amazing.

My skin lights up instantly, patterns flowing more freely beneath the surface. The water here matches the exact mineral content of our oceans back home, allowing for optimal absorption. I close my eyes, letting myself sink completely beneath the surface.

Underwater, sound becomes a different experience, more felt than heard, vibrations traveling through liquid rather than air.

The ship's subtle hum feels different here, reminding me of the deep currents in the southern seas back home.

For the first time since starting this assignment, I feel something close to relaxed.

I stay submerged for several minutes, letting my respiratory system extract oxygen from the water, another biological quirk that humans find hard to understand.

Their need to breathe air constantly seems terribly limiting, though I suppose it makes sense for a species that evolved on land rather than in the shallows where my ancestors first developed.

Eventually, I surface and float on my back, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of relief.

The light patterns across my body pulse in slow, regular rhythms now, no longer sluggish or erratic.

The process takes about thirty minutes for full rehydration, but even these first moments feel so much better.

Maybe Owen was right about needing rest. My systems are clearly running on empty, which might explain why his presence affects my light patterns more than it should. Simple physical exhaustion, nothing more.

He is perceptive for a human, especially one with military training. Combat medic, the title itself is a contradiction. Trained both to heal and to harm.

Yet when I was injured, his first response was to help me, despite having every reason to see me as an enemy. Despite having been abducted and finding himself in an unfamiliar place.

The water ripples around me as I turn to float face-down again, letting the mineral-rich liquid fully contact my back. I should be focusing on the hydration process, not analyzing the human's behavior.

Still, there's something undeniably interesting about him. The way he acknowledged human environmental failures instead of defending them. His surprising insight. The casual competence with which he checked my condition.

The way his hands felt against my skin when he examined my injury.

I push that thought away immediately. This is exactly why proper rest and hydration are essential, to prevent such irrelevant tangents from distracting from the assessment work.

I roll onto my back again, eyes opening to study the curved ceiling above the pool.

The assessment. I still need to complete my initial report, documenting the first twenty-four hours of human-Nereidan interaction.

The analysis should be straightforward: documenting physical responses, environmental variables, communication effectiveness.

It should not include observations about the way Owen's eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when he's actually amused rather than just mocking.

Or how differently he says my name versus the shortened version he uses to get a reaction.

Or the unexpected gentleness in his voice when he finally told me I could sleep.

Definitely not relevant to the assessment.

I close my eyes again, focusing on the sensation of water against my skin, the steady flow of light beneath the surface. The hydration process is about half done. Another fifteen minutes, and I can return to my duties feeling normal again.

I don't hear the door open. Sound travels differently underwater, and I'm floating with my ears submerged. My first clue that I'm not alone anymore comes when I feel the slight change in water pressure, a gentle ripple across the pool.

My eyes snap open to find Owen standing at the edge of the hydration chamber, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.

I jolt upright in the water, crossing my arms over my chest even though there's nothing in Nereidan physiology that needs hiding. The gesture is purely psychological, a response to being caught in a vulnerable moment.

"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out sharper than I intended.

"Looking for you," he says simply. His eyes scan the hydration chamber with obvious curiosity. "You disappeared. I wanted to make sure you weren't passed out somewhere."

"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine." I stay in the center of the pool, unwilling to come closer to the edge where he stands. The water distorts the view of my body, but I'm very aware of being completely uncovered while he remains fully clothed. The imbalance is... uncomfortable.

"So this is a swimming pool?" he asks, crouching down to trail his fingers through the water. "Seems fancy for a research vessel."

"It's a hydration facility," I correct automatically. "We need regular water immersion to function properly."

"Like amphibians?" There's no mockery in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

"The comparison isn't perfect but it's not entirely wrong." I drift backward slightly, keeping my distance. "Our skin absorbs essential minerals and conducts bioelectrical processes more efficiently in water."

"So you literally need to soak regularly or you dry out." He nods, as if this makes perfect sense to him. "That explains why your skin seemed different yesterday. You were dehydrated."

The observation startles me. I hadn't expected him to notice such a subtle change. "Yes. Essentially."

He studies me for a moment, his gaze lingering on the light patterns visible beneath my skin. They're more prominent now, flowing in ways they don't when I'm dry. More vibrant. More revealing.

I feel another ripple of light move across my chest in response to his scrutiny and silently curse my lack of control.

"It looks different underwater," he says. "The glowing thing. More... fluid."

"Bioluminescence," I provide, if only to redirect the conversation to something scientific. "The patterns are linked to our neural pathways and circulation. Water conductivity enhances the visibility."

"It's beautiful," he says simply.

The unexpectedness of the comment sends another wave of light cascading across my skin. I have no prepared response for such a direct observation.

"I should leave you to it," he continues, mercifully changing the subject. "How long do you need to... hydrate?"