Page 7 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

"About twelve more minutes for optimal function."

He nods, then gives me a considering look. "Actually, is this where you bathe too? I could use a shower or whatever you call it."

"What?" I can't keep the alarm from my voice. "No, you should use the cleansing facilities in your quarters."

"Haven't figured those out yet," he says with a shrug. "Besides, do you really want to spend the next two days with a stinky human? It's been over twenty-four hours since I've had a chance to clean up."

I stare at him, trying to determine if he's serious. His expression reveals nothing but casual practicality, though there's a hint of something I can't quite identify in his eyes.

"Fine," I finally say with a sigh of frustration. "But you have to stay on that side of the pool, and you need to turn your back while you get in."

"Deal." He grins, seeming far too pleased with himself.

"The cleansing bars are in the storage unit to your left," I add, pointing to the compartment. "The green ones are formulated to be compatible with human biochemistry."

Owen moves to the storage unit, retrieving one of the green bars. Then, without any apparent self-consciousness, he begins removing his clothing.

I immediately turn away, fixing my gaze on the far wall. Humans may have different social protocols regarding nudity, but I have no desire to observe his unclothed form. The sound of water displacement indicates he's entered the pool, and I allow myself to look back.

He's settled on the opposite side as promised, submerged to his shoulders. The cleansing bar floats beside him.

"This feels amazing," he says, his eyes closing briefly. "Perfect temperature."

"It's calibrated for Nereidan physiology," I inform him, still maintaining my distance. "The mineral content may feel different from Earth water."

"It's softer somehow. And I can feel a slight... I don't know, tingle? Is that the mineral thing you mentioned?"

"Yes. The ionic composition creates a mild bioelectric field that facilitates cellular regeneration and detoxification."

"Fancy bath salts," he says with a smile. "So how long can you stay underwater? I noticed you were completely submerged for a few minutes there."

The question catches me off-guard. I hadn't realized he'd been watching that long.

"I can breathe underwater for about twenty minutes before needing air again."

His eyebrows rise. "That's impressive. So you're basically amphibious?"

"Our ancestors were sea creatures not that long ago," I explain, finding myself slipping into lecture mode despite my discomfort with the situation. "We still have gill-like structures that work when we need them."

"That explains a lot about your ship design," he observes, glancing around. "The curved walls, the flowing lines. It's all very... fluid."

I'm surprised by his insight. "Yes. We like to reference our ocean origins in our buildings."

He uses the cleansing bar, creating a subtle iridescence in the water around him. The sight is strangely mesmerizing, the human's movements disrupting the carefully balanced mineral solution, creating swirls of light that interact with my own bioluminescence.

"Can all your people do the glowing thing?" Owen asks, nodding toward the patterns of light visible beneath my skin.

"We all have it, though the patterns and brightness vary between individuals," I explain. "It evolved as a way to communicate underwater, where talking doesn't work as well."

"So it's like body language?"

"More precise than that. Certain patterns mean specific things, warnings, territory claims, mating signals." I immediately regret mentioning the last example as another ripple of light cascades across my chest.

Owen's gaze follows the movement, but he mercifully doesn't comment on it. Instead, he asks, "Can you control it? Or is it mostly automatic, like blushing for humans?"

"Both. We can make specific patterns on purpose, but emotions trigger the involuntary ones." I hesitate, then add, "When you use that nickname, it automatically sets off a response."

"I've noticed," he says, his lips quirking upward. "That's why I keep doing it."

"I assumed as much."

He laughs, the sound echoing strangely in the hydration chamber. "At least I'm honest about it."

We lapse into silence, the gentle ripple of water the only sound. Despite my initial discomfort, I find the situation less objectionable than anticipated. There's something almost... familiar about sharing the hydration pool.

"So what's the plan for the next two days?" Owen finally asks, disrupting my thoughts. "More sitting around while you work on reports? Or is there actually something to this 'assessment' beyond observation?"

"The protocol includes different types of interaction scenarios," I say carefully. "Communication evaluations, proximity monitoring."

"Sounds thrilling," he says dryly. "Any chance we get to do something interesting? Or is this assessment limited to counting how many times you can make me sit still before I lose my mind?"

His directness is both refreshing and unsettling. "We'll have meals together, of course. And there are shared observation areas where we can continue... talking."

"Talking. Great." He submerges briefly, then resurfaces with water streaming from his hair. The sight is oddly compelling, his species clearly isn't adapted for aquatic environments, yet he seems perfectly comfortable in the water.

"You said combat medic," I find myself saying. "Does that mean you enjoy combat? Is that why you joined your military?"

The question seems to surprise him. He's quiet for a moment, his expression growing more serious.

"No," he finally says. "I don't enjoy combat. I joined because... it was a way out. A path to something better than what I had."

"Then why not become simply a medic? Why the combat specialization?"

He shifts position, sending small ripples across the pool. "Combat medics go where they're needed most. Right in the middle of the worst situations. That's where you can save the most lives."

There's something in his voice I haven't heard before, a depth of feeling that contradicts his usual casual demeanor.

"Your brothers," he says suddenly, changing the subject. "You mentioned they're involved with humans. How'd that happen?"

I tense involuntarily, which triggers a cascade of bioluminescence across my skin. "It's complicated."

"We've got time," he says, gesturing to the water around us. "Unless you're getting pruney fingers already."

"Pruney...?"

"Wrinkled. From being in water too long."

"Oh." I glance at my fingertips, noting the slight wrinkling already beginning. "I was explaining about my brothers."

I hesitate, not sure how much to share, but find myself continuing anyway. "My middle brother, Zeph'hai, was the first. He accidentally abducted a human during a routine observation mission."

"Accidentally?" Owen raises an eyebrow.

"There was a malfunction in the selection protocols. The human, Jake, was brought aboard instead of the intended subject."

"And they just... what? Fell for each other?"

I sigh. "It's more complicated than that. They formed an empathic bond."

"A what now?"

"A neural connection. It's extremely rare, especially between species. It allows for shared sensory experiences, emotional awareness." I'm not explaining this well, and I know it. "It's never happened between our species before."

"And your other brother?"

"Kav'eth. He's the eldest. He was actually sent to abduct the human that Zeph'hai was originally supposed to get. Derek." I can't keep the hint of disbelief from my voice, even now. "He was supposed to complete the assessment properly, but instead ended up forming a similar bond."

"So it runs in the family," Owen says, looking amused. "And now here you are, third brother, third human. Seems like a pattern."

"It is not a pattern," I say, more sharply than intended. "My assignment is strictly scientific. I'm here to assess the environmental impact of human-Nereidan proximity."

"Uh-huh." He doesn't look convinced. "And your brothers just happen to be into humans, and you just happen to get assigned to abduct a human for 'assessment.' Total coincidence."

"The Council would never—" I stop myself, realizing I don't actually know what the Council's true intentions were in assigning me this task. The thought is unsettling.

"Hey, I'm just connecting dots here," Owen says, his tone gentler than before. "So these empathic bonds, they're like a marriage thing?"

"They're... more fundamental than that. They create a permanent link between the individuals involved."

"And you're worried you might end up the same way." It's not a question.

"I am not worried about anything," I say automatically. "I am conducting an objective assessment."

He laughs softly. "Right. Very objective. That's why you light up so much whenever I call you Ry."

Another flare of bioluminescence betrays me. "That's merely an involuntary physiological response to irritation."

"If you say so." He pushes off from the edge of the pool, floating on his back with casual ease. "For what it's worth, I've got no interest in permanent bonds either. Had enough commitment for a lifetime."

The statement shouldn't provide relief, yet somehow it does. "You've been bonded before?"

"Married. For about three years. It didn't work out." His voice is carefully neutral, but I sense there's more to the story.

We lapse into silence, just the gentle ripple of water between us. Despite my initial discomfort, I find the situation less objectionable than anticipated. There's something almost... familiar about sharing the hydration pool.

"My hydration cycle is nearly complete," I say after several minutes have passed. "We should return to the common area to continue the assessment."

"Whatever you say, boss." He smiles, making no move to leave. "Just say when."

I wait another moment, then add, "When we exit, I would prefer if you turned away."

"Sure thing," he says easily. "Just tell me when."

I give it another minute, enjoying the sensation of the mineral-rich water one last time. Then, "I'm ready to exit now. Please turn away."

To my surprise, he complies without comment, turning to face the wall. I exit the pool quickly, retrieving my uniform and dressing with efficient movements.

"You can turn back now," I say once I'm fully clothed.

He turns, and I find myself instinctively averting my gaze as he moves toward the edge of the pool. "I'll meet you in the common area after I'm done here?"

"Yes. I need to update my assessment logs."

I move toward the door, then pause, feeling some response is required. "Thank you for... respecting my privacy."

Owen looks surprised, then nods. "No problem. Everyone has their comfort zones."

I exit the hydration chamber, oddly unsettled by the entire interaction.

My skin feels properly hydrated now, my bioluminescence flowing naturally beneath the surface.

Yet there's a lingering sensation I can't quite identify, something about the shared space, the casual conversation, the unexpected glimpse into human adaptability.

As I walk back to the common area, I realize I've acquired more data points for my assessment. The human demonstrates unexpected observational skills, respectful behavior when boundaries are clearly defined, and genuine curiosity about biological differences.

None of which explains why I keep thinking about the way the water looked against his skin, or how his laughter echoed in the hydration chamber.

Clearly, I need to recalibrate my objectivity parameters.