Page 8 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

Owen

I scrape the last bite of purplish stew from the bottom of my bowl. Whatever these alien vegetables are, they're surprisingly good, hearty and almost meaty despite containing nothing I recognize.

"So the assessment requires daily nutritional records," Ry'eth says, watching me eat with that clinical gaze of his. "Your reactions to Nereidan food compounds will be documented for future reference."

"Happy to be your guinea pig," I reply, setting down my spoon. "As long as you keep feeding me food this good."

Ry'eth nods, making a note on the floating screen in front of him. He's been carefully explaining various aspects of the assessment protocol for the past twenty minutes, all while studiously avoiding any mention of his brothers or their human partners.

Which, naturally, makes me more curious.

"So what happens if you don't bond with me?"

The question slips out before I can stop it.

Ry'eth freezes, his spoon halfway to the disposal unit. The blue-green light beneath his skin pulses once, sharply, then dims. "What?"

"You said your brothers both formed these empathic bonds with humans. What happens if you don't? Is there someone else you're supposed to try with next, or...?"

He sets the spoon down with careful precision. "That's not how it works."

"Then how does it work?" I lean back in my seat, studying him. After our shared swim earlier, something has shifted between us. Not dramatically, but enough that the conversation feels different, less like an interrogation, more like an actual exchange.

"The Council approves specific pairing candidates," he says finally, his tone deliberately neutral. "It's not a random process."

"So they picked me specifically for you?"

He nods once, a slight dip of his chin. "Yes."

"And if this doesn't... work out?" I make a vague gesture between us. "What then?"

"Then there is no one else." His gaze meets mine directly. "The Council only approves one potential bonding candidate."

That hits differently than I expected. "So I'm your one shot at this whole bonding thing? That's... a lot of pressure."

"It's not pressure at all," he says quickly. "I have no interest in forming a bond."

"None?" I raise an eyebrow.

"None." He straightens, his posture becoming even more formal. "My work requires mobility, focus, and independence. A bond would be an unnecessary complication."

"Right." I study him for a moment. "So you're saying if you don't bond with me, you never bond with anyone? That's it, game over?"

"That is correct. And I am perfectly satisfied with that outcome." He begins gathering the remaining dishes with efficient movements. "My schedule is highly variable. I often need to travel to remote research sites for extended periods. I prefer solitude for concentration."

He's protesting a bit too much, which is interesting. "You like being alone?"

"I find it conducive to productivity." He's not looking at me now, focused intently on organizing the meal containers.

"So you're saying the Council went through all this trouble to approve me as your one possible match, but you've already decided you're not interested?"

His bioluminescence flickers subtly. "The Council has its priorities. I have mine."

"Doesn't that cause problems? Them wanting you to bond, you refusing?"

"My professional contributions outweigh my personal choices." His tone suggests this conversation is straying into uncomfortable territory.

"So this whole assessment is just for show? You're going through the motions with no intention of actually considering a bond?"

That gets a reaction, a flare of light beneath his skin. "The assessment has scientific value regardless of personal outcomes."

"Convenient." I can't help pushing a little. "So your brothers both bought into this system, but you're the rebel?"

He stops his methodical cleanup and looks at me directly. "My brothers made their choices. I am making mine."

Fair enough. I decide to shift the conversation slightly. "In my culture, we don't have anything like Council approval for relationships."

"Yes, I'm aware that human pair bonding is chaotic and inefficient," he says, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice.

I laugh. "Chaotic and inefficient. That's one way to put it."

"Am I incorrect?"

"No, you're not wrong. Though some human cultures do still have arranged marriages, where families choose partners for their children based on compatibility, social standing, that sort of thing."

"A more logical approach," he says with approval.

"Maybe, but it's pretty rare in America, where I'm from. We're big on the whole 'find your own soulmate' concept."

"And how effective is this method?"

"About as effective as you'd expect when you leave important decisions to emotions rather than logic," I say with a hint of bitterness. "We've got a divorce rate of nearly fifty percent."

"Divorce... that is the termination of your marriage bonds?"

"Yep. Happens all the time."

"And your own experience?" he asks, his tone cautious. "You mentioned previously that your marriage 'didn't work out.'"

Since I'd already told him about my marriage in the hydration chamber, I decide to fill in the details I'd left vague before. "He cheated on me. While I was deployed."

Ry'eth stops completely now, his full attention on me. "Deployed... in combat?"

"Yeah. Second tour. I was gone for nine months. Guess that was too long for him."

"Your mate formed another attachment while you were serving as a healer in combat?"

The way he phrases it makes it sound even worse somehow. "Yep. Classic story, soldier comes home to find someone else in his bed. Military relationships have a high failure rate."

"That seems... dishonorable," Ry'eth says, and there's genuine disapproval in his voice. "To abandon a commitment to one who is providing essential medical care in dangerous conditions."

"Yeah, well. Human relationships are 'chaotic and inefficient,' remember?" I try to keep my tone light, but something must show in my face because Ry'eth's expression shifts slightly.

"I did not mean to trivialize your experience."

"You didn't. It's fine." I wave a dismissive hand. "Ancient history."

He studies me for a moment, then asks, "In human marriages, is there opportunity for multiple attempts? Or is it, as you said, 'game over'?"

The question catches me off guard. "Multiple attempts are allowed, technically. Some people get married three, four times."

"And you? Would you attempt another human marriage?"

I consider the question, surprised to find myself answering honestly. "Probably not. Once was enough. I'm not good at the whole commitment thing, too much time away, too much focus on the job. Not really fair to the other person."

"I understand this reasoning," he says quietly, and I get the sense he actually does.

"So here we are," I say, spreading my hands. "You don't want a bond because you're married to your work. I don't want a bond because I'm apparently a human disaster at relationships. Seems like we're on the same page."

"Yes," he agrees, though his bioluminescence ripples in a pattern I haven't seen before. "It is... fortuitous."

"Exactly what the Council was going for, I'm sure." I can't help the sarcasm, but it draws a reaction I wasn't expecting, what might almost be a smile, quickly suppressed.

"The Council's methods are not always transparent," he acknowledges.

"So what's the actual point of this assessment if we both know where it's going, or not going?" I ask.

Ry'eth seems to consider the question carefully. "The assessment provides valuable data regardless of the outcome. Human-Nereidan interaction patterns, communication efficacy, physiological responses... all of this informs future protocols."

"Right. For all those other humans your people are planning to abduct?"

"We do not—" he begins, then stops when he sees my expression. "You are being provocative intentionally."

"Maybe a little," I admit. "It's just interesting to me that you're so certain you don't want a bond when you've never experienced one. How do you know you wouldn't like it?"

"How do you know you would not enjoy eating rocks?" he counters. "Some things do not require direct experience to evaluate."

I laugh at that. "Fair point." I pause, considering what he told me earlier. "Though that bonding thing doesn't sound so bad from what you said. Shared sensory experiences, emotional awareness... doesn't sound terrible, honestly."

His bioluminescence flickers in what I'm starting to recognize as discomfort. "The bonds are more complex than mere shared sensation. They create a level of... vulnerability that is incompatible with objective scientific work."

"So you're afraid it would compromise your objectivity?"

"I am not afraid," he says sharply. "I am making a rational assessment of compatibility with my professional requirements."

"Right." I decide to let him off the hook. "Well, for what it's worth, I think we're in agreement. You don't want a bond, I don't want a bond. Seems like we can just get through these three days and go our separate ways."

"Exactly," he says, though his light patterns are doing something complicated beneath his skin.

"So how do your people usually handle relationships if they don't bond?" I ask, genuinely curious now. "Are there, like, casual dating equivalents?"

"We have temporary companionship arrangements," he says, his tone becoming more formal again. "Practical partnerships based on mutual convenience and compatibility."

"So you have people you just have sex with, even if you're not bonded to them?" I ask bluntly.

The effect is immediate and spectacular. Ry'eth's entire face and neck light up with such intensity I could probably read by it. His mouth opens and closes twice before he manages to regain enough composure to speak.

"That...that is...such arrangements are..." He stops, takes a breath, and the glow dims slightly though it doesn't disappear. "Intimate physical contact protocols are not an appropriate topic for the assessment."

"I'm just asking for scientific purposes," I say innocently. "Cultural exchange and all that."

"Your scientific curiosity is noted," he says stiffly, the formal tone completely at odds with the luminescent display still rippling beneath his skin. "However, Nereidan personal... interactions... are not relevant to your assessment experience."

"So that's a yes," I conclude, enjoying his discomfort perhaps more than I should.

"That is not—I did not—" He stops again, visibly struggling to regain his composure. "This line of inquiry is not productive."

"Friends with benefits?" I suggest, taking pity on him.

"I am not familiar with that expression."

"It means people who are friends but also fuck," I say bluntly.

His skin glows brighter again. "Ah. Yes. There are similar arrangements among Nereidans, though typically with more clearly defined parameters and expectations."

"Of course there are," I say, amused. "You guys really love your protocols, don't you?"

"Structure provides clarity and prevents miscommunication."

"Sometimes," I agree, thinking of my own disastrous marriage. "And sometimes all the rules in the world can't make two people work when they just... don't."

"This is true," he acknowledges, and there's something almost gentle in his voice.

We fall into silence, the remnants of our meal forgotten between us. It's not an uncomfortable silence, surprisingly. Just thoughtful.

"I should complete my assessment log for today," Ry'eth finally says, standing. "The hydration cycle has improved my functionality, but I still require a full rest period."

"Sleep," I correct automatically. "You need sleep. Normal people just say sleep."

"Sleep," he repeats, and I swear there's the ghost of a smile there.

"I'll clean up here," I offer. "You go do your... assessment log."

He hesitates, as if uncertain about leaving the cleanup to me. "Are you certain?"

"I'm certain. Go."

He nods once, then turns to leave. At the door, he pauses. "Owen?"

"Yeah?"

"I am... sorry about your previous bonding experience. It was undeserved."

The unexpected empathy catches me off guard. "Thanks."

He gives another slight nod, then disappears through the door, leaving me alone with the remnants of our meal.

I take my time cleaning up, finding the rhythm of the alien disposal system after a few false starts.

Once everything is stowed away, I fiddle with the synthesizer controls, trying to figure out how to make something hot to drink.

After a few failed attempts that produce various colored liquids, I finally manage to create something that smells like an herbal tea.

I make two cups on a hunch and go looking for Ry'eth.

It doesn't take long to find him. He's in the common area, settled on one of the couches with his floating screen in front of him, fingers moving in precise patterns as he works on his report.

He glances up when I enter, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when he sees the two cups in my hands.

"Thought you might want something to drink," I say, holding one out to him.

He takes it after a moment's hesitation. "Thank you."

"It's my best guess at tea. No promises on the taste."

Ry'eth takes a cautious sip, then nods. "It is similar to a beverage we call mei'sa . A stimulant that aids concentration."

"So... alien coffee," I translate, taking a seat on the opposite couch. "Perfect."

He returns to his work, and I lean back, looking out the large viewport at the stars beyond. They look different from here, brighter, clearer without an atmosphere to dim them. I wonder which one is Earth, whether it's even visible from wherever we are.

We sit in companionable silence, Ry'eth working on his report, me nursing my alien tea and watching the stars. It's strangely peaceful. After the intensity of our earlier conversation, this quiet coexistence feels... nice.

I steal a glance at Ry'eth, observing the play of light beneath his skin as he concentrates. It's subtler now, gentle waves of bioluminescence that pulse in rhythm with what I assume is his heartbeat. His features are softer in this light, less guarded.

One thing's clear, Ry'eth's protests about not wanting a bond sound a lot like someone trying to convince himself more than me. And my own certainty about staying unattached suddenly doesn't feel quite as solid as it did before this conversation.

Three days, I remind myself. Just get through three days of this weird alien assessment, and then back to Earth and my normal life. Back to job hunting and empty apartments and all the things I was so eager to escape that I signed up for combat tours.

For some reason, that thought doesn't provide the comfort it should.