Page 9 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

Ry'eth

The first thing I notice upon waking is the unfamiliar scent, something rich and savory that doesn't match any synthesized food I'm familiar with. My quarters are filled with it, drawing me from sleep with unexpected efficiency.

I check the time display, surprised to find I've slept a full cycle. The assessment log I'd been working on last night is complete, the data transmission to the Council already confirmed. I must have finished it after Owen brought the mei'sa tea, though I have only a vague recollection of doing so.

Following the scent, I make my way to the nutrition center. The door slides open to reveal Owen standing at the food synthesizer, his back to me. He's wearing the same clothing as yesterday, but his hair is slightly disheveled, as if he hasn't been awake long himself.

He turns at the sound of the door, a small metal implement in his hand that he's using to manipulate something in a heating vessel. His eyes meet mine, and he offers a sleepy smile that creates an unexpected ripple of bioluminescence beneath my skin.

"Morning," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Or whatever you call it here. Hope I didn't wake you."

"You did not," I reply, moving closer to inspect what he's doing. "What are you making?"

"Omelet," he says, using the implement to fold a yellow substance over on itself. "It's as close as I could get the synthesizer to make, anyway. Not quite right, but it'll do."

I watch with fascination as he transfers the yellow substance to a plate, then adds colorful items beside it from several small containers arranged on the counter.

"Here," he says, holding the plate out to me. "Figured it wasn't fair you were making all our meals."

I take the plate, studying its contents with scientific curiosity. "What is an omelet?"

"Eggs, well, protein that's similar to eggs, cooked with vegetables and cheese." He points to each component as he explains. "That's onion, bell pepper, mushroom, tomato, and these little green things are jalapenos. Be careful with those, they're spicy. Or at least, the synthesizer's version is."

I sit at the table, and Owen joins me with his own plate a moment later.

The food is unlike anything I've had before, warm, aromatic, and layered with flavors that remind me of the spice profiles described in our Earth cultural database.

Nereidan nutrition typically focuses on subtle, clean flavors with minimal seasoning.

This, by contrast, is bold and complex, with each bite revealing new dimensions.

"This is... interesting," I say after the first bite, unable to keep a small flicker of light from appearing beneath my skin. "The flavor profile is quite intense."

Owen laughs softly. "That's a diplomatic way of saying it's weird. You don't have to eat it if you don't like it."

"No, I find it surprisingly agreeable," I say, taking another bite with more enthusiasm. "The combination of flavors is complex yet harmonious."

"Really?" He looks pleased, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "Well, that's a relief."

We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments before I ask, "Is this what humans typically consume for their morning nutrition?"

He shakes his head. "Not me, anyway. Usually I just have cereal."

"Cereal?"

"It's a grain product made into small shapes, usually sweetened, served with milk," he explains. "Quick, easy, no cooking required."

I try to imagine such a meal and fail. "Without any fruits or vegetables?"

"Sometimes there's a strawberry on the box," he says with a small laugh. "But no, not usually."

"That seems... nutritionally inadequate," I observe.

"Probably why I'm such an environmental disaster," he replies, but there's no heat in his tone. If anything, he seems amused.

We're nearly finished with the meal when my communication panel activates, displaying Zeph'hai's identifier. I feel a momentary surprise, my brother rarely calls without scheduling it first.

"You should take it," Owen says, seemingly unconcerned. "I'll clean up."

I activate the communication link, and Zeph'hai's image appears in the air between us.

"Ry'eth!" My brother's face breaks into a wide smile. "How's the assessment going?"

"The assessment is proceeding according to protocol," I reply formally, aware of Owen's presence as he gathers our plates. "All data transmission requirements have been met."

"I'm not asking as your brother the emissary," Zeph'hai says, his expression softening. "I'm asking as your brother. Are you doing alright?"

Something about his genuine concern breaks through my professional facade. "I am... well. I am currently experiencing an omelet."

Zeph'hai's laughter is immediate and warm. "An omelet? Excellent! You should ask your human to make pancakes next. Jake makes them with these small dark berries inside, they're incredible."

I bristle at his phrasing. "Owen is not 'my human.' He is simply a human."

This only makes Zeph'hai laugh harder. "Of course, of course. My mistake." His eyes flick past me, and I know he can see Owen in the background. "I'm glad things are going well. We should get together when you return, all of us."

"Perhaps," I say noncommittally.

"Well, I won't keep you from your... omelet." There's a knowing twinkle in his eye that I find irritating. "We'll talk soon."

The communication ends, and I turn to find Owen placing the clean dishes in their storage compartments.

"He seems nice," Owen says casually. "Your brother."

"Zeph'hai has always been... personable," I acknowledge. "Both of my brothers are, in their own ways."

"But not close?" Owen asks, perceptive as always.

I consider the question. "The age differences and our divergent career paths have made true closeness difficult.

We had very little in common even before they found their humans.

" I run a finger along the edge of the table, tracing the subtle pattern in its surface.

"I expect we will have even less time together now.

I have resigned myself to that reality."

"That bothers you," Owen observes, not a question but a statement.

I'm about to deny it automatically, but something stops me. Perhaps it's the way he's looking at me, not with clinical interest or scientific curiosity, but with genuine understanding.

"Family connections are important in Nereidan culture," I say instead. "But adaptation is necessary for survival."

"So what was that about pancakes with berries?" he asks, changing the subject.

"A human food preparation, apparently," I reply. "Zeph'hai mentioned that Jake creates them."

"Blueberry pancakes," Owen nods. "Classic breakfast food. Not the healthiest thing in the world, but they taste amazing." He pauses, seeming to consider something. "You know, I could probably figure out how to make those with your synthesizer. If you wanted to try them."

The offer catches me off guard. "You would prepare additional human food items?"

"Why not?" he shrugs. "We've only got a couple more days for this assessment thing, right? I figure this is my only chance to introduce you to the finer points of human cuisine."

"I was unaware that human cuisine had 'finer points,'" I say, unable to resist the slight provocation.

Owen laughs. "Oh, we've got plenty. Blueberry pancakes are just the beginning. I'm thinking chicken wings, hot dogs, pizza..."

"Those all sound like animal proteins," I observe.

"Some of them, yeah. But pizza's mostly bread, sauce, and cheese. I bet your synthesizer could make a decent version." He glances at the device thoughtfully. "It'll be fun to try, at least."

"Why would you want to prepare these foods for me?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Owen considers the question before answering.

"I guess because sharing food is what humans do.

It's one of our ways of connecting." He shrugs, a gesture I've come to recognize as his attempt to make something significant seem casual.

"Besides, this is probably your only chance to try authentic human cooking. "

"Your definition of 'authentic' seems questionable given that you're using a Nereidan synthesizer," I point out.

"Details," he says with a dismissive wave. "It's the thought that counts."

The conversation has taken an unexpected turn, and I find myself at a loss for how to respond. The idea of Owen wanting to share his culture's food with me, to "connect," as he put it, creates a complex array of reactions I'm not prepared to analyze.

"So," I say, redirecting to more familiar territory, "today's assessment schedule includes atmospheric compatibility testing. I need to record how your physiology responds to various Nereidan environmental conditions."

"Sounds scientific," Owen says. "What does that involve exactly?"

"The hydration chamber would be ideal for this testing," I explain. "It's designed with precise environmental controls that allow me to adjust atmospheric composition, humidity, and other variables. I can monitor your vital signs remotely while you're in the water."

"Back to the pool, huh?" Owen smiles. "That was actually pretty nice yesterday."

"It is a hydration chamber," I correct automatically. "Not a 'pool.'"

"Come on, Ry'eth," Owen says with a teasing smile. "It's a big room filled with water that you swim in. On Earth, we call that a pool."

I feel my expression tighten into what I suspect humans would call a "face," but I can detect the good-natured teasing in his tone. I'm beginning to recognize the pattern of his humor.

"The terminology is imprecise," I insist, though with less conviction. "A pool does not typically contain the specific nutrient composition and environmental controls that a hydration chamber does."

"If you say so," Owen says, his smile widening slightly. "But I'm still going to call it a pool. It's easier to say than 'hydration chamber' every time."

"The accuracy of terminology is important in scientific contexts," I point out, though I find I'm not truly annoyed by his insistence.