Page 10 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

The most troubling element of the Earth observation period was my own unexpected physical response to his partial state of undress.

The human's deliberate decision to remain uncovered seemed calculated to cause discomfort, yet my reaction went beyond simple cultural adjustment issues.

I was... attracted to him, something I had not anticipated and certainly not included in any assessment plan.

I must find a way to manage these reactions if the assessment is to proceed properly. Perhaps there is something in the medical storage to help me maintain focus.

As my hydration levels return to optimal range, my thoughts become more ordered again. I have indulged in hydration therapy for twenty-three minutes—sufficient for basic functioning but not complete recovery.

I move to exit the pool, my movements already more graceful and coordinated than before immersion. As I reach the edge, the hydration chamber doors slide open.

Finn Sullivan stands in the entrance, his expression shifting rapidly from curiosity to surprise to something I cannot immediately categorize. His gaze moves over my partially submerged form, lingering in a way that triggers an involuntary wave of bioluminescence across my skin.

"Whoa," he says, eyes widening as they focus on me. "I was just exploring and... sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your... swimming?"

I remain partially submerged, suddenly conscious of my unclothed state and the clearly visible bioluminescence patterns that I had not been controlling during hydration. The intensity of his stare creates an unexpected response in my neural pathways.

"You found the hydration chamber," I observe, trying to sound composed despite being caught in such a vulnerable state.

Finn shrugs, a gesture I'm coming to recognize as his way of minimizing significance.

"The door wasn't locked. I was bored, started wandering around.

Found myself here." His eyes scan the chamber, taking in the multiple pools, the organic architecture so different from the rest of the vessel.

"So this is like... an alien swimming pool? "

"It is a hydration chamber," I correct, moving toward the edge where my discarded uniform lies. "Essential for Nereidan physiological maintenance."

Finn takes a few steps into the chamber, his curiosity evident in the way he studies the space. "It's beautiful. Way less sterile than the rest of your ship." He approaches the edge of the pool, crouching down to trail his fingers through the water. "Feels different. Thicker somehow."

"The mineral composition is specifically calibrated for optimal cellular absorption and bioelectric conductivity," I explain, reaching for my uniform while remaining mostly submerged.

"So it's medicinal? Like a weird alien mineral bath?"

"That is similar." I hesitate, then ask, "Would you step away from the edge and turn around so I may exit the pool?"

Finn raises an eyebrow. "Shy, Blue? After all that talk about my lack of 'appropriate coverings' back on Earth?"

His gaze travels over the parts of my body visible through the water, appreciation evident in his expression.

The water's surface distorts the view, but does not hide the bioluminescent patterns that pulse more intensely under his scrutiny.

I find myself caught between professional decorum and an unexpected physiological response to his attention.

"Nereidan cultural protocols maintain consistent standards regardless of location," I say stiffly, feeling my bioluminescence respond to my discomfort in ways that are undoubtedly visible to him.

To my surprise, he complies without further comment, stepping back and turning away. "So this is why you were looking rough earlier. You really do need water, huh?"

"Nereidans evolved from semi-aquatic ancestors," I explain, quickly emerging and pulling on my uniform. "Our physiology requires regular hydration immersion for optimal functioning."

"Like amphibians," Finn says, still facing away. "You good now? Can I turn around?"

"Yes. I am appropriately covered." My uniform feels uncomfortably constricting against my freshly hydrated skin, but protocol requires proper attire in the presence of assessment subjects.

Finn turns, his gaze immediately drawn to my neck area.

"Your gills are still visible. They were all sealed up before.

" He steps closer, examining me with undisguised interest that seems to be more than merely scientific curiosity.

The proximity triggers another cascade of bioluminescence that I struggle to control.

I resist the urge to touch the now-exposed gill structures. "They will remain open for approximately forty minutes post-immersion to complete the hydration cycle. The protective membranes reseal automatically once the process is complete."

"Huh." He approaches again, his analytical gaze reminding me that he too is a technical specialist, albeit in a different field. "So you literally have to soak or you start to malfunction. That's why you looked like you were about to pass out earlier."

"Dehydration affects cognitive and physical performance, yes."

"And you put yourself through that just to meet the Council's twelve-hour deadline for babysitting me on Earth." He shakes his head. "That's some serious dedication to protocol."

I am uncertain how to respond to this observation. It seems to contain both criticism and something resembling respect, an ambiguity I find difficult to parse.

"So can humans actually use these pools?" Finn asks, changing the subject as he looks at the water again. "Or are they just for Nereidan use?"

"You may use them if you wish," I confirm. "According to the assessment records, previous human subjects have found the pools quite therapeutic. The mineral composition appears to have some beneficial properties for human physiology as well."

Finn glances at me, his expression suddenly sharper. "Previous human subjects? What happened to the last person you brought here?"

The question is unexpected. "I have not personally conducted a human assessment before. This is my first assignment with your species." I pause, then add what factual information I possess. "However, the previous human subjects in the program are all still alive and well, as far as I am aware."

"Well, that's reassuring," he mutters, turning back to the water. His fingers trail along the surface again. "It does look... nice."

There's something in his posture that suggests hesitation despite his apparent interest. I study him more carefully, noting subtle physiological signs of increased stress.

"However, I should note that the depth of the main immersion pool is significant. If you are not proficient in—"

"I can't swim," Finn interrupts, the words coming out with unexpected force.

This admission seems to cause him discomfort, his posture becoming more defensive. I find myself curious about this apparent vulnerability in someone otherwise so capable.

"There are shallower pools designed for partial immersion," I offer, uncertain why this feels like important information to provide.

Finn looks at the water again, then quickly shakes his head. "Maybe some other time."

An unexpected impulse causes me to say, "I could teach you. Swimming is a basic survival skill that all Nereidans learn in early development stages."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I recognize the protocol violation. Teaching survival skills is not part of the assessment parameters. It represents an inappropriate level of personal investment in the subject.

Yet I do not retract the offer.

Finn looks at me with surprise, then something that might be suspicion. "Why would you do that?"

"It would be... pragmatically beneficial for assessment purposes if you could access all facilities aboard the vessel," I say, constructing a justification that sounds reasonably aligned with my assignment.

"Additionally, swimming is an essential survival skill for any species that inhabits planets with significant water coverage. "

He studies me for a moment, as if trying to detect some hidden motive. Then he simply shrugs, offering no explanation for his lack of this basic skill. "I'll think about it."

"The offer remains open," I say, then redirect to assessment procedures. "Now that my hydration cycle is complete, we should proceed with the formal orientation and initial assessment protocols."

"Right. Back to business." Finn's gaze lingers on the water for a moment longer before he turns toward the exit. "Lead the way, Blue."

As we leave the hydration chamber, I find myself unexpectedly concerned with Finn Sullivan's reaction to the pools—the mixture of interest and apprehension, the defensiveness about his inability to swim. It represents a vulnerability at odds with his otherwise confident demeanor.

I should document this observation as potentially relevant to the assessment. Instead, I file it away as personal knowledge—something to be handled with care rather than clinical analysis.

This distinction troubles me. Professional detachment is essential for valid assessment procedures.

Yet as I lead Finn back to the main research section of my ship, I am increasingly aware that my approach to this assignment has already deviated from standard protocols in ways I cannot easily classify or correct.

The implications for my assessment report—and for the Council's larger questions about human compatibility—are becoming more complex with each interaction.

And I am not entirely certain this development displeases me.