Page 11 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

Finn

The assessment room looks like something out of a sci-fi movie—the kind where the aliens are about to dissect the human protagonist. White walls curve seamlessly into white floors and ceiling, creating a space that seems to go on forever while somehow feeling claustrophobic.

Banks of equipment I don't recognize line the walls, their surfaces covered in symbols that hurt my eyes to look at directly.

"Please be seated," Tev'ra says, gesturing to what I assume is a chair, though it looks more like a sculpture made of liquid mercury that decided to hold still.

I lower myself onto it cautiously. It's surprisingly comfortable, molding to my body in a way that should be creepy but isn't. "So this is where the magic happens?"

"The formal assessment protocols will evaluate your problem-solving methodologies across multiple technological paradigms," Tev'ra explains, moving to a control panel that's probably more advanced than anything NASA has.

"The first scenario will present a system malfunction requiring diagnostic and repair procedures. "

His voice has that overly formal quality again, like he's reading from a manual. After seeing glimpses of the person underneath all that protocol, the return to rigid professionalism is jarring.

"Right. And you'll be watching me work?"

"Observing and documenting, yes. The Council requires detailed behavioral analysis to determine compatibility factors for technological integration purposes."

A section of the wall suddenly becomes transparent, revealing a complex mechanical system beyond. Pipes, conduits, and components I can't identify snake through a space about the size of a small room. Warning lights blink in patterns that suggest something is very wrong.

"The scenario involves a critical failure in a life support subsystem," Tev'ra explains.

"Standard Nereidan repair protocols would require complete system shutdown, component-by-component diagnostic analysis, and systematic replacement of all potentially compromised elements.

Estimated repair time: fourteen hours, twenty-three minutes. "

I study the system through the transparent barrier. Even from here, I can see the problem; a blown relay causing a cascade failure in what looks like an atmospheric processor. The fix is obvious.

"Can I access it directly?"

"Physical interface is available, yes. However, safety protocols require—"

"Yeah, about those protocols," I interrupt, standing up. "I'm going to do this my way, okay?"

Tev'ra's posture stiffens. "The assessment parameters are designed to evaluate specific methodological approaches. Deviation from—"

"Look, Blue," I say, moving toward what I assume is the access panel, "you wanted to see how I work. This is how I work."

The access panel responds to my touch, sliding open to reveal the malfunctioning system. The smell of burned electronics hits me immediately, along with something that might be ozone. Definitely a blown relay, probably in the primary control circuit.

"Finn." Tev'ra's voice carries a warning tone. "The systematic approach ensures all variables are accounted for. Your method—"

"My method gets things fixed," I say, already tracing the power flow with my eyes. "Your method takes fourteen hours while people potentially die."

I reach for what looks like the main access port, but Tev'ra's hand closes around my wrist.

"Safety protocol requires confirmation of power status before direct interface," he says, but there's less conviction in his voice than before. "The proper procedure requires preliminary scanning to identify all potential failure points."

His skin is warm against mine, warmer than I expected. There's something almost electric about the contact, like a low-voltage current running between us. His bioluminescence brightens where our skin touches.

"Sometimes you don't have time for preliminary scanning," I say, but I don't pull away. "Sometimes you have to trust your instincts."

"Instincts are unreliable. They can lead to cascading failures, unintended consequences—"

"So can over-analysis." I meet his golden eyes. "Has anyone ever solved that problem in six minutes before?"

Tev'ra's grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "No."

"What was the simulated death toll even when they did solve it following protocols?"

His lips press together in a thin line, and for a moment I think he won't answer. Then, quietly: "I lost five in the scenario when I took the assessment."

The words hit differently than I expected. Even knowing they're simulated casualties, there's real weight in his voice - like he's been carrying the memory of that failure.

"I get it. You have procedures for a reason. But sometimes the situation requires adaptation."

He doesn't release my wrist, but his grip loosens slightly. I can feel his pulse through the contact—faster than I expected.

"The assessment requires documentation of systematic approaches," he says, but there's less conviction in his voice now.

"Then document this: sometimes the fastest way to solve a problem is to actually solve it."

I turn back to the system, Tev'ra's hand still on my wrist. The burned smell is getting stronger, which means the cascade failure is spreading. In another few minutes, the whole thing will be completely fried.

"There," I say, pointing to a junction about three components deep in the maze. "That's your blown relay. Replace that one component, reroute power through the secondary conduit, and everything comes back online."

"How can you be certain without comprehensive analysis?"

"Because I can see the problem." I trace the circuit path with my free hand. "Look—power flow disrupted here, backup systems engaged here, overflow protection triggered there. It's all connected."

Tev'ra follows my gesture, his head tilted slightly. "The systematic approach would verify each connection point to ensure—"

"And by the time you finished verifying, the overflow would have burned out half the secondary systems too." I glance at him. "Trust me on this one?"

For a moment, he just stares at the system. I can almost see the internal battle playing out—protocols versus results, systematic versus intuitive.

Finally, he releases my wrist and reaches for a tool I don't recognize from a panel that wasn't there a moment ago.

"If your assessment is incorrect," he says, moving toward the access point with visible reluctance, "the consequences could affect my evaluation of your methods."

"Then I'll take responsibility for the consequences."

He pauses, tool halfway to the access point. "You would accept accountability for assessment failure?"

"That's what I do with my clients every day," I say. "Their systems break, their lives get disrupted. If I screw up, real people get hurt. So yeah, I take responsibility."

Something changes in Tev'ra's expression. The formal distance wavers, replaced by something that looks almost like curiosity.

"This is why you were concerned about returning to Earth," he realizes. "Your clients depend on your immediate availability."

"They depend on me, period." I watch him work, his movements precise and economical. "Most of them don't have anyone else."

"And you consider this... protection of vulnerable individuals to be part of your technical responsibilities?"

"I consider it part of being human."

Tev'ra's hands still for just a moment. Then he continues working, but something about his posture has shifted. Less rigid, more focused.

He makes the repair exactly as I suggested—remove the blown component, reroute power, restore primary function. The warning lights stop flashing. The acrid smell begins to fade.

The whole process takes maybe six minutes.

"Assessment scenario completed," Tev'ra says, checking a display that appears on the wall. "System restored to full functionality." He looks at me with something that might be amazement. "This will require... significant documentation adjustments."

"Good different or bad different?"

"That remains to be determined," he says, but I catch that almost-smile again. "The assessment parameters did not account for solutions of this... efficiency."

"I can be very efficient when I need to be," I joke.

Tev'ra's skin flares with light again, that now-familiar response to anything that could be interpreted as innuendo.

"Nereidan motor control is optimized for precision tasks," he says stiffly, but I catch the slight smile he tries to hide.

"Good thing, because—" I start to say, then catch myself. Maybe I should ease up on the guy. Instead, I lean forward to examine the control panel more closely. "This is actually really interesting."

"What are you observing?" Tev'ra asks, moving closer to see what I'm looking at.

"This diagnostic pattern—it's running background optimization routines."

"The ship's systems continuously adapt for optimal efficiency, yes."

"But look at the way it's processing the calculations." I trace the data flow with my finger. "It's not just optimizing—it's learning. Adapting based on usage patterns, environmental changes, even crew behavior."

Tev'ra leans in beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. His bioluminescence brightens as he focuses on the display.

"The adaptive algorithms are standard Nereidan technology," he says, but there's something in his voice that suggests he's seeing it differently now.

"This is incredible," I say, genuinely impressed. "On Earth, we're still arguing about whether true adaptive AI is even possible, and you've got it running your ship's basic systems."

"It is merely efficient resource allocation."

"It's artificial intelligence that's actually intelligent." I look at him. "Do you realize how revolutionary this would be for human technology?"

Tev'ra's skin shifts to that golden-edged pattern I'm starting to recognize. "You find our technology... interesting?"