Page 13 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)
Tev'ra
"Actually, I believe we should eat first," I find myself saying, the words emerging before I fully consider their implications.
Finn looks surprised by the suggestion, and I realize I should provide proper justification for the deviation from our established plan.
"The assessment protocols suggest a nutritional break," I explain, though that's not entirely accurate—the protocols suggest breaks, but don't mandate them at this specific interval.
The truth is more complex: I've observed signs of fatigue in Finn's posture, noted the slight tension around his eyes that suggests the stress of our conversation has affected him more than he admits.
"Yeah, I could eat," Finn agrees, and the relief in his voice confirms my assessment of his condition.
"Excellent." I stand, noting how my movements feel less rigid than usual. The formal precision remains, but something about our collaborative success has altered my baseline tension levels.
The nutrition center is a testament to Nereidan efficiency—clean surfaces, optimal lighting, and a food synthesis unit capable of producing any nutritional combination required for our physiology.
As I lead Finn into the space, I find myself seeing it through his eyes: sterile, functional, devoid of the chaotic warmth that characterizes his living environment.
"Very organized," Finn observes, running a hand along the pristine counter surface. "I'm guessing you don't have midnight snack raids here."
"Nereidan nutritional requirements follow regulated consumption schedules," I explain, moving to the synthesis unit.
"Optimal metabolic function requires precise timing and—" I stop myself, recognizing the overly formal explanation pattern I fall into when uncertain.
"I eat at scheduled intervals, though others may differ due to their individual needs. "
"Right. No pizza at 2 AM for you." Finn settles into one of the seating platforms, studying the space with obvious interest. "So how does this work? Do you just tell it what you want?"
"The synthesis unit can create any nutritional combination within its programming parameters.
" I activate the interface, considering what would provide Finn with both adequate nutrition and an authentic representation of Nereidan cuisine.
"I thought perhaps a traditional comfort preparation. What humans might call... soup."
"Soup sounds good," Finn says, and there's something warmer in his voice than I expected. "What kind?"
"A thermal preparation of root vegetables, protein compounds, and aromatic herbs. It's..." I pause, searching for the correct description. Something my creator-parents made when things got overwhelming. "Familiar. Something we make for comfort during stress periods."
The truth is more personal than that. This particular preparation reminds me of the cycles following my assessment period, when I struggled with the weight of responsibility and my creator-parents would prepare it to ease the transition to adult duties.
"I'd also like to attempt something for you," I continue, calling up additional synthesis parameters and studying the available options with more concentration than usual. "A grilled cheese. Our research indicated this is a common comfort food preparation in the Chicago region."
Finn's expression shifts to genuine surprise. "You want to make me a grilled cheese?"
"The synthesis unit should be capable of producing the required components—bread, cheese, and the proper heating technique to achieve the crispy exterior and melted interior," I explain, though I'm less certain of success than my words suggest. "Our cultural analysis suggested it provides emotional satisfaction as well as nutritional value. "
"You studied Chicago comfort food?" Finn asks, and there's something almost wonder in his voice.
"Our research protocols included detailed analysis of regional human comfort food patterns," I say, which is technically accurate but fails to capture why I specifically researched Chicago food culture beyond standard assessment parameters.
"Grilled cheese appeared frequently in emotional comfort contexts, particularly when paired with soup preparations. "
The synthesis unit begins its work, and I find myself monitoring the grilled cheese preparation with unusual intensity.
The molecular assemblers must create not just bread and cheese, but achieve the precise heating application that produces the proper texture contrast—crispy exterior, molten interior.
It's more complex than standard nutritional synthesis, requiring analysis of dozens of preparation variations to determine optimal parameters.
"I'm uncertain whether the result will match authentic Chicago preparation methods," I admit, watching the heating elements calibrate.
"So this soup," Finn says, interrupting my contemplation. "Is it something you grew up with?"
The question catches me off guard. Personal history isn't typically discussed during assessment periods. Yet after our collaborative problem-solving and his unexpected vulnerability regarding Earth-bound responsibilities, the formal barriers seem less relevant.
"Yes," I admit. "My creator-parents prepared it during times of... adjustment. When the pressures of development cycles became overwhelming."
"Creator-parents," Finn repeats, and I can see him processing the terminology. "That's what you call your family?"
"The term 'parents' suggests biological generation without acknowledgment of conscious choice and intentional development," I explain. "Creator-parents indicates both biological origin and deliberate cultivation of potential."
"That's actually beautiful," Finn says, surprising me again. "The idea that they chose to develop who you became, not just... make you exist."
His interpretation renders the familiar concept in a new perspective. I'd never considered that human family structures might lack this intentional development component.
"What was it like?" Finn asks. "Growing up Nereidan?"
The synthesis unit chimes completion, providing me with a moment to consider my response. I retrieve our meal—the soup steaming with aromatic herbs, the grilled cheese achieving what appears to be the proper golden-brown exterior with slightly visible cheese melting at the edges.
"Structured," I say finally, settling across from Finn with our shared meal. "Every development cycle had specific objectives, measurable outcomes. Success was defined by adherence to established protocols."
I offer Finn the grilled cheese, noting his expression as he examines it. His face brightens considerably.
"Holy shit, Tev'ra," he says, lifting the sandwich to reveal the properly melted cheese stretching between the halves. "This is actually perfect. How did you—" He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "This tastes exactly like the ones I make at home."
His obvious pleasure in the food I synthesized for him creates an unexpected warmth in my chest. The precision required to achieve proper grilled cheese texture was significant, but seeing his genuine satisfaction makes the effort feel worthwhile in ways that extend beyond simple nutritional provision.
We weren't always so in tune with human nutrition needs.
Data from each assessment with humans has added to our shared knowledge.
I am pleased that I can use that information to make Finn's time on my ship more enjoyable, even in this small way.
"The synthesis parameters required considerable adjustment," I explain. "Achieving the proper cheese melting point while maintaining bread structure integrity proved more complex than anticipated."
"Well, you nailed it," Finn says, dipping the sandwich into his soup. "This is comfort food perfection. But what about when you weren't meeting objectives? Did you ever just... rebel? Act out?"
The concept of rebellion during development cycles is so foreign that I require several seconds to process the question properly. "Deviation from development protocols would compromise optimal growth potential."
"But you were a kid," Finn insists, tasting the soup with obvious interest. "Kids act out. It's what they do. Push boundaries, test limits, figure out who they are instead of who they're supposed to be."
"Nereidan development doesn't involve such... experimentation," I say carefully. "Identity formation follows established patterns designed to optimize individual potential within societal needs."
Finn sets down his spoon, studying me with an expression I can't easily categorize. "So you never got to just be a kid. You had to be a future adult from the beginning."
The observation creates an unexpected discomfort. I'd never framed my development experience in terms of loss, only in terms of efficiency and proper preparation. Yet Finn's interpretation suggests an alternative approach I hadn't considered.
"The system produces highly functional individuals," I say, which is true but suddenly feels insufficient.
"I'm sure it does," Finn says quietly. "But what about happy individuals?"
The question hangs between us, highlighting a concept our assessment parameters failed to address adequately. Happiness. Personal satisfaction beyond duty fulfillment. The possibility that optimal function might not represent complete success.
"This soup is really good, by the way," Finn adds, clearly recognizing my discomfort and offering a subject change. "Complex flavors, good texture. And this grilled cheese..." He takes another bite, cheese stretching perfectly. "I can't believe you figured out how to make it taste like home."
"The molecular structure analysis was quite detailed," I say, though that fails to capture the time I spent researching Chicago comfort food culture, noting every detail that might provide Finn with emotional satisfaction alongside nutritional requirements. "Comfort food?"