Page 31 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

Finn

The communication alert cuts through our quiet moment like a blade. I'm still curled against Tev'ra's side on the seating platform, both of us processing the conversation with his parents, when the formal voice shatters our peaceful bubble.

I know what it means before the words are even spoken—the seventy-two hours are up. Time to go home.

I feel Tev'ra go completely rigid beside me. Through our empathic connection, I can sense his dread mixing with my own, creating a feedback loop of approaching loss that makes me feel hollow.

"Assessment subject Finn Sullivan," the voice from the communication system is formal, clinical. "Report to transport chamber in thirty minutes for return transfer to Earth."

Thirty minutes. That's all we have left.

"Acknowledged," Tev'ra responds, his voice carefully neutral. "Assessment subject will be prepared for transport."

The silence that follows feels deafening. Neither of us moves for several long moments, both trying to process that it's actually over. That in half an hour, I'll be back in my Chicago apartment and this will all be nothing but memory.

"We should get dressed," Tev'ra says finally, but he doesn't release his hold on me.

"Yeah," I agree, making no move to leave his arms.

Eventually, practical necessity forces us apart. We dress in silence, every mundane action weighted with finality. Tev'ra's movements are precise and controlled, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, feel his emotional turmoil through our bond even as he tries to suppress it.

When we're both fully clothed, he moves to a storage compartment and retrieves a small crystalline container filled with what looks like gems—dozens of them in various sizes and colors, all pulsing with their own internal light.

"Standard compensation for assessment participants," he explains, his voice carefully formal. "These stones are valuable on your world. They should provide significant financial security."

I stare at the container, something bitter rising in my throat. The gems are beautiful—deep blues and greens and purples that seem to hold light within them, though they don't glow like Tev'ra's skin. Alien minerals worth probably more than I've ever seen in my life. "Compensation?"

"The Council ensures all assessment subjects receive appropriate remuneration for their time and cooperation."

The clinical way he describes it—like I was a research participant in a study, not someone who shared his bed and learned his family's recipes and fell in love with him—makes something crack inside my chest.

"I don't want them," I say quietly.

Tev'ra's bioluminescence flickers with surprise. "Finn, these stones represent considerable monetary value. They will ensure your financial stability—"

"I don't want your money," I interrupt, my voice sharper than intended. "I don't want compensation for... for this."

"I know," Tev'ra says softly, and for a moment his professional mask slips. "But we cannot have what we want."

The simple statement cuts deeper than any elaborate explanation could. He's right, of course. We can't have what we want. This was always temporary, always going to end exactly like this. I was stupid to think it could be anything else.

"I have to take them, don't I?" I ask, noting how carefully he's holding the container. "This is part of the protocol."

"Yes," Tev'ra confirms, though he looks as unhappy about it as I feel. "It is required."

I nod and accept the container, surprised by its weight. The gems catch the light as they shift against each other, beautiful and alien and completely meaningless compared to what I'm losing.

"Time to go," Tev'ra says.

The walk to the transport chamber feels endless and far too short simultaneously. With each step, the empathic connection between us seems to grow more fragile, as if the approaching separation is already beginning to fray the bond we've built.

The transport chamber is all white walls, a circular platform, that sense of sterile efficiency that now feels cold rather than impressive. Tev'ra moves to the control panel while I step onto the platform, the container of gems heavy in my hands.

"The molecular stabilization process will begin in sixty seconds," Tev'ra announces, his voice once again carefully professional. "Please remain motionless during transport."

I want to say something profound, something that captures what these three days have meant to me. Instead, I find myself saying the most important thing: "Thank you for showing me your sky."

Tev'ra's bioluminescence flares bright enough to light the entire chamber. "Thank you for wanting to see it."

The blue light begins to build around me, and I can feel the first tingling sensation of molecular displacement. But more than that, I can feel something else—a stretching sensation in my chest, like a rubber band being pulled to its breaking point.

The empathic bond. As the transport field builds, the connection between us grows thinner, more strained. I can feel Tev'ra's anguish mixing with my own, his desperate wish that this could be different, his professional obligation warring with personal desire.

"Finn," he says suddenly, stepping closer to the platform edge. "I need you to know—"

But the transport field peaks before he can finish, and the chamber dissolves around me in waves of blue light. The last thing I see is Tev'ra's face, his golden eyes wide with everything he didn't get to say.

Then there's darkness, weightlessness, and the horrible sensation of something vital being torn away from inside my chest.

When consciousness returns, I'm standing in my apartment.

Everything is exactly as I left it. The pizza box on my desk, the tangled cables, the monitors in sleep mode casting their familiar dim glow. Even the air smells the same—coffee, electronics, and the faint staleness of a space where someone lives alone.

But everything feels wrong. Empty. Like I'm looking at my life through glass instead of living it.

I set the container of gems on my desk next to the old pizza box, the contrast between the beautiful alien crystals and the mundane reality of my life so stark it's almost laughable. Three days ago, this apartment was everything I needed. Now it feels like a tomb.

The silence is overwhelming. After three days of Tev'ra's presence, of feeling his emotions through our empathic bond, the isolation hits me. I'm completely alone in a way I haven't been since... well, since before I met him.

I sink into my desk chair and stare at the gems. They catch the ambient light from my monitors, probably worth more money than I've ever seen in my life. Enough to solve every financial worry I've ever had, to upgrade every system, to never worry about rent or groceries or client payments again.

And I hate them. I hate what they represent—the Council's assumption that money can compensate for what I've lost. That a few pretty stones can make up for the fact that I'll never see Tev'ra again, never feel that empathic connection, never wake up in his arms under the light of alien moons.

I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Alex: Back home. Thanks for covering everything. Systems look good.

The response comes back almost immediately: No problem. Glad you're back. Everything ok?

I stare at the message for a long moment, then type: Yeah, just tired. Talk tomorrow.

Before I can put the phone down, it starts ringing. Alex.

"Hey," I answer, my voice rough.

"Finn? You sound like shit. You okay?"

"Yeah, just... tired. Long few days."

"So how was the family emergency?" Alex asks, and I can hear the skepticism in his voice. He knows I don't have family.

"Complicated," I say, which is the understatement of the century. "But it's over now."

"You sure you're okay? You sound really off."

"I'm fine," I lie. "Just need to get back to normal routine. Thanks for covering everything."

"No problem. Your systems ran like clockwork, by the way. Whatever you set up worked perfectly."

Of course they did. My systems always work. Unlike my heart, apparently.

"Good," I say. "I'll be back to normal operations tomorrow."

"Alright, but Finn? If you need anything..."

"I know. Thanks, Alex."

I hang up and look around my apartment again. Three days ago, this was my sanctuary. Now it feels like a prison.

The gems continue to shine in their container, beautiful and cold and utterly insufficient. I could probably retire on what they're worth. Travel the world, buy anything I want, never worry about money again.

But none of that will bring back the way Tev'ra's bioluminescence brightened when he laughed, or the feeling of floating in warm water while he told me stories about his homeworld, or the profound peace of falling asleep in his arms.

Some things can't be compensated for.

Some losses can't be made right with pretty stones and good intentions.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, trying to remember exactly how Tev'ra's voice sounded when he described the coral forests that reach toward the blue moon's light. But the memory is already starting to fade, becoming less vivid with each passing minute.

Maybe that's for the best. Maybe forgetting will make this easier.

But right now, sitting alone in my apartment with a fortune in alien gems and an ache in my chest that feels like something vital has been surgically removed, I'm not sure anything will ever feel easy again.