Page 32 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

Tev'ra

I remain standing in the transport chamber long after the blue light fades and Finn disappears.

The space feels impossibly empty, as if his absence has somehow expanded the chamber beyond its physical dimensions.

I stare at the platform where he stood moments ago, holding those gems he didn't want, looking at me with an expression I will never forget—hurt and love and resignation all tangled together.

My bioluminescence has dimmed to barely perceptible levels, the patterns sluggish and muted.

Through the severed empathic bond, I can feel.

.. nothing. The constant background hum of Finn's emotions that has become as natural as breathing is simply gone, leaving a hollow ache where the connection used to be.

"Transport complete," I announce to the empty chamber, my voice sounding strange and flat. "Assessment subject has been successfully returned to point of origin."

The words taste like ash in my mouth.

I should return to my quarters. I should begin compiling my final assessment report. I should submit the required documentation and request my next assignment. Standard protocol dictates a forty-eight hour processing period before new mission parameters are assigned.

Instead, I stand in the transport chamber and try to remember how to function without feeling Finn's presence in the back of my mind.

Eventually, necessity forces movement. I make my way back to my quarters, noting with detached observation how different everything looks.

The seating platform where we shared meals and conversations.

The pool area where I taught him to float, where we held each other under artificial starlight.

The sleeping alcove where he fell asleep to stories of my homeworld.

All of it exactly as it was, but fundamentally changed by his absence.

I settle at my research station and activate the assessment report template. The form is comprehensive, designed to capture detailed observations about human technological capabilities, cultural adaptations, and integration potential. Standardized questions with designated response parameters.

Subject's primary area of expertise: Systems engineering and technological problem-solving.

Observable innovation methodologies: Adaptive approaches utilizing apparent inefficiency to create functional resilience.

Cultural integration assessment:

I stare at the cursor blinking in the empty field. How do I quantify what Finn brought to every interaction? How do I reduce his curiosity about my world, his trust in dangerous situations, his willingness to share vulnerabilities to clinical observations?

Subject demonstrated exceptional adaptability and genuine interest in interspecies cultural exchange, I type, then delete it. Too personal.

Human subject showed significant capacity for technological innovation under pressure , I try again. Delete.

Assessment subject Finn Sullivan exhibited...

I cannot finish the sentence. Every attempt to describe him in clinical terms feels like a betrayal of what we shared.

My communication panel chimes with an incoming message from Creator-parent Vel'tha: Offspring, how did the assessment conclude? We have been thinking of your human and hoping the experience was positive for both participants.

I stare at the message for several minutes before closing it without responding.

I cannot explain to my creator-parents that the human they welcomed with such warmth is gone, returned to Earth with a container of gems as if three days of profound connection could be reduced to a financial transaction.

More messages accumulate over the following hours. Creator-parent Mor'en inquiring about my well-being. A colleague requesting collaboration on an upcoming research project. Standard administrative communications about my next assignment.

I respond to none of them.

Instead, I attempt to work. I review technical specifications for new assessment protocols. I analyze data from other research teams. I try to lose myself in the familiar rhythms of systematic analysis and documentation.

But every task reminds me of Finn. The technological specifications make me think of his chaotic but effective workspace.

The research methodologies pale in comparison to his adaptive problem-solving approaches.

Even the simple act of reviewing data brings memories of watching him work, the intense focus that transformed his entire demeanor when faced with a technical challenge.

The assessment report remains unfinished. Each time I attempt to complete it, the words feel inadequate, insufficient to capture the complexity of what occurred during those seventy-two hours.

Subject demonstrated remarkable innovation capabilities , I write, then stare at the sentence until it loses all meaning.

Remarkable. As if that single word could encompass the way Finn approached problems from angles no Nereidan would consider. As if it could describe his willingness to trust me with his fears, his curiosity about my culture, the way he chose my sky over his own familiar stars.

I delete the line and begin again.

Assessment period revealed significant potential for human integration into Nereidan technological frameworks.

True, but meaningless. A technical observation that ignores the most important discovery of the entire assessment—that connection between our species runs far deeper than mere technological compatibility.

Days pass. My bioluminescence remains dim, my responses to routine inquiries perfunctory at best. I attend required briefings but contribute little to discussions.

Colleagues begin to notice my diminished engagement, though they attribute it to post-assessment fatigue rather than something more profound.

The empathic void where Finn's presence used to be grows more noticeable with each passing hour.

I catch myself reaching for sensations that are no longer there, expecting emotional feedback that will never come.

The silence in my mind feels wrong, incomplete, like trying to function with a vital sensory organ suddenly removed.

On the fourth day after Finn's departure, Creator-parent Vel'tha sends another message: Offspring, your lack of response is causing concern. Please confirm your well-being status.

Then another from Creator-parent Mor'en: Tev'ra, we understand assessment periods can be emotionally taxing. We are here if you need support.

I read both messages but cannot formulate responses. How do I explain that I am physically unharmed but fundamentally altered? That I completed my assignment successfully but feel as though I have failed in ways I cannot articulate?

The assessment report deadline approaches. Forty-seven hours, then thirty-six, then twelve. I make repeated attempts to complete the documentation, but every clinical phrase feels like a lie, every objective observation a betrayal of what actually occurred.

Finally, with less than two hours remaining before the submission deadline, I manage to produce something resembling a coherent report.

The language is stilted, the observations superficial, the conclusions inadequate.

But it meets the basic requirements and provides the Council with the technical data they requested.

Assessment complete. Human subject returned to point of origin with standard compensation package. Integration potential confirmed. Technical innovation capabilities exceed preliminary projections. Recommend continued evaluation of human technological methodologies .

Three days of life-changing connection reduced to a few clinical paragraphs.

I submit the report with seventeen minutes to spare and immediately feel hollow, as if the final severance of professional connection to Finn has removed something essential from my core function protocols.

My next assignment arrives within hours: evaluation of mineral extraction efficiency on the outer colonial stations. Technical work, familiar and routine. The kind of assignment I have completed dozens of times without difficulty.

I stare at the mission parameters and feel nothing but exhaustion. The prospect of returning to standard research protocols, of analyzing equipment specifications and optimization matrices, feels like contemplating a lifetime of gray monotony.

But this is my purpose. This is what I trained for, what my family line has contributed to Nereidan society for seven generations. Technical analysis, systematic evaluation, the advancement of our civilization through careful study and documentation.

I should feel satisfaction at returning to meaningful work. Instead, I feel as though I am preparing to sleepwalk through the remainder of my existence.

My communication panel chimes again. Creator-parent Vel'tha, more insistent now: Tev'ra, your silence is highly unusual. We are prepared to contact your superiors if we do not receive confirmation of your status within the next cycle.

The threat of administrative intervention forces a response: Status normal. Assessment complete. Preparing for next assignment. Communication protocols temporarily restricted.

It is not entirely false. Communication protocols do recommend limited contact during transition periods between assignments. But I have never invoked this restriction before, never needed the isolation it provides.

Creator-parent Vel'tha's response comes immediately: Understood. Please remember that we are available when restrictions are lifted. The human made quite an impression on us both.

The human. As if Finn were simply another research subject rather than someone who fundamentally changed my understanding of connection, of possibility, of what existence could be when shared with another being who sees the universe through completely different sensory frameworks.

I close the communication panel and return to my preparation materials for the colonial assignment. Equipment specifications, environmental parameters, productivity metrics. All the familiar elements of systematic analysis that once provided structure and purpose to my daily existence.

Now they feel like an elaborate mechanism designed to help me forget that for three days, I experienced something unprecedented. Something that made every standard protocol feel insufficient by comparison.

But forgetting is impossible. Even without the empathic connection, Finn's influence lingers in everything I observe. I find myself wondering how he would approach each technical challenge, what innovative solutions he might devise using methodologies no Nereidan would consider.

The colonial assignment will take me far from the core systems, away from any possibility of encountering humans or hearing updates about the integration program. Perhaps distance will provide the perspective I need to return to normal functioning.

Or perhaps I will spend the rest of my existence comparing every experience to seventy-two hours when my entire understanding of connection was revolutionized by a human who called me Blue and chose my sky over his own familiar stars.

I dim the lighting in my quarters and settle into my sleeping alcove—alone, as I have been for years before this assignment.

The space feels too large without Finn's warm presence beside me, too quiet without his steady breathing, too empty without the gentle hum of empathic connection that made even sleep feel like a shared experience.

Tomorrow I will report for transport to the colonial assignment. I will resume normal research protocols and contribute to Nereidan advancement through systematic analysis and documentation. I will function as I always have, with efficiency and precision and complete professional detachment.

But tonight, I allow myself to remember the way Finn looked under the light of three moons while I described the coral forests of my homeworld. I remember his trust as he floated in deep water despite his fears, his wonder at tasting vel'thani, his tears when he thought I couldn't see them.

I remember what it felt like to care for someone more than protocol, more than duty, more than the systematic advancement of scientific knowledge.

And I wonder if I will ever feel that complete again.