Page 5 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

"Is this the computer guy? Someone gave me your number, said you do emergency repairs?"

I glance at the clock. 4:47 AM. "What's broken?"

"My point-of-sale system won't connect to my card processor. I've got the breakfast rush starting in two hours and if I can't take cards..."

"Send me your system details. I'll take a look."

As I start working on the third crisis, I notice Tev'ra slowly moving around my apartment, careful not to disturb anything but clearly trying to understand how I function in this space.

He pauses at my bookshelf—which is mostly technical manuals and old computer parts—then at my kitchen, which contains exactly one mug, one spoon, and a collection of takeout menus.

No family photos. No personal mementos. Nothing that suggests I have a life outside of fixing other people's problems.

Because I don't.

"Tev'ra," I say, fingers still flying over the keyboard, "you wanted to study human innovation? This is it. Not some sterile lab exercise, but real-world problem-solving under pressure with imperfect tools and impossible deadlines."

I fix the card processor issue—another simple timeout problem—and lean back in my chair.

"Three emergencies handled in thirty-seven minutes. That's human innovation: making it work with what you've got, when you've got to have it working now."

Tev'ra's glow has shifted to something that might be fascination. "And you do this... regularly?"

"Every day. Sometimes multiple times a day." I gesture at my setup. "This isn't just my job, it's my entire support system. When something breaks in other people's lives, they call me. When something breaks in my life..." I shrug. "I fix it myself."

"You have no... support network?"

The question hits closer to home than I'd like. For a moment, I stare at my reflection in the dark monitor to my left—shadows under my eyes, hair sticking up where I've been running my hands through it, the permanent tension in my jaw that I never seem to notice until it gives me a headache.

"I have clients who need me. That's enough."

It has to be enough. It's all I've ever had.

The weight of unspoken history sits heavy in my chest. Years of learning that attachments were temporary, that the only consistent thing in my life was the next move, the next adjustment.

Eventually, I found something that stayed—technology.

Circuits don't abandon you. Code doesn't decide you're too much trouble.

But Tev'ra doesn't need to know any of that. It's not relevant to his research, and it's certainly not something I share with anyone, let alone an alien who just kidnapped me.

I clear my throat. "Look, my whole life is about solving problems for other people. They need me; I fix their stuff. It's clean, it's simple. Why complicate that with... people?"

Tev'ra studies me with an expression I can't quite read. Something in his golden eyes that might be curiosity, or maybe just alien incomprehension. I turn back to my screens, suddenly very interested in a perfectly normal system diagnostic.

Tev'ra moves slowly around my apartment, pausing at my bookshelf. "These are all technical manuals."

"Yeah."

"No recreational reading? Fiction? Personal interest materials?"

"Not really." I gesture toward my setup. "Don't exactly have a lot of free time for reading. When I'm not actively fixing something, I'm usually researching new systems or upgrading my skills. Technology moves fast."

He pulls a thick volume from the shelf, examining it with what might be genuine curiosity. "Advanced Network Security Protocols and Implementations, Fifth Edition," he reads aloud. "This appears to be heavily annotated."

I glance over. "Yeah, that's from when I was designing a custom security solution for a law firm downtown. They had some pretty specific requirements."

"You... improve upon existing systems rather than simply implementing them?"

"Of course. Half the time, out-of-the-box solutions don't actually solve the specific problem at hand. You have to adapt them, customize them." I shrug. "That's the whole point."

Tev'ra carefully replaces the book and continues his inspection.

He moves to my kitchen area. "One mug. One spoon."

"I don't cook."

"The collection of... delivery menus suggests this." He picks up one of the menus—Ming's Palace, my go-to for late-night emergencies—and studies it like it's an artifact from an archaeological dig. "These numerical annotations beside food items..."

"That's how I rank them. One to five, based on taste, price, and how long they stay good as leftovers." I spin my chair to face him. "The chicken lo mein is a solid 4.5. Gets better the second day."

Tev'ra's bioluminescence flickers with what might be surprise. "You have applied a systematic evaluation method to... takeout food?"

"Why wouldn't I? If I'm ordering the same thing multiple times a week, I might as well optimize the experience.

" I point to a stack of menus held together with a binder clip.

"Those are the rejects. Places that didn't deliver on time, got my order wrong more than once, or just weren't worth the money. "

He sets down the menu with careful precision, exactly where he found it. "Your organizational systems are... unexpectedly thorough, despite their unconventional appearance."

I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult. "Thanks, I think."

His gaze moves deliberately around the apartment once more, lingering on the empty walls. "Where are your personal photographs? Family connections? Friendship documentation?"

"Don't have any."

"None?"

I gesture around the apartment. "What you see is what you get. This is it."

Tev'ra's gaze lingers on the empty walls, the lack of personal items. "Your accommodation contains no evidence of interpersonal relationships or familial bonds."

"Not everyone needs that stuff." I keep my voice deliberately neutral, casual, giving away nothing. The well-practiced deflection of someone who's answered variations of this question his entire life. "Some people just prefer to keep things simple."

His golden eyes study me with that analytical intensity that makes me feel like I'm being scanned, cataloged, filed away. "Most humans display personal artifacts. Our research indicates strong social bonding tendencies across your species."

"Yeah, well, your research is painting with a pretty broad brush then." I turn back to my monitors, deliberately breaking eye contact. "People are different. I like my space the way it is."

The alien seems to sense my discomfort, or maybe he's just recording my defensive reaction as another data point in his study of weird human behavior. Either way, he mercifully drops the subject.

"Your technological infrastructure appears to be your primary focus," he observes instead.

"It's reliable. Consistent." I tap my keyboard, more for something to do with my hands than any actual purpose.

Tev'ra stares at me for a long moment. "This is... different from what our research predicted."

"Different how?"

"We expected human innovation to emerge from collaborative social structures. Instead, you appear to operate in complete isolation."

I lean back in my chair. "Maybe that's why it works. No committee meetings, no consensus-building, no waiting for approval. Just me, the problem, and whatever tools I can jury-rig to fix it."

"The efficiency is... impressive," Tev'ra admits, his bioluminescence shifting to a pattern that seems to indicate thoughtful consideration.

"Our research collective operates on principles of shared knowledge and collaborative analysis.

Solutions require multiple approvals and extensive documentation. "

"Sounds like a nightmare," I mutter.

"It ensures thorough examination of all variables and potential outcomes."

"It also sounds slow as hell. Look," I gesture to my monitors, where three different business systems are now functioning normally again, "while your collective would still be in the planning stages, I've already solved three problems. Sometimes people don't need the perfect solution—they need a working solution right now. "

Tev'ra's head tilts slightly. "You prioritize speed over optimization?"

"I prioritize functionality. A perfect solution that arrives too late is worthless.

A good-enough solution that keeps someone's business running is priceless.

" I pull up my client dashboard, showing dozens of active monitoring connections.

"See all these? These are businesses that depend on me to keep their systems running.

Restaurants, online stores, a couple of doctor's offices, even a small manufacturing plant.

If their tech fails, real people suffer—they lose money, they can't serve customers, they might even have to close down. "

I spin my chair to face him directly. "So yeah, maybe my methods look chaotic to you. Maybe I don't have the perfect solution every time. But I'm there when people need me, and I make sure their systems keep working. That's what matters."

The alien's expression is unreadable, but his skin glows with a complex pattern of shifting colors. He's silent for several seconds, as if processing everything I've said.

Before Tev'ra can respond, his skin suddenly brightens with what looks like an urgent pattern. He pulls out his tablet-thing and reads something that makes his formal posture straighten even more.

"Finn Sullivan," he says, his voice shifting back to that official tone, "I must clarify the parameters of our agreement. The Council has authorized this field observation with the understanding that you will return with me to complete the full assessment after the twelve-hour period."

I blink at him. "Wait, I thought this was the assessment."

"This is merely the initial observation phase. The full assessment protocols must be completed aboard the research vessel."

For a moment, I just stare at him. "So I still have to go back? After helping all my clients and proving I can do my job here?"

"The transportation cycle will return us both to my vessel in eleven hours. That was the agreement reached by the Council."

I should have known it wouldn't be that simple. Aliens don't abduct you just to decide you're too busy to be abducted after all.

"Right," I say flatly. "So I get to fix everyone's problems, and then I still have to abandon them again."

"Indeed." Tev'ra glances around my apartment again. "I will conduct my observational study of your work methods during the remaining time, then we will continue the assessment aboard the vessel."

"Wait, what about my clients? Their systems? I can't just disappear again."

His glow flickers. "Our assessment protocols were not designed to accommodate subjects with your level of... professional entanglement. Your dedication to these service relationships is unusual."

"It's not unusual, it's responsible," I counter. "These people depend on me."

"I suspect my report will indicate that such dedication is incompatible with Nereidan methodologies. Our research approaches value detachment and objectivity rather than personal investment in outcomes."

I study him for a moment, the implications sinking in. "So you're already judging me by your alien standards. That dedication to helping others is somehow a flaw in your eyes?"

"Not a flaw," Tev'ra clarifies, his tone careful. "Simply a divergence from established Nereidan research methodologies. We prioritize observation over intervention."

"Well, I prioritize fixing problems over watching them get worse." I turn back to my monitors, scanning for any new alerts. "And speaking of problems, I'm still going to have a dozen clients in crisis if I disappear again for your assessment."

I lean back in my chair, focusing fully on Tev'ra now. "Let's be clear about something. You brought me here to fix my clients' systems, but you still expect me to abandon them again when your twelve hours are up, right?"

"That is correct. This is merely the field observation portion of the assessment."

"And if I refuse? If I just decide not to go back with you when your time is up?"

Tev'ra's formal composure wavers slightly. "Then the assessment would be incomplete. The project would be considered... unsuccessful."

"And what happens to you when a project is unsuccessful?"

His glow dims. "My suitability for field research would be questioned. I would likely be reassigned to laboratory analysis rather than direct assessment projects."

"So basically, if I don't go back with you, your career takes a hit."

"The Council values successful completion of assigned tasks. Failure to convince you to return voluntarily would reflect on my persuasive abilities and cultural adaptation skills."

I run my hands through my hair. "Jesus. No pressure, right?"

"I did not intend to burden you with this information. I simply thought transparency would be appropriate."

"Right." I spin my chair slowly, thinking. On one hand, I don't owe this alien anything. On the other hand, I know what it's like to have your livelihood threatened through no fault of your own. And there's something almost... refreshing about how straightforward he's being about the whole thing.

"Look," I say finally, "I've got work to do, and you've got your observation to complete.

But first, I'm starving." I point to the stack of takeout menus.

"Grab the one on top—the Ming's Palace one—and I'll show you how food ordering works on this planet.

If I'm going to be stuck with you for the next eleven hours, I might as well not do it on an empty stomach. "

Tev'ra blinks at me, his golden eyes widening slightly. "You wish me to... procure sustenance for you?"

"I wish you to hand me the menu so we can order some food. Then you can watch how I multitask eating and fixing people's tech problems. It'll be educational."

He hesitates, then carefully approaches the stack of menus, reaching for the top one with an expression that suggests he's being asked to handle something potentially dangerous.

"This is part of your innovation methodology? Consuming nutrition while problem-solving?"

I laugh. "Yeah, sure. Let's call it that. Human Multitasking 101."