Page 8 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

Finn

The sound of movement pulls me from sleep—a subtle shift, barely audible, but enough to trigger the survival instincts you develop when you've spent your life in other people's homes. My eyes snap open, body instantly alert.

There's someone in my apartment.

For a second, pure panic floods my system before memory catches up. Right. The alien. The abduction. The temporary reprieve to fix my clients' systems.

I blink at my phone. I've slept maybe two hours.

From my bedroom, I can see Tev'ra moving carefully around my living room, his blue skin casting faint light on the walls.

He's examining my bookshelf, long fingers hovering over technical manuals without touching them.

His posture is exactly as formal as it was hours ago—spine straight, movements precise, like someone executing a program rather than just existing in a space.

He hasn't slept. Hasn't even sat down again as far as I can tell.

"Do you ever rest?" I ask, my voice rough with sleep.

Tev'ra turns, not startled but smoothly redirecting his attention. "Not as often as humans."

I groan, dragging myself out of bed.

I'm wearing only boxers, my usual sleep attire, and I notice immediately when Tev'ra's skin brightens and he quickly turns away. The blue glow intensifies to almost white along his neck and face. Interesting.

I deliberately stretch, arms over my head, making no move to cover up. This is my apartment, my space. If Mr. Perfect Posture is uncomfortable, that's his problem.

"Is there a designated storage location for appropriate coverings?" Tev'ra asks, his voice slightly strained, gaze fixed firmly on my bookshelf.

"You mean clothes?" I laugh, heading for the kitchen. "This is how I live when I'm alone. Which I was supposed to be."

His skin pulses with what I'm starting to recognize as discomfort. "Nereidan protocols maintain appropriate clothing regardless of social context."

"Yeah, well, we're not on Nereida," I say, filling the coffee maker with water. "My apartment, my rules. Don't like it, there's the door. Oh wait, you need me to go back with you, don't you?"

"The planet is Nereidan," Tev'ra corrects automatically.

I roll my eyes. "Thanks for the astronomy lesson. The point stands—my planet, my rules."

The small flare of satisfaction I feel is petty, but after being abducted and having my life turned upside down, I'll take what I can get.

My coffee setup is probably the most organized thing in my apartment—a high-end machine, carefully selected beans, a grinder that cost more than my couch. When everything else in life is chaos, good coffee is non-negotiable.

Tev'ra watches this process with evident fascination, his scientific curiosity apparently overriding his modesty concerns. His glow has subsided to a more manageable level, though it still pulses whenever he accidentally looks at my bare chest.

"This appears to be a complex ritual for simple nutrient delivery," he observes.

"Questions come after coffee," I respond, watching the dark liquid begin to drip. "That's the rule."

I lean against the counter, deliberately casual, and check my phone while waiting. Several more client messages have come in overnight. Nothing critical yet, but the day is young.

The coffee finishes brewing. I pour a cup, take the first sip, and feel the familiar sense of order beginning to restore itself to my brain. Some problems can be solved, even if alien abduction isn't one of them.

"Okay," I say, cup in hand. "Now you can ask your questions."

"You invest significant resources in this particular consumable," Tev'ra says, clearly having cataloged every component of my coffee setup. "The preparation equipment exceeds the quality standards of your other possessions."

"Coffee's important," I shrug. "I need to be sharp for my clients. Can't afford to be foggy when someone's entire business is on the line."

"The chemical stimulant properties could be delivered more efficiently through direct supplementation."

I take another long sip. "If you think this is just about caffeine, you're missing the point."

"What additional purpose does it serve?"

I consider how to explain something so fundamental. "It's... ritual. Consistency. No matter how chaotic everything else gets, this process is the same every morning. Grounds, water, heat, time."

Tev'ra's head tilts slightly, the first hint of something less than perfect posture I've seen from him. "A psychological anchoring mechanism."

"If that's alien for 'something that doesn't make me want to murder people before noon,' then sure."

I finish my coffee and check the time again. Decisions need to be made.

"I need a shower," I announce, heading toward the bathroom. "And before you ask, yes, humans typically clean themselves in private."

Tev'ra nods formally. "You should proceed with your standard preparation rituals."

"Yeah, one problem with that." I pause in the doorway. "I'm not used to having an audience for my 'preparation rituals.'"

"I can maintain observational distance," he offers.

"That's not—" I stop, sighing. "Look, on Earth, humans like privacy for certain activities. Showering is one of them. So you're going to stay out here while I'm in the bathroom. Understood?"

Tev'ra's formal posture stiffens even more, if that's possible. "Privacy during hygienic maintenance is not standard in Nereidan shared environments."

"Well, it's standard in mine. Stay. Out. Here." I point to the living room for emphasis.

He inclines his head slightly. "I will comply with your cultural parameter."

I grab clean clothes from my dresser and head to the bathroom, locking the door behind me—not that a locked door would stop someone who can teleport people across galaxies, but it's the principle of the thing.

The hot water feels amazing, washing away the tension of the past hours. I stand under the spray longer than necessary, letting my mind drift. Five minutes of normal in the middle of complete insanity.

When I emerge, towel around my waist, I half expect to find Tev'ra waiting right outside the door, but he's exactly where I left him, standing in the center of the living room like a blue statue.

"Don't you ever get tired of standing?" I ask, heading back to my bedroom.

I close my bedroom door and quickly pull on jeans, but deliberately leave my chest bare as I step back into the living room. If I'm being dragged to an alien research vessel, I'm going to make my unwilling host as uncomfortable as possible.

As I walk past Tev'ra, I notice something I hadn't expected—a distinct bulge in the lower part of his otherwise perfectly tailored uniform. Huh. Apparently alien biology isn't so different after all.

I smirk. "Jeez, you'd think you'd never seen a half-naked human before."

Tev'ra's skin immediately flares with bright blue light, the glow pulsing from his neck up to his face. "I have not. Not in person."

That catches me off guard. I stop, turning to face him directly. "Wait, what? Then how did you know what we look like? Don't tell me you were watching porn."

The bioluminescence intensifies to an almost painful brightness, and Tev'ra's formal posture cracks just slightly—a minute shift of weight, an almost imperceptible fidget.

"Our preliminary research utilized available human digital resources," he says carefully. "Social media platforms. Entertainment media. Various... educational content."

"Oh my god." I start laughing, unable to help myself.

"The Research Collective utilized diverse information sources," Tev'ra insists, his voice strained as he struggles to maintain his formal tone. "Though I must acknowledge certain... sampling biases in our data collection methods."

This is too good. The alien who abducted me is having an awkward boner because his species learned about humans from watching porn. The universe has a sense of humor after all.

I'm still chuckling as I head to my desk and pick up my phone. Time to take care of business before we leave.

"I need to arrange something for my clients while I'm gone," I say, pulling up a contact.

"Your communication with the food delivery service indicated established patterns," Tev'ra observes. "Do you have similar arrangements for technical support delegation?"

"Not exactly." I hesitate, then hit call.

Three rings, then a groggy voice answers. "Finn? It's not even dawn yet. Someone better be dying."

"Hey, Alex. I need a favor."

There's a pause, then the sound of movement. "You never need favors. What's wrong?"

"I have to go away for a few days. Emergency... family thing." The lie is painfully obvious. I don't talk about family. Alex knows this.

"Family thing," Alex repeats, skepticism clear even through the phone. "You don't have family, Finn. At least none you've mentioned in the three years I've known you."

"It's complicated." I glance at Tev'ra, who's watching with obvious interest. "Look, I need someone to monitor my client systems while I'm gone. Just basic maintenance, emergency responses. You're the only one I trust not to completely fuck everything up."

There's another pause. "I'm not as good as you."

"No one is," I reply automatically. "But you're good enough for this. I'll forward the critical dashboards, set up remote access to my monitoring systems. Just keep an eye on things, call people back, tell them I'm temporarily unavailable but you're handling it."

"The last time you took a day off was when you had that fever of 104 and I physically took your laptop away," Alex says. "What's really going on?"

"Like I said, it's complicated." I run a hand through my hair, aware of Tev'ra cataloging every gesture. "Remember that server farm meltdown?"

"When you talked me through rebuilding their entire virtualization stack at 3 AM? Yeah, hard to forget."

"Consider this payback," I say. "I'll owe you. Big time."

A sigh. "Fine. Send me the access details. But when you get back, I want the real story."

"Thanks, Alex. I'll set everything up and call you back in an hour."

I hang up and immediately start configuring my systems for remote access, conscious of Tev'ra's intent observation.

"This human possesses sufficient technical capability to substitute for your expertise?" he asks.

"Alex is good enough in a pinch," I say, fingers flying over the keyboard. "Worked together at a consulting firm before I went independent. Knows the basics of most of my systems."

"Yet you stated 'no one' is as proficient as you are."

"True statement," I reply, not looking up. "I'm the best at what I do. Doesn't mean others can't handle the routine stuff."

"Your confidence in your abilities is... significant."

"It's not confidence, it's fact. I've bailed Alex out of more technical disasters than I can count. But in return, Alex has pulled me out of a few personal ones." I pause, surprised I've shared even that much. "It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Tev'ra's head tilts again, that almost imperceptible shift. "You maintain a collaborative relationship despite your preference for isolation."

"I don't collaborate. I occasionally delegate when absolutely necessary." I finish setting up the secure access tunnel. "There's a difference."

For the next while, I work on preparing my systems for handover—documenting critical alerts, setting up automated responses, recording a new voicemail message directing clients to Alex's number in emergencies.

All while very aware of the blue alien watching my every move, his skin occasionally brightening when I stretch or turn in ways that give him a clear view of my bare torso.

Eventually I've done everything I can to prepare my clients for my absence. It won't be enough—there will be problems only I can solve—but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.

I call Alex back with final instructions, then hang up and face Tev'ra.

"So what happens now?" I ask. "Do I get to pack a toothbrush for alien summer camp, or are you going to make me wear the same clothes for days?"

"Limited personal items are permitted," Tev'ra says. "However, no active Earth technology can be transported."

"Of course not." I grab a backpack and head to the bathroom, throwing in basic toiletries and then going to my closet for a few clothes.

When I return, Tev'ra has moved to the center of the living room, standing in a small clear area between my coffee table and the couch.

"The transport cycle will initiate soon," he says. "We should prepare for molecular reconstitution."

"That sounds terrible," I mutter, adjusting my backpack strap. If I'm being dragged to an alien research vessel, I'm at least going to do it on my own terms.

"Is your species always this prudish?" I ask, gesturing to his obvious discomfort with my bare chest.

Tev'ra's formal composure slips just slightly. "It is not prudishness. It is biological and cultural adaptation for optimal social function."

"Uh-huh." I look around my apartment one last time, suddenly aware that I might never see it again. For all its chaos and clutter, it's the only space that's ever truly been mine.

"You will be returned within the standard assessment period," Tev'ra says, perhaps sensing my hesitation. "Nereidan protocols are precise."

"Yeah, I've noticed you guys are big on protocols." I move to stand near him. "So how does this work? Do I need to stand somewhere specific, or...?"

"The transport field requires minimal distance between subjects." Tev'ra steps closer, now less than an arm's length away.

This is the closest we've been, and I can feel a subtle heat radiating from his blue skin. His eyes—golden, pupils vertically slitted—meet mine briefly before darting away again, his bioluminescence pulsing in what must be embarrassment.

"You will remember that the process is painless," he assures me, raising a small device from his wrist.

"That's what all the alien abductors say," I reply, but the joke falls flat even to my own ears.

The blue light begins to build around us, similar to what I experienced in my first abduction but somehow more controlled. The world starts to fade, my apartment dissolving at the edges.

As reality slips away, a thought crosses my mind: I'm voluntarily leaving Earth with an alien. Even if "voluntary" is stretching the definition.

My last clear sight is Tev'ra's face, his expression almost apologetic as the blue light consumes us both.

And then we're gone.