Page 12 of Reluctantly Abducted
"Ry," I say sharply.
His eyes snap open, along with the now-familiar glow. "I was listening."
"Sure you were." I stand up, stretching. My back gives a satisfying pop, those alien chairs are comfortable enough, but I've been sitting too long. "Let's try something else to keep you awake. What's your opinion on humans? I'm guessing we don't get high marks."
His expression shifts to something more animated despite his fatigue. "Your species has rendered significant portions of your own world uninhabitable through industrial excess and resource mismanagement. The patterns of consumption and waste production are unsustainable."
"Can't argue with that." I turn to face him. "So you're worried we'll do the same to other planets?"
"Our planet has maintained ecological balance for millennia," he says, with a hint of pride beneath the scientific detachment. "Allowing unregulated human presence would threaten that balance. Your species consistently prioritizes immediate gain over long-term sustainability."
"So that's why you're involved in this compatibility assessment," I realize. "You're evaluating whether humans would wreck your homeworld."
"The environmental impact of cross-species integration is a critical variable," he acknowledges. "Though my brothers seem to have disregarded that concern entirely."
I raise an eyebrow. "You have brothers?"
He looks momentarily surprised, as if he hadn't meant to mention that. "Yes. Two. Both currently involved with humans."
That's an interesting piece of information I file away for later. "And you don't approve?"
"Their personal choices are their own," he says stiffly. "My concerns are scientific, not personal."
"Sure they are." I resume my pacing. "So what's the solution? According to your expert alien opinion, how do we fix what we've broken?"
His expression shifts to something that might be surprise. Perhaps he was expecting me to defend humanity's environmental record. Not my job. I've seen enough of what humans do to each other and their surroundings to harbor any illusions about our collective wisdom.
"Comprehensive industrial restructuring," he says, sitting up straighter as he warms to the topic. "Transition to sustainable energy models. Restoration of key biospheres. Radical reduction in resource consumption patterns."
"Sounds expensive." I resume my pacing. "Who pays for all that?"
"That is a matter of resource allocation priorities," he says, his voice taking on a lecturing tone that I suspect is habitual when discussing his field. "Your species allocates substantial resources to military applications and luxury consumption that could be redirected."
I laugh. "Have you met humans? We're not exactly known for our long-term planning or collective sacrifice."
"Your species is capable of adaptation," Ry'eth counters, and I notice he's fully awake now, his fatigue temporarily forgotten as he engages with the topic. "Historical evidence suggests humans can implement significant behavioral changes when sufficiently motivated."
"Sure, when there's a gun to our heads." I shrug. "But gradual problems like climate change? We're like frogs in slowly boiling water."
"An inaccurate metaphor," he says with sudden precision. "Frogs will, in fact, attempt to escape water as it heats."
"So frogs are smarter than humans. Noted." I circle back to my seat and drop into it. "How'd you end up in this field anyway? Family business?"
The question seems to catch him off guard. "My academic aptitude assessments indicated compatibility with environmental sciences."
"That's not what I asked." I prop my feet up on the edge of the table, noting how his gaze flickers to this breach of decorum with mild disapproval. "I asked why you chose it. What made you care about environmental impact?"
Ry'eth is quiet for a moment, and I think he might be dozing off again, but then he speaks. "There was a research outpost on our second moon. An experiment in creating a self-sustaining ecosystem in a previously uninhabitable environment." His voice softens slightly, taking on a differentquality. "I visited as a child. Watched a barren rock transform into something... alive."
It's the first time I've heard him speak with genuine emotion rather than scientific detachment or irritation.
"You wanted to create life where there wasn't any before," I observe.
"I wanted to understand the balance," he corrects, but without his usual sharpness. "How systems interact. How small changes ripple outward with larger consequences." He looks up at me, his golden eyes more focused now. "What about you? Why medicine?"
The question throws me. I wasn't expecting him to turn the conversation around.
"Seemed useful," I say with deliberate casualness. "The Army paid for my training. Good deal all around."
