Page 24 of Reluctantly Abducted
This only makes Zeph'hai laugh harder. "Of course, of course. My mistake." His eyes flick past me, and I know he can see Owen in the background. "I'm glad things are going well. We should get together when you return, all of us."
"Perhaps," I say noncommittally.
"Well, I won't keep you from your... omelet." There's a knowing twinkle in his eye that I find irritating. "We'll talk soon."
The communication ends, and I turn to find Owen placing the clean dishes in their storage compartments.
"He seems nice," Owen says casually. "Your brother."
"Zeph'hai has always been... personable," I acknowledge. "Both of my brothers are, in their own ways."
"But not close?" Owen asks, perceptive as always.
I consider the question. "The age differences and our divergent career paths have made true closeness difficult. We had very little in common even before they found their humans." I run a finger along the edge of the table, tracing the subtle pattern in its surface. "I expect we will have even less time together now. I have resigned myself to that reality."
"That bothers you," Owen observes, not a question but a statement.
I'm about to deny it automatically, but something stops me. Perhaps it's the way he's looking at me, not with clinical interest or scientific curiosity, but with genuine understanding.
"Family connections are important in Nereidan culture," I say instead. "But adaptation is necessary for survival."
"So what was that about pancakes with berries?" he asks, changing the subject.
"A human food preparation, apparently," I reply. "Zeph'hai mentioned that Jake creates them."
"Blueberry pancakes," Owen nods. "Classic breakfast food. Not the healthiest thing in the world, but they taste amazing." He pauses, seeming to consider something. "You know, I could probably figure out how to make those with your synthesizer. If you wanted to try them."
The offer catches me off guard. "You would prepare additional human food items?"
"Why not?" he shrugs. "We've only got a couple more days for this assessment thing, right? I figure this is my only chance to introduce you to the finer points of human cuisine."
"I was unaware that human cuisine had 'finer points,'" I say, unable to resist the slight provocation.
Owen laughs. "Oh, we've got plenty. Blueberry pancakes are just the beginning. I'm thinking chicken wings, hot dogs, pizza..."
"Those all sound like animal proteins," I observe.
"Some of them, yeah. But pizza's mostly bread, sauce, and cheese. I bet your synthesizer could make a decent version." He glances at the device thoughtfully. "It'll be fun to try, at least."
"Why would you want to prepare these foods for me?" I ask, genuinely curious.
Owen considers the question before answering. "I guess because sharing food is what humans do. It's one of our ways of connecting." He shrugs, a gesture I've come to recognize as his attempt to make something significant seem casual. "Besides, this is probably your only chance to try authentic human cooking."
"Your definition of 'authentic' seems questionable given that you're using a Nereidan synthesizer," I point out.
"Details," he says with a dismissive wave. "It's the thought that counts."
The conversation has taken an unexpected turn, and I find myself at a loss for how to respond. The idea of Owen wanting to share his culture's food with me, to "connect," as he put it, creates a complex array of reactions I'm not prepared to analyze.
"So," I say, redirecting to more familiar territory, "today's assessment schedule includes atmospheric compatibility testing. I need to record how your physiology responds to various Nereidan environmental conditions."
"Sounds scientific," Owen says. "What does that involve exactly?"
"The hydration chamber would be ideal for this testing," I explain. "It's designed with precise environmental controls that allow me to adjust atmospheric composition, humidity, and other variables. I can monitor your vital signs remotely while you're in the water."
"Back to the pool, huh?" Owen smiles. "That was actually pretty nice yesterday."
"It is a hydration chamber," I correct automatically. "Not a 'pool.'"
