Page 25 of Reluctantly Abducted
"Come on, Ry'eth," Owen says with a teasing smile. "It's a big room filled with water that you swim in. On Earth, we call that a pool."
I feel my expression tighten into what I suspect humans would call a "face," but I can detect the good-natured teasing in his tone. I'm beginning to recognize the pattern of his humor.
"The terminology is imprecise," I insist, though with less conviction. "A pool does not typically contain the specific nutrient composition and environmental controls that a hydration chamber does."
"If you say so," Owen says, his smile widening slightly. "But I'm still going to call it a pool. It's easier to say than 'hydration chamber' every time."
"The accuracy of terminology is important in scientific contexts," I point out, though I find I'm not truly annoyed by his insistence.
"So what's the plan for the pool?" he asks, deliberately emphasizing the word. "You're going to adjust the air in there?"
"Yes. The hydration chamber has precise atmospheric controls," I explain. "I can modify the composition to match various Nereidan environments and observe your adaptation to these conditions."
"Will any of these conditions make me pass out, grow extra limbs, or turn purple?" he asks. "I feel like I should know that up front."
I stare at him, trying to determine if this is one of his jokes. His expression gives no clear indication.
"The conditions are all within safe parameters for human exposure," I assure him. "Though some may cause minor discomfort. The data is essential for understanding compatibility."
"Just messing with you," he says with a grin. "Lead the way to your pool. I'm all yours for the day."
The phrasing—all yours—sends an unexpected wave of bioluminescence flowing across my skin before I can suppress it. Owen notices, his grin widening slightly, but he doesn't comment.
As we walk, Owen continues, "So you're going to make it more comfortable for you, less comfortable for me, and then watch how I handle it, right?"
"That is... an accurate if simplified description, yes."
"Deal," he says. "But only if I get to make you blueberry pancakes afterward."
"Your assessment participation is not contingent on food preparation," I point out.
"I know," he says with that same sleepy smile from earlier. "But I want to. I'm going to introduce you to all the unhealthy, delicious human foods I can before our time's up. We've only got two more days, so I need to fit in pancakes, chicken wings, hot dogs, and pizza at minimum."
"That is an ambitious culinary schedule," I observe, feeling a subtle wave of something I refuse to identify as disappointment at the reminder of our limited time together.
"We'll make it work," Owen says confidently. "I'll start with pancakes today, and we'll fit in the rest tomorrow. Your food synthesizer is pretty impressive, I'm sure it can handle it."
"As part of the cultural exchange portion of the assessment, I suppose that would provide valuable data," I concede, ignoring the subtle pulse of light beneath my skin at the mention of "our time."
"Sure," Owen agrees, though his smile suggests he sees through my attempt at scientific justification. "For the data."
"For the data," I echo, knowing even as I say it that my interest has become something more complicated than pure scientific inquiry.
"So," Owen says, pushing his chair back and standing. "Pool now, pancakes later. Sounds like a good day."
"Indeed," I agree, rising as well. "The hydration chamber is already prepared for today's session. We can proceed there directly."
As we walk through the corridors, I find myself considering the strange path this assessment has taken. My brothers both formed profound connections with their human subjects, connections that led to permanent bonds and a restructuring of their entire lives. I had been determined to avoid such an outcome, to maintain scientific objectivity and demonstrate that such bonds were anomalous rather than inevitable.
Yet here I am, anticipating both the hydration session and the prospect of more human food experiences. This is far from the clinical, detached assessment I had planned. Still, I remind myself, gathering diverse data requires some degree of participation in human cultural practices. If that includes consuming "blueberry pancakes" and "pizza," so be it. For scientific purposes, of course.
We reach the hydration chamber, and I activate the entry panel. The door slides open, revealing the familiar blue-green water of the pool, its surface gently rippling under the recirculation system.
"Let me just set the atmospheric controls," I say, moving to the control panel. "I'll adjust gradually so your system has time to adapt."
Owen nods, already removing his pants. He's only wearing the lower garment as he did yesterday, since the synthesized Nereidan clothing doesn't fit his broader human frame properly. He moves with casual confidence, seemingly unconcerned about his state of undress. As he steps into the water, I focus intently on the control panel, adjusting the oxygen levels down by increments of five percent while increasing the nitrogen and trace gases that make up Nereidan standard atmosphere.
"How's that feel?" I ask as I make the first adjustment.
