Page 54 of Reluctantly Abducted
The streets are gradually showing signs of life. A newspaper delivery truck rumbles past. Lights flick on in apartment windows. A baker opens the front door of his shop, the warm smell of fresh bread wafting out into the cool morning air.
Life continuing as it always has. As it always will. With or without my participation.
That's when it happens, a sudden warmth spreading through my chest, as if someone has wrapped their arms around me from behind. There's no one there, of course. Just the empty park and the distant sound of traffic. But the sensation is so vivid, so specific, that I freeze in place, afraid to move and break whatever strange spell has fallen over me.
For just a moment, I could swear I smell that mineral scent that clung to Ry'eth's skin. For just a moment, I feel less alone than I have since returning to Earth.
Then it's gone, leaving me standing alone in the park, heart racing, skin prickling with goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold.
"Ry?" I whisper to the empty air, feeling ridiculous even as the name leaves my lips.
No answer comes. Of course no answer comes. Just the rustle of leaves in the breeze and a distant car alarm.
I walk home slowly, turning the strange sensation over in my mind. Stress, probably. Lack of sleep. The mind plays tricks when you're exhausted and emotional. There's no rational explanation for what I felt, and I've always prided myself on rationality.
Yet as I climb the stairs to my apartment, I can't shake the feeling that something passed between worlds for just a moment, some echo of connection that defies scientific explanation. The kind of thing Ry'eth would dismiss as impossible without empirical evidence.
I smile at the thought of how he would react, his skin glowing with agitation as he explained all the reasons why interstellar emotional connections cannot exist without the proper technological interface. I can picture his expression perfectly, the precise way his brow would furrow, the slight tilt of his head when he's being particularly scientific.
Inside my apartment, everything is exactly as I left it. Empty. Quiet. Achingly normal. I drop my keys on the counter and head for the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the mirror.
I look exhausted, dark circles under my eyes, stubble covering my jaw, hair disheveled from the wind. But there's something else, something in my expression I can't quite name. Not hope, exactly. Just... awareness. As if some dormant part of me has awakened and refuses to go back to sleep.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter to my reflection. "Get it together, Owen."
I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, letting hot water wash over me. It doesn't feel the same as the hydration pool on Ry'eth's ship, nothing like the gentle, enveloping sensation of floating in water calibrated exactly to my body's needs. Just ordinary Earth plumbing doing its basic job.
As I dry off and pull on clean clothes, I try to focus on practical matters. I have a job interview tomorrow, just a medical supply company, nothing exciting, but it's something. I need to review their product line, prepare answers to likely questions, iron a shirt.
Normal, mundane, human concerns. The kind of things that used to occupy my thoughts before I knew what it felt like to be touched by someone from another world.
I lie down in bed again, staring once more at the ceiling. The clock reads 4:23 AM. Another day stretches ahead of me, empty, purposeless, unstructured. No job to go to. No one expecting me anywhere. Nothing that actually matters.
Two weeks ago, that emptiness felt like freedom after the rigid structure of military life. Now it just feels like... emptiness.
I close my eyes, trying to quiet my mind. There's no point in being awake. Nothing to do. Nowhere to be. No one waiting for me.
Instead, I see blue skin illuminated from within. I hear a formal voice softening when it speaks my name. I feel cool fingers tentatively tracing my scars.
I roll onto my side, clutching a pillow against my chest as a poor substitute for what I really want to hold. The emptiness beside me feels vast and profound, an absence more tangible than presence.
"Goodnight, Ry," I whisper into the darkness, as if my words could somehow travel across whatever immeasurable distance separates us.
No response comes. None will ever come. That's the reality I have to learn to live with.
But as sleep finally begins to claim me, that inexplicable warmth returns briefly, a ghostly echo of connection that follows me into dreams filled with stars and bioluminescent skin and a voice formally explaining the properties of alien atmospheres.
Chapter Sixteen
Ry'eth
The Council chambers are exactly as I remember them, a perfect circle of carved stone with a domed ceiling that captures and amplifies sound so precisely that even whispers can be heard from anywhere in the room. The ancient architecture stands in stark contrast to the holographic displays and data interfaces that have been seamlessly integrated into the space over generations.
I stand in the preparation alcove, reviewing my presentation one final time. The data is organized with scientific precision, atmospheric composition analyses, resource consumption calculations, compatibility metrics. Everything the Council requires to evaluate the environmental impact of human integration.
Everything except the truth that lives beneath my skin, beneath the data, beneath the carefully constructed scientific detachment I've spent my entire career perfecting.
A strange flutter pulses through my chest, my heartbeat accelerating without obvious cause. I press my hand against my sternum, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath my palm. Unusual. I don't typically experience anticipatory stress before presentations. Perhaps it's the significance of this particular assessment, or the knowledge that Kav'eth will be watching from the Council.
