Page 9 of Reluctantly Abducted
I pull out one of the chairs, or what I assume is a chair, though it's shaped differently than what we use on Earth, more like a stool than anything, and sit down. Ry'eth seems momentarily surprised by this, like he expected more resistance.
"So, Ry," I say, deliberately using the shortened name, "what exactly are we eating here?"
His skin flares with that blue-green glow again. "My name is Ry'eth," he corrects sharply. "And this isvesh'tar, a nutritionally balanced meal containing proteins, complex carbohydrates, and essential micronutrients."
"Sounds delicious," I say dryly, picking up what I hope is the alien equivalent of a spoon. "And it's purple."
"The root vegetable has natural pigmentation that—" he begins, then stops himself. "It is unnecessary to explain the botanical properties of each ingredient."
I dip the spoon into the purple soup, catching the alien watching me with what looks like scientific curiosity. The smell is strange but not unpleasant, earthy with something almost like mint underneath. I take a cautious taste.
It's... surprisingly good. Different, definitely, but not bad. Reminds me a little of sweet potato soup, but with an herbal aftertaste that's actually pretty refreshing.
"Not bad, Ry," I say, watching his skin light up again at the shortened name. "Better than MREs, that's for damn sure."
He sits down across from me, his movements precise and controlled. "I am unfamiliar with that term."
"Meals Ready to Eat. Military food." I take another spoonful. "Designed to last through nuclear winter but taste like the inside of a boot."
Ry'eth looks genuinely perplexed. "You consume footwear?"
That startles a laugh out of me. "No, it's an expression. Means they taste terrible."
"I see." He's watching me eat with that same clinical detachment, like I'm a lab specimen. "You find thevesh'taracceptable, then?"
"It's good. I like the bread bowl thing a lot." I take another spoonful. "Way better than what we had to eat in the field."
He seems slightly pleased by this assessment, though he's trying to hide it. I decide to change tactics.
"How's your head feeling?" I ask, gesturing toward the spot where he hit the control panel.
The question clearly catches him off guard. "My head?"
"Yeah, you know, the part of you that smacked into a metal panel after I decked you." I set down my spoon. "Mind if I take a look?"
Before he can answer, I'm already up and moving around to his side of the table. He stiffens visibly as I approach.
"This is unnecessary," he says, but I'm already examining the back of his head, gently probing the area where I saw the impact.
"I'll be the judge of that. I've treated more head injuries than you've had hot meals." His skin is cooler than human temperature, with an unusual texture, smoother, almost like fine suede. The bump has already gone down considerably. "Looks like you heal pretty quickly. That's a good sign."
He's rigid under my examination, his skin practically glowing wherever my fingers make contact. "Nereidan physiology includes accelerated cellular regeneration compared to humans," he says stiffly.
"Handy," I comment, moving around to check his split lip. I tip his chin up with my finger, studying the small cut. It's already mostly healed, just a faint blue line where it was bleeding earlier.
I find myself noticing the unusual texture of his lips, fuller than I expected, and surprisingly soft-looking despite their bluish tint. There's something almost delicate about them, contrasting with the sharpness of his other features.
"So how long until these are completely healed? Hours? Days?" I ask, maintaining a clinical tone despite our proximity.
"The minor laceration will be fully healed by morning. The contusion perhaps a day longer." His voice is carefully controlled, but I can feel a slight tremor under my fingers.
"Fascinating," I say, genuinely impressed. "Your nervous system obviously works differently too. Those light patterns under your skin, they follow neural pathways?"
He pulls away from my touch. "My bioluminescent responses are not relevant to the compatibility assessment."
"I disagree," I say, returning to my seat. "Seems pretty relevant to understand the biology of whoever you're being 'assessed' for compatibility with."
I continue eating while he processes this, noting how his posture remains rigid. He's barely touched his own food.
