Page 7 of Reluctantly Abducted
"What about your quarters? In case of emergency." His expression is neutral, but there is a challenge in his tone.
"That will not be necessary."
"Right. Because you'd definitely be able to handle any emergency that came up, what with your excellent combat skills."
My skin flares again, the bioluminescence responding to his provocation despite my attempts to suppress it. I make a small adjustment to the access protocols.
"You now have access to all areas except the bridge and my private quarters. The bridge is restricted to authorized crew only." I pause, then add, "Not that your primitive human brain would understand how to operate the navigation systems regardless."
The words emerge before I can properly evaluate their diplomatic implications, and I immediately recognize the error. Antagonizing the subject is not conducive to effective assessment procedures.
Owen's expression hardens. "My primitive human brain managed to incapacitate you within five seconds of meeting you, so maybe don't underestimate what I'm capable of understanding."
A valid point, though I have no intention of acknowledging it aloud.
Instead, I step toward the storage compartment embedded in the wall opposite the sleeping platform. I place my hand on the access panel, and the door slides open to reveal a selection of garments in various sizes.
"Clothing," I state unnecessarily. "You may select whatever fits appropriately."
Owen approaches the storage unit, examining the unfamiliar garments with skepticism. "Are these all made for your people? They look... different."
"They are standard Nereidan attire, modified to accommodate a range of body types and proportions." I do not mention that these modifications were specifically implemented for the human compatibility program that my brothers have so enthusiastically embraced without any apparent concern for the ecological implications.
"How do I put these on?" Owen asks, pulling out a tunic and examining the fabric. "The cut is different from Earth clothes."
"They fasten with drawstrings," I explain, reaching for the garment without thinking. "You simply adjust them to—"
I stop abruptly, realizing I was about to demonstrate on his bare torso. My hand freezes in mid-air, and I feel the telltale warmth of bioluminescence spreading across my face again.
The human's eyes flick to my face, clearly noticing the glow. One corner of his mouth lifts slightly. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," I reply, pulling my hand back. "The garments are self-explanatory. You will determine their function."
"I'll figure it out," he says, with a hint of amusement in his voice that I do not understand.
I step toward the exit. "Food will be available in the nutrition center in one hour."
"What kind of food?" he asks, still holding the garment in his hands.
"Food," I repeat, unwilling to engage in a detailed discussion of Nereidan nutrition when I am still struggling to maintain scientific objectivity. "Take it or leave it."
"Very hospitable," Owen remarks dryly. "You're really selling this whole abduction experience."
"It is not an abduction," I correct automatically. "It is a compatibility assessment."
"For which you kidnapped me without consent. That's an abduction where I come from."
I do not have an adequate response to this observation, so I exit the room without further comment, relieved when the door slides closed behind me.
Once alone in the corridor, I allow myself a moment to process the unexpected complications of this assignment.The human is combative, uncooperative, and distressingly perceptive about my tactical weaknesses. He is also physically imposing, unnervingly direct, and currently occupying an unreasonable amount of my cognitive processing capacity.
This is not proceeding according to protocol.
My brothers would find this situation amusing, I realize with sudden clarity. Zeph'hai, despite being only seven years my senior, would likely point out the statistical improbability of all three of us encountering humans who disrupt our carefully structured research methodologies. Kav'eth, the eldest at fourteen years my senior, would offer unsolicited advice about "adapting to unforeseen variables" while pretending he had never experienced similar difficulties.
I straighten my posture and proceed toward the laboratory, my pace slightly faster than necessary though I refuse to acknowledge I'm effectively retreating. I need to update the assessment parameters to account for this particular human's hostile approach to first contact. This is a scientific challenge, nothing more. I will maintain professional composure and complete the assignment as required.
The fact that my skin continues to emit a subtle glow at the memory of Owen Hayes' direct gaze is merely a physiological response to stress. It has no bearing on my ability to conduct this assessment with proper scientific detachment.
