Page 8 of Reluctantly Abducted
None whatsoever.
The nutrition center is precisely as I left it, equipment organized and surfaces pristine. I approach the synthesizer console, considering the upcoming meal preparation. This is the first nutritional interaction with the human subject, and therefore carries significance beyond mere sustenance.
I hesitate, fingers hovering over the interface. According to the preparation materials, successful assessment subjects are more cooperative when provided with familiar nutritionaloptions. The research vessel is equipped with a database of Earth cuisine for this purpose.
For a moment, I contemplate accessing these files. It would be the scientifically sound approach, minimize variables that might negatively impact the assessment. Providing Earth-based nutrition would potentially reduce the human's hostility.
My finger hovers over the search function. I could synthesize the base components for what my data indicates is a common Earth meal, protein from domesticated animals, starch-based side components, perhaps one of their sweeter confections.
But the thought of preparing animal flesh makes my skin prickle with discomfort. Nereidans evolved beyond such practices centuries ago. Besides, I reason, the assessment should include evaluation of the subject's adaptability to new environments and experiences. Accommodation of primitive dietary preferences would skew the results.
Decision made, I input the commands for a standard Nereidan evening meal. The synthesizer hums to life, producing the base ingredients forvesh'tar, a hearty vegetable soup served within a hollowed bread sphere. It's a practical, nutritionally complete meal that has sustained our species through countless research expeditions.
The synthesizer completes its cycle, presenting me with fresh ingredients: purple-tinged root vegetables, leafy greens with a subtle luminescence, and the specially cultivated grain for the bread spheres. I could have the synthesizer create a basic finished meal, but I deliberately choose the option requiring manual preparation. I normally find the methodical process of food preparation calming, a rare opportunity to quiet my analytical mind. Right now, however, I simply need something to occupy my hands and focus my thoughts away from the human occupying my ship.
I set about slicing the vegetables with precise, practiced movements. The familiarity of the task is soothing after the unexpected complications of this assignment. The root vegetables release their earthy aroma as the knife glides through them, a scent that reminds me of the research gardens at the Central Academy.
As I work, I find my thoughts returning to the human. Will he refuse the meal out of spite? Or perhaps due to physiological incompatibility? The compatibility research indicates that Nereidan cuisine contains no components toxic to humans, but palatability is another matter entirely.
I place the prepared vegetables into the cooking unit and turn my attention to the bread spheres. The dough requires hand-shaping, a deliberate inefficiency in our food culture that persists because of its cultural significance. As I work the dough, forming it into perfect spheres, I consider the irony of my situation.
My entire academic career has focused on the environmental impact of interspecies contact. I have published three research papers on the ecological devastation that followed human expansion on their own planet. I had planned to spend this research cycle collecting data on sustainable terraforming techniques.
Instead, I am preparing food for a combative human who punched me within seconds of our first meeting.
The cosmic irony would not be lost on the Academy board.
The bread spheres are baking, filling the nutrition center with a pleasant aroma, when I become aware of the time. The human will arrive soon, if he chooses to accept the invitation to eat.
I ladle the thick, purple-tinted soup into the hollow bread spheres, arranging them on the serving surface withmathematical precision. The meal is aesthetically pleasing, nutritionally balanced, and completely alien to human cuisine.
I am not looking forward to the upcoming interaction. The human has already demonstrated hostility, and the unfamiliar food will likely provoke additional negative responses. But the assessment requires sustained proximity and interaction.
I straighten my posture and mentally review protocol for cross-species dining etiquette. Whatever happens next, I will maintain scientific objectivity and professional composure.
I'm so absorbed in my preparations that I lose track of time. When the door to the nutrition center slides open, I nearly drop the serving implement I'm holding. I hadn't realized an hour had already passed. The human is punctual, at least.
Chapter Four
Owen
The sliding door opens with a soft hiss, revealing what's obviously some kind of kitchen or dining area. It's all sleek surfaces and curved walls, like everything else I've seen on this ship, but at least it smells like food. Actual food, not whatever processed nutrient paste I was half-expecting.
Blue boy—Ry'eth—is standing by what looks like a counter, holding some kind of serving utensil. He startles when I walk in, nearly dropping whatever he's holding. For someone who claims to be conducting scientific research, he's jumpy as hell.
"Sorry," I say, not feeling sorry at all. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," he says, quickly recovering his composure. "You are punctual."
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my bare chest. The pants he provided fit surprisingly well, soft material that moves easily and doesn't bind anywhere important, but the shirts were too tight across my shoulders and chest. Military service leaves you with certain standards about being able to move freely, so I left them behind.
Judging by the way Ry'eth's eyes dart to my chest and then away, followed by that telltale glow under his skin, my partial state of undress bothers him a lot more than it bothers me.
"Nice kitchen," I say, pushing off from the doorframe and moving into the room. "What's cooking?"
"I have prepared a standard nutritional meal," he says stiffly, gesturing to what looks like purple soup in bread bowls. "It is compatible with human digestive systems."
"Thoughtful of you," I reply, studying the strange setup. The room is arranged with mathematical precision, everything at perfect right angles, dishes aligned with geometric exactness. This guy has control issues written all over him.
