Page 21 of Technically Abducted
Yet as I lead Finn back to the main research section of my ship, I am increasingly aware that my approach to this assignment has already deviated from standard protocols in ways I cannot easily classify or correct.
The implications for my assessment report—and for the Council's larger questions about human compatibility—are becoming more complex with each interaction.
And I am not entirely certain this development displeases me.
Chapter Seven
Finn
The assessment room looks like something out of a sci-fi movie—the kind where the aliens are about to dissect the human protagonist. White walls curve seamlessly into white floors and ceiling, creating a space that seems to go on forever while somehow feeling claustrophobic. Banks of equipment I don't recognize line the walls, their surfaces covered in symbols that hurt my eyes to look at directly.
"Please be seated," Tev'ra says, gesturing to what I assume is a chair, though it looks more like a sculpture made of liquid mercury that decided to hold still.
I lower myself onto it cautiously. It's surprisingly comfortable, molding to my body in a way that should be creepy but isn't. "So this is where the magic happens?"
"The formal assessment protocols will evaluate your problem-solving methodologies across multiple technological paradigms," Tev'ra explains, moving to a control panel that's probably more advanced than anything NASA has. "The first scenario will present a system malfunction requiring diagnostic and repair procedures."
His voice has that overly formal quality again, like he's reading from a manual. After seeing glimpses of the person underneath all that protocol, the return to rigid professionalism is jarring.
"Right. And you'll be watching me work?"
"Observing and documenting, yes. The Council requires detailed behavioral analysis to determine compatibility factors for technological integration purposes."
A section of the wall suddenly becomes transparent, revealing a complex mechanical system beyond. Pipes, conduits, and components I can't identify snake through a space aboutthe size of a small room. Warning lights blink in patterns that suggest something is very wrong.
"The scenario involves a critical failure in a life support subsystem," Tev'ra explains. "Standard Nereidan repair protocols would require complete system shutdown, component-by-component diagnostic analysis, and systematic replacement of all potentially compromised elements. Estimated repair time: fourteen hours, twenty-three minutes."
I study the system through the transparent barrier. Even from here, I can see the problem; a blown relay causing a cascade failure in what looks like an atmospheric processor. The fix is obvious.
"Can I access it directly?"
"Physical interface is available, yes. However, safety protocols require—"
"Yeah, about those protocols," I interrupt, standing up. "I'm going to do this my way, okay?"
Tev'ra's posture stiffens. "The assessment parameters are designed to evaluate specific methodological approaches. Deviation from—"
"Look, Blue," I say, moving toward what I assume is the access panel, "you wanted to see how I work. This is how I work."
The access panel responds to my touch, sliding open to reveal the malfunctioning system. The smell of burned electronics hits me immediately, along with something that might be ozone. Definitely a blown relay, probably in the primary control circuit.
"Finn." Tev'ra's voice carries a warning tone. "The systematic approach ensures all variables are accounted for. Your method—"
"My method gets things fixed," I say, already tracing the power flow with my eyes. "Your method takes fourteen hours while people potentially die."
I reach for what looks like the main access port, but Tev'ra's hand closes around my wrist.
"Safety protocol requires confirmation of power status before direct interface," he says, but there's less conviction in his voice than before. "The proper procedure requires preliminary scanning to identify all potential failure points."
His skin is warm against mine, warmer than I expected. There's something almost electric about the contact, like a low-voltage current running between us. His bioluminescence brightens where our skin touches.
"Sometimes you don't have time for preliminary scanning," I say, but I don't pull away. "Sometimes you have to trust your instincts."
"Instincts are unreliable. They can lead to cascading failures, unintended consequences—"
"So can over-analysis." I meet his golden eyes. "Has anyone ever solved that problem in six minutes before?"
Tev'ra's grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "No."
