Page 33 of Technically Abducted
"Yeah?"
"What happened here... the empathic response... it's not something to be concerned about. It's..." He pauses, searching for words. "It's significant."
And then he's gone, leaving me alone in the pool with warm water, fading bioluminescent trails, and the lingering sensation of shared feeling that makes my skin feel empty without his touch.
I float there for a while, thinking about trust and touch and the way Tev'ra looked at me like I was something precious and unexpected.
Swimming lessons, I decide, are definitely more complicated than I thought they'd be.
But maybe that's not such a bad thing.
Chapter Ten
Tev'ra
I move through the ship's corridors with undignified haste, water still dripping from my hair despite the quick drying cycle I managed in the hydration chamber's preparation area. The Council communication chime continues its insistent pattern, demanding immediate response, and I cannot afford to keep them waiting.
My quarters are exactly as I left them—pristine, organized, every surface reflecting the efficient functionality that defines Nereidan design. Yet as I cross the threshold, I find myself seeing the space differently. Through Finn's eyes, perhaps. Sterile. Empty of anything that suggests personality or comfort.
I strip out of my wet undergarments with efficient movements, selecting dry clothing from the storage compartment. The formal attire feels restrictive after the freedom of the water, after the sensation of Finn's hands on my skin, the way his pupils dilated when I kissed him.
Focus. The Council requires attention.
I activate the communication array, and the holographic projections of three Council members materialize in the center of my quarters. Elder Va'ril, distinguished by centuries of service, flanked by Research Coordinator Yil'neth and Assessment Supervisor Mor'ghen.
"Researcher Tev'ra," Elder Va'ril's voice carries the authority of absolute rank. "We have reviewed preliminary assessment data from your current assignment."
"Yes, Elder," I respond, adopting the formal posture required for Council communications. "The assessment is progressing according to modified parameters."
"Modified parameters," Research Coordinator Yil'neth repeats, consulting what appears to be a data tablet. "The diagnostic scenario completion time is listed as six minutes, twelve seconds. Is this figure accurate?"
"Yes, Coordinator. The human subject completed the assessment scenario in that timeframe."
The three Council members exchange glances that suggest significant communication is occurring beyond my observation.
"Researcher Tev'ra," Assessment Supervisor Mor'ghen speaks with careful precision, "no individual in Nereidan history has completed that particular scenario that quickly. The record completion time was twelve minutes, forty-seven seconds, achieved by you during your own assessment period."
I remember. Twelve minutes, forty-seven seconds, with five simulated casualties. A respectable time that earned commendation from my instructors.
"The human achieved this result with zero simulated casualties," I confirm.
"Zero casualties," Elder Va'ril repeats slowly. "In six minutes."
"Correct, Elder."
The silence that follows extends beyond comfortable parameters. I maintain proper posture despite the growing awareness that this conversation has implications I hadn't fully considered.
"Researcher," Research Coordinator Yil'neth says finally, "you appear... unsettled. Is there a concern regarding the accuracy of these results?"
I touch my face reflexively, then realize the gesture betrays exactly the kind of emotional compromise they've detected. My skin feels warm, probably flushed with residualbioluminescence from the pools, from Finn's touch, from the memory of his mouth against mine.
"My apologies," I say, forcing my hands back to proper position. "The human and I were engaged in swimming instruction immediately prior to this communication. I may not have achieved full temperature regulation."
"Swimming instruction," Assessment Supervisor Mor'ghen observes with obvious interest. "Our research indicated humans are naturally aquatic. All subjects should possess basic swimming capabilities."
"The human Finn Sullivan cannot swim," I explain. "He indicated this deficiency stems from his placement in something called 'foster care' during his developmental period."
The Council members exchange another series of meaningful glances.
