Page 64 of Technically Abducted
I remain standing in the transport chamber long after the blue light fades and Finn disappears.
The space feels impossibly empty, as if his absence has somehow expanded the chamber beyond its physical dimensions. I stare at the platform where he stood moments ago, holding those gems he didn't want, looking at me with an expression I will never forget—hurt and love and resignation all tangled together.
My bioluminescence has dimmed to barely perceptible levels, the patterns sluggish and muted. Through the severed empathic bond, I can feel... nothing. The constant background hum of Finn's emotions that has become as natural as breathing is simply gone, leaving a hollow ache where the connection used to be.
"Transport complete," I announce to the empty chamber, my voice sounding strange and flat. "Assessment subject has been successfully returned to point of origin."
The words taste like ash in my mouth.
I should return to my quarters. I should begin compiling my final assessment report. I should submit the required documentation and request my next assignment. Standard protocol dictates a forty-eight hour processing period before new mission parameters are assigned.
Instead, I stand in the transport chamber and try to remember how to function without feeling Finn's presence in the back of my mind.
Eventually, necessity forces movement. I make my way back to my quarters, noting with detached observation how different everything looks. The seating platform where we shared meals and conversations. The pool area where I taughthim to float, where we held each other under artificial starlight. The sleeping alcove where he fell asleep to stories of my homeworld.
All of it exactly as it was, but fundamentally changed by his absence.
I settle at my research station and activate the assessment report template. The form is comprehensive, designed to capture detailed observations about human technological capabilities, cultural adaptations, and integration potential. Standardized questions with designated response parameters.
Subject's primary area of expertise: Systems engineering and technological problem-solving.
Observable innovation methodologies: Adaptive approaches utilizing apparent inefficiency to create functional resilience.
Cultural integration assessment:
I stare at the cursor blinking in the empty field. How do I quantify what Finn brought to every interaction? How do I reduce his curiosity about my world, his trust in dangerous situations, his willingness to share vulnerabilities to clinical observations?
Subject demonstrated exceptional adaptability and genuine interest in interspecies cultural exchange,I type, then delete it. Too personal.
Human subject showed significant capacity for technological innovation under pressure, I try again. Delete.
Assessment subject Finn Sullivan exhibited...
I cannot finish the sentence. Every attempt to describe him in clinical terms feels like a betrayal of what we shared.
My communication panel chimes with an incoming message from Creator-parent Vel'tha:Offspring, how did theassessment conclude? We have been thinking of your human and hoping the experience was positive for both participants.
I stare at the message for several minutes before closing it without responding. I cannot explain to my creator-parents that the human they welcomed with such warmth is gone, returned to Earth with a container of gems as if three days of profound connection could be reduced to a financial transaction.
More messages accumulate over the following hours. Creator-parent Mor'en inquiring about my well-being. A colleague requesting collaboration on an upcoming research project. Standard administrative communications about my next assignment.
I respond to none of them.
Instead, I attempt to work. I review technical specifications for new assessment protocols. I analyze data from other research teams. I try to lose myself in the familiar rhythms of systematic analysis and documentation.
But every task reminds me of Finn. The technological specifications make me think of his chaotic but effective workspace. The research methodologies pale in comparison to his adaptive problem-solving approaches. Even the simple act of reviewing data brings memories of watching him work, the intense focus that transformed his entire demeanor when faced with a technical challenge.
The assessment report remains unfinished. Each time I attempt to complete it, the words feel inadequate, insufficient to capture the complexity of what occurred during those seventy-two hours.
Subject demonstrated remarkable innovation capabilities, I write, then stare at the sentence until it loses all meaning.
Remarkable. As if that single word could encompass the way Finn approached problems from angles no Nereidan wouldconsider. As if it could describe his willingness to trust me with his fears, his curiosity about my culture, the way he chose my sky over his own familiar stars.
I delete the line and begin again.
Assessment period revealed significant potential for human integration into Nereidan technological frameworks.
True, but meaningless. A technical observation that ignores the most important discovery of the entire assessment—that connection between our species runs far deeper than mere technological compatibility.
