Page 69 of Technically Abducted
Tev'ra
The crystal-blue waters of Sil'than stretch endlessly before me, their surface catching the light of both primary suns in ways that create patterns of gold and silver across the waves. The thermal sands beneath me are the perfect temperature for Nereidan physiology, warming my skin while the gentle sea breeze carries the familiar scent of home.
This should be peaceful. Restorative. Sil'than is renowned across our homeworld for its healing properties—the mineral-rich waters, the perfect climate, the way the twin suns create light patterns that naturally synchronize with Nereidan bioluminescence cycles. It's where my creator-parents brought me during my emergence years when the pressures of accelerated learning became overwhelming.
Instead, I lie on the pristine beach and feel nothing but the hollow ache where Finn's presence should be.
Three weeks since his departure, and the empathic void has only grown more pronounced. I thought distance might help—that removing myself from the ship where we shared every space might provide relief from the constant reminders. The colonial assignment should have been perfect: challenging technical work, remote location, no possibility of encountering anything that might trigger memories of those seventy-two hours.
But the assignment proved impossible to complete. Simple calculations became laborious. Routine equipment analyses required multiple attempts. My ability to focus deteriorated until my supervisor suggested I take personal time to address whatever was affecting my performance.
Personal time. In seventeen years of professional service, I have never requested leave for non-essential purposes.
"Perhaps a return to homeworld environments will restore your equilibrium," Supervisor Ka'lyn had suggested, their tone carefully neutral. "Extended deep-space assignments can sometimes create unexpected psychological strain."
Psychological strain. If only it were that simple.
I requested transport to Sil'than because it seemed appropriately remote—far from the core systems where I might encounter other researchers, far from anywhere I might hear updates about human integration programs. A place where I could attempt to recalibrate my emotional responses without external interference.
But lying here on the warm sand, watching the waves form patterns that remind me of the way light moved through the pools where I taught Finn to float, I realize I have simply transported my misery to a more beautiful location.
My communication device chimes with an incoming message. Creator-parent Vel'tha again—the seventh attempt at contact since I arrived yesterday.
Offspring, your request for personal leave has caused considerable concern. You have never taken recreational time during active assignment periods. Please respond with status confirmation.
I read the message but cannot formulate a response. How do I explain that I am attempting to repair damage that cannot be repaired? That I am trying to function with half my empathic capacity permanently severed?
The bond with Finn was immediate and complete—deeper than anything described in my academic study of inter-species connections. Within hours of his arrival, I could sense his emotional state as clearly as my own. By the second day, the connection had synchronized to the point where his presence felt as natural as my own bioluminescence.
Now, the absence of that connection creates a constant background distress that affects every aspect of my functioning. Food lacks flavor. Sleep brings no rest. Even the technical work that has defined my existence for years feels mechanical and meaningless.
I understand what has occurred. The literature on empathic bonding is comprehensive, if largely theoretical. I have formed a mate bond with a human who was never intended to remain within our society. The connection that should have been a source of joy and completion has become a source of perpetual loss.
But knowledge of the cause does not provide a solution. Finn is on Earth, resuming his isolated existence, probably adapting more successfully to our separation than I am managing. Humans do not experience empathic connections with the same intensity as Nereidans—for him, our bond was likely a pleasant enhancement to physical intimacy rather than a fundamental alteration of his neural processing.
A wave larger than the others crashes against the shore, sending droplets of warm seawater across my legs. The mineral content is perfect for Nereidan skin—therapeutic concentrations of elements that promote healing and relaxation. Finn would find it fascinating, I think automatically, then close my eyes against the familiar pain of that thought pattern.
Finn would love this place. The pristine waters would amaze someone accustomed to Earth's polluted oceans. The way both suns create different light spectrums throughout the day would intrigue his analytical mind. The thermal regulation properties of the sand would appeal to someone who spends most of his time in climate-controlled environments.
I imagine him floating in these perfect waters, his initial nervousness giving way to wonder as he realizes how much more buoyant the mineral content makes him. I can almost see hisexpression when the evening light patterns begin—the way his eyes would widen with genuine delight, the questions he would ask about the physics behind the phenomena.
The visualization is so vivid that for a moment, the empathic void feels less pronounced. As if imagining his responses strongly enough could somehow bridge the impossible distance between us.
But the relief lasts only seconds before reality reasserts itself. Finn will never see this beach. Will never experience the way Sil'than's waters can wash away exhaustion and stress. Will never understand why Nereidans consider this one of the most beautiful places in our system.
My communication device chimes again. Creator-parent Mor'en this time:
Tev'ra, Vel'tha and I are prepared to contact your assignment supervisor if we do not receive confirmation of your wellbeing within the next cycle. Your behavior is highly unusual and causes significant concern.
The threat of administrative intervention should motivate a response. The last thing I need is my creator-parents involving themselves in my professional difficulties. But I find myself unable to craft even a basic status update.
What would I tell them? That their offspring has formed an irreversible emotional attachment to a human who was always intended to be a temporary research subject? That I am functionally compromised by the absence of someone I knew for less than four days? That I have become exactly the kind of liability the Council warns against when discussing interspecies contact protocols?
A family group emerges from the water nearby—two adults and three younglings, their bioluminescence bright with shared joy as they play in the gentle waves. I watch them interact with the automatic synchronization of bonded pairs, theway their light patterns mirror and complement each other, the effortless communication that requires no words.
This is what empathic bonding is supposed to provide. Companionship, understanding, the profound peace of never being truly alone because part of another consciousness exists within your own awareness.
Instead, I experience it as constant reminders of absence. Every activity, every observation, every moment of potential beauty becomes contaminated by awareness of what I cannot share.
