Page 79 of Technically Abducted
"Subjects," Nor'em interjects, more firmly this time, his professional demeanor cracking slightly as he glances at the windows and the door. "Transport authorization has a limited window. We should proceed to the vessel for full debriefing."
I feel a flash of irritation from Finn at the word "subjects," his smile faltering. He's not a subject anymore—or he won't be, once the Council formalizes his integration status. The designation matters to him in ways Nor'em can't understand.
"Researcher Tev'ra," Yth'al adds, his tone respectful but insistent. "Standard extraction protocol specifies maximum surface exposure of fifteen minutes. We've already exceeded that threshold."
"They're right," I tell him, reluctantly releasing my grip on his shirt but maintaining contact through our joined hands. The physical connection feels essential after weeks of emptiness. "We should continue this conversation somewhere more private. But Finn..." I pause, needing him to understand this before we go anywhere, my bioluminescence involuntarily dimming with the seriousness of what I'm about to say. "If you choose to come with us, if you choose integration, it would be permanent. You wouldn't be returning to Earth."
I need him to understand the magnitude of this decision—that unlike his assessment period, integration is intended to be a lifelong commitment. Through our bond, I feel his immediate response—not hesitation or fear, but a surge of certainty that takes my breath away.
His eyes flick briefly to the apartment around us, taking in the life he's built here—the technology, the organized chaos, the solitary existence that defined him until three weeks ago.
"We're ready," Finn says, his confidence flowing through our bond. "We've been preparing for this since we sent the message."
His certainty shouldn't surprise me, but the completeness of his preparation does. I can feel through our connection that he's already mentally left this place behind, his focus entirely on what lies ahead.
"We took care of everything," Alex confirms with a satisfied smile. "Those gems you sold gave us plenty to work with. Everyone we care about is financially secure, and I've arranged contingencies for your clients." He glances at me. "We've been planning for this possibility for a week, ever since we decided to force contact."
I notice the dark circles under Alex's eyes, the tension in his posture despite his casual tone. They've been working toward this outcome since the security breach was initiated, preparing meticulously while hoping for exactly this response.
"You've thought of everything," I say, impressed by their thoroughness.
"Had to," Alex says, his expression becoming more serious. "Once we decided to hack systems, we knew there'd be consequences. We just hoped they'd be the right kind."
He pauses, his determination clear. "All I want now is answers about my own situation. About what happened ten years ago."
"You will get answers," I promise, my tone carrying the weight of official assurance. I glance at Nor'em, who nods slightly—confirmation that the Council has authorized a full investigation into Alex's case.
"And if I want to stay too?" Alex asks quietly, his eyes never leaving mine.
The question surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn't. I can see Nor'em's bioluminescence flicker with alarm—this scenario wasn't part of our briefing. But as I study Alex, I can see the logic in his request.
"Because you were abducted as a minor, integration evaluation would be available if requested," I confirm, choosing my words carefully. "Though the process is more complex for non-assessed individuals."
"We'll figure it out when we get there," Finn says firmly.
"So you'll come?" I ask, unable to keep the hope from my voice, from my skin, from the empathic waves flooding between us.
"Tev'ra," Finn says, reaching up to touch my face, his fingers tracing the patterns of light beneath my skin with a reverence that makes my breath catch. His eyes meet mine with absolute certainty, all doubts dissolved by the truth of our reconnection. "I've been trying to get back to you for three weeks. Of course I'll come."
The simple statement, the absolute certainty in his voice, makes something fundamental settle in my chest. He wants this. Not just the adventure or the escape from his previous life, but specifically this connection with me. I can feel it through our bond—the way everything in him has oriented toward me, toward us, like a compass finding true north.
"Subjects," Nor'em says, and there's genuine warmth in his tone now, his bioluminescence shifting to the informal patterns used among friends rather than the rigid configurations of official duty. "Shall we proceed to transport?"
I notice how he deliberately softens the word "subjects," removing the clinical edge that bothered Finn earlier. A small accommodation, but a meaningful one.
"Just one thing," Finn says, moving to his desk and picking up the three remaining gems. They catch the light from my skin, refracting it into prismatic patterns across his hands. "I kept these. Seemed important somehow."
Through our bond, I feel the significance these crystals hold for him—how they represented both loss and possibility, how he couldn't bring himself to sell them despite their value. They were his last tangible connection to me, to the experience that changed everything.
He pockets the crystals, then takes one last look around his apartment—the chaotic workspace that represented hisentire existence until three weeks ago. I feel his emotional inventory—not regret, but acknowledgment, closure.
Yth'al signals that the transport field is charging, the faint hum of molecular reconfiguration beginning to build around us.
"Ready?" I ask, extending my hand toward him, my skin glowing with anticipation.
"More than ready," Finn confirms, taking my hand. The warmth of his skin against mine sends a cascade of sensation through our empathic bond.
Beside us, Alex takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he steps into the growing transport field. His expression is a complex mixture of determination, apprehension, and wonder—the face of someone stepping into the unknown by choice rather than circumstance.
