Page 9 of Technically Abducted
"The collection of... delivery menus suggests this." He picks up one of the menus—Ming's Palace, my go-to for late-night emergencies—and studies it like it's an artifact from an archaeological dig. "These numerical annotations beside food items..."
"That's how I rank them. One to five, based on taste, price, and how long they stay good as leftovers." I spin my chair to face him. "The chicken lo mein is a solid 4.5. Gets better the second day."
Tev'ra's bioluminescence flickers with what might be surprise. "You have applied a systematic evaluation method to... takeout food?"
"Why wouldn't I? If I'm ordering the same thing multiple times a week, I might as well optimize the experience." I point to a stack of menus held together with a binder clip. "Those are the rejects. Places that didn't deliver on time, got my order wrong more than once, or just weren't worth the money."
He sets down the menu with careful precision, exactly where he found it. "Your organizational systems are... unexpectedly thorough, despite their unconventional appearance."
I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult. "Thanks, I think."
His gaze moves deliberately around the apartment once more, lingering on the empty walls. "Where are your personal photographs? Family connections? Friendship documentation?"
"Don't have any."
"None?"
I gesture around the apartment. "What you see is what you get. This is it."
Tev'ra's gaze lingers on the empty walls, the lack of personal items. "Your accommodation contains no evidence of interpersonal relationships or familial bonds."
"Not everyone needs that stuff." I keep my voice deliberately neutral, casual, giving away nothing. The well-practiced deflection of someone who's answered variations of this question his entire life. "Some people just prefer to keep things simple."
His golden eyes study me with that analytical intensity that makes me feel like I'm being scanned, cataloged, filed away. "Most humans display personal artifacts. Our research indicates strong social bonding tendencies across your species."
"Yeah, well, your research is painting with a pretty broad brush then." I turn back to my monitors, deliberately breaking eye contact. "People are different. I like my space the way it is."
The alien seems to sense my discomfort, or maybe he's just recording my defensive reaction as another data point in his study of weird human behavior. Either way, he mercifully drops the subject.
"Your technological infrastructure appears to be your primary focus," he observes instead.
"It's reliable. Consistent." I tap my keyboard, more for something to do with my hands than any actual purpose.
Tev'ra stares at me for a long moment. "This is... different from what our research predicted."
"Different how?"
"We expected human innovation to emerge from collaborative social structures. Instead, you appear to operate in complete isolation."
I lean back in my chair. "Maybe that's why it works. No committee meetings, no consensus-building, no waiting for approval. Just me, the problem, and whatever tools I can jury-rig to fix it."
"The efficiency is... impressive," Tev'ra admits, his bioluminescence shifting to a pattern that seems to indicate thoughtful consideration. "Our research collective operates on principles of shared knowledge and collaborative analysis. Solutions require multiple approvals and extensive documentation."
"Sounds like a nightmare," I mutter.
"It ensures thorough examination of all variables and potential outcomes."
"It also sounds slow as hell. Look," I gesture to my monitors, where three different business systems are now functioning normally again, "while your collective would still be in the planning stages, I've already solved three problems. Sometimes people don't need the perfect solution—they need a working solution right now."
Tev'ra's head tilts slightly. "You prioritize speed over optimization?"
"I prioritize functionality. A perfect solution that arrives too late is worthless. A good-enough solution that keeps someone's business running is priceless." I pull up my client dashboard, showing dozens of active monitoring connections. "See all these? These are businesses that depend on me to keep their systems running. Restaurants, online stores, a coupleof doctor's offices, even a small manufacturing plant. If their tech fails, real people suffer—they lose money, they can't serve customers, they might even have to close down."
I spin my chair to face him directly. "So yeah, maybe my methods look chaotic to you. Maybe I don't have the perfect solution every time. But I'm there when people need me, and I make sure their systems keep working. That's what matters."
The alien's expression is unreadable, but his skin glows with a complex pattern of shifting colors. He's silent for several seconds, as if processing everything I've said.
Before Tev'ra can respond, his skin suddenly brightens with what looks like an urgent pattern. He pulls out his tablet-thing and reads something that makes his formal posture straighten even more.
