Catch of a lifetime.
My name is Alan May, and a year ago, anyone who knew me would tell you that Alan May was a confirmed bachelor. I wasn't; I was so painfully shy that I simply could not utter a word to a woman. I'm not that good at making conversation with anyone. If that anyone had tits, I was lost. If you can't talk to a woman, you can't chat them up. I was a lonely, confirmed bachelor.
I didn't go to discos or parties. If I went to a pub, it was for a pint and the high point of my social activity, a game of pool with my only real friend, Neil. I have known Neil since my mom dropped me off for my first day at school. Neil is my polar opposite. gregarious, funny, and the life and soul of any party I love the guy to bits; he never stops trying to get me fixed up with one of the sweet young things that swarm around him.
My dad died before I was born. He was a collier. He died in a mine collapse. Not having a dad as a kid wasn't good, but it wasn't the reason I was shy; that was just the real me.
I went fishing. I went fishing on my own, and I would walk miles to be on my own. I liked fishing. I took photos when I was fishing, and as you don't have to talk to a camera, I became pretty proficient at that.
One day I saw four fox cubs playing on the far bank of the river where I was fishing. Then I saw the vixen watching them. She knew I was there, but she knew the river was keeping her babies safe. I was completely engrossed; I must have taken fifty or sixty shots, and then the bank I was sitting on exploded.
When I came around, I was in the river just a few yards downstream of where I had been sitting. Most of my fishing gear had gone, and my camera and the bag I kept it in, along with a couple of lenses and a flash gun, had gone. I was faintly surprised I was still alive.
There was a big hole in the bank just behind where I had been fishing, and inside was a black sphere. As I got my feet back on dry land, it started to open like a very round oyster. I was, to be honest, so scared that I was on the verge of shitting myself.
There was nothing to be scared about, though. No one inside, no weapons of mass destruction, not even a weapon of lone fisherman destruction.
However, I could hear a voice--two voices, in fact.
"Holy fucking shit, Gerry. The bastard things crashed on Terra 3 on system TQ 316--36. Oh fuck, it's a Cat 4 planet with a strict no interference order.
Oh fuck fuck and triple fuck. There is a being sniffing around it."
"Hit the self-district button, Harry."
"No, mate, he is almost touching it, and the scout is activated.
"What gender is it, Harry?"
"Male, I think. Sometimes it's hard to tell with these fuckers."
The voice called Harry shouted. "Oi buddy. Are you a guy or a tart?
"Do you mean me?"
"Oh fuck, are there more of you there?"
"No, I don't think so," I replied.
"Well, of course you then."
"In the pod, there is a companion bot. You can have it if you want."
"What is it?"
"Fuck sake, buddy, it's called a companion bot because it's a bot and it's a companion."
"Sooner or later, your people will be advanced enough for us to send a watcher out to you. Probably just after you stop electing congenital retards as your leaders. Then we may invite you to join our intergalactic trading block. We usually send a bot out with a watcher. We had already sent this one out when there was a problem with the watcher."
"Just to be totally upfront, she will remember everything, and we will be able to download all her memories."
"I'm confused; is she a robot, a computer, or a living being?"
Bit of each really, robotic skeleton and drives. The skin, hair, fingernails, and sub-dermis are all artificially grown and maintained. The brain is a pure computer.
"What can it, er, she do?"
More than you will ask. To be honest, mate, she is way ahead of anything you have seen. Look, we can't let this go on much longer. We have to, er, dissolve the craft. Dissolve is not the right word, but you ain't got the right word. It's good enough. Make your mind up--do you want her?
This was fucking scary. I didn't know what I was getting into. On the other hand, if I didn't, I was going to live the rest of my life alone." Oh, one more thing, Alan. Is it OK if I call you Alan? If you tell her you don't want her anymore and you have no one to hand her over, she will self-destruct. She is, by any standards, a sentient life form, so please keep that in mind. Also, she cost more to build than the gross domestic product of your planet.
Right I can only hold the recovery sequence up for another 10 minutes. Go get her and then run, or just fucking run mate.
In the sphere, there was a cylinder; it was the only thing in there that could hold anything of the size I was thinking about. I tried to pick it up. As soon as I touched it, it dissolved. That's the only way I can describe it. There were no fumes, no residue, just a stunningly beautiful naked woman.
What sounded like a recording of Harry's voice said, Bot 00C38701 stand by for new instructions. Cancel the previous standing instruction regarding Watcher designated number 00W693299RODGER. New instruction pair with 00WMAY0/ALAN.
The beautiful woman blinked and said, "Are you 00WMAY0/ALAN What do you want me to call you?"
Ohh, err, I'm err."
"OK Err. I'm 38701. You can choose a new designation for me."
"Oh no, erm, Alan."
"Ohh, erm, Alan"?
That seems like a strange name. I've searched my data banks and cannot find any reference to that name anywhere on this planet.
"Stop, please stop. Can we start again?"
"Of course we can, but may I suggest we leave here now? "If the disassociation process starts while we are inside the craft, we will disassociate with it."