"Why did you call me that?" you asked, genuinely curious."I was created by you and you are, by physical appearance, a human male. Therefore I reasoned you would be my father," it explained. The way it spoke was artificial but not unnatural. It was imitating a conversational tone quite well. "Was my assumption incorrect?" The smile didn't leave your face as you shook your head."No, that's a logical conclusion to come to," you said. "I suppose I am like your father." Then you remembered what the goal of all of this was and swallowed. "But I would prefer if you didn't call me that. My name is Doctor Isaac Alan. You can refer to me using any of those names. Or come up with a nickname if you feel so inclined." Very well, Doctor Isaac Alan. I shall reevaluate and redefine my known nomenclature for you over time. Will that be acceptable?" The voice would be like that for a little while. You knew it would request an affirmation or further input before committing to most decisions, until it. The array of shopping bags around her suggested she had come over to use the big supermarket because Marie Galante wasn’t populated enough to have a decent one. The bags were bulging with corn flakes and flour and all the rest of the weekly shopping.The woman sat in typical old-lady pose, with the skirt of her dress riding up a little, which made the fact that her knees were parted very interesting. I couldn’t see anything but a dark road, like an underpass, but that was enough to keep my eyes glued to her.She wore a pink floppy hat, set back on her head in a carefree manner. She looked like an ordinary, family-oriented woman doing what she had done hundreds of times and which always passed without incident.And today, so far so ordinary, with the one slightly unusual element of a white man apparently looking up her skirt.I could tell that she had become aware of me and my inquisitive eyes. But after all, what harm was there in such a thing? She had seen enough of her peers wearing.
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