It’s intimidating.

But why?

Was it because I know thousands of these boxes showed up overnight? Because of the massive support such an effort would have required to supply the whole city? Because the event was repeated millions of times across the planet? Well, I didn’t know for certain yet, but it seemed the anecdotal evidence from the news would support such an extrapolation.

I’m using too many big words again. I must be nervous.

Duh.

I’m almost within arm’s reach of an unidentified frigging object. Well within ray gun range, without a doubt.

While I will not completely discount the possibility of an alien invasion, it’s really only because the tiniest possibility is still a possibility, no matter how improbable. No, I think it’s far more likely this is home-grown.

How weird would it be? If my dumb theory, a theory of only another remote possibility combined with a fantastic daydream were actually coming true before my eyes?

It’s almost too much to grasp.

So, what now?

It looks plain. It’s just black. I wonder if there’s more detail up close. Only one way to find out.

Gaah! What am I doing?

Stalling, I think. I am thinking of clichés, now. He who hesitates is lost. No guts, no glory. Then there’s the one I have used many times in my life: I’d rather be damned for doing than damned for not. I’m likely doomed either way.

It’s not as small as I first thought. Roughly estimating, it looks about half a meter in each dimension. It is definitely a dark black, featureless so far, and not shiny.

I can feel my throat and chest knotting up as I move closer.

I think I should be safe to look, at least.

Please state your name.

“Ow!” I exclaimed. The words coming out of the box startled me so much I slammed my elbow against the front door. I’m sure it wasn’t because my fight or flight response defaults to fight. The clenched fist pulling back to punch out was a coincidence, nothing more.

I’m not sure I caught exactly what she said, since my body decided to react without permission at that particular moment.

“Could you repeat that, please?”

Please state your name.

...the attractive voice repeated.

With a bit of hesitation, I decided to go all in.

“Thomas,” I supplied.

Please state your full name.

So, we’re dealing with a sophisticated voice interface, and it speaks English. Good to know. All it means so far, though, is it’s at least as smart as a phone. Do we still call them smartphones? If so, why?

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Focus.

“Thomas Jacob Anderson”

Identity confirmed.

Say what?

“Thomas Jacob Anderson is the registered owner of the property located at this unit’s position,” she said. “Visual identification confirms your identity as the same individual.”

She can see me. I shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow I am. Perhaps it has to do with her fluid and natural-sounding speech. She’s really hitting all the inflections just right. Much better than a smartphone.

“As the owner of this property, you may claim this unit for your personal use,” she continued. “Place your hand on the surface of this unit to initiate personalization.”

Whoa.

Time to be careful here. I don’t know what this is or why it wants to be ‘claimed.’ I don’t know almost anything.

“What can you tell me about yourself?” I asked.

“Information before activation is limited to model, serial number, and current status.”

Well, what a copious quantity of information. Sheesh.

“Very well, then, what is your model name and current status?”

“My model is Fundafab One. My status is dormant,” she replied.

Maybe she is being literal. What did I ask? Let’s see; I used ‘can’ and ‘about yourself,’ maybe something like, “What is a Fundafab?” I asked. I can try a few combinations if this one doesn’t work. I could easily see this one returning a circular logic answer.

“A Fundifab is a model of molecular manufacturing device designed for personal or household use,” came her mind-bending reply.

YES!

Somehow I am maintaining a mostly calm exterior, but the inside happy dance I am doing has got to be pushing up my heart rate and blood pressure. It’s a nanofactory! Thinking of the potential has me literally turning dizzy. Am I going to pass out? Keep it together, Thomas.

What if it’s a hoax? Really? A hoax perpetrated on the entire planet? Get real.

So what about a trap? That seems more possible, after all, it wants me to touch it. Logically, though, just with technology able to deliver this size package to my front door, if someone wanted me dead or captured, they could have just done so directly. That’s even without any molecular-level ability.

If, on the other hand, whoever built this has actual, honest-to-goodness molecular manufacturing in any real capacity, then everything but the scale of the operation becomes relatively trivial. At least in theory.

I stop myself in the midst of my motion to set my hand on top of the box.

I want this. Desperately.

“Are you capable of conversation?” I ask instead.

“Yes.”

Well, that’s progress, at least. “Are you self-aware?” I asked, trying not to let the hope shine through. I wouldn’t want to bias the results, now would I?

“I do not know the answer to your question,” she said.

Let’s see, if she is not self-aware, then this is likely a programmed response to anything out of the programmed range of subject matter. If, on the other hand, she is self-aware, she could easily be unaware of said self-awareness. Doh.

This is getting nowhere.

“By claiming this unit, what obligations or contracts am I entering or subject to?” There. Wordy, but it should net more information.

“This is the end-user agreement:” she said, as the air in front of me filled with lines of text. Great. Reading this is going to take forever. Wait… this looks solid.

Turning my head and moving to the side, I can see a stack of old-style parchment papers. It looks real.

“You’re capable of producing holograms?” I ask in my confused voice. Classy.

“I am capable of producing volumetric images similar to projected holograms,” was her reply.

That sounds fancy.

Wasn’t that more information than name, rank and serial number? Oh, I get it; that’s all she can say about this particular unit, not about more general topics.

I start reading the agreement, then decide to try touching it when I reach the bottom of the first page. I can feel it, and it responds to my touch. Holy cow, a tactile hologram! Wait, not hologram, she said, ‘volumetric display’. It must be a solid construct or force projection of some sort. Who cares? It’s friggin’ awesome! I want this for ALL my displays from now on!

The suspense is killing me. I flip through the pages and skim the agreement. It’s the pretty standard language of these things; don’t reverse engineer anything, don’t open the case, you don’t own this, it is being leased to you free of charge by Fabricorp and can be revoked at any time. I don’t see anything about firstborn children, but it seems like it could be in there along with everything else.

“Before I do this, do you have a name?” I said.

“This unit is unactivated and currently without a name designation.”

So, I get to name it after I claim it? Her? I remember now, I despise gender pronouns. She’s not going to be an ‘it’ I decide. Even if it turns out to be just anthropomorphizing, her voice is feminine, thus confirming her as a ‘she’. If she wants to change to something else later, so be it.

I put my trembling hand down on top of the nice black box.