Я, Робот

           RB-34’sphotoelectriceyesliftedfromthebookatthemuffledsoundofbingesturningandhewasuponhisfeetwhenSusanCalvinentered.

           Shepausedtoreadjustthehuge"NoEntrance"signuponthedoorandthenapproachedtherobot.

           "I’vebroughtyouthetextsuponhyperatomicmotors,Herbie–afewanyway.Wouldyoucaretolookatthem?"

           RB-34-otherwiseknownasHerbie-liftedthethreeheavybooksfromherarmsandopenedtothetitlepageofone:

           "Hm-m-m!’TheoryofHyperatomics.’"Hemumbledinarticulatelytohimselfasheflippedthepagesandthenspokewithanabstractedair,"Sitdown,Dr.Calvin!Thiswilltakemeafewminutes."

           ThepsychologistseatedherselfandwatchedHerbienarrowlyashetookachairattheothersideofthetableandwentthroughthethreebookssystematically.

           Attheendofhalfanhour,heputthemdown,"Ofcourse,Iknowwhyyoubroughtthese."

           ThecornerofDr.Calvin’sliptwitched,"Iwasafraidyouwould.It’sdifficulttoworkwithyou,Herbie.You’realwaysastepaheadofme."

           "It’sthesamewiththesebooks,youknow,aswiththeothers.Theyjustdon’tinterestme.There’snothingtoyourtextbooks.Yourscienceisjustamassofcollecteddataplasteredtogetherbymake-shifttheory–andallsoincrediblysimple,thatit’sscarcelyworthbotheringabout.

           "It’syourfictionthatinterestsme.Yourstudiesoftheinterplayofhumanmotivesandemotions"–hismightyhandgesturedvaguelyashesoughttheproperwords.

           Dr.Calvinwhispered,"IthinkIunderstand."