Я, Робот
Escape!
Powellcaughtathiselbowashewalkedaway,"Sir,istheshipstillrestrictedground?"
Theolddirectorhesitated,thenrubbedthebridgeofhisnose,"Isupposenot.Foryoutwoanyway."
Donovanlookedafterhimasheleftandmutteredashort,expressivephraseathisback.HeturnedtoPowell,"I’dliketogivehimaliterarydescriptionofhimself,Greg."
"Supposeyoucomealong,Mike."
Theinsideoftheshipwasfinished,asfinishedasashipeverwas;thatcouldbetoldinasingleeye-blinkingglance.Nomartinetinthesystemcouldhaveputasmuchspit-and-polishintoasurfaceasthoserobotshad.Thewallswereofagleamingsilveryfinishthatretainednofingerprints.
Therewerenoangles;walls,floors,andceilingfadedgentlyintoeachotherandinthecold,metallicglitteringofthehiddenlights,onewassurroundedbysixchillyreflectionsofone’sbewilderedself.
Themaincorridorwasanarrowtunnelthatledinahard,clatterfootedstretchalongalineofroomsofnointerdistinguishingfeatures.
Powellsaid,"Isupposefurnitureisbuiltintothewall.Ormaybewe’renotsupposedtositorsleep."
Itwasinthelastroom,theonenearestthenose,thatthemonotonybroke.Acurvingwindowofnon-reflectingglasswasthefirstbreakintheuniversalmetal,andbelowitwasasinglelargedial,withasinglemotionlessneedlehardagainstthezeromark.
Donovansaid,"Lookatthat!"andpointedtothesinglewordonthefinely-markedscale.
