Я, Робот

           Remember–you’re–going–to–be–dead–a–long–long–time!"

           Itwasn’tquitesound,butwhateveritwas,itdiedawayinanoilyrumblingwhisper.

           ThewhitethreadthatmighthavebeenPowellheaveduselesslyattheinsubstantialeonsoftimethatexistedallabouthim–andcollapseduponitselfasthepiercingshriekofahundredmillionghostsofahundredmillionsopranovoicesrosetoacrescendoofmelody:

           "I’llbegladwhenyou’redead,yourascal,you.

           "I’llbegladwhenyou’redead,yourascal,you.

           "I’llbeglad-"

           Itroseupaspiralstairwayofviolentsoundintothekeeningsupersonicsthatpassedhearing,andthenbeyond-

           Thewhitethreadquiveredwithapulsatingpang.Itstrainedquietly-

           Thevoiceswereordinary–andmany.Itwasacrowdspeaking;aswirlingmobthatsweptthroughandpastandoverhimwitharapid,headlongmotion,thatleftdriftingtattersofwordsbehindthem.

           "Whatdidtheygetchafor,boy?Y’lookbangedup-"

           "-ahotfire,Iguess,butIgotacase-"

           "-I’vemadeParadise,butoldStPete-"

           "Naaah,Igotapullwiththeboy.Haddealingswithhim-"

           "Hey,Sam,comethisway-"

           "Jagetamouthpiece?Beelzebubsays-"

           "-Goingon,mygoodimp?MyappointmentiswithSa-"

           Andaboveitalltheoriginalstentorianroar,thatplungedacrossall:

           "HURRY!HURRY!HURRY!!!Stiryourbones,anddon’tkeepuswaiting–therearemanymoreinline.Haveyourcertificatesready,andmakesurePeter’sreleaseisstampedacrossit.Seeifyouareattheproperentrancegate.