Я, Робот
Evidence
ThefaceofStephenByerleyisnotaneasyonetodescribe.Hewasfortybybirthcertificateandfortybyappearance–butitwasahealthy,well-nourishedgood-naturedappearanceofforty;onethatautomaticallydrewtheteethofthebromideabout"lookingone’sage."
Thiswasparticularlytruewhenhelaughed,andhewaslaughingnow.Itcameloudlyandcontinuously,diedawayforabit,thenbeganagain-
AndAlfredLanning’sfacecontractedintoarigidlybittermonumentofdisapproval.Hemadeahalfgesturetothewomanwhosatbesidehim,butherthin,bloodlesslipsmerelypursedthemselvesatrifle.
Byerleygaspedhimselfastagenearernormality.
"Really,Dr.Lanning...really-I...I...arobot?"
Lanningbithiswordsoffwithasnap,"Itisnostatementofmine,sir.Iwouldbequitesatisfiedtohaveyouamemberofhumanity.Sinceourcorporationnevermanufacturedyou,Iamquitecertainthatyouare–inalegalisticsense,atanyrate.Butsincethecontentionthatyouarearobothasbeenadvancedtousseriouslybyamanofcertainstanding-"
"Don’tmentionhisname,ifitwouldknockachipoffyourgraniteblockofethics,butlet’spretenditwasFrankQuinn,forthesakeofargument,andcontinue."
Lanningdrewinasharp,cuttingsnortattheinterruption,andpausedferociouslybeforecontinuingwithaddedfrigidity,"-byamanofcertainstanding,withwhoseidentityIamnotinterestedinplayingguessinggames,Iamboundtoaskyourcooperationindisprovingit.
