Я, Робот
Robbie
Oneespeciallydoesnotneedanunwieldy,totallyimmobilemassofwiresandcoilsspreadingovertwenty-fivesquareyards.
Fewpeoplebotheredtoreturnforasecondhelping,butonegirlinhermiddleteenssatquietlyonabenchwaitingforathird.ShewastheonlyoneintheroomwhenGloriaentered.
Gloriadidnotlookather.Toheratthemoment,anotherhumanbeingwasbutaninconsiderableitem.Shesavedherattentionforthislargethingwiththewheels.Foramoment,shehesitatedindismay.Itdidn’tlooklikeanyrobotshehadeverseen.
Cautiouslyanddoubtfullysheraisedhertreblevoice;"Please,Mr.Robot,sir,areyoutheTalkingRobot,sir?"Shewasn’tsure,butitseemedtoherthatarobotthatactuallytalkedwasworthagreatdealofpoliteness.
(Thegirlinhermid-teensallowedalookofintenseconcentrationtocrossherthin,plainface.Shewhippedoutasmallnotebookandbeganwritinginrapidpot-hooks.)
Therewasanoilywhirofgearsandamechanicallytimbredvoiceboomedoutinwordsthatlackedaccentandintonation,"I-am-the-robot-that-talks."
Gloriastaredatitruefully.Itdidtalk,butthesoundcamefrominsidesomewheres.Therewasnofacetotalkto.Shesaid,"Canyouhelpme,Mr.Robot,sir?"
TheTalkingRobotwasdesignedtoanswerquestions,andonlysuchquestionsasitcouldanswerhadeverbeenputtoit.Itwasquiteconfidentofitsability,therefore,"I-can-help-you."
"Thankyou,Mr.Robot,sir.HaveyouseenRobbie?"
