Я, Робот

           Therobotswereonthelowestsublevel–allsixofthemsurroundedbymustypackingcasesofuncertaincontent.Theywerelarge,extremelyso,andeventhoughtheywereinasittingpositiononthefloor,legsstraddledoutbeforethem,theirheadswereagoodsevenfeetintheair.

           Donovanwhistled."Lookatthesizeofthem,willyou?Thechestsmustbetenfeetaround."

           "That’sbecausethey’resuppliedwiththeoldMcGuffygears.I’vebeenovertheinsides–crummiestsetyou’veeverseen."

           "Haveyoupoweredthemyet?"

           "No.Therewasn’tanyreasonto.Idon’tthinkthere’sanythingwrongwiththem.Eventhediaphragmisinreasonableorder.Theymighttalk."

           Hehadunscrewedthechestplateofthenearestashespoke,insertedthetwo-inchspherethatcontainedthetinysparkofatomicenergythatwasarobot’slife.Therewasdifficultyinfittingit,buthemanaged,andthenscrewedtheplatebackonagaininlaboriousfashion.Theradiocontrolsofmoremodernmodelshadnotbeenheardoftenyearsearlier.Andthentotheotherfive.

           Donovansaiduneasily,"Theyhaven’tmoved."

           "Noorderstodoso,"repliedPowell,succinctly.Hewentbacktothefirstinthelineandstruckhimonthechest."You!Doyouhearme?"

           Themonster’sheadbentslowlyandtheeyesfixedthemselvesonPowell.Then,inaharsh,squawkingvoice–likethatofamedievalphonograph,hegrated,"Yes,Master!"