Я, Робот

           MikeDonovanrumpledhisredhairandshotanannoyedglanceatPowell,"Whatwasthatwalkingjunkyardtalkingabout?Whatdoesn’thebelieve?"

           Theotherdraggedathismustachebitterly."He’saskeptic,"wasthebitterresponse."Hedoesn’tbelievewemadehimorthatEarthexistsorspaceorstars."

           "SizzlingSaturn,we’vegotalunaticrobotonourhands."

           "Hesayshe’sgoingtofigureitailoutforhimself."

           "Well,now,"saidDonovansweetly,"Idohopehe’llcondescendtoexplainitalltomeafterhe’spuzzledeverythingout"Then,withsuddenrage,"Listen!Ifthatmetalmessgivesmeanyliplikethat,I’llknockthatchromiumcraniumrightoffitstorso."

           Heseatedhimselfwithajerkanddrewapaper-backedmysterynoveloutofhisinnerjacketpocket,"Thatrobotgivesmethewilliesanyway–toodamnedinquisitive!"

           MikeDonovangrowledfrombehindahugelettuce-and-tomatosandwichasCutieknockedgentlyandentered.

           "IsPowellhere?"

           Donovan’svoicewasmuffled,withpausesformastication,"He’sgatheringdataonelectronicstreamfunctions.We’reheadingforastorm,lookslike."

           GregoryPowellenteredashespoke,eyesonthegraphedpaperinhishands,anddroppedintoachair.Hespreadthesheetsoutbeforehimandbeganscribblingcalculations.Donovanstaredoverhisshoulder,crunchinglettuceanddribblingbreadcrumbs.Cutiewaitedsilently.