Я, Робот
Catch That Rabbit
Why...whydoessomethinginvariablygowrongwiththem?"
"Because,"saidPowell,somberly,"weareaccursed.Let’sgo!"
Faraheadthroughthethickvelvetyblacknessofthecorridorsthatreachedpasttheilluminatedcirclesoftheirflashlights,robotlighttwinkled.
"Theretheyare,"breathedDonovan.
Powellwhisperedtensely,"I’vebeentryingtogethimbyradiobuthedoesn’tanswer.Theradiocircuitisprobablyout."
"ThenI’mgladthedesignershaven’tworkedoutrobotswhocanworkintotaldarknessyet.I’dhatetohavetofindsevenmadrobotsinablackpitwithoutradiocommunication,iftheyweren’tlituplikeblastedradioactiveChristmastrees."
"Crawlupontheledgeabove,Mike.They’recomingthisway,andIwanttowatchthematcloserange.Canyoumakeit?"
Donovanmadethejumpwithagrunt.GravitywasconsiderablybelowEarth-normal,butwithaheavysuit,theadvantagewasnottoogreat,andtheledgemeantanearten-footjump.Powellfollowed.
ThecolumnofrobotswastrailingDavesingle-file.Inmechanicalrhythm,theyconvertedtodoubleandreturnedtosingleindifferentorder.ItwasrepeatedoverandoveragainandDaveneverturnedhishead.
Davewaswithintwentyfeetwhentheplay-actingceased.Thesubsidiaryrobotsbrokeformation,waitedamoment,thenclatteredoffintothedistance–veryrapidly.Davelookedafterthem,thenslowlysatdown.Herestedhisheadinonehandinaveryhumangesture.
