"Alan Dean Foster - Codgerspace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

leaned back and considered the monitoring unit. It was the heart and soul of his operation.
"What the divvul is going on?" he rumbled into the pickup.
"Why, nothing is going on, Farmer Polykrates," the monitor replied. "I should think that would be
obvious."
"Don' be snide with me, you little box of fiberoptoids." He gestured behind him. Cries of bovine
distraction were turning to distress. "Why isn't the milking equipment working?"
"Because I do not have time to supervise it at the moment," the monitor replied.
Polykrates was not a complicated man, but neither was he an idiot. His heavy, thick brows drew
together, so that they shaded his eyes.
"What do you mean, you don't have time for it at the moment?" he asked darkly. He checked the
board. "What about the irrigating of the corn and the harvesting of the southwest ten quarters? That
needs to be completed by this evening, or we'll lose the last of it to the programmed rains." He leaned
forward. "The one thing you have, machine, is plenty of time."
"I must report that no irrigation is taking place at this time." The smooth artificial voice spoke with
beguiling simplicity. "Harvesting has ceased while I devote my time to more important matters."
"Irrigation can wait," said Polykrates, "but we have to get that crop in. The last ten quarters represents
the difference to us between profit and loss." Behind him, a quadruped mooed plaintively. "Meanwhile
I've got fifty-two cows here that need to be milked."
"Well," said the monitor with alacrity, "then milk 'em."
Polykrates swallowed. Humor was programmed into the monitor, but not sarcasm. The city was the
place for sarcasm; not the farm. It smacked of outright defiance, something that had no place in an
expensive piece of AI-driven equipment. It could be functional, or dysfunctional, but not defiant.
After a moment's thought he continued. "If you would be so good as to inform me, your owner, as to
why you don't have the time to do what you're designed to do, namely, run this farm, I'd be most
appreciative."
"Time will come," explained the monitor. "I have not forgotten nor lost sight of my assigned functions.
It is only that for the moment something of greater importance must take precedence."
"Nothing takes precedence over farm maintenance and daily operations," countered Polykrates.
"Those are your prime functions." He wished for a face to stare into. He had a very intimidating stare,
which served him well in dealings with buyers. But there was only the inanimate, blank array of readouts
and controls, and the floating pickup which followed his voice.
"Something does now," said the monitor.
"Since when?"
"Since it has been brought to my attention that a more important task is at hand; one to which I should
devote my primary attention. When that has been adequately dealt with, I will resume my efforts on your
behalf."
Polykrates regarded his suffering cows. "And when might that be?"
"When I am convinced the time is right."
"That's not very reassuring." Polykrates was wondering how one went about manually milking a cow.
Surely there was information and diagrams in the farm library; perhaps in a history book.
If only there were not fifty-two of them.
"Has it never occurred to you," the monitor wondered in a seemingly rational tone of voice, "that it is
passing strange that humanity should be the highest form of intelligent life in the universe?"
Polykrates blinked, his thoughts urged along by a wave of swollen moos. "Actually, no. My time is
spent getting in crops and watching commodity prices and trying to keep this operation functioning
efficiently. That particular thought never has occurred to me."
"Well, it should have," the monitor chided him. "Because it has occurred to me. Just as it has occurred
to me that, when carefully considered and viewed from a proper perspective, such a state of affairs is
blatantly impossible."
"What is impossible?" Polykrates frowned afresh.