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

"This," he said as he studied the loop unit and dug at the mole near the back of his neck, "makes no sense."

"I agree, dear," said his wife as she removed dishes from the sterilizer, "but don't you think you'd better check it out anyway?"

He was already halfway to the back door, tightening the straps on his blue coveralls, his polka-dot work shirt glistening in the morning sun.

What he found in the barn was barely controlled chaos capped by extensive bovine irritation.

Polykrates managed fifty-two dairy cows, mostly somatotrophin-enhanced Jersey-Katari hybrids, with a few Guernseys around for variety. They were lined up in their immaculate stalls, twenty-six to either side of the slightly raised center walkway. As was routine, all were hooked up to the automilker for the morning draw. As he strolled in growing confusion down the line, the soft phut of the wall-emplaced sterilizers echoed his footsteps as they whisked away cow-generated fuel destined for the farm's compact on-site methane plant.

He checked hoses and suction rings, electrical connections and individual unit readouts. Nothing was working. No wonder the barn reverberated to a steady cacophony of impatient animals.

He mounted the swivel seat next to the main monitor board from which an operator could manually oversee all internal barn functions. The telltales there were bright red also.

A few taps failed to bring the system on-line. Machinery began to hum, then balked. Frustrated, he 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 Al-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?"