"Mike Resnick - Robots Dont Cry" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

Finally we got the robot uncovered, and I checked the code on the back of his neck.



"How about that?"I said. "The son of a bitch must be five hundred years old. That makes him an antique
by anyone’s definition. I wonder what we can get forhim? "



TheBaroni peered at the code. "What does AB stand for?"



"Aldebaran.Alabama.Abrams’ Planet.Or maybe just the model number. Who the hell knows? We’ll get
him running and maybe he can tell us." I tried to set him on his feet. No luck. "Give me a hand."



"To the ship?" asked theBaroni , using sentence fragments again as he helped me stand the robot upright.



"No," I said. "We don’t need a sterile environment to work on a robot. Let’s just get him out in the
sunlight, away from all this junk, and then we’ll have a couple ofmechs check him over."



We half-carried and half-dragged him to the crumbling concrete pad beyond the barn, then laid him
down while I tightened the muscles in my neck, activating the embedded micro-chip, and directed the
signal by pointing to the ship, which was about half a mile away.



"This is me," I said as the chip carried my voice back to the ship’s computer. "Wake upMechs Three
and Seven, feed them everything you’ve got on robots going back a millennium, give them repair kits and
anything else they’ll need to fix a broken robot of indeterminate age, and then home in on my signal and
send them to me."



"Why those two?" asked theBaroni .



Sometimes I wondered why I partnered with anyone that dumb. Then I remembered the way he could
sniff out anything with a computer chip or cube, no matter how well it was hidden, so I decided to give
him a civil answer. He didn’t get that many from me; I hoped he appreciated it.