"Asimov, Isaac - Wonderful Worlds of SciFi Vol 9 - Robots" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

"Perhaps you did," the lifeboat answered. "But in modern, lightning-quick warfare, Drome senses cannot be trusted. They are too limited, too prone to interpret what they wish. Electronic senses on the other hand, are emotionless, eternally vigilant, and infallible within their limits."
"But there isn't anything there!" Gregor shouted.
"I perceive a foreign spaceship," the lifeboat answered. "It has no Drome markings."
"It hasn't any enemy markings, either," Arnold answered confidently, since he had painted the ancient hull himself.
"No, it hasn't. But in war, we must assume that what is not ours is the enemy's. I understand your desire to set foot on land again. But I take into account factors that a Drome, motivated by his emotions, would overlook. Consider the apparent emptiness of this strategic bit of land; the unmarked spaceship put temptingly out for bait; the fact that our fleet is no longer in this vicinity; the--"
"All right, that's enough," Gregor was sick of arguing with a verbose and egoistic machine. "Go directly to that island. That's an order."
"I cannot obey that order," the boat said. "You are unbalanced from your harrowing escape from death--"
Arnold reached for the cutout switch, and withdrew his hand with a howl of pain.
"Come to your senses, gentlemen," the boat said sternly. "Only the decommissioning officer is empowered to turn me off. For your own safety, I must warn you not to touch any of my controls. You are mentally unbalanced. Later, when our position is safer, I will administer to you. Now my full energies must be devoted toward detection and escape from the enemy."
The boat picked up speed and moved away from the island in an intricate evasive pattern.
"Where are we going?" Gregor asked.
"To rejoin the Drome fleet!" the lifeboat cried so confidently that the partners stared nervously over the vast, deserted waters of Trident.
"As soon as I can find it, that is," the lifeboat amended.

It was late at night. Gregor and Arnold sat in a corner of the cabin, hungrily sharing their last sandwich. The lifeboat was still rushing madly over the waves, its every electronic sense alert, searching for a fleet that had existed five hundred years ago, upon an entirely different planet.
"Did you ever hear of these Dromes?" Gregor asked.
Arnold searched through his vast store of minutiae. "They were non-human, lizard-evolved creatures" he said. "Lived on the sixth planet of some little system near Capella. The race died out over a century ago."
"And the H'gen?"
"Also lizards. Same story." Arnold found a crumb and popped it into his mouth. "It wasn't a very important war. All the combatants are gone. Except this lifeboat, apparently."
"And us," Gregor reminded him. "We've been drafted as Drome soldiery." He sighed wearily. "Do you think we can reason with this tub?"
Arnold shook his head. "I don't see how. As far as this boat is concerned, the war is still on. It can only interpret data in terms of that premise."
"It's probably listening in on us now," Gregor said.
"I don't think so. It's not really a mind-reader. Its perception centers are geared only to thoughts aimed specifically at it."
"Yes siree," Gregor said bitterly, "they just don't build 'em this way any more." He wished he could get his hands on Joe, the Interstellar Junkman.
"It's actually a very interesting situation," Arnold said. "I may do an article on it for Popular Cybernetics. Here is a machine with nearly infallible apparatus for the perception of external stimuli. The percepts it receives are translated logically into action. The only trouble is, the logic is based upon no longer existent conditions. Therefore, you could say that the machine is the victim of a systematized delusional system."
Gregor yawned. "You mean the lifeboat is just plain nuts," he said bluntly.
"Nutty as a fruitcake. I believe paranoia would be the proper designation. But it'll end pretty soon."
"Why?" Gregor asked.
"It's obvious," Arnold said. "The boat's prime directive is to keep us alive. So he has to feed us. Our sandwiches are gone, and the only other food is on the island. I figure he'll have to take a chance and go back."

In a few minutes they could feel the lifeboat swinging, changing direction. It esped," At present I am unable to locate the Drome fleet. Therefore, I am running back to scan the island once again. Fortunately, there are no enemy in this immediate area. Now I can devote myself to your care with all the power of my full attention."
"You see?" Arnold said, nudging Gregor. "Just as I said. Now we'll reinforce the concept." He said to the lifeboat, "About time you got around to us. We're hungry."
"Yeah, feed us," Gregor demanded.
"Of course," the lifeboat said. A tray slid out of the wall. It was heaped high with something that looked like clay, but smelled like machine oil.
"What's that supposed to be?" Gregor asked.
"That is geezel," the lifeboat said. "It is the staple diet of the Drome peoples. I can prepare it in sixteen different ways."
Gregor cautiously sampled it. It tasted just like clay coated with machine oil.
"We can't eat that!" he objected.
"Of course you can," the boat said soothingly. "An adult Drome consumes five point three pounds of geezel a day, and cries for more."
The tray slid toward them. They backed away from it.
"Now listen," Arnold told the boat. "We are not Dromes. We're humans, an entirely different species. The war you think you're fighting ended five hundred years ago. We can't eat geezel. Our food is on that island."
"Try to grasp the situation. Your delusion is a common one among fighting men. It is an escape fantasy, a retreat from an intolerable situation. Gentlemen, I beg you, face reality!"
"You face reality!" Gregor screamed. "Or I'll have you dismantled bolt by bolt."
"Threats do not disturb me," the lifeboat esped serenely. "I know what you've been through. Possibly you have suffered some brain damage from your exposure to poisonous water."
"Poison?" Gregor gulped.
"By Drome standards," Arnold reminded him.
"If absolutely necessary," the lifeboat continued, "I am also equipped to perform physical brain therapy. It is a dramatic measure, but there can be no coddling in time of war." A panel slid open, and the partners glimpsed shining surgical edges.
"We're feeling better already," Gregor said hastily. "Fine looking batch of geezel, eh, Arnold?"
"Delicious," Arnold said, wincing.
"I won a nationwide contest in geezel preparation," the lifeboat esped, with pardonable pride. "Nothing is too good for our boys in uniform. Do try a little."