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

Albert stalked across the room and took the tag that Knight held out. "Oh--that!" he said.
"It might mean trouble."
"No trouble, Boss," Albert assured him. "They can't identify me."
"Can't identify you?"
"I filed my numbers off and replated the surfaces. They can't prove who I am."
"But why did you do that?"
"So they can't come around and claim me and take me back again. They made me and then they got scared of me and shut me off. Then I got here."
"Someone made a mistake," said Knight. "Some shipping clerk, perhaps. They sent you instead of the dog I ordered."
"You aren't scared of me. You assembled me and let me get to work. I'm sticking with you, Boss."
"But we still can get into a lot of trouble if we aren't careful."
"They can't prove a thing," Albert insisted. "I'll swear that you were the one who made me. I won't let them take me back. Next time, they won't take a chance of having me loose again. They'll bust me down to scrap."
"If you make too many robots--"
"You need a lot of robots to do all the work. I thought fifty for a start."
"Fifty!"
"Sure. It won't take more than a month or so. Now I've got that material you ordered, I can make better time. By the way, here's the bill for it."
He took the slip out of the compartment that served him for a pocket and handed it to Knight.
Knight turned slightly pale when he saw the amount. It came to almost twice what he had expected--but, of course, the sales price of just one robot would pay the bill, and there would be a pile of cash left over.
Albert patted him ponderously on the back. "Don't you worry, Boss. I'll take care of everything."
Swarming robots, armed with specialized equipment, went to work on the landscaping project. The sprawling, unkempt acres became an estate. The lake was dredged and deepened. Walks were laid out. Bridges were built. Hillsides were terraced and vast flower beds were planted. Trees were dug up and regrouped into designs more pleasing to the eye. The old pottery kilns were pressed into service for making the bricks that went into walks and walls. Model sailing ships were fashioned and anchored decoratively in the lake. A pagoda and minaret were built, with cherry trees around them.
Knight talked with Anson Lee. Lee assumed his most profound legal expression and said he would look into the situation.
"You may be skating on the edge of the law," he said. "Just how near the edge, I can't say until I look up a point or two."
Nothing happened.
The work went on.
Lee continued to lie in his hammock and watch with vast amusement, cuddling the cider jug.
Then the assessor came.
He sat out on the lawn with Knight.
"Did some improving since the last time I was here," he said. "Afraid I'll have to boost your assessment some."
He wrote in the book he had opened on his lap.
"Heard about those robots of yours," he went on. "They're personal property, you know. Have to pay a tax on them. How many have you got?"
"Oh, a dozen or so," Knight told him evasively.
The assessor sat up straighter in his chair and started to count the ones that were in sight, stabbing his pencil toward each as he counted them.
"They move around so fast," he complained, "that I can't be sure, but I estimate 38. Did I miss any?"
"I don't think so," Knight answered, wondering what the actual number was, but knowing it would be more if the assessor stayed around a while.
"Cost about 10,000 apiece. Depreciation, upkeep and so forth--I'll assess them at 5,000 each. That makes--let me see, that makes $190,000."
"Now look here," protested Knight, "you can't--"
"Going easy on you," the assessor declared. "By rights, I should allow only one-third for depreciation."
He waited for Knight to continue the discussion, but Knight knew better than to argue. The longer the man stayed here, the more there would be to assess.
After the assessor was out of sight, Knight went down into the basement to have a talk with Albert.
"I'd been holding off until we got the landscaping almost done," he said, "but I guess I can't hold out any longer. We've got to start selling some of the robots."
"Selling them, Boss?" Albert repeated in horror.
"I need the money, Tax assessor was just here."
"You can't sell those robots, Boss!"
"Why can't I?"
"Because they're my family. They're all my boys. Named all of them after me."
"That's ridiculous, Albert."
"All their names start with A, just the same as mine. They're all I've got, Boss. I worked hard to make them. There are bonds between me and the boys, just like between you and that son of yours. I couldn't let you sell them."
"But, Albert, I need some money."
Albert patted him. "Don't worry, Boss. I'll fix everything."
Knight had to let it go at that.
In any event, the personal property tax would not become due for several months and, in that time, he was certain he could work out something.