"Cory Doctorow - I robot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dodd Christina)

my location at once, priority urgent, no sirens."

"Acknowledged. It is my pleasure to do you a service, Detective."

"Shut up," he said, and hung up the phone. The R Peed тАФ Robot, Police Department тАФ robots were the
worst, programmed to be friendly to a fault, even as they surveilled and snitched out every person who
walked past their eternally vigilant, ever-remembering electrical eyes and brains.

The R Peeds could outrun a police car on open ground on highway. He'd barely had time to untwist his
clenched hands from the steering wheel when R Peed Robbert was at his window, politely rapping on
the smoked glass. He didn't want to roll down the window. Didn't want to smell the dry, machine-oil
smell of a robot. He phoned it instead.

"You are now tasked to me, Detective's override, acknowledge."

The metal man bowed, its symmetrical, simplified features pleasant and guileless. It clicked its heels
together with an audible snick as those marvelous, spring-loaded, nuclear-powered gams whined
through their parody of obedience. "Acknowledged, Detective. It is my pleasure to do тАФ"

"Shut up. You will discreetly surveil 55 Picola Crescent until such time as Ada Trouble Icaza de Arana-
Goldberg, Social Harmony serial number 0MDY2-T3937 leaves the premises. Then you will maintain
discreet surveillance. If she deviates more than 10 percent from the optimum route between here and
Don Mills Collegiate Institute, you will notify me. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledged, Detective. It is my тАФ"

He hung up and told the UNATS Robotics mechanism running his car to get him down to the station
house as fast as it could, angry with himself and with Ada тАФ whose middle name was Trouble, after all
тАФ for making him deal with a robot before he'd had his morning meditation and destim session. The
name had been his ex-wife's idea, something she'd insisted on long enough to make sure that it got onto
the kid's birth certificate before defecting to Eurasia with their life's savings, leaving him with a new
baby and the deep suspicion of his co-workers who wondered if he wouldn't go and join her.

His ex-wife. He hadn't thought of her in years. Well, months. Weeks, certainly. She'd been a brilliant
computer scientist, the valedictorian of her Positronic Complexity Engineering class at the UNATS
Robotics school at the University of Toronto. Dumping her husband and her daughter was bad enough,
but the worst of it was that she dumped her country and its way of life. Now she was ensconced in her
own research lab in Beijing, making the kinds of runaway Positronics that made the loathsome robots of
UNATS look categorically beneficent.

He itched to wiretap her, to read her email or listen in on her phone conversations. He could have done
that when they were still together, but he never had. If he had, he would have found out what she was

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planning. He could have talked her out of it.

And then what, Artie? said the nagging voice in his head. Arrest her if she wouldn't listen to you? March
her down to the station house in handcuffs and have her put away for treason? Send her to the