"Henry Kuttner - Gallegher Plus UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

The robot was before a mirror, staring fascinated at his middle. "Beer? Oh, right here. I paused to steal an admiring little glance at nfe."

Gallegher favored the robot with a foul oath, but took the plastibulb. He blinked at the gadget by the window, his long, bony face twisted in a puzzled scowl. The end product Ч

The ropy hollow tubes emerged from a big feed box. that had once been a wastebasket. It was sealed shut now, though a gooseneck led from it into a tiny convertible dynamo, or its equivalent. "No," Gallegher thought. "Dynamos are big, aren't they? Oh, I wish I'd had a technical training. How can I figure this out, anyway?"

There was more, much more, including a square gray metal locker Ч Gallegher, momentarily off the beam, tried to estimate its contents in cubic feet. He made it four hundred eighty-six, which was obviously wrong, since the box was only eighteen inches by eighteen inches by eighteen inches.

The door of the locker was closed; Gallegher let it pass temporarily and continued his futile investigation. There were more puzzling gadgets. At the very end was a wheel, its rim grooved, diameter four inches.

"End product Ч what? Hey, Narcissus."

"My name is not Narcissus," the robot said reprov-

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"It's enough to have to look at you, without trying to remember your name," Gallegher snarled. "Machines shouldn't have names, anyhow. Come over here."

"Well?"

"What is this?"

"A machine," the robot said, "but by no means as lovely as I."

"I hope it's more useful. What does it do?"

"It eats dirt."

"Oh. That explains the hole in the back yard."

"There is no back yard," the robot pointed out accurately.

"There is."

"A back yard," said the robot, quoting in a confused

manner from Thomas Wolfe, "is not only back yard but the negation of back yard. It is the meeting in Space of back yard and no back yard. A back yard is finite and un-extended dirt, a fact determined by its own denial."

"Do you know what you're talking about?" Gallegher demanded, honestly anxious to find out.

"Yes."

"I see. Well, try and keep the dirt out of your conversation. I want to know why I built this machine."

"Why ask me? I've been turned off for daysЧweeks, in fact."

"Oh, yeah. I remember. You were posing before the mirror and wouldn't let me shave that morning."

"It was a matter of artistic integrity. The planes of my functional face are far more coherent and dramatic than yours."