"Henry Kuttner - The Ego Machine " - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

The Ego Machine
NICHOLAS MARTIN looked up at the robot across the desk.
"I'm not going to ask what you want," he said, in a
low, restrained voice. "I already know. Just go away and tell St. Cyr I approve. Tell him I think it's
wonderful, putting a robot in the picture. We've had everything else by now, except the Rockettes. But
clearly a quiet little play about Christmas" among the Portuguese fishermen on the Florida coast must have
a robot. Only, why not six robots? Tell him I suggest a baker's dozen. Go away."
"Was your mothers'name Helena Glinska?" the robot asked, paying no heed to Martin's remarks.
"It was not," Martin said.
"Ah, then she must have been the Great Hairy One," the robot murmured.
Martin took his feet off the desk and sat up slowly.
"It's quite all right," the robot said hastily. "You've been chosen for an ecological experiment, that's ah1.
But it won't hurt. Robots are perfectly normal life forms where I come from, so you needn'tтАФ"
"Shut up," Martin said. "Robot indeed, youтАФyou bit-player! This tune St. Cyr has gone too far." He began
to shake slightly all over, with some repressed but strong emotion. The intercom box on the desk caught
his eye, and he stabbed a finger at one of the switches. "Get me Miss Ashby! Right away!"
"I'm so sorry," the robot said apologetically. "Have I made a mistake? The threshold fluctuations in the
neurons always upset my mnemonic norm when I temporalize. Isn't this a crisis-point in your life?"
Martin breathed hard, which seemed to confirm the robot's assumption.
"Exactly," it said. "The ecological imbalance approaches a peak that may destroy the life-form, unless . . .
mm-m. Now either you're about to be stepped on by' a mammoth, locked hi an iron mask, assassinated by
helots, orтАФis this Sanskrit I'm speaking?" He shook his gleaming head. "Perhaps I should have got off
fifty years ago, but I thoughtтАФsorry. Good-bye," he added hastily as Martin raised an angry glare.
Then the robot lifted a finger to each corner of his naturally rigid mouth, and moved his fingers
horizontally in opposite directions, as though sketching an apologetic smile.
"No, don't go away," Martin said. "I want you right here, where the sight of you can refuel my rage in case
it's needed. I wish to God I could get mad and stay mad," he added plaintively, gazing at the telephone.
"Are you sure your mother's name wasn't Helena Glinska?" the robot asked. It pinched thumb and
forefinger together between its nominal brows, somehow giving the impression of a worried frown.
"Naturally, I'm sure," Martin snapped.
"You aren't married yet, then? To Anastasia Zak-harina-Koshkina?"
"Not yet or ever," Martin replied succinctly. The telephone rang. He snatched it up.
"Hello, Nick," said Erika Ashby's calm voice. "Something wrong?"
Instantly the fires of rage went out of Martin's eyes, to be replaced by a tender, rose-pink glow. For some
years now he had given Erika, his very competent agent, ten per cent of his take. He had also longed
hopelessly to give her approximately a pound of fleshтАФthe cardiac muscle, to put it in cold, unromantic
terms. Martin did not; he put it in no terms at all, since whenever he tried to propose marriage to Erika he
was taken with such fits of modesty that he could only babble o' green fields.
"Well," Erika repeated. "Something wrong?"
"Yes," Martin said, drawing a long breath. "Can St. Cyr make me marry somebody named Anastasia Zak-
harina-Koshkina?"
"What a wonderful memory you have," the robot put hi mournfully. "Mine used to be, before I started
tem-poralizing. But even radioactive neurons won't standтАФ"
"Nominally you're still entitled to life, liberty, et cetera," Erika said. "But I'm busy right now, Nick. Can't
it wait till I see you?"
"When?"
"Didn't you get my message?" Erika demanded.
"Of course not," Martin said, angrily. "I've suspected for some time that all my incoming calls have to be
cleared by St. Cyr. Somebody might try to smuggle hi a word of hope, or possibly a file." His voice
brightened. "Planning a jailbreak?"