"Frederik Pohl - The Midas Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pohl Frederick)

great while. But never anything important enough to worry
about; he was sound, perfectly sound.
He looked up, starfled. All the doctors were staring at
him. "Mr. Fry," Fairless repeated, "will you take your
place?"
"Certainly," Morey said hastily. "Uhwhere?"
Semmelweiss guffawed. "Told you. Never mind, Morey;
you didn't miss much. We're going to run through one of
the big scenes in your life, the one you told us about last
time. Remember? You were fourteen years old, you said.
Christmas time. Your mother had made you a promise."
Morey swallowed. "I remember," he said unhappily.
"Well, all right. Where do I stand?"
"Right here," said Fairless. "You're you, Carrado is
your mother. I'm your father. Will the doctors not par-
ticipating mind moving back? Fine. Now, Morey, here we
are on Christmas morning. Merry Christmas, Morey!"
"Merry Christmas," Morey said half-heartedly. "Uh
Father dear, where's myuhmy puppy that Mother
promised me?"
"Puppy!" said Fairless heartily. "Your mother and I
have something much better than a puppy for you. Just
take a look under the tree thereit's a robot! Yes, Morey,
your very own robota full-size thirty-eight-tube fully
automatic companion robot for you! Go ahead, Morey,
go right up and speak to it. Its name is Henry. Go on,
boy."
Morey felt a sudden, incomprehensible tingle inside the
bridge of his nose. He said shakily, "But I1 didn't want
a robot."
"Of course you want a robot," Carrado interrupted.
"Go on, child, play with your nice robot."
Morey said violently, "I hate robots!" He looked around
him at the doctors, at the gray-paneled consulting room.
He added defiantly, "You hear me, all of you? I still hate
robots!"
There was a second's pause; then the questions began.
It was half an hour before the receptionist came in and
announced that time was up.
In that half hour, Morey had got over his trembling and
lost his wild, momentary passion, but he had remembered
what for thirteen years he had forgotten.
He hated robots.
The surprising thing was not that young Morey had
hated robots. It was that the Robot Riots, the ultimate
violent outbreak of flesh against metal, the battle to the
death between mankind and its machine heirs . . . never
happened. A little boy hated robots, but the man he be-
came worked with them hand in hand.
And yet, always and always before, the new worker,