"Allen Steele - Agape Among The Robots" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

open it without breaking the jar. But this time Samson clasped the rubberized fingertips of his left
hand around the lid and, while holding the jar steady in his right hand, gradually exerted
pressure until he unscrewed the lid.

"Very good, Samson," I said. "YouтАЩre doing well." I glanced at the window and rubbed my thumb
and fingers together. Donna chuckled as Keith muttered an obscenity, and now I had beer
money for tonight.

"Thank you, Jerry." Although the cyclopean red eye in the center of SamsonтАЩs forehead didnтАЩt
turn my way, I knew that he could see me nonetheless. Although the eye contained two parallax
lenses, SamsonтАЩs bullet-shaped head contained a variety of motion and heat detectors which
continually updated my location in the room. We had already tested their capability by putting a
cat in the room; although the cat, frightened out of her feline wits by this lumbering man-thing,
had constantly raced around the apartment, growling and spitting and raising her fur whenever
Samson came near, the robot had deftly avoided trampling her underfoot. The SPCA probably


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would have objected, but it was better to have our тАЩbot get acquainted with house pets during the
teaching phase than receive lawsuits later.

Samson spread peanut butter across one slice of bread, then grape jelly across anotherтАУ"A little
more jelly, please, Samson," I asked, and he compliedтАУthen he successfully closed the two
halves together without making a mess. He located a small plate in another cupboard and
placed the sandwich upon it, then picked up the knife again and cut it cleanly in half.

So far, so good. Then he began to take the sandwich apart, carefully pulling apart the two halves
of each section and laying them on the counter, much as if he was . . .

Oh, no. I shut my eyes, shook my head. "Samson, what are you doing?" I asked, even though I
already knew the answer.

"Jerry, IтАЩm fixing the peanut butter and jelly sandwich," he replied. "Please tell me what is wrong
with it."

From the observation booth, I could hear Keith and Donna whooping it up. I scowled at the
windowтАУKeith better not try using this as an excuse to welsh on his betтАУthen I looked back at
Samson. "Samson, there is nothing wrong with the sandwich," I replied, speaking as I would to a
small child who had erred. "My previous instruction was a verbal colloquialism. In this context, to
тАШfixтАЩ any form of food means тАШto prepare,тАЩ not тАШto repair.тАЩ Please remember that."

"IтАЩll remember, Jerry." Samson stopped what he was doing, began putting the sandwich back
together again. "IтАЩm sorry for the misunderstanding. Are we still friends?"

The last might seem odd, but it was part of the approval-disapproval protocol programmed into
SamsonтАЩs conditioning module. Although Samson couldnтАЩt know the meaning of friendshipтАУor at
least, technically speaking, not as a human emotionтАУit was part of his repertoire to ask for
forgiveness when he made an error. That had been PhilтАЩs idea; not only would it give third-