Ings, Simon (ed) - We, Robots / Ингс, Саймон (ред) - Мы, роботы [2020, EPUB, ENG]

Martel was angry. He did not even adjust his blood away from anger. He stamped across the room by judgment, not by sight. When he saw the table hit the floor, and could tell by the expression on Luci’s face that the table must have made a loud crash, he looked down to see if his leg was broken. It was not. Scanner to the core, he had to scan himself. The action was reflex and automatic. The inventory included his legs, abdomen, chestbox of instruments, hands, arms, face and back with the mirror. Only then did Martel go back to being angry. He talked with his voice, even though he knew that his wife hated its blare and preferred to have him write. “I tell you, I must cranch. I have to cranch. It’s my worry, isn’t it?” When Luci answered, he saw only a part of her words as he read her lips: “Darling… you’re my husband… right to love you… dangerous… do it… dangerous… wait…” He faced her, but put sound in his voice, letting the blare hurt her again: “I tell you, I’m going to cranch.” . . .