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- Исаак Азимов
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Donovan
said
,
"
I
've
got
my
license
,
sir
,
but
at
last
reading
it
did
n't
say
anything
about
hyper-engines
or
warp-navigation
.
Just
the
usual
child
's
play
in
three
dimensions
.
"
Alfred
Lanning
looked
up
with
sharp
disapproval
and
snorted
the
length
of
his
prominent
nose
.
He
said
frigidly
,
"
Well
,
we
have
our
engine
men
.
"
Powell
caught
at
his
elbow
as
he
walked
away
,
"
Sir
,
is
the
ship
still
restricted
ground
?
"
The
old
director
hesitated
,
then
rubbed
the
bridge
of
his
nose
,
"
I
suppose
not
.
For
you
two
anyway
.
"
Donovan
looked
after
him
as
he
left
and
muttered
a
short
,
expressive
phrase
at
his
back
.
He
turned
to
Powell
,
"
I
'd
like
to
give
him
a
literary
description
of
himself
,
Greg
.
"
"
Suppose
you
come
along
,
Mike
.
"
The
inside
of
the
ship
was
finished
,
as
finished
as
a
ship
ever
was
;
that
could
be
told
in
a
single
eye-blinking
glance
.
No
martinet
in
the
system
could
have
put
as
much
spit-and-polish
into
a
surface
as
those
robots
had
.
The
walls
were
of
a
gleaming
silvery
finish
that
retained
no
fingerprints
.
There
were
no
angles
;
walls
,
floors
,
and
ceiling
faded
gently
into
each
other
and
in
the
cold
,
metallic
glittering
of
the
hidden
lights
,
one
was
surrounded
by
six
chilly
reflections
of
one
's
bewildered
self
.
The
main
corridor
was
a
narrow
tunnel
that
led
in
a
hard
,
clatterfooted
stretch
along
a
line
of
rooms
of
no
interdistinguishing
features
.
