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- Исаак Азимов
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"
I
guess
he
wants
to
play
games
.
Well
,
we
'll
play
him
games
!
"
They
were
back
hours
later
,
with
three-liter
jars
of
the
white
chemical
and
a
pair
of
long
faces
.
The
photo-cell
banks
were
deteriorating
more
rapidly
than
had
seemed
likely
.
The
two
steered
their
robots
into
the
sunlight
and
toward
the
waiting
Speedy
in
silence
and
with
grim
purpose
.
Speedy
galloped
slowly
toward
them
.
"
Here
we
are
again
.
Whee
!
I
've
made
a
little
list
,
the
piano
organist
;
all
people
who
eat
peppermint
and
puff
it
in
your
face
.
"
"
We
'll
puff
something
in
your
face
,
"
muttered
Donovan
.
"
He
's
limping
,
Greg
.
"
"
I
noticed
that
,
"
came
the
low
,
worried
response
.
"
The
monoxide
'll
get
him
yet
,
if
we
do
n't
hurry
.
"
They
were
approaching
cautiously
now
,
almost
sidling
,
to
refrain
from
setting
off
the
thoroughly
irrational
robot
.
Powell
was
too
far
off
to
tell
,
of
course
,
but
even
already
he
could
have
sworn
the
crack-brained
Speedy
was
setting
himself
for
a
spring
.
"
Let
her
go
,
"
he
gasped
.
"
Count
three
!
One
-
two
-
"
Two
steel
arms
drew
back
and
snapped
forward
simultaneously
and
two
glass
jars
whirled
forward
in
towering
parallel
arcs
,
gleaming
like
diamonds
in
the
impossible
sun
.
And
in
a
pair
of
soundless
puffs
,
they
hit
the
ground
behind
Speedy
in
crashes
that
sent
the
oxalic
acid
flying
like
dust
.
In
the
full
heat
of
Mercury
's
sun
,
Powell
knew
it
was
fizzing
like
soda
water
.
