（外文电子版资料）Steele, Allen - Agape Among The Robots.pdf

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Allen%20Steele%20-%20Agape%20Among%20The%20Robots.htm Allen Steele: Agape Among the Robots Art necessarily reflects the artist–sometimes in surprising ways. Then Samson met Delilah, the first thing he did was crush an apple against her head. Delilah didn’t react in any way; she sat calmly on the park bench, her hands folded primly in the lap of her long purple dress, staring straight ahead as wet pulp ran down her face and into the neckline of her lace collar. She didn’t even look up as Samson walked around the front of the bench, bowed from the waist, and gallantly offered his hand. In the Samson Team control van, though, we were either cracking up or gaping at our monitors in dumb surprise. All except Phil Burton; glaring through the one-way glass window, almost apoplectic with rage, his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally managed to give utterance to his thoughts. W-w-w-what t-t-t-the . . . what the hell was that? he demanded. W-w-who pr-pr-programmed th-th-th-tha-that. . . ? Nobody programmed it, Phil, I said. I had been worked with him long enough to intuit what he meant when his speech impediment got in the way. He looked sharply my way, and I hastily coughed into my hand to hide my grin. Phil had a tendency to think people were laughing at him even when something else funny was going on. Honest. I checked Samson’s routine myself. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I-I-I know th-th-th-th. . . . Phil shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and silently counted to ten. While he was counting, I glanced past him at Keith D’Amico; although he was still chuckling, he had already checked out his own screen. He caught my eye and shook his head. No, he didn’t