] "This is R Peed Robbert, McNicoll and Don Mills
] bus-shelter."
]
] "That's nice. This is Detective Icaza de Arana-Goldberg,
] three blocks east of you on Picola. Proceed to my
] location at once, priority urgent, no sirens."
]
] "Acknowledged. It is my pleasure to do you a service,
] Detective."
]
] "Shut up," he said, and hung up the phone. The R Peed
] - Robot, Police Department - robots were the
] worst, programmed to be friendly to a fault, even as they
] surveilled and snitched out every person who walked past
] their eternally vigilant, ever-remembering electrical
] eyes and brains.
]
] The R Peeds could outrun a police car on open ground on
] highway. He'd barely had time to untwist his clenched
] hands from the steering wheel when R Peed Robbert was at
] his window, politely rapping on the smoked glass. He
] didn't want to roll down the window. Didn't want to smell
] the dry, machine-oil smell of a robot. He phoned it
] instead.

Cory Doctorow is writing short stories again, but with a vengeance. This is his latest whereby he writes of the future where patents have limited creativity and there is only one kind of robot left in the world. He also called it "I, Robot" as part of his new effort to write new stories with the same title as a famous story by another author. It's a bit of a protest of all the bitching about Michael Moore using "Fahrenheit 9/11" as a title since it is so close to "Fahrenheit 451".

Anyway, enjoy.

Dolemite

Cory Doctorow | I, Robot