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And then Donovan stiffened. The robots, dwarfed by the mighty L-tube, lined up before it, heads bowed at a stiff angle, while Cutie walked up and down the line slowly. Fifteen seconds passed, and then, with a clank heard above the clamorous purring all about, they fell to their knees. Donovan squawked and raced down the narrow staircase. He came charging down upon them, complexion matching his hair and clenched fists beating the air furiously. “What the devil is this, you brainless lumps? Come on! Get busy with that L-tube! If you don’t have it apart, cleaned, and together again before the day is out, I’ll coagulate your brains with alternating current.” Not a robot moved! Even Cutie at the far end—the only one on his feet—remained silent, eyes fixed upon the gloomy recesses of the vast machine before him. Donovan shoved hard against the nearest robot. “Stand up!” he roared. Slowly, the robot obeyed. His photoelectric eyes focused reproachfully upon the Earthman. “There is no Master but the Master,” he said, “and QT-1 is his prophet.”
— Isaac Asimov (born Isaak Yudovich Ozimov; circa 1920–1992), I, Robot
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