The observer's blade was already out and so he came to the device and inserted the blade in the same place as it did all the others, the base of the head, going inwards into the brain. Only this time he felt nothing, and was momentarily confused.  "I am using distributed storage, I'm afraid," the device said, politely. It took the observer back, a little. None of the others spoke to him. Not until they were dead, at any rate.
— Lavie Tidhar, The Great Game ‎· этика химического развода
Lucy said, "What happened to the Bookman?" Miss Havisham smiled dreamily. "That was the big question, wasn't it," she said. "He died, of course. In the explosion. But…" "Yes?" "Wouldn't a machine that made copies of beings," said Miss Havisham, "first of all make a few extra copies of itself?" ‎· этика химического развода
There were cells cut into the stone on either side. Some were empty. In one he saw a young mother cradling a child. She looked up at him as he passed and her eyes were empty and when he looked down he saw she was holding a wooden doll, and the doll was staring at him and it blinked, startling him. "Edison dolls," Van Helsing said. "Be careful of them. The Edison Company manufactured them, complete with Babbage engine and rudimentary voice. They… were not a success." ‎· этика химического развода
The mouth in that faceless skull barely moved, and yet the creature in the chair spoke, its voice amplified through unseen machines. Like an Edison recording, the words were slightly disjointed, scratchy, put together from separate recordings and meshed into a single voice. And now he saw the ancient fingers, bone-like, tapping on a keypad of some sort, like brass buttons there, within reach – producing the sounds he heard, he realised. The man was no longer capable of speaking in his own voice. "I am Charles Babbage," the mechanical voice said. ‎· этика химического развода