Then, as his running feet took him nearer, he saw more clearly. The batsman standing ready at the wicket was not one of the England cricket team. He was not one of the Australian cricket team. It was one of the robot Krikkit team. It was a cold, hard, lethal white killer-robot that presumably had not returned to its ship with the others.
Quite a few thoughts collided in Arthur Dent’s mind at this moment, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop running. Time seemed to be going terribly, terribly slowly, but still he didn’t seem to be able to stop running.
Moving as if through syrup, he slowly turned his troubled head and looked at his own hand, the hand which was holding the small hard red ball.
His feet were pounding slowly onwards, unstoppably, as he stared at the ball gripped in his helpless hand. It was emitting a deep red glow and flashing intermittently. And still his feet were pounding inexorably forward.
He looked at the Krikkit robot again standing implacably still and purposefully in front of him, battleclub raised in readiness. Its eyes were burning with a deep cold fascinating light, and Arthur could not move his own eyes from them. He seemed to be looking down a tunnel at them nothing on either side seemed to exist.
Some of the thoughts which were colliding in his mind at this time were these:
He felt a hell of a fool.
He felt that he should have listened rather more carefully to a number of things he had heard said, phrases which now pounded round in his mind as his feet pounded onwards to the point where he would inevitably release the ball to the Krikkit robot, who would inevitably strike it.
He remembered Hactar saying, “Have I failed? Failure doesn’t bother me.”
He remembered the account of Hactar’s dying words, “What’s done is done, I have fulfilled my function.”
He remembered Hactar saying that he had managed to make “a few things.”
He remembered the sudden movement in his hold-all that had made him grip it tightly to himself when he was in the Dust Cloud.
He remembered that he had travelled back in time a couple of days to come to Lord’s again.
He also remembered that he wasn’t a very good bowler.
然而，当他跑得近一点时，他才看清楚，站在三柱门边的击球手，不是英国队的，也不是澳大利亚队的，而是版求机器人队的。也就是那种冷酷、无情、致命的白色杀手。也许它恰恰没有跟其他人一起乘飞船离开。
阿瑟·邓特的脑海里，刹那间闪现了好多念头，但他已无法停下脚步。时间，似乎变得极慢、无比慢。可他就是无法停住脚步。
像是在糖浆里移动一样，他极慢地低下头去，看着自己的手。手中，是那小小的、坚硬的、红色的板球。
他的脚还在向前迈着，不停地迈着。他盯着手中的球。它开始发出暗红色的光，一闪一闪。可他的脚还在不停地迈着。
他又望向版求机器人。它定定地站在那儿，手中的球棒高高举起，已经做好了充分的准备。它眼中射出两道如剑的寒光。阿瑟无法移开视线，像是在往一条隧道里看似的——没有其他地方可以看。
此时在他脑中闪现的念头如下：
他觉得自己奇蠢无比。
他觉得他早该仔细听别人讲的话。那些话如今都在脑中回响，正如他的双腿不由自主地向前奔去，正如他将不由自主地把球投向版求机器人，正如对方将无法挽回地击球。
他记起黑克特说过：“我失败了吗？失败已与我无关。”
他记起黑克特的遗言：“过去的毕竟过去了……我已完成任务……”
他记起黑克特说他“做了点东西”。
他记起，在尘云里的时候自己怎么会那样突然地抓住那个旅行包。
他记起，是自己要穿越时空回到罗德球场。
他还记得自己并不擅长投球。