The flying toolkits screeched and sawed and drilled and fried things with light throughout that day and all through the night time, and in the morning, stunningly, a giant mobile gantry started to roll westwards on several roads simultaneously with the robot standing on it, supported within the gantry.

Westward it crawled, like a strange carnival buzzed around by its servants and helicopters and news coaches, scything through the land until at last it came to Bournemouth, where the robot slowly freed itself from it transport system’s embraces and went and lay for ten days on the beach.

It was, of course, by far the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Bournemouth.

Crowds gathered daily along the perimeter which was staked out and guarded as the robot’s recreation area, and tried to see what it was doing.

It was doing nothing. It was lying on the beach. It was lying a little awkwardly on its face.

It was a journalist from a local paper who, late one night, managed to do what no one else in the world had so far managed, which was to strike up a brief intelligible conversation with one of the service robots guarding the perimeter.

It was an extraordinary breakthrough.

I think there’s a story in it, confided the journalist over a cigarette shared through the steel link fence, but it needs a good local angle. I’ve got a little list of questions here, he went on, rummaging awkwardly in an inner pocket, perhaps you could get him, it, whatever you call him, to run through them quickly.

The little flying ratchet screwdriver said it would see what it cold do and screeched off.

A reply was never forthcoming.

Curiously, however, the questions on the piece of paper more or less exactly matched the questions that were going through the massive battle-scarred industrial quality circuits of the robot’s mind. They were these:

How do you feel about being a robot?

How does it feel to be from outer space? and

How do you like Bournemouth?

Early the following day things started to be packed up and within a few days it became apparent that the robot was preparing to leave for good.

The point is, said Fenchurch to Ford, can you get us on board?

Ford looked wildly at his watch.

I have some serious unfinished business to attend to, he exclaimed.

那些飞行的工具箱花了一整天和一整夜的时间发出尖锐的哨音，把一些东西用光束锯开、钻孔、烤焦，到早上，令人震惊出现一个巨大的移动平台沿着公路开始向西滚动，上面就站着那个机器人。

它向西爬行，四周嗡嗡飞舞着它的机器仆人和直升飞机，还有一些新加入的队伍，看起来像一个奇特的嘉年华会，穿过大地最后到达了伯恩茅斯，然后机器人缓缓从运输系统上下来，来到海滩上躺了十天。

当然，这是在伯恩茅斯发生过的最令人兴奋的事情了。

专门划出并设置了警戒的机器人休闲区周围，每天都人潮汹涌，人们竭力要看清它在做什么。

它什么都没做。它就是倒在海滩上。有些不太雅观地趴着。

一天夜晚，当地一家报纸的一个记者，成功地完成了之前世界上任何人都没有做成的事，就是和一个在周边警戒的机器仆人进行了简单明了的谈话。

这实在是一个了不起的突破。

“我想它应该有个什么故事，”那个记者叼着一根香烟隔着铁链警戒线说，“可是它还该有个本地化的采访角度。我这儿有一个列了几个问题的小单子，”他笨手笨脚地在衣服的内袋中摸着，继续说，“也许你能让他，它，随你们怎么叫他了，花一点点时间答一答。”

那个飞着的棘轮旋凿说它会看看它能做什么，然后就尖叫着飞走了。

没有任何回音。

不过，奇怪的是，那张纸上的问题的确多多少少和那个机器人脑中的那巨大的、久经考验的、工业品质的电路中思考的问题想吻合。那些问题是：

“作为一个机器人您有什么感想？”

“从外太空来的感觉怎么样？”以及

“您喜欢伯恩茅斯吗？”

第二天早些时候事情开始变得有条理了，几天之后情况很明显：机器人准备离开这里永远不来了。

“问题在于，”芬切琪对福特说，“你能把我们弄到船上去吗？”

福特狂乱地看着他的手表。

“我有些很重要的事情没做完，我要去搞定。”他宣布。