Leave me, he said, go on ahead, leave me to struggle painfully on my way. My time at last has nearly come. My race is nearly run. I fully expect, he said, feebly waving them on with a broken finger, to come in last. It would be fitting. Here I am, brain the size…
Between them they picked him up despite his feeble protests and insults. The metal was so hot it nearly blistered their fingers, but he weighed surprisingly little, and hung limply between their arms.
They carried him with them along the path that ran along the left of the Great Red Plain of Rars toward the encircling mountains of Quentulus Quazgar.
Arthur attempted to explain to Fenchurch, but was too often interrupted by Marvin’s dolorous cybernetic ravings.
They tried to see if they could get him some spare parts at one of the booths, but Marvin would have none of it.
I’m all spare parts, he droned.
Let me be! he groaned.
Every part of me, he moaned, has been replaced at least fifty times… except… He seemed almost imperceptibly to brighten for a moment. His head bobbed between them with the effort of memory. Do you remember, the first time you ever met me, he said at last to Arthur. I had been given the intellect-stretching task of taking you up to the bridge? I mentioned to you that I had this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side? That I had asked for them to be replaced but they never were?
He left a longish pause before he continued. They carried him on between them, under the baking sun that hardly ever seemed to move, let alone set.
See if you can guess, said Marvin, when he judged that the pause had become embarrassing enough, which parts of me were never replaced? Go on, see if you can guess.
Ouch, he added, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.
At last they reached the last of the little booths, set down Marvin between them and rested in the shade. Fenchurch bought some cufflinks for Russell, cufflinks that had set in them little polished pebbles which had been picked up from the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains, directly underneath the letters of fire in which was written God’s Final Message to His Creation.
Arthur flipped through a little rack of devotional tracts on the counter, little meditations on the meaning of the Message.
Ready? he said to Fenchurch, who nodded.
They heaved up Marvin between them.