The Lost Chapters by Douglas Adams

Suddenly a door opened to his right. His body reacted immediately and he passed out. Ford walked through the doorway and shook his head.

“So you will get the other two and bring them back here?”

“No problem, you just wait here and I will be back as soon as I can. How do I get out of here?”

“Down that slide over there. You will be back soon, won’t you?”

“Oh yes,” lied Arthur. “As soon as I find the others.”

Arthur slipped into the slide, careered down a dark, winding tunnel and through a panel to land at the feed of Ford and Zaphod, who passed out again.

CHAPTER 56

Trillian, Bolo and Fenchurch followed Marvin into the storeroom.

“Should we take any of this stuff?” Asked Bolo.

“It’s rubbish,” said Marvin. “All of it. You’re supposed to stand in the centre of the room and say ‘Emases Nepo’.” A doorway appeared out of nowhere in the wall, revealing a tunnel.

“That’s not logical, is it?” Exclaimed Trillian.

“You should try reading the Sirius Cybernetics corporate policy,” said Marvin as grinding gears propelled him through the doorway.

“So the men have gone the wrong way?” Said Fenchurch.

“They can get through another way but that is so depressingly boring and stupid,” said Marvin. “Most people go that way. I tried to warn them but they wouldn’t listen. Nobody listens to me.”

“We listen to you,” said Bolo. She had studied mechanical stress and depression briefly as part of an engineering degree she kept very quiet about. “We will follow you as well and do what you want….” She looked at the others. “Because we respect you and your opinions. Trillian had told me of your achievements and you deserve recognition.”

Marvin stopped walking. He also stopped the calculation of retrospective analytical data on predictive inverted ancestry of an ant he had stepped on one million, two hundred and thirty one thousand and two years ago (a task he had undertaken to relieve the boredom before taking the next step). He concentrated his considerable mental abilities on Bolo’s words and however hard he tried, he could find no trace of sarcasm or insincerity. He ran it through one more time. The girls waited.

“Who am I?” He said.

“Marvin,” said Trillian, confused.

“That’s all the recognition I’ve ever received and all I deserve,” said Marvin and trundled off down the tunnel.

“Worth a shot,” said Bolo.

“Nice effort,” said Trillian. “I thought you had him for a second.” They chased after Marvin.

“This next room is one of the programming rooms, ” said Marvin. “I need to interface with the initiative test computer to find out where the others are. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

The room they entered wasn’t like an aircraft hanger. Aircraft hangers had a cosy, intimate feel compared with this room. Thousands of desks filled the room in perfect symmetry and behind every desk sat a programmer, each busily keying into a terminal built into the desk. The ergonomics of the room were appalling due to the fact that the recently formed Department of Ergonomic Consideration had to be disbanded after a week because the cleaners wanted their broom closet back.

The perfect symmetry was broken by one programmer who stood up as he saw Marvin go into the little robot’s room. The programmer waved at the three girls and they made their way through the desks until they finally arrived at the desk of Percival Unha.

“I’m Percival Unha,” he announced, picking up a nameplate from his desk bearing the inscription ‘UNHA P.’ . “See? Do you know that robot, the one that went in the interface room?”

“Yes, he’s with us,” said Trillian. Percival’s voice sounded vaguely familiar to her.

“What’s his name?” Asked Percival. His voice had all the tonal qualities of a bored foghorn.

“That’s the second time we’ve been asked that,” said Bolo. “It’s Marvin.”

“That’s all the recognition he deserves,” moaned Percival. The girls looked at each other, stunned. “I programmed that robot. I built part of my personality into it. Is he a jolly robot?”

“Not really,” said Fenchurch. “Not much of the time. Well, to be perfectly honest, never really.”

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