Masklin stepped forward and put the Thing down on the floor.
'Now,' he whispered.
'Am I in the presence of community leaders?' said the Thing.
'About as much as you ever will be,' said Dorcas. The Abbot stared at the box.
'I will use small words,' said the Thing. 'I am the Flight Recording and Navigation Computer. A computer is a machine that thinks. Think, computer, think. See the computer think. I use elec-tricity. Sometimes elec-tricity can carry messages. I can hear the messages. I can under-stand the messages. Sometimes the messages go along wires called telephone wires. Sometimes they are in other computers. There is a computer in the Store. It pays humans their wages. I can hear it think. It thinks: no more Store soon, no more payroll, no more accounts. The telephone wires they say, Is that Grimethorpe Demolition Co.?, can we discuss final arrangements for the demolition, all stock will be out by the twenty-first-' 'Very amusing,' said the Abbot. 'How did you make it?' 'I didn't make it, my lord. These people brought it here-' Which people?' said the Abbot, looking straight through Masklln.
'What happens if I go and pull his nose?' whispered Granny, in a hoarse whisper.
'It would be extremely painful,' said Dorcas.
'Good.' 'I mean, for you.' The Abbot rose hesitantly to his feet.
'I am a tolerant nome,' he said. 'You speculate about things Outside, and I do not mind, I say it is good mental exercise. We wouldn't be nomes if we didn't sometimes allow our minds to wander. But to insist that it is real, that is not to be tolerated. Little tricksy toys ...' He hobbled forward and brought one stick down sharply on the Thing, which buzzed. 'Intolerable! There is nothing Outside, and no one to live in it! Life in other Stores, pah! Audience concluded! Be off with you.' 'I can stand an impact of two thousand five hundred tons,' said the Thing smugly, although no one took much notice.