The poor little cleaning bot really does resemble an upturned tortoise, and you bend down to lift it.

Turning it over in your hands a few times, you realise you have absolutely no skill in technical repair whatsoever.

A tall, jet black hairless alien in a cream toga walks over to you. It has 3 eyes, one in the centre of its head, all with a blue iris (and each blinking independently of the others, to your minor consternation).

"Hallo, friend," it says in clear InterGal. "I notice you have a broken thing in your hands, and your soul weeps."

"Uh, yeah," you say, not so sure about the soul bit.

"Maybe I can help. Are you willing to give of yourself to help this little one? I warn you, the cost will be great."

"What do you mean?" you ask of the stranger.

"I can transfer a small part of you into the brave little cleaner, and it will help it in a way nothing else will," he says, with a gentle smile.

"But it's a robot!" you object.

"And that makes a difference?" asks the alien genuinely.

Hmmm. This morning that answer would have come easy. But you really do feel an affinity for the little, damaged robot.

If you still think it's a bad idea, and want to refuse politely, turn to page 26.

Or, if you're willing to take the chance to help the bot, turn to page 46.