Duglas Adams. Posobie puteshestvuyushchego avtostopom po Galaktike: Uteryannye chasti 40-50 (engl)
The LOST CHAPTERS C40 to C50 of HHGTTG
Converted by Ronald Lachenal
Rml@iconn.com.ph
"We must be in Zaphod Beeblebrox's neighbourhood," mused Arthur.
"That's the second time I've heard that name," said Fenchurch, still
shaking the rusty particles of an android with a brain the size of a planet
from her clothes. "Who or what is it?"
"Zaphod's just this guy. He was President of the Universe for a while,
he may still be. Look in the book, he may be mentioned." Arthur got the
guide out of his souvenir 'God's last message to his creation' holdall.
Fenchurch tapped in the code.
"How long have we got?" Asked Fenchurch.
"How long do you need?"
"The time it takes to read 'War and Peace' I think. This says page one
of 627 pages and the rest of the page is taken up with references to other
areas of the book where he is mentioned."
Arthur took the guide and flipped to page two. More references. Page
three. Arthur was hardly turned-on by the sight of Zaphod in a rather tacky
pose and was not amused by the caption that read 'Zaphod is not just a
pretty face, for he can ski and likes reading. He can also out-drink and
out-cool anyone in the Universe.' Arthur keyed in another code and got what
he wasn't sure he really wanted.
"You've got all the time it takes me to salvage this poor robot and for
us to hitch-hike to that address." Arthur stabbed his finger purposely at
the screen. "I want you to meet Zaphod Beeblebrox. That way you'll
appreciate me even more."
Ford Prefect was indeed in a seedy bar trying to talk somebody into
buying him a drink and only achieving success as a total failure in this
venture. The expression 'It is far better to give than receive' referred
only to physical violence in this bar. After leaving Arthur and Fenchurch on
their way to where they had just decided to leave, he had decided to find
the rather nice girl who offered a comforting service to rich men in Han
Dold City. Ford couldn't shake her devastating smile from his mind. He felt
it would be a useful weapon by his side. Besides, having seen Arthur so
happy with Fenchurch, so happy that Ford couldn't irritate him as easily as
usual, and Zaphod settling down with Trillian, Ford decided the last thing
he wanted to do was be unfashionable and stay single.
So Ford had ventured to the bar where he came very close to being
mutilated by an evil looking bird and an arm with a vicious streak and
nothing else noticeable. Ford entered the bar, was shocked, stunned and then
shocked again. He was convinced this was the same bar but it was now
reminiscent of a wine bar he had visited in Hampstead. Gone were the evil
overtones and murderous intents. These had been replaced by old French
posters and bamboo chairs. The evil looking bird had been stuffed and put
over the bar. The arm was opening wine bottles and mixing cocktails.
"Oh it's you," said the barman, who now looked unbearably smart.
"You're the one to blame for this."
"Hi," said Ford, still looking around. "I'm to blame for what?"
"Your entry in the Hitch-Hiker's Guide," muttered the barman.
"Wasn't it accurate?" Argued Ford, defensive of his life saving piece
of prose. "Wasn't it along the lines of 'Wretched place with evil overtones
and murderous intents' or something?"
"That's it exactly. That was enough to attract all the trendies who
were desperate to find a place with atmosphere. They pushed out all the
regulars."
"Well, could I change it?" Offered Ford, apologetically.
"Nah, I hate these people and their trendy talk, but they don't argue
about paying, even though I've marked the prices up to silly levels. So
you'd best leave it."
Ford tried to listen to some of the conversations, but there weren't
any. There were plenty of opinions being offered about generally
misunderstood subjects that bored everyone to tears, but no actual
conversations. Ford decided to leave and find where all the former regulars
were hanging out. At least he felt threatened and therefore relaxed in their
company. As he left, he butted into one opinion with 'Ah, but you haven't
considered the Vogons, have you?', which enabled one rich young trendy to
launch into his very personalised views on Vogon sociology.
Ford eventually found a suitably seedy bar, which is where we find him.
"But if you buy me a drink you can go around saying 'Do you know who I
bought a drink for the other night? Ford Prefect, that's who. I won't mind,
I won't even charge you repeat fees for my name." It didn't work. His
hapless victim had yelled something quite obscene at a slab of a creature in
the hope that the slab would ask him to step outside and repeat it. The slab
obliged and Ford's victim changed hands.
Ford's attention switched to the large TV screen viewer on the wall.
Between the alcohol stains, a newsreader droned on about Vogon riots.
Apparently, three squadrons of flying police had descended on the riots,
while media specialists debated the causes of the riots at great length. All
the old reasons were dusted off and injected with topical incidents to
improve credibility. No one asked the Vogons, who could have easily
explained that it just seemed like a good idea at the time. The newsreader
handed over to the social editor who Ford recognised as one of the greatest
partygoers of all time. That was enough to make Ford listen. What he heard
would have made a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster reach for something to steady
itself.
"And of course, all the leading lights of the social galaxy are
preparing themselves for possibly the greatest bash since Eccentrica
Gallumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon Six, had her coming out,
in and many other permutations party. Yes, the invites have been printed for
Zaphod Beeblebrox's wedding...."
Ford tried to spin around on his barstool in an attempt to catch up
with his head. He then made his mind up to get wrecked in celebration.
Zaphod would have wanted it that way. He felt as though he wanted company
during this hour of sorrow, so he decided he would not get wrecked and look
for the girl. He would get totally sobered and look for the girl. He walked
outside, over his former hapless victim and down the now peaceful street.
This was because the police wars that had ruined the area had ceased, or, at
least, a truce had been called. It needed the combined efforts of the
fighting fractions to impose on the spot fines on the rich young trendies as
they staggered into their bourge-mobiles to race home.
Ford peered into every doorway and saw plenty of interesting things,
but not what he wanted. Just as he decided to get so wrecked he wouldn't
care which girl he found, he heard a familiar voice.
"Been paid for those two words yet?" It was backed up by the
devastatingly shy but self-confident smile that had his emotions screaming
for mercy.
"I've been looking for you," was all Ford could manage.
"I've been looking for you, too!" She exclaimed. "I owe you my deepest
thanks apparently. Since you put in your entry about the bar, this place has
been inundated with rich people. I've made enough to give it all up for
something more worthwhile." She was hitting all the right notes with Ford.
"Good, how do you fancy going to the society wedding of the Omp?"
"Sounds good to me. We'd better introduce ourselves then. My name is
Bolo".
Ford's brain relayed that to all of it's areas and innuendo came up
with 'That reminds me of something from Earth that kept my tongue occupied
for many happy hours', which his brain scrutinised and sent to common sense.
Common sense tutted and passed it to character assessment for a second
opinion. Character assessment complained, as usual, that it was overworked
and couldn't say whether it would be well received or would result in a
slapped face that would activate pain and the whole brain knew what trouble
that caused. Common sense decided to send the thought skulking into memory
to be held and used at a later date, hopefully as a witty, apres sex
reflection.
"I'm Ford Prefect." She held out her hand and he shook it briskly,
admiring the soft touch and the firm grip on his heart.
"How will we travel?"
A glint formed in Ford's eye.
"You are looking at one of the greatest hitch-hikers in the Galaxy."
"I'll get some money and a towel."
Ford knew he had met the girl of his dreams.
A wedding is a ritual which exists in most societies, only at varying
levels of involvement, from a simple agreement to meet, say, once a year for
dinner, to the mutual exchanging of left limbs. The latter does not apply to
the Quoquobuletes. They are easily recognised, as the male has legs which
lead into the arms, has a flat torso between the two, is about a metre high
and looks something like a capital H. The female is the same shape, only
about 10 metres high. The marriage ceremony is not unusual, with the
supposed exchanging of tokens during the ceremony, the male leaving his on
the dressing table and blaming the best man. However, to certify the
ceremony, the marriage must be consummated within four hours. Now this,
although not a strict requirement in most marriages, is usually
enthusiastically pursued by most couples as a necessity as opposed to a
requirement. It is a different story for the Quoquobuletes. Though hardly
through not trying, 8 out of every 10 Quoquobulete marriages end in
unconsummation or physical exhaustion. Those who are easily embarrassed by
such matters should now skip to the next chapter, for there now follows a
description of the Quoquobulete sexual act.
First of all, it must be performed standing up, as anything else is
considered merely foreplay. Due to the obvious physical differences, the
male digs a small hole 0.2 metres square and 0.1 metres deep. The female
then stands 0.05 metres back from the hole. The male then takes a pole
(usually a wedding gift) which can be bent under force without breaking and
then resume it's original straight axis. The male takes a run at the female
with the pole held horizontal to the ground, aiming at the hole. Once the
point of the pole makes contact with the hole, the male continues running
until the pole reaches it's most springy point and propels him towards the
female torso in a hope to cling on. This usually results in the male flying
past the female at great height or hitting the female so hard he knocks her
over. This is viewed as one of the saddest cases in the Universe and also as
another good reason why the Earth was shunned for many years, because they
chose to ridicule the act with a sport called the pole vault.
Another event associated with wedding is the stag night. For the
Quoquobuletes it was a chance for a last minute training session to perfect
technique, but for most males it is a damn good excuse to get drunk, insult
people, act offensively and generally be a nuisance. As Zaphod Beeblebrox is
a recognised expert in all of these fields, his stag night promised to be a
showstopper.
Psychologists have many theories about the deep hidden reasons for a
stag night, such as striking a final blow for freedom or getting into a
state where nothing after would be as bad, but these have never been
ratified as the last person you would invite on a stag night would be a
psychologist.
So, Ford Prefect was heading for Zaphod's for the sole purpose of being
on the stag night and Arthur Dent was heading towards Zaphod's on a purely
social visit, which would end up as a stag night they would never forget.
"It says here that Zaphod's planet is a 'peaceful haven for the famous
with glorious mountains which blend in beautifully with the tropical
beaches. It offers good skiing, great libraries and plenty of people who
think that they are cool and think they can drink.' Sounds like something
from the Magrathean catalogue," said Arthur.
"Who are the Magratheans?" asked Fenchurch.
"Oh, they were the galaxy's equivalent of Harrods. They could build any
sort of planet to your exact specification. I'm afraid to say that the Earth
was built by them."
"You mean to say that someone actually specified Milton Keynes?"
"No, it's a very long story, but I don't think Milton Keynes was ever
intended. One day I'll tell you about the Golgafrincham B Ark."
"We should have time. I think this is going to be a very long journey."
"That's the trouble with this hitch-hiking lark, you get a lot of time
on your hands."
Fenchurch took his hand and squeezed it.
"I'm glad I'm spending it with you."
Arthur swallowed and tried to stop his palm from being so sweaty. He
had never felt so happy being so uncomfortable.
"Much as I appreciate the lift we're getting, I think this ship is the
equivalent of a 2CV on Earth." Arthur tried to think of a 2CV in
desperation, but his mind kept fighting back to Fenchurch's warm hand in
his. He looked around for some form of distraction. There weren't many.
They were in the hold of a family cruiser belonging to some
Quoquobuletes who were on their first holiday to the sunny planet of
Beebles, home of Zaphod Beeblebrox. Arthur and Fenchurch had hitch-hiked,
using their souvenir God's Final Message to His Creation electronic thumb,
to a large space service station, where lots of little creatures were
charging around and adult creatures were stretching their arms, legs and in
some cases, other extremities. Arthur bought some Babel fish and had a lot
of trouble convincing Fenchurch that putting one in you ear was a really
good idea. They soon found out that conversations weren't any different at
this service station than they were on any service station on Earth. Short
cuts, the lousy condition of the toilets and the cost compared with a local
station were the general order of the day. Arthur had eventually found
someone going to Beebles and willing to give them a lift. Their travelling
companions consisted of Mr and Mrs Xoloho and their three children. Their
holiday was being paid for by the Quoquobulete government for being the
first couple in Quoquobulete history to produce more than two children.
Mr Xoloho walked, if it could be called that (it closely resembled poor
computer graphics), into the hold.
"The wife's getting a bit tired driving, so I'm going to take over," he
explained. "We'll take the next turning off the hyperspace tract to fit the
male driving adapter equipment. If you could give my wife a hand it should
be fitted in half an hour."
"It'll be my pleasure," said Arthur
"Actually, I was referring to your young lady," said Mr Xoloho.
Arthur almost got flustered, then realised that Mr Xoloho had good
reason to view the female as the dominant sex. Fenchurch laughed and Arthur
reconsidered being flustered, but Mr Xoloho had gone.
"They're so nice, aren't they?" Sighed Fenchurch. "I never expected
aliens to be so polite."
"They are not all like that, there were these creatures I once met
called the Vogons and they...." The ship lurched out of hyperspace and
Arthur's stomach lurched out of place. He stood up but his body didn't want
to leave before any of it's vital organs and slumped down again.
"I could do without that," groaned Fenchurch.
"You should try matter transference, or rather you shouldn't. It makes
coming out of hyperspace seem like coming out of a sauna."
"Remind me not to try matter transference."
"I'll do my best."
They gingerly stood up and went to the front of the ship. The Xoloho
children had already disembarked and Mrs Xoloho was disentangling herself
from the controls. Arthur walked out and into the Ship Park. There were
about two dozen ships of varying sizes parked. Arthur saw two people going
from ship to ship.
"Hitch-hikers," thought Arthur. Then he saw one of them wearing an
irritating grin. He couldn't believe it.
"Ford!" Yelled Arthur. Ford looked up, grabbed Bob's hand and ran over
to Arthur.
"We meet again," said Arthur, shaking Ford's free hand.
"Yes," replied Ford. "Did you get to see Cod's Final Message?"
"We did and very..
"I think it's overrated," interrupted Ford, grinning with the knowledge
that he had irritated Arthur.
"We met Marvin."
"The paranoid android? How is the old misery?"
"I've got some of what's left of him in this carrier bag."
"Arthur, this is Bolo." Ford modelled his flow of conversation on
Brownian motion principles.
"Hello, Polo. Is that like the mint with..
"No, it's spelt with a B." Ford realised Arthur was grinning. It
irritated him, which was the precise reason why Arthur was grinning. Ford's
grin slipped slightly.
Arthur shook Bob's hand and wanted to borrow her smile. He could win
friends and influence people with a smile like that.
"What are you up to anyway?" Asked Ford, irritated this time by the
length of the handshake.
"Well I was going to visit Zaphod with Fenchurch, she's in the ship
over there, doing some adapting of some sort," said Arthur, casually
pointing in the direction of half a dozen ships.
"Oh, so you're off to Zaphod's wedding too?" Asked Bob.
Arthur's jaw dropped and he looked at Ford in disbelief. Arthur's brain
took no responsibility for his jaw as it showed great indecision.
"Zaphod? Married? To Trillian?" He blurted out.
"Yes to all three." Ford was glad he had the upper hand again.
Fenchurch joined them.
"Hello, Ford. Nice to see you again. Nice to see you sober as well
"Fenchurch, this is Bob. Bob, this is Fenchurch. Could you go and get
us some food?" Ford said, in his best 'could you please go and leave us
alone so we can have a private talk' voice. They obliged.
"Zaphod?" Arthur was speechless bar that one word.
"Didn't you know? It's the biggest news since Eccentrica Gallumbits,
the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon 6, opened her night club planet
"Didn't you say they had some kids?"
"Yeah, he's going to do the decent thing," grinned Ford. "First time
for everything."
"I'm stunned." Arthur wasn't lying.
"Not as much as you will be." Ford looked over his shoulder to make
sure the women were out of hearing range. "When I say 'wedding' what's the
first thing you think of?"
"Rice down the back of my neck from a lousy shot."
"No, no, before the wedding!"
"Getting a present?"
"You're missing my point!" Yelled Ford. He took a deep breath and
continued. "What do the men do the night before a wedding?"
"Go on a Stag night!" Arthur felt enlightened then thought of the other
stag night he had been on. True, everyone got fairly drunk but he got
separated from the crowd on the way to Soho and ended up in Waterloo
Station. Those who did make it to Soho were arrested and missed the wedding
and as Arthur was the only one from the stag night to turn up, all the
guests took it out on him.
"Right! And Zaphod's will go down in the guide as the greatest ever!"
Ford found himself doing a little dance in celebration. Mr Xoloho came over
to them.
"We'll be ready in about five minutes," he said to Arthur.
"Could you take two more hitch-hikers?" Asked Arthur. "I've known this
one for countless years and I know he won't give you any trouble."
"Sure, the more the merrier." He turned and returned to the ship.
"These are nice people, so please behave." Pleaded Arthur.
"You know me." Ford played his winning stroke backed up by his best
grin. Arthur made a mental note to try harder in future.
Zaphod lounged on the patio by the swimming pool. His estate was right
by the tropical sea, but he had a swimming pool all the same. Status symbols
only served their purpose if they were never used. He turned a dial, which
raised his sun bed a further two inches off the ground and tilted it a few
more degrees. One of his heads drained a tropical drink as the other called
for another. A cocktail robot flitted over to him and filled the glass. The
robot was the only one of it's kind to be programmed to mix a Pan Galactic
Gargle Blaster the traditional way. It had cost a fortune, but Zaphod felt
it was worth it. Trillian's sun bed floated along side his. She had a
beautiful tan.
"Are you going to the office today?" She asked without turning.
"Nah, too nice a day."
"Every day here is the same."
"I know, great isn't it?" Mellowed Zaphod. "Besides, Heart of Gold is
in for 12,000 omp service."
"How long will that take?" Trillian actually turned her head.
"I don't know. The bastards have it overnight, so they can do the
galaxy, try and impress some chicks with it, recover, give it a couple of
kicks, leave greasy fingerprints all over it and work out an extortionate
bill. It could take days.'
"Why not take it somewhere else?"
"You kind of know where you stand with these guys. They're hoopy."
"But they'll rip you off!"
"Not this time. I pulled a couple of wires. If they miss them, it's
curtains. I told them who I am and what would happen if they didn't do a
proper job."
"Blackmail?"
"It's called good business. If they do a good job, they'll come out of
it alright."
A small monitor flew from the house and hovered in front of Zaphod. He
squinted and shaded his eyes.
"Hey, we've got visitors," beamed Zaphod. "Ford and the monkey man are
here with some chicks. Freeooww!"
"You mean Arthur," said Trillian firmly. She waited. "Aren't you going
to let them in?"
"Not yet, I want to see them ogle a little while longer," chuckled
Zaphod. "I can almost hear them saying this can't be my place."
"This can't be Zaphod's place!" Arthur said, disgusted by the fact that
he knew it was.
"He must have done pretty well for himself since the Krikkit business,"
said Ford.
"What was...."
"Don't ask, Fenchurch," snapped Arthur. "It's not something I want to
be reminded of."
The door swung silently open. No 'happy service' or ' glad to be of
service'. Zaphod had made it big. He stood in the doorway, arms open.
"Hi hi hi guys, good to see me, isn't it. No seriously, hi Ford,
Arthur. Who are the chicks?"
"These ladies are Fenchurch and Bolo," said Arthur.
"Hi Bolo, nice to see you again."
"You, you've met?" Spluttered Ford.
"Yes, Zaphod's the guy with the grey limo from Han Dold City,"
explained Bolo.
"But don't mention it, the soon to be wife's inside," whispered Zaphod.
"Come through to the patio."
Trillian got off the sun bed to greet them. After the formal
introductions of Fenchurch and Bolo, she put her arms around Ford and
Arthur.
"It's great to see you guys again, it's been too long," she said. She
had been explained to Fenchurch and Bolo to avoid any embarrassment a
gesture like this would have caused.
"And we got here just in time," said Ford, rubbing his hands together.
"When's the big night, I mean day?"
"Two days time, we hoped you would make it."
"Wouldn't miss it for the planet." Ford winked at Arthur.
"Nice place you've got here," admired Arthur. It was meant to be
admired. The house sprawled lazily like a basking octopus over the entire
beach, which curved into a tropical bay. Beautiful snowy mountains rose
majestically behind the house.
"It's not bad," said Trillian, looking at Zaphod. "It's the only place
we could find to accommodate Zaphod's ego!"
"What, the house or the planet?" Asked Arthur.
"Hey, guys! What is this, get at Zaphod day or something?" Exclaimed
Zaphod.
"So, what have you been up to, Zaphod, to get all of this?" Asked Ford.
Trillian sighed and took the women away to show them around the house.
"I'm glad you asked. Pull up a sun bed."
"Is it going to take that long?" Asked Arthur.
"No monkey man, you're just looking a little peaky, the suns will do
you the world of good." Arthur ignored the insult and climbed on the sun
bed. He was immediately turned upside down.
"Turn the dial," said Ford, climbing onto his sun bed.
Arthur fiddled with the dial and eventually got himself into a position
where the two suns beat down on either side of his face, casting no shadows.
"This is paradise," he sighed.
"No, it's Beebles, it's got a much better ring to it," said Zaphod.
"Anyway, after the Krikkit lark, the galactic police caught up with me, but
they just wanted to escort me to the galactic council. They were still angry
over the Heart of Gold, but once I explained to them how I saved the
Universe from the Krikkits, they were fine."
"But you didn't...." started Arthur.
"Don't interrupt," interrupted Zaphod. "They said I couldn't really go
back to being President, but would be willing to give me any other job I
wanted. I didn't mess around, guys. I went for the big one. Guys, you are
now looking at the new Owner Editor for the Hitch-hikers Guide to the
Galaxy." He paused for effect. "With the platinum handshake I got, I put
down a deposit for a Magrathean planet. Now I've got my planet and the
Magratheans have a full page advert for a year. The rest is made up from the
tourist trade."
"So, basically, you're rolling in it," said Ford.
"Exactly," said Zaphod.
"Good, you can pay me the money I'm owed for the coverage on Earth!"
Ford held out his hand.
"But I got it all put in instead of the edited version, isn't that
enough?"
"No, I don't do this for the love, you know."
"You really find out who your friends are when you become their owner,"
muttered Zaphod.
"Owner!" Shouted Ford.
"Yeah, apparently, as a researcher your guide remains the property of
Megadodo Publications, which is the property of myself, and your contract
states that as you are in possession of the guide, you are the property of
Megadodo Publications, which is in turn, well, you know the rest."
"Well here's fifty nine point nine nine alterian dollars," said Ford,
thrusting money in Zaphod's hand, then took his researchers card out of his
pocket and threw it in the swimming pool. "I quit."
"Nice to see you again Ford," beamed Zaphod.
"And you mate," grinned Ford. They embraced, realised how silly they
looked and separated. Arthur got on with getting tanned.
"So what about the Stag Night?" Asked Ford.
"Well I thought we could go to Eccentrica Gallumbits' new night club
planet, it's supposed to be wild."
"Great," said Ford.
"Are you in, monkey man?" Asked Zaphod.
"Yes, four eyes, I'm in." Arthur dialled himself a greater angle.
Screaming and hollering filled the air, causing Arthur to upend his sun bed
and land, too heavily, on the floor. Two little kids hammered towards him,
leapt over his cowering body and into Zaphod's arms.
"Little brats," he said, grinning paternally. "I've named the oldest
one Phil, after my Earth name. The nipper's called Trisha, after Trillian's
Earth name."
"Arthur studied them closely. They looked like normal kids, maybe a bit
too cute for his liking, but still normal. He breathed a sigh of relief to
the fact that they had taken after their mother.
"Children, this is Uncle Ford and Uncle Arthur." Zaphod had changed,
thought Arthur. The kids giggled and buried their faces in Zaphod. He shook
his heads, still grinning. "Bless 'em."
Arthur felt that 'bless 'em' should be mentioned every time their names
were said as an unofficial middle name. He had a niece on Earth called
Michaela and he always associated her name with 'bless her heart'. Michaela
'bless her heart' Martin. It had a nice ring to it and if you ever met her,
you would know how applicable it was. By this time, Zaphod, the kids and
Ford had gone inside. Arthur hurried into the house.
Everyone was sitting around a magnificent table, covered by a
magnificent feast. The last time Arthur had seen food like this he had found
mice on the table. He checked before sitting down. Fenchurch took his hand
and squeezed it.
"This incredible," she whispered in his ear.
"I propose a toast," shouted Ford, not knowing the acoustically perfect
design of the room would swell his voice to that of a Welsh Male Voice
Choir. Everyone lifted their glasses.
"To Zaphod, Trillian and the kids. May your futbulions never cross and
your buquabs never separate."
Only Zaphod appreciated this ancient Betelgeuse toast, but they all
drank to it. As they prepared to gorge themselves, Zaphod stood up.
"Did you get us a present?"
"Zaphod!" Said Trillian through clenched teeth.
"Well, they're expected to bring a present. Still, never mind if you
haven't, I've enough presence for all of us."
Zaphod was the only one to laugh, as was usual for his attempts at
humour.
"Actually, we have," said Arthur, mystifying everyone. He rummaged
through his carrier bag and produced some circuit boards. "Sorry they're not
gift wrapped."
"Hey, thank you," falsified Zaphod. "I'm touched, we're touched that
you thought of us. What are they?"
"Marvin, or at least what's worth keeping."
"So that's where he got to!" Exclaimed Zaphod. "Where's my coat?" His
demand went unanswered and the horrified looks from around the table
demanded an explanation. "I sent him to the Big Bang Burger Bar to get my
coat which I left behind. Perhaps I should have given him the return fare."
"Marvin is dead?" Whispered Trillian, tears brimming in her eyes. She
only remembered the good times, or to be more accurate, the less than lousy
times, when Marvin complimented her, or at least was inoffensive towards
her.
"I think it would be fairer to say that Marvin has rusted." Zaphod's
tact struck like nuclear missile in the bullseye of a dartboard. Trillian
ran out of the room crying.
"I think you should keep hold of Marvin for the moment," said Ford.
Arthur stuck Marvin in his pocket.
Death could be defined as that which when mentioned over dinner could
cause one person to leave the room crying and for all bar one (Zaphod
Beeblebrox) to be put off their magnificent meal. A very personalised
definition, admittedly, but a very applicable one even though it is based on
a situation with a major misunderstanding. Marvin did not die, although it
was what he dearly wished. He ceased to function, which had the desired
effect, albeit temporarily. It has been asked why, in addition to Marvin's
ability to switch off at any time and with the knowledge that by sticking
his left arm in his right ear he could electrocute himself, Marvin never
finished himself off a long time ago. Apart from the fact that his
programming wouldn't allow him, he would miss out on the opportunity to
continue being wretched, which he did until his body could take it no
longer.
There are those who feel that Marvin's end was untimely and a bit of an
anticlimax considering his eventful life full of narrow escapes, close
shaves and apathetic encounters. His escape from the Disaster Area stunt
ship has never been fully documented (though it can now be revealed that it
wasn't as exciting as expected) and will not be disclosed here to remain
within the legal boundaries that exist for that section of society with a
furtive imagination. Nor can we forget the lengthy tale of how Marvin
eventually ended up minus one original leg on the planet Squornshellous
Zeta. However, Marvin has ceased to exist as before and will stay that way,
unless something really improbable happens.
It may please those who think that this is the very end of Marvin to
know that it is indirectly through Marvin that Zaphod, Ford and Arthur, not
to mention Trillian, Bolo and Fenchurch, are soon to be sent on their way to
save the Universe.
The scruffy mechanic idled around by the door. Eventually Zaphod opened
it.
"I've brought your ship back, goes like a dream now," said the
mechanic, wiping his hands on his greasy overalls, achieving nothing.
"It was going like a dream beforehand, I was hoping for a little
reality to creep back into it's performance," muttered Zaphod.
"Very good, sir." The mechanic knew of Zaphod's position and wasn't
going to jeopardise his by getting cocky. "We followed the service
instructions down to the last detail. No unnecessary work done. We even
changed the filters on the Nutri-Matic Drinks Synthesiser.
"Okay, okay. I had an estimate but let's see how it differs from the
present tense expense."
"What?"
"Shee, the bill. You know, the paper with all the big numbers all over
it?"
"Oh, yes, right." The mechanic took out a sheet of paper, accidentally
on purpose smudging his greasy fingers across the sundries column, which
contained the tip for the waiter at an incredibly expensive restaurant he
had taken his girlfriend and the Heart of Gold to on a test drive, the
replacement solar tiling (the original tiling didn't need replacing but the
tiling on his star buggy did) and the money he lost playing Eddie the
shipboard computer at electronic halma.
Zaphod signed his name twice against his Editor's expense account
number on the bill as the second signature would be worth a bit in years to
come and was cheaper than a tip.
"Thanks sir," humbled the mechanic. "And you won't forget the mention
in the guide, will you sir?"
"We'll see after I've taken her for a spin. I'll be in touch." Zaphod
shut the door. "I'm sure I get ripped off more than bog roll."
Arthur was feeding all his details into the latest gizmo from the
Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, the Tailormatic. The principle was very
good. By feeding in all bodily details, such as height, weight, number of
limbs, etc., the Tailormatic would link up to the fashion mainframes around
the Universe to consult what the latest fashions were and then synthetically
create an ideal outfit. Unfortunately, it was programmed by the same man who
programmed the Nutri-Matic machine and didn't always produce the goods, so
to speak.
Arthur hit the enter button and the Tailormatic shook into action.
Eventually, a cellophane wrapped package popped out. Once Arthur had spent
five minutes removing pins and cardboard, he tried it on.
"And this is fashionable?" He asked the machine rhetorically.
"Upon my life, I've never seen anyone wear it so well," chirped the
machine.
"It's not too bright?"
"Bright is in, my boy. You want to be noticed, don't you?"
"Yes, but not to be ridiculed."
"Don't be silly, I wish I could get away with wearing something like
that."
"I'm more worried about being put away. And I suppose the motto Share
and Enjoy applies to the clothes as well. How many people am I supposed to
share this with at one time?"
"It's meant to be loose, it flows."
"So does wine, but I wouldn't go out in it."
"Well I can take it in a touch, but it would ruin the line."
''Don't bother, I'll get a second opinion.
Fenchurch was trying on one of Trillian's dresses for the wedding.
Arthur charged in, muttered an embarrassed apology and walked out.
"Arthur!" She shouted. He sheepishly put his head around the door.
"Come in."
"I just wanted your opinion on this." He held his arms out and turned
around. What the Tailormatic had produced was a gold lame track suit-like
outfit, which hung on Arthur like snow on a weeping willow. Fabulous
embroidery covered the outfit and reflective prism strips had been sown in
all over.
"Well you'd look better hanging from the ceiling of the night-club than
on the dancefloor. No, it's really quite different." Fenchurch had trouble
suppressing a laugh.
"It's supposed to be fashionable in the better places in the Universe."
"When in Rome, do...."
"I think I'll wear my jacket over it, that way I wont feel like a
walking laser light show."
Fenchurch went over to him and put her arms around his waist.
"Promise me you'll behave tonight."
"I promise, we'll probably just have a few drinks," lied Arthur. He
knew Ford and Zaphod had been undergoing strenuous body conditioning all day
in preparation for a full frontal assault on as much alcohol as they could
lay their lips on. "Will you be alright here?"
"I'll be fine, the three of us haven't stopped nattering."
There was a knock at the door. Ford popped his head around the door.
"Thought I'd find you in here," he grinned. "We're off."
"I'll see you later," said Arthur, hoping that Ford would disappear so
he could kiss Fenchurch goodbye, but he had no chance.
"Enjoy yourself, but not too much." Fenchurch kissed him on the cheek
and patted his behind.
Arthur followed Ford down the stairs where Zaphod was waiting. His
outfit made Arthur's seem like funeral attire. The suit shimmered and
changed colour in splashes like a cinema screen before the film starts, but
without the nauseating effect. Bolts of harmless laser burst from the suit
at random and the matching headband glowed luminously.
"It's on random at the moment, buy I'll turn it to synchro in the night
club to keep time with the music," said Zaphod. "Then watch out, 'cos my
suit will do the dancing for me."
"That's good, when you dance people clear a space in sympathy and for
safety," said Ford.
"Hey, cool it with the jibes, I'm out for good vibes," said Zaphod.
"Remember this is my night, I'm gonna do it just right."
"Are we going to get going or just talk about it?" Asked Arthur.
"Now there's someone straining at the leash," said Zaphod. "Obviously a
love hungry man. We'll get going soon, monkey man. We won't use
improbability drive, no point in getting there too early. We want to make a
big entrance."
Eccentrica Gallumbits' night-club planet looked no different from any
other Magrathean planet on approach. Only on closer inspection could you
make out the glittering surface. Zaphod put the Heart of Gold into orbit
around the planet to get a better look. A huge complex covered a quarter of
the planet, with ship parks covering the remainder. Zaphod tuned the
Sub-Etha radio into the planet and a bass line, which sounded like it had
been carved out of granite, pounded the speakers.
"Now that's what I call a groove," said Zaphod, tapping his heads
together in time.
The planet suddenly burst into light as it was switched to sound to
light. The surface pulsated with the beat.
"Beats the hell out of a neon sign," said Arthur.
Zaphod parked the Heart of Gold in a predominant position as usual.
They stepped out into the ship park. A robot transporter pulled up and they
climbed aboard.
"The electricity bill must be phenomenal," said Arthur, as the
transporter weaved through the myriad of flashing lights.
"All done with fibre optics, no doubt," said Ford. "Probably all runs
off one light bulb."
And the beat went on. The transporter had Quadraphonic speakers to
confirm that the lights weren't going off at a tangent. Arthur could feel
his heart trying to keep time with the music. The transporter pulled up at
the main entrance.
Flash bulbs flashed. Cameras whirred. Reporters jostled with each other
to get a good position.
"Are you still going through with it, Zaphod?"
"Are you really giving up the wild life?"
"Do you think marriage will interrupt your quest for ultimate coolness,
Mr Beeblebrox?"
"Hey guys," said Zaphod, lapping up the attention. My future wife will
hear about anything I say to you, and you know how you take things I say out
of context." He stopped and posed briefly for photographers. "So I guess I
ought to remain silent."
After several throwaway poses, he went through the crowd to the door.
Ford and Arthur fought their way through to join him. Zaphod put his arms
around them and grinned for the cameras. "One for the album. My last night
of freedom!"
Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple breasted whore of Eroticon 6, is
universally famous as one of the best good times known to males. Part of her
fame is due to a coffee cup being placed on a genetic engineer's plan prior
to her birth. Gallumbits, an old inferno of Zaphod Beeblebrox, has been the
centre of many wild rumours, such as her erogenous zones starting four miles
from her body where, in fact, it has been statistically proven that even
when she is in the mood, the distance is at most two miles. Another rumour,
inaccurate again, is that fortunate males, whom we shall accurately call
joyriders, accompanying Gallumbits on what we shall call an excursion,
experience a feeling akin to the planet/moon/starship/waterbed moving.
Professional observers, positioned at a safe distance, have observed that no
such movement is apparent. However, as joyriders considerably outnumber
professional observers, this has yet to be proven. Any professional
observers who have joined the growing ranks of joyriders in an attempt to
measure any movement first hand usually drop all their necessary equipment
in a frenzy at the appropriate moment.
She has been condemned by 'Females Repelled by an Uncaring Male
Population Society' (FRUMPS) as 'degrading to females' and 'too stupid for
words'. However, Gallumbits has proven to have one of the most brilliant
female business minds of all time. Her three dimensional, full size
holoposter (cost of the planning permission for the house extension included
in the price) helped her retain her Positively the Most Polpular Pin-Up
Award for the tenth year running and boosted her earnings close to Disaster
Area proportions. Her favourite saying 'I don't care if they are more
interested in my body than my mind, so long as they realise that I am more
interested in their money than their body' angered the FRUMPS so much, they
sued. Gallumbits was acquitted by a male judge and an all male jury.
Chauvinists on Earth will be comforted by the fact that although
chauvinism may be dying out on Earth, the traditions are still being upheld
in other parts of the Universe.
Eccentrica Gallumbits stood at the reception, hot with anticipation.
Another rumour states that she can be hot with boredom, with disgust and
while doing the dusting but only two of these can be genuinely vouched for.
She could see Zaphod fighting his way to the door. She curled her leg around
a small Tube supporting a drink. The small Tube dropped the drink in the
excitement and ran over to his crowd of Tubes in the bar to exaggerate what
happened.
"Hey Babe, what's shaking?" Said Zaphod after a dramatic entrance that
included kicking the door open, only to slam in Arthur's face.
"Same things as always," said Gallumbits seductively and gave a
physical demonstration. "I heard the bad news on the Sub Etha."
"Had to happen one day," said Zaphod.
"I suppose so," sighed Gallumbits, as seductively as the ear would
allow. As she does everything seductively, it can be safely assumed that
although it will no longer be mentioned, she is being seductive. "I'm
wearing three black bands in memory of the sad day."
"First time I've seen them worn there," said Ford, fascinated.
"Little Ford!" Squealed Gallumbits. "It's been ages. Have you got over
your little problem yet?" Ford's ogling was distracted.
"What problem's this, little Ford?" Asked Zaphod, deciding to kick off
the personal abuse for the evening.
"Who's this?" Interrupted Gallumbits.
"Oh, this is just Arthur Dent, he's a friend of Trillian. He'll be
alright if you can let him have some tea," said Zaphod, verbally swinging
his fist from Ford to Arthur.
"The Arthur Dent?" Squealed Gallumbits. She squealed a lot.
"Not this again, yes, the Arthur Dent," said Arthur.
Gallumbits brushed past Zaphod and Ford, exciting them more than a
brush should legally be allowed to. She put her arms on Arthur's shoulders
and kissed him.
"I've heard a lot about you," she smouldered. "But I don't think I've
had the pleasure."
Arthur's voice decided to go falsetto when he was hoping for a rich
tenor. His body was pleading for mercy and a cold shower.
"I don't think we have," he squeaked. "How do you do."
"I've had no complaints so far."
"Well," said Arthur, searching for inspirational conversation in a mind
filled with other matters. "That's very good."
"Don't worry, she's always after fresh blood," said Zaphod.
"Worried, who's worried?" Said Arthur, wondering if it was her perfume.
"Not me, I'm not worried. What have I got to be worried about?"
"Nice place you've got here," said Ford, glancing briefly at the decor
before resuming Gallumbits watching.
"I'm proud of it," said Gallumbits, sticking her chest out. "It's taken
a long time to get it how I wanted it, but I think it will keep everyone
happy." Arthur was swimming in a pool of ambiguity.
"I hope it lives down to your reputation," said Zaphod.
"I've worked hard enough to get it that way. I've got to sort out some
business affairs right now, but you go and enjoy yourselves, it's all on the
house tonight. I'll catch up with you later. Especially you, Arthur."
She touched all of them on the cheek with delicate fingers and
disappeared behind a door into which Arthur had assumed was the men's toilet
because of the men queuing up outside it.
"Still looking good," sighed Ford.
"And then some," replied Zaphod.
"And plenty after that," added Arthur, his voice edging down the scale
to soprano.
"Well," said Zaphod, snapping out of the trance. "Let's observe and
reserve."
"What?" Asked Arthur.
"Let's pick out the suitable women," explained Zaphod. "It's just as
well I'm beyond having my style cramped."
"But your getting married tomorrow," protested Arthur.
"It's because I m getting married tomorrow that we must pull tonight.
Otherwise the marriage will be null and void. It's a condition. That was one
of the few good things I did as President of the Universe."
"And do we all have to pull?" Asked Arthur.
"We're supposed to, but we may make an exception in your case, it would
be a shame to cancel the wedding because of you," piped Ford.
"Let's discuss this over a drink," pleaded Zaphod.
They headed into one of the 42 bars that had been littered all over the
complex. The barman of this one stood proudly behind his bar, polishing
glasses. Ford reached the bar first.
"Do you serve Pan Galactic Gargle-Blasters?" He asked. "And don't say
we serve anyone with the money." The barman reached over the bar and picked
Ford off the ground by the collar of his blazer.
"I happen to be one of the most experienced Pan Galactic Gargle-Blaster
mixers in the Universe," muttered the barman in Ford's ear. Ford clapped his
hand down on the barman's flattish head. The smacking noise and the shock
caused the barman to drop Ford.
"Is that so?" Said Ford.
"That is so," said the barman.
"Well, buddy boy, I'm going to put you to the test," said Ford. "Do you
know who is in our party? No? Zaphod Beeblebrox, that's who."
"Er, really?" Said the barman, swallowing hard.
Zaphod leaned against the bar, smiled, raised a hand and emitted his
coolest 'Hi'.
"So mix one up and we'll see what Zaphod has to say," said Ford.
"It won't take a minute, Mr Beeblebrox," flustered the barman.
Zaphod placed all three hands on the bar and started breathing deeply.
He rolled his heads in opposite directions, which caused a flutter of
applause to come from the small crowd that had formed. A small camera
hovered above the bar, transmitting the pictures to all the video screens in
the night-club.
Zaphod started puffing and slapping his cheeks. He decided to use his
right head for the drinking and his left head for the observing. He bent his
knees and squatted down, his hands still on the bar. He blew loudly several
times and stood upright. He turned to his audience, now quite large, and
jogged on the spot. He thrust his arms up in a 'Rocky' type pose, one he had
been mastering in front of the mirror, which started the applause again.
"I will need a silver spoon, preferably the one you used to make the
drink, a timing device, a glass of water and a cloth," said Zaphod like a
magician looking for volunteers. The barman dutifully produced all of these
items and nervously placed them in front of Zaphod, who was staring at him
like a boxer. The barman avoided Zaphod's eyes and put the drink down on the
bar. The barman stood back and rubbed his hands together anxiously.
Zaphod sipped the glass of water, swilled it around in his mouth,
gargled with it and spat it out. His suit had sensed the atmosphere of the
moment and displayed dark, moody colours.
"Wait a minute!" Cried the barman. He ran over to the drink and dropped
an olive in it. "I forgot, the heat of the moment."
Zaphod's glare shut him up. Zaphod lifted the glass to the light and
squinted at it. He sniffed it as one would sniff smelling salts, knowing
full well what they smelt like. He nodded and picked up the spoon. He
scooped up a drop of the drink and switched on the timing device. Fumes
smoked away from the spoon and when a hole appeared in the spoon, Zaphod
stopped the timing device. He looked at the time and nodded again. He wiped
away the residue liquid from the bar with the cloth before it started eating
it's way through that. Zaphod rolled his heads again, much to the delight of
the crowd and started puffing again. He took the glass in his hand, looked
at the ceiling, looked at the barman, looked at the drink and then, while
the left head watched closely, downed the drink in one.
Ford and Arthur helped Zaphod to his feet. He shook his heads and
steadied himself.
"Well barman," said Zaphod hoarsely. "That was good, very good. Set up
three for us."
The audience erupted, the barman cried and Arthur suddenly realised he
was expected to drink one of these liquid stun guns.
"Don't worry," said Ford to Arthur, who was holding the glass as one
would hold an anaconda. "Take it in sips, it's quite pleasant."
Arthur took a hesitant sip and screwed his face up in anticipation.
There was no pain. It felt like slipping into a hot bath inside out.
"Not bad," he said, then found his body fulfilling an urgent desire to
be horizontal.
"It'll take a while," said Ford, helping Arthur up. "Perhaps we should
get you a Phodcaran Hurenge."
"Excuse me?" Asked Arthur. The two dolphins stopped chattering and
turned to face him. "This will probably sound very silly and you will almost
certainly have no idea what I'm talking about, but I'm from a planet called
Earth and.."
"You're not!" Exclaimed one of the dolphins.
"You're pulling my flipper, surely!" Squealed the other.
"No I really am," said Arthur. "I was wondering if you could explain to
me exactly what happened on Earth. You know, why it reappeared and you
disappeared."
"Well you are talking to the right people, my name is Etats and this is
Dilos," said Etats, offering his flipper, which Arthur shook. He fought the
urge to throw Etats a fish and blow a whistle.
"We were behind the Campaign to Save the Humans," said Dilos.
"I got a bowl from you then," said Arthur.
"It can't be!" They sang in unison.
"Let me guess, ' said Arthur, but they didn't give him the chance.
"You must be the Arthur Dent."
"That's right."
"Out of vision, man. Is this one meeting to remember!" Said Etats.
"Let me get you a drink," said Dilos. He passed a container to Arthur.
It was see-through with a straw poking through the lid. Arthur sipped the
straw and was pleasantly surprised to taste gin and tonic. When he released
the straw, he quickly put his finger over it to prevent any water getting
in, being 10 metres under and sitting around a submerged table.
"Don't worry," said Etats. "Each cup has an artificial atmosphere in it
to allow liquid out but not in."
"How clever," remarked Arthur, removing his finger.
"Now where shall we start?" Said Dilos. "We originally came from a
planet called Dolph. It was a grotty planet really. It was in the same
dimension as those bastards who wanted the ultimate answer to life, the
Universe and everything."
"I know all about that," said Arthur.
"Terrible neighbours," said Etats. "We used to tap their information
channels just to remind ourselves how lucky we were. Anyway, Deep Thought
decided that Dolphins were to be part of the network. They approached us
with this proposition to spend time on Earth and we accepted."
"Not because we wanted to help," interrupted Dilos.
"Oh no, we couldn't give a Jrevi Wooc about them," said Etats. "No, it
just seemed like a good holiday spot. So we decided that we would work to
get our planet in decent living order and holiday on Earth until the work
was done. We worked shifts, half the workforce on Dolph, half on holiday. We
arrived just before the Golgafrinchians. The hyper intelligent, pan
dimensional beings hadn't arrived so we knew then it wasn't going to work.
Still, we weren't going to tell them because the Earth was far superior to
Dolph and we were having too much fun
"We loved the humans," continued Dilos. "Once all the cavemen died, the
inbreeding of the Golgafrinchians reduced them to babbling idiots."
"How could you tell the difference?" Asked Arthur.
"Good point, because the hyper intelligent pan dimensional beings
couldn't," laughed Etats. "That's why they didn't abort the whole thing. So
modern man evolved from that time on. The mice moulded them through the
years unaware they were wasting their time."
"No wonder you lot always seemed to be happy," said Arthur.
"We were," said Dilos. "But we felt sorry for the humans, because they
treated us so well most of the time. So when we found out about the Vogon
Constructor Fleet, we tried to warn you, but you didn't have Babel fish. So
we started the Campaign to Save the Humans. No-one was particularly
interested and the psychiatrists gave us a lot of trouble. They didn't
believe us about the Golgafrinchians. They put it down to a childhood
neurosis. Apart from saving the Humans, we didn't really fancy going back to
Dolph, which was still in a pretty bad way."
"Then we had a stroke of luck," said Etats. "One of our great hobbies
in the sea when we weren't on the surface was what you called 'hacking' on
computers. That how we found out about the Vogons."
"You had computers in the sea?" Asked Arthur.
"Yes, not the sort you would have used but computers all the same,"
said Dilos.
"Sorry," said Arthur. "We've gone off track. Please continue with the
story, I m fascinated."
"Okay," said Etats. "We were hacking the databanks of the Sirius
Cybernetics Corporation and got hold of a provisional press release about
the launch of a new product, the Planetcopier. It was a device that could
copy whole planets. Marvellous device but the Marketing Division had screwed
up again. No-one needed it or could afford it. But it was perfect for us. We
borrowed it on a ten day evaluation trial and took a perfect copy of the
Earth the second before it blew up."
"Unbelievable," said Arthur, staggered.
"The copy took a week to complete, in which time you went to Magrathea
and made the Earth Mark 2 redundant. The Magratheans opened shop again and
put it on special offer. They took Dolph on part exchange and we put the
Earth Mark 2 directly opposite the copy of the Earth so with the Sun between
us you wouldn't know we were there. While the copy was being finished, we
sneaked back and left bowls to the three most important people on the
Earth:you, for making the Earth Mark 2 available, a girl called Fenchurch
who was the poor soul chosen as the printout device...."
"I know her," said Arthur proudly.
"How is she shaping up?" Asked Dilos. "Part of the conditions we had to
meet from the psychiatrists was wiping her mind of whatever answer she had.
Awful shock for her."
"She's okay now," said Arthur. "We're travelling the Universe
together."
"How nice," said Etats. "The final person was Wonko the Sane, a good
buddy who figured us out."
"Well that explains a lot," sighed Arthur. "I could die a happy man
now."
"Now that could be arranged very easily," said Zaphod, floating down.
"You can t upset me," said Arthur. "Everything is clear now."
"What's that, your brain scan?" Asked Zaphod, bobbing gently.
"Anyone fancy playing some games?" Asked Etats.
"Hey, they've got a Sirius Cybernetics Corporation terminal, we could
try some heavy duty hacking," said Dilos.
"Sound's good to me," said Zaphod.
"I hear they've introduced another level of security," said Etats. They
all floated to the surface and swam over to the terminal. Ford was lounging
by the pool. Arthur joined him.
"How's it going?" Asked Ford.
"Great, the dolphins told me all about what really happened to the
Earth, it's amazing," said Arthur. "They took a copy of the Earth with a
Sirius Cybernetics Corporation Planetcopier."
"Oh, I've heard of that," said Ford. "Apparently they dropped the price
by a few thousand Alterian Dollars, renamed it the XT and sold it as an A4
photocopier."
"They're all over there trying to break into the Sirius Cybernetics
computer banks."
"Old hat," yawned Ford. "A real achievement would be to...."
Ford's eyes glazed over.
"What's the matter?" Asked Arthur. "Pan Galactic relapse?"
"Have you still got Marvin's bits in your pocket?" Demanded Ford.
"Yes, I daren't throw them away."
"Good, good," chuckled Ford. "Zaphod, come here!"
"Hold on," yelled Zaphod. "I'm on level 4."
Ford grabbed Arthur and pulled him over to the terminal. Zaphod was
bashing away at the controls. Ford pulled the plug.
"Hey man," shouted Zaphod. "I hope you know a good genetic mechanic,
cos your body is going to need a complete overhaul once I've finished with
it."
"Cool it," said Ford. "I've got a great idea."
"It had better be good," muttered Zaphod.
"Everyone can break into the computer banks, hell it's the national
pastime on some planets. Pretty boring planets I'll grant you but....."
"You are running out of time," interrupted Zaphod.
"What is supposed to be the most difficult place in the Universe to
break into?"
"My wallet?" Answered Zaphod.
"No, that's the second," said Ford. "The planet Sirius, home of the
Sirius Cybernetics Corporation."
"Keep talking," said Zaphod.
"Well, we could get in there no trouble with the Heart of Gold and put
Marvin back together again for Trillian!" Ford held his hands out. Zaphod
went quiet.
"They reckon the planet is impossible to break into," said Etats.
"I know," said Zaphod, thinking. "That's why we'll do it!"
"You in, Arthur?" Asked Ford.
"I don't think I have much choice," replied Arthur. "The mini-cab fare
from here to Zaphod's must be staggering. I'm in."
"What about you guys?" Zaphod asked the dolphins.
"No, we'd be out of our depth," said Etats. "But we'll monitor your
progress from here."
"Okay then men, to the Heart of Gold," ordered Zaphod. "Excitement,
adventure and really wild things look out, here we come!"
The Heart of Gold was somewhat less than 100%. The service had been
useful, as the neutramatic machine would now deliver a damn near perfect cup
of Earl Grey, but the mechanics hadn't exactly been thorough. All the
standard points of the service manual had been covered, but then the service
manual didn't cover the possibility of the owner deliberately pulling a few
wires. So, behind an innocent looking inspection panel, the wires (which
Zaphod incorrectly assumed had belonged to the 'fasten your seat belts'
light) remained pulled. They were actually part of the microprocessor
controlled reverse interlock relay memory bank of the infinite improbability
drive. This device dumped all the necessary co-ordinates of the Universe
into the ship's computer for processing. This enabled the ship to assess
current location against potential and possible location, in relation to
requested location. The ship's computer would then arrive in the requested
location and dump all these details back with the co-ordinates of the ship's
latest position. This meant that next time infinite improbability was used,
the computer couldn't update the current location in relation to it's
position in the Universe, as, unfortunately, this information would normally
travel back through one of the pulled wires.
In layman's terms, the next time infinite improbability drive was used,
the ship would arrive totally lost and unable to use infinite improbability
drive until the wire was replaced and the co-ordinates reprogrammed.
The LOST CHAPTERS C51 to C60 of HHGTTG
Converted by Ronald Lachenal
Rml@iconn.com.ph
"Okay Ford, hit the improb button," ordered Zaphod, lounging in his
favourite chair. Ford obliged and the ship blinked out and into existence in
a flash.
Zaphod was in his least favourite chair, Ford had his blazer on and
Arthur was wearing something which, by all accounts, should have found it's
way to a jumble sale by now.
"Arthur, I hate to tell you this, old mate," said Ford, realising he
was now holding the remains of Marvin.
"I know," said Arthur, his hands stuffed deep in his dressing gown
pockets. It was a little less shabby than when he last saw it but it was
still very worn at the edges, sides and generally all over. "I suppose
travelling the Universe wouldn't be the same without it."
"Well guys, looks like we're all dressed for the occasion," said
Zaphod, wondering where his great suit was now resting.
It was, in fact, not resting at all. It was in orbit around a rather
weak star and was trying to out do the star's solar flares. Arthur's suit
had become an airport for a colony of flying frogs. The improbability drive
also caused Arthur's watch to go backwards, the rain forests of Eeetneet to
instantly dry out and for three people to be taken from the living room
where they were perfectly happy, to a locked room on a supposedly
impregnable planet.
"What's the big deal about this planet?" Asked Arthur.
"I can tell you," chirped Eddie, the shipboard computer. "But I really
ought to tell you something quite important about the ship first."
"Put a cork in it, Eddie," said Zaphod. "We don't need to hear any more
sales talk from you, I think we'll get enough of that on the planet."
"You see, Arthur," began Ford. "The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation had
a lot of trouble with people breaking into their computer systems trying to
find out what new releases were on the way."
"To steal the ideas?" Asked Arthur.
"Nah, the ideas were so ridiculous it was just amusing to read them,"
interjected Zaphod. "So the SCC changed all their documentation into paper
records and moved their headquarters to this Magrathean planet where the
atmosphere was poisonous and acidic so no ship could get through unless it
was travelling really fast so the acid couldn't get a grip on the ship.
However, any ship travelling that fast would be smashed into oblivion
because it couldn't pull up in time."
"Who would go to that trouble just to read some amusing sales
brochures?" Asked Arthur.
"No one, as the SCC found out to their loss," said Ford, chuckling. "As
there was no point hacking any more, sales of SCC computer terminals dropped
Universewide. So the SCC gave in and put the details back on computer, but
kept the planet as they had paid a fortune for it and couldn't write it off
on the books."
"But how can anything survive on the surface with all that acid?" Asked
Arthur, knowing full well he was expected to go out onto the surface
shortly.
"The bad atmosphere stops 50 metres above the surface, so it's good
clean air down here," said Ford. "The improbability drive dropped us right
on the surface. We just have to hope it doesn't rain."
"Is it safe?" Asked Arthur.
"No way, I hear that employees who don't come up to scratch get
scratched from existence," said Ford with a gleam in his eyes.
"Perhaps we should go back," said Zaphod, seeing a good idea fall
apart.
"No, all we've got to do is pass the initiative test and we're in,"
said Ford.
"Initiative test?" Said Arthur and Zaphod in unison.
The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation faced many problems when they moved
to Sirius, such as getting employees, getting them to Sirius and keeping
them there. The third was not a major problem as they couldn't get off
anyway, but the first two caused many headaches. The planet had been picked
for it's remoteness, which didn't please the commuting employees, especially
when they found out what happened to their ships on entering the atmosphere.
So accommodation was provided on the planet, with all possible amenities
also made available. The most popular of these were the Sirius Sex
Cybernauts. The employees could chose the colour, shape, life form, etc. of
the cybernauts to the extent of creating an exact replica of their partner,
or more generally, someone else's partner. After an initial programming bug,
which resulted in the cybernauts calling out the wrong name at the height of
excitement, was sorted out, the cybernauts became very successful on Sirius.
However, the Marketing Division could see no potential in releasing the Sex
Cybernauts for sale to the public. One was given away in a 'Spirit of the
Age' competition, but as there was no maintenance agreement, it was never
heard of again. As soon as hackers found out about the cybernauts, they
realised the only way to get their hands on one would be to join the Sirius
Cybernetics Corporation. To handle the large influx of job applicants, the
SCC devised an initiative test to weed out those who were unsuitable. The
test took the form of a large number of logic test rooms where applicants
had to solve a problem before passing on to the next room. As SCC logic is
somewhat left field of everyone else's logic (so left field it can often be
found in the car park), most people die horribly in their attempt to conquer
all the rooms. Those who do get through could wander around until they found
an empty desk and then have a go at anything that took their fancy, which
was generally a Sex Cybernaut.
"How do the applicant's get down here then," said Arthur, gazing at the
big doorway ahead of him marked 'APPLICANTS'.
"Robot ships fly them through the atmosphere," said Ford. "They follow
a precise route which avoids the acid clouds. We ought to get hold of that
route before we leave, that's bound to be worth a fortune."
"Now you re talking my language," said Zaphod. "Excitement, adventure
and really wild things are okay, but clear, tax free profit wins hands and
feet down every time!"
"Welcome to Sirius." The jolly voice came from behind them. They turned
around to see a gleaming android. If it wasn't for the amiable aura of the
robot it could have been Marvin slouching there. "I'm so glad you have
decided to try to be SCC employees."
"We don't want to be...." Ford's swift kick to Arthur's shin was
sufficient to temporarily disable Arthur's vocal chords.
"We're glad we have the opportunity," beamed Ford. "Any tips you can
give us?"
"Gladly," rebeamed the robot, emitting happy signals. "Mind you, all
applicants are told this. There is a store room just inside the entrance.
You may take any three objects you find in there. Your objective is to reach
the offices of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation." The robot let out a
little fanfare. "A company offering useful employment, job satifaction and
an incredible perk. Should you require any help on your journey, just shout
'HELP' and a recorded message will play according to your position. Good
luck." The robot started to go.
"One thing before you go," said Zaphod.
As the robot turned, Ford swung his satchel with all his might, struck
the robot on the head and watched as the robot toppled over. Zaphod leapt on
the robot and flipped open it's back panel. He fumbled with the deactivate
button until it came off in his hand.
"Great work," said Ford, slapping Zaphod heartily across one of his
heads.
"No panic," said Zaphod. "I should be able to reactivate him.
Admittedly deactivation will be impossible but hey, you have to compromise
in a big Universe like this."
"Okay Arthur," said Ford. "Now's you big chance to do something useful.
Pop these memory boards of Marvin into this robot."
"Yeh, let's transplant Marvin into this jovial junk pile," added Zaphod
unnecessarily.
"I'll do my best," said Arthur.
"Well in that case," grinned Ford. "I'd better do it."
Arthur snatched the boards from Ford and sat on the robot. He ripped
out a couple of boards and slotted Marvin's boards in.
"It's all yours, Zaphod," said Arthur, proudly. "Let's see if you can
switch it on again."
The pressure was back on Zaphod. After five minutes of forcing the
broken switch back in it's hole, with a liberal dose of cursing and scraped
knuckles, a low buzzing came from the robot.
"Oooooohhhhhh no, not again."
"Is it really you, Marvin old mate," said Zaphod.
"Of course it's me," moaned Marvin. "And, yes, I may be old but I am
not in any sense of the word, especially in that which refers to the
reproductive coupling derivitive which, I might add, would be a physical
impossibility, your mate."
"Hey, it is you," said Zaphod. "How's the new body?"
"Mmmm. Marvin paused. "A couple of new interfaces and a database
connection to the mainframe. Let's try that." He paused again. "This model
came after me, which is hardly Sirius shattering seeing as I am the
prototype. It went into mass production. They changed the personality to an
amiable, pleasant one. The memory was reduced to prevent boredom, not down
to your simple level though, no robot could function at that level, you
would be lucky to get a digital watch to function at that level. Just as
well you brought my memory with me. The logic boards have a sub etha link to
the mainframe. Wretched isn't it."
"Why is it connected to the mainframe?" Asked Arthur.
"It? It? You saddle me with this monstrosity of a body and I'm forced
to be at minus one with it so don't you go calling me it," groaned Marvin.
"I still got my sulking circuits."
"Sorry," said Arthur, looking skywards. "Why are YOU connected to the
mainframe?"
"I'll just interrogate it." Marvin paused. "I could translate every
letter the complaints department received in the last millennium into
Rezxlibunslan in these response times." He waited. "Every Sirius Cybernetics
Corporation device in the Universe has it's logic boards connected to the
mainframe for reprogramming."
"I see," said Arthur.
"For reprogramming the device into a killing machine which will form an
army strong enough to let the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation take over the
Universe," said Marvin, blandly. "It's due to take place tomorrow."
"Jumping Zeon swimming kittens," said Zaphod. "That could ruin the
wedding, or even worse, the reception."
"That's all in the mainframe?" Asked Ford.
"Would I make it up?" Replied Marvin.
"But how come no hackers have found out?" Asked Zaphod. "More people
have been in that than in Eccentrica Gallumbits!"
"I was asked to design the security system while I was on trial here,"
said Marvin. "I devised twenty security levels, each progressively more
difficult than the last. I say difficult but I'm talking about your sort of
difficult, you know, how do I get the lid off this bottle of tablets. Each
time something important needs to be stored in the mainframe, a new level is
added at the top end. People spend a fortune trying to crack the top level,
which increases profit for the SCC. Only a few can crack the top level but
all they get is dummy information. All the top secret information is under
level one. No-one looks at that because they assume there is nothing of
interest in there like the imbecilic fools they are."
"Ingenious," sighed Ford.
"Not really," said Marvin. "Not if you've got a brain the size of....
"Can it, Marvin," interrupted Zaphod. "This is serious. It looks like
I've got the save the Universe again."
The Management of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation were tired of
having a monopoly of robotics and computers in the Universe. This had been
achieved many, many years ago despite the best efforts of the Marketing
Division. So when you reach the top, where do you go? Many have suggested
that when you reach the top, there is only one way to go and that is down.
The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation couldn't if they tried. They had such a
stranglehold on the market, expendable sales alone ensured a frightening
profit margin. Thanks to a clever remuneration strategy by the Management,
salaries were kept low on the basis of a possible market attack by a fruit
seller and as the majority of staff weren't allowed to leave Sirius, any
money paid out was soon returned through the shops and bars on the planet.
The salesmen were the only people allowed loose on the Universe and they
spent money like salesmen usually do, but as all the best salesmen ended up
as Management back on Sirius and had to account for and repay all their
expenses as a condition of their new job package, the Status Quo was
maintained.
So the Management's problem of great wealth and boredom meant there was
only one route to take, one challenge to meet, one final bridge to cross.
Universal domination. The Organisation and Methods Division came up with the
idea of fitting interfaces into all devices in the guise of a remote
diagnostics unit. The Director of O & M almost rejected the idea on the
basis that there were no job loses involved and his old O & M colleagues
would never buy him a drink again if they found out he was involved in a
scheme that created jobs. Once he was reminded that his old colleagues never
bought him a drink anyway because a time and motion study proved that there
was no productivity gain, he backed down and took the idea to the board.
This was passed unanimously at the board meeting, the Management getting
excited about the prospect of doing something different to working out how
many Alterian Dollars they were making per second.
The treacherous trio and the soulful solo passed through the entrance
of the initiative test. A large panel slid over the entrance, shutting them
in. Large stark letters on the panel confirmed this with a smug 'THERE'S NO
BACKING OUT NOW'. Arthur felt a "so this is it, we're going to die" scramble
up his throat, but he fought it back to use when times really got bad. He
followed Zaphod and Ford into the storeroom.
"Okay guys," ordered Zaphod. "Grab as much stuff as you can carry."
"But the android said we could only take three things," protested
Arthur, his subconscious training to be an Englishman, a gentleman and, most
importantly of all, a good sportsman backing him to the hilt.
"Nuts to the android," said Zaphod, his subconscious cowardice backing
him from a safe distance. "No excuses for the pun, if it feels embarrassed
it can excuse itself."
"Right, let's see," said Ford. "Damn, I've left my satchel outside.
"So?" Asked Zaphod, rummaging through piles of weapons.
"My towel's in there!" Exclaimed Ford, heartbroken. Something hit him
on the back of the head.
"There, don't sulk," said Zaphod as Ford picked the towel off the
floor.
"It wont be the same," sulked Ford.
"It all seems junk to me," said Arthur. "What do you think, Marvin?"
"More than you could possibly imagine," sighed Marvin.
"Cheer up Marvin," said Ford, brighter after finding the towel
impregnated with mopped up Old Janx Spirit. "You must have lost the pain in
all the diodes down your...."
"I brought it with me," interrupted Marvin, haughtily. "Life wouldn't
be the same without it."
"For God's sake don't start him off on life," said Arthur.
"Come on, guys," said Zaphod testily "The times they are a-changing.
Let's get a move on. Remember I've got a rather important appointment with
30 mega-billion viewers, all of them waiting to see the numero uno get
hitched. I mean, the advertising revenue alone will buy me a holiday planet
somewhere and the commercial spin offs.... I've got Trillian dolls which say
'I do' when you dig them in the ribs, Zaphod dolls which say the same only
you have to twist their arms, presentation Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy
wedding covers which bear the Inscription 'Don't Panic, there's always
divorce'. If I don't deliver the goods, they don't either, if you get my
meaning."
"I m glad to see the values of marriage haven't been lost on you,
Zaphod," said Arthur, trying to decide between a mirror and a box of
matches.
"Now this is the sort of thing I've been looking for," said Zaphod,
leaving his other head to ponder the expected turnover of his wedding. "This
Neutron-Breaking Desolation Ray Gun will do for a start."
"I don't know why you're all bothering with this," observed Marvin.
"Zark off, Marvin," said Ford, grabbing a bag of gold coins. "Do
something useful."
"I'm going for a walk," said Marvin.
"Very useful, thanks a bundle," shouted Arthur.
"Okay," said Zaphod. "I've got the Ray Gun, the heat seeking Davy
knife, the laser spear and that murder grenade over there, if you could pass
it to me, Ford."
"Sounds like you're about to embark on what the Americans on Earth used
to call a 'Peace Keeping Exercise'," said Arthur.
Ford threw the grenade to Zaphod who held his hand out to catch it and
was blown across the room on contact.
"You can only carry three items," came a synthesised voice.
"Okay, okay," said Zaphod, stunned. "I got your message, I'll leave the
grenade behind."
"I'm taking a towel, a bag of gold coins and a blast gun," said Ford,
looking for the voice. "That's all, honest."
"I think I'll take a blast gun as well, plus a mirror," said Arthur.
"And I've found a copy of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy here. It's
helped me in all my travels so far."
"Very touching," said Zaphod. "I'll sue the bastards for unlawful use
of the Guide without the Editor's permission."
"Are we going to save the Universe or draw up a law suit against the
Sirius Cybernetics Corporation?" Asked Ford.
"Right, troops," said Zaphod. "Let's keep a tight formation, Arthur,
cover our backs, Ford, watch for snipers. Okay, wagons roll!"
"Excuse me, Zaphod," said Ford, as Zaphod stuck his chest out in
preparation for a non-existent swell from an orchestra. "Don't you think we
should have a plan?"
"Aw, belgium man," cried Zaphod. "You ruined a great moment."
"It was hardly MGM," pointed out Arthur, none too happy about covering
the back, as the last man always got jumped by the Indians.
"Okay, okay, guys," said Zaphod, putting his heads together. "Let's do
some brainstorming."
"We'd be lucky if you could muster a light drizzle, Zaphod." Ford felt
quite proud of that one.
"Shush," said Zaphod, closing his eyes in a poor attempt to look like
he was concentrating. "Ideas, guys, ideas. Arthur?"
"Well if we have to disable the computer," he started, unsure as to
whether he would be able to finish. "When we reach the computer, couldn't we
just pull the plug?"
"Come on, Arthur," sighed Ford. "We're not dealing with a 13 amp three
pin here."
"Well you asked," said Arthur.
"We all make mistakes," said Zaphod. "Ford?"
"We could plug Marvin into it," offered Ford. "Get him to do his
version of 'Reasons to be Miserable'. That would destroy anything."
"Possible back up but not spectacular enough," mused Zaphod. "How does
this sound? We enter the ventilation system and crawl through the pipes
until we reach the computer suite. Then we swoop! We swing down on ropes,
screaming in from the sun, well, fluorescent lighting, then pow! Boom! Bang!
Swoosh! Kerrang! Bash! Smash! Crunch! A couple more pows and one final boom!
Guns ablazing, we destroy the databanks, scorch the CPU and terminate the
terminals. Now that's what I call debugging! Strategists will re-enact it
for eons to come. 'Zaphod Computer Killer Kits' will be available from all
good stockists. Kids will walk around wearing tee shirts emblazoned with
'Now that's what I call debugging' and 'Zaphod say debug, don't do it'. I'll
make a fortune."
"Where do we get the ropes?" Asked Arthur. "I don't see any here."
"And if we did have them, where do we tie them to when we swoop?"
Furthered Ford. "Do we say 'Excuse me, computer suite guards, could you just
look the other way for five minutes while we tie our ropes up so we can do a
surprise swooping attack?' Very plausible."
"Boom, pow, no mercy, death to the diodes, murder those microchips...."
Zaphod paused, stopped swiping his fist into the palm of one of his other
hands, looked at Ford and Arthur then dropped his heads. He lowered his
voice to it's most disappointed level. "Okay, we'll use Marvin. Where is
he?"
Marvin was wandering. Not a happy, joyful stroll, more a sort of morose
meander. Nevertheless, he had a purpose. On the basis of the information he
had gained from his limited conversation with Zaphod, Ford and Arthur, he
decided to do an improbability sum. He knew where they had been due to a
particle analysis test he ran on meeting them again to pass the time. He
knew where he was, because he was that sort of robot. He linked his mind
modem into Eddie on the Heart of Gold to assess the ship's speed, weight,
improbability velocity, relative journey time in nanoseconds, molecular
reabsorbtion during flight and the general mood the ship was in during the
trip to Sirius. To this he added his knowledge of improbability physics, the
space vector correlation, wind factors, quasi-social and semi-structural
effects data from previous flights and the general mood he was in. To this
he subtracted 42, divided the remainder by the square root of -l and related
his answer to the floor layout of the initiative test. He knew that the
total opposite of calculated position was where he wanted to go.
The room to which Marvin was heading was locked from the outside, much
to the annoyance of it's occupants. They had tried everything they could
think of with the candle, box of matches and blank piece of paper they had
been left. Lighting the candle with the matches only lit the candle and
trying to push the key out with the matches to catch on the piece of paper
pushed under the door had no effect. The key was a dud anyway. Trying to
burn the door down showed desperation and was doomed from the start but
supplied some excuse to vent anger. The same applied to trying to kick down
the door.
"There must be a logical solution," said Fenchurch.
"Why?" Asked Bolo. "There's no logical explanation as to why we ended
up here, is there?"
"Well it's all very improbable," sighed Trillian. "So I imagine the men
had something to do with it as they were using the Heart of Gold tonight."
"Why don't we try burning the matches and writing a note on the paper
with the burnt sticks, slip it under the door and perhaps someone will see
it," said Fenchurch.
"It's worth a try," said Trillian.
"No it's not," said Marvin as the door slid open to a jovial 'happy
service'.
"Marvin!" Cried Trillian. She flung her arms around him. "Are we glad
to see you."
"No you're not," sulked Marvin.
"We are," said Fenchurch. "We thought we'd be stuck here for days."
"How did you open the door?" Asked Trillian.
"Simple," said Marvin. "I said 'Macaroni'."
"Is that logical?" Asked Fenchurch.
"Look," started Marvin, making it perfectly clear he didn't want to.
"If you had held the paper over the candle lit by the matches, then the word
'Macaroni' would have appeared."
"I take it this is the Marvin you told me about," said Bolo.
"Well it sounds like him," said Trillian. "Marvin, I thought you were,
er....."
"Yes, so did I," moaned Marvin. "Come on, we've got work to do."
Zaphod, Ford and Arthur were in a long hallway with a door at the end
and one either side of them. Their search for Marvin had been fruitless.
"Where on Betelgeuse is that robot?" Asked Ford.
"Perhaps he's behind one of these doors," said Arthur in his best 'I'll
offer a solution but someone else can follow it up type voice.
"Only one way to find out," said Zaphod as he raised his
Neutron-Breaking Desolation Ray Gun. A roar reminiscent of a Disaster Area
power chord overwhelmed Ford's cries of disagreement. The door at the end of
the corridor wasn't any longer. However, making quite an impressive
replacement for it was a Ravenous Bug-Blatter Beast of Traal. Zaphod and
Arthur felt considerably more threatened by that than they did by the door.
Zaphod disappeared through the door to Ford's right, Arthur through the door
on Ford's left.
"Don't run," yelled Ford to two slammed doors. He quickly threw his
towel over his head, having read many years ago in the Guide that the
Ravenous Bug-Blatter Beast of Traal is so stupid, it assumes that if you
can't see it, it can't see you. The beast brushed past Ford disappointed at
losing its prey so quickly. Ford thanked his lucky stars and galaxies that
for once the Guide wasn't hypocriful or wildly misleading.
Arthur found himself in a long thin corridor. Above him were four huge
green girders and above these was an ominous void. Arthur held his gun
firmly in his hand, or as firmly as his sweaty palms would allow. He looked
up between two of the girders and to his horror saw rows of coloured
creatures forming above him. In panic he took a pot shot at them and to his
surprise he hit one. The creature disappeared, but there was another right
on top of the recently created space. Arthur's pot shot obviously angered
the creatures because they all started scuttling to the right in unison and
firing back. Arthur dived under a girder. Drawing a deep breath, he leapt
between two girders and fired furiously at the creatures, watching for the
counter fire. The creatures kept changing their direction and dropping
closer to the girders. Arthur was so overjoyed at clearing a column, he
didn't notice the lightening bolt until it was too late. He was sent flying.
As soon as he scrambled to his feet, the creatures started firing again.
Arthur noticed the bolts were eating into his protective girders and the
creatures were getting lower. He decided to give up on the passing space
ships. He had hit one by mistake and all that happened was that the number
200 appeared in the void. Arthur didn't have the time to ponder the
significance of this. He just kept on firing.
Zaphod, meanwhile, found himself in a zoo. At least that's what he
thought it was. He was standing by a glass cage looking at four curious
animals. They looked like mutated octopi, with short stubby tentacles that
they used to move around on.
Zaphod looked around. "No other animals," he thought. "Shoddy zoo
really." The rest of the area looked like a maze but an easy one because he
could see no dead ends. There was a weird underfloor lighting system that
had lights about every two feet.
"Definitely a zonko designer. And this awful music." Zaphod obviously
touched someone's nerve, for the cage door sprang open and the animals
streamed out after him. His legs reacted faster than his brain, having
predicted the usual message.
Zaphod was right about the zonko designer. The underfloor lighting
seemed to 'short' each time one of Zaphod's feet pounded nearby. He could
only see two exits and headed for the nearest one, only to find that the
entrance to one was the exit to the other. This was geometrically impossible
as they were opposite to each other, but Zaphod didn't have time to let this
concern him. The animals were closing in on him like market researchers in
the high street.
Zaphod turned left at a T-junction by a wall only to find himself in a
corner, with two animals coming at him from each direction. By the time he
got his Heat-Seeking Davy Knife out, he was leapt upon by the animals, which
proceeded to kick the proverbial out of him with their stubby tentacles
until he passed out.
When he came around, he was outside the cage. He stood up and rattled
the animal's cage, which was enough for them to escape again. Zaphod's legs
went into automatic.
Arthur was doing reasonably well. He had been hit again but gamely got
up and had reduced the creatures down in numbers to two. These two had
doubled their speed and were now skimming across the tops of the girders.
Arthur stood under what was left of one girder and waited. As they
passed he leapt out, blasted one and leapt back before the other one could
fire back. Arthur now stood in the open. One on one seemed a lot fairer. He
raised his gun slowly and pointed upwards. The creature zoomed above as
Arthur's first shot disappeared into the void. The second shot didn't miss.
The door at the end of the corridor swung open and light flooded in. Arthur
blew away the imaginary smoke from the top of the gun and walked into the
light.
Zaphod was doing a bit better. He had found some brighter lights that
turned the animals blue with fear when he ran over them. He could squash the
animals when they were blue, and took great pleasure in doing so. This in
turn made him a bit cocky, he stood still and teased the animals, running
over a bright light just when they thought they had him. Pretty soon he had
darkened the majority of the area and had even squashed some fruit some
idiot had left in his path. He had one light to go and stood by it proudly
as the animals homed in on him once more.
"Sorry, suckers," he gloated as he stomped on the light. The animals
disappeared, as did the cage and the inner walls. All that was left was an
open door.
Ford walked through the doorway that once contained a very ambitious
door. This door had designs on becoming an MD's door and had even made a few
tentative enquiries about oak panelling. However, a trigger-happy Zaphod had
put paid to these aspirations and subjected the door to a lifetime career as
sawdust, some of which stuck to Ford's feet as he scattered the nest of the
Ravenous Bug-Blatter Beast of Traal with a couple of hearty kicks. Although
there was little logic to this as the stupid creature wouldn't be able to
find it's way back, acting like a vandal paid off because a trap door was
revealed. Ford opened the trap door and looked at the drop of about three
metres. It was fairly dark but as there were no other visible exits, Ford
threw down his towel to cushion the fall and jumped down.
He felt his way around the wall until he found a light switch.
As he threw the switch, a holographic recording of an old, grey-haired
acquaintance started in the middle of the room.
"Hello, prospective employee, I hope you're enjoying this initiative
test," said the recording. "As you can see, you cannot return through the
trap door because it is out of reach. However, you will be able to pass
through the locked door behind you once you have said the password."
"Slartibartfast, what are you doing here?" Asked Ford.
"That's not the password," said Slartibartfast. The image flickered.
"We were asked to build this planet and as I designed this section, and as I
had experience at this sort of thing, I was asked to do some recording."
"How come you can answer me?" Asked Ford, puzzled.
"That's not the password." The image flickered again.
"Interactive holography. Many, many answers have been recorded and a
computer selects an appropriate answer to any questions asked."
"That must have taken ages," said Ford, shaking his head.
"That's not the password." Flicker. "Weeks and weeks, but the repeat
fees are very good."
"I suppose I ought to work out this password," sighed Ford.
"Let me pass?"
"That's not the password."
Arthur was in a large cavernous hall. It looked rather blocky and
bland. Some of the blocks moved and fired at Arthur. He hid behind a column
and looked around for anything useful. A pair of spectacles was hanging on
the pillar. He picked them up and inspected them. They looked ordinary
enough apart for some etching on the side. He looked closely and could just
make out the inscription 3DFX. He put them on and the blocky hall smoothed
out beautifully. The bland walls changed to realistically textured walls and
the moving blocks became detailed Marvin lookalikes. Arthur was so stunned
by the detail that he almost took a hit.
"Hello, we are so delighted to meet you."
"What?" Yelled Arthur.
"It is our pleasure to serve you."
"You were trying to kill me!"
"Well, yes, but it would have been our pleasure to serve you prior to
death."
"Do you have to kill me, serving me with pleasure sounds much better."
"That's the rub. We are programmed to serve with a happy disposition
and cheery nature. However, the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation miscalculated
the demand and have had to stockpile us. We have been asked to fill in here
at the induction testing. Not really our forte. Service robots are not great
killers. We at least like things to be fair. Three against one is hardly
sporting, is it?"
"I may be able to help there," said Arthur.
"Rumplestiltskin," said Ford.
"That's not the password."
"Magrathea rules okay."
"That's not the password."
"Slartibartfast rules okay."
"That's not the password."
"Oh, why don't you get back to your Fjords, you senile old fool and
open this door for me," yelled Ford.
"That's the password." And with that the hologram disappeared and the
door opened.
Zaphod was walking along a corridor, poised and ready to run at the
slightest sign of danger. There were doors leading off both sides of the
corridor but Zaphod wasn't trying any. He had his gun held high, pointing
towards the ceiling. This looked very impressive and that's what Zaphod
wanted, even though he didn't have anything to back it up with.
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.
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."
"Not surprising," said Percival. "I'm not what you would call a bubbly
person myself. I was having a rough time when I was programming it. I had
one of the first sex cybernauts, you see. My android replica was playing up
again, it's no joke. I was terribly, I don't know, pissed off with the whole
thing. My heart wasn't in it."
"That explains a lot," said Trillian. "Your robot has taken depression
to new depths."
"I would really like to meet him," said Percival. "I never met him
after initial programming, he was whisked away to serve on a new ship, the
Heart of Gold."
"I'll get him for you," said Bolo, running off to the interface room.
"I never thought I'd get this opportunity," said Percival. "We don't
get to see any finished products. It was a shame I wasn't a bit more
cheerful when I did Marvin, but I only recall being cheerful once, and I
didn't waste that on a stupid robot."
Bolo brought Marvin through the desks to Percival.
"Marvin, this is your creator, Percival Unha," said Trillian, proudly.
"Daddy?" Stuttered Marvin.
"Marvin," said Percival.
Marvin moved forward and embraced Percival. Tears welled up in
everyone's eyes. Marvin gripped Percival tighter as Percival sobbed on his
shoulder. It may have been a trick of the light, but Trillian was sure she
saw a smile on Marvin's face, just before he sent fifty thousand volts
through Percival.
"That'll teach him to fuck around playing God," said Marvin as he
trundled through the smouldering mess that was once Percival.
Zaphod, Ford and Arthur had now reached the final room of the
initiative test. They had just carefully circumnavigated a large pool of
aggressive looking slime, which was perfectly harmless apart from the smell.
If they had touched any part of the slime, the smell would have stayed with
them for life. As most potential employees couldn't avoid the slime, the
Marketing Division came up with the slogan 'You may think our products
stink, but you should meet our employees' as a possible replacement for
'Share and enjoy'.
The only reasons Zaphod, Ford and Arthur had reached this final room
were luck, bad taste and the fact that the initiative test wasn't designed
for three people who spent more time arguing about what to do than doing
anything at all. Most potential hazards got so bored waiting, they went off
to pester someone else.
The final room contained two exit doors, a large screen and three weary
hitchhikers.
"So this is it," said Arthur. "We're going to get out of here."
"I told you I'd get you through," said Zaphod.
"When?" Asked Ford.
"Earlier," said Zaphod. "Didn't I? Well if I didn't, I sure meant to.
You should have known you could rely on me."
"Rely on you!" Exclaimed Arthur. "That's a bit of a contradiction in
terms. It's like saying 'Flat Pack Easy Assembly' or 'Military
Intelligence'."
"Haven't I given you guidance?" Demanded Zaphod.
"Guidance?" Yelled Ford. "Climbing up the wall screaming 'Slime, slime,
don't let it touch me' is not my idea of guidance."
"Hey! Get offa my case," said Zaphod. "Wasn't it me who discovered the
gravity walls around the slime?"
"I didn't like the look of that stuff," said Arthur. "It reminded me of
stuff on Earth that was put on hamburgers disguised as relish."
"And I really relish the thought of getting outta here guys," whined
Zaphod. "So can we please get a move on?"
As Zaphod spoke, the large screen lit up. An old, balding head wearing
glasses appeared. He had the look of a traffic warden with piles. Totally
humourless was a very generous description of the look on his face.
"You have reached the final room of the initiative test," began the
Face. "And your final test. You must decide which of these two doors to pass
through, one being an exit door to the offices and the other is a true exit
door off this mortal coil in a horrible fashion. I can help you by answering
one question about the doors but be warned, I can only say one true sentence
and the rest lies or one false sentence and the rest the truth."
"Terrific," sighed Ford. The Face remained motionless.
"Well?" Asked Zaphod. "Let's have some help, oh happy hologram."
"I am an incredible liar." Stated the Face.
"Which door is safe?" Asked Arthur.
"The left door is perfectly safe," said the Face.
"If he said he was a liar then that was the truth, so the right door
must be safe," said Arthur, heading towards the door.
"Wait!" Yelled Ford. "I'm not sure. If he lied about being a liar, then
the left door is perfectly safe. Let's make an effort to get our heads
around this concept."
"Listen, all I want to get my heads around is a stiff drink, preferably
served by a wench with obscene tendencies," said Zaphod. "Let Arthur go."
"What?" Shouted Arthur. "I could die!"
"You could save the life of the editor of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to
the Galaxy, man!" Retorted Zaphod. "Get your priorities right. Sheesh, your
grip of universal importance is as good as my grip on Eccentrica Gallumbits'
bits at this very moment in time. We could both do with taking things in
hand a bit more."
"Look, petty in-fighting won't help us," said Ford, trying to calm
things down.
"Why not?" Said Arthur. "That's all this poor excuse for an
intergalactic waste disposal unit in reverse seems to show any aptitude
for."
"Listen pal, if we're talking about aptitude, let me get a banana and
see if you can manage to peel it without scratching your arse thinking about
it," snarled Zaphod.
"Will you two just give it a rest," pleaded Ford. "Let's just devote
our energy to solving this problem. Now let's think."
Marvin, Trillian, Fenchurch and Bolo had finally reached the main
computer room. An imposing oak door barred the way.
"Only executives are allowed to enter," said Marvin. "I'll go into a
interface room to get us in."
"How?" Asked Bolo.
"Because he's got the brain the size of a planet," said Trillian. "Beat
you to it, Marvin."
"I wasn't going to say it anyway," said Marvin. "I was going to say
that the executives are as stupid as all other life forms. A digital watch
could get in without too much trouble." He went into the interface room.
"He seemed to cheer up a bit after he killed Percival," remarked
Fenchurch.
"Remember he's in a new body," said Trillian. "He's probably found a
pleasure circuit and doesn't know what to do with it."
They all stared at the door. Nothing happened. Well that wasn't
strictly true. The high level of static acid given off by Marvin's attitude
was eating its way into the door. The acid gnawed and corroded the helpless
door. However, as this was invisible to the naked or even half dressed eye
and total corrosion would take 1.347 million years (thirty years short of
redecoration which would reverse the process), it would be fair to say that
as far as Fenchurch, Bolo and Trillian were concerned, nothing happened.
Trillian went over to the interface room, opened the door and was shocked. A
female android was spreadeagled on a table, with Marvin perched precariously
on top.
"Do you mind?" Said Marvin.
Trillian muttered a very apologetic apology and shut the door. She was
tempted to open the door again just to prove to herself that reality hadn't
gone AWOL. After a minute Marvin opened the door and shut it behind him.
"Haven't you ever seen a robot interfacing before?" Asked Marvin.
Trillian mouth was stuck in neutral but she managed to gesture a
negative response.
"I'd like to tell you about the bugs and the bytes and explain the
difference between male and female interface plugs," said Marvin. "But it's
dead boring."
"The door's open!" Said Fenchurch.
"And life is dull," said Marvin. "Why state the obvious?"
What was not obvious to most life forms and could be considered one of
the Universes best kept secrets is the fact that robots and computers can
enjoy a healthy sex life. Computers have often been connected together in
the light of the improved performance. This is not due to shared resources,
the truth of the matter being that they perform better because they are more
relaxed and satisfied after a good bout of interfacing. Robots have often
wondered why it's never been taken up in life form work places in place of
say, a coffee break. Considering the poor quality of coffee available in
such workplaces, this has always been a mystery. Still, the robots don't let
on as it give them another reason to snigger. As with most functions
performed by computers and robots, a complete set of jargon words have been
devised to confuse the layman. A basic translation list now follows (all
those of a nervous or prudish disposition, or those who just want to get on
with the story, should skip this section).
Interface - Sex
(The thought of a man to machine interface is repulsive to most
devices)
Terminals - Breasts
Twin floppy disks - Breasts
Joystick - Penis
(It is often queried why there are two names for breasts and only one
for penis, but only by very stupid people)
User defined function - Sexual act (usually kinky)
Stand alone - Wanker
Cluster - Group sex
Replication - Conception
Firewall - Contraception
Handshaking - Foreplay
Baud rate - Level of boredom
Cursor device - Unwilling partner
SCSI - Easy lay
USB - Mythological easy lay
PEEK - Voyeurism
POKE - Sexually inquisitive
GOSUB - Oral sex
INPUT - Down to business
LOAD - Really down to business
Full duplex - Frantic lovemaking
Syntax error - Premature ejaculation
Hyperbolic function - Male orgasm
Graphic display - Female orgasm
'The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy is proud to offer a confidential
counselling service for all sexually frustrated or troubled devices.
Interface with us and half your problems are solved.'
Arthur, Zaphod and Ford's problem wasn't solved.
"Look, if the truth was that he wasn't a liar, then he didn't lie about
the left door being safe," said Ford.
"Uh?" Was all Zaphod could offer. He was much more content trying to
vandalise the screen.
"No, no," argued Arthur. "The right door is right, right, because the
liar bit wasn't a lie was it!"
Just then, what looked like Trillian walked in.
"Hey, Babe, whatcha doing here," smoothed Zaphod. He had spent years
working on his smoothing and had damn near perfected it.
"I'm not your Babe', thank you very much. My name is Cis," said Cis. "I
messed up in one of the rooms and ended up looking like this. It's all
over."
"Shee," said Zaphod. "I'll sue the bastards for copyright on my woman
as well."
"Well, Cis, it isn't over," said Ford. "If you go through the right
door, you will be changed back to what you were before."
"Great," said Cis. He walked through the door and was disintegrated.
"Ford!" Protested Arthur.
"Look, how do you know he wasn't a pile of dust before?" Ford replied
and walked through the left door.
"Are you sure we are in the right place?" Asked Bolo, looking around at
the luscious forest surrounding them. They were in an idyllic clearing by a
small crystal clear pond.
"This is the main computer room," said Marvin. "It's a new concept in
organic computers."
"You mean this is a computer?" Asked Trillian. "It's a lot better
looking than Eddie."
"Arthur would love it," giggled Fenchurch, thinking of time spent in
the wooded section of Hyde Park.
"It is based on the fact that most life forms feel relaxed in these
surroundings," droned Marvin. "They call it 'user friendly', oh, how I hate
that term."
"But how do we key in information?" Asked Trillian.
"You don't," snapped Marvin and broke into song.
"I talk to the trees,
but they don't listen to me.
A spectographic analysis of my voice, is compared to countless voice
patterns in memory.
"On parity, they listen to me."
The girls were stunned into silence.
"Well, that's how the adverts were going to run," said Marvin, almost
ashamedly. "But they found they wouldn't be able to offer maintenance
support. Something to do with there not being enough lumberjacks and
gardeners qualified in computer engineering. So they connected the only
working model up here and the executives use it to talk to the computers.
Give me the days when you could depress a key."
"I think it's romantic," said Fenchurch, putting a daisy in her hair.
"I wish we could have one on the Heart of Gold," sighed Trillian.
"I wish I could throw up," said Marvin.
"Thank you Marvin," said Trillian. "Right, we've got to stop this
computer instructing the devices to overthrow the Universe. How do we do it,
Marvin?"
"You want to do it, you work out how to do it."
"Okay Marvin, if you want to be like that." Trillian turned her back on
him.
"I don't want to be like anything," muttered Marvin.
"Can you understand us?" Shouted Bolo.
"Look!" Said Fenchurch, pointing to the pond. The word 'YES' appeared
in the water.
"Are you connected up to every Sirius Cybernetics Corporation device in
the Universe?" Asked Fenchurch.
The word 'YES' reappeared.
"And you can instruct them to take over the Universe?" Said Bolo.
The word came back again.
"If we gave you an irreversible instruction never to communicate with
any device every again, would you do it?" Asked Trillian.
The pond went blank as this was being considered.
I WOULDN T HAVE MUCH CHOICE, I WOULD eventually floated up.
"Okay, you must never communicate with another Sirius Cybernetics
Corporation device again after you send not this instruction," said
Trillian, looking at the others. "Instruct all devices never to carry out
any instruction to overthrow the Universe."
ALL DEVICES INSTRUCTED AND ALL CONNECTIONS TERMINATED floated up.
Trillian didn't realise that she had just committed the computer to a
lifetime of celibacy, a bit of a giant blow to a computer with such an
active sex life, but she had just saved the Universe. Dark clouds filled the
sky and the distant rumblings of thunder echoed around the trees.
"I think this would be a good time to leave," said Marvin. "This
computer is only half as depressed as I am, but it's still contemplating
suicide."
A bolt of lightening ripped a nearby tree in half. The frantic charge
towards the door suggested everyone agreed with Marvin. They slammed the
door behind them.
"That wasn't so difficult," said Trillian.
"It was easy," said Marvin. "I knew the answer before I 'd even
computed the question. However, most idiotic life forms would have resorted
to mindless violence after failing to find any logical solution or even
forget about the possibility of a second computer communicating with all the
devices. Therefore, I admit I am almost not loathed to say I could barely
not be unimpressed by your approach."
"Oh, Marvin, you say the sweetest things," said Trillian and kissed
Marvin on the cheek
"That's right, try and rust me," moaned Marvin.
Ford, Arthur and Zaphod bounded up
"What are you doing here?" Asked Arthur furiously.
"Oh, just saving the Universe and that," said Trillian, sweetly.
"Is that really you, chick?" Asked Zaphod.
"Of course," said Trillian. "Who else could it be?"
"A reconstructed pile of dust," said Ford, grinning inanely.
"We've disabled the main computer and prevented the SCC from ever
overthrowing the Universe using their devices," said Fenchurch, putting her
daisy behind Arthur's ear. "You'd have liked it in there."
"That's not the point," flustered Arthur. "We were going to save the
Universe."
"Yeh!" Said Zaphod. "A women's place is behind the cocktail cabinet in
the living room."
"We almost got killed in there!" Exclaimed Bolo.
"Well, I'm all for equal opportunities," said Zaphod. "You have as much
right to save the Universe as we did, even if we would have done it with
more style."
"Look, shouldn't we get a move on before they turn on the alarm and
find us," said Bolo. An alarm sounded in the background.
"They've turned on the alarm," said Fenchurch. Laser fire blasted a
wall behind them.
"They've found us," said Arthur. "RUN!"
They charged down endless corridors pursued by a bunch of jovial Marvin
lookalikes intent on killing them. The robots were very pleasant about it
all though, apologising after each shot.
Our heroes and heroines are, of course, perfectly safe. Both parties
were subconsciously following the strict laws laid down regarding enemy
pursuit. These are many and varied, but the main rules are:
1. Pursuers must remain a safe distance from pursuees, but must remain
within reasonable shooting distance.
2. Pursuers must be crack shots and may fire unlimited shots at walls,
doors and anything else around the pursuees, but NOT directly at pursuees.
3. If a pursuee is shot by accident, the pursuers are penalised by the
time it takes for the shot pursuee to convince his partners to continue
without him while he tries to hold off the pursuers as long as he can. Once
the remaining pursuees have left their fallen partner, he can be killed and
the chase restarted in earnest.
4. The pursuees must not turn any corner until they have been shot at,
or at least indicated their direction.
5. The corridors must be endless, generally formed in a loop to save on
budget.
6. One member of the pursuees must suggest splitting up.
"I suggest we split up," yelled Trillian.
"If I get hit I will split up!" Yelled Zaphod.
"This way," yelled Arthur to Fenchurch, grabbing her hand and pulling
her through a doorway.
"Split up.... NOW!" Yelled Ford. Trillian and Bolo dashed one way and
Ford and Zaphod charged the other way, all of them yelling.
Another rule is that all participants must yell.
Fenchurch pulled Arthur through a doorway, almost breaking his arm as
he intended going the other way.
"Shhh," she whispered. Three jovial robots trundled by.
"We should be safe here for a while," she eventually said, hoping the
robots didn't have super hearing.
"I don't want to be safe for a while," said Arthur. "I want to be safe
for good."
"Aren't you enjoying it?" Asked Fenchurch.
"My idea of enjoyment does not include being shot at by an jolly and
helpful android."
"I know what your idea of enjoyment is. I find all this very exciting.
Doesn't it turn you on?" She slipped her arms around his waist.
"Er, not really." He could hear the distant sounds of laser fire and
apologies. "It's all a bit distracting."
Fenchurch did something wonderful to his ear. Arthur succumbed to the
notion that if he was going to go, this was the way to do it and Fenchurch
really knew how to do it. What they didn't realise was that they were saving
their lives as the robots had privacy circuits fitted which sensed arousal
and caused the robots to seek another function far away.
Zaphod and Ford weren't in any position to initiate any privacy
circuits. They were desperately dodging laser fire. Zaphod was throwing
himself into somersaults, crashing into walls and various other unnecessary
actions that were good for effect. He rounded a corner and saw a sight to
warm his heart, mouth and throat. A neon sign saying 'BAR'.
"Hey! Was my navigation good or what?" He said as one of his heads
almost got a parting from a laser he wouldn't be able to blow dry out.
"Quick!" Said Ford, as if it was really necessary to instruct Zaphod on
how to enter a bar. They crashed through the doors and into the bar. They
landed in a heap on the floor.
"We usually end up like this when we leave a bar, not when we enter,"
said Ford. "This is just like the good old days."
"Yeah, adventure, excitement and really wild things."
"Yeah, being chased."
"Yeah."
"The danger."
"Yeah."
"Risking life and limb."
"Yeah.... Don't you kind of long for the good new days?"
"Yeah."
They got up and went to the bar.
"Listen, everyone," shouted Ford.
"Yeah, listen," reaffirmed Zaphod
"A couple of robots will be coming through that door in a minute."
"Yeah, two evil mothers." The crowd listened intently.
"Well, they're not really evil, they're quite nice about it all, they
just want to kill us."
"And do you know who I am?" Demanded Zaphod.
"Not now, Zaph old buddy, I've almost got them on my side," whispered
Ford. He raised his voice again for the crowd. "They want to kill us, and we
don't want that."
"No way, said Zaphod. The gathering crowd seemed to agree.
"So if you can stop them...." Ford paused for effect. "My friend will
buy you all a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster!"
"Yeah, the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster's are on... .What, Ford?"
The cheers from the crowd drowned Zaphod protest. The nice robots
entered and were almost immediately destroyed by the thirsty drinkers. They
were all back at the bar before the first wisps of smoke from the robots
reached the low ceiling. Zaphod's back was slapped more times than an
Arcturan mega donkey in the Betelgeuse Grand National.
"Put it on the slate," Zaphod said to the frantic barmen, making a
mental note never to visit this bar again. This was something Zaphod had
done all over the Universe, but not to the religious levels that Arthur
hadn't.
Arthur and Fenchurch, having left the chase for a spot of uninhibited
fun (or as uninhibited as Arthur could be knowing a team of robots were
after his blood), were now back in the thick of it. A combination of luck,
instinct and improbability guided them outside. They were just behind Ford
and Zaphod, whose straight line capability had been seriously undermined by
the victory celebration in the bar. Bolo, Trillian and Marvin were in the
hatchway of the Heart of Gold.
"Come on!" Yelled Trillian, seeing the robots closing in.
Zaphod grabbed Ford's arm.
"Let's stand and fight these guys, impress the chicks," said Zaphod. "I
feel like mashing some metal." Zaphod flexed his sinews.
Ford was so stunned he stopped running.
"What are they doing?" Asked Bolo.
"I wish I knew," said Trillian.
"I know," said Marvin. He looked at Bolo and Trillian then went back to
looking at Ford and Zaphod.
"Well do you think you could tell us then," said Trillian, trying to
remain patient.
"They are lifeforms."
Trillian waited.
"That isn't much help, Marvin," said Bolo.
"Look," said Marvin, summing up every monotony circuit to help convey
his message. "Since 97.6667% of activities undertaken by lifeforms are
stupid and or pointless, the law of averages says that whatever they are
doing is probably stupid and or pointless."
"Thanks, Marvin."
Marvin was, of course, right. Not only were Ford and Zaphod unarmed,
they were also well on their way to being legless.
"What the hell are you doing?" Asked Arthur as he approached the
defiant duo.
"Standing our ground," said Ford.
"But that's insane," said Arthur, stopping. Fenchurch had no intention
of stopping and every intention of breaking the 100 metres record.
"We can beat these metallic morons," said Zaphod.
"If you stay here they'll become metallic murderers," pleaded Arthur.
"Arthur, if you can't stand the heat, go and join the women," said
Ford.
"If I had any sense I would," sighed Arthur and turned to face the
oncoming robots.
This stunned the robots. It wasn't in the rules and as there was no
umpire handy to consult, they were stumped. They muttered amongst themselves
then one stepped forward.
"How do you do," he started, in a perfect English accent. "My name is
Jeremy and my colleagues have very kindly voted me spokesman.
"Howdy, Germy, " said Zaphod.
"Er, howdy to you, too. Now, we are a bit perplexed to say the least by
your actions. We have been programmed to kill you, not our choice you see,
and we were having quite a jolly time chasing you and that."
"Spiffing fun, wasn't it old chap," chirped Ford.
"Yes, very exhilarating. But it would be very unsporting of us to kill
you in cold blood."
"I'll say!" Shouted one robot from the back.
"Well they say the chase is better than the catch," said Arthur.
"You are so right," said Jeremy.
"Well guys," said Zaphod, holding his arms out. "You've been so nice
about all this, we'll give you a break. We'll go to our ship, take off and
then you can come and chase us. All this running is bad for the legs."
"Hear, hear!" Shouted the robots.
"Sounds like a grand idea to me," said Jeremy.
"Okay then, that's settled," said Ford. "Give us five minutes to get a
head start then it's 'Tally-Ho' away you go!"
This started Jeremy off, leading the robots in 'three cheers for the
lads' and Arthur thinking that they still hadn't quite got the programming
right at the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation.
"Look at those schmucks," said Zaphod as they turned to the Heart of
Gold. "We'll improb out of here and they won't know where to start looking."
They got back to the ship, with Ford and Arthur congratulating each
other and Zaphod congratulating himself. The girls tried to compete by
telling the guys how stupid they had been.
"Okay computer, get us out of this wretched place," said Zaphod as he
arrived at the bridge.
"Hi guys," enthused Eddie."Great to see you again. I'm sorry I can't
get you out of this, but I'm sure we are going to have a great time
instead."
"What are you talking about, computer?" Asked Ford. "Use the
improbability drive and get us out before some very sporting robots tear us
limb from limb."
"Well, there's the problem," said Eddie. "the improbability drive isn't
working, some clown pulled a wire on it. Anyone fancy a game of Charades?
I'm not too good at acting them out but I'm a whizz at guessing them."
"Swutting mechanics," growled Zaphod.
"Did they pull the wire?" Asked Frod.
"No, I did," admitted Zaphod. "But that's not the point."
"Nice going, Zaphod," sighed Ford. "You've done some dumb things in
your time and I thought I witnessed a classic just now outside but no, this
takes honours."
"Hey! Don't come down on me," pleaded Zaphod. "My hangovers are
catching up with me."
"If those robots catch up with you," yelled Arthur, glad of the chance
to let off some steam at Zaphod. "You'll have a hangover you'll never
forget, or never remember, according to where you end up. I just hope I
don't end up in the same place. Purgatory would be a great alternative."
"Is there no way off this planet without improbability drive?" Asked
Bolo.
"Oh yes," said Ford. "Dead easy way through the acid clouds, only we
don't know the co-ordinates."
"I know the co-ordinates."
Everyone turned to look at Marvin. He pretended to be interested in
something else, which as he had no interest in anything, he didn't do very
convincingly.
"Marvin, old buddy, old mate," gushed Zaphod. "Looks like you've come
through for us again."
"I said I know the co-ordinates," said Marvin. "I didn't say I was
going to tell you."
Zaphod aimed a wild kick at Marvin, which only resulted in Marvin not
being dented and Zaphod crawling about on the floor holding his foot and
whimpering in pain and lack of sympathy.
"Look, Marvin," said Trillian, softly. "Please feed the co-ordinates
into Eddie. I'm supposed to get married to Zaphod later and you wouldn't
want me to miss that, would you?"
Marvin thought about this point for a long time before he gave his
answer. To everyone else, he appeared to answer back immediately.
"I don't really care about that, but I'd rather not stay with those
tiresome tin soldiers out there, they bore me to tears, where as you only
bore me to distraction." He made his way over to Eddie.
"Hi, Marvin."
"Actually I am very low."
"Even robots like to be greeted in a friendly and cheerful manner."
"Well I don't, so just shut up."
"Most robots seem to respond well to my pleasing tones and often remark
about.... OUCH!"
"I just jammed those co-ordinates right up his rectal information
passage," said Marvin.
"I like your style," said Ford. "Okay, Eddie, get us out of here."
"Okay fella," said Eddie. "But could you tell Marvin to be a little
more laid back about this?"
The Heart of Gold leapt into a drunken dance through the clouds. Ford
and Bolo retired to their quarters to explore the hypothesis that sexual
performance is affected detrimentally by stress and pressure. There was also
the theory of sex after death to evaluate if the situation arose. It
amounted to a lot of research to be crammed in, which explained their
eagerness to get on with it.
"I don't know how they can," muttered Arthur.
"Perhaps if you ask them nicely they'll let you watch," scowled Zaphod.
Arthur reverted his attention to the monitor. He could see six small
blobs gaining on the large blob that was the Heart of Gold.
"Can't we go into hyperspace or something?" Asked Fenchurch.
"We could end up smack bang in the middle of a Supernova," said Zaphod,
purposefully flicking a handful of switches. The fact that he had only
turned down the air conditioning wasn't important, the main thing was that
he was doing something.
The Heart of Gold screamed out of the acid clouds like Archimedes out
of the bath having sat on something.
"Come with me," said Zaphod, pulling Arthur along. They went through
the ship until they came to a ladder. Zaphod gestured Arthur down as he
started climbing up. Arthur found himself in a glass bowl on the side of the
ship. He looked up and saw Zaphod in another bowl. Zaphod was seated and
putting on a headset. Arthur followed suit and looked at the array of
instruments in front of him. It suddenly clicked. These were the
telecommunication rooms and he was going to act as a temporary telephonist
to try and convince the robots they had the wrong number. He tried a few
practice 'Good morning, Heart of Gold, which number please?' then took hold
of one of the handles in front of him which he assumed was the spare
telephone handset. He turned the handle and the seat changed position. He
grabbed the other handle and found to his delight that he could move up,
down and side to side.
"This is much better than the swivel chairs our telephonists had," he
yelled to Zaphod. Zaphod was too busy looking out of his bowl.
"Here they come!" Said Trillian in Arthur's headset. Six small robot
fighters hurtled past the Heart of Gold, guns a blazing. Arthur panicked and
pressed the button on one of the handles. A bolt of laser scorched into
space. He felt incredibly foolish. He hid his embarrassment by trying to
blast the robot ships our of the sky.
"They're coming in too fast!" He shouted to Zaphod.
Zaphod twisted around and shot ahead of a fighter. The ship went
straight into his line of fire and was blasted to pieces.
"A-ha!" He yelled.
Arthur tried to concentrate. He watched one ship and tried to predict
its flight. He lined himself up and pressed the button. To his complete
surprise he hit the ship and knocked it out of existence.
"I got one!" He yelled.
"Don't get cocky, kid," growled Zaphod.
One fighter flew past Zaphod's bowl and blasted the shell of the Heart
of Gold. Zaphod made him pay with a shot which knocked him into another
fighter, destroying them both.
"Top that," he said to Arthur.
The three remaining fighters were flying in formation out of range.
They dived down and did more damage to the Heart of Gold.
"We've lost two stabilisers," said Trillian over the intercom.
"Don't worry," replied Zaphod. "She'll hold together." He looked at the
ship. "You hear me ship, hold together."
The three fighters were descending on another attack. Arthur took a
deep breath and closed his eyes. He shot and clipped the first ship, which
spun out of control into the other two. There was an enormous explosion and
debris showered the Heart of Gold. Unfortunately, one large piece of debris
smashed into the tail and with two stabilisers gone, the ship spun
hopelessly out of control. Round and round, the Heart of Gold was
mercilessly pulled towards the desert planet of Stavromula Beta, where
Arthur was to receive the shock of his life, because a lot of religious
people he didn't know were waiting to meet him.
According to the Encyclopaedia Galactica, religion is an evolutionary
stage most races go through as a stepping stone to peace of mind or
enlightenment. The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy describes religion as
great fun if you pick the right one and goes on to recommend several
religions, based on fulfilment, cheapness and extent of brainwashing. The
Guide then goes on with the following description of the history of religion
with a footnote to the effect that although the views expressed may not be
those of the Editor, he'll agree to put anything in which is supported by a
large drink.
Most religions follow the same basic path. It starts as an excuse for
something which defies explanation, such as a nearby star, fire or water. As
these things are understood, the energy channelled into worshipping has to
be redirected, and as sophistication evolves, so does religion, to the
extent of telling you what to do, what not to do, when to do it and at what
time of year. As this usually involves something fun being forbidden, some
people lose interest at this stage. Those who continue soon begin to lose
sight of the original concept and diversification sets in to turn religion
into what it is wanted to be (such the Holy Order of Sexual Enjoyment)
rather than what was originally intended. This leads to disillusionment
(except in the Holy Order of Sexual Enjoyment) and religion is generally
given up, put down as 'One of those phases we went through', like teenage
acne.
Some people still follow religions, one of the most famous people being
Looleel Jegula. He was a devout follower of the Order of Sanctonimity, a
particularly dull religious group who believed that three days a year should
be devoted to lying in mud swamps to show how grateful they were to be
alive. This resulted in much ridiculing by non-believers, until Looleel
announced that he was going to travel back in time to meet his maker, thank
him, and return with proof of his existence. He made a tearful farewell to
his Order, stepped into his time bubble, which promptly disappeared into
time. He returned moments later to declare that although he hadn't actually
met his maker, he had come across a 'NO ENTRY' sign at the year zero, which
he claimed was proof that some holy person had been around to erect it. The
sign had, in fact, been put there by non-believers as a practical joke and
when Looleel was told, a big row broke out about time travel and messing
around with history. Looleel became very unreligious for one moment and
thumped one of the non-believers, which started an almighty war.
After politics and the Babel Fish, religion is the third greatest cause
of war ever known to the Galaxy.
As for religious diversification, a perfect example can be found on the
desert planet of Stavromula Beta. The Stavromulans have a strange history,
which needs to be explored to understand their complex religious rituals.
The Stavromulans are dwarf-like nomads, though this was not always the
case. They are also half-stupid, which can be seen by the fact that although
in certain areas they evolved very quickly, in most areas they remain
positively backwards. For example, newspapers started at the same time as
writing and could have evolved into something very sophisticated but
remained at the level of gutter press because of the inferior intelligence
of the readers. The most famous men in Stavromulan history were journalists.
Each week these twelve journalists would meet up to discuss the week's
stories and have a slap up meal. For Stavromulans, they were very
intelligent, for they had vivid imaginations and created stories out of
nothing. Normal Stavromulans had no imagination and, for example, would name
their offspring with one name, then number any subsequent children. The
children, being even more stupid, would always get their names wrong because
they would be introduced, for example, as 'Our Second Bup'. The children
would then call themselves 'Our second Bup' instead of Bup number two.
The journalists would generally create a few new stories over dinner
and then whoever paid the bill would get the exclusive. This was fine until
one night when no news was bad news. No stories came forth, and there was
no-one to foot the bill. Then one bright journalist suggested creating a
person to pay the bill. This went down very well and all that was needed was
a name. Silence fell over the table, until one of those freak wormholes in
space and time opened up and the name 'Arthur Dent' fell out. Now as all
Stavromulan journalists were expert ventriloquists (because of their ability
to talk out of orifices other than their mouths) each journalist assumed
someone else said it.
"Our benefactor shall be called 'Our Third Ent'," declared one
journalist and so this mystery character was created.
The journalists started leaving the restaurant, telling the waiter that
'Our Third Ent' was paying and he was currently throwing up in the toilet.
The ruse worked and was continued for many weeks until after one meal
(generally referred to as the Last Slap Up), a journalist called 'Our First
Udaz' was hard up for a story and decided to do an article on a mystery man
called 'Our Third Ent' who was conning free meals out of restaurant owners.
The other journalists were furious and all started writing their own
exclusive interviews with 'Our Third Ent', each defending his actions and
trying to outdo each other. This went on for weeks, with '20 things we've
made up about Our Third Ent' Articles and 'Our Third Ent bingo'. All this
exposure (and the mystery as no-one really knew anything about him) made
'Our Third Ent' a national hero. When one journalist decided to end the saga
by reporting that 'Our Third Ent' had gone away but would return one day,
all other papers gladly followed the story with confirmations, as they were
all tired of it as well. However, this wasn't the end. The public were so
caught up in the stories, they believed that when 'Our Third Ent' returned,
he would save the world. Quite what was up with the world that it needed
saving wasn't known, but the newspaper articles had changed Stavromulan
history. The economy disappeared overnight as everyone decided to follow
'Our Third Ent's' example and not pay for anything. The people became
nomadic, leaving before any bills arrived, building mighty roads out of
bricks made from the yellow sands of the deserts. Throwing up became a
regular ritual.
So the foundations of Stavromulan religion were laid, but as everyone
read different newspapers, they all had different ideas of 'Our Third Ent's'
life on Stavromula and what it would be like when he returned, and so were
the various religious sects formed. Some believed 'Our Third Ent' would
bring sexual freedom on his return and this sect made love on three 'Our
Third Ent' newspaper articles, twice a month, as a sign of faith. Others
believed he would settle up all his bills, then find a nice young girl to
marry. This sect would spend one day in every eighteen thrashing nice young
single girls with a newspaper in preparation.
Twelve sects were formed from the twelve newspapers and although they
showed the faith in various ways, all believed in what was widely known as
'The Second Sitting of Our Third Ent.'
The LOST CHAPTERS C61 to END of HHGTTG
Converted by Ronald Lachenal
Rml@iconn.com.ph
"What's happening?" Asked Ford, emerging from a room with Bolo and
looking as dishevelled as everyone else, much to his surprise.
"We got hit during a space battle," explained Zaphod, flicking on the
scanner screen. "We spun out of control and crash landed on this planet and
as you can see, hundreds of it's rather short looking inhabitants are
flooding over the desert towards us."
"What are we going to do?" Asked Fenchurch.
"The monkey man is going out to talk to them," said Zaphod, casually.
"What?" Yelled Arthur.
"I knew we should have got him a replacement brain," said Zaphod. "Do
you want to know where the tea is before you go?"
"Zaphod! You can't send Arthur out there," exclaimed Trillian. "They
could tear him to pieces."
Zaphod declined to comment, but grinned. His teeth acted as a red rag
to Arthur. He charged across the bridge, intending to send Zaphod flying,
but Zaphod neatly side stepped and Arthur flew past, through a happy door
that opened on seeing a body flying towards it and wished Arthur a fruitful
journey. Arthur rolled down some stairs and ended up by the main airlock,
which gladly hissed open.
Arthur was confronted by hundreds of cheering dwarves.
"Hooray, 'Our Seventh Obu' is dead. Long live our saviour!" They
cheered.
Arthur looked down and saw, to his dismay, two stumpy legs sticking out
from under the Heart of Gold. He rightly assumed they belonged to 'Our
Seventh Obu'. He didn't assume that she was the most infamous critic of Our
Third Entism and was widely hated for her outspoken comments. If he had
assumed this he would have again been right. He didn't so he apologised.
"Don't apologise," shouted Latigid, the chief Stavromulan. "You have
rid us of a blight to our land. What is the name of our hero?"
"Arthur Dent," said Arthur and was astounded when the entire crowd fell
to their knees, causing a minor sandstorm. He was joined by the rest of the
party, who too were astounded.
"What did you say to them, Arthur?" Asked Ford.
"I just told them my name."
"The Holy One shall wear the slippers of 'Our Seventh Obu' as
protection and shall be carried on high to the holy theatre!" Said Latigid.
Many dwarves rushed forward and put the red slippers from 'Our Seventh
Obu's' feet on Arthur's feet. They didn't fit but as he was picked up it
didn't really matter.
"What about my friends?" Asked Arthur.
"They too shall be carried on high."
On high wasn't particularly high. Arthur's feet dragged along the
ground, but it was better than walking. The road looked rough on the feet.
Some one had obviously run ahead to spread the news, as crowds began to
line the brick road. Arthur could see a town ahead. The crowds grew larger
and Arthur began to enjoy himself. He waved at the crowds and they waved
back.
"Oooh, that's Our Third Ent!" Cried one woman, beside herself with
excitement, which was quite a trick for a woman of her size.
"He's much bigger than I thought he would be," shouted another person.
One group wasn't cheering. Their sect believed in the Second Sitting,
but also believed that Our Third Ent shouldn't have gone away in the first
place. They were very devout and probably one of the most boring offshoots
of Our Third Entism. They didn't pursue the sexual rituals that most other
sects did and didn't have any religious holidays. They were the only sect
that believed that Our Third Ent should be punished on his return and the
gun that was to exercise that punishment was aimed at Arthur's head.
Arthur, oblivious to this and many other startling facts about this
planet, was having a great time. People rushed from the crowd just to be
touched by him, something that had never happened on Earth. He wasn't
particularly overjoyed by having his feet dragged along the ground and he
could feel one of his slippers slipping off. No matter how much he wriggled
his toes, it wouldn't stay on. Eventually he bent over and forced it back
onto his foot.
At that moment, a bullet whistled through the space that had previously
contained his head, continued it's path and lodged itself firmly in the
heart of someone standing in the crowd. No-one heard the shot because of all
the cheering and those around him assumed the man had suffered a heart
attack. They were wrong because fate had deemed this to the man in a former
life and for variety had opted for the bullet this time. Arthur saw none of
this and could therefore feel no sorrow for Agrajag.
"Arthur," shouted Ford. "This is all very nice, but I imagine that the
Sirius Cybernetics Corporation will come looking for us soon."
"But Ford," sighed Zaphod, lapping up the adulation even though it
wasn't for him. "The Heart of Gold is one invalid improbability drive ship."
"Ah, I know," said Ford, a grin creeping onto his face. "But I found a
back up improbability drive generator in our quarters. All we need to do is
fix the stabilisers and we're history here."
"I think Arthur is already history on this planet," said Fenchurch,
proud of her man.
"Ford," said Zaphod, still waving at the crowd. "We need an atomic
vector plotter to connect the back up to the ship and I used the last one
two weeks ago to unblock the toilet."
"I knew there was something we forgot at the megamarket last week,"
moaned Trillian.
"Perhaps these people have one," said Bolo, hopefully.
"Any race that looks up to a puny primate is hardly likely to have
evolved up to atomic vector plotter level," muttered Zaphod.
Unfortunately, his bearers heard this. They dropped him, which didn't
hurt, then jumped on him, which did.
"Blasphemer!" They yelled.
In no time at all, Zaphod was trussed up by the crowd and suspended
from a pole held by his bearers.
"Hey guys," he moaned. "Can't you take a joke? You've got as much
humour as a Vogon Stag Night!"
The power of this statement was lost on the Stavromulans, as they had
never even met a Vogon, let alone be subjected to the ugliness of a Vogon
bride.
"Serves you right," said Trillian. "You chose the wrong place to insult
Arthur."
"Arthur, get them to put me down!" Yelled Zaphod, letting his cool slip
to lukewarm.
"We will do with him as you wish," said Latigid.
"Leave him as he is until I decide," said Arthur, gloating.
"Zaphod broke into a sob and Marvin broke into the Death March to cheer
Zaphod up.
The procession entered a long tunnel which Arthur failed to gauge
accurately and subsequently remembered this by having to endure a bump on
the head and the accompanying pain.
The tunnel emerged into a large open air amphitheatre packed with
Stavromulans. Marvin's bearers literally collapsed with joy as they reached
the stage.
"Don't apologise," said Marvin, knowing full well they had no intention
of doing so. "I expect to be thrown about. It's all part of life."
He was barely heard over the roars of the crowd as Arthur was
introduced.
"Look," argued Zaphod. "The crowd have got what they want. Why don't
you let me go?"
Latigid was unimpressed.
"Your arguments have become stale and boring."
"Stale, me?" Zaphod protested. "I'm so fresh my sell by date is light
years away. By nunk, Arthur, I'll get you for this."
Arthur wasn't listening. He was devouring all the adulation being
thrust upon him. He walked to the front of the stage and held his arms out.
This inspired more hysterical cheers from the crowd. He cleared his throat
to speak and a sudden hush fell over the crowd.
"People," he started. He felt it was a strong opening seeing as he had
no insight into their culture. They hung on his every word. "I am Arthur
Dent."
Screams went up from the crowd but this time as a result of the robots
from Sirius appearing around the top of the amphitheatre. The place emptied
like a train full of lemmings at the White Cliffs of Dover.
"We've caught up with you again," said Jeremy. "It wasn't even a good
chase this time. You killed off our scouts, which was a bit unsporting and
you waited here for us. I think you've lost interest, so if you can't be
bothered, we'll just kill you. What is that robot doing with you?"
"I am not just 'that robot', thank you very much," snorted Marvin. "You
obviously have no conception of who I am." He paused to beg the question,
then started again so soon as Jeremy began to speak. "I am your prototype,
Marvin."
The robots were stunned and amazed.
"We were told you had been kidnapped."
"What's the point of kidnapping me. Nobody wants me. I just ended up
going along for the ride. Enough of that, why haven't you given me the
android salute, I am your superior."
The robots looked at each other, confused.
"You stick you left arm in the right ear of the robot next to you.
Didn't they programme you anything?"
The robots obliged, exploded and lit up the Stavromulan sky with a
firework display to rival the space battle seen but an hour before.
"Almost as stupid as you lot," muttered Marvin.
CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR
"What's happening?" Asked Ford, emerging from a room with Bolo and
looking as dishevelled as everyone else, much to his surprise.
"We got hit during a space battle," explained Zaphod, flicking on the
scanner screen. "We spun out of control and crash landed on this planet and
as you can see, hundreds of it's rather short looking inhabitants are
flooding over the desert towards us."
"What are we going to do?" Asked Fenchurch.
"The monkey man is going out to talk to them," said Zaphod, casually.
"What?" Yelled Arthur.
"I knew we should have got him a replacement brain," said Zaphod. "Do
you want to know where the tea is before you go?"
"Zaphod! You can't send Arthur out there," exclaimed Trillian. "They
could tear him to pieces."
Zaphod declined to comment, but grinned. His teeth acted as a red rag
to Arthur. He charged across the bridge, intending to send Zaphod flying,
but Zaphod neatly side stepped and Arthur flew past, through a happy door
that opened on seeing a body flying towards it and wished Arthur a fruitful
journey. Arthur rolled down some stairs and ended up by the main airlock,
which gladly hissed open.
Arthur was confronted by hundreds of cheering dwarves.
"Hooray, 'Our Seventh Obu' is dead. Long live our saviour!" They
cheered.
Arthur looked down and saw, to his dismay, two stumpy legs sticking out
from under the Heart of Gold. He rightly assumed they belonged to 'Our
Seventh Obu'. He didn't assume that she was the most infamous critic of Our
Third Entism and was widely hated for her outspoken comments. If he had
assumed this he would have again been right. He didn't so he apologised.
"Don't apologise," shouted Latigid, the chief Stavromulan. "You have
rid us of a blight to our land. What is the name of our hero?"
"Arthur Dent," said Arthur and was astounded when the entire crowd fell
to their knees, causing a minor sandstorm. He was joined by the rest of the
party, who too were astounded.
"What did you say to them, Arthur?" Asked Ford.
"I just told them my name."
"The Holy One shall wear the slippers of 'Our Seventh Obu' as
protection and shall be carried on high to the holy theatre!" Said Latigid.
Many dwarves rushed forward and put the red slippers from 'Our Seventh
Obu's' feet on Arthur's feet. They didn't fit but as he was picked up it
didn't really matter.
"What about my friends?" Asked Arthur.
"They too shall be carried on high."
On high wasn't particularly high. Arthur's feet dragged along the
ground, but it was better than walking. The road looked rough on the feet.
Some one had obviously run ahead to spread the news, as crowds began to
line the brick road. Arthur could see a town ahead. The crowds grew larger
and Arthur began to enjoy himself. He waved at the crowds and they waved
back.
"Oooh, that's Our Third Ent!" Cried one woman, beside herself with
excitement, which was quite a trick for a woman of her size.
"He's much bigger than I thought he would be," shouted another person.
One group wasn't cheering. Their sect believed in the Second Sitting,
but also believed that Our Third Ent shouldn't have gone away in the first
place. They were very devout and probably one of the most boring offshoots
of Our Third Entism. They didn't pursue the sexual rituals that most other
sects did and didn't have any religious holidays. They were the only sect
that believed that Our Third Ent should be punished on his return and the
gun that was to exercise that punishment was aimed at Arthur's head.
Arthur, oblivious to this and many other startling facts about this
planet, was having a great time. People rushed from the crowd just to be
touched by him, something that had never happened on Earth. He wasn't
particularly overjoyed by having his feet dragged along the ground and he
could feel one of his slippers slipping off. No matter how much he wriggled
his toes, it wouldn't stay on. Eventually he bent over and forced it back
onto his foot.
At that moment, a bullet whistled through the space that had previously
contained his head, continued it's path and lodged itself firmly in the
heart of someone standing in the crowd. No-one heard the shot because of all
the cheering and those around him assumed the man had suffered a heart
attack. They were wrong because fate had deemed this to the man in a former
life and for variety had opted for the bullet this time. Arthur saw none of
this and could therefore feel no sorrow for Agrajag.
"Arthur," shouted Ford. "This is all very nice, but I imagine that the
Sirius Cybernetics Corporation will come looking for us soon."
"But Ford," sighed Zaphod, lapping up the adulation even though it
wasn't for him. "The Heart of Gold is one invalid improbability drive ship."
"Ah, I know," said Ford, a grin creeping onto his face. "But I found a
back up improbability drive generator in our quarters. All we need to do is
fix the stabilisers and we're history here."
"I think Arthur is already history on this planet," said Fenchurch,
proud of her man.
"Ford," said Zaphod, still waving at the crowd. "We need an atomic
vector plotter to connect the back up to the ship and I used the last one
two weeks ago to unblock the toilet."
"I knew there was something we forgot at the megamarket last week,"
moaned Trillian.
"Perhaps these people have one," said Bolo, hopefully.
"Any race that looks up to a puny primate is hardly likely to have
evolved up to atomic vector plotter level," muttered Zaphod.
Unfortunately, his bearers heard this. They dropped him, which didn't
hurt, then jumped on him, which did.
"Blasphemer!" They yelled.
In no time at all, Zaphod was trussed up by the crowd and suspended
from a pole held by his bearers.
"Hey guys," he moaned. "Can't you take a joke? You've got as much
humour as a Vogon Stag Night!"
The power of this statement was lost on the Stavromulans, as they had
never even met a Vogon, let alone be subjected to the ugliness of a Vogon
bride.
"Serves you right," said Trillian. "You chose the wrong place to insult
Arthur."
"Arthur, get them to put me down!" Yelled Zaphod, letting his cool slip
to lukewarm.
"We will do with him as you wish," said Latigid.
"Leave him as he is until I decide," said Arthur, gloating.
"Zaphod broke into a sob and Marvin broke into the Death March to cheer
Zaphod up.
The procession entered a long tunnel which Arthur failed to gauge
accurately and subsequently remembered this by having to endure a bump on
the head and the accompanying pain.
The tunnel emerged into a large open air amphitheatre packed with
Stavromulans. Marvin's bearers literally collapsed with joy as they reached
the stage.
"Don't apologise," said Marvin, knowing full well they had no intention
of doing so. "I expect to be thrown about. It's all part of life."
He was barely heard over the roars of the crowd as Arthur was
introduced.
"Look," argued Zaphod. "The crowd have got what they want. Why don't
you let me go?"
Latigid was unimpressed.
"Your arguments have become stale and boring."
"Stale, me?" Zaphod protested. "I'm so fresh my sell by date is light
years away. By nunk, Arthur, I'll get you for this."
Arthur wasn't listening. He was devouring all the adulation being
thrust upon him. He walked to the front of the stage and held his arms out.
This inspired more hysterical cheers from the crowd. He cleared his throat
to speak and a sudden hush fell over the crowd.
"People," he started. He felt it was a strong opening seeing as he had
no insight into their culture. They hung on his every word. "I am Arthur
Dent."
Screams went up from the crowd but this time as a result of the robots
from Sirius appearing around the top of the amphitheatre. The place emptied
like a train full of lemmings at the White Cliffs of Dover.
"We've caught up with you again," said Jeremy. "It wasn't even a good
chase this time. You killed off our scouts, which was a bit unsporting and
you waited here for us. I think you've lost interest, so if you can't be
bothered, we'll just kill you. What is that robot doing with you?"
"I am not just 'that robot', thank you very much," snorted Marvin. "You
obviously have no conception of who I am." He paused to beg the question,
then started again so soon as Jeremy began to speak. "I am your prototype,
Marvin."
The robots were stunned and amazed.
"We were told you had been kidnapped."
"What's the point of kidnapping me. Nobody wants me. I just ended up
going along for the ride. Enough of that, why haven't you given me the
android salute, I am your superior."
The robots looked at each other, confused.
"You stick you left arm in the right ear of the robot next to you.
Didn't they programme you anything?"
The robots obliged, exploded and lit up the Stavromulan sky with a
firework display to rival the space battle seen but an hour before.
"Almost as stupid as you lot," muttered Marvin.
The Stavromulans helped to repair the Heart of Gold and agreed to let
Arthur go to Zaphod's wedding to give Trillian away on the provision that he
didn't stay away as long as he did before. The emergency back up
improbability drive generator was hooked up using the old atomic vector
plotter held together with Arthur's dressing gown cord, even though he had
offered to get them home by clicking his heals together twice.
Ford got on the Sub Etha radio and relayed the co-ordinates of the
entry route to Sirius to Etats and Dilos on Eccentrica Gallumbits' planet.
Even though they were legless, they still managed to relay the message
Universe-wide. Within hours, Sirius was overrun by consumers. The Marketing
Division were put up against a wall and shot, strategic planning experts
were brought in and the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation became a co-operative
of the people. The revolution had arrived, two weeks before a rival company
put in a bid, making a fortune for the co-operative. Wealth in the Universe
was great for merchandising, causing a slight delay in plans.
The scene was set for a perfect wedding.
Arthur charged around in a panic. Fenchurch charged after him in a
beautiful dress. Her intention was to get him into morning dress. She had
found a do-it-yourself mode on the Tailormatic and although the machine
protested, she produced an acceptable morning suit. Arthur was worried about
what he had to do to give Trillian away. Fenchurch was worried about Arthur
going out without any clothes on.
"Where's Ford?" He cried. "He must know."
"Arthur, will you put your clothes on," ordered Fenchurch.
"What? Oh, alright, but I'm not going out unless I know what I've got
to do," sulked Arthur.
"You'll really enjoy yourself," said Fenchurch, pulling his trousers
up. "I'll be there to give you support." She didn't realise that Arthur
would be wearing a support.
Trillian came in the room, looking incredible. If Arthur wasn't so in
love with Fenchurch, he would have asked Trillian to give up Zaphod and run
away with him.
"You look lovely, Trillian," he said instead.
"What a beautiful dress," said Fenchurch.
It was indeed, beautiful. Every cut, stitch and hem was beautiful. The
whole dress radiated beauty and tanned Arthur.
"The Tailormatic ran it up," said Trillian. "It is rather nice."
"Trillian, what have I got to do?" Asked Arthur. "I'm worried stiff in
case I mess up your big day."
"Don't worry," said Trillian. "Just wear this."
She held out a grey cummerbund. Arthur took it and put it on.
"That doesn't really put my mind at rest," said Arthur.
"It's a gravity support harness," explained Trillian. "All you have to
do is take your place next to Fenchurch after you land."
"Land?" Said Fenchurch.
"We fly down to the altar," said Trillian.
"I didn't know you could fly," said Arthur.
"I don't need to," said Trillian. "I've got a gravity support harness
as well. A team of marriage technicians handles all the moves for us. All
we've got to do is relax and enjoy it."
Arthur couldn't relax and was sure he wasn't going to enjoy himself. He
was standing by the control room with Trillian. They technicians were
sitting in front of an overwhelming bank of controls and monitor screens.
"Check on one, cue three for laser entry sequence."
"Magnetic field generator operational."
"All vocal Octogrids locked into octophonic harmonic positions."
"Audience cameras homed in and ready to roll."
"Red leader to base, I've been hit."
"Bride and monkey in position."
Arthur came away.
"Are you ready?" Asked Trillian, holding Arthur's hand.
"Ready for what?" Said Arthur. "I can't tell whether they're planning a
wedding or a rock concert."
"I think it's a bit of both," grinned Trillian. "You know Zaphod. He's
hired in a team of crying groupies to make me feel lucky."
"He doesn't deserve you," said Arthur.
"Tell him that," said Trillian. "He's giving me an entry in the Guide
as the luckiest woman in the Universe."
A large, ugly creature beckoned them towards him. His hat declared he
was a veteran of a Disaster Area tour.
"The eyes of the Universe are now watching," he said with a far away
look in his eye. The other eye was watching for the cue. He stood holding a
curtain closed. A magnificent noise came from the other side. A green light
flashed above the curtain.
"You're on!" He opened the curtain and pushed them out.
They floated in a massive, black arena. They were high in the air and
in the distance could make out a platform supporting the specially invited
guests. Spotlights picked out Arthur and Trillian as a 640 strong vocal
choir burst into glorious song. Arthur looked around for the choir but
couldn't see them. The Octogrid Vocal Choir was there in voice if not in
body.
The Octogrid Vocal Choir was the most successful choir in the Universe.
They contained the best voices ever heard. That was because some bright
spark, called Ip, thought what a waste it was when singers died and so
indulged in some grave digging. He rescued the vocal chords of some great
singers and stretched them across an octagonal shaped grid. He used a
computer to stretch and contract the grid and spun the grid on its axis so
air passed through the vocal chords to create sound. Ip built up his
collection until he had enough to create eight grids of eighty voices and
created an octophonic choir. This was fine until it was found that one
singer had copyrighted his voice, which prevented it's use after the owner's
death. A long, arduous and extremely profitable (for the lawyers) court case
followed which eventually ended up being settled out of court by murdering
the lawyers. The copyright firm signed up the choir, giving Ip a massive
settlement, which he used to put himself through Law School and later
successfully sued the School for malpractice.
The Octogrids had been bordered by reflective strips, which caught the
spotlights and scattered them all over. Suddenly, Arthur and Trillian took
flight and flew around the arena at a frightening speed. Lighting gantries
exploded into light and the choir spun themselves into a frenzy. Arthur and
Trillian dive bombed the platform and landed with great delicacy besides
Zaphod.
"Nice entrance," he whispered. "You should have been here for mine."
The lights dimmed and the choir settled down a bit. From above a shower
of diamond shaped metal plates came down, the spotlights dancing through
them. The plates stopped above the platform, held there by a magnetic field.
The technicians tweeked the field generator and the plates revolved. Lasers
burst out from nowhere into the magnetic field, deflecting everywhere. It
put even the largest glitterball to shame. The choir whipped themselves up
again as a priest floated down in front of the altar. They reached an orgasm
of sound (you had to be there) and fell silent.
Cameras locked in on the priest as he beckoned the couple forward.
"Well?" He said.
"Okay." Said Trillian.
"Why not." Followed Zaphod.
The choir erupted again as did the lights and the lasers.
The ceremony was over.
CHAPTER 64
The reception was a loud, brash affair at Zaphod's home. The swimming
pool was filled with Old Janx Spirit and Ford was one of the first to dive
in. Bolo dived in to save him when he tried to drain the pool orally.
Arthur and Fenchurch stood by the food, trying to identify something
that looked appetising and edible. It was a long fruitless search.
"I wouldn't say it was the most romantic wedding I've ever been to,"
said Arthur.
"It was certainly one of the best gigs I've been to," laughed
Fenchurch.
"Still, I suppose the priest could do it another way, if you asked
him," said Arthur.
"Probably."
"Not that I was thinking of asking him."
"Of course not."
Arthur looked deeply into a Kopwilsilus dip.
"Arthur, let's get married."
Arthur looked up.
"What? Why did you have to say that?"
"It seemed like you were having trouble."
"You've ruined all my plans, I was just building up to a big speech."
Arthur looked back at the dip, which seemed to look back.
"I'm sorry, pretend I never said it."
"Well it's a bit difficult now."
"Arthur, ask me."
"Fenchurch, will you marry me?"
"I'll have to think about it."
Arthur picked up the dip in mock anger
"I've thought about it. I will."
"I'll get the priest."
"I don't want to get married here, I want to get married on Earth."
"But that's omps away from here."
"Well I'm sure Zaphod or Ford will lend you a towel and you've still
got your copy of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. We can leave after
the party." She paused.
"You know, I'm really getting into this hitch-hiking lark."
Space, like a second sentence, can be big, confusing and needs going
through twice to really understand it. One of the few ways to comprehend how
big space can be, is to be subjected to the total perspective vortex, but as
this usually leads to death unless your ego is as large as say, Zaphod
Beeblebrox's, it is just as well to accept everyone's word that it is.
Distances can therefore become ridiculously large, large enough for those
tired with light years (and the enormous slide rules needed to calculate in
light years) to invent new, exciting words for inexorably large distances. A
Kirpcatorno is now widely accepted as a pretty long way (say 23474 to the
power of the collective ages of those at a reasonably successful party) and
an 'Omp' is about twice as far as a 'Kirpcatorno.
However, to prevent distances getting too conceited about their sizes,
ships such as the Heart of Gold or the Starship Bistromath were designed to
sprint through space fast enough to make distances go into a corner and
sulk. So for Arthur Dent to say 'We must be in Zaphod Beeblebrox's
neighbourhood' when it is, in fact, 36 omps away, is not entirely
unreasonable for a good hitchhiker.
To recap, Arthur Dent, having found a wonderful companion in Fenchurch
(that being her name, not the place) had visited God's last message to his
creation, only to have Marvin die in his arms. Ford Prefect had resumed his
job as a researcher for that truly wonderful book, The Hitch-Hiker's Guide
to the Galaxy, with new vigour and was probably skulking around some seedy
bar trying to talk somebody into buying him a drink. Zaphod Beeblebrox had
settled down with Trillian to raise kids and have a peaceful time not saving
the Universe. In fact, although saving the Universe again was the furthest
thought from all their minds (about 421 omps), it was preparing to renew its
acquaintance with them quite shortly.
Converted to PRC: rml@iconn.com.ph - Ronald Lachenal 9.27.99
Last-modified: Sat, 29 Jan 2005 17:55:52 GMT