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."
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."
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