The Islington telephone number (page 39) is a real number, as several people have put to the test. It is in fact the number of the flat where Douglas wrote much of the first series, but the person who lives there now has nothing to do with Hitch-Hiker’s so please stop pestering him.
The joke about ‘I really wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was young’ (page 39) finally makes an appearance after years of being thrown out of Footlights shows, probably because it was never coupled to a scene where people were being thrown out of spaceships.
‘Life, don’t talk to me about life’
This is actually not my line, but comes from the comedy writer Jon Canter, a very good friend of mine (despite the fact that I pinched this line from him shamelessly) who used it in the opening line to a monologue in a Footlights show in 1972. (DNA)
Music Details
Wind on water from Evening Star by Fripp and Eno.
(Used for the opening narration speech)
Rainbow in curved air by Terry Riley
(Used for the ‘Space is big . . .’ speech)
Poppy Nogood and the Phantom Band by Terry Riley
(Used for the Improbability Drive speech)
Cachaca by Patrick Moraz
(Used for the radio news report).
FIT THE THIRD
After being improbably rescued from certain death in the vacuum of space, Arthur Dent and his new companions now face a missile attack and certain death.
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: Far back in the mists of ancient time, in the great and glorious days of the Former Galactic Empire, life was wild, rich, and on the whole tax free. Mighty starships plied their way between exotic suns seeking adventure and reward amongst the furthest reaches of galactic space. In those days spirits were brave, the stakes were high, men were real men, women were real women, and small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri. And all dared to brave unknown terrors, to do mighty deeds, to boldly split infinitives that no man had split before and thus was the Empire forged.
Many men of course became extremely rich, but this was perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of because no one was really poor – at least, no one worth speaking of. And for these extremely rich merchants life eventually became rather dull, and it seemed that none of the worlds they settled on was entirely satisfactory, either the climate wasn’t quite right in the later part of the afternoon or the day was half an hour too long, or the sea was just the wrong shade of pink – and thus were created the conditions for a staggering new form of industry: custom made luxury planet building.
The home of this industry was the planet Magrathea where vast hyperspatial engineering works were constructed to suck matter through white holes in space and form it into dream planets, lovingly made to meet the exacting standards of the Galaxy’s richest men. And so successful was this venture, that very soon Magrathea itself became the richest planet of all time and the rest of the galaxy was reduced to abject poverty. And so the system broke down, the Empire collapsed and a long sullen silence settled over the Galaxy, disturbed only by the pen scratchings of scholars as they laboured into the night over smug little treatises on the value of a planned political economy. Magrathea itself disappeared and its memory soon passed into the obscurity of legend. In these enlightened days, of course, no one believes a word of it.
Meanwhile, on Zaphod Beeblebrox’s ship, deep in the darkness of the Horsehead Nebula . . .
F/X: STARSHIP BRIDGE BACKGROUND
FORD: I’m sorry, I just don’t believe a word of it.
ZAPHOD: Listen to me Ford, I’ve found it, I swear I’ve found it.
FORD: Look – Magrathea is a myth, a fairy story, it’s what parents tell their kids about at night if they want them to grow up to become economists, it’s . . .
ZAPHOD: And we are currently in orbit around it.
FORD: Zaphod, I can’t help what you may personally be in orbit around, but this ship . . .
ZAPHOD: Computer!
FORD: Oh no.
EDDIE THE COMPUTER: Hi there, this is Eddie your shipboard computer, and I’m feeling just great, guys, and I know I’m just going to get a bundle of kicks out of any programme you care to run through me . . .
FORD: Is this necessary?
ZAPHOD: Computer, tell us again what our current trajectory is.
E the C: A real pleasure fella. We are currently in orbit at an altitude of . . . three hundred miles . . . around the legendary planet of Magrathea. Golly!
ford Proving nothing. I wouldn’t trust that computer to speak my weight.
E the C: I can do that for you, sure . . .
FORD: No thank you.
E the C: I can even work out your personality problems to ten decimal places, if it’ll help.
TRILLIAN: Zaphod, we should have dawn coming up any minute now on the planet, whatever it turns out to be.
ZAPHOD: OK, OK, let’s just take a look at it. Computer.
E the C: Hi there! What can I . . .
ZAPHOD: Just shut up and give us external vision on the monitors, dim the lights on the Bridge.
F/X: ELECTRONIC SWITCHING
GRAMS: QUIETLY FADE UP A BIT OF MUSIC, PINK FLOYD, LIGETI OR WHATEVER
ZAPHOD: There . . . the dark mass you see on the screens now is the planet of Magrathea . . .
FORD: Or whatever . . .
TRILLIAN: I wonder if Columbus had this trouble?
ZAPHOD: (Getting increasingly exasperated) Who?
TRILLIAN: Sorry, just an esoteric Earth reference. He discovered a continent which went on to cause a bit of trouble. Arthur’ll tell you about it . . . Arthur?
ARTHUR: (As if he’s been day-dreaming) What?
TRILLIAN: You’ve been very quiet Arthur?
ARTHUR: Yes, I always find it very relaxing listening to other people arguing when I haven’t a clue what they’re talking about. The view’s a bit dull, isn’t it? Presumably it becomes absolutely enchanting later on.
ZAPHOD: (Who’s trying to conjure up some sort of drama) We are now traversing the night side. The surface of the planet is three hundred miles below us. In a moment we should see . . . there!
GRAMS: THIS POINT SHOULD COINCIDE WITH SOME SORT OF CRESCENDO IN THE MUSIC
ZAPHOD: . . . The Fires of Dawn! . . . the twin suns of Soulianis and Rahm . . .
FORD: Or whatever . . .
ZAPHOD: Soulianis and Rahm, two ancient furnaces of light, creeping over the black horizon . . . It’s fantastic, you’ve got to admit that.
FORD: (Flatly) It looks fantastic.
ARTHUR: (Quietly, aside to Trillian) Tricia, I feel I may be missing the point of something.
TRILLIAN: Well, according to what Zaphod’s told me, Magrathea is a legendary planet from way back, which no one seriously believes in. Bit like Atlantis, except that the legends say the Magratheans used to manufacture planets.
ARTHUR: . . . Is there any tea on this spaceship?
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: Arthur Dent had basically assumed that he was the only native ape-descended Earthman to escape from the planet Earth when it was unexpectedly demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass, because his only companion, disconcertingly called Ford Prefect, had already revealed himself to be from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, and not from Guildford after all. So when, against all conceivable probability they were suddenly rescued from certain death in deep space by a stolen starship manned by two people, one of whom is Ford’s semi-brother the Infamous Zaphod Beeblebrox and the other of whom is Tricia McMillan, a rather nicely descended ape-person that Arthur once met at a party in Islington, it could only be because the ship was powered by the new infinite Improbability Drive, which of course it was. Slowly, majestically, this mighty starship begins its long descent towards the surface of the ancient planet which might or might not be Magrathea.
FORD: Well, even supposing it is . . .
ZAPHOD: It is.
FORD: . . . which it isn’t, what do you want with it anyway? I mean I take it you’re not here for the sheer industrial archaeology of it all. What is it you’re after?
ZAPHOD: Well it’s partly the curiosity, partly a sense of adventure, but mostly I think it’s the fame and the money.
FORD: It’s just a dead planet.
ARTHUR: The suspense is killing me.
NARRATOR: Stress and nervous tension are now serious social problems in all parts of the Galaxy, and it is in order that this situation should not be exacerbated in any way at all that the following facts will now be revealed in advance.
The planet in question is in fact Magrathea.
The deadly nuclear missile attack shortly to be launched by an ancient automatic defence system will merely result in the bruising of somebody’s upper arm and the untimely creation and sudden demise of a bowl of petunias and an innocent sperm whale.
In order that some sense of mystery should still be preserved, no revelation will yet be made concerning whose upper arm had been bruised. This fact may safely be made the subject of suspense since it is of no significance whatsoever.
Arthur’s next question about the planet is very complex and difficult and Zaphod’s answer is wrong in every important respect.
ARTHUR: Is it safe?
ZAPHOD: Magrathea’s been dead for five million years. Of course it’s safe. Even the ghosts will have settled down and raised families by now.
F/X: GRAMS FANFARE
VOICE: (If this can be done on five million year old tape so much the better. The voice is outwardly pleasant but actually rather cold and forbidding)
Greetings to you . . .
ALL: What’s that? (Or that sort of thing at least)
ZAPHOD: Computer!
E the C: Hi there!
ZAPHOD: What is it?
E the C: Oh, just some five million year old tape recording that’s being broadcast at us.
VOICE: This is a recorded announcement as I’m afraid we’re all out at the moment. The Commercial Council of Magrathea thanks you for your esteemed visit . . .
ZAPHOD: A voice from ancient Magrathea!
FORD: OK, OK.
VOICE: . . . but regrets that the entire planet is temporarily closed for business. Thank you. If you would like to leave your name and a planet where you can be contacted kindly speak when you hear the tone.
F/X: ANSWERING BEEP
TRILLIAN: They want to get rid of us. What do we do?
ZAPHOD:It’s just a recording, keep going. Got that computer?
E the C: I got it.
F/X: ROCKET THRUST
F/X: GRAMS LESS FANFARE
VOICE: We would like to assure you that as soon as our business is resumed announcements will be made in all fashionable magazines and colour supplements, when our clients will once again be able to select from all that’s best in contemporary geography. Meanwhile we thank our clients for their kind interest and would ask them to leave now.
ARTHUR: Well, I suppose we’d better be going then hadn’t we?
ZAPHOD: Shhhh! There’s absolutely nothing to be worried about.
ARTHUR: Then why’s everyone so tense?
ZAPHOD: They’re just interested. We keep going.
F/X: SOUND OF DESCENT CONTINUES. ACTUALLY I SUPPOSE I’D BETTER SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THIS: THE DESCENT NOISE SHOULD REALLY BE ONE OF THOSE CONTINUOUSLY DESCENDING SOUND BANDS WHICH NEVER REALLY GETS ANYWHERE BECAUSE WHILST TONES ARE IMPERCEPTIBLY DROPPING OUT AT THE BOTTOM, SO NEW ONES ARE COMING IN IMPERCEPTIBLY AT THE TOP
F/X: GRAMS EVEN LESS FANFARE
VOICE: (Getting quite cold now) It is most gratifying that your enthusiasm for our planet continues unabated and so we would like to assure you that the guided missiles currently converging with your ship are part of a special service we extend to all of our most enthusiastic clients, and the fully armed nuclear warheads are of course merely a courtesy detail. We look forward to your custom in future lives. Thank you.
ARTHUR: Listen, if that’s their sales pitch, what must it be like in the complaints department?
ZAPHOD: Hey, this is terrific, it means we really must be onto something if they’re trying to kill us.
ARTHUR: Terrific.
TRILLIAN: You mean there is someone down there after all?
ZAPHOD: No, the whole defence system must be automatic, but the question is why. . .
ARTHUR: But what are we going to do?
ZAPHOD: Just keep cool.
ARTHUR: (Horrified) Is that all?
ZAPHOD: No, we’re also going to take evasive action. Computer, what evasive action can we take?
E the C: Er, none I’m afraid guys.
ZAPHOD: . . . or something.
E the C: There seems to be something jamming my guidance systems. Impact minus thirty seconds.
F/X: ALARM BELLS AND SIRENS GO OFF
E the C: Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. Please call me Eddie if it will help you relax.
ZAPHOD: Right. Errr. Look, we’ve got to get manual control of this ship.
TRILLIAN: Can you fly her?
ZAPHOD: No, can you?
TRILLIAN: No.
ZAPHOD: Ford?
FORD: No.
ZAPHOD: Fine. We’ll do it together.
ARTHUR: I can’t either.
ZAPHOD: I’d guessed that. Computer, I want full manual control now.
E the C: You got it. Good luck guys, impact minus twenty seconds.
ZAPHOD: OK Ford, full retro thrust and ten degrees starboard.
F/X: HOWLING SCREECH OF PROTESTING ROCKET ENGINES. THIS SECTION SHOULD BE AS VIOLENTLY NOISY AS POSSIBLE
TRILLIAN: We’re veering too fast!
FORD: I can’t hold her, she’s going into a spin!
ZAPHOD: Dive, dive!
F/X: EQUIPMENT AND BITS AND PIECES FLUNG AROUND CABIN
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: It is of course more or less at this point that one of our heroes sustains a slight bruise to the upper arm. This should be emphasized because, as has already been revealed, they escape otherwise completely unharmed and the deadly nuclear missiles do not eventually hit the ship. Our heroes’ safety is absolutely assured.
E the C: Impact minus fifteen seconds, guys.
ARTHUR: The rockets are still homing in, you can’t shake them. We’re going to die.
E the C: (Starts to sing ‘You’ll never walk alone’ in his very metallic voice)
ZAPHOD: Shut that bloody computer up! (But it continues)
TRILLIAN: Zaphod, can we stabilise at X zero zero 547 by splitting our flight path tangentially across the summit vector of 9GX78 with a five degree inertial correction?
ZAPHOD: What? Yes, I expect so, just do it. (Mutters) And God forgive you if you’re only bluffing.
TRILLIAN: Here we go.
F/X: EVEN MORE NOISE FROM THE ENGINES
FORD: Hey, where did you learn a stunt like that Trillian?
TRILLIAN: Going round Hyde Park Corner on a moped.
ZAPHOD: What?
FORD: It’s another Earth reference.
ZAPHOD: Tell me later.
ARTHUR: It’s no good, the missiles are swinging round after us and gaining fast. We are quite definitely going to die.
E the C: (Briefly interrupting his song) Impact minus five seconds.
ARTHUR: Why doesn’t anyone turn on this Improbability Drive thing?
TRILLIAN: Don’t be silly, you can’t do that.
ARTHUR: Why not? There’s nothing to lose at this stage.
TRILLIAN: Does anyone know why Arthur can’t turn on the Improbability Drive?
E the C: Impact minus one second, it’s been great knowing you guys, God bless.
TRILLIAN: I said does anyone know . . .
F/X: TREMENDOUS EXPLOSION, WHICH FAIRLY QUICKLY TRANSFORMS ITSELF INTO A LITTLE DRIBBLE OF FAIRLY LIGHT FILM MUSIC AND DIES AWAY
ZAPHOD: What the hell happened?
ARTHUR: Well, I was just saying, there’s this switch here you see and . . .
ZAPHOD: Where are we Trillian?
TRILLIAN: Exactly where we were I think.
ZAPHOD: Then what’s happened to the missiles?
FORD: Er, well according to this screen they’ve just turned into a bowl of petunias and a very surprised looking whale.
E the C: At an improbability factor of eight million, seven hundred and sixty seven thousand, one hundred and twenty eight to one against.
ZAPHOD: Did you think of that Earthman?
ARTHUR: Well, all I did was . . .
ZAPHOD: That’s very good thinking, you know that? You just saved our lives.
ARTHUR: Oh it was nothing, really . . .
ZAPHOD: Oh was it? Well, forget it. OK Computer, take us in to land.
F/X: CHANGE OF NOTE IN ROCKET DRIVE
ARTHUR: Well, I say it was nothing . . . I mean obviously it was something, I was just trying to say it’s not worth making too much of a fuss about . . . I mean just saving everybody’s life . . .
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: Another thing that no one made too much fuss about was the fact that against all probability, a sperm whale had suddenly been called into existence some miles above the surface of an alien planet. And since this is not a naturally tenable position for a whale, this innocent creature had very little time to come to terms with its identity as a whale before it had to come to terms with suddenly not being a whale anymore. This is what it thought as it fell.
F/X: POP AS OF WHALE SUDDENLY COMING INTO EXISTENCE SOME MILES ABOVE THE SURFACE OF AN ALIEN PLANET. INCREASING WIND
WHALE: Ah! What’s happening? Er, excuse me, who am I? Hello? Why am I here? What’s my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I? Calm down, get a grip now. Oh, this is an interesting sensation . . . what is it? It’s a sort of yawning tingling sensation in my . . . my . . . well I suppose I’d better start finding names for things if I want to make any headway in what for the sake of what I shall call an argument I shall call the world, so let’s call it my stomach. So . . . a yawning tingling sensation in my stomach. Good. Ooooh, it’s getting quite strong. And hey, what about this whistling roaring sound going past what I’m suddenly going to call my head? Head, that sounds good, yeah, head, good solid ring to it . . . and the whistling roaring sound, that can be wind . . . is that a good name? It’ll do . . . perhaps I can find a better name for it later when I’ve found out what it’s for, because there certainly seems to be a hell of a lot of it. Hey, what’s this thing, this . . . let’s call it a tail . . . yeah, tail, hey I can really thrash it about pretty good can’t I? Wow. Wow. Hey. Doesn’t seem to achieve much but I’ll probably find out what it’s for later on. Now – have I built up any coherent picture of things yet? No. Oh. Hey, this is really exciting, so much to find out about, so much to look forward to, I’m quite dizzy with anticipation . . . or is it the wind? Hey, there really is a lot of that now isn’t there? And wow, what’s this thing suddenly coming towards me very fast? Very very fast . . . so big and flat and wide it needs a big wide sounding word . . . like round . . . round . . . ground! That’s it, ground! I wonder if it will be friends with me?
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Original Radio Scripts Page 7