FORD: Broke the ice, didn’t it?
GRAMS: MUSIC AND GENERAL RESTAURANT BACKGROUND
COMPERE: And as the photon storms gather in swirling clouds around us preparing to tear apart the last of the red hot suns, I hope you’ll all settle back and enjoy with me what I am sure we will all find an immensely exciting and terminal experience. Believe me ladies and gentlemen, there is nothing penultimate about this one, you know what I mean. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the proverbial it.
F/X: POLITE APPLAUSE
After this there is void, absolute nothing, except of course for the sweet trolley and our fine selection of Aldebaran liqueurs. And now at the risk of putting a damper on the wonderful sense of doom and futility here, I’d like to welcome a few parties.
Do we have a party from the Zansellquasure Flamarion Bridge Club from beyond the Vortvoid of Qvarne? Are they here?
F/X: CHEERS FROM A PARTY OF PEOPLE, WHO SOUND SLIGHTLY LIKE SHEEP
Good, jolly good. And a party of minor deities from the Halls of Asgaard?
F/X: CHEERS, WOLF WHISTLES, FOOTBALL RATTLES AND A FEW THUNDERBOLTS
A party of Young Conservatives from Sirius B?
F/X: WOOFING AND BARKING
Aha, yes. And lastly a party of devout believers (Pause) from the church of the second coming of the Great Prophet Zarquon. Well fellas, let’s hope he’s hurrying because he’s only got eight minutes left.
F/X: A LITTLE RIPPLE OF COSY LAUGHTER
But seriously though, no offence meant, because I know we shouldn’t make fun of deeply held beliefs, so I think a big hand please for the Great Prophet Zarquon, wherever he’s got to.
F/X: APPLAUSE AND A FEW MORE LAUGHS
And you know, I just want to say how marvellous it is to see how many of you come here time and time again to witness this final end of all being and then still manage to return home to your own eras and raise families, strive for new and better societies, fight terrible wars for what you believe to be right. Because you know it really makes one think about the absolutely marvellous future of all lifekind – except of course that we know it hasn’t got one.
(From this point his speech gradually recedes into the background as we pick up on the conversation of Ford, Arthur, Zaphod and Trillian)
GARKBIT: (Approaches) Er, excuse me sir.
ZAPHOD: Who me?
GARKBIT: Mr Zaphod Beeblebrox?
ZAPHOD: Er, yeah.
GARKBIT: There is a phone call for you.
ZAPHOD: Hey, what?
TRILLIAN: Here?
ZAPHOD: Hey but who knows where I am?
TRILLIAN: Zaphod, perhaps it’s the police . . . could they have traced us here?
ZAPHOD: You mean they want to arrest me over the phone? Could be, I’m a pretty dangerous dude when I’m cornered.
FORD: Yeah, you go to pieces so fast that people get hit by the shrapnel.
ZAPHOD: Hey, what is this, Judgement Day?
ARTHUR: Do we get to see that as well? Fantastic.
ZAPHOD: I’m in no hurry. So who’s the cat on the phone?
GARKBIT: I am not personally acquainted with the metal gentleman in question, sir . . .
TRILLIAN: Metal?
GARKBIT: . . . but I am informed that he has been awaiting your return for a considerable number of millenia. It seems you left here, sir, somewhat precipitately . . .
ZAPHOD: Hey, left here? We’ve only just arrived.
GARKBIT: Indeed, sir, but before you arrived here, sir, you left here.
ZAPHOD: You’re saying that before we arrived here we left here?
GARKBIT: That is what I said, sir.
ZAPHOD: Put your analyst on danger money baby, now.
FORD: No wait a minute, where exactly is here?
GARKBIT: The planet Magrathea, sir.
FORD: But we just left there . . . this is the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, I thought.
GARKBIT: Precisely sir. The one was constructed on the ruins of the other.
ARTHUR: You mean we’ve travelled in time, but not in space?
ZAPHOD: Listen you semi-evolved simian, go climb a tree won’t you?
ARTHUR: Oh go and bang your heads together four eyes.
GARKBIT: No, no. Your monkey has got it right, sir.
ARTHUR: Who are you calling a monkey?
GARKBIT: (Ignoring him) You jumped forwards in time many millions of years while retaining the same position in space. Your friend has been waiting for you in the meantime.
FORD: Well, what’s he been doing all the time?
GARKBIT: Rusting a little, sir.
TRILLIAN: Marvin! It must be Marvin.
FORD: The Paranoid Android!
ZAPHOD: Space cookies! Hand me the rap-rod, plate-captain.
GARKBIT: Pardon, sir.
ZAPHOD: The phone, waiter. Shee, you guys are so unhip it’s a wonder your bums don’t fall off.
GARKBIT: Our what, sir?
F/X: PHONE PICK UP
The phone, sir.
ZAPHOD: Marvin, hi, how you doing kid?
MARVIN: I think you ought to know I’m feeling very depressed.
ZAPHOD: Hey, yeah? We’re having a great time, food, wine, a little personal abuse and the Universe going foom.
Where can we find you?
MARVIN: You don’t have to pretend to be interested in me you know. I know perfectly well I’m only a menial robot.
ZAPHOD: OK, OK, but where are you?
MARVIN: Reverse primary thrust Marvin, that’s what they say to me, open airlock number three Marvin, Marvin can you pick up that piece of paper? Can I pick up that piece of paper? Here I am, brain the size of a planet . . .
ZAPHOD: Yeah, yeah . . .
MARVIN: But I’m quite used to being humiliated. I can even go and stick my head in a bucket of water if you like.
ZAPHOD: Yeah . . . Marvin . . .
MARVIN: Would you like me to go and stick my head in a bucket of water? I’ve got one ready. Wait a minute.
F/X: CLUNK OF PHONE. DISTANT CLUNK OF BUCKET AND WATER
FORD: What’s he saying Zaphod?
ZAPHOD: Oh nothing. He just phoned up to wash his head at us.
MARVIN: Has that satisfied you?
ZAPHOD: Will you please tell us where you are?
MARVIN: I’m in the car park.
ZAPHOD: In the car park? What are you doing there?
MARVIN: Parking cars, what else does one do in . . .
ZAPHOD: Well yeah OK, stay there.
F/X: PHONE DOWN. MARVIN BURBLES ON DISTANTLY
ZAPHOD: Come on guys, let’s go. Marvin’s down in the car park.
ARTHUR: The car park? What’s he doing in the car park?
ZAPHOD: Parking cars, what else, dum dum? Ford, Trillian, let’s move.
ARTHUR: What about my pears Galumbit?
(They rush out of the restaurant. The Compere becomes audible again)
F/X: RIPPLE OF LAUGHTER FADES INTO: METALLIC ECHO OF UNDERGROUND CAR PARK. RUNNING FOOTSTEPS ON STEEL CATWALKS
TRILLIAN: (Shouts) There he is!
Marvin . . .
F/X: MORE FOOTSTEPS, DESCENDING STEEL STAIRS
ZAPHOD: (Approaching) Marvin, hey kid, are we pleased to see you.
MARVIN: No you’re not. No one ever is.
ZAPHOD: Suit yourself.
TRILLIAN: No really Marvin, we are . . .
ARTHUR: Quite . . .
TRILLIAN: Hanging around waiting for us all this time.
MARVIN: The first ten million years were the worst. And the second ten million, they were the worst too. The third ten million I didn’t enjoy at all. After that I went into a bit of a decline.
FORD: Hey, Zaphod, come and have a look at some of these little star trolleys. (Whisper) Look at this baby, Zaphod. The tangerine starbuggy with the black sunbusters.
ZAPHOD: (Whisper) Hey, get this number. Multicluster quark drive and perspulex running boards. This has got to be a Lazlar LyriKon Kustom job. Look – the infrapink lizard
emblem on the neutrino cowling.
FORD: Hey, yeah, I was passed by one of these mothers once out near the Axel Nebula. I was going flat out and this thing just strolled past me, star drive hardly ticking over. Just incredible.
ZAPHOD: Too much.
FORD: Ten seconds later it smashed straight into the third moon of Jaglan Beta.
ZAPHOD: Hey, right?
FORD: But a great looking ship though. Looks like a fish, moves like a fish, steers like a cow.
ZAPHOD: No kidding?
FORD: No. Wait a minute, wait a minute. That one there.
ZAPHOD: Hey, Hey. Now that is really bad for the eyes.
FORD: It’s so black – you can hardly even make out its shape. Light just falls into it.
ZAPHOD: And feel this surface.
FORD: Yeah. (Surprise) Hey, you can’t . . .
ZAPHOD: See, it’s just totally frictionless . . . this must be one mother of a mover. I bet even the cigar lighter’s on photon drive. Well, what do you reckon, Ford?
FORD: What, you mean stroll off with it? Do you think we should?
ZAPHOD: No.
FORD: Nor do I.
ZAPHOD: Let’s do it.
FORD: OK.
ZAPHOD: We better shift soon. In a few seconds the Universe will end and all the Captain Creeps will be pouring down here to find their bourge-mobiles.
FORD: Zaphod.
ZAPHOD: Yeah?
FORD: How do we get into it?
ZAPHOD: Just don’t spoil a beautiful idea will you Ford?
FORD: Perhaps the robot can figure something out.
ZAPHOD: Yeah. Hey, Marvin, come over, we’ve got a job for you.
MARVIN: I won’t enjoy it.
ZAPHOD: Yes you will, there’s a whole new life stretching out ahead of you.
MARVIN: Oh, not another one.
ZAPHOD: Will you shut up and listen? This time there’s going to be excitement and adventure and really wild things.
MARVIN: Sounds awful.
ZAPHOD: Marvin! All I’m trying to say . . .
MARVIN: I suppose you want me to open this spaceship for you . . .
ZAPHOD: Marvin, just listen will you? . . . What?
MARVIN: I suppose you want me to open this spaceship for you?
ZAPHOD: Er – yeah.
MARVIN: Well I wish you’d just tell me rather than try and engage my enthusiasm because I haven’t got one.
F/X: SPACESHIP DOOR OPENING
FORD: Hey, how’d you do that Marvin?
MARVIN: Didn’t I tell you, I’ve got a brain the size of a planet? No one ever listens to me of course.
ZAPHOD: Oh shut up Marvin.
MARVIN: See what I mean?
FORD: Hey Zaphod, look at this. Look at the interior of this ship.
ZAPHOD: Hey. Weird.
FORD: It’s black. Everything in it is just totally black.
(Fade out. Fade up restaurant.)
COMPERE: And now ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! The skies begin to boil! Nature collapses into the screaming void! In five seconds time, the Universe itself will be at an end. See where the light of infinity bursts in upon us!
F/X: HERALD TRUMPETS. HALLELUJAHS. A GREAT WOOSH OF WIND
COMPERE: But what’s this? What’s happening? Who’s this? I don’t believe it.
A big hand please for the Great Prophet Zarquon!
ZARQUON: Er, hello everybody, sorry I’m a bit late, had a terrible time, all sorts of things cropping up at the last moment. How are we for time? Er . . .
F/X: WITH A MIGHTY ROAR THE UNIVERSE ENDS
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: And so the Universe ended.
One of the major selling points of that wholly remarkable book, The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, apart from its relative cheapness and the fact that it has the words ‘Don’t Panic’ written in large friendly letters on the cover, is its compendious and occasionally accurate glossary. For instance, the statistics relating to the geo-social nature of the Universe are deftly set out between pages five hundred and seventy six thousand three hundred and twenty four, and five hundred and seventy six thousand three hundred and twenty six. The simplistic style is partly explained by the fact that its editors, having to meet a publishing deadline, copied the information off the back of a packet of breakfast cereal, hastily embroidering it with a few footnotes in order to avoid prosecution under the incomprehensibly tortuous Galactic copyright laws. It is interesting to note that a later and wilier editor sent the book backwards in time through a temporal warp and then successfully sued the breakfast cereal company for infringement of the same laws.
Here is a sample, in both headings and footnotes.
(Note: In this section, all words printed in capitals in the text should have extra echo, and all footnotes should have slight distort)
THE UNIVERSE
F/X: PING
Some information to help you live in it.
ONE: AREA. INFINITE.
F/X: PING
As far as anyone can make out.
TWO: IMPORTS. NONE.
It is impossible to import things into an infinite area, there being no outside to import things in from.
THREE: EXPORTS. NONE.
F/X: PING
See imports.
FOUR: RAINFALL. NONE.
Rain cannot fall because in an infinite space there is no up for it to fall down from.
FIVE: POPULATION. NONE.
It is known that there is an infinite number of worlds, but that not every one is inhabited. Therefore there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so if every planet in the Universe has a population of zero then the entire population of the Universe must also be zero, and any people you may actually meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.
SIX: MONETARY UNITS. NONE.
F/X: PING
In fact there are three freely convertible currencies in the Universe, but the Altairian Dollar has recently collapsed, the Flainian Pobblebead is only exchangeable for other Flainian Pobblebeads, and the Triganic Pu doesn’t really count as money. Its exchange rate of six ningis to one pu is simple, but since a ningi is a triangular rubber coin six thousand eight hundred miles along each side, no one has ever collected enough to own one pu. Ningis are not negotiable currency because the Galactibanks refuse to deal in fiddling small change. From this basic premise it is very simple to prove that the Galactibanks are also the products of a deranged imagination.
SEVEN: SEX. NONE.
F/X: PING
Well actually there is an awful lot of this, largely because of the total lack of money, trade, banks, rainfall or anything else that might keep all the non-existent people in the Universe occupied. However it is not worth embarking on a long discussion of it now because it really is terribly complicated. For further information see chapters seven, nine, ten, eleven, fourteen, sixteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty one to eighty four inclusive and most of the rest of the book.
It is largely on account of passages like this that the book of the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is being revised by Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent. Unfortunately they are being presented with too many distractions to be able to settle down to doing any solid research. Not only does Arthur Dent still have to find the Question to the Ultimate Answer of Life, the Universe and Everything, but the newly stolen spaceship is currently behaving rather like this:
F/X: STARSHIP BACKGROUND WHICH IS OSCILLATING RANDOMLY IN PITCH AND VOLUME
ARTHUR: Basically what you’re trying to say is that you can’t control it.
FORD: I’m not trying to say that. The whole bloody ship is.
ZAPHOD: It’s the wild colour scheme that freaks me. When you try and operate one of these weird black controls which are labelled in black on a black background a small black light lights up black to let you know you’ve done it. What is this? Some ki
nd of intergalactic hyperhearse?
TRILLIAN: Well perhaps it is.
ARTHUR: Isn’t there any way you can control it? You’re making me feel spacesick.
FORD: Timesick. We’re plummeting backwards through time.
ARTHUR: Oh God, now I think I really am going to be ill.
ZAPHOD: Go ahead, we could do with a little colour about the place.
TRILLIAN: Oh for God’s sake Zaphod, go easy will you? Already today we have had to sit through the end of the Universe, and before that we were blasted five hundred and seventy six thousand years through time by an exploding computer . . .
MARVIN: It’s all right for you, I had to go the long way round.
ARTHUR: How did that happen anyway? How does an exploding computer push you through time?
MARVIN: Simple, it wasn’t a computer, it was a hyperspatial field generator.
ARTHUR: Silly, I should have recognized it at once.
MARVIN: As it overheated it blew a hole through the space time continuum and you dropped through like a stone through a wet paper bag. I hate wet paper bags.
F/X: THE BACKGROUND NOISE SUDDENLY STOPS OSCILLATING AND SETTLES INTO A STEADY PATTERN
TRILLIAN: Hey, that sounds better. Have you managed to make some sense of the controls?
FORD: No, we just stopped fiddling with them. I think this ship has a far better idea of where it’s going than we do.
ARTHUR: Well that sounds quite sensible to me.
ZAPHOD: What do you know about it apeman?
ARTHUR: Well, look, if whoever owns this ship travelled forward in time to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe then presumably he must have programmed the ship in advance to return him to the exact point he originally left. Doesn’t that make sense?
FORD: That’s quite a good thought you know. Particularly if he was anticipating having a good time. Drunk in charge of a time ship is a pretty serious offence. They tend to lock you away in some planet’s stone age and tell you to evolve into a more responsible life form.
TRILLIAN: So there’s nothing to do but sit back and see where we turn up. What do we do in the meantime?
(Pause)
ARTHUR: I’ve got a pocket Scrabble set.
ZAPHOD: Go play with a nut.
ARTHUR: Well if that’s your attitude . . .
ZAPHOD: Hey look Earthman, you’ve got a job to do, remember? The question to the Ultimate Answer, right? There’s a lot of money tied up in that head thing of yours. I mean just think of the merchandising . . . Ultimate Question Biscuits, Ultimate Question T-shirts.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Original Radio Scripts Page 12