LINTILLA 2: (Warily) Who is it?
LINTILLA: He says his name’s Arthur, but I think he’s harmless. He can help us dig.
ARTHUR: Excuse me, who is this?
LINTILLA: This is Lintilla.
ARTHUR: But I thought you . . .
LINTILLA: Where’s Lintilla?
ARTHUR: Who?
LINTILLA 2: Over there at the workface. The most extraordinary thing has happened.
ARTHUR: Yes, very probably, but why are there . . .
LINTILLA 3: (Calling from a slight distance) Hello, is that you Lintilla?
LINTILLA: Yes.
LINTILLA 3: Has Lintilla told you what’s happened?
LINTILLA: She just said it was something extraordinary.
ARTHUR: Er, excuse me, can I get a word in edgeways?
LINTILLA: What do you want?
ARTHUR: Why are there three of you?
LINTILLAS: Why is there only one of you?
ARTHUR: Er . . . (He is totally stumped by this) . . . Could I have notice of that question?
LINTILLA 3: (Approaching) It’s very strange. We were making hardly any progress at all without the drill, then just when I turned my back there was an extrordinary noise . . .
LINTILLA: What sort of noise?
LINTILLA 3: A sort of wheeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkrrrrunnnccccch noise (This is of course the noise the narrator had been discussing) and when I looked back a whole shaft had opened up. It’s exposed all the archaeological seams. We’re almost home and dry.
LINTILLA: But that’s . . . that’s impossible.
LINTILLA 3: I don’t know about impossible. It’s very improbable.
ARTHUR: (Who’s still off on his own line of thought) But why are you all exactly the same as each other?
LINTILLA 2: Well you’re exactly the same as yourself aren’t you?
ARTHUR: This is true.
LINTILLA 3: Well then.
ARTHUR: But unhelpful.
LINTILLA: We’re clones.
ARTHUR: Ah! Clones! I’ve heard of that! You mean there was one of you to begin with and then exact copies were made, and now there are three of you?
LINTILLA: Yes, except that there are now nearly five hundred and seventy eight thousand million of us.
ARTHUR: Huh?
LINTILLA: It’s all right, the others aren’t here at the moment. Can we get on with the work?
ARTHUR: (Weakly) That’s rather a lot isn’t it?
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: The problem of the five hundred and seventy eight thousand million Lintilla clones is very simple to explain, rather harder to solve. Cloning machines have of course been around for a long time and have proved very useful for reproducing particularly talented or attractive or (in response to pressure from the Sirius Cybernetics marketing lobby) particularly gullible people and this was all very fine and splendid and only occasionally terribly confusing. And then one particular cloning machine got badly out of synch with itself. Asked to produce six copies of a wonderfully talented and attractive girl called Lintilla for a Brantisvogan escort agency (whilst another machine was busy creating five hundred lonely business executives in order to keep the laws of supply and demand operating profitably) the machine went to work. Unfortunately it malfunctioned in such a way that it got half way through creating each new Lintilla before the previous one was actually completed, which meant, quite simply, that it was impossible ever to turn it off, without committing murder. This problem taxed the minds first of the cloning engineers, then of the priests, then of the letters page of the Sidereal Record Straightener, and finally of the lawyers who experimented vainly with ways of redefining murder, re-evaluating it and in the end even respelling it in the hope that no one would notice. A solution has now been found, but since it is not a particularly pleasant one, it will only be revealed if it becomes absolutely necessary.
Meanwhile, Arthur Dent is about to discover the terrifying truth about the somethings, or whatchamycallits of which the bird people refuse to speak.
LINTILLA: You see? These different strata in the rock face of the shaft represent the successive ages of this planet’s history.
ARTHUR: Oh yes. Isn’t that interesting?
LINTILLA: Interesting? It’s frightening.
ARTHUR: Is it? Well actually it just looks like a slice of layer cake to me.
LINTILLA: Then why did you say it looked interesting?
ARTHUR: Oh, well I’m quite interested in layer cake.
LINTILLA: Look at it, doesn’t anything strike you?
ARTHUR: Well it’s . . . it’s rock isn’t it?
LINTILLA: Down here we have layer after layer – the remains of early settlements, one on top of another. Then more layers – thicker ones, the remains of cities, each built on the ruins of the previous one – we’re talking about thousands of years you see – and then suddenly above this level – what?
ARTHUR: Er, more rock?
LINTILLA: But what’s special about it?
ARTHUR: Er, well it’s all smooth – no layers.
LINTILLA: Yes no further building and no one actually living on the planet, or at least on its surface. So this previous layer is the significant one. And do you know what it consists of?
ARTHUR: Rock?
LINTILLA: No.
ARTHUR: Er, stone?
LINTILLA: (Patiently) No.
ARTHUR: Some different sort of rock the name of which temporarily escapes me.
LINTILLA: No, feel it. Scratch it.
ARTHUR: Oh yes, it’s slightly sort of soft and crumbly.
LINTILLA: What’s it like?
ARTHUR: Ah, I know, it’s . . .
LINTILLA: Yes?
ARTHUR: What’s the name of that soft crumbly sort of rock?
LINTILLA: It isn’t rock!
ARTHUR: Well what is it then?
LINTILLA: Shoes.
ARTHUR: What?
LINTILLA: Shoes, billions of them. An entire archaeological layer of compressed shoes.
ARTHUR: Shoes? How can you tell?
LINTILLA: We knew all along. We just needed confirmation.
ARTHUR: Why shoes?
F/X: LASER SHOT
HIG HURTENFLURST: Because, fella, shoes are the economic future of this galaxy.
ARTHUR: Huh?
HIG HURTENFLURST: Stand up. Both of you
ARTHUR: Who are you?
HIG HURTENFLURST: I only happen to be Hig Hurtenflurst, I only happen to be the risingest young executive in the Dolmansaxlil Shoe Corporation, I only happen to have masterminded the entire rationalization of this planet to total shoe orientation, I only happen to be sitting on top of the biggest development deal in the entire history of footwear, and I only happen to be very deeply disturbed at finding my planet riddled with subversives bent on undermining the whole structure of the Dolmansaxlil operation and thus the very economic future of the Galaxy itself, and I only happen to think that I would be very well advised to have both of you weirdos and the other two chicks revoked on the spot, does that answer your question?
ARTHUR: I can’t remember what I asked you now.
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: There is of course also the question of the . . .
F/X: MARVIN FALLING F/X AS BEFORE
NARRATOR: . . . noise which, as has been suggested, was in some way connected with the sudden and fortuitous appearance of a deep shaft in the ground. Further noises are now to be heard at the very bottom of this shaft, which may go some way towards explaining the previous noise. This is what the new noise sounds like.
F/X: FAINT AND RATHER UNHAPPY BLIPS
MARVIN: (Low groan – a very long one)
NARRATOR: After a while it develops along these lines.
MARVIN: Googoogoogoogoo. Ddddrrrrpp. Errrrrrrk. Zootlowurdlezootlewurdle zootlowurdle. Fringggggg.
NARRATOR: And then continues thus.
MARVIN: F. . . f . . . f . . . f . . . Fact! I ache, therefore I am. Or in my case I am therefo
re I ache. Oh look – I appear to be lying at the bottom of a very deep dark hole. That seems a familiar concept. What does it remind me of? Ah, I remember. Life. That’s what lying at the bottom of a deep dark hole reminds me of. Life. Perhaps if I just lie here and ignore it it will go away again.
(Pause)
Or then again, perhaps not. To be perfectly frank with myself, if it didn’t go away as a result of me falling fifteen miles through the air and a further mile through solid rock I’m probably stuck with it for good. Why don’t I just lie here anyway? Why don’t I climb out? Why don’t I just go zootlewurdle. Does it matter? Even if it does matter, does it matter that it matters?
(Pause)
Zootlewurdle zootlewurdle zootlewurdle . . .
(Fade)
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: And so on. Meanwhile, at the top of the shaft, mere nanoseconds have passed since Arther said ‘I can’t remember what I asked you now’.
HIG HURTENFLURST: You.
LINTILLA: Me?
HIG HURTENFLURST: Why do those other two chicks we picked up look exactly like you?
LINTILLA: It’s a long story.
HIG HURTENFLURST: Quick precis then.
LINTILLA: Because.
HIG HURTENFLURST: That’s neat. Now listen, I could just have you revoked . . .
ARTHUR: Revoked?
HIG HURTENFLURST: Yes. K-i-l-l-e-d, revoked, but instead I think I’ll suddenly take a liking to you both.
ARTHUR: Oh. Don’t we get any say in the matter?
HIG HURTENFLURST: Footwarrior!
FOOTWARRIOR: Sir.
HIG: I’ve decided to take these two back to my office and like them.
FOOTWARRIOR: Sir.
HIG HURTENFLURST: I think I’d like them on the wall best. See to it. We’ll go in my business-buggy.
FOOTWARRIOR: At once sir.
HIG HURTENFLURST: And don’t limp!
FOOTWARRIOR; No sir, I’ll try not to sir.
HIG HURTENFLURST: Don’t just try, cut it right out.
FOOTWARRIOR: Yes sir.
HIG HURTENFLURST: Now you’re limping with your other foot!
FOOTWARRIOR: Er, yes sir.
HIG HURTENFLURST: Don’t limp with either foot!
FOOTWARRIOR: Right sir.
F/X: THE FOOTWARRIOR FALLS OVER
HIG HURTENFLURST: You two prisoners!
ARTHUR AND LINTILLA: Who, us?
HIG HURTENFLURST: Pick up the foot warrior and bring him with you.
FOOTWARRIOR: Thank you sir.
(Fade)
(Fade up)
F/X: DOOR HUMMING OPEN
HIG HURTENFLURST: Welcome to my office. The nerve centre of the operation here. Since you were so keen to find out the truth about us, you shall see it in comfort. Footwarrior!
FOOTWARRIOR: Sir?
HIG HURTENFLURST: Show them the film.
FOOTWARRIOR: Yes sir. Uh! Ah! (i.e. the pain of walking)
F/X: HE FALLS OVER
HIG HURTENFLURST: You two, carry him to the projectorscope.
ARTHUR: What’s the matter with him?
HIG HURTENFLURST: His feet are the wrong size for his shoes.
ARTHUR: Ah.
FOOTWARRIOR: Thank you. Thank you so much.
F/X: PROJECTORSCOPE SWITCHED ON
GRAMS: TERRIBLE TRAINING FILM-LIKE MUSIC. THE REVS ARE VERY SLIGHTLY WONKY AND THE SOUND QUALITY SLIGHTLY BELOW PAR.
COMMENTATOR: (Again, slightly distorted) This is a Dolmansaxlil Galactic Shoe Corporation Film. Adventures in aggressive Marketing. Take a planet, any planet. Take for instance the planet Bartrax or Huntringfurl, or Earth, or Kiasbanil, or Asbleg, or any of the many planets we have currently declared marketing on.
ARTHUR: (Interrupting on the word ‘Earth’, though the soundtrack continues of course) The Earth! That’s where I come from! But it’s been demolished.
LINTILLA: In which case it’s escaped a very nasty fate.
ARTHUR: What, worse than being demolished?
LINTILLA: Much. You watch.
COMMENTATOR: We will see what can really be achieved by looking at the planet Brontitall . . .
HIG HURTENFLURST: (Interrupting) That’s my baby, they’re very proud of me back at central office.
COMMENTATOR: Mere centuries ago, a happy prosperous busy planet all right, oho yes, not a care in their world . . .
F/X: (On soundtrack) BUSY STREET SCENE, LOTS OF HAPPY BUSTLE
MAN: (On soundtrack) Hello!
MAN TWO: (Ditto) Hello!
MAN THREE: (Ditto) Hello!
(Etc. Ad lib)
MAN: (Ditto) Happy?
MAN TWO: (Ditto) Terribly happy today thank you. And you, prosperous?
MAN: (Ditto) Indeed so. Busy?
COMMENTATOR: (Ditto) Oh yes. And healthy, bright eyes, clear skin, feet in good nick. Isn’t life a wonderful thing?
MEN: Super!
COMMENTATOR: Oh yes, only one tiny little thing wrong here. They’re not making money for the Dolmansaxlil Shoe Corporation!
MEN: (Soundtrack) So?
COMMENTATOR: So, on the far side of their moon we set up a Dolmansaxlil Shoe Shop Intensifier Ray! And suddenly . . . the people are gripped by an insane, irrational desire to build . . .
F/X: ON THE SOUND TRACK A SERIES OF PINGS MARKS THE APPEARANCE OF SHOE SHOP AFTER SHOE SHOP
COMMENTATOR: Shoe shops! In every road, on every street corner, in every city shopping precinct, shoe shop after shoe shop!
ARTHUR: (Catches his breath in horror) Oxford Street!
LINTILLA: What?
ARTHUR: Oxford Street! They just showed a picture of Oxford Street!
LINTILLA: Shhhh!
COMMENTATOR: And then we really put the screws on them! Oho yes! (He’s very cheerful about this) Fashion! Every year the shoes in the shops are either much too wide or much too thin or in extreme cases even joined together at the heel! Oh yes, how we laughed up on the backside of their moon! How we cried with laughter when every last shop on the planet was turned into a shoe shop, how we coughed and spluttered with mirth when the people tried to revolt and we had to send in the foot warriors.
FOOTWARRIORS: (On soundtrack) (They are in armoured cars talking through megaphones) Do not panic! Lay down your arms! We just want you to relax and enjoy your shoes!
F/X: (On soundtrack) DISTANT MACHINE GUN FIRE AND MORTARS ETC., CROWDS RIOTING
FOOTWARRIORS: (On soundtrack) They are very stylish and fashion conscious! Be cool! Step out in style! Relax and enjoy your shoes! Relax and enjoy your shoes, relax and . . . ennnnjjjjooyyyyy . . . yyyyoo . . .
F/X: THIS IS THE SOUND OF THE TAPE SUDDENLY GRINDING TO A HALT AS IF THE POWER’S BEEN CUT OFF
A FEW FUSES FIZZ AND POP
A BACKGROUND GENERATOR HUM DIES AWAY
HIG HURTENFLURST: (In alarm) What’s happening? Why have the lights gone out? Footwarrior!
FOOTWARRIOR: Sir.
HIG HURTENFLURST: Go to the emergency power supply!
FOOTWARRIOR: Can’t sir! Think I’ve got gangrene of the feet!
HIG HURTENFLURST: Then just seize the prisoners!
F/X: FOOTWARRIOR FALLS OVER
HIG HURTENFLURST: Prisoners!
ARTHUR AND LINTILLA: Yes?
HIG HURTENFLURST: Seize each other! Now what’s going on out here?
F/X: GENERAL COMMOTION HAS BUILT UP. THE DOOR IS BROKEN DOWN
HIG HURTENFLURST: Who’s that breaking down the door?
F/X: MARVIN ENTERS
ARTHUR: MARVIN!
MARVIN: I suppose you’ll want to be rescued now.
HIG HURTENFLURST: Oh, yes please.
ARTHUR: Not you. Come on Lintilla, let’s get out of here!
MARVIN: Well come on if you’re coming.
LINTILLA: (Desperately) Wait! I’ve just got to turn on my crisis inducer. There. Ah! Come on, they’re after us!
F/X: THEY RUSH THROUGH THE DOOR INTO THE CORRIDOR
LINTILLA: Down the corridor!
&nbs
p; ARTHUR: This way?
LINTILLA: Yes.
ARTHUR: That’s up the corridor.
LINTILLA: All right, up the bloody corridor, come on.
ARTHUR: Oh that way, I thought you were pointing . . .
LINTILLA: Come on!
F/X: THEY RUN INTO THE DISTANCE
(Fade)
GRAMS
NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: And so everything points to shoes as being the mysterious somethings or watchamaycallits of which the bird people would not speak. And the curious fact is that the shoe shop intensifier ray mentioned mere seconds ago is in actuality a phoney, designed to make Dolmansaxlil executives feel they are doing something excitingly aggressive, when in fact all they need to do is wait.
The shoe event Horizon is now a firmly established and rather sad economic phenomenon, which in future times will be taught as part of the basic Middle School Life the Universe and Everything syllabus. Here is a typical computer class from the Brantisvogan Megalycee, Unidate 911VCK168.
COMPUTEACH: Good morning Life form.
PUPIL: Hi, teach.
COMPUTEACH: Are you sitting comfortably?
PUPIL: Yes.
COMPUTEACH: Then stand up. Harsh Economic Truths class 17. You are standing up?
PUPIL: Yes.
COMPUTEACH: Good. Posit: You are living in an exciting go ahead civilization. Where are you looking?
PUPIL: Up
COMPUTEACH: What do you see?
PUPIL: The open sky, the stars, an infinite horizon.
COMPUTEACH: Correct. You may press the button.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Original Radio Scripts Page 25