ADAMS, Douglas - Mostly Harmless
Page 25
frozen edges of the solar system.
The recalculations showed absolutely clearly and unamhigu-
ously that he was going to have a very bad month indeed,
starting with today. Because today Earth was starting to rise
into Capricorn, and that, for the Grebulon leader, who showed
all the character signs of being a classic Taurus, was very bad
indeed.
Now was the time, his horoscope said, for taking positive
actions, making tough decisions, seeing what needed to be done
and doing it. This was all very difficult for him, but he knew that
nobody ever said that doing tough stuff wasn't tough. The com-
puter was already tracking and predicting the second-by-second
location of the planet Earth. He ordered the great grey turrets
to swivel.
Because all of the Grebulon surveillance equipment was focused
on the planet Earth, it failed to spot that there was now another
source of data in the solar system.
Its chances of spotting this other source of data - a massive
yellow constructor ship - accidentally were practically nil. It was
as far from the sun as Rupert was, but almost diametrically
opposite, almost hidden by the sun.
Almost.
The massive yellow constructor ship wanted to be able to
monitor events on Planet Ten without being spotted itself. It
had managed this very successfully.
There were all sorts of other ways in which this ship was
diametrically opposite to the Grebulons.
Its leader, its Captain, had a very clear idea of what his
purpose was. It was a very simple and plain one and he had been
pursuing it in his simple, plain way for a considerable period of
time now.
Anyone who knew of his purpose might have said that it was
a pointless and ugly one, that it wasn't the sort of purpose that
enhanced a life, put a spring in a person's step, made birds sing
and flowers bloom. Rather the reverse in fact. Absolutely the
reverse.
It wasn't his job to worry about that, though. It was his job
to do his job, which was to do his job. If that led to a certain
narrowness of vision and circularity of thought then it wasn't his
job to worry about such things. Any such things that came his
way were referred to others who had, in turn, other people to
refer such things to.
Many, many light years from here, indeed from anywhere,
lies the grim and long abandoned planet, Vogsphere. Some-
where on a fetid, fog-bound mud bank on this planet there
stands, surrounded by the dirty, broken and empty carapaces
of the last few jeweled scuttling crabs, a small stone monument
which marks the place, where it is thought, the species Vogon
Vogonblurtus first arose. On the monument there is carved an
arrow which points away into the fog, under which are inscribed
in plain, simple letters the words `The buck stops there.'
Deep in the bowels of his unsightly yellow ship, the Vogon
Captain grunted as he reached for a slightly faded and dog-eared
piece of paper that lay in front of him. A demolition order.
If you were to unravel exactly where the Captain's job, which
was to do his job which was to do his job, actually began, then it
all came down at last to this piece of paper that had been issued
to him by his immediate superior long ago. The piece of paper
had an instruction on it, and his purpose was to carry out that
instruction and put a little tick mark in the adjacent box when
he had carried it out.
He had carried out the instruction once before, but a number
of troublesome circumstances had prevented him from being able
to put the tick in the little box.
One of the troublesome circumstances was the Plural nature of
this Galactic sector, where the possible continually interfered with
the probable. Simple demolition didn't get you any further than
pushing down a bubble under a badly hung strip of wallpaper.
Anything you demolished kept on popping up again. That would
soon be taken care of.
Another was a small bunch of people who continually refused
to be where they were supposed to be when they were supposed
to be there. That, also, would soon be taken care of.
The third was an irritating and anarchic little device called
the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. That was now well and
truly taken care of and, in fact, through the phenomenal power
of temporal reverse engineering, it was now itself the agency
through which everything else would be taken care of. The
Captain had merely come to watch the final act of this drama.
He himself did not have to lift a finger.
`Show me,' he said.
The shadowy shape of a bird spread its wings and rose
into the air near him. Darkness engulfed the bridge. Dim
lights danced briefly in the black eyes of the bird as, deep in
its instructional address space, bracket after bracket was final-
ly closing, if clauses were finally ending, repeat loops halting,
recursive functions calling themselves for the last few times.
A brilliant vision lit up in the darkness, a watery blue and
green vision, a tube flowing through the air, shaped like a
chopped up string of sausages.
With a flatulent noise of satisfaction, the Vogon Captain
sat back to watch.
25
`Just there, number forty-two,' shouted Ford Prefect to the
taxi-driver. `Right here!'
The taxi lurched to a halt, and Ford and Arthur jumped out.
They had stopped at quite a number of cash-dispensers on the
way, and Ford chucked a fistful of money through the window
at the driver.
The entrance to the club was dark, smart and severe. Only
the smallest little plaque bore its name. Members knew where
it was, and if you weren't a member then knowing where it was
wasn't any help to you.
Ford Prefect was not a member of Stavro's though he had
once been to Stavro's other club in New York. He had a very
simple method of dealing with establishments of which he was not
a member. He simply swept in as soon as the door was opened,
pointed back at Arthur and said, `It's OK, he's with me.'
He bounded down the dark glossy stairs, feeling very froody
in his new shoes. They were suede and they were blue, and he
was very pleased that in spite of everything else going on he had
been sharp-eyed enough to spot them in a shop window from the
back of a speeding taxi.
`I thought I told you not to come here.'
`What?' said Ford.
A thin, ill-looking man wearing something baggy and Italian
was walking up the stairs past them, lighting a cigarette, and had
stopped, suddenly.
`Not you,' he said. `Him.'
He looked straight at Arthur, then seemed to become a
little confused.
`Excuse me,' he said. `I think I must have mistaken you
for someone else.' He started on up the stairs again , but almost
immediately turned round once more, even more puzzled. He
stared at Arthur.
`Now what?
' said Ford.
`What did you say?'
`I said, now what?' repeated Ford irritably.
`Yes, I think so,' said the man and swayed slightly and
dropped the book of matches he'd been carrying. His mouth
moved weakly. Then he put his hand to his forehead.
`Excuse me,' he said, `I'm trying desperately to remember
which drug I've just taken, but it must be one of those ones
which mean you can't remember.'
He shook his head and turned away again, and went up
towards the men's room.
`Come on,' said Ford. He hurried on downstairs, with Arthur
following nervously in his wake. The encounter had shaken him
badly and he didn't know why.
He didn't like places like this. For all of the dreams of Earth
and home he had had for years, he now badly missed his hut on
Lamuella with his knives and his sandwiches. He even missed
Old Thrashbarg.
`Arthur!'
It was the most astounding effect. His name was being shouted
in stereo.
He twisted to look one way. Up the stairs behind him he saw
Trillian hurrying down towards him in her wonderfully rumpled
Rymplon TM. She was looking suddenly aghast.
He twisted the other way to see what she was looking suddenly
aghast at.
At the bottom of the stairs was Trillian, wearing... No
- this was Tricia. Tricia that he had just seen, hysterical with
confusion, on television. And behind her was Random, looking
more wild-eyed than ever. Behind her in the recesses of the
smart, dimly lit club, the other clientele of the evening formed a
frozen tableau, staring anxiously up at the confrontation on the
stairs.
For a few seconds everyone stood stock still. Only the music
from behind the bar didn't know to stop throbbing.
`The gun she is holding,' said Ford quietly, nodding slightly
towards Random, `is a Wabanatta 3. It was in the ship she stole
from me. It's quite dangerous in fact. Just don't move for a
moment. Let's just everybody stay calm and find out what's
upsetting her.'
`Where do I fit?' screamed Random suddenly. The hand
holding the gun was trembling fiercely. Her other hand delved
into her pocket and pulled out the remains of Arthur's watch.
She shook it at them.
`I thought I would fit here,' she cried, `on the world that
made me! But it turns out that even my mother doesn't know
who I am!' She flung the watch violently aside, and it smashed
into the glasses behind the bar, scattering its innards.
Everyone was very quiet for a moment or two longer.
`Random,' said Trillian quietly from up on the stairs.
`Shut up!' shouted Random. `You abandoned me!'
`Random, it is very important that you listen to me and
understand,' persisted Trillian quietly. `There isn't very much
time. We must leave. We must all leave.'
`What are you talking about? We're always leaving!' She had
both hands on the gun now, and both were shaking. There was
no one in particular she was pointing it at. She was just pointing
it at the world in general.
`Listen,' said Trillian again. `I left you because I went to cover
a war for the network. It was extremely dangerous . At least, I
thought it was going to be. I arrived and the war had suddenly
ceased to happen. There was a time anomaly and... listen!
Please listen! A reconnaissance battleship had failed to turn up,
the rest of the fleet was scattered in some farcical disarray. It's
happening all the time now.'
`I don't care! I don't want to hear about your bloody job!'
shouted Random. `I want a home! I want to fit somewhere!'
`This is not your home,' said Trillian, still keeping her voice
calm. `You don't have one. We none of us have one. Hardly
anybody has one any more. The missing ship I was just talking
about. The people of that ship don't have a home. They don't
know where they are from. They don't even have any memory
of who they are or what they are for. They are very lost and
very confused and very frightened. They are here in this solar
system, and they are about to do something very... misguided
because they are so lost and confused. We... must... leave
... now. I can't tell you where there is to go to. Perhaps there
isn't anywhere. But here is not the place to be. Please. One more
time. Can we go?'
Random was wavering in panic and confusion.
`It's all right,' said Arthur gently. `If I'm here, we're safe.
Don't ask me to explain just now, but I am safe, so you are
safe. OK?'
`What are you saying?' said Trillian.
`Let's all just relax,' said Arthur. He was feeling very tranquil.
His life was charmed and none of this seemed real.
Slowly, gradually, Random began to relax, and to let the
gun down, inch by inch.
Two things happened simultaneously.
The door to the men's room at the top of the stairs opened,
and the man who had accosted Arthur came out, sniffing.
Startled at the sudden movement, Random lifted the gun
again just as a man standing behind her made a grab for it.
Arthur threw himself forward. There was a deafening explo-
sion. He fell awkwardly as Trillian threw herself down over him.
The noise died away. Arthur looked up to see the man at the top
of the stairs gazing down at him with a look of utter stupefaction.
`You...' he said. Then slowly, horribly, he fell apart.
Random threw the gun down and fell to her knees, sobbing.
I'm sorry!' she said. `I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry...'
Tricia went to her. Trillian went to her.
Arthur sat on the stairs with his head between his hands and
had not the faintest idea what to do. Ford was sitting on the stair
beneath him. He picked something up, looked at it with interest,
and passed it up to Arthur.
`This mean anything to you? he said.
Arthur took it. It was the book of matches which the dead
man had dropped. It had the name of the club on it. It had the
name of the proprietor of the club on it. It looked like this:
begin{center}
STAVRO MUELLER
end{center} begin{center}
BETA
end{center}
He stared at it for some time as things began slowly to reassemble
themselves in his mind. He wondered what he should do, but
he only wondered it idly. Around him people were beginning
to rush and shout a lot, but it was suddenly very clear to him
that there was nothing to be done, not now or ever. Through
the new strangeness of noise and light he could just make out
the shape of Ford Prefect sitting back and laughing wildly.
A tremendous feeling of peace came over him. He knew
that at last, for once and for ever, it was now all, finally, over.
In the darkness of the bridge at the heart of the Vogon ship,
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz sat alone. Lights flared briefly across the
external vision screens that lined one wall. In the air above him
the discontinuities in the blue and green watery sausage shape
reso
lved themselves. Options collapsed, possibilities folded into
each other, and the whole at last resolved itself out of existence.
A very deep darkness descended. The Vogon captain sat
immersed in it for a few seconds.
`Light' he said.
There was no response. The bird, too, had crumpled out
of all possibility.
The Vogon turned on the light himself. He picked up the
piece of paper again and placed a little tick in the little box.
Well, that was done. His ship slunk off into the inky void.
In spite of having taken what he regarded as an extremely
positive piece of action, the Grebulon Leader ended up having
a very bad month after all. It was pretty much the same as all
the previous months except that there was now nothing on the
television any more. He put on a little light music instead.
Last-modified: Thu, 26-Dec-96 21:59:18 GMT