Duglas Adams. Posobie puteshestvuyushchego avtostopom po Galaktike: Uteryannye chasti 40-50 (engl) The LOST CHAPTERS C40 to C50 of HHGTTG Converted by Ronald Lachenal Rml@iconn.com.ph CHAPTER 40 "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. CHAPTER 41 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. CHAPTER 43 "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. CHAPTER 44 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. CHAPTER 45 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. CHAPTER 46 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." Arthur was feeding all his details into the latest gizmo from the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, the Tailormatic. The principle was very good. By feeding in all bodily details, such as height, weight, number of limbs, etc., the Tailormatic would link up to the fashion mainframes around the Universe to consult what the latest fashions were and then synthetically create an ideal outfit. Unfortunately, it was programmed by the same man who programmed the Nutri-Matic machine and didn't always produce the goods, so to speak. Arthur hit the enter button and the Tailormatic shook into action. Eventually, a cellophane wrapped package popped out. Once Arthur had spent five minutes removing pins and cardboard, he tried it on. "And this is fashionable?" He asked the machine rhetorically. "Upon my life, I've never seen anyone wear it so well," chirped the machine. "It's not too bright?" "Bright is in, my boy. You want to be noticed, don't you?" "Yes, but not to be ridiculed." "Don't be silly, I wish I could get away with wearing something like that." "I'm more worried about being put away. And I suppose the motto Share and Enjoy applies to the clothes as well. How many people am I supposed to share this with at one time?" "It's meant to be loose, it flows." "So does wine, but I wouldn't go out in it." "Well I can take it in a touch, but it would ruin the line." ''Don't bother, I'll get a second opinion. Fenchurch was trying on one of Trillian's dresses for the wedding. Arthur charged in, muttered an embarrassed apology and walked out. "Arthur!" She shouted. He sheepishly put his head around the door. "Come in." "I just wanted your opinion on this." He held his arms out and turned around. What the Tailormatic had produced was a gold lame track suit-like outfit, which hung on Arthur like snow on a weeping willow. Fabulous embroidery covered the outfit and reflective prism strips had been sown in all over. "Well you'd look better hanging from the ceiling of the night-club than on the dancefloor. No, it's really quite different." Fenchurch had trouble suppressing a laugh. "It's supposed to be fashionable in the better places in the Universe." "When in Rome, do...." "I think I'll wear my jacket over it, that way I wont feel like a walking laser light show." Fenchurch went over to him and put her arms around his waist. "Promise me you'll behave tonight." "I promise, we'll probably just have a few drinks," lied Arthur. He knew Ford and Zaphod had been undergoing strenuous body conditioning all day in preparation for a full frontal assault on as much alcohol as they could lay their lips on. "Will you be alright here?" "I'll be fine, the three of us haven't stopped nattering." There was a knock at the door. Ford popped his head around the door. "Thought I'd find you in here," he grinned. "We're off." "I'll see you later," said Arthur, hoping that Ford would disappear so he could kiss Fenchurch goodbye, but he had no chance. "Enjoy yourself, but not too much." Fenchurch kissed him on the cheek and patted his behind. Arthur followed Ford down the stairs where Zaphod was waiting. His outfit made Arthur's seem like funeral attire. The suit shimmered and changed colour in splashes like a cinema screen before the film starts, but without the nauseating effect. Bolts of harmless laser burst from the suit at random and the matching headband glowed luminously. "It's on random at the moment, buy I'll turn it to synchro in the night club to keep time with the music," said Zaphod. "Then watch out, 'cos my suit will do the dancing for me." "That's good, when you dance people clear a space in sympathy and for safety," said Ford. "Hey, cool it with the jibes, I'm out for good vibes," said Zaphod. "Remember this is my night, I'm gonna do it just right." "Are we going to get going or just talk about it?" Asked Arthur. "Now there's someone straining at the leash," said Zaphod. "Obviously a love hungry man. We'll get going soon, monkey man. We won't use improbability drive, no point in getting there too early. We want to make a big entrance." CHAPTER 47 Eccentrica Gallumbits' night-club planet looked no different from any other Magrathean planet on approach. Only on closer inspection could you make out the glittering surface. Zaphod put the Heart of Gold into orbit around the planet to get a better look. A huge complex covered a quarter of the planet, with ship parks covering the remainder. Zaphod tuned the Sub-Etha radio into the planet and a bass line, which sounded like it had been carved out of granite, pounded the speakers. "Now that's what I call a groove," said Zaphod, tapping his heads together in time. The planet suddenly burst into light as it was switched to sound to light. The surface pulsated with the beat. "Beats the hell out of a neon sign," said Arthur. Zaphod parked the Heart of Gold in a predominant position as usual. They stepped out into the ship park. A robot transporter pulled up and they climbed aboard. "The electricity bill must be phenomenal," said Arthur, as the transporter weaved through the myriad of flashing lights. "All done with fibre optics, no doubt," said Ford. "Probably all runs off one light bulb." And the beat went on. The transporter had Quadraphonic speakers to confirm that the lights weren't going off at a tangent. Arthur could feel his heart trying to keep time with the music. The transporter pulled up at the main entrance. Flash bulbs flashed. Cameras whirred. Reporters jostled with each other to get a good position. "Are you still going through with it, Zaphod?" "Are you really giving up the wild life?" "Do you think marriage will interrupt