n  a  panic. Fenchurch charged after him in  a
beautiful  dress. Her intention was to get him into  morning dress. She  had
found a  do-it-yourself  mode  on the  Tailormatic and although the  machine
protested, she produced an acceptable morning suit. Arthur was worried about
what he  had to do to give Trillian away. Fenchurch was worried about Arthur
going out without any clothes on.
     "Where's Ford?" He cried. "He must know."
     "Arthur, will you put your clothes on," ordered Fenchurch.
     "What?  Oh, alright, but  I'm not going out unless I know what I've got
to do," sulked Arthur.
     "You'll really enjoy  yourself," said  Fenchurch, pulling  his trousers
up.  "I'll  be there to  give you  support." She didn't realise  that Arthur
would be wearing a support.
     Trillian came  in the room,  looking incredible. If Arthur wasn't so in
love with Fenchurch, he  would have asked Trillian to give up Zaphod and run
away with him.
     "You look lovely, Trillian," he said instead.
     "What a beautiful dress," said Fenchurch.
     It was indeed, beautiful. Every cut, stitch and hem was  beautiful. The
whole dress radiated beauty and tanned Arthur.
     "The Tailormatic ran it up," said Trillian. "It is rather nice."
     "Trillian, what have I got to do?" Asked Arthur. "I'm  worried stiff in
case I mess up your big day."
     "Don't worry," said Trillian. "Just wear this."
     She held out a grey cummerbund. Arthur took it and put it on.
     "That doesn't really put my mind at rest," said Arthur.
     "It's a gravity support harness," explained Trillian. "All you  have to
do is take your place next to Fenchurch after you land."
     "Land?" Said Fenchurch.
     "We fly down to the altar," said Trillian.
     "I didn't know you could fly," said Arthur.
     "I don't need to," said Trillian. "I've  got a  gravity support harness
as  well.  A team of marriage technicians handles all  the moves for us. All
we've got to do is relax and enjoy it."
     Arthur couldn't relax and was sure he wasn't going to enjoy himself. He
was standing  by  the  control  room with  Trillian. They  technicians  were
sitting in front of an overwhelming bank of controls and monitor screens.
     "Check on one, cue three for laser entry sequence."
     "Magnetic field generator operational."
     "All vocal Octogrids locked into octophonic harmonic positions."
     "Audience cameras homed in and ready to roll."
     "Red leader to base, I've been hit."
     "Bride and monkey in position."
     Arthur came away.
     "Are you ready?" Asked Trillian, holding Arthur's hand.
     "Ready for what?" Said Arthur. "I can't tell whether they're planning a
wedding or a rock concert."
     "I think it's a  bit of both," grinned Trillian. "You know Zaphod. He's
hired in a team of crying groupies to make me feel lucky."
     "He doesn't deserve you," said Arthur.
     "Tell him  that," said  Trillian. "He's giving me an entry in the Guide
as the luckiest woman in the Universe."
     A large, ugly creature beckoned them  towards him.  His hat declared he
was a veteran of a Disaster Area tour.
     "The eyes of the Universe are  now watching," he said with  a far  away
look in his eye. The other eye was watching for the  cue. He stood holding a
curtain closed. A magnificent noise came from the other side.  A green light
flashed above the curtain.
     "You're on!" He opened the curtain and pushed them out.
     They  floated in a massive, black arena. They were high in the air  and
in the distance could make  out a platform  supporting the specially invited
guests. Spotlights  picked out Arthur  and Trillian  as a 640  strong  vocal
choir  burst  into glorious song.  Arthur  looked around for  the choir  but
couldn't see  them. The Octogrid Vocal Choir  was there  in voice if  not in
body.
     The Octogrid Vocal Choir was the most successful choir in the Universe.
They  contained the best  voices ever heard.  That was  because  some bright
spark,  called Ip, thought what  a waste  it was when  singers  died and  so
indulged in some grave digging. He  rescued the  vocal chords of  some great
singers  and  stretched  them across  an octagonal shaped  grid.  He used  a
computer to stretch and  contract the grid and spun the grid on  its axis so
air passed  through the  vocal chords  to  create  sound. Ip  built  up  his
collection  until he  had enough to create  eight grids of eighty voices and
created  an  octophonic choir.  This was  fine until it  was found that  one
singer had copyrighted his voice, which prevented it's use after the owner's
death. A long, arduous and extremely profitable (for the lawyers) court case
followed  which eventually ended up being settled  out of court by murdering
the  lawyers.  The copyright  firm signed up the  choir, giving Ip a massive
settlement, which  he  used to  put  himself through  Law School  and  later
successfully sued the School for malpractice.
     The Octogrids had  been bordered by reflective strips, which caught the
spotlights and scattered them  all over. Suddenly, Arthur and Trillian  took
flight and flew around the  arena at  a frightening speed. Lighting gantries
exploded into  light and the choir spun themselves into a frenzy. Arthur and
Trillian  dive bombed the  platform and landed with great  delicacy  besides
Zaphod.
     "Nice entrance," he whispered. "You should have been here for mine."
     The lights dimmed and the choir settled down a bit. From above a shower
of  diamond shaped  metal  plates  came down, the spotlights dancing through
them. The plates stopped above the platform, held there by a magnetic field.
The technicians tweeked the field generator and  the plates revolved. Lasers
burst out from  nowhere into  the  magnetic field, deflecting everywhere. It
put even the largest glitterball to shame. The choir  whipped themselves  up
again as a priest floated down in front of the altar. They reached an orgasm
of sound (you had to be there) and fell silent.
     Cameras locked in on the priest as he beckoned the couple forward.
     "Well?" He said.
     "Okay." Said Trillian.
     "Why not." Followed Zaphod.
     The choir erupted again as did the lights and the lasers.
     The ceremony was over.
     CHAPTER 64


     The reception was a  loud, brash affair at Zaphod's  home. The swimming
pool  was filled with Old Janx Spirit and Ford was one of  the first to dive
in. Bolo dived in to save him when he tried to drain the pool orally.
     Arthur and Fenchurch  stood by the  food, trying  to identify something
that looked appetising and edible. It was a long fruitless search.
     "I wouldn't say it was the most romantic  wedding I've  ever been  to,"
said Arthur.
     "It  was  certainly  one  of  the  best gigs  I've  been  to,"  laughed
Fenchurch.
     "Still, I  suppose  the priest could  do  it another way,  if you asked
him," said Arthur.
     "Probably."
     "Not that I was thinking of asking him."
     "Of course not."
     Arthur looked deeply into a Kopwilsilus dip.
     "Arthur, let's get married."
     Arthur looked up.
     "What? Why did you have to say that?"
     "It seemed like you were having trouble."
     "You've  ruined all my plans, I was just building up to a big  speech."
Arthur looked back at the dip, which seemed to look back.
     "I'm sorry, pretend I never said it."
     "Well it's a bit difficult now."
     "Arthur, ask me."
     "Fenchurch, will you marry me?"
     "I'll have to think about it."
     Arthur picked up the dip in mock anger
     "I've thought about it. I will."
     "I'll get the priest."
     "I don't want to get married here, I want to get married on Earth."
     "But that's omps away from here."
     "Well I'm sure Zaphod  or Ford will lend you a towel and  you've  still
got your copy of  the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. We can leave  after
the party." She paused.
     "You know, I'm really getting into this hitch-hiking lark."


        THE END

        PROLOGUE

     Space,  like a second sentence, can be  big, confusing and  needs going
through twice to really understand it. One of the few ways to comprehend how
big space can be, is to be subjected to the total perspective vortex, but as
this  usually leads  to death  unless your  ego is as large as  say,  Zaphod
Beeblebrox's,  it is  just as  well to accept  everyone's  word that it  is.
Distances can therefore become ridiculously  large,  large  enough for those
tired with light years (and the  enormous slide rules needed to calculate in
light years) to invent new, exciting words for inexorably large distances. A
Kirpcatorno  is  now widely accepted as a pretty long way (say 23474 to  the
power of the collective ages  of those at a reasonably successful party) and
an 'Omp' is about twice as far as a 'Kirpcatorno.
     However, to prevent distances getting  too conceited about their sizes,
ships such as the Heart  of Gold or the Starship Bistromath were designed to
sprint  through space fast  enough  to make distances  go into a  corner and
sulk.  So  for  Arthur  Dent  to say 'We  must  be  in  Zaphod  Beeblebrox's
neighbourhood'  when  it  is,  in  fact,  36  omps  away,  is  not  entirely
unreasonable for a good hitchhiker.
     To  recap, Arthur Dent, having found a wonderful companion in Fenchurch
(that  being her name, not the place) had visited God's last message  to his
creation, only to have  Marvin die in his arms. Ford Prefect had resumed his
job as a researcher for  that truly wonderful book, The Hitch-Hiker's  Guide
to the Galaxy, with new vigour and was  probably  skulking around some seedy
bar  trying to talk somebody into buying him  a drink. Zaphod Beeblebrox had
settled down with Trillian to raise kids and have a peaceful time not saving
the  Universe. In fact, although saving  the Universe again was the furthest
thought from all their minds (about 421 omps), it was preparing to renew its
acquaintance with them quite shortly.



     Converted to PRC: rml@iconn.com.ph - Ronald Lachenal 9.27.99