Far back in the mists of ancient time, in the great and glorious days of the former Galactic Empire, life was wild, rich, and on the whole, tax-free. In those days, spirits were brave; the stakes were high; men were real men, women were real women, and small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri. And all dared to brave unknown terrors to do mighty deeds to boldly split infinitives that no man had split before. And thus was the Empire forged
Many men, of course, became extremely rich. But this was perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of, because no one was really poor (at least no one worth speaking of). And for these extremely rich merchants life eventually became rather dull and it seemed that none of the worlds they settled on was entirely satisfactory: either the climate wasn’t quite right in the later part of the afternoon, or the day was half an hour too long, or the sea was just the wrong shade of pink. And thus were created the conditions for a staggering new form of industry: Custom-made Luxury Planet Building.
The home of this industry was the planet Magrathea, where vast hyperspatial engineering works were constructed to suck matter through white holes in space and form it into dream planets, lovingly made to meet the exacting standards of the galaxy’s richest men.
And so successful was this venture, that very soon Magrathea itself became the richest planet of all time, and the rest of the galaxy was reduced to abject poverty. And so the system broke down, the empire collapsed, and a long, sullen silence settled over the galaxy, disturbed only by the pen-scratchings of scholars as they labored into the night over smug little treatises on the value of a planned political economy.
In these enlightened days, of course, no one believes a word of it.
Meanwhile, on Zaphod Beeblebrox’s ship, deep in the darkness of the Horsehead Nebula…
Ford: I’m sorry, I just don’t believe a word of it.
Zaphod: Listen to me Ford, I’ve found it. I swear I’ve found it.
Ford: Magrathea is a myth! A fairy story! It’s what parents tell their kids at night if they want them to grow up to be economists. And—
Zaphod: And we are currently in orbit around it.
Ford: Zaphod, I can’t help what you may personally be in orbit around, but this ship—
Zaphod: Computer.
Eddie:
Eddie:
Ford: Is this necessary?
Zaphod: Computer, tells us again what our current trajectory is.
Eddie: A real pleasure fella. We are currently in orbit, at an altitude of three hundred miles, around the legendary planet of Magrathea. Gollee.
Ford: Proving nothing. I wouldn’t trust that computer to speak my weight.
Eddie I could do
Ford: No thank you.
Eddie: I could even work out your personality problems to ten decimal places if it’ll help
Trillian: Zaphod, we should have dawn coming up any minute now on the planet… whatever it turns out to be.
Zaphod: Yea, Ok. Okay, uh. Let’s just take a look at it. Computer.
Eddie: Hi there, what…
Eddie: …can I do for you, anything— Zaphod: Just, uh, just shut up…
Zaphod: …and give us external vision on the monitors.
Arthur: Tricia, I feel I may be missing the point of something.
Trillian: Hmmm? Oh, well Arthur, according to what Zaphod’s told me, Magrathea is a legendary planet from way back, which no one seriously believes in. A bit like Atlantis really, oh except the legends say the Magratheans used to manufacture planets.
Arthur: mmmmmm. Is there any tea on this spaceship?
Arthur Dent had basically assumed that he was the only native ape-descended earthman to escape from the planet Earth when it was unexpectedly demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass, because his only companion, disconcertingly called Ford Prefect, had already revealed himself to be from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse and not from Gilford after all. So when, against all conceivable probability, they were suddenly rescued from certain death in deep space by a stolen starship manned by two people, one of whom is Ford’s semi-brother, the infamous Zaphod Beeblebrox, and the other of whom is Tricia McMillan, a rather nicely descended ape person Arthur once met at a party in Islington, it could only be because the ship was powered by the new Infinite Improbability Drive—which of course it was. Slowly, majestically, this mighty starship begins its long descent towards the surface of the ancient planet which might or might not be Magrathea
Ford: Well even supposing it is— Zaphod: It is. Ford: Which it isn’t, what do you want with it anyway? I mean I take it your not here for the sheer
industrial archeology of it all. What is it you’re after?
Zaphod: Well, it’s partly the curiosity, partly a sense of adventure, but mostly I think it’s the fame and the money. Ford: It’s just a dead planet! Arthur: The suspense is killing me.
Stress and nervous tension are now serious social problems in all parts of the galaxy and it is in order that this situation should not be in any way exacerbated that the following facts will now be revealed in advanced: -- -- the planet in question, is, in fact, Magrathea. The deadly nuclear missile attack shortly to be launched by an ancient automatic defense system will merely result in the bruising of somebody’s upper arm, and the untimely creation and sudden demise of a bowl of petunias and an innocent sperm whale. In order that some sense of mystery should still be preserved no revelation will yet be made concerning whose upper arm has been bruised. This fact may safely be made the subject of suspense since it is of no significance whatsoever. Arthur’s next question about the planet is very complex and difficult, and Zaphod’s answer is wrong in every important respect.
Arthur: Is it safe?
Zaphod: Magrathea’s been dead for 5 million years, of course it’s safe. Even the ghosts will have settled down and raised families by now. Recording: Greetings to you. Zaphod: What?
Trillian: Who’s that voice? Zaphod: Computer? Eddie: Hi there Zaphod: What is it? Eddie: Oh just some 5 million year old tape recording that’s been broadcast at us Recording: This is a recorded announcement as I’m afraid we’re all out at the moment. The
commercial council of Magrathea …
Zaphod: A voice from the ancient Magra--Recording: …thanks you for your esteemed... Ford: Okay, okay
Recording: …visit, ...
Recording: …but regrets that the entire planet is closed for business. Thank you. If you would like to leave your name, and a planet where you can be contacted, kindly speak when you hear the tone
announcements will be made in all fashionable magazines and colour supplements when our clients will once again be able to select from all that’s best in contemporary geography. Meanwhile we thank our clients for their kind interest and would ask them to leave. Now.
Arthur: Well I suppose we better be going haven’t we. Zaphod: Shhh! There’s absolutely nothing to be worried about Arthur: Then why is everyone so tense? Zaphod: They’re just interested, we keep going. Recording: It is most gratifying that your enthusiasm for our planet continues unabated. And so
we would like to assure you that the guided missiles currently converging with your ship are part of a special service we extend to all of our most enthusiastic clients… and the fully armed nuclear warheads are, of course, merely a courtesy detail. We look forward to your custom in future lives. Thank you.
Arthur: Listen, if that’s there sales pitch what must it be like in the complaints department? Zaphod: Hey this is terrific. It means we really must be on to something if they’re trying to kill us. Arthur: Terrific? Trillian: You mean there is someone down there after all? Zaphod: No the whole defense system must be automatic but the question is why -- ? Arthur: But what are we going to do? Zaphod: Just, keep cool. Arthur: Is that all? Zaphod: No, we’re also going to take evasive action. Computer what evasive action can we
take? Eddie: Uh none I’m afraid guys Zaphod: …or something? Eddie: There seems to be something jamming my guidance systems. Impact minus 30 seconds
It is, of course, more or less at this point that one of our heroes sustains a slight bruise to the upper arm. This should be emphasized because, as has already been revealed, they escape otherwise completely unharmed, and the deadly nuclear missiles do not eventually hit the ship. Our heroes’ safety is absolutely assured.
Eddie: Impact minus 15 seconds guys Arthur: The rockets are still homing in… you can’t shake them: We’re going to die Eddie: (singing) when you walk through the storm… Zaphod: Shut that bloody computer up Trillian: Zaphod can we stabilize at x00547 by splitting our flight path tangentially across the
summate vector of 9gx78 with a 5 degree inertial correction? Zaphod: What? … Uh yes I expect so, just do it… and god forgive you if you’re only bluffing Trillian: Here we go
Trillian: Going ‘round high park corner on a moped Zaphod: What? Ford: Oh it’s another earth— Zaphod: Yeah tell me later Arthur: It’s no good the missiles are swinging round after us and gaining fast. We are quite
definitely going to die.
Eddie: …(singing) Though your dreams be vast... and … (normal) Impact minus 5 seconds.
(continues singing)
Arthur: Why doesn’t anyone turn on this improbability drive thing?
Trillian: Oh don’t be silly you can’t do that
Arthur: Why not? There’s nothing to lose at this stage.
Trillian: Well because—does anyone know why Arthur can’t turn on the improbability drive?
Eddie: (normal) Impact minus 1 second it’s been great knowing you guys, god bless (continues
singing) Trillian: I said does anyone know--?
surprised looking whale Eddie: At an improbability factor of 8,767,128 to 1 against Zaphod: Did you think of that Earthman? Arthur: Well I did it was just— Zaphod: That’s very good thinking you know that? You’ve just saved our lives. Arthur: It was nothing really… Zaphod: Oh was it? oh well forget it. Ok computer, take us into land…
Arthur: Well I say it was nothing... I mean obviously it was something…I was just trying to say it’s not worth making too much of a fuss about… I mean just saving everybody’s life you know?
Another thing that no one made too much fuss about was the fact that against all probability a sperm whale had suddenly been called into existence some miles above the surface of an alien planet. And since this is not a naturally tenable position for a whale this innocent creature had very little time to come to terms with its identity as a whale before it had to come to terms with suddenly not being a whale at all. This is what it thought as it fell:
“Ah...! What's happening? ER, excuse me, who am I? Hello? Why am I here? What's my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I? Calm down, get a grip now...oh! This is an interesting sensation, what is it? It's a sort of...yawning, tingling sensation in my...my...well, I suppose I’d better start finding names for things if I want to make any headway in what for the sake of what I shall call an argument I shall call the world, so let’s call it my stomach. So, a yawning tingling sensation in my stomach Good. Ooooh, it’s getting quite strong. And hey, what about this whistling roaring sound going past what I’m suddenly going to call my head? That can be...Wind! Is that a good name? Oh ehh, It’ll do...perhaps I can find a better name for it later when I've found out what it’s for because there certainly seems to be a hell of a lot of it. Hey! What's this thing? This...let's call it a tail-yeah, tail. Hey! I can really thrash it about pretty good, can’t I? Wow! Wow! Hey doesn’t seem to achieve much but I'll probably find out what it's for later on. Now, have I built up any coherent picture of things yet? No. Oh hey, this is really exciting, so much to find out about, so much to look forward to, I'm quite dizzy with anticipation... Or is it the wind? Hey! There really is a lot of that now, isn't there? And wow! What’s this thing suddenly coming toward me very fast? Very, very fast. So big and flat and wide it needs a big wide-sounding word like ...ow...ound...round...ground! That’s it! -- ground! I wonder if it’ll be friendly?”
Curiously enough the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was, “Oh, no not again.” Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the bowl of petunias had thought that we should know a lot more about the nature of the universe than we do now. Meanwhile the starship has landed on the surface of Magrathea, and Trillian is about to make one of the most important statements of her life. Its importance is not immediately recognized by her companions.
Trillian: Hey! My white mice have escaped
Zaphod: Uh, nuts to your white mice.
It is possible that Trillian’s observation would have commanded greater attention had it been generally realized that human beings were only the third most intelligent life form on the planet Earth, instead of, as was generally thought by most independent observers, the second.
Zaphod: Okay, run atmospheric checks on the planet.
depressed robot? No, don’t try an’ answer that, I’m 50,000 times more intelligent than you and even I don’t know the answer. It gives me a headache just trying to think down to your level. Zaphod: Well what’s the result? Scanners:
Arthur: What’s that? Zaphod: Oh that, that’s just the computer. I discovered it had an emergency back up personality which I thought might be marginally preferable.
Eddie alternate personality: Now this is going to be your first day on a strange planet, so I want you all wrapped-up, snug and warm and no playing with any naughty, bug-eyed monsters. Zaphod: I’m sorry, I think we might’ve been better off with a slide rule. Eddie alternate personality: Right, who said that? Zaphod: Will you open up the exit hatch please computer? Eddie alternate personality: Not until who ever said that owns up. Ford: Oh, God! Eddie alternate personality: Come on. Zaphod: Computer…
Eddie alternate personality: I’m waiting, I can wait all day if necessary. Zaphod: Computer, if you don’t open that exit hatch this moment, I shall go straight to your major data banks with a very large ax and give you a reprogramming you’ll never forget. Is that clear?
Eddie alternate personality:
Eddie alternate personality: It’ll all end in tears, I know it
Trillian: Zaphod, are you sure you know what you’re doing? We’ve been attacked once already
you know.
Zaphod: Look, I promise you, the live population of this planet is nill plus the four of us.
Trillian: And two white mice.
Zaphod: And two white mice if you insist.
Ford: Oh come on, let’s go if we’re going
Zaphod: uh, hey, uh, Earthman,
Arthur: ARTHUR.
Zaphod: Uh, could you sort of keep the robot with you and guard this end of the passageway,
okay? Arthur: Guard? What from? You just said there’s no one here! Zaphod: Yeah, well, uh, just for safety, okay? Arthur: Whose??? Yours or Mine? Zaphod: Yeah, uh good lad. Okay, here we go.
happened to this place in the end? Why did the Magratheans die out? Zaphod: Something to do I suppose. Ford: If I had two heads like you Zaphod, I could have hours of fun banging them against a wall. Trillian: Hey, shine the torch over there. Zaphod: Where? Here? Trillian: Well we aren’t the first beings to go down this corridor in five million years, then. Zaphod: Whadda mean? Trillian: Look! Fresh mouse droppings.
Zaphod: Oh your bloody mice.!
Trillian: huuuuuuuuu! What’s that light down the corridor?!!
Zaphod: It’s just a torch reflection.
Trillian: There’s definitely something happening down there.
Zaphod: Nooo.
Trillian: Listen!
The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is a very unevenly edited book and contains many passages which simply seemed to its editors like a good idea at the time.
One of these supposedly relates the experiences of one, Veet Voojagig, a quiet young student at the University of Maximegalon who pursued a brilliant academic career studying ancient philology, transformational ethics, and the wave harmonic theory of historical perception; and then, after a night of drinking Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters with Zaphod Beeblebrox, became increasingly obsessed with the problem of what had happened to all the Byros he bought over the past few years.
There followed a long period of painstaking research during which he visited all the major centers of Byro loss through out the galaxy, and eventually came up with a rather quaint little theory which quite caught the public imagination at the time. Somewhere in the cosmos, he said, along with all the planets inhabited by Humanoids, Reptiloids, Fishoids, Walking Tree-oids, and super-intelligent shades of the color blue, there was also a planet entirely given over to Byro life forms. And it was to this planet that unattended Byros would make their way. Slipping quietly through wormholes in space to a world where they knew they could enjoy a uniquely Byroid lifestyle. Responding to highly Byroid orientated stimuli, in fact, leading the Byro equivalent of the good life. And as theories go, this was all very fine and pleasant, until Veet Voojagig suddenly claimed to have found this planet and to have worked there for a while, driving a limosine for a family of cheap green retractables. Where upon he was taken away, locked-up, wrote a book, and was finally sent into tax exile, which is the usual fate reserved for those who are determined to make a fool of themselves in public.
When one day an expedition was sent to the spatial coordinates that Voojagig had claimed for this planet, they discovered only a small asteroid inhabited by a solitary old man who claimed repeatedly that nothing was true. Though he was later discovered to be lying.
Meanwhile, on the surface of Magrathea, two suns have just set…
Arthur: Night’s falling. Look Robot the stars are coming out.
Marvin: I know. Wretched isn’t it?
Arthur: But that sunset, I’ve never seen anything like it in my wildest dreams! The two suns… It
was like mountains of fire boiling into space.!
Marvin: I’ve seen it, it’s rubbish.
Arthur: We only ever had the one sun at home. I came from a planet called Earth you know.
Marvin: I know, you keep going on about it, it sounds awful.
Arthur: No, it was a beautiful place.
Marvin: Did it have—oceans?
Arthur: Oh yes. Great wide, rolling, blue oceans.
Marvin: Can’t bear oceans.
Arthur: Tell me, do you get on well with other robots?
Marvin: Hate them. Where are you going?
Arthur: I just think I’ll take a short walk.
Marvin: Don’t blame you.
Slartibartfast: Good evening.
Arthur: Ahhh! Who??
Slartibartfast: You choose a cold night to visit our dead planet.
Arthur: Who are you?
Slartibartfast: My name is not important.
Arthur: I—um—you startled me.
Slartibartfast: Do not be alarmed, I will not harm you.
Arthur: You shot at us! There were missiles. Slartibartfast: Merely an automatic system. Ancient computers ranged in the long caves deep in the bowels of the planet tick away the dark millennia. I think they take the occasional potshot to relieve the monotony. I am a great fan of science you know.
Arthur: Really?
Slartibartfast: Oh yes.
Arthur: Ah.
Slartibartfast: You seem ill at ease.
Arthur: Yes, well, no disrespect, but I gathered you were all dead.
Slartibartfast: Dead? No, we have but slept. Arthur: Slept? Slartibartfast: Yes, through the economic recession you see. Arthur: What? Slartibartfast: Well five million years ago the galactic economy collapsed, and seeing that custom
built planets is something of a luxury commodity—you know we built planets do you? Arthur: Oh, well yes, I sort of gathered. Slartibartfast: Fascinating trade. Doing the coastlines was always my favorite. Used to have
endless fun doing all the fiddly bits and fjords… Anyway, the recession came, so we decided to sleep through it. We just programmed the computers to revive us when it was all over. They were index linked to the galactic stock market prices you see, so that we’d be revived when everybody else had rebuilt the economy enough to be able to afford our rather expensive services again.
Arthur: Good god! That’s a pretty unpleasant way to behave isn’t it?
Slartibartfast: Is it? I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of touch. You must come with me, great things are afoot, you must come now or you will be late. Arthur: Late? What for? Slartibartfast: What is your name human? Arthur: Dent. Arthur Dent. Slartibartfast: Late, as in, the late Dentarthurdent. It’s a sort of threat you see. Never been very
good at them myself, but I’m told they can be terrible effective. Arthur: Alright, where do we go? Slartibartfast: In my aircar. We are going deep into the bowels of the planet, where even now
our race is being revived from its five million year slumber. Arthur: Excuse me. What is your name by the way? Slartibartfast: My name is…my name is… Slartibartfast Arthur: hmpfft! Heh, heh, heh, I beg your pardon! Slartibartfast: Slartibartfast. Arthur: Slartibartfast?
It is an important and popular fact that things are not always what they seem. For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he’s achieved so much: the wheel, New York, wars, and so on, whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But, conversely, the dolphins believed that they were more intelligent than man for precisely the same reasons.
Curiously enough, the dolphins had long known of the impending demolition of Earth, and had made many attempts to alert mankind to the danger. But most of their communications were misinterpreted as amusing attempts to punch footballs, or whistle for tidbits, so they eventually gave up and left the Earth by their own means—shortly before the Vogons arrived.
The last ever dolphin message was misinterpreted as a surprisingly sophisticated attempt to do a double backwards somersault through a hoop, whilst whistling the Star-Spangled Banner. But, in fact, the message was this: “So long, and thanks for all the fish!” In fact, there was only one species on the planet more intelligent than dolphins and they spent a lot of their time in behavioral research laboratories running round inside wheels, and conducting frighteningly elegant, and subtle experiments on man.
Slartibartfast: Earthman we are now deep in the heart of Magrathea. I should warn you that the chamber we are about to pass into does not literally exist within our planet, it is simply the gateway to a vast track of hyperspace. It may disturb you.
Arthur: Oh
Slartibartfast: It scares the willies out of me. Hold tight.
Arthur: hu…hu…ah….hhhhu…..ahhh…. HUHa… aH…
Slartibartfast: Welcome to our factory floor.
Arthur: Anhhhh… hunh, the light.
Slartibartfast: This is where we made most of our planets you see.
Arthur: Does this mean you’re starting it all up again now?
Slartibartfast: No, no, for heavens sake, the galaxy isn’t nearly rich enough to support us yet. No we’ve been awakened to perform just one extraordinary commission, it may interest you. There, in the distance in front of us.
Arthur: Oh no!
Slartibartfast: You see?
Arthur: The Earth!
Slartibartfast: Well, the Earth mark 2 in fact. It seems that the first one was demolished five minutes too early and the most vital experiment was destroyed. There’s been a terrible hoo-hah, so we’re going to make a copy from our original blueprints.
Arthur: You… are you saying that you originally made the Earth? Slartibartfast: Oh yes. Did you ever go to a place… I think it’s called Norway? Arthur: What? Oh. No I didn’t. Slartibartfast: Pity, that was one of mine. Won an award you know. Lovely, crinkly eddies. Arthur: I—I can’t take this. Did I hear you say the Earth was destroyed five minutes too early? Slartibartfast: Shocking cock-up. The mice were furious. Arthur: Mice? Slartibartfast: Yes the whole thing was their experiment you see. A ten million year research
program to find the ultimate question. Big job you know. Arthur: Look, would it save you all this bother if I just gave up and went mad, now?
Has Slartibartfast flipped his lid? Are Ford, Zaphod, and Trillian dying in fearful agony, or have they simply slipped out for a quick meal somewhere? Will Arthur Dent feel better with a good, hot drink inside him? Find out in next week’s exciting installment of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
In that episode of The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Peter Jones was The Book, Richard Vernon was Slartibartfast, Simon Jones played Arthur Dent, and Geoffrey McGivern, Ford Prefect. Stephen Moore was Marvin; Mark Wing-Davey, Zaphod Beeblebrox; Susan Sheridan, Trillian; and David Tate, computer. The program was written by Douglas Adams and produced by Geoffrey Perkins with the assistance of the BBC Radio-Phonic Workshop. Zaphod Beeblebrox is now appearing in No Sex Please: We’re Amoeboids and Gantularians at the Brantis-Vogin Star House.
Arthur: I’m sorry, but I’d probably be able to cope better if I hadn’t bruised my arm.
--- Fit the Fourth ---
NARRATOR:
Arthur Dent, a perfectly ordinary Earthman, was rather surprised when his friend Ford Prefect suddenly revealed himself to be from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, and not from Guildford after all. He was even more surprised when a few minutes later, the Earth was unexpectedly demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass. But this was as nothing to their joint surprise when they are rescued from certain death by a stolen spaceship manned by Ford’s semi-cousin, the infamous Zaphod Beeblebrox, and Trillian, a rather nice astrophysicist Arthur once met at a party in Islington. However, all four of them are soon totally overwhelmed with surprise when they discover that the ancient world of Magrathea, a planet famed in legend for its surprising trade in manufacturing other planets, is not as dead as it was supposed to be. For Zaphod, Ford, and Trillian, surprise is pushed to its very limit when this happens:
[Energy weapons fire]
NARRATOR:
And when Arthur Dent encounters Slartibartfast, the Magrathean coastline designer who won an award for his work on Norway, and learns that the whole history of mankind was run for the benefit of a few white mice anyway, surprise is no longer adequate and he is forced to resort to astonishment.
Scene 1. Int. Slartibartfast’s Office. Magrathea
ARTHUR:
Mice? What do you mean mice? I think we must be talking at cross purposes. Mice to me mean the little white furry things with the cheese fixation and women standing screaming on tables in early Sixties sitcoms.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Earthman, it is sometimes hard to follow your mode of speech. Remember I have been asleep inside this planet of Magrathea for five-million years and know little of these early Sixties sitcoms of which you speak. These creatures you call mice you see are not quite as they appear, they are merely the protrusions into our dimension of vast, hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional beings. The business with the cheese and squeaking is just a front.
ARTHUR:
A front?
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Oh yes, you see the mice set up the whole Earth business, as an epic experiment in behavioural psychology; a ten-million year program -
ARTHUR:
No, look, you’ve got it the wrong way round. It was us. We used to do the experiments on them.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
A ten-million year program in which your planet Earth and its people formed the matrix of an organic computer. I gather that the mice did arrange for you humans to conduct some primitively staged experiments on them just to check how much you’d really learned, to give you the odd prod in the right direction, you know the sort of thing: suddenly running down the maze the wrong way; eating the wrong bit of cheese; or suddenly dropping dead of myxomatosis.
P.A. VOICE:
Attention please, Slartibartfast. Would Slartibartfast and the visiting Earth creature please report immediately to the work’s reception area. Thank you.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
However, in the field of management relations, they’re absolutely shocking.
ARTHUR:
Really?
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Yes. Well you see, every time they give me an order I just want to jump on a table and cream!
ARTHUR:
I can see that would be a problem.
NARRATOR:
There are, of course, many problems connected with life of which some of the most popular are, “why are people born?”; “why do they die?”; and “why do they spend so much of the intervening time wearing digital watches?” Many of million of years ago, a race of hyper-intelligent, pan-dimensional beings got so fed up with the constant bickering about the meaning of life, which used to interrupt their favourite pastime of Brockian Ultra Cricket - a curious game which involved suddenly hitting people for no readily apparent reason and then running away - that they decided to sit down and solve the problem once and for all. And to this end, they built themselves a stupendous supercomputer which was so amazingly intelligent, that even before its databanks had been connected up, it had started from first principles with “I think therefore I am” and had got as far as deducing the existence of rice pudding and income tax before anyone managed to turn it off. Could a mere computer solve the problem of Life, the Universe, and Everything? Fortunately for posterity there exists a tape recording of what transpired when the computer was given this particularly monumental task. Arthur Dent stops off in Slartibartfast’s study to hear it.
[Sound of playback starting]
ARCHIVE VOICE:
Archive material of Magrathea.
Scene 2. Int. Deep Thought Chamber
DEEP THOUGHT:
What is this great task for which I, Deep Thought, the second greatest computer in the universe…
LUNKWILL:
[Whispers] “Second greatest”?
DEEP THOUGHT:
…of time and space…
LUNKWILL:
“Second Greatest”!? Wait a minute.
DEEP THOUGHT:
…have been called into existence?
FOOK:
Well, your task oh, computer, is to calc-
LUNKWILL:
Er, no... Wait a minute. This isn’t right. Deep Thought…
DEEP THOUGHT:
Speak, and I will hear
LUNKWILL:
Are you not as we designed you to be, the greatest, most powerful computer in all creation?
DEEP THOUGHT:
I described myself as the second greatest …Deep Thought… and such…
LUNKWILL:
Yes yes but…
DEEP THOUGHT:
…I am.
LUNKWILL:
But, but, but - this is preposterous! Are you not a greater computer than The Milliard Gargantu-Brain at Maximegalon, which can count all the atoms in a star in a millisecond?
DEEP THOUGHT:
The Milliard Gargantu-Brain, a mere abacus. Mention it not.
FOOK:
And are you not a more fiendish disputant than The Great Hyperlobic Omnicognate Neutron-Wrangler? Which can destroy -
DEEP THOUGHT:
The Great Hyperlobic Omnicognate Neutron-Wrangler can talk all four legs off an Arcturan Mega-Donkey but only I can persuade it to go for a walk afterwards. Molest me not, with this, pocket calculator stuff!
LUNKWILL:
Then what’s the problem?
DEEP THOUGHT:
I speak of none, but the computer that is to come after me.
LUNKWILL:
Oh come on! I think this is getting needlessly messianic.
DEEP THOUGHT:
You know nothing of future time, and yet in my teaming circuitry I can navigate the infinite delta streams of future probability and see that there must one day come a computer whose merest operational parameters I am not worthy to calculate. But which it will be my destiny eventually to design
LUNKWILL:
Can we get on and ask the question?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Speak.
LUNKWILL:
O Deep Thought Computer, the task we have designed you to perform is this: We want you… to tell us… The Answer.
DEEP THOUGHT:
”The Answer”? The answer to what?
FOOK:
Life!
LUNKWILL:
The Universe.
FOOK:
Everything!
DEEP THOUGHT:
Tricky…
FOOK:
But can you do it?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Yes… I can do it.
FOOK:
You can!
LUNKWILL:
There, there, there is an answer? A simple answer?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Yes. Life, the Universe, and Everything… There is an answer. But I’ll have to think about it.
[The door to the room is broken down]
VROOMFONDEL:
We demand admission! We demand admission!
LUNKWILL:
Hey! What?
FOOK:
Hey, hey, hey!
MAJIKTHISE:
Come on, you can’t keep us out!
VROOMFONDEL:
We demand that you can’t keep us out.
LUNKWILL:
Who are you? What do you want? We’re busy!
MAJIKTHISE:
I am Majikthise.
VROOMFONDEL:
And I demand that I am Vroomfondel.
MAJIKTHISE:
It’s all right, you don’t need to demand that.
VROOMFONDEL:
Alright. I am Vroomfondel, and that is not a demand! That is a solid fact! What we demand is solid facts!
MAJIKTHISE:
No we don’t! That’s precisely what we don’t demand.
VROOMFONDEL:
Oh. We don’t demand solid fact! What we demand is a total absence of solid facts! I demand that I may or may not be Vroomfondel.
FOOK:
Who are you anyway?
MAJIKTHISE:
We are philosophers.
VROOMFONDEL:
But we may not be.
MAJIKTHISE:
Yes we are!
VROOMFONDEL:
sorry.
MAJIKTHISE:
We are quite definitely here as representatives of the Amalgamated Union of Philosophers, Sages, Luminaries, and other professional thinking persons.
VROOMFONDEL:
Um-hmm
MAJIKTHISE:
And we want this machine off, and we want it off now.
FOOK:
What is all this?
VROOMFONDEL:
We demand that you get rid of it.
FOOK:
What’s the problem?
MAJIKTHISE:
I’ll tell you what the problem is mate: demarcation. That’s the problem.
VROOMFONDEL:
We demand that demarcation may or may not be the problem.
MAJIKTHISE:
You just let the machines get on with the adding up and we’ll take care of the eternal verities, thank you very much.
VROOMFONDEL:
yeah.
MAJIKTHISE:
By law the quest for the ultimate truth is quite clearly the unalienable prerogative of your working thinkers
VROOMFONDEL:
That’s right.
MAJIKTHISE:
I mean what’s the use of us sitting up all night saying there may -
VROOMFONDEL:
Or may not be
MAJIKTHISE:
[Softly] …or may not be… [louder] a god, if this machine comes along the next morning and gives you ‘is telephone number?
VROOMFONDEL:
We demand rigidly defined areas of doubt and uncertainty!
DEEP THOUGHT:
Might I make an observation at this point?
MAJIKTHISE:
You keep out of this metal nose.
VROOMFONDEL:
We demand that that machine not be allowed to think about this problem!
DEEP THOUGHT:
If I might make an observation…
MAJIKTHISE:
We’ll go on strike!
VROOMFONDEL:
That’s right. You’ll have a national philosopher’s strike on your hands.
DEEP THOUGHT:
Who will that inconvenience?
MAJIKTHISE:
Never you mind who it’ll inconvenience you box of black legging binary bits! It’ll hurt, buster! It’ll hurt!
DEEP THOUGHT:
[Booming] If I might make an observation … All I wanted to say is that my circuits are now irrevocably committed to computing the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything.
VROOMFONDEL:
That’s a -
MAJIKTHISE:
Ahhh! With -
DEEP THOUGHT:
But, but the program will take me seven-and-a-half million years to run.
LUNKWILL:
Seven-and-a-half million years?
MAJIKTHISE:
Seven-and-a-half million years? What are you talking about?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Yes. I said I’d have to think about it didn’t I? And it occurs to me, that running a program like this is bound to cause sensational public interest.
VROOMFONDEL:
Oh yes.
MAJIKTHISE:
Oh you can say that again.
DEEP THOUGHT:
And so any philosophers who are put off the mark, are going to clean up in the prediction business.
MAJIKTHISE:
”Prediction business”?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Obviously. You just get on the pundit circuit. You all go on the chat shows and the colour supplements and violently disagree with each other about what answer I’m eventually going to produce. And if you get yourselves clever agents, you’ll be on the gravy train for life.
MAJIKTHISE:
Bloody ‘ell! That’s what I call thinking! Here Vroomfondel, why do we never think of things like that?
VROOMFONDEL:
Dunno. Think our minds must be too highly trained Majikthise.
[Sound of playback ending]
Scene 3. Int. Slartibartfast’s Office. Magrathea
ARTHUR:
But I don’t understand what all this ‘as got to do with the Earth, and mice and things.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
All will become clear to you Earthman… Are you not anxious to hear what the computer had to say seven-and-a-half million years later?
ARTHUR:
Oh, well. Yes, of course…. quite.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Here is the recording of the events of that fateful day.
[Sound of playback resuming]
ARCHIVE VOICE:
Archive material of Magrathea.
Scene 4. Int. Deep Thought Chamber
[Fanfare]
CHEERLEADER:
O people who wait in the shadow of Deep Thought… Honoured descendents of Vroomfondel and Majikthise, the greatest and most truly interesting pundits the universe has ever known… the time of waiting is over!
[Cheers from crowd]
CHEERLEADER:
Seven-and-a-half million years our race has waited for this great and hopefully enlightening day. The day of The Answer!
[Cheers from crowd]
CHEERLEADER:
Never… never again will we wake up in the morning and think, “Who am I?”. “What is my purpose in life?”. “Does it really, cosmically speaking, matter if I don’t get up and go to work?”
[Cheers from crowd]
CHEERLEADER:
For today we will finally learn, once and for all, the plain and simple answer to all these nagging little problems of Life, the Universe, and Everything!
[Cheers from crowd]
CHEERLEADER:
From today, we can enjoy a game of Brockian Ultra Cricket in the firm and comfortable knowledge that the meaning of life is now well and truly sorted out!
[Cheers from crowd]
PHOUCHG:
Seventy-five thousand generations ago, our ancestors set this program in motion.
LOONQUAWL:
An awesome prospect!
DEEP THOUGHT:
[Coughs]
LOONQUAWL:
Deep Thought prepares to speak.
DEEP THOUGHT:
[Coughs]Good evening.
PHOUCHG:
Good evening oh Deep Thought, er, er, do you have umm…
DEEP THOUGHT:
An answer for you?
LOONQUAWL:
yes.
DEEP THOUGHT:
Yes, I have.
LOONQUAWL:
There really is one?
DEEP THOUGHT:
There really is one.
PHOUCHG:
To everything? To the great question of Life… the Universe… and Everything?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Yes.
LOONQUAWL:
And are you ready to give it to us?
DEEP THOUGHT:
I am.
LOONQUAWL:
Now?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Now.
LOONQUAWL:
Wo-ow.
DEEP THOUGHT:
Though I don’t think you’re going to like it.
LOONQUAWL:
It doesn’t matter, we must know it!
DEEP THOUGHT:
Now?
LOONQUAWL:
Yes now.
DEEP THOUGHT:
Alright.
PHOUCHG:
Well?
DEEP THOUGHT:
You’re really not going to like it.
LOONQUAWL:
Tell us!
DEEP THOUGHT:
Alright. The answer to everything…
LOONQUAWL:
Yes?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Life, the Universe, and Everything…
PHOUCHG:
Yes?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Is…
LOONQUAWL:
Yes?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Is……
PHOUCHG:
Yes?
LOONQUAWL:
Yes?
DEEP THOUGHT:
Forty-two.
LOONQUAWL:
We’re going to get lynched you know that.
DEEP THOUGHT:
It was a tough assignment.
PHOUCHG:
Forty-two?
LOONQUAWL:
Forty-two?
DEEP THOUGHT:
I think the problem such as it was, was too broadly based. You never actually stated what the question was.
PHOUCHG:
B- b- but it was the Ultimate question, the question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
DEEP THOUGHT:
Exactly. Now that you know that the answer to the Ultimate question of Life, the Universe, and Everything is forty-two, all you need to do now is find out what the Ultimate Question is.
LOONQUAWL:
Er…
PHOUCHG:
Er…
LOONQUAWL:
Alright. Can you please tell us the Question.
PHOUCHG:
Alright.
DEEP THOUGHT:
The Ultimate Question?
LOONQUAWL:
Yes.
DEEP THOUGHT:
Of Life… the Universe…
PHOUCHG:
…and Everything.
DEEP THOUGHT:
…and Everything?
LOONQUAWL:
Yes.
DEEP THOUGHT:
Tricky…
LOONQUAWL:
But can you do it?
DEEP THOUGHT:
[Pause] No.
LOONQUAWL:
Ohh god!
PHOUCHG:
Ohh god!
DEEP THOUGHT:
But I’ll tell you who can.
LOONQUAWL:
Who? Tell us, tell us.
PHOUCHG:
Yeah who is it?
DEEP THOUGHT:
I speak of none, but the computer that is to come after me.
LOONQUAWL:
What computer?
DEEP THOUGHT:
A computer, whose merest operational parameters I am not worthy to calculate, and yet I will design it for you.
LOONQUAWL:
Oh, well.!
PHOUCHG:
Really. You bet!
DEEP THOUGHT:
A computer which can calculate the Question, to the Ultimate Answer. A computer of such infinite and subtle complexity that organic life itself will form part of its operational matrix. And it shall be called… the Earth.
LOONQUAWL:
Oh. What a dull name.
[Sound of playback ending]
Scene 5. Int. Slartibartfast’s Office. Magrathea
SLARTIBARTFAST:
So there you have it, Deep Thought designed it, we built it, and you lived on it.
ARTHUR:
And the Vogons came and destroyed it five minutes before the program was completed.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Yes. Ten-million years of planning and work gone, just like that. Well, that’s bureaucracy for you.
ARTHUR:
You know all this explains a lot of things. All through my life I’ve had this strange, unaccountable feeling that something was going on in the world… and no one would tell me what it was.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
No, that’s just perfectly normal paranoia, everyone in the universe has that.
ARTHUR:
Well perhaps it means that somewhere, outside -
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Maybe. Who cares? Perhaps I’m old and tired, but I always think that the chances of finding out what really is going on are so absurdly remote that the only thing to do is say “hang the sense of it” and just keep yourself occupied. Look at me, I design coastlines, I got an award for Norway. Where’s the sense in that? None that I’ve been able to make out. I’ve been doing fiords all my life, for a fleeting moment they become fashionable and I get a major award. In this replacement Earth we’re building they’ve given me Africa to do, and of course, I’m doing it will all fjords again, because I happen to like them. And I’m old fashioned enough to think that they give a lovely baroque feel to a continent. And they tell me it’s not equatorial enough… what does it matter? Science has achieved some wonderful things of course, but I’d far rather be happy than right any day!
ARTHUR:
And are you?
SLARTIBARTFAST:
No. That’s where it all falls down of course.
ARTHUR:
Pity, it sounded like quite a good lifestyle otherwise.
P.A. VOICE:
Attention please, Slartibartfast. Would Slartibartfast and the visiting Earth creature please report immediately, repeat, immediately to the work’s reception area. C’mon you guys, the mice aren’t wantin’ to hang about in this dimension all day!
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Come on, I suppose we better go and see what they want.
ARTHUR:
I seem to be having this tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle. As soon as I reach some kind of definite policy about what is my kind of music and my kind of restaurant, and my kind of overdraft, people start blowing up my kind of planet and throwing me out of their kind of spaceships. It’s so hard to build up anything coherent… Well, I’m sorry, all this must sound rather fatuous to you.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Yes I thought so.
ARTHUR:
Hmmm. Just forget I ever said it.
NARRATOR:
It is, of course, well known that careless talk costs lives, but the full scale of the problem is not always appreciated. For instance, at the very moment that Arthur Dent said, “I seem to be having this tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle” a freak wormhole opened up in the fabric of the space-time continuum and carried his words far, far back in time across almost infinite reaches of space, to a distance galaxy where strange and war-like beings were poised on the brink of frightful interstellar battle. The two opposing leaders were meeting for the last time, and a dreadful silence fell across the conference table, as the commander of the Vl’hurgs, resplendent in his black jewelled battle shorts, gazed levelly at the G’gugvuntt leader squatting opposite him in a cloud of green, sweet-smelling steam, and, with a million sleek and horribly beweaponed star cruisers poised to unleash electric death at his single word of command, challenged the vile creature to take back what it had said about his mother. The creature stirred in his sickly broiling vapor and at the very moment the words “I seem to be having this tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle” drifted across the conference table. Unfortunately, in the Vl’hurg tongue this was the most dreadful insult imaginable, and there was nothing for it but to wage terrible war. Eventually of course, it was realised that the whole thing had been a ghastly mistake and so the two opposing battle fleets settled their few remaining differences in order to launch a joint attack on our galaxy - now positively identified as the source of the offending remark. For thousands more years the mighty starships tore across the empty wastes of space and finally dived screaming on to the planet Earth-where, due to a terrible miscalculation of scale, the entire battle fleet was accidentally swallowed by a small dog. Those who study the complex interplay of cause and effect in the history of the universe say that this sort of thing is going on all the time, but are powerless to prevent it. “It’s just life,” they say. Meanwhile, Arthur Dent is about to discover the answer to the disturbing question posed in last week’s instalment: Are his companions, Ford, Zaphod, and Trillian lying, bleeding to death in a subterranean corridor, or have they merely slipped out for a quick meal somewhere?
Scene 6. Int. Dining Room. Magrathea
TRILLIAN:
Arthur! You’re safe!
ARTHUR:
Am I? Oh good.
FORD:
Hi Arthur, come and join us.
ARTHUR:
What happened to you?
ZAPHOD:
Er, well our hosts here, sort of, uh, attacked us with a fantastic uh, dismodulating antiphase stun-ray. And then invited us to this amazingly keen meal by way of making it up to us.
ARTHUR:
Hosts? What hosts? I can’t see any hosts.
BENJY MOUSE:
Welcome to lunch Earth creature.
ARTHUR:
What? Who said that? Urgh! There’s a mouse on the table!
FORD:
Ohhh, haven’t you found out yet, Arthur!?
ARTHUR:
Found out what? Ohhh! Oh, I see, yes. Oh yes. I- I just wasn’t quite prepared for the full reality of it.
TRILLIAN:
Arthur, let me introduce you. This is Benjy mouse.
BENJY MOUSE:
Hi.
ARTHUR:
Hi.
TRILLIAN:
And this is Frankie, er, mouse.
FRANKIE MOUSE:
Nice to meet you.
TRILLIAN:
It seems they controlled quite a large sector of the universe in our dimension.
ARTHUR:
But aren’t they..?
TRILLIAN:
Yes. They are the mice I took with me from the Earth. It seems our whole journey has been stage managed from the beginning.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
er, excuse me.
BENJY MOUSE:
Yes thank you Slartibartfast, you may go.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Oh, er, thank you sir. I’ll… I’ll just go and get on with some of my fjords then.
FRANKIE MOUSE:
Uh, in fact, that won’t be necessary.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
What?
FRANKIE MOUSE:
We won’t be requiring the new Earth after all. We’ve had this rather interesting proposition put to us.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
You can’t mean that! I’ve got a thousand glaciers poised and ready to roll over Africa!
FRANKIE MOUSE:
Well, perhaps you can take a quick skiing holiday before you dismantle them.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Skiing holiday?! Those glaciers are works of art! Elegantly sculpted contours, soaring pinnacles of ice, deep, majestic ravines! It would be a sacrilege to go skiing on high art!
BENJY MOUSE:
Thank you Slartibartfast, that will be all.
SLARTIBARTFAST:
Yes sir. Thank you very much sir. Well, goodbye Earthman. Hope the lifestyle comes together.
ARTHUR:
Goodbye then. Sorry about the fiords.
BENJY MOUSE:
Now Earth creature, we have, as you know, been more or less running your planet for the last ten-million years in order to find this wretched thing called the Ultimate Question.
ARTHUR:
Why?
FRANKIE MOUSE:
No, we already thought of that one, but it doesn’t fit the answer.
ARTHUR:
No, I mean, why have you been doing it?
FRANKIE MOUSE:
Oh, er, well eventually just habit I think. To be brutally honest - and this is more or less the point - we are sick to the teeth of the whole thing! And the prospect of doing it all over again on the account of those whinnet-ridden Vogons, quite frankly, gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies, you know what I mean?
BENJY MOUSE:
Uh, we’ve been offered a quite enormously fat contract to do the Five-D T.V. chat show and lecture circuit. And I’m very much inclined to take it.
ZAPHOD:
I would, wouldn’t you Ford?
FORD:
Oh yes, jump at it like a shark.
ARTHUR:
But that’s exactly the attitude those philosophers took. Doesn’t no-one in this galaxy do anything other than appear on chat shows?
FRANKIE MOUSE:
The point is this: we are in a position to give you a very important commission. We still want to find the Ultimate Question, because it gives us a lot of bargaining muscle with the Five-D T.V. companies. So, it’s worth a lot of money!
FRANKIE MOUSE:
[Laughs]
BENJY MOUSE:
[Laughs]
BENJY MOUSE:
Quite clearly, if we’re sitting there in the studio mentioning that we happen to know the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything, and then have to eventually admit that it’s forty-two, then I think the show is probably quite short.
ARTHUR:
Yes, but doesn’t that mean that you’ve got to go through your whole ten-million year program again?
FRANKIE MOUSE:
We think there might be a short cut. Your agent has -
ZAPHOD:
Er, that’s me.
ARTHUR:
Is it?
FRANKIE MOUSE:
Your agent has suggested that both you and Earth girl, as last generation products of the computer matrix, are probably in an ideal position to find the question for us, and find it quickly. Go out and find it, and we’ll make you a reasonable rich man.
ZAPHOD:
We’re holding out for extremely rich.
FRANKIE MOUSE:
Alright. Extremely rich. You drive a hard bargain, Beeblebrox!
[Loud alarm klaxon goes off]
BENJY MOUSE:
Hell’s bells, what is it now?
P.A. VOICE:
Emergency! Emergency! Hostile ship has landed on planet! Intruders now in work’s reception area. Defence stations, Defence stations! C’mon you guys!
[A different alarm klaxon goes off too]
P.A. VOICE:
What are you nuts!? Get out of there!
TRILLIAN:
Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
ZAPHOD:
Our police! Hell and back’s bone, we’ve got to get out!
FRANKIE MOUSE:
Police?
ZAPHOD:
Yeah, its uh, it’s this wretched spacecraft we’ve stolen. I left them a note explaining how they could make a profit on the insurance claim but it doesn’t seem to have worked.
FORD:
Well, c’mon then, let’s move!
BENJY MOUSE:
Earthman, find us the question.
ARTHUR:
How?
BENJY MOUSE:
Er, no. That doesn’t work either.
ZAPHOD:
We will find it. Come on, get out of here!
FORD:
Thanks for the meal guys, sorry we’ve go to run.
[They run off. The alarms die. Sound of breaking glass]
FORD:
Which way Zaphod?
[Running]
ZAPHOD:
At a wild guess, I’d say, uh, down here.
[More running]
TRILLIAN:
Ok, right let’s go.
SHOOTY:
Okay Beeblebrox, hold it right there, we’ve got you covered.
ZAPHOD:
You want to try a guess at all Ford?
FORD:
Er, okay, okay, this way.
ZAPHOD:
Yeah, alright.
[Even more running]
BANG-BANG:
We don’t wanna shoot you Beeblebrox!
ZAPHOD:
Suits me fine!
TRILLIAN:
We’re cornered.
ZAPHOD:
Oh hell, I think I dropped my adrenaline pills. Alright, errr, behind this computer bank. Get down!
[Kill-O-Zap gunfire)
ARTHUR:
Hey! They’re shooting at us!
ZAPHOD:
Yeah?
ARTHUR:
I thought they said they didn’t want to do that.
TRILLIAN:
Yeah, I thought they said that.
ZAPHOD:
Hey, I thought you said you didn’t want to shoot us!
SHOOTY:
It isn’t easy being a cop.
FORD:
What did he say?
ZAPHOD:
He said it isn’t easy being a cop.
FORD:
Well, surely that’s his problem isn’t it?
ZAPHOD:
I’d have thought so.
FORD:
Er, er, hey listen! I think we’ve got enough problems of our own with you shooting at us, so if you could avoid laying your personal problems on us as well, I think we’d probably find it easier to cope!
BANG-BANG:
Now see hear buddy. You’re not dealing with any dumb, two-bit trigger-pumping morons with low hairlines, little piggy eyes, and no conversation.
SHOOTY:
No.
BANG-BANG:
We’re a couple of intelligent, caring guys, who’d you probably like if you met us socially.
SHOOTY:
That’s right. I’m really sensitive.
BANG-BANG:
I don’t go around gratuitously shootin’ people and then bragging about it in seedy space-rangers bars. I go around gratuitously shootin’ people and then agonizing about it afterwards to my girlfriend.
SHOOTY:
And I write novels.
BANG-BANG:
He writes ‘em in crayon.
SHOOTY:
Though I haven’t had any of them published yet so I better warn ya, I’m in a mee-ee-eeannnn mood.
FORD:
Who are these guys?
ZAPHOD:
I think I preferred it when they were shooting.
BANG-BANG:
So are ya gonna come quietly or are ya gonna let us blast you out?
FORD:
Which would you rather!?
[Lots of Kill-O-Zap gunfire)
BANG-BANG:
… You still there?
FORD, ARTHUR, ZAPHOD and TRILLIAN:
Yes!
SHOOTY:
We didn’t enjoy doing that at all.
BANG-BANG:
No.
FORD:
Tell! We can tell!
ZAPHOD:
Yeah!
FORD:
Zaphod, have you any idea how we’re going to deal with these loonies?
BANG-BANG:
Now listen to this Beeblebrox.
SHOOTY:
Yeah.
BANG-BANG:
And ya better listen good.
ZAPHOD:
Why?
BANG-BANG:
‘Cause it’s gonna be very intelligent, quite interesting, and humane.
ZAPHOD:
Okay, fire away! Ah no!
[Kill-O-Zap gunfire)
ZAPHOD:
I didn’t-!
SHOOTY:
Oh god, that was really dumb. Sorry!. Misunderstanding there.
FORD:
Nice one Zaphod.
BANG-BANG:
Beeblebrox, either you all give yourselves up now and let us beat ya up a bit - though not very much of course, because we are firmly opposed to needless violence…
SHOOTY:
Dead against it.
BANG-BANG:
…or we blow up this entire planet ‘n’ possibly one or two others we noticed on our way out here.
SHOOTY:
Yeah.
TRILLIAN:
But that’s crazy! You wouldn’t blow up this entire planet just to get a bloody spaceship back!
BANG-BANG:
Oh, ho, yes we would. I think we would… ah, no, wouldn’t we?
SHOOTY:
Oh yeah, we’d have to, no question.
TRILLIAN:
But why?!
SHOOTY:
Tell her.
BANG-BANG:
Because there are some things you gotta do even if you are an enlightened liberal cop who knows all about sensitivity and everything.
SHOOTY:
This is true.
ZAPHOD:
I just don’t believe these guys.
SHOOTY:
Shall we shoot ‘em again for a bet?
BANG-BANG:
Yeah, heh, heh, why not.
[Lots of Kill-O-Zap gunfire; under it our heroes talk amongst themselves)
TRILLIAN:
We’re not going to be safe behind this computer bank for much longer fellas. It’s been really nice knowing you. I just wanted to say that.
FORD:
Yeah, it’s, it’s really been, been great and it was really nice bumping into again Zaphod -
ZAPHOD:
Yeah, er, er, hey, er...
FORD:
The computer bank is absorbing a hell of a lot of energy!
FORD:
I think it’s about to blow.
[Under the Kill-O-Zap onslaught a loud buzzing sound starts building, as the computer banks begins overloarding…]
ARTHUR:
It’s a shame we never got the work done revising the book. I think it looked rather promising.
ZAPHOD:
Yeah… what book?
ARTHUR:
'The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’.
ZAPHOD:
Oh that thing!
FORD:
Look I hate to say this lads, but this thing really is going to blow up!
ZAPHOD:
Ok, oo-kay.
[Massive explosion! ! !]
NARRATOR:
Assuming our heroes survive this latest reversal in their fortunes, will they find somewhere reasonably interesting to go now? Will Arthur Dent or Trillian manage to find the Question to the Ultimate Answer? Who will they meet at ‘The Restaurant at the End of the Universe’? Find out in next week’s exciting instalment of 'The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’
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