Vann Harl was a worried man. Things were not going well for the Editor-in-Chief of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.
When the boss of Infinidim had first offered him the job, it had seemed so easy. The Hitchhikers Guide had been an enormously successful book but the previous owners, MegaDodo Publications, had been too slack, too carefree to actually make the amount of money they should have.
Within a few months of being in the job Harl had got profits up by 20%, cut office staff levels by 18%, cut the number of researchers in half (in fact he had actually cut some of them in half physically in a burst of rage one day) and put the whole business on a much stronger financial footing.
Then there was the new Guide. The multidimensional Guide that could be sold a billion, billion times over in a billion, billion universes. This promised to boost profits by an unbelievable amount.
But then that infernal Ford Prefect person had stolen it and the boss had had to send his tame civil servant to get it back.
To top it all the Guide’s profits had taken a huge dive since then as well. The reports he’d been getting from accounts over the past few weeks showed a massive cash flow imbalance. He couldn’t even find out why, as there appeared to be some problem with the accounts computers that stopped him getting access to the right files.
Today was the day he had been dreading. Today was the day the boss was coming to see him. He had a feeling that heads would be rolling and that one of them might just be his.
He didn’t know just how right he would be.
He looked out of his rocket proof window, now repaired since Ford Prefect’s unorthodox exit from his office. Down in the streets of Saquo-Pilia Hensha the feeling of fun and frivolity was beginning to fade. The financial problems of the Guide were reflected in the lifestyle of the planet and those who knew the history of this great organisation knew that soon it would be time for it to up and leave to locate its offices to another planet leaving behind a ravaged wasteland.
The carnival was over and even the Wocket Hunters were nowhere to be seen.
Outside the offices the only movement was a small party of robots wheeling a Vacuu-Clean machine. They slipped quietly into the service entry and made for the elevators. A small security robot noticed them and flew over to see what they were doing.
The Chief Executive of Infinidim Enterprises stormed into Harl’s office followed by Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz of the Galactic Hyperspace Planning Council and two of his “assistants” armed with nasty looking Zap guns.
“Well, Mr Harl, it appears you have been being a rather naughty little boy,” he said. He was a small man with wiry, unkempt hair and wore a spotted bow tie. A tiny moustache did a fair impression of a small caterpillar sitting on his top lip. This rather comical appearance contrasted sharply with the sense of menace in his voice and the cold, hard look in his red eyes.
“I can explain, Mr Halfrunt…” stuttered Harl.
“I rather hope, for your sake, that you can.” Gag Halfrunt walked across to the desk and flipped a cigar from the case. He reached into his pocket and took out a small laser pistol. He pointed it at Harl and clicked the trigger.
Harl’s heart leapt into his throat but the end of the pistol just glowed and Halfrunt lit his cigar with it.
“Well,” said Harl nervously, “something or someone has been stealing from the guide’s computer. I haven’t found out whom yet, but I will. And when I do…”
Halfrunt cut across him angrily. “I am fully aware of the fact that someone has been stealing. I am also fully aware who it is.”
“What?” this took him completely by surprise; he had spent days trying to trace the source of the mysterious drain on the company’s funds. “Who?”
“You!” spat Halfrunt, pointing the burning cigar at Harl.
“No! I haven’t, I only found out about it myself recently. I couldn’t possibly have done it.”
“Nevertheless, I know it was you. My little friend here told me so.” He placed a round black disk on the desk. “He sees everything. He sees that all the withdrawals were made on an expense account authorised by you. Using a Dine-o-charge card issued by you. He also tells me you have made an attempt to hide this by putting a mental block on the accounts computer. Unfortunately, for you, you made the mistake of trying to call the same block I installed to hide the development of the new guide.”
“But… I’ve never even touched the accounts computer. I wouldn’t know how.” Harl was now sweating profusely. A shudder of fear ran down his back.
“The person who did it used your Identi-Ease as authorisation. Are you telling me that you have given it to someone else?”
Harl flopped into his chair. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Prefect person mush have stolen his card while he was unconscious but admitting that would be just as bad as admitting the theft. How could be prove his innocence?
“Prostetnic Jeltz,” Halfrunt turned to the Vogon. “I think it’s time for a little poetry recital.”
“No! Noooo! Anything but that…” Harl quivered like a jelly on a leather-covered plate.
Suddenly the door of the office opened and in walked three gleaming silver robots. One was pushing a Vacuu-Clean machine. A small, flying security robot buzzed along behind them.
“Excuse us, please, we have come to clean the carpets,” said the first robot. He waved it’s hand elaborately around the Vacuu-Clean as if to illustrate the point. It was a large, silver cylinder about five feet high and three in diameter with knobs, buttons and hoses protruding from many points. It rolled on small air wheels
“And polish the furniture.” Said the second. He gestured to the desk and waved the towel his was carrying.
“And clean the windows.” Said the third. He made to move towards the rocket proof glass behind Harl.
“Leave it, come back later!” barked Halfrunt angrily.
“Company directive 17534 says all offices on the 23rd floor must be cleaned at this time.” The robot studied his clipboard.
“I said leave it!”
“But company directive…”
“Get out before I have you revoked!” He signalled to the two Vogon guards who raised their Zap guns towards the robots.
“Very well,” said the first robot, “but this will have to be reported to the head of sanitary services, he will not be happy.”
The robots turned back towards the door but as they did one of them flicked a switch on the side of the Vacuu-Clean.
Out of the silver canister leapt Zaphod Beeblebrox, eyes flashing, teeth bared and with a Kill-o-Zap pistol in each hand. With a display of shooting skill that would have made Clint Eastwood look slow, he turned the two Vogon Guards to charred dust with two of the pistols and took the end off Halfrunt’s cigar with the third.
“We said this place needed cleaning and that’s what we’re gonna do. Starting with you pieces of filth!”
The robots now removed their dummy metal heads and revealed themselves to be Ford, Arthur and Roosta.
“Hi!” Ford beamed at Van Harl, “bet you never thought you’d see me again.”
Van Harl slumped back in his chair again, momentarily relieved at being saved from the poetry ordeal but then he realised that what Ford might do to him could well be worse and tensed back up again.
Jeltz turned to them in disbelief. “But you’re dead. I saw the planet with you on it destroyed with my own eyes.”
“You thought that before and you were wrong then as well. You ain’t gonna get a third chance.” Ford did one of his triumphant grins.
“You arrogant fools!” yelled Halfrunt. “You cannot defeat me. I have all the power of the universe to command. Guide!”
The black disc on Harl’s desk began to crack and unfold itself. The startling black bird shape appeared to fill the room. “What would you wish?”
Halfrunt said “Make it that this has never happened!”
At least, that what he would have said but, somehow, Zaphod got in first with a quite different command.
“Go stick your head in a pig!”
The bird shape stopped and stuttered as if in a very old movie. Colours and shapes suddenly danced crazily around the room. If billowed and shrank, it shimmered and sparkled. Multiple bird shapes fanned off in all directions then coalesced back into one.
Then, with a quiet “pop!” and a tiny mushroom cloud of smoke, it self-destructed. An empty metal disc fell to the floor.
The group were momentarily blinded by the pyrotechnic display and did not notice for a moment that Van Harl and picked up a zap gun from where one of the guards had dropped it. He was pointing it straight at Zaphod.
Ford reacted first, grabbed the metal disc and hurled it straight at Harl. The disc cut right gruesomely through his throat, came out the other side, rebounded off the rocketproof glass and landed neatly on the desk just in time to collect Harl’s head which then nestled in it with his mouth wide open, like a fish, and his eyes agog.
“Nice throw, Ford!” said Zaphod.
They turned back to Halfrunt and Jeltz who were still standing, stunned at the other side of them room.
“Well I suppose we better decide what to do with you crumb-bums.”
“I bet you think you’re very clever, Beeblebrox,” said Halfrunt with a sneer. “I wonder if your friends know the truth about you.”
“What?” Zaphod replied. This rather took him by surprise.