T
Slartibartfast stomped angrily round the table. He sat down and took a drink from his wine.
“This wine is corked!” he bawled at the robot waiter, “take it back.”
The robot waiter nodded obediently and took the glass and the bottle away to join the other six that the old man had already rejected.
Something was clearing troubling him.
“They can’t just have vanished into thin air?” he looked questioningly at one of the robot diners at the other side of the table.
The robot did not respond. It was not programmed to engage in conversation, merely to pretend to eat. Had it been programmed to converse, it probably wouldn’t have responded anyway. It would have known when to keep its mouth shut and its head down, chewing on a stray piece of Parma ham.
The old man had been like this for months.
He had managed to trace the human’s movements from the Earth to Alpha Centauri.
There, it appeared, they had parted company with Ford Prefect who had gone off to do his own thing. They had then gone on, through a series of hops, to visit the planet Preliumtarn and seen the Message.
Slartibartfast had seen this many years ago and thought it vastly overrated but could see that it might appeal to the Earth people.
After that, they just appeared to have vanished. They booked a flight on a short hyperspace route but appear to have never taken it. Either that or they vanished mid flight, which didn’t sound very likely.
He had then heard some talk of a Tri-D TV presenter calling herself Trillian Astra who, it was said, bore some resemblance to the girl he was seeking. But she appeared to come from some future time. Or some past one, he wasn’t sure.
Every time he tried to get in touch with her, however, she flitted off to some other place, time or dimension.
Even the sightings of her seemed to have dried up now.
Then he thought he’d try another tack. If he could find Beeblebrox and the Heart of Gold, he could use its unique capabilities to track down the others.
It should have been easy to find. Every time the ship moved in improbability drive mode, it left a vast field, which could be picked up by his instruments and those of his network of watchers across the universe.
But there had been nothing, not the slightest glimmer of an improbability field.
No planets suddenly being immersed in blueberry jam.
No sudden evolution of species from swamp dwelling newts into megamathematicians.
It was totally unlike Beeblebrox to be so discreet.
“Incoming message”, squawked the ships long-range communicator, “Incoming message.”
Slartibartfast rushed out to the console. “Go ahead,” he called.
“Hi, Slarti,” a voice said. It was very faint and broken, coming from an immense distance but he recognised it immediately as that of Vlongo, one of his oldest friends from CamTim.
“Good news,” it continued, “I think I’ve found the Heart of Gold.
“I picked up a very weak, very old improbability field and traced it to a planet called Esflovian. It appear the Heart of Gold may have landed there many years ago and doesn’t appear to have moved since”
Vlongo then passed a few moments exchanging pleasantries before signing off.
“Esflovian?” Startibartfast thought to himself, “never heard of that one.”
He spent a few minutes searching through a pile of papers and books until he found what he was looking for. It was dusty from lack of use but the letters on the cover could still clearly be read to say: “Don’t Panic!”
He didn’t really like the Guide. Thought it to be too brash, too much a young person’s thing. He preferred the great piles of “proper” books, maps and other reference documents that had been in his study on Magarathea and now languished in the basement of the Starship Bistromath along with the machinery that powered the Bistromatic drive. It had its uses though and he had reluctantly picked up a copy in a spaceport a few years back.
He flipped open the cover and searched for “Esflovian”. The machine displayed an access code, which he then punched in. A stream of “E” entries scrolled and he had a little smile to himself when he passed the entry for Earth before it stopped at the right place. It gave a little “blee-blip”
Esflovian
Planet populated by the descendants of an ancient personal-growth-orientated hippy peace commune. Check carefully before planning a visit – it is rumoured to have destroyed itself in Nuclear Encounter Therapy.
That was all.
He wandered back to the central computational area, still carrying the guide. He took his seat at the table and drained the latest glass of wine.
“Hmm…” he thought as the waiter poured another. He drained that as well.
“That was very nice, thank you”, he said to the robot waiter, “may I have the bill?”
The waiter scuttled off happily and fetched it, seemingly relieved that the old man had, at last, broken the aura of doom.
He returned and gave it to the old man who scribbled “Esflovian” across the bottom and then screwed it up in a ball.
He threw the ball in the air and it inexplicably failed to land. Instead it was as if the universe leapt out of his hands and the craft blasted its way across the galaxy.
¨
In an astonishingly short period of time it had parked itself in orbit around a strange little planet. Mindful of the Guide’s warning he decided orbiting and observing would be wise until he was sure what he was dealing with.
His sensors scanned the planet’s surface.
There was a high radiation level right across the entire globe apart from one small area. The land appeared to be barren and without life, again apart from one small area.
This area had no radiation, it had lifeforms, and there also appeared to have vast amounts of vines, Hypno-poppies and exotic foodstuffs growing in its fertile soil.
What made Slartibartfast absolutely certain he had found the right place was the small but significant improbability field right at the heart of it.
He walked to the bathrooms, set the teleport to automatic and stepped in, pausing only briefly to pick up a Blaster Ray. Just in case
He landed and was immediately surrounded by some strange beings in blue, tattered clothing.
They had beads in their long hair, bracelets on their wrists and wore sandals. All had strange black eyes that seemed to hover out from their otherwise humanoid faces. Each one had either a bottle or a smoking paper stick in their hand.
They gathered round him menacingly.
Slartibartfast clutched the Blaster in one hand. In the other he had the small device that would allow him to teleport back to the ship. It needed a few moments to get a lock to allow him to do that so it was of no use in a hurry.
He waved the Blaster around. “Stay back!” he shouted, “I mean you no harm. I have come in peace. Stay back.”
He wasn’t sure they believed him. Some of them seemed to be picking up long knives. Even with the Blaster the sheer number of them meant they could take him. He felt he had made a big mistake.
“Hey, cool it guys,” called a voice, “he’s a friend.”
A figure had just walked down a ramp away off to the left of where he was standing. He was dressed in the same manner as the others. Sandals on his feet, bracelets on each of his three wrists, long matted hair in beads on each of his heads and the black eyes which, Slartibartfast now realised, were sunglasses.
“Beeblebrox!” he cried.
“Come in and have a Gargle Blaster,” replied Zaphod.
¨
Later, as they sat in the bridge of the Heart of Gold, Zaphod explained how he came to be on the world of Esflovian. He had a very large drink in his hand.
“I had another bust-up with that crazy chick Trillian. She wanted to settle down, have a family, you know…” He shuffled uncomfortably on a bizarre hammock-like seat.
The interior of the Heart of Gold seemed to have been given a bizarre makeover in a jungle theme. Creepers hung down from the roof. The walls were decorated with brightly coloured daubings that might have been made by a three-year-old but many were signed “ZB”. The floor had woven matting randomly positioned over it but it was also covered in mud.
Plants and wooden carvings hid the banks of elaborate switches and instruments. They had clearly not been used for a very long time. Even the doors had been wedged open with rocks and logs and they no longer chimed their happy greetings when anyone passed through. That was, however, the only thing that was a positive result. Otherwise it was a disaster area and this has nothing to do with rock bands.
The shipboard computer, Eddie, seemed to have been converted into a sort of hippy jukebox, emitting soothing chants and mantras with occasional outbursts of “Hey, Peace, Man!”
Slartibartfast moved in his own seat, which felt rather like the one in his old study that was made from the rib cage of a stegosaurus. He looked down and found it was, in fact, made from the rib cage of some very similar animal. He also had a drink but it was untouched.
“I tried to explain that we couldn’t have kids anyway, it wasn’t possible biologically. But she said I didn’t understand and I said of course I didn’t” Zaphod continued, “and anyway, I’m too young to settle down, I’ve still got several hundred years of high life in me!
“So she stormed off into the ether again and I’ve not seen her since. I hear she got into broadcasting or something.
“I haven’t seen the monkey-man since we left him on Krikkit. Can’t say I’m that sorry, always felt his sense of humour was severely underdeveloped.” His left head took another slug from his drink.
“I used to bump into Ford every once in a while but it was usually when one or both of us was out of our brains on something so I don’t actually remember where or when.”
The right head looked round at the left, realised it was having all the fun and drained the rest of the glass.
“Then I met up with an old friend called Yarnick Fondour who said he was coming to this place to get some peace and to find himself. So I thought I’m not sure I ever lost myself but, what the hell! I could use some peace.
“We came here and it was cool and froody for a time but, a little while after, some of the guys started fooling with some way out stuff and the whole place got nuked. The only survivors were those near the Heart of Gold. Protected by its improb field, I guess.
“So we set about rebuilding around the ship and, well, you see it all. Think we’ve done pretty well?” The long bout of talking had made him thirsty so he poured another two drinks.
Slartibartfast didn’t answer but shook his head to decline the proffered glass. Zaphod poured the drinks into both heads at once while his other hand adjusted his crotch. Slartibartfast sat and furrowed his brow for a while.
“You must come with me,” he finally announced, “the universe is in great danger. You must bring the Heart of Gold and we must find the others.”
He went on to explain his theories on the cracking of space-time and the part the human, Arthur Dent, played in it.
“The Monkey man?” said Zaphod, spluttering into his drink, “I thought it was me that’d had the fourth Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.
“No way is that guy significant in the whole universal picture. Believe me, I know, ‘cause I’m someone who is!”
“Nevertheless, I assure you it is true” the old man was by now becoming agitated and stood up from the chair made of bones. It collapsed as he rose.
“Well, you find the guys and see if they believe you.” Zaphod was now lolling about in the hammock drunkenly, his words becoming slurred, “Maybe then I’ll think about helping. You can usually find Ford through the Guide offices. He has to check back there every so often to get paid. Can be tricky to find the offices sometimes though.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Slartibartfast.
“Well, they move around a lot.”
“You mean they change offices?”
“No, I mean they frequently move their buildings. Just pick ‘em up and go. I was in one once when it got moved to the Frogstar. That was real scary.” He was beginning to slide to the floor, “but if you find them, you’ll find him.”
“Very well, goodbye, I will see you again soon,” the old man pressed the button that operated his automatic teleport and he vanished.
“Not if I see you first,” muttered Zaphod as he lapsed into unconsciousness.