Life, the Universe and Everything - Douglas Adams [22]
The sun was setting.
All around them softly undulating green countryside rolled off gently into the distance. Birds sang about what they thought of it all, and the general opinion seemed to be good. A little way off could be heard the sound of children playing, and a little farther away than the apparent source of that sound could be seen in the dimming evening light the outlines of a small town.
The town appeared to consist mostly of fairly low buildings made of white stone. The skyline was of gentle pleasing curves.
The sun had nearly set.
As if out of nowhere, music began. Slartibartfast tugged at a switch and it stopped.
A voice said, “This …” Slartibartfast tugged at a switch and it stopped.
“I will tell you about it,” he said quietly.
The place was peaceful. Arthur felt happy. Even Ford seemed cheerful. They walked a short way in the direction of the town, and the Informational Illusion of the grass was pleasant and springy under their feet, and the Informational Illusion of the flowers smelled sweet and fragrant. Only Slartibartfast seemed apprehensive and out of sorts.
He stopped and looked up.
It suddenly occurred to Arthur that coming as this did at the end, so to speak, or rather the beginning, of all the horror they had just blurrily experienced, something nasty must be about to happen. He was distressed to think that something nasty could happen to somewhere as idyllic as this. He too glanced up. There was nothing in the sky.
“They’re not about to attack here, are they?” he said. He realized that this was merely a recording he was walking through, but he still felt alarmed.
“Nothing is about to attack here,” said Slartibartfast in a voice that unexpectedly trembled with emotion, “this is where it all starts. This is the place itself. This is Krikkit.”
He stared up into the sky.
The sky, from one horizon to another, from east to west, from north to south, was utterly and completely black.
Chapter 9
tomp stomp.
Whirrr.
“Pleased to be of service.”
“Shut up.”
“Thank you.”
Stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp.
Whirrr.
“Thank you for making a simple door very happy.”
“Hope your diodes rot.”
“Thank you. Have a nice day.”
Stomp stomp stomp stomp.
Whirrr.
“It is my pleasure to open for you …”
“Zark off.”
“… and my satisfaction to close again with the knowledge of a job well done.”
“I said zark off.”
“Thank you for listening to this message.”
Stomp stomp stomp stomp.
“Whop.”
Zaphod stopped stomping. He had been stomping around the Heart of Gold for days, and so far no door had said “whop” to him. He was fairly certain that no door had said “whop” to him now. It was not the sort of thing doors said. Too concise. Furthermore, there were not enough doors. It sounded as if a hundred thousand people had said “whop,” which puzzled him because he was the only person on the ship.
It was dark. Most of the ship’s nonessential systems were closed down. It was drifting idly in a remote area of the Galaxy, deep in the inky blackness of space. So which particular hundred thousand people would turn up at this point and say a totally unexpected “whop”?
He looked about him, up the corridor and down the corridor. It was all in deep shadow. There were just the very dim pinkish outlines to the doors that glowed in the dark and pulsed whenever they spoke though he had tried every way he could think of to stop them.
The lights were off so that his heads could avoid looking at each other because neither of them was currently a particularly engaging sight, nor had they been since he had made the error of looking into his soul.
It had indeed been an error.
It had been late one night—of course.
It had been a difficult day—of course.
There had been soulful music playing on the ship’s sound system—of course.
And he had, of course, been slightly drunk.
In other words, all the usual conditions that bring on a bout of soul-searching had applied, but it had, nevertheless, clearly been an error.
Standing now, silent and alone in the dark corridor, he remembered the moment and shivered. His