Life, the Universe and Everything - Douglas Adams [33]
“M’lud?” said the severe little man in black, rising.
“How long, kiddo?”
“It is a trifle difficult, m’lud, to be precise in this matter. Time and distance …”
“Relax, guy, be vague.”
“I hardly like to be vague, m’lud, over such a …”
“Bite the bullet and be it.”
The Clerk of the Court blinked at him. It was clear that like most of the Galactic legal profession he found Judiciary Pag (or Zipo Bibrok 5 × 108 as his private name was known, inexplicably, to be) a rather distressing figure. He was clearly a bounder and a cad. He seemed to think because he was the possessor of the finest legal mind ever discovered that gave him the right to behave exactly as he liked, and unfortunately he appeared to be right.
“Er, well, m’lud, very approximately, two thousand years,” the Clerk murmured unhappily.
“And how many guys zilched out?”
“Two grillion, m’lud.” The Clerk sat down. A hydrospectic photo of him at this point would have revealed that he was steaming slightly.
Judiciary Pag gazed once more around the courtroom, wherein were assembled hundreds of the very highest officials of the entire Galactic administration, all in their ceremonial uniforms or bodies, depending on metabolism and custom. Behind a wall of Zap-Proof Crystal stood a representative group of the people of Krikkit, looking with calm, polite loathing at all the aliens gathered to pass judgment on them. This was the most momentous occasion in legal history and Judiciary Pag knew it.
He took out his chewing gum and stuck it under his chair.
“That’s a whole lotta stiffs,” he said quietly.
The grim silence in the courtroom seemed in accord with this view.
“So, like I said, these are a bunch of really sweet guys, but you wouldn’t want to share a Galaxy with them, not if they’re just gonna keep at it, not if they’re not gonna learn to relax a little. I mean it’s just gonna be continual nervous time, isn’t it, right? Pow, pow, pow, when are they next coming at us? Peaceful coexistence is just right out, right? Get me some water somebody, thank you.”
He sat back and sipped reflectively.
“Okay,” he said, “hear me, hear me. It’s like, these guys, you know, are entitled to their own view of the Universe. And according to their view, which the Universe forced on them, right, they did right. Sounds crazy, but I think you’ll agree. They believe in …”
He consulted a piece of paper that he found in the back pocket of his judicial jeans.
“They believe in ‘peace, justice, morality, culture, sport, family life and the obliteration of all other life-forms.’”
He shrugged.
“I’ve heard a lot worse,” he said.
He scratched his crotch reflectively.
“Freeeow,” he said. He took another sip of water, then held it up to the light and frowned at it. He twisted it around.
“Hey, is there something in this water?” he said.
“Er, no, m’lud,” said the Court Usher, who had brought it to him, rather nervously.
“Then take it away,” snapped Judiciary Pag, “and put something in it. I got an idea.”
He pushed away the glass, and leaned forward.
“Hear me, hear me,” he said.
The solution was brilliant, and went like this:
The planet of Krikkit was to be encased for perpetuity in an envelope of Slo-Time, inside which life would continue almost infinitely slowly. All light would be deflected around the envelope so that it would remain invisible and impenetrable. Escape from the envelope would be utterly impossible unless it was unlocked from the outside.
When the rest of the Universe came to its final end, when the whole of creation reached its dying fall (this was all, of course, in the days before it was known that the end of the Universe would be a spectacular catering venture) and life and matter ceased to exist, then the planet of Krikkit and its sun would emerge from its Slo-Time envelope and continue a solitary existence, such as it craved, in the twilight of the Universal