Mostly Harmless - Douglas Adams [87]
“Yes, I think so,” said the man and swayed slightly and dropped the book of matches he’d been carrying. His mouth moved weakly. Then he put his hand to his forehead.
“Excuse me,” he said, “I’m trying desperately to remember which drug I’ve just taken, but it must be one of those ones that means you can’t remember.” He shook his head and turned away again and went up toward the men’s room.
“Come on,” said Ford. He hurried on downstairs, with Arthur following nervously in his wake. The encounter had shaken him badly and he didn’t know why.
He didn’t like places like this. For all of the dreams of Earth and home he had had for years, he now badly missed his hut on Lamuella with his knives and his sandwiches. He even missed Old Thrashbarg.
“Arthur!”
It was the most astounding effect. His name was being shouted in stereo.
He twisted to look one way. Up the stairs behind him he saw Trillian hurrying down toward him in her wonderfully rumpled Rymplon™. She was looking suddenly aghast.
He twisted the other way to see what she was looking suddenly aghast at.
At the bottom of the stairs was Trillian, wearing … No-this was Tricia. Tricia that he had just seen, hysterical with confusion, on television. And behind her was Random, looking more wild-eyed than ever. Behind her in the recesses of the smart, dimly lit club, the other clientele of the evening formed a frozen tableau, staring anxiously up at the confrontation on the stairs.
For a few seconds everyone stood stock still. Only the music from behind the bar didn’t know to stop throbbing.
“The gun she is holding,” said Ford, quietly, nodding slightly toward Random, “is a Wabanatta 3. It was in the ship she stole from me. It’s quite dangerous in fact. Just don’t move for a moment. Let’s just everybody stay calm and find out what’s upsetting her.”
“Where do I fit?” screamed Random, suddenly. The hand holding the gun was trembling fiercely. Her other hand delved into her pocket and pulled out the remains of Arthur’s watch. She shook it at them.
“I thought I would fit here,” she cried, “on the world that made me! But it turns out that even my mother doesn’t know who I am!” She flung the watch violently aside, and it smashed into the glasses behind the bar, scattering its innards.
Everyone was very quiet for a moment or two longer.
“Random,” said Trillian, quietly, from up on the stairs.
“Shut up!” shouted Random. “You abandoned me!”
“Random, it is very important that you listen to me and understand,” persisted Trillian, quietly. “There isn’t very much time. We must leave. We must all leave.”
“What are you talking about? We’re always leaving!” She had both hands on the gun now, and both were shaking. There was no one in particular she was pointing it at. She was just pointing it at the world in general.
“Listen,” said Trillian again. “I left you because I went to cover a war for the network. It was extremely dangerous. At least, I thought it was going to be. I arrived and the war had suddenly ceased to happen. There was a time anomaly and … listen! Please listen! A reconnaissance battleship had failed to turn up, the rest of the fleet was scattered in some farcical disarray. It’s happening all the time now.”
“I don’t care! I don’t want to hear about your bloody job!” shouted Random. “I want a home! I want to fit somewhere!”
“This is not your home,” said Trillian, still keeping her voice calm. “You don’t have one. None of us have one. Hardly anybody has one anymore. The missing ship I was just talking about. The people of that ship don’t have a home. They don’t know where they are from. They don’t even have any memory of who they are or what they are for. They are very lost and very confused and very frightened. They are here in this solar system, and they are about to do something very … misguided because they are so lost and confused. We … must … leave … now. I can’t tell you where there is to go to. Perhaps there isn’t anywhere. But here is not the place to be. Please. One more time. Can we go?”
Random was wavering in panic and confusion.
“It