The Restaurant at the End of the Universe [25]
There was a slight hum.
At that moment, all the passengers awoke.
They awoke screaming and clawing at their straps and life support systems that held them tightly in their seats. They screamed and bawled and hollered till Zaphod thought his ears would shatter.
They struggled and writhed as the stewardess patiently moved up the aisle placing a small cup of coffee and a packet of biscuits in front of each one of them.
Then one of them rose from his seat.
He turned and looked at Zaphod.
Zaphod's skin was crawling all over his body as if it was trying to get off. He turned and ran from the bedlam.
He plunged through the door and back into the corridor.
The man pursued him.
He raced in a frenzy to the end of the corridor, through the entrance chamber and beyond. He arrived on the flight deck, slammed and bolted the door behind him. He leant back against the door breathing hard.
Within seconds, a hand started beating on the door.
From somewhere on the flight deck a metallic voice addressed him.
"Passengers are not allowed on the flight deck. Please return to your seat, and wait for the ship to take off. Coffee and biscuits are being served. This is your autopilot speaking. Please return to your seat."
Zaphod said nothing. He breathed hard, behind him, the hand continued to knock on the door.
"Please return to your seat," repeated the autopilot. "Passengers are not allowed on the flight deck."
"I'm not a passenger," panted Zaphod.
"Please return to your seat."
"I am not a passenger!" shouted Zaphod again.
"Please return to your seat."
"I am not a ... hello, can you hear me?"
"Please return to your seat."
You're the autopilot?" said Zaphod.
"Yes," said the voice from the flight console.
"You're in charge of this ship?"
"Yes," said the voice again, "there has been a delay. Passengers are to be kept temporarily in suspended animation, for their comfort and convenience. Coffee and biscuits are being served every year, after which passengers are returned to suspended animation for their continued comfort and convenience. Departure will take place when the flight stores are complete. We apologize for the delay."
Zaphod moved away from the door, on which the pounding had now ceased. He approached the flight console.
"Delay?" he cried, "Have you seen the world outside this ship? It's a wasteland, a desert. Civilization's been and gone, man. There are no lemon-soaked paper napkins on the way from anywhere!"
"The statistical likelihood," continued the autopilot primly, "is that other civilizations will arise. There will one day be lemon-soaked paper napkins. Till then there will be a short delay. Please return to your seat."
"But ..."
But at that moment the door opened. Zaphod span round to see the man who had pursued him standing there. He carried a large briefcase. He was smartly dressed, and his hair was short. He had no beard and no long fingernails.
"Zaphod Beeblebrox," he said, "My name is Zarniwoop. I believe you wanted to see me."
Zaphod Beeblebrox wittered. His mouths said foolish things. He dropped into a chair.
"Oh man, oh man, where did you spring from?" he said.
"I've been waiting here for you," he said in a businesslike tone.
He put the briefcase down and sat in another chair.
"I am glad you followed instructions," he said, "I was a bit nervous that you might have left my office by the door rather than the window. Then you would have been in trouble."
Zaphod shook his heads at him and burbled.
"When you entered the door of my office, you entered my electronically synthesized Universe," he explained, "if you had left by the door you would have been back in the real one. The artificial one works from here."
He patted the briefcase smugly.
Zaphod glared at him with resentment and loathing.
"What's the difference?" he muttered.
"Nothing," said Zarniwoop, "they are identical. Oh — except that I think the Frogstar Fighters