The Restaurant at the End of the Universe [45]
The walls of the swaying cabin were also black, the ceiling was black, the seats — which were rudimentary since the only important trip this ship was designed for was supposed to be unmanned — were black, the control panel was black, the instruments were black, the little screws that held them in place were black, the thin tufted nylon floor covering was black, and when they had lifted up a corner of it they had discovered that the foam underlay also was black.
"Perhaps whoever designed it had eyes that responded to different wavelengths," offered Trillian.
"Or didn't have much imagination," muttered Arthur.
"Perhaps," said Marvin, "he was feeling very depressed."
In fact, though they weren't to know it, the decor had been chosen in honour of its owner's sad, lamented, and tax-deductible condition.
The ship gave a particularly sickening lurch.
"Take it easy," pleaded Arthur, "you're making me space sick."
"Time sick," said Ford, "we're plummeting backwards through time."
"Thank you," said Arthur, "now I think I really am going to be ill."
"Go ahead," said Zaphod, "we could do with a little colour about this place."
"This is meant to be a polite after-dinner conversation is it?" snapped Arthur.
Zaphod left the controls for Ford to figure out, and lurched over to Arthur.
"Look, Earthman," he said angrily, "you've got a job to do, right? The Question to the Ultimate Answer, right?"
"What, that thing?" said Arthur, "I thought we'd forgotten about that."
"Not me, baby. Like the mice said, it's worth a lot of money in the right quarters. And it's all locked up in that head thing of yours."
"Yes but ..."
"But nothing! Think about it. The Meaning of Life! We get our fingers on that we can hold every shrink in the Galaxy up to ransom, and that's worth a bundle. I owe mine a mint."
Arthur took a deep breath without much enthusiasm.
"Alright," he said, "but where do we start? How should I know? They say the Ultimate Answer or whatever is Forty-two, how am I supposed to know what the question is? It could be anything. I mean, what's six times seven?"
Zaphod looked at him hard for a moment. Then his eyes blazed with excitement.
"Forty-two!" he cried.
Arthur wiped his palm across his forehead.
"Yes," he said patiently," I know that."
Zaphod's faces fell.
"I'm just saying that the question could be anything at all," said Arthur, "and I don't see how I am meant to know."
"Because," hissed Zaphod, "you were there when your planet did the big firework."
"We have a thing on Earth ..." began Arthur.
"Had," corrected Zaphod.
"... called tact. Oh never mind. Look, I just don't know."
A low voice echoed dully round the cabin.
"I know," said Marvin.
Ford called out from the controls he was still fighting a losing battle with.
"Stay out of this Marvin," he said, "this is organism talk."
"It's printed in the Earthman's brainwave patterns," continued Marvin, "but I don't suppose you'll be very interested in knowing that."
"You mean," said Arthur, "you mean you can see into my mind?"
"Yes," said Marvin.
Arthur stared in astonishment.
"And ...?" he said.
"It amazes me how you can manage to live in anything that small."
"Ah," said Arthur, "abuse."
"Yes," confirmed Marvin.
"Ah, ignore him," said Zaphod, "he's only making it up."
"Making it up?" said Marvin, swivelling his head in a parody of astonishment, "Why should I want to make anything up? Life's bad enough as it is without wanting to invent any more of it."
"Marvin," said Trillian in the gentle, kindly voice that only she was still capable of assuming in talking to this misbegotten creature, "if you knew all along, why then didn't you tell us?"
Marvin's head swivelled back to her.
"You didn't ask," he said simply.
"Well, we're asking you now, metal man," said Ford, turning round to look at him.
At that moment the ship suddenly stopped rocking and swaying, the engine pitch settled down to