The Restaurant at the End of the Universe - Douglas Adams [14]
“The future?” exclaimed Zaphod. “What does the wretched thing want, a pension plan?”
At that moment a commotion broke out in the reception hall behind them. From the walls around them came the sound of suddenly active machinery.
“We can all see into the future,” whispered the elevator in what sounded like terror, “it’s part of our programming.”
Zaphod looked out of the elevator—an agitated crowd had gathered round the elevator area, pointing and shouting.
Every elevator in the building was coming down, very fast.
He ducked back in.
“Marvin,” he said, “just get this elevator to go up, will you? We’ve got to get to Zarniwoop.”
“Why?” asked Marvin dolefully.
“I don’t know,” said Zaphod, “but when I find him, he’d better have a very good reason for me wanting to see him.”
Modern elevators are strange and complex entities. The ancient electric winch and “maximum-capacity-eight-persons” jobs bear as much relation to a Sirius Cybernetics Corporation Happy Vertical People Transporter as a packet of mixed nuts does to the entire west wing of the Sirian State Mental Hospital.
This is because they operate on the curious principle of “defocused temporal perception.” In other words they have the capacity to see dimly into the immediate future, which enables the elevator to be on the right floor to pick you up even before you knew you wanted it, thus eliminating all the tedious chatting, relaxing and making friends that people were previously forced to do while waiting for elevators.
Not unnaturally, many elevators imbued with intelligence and precognition became terribly frustrated with the mindless business of going up and down, up and down, experimented briefly with the notion of going sideways, as a sort of existential protest, demanded participation in the decision-making process and finally took to squatting in basements sulking.
An improverished hitchhiker visiting any planets in the Sirius star system these days can pick up easy money working as a counselor for neurotic elevators.
At the fifteenth floor the elevator doors snapped open quickly.
“Fifteenth,” said the elevator, “and remember, I’m only doing this because I like your robot.”
Zaphod and Marvin bundled out of the elevator which instantly snapped its doors shut and dropped as fast as its mechanism would take it.
Zaphod looked around warily. The corridor was deserted and silent and gave no clue as to where Zarniwoop might be found. All the doors that let off the corridor were closed and unmarked.
They were standing close to the bridge which led across from one tower of the building to the other. Through a large window the brilliant sun of Ursa Minor Beta threw blocks of light in which danced small specks of dust. A shadow flitted past momentarily.
“Left in the lurch by a lift,” muttered Zaphod, who was feeling at his least jaunty.
They both stood and looked in both directions.
“You know something?” said Zaphod to Marvin.
“More than you can possibly imagine.”
“I’m dead certain this building shouldn’t be shaking,” Zaphod said.
It was just a light tremor through the soles of his feet—and another one. In the sunbeams the flecks of dust danced more vigorously. Another shadow flitted past.
Zaphod looked at the floor.
“Either,” he said, not very confidently, “they’ve got some vibro system for toning up your muscles while you work, or…”
He walked across to the window and suddenly stumbled because at that moment his Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses had turned utterly black. A large shadow flitted past the window with a sharp buzz.
Zaphod ripped off his sunglasses, and as he did so the building shook with a thunderous roar. He leaped to the window.
“Or,” he said, “this building’s being bombed!”
Another roar cracked through the building.
“Who in the Galaxy would want to bomb a publishing company?” asked Zaphod, but never heard Marvin’s reply because at that moment the building shook with another bomb attack. He tried to stagger back to the elevator—a pointless maneuver he realized, but