The Restaurant at the End of the Universe - Douglas Adams [48]
Zaphod switched it off. He turned to Ford.
“You know what I’m thinking?” he said.
“I think so,” said Ford.
“Tell me what you think I’m thinking.”
“I think you’re thinking it’s time we got off this ship.”
“I think you’re right,” said Zaphod.
“I think you’re right,” said Ford.
“How?” said Arthur.
“Quiet,” said Ford and Zaphod, “we’re thinking.”
“So this is it,” said Arthur, “we’re going to die.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” said Ford.
It is worth repeating at this point the theories that Ford had come up with, on his first encounter with human beings, to account for their peculiar habit of continually stating and restating the very very obvious, as in “It’s a nice day,” or “You’re very tall,” or “So this is it, we’re going to die.”
His first theory was that if human beings didn’t keep exercising their lips, their mouths probably shriveled up.
After a few months of observation he had come up with a second theory, which was this—“If human beings don’t keep exercising their lips, their brains start working.”
In fact, this second theory is more literally true of the Belcerebon people of Kakrafoon.
The Belcerebon people used to cause great resentment and insecurity among neighboring races by being one of the most enlightened, accomplished and, above all, quiet civilizations in the Galaxy.
As a punishment for this behavior, which was held to be offensively self-righteous and provocative, a Galactic Tribunal inflicted on them that most cruel of all social diseases, telepathy. Consequently, in order to prevent themselves broadcasting every slightest thought that crosses their minds to anyone within a five mile radius, they now have to talk very loudly and continuously about the weather, their little aches and pains, the match this afternoon and what a noisy place Kakrafoon has suddenly become.
Another method of temporarily blotting out their minds is to play host to a Disaster Area concert.
The timing of the concert was critical.
The ship had to begin its dive before the concert began in order to hit the sun six minutes and thirty-seven seconds before the climax of the song to which it related, so that the light of the solar flares had time to travel out to Kakrafoon.
The ship had already been diving for several minutes by the time that Ford Prefect had completed his search of the other compartments of the black ship. He burst back into the cabin.
The sun of Kakrafoon loomed terrifyingly large on the vision screen, its blazing white inferno of fusing hydrogen nuclei growing moment by moment as the ship plunged onward, unheeding the thumping and banging of Zaphod’s hands on the control panel. Arthur and Trillian had the fixed expressions of rabbits on a night road who think that the best way of dealing with approaching headlights is to stare them out.
Zaphod spun around, wild-eyed.
“Ford,” he said, “how many escape capsules are there?”
“None,” said Ford.
Zaphod gibbered.
“Did you count them?” he yelled.
“Twice,” said Ford. “Did you manage to raise the stage crew on the radio?”
“Yeah,” said Zaphod bitterly, “I said there were a whole bunch of people on board, and they said to say ‘hi’ to everybody.”
Ford goggled.
“Didn’t you tell them who you were?”
“Oh yeah. They said it was a great honor. That and something about a restaurant bill and my executors.”
Ford pushed Arthur aside roughly and leaned forward over the control console.
“Does none of this function?” he said savagely.
“All overridden.”
“Smash the autopilot.”
“Find it first. Nothing connects.”
There was a moment’s cold silence.
Arthur was stumbling around the back of the cabin. He stopped suddenly.
“Incidentally,” he said, “what does teleport mean?”
Another moment passed.
Slowly, the others turned to face him.
“Probably the wrong moment to ask,” said Arthur. “It’s just I remember hearing you use the word a short while ago and I only bring it up because…”
“Where,” said Ford Prefect quietly, “does it say teleport?