The Restaurant at the End of the Universe - Douglas Adams [70]
“In fact that comes over terribly well in this film,” said the marketing girl, “and just gives it that poignant twist which is the hallmark of the really great documentary. The producer’s very committed.”
“He should be,” muttered Ford.
“I gather,” said the girl, turning to address the Captain who was beginning to nod off, “that he wants to make one about you next, Captain.”
“Oh really?” he said, coming to with a start. “That’s awfully nice.”
“He’s got a very strong angle on it, you know, the burden of responsibility, the loneliness of command….”
The Captain hummed and hahed about this for a moment.
“Well, I wouldn’t overstress that angle, you know,” he said finally. “One’s never alone with a rubber duck.”
He held the duck aloft and it got an appreciative round from the crowd.
All this while, the management consultant had been sitting in stony silence, his fingertips pressed to his temples to indicate that he was waiting and would wait all day if it was necessary.
At this point he decided he would not wait all day after all, he would merely pretend that the last half hour hadn’t happened.
He rose to his feet.
“If,” he said tersely, “we could for a moment move on to the subject of fiscal policy…”
“Fiscal policy!” whooped Ford Prefect. “Fiscal policy!”
The management consultant gave him a look that only a lungfish could have copied.
“Fiscal policy…” he repeated, “that is what I said.”
“How can you have money,” demanded Ford, “if none of you actually produces anything? It doesn’t grow on trees you know.”
“If you would allow me to continue…”
Ford nodded dejectedly.
“Thank you. Since we decided a few weeks ago to adopt the leaf as legal tender, we have, of course, all become immensely rich.”
Ford stared in disbelief at the crowd who were murmuring appreciatively at this and greedily fingering the wads of leaves with which their track suits were stuffed.
“But we have also,” continued the management consultant, “run into a small inflation problem on account of the high level of leaf availability, which means that, I gather, the current going rate has something like three deciduous forests buying one ship’s peanut.”
Murmurs of alarm came from the crowd. The management consultant waved them down.
“So in order to obviate this problem,” he continued, “and effectively revalue the leaf, we are about to embark on a massive defoliation campaign, and… er, burn down all the forests. I think you’ll all agree that’s a sensible move under the circumstances.”
The crowd seemed a little uncertain about this for a second or two until someone pointed out how much this would increase the value of the leaves in their pockets whereupon they let out whoops of delight and gave the management consultant a standing ovation. The accountants among them looked forward to a profitable autumn.
“You’re all mad,” explained Ford Prefect.
“You’re absolutely barmy,” he suggested.
“You’re a bunch of raving nutters,” he opined.
The tide of opinion was beginning to turn against him. What had started out as excellent entertainment had now, in the crowd’s view, deteriorated into mere abuse, and since this abuse was in the main directed at them they wearied of it.
Sensing this shift in the wind, the marketing girl turned on him.
“Is it perhaps in order,” she demanded, “to inquire what you’ve been doing all these months then? You and that other interloper have been missing since the day we arrived.”
“We’ve been on a journey,” said Ford. “We went to try and find out something about this planet.”
“Oh,” said the girl archly, “doesn’t sound very productive to me.”
“No? Well, have I got news for you, my love. We have discovered this planet’s future.”
Ford waited for this statement to have its effect. It didn’t have any. They didn’t know what he was talking about.
He continued.
“It doesn’t matter a pair of fetid dingo’s kidneys what you all choose to do from now on. Burn down the forests, anything, it won’t make a scrap of difference. Your future history has already happened.