A huge young Vogon guard stepped forward and yanked them out of their straps with his huge blubbery arms.
“You can’t throw us into space,” yelled Ford, “we’re trying to write a book.”
“Resistance is useless!” shouted the Vogon guard back at him. It was the first phrase he’d learnt when he joined the Vogon Guard Corps.
The captain watched with detached amusement and then turned away.
Arthur stared round him wildly.
“I don’t want to die now!” he yelled. “I’ve still got a headache! I don’t want to go to heaven with a headache, I’d be all cross and wouldn’t enjoy it!”
The guard grasped them both firmly round the neck, and bowing deferentially towards his captain’s back, hoiked them both protesting out of the bridge. A steel door closed and the captain was on his own again. He hummed quietly and mused to himself, lightly fingering his notebook of verses.
“Hmmmm,” he said, “counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor…” He considered this for a moment, and then closed the book with a grim smile.
“Death’s too good for them,” he said.
The long steel-lined corridor echoed to the feeble struggles of the two humanoids clamped firmly under rubbery Vogon armpits.
“This is great,” spluttered Arthur, “this is really terrific. Let go of me you brute!”
The Vogon guard dragged them on.
“Don’t you worry,” said Ford, “I’ll think of something.” He didn’t sound hopeful.
“Resistance is useless!” bellowed the guard.
“Just don’t say things like that,” stammered Ford. “How can anyone maintain a positive mental attitude if you’re saying things like that?”
“My God,” complained Arthur, “you’re talking about a positive mental attitude and you haven’t even had your planet demolished today. I woke up this morning and thought I’d have a nice relaxed day, do a bit of reading, brush the dog… It’s now just after four in the afternoon and I’m already thrown out of an alien spaceship six light years from the smoking remains of the Earth!” He spluttered and gurgled as the Vogon tightened his grip.
“Alright,” said Ford, “just stop panicking.”
“Who said anything about panicking?” snapped Arthur. “This is still just the culture shock. You wait till I’ve settled down into the situation and found my bearings. Then I’ll start panicking.”
“Arthur you’re getting hysterical. Shut up!” Ford tried desperately to think, but was interrupted by the guard shouting again.
“Resistance is useless!”
“And you can shut up as well!” snapped Ford.
“Resistance is useless!”
“Oh give it a rest,” said Ford. He twisted his head till he was looking straight up into his captor’s face. A thought struck him.
“Do you really enjoy this sort of thing?” he asked suddenly.
The Vogon stopped dead and a look of immense stupidity seeped slowly over his face.
“Enjoy?” he boomed. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean,” said Ford, “is does it give you a full satisfying life? Stomping around, shouting, pushing people out of spaceships…”
The Vogon stared up at the low steel ceiling and his eyebrows almost rolled over each other. His mouth slacked. Finally he said, “Well the hours are good…”
“They’d have to be,” agreed Ford.
Arthur twisted his head to look at Ford.
“Ford, what are you doing?” he asked in an amazed whisper.
“Oh, just trying to take an interest in the world around me, OK?” he said. “So the hours are pretty good then?” he resumed.
The Vogon stared down at him as sluggish thoughts moiled around in the murky depths.
“Yeah,” he said, “but now you come to mention it, most of the actual minutes are pretty lousy. Except…” he thought again, which required looking at the ceiling—“except some of the shouting I quite like.” He filled his lungs and bellowed, “Resistance is…”
“Sure, yes,” interrupted Ford hurriedly, “you’re good at that, I can tell. But if it’s mostly lousy,” he said, slowly giving the words time to reach their mark, “then why do you do it? What is it? The girls? The leather? The machismo? Or do you just find that coming to terms with the mindless tedium of it all presents an interesting challenge?”
“Er…” said the guard, “er… er… I dunno. I think I just sort of… do it really. My aunt said that spaceship guard was a good career for a young Vogon—you know, the uniform, the low—slung stun ray holster, the mindless tedium…”
“There you are Arthur,” said Ford with the air of someone reaching the conclusion of his argument, “you think you’ve got problems.”
Arthur rather thought he had. Apart from the unpleasant business with his home planet the Vogon guard had half-throttled him already and he didn’t like the sound of being thrown into space very much.
“Try and understand his problem,” insisted Ford. “Here he is poor lad, his entire life’s work is stamping around, throwing people off spaceships…”
“And shouting,” added the guard.
“And shouting, sure,” said Ford patting the blubbery arm clamped round his neck in friendly condescension, “… and he doesn’t even know why he’s doing it!”
Arthur agreed this was very sad. He did this with a small feeble gesture, because he was too asphyxicated to speak.
Deep rumblings of bemusement came from the guard.
“Well. Now you put it like that I suppose…”
“Good lad!” encouraged Ford.
“But alright,” went on the rumblings, “so what’s the alternative?”
“Well,” said Ford, brightly but slowly, “stop doing it of course! Tell them,” he went on, “you’re not going to do it anymore.” He felt he had to add something to that, but for the moment the guard seemed to have his mind occupied pondering that much.
“Eerrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” said the guard, “erm, well that doesn’t sound that great to me.”
Ford suddenly felt the moment slipping away.
“Now wait a minute,” he said, “that’s just the start you see, there’s more to it than that you see…”
But at that moment the guard renewed his grip and continued his original purpose of lugging his prisoners to the airlock. He was obviously quite touched.
“No, I think if it’s all the same to you,” he said, “I’d better get you both shoved into this airlock and then go and get on with some other bits of shouting I’ve got to do.”
It wasn’t all the same to Ford Prefect after all.
“Come on now… but look!” he said, less slowly, less brightly.
“Huhhhhgggggggnnnnnnn…” said Arthur without any clear inflection.
“But hang on,” pursued Ford, “there’s music and art and things to tell you about yet! Arrrggghhh!”
“Resistance is useless,” bellowed the guard, and then added, “You see if I keep it up I can eventually get promoted to Senior Shouting Officer, and there aren’t usually many vacancies for non-shouting and non-pushing- people-about officers, so I think I’d better stick to what I know.”
They had now reached the airlock-a large circular steel hatchway of massive strength and weight let into the inner skin of the craft. The guard operated a control and the hatchway swung smoothly open.
“But thanks for taking an interest,” said the Vogon guard. “Bye now.” He flung Ford and Arthur through the hatchway into the small chamber within. Arthur lay panting for breath. Ford scrambled round and flung his shoulder uselessly against the reclosing hatchway.
