serviceable. Even the mere vibration of his footsteps caused one precarious wreck to collapse further into itself.
Towards the rear of the building lay one old ship, slightly larger than the others, and buried beneath even deeper piles of dust and cobwebs. Its outline, however, seemed unbroken. Zaphod approached it with interest, and as he did so, he tripped over an old feedline.
He tried to toss the feedline aside, and to his surprise discovered that it was still connected to the ship.
To his utter astonishment he realized that the feedline was also humming slightly.
He stared at the ship in disbelief, and then back down at the feedline in his hands.
He tore off his jacket and threw it aside. Crawling along on his hands and knees he followed the feedline to the point where it connected with the ship. The connection was sound, and the slight humming vibration was more distinct.
His heart was beating fast. He wiped away some grime and laid an ear against the ship's side. He could only hear a faint, indeterminate noise.
He rummaged feverishly amongst the debris lying on the floor all about him and found a short length of tubing, and a nonbiodegradable plastic cup. Out of this he fashioned a crude stethoscope and placed it against the side of the ship.
What he heard made his brains turn somersaults.
The voice said:
“Transtellar Cruise Lines would like to apologize to passengers for the continuing delay to this flight. We are currently awaiting the loading of our complement of small lemon-soaked paper napkins for your comfort, refreshment and hygiene during the journey. Meanwhile we thank you for your patience. The cabin crew will shortly be serving coffee and biscuits again.”
Zaphod staggered backwards, staring wildly at the ship.
He walked around for a few moments in a daze. In so doing he suddenly caught sight of a giant departure board still hanging, but by only one support, from the ceiling above him. It was covered with grime, but some of the figures were still discernible.
Zaphod's eyes searched amongst the figures, then made some brief calculations. His eyes widened.
“Nine hundred years…” he breathed to himself. That was how late the ship was.
Two minutes later he was on board.
As he stepped out of the airlock, the air that greeted him was cool and fresh – the air conditioning was still working.
The lights were still on.
He moved out of the small entrance chamber into a short narrow corridor and stepped nervously down it.
Suddenly a door opened and a figure stepped out in front of him.
“Please return to your seat sir,” said the android stewardess and, turning her back on him, she walked on down the corridor in front of him.
When his heart had started beating again he followed her. She opened the door at the end of the corridor and walked through.
He followed her through the door.
They were now in the passenger compartment and Zaphod's heart stopped still again for a moment.
In every seat sat a passenger, strapped into his or her seat.
The passengers' hair was long and unkempt, their fingernails were long, the men wore beards.
All of them were quite clearly alive – but sleeping.
Zaphod had the creeping horrors.
He walked slowly down the aisle as in a dream. By the time he was half-way down the aisle, the stewardess had reached the other end. She turned and spoke.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,” she said sweetly, “Thank you for bearing with us during this slight delay. We will be taking off as soon as we possibly can. If you would like to wake up now I will serve you coffee and biscuits.”
There was a slight hum.
At that moment, all the passengers awoke.
They awoke screaming and clawing at their straps and life support systems that held them tightly in their seats. They screamed and bawled and hollered till Zaphod thought his ears would shatter.
They struggled and writhed as the stewardess patiently moved up the aisle placing a small cup of coffee and a packet of biscuits in front of each one of them.
Then one of them rose from his seat.
He turned and looked at Zaphod.
Zaphod's skin was crawling all over his body as if it was trying to get off. He turned and ran from the bedlam.
He plunged through the door and back into the corridor.
The man pursued him.
He raced in a frenzy to the end of the corridor, through the entrance chamber and beyond. He arrived on the flight deck, slammed and bolted the door behind him. He leant back against the door breathing hard.
Within seconds, a hand started beating on the door.
From somewhere on the flight deck a metallic voice addressed him.
“Passengers are not allowed on the flight deck. Please return to your seat, and wait for the ship to take off. Coffee and biscuits are being served. This is your autopilot speaking. Please return to your seat.”
Zaphod said nothing. He breathed hard, behind him, the hand continued to knock on the door.
“Please return to your seat,” repeated the autopilot. “Passengers are not allowed on the flight deck.”
“I'm not a passenger,” panted Zaphod.
“Please return to your seat.”
“I am not a passenger!” shouted Zaphod again.
“Please return to your seat.”
“I am not a… hello, can you hear me?”
“Please return to your seat.”
You're the autopilot?' said Zaphod.
“Yes,” said the voice from the flight console.
“You're in charge of this ship?”
“Yes,” said the voice again, “there has been a delay. Passengers are to be kept temporarily in suspended animation, for their comfort and convenience. Coffee and biscuits are being served every year, after which passengers are returned to suspended animation for their continued comfort and convenience. Departure will take place when the flight stores are complete. We apologize for the delay.”
Zaphod moved away from the door, on which the pounding had now ceased. He approached the flight console.
“Delay?” he cried, “Have you seen the world outside this ship? It's a wasteland, a desert. Civilization's been and gone, man. There are no lemon-soaked paper napkins on the way from anywhere!”
“The statistical likelihood,” continued the autopilot primly, “is that other civilizations will arise. There will one day be lemon-soaked paper napkins. Till then there will be a short delay. Please return to your seat.”
“But…”
But at that moment the door opened. Zaphod span round to see the man who had pursued him standing there. He carried a large briefcase. He was smartly dressed, and his hair was short. He had no beard and no long fingernails.
“Zaphod Beeblebrox,” he said, “My name is Zarniwoop. I believe you wanted to see me.”
Zaphod Beeblebrox wittered. His mouths said foolish things. He dropped into a chair.
“Oh man, oh man, where did you spring from?” he said.
“I've been waiting here for you,” he said in a businesslike tone.
He put the briefcase down and sat in another chair.
