Ford held them up for all to see.
“Curling tongs,” he said.
The crowd applauded.
“Never mind,” said Ford, “Rome wasn't burnt in a day.”
The crowd hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about, but they loved it nevertheless. They applauded.
“Well, you're obviously being totally naive of course,” said the girl, “When you've been in marketing as long as I have you'll know that before any new product can be developed it has to be properly researched. We've got to find out what people want from fire, how they relate to it, what sort of image it has for them.”
The crowd were tense. They were expecting something wonderful from Ford.
“Stick it up your nose,” he said.
“Which is precisely the sort of thing we need to know,” insisted the girl, “Do people want fire that can be applied nasally?”
“Do you?” Ford asked the crowd.
“Yes!” shouted some.
“No!” shouted others happily.
They didn't know, they just thought it was great.
“And the wheel,” said the Captain, “What about this wheel thingy? It sounds a terribly interesting project.”
“Ah,” said the marketing girl, “Well, we're having a little difficulty there.”
“Difficulty?” exclaimed Ford, “Difficulty? What do you mean, difficulty? It's the single simplest machine in the entire Universe!”
The marketing girl soured him with a look.
“Alright, Mr Wiseguy,” she said, “you're so clever, you tell us what colour it should have.”
The crowd went wild. One up to the home team, they thought. Ford shrugged his shoulders and sat down again.
“Almighty Zarquon,” he said, “have none of you done anything?”
As if in answer to his question there was a sudden clamour of noise from the entrance to the clearing. The crowd couldn't believe the amount of entertainment they were getting this afternoon: in marched a squad of about a dozen men dressed in the remnants of their Golgafrincham 3rd Regiment dress uniforms. About half of them still carried Kill-O-Zap guns, the rest now carried spears which they struck together as they marched. They looked bronzed, healthy, and utterly exhausted and bedraggled. They clattered to a halt and banged to attention. One of them fell over and never moved again.
“Captain, sir!” cried Number Two – for he was their leader – “Permission to report sir!”
“Yes, alright Number Two, welcome back and all that. Find any hot springs?” said the Captain despondently.
“No sir!”
“Thought you wouldn't.”
Number Two strode through the crowd and presented arms before the bath.
“We have discovered another continent!”
“When was this?”
“It lies across the sea…” said Number Two, narrowing his eyes significantly, “to the east!”
“Ah.”
Number Two turned to face the crowd. He raised his gun above his head. This is going to be great, thought the crowd.
“We have declared war on it!”
Wild abandoned cheering broke out in all corners of the clearing – this was beyond all expectation.
“Wait a minute,” shouted Ford Prefect, “wait a minute!”
He leapt to his feet and demanded silence. After a while he got it, or at least the best silence he could hope for under the circumstances: the circumstances were that the bagpiper was spontaneously composing a national anthem.
“Do we have to have the piper?” demanded Ford.
“Oh yes,” said the Captain, “we've given him a grant.”
Ford considered opening this idea up for debate but quickly decided that that way madness lay. Instead he slung a well judged rock at the piper and turned to face Number Two.
“War?” he said.
“Yes!” Number Two gazed contemptuously at Ford Prefect.
“On the next continent?”
“Yes! Total warfare! The war to end all wars!”
“But there's no one even living there yet!”
Ah, interesting, thought the crowd, nice point.
Number Two's gaze hovered undisturbed. In this respect his eyes were like a couple of mosquitos that hover purposefully three inches from your nose and refuse to be deflected by arm thrashes, fly swats or rolled newspapers.
“I know that,” he said, “but there will be one day! So we have left an open-ended ultimatum.”
“What?”
“And blown up a few military installations.”
The Captain leaned forward out of his bath.
“Military installations Number Two?” he said.
For a moment the eyes wavered.
“Yes sir, well potential military installations. Alright… trees.”
The moment of uncertainty passed – his eyes flickered like whips over his audience.
“And,” he roared, “we interrogated a gazelle!”
He flipped his Kill-O-Zap gun smartly under his arm and marched off through the pandemonium that had now erupted throughout the ecstatic crowd. A few steps was all he managed before he was caught up and carried shoulder high for a lap of honour round the clearing.
Ford sat and idly tapped a couple of stones together.
“So what else have you done?” he inquired after the celebrations had died down.
“We have started a culture,” said the marketing girl.
“Oh yes?” said Ford.
“Yes. One of our film producers is already making a fascinating documentary about the indigenous cavemen of the area.”
“They're not cavemen.”
“They look like cavemen.”
“Do they live in caves?”
“Well…”
“They live in huts.”
“Perhaps they're having their caves redecorated,” called out a wag from the crowd.
Ford rounded on him angrily.
“Very funny,” he said, “but have you noticed that they're dying out?”
On their journey back, Ford and Arthur had come across two derelict villages and the bodies of many natives in the woods, where they had crept away to die. Those that still lived were stricken and listless, as if they were suffering some disease of the spirit rather than the body. They moved sluggishly and with an infinite sadness. Their future had been taken away from them.
“Dying out!” repeated Ford. “Do you know what that means?”
“Er… we shouldn't sell them any life insurance?” called out the wag again.
Ford ignored him, and appealed to the whole crowd.
“Can you try and understand,” he said, “that it's just since we've arrived that they've started dying out!”
