the families of those who had died as a result of taking the entry on the planet Traal literally (it said “Ravenous Bugblatter beasts often make a very good meal for visiting tourists” instead of “Ravenous Bugblatter beasts often make a very good meal of visiting tourists”) they claimed that the first version of the sentence was the more aesthetically pleasing, summoned a qualified poet to testify under oath that beauty was truth, truth beauty and hoped thereby to prove that the guilty party was Life itself for failing to be either beautiful or true. The judges concurred, and in a moving speech held that Life itself was in contempt of court, and duly confiscated it from all those there present before going off to enjoy a pleasant evening's ultragolf.
Zaphod Beeblebrox entered the foyer. He strode up to the insect receptionist.
“OK,” he said, “Where's Zarniwoop? Get me Zarniwoop.”
“Excuse me, sir?” said the insect icily. It did not care to be addressed in this manner.
“Zarniwoop. Get him, right? Get him now.”
“Well, sir,” snapped the fragile little creature, “if you could be a little cool about it…”
“Look,” said Zaphod, “I'm up to here with cool, OK? I'm so amazingly cool you could keep a side of meat inside me for a month. I am so hip I have difficulty seeing over my pelvis. Now will you move before you blow it?”
“Well, if you'd let me explain, sir,” said the insect tapping the most petulant of all the tentacles at its disposal, “I'm afraid that isn't possible right now as Mr Zarniwoop is on an intergalactic cruise.”
Hell, thought Zaphod.
“When he's going to be back?” he said.
“Back sir? He's in his office.”
Zaphod paused while he tried to sort this particular thought out in his mind. He didn't succeed.
“This cat's on an intergalactic cruise… in his office?” He leaned forward and gripped the tapping tentacle.
“Listen, three eyes,” he said, “don't you try to outweird me. I get stranger things than you free with my breakfast cereal.”
“Well, just who do you think you are, honey?” flounced the insect quivering its wings in rage, “Zaphod Beeblebrox or something?”
“Count the heads,” said Zaphod in a low rasp.
The insect blinked at him. It blinked at him again.
“You are Zaphod Beeblebrox?” it squeaked.
“Yeah,” said Zaphod, “but don't shout it out or they'll all want one.”
“The Zaphod Beeblebrox?”
“No, just a Zaphod Beeblebrox, didn't you hear I come in six packs?”
The insect rattled its tentacles together in agitation.
“But sir,” it squealed, “I just heard on the sub-ether radio report. It said that you were dead…”
“Yeah, that's right,” said Zaphod, “I just haven't stopped moving yet. Now. Where do I find Zarniwoop?”
“Well, sir, his office is on the fifteenth floor, but…”
“But he's on an intergalactic cruise, yeah, yeah, how do I get to him.”
“The newly installed Sirius Cybernetics Corporation Vertical People Transporters are in the far corner sir. But sir…”
Zaphod was turning to go. He turned back.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Can I ask you why you want to see Mr Zarniwoop?”
“Yeah,” said Zaphod, who was unclear on this point himself, “I told myself I had to.”
“Come again sir?”
Zaphod leaned forward, conspirationally.
“I just materialized out of thin air in one of your cafes,” he said, “as a result of an argument with the ghost of my great grandfather. No sooner had I got there that my former self, the one that operated on my brain, popped into my head and said `Go see Zarniwoop'. I have never heard of the cat. That is all I know. That and the fact that I've got to find the man who rules the Universe.”
He winked.
“Mr Beeblebrox, sir,” said the insect in awed wonder, “you're so weird you should be in movies.”
“Yeah,” said Zaphod patting the thing on a glittering pink wing, “and you, baby, should be in real life.”
The insect paused for a moment to recover from its agitation and then reached out a tentacle to answer a ringing phone.
A metal hand restrained it.
“Excuse me,” said the owner of the metal hand in a voice that would have made an insect of a more sentimental disposition collapse in tears.
This was not such an insect, and it couldn't stand robots.
“Yes, sir,” it snapped, “can I help you?”
“I doubt it,” said Marvin.
“Well in that case, if you'll just excuse me…” Six of the phones were now ringing. A million things awaited the insect's attention.
“No one can help me,” intoned Marvin.
“Yes, sir, well…”
“Not that anyone tried of course.” The restraining metal hand fell limply by Marvin's side. His head hung forward very slightly.
“Is that so,” said the insect tartly.
“Hardly worth anyone's while to help a menial robot is it?”
“I'm sorry, sir, if…”
“I mean where's the percentage in being kind or helpful to a robot if it doesn't have any gratitude circuits?”
“And you don't have any?” said the insect, who didn't seem to be able to drag itself out of this conversation.
“I've never had occasion to find out,” Marvin informed it.
“Listen, you miserable heap of maladjusted metal…”
“Aren't you going to ask me what I want?”
The insect paused. Its long thin tongue darted out and licked its eyes and darted back again.
“Is it worth it?” it asked.
“Is anything?” said Marvin immediately.
“What… do… you… want?”
“I'm looking for someone.”
“Who?” hissed the insect.
“Zaphod Beeblebrox,” said Marvin, “he's over there.”
The insect shook with rage. It could hardly speak.
“Then why did you ask me?” it screamed.
“I just wanted something to talk to,” said Marvin.
“What!”
“Pathetic isn't it?”
With a grinding of gears Marvin turned and trundled off. He caught up with Zaphod approaching the elevators. Zaphod span round in astonishment.
“Hey… Marvin!” he said, “Marvin! How did you get here?”
Marvin was forced to say something which came very hard to him.
“I don't know,” he said.
“But…”
“One moment I was sitting in your ship feeling very depressed, and the next moment I was standing here feeling utterly miserable. An Improbability Field I expect.”
“Yeah,” said Zaphod, “I expect my great grandfather sent you along to keep me company.”
