Дуглас Адамс - The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Ford and Zaphod looked and passed on.

“And this baby,” said Ford, “the tangerine star buggy with the black sunbusters. . . ”

Again, the star buggy was a small ship – a totally misnamed one in fact, because the one thing it couldn’t manage was interstellar distances. Basically it was a sporty planet hopper dolled up to something it wasn’t. Nice lines though. They passed on.

The next one was a big one and thirty yards long – a coach built limoship and obviously designed with one aim in mind, that of making the beholder sick with envy. The paintwork and accessory detail clearly said “Not only am I rich enough to afford this ship, I am also rich enough not to take it seriously.” It was wonderfully hideous.

“Just look at it,” said Zaphod, “multi-cluster quark drive, perspulex running boards. Got to be a Lazlar Lyricon custom job.”

He examined every inch.

“Yes,” he said, “look, the infra-pink lizard emblem on the neutrino cowling. Lazlar’s trade mark. The man has no shame.”

“I was passed by one of these mothers once, out by the Axel Nebula,”

said Ford, “I was going flat out and this thing just strolled past me, star drive hardly ticking over. Just incredible.”

Zaphod whistled appreciatively.

“Ten seconds later”, said Ford, “it smashed straight into the third moon of Jaglan Beta.”

82

CHAPTER 18

83

“Yeah, right?”

“Amazing looking ship though. Looks like a fish, moves like a fish, steers like a cow.”

Ford looked round the other side.

“Hey, come and see,” he called out, “there’s a big mural painted on this side. A bursting sun – Disaster Area’s trade mark. This must be Hotblack’s ship. Lucky old bugger. They do this terrible song you know which ends with a stuntship crashing into the sun. Meant to be an amazing spectacle. Expensive in stunt ships though.”

Zaphod’s attention however was elsewhere. His attention was riveted on the ship standing next to Hotblack Desiato’s limo. His mouths hung open.

“That,” he said, “that. . . is really bad for the eyes. . . ” Ford looked. He too stood astonished.

It was a ship of classic, simple design, like a flattened salmon, twenty yards long, very clean, very sleek. There was just one remarkable thing about it.

“It’s so. . . black!” said Ford Prefect, “you can hardly make out its shape. . . light just seems to fall into it!”

Zaphod said nothing. He had simply fallen in love. The blackness of it was so extreme that it was almost impossible to tell how close you were standing to it.

“Your eyes just slide off it. . . ” said Ford in wonder. It was an emotional moment. He bit his lip.

Zaphod moved forward to it, slowly, like a man possessed – or more accurately like a man who wanted to possess. His hand reached out to stroke it. His hand stopped. His hand reached out to stroke it again. His hand stopped again.

“Come and feel the surface,” he said in a hushed voice. Ford put his hand out to feel it. His hand stopped.

“You. . . you can’t. . . ” he said.

“See?” said Zaphod, “it’s just totally frictionless. This must be one mother of a mover. . . ”

He turned to look at Ford seriously. At least, one of his heads did – the other stayed gazing in awe at the ship.

“What do you reckon, Ford?” he said.

“You mean. . . er. . . ” Ford looked over his shoulder. “You mean stroll off with it? You think we should?”

“No.”

“Nor do I.”

“But we’re going to, aren’t we?”

“How can we not?”

They gazed a little longer, till Zaphod suddenly pulled himself together.

“We better shift soon,” he said. “In a moment or so the Universe will have ended and all the Captain Creeps will be pouring down here to find 83

CHAPTER 18

84

their bourge-mobiles.”

“Zaphod,” said Ford.

“Yeah?”

“How do we do it?”

“Simple,” said Zaphod. He turned. “Marvin!” he called. Slowly, laboriously, and with a million little clanking and creaking noises that he had learned to simulate, Marvin turned round to answer the summons.

“Come on over here,” said Zaphod, “We’ve got a job for you.”

Marvin trudged towards them.

“I won’t enjoy it,” he said.

“Yes you will,” enthused Zaphod, “there’s a whole new life stretching out ahead of you.”

“Oh, not another one,” groaned Marvin.

“Will you shut up and listen!” hissed Zaphod, “this time there’s going to be excitement and adventure and really wild things.”

“Sounds awful,” Marvin said.

“Marvin! All I’m trying to ask you. . . ”

“I suppose you want me to open this spaceship for you?”

“What? Er. . . yes. Yeah, that’s right,” said Zaphod jumpily. He was keeping at least three eyes on the entrance. Time was short.

“Well I wish you’d just tell me rather than try to engage my enthusiasm,”

said Marvin, “because I haven’t got one.”

He walked on up to the ship, touched it, and a hatchway swung open. Ford and Zaphod stared at the opening.

“Don’t mention it,” said Marvin, “Oh, you didn’t.” He trudged away again.

Arthur and Trillian clustered round.

“What’s happening?” asked Arthur.

“Look at this,” said Ford, “look at the interior of this ship.”

“Weirder and weirder,” breathed Zaphod.

“It’s black,” said Ford, “Everything in it is just totally black. . . ”

In the Restaurant, things were fast approaching the moment after which there wouldn’t be any more moments.

All eyes were fixed on the dome, other than those of Hotblack Desiato’s bodyguard, which were looking intently at Hotblack Desiato, and those of Hotblack Desiato himself which the bodyguard had closed out of respect. The bodyguard leaned forward over the table. Had Hotblack Desiato been alive, he probably would have deemed this a good moment to lean back, or even go for a short walk. His bodyguard was not a man which improved with proximity. On account of his unfortunate condition, however, Hotblack Desiato remained totally inert.

84

CHAPTER 18

85

“Mr Desiato, sir?” whispered the bodyguard. Whenever he spoke, it looked as if the muscles on either side of his mouth were clambering over each other to get out of the way.

“Mr Desiato? Can you hear me?”

Hotblack Desiato, quit naturally, said nothing.

“Hotblack?” hissed the bodyguard.

Again, quite naturally, Hotblack Desiato did not reply. Supernaturally, however, he did.

On the table in front of him a wine glass rattled, and a fork rose an inch or so and tapped against the glass. It settled on the table again. The bodyguard gave a satisfied grunt.

“It’s time we get going, Mr Desiato,” muttered the bodyguard, “don’t want to get caught in the rush, not in your condition. You want to get to the next gig nice and relaxed. There was a really big audience for it. One of the best. Kakrafoon. Five-hundred seventy-six thousand and two million years ago. Had you will have been looking forward to it?”

The fork rose again, waggled in a non-committal sort of way and dropped again.

“Ah, come on,” said the bodyguard, “it’s going to have been great. You knocked ‘em cold.” The bodyguard would have given Dr Dan Streetmentioner an apoplectic attack.

“The black ship going into the sun always gets ‘em, and the new one’s a beauty. Be real sorry to see it go. If we get on down there, I’ll set the black ship autopilot and we’ll cruise off in the limo. OK?”

The fork tapped once in agreement, and the glass of wine mysteriously emptied itself.