this is not the first-class compartment.”
Bulges appeared in the fabric of space-time. Great ugly bulges.
“Haaaauuurrgghhh …” said Arthur, as he felt his body softening and bending in unusual directions. “Southend seems to be melting away … the stars are swirling … a dustbowl … my legs are drifting off into the sunset … my left arm’s come off too.” A frightening thought struck him. “Hell,” he said, “how am I going to operate my digital watch now?” He wound his eyes desperately around in Ford’s direction.
“Ford,” he said, “you’re turning into a penguin. Stop it.”
Again came the voice.
“Two to the power of seventy-five thousand to one against and falling.”
Ford waddled around his pond in a furious circle.
“Hey, who are you?” he quacked. “Where are you? What’s going on and is there any way of stopping it?”
“Please relax,” said the voice pleasantly, like a stewardess in an airliner with only one wing and two engines, one of which is on fire, “you are perfectly safe.”
“But that’s not the point!” raged Ford. “The point is that I am now a perfectly safe penguin, and my colleague here is rapidly running out of limbs!”
“It’s all right, I’ve got them back now,” said Arthur.
“Two to the power of fifty thousand to one against and falling,” said the voice.
“Admittedly,” said Arthur, “they’re longer than I usually like them, but …”
“Isn’t there anything,” squawked Ford in avian fury, “you feel you ought to be telling us?”
The voice cleared its throat. A giant petit four lolloped off into the distance.
“Welcome,” the voice said, “to the Starship Heart of Gold.”
The voice continued.
“Please do not be alarmed,” it said, “by anything you see or hear around you. You are bound to feel some initial ill effects as you have been rescued from certain death at an improbability level of two to the power of two hundred and seventy-six thousand to one against—possibly much higher. We are now cruising at a level of two to the power of twenty-five thousand to one against and falling, and we will be restoring normality just as soon as we are sure what is normal anyway. Thank you. Two to the power of twenty thousand to one against and falling.”
The voice cut out.
Ford and Arthur were in a small luminous pink cubicle.
Ford was wildly excited.
“Arthur!” he said, “this is fantastic! We’ve been picked up by a ship powered by the Infinite Improbability Drive! This is incredible! I heard rumors about it before! They were all officially denied, but they must have done it! They’ve built the Improbability Drive! Arthur, this is … Arthur? What’s happening?”
Arthur had jammed himself against the door to the cubicle, trying to hold it closed, but it was ill fitting. Tiny furry little hands were squeezing themselves through the cracks, their fingers were ink-stained; tiny voices chattered insanely.
Arthur looked up.
“Ford!” he said, “there’s an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for
Hamlet
they’ve worked out.”
Chapter 10
T he Infinite Improbability Drive is a wonderful new method of crossing vast interstellar distances in a mere nothingth of a second, without all that tedious mucking about in hyperspace. It was discovered by a lucky chance, and then developed into a governable form of propulsion by the Galactic Government’s research team on Damogran.
This, briefly, is the story of its discovery.
The principle of generating small amounts of
finite
improbability by simply hooking the logic circuits of a Bambleweeny 57 Sub-Meson Brain to an atomic vector plotter suspended in a strong Brownian Motion producer (say a nice hot cup of tea) were of course well understood—and such generators were often used to break the ice at parties by making all the molecules in the hostess’s undergarments leap simultaneously one foot to the left, in
Bulges appeared in the fabric of space-time. Great ugly bulges.
“Haaaauuurrgghhh …” said Arthur, as he felt his body softening and bending in unusual directions. “Southend seems to be melting away … the stars are swirling … a dustbowl … my legs are drifting off into the sunset … my left arm’s come off too.” A frightening thought struck him. “Hell,” he said, “how am I going to operate my digital watch now?” He wound his eyes desperately around in Ford’s direction.
“Ford,” he said, “you’re turning into a penguin. Stop it.”
Again came the voice.
“Two to the power of seventy-five thousand to one against and falling.”
Ford waddled around his pond in a furious circle.
“Hey, who are you?” he quacked. “Where are you? What’s going on and is there any way of stopping it?”
“Please relax,” said the voice pleasantly, like a stewardess in an airliner with only one wing and two engines, one of which is on fire, “you are perfectly safe.”
“But that’s not the point!” raged Ford. “The point is that I am now a perfectly safe penguin, and my colleague here is rapidly running out of limbs!”
“It’s all right, I’ve got them back now,” said Arthur.
“Two to the power of fifty thousand to one against and falling,” said the voice.
“Admittedly,” said Arthur, “they’re longer than I usually like them, but …”
“Isn’t there anything,” squawked Ford in avian fury, “you feel you ought to be telling us?”
The voice cleared its throat. A giant petit four lolloped off into the distance.
“Welcome,” the voice said, “to the Starship Heart of Gold.”
The voice continued.
“Please do not be alarmed,” it said, “by anything you see or hear around you. You are bound to feel some initial ill effects as you have been rescued from certain death at an improbability level of two to the power of two hundred and seventy-six thousand to one against—possibly much higher. We are now cruising at a level of two to the power of twenty-five thousand to one against and falling, and we will be restoring normality just as soon as we are sure what is normal anyway. Thank you. Two to the power of twenty thousand to one against and falling.”
The voice cut out.
Ford and Arthur were in a small luminous pink cubicle.
Ford was wildly excited.
“Arthur!” he said, “this is fantastic! We’ve been picked up by a ship powered by the Infinite Improbability Drive! This is incredible! I heard rumors about it before! They were all officially denied, but they must have done it! They’ve built the Improbability Drive! Arthur, this is … Arthur? What’s happening?”
Arthur had jammed himself against the door to the cubicle, trying to hold it closed, but it was ill fitting. Tiny furry little hands were squeezing themselves through the cracks, their fingers were ink-stained; tiny voices chattered insanely.
Arthur looked up.
“Ford!” he said, “there’s an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for
Hamlet
they’ve worked out.”
Chapter 10
T he Infinite Improbability Drive is a wonderful new method of crossing vast interstellar distances in a mere nothingth of a second, without all that tedious mucking about in hyperspace. It was discovered by a lucky chance, and then developed into a governable form of propulsion by the Galactic Government’s research team on Damogran.
This, briefly, is the story of its discovery.
The principle of generating small amounts of
finite
improbability by simply hooking the logic circuits of a Bambleweeny 57 Sub-Meson Brain to an atomic vector plotter suspended in a strong Brownian Motion producer (say a nice hot cup of tea) were of course well understood—and such generators were often used to break the ice at parties by making all the molecules in the hostess’s undergarments leap simultaneously one foot to the left, in
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