The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams Page B

by now, and we stop to pick up hitchhikers. Okay, so ten out of ten for style, but minus several million for good thinking, yeah?”
    He tapped irritably at a control panel. Trillian quietly moved his hand before he tapped anything important. Whatever Zaphod’s qualities of mind might include—dash, bravado, conceit—he was mechanically inept and could easily blow the ship up with an extravagant gesture. Trilllian had come to suspect that the main reason he had had such a wild and successful life was that he never really understood the significance of anything he did.
    “Zaphod,” she said patiently, “they were floating unprotected in open space … you wouldn’t want them to have died, would you?”
    “Well, you know … no. Not as such, but …”
    “Not as such? Not die as such? But?” Trillian cocked her head on one side.
    “Well, maybe someone else might have picked them up later.”
    “A second later and they would have been dead.”
    “Yeah, so if you’d taken the trouble to think about the problem a bit longer it would have gone away.”
    “You’d have been happy to let them die?”
    “Well, you know, not happy as such, but …”
    “Anyway,” said Trillian, turning back to the controls, “I didn’t pick them up.”
    “What do you mean? Who picked them up then?”
    “The ship did.”
    “Huh?”
    “The ship did. All by itself.”
    “Huh?”
    “While we were in Improbability Drive.”
    “But that’s incredible.”
    “No, Zaphod. Just very very improbable.”
    “Er, yeah.”
    “Look, Zaphod,” she said, patting his arm, “don’t worry about the aliens. They’re just a couple of guys, I expect. I’ll send the robot down to get them and bring them up here. Hey, Marvin!”
    In the corner, the robot’s head swung up sharply, but then wobbled about imperceptibly. It pulled itself up to its feet as if it was about five pounds heavier than it actually was, and made what an outside observer would have thought was a heroic effort to cross the room. It stopped in front of Trillian and seemed to stare through her left shoulder.
    “I think you ought to know I’m feeling very depressed,” it said. Its voice was low and hopeless.
    “Oh God,” muttered Zaphod, and slumped into a seat.
    “Well,” said Trillian in a bright compassionate tone, “here’s something to occupy you and keep your mind off things.”
    “It won’t work,” droned Marvin, “I have an exceptionally large mind.”
    “Marvin!” warned Trillian.
    “All right,” said Marvin, “what do you want me to do?”
    “Go down to number two entry bay and bring the two aliens up here under surveillance.”
    With a microsecond pause, and a finely calculated micromodulation of pitch and timbre—nothing you could actually take offense at—Marvin managed to convey his utter contempt and horror of all things human.
    “Just that?” he said.
    “Yes,” said Trillian firmly.
    “I won’t enjoy it,” said Marvin.
    Zaphod leaped out of his seat.
    “She’s not asking you to enjoy it,” he shouted, “just do it, will you?”
    “All right,” said Marvin, like the tolling of a great cracked bell, “I’ll do it.”
    “Good …” snapped Zaphod, “great … thank you …”
    Marvin turned and lifted his flat-topped triangular red eyes up toward him.
    “I’m not getting you down at all, am I?” he said pathetically.
    “No no, Marvin,” lilted Trillian, “that’s just fine, really.…”
    “I wouldn’t like to think I was getting you down.”
    “No, don’t worry about that,” the lilt continued, “you just act as comes naturally and everything will be just fine.”
    “You’re sure you don’t mind?” probed Marvin.
    “No, no, Marvin,” lilted Trillian, “that’s just fine, really … just part of life.”
    Marvin flashed her an electronic look.
    “Life,” said Marvin, “don’t talk to me about life.”
    He turned hopelessly on his heel and lugged himself out of the cabin. With a satisfied hum