Disclaimer: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and all related characters belong to the late, great Douglas Adams.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Zuliphix XII, well-known throughout the galaxy as a holiday destination: "Famed for its white sand beaches, its lush greenery, and evenings lit by three silvery moons, it attracts an average of 75 million tourists a year. (A year on Zuliphix XII being 500 days long, and since the week is only three days long, consisting almost entirely of weekends.)

There are only two facts which the planetary Chamber of Commerce leaves out of their full-color glossy brochures: one, that the rainy season is only six days long, but in those six days an average of 74 inches of rain falls steadily; two, the political unrest in the Southern Hemisphere is near the breaking point.

The C of C doesn't like to talk about these two particular facts, mainly because they would discourage the tourist trade. And so the brochures are inaccurate, but no one ever finds out till they arrive.

Hopefully it isn't in the middle of the rainy season. Or a coup attempt."

"Bloody hell." Ford Prefect stared out the window at the rain. Didn't it just have to be bloody raining?

"Still raining, is it?" Arthur Dent, who was reclining on the sofa, asked.

Ford sighed. "Yes, it's still raining. It's been raining since we arrived. What are we supposed to do in the rain?"

"Stay in the hotel? It's quite nice."

"Yes, well, I'm a little tired of staying in the hotel!" Ford got up and began pacing about the room. The cleaning robot followed him, in case he dropped any crumbs or anything. "Figures we'd arrive in the middle of the rainy season."

"It's only six days long," Arthur pointed out helpfully. "The man at the front desk told me."

"Which leaves us half a day to actually enjoy ourselves! Not much of a holiday, is it?"

"It's not bad," said Arthur, who was determined to make the best of it no matter what. "They're having jag'reth in the lobby in an hour. That's some sort of game, I gather."

"Rather like shuffleboard," Ford said. "Dead boring, really. The only real attraction is seeing who turns up to watch."

"Oh." Arthur shifted position on the sofa and wished the room had a television. Apparently the main religion on Zuliphix XII had some sort of prohibition against visual images of living beings. "Well, maybe I'll do some reading, then." He rummaged around in his travel bag and found Oolon Colluphid's latest bestseller God is Dead and I'm Feeling a Bit Poorly Myself.

Ford just watched the rain.

After a while, he realized he was humming something. A moment later, he recognized the tune as a piece of Earth music entitled "Singing in the Rain". He hadn't even known he knew that song.

"Sorry," he said to Arthur.

"Hmm?" Arthur looked up from his book. "Sorry? What for?"

"Oh, I was humming. Thought it might be bothering you."

"No, I didn't notice, actually. It's fine."

"I wouldn't want to disturb your reading."

"I'm fine, really. You can hum if you like."

"You're sure I'm not disturbing you?"

"Well, now you're starting to," Arthur grumbled.

There was an uncomfortable silence. It had only been two days and already they were starting to get on each other's nerves. That had to be some kind of record.

Finally Ford said, "Er, you want to pop in next door and see how they're getting on?"

"No!" Arthur said, a bit too loudly. "I mean, no, I'll just stay here and read my book. It's supposed to be quite good."

The truth was that Arthur and Zaphod had never quite managed to hit it off: Arthur thought Zaphod was obnoxious, and had never forgiven him for stealing the one girl Arthur had found interesting; Zaphod found Arthur hopelessly thick and also thought the Earthman really needed to learn to relax. Consequently, they always found excuses to spend as little time together as possible. They didn't actually hate each other; they just didn't get along too well.

"I'll say hi for you, then," Ford said. "Maybe later we'll all go to the lobby and look at the baragleebin plants."

"The what?"

"The pink palm tree-looking things. You remember, I pointed them out to you."

"Oh, those." The hotel was, in fact, called the Baragleebin, and the neon-colored fronds were everywhere you looked, even on the hotel stationery. "How long can anyone look at pink trees?"

"I don't suppose it's time for lunch yet?"

Arthur looked at his watch, which had had to be reset to the Zuliphixian 28-hour day. "Half past groo. They don't start serving lunch till after frex. So we'll meet up in an hour and go eat somewhere."

"Right. Enjoy your book." Ford, checking that he had his room key, closed the door behind him.

"Trillian, you can't blame me for rotten weather!"

In the suite next door, Trillian, a.k.a. Tricia McMillan, was at her wits' end. "This was all your idea, Zaphod! You talked me into taking a holiday here! 'White sandy beaches, lovely gardens, walks in the moonlight . . .' We haven't been outside since we got here!"

"No one told me it was the rainy season!"

"Because you never asked!" Trillian felt like strangling Zaphod, and would have, if she'd had four arms. If he was pretending to be stupid, as he sometimes did, it wasn't funny. If he was truly that stupid, he was going to get everybody killed before long.

"Knock knock," Ford said, entering the room. (Zaphod never locked his doors—which made for some embarrassing moments when he was getting dressed.)

Zaphod and Trillian looked up. "Oh, hi, Ford," said Trillian.

"Anyone fancy a drink?" Drinks were always a good way to kill a few hours when one couldn't venture out-of-doors; in fact, the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster had been invented during a particularly rainy month on Betelgeuse V, when Zaphod had been told by two of his mothers to do something, anything, but please stop bothering them!

"Yeah, I could go for a few drinks," Zaphod said. "Just don't let me get too crazy this time, okay? My heads are still hurting from our last big night out."

"You mean last Tuesday?" Trillian said.

Whatever Zaphod meant to reply was lost in the sound of an erupting klaxon alarm. "Oh, Zarquon, what now?"

"I think it's a fire alarm," Ford said. "We'd better get outside. Grab a towel."
"Towel?"

"Towels are very important. Come on!"

They met Arthur out on the front walk. "What's going on?" he asked, still clutching his book.

"I think it's a drill," Zaphod said, though he wasn't entirely sure himself.

"Yeah, they have them all the time in the dry season," Ford informed them.

"But this is the rainy season! Are there fires in the—"

There must have been a fire somewhere, because at that moment the hotel blew up.

Part of it did, anyway.

Zuliphix XII is notorious for its history of violent behavior, going all the way back to the first life forms that competed for food and shelter. Much like the planet Earth, Zuliphix XII has had an endless series of cataclysmic wars that never seem to really end, only pause for a moment. Most of these wars happen at a considerable distance from the tourist areas, but this time, no such niceties were being observed. Both sides in the latest war had large-scale weapons and they weren't afraid to use them, even in populated areas.

Zaphod flinched as a burst of laser fire came far too close. "The rain doesn't seem so bad now, does it?"

"Oh, very funny!" Ford said. "I don't know about you, but I think now might be a good time to get the Zark out of here!"

"But we've paid through the end of the week!" protested Arthur.

"That's the least of our worries right now!" Ford said, searching through his satchel for the communicator that kept him in touch with the Heart of Gold. "Here, hold my towel, will you?" he said, handing Arthur a pink-and-gold bath towel with the hotel's name on it.

"Did you steal this?" Arthur asked, but Ford ignored him and contacted Eddie, the Heart of Gold's computer.

"Eddie, we need a lift out of here, fast!"

"Sure thing, fella! I'm on my way now!" Eddie answered jovially. "Did I hear something about a civil war? Can I watch?"

"Not from the middle of it!" Arthur spluttered. He draped Ford's towel over his head as a tidal wave of smoke from the now-collapsing hotel washed over the group. There was a lot of gasping and coughing.

When the smoke finally cleared, the Heart of Gold was landing in front of them.

"That," Arthur declared, as soon as they were safely on board, "was the worst holiday I have ever had! And that's counting the one I spent with my head in the toilet."

"Head in the toilet?" Zaphod asked. "Really drunk, were you?"

"No, I didn't have time! While everyone else was off getting drunk I ordered the seafood surprise and spent the rest of the week wishing I hadn't."

"Worse than that planet where we were chased by carnivorous plant-men?"Ford asked.

"Much worse. They weren't shooting at us!"

"Well, we're safe now," Trillian said. "We can finish out the week somewhere else. Computer?"

"Hi there! What can I do for you today?"

In a corner, Marvin was moaning to anyone who'd listen (or even if they didn't; he'd understand if no one wanted to listen to him. Here he was, brain the size of a planet. . . ), "I could have told you, you know. About the rain and the political climate, and all of that. No one ever asks my opinion. Didn't even let me come along. I suppose you thought I'd bore you."

"Marvin, what are you on about now?" Zaphod asked.

"Oh, nothing," the robot intoned. "Just the fact that no one ever listens to me."

"Huh?" said Ford. "What'd you say? I wasn't listening."

Marvin heaved a big electronic sigh. "Oh, why do I bother?"

"Best place to eat locally?" Eddie said, in response to Trillian's query. "Sure, let me look that up for you! Only take a minute!"

Actually, it only took Eddie forty-eight seconds to come up with the name of a bar just a few dozen light-years away: the Pink Diamond Cocktail Lounge on Vadeegallum VI.

"Sounds good to me," said Zaphod. "We're off, then."

"How's the food?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, it's fantastic!" Eddie asserted, not knowing that some of the food's ingredients were incompatible with the human digestive system, and could possibly even be fatal. To be fair, he didn't know this because up till now no Earth people had ever eaten at the Pink Diamond Lounge.

Arthur Dent's terrible holiday was about to get worse.