Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the western spiral arm of the galaxy lies an unregarded yellow star. Orbiting this roughly ninety million miles away, there lies the smoking remains of the utterly insignificant planet Earth. Within this rumble there was a solitary man in a solitary truck drifting safely on the last remaining cloud, which had only managed not to dissipate as it was the closest to it's God and his chariot, perhaps the most unremarkably name chariot in the remaining history of the universe; 'Makener's All-Weather Haulage'. Little did the occupant know but another chariot was approaching eerily close to his, the cloud making every attempt to warn it's God.
"Bloody rain, even without a cloud it still manages to pour on me," exclaimed the occupant, near the godly capacity for rage, completely ignoring the fact that it appeared to be falling upwards. This is would not have been very likely if he wasn't in space, for more information that will help you live in the universe one should buy the incredibly useful 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. On the occasion that he had picked up the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which had been coincidentally dropped on his passenger seat floor by a certain earthman and his female companion, he would have known exactly what to do by simply looking at the cover. Of course the message was the simple two words commonly used irrationally: 'Don't Panic'.
On the other side of the galaxy, in a different time completely, a drunk hitchhiker from a planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse V, named Ford Prefect, was reluctantly explaining to Arthur Dent, owner of the Hitchhiker's Guide currently located in the Makener's truck, for the seventh time why he would never meet any other Fenchurches in any of the parallel universes and vies versa.
"Look Arthur, how many times do I have to explain this? You and Fenchurch can't meet alternative Arthurs or Fenchurches, or your subconscious would become semi-conscious turning you, her, the tea and your entire race into your most primitive form - or maybe your most enlightened form, I can never remember which - and break the inter-dimensional barrier which would make those who live in the higher dimensions equal to those on the lower planes, of which the universe can not allow, so it simply decided to finally go to the meeting with the other universes -affectionately named the Multiverse Summit - to discuss what to do. And so, they chose this version of you and Fenchurch and removed all the rest!" he exclaimed relieved at being able to final breathe.
"Can that really happen?" Arthur replied feeling a little guilty, "they did that because of me?"
"I don't know. For zark's sake just sit down and have a drink, perhaps this time we will finally be able to relax for once," answered Ford slowly reaching for his Pan-galactic Gargle Blaster, a drink widely regarded as the ultimate beverage and of course the most terrible.
"Hmm well Fenchurch, Random and I will be leaving now so if you're ever in any trouble or near Lamulea please just leave us alone, I've had quite enough adventures for this life time, and all my now eradicated parallel lifetimes," Arthur retorted, looking for Fenchurch. He spotted a young mydanian (an odd race which have five arms, four feet, but only two fingers) trying to flirt with her, of which she simply passed off and continued to walk to Arthur. The mydanian however was flabbergasted at how he did not managed to completely woo this simpler being. This amazement and horror unfortunately caused one of his fingers to drop off and crawl toward the it's owner's ship, wondrously flying it, leaving the planet, wondering what it was going to with its new life, as it was finally free.
"Ah come on the evenings barely begun," exclaimed Ford raising a glass "Barman Barbour two of those gargle-blasters!"
"Look you and Trillian may have nothing better to do than drink and interview the host about his upcoming plans for the restaurant but I do, I've got a family now," explained Arthur sounding a bit agitated mainly because he'd now lost Random and he, like Fenchurch, should be looking for her
"Its not like you have a ship anyway, you might as well stay" Ford argued back.
"That's where you're wrong" exclaimed Arthur, smirking, "Fenchurch is being given a ship for a full galactic year after working here. Besides, it's not nearly as ridiculous and random as that Heart of Gold, yet still has a faster drive "
"I'm impressed, Arthur, you managed to make all of that up from on the spot? You never struck me as creative," said Ford smiling, "I'm surprised you can lie."
"I'm not making this up, Ford, look at the 'benefits' page from the job advertisement form," replied Arthur throwing down said benefits page on the table that Ford had now moved to from the bar.
"Wow, five million 'end' dollars, a free probability ship exclusive to this restaurant and a cutting-edge lunch box now with drinks holders," he read allowed.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say on the subject of the Probability Drive. Most people throughout the universe assume that the probability drive is simply an abbreviation of the improbability drive. They are wrong. Without getting into the hyper-physics of the matter it is simply a revolutionary way of getting you were you want to go, without turning you into a dolphin, making it the most accurate and most anticipated product ever to be invented. Unfortunately before it could be finish A'kalfan 'rp, it's creator, was assassinated by his late sun who was wanting revenge for it's spectacular death. That sun then proceeded to Millway's for a quick drink but due to a malfunction in the time-probability fields, was erased from time itself causing A'kalfan 'rp to never have been born in the first place which should have erased the only blue prints as well but due to a strange series of errors in the field, they were picked up five minutes later by the internal relations manager of his corporation, reviewed by the main manager and subsequently added to the 'Employees Exclusive Leaving Support and Thank You Package' for Millway's, as long as they had a good reason for leaving, so when Fenchurch gave her reason that she was kind of bored and had finally, finitely been brought a universe where Arthur Dent also exists finitely, she was lucky her manager was in a really happy and also drunk mood.
Ford leapt up with a scream and punched Arthur square in the face with a gold bar covered in lemon that he'd been keeping in his bag for emergencies or when he'd run out of jokes to tell. Needless to say, Arthur was now a crumpled heap on the floor.
"I didn't want to do that, but you refuse to drink Gargle Blasters, and that's the next best thing," was Ford's only explanation.
"What on Earth did you do to him?!" cried Fenchurch as she ploughed on with Random being dragged behind her, currently aged 17 for reasons confusing even for a senior quantum engineer specialising in rocket science and an amateur time rewriter that managed to kill Hitler in a universe where Earth was a big daisy head.
"Earth is an interesting planet that currently no longer exists, I myself wrote the book on Earth so know everything there is to know about it. I even met the computer that commissioned it and the incredibly complex man that made fjords. Wonderful things, fjords, only 4 days before it was obliterated was I expl-"
"Shut your damned spaceman trap," was the statement that most rudely interrupted the wonderful anecdote that Ford had been so longing to tell. "What did you do to him and why are you holding a gold bar wrapped in lemon zest?".
"Funny story-"
"I don't want to hear it," decided Fennchurch. Today was not exactly going as planned and she was already disappointed that she had to work, seeming as Arthur's only skill was making sandwiches. However good they were.
At that moment, a cow strutted past and looked at the hungry Betelgeusean hitchhiker, winked, and then made a move towards Ford.
"You travellers are always hungry, try my buttocks, they're just divine in a red wine jus," the cow exclaimed.
"I just love a good ru-" Ford began.
"I'm afraid he's a vegetarian, I'm so sorry," Fenchurch interrupted, purposefully trying to cause Ford a little trouble, and it certainly worked. The cow huffed and began to fill it's mind with insults, eyes popping and slammed it's front hooves on the table.
"You damn vegetarians! Why you gotta go and be all fancy and different! Just take a munch on my rear end on for zark's sake! It is my sole purpose in life to be eaten, is it impossible to just give me that wish, is it something you have against me that you just want to crush my dreams!" cried the cow, startling a lot of the surrounding diners at the restaurant. Ford was now slowly taking cover, sliding further under the table and shielding his face with a tattered towel, likely originating from the now inexistent Marks and Spencer's on Guildford High Street. "Zarking vegetarians, not even vegan, at least vegans just go and have nothing to do with animals! You vegetarians still want to use us for milk and tug on my tender, dangly udders! D'you see these horns? I could ram you a new-"
Arthur chose this moment to uncrumple himself and awaken. Quickly seeing the enraged talking cow, he slowly shuffled backwards, away from the scene, colliding with a slender pair of rather human legs. Fortunately, as soon as he saw the leg's feet, he identified the owner of the pleasant legs to be none other than Fenchurch, behind which, stood a bored and irate Random.
"Oh hello, I was just about to come find you, how have you been? Got the ship?" Arthur mumbled up at Fenchurch.
"I have the ship, but I'm driving," she replied as Arthur attempted to stand, immediately collapsing from the after affects of his substitute Gargle-Blaster.
"They gave us the stinking old edition of the lunchbox, this one doesn't even have a cup holder!" snorted Random.
"I'm sure we can buy you the right one, dear," Fenchurch offered Random, Random's first reply being a snort. "You realise I'm seventeen, I don't need a zarking lunchbox, Fenchurch," was the second, slightly ruder reply.
"Oh okay then," muttered Fenchurch,"that's fine too."
"Home, please," Arthur interrupted, now standing after his seventh attempt. He led the way down to the parking lot and began to search for their new ship. Fenchurch wafted on behind, clicking the button on her newly owned keys. About half a mile further, they eventually found it. Random, having never seen a 1950 Volkswagen Transporter, did not have the same reaction as either Fenchurch or Arthur, instead she pondered on how she loved the 'grungy, retro feel' and how it looked like the coolest, quirkiest space ship ever. On the other hand, Arthur felt a wave of pleasant nostalgia upon spotting the spaceship that did, strangely enough, uncannily resemble a giant Campervan. It reminded him of his family summer visits to Cornwall in his uncle's VW Camper, named Beetlejuice for it's questioning colour scheme and functional ability, there were also a few repressed memories concerning females he had met on such trips, but he didn't want to get into those. He did however recognise and was slightly taken aback at it being the size of a reasonably large house.
"It's a Campervan." Fenchurch stated, rather bluntly and with a strong sense of disgust and disappointment.
"I think it looks rather homely," Arthur replied, dismayed at her reaction to what he thought was a lovely vessel, even in the garish neon blue it was painted in.
Hi guys, sorry this was really delayed we kinda forgot about it. Yes we, I'm writing it with an old friend down in England, hope you enjoy it and as always feedback is appreciated.