Disclaimer: I don't own Ford or Arthur or the Heart of Gold or Guildford.
And I think that mostly that's for the best.
Other stuff you should know before getting any further: This story contains a distinct element of Arthur/Ford slash. If that seems likely to rub you up the wrong way (no innuendo intended) then I'd leave it well alone. Nothing graphic, mind you . . . If on the other hand you like that kind of thing then I advise you to read the wondrous works of Afrai, who does and has done that kind of thing much more effectively elsewhere. It wasn't going to have two chapters. But I can't persuade my computer to upload big chunks so there will be more . . .
Reviews: Oooh, yes please. It'll only take a minute. Ta muchly.
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In the infinite darkness of space something stirred. In fact, space is very rarely entirely dark, but in this case the laws of dramatic effect (also known throughout the galaxy as Spielberg's Laws) demanded that it be so. From the darkness emerged a shimmering silver spaceship. This shimmering silver spaceship was known as the Heart of Gold. Some months ago it had been stolen by a man with two heads and three arms who was at that time the President of the Galaxy. Of course none of this is particularly relevant to the story in hand but does serve to pass the time nicely until that story arrives.
On the deck of this shimmering silver spaceship Arthur Dent stood looking aimlessly out into space. Space looked aimlessly back. He was mildly alarmed, but not particularly surprised to notice that there was something very strange happening outside. Since the time that his home planet had been demolished to make way for an interspace hyperlink so many strange things had happened to him that he seemed to have lost the will power to be surprised by them.
Moving with great speed and determination, in the exact direction of the Heart of Gold was a large paisley patterned purple suitcase. Arthur watched it with interest. After a few minutes he began to think that perhaps he should mention it to someone. This hadn't happened before and he was sure there must be a proper procedure for handling it.
He found Ford idly talking to a door. He mentioned it to him. Reluctantly Ford dragged himself from his conversation and followed Arthur to a window on deck.
"Arthur! We're about to be hit by a giant suitcase!"
Arthur nodded. "I thought you ought to know"
There was a moment of silence. Both men watched the suitcase loom ever closer.
"Doesn't this kind of thing normally happen after we switch on the Improbability Drive?" Arthur asked curiously.
"The Improbability Drive! Arthur, the button, press the button . . ."
There was a blinding flash of light. There was a surprisingly long period of darkness. There was a series of soft bumps. And then there was light.
Ford looked around. "What a horrible carpet" he said.
"I quite like it" said Arthur. "Actually, I think I've seen it somewhere before. It looks very . . . familiar."
Ford nods. "You had one just like it in your house on Earth."
Arthur studied the carpet more closely. "Look" he said "there's a stain on it just where you spilt that bottle of wine."
"I told you it was salt you should put on it" Ford said defensively. "You were the one who kept insisting it needed more wine."
Arthur looked at him. He was becoming increasingly excited. "Ford" he said, "this is my house. On Earth. Look, you can see my washing line through the window. Those are my socks."
Ford looked. "I didn't know you wore blue socks".
Arthur made an impatient noise. "The colour of the socks isn't the point. The point is this is my house. This is my planet. Neither of them have been demolished. I'm home."
Ford nodded slowly. It did seem that Arthur was, unusually, right.
"What happened?"
"Well . . ." Ford though hard for a moment. "You remember the suitcase."
"It was purple. Paisley patterned."
"Yes, that was the one. Now I would say, that that was . . .quite improbable. Not very improbable but quite."
(In fact Ford was completely wrong about this. The planet of Effraaad had been in the business of manufacturing paisley patterned spaceships, which did indeed bear some resemblance to suitcases, for more than an Effraaadian century. It was a proud industrial heritage, only slightly marred by the fact that the kind of person who wishes to possess a paisley patterned suitcase shaped spaceship is quite frequently slightly madder than a whole convention of hatters. And quite often aggressive too.)
"So we must have used the Improbability Drive at that exact point at some time in the past."
(Ford was, on the other hand, quite right about this. Which only goes to prove that cause and effect are not always as closely linked as is often supposed.)
"But that's . . ."
" . . . wildly improbable?" Ford grinned irritatingly.
Arthur looked at him with the expression of disgust he usually reserved solely for Zaphod. In his previous life he had only ever had to use it very rarely, chiefly on door to door encyclopaedia salesmen. Now he seemed to be using it all the time. "So, the two improbabilities . . . cancelled each other out?"
Ford nodded encouragingly. "Which means this must be Infinite Probability."
"And because I was the one who pressed the button . . . this is what I find most probable?" Arthur suddenly felt a lot better. Whatever it was that he felt was most probable he was almost certain it would involve tea. And he was almost certain he knew where to find it.
He was enjoying his second cup when Ford came into the kitchen. His face had assumed what is traditionally described as a strange glazed expression.
"Why are you wearing that strange glazed expression?" said Arthur. Then he saw what Ford was holding. To most people it would have looked like nothing more than a small dirty towel. In fact it was nothing more than a small dirty towel.
"My towel" Ford said flatly. He held it up for Arthur to inspect more closely. "It was hanging up. On your radiator. It had been folded."
Other stuff you should know before getting any further: This story contains a distinct element of Arthur/Ford slash. If that seems likely to rub you up the wrong way (no innuendo intended) then I'd leave it well alone. Nothing graphic, mind you . . . If on the other hand you like that kind of thing then I advise you to read the wondrous works of Afrai, who does and has done that kind of thing much more effectively elsewhere. It wasn't going to have two chapters. But I can't persuade my computer to upload big chunks so there will be more . . .
Reviews: Oooh, yes please. It'll only take a minute. Ta muchly.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
In the infinite darkness of space something stirred. In fact, space is very rarely entirely dark, but in this case the laws of dramatic effect (also known throughout the galaxy as Spielberg's Laws) demanded that it be so. From the darkness emerged a shimmering silver spaceship. This shimmering silver spaceship was known as the Heart of Gold. Some months ago it had been stolen by a man with two heads and three arms who was at that time the President of the Galaxy. Of course none of this is particularly relevant to the story in hand but does serve to pass the time nicely until that story arrives.
On the deck of this shimmering silver spaceship Arthur Dent stood looking aimlessly out into space. Space looked aimlessly back. He was mildly alarmed, but not particularly surprised to notice that there was something very strange happening outside. Since the time that his home planet had been demolished to make way for an interspace hyperlink so many strange things had happened to him that he seemed to have lost the will power to be surprised by them.
Moving with great speed and determination, in the exact direction of the Heart of Gold was a large paisley patterned purple suitcase. Arthur watched it with interest. After a few minutes he began to think that perhaps he should mention it to someone. This hadn't happened before and he was sure there must be a proper procedure for handling it.
He found Ford idly talking to a door. He mentioned it to him. Reluctantly Ford dragged himself from his conversation and followed Arthur to a window on deck.
"Arthur! We're about to be hit by a giant suitcase!"
Arthur nodded. "I thought you ought to know"
There was a moment of silence. Both men watched the suitcase loom ever closer.
"Doesn't this kind of thing normally happen after we switch on the Improbability Drive?" Arthur asked curiously.
"The Improbability Drive! Arthur, the button, press the button . . ."
There was a blinding flash of light. There was a surprisingly long period of darkness. There was a series of soft bumps. And then there was light.
Ford looked around. "What a horrible carpet" he said.
"I quite like it" said Arthur. "Actually, I think I've seen it somewhere before. It looks very . . . familiar."
Ford nods. "You had one just like it in your house on Earth."
Arthur studied the carpet more closely. "Look" he said "there's a stain on it just where you spilt that bottle of wine."
"I told you it was salt you should put on it" Ford said defensively. "You were the one who kept insisting it needed more wine."
Arthur looked at him. He was becoming increasingly excited. "Ford" he said, "this is my house. On Earth. Look, you can see my washing line through the window. Those are my socks."
Ford looked. "I didn't know you wore blue socks".
Arthur made an impatient noise. "The colour of the socks isn't the point. The point is this is my house. This is my planet. Neither of them have been demolished. I'm home."
Ford nodded slowly. It did seem that Arthur was, unusually, right.
"What happened?"
"Well . . ." Ford though hard for a moment. "You remember the suitcase."
"It was purple. Paisley patterned."
"Yes, that was the one. Now I would say, that that was . . .quite improbable. Not very improbable but quite."
(In fact Ford was completely wrong about this. The planet of Effraaad had been in the business of manufacturing paisley patterned spaceships, which did indeed bear some resemblance to suitcases, for more than an Effraaadian century. It was a proud industrial heritage, only slightly marred by the fact that the kind of person who wishes to possess a paisley patterned suitcase shaped spaceship is quite frequently slightly madder than a whole convention of hatters. And quite often aggressive too.)
"So we must have used the Improbability Drive at that exact point at some time in the past."
(Ford was, on the other hand, quite right about this. Which only goes to prove that cause and effect are not always as closely linked as is often supposed.)
"But that's . . ."
" . . . wildly improbable?" Ford grinned irritatingly.
Arthur looked at him with the expression of disgust he usually reserved solely for Zaphod. In his previous life he had only ever had to use it very rarely, chiefly on door to door encyclopaedia salesmen. Now he seemed to be using it all the time. "So, the two improbabilities . . . cancelled each other out?"
Ford nodded encouragingly. "Which means this must be Infinite Probability."
"And because I was the one who pressed the button . . . this is what I find most probable?" Arthur suddenly felt a lot better. Whatever it was that he felt was most probable he was almost certain it would involve tea. And he was almost certain he knew where to find it.
He was enjoying his second cup when Ford came into the kitchen. His face had assumed what is traditionally described as a strange glazed expression.
"Why are you wearing that strange glazed expression?" said Arthur. Then he saw what Ford was holding. To most people it would have looked like nothing more than a small dirty towel. In fact it was nothing more than a small dirty towel.
"My towel" Ford said flatly. He held it up for Arthur to inspect more closely. "It was hanging up. On your radiator. It had been folded."