Chapter Six
"Good luck, Ford," said Trillian. "And thanks. Thanks for everything. Take care."
Ford rejoined Zaphod, and sitting on a plastic sack apiece, they tobogganed down the wet, muddy hillside coming to rest to one side of the ship. Ford was up first and ran to the side of the ramp. Peering up into the ship, he could see no movement, and decided to chance it. He hauled himself up onto the ramp and crept towards the open hatchway. At the top Ford looked to the left and right. There didn't seem to be much in it, so he went right. He cautiously crept along the corridor, which followed the curvature of the hull. There was nobody about. With every sense cranked to the max, he continued for about twenty yards. He stopped. Something wasn't quite right. Ford retraced his steps back to the hatchway at the top of the ramp. He peered out.
"Zaphod, where-the-fuck-are-you?" he hissed through gritted teeth.
Arthur Dent's head looked up from the side of the ramp. "Is it safe?" said Zaphod.
"Probably not," said Ford, "but we've got to do this."
Reluctantly, Zaphod joined Ford at the open hatchway.
"Which way?" said Zaphod.
"Well... I've been to the right a fair way and didn't see anybody."
"Sounds good to me."
Ford retraced his steps, and Zaphod followed close behind. The inner panelling of the hull seemed reasonably intact, if a little neglected, but the general impression was of a clean ship. It was as if somebody was extremely fastidious about grime, but not too bothered about the general disorder. Even the panels, which had fallen away, and clearly needed to be replaced at some point, had been leant up against the walls... and polished.
"This reminds me of one of my mothers," said Zaphod, "she was always cleaning and polishing, but couldn't give a tuppenny bottom-burp about clutter, and she wouldn't recognise a colour scheme if it sat up, and bit her on the end of her nose."
They progressed a little further along the corridor passing all manner of junk shoved into alcoves, or left lying in their way causing them to squeeze past, and leave traces of mud along the walls. Silently, they edged towards an intersection running off to their left. Ford steeled himself and took a quick look. As he pulled his head back, he hit Zaphod on the nose.
"Gnaaargh."
"Shhhh," hissed Ford.
"Can I help?" said a voice that didn't belong to either of them.
They span round. Before them stood the massive, imposing hulk of a robot in a camouflage paint job, its facial features configured in a way to suggest a preparedness to rip off heads and ask questions later. Its bulging robotic arms suggested that it would have no trouble matching such an inclination to any heads within its immediate vicinity.
"Did you leave those muddy marks on the walls back there?" It said. The voice had none of the menace of its appearance.
In fact, the more Ford looked the more puzzled he became by the little details. It wasn't just the voice; the flower-print pinnie looked particularly incongruous, but the pink feather duster nestling in its massive claw was the clincher. This fearsome looking mechanical mountain was no more than a heavy-duty domestic robot in the livery of the battlefield - a dombot disguised as a battlebot.
"I only cleaned this corridor yesterday."
"Er... possibly," said Ford. "Actually, we're here to see Marsha. We were in the area and thought we would drop by, you know. Dot the i's and cross the t's, sort of thing. Is she about?" he said giving the dombot a big cheesy grin, which prompted Zaphod to try one out on Arthur's face.
"Are you in pain, sir? I could get you an analgesic."
"No, he's fine," said Ford.
"I am sorry sir," said the dombot, returning his attention to Ford, "but what you were saying before, I was not quite with you."
"The brain?" said Ford,
"Oh I see. Negotiations have clearly moved on somewhat since anybody deigned to inform me. Mistress is away at present. Can I get you anything whilst you are waiting?"
"Will she be long?"
"Well, if previous cabbage runs are anything to go by, another twenty minutes or so."
"Cabbage run? Oh for the Metaslug?"
"Indeed, sir. It has a rapacious appetite. You may wish to speak to the creature when it gets back from its constitutional."
"Perhaps we could come back later," said Zaphod anxiously, "we don't want to put anybody out."
"No, it's okay," said Ford quickly, "it had just started to rain again when we arrived. I'm sure we'll be more comfortable here. Just so long as you're sure it's no trouble."
"None, whatsoever, I can assure you. Perhaps you would care to wait in the lounge. Just go left here, and it is straight down on your right. There is a Nutri-Matic, and you may wish to avail yourselves of the nibbles in the refrigerator, if you're feeling peckish," said the dombot. "I shall let my mistress know you are here the moment she gets back. Sorry, I did not get your names."
"Oh, don't worry about that," said Ford, "Marsha's expecting us. Didn't she say?"
"No, but that is par for the course - ever since the ship changed hands, sadly. I have broached the subject, of course. However, it is not my decision. It would be easier for everybody if there were a bit more communication. For example, I could have met you at the hatchway, and you would not have got lost. Basic good manners, I would say. Still, no harm done, I suppose." And with that the dombot pulled a cloth from the pocket of its pinnie and turned back the way it had come.
"For a moment there, I thought it was going to pull our heads off," said Zaphod.
"Funny that," said Ford, "I thought the same thing."