Chapter Four – Raptors
The various minor celebrities and megastars unpacked their rucksacks, and arranged the contents around their chosen camp beds. The complicated ritual of selecting a bed for maximum exposure to the invisicams, with full consideration to whom each contestant wanted as their neighbour for the week ahead, played out against a barrage of excited banter. Zaphod Beeblebrox and Trillian selected adjacent beds, with Zaphod keeping a close eye on Splat to make sure he didn't choose one too close to their own corner of the jungle clearing. It was not because Zaphod was afraid of the cricketer, he was, but because his ego didn't like the competition. If Zaphod wanted better treatment at the hands of the Imperial Galactic Government Prison Service, then he needed to make a good impression with the public, and a being of Splat Braynematter's undoubted presence would only cramp his style. Splat's singular presence tended to draw the eye – and he only had the one head.
Of Weevil Metamorphosis he had no such fears. He may be big now but the celebrity universe of gunk-rock was a fickle mistress, which presumably was why Weevil had applied to be on the show. Zaphod had enjoyed a long held reputation for being the hoopiest frood in the Galaxy, and there was no way he was going to be out-cooled by a transient rocker. This time next year, Zaphod reasoned, nobody would even remember Weevil What's-His-name.
Trillian watched Splat as he leant his cricket bat against a tree. He was the most triangular specimen of humanoidality she had ever seen. A big square head and a big square lantern jaw topped the triangle. He was also one of the scariest alien specimens she could conceive of. The eyes, when visible, resembled those of a reptile, and it was this aspect of his appearance, more than any other, which assured his success on the cricket field. Most of Splat Braynematter's opponents either dropped dead on the spot when they saw him bearing down on them, or made good use of their running spikes and got the zark out of the way. They appeared to have no depth whatsoever, and stared with an expressionless gaze straight ahead and through whatever, or whomever, he happened to be facing. It wasn't so bad when he was wearing shades, which he did a lot, but it wasn't much better either. The long arms, resembling plaited steel ropes, were finished off with huge shovel-like hands, which swung at around the level of his ankles when walking with his short powerful legs. He wore little in the way of clothes, opting, as was his wont, for a simple white leotard and flip-flops.
*****
A couple of easy chairs have appeared at the centre of the stage. Max Quordlepleen has changed into a light green and purple striped jumpsuit with matching boat shoes, one green, one purple, and occupies one of the chairs.
"Welcome back," says Max. "I have with me Gag Halfrunt, who is well-known as the Private Brain Care Specialist to the stars, including one Zaphod Beeblebrox, his most famous client. Gag Halfrunt, welcome to Celebrity Horror Camp."
"Thank you, it's a great pleasure to be here," says Gag, leaning forward from the other chair, and shaking Max Quordlepleen by the hand.
"I'm sure all of our viewers would welcome an insight," says Max, "into one of the most notorious individuals of this or any other age. We all know about the ex-President's incredibly complex psychological and psychiatric problems. To be schizophrenic is bad enough, but to be schizophrenic in both heads is beyond the comprehension of most analysts, we hear, yet alone non-specialists. Tell me, Gag, what is your take on Zaphod Beeblebrox?"
"Well," said Gag Halfrunt cheerfully, "Zaphod's just this guy, you..."
"I'm sorry," says Max, "but I'm getting a message from our reporter on the ground. Are you there, Sally Linklater?"
The image of Sally appears on the giant screen behind Max Quordlepleen and then the studio fades from view and all we see is the reporter. "Yes I am, Max. We have some sensational news for you, coming from the camp surrounds. The celebs don't know it yet, but they soon will – there's a pack of something like twelve or thirteen, possibly more, raptors in the area, and as I speak they're moving towards the camp. The invisicams are tracking their progress, and the good news is they look hungry. We are expecting scenes of high carnage. Well, I'm joined now by the sauro-biologist, Professor Lizzie Shaw, of the Reptilian Institute," Sally says, turning to face the serious-looking woman standing next to her. "Professor, just how dangerous are these guys?"
"I'd hardly call them 'guys' - they're animals, after all. And, yes, they are extremely dangerous, and would cause one hell of a mess should any of the contestants encounter them. Raptors are typically characterised by their intelligence, speed, and razor sharp teeth. They also have an elongated talon on each foot resembling a curved dagger. An unarmed being of similar size would stand little chance against one, but against a pack, no chance whatsoever. So let us hope, for the sake of the contestants, that they keep their distance."
Sally Linklater frowns. She appears less keen on the idea of separation. "So from what you're saying, Professor Shaw, we can expect to see blood spilt in any such encounter," she says with a hopeful look.
"Obviously. I would ask one question and that is - how did they get here in the first place? Raptors are not indigenous to Rukbat Four in this period of its geological development."
Sally, we see, is looking a little shifty and replies: "This is something of a puzzle, and something that I cannot answer. However, they weren't brought in for the show, I can assure you of that. As far as anyone can remember there have always been raptors on this planet, though as you say they may not be indigenous. Perhaps they were imported for a zoo or similar and were released when the project fell through."
Professor Lizzie Shaw clearly doesn't believe a word of it. Her face says so, but her voice is unheard as we return to the studio.
Then we see the smiling face of Max Quordlepleen, "We shall, of course keep you fully informed of developments as we receive them," says Max, "but first a word from our sponsors."
*****
Weevil was the first to sidle up to Zaphod Beeblebrox. "Hey man, how's it hanging?"
"Er... Yeah, cool man," Zaphod said, affecting not to know who he was talking to.
"Weevil Metamorphosis," said Weevil Metamorphosis.
"Oh yeah," said Zaphod, with generosity, but with just a hint of puzzlement.
"Lead singer with the Coleopterans," offered Weevil, "I heard you were here, man. Sorry to here about the bust. Must've been a real pisser. How have they been treating you?"
"You get used to it," said Zaphod, nonchalantly.
"I heard they nabbed you in a space-bar. You were on your third Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, way I heard it.
"Fourth."
"So what're you doing here? I can dig why the rest of us are putting our reps on the line. Guess we need the exposure," said Weevil, laughing self-deprecatingly.
"Yeah, well I've got my reasons," said Zaphod with a generous keep-it-to-yourself wink.
Weevil looked around for clues and didn't find any. There was no way anyone was going to get out of this gig, unless it was in an ambulance. Once you're in, you're in. But then again, the Big Zee was known for his convoluted strategies. "So, er... wanna tell me about it?" said Weevil.
Zaphod fixed Weevil with a good humoured stare and raised his eyes to the tree line.
"Oh yeah, right," said Weevil. "Yeah, like I dig it, man - you don't want to give anything away. Wow!" said Weevil falling for it.
Zaphod saw his opportunity to end the conversation whilst he was ahead, and dismissed the rocker with a light gesture. It was aimed at Weevil, but intended for the benefit of the invisicams. "Catch you later," said Zaphod.
He had been stupid, of that there was no doubt. Okay, so it was just a seedy little space-bar hollowed out of an asteroid, but he'd seen the Vogons straight away. The trouble was he'd had a raging thirst and had insisted on a change of scenery, and had remembered the bar from a previous visit to that sector. His easy-going relaxed demeanour had thrown the Vogons at first. Zaphod supposed that they just couldn't believe that the ex-President would be that stupid. However, the Vogons being Vogons were sufficiently stupid themselves not to realise just how stupid Zaphod could be at times. Even as they arrested him, they couldn't get their dull brains around the concept. Perhaps they suspected that the whole situation was a training exercise, thought Zaphod. A test, despite their being on shore leave, set up by their ship's Captain using a look-alike. Zaphod sometimes wondered if some part of him wanted to end the chase, to submit to the authorities and take his punishment. He was certainly tired of running. And he hadn't turned around when he saw them and walked straight back out again.
The sentence when it finally arrived was harsh – twenty standard years, without remission, and his assets frozen. He'd get the money back one day, his lawyers would see to that. But it wasn't in their interests to conclude matters swiftly and the lead barrister had reckoned the whole case could drag through the courts for decades. Zaphod would still be poor when he got out. If Zaphod could have used the capital from his various moneymaking schemes, he could then have bought himself a place in one of the more comfortable prisons. Instead he found himself incarcerated in an establishment that didn't even have a bar, yet alone a leisure complex. He stuck it at first, but the months dragged on until he could stand it no longer. He had asked to see the Governor. Initially, he was reluctant. However, the Governor finally conceded to slot Zaphod into one of the job opportunities to help pay for his keep in cosier surroundings. The Vogons couldn't give a Bugblatter's fart if the criminal fraternity had it easy just so long as they could pay their way. Vogons are, if anything, grateful for the work afforded them by the felons. Nobody pretended anymore about justice, or the punishment fitting the crime. Prisons do not come cheap and the punishment needed to fit the purse.
As Trillian had been arrested at the same time, Zaphod had felt an obligation to put in a word for her. After all, it wasn't her fault. She just came along for the ride. She had only been given five standard years, and would cope better than him, but what the hell - a change is as good as a rest, and this was shaping up quite nicely. The sun was out, it was warm, and could be more relaxing than a quiet idyllic spot in the middle of the jungle. There was just one niggling doubt – why the mindwipe? Zaphod struggled to remember the show from its previous incarnations. There was something that they didn't want the contestants to remember. It was probably nothing. Maybe there wouldn't be a show if the contestants could recall what had happened in the previous shows. No element of surprise to capture on the invisicams, Zaphod concluded. Still everyone in the camp was pretty relaxed. Whatever it was about this show that he, and the other contestants, couldn't remember it couldn't be that important.
Zaphod had just settled down on his camp bed, and closed his eyes, when he heard raised voices in the distance. Presently, one of the minor celebrities, sprinted through the camp with half a dozen Hollywood-sized raptors nipping at his rump. He shot up a steep embankment leaving the raptors barking at his rapidly receding back. Now this was an interesting situation, thought Zaphod. A pretty girl, with 'Fanny' emblazoned across her chest, screamed. This had the immediate effect, much to Fanny's (and everybody else's) obvious dismay, of drawing the attention of the raptors away from the now unobtainable object of their pursuit, towards the static and eminently obtainable figures that stood open mouthed all around them.