Chapter Eight – Make Your Mind Up Time
Ford tapped at the buttons of his copy of the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy He kept one eye on the projection above him on the starboard side of the saucer's viewing bubble. For an overview of a planet it is best to view it from the air, and the images captured by the cameras, during the saucer's sweeps over the oceans and scattered land mass of Ford's home for the last two-point-four local years, would go a long way to beefing up his entries before he sent them off to be processed on Ursa Minor Beta.
Zipping through the cosmos in a little two-seater flying saucer, with his friend, Arthur Dent, he had the best of both worlds. His experience on the ground allowed him to compose his thoughts in such a way that any visitors to the island, on which he had been stranded, would feel immediately at home, and the images captured from the air would add much to his description of the planet as a whole.
As beautiful as the planet was, the island was still the main attraction. When the teasers had first landed on the planet, with Arthur and himself on board, they had chosen the location because they had been there before. It was their secret little paradise which nobody else in the Galaxy knew about. Ford was about to change all that. He'd had plenty of time to organise his thoughts during his enforced stay, and right now he was on a roll. The words just kept coming.
He didn't mind so much anymore that the teasers hadn't come back for him. That hadn't stopped him calling them all the names under a thousand suns, but he supposed they'd had their reasons for staying away. The cops had tracked them there, after all. Not that Ford or Arthur knew why, of course. They were hardly going to confide in a couple of hitch hikers. He put the teasers out of his mind and continued to punch the buttons on the Guide.
Ford Prefect sat back in the passenger seat and stretched his arms out behind him. He reached up and touched the projection's off icon, and the moving aerial images of the planet folded in on themselves before winking out of existence.
"You know Arthur, this is the life. We can go anywhere in the Universe, and all we have to do is ask Dave. Zap, and we're there. Amazing!"
"Actually, Ford, I did know that. It's my flying saucer, remember?" said Arthur, not looking down from the game of backgammon, which he was playing against, Dave, the saucer's onboard computer. The board was displayed on the inner canopy membrane, on the port side, and the Earthman was winning for the first time since teaching Dave the game. He only needed a couple of singles, or a gammon, to win the match.
"Yeah, but I mean, this is like, really amazing!"
"So you keep telling me. Have you decided where you want to go?" said Arthur, completing a six-point block after throwing a lucky double-one. "How about Betelgeuse?"
"It's a possibility," said Ford, gazing out at the constellation of the Anglepoise-Lamp. "It's certainly familiar - perhaps a bit too much. I need to ease myself back into the familiar. One step at a time and all that. Somewhere a bit quieter to start with, I think," Ford said, as he leaned across from the starboard side, and terminated the game, with a quick tap at the Impregna-glass. "Are you listening, Arthur? This is important."
"Oh, thank you very much," said Arthur. "If you knew how many matches I've played to get into a winning position like..."
"We've got to talk about this. Arthur, we can't just go careering aimlessly around the Galaxy."
"I don't see why not – it's what we usually do. I was just two points away..."
"It's only a silly game. It's not important. You can pick it up again later."
Arthur relaxed into the contoured chair, and asked Dave to give him a massage. The chair sprang to life and moulded itself to the back of his neck, shoulders, and lower back. It started to gently knead his tired muscles back to some semblance of normality. He had to admit it - he had been playing for far too long, but beating Dave, at the game he had taught the invisible pilot, had become a obsession. Once, he had suspected Dave of cheating, but had reluctantly arrived at the conclusion that he was just crap at backgammon. After all, he had never won a single match in the Horse and Groom, back on Earth, where he would subject himself to the humiliating ritual of the pub's annual tournament.
"It's up to you," he said at last. "Pick a star and we'll go there."
"I'll think about it for a bit," said Ford.
"Gents, I'm picking up some vidicube transmissions, if your up for a little light entertainment," Dave cut in.
Between them they agreed that a little diversion wouldn't go amiss, whilst Ford made up his mind about where he wanted to make his first stop.
"I'll chuck it up on the bubble," said Dave.
The stars disappeared from view to be replaced by the big cheesy grin of Max Quordlepleen wearing an expensive suit like Arthur's, but without the conservative colour scheme. It flashed like a set of hyperactive traffic lights with a grudge against motorists.
"Welcome back," said Max.
Arthur didn't recognise him, and Ford wished that he didn't recognise him.
"It's that cretin from the Restaurant at the End of the Universe," said Ford. "We saw him there once. Do you remember?"
"Can't say that I do," said Arthur. "I couldn't have been paying much attention. Perhaps my mind was elsewhere."
"Lucky for you if it was. He's the biggest light entertainer in the Galaxy. He's also one of the biggest idiots. There's nothing he wouldn't do to get his stupid face on the vidicube. He's got about as much appeal as a Vogon with a migraine."
"Sounds delightful. Not your cup of tea then?"
"There must be something better than this," said Ford, pulling the sort of face that belonged in a dentist's waiting room. "Can we switch it over, Dave?"
"Sorry, Guv, it's the only channel this far out from the Galactic Hub," said Dave. "I've seen bits and pieces of it. It's got that cricketer, Splat Braynematter, in it. And Zaphod Beeblebrox, though I don't care much for him, myself. Made a right pillock of himself, he did. Shat his pants during a raptor attack on the camp..."
"Zaphod Beeblebrox?" queried Ford.
"Er, yeah, you know... the ex-President of the..."
"Yes, thank you, Dave – I do know who Zaphod Beeblebrox is. He happens to be my semi-cousin."
"Oh, right. No offence, mate – didn't realise you were related."
"None taken. You're right, of course, he is a pillock. I was just surprised, that's all," said Ford. "Well, well - who would have thought it."
The plump figure of a garish red and green Meta-Parrot replaced Max Quordlepleen on the screen. It was holding a microphone, and squawking into an invisicam. "Yes, that's right Max. Here at the camp things are beginning to settle down again after all the excitement of last night," the Meta-Parrot said. He was sitting high in a tree, and below him the contestants could be seen milling around. "It was not a brilliant first day for the Big Zee who has moved out in the betting. If he's going to get back in amongst the front runners, then he's really gonna have to pull his finger out. The smart money's all on the cricketer right now, but as he's odds on favourite to take the show you won't get much of a return, providing that is, you can find a bookie who'll take the bet. There really is no one to touch him. So, if you are able to have a punt, then Splat-the-Bat's your cat. This is Pollyanne handing you back to the studio..."
Arthur stared at the images with his resigned here-we-go-again face, which he kept in a safe place for just this sort of occasion. His life as an exotic pet, odious in many ways, had at least settled into a routine. The period he had spent on the bus had imposed a rhythm on his life, as nothing much changed from one day to the next, or for that matter, from one year to the next. A life without freedom, but a life free of too much excitement. Just the way Arthur liked it.
Now a horrible, but familiar, sinking feeling crept over him. He knew in his heart, which was currently located somewhere down by his feet, that he was never going to live a quiet settled life ever again. When he had bought the saucer he believed, or at least hoped, that he could move about the Galaxy on his own terms. As usual, he would have to allow the vagaries of this crazy Galaxy to conduct his life for him. Still, that was normality for Arthur Dent, the last remaining Earthman and sane individual, in an insane Universe.