A/N: I've just noticed this is my 42nd story on this site. Make of that what you will. Anyway, please review, even if you hate the story—I can take it! Thanks to those who have reviewed already. Here's a cookie for you!
"Bring me three of whatever's most alcoholic," Zaphod said. Arthur stared at him in shock.
"Three Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters? Are you trying to kill yourself? That much alcohol in your bloodstream will turn your brains to spaghetti!"
"That's what I'm counting on, kid," Zaphod said, grinning widely. "We're on holiday—let's get good and ratted!"
"Ford, tell him he's being ridiculous!"
"I'll have one to start with," Ford told the waiter.
Arthur threw up his hands. "What is with you bunch of alcoholics? Can't you for once keep your wits about you?"
"What's the point?"
"I'll have a mineral water," Trillian said. "If someone has to be sensible, it might as well be me."
"I don't suppose you have any tea?" Arthur asked.
They didn't. He ended up with a greenish beer that tasted faintly of tree sap. Arthur was never much of a drinker, but this wasn't much of a drink.
As for Marvin, he was standing outside in the car park, where Zaphod had told him to keep an eye on the ship. And he did—he watched very closely as some official-looking men clamped it for parking in a red "NO PARKING" zone. After all, they hadn't said to do anything, and there didn't seem much point. At least now the Heart of Gold wouldn't get stolen.
When the food came, Arthur noticed that it reminded him uncannily (and frighteningly) of the Vogons: green, blobby, and altogether unpleasant.
"Ford," he asked, "is it safe for me to eat this? It looks a bit . . . off."
"It's fine," Ford reassured him. "It's a local delicacy. People travel for thousands of light-years to have a taste of it."
"It doesn't look very appetizing."
"So eat with your eyes closed. Honestly, you're going to have to learn not to be so picky. Some races are actually insulted if you tell them you don't like their cooking."
"Even if it's gone off?"
"It has not gone off!"
"Mine seems all right," Trillian said. She and Zaphod had already started.
Arthur peered at her plate. "You don't seem to have the same, er, entree."
"I ordered the diet plate."
"Do you suppose I could send this back and get that instead?"
"Oh, will you relax?" Ford said. "We're supposed to be on holiday! Can't you at least try to enjoy yourself?"
"I suppose," Arthur shrugged. He gave the dodgy-looking food a try.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy describes the Pink Diamond Cocktail Lounge as "a great place for a drink or ten. On weeknights they have live entertainment in the main lounge, and most of the time it is fairly good. However, stay away from the food as it has been known to be toxic to some life forms."
It is unfortunate for Arthur Dent that no one saw this particular bit of information until much later, and by then, they were more concerned with being shot at.
It was just as they were about to order dessert that they noticed the party of large, four-armed creatures glaring at them from over by the bar.
"Do you know them, Zaphod?" Ford asked.
Zaphod had gone suddenly pale and was trying not to look in their direction, but his left head was sneaking looks out of the corner of his eye. "No," he said, in an oddly choked voice, "no, I don't. Let's settle up and get out, shall we?"
"What, not even a coffee?" Arthur asked.
The tallest of the four-armed beings unslung a blaster from a holster around his hips and began firing at them.
"Then again, coffee can wait."
Chairs were shoved backwards, coats were hastily snatched off (or out from under) the chairs. Zaphod threw a suitably large number of bills onto the table and led the whole party out the emergency exit. The four-armed aliens followed them, firing over their heads.
"Where'd we leave the ship?" Zaphod was looking around in all directions. The car park was suddenly and hurriedly emptying itself.
Ford slapped his forehead. "In the red zone. Exactly where I told you not to leave it."
They dodged an escaping diner running for his vehicle, ducked behind another large transport, and spotted the Heart of Gold, parked in the illegal zone. A huge yellow clamp was fixed around one of the landing legs.
"What do we do now?" Arthur demanded.
"Ask the attendant to unclamp us," said Marvin.
Zaphod was livid. "Marvin, I told you to watch the ship!"
"I did," Marvin said. "I watched the whole time they were clamping it. I would have given them directions, but there didn't seem much point."
"Why didn't you tell them to stop?"
"You never said to do anything but watch."
The four-armed shooters were getting closer. "All right, all right, we'll go ask them to unclamp it!" Ford spluttered.
The group took refuge behind a stretch limo, then sprinted for the kiosk on the far side of the car park. "I don't suppose now would be a good time to ask what my share of the bill came to?" Arthur asked.
"I never actually saw the bill—not that it matters now." Zaphod ducked as a laser blast passed within a centimeter of his left left ear. "If they need more money, they can come and find me. If we get out of this alive, that is."
As they finally reached the attendant's booth, the sign flipped from OPEN to CLOSED. "Great! Just bloody great!"
"How can they be closed? It's only three in the afternoon." Arthur went up and tapped on the glass. "Hello, are you in there?"
"We're closed," said a female voice. "Come back tomorrow at nine."
"TOMORROW WE MAY BE DEAD!" Zaphod shouted.
The shade went up. The occupant of the booth, a shortish, thickish, humanoid female, gave Zaphod a look that could have killed the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal. "You tell me why that's my problem."
"Well," Arthur said, "it's like this. There are these huge four-armed monsters chasing us and shooting at us, and we don't know why. And we can't get away from them because our ship's clamped. Can you help us?"
She peered closely at him. Arthur took in her shapeless green cardigan, oversized round glasses, severely pulled-back hair, and sensible shoes. She reminded him of a younger version of his Aunt Clara. He just knew that if she opened the door of the booth, he'd get hit in the face with a wall of lilac perfume. It always made him sneeze. And sneeze, and sneeze . . . .
"Look, um," Zaphod looked at her name tag, which said KALITHA Z'Z'ABRGHIZIGAM, "look, Kaleetha—"
She sighed through her nose. "It's actually pronouced CALL-ih-tah. Everyone gets it wrong.(1)"
"Sorry. Listen, babe . . ." Zaphod ducked a barrage of laser fire. "We could use your help getting out of here a whole lot. Now be a nice girl and give us a hand, what?"
She opened the door. Arthur sneezed. And sneezed, and sneezed . . . .
"Are you all right?" Trillian asked him.
Arthur took stock. "No," he said. "I've got a bit of a headache, but it's probably just the excitement."
"I think I have something for that," Kalitha said, reaching into a drawer.
"WE DON'T HAVE TIME!" Zaphod was as close to panic as anyone had ever seen him. "JUST UNCLAMP THE ZARKING SHIP AND GET US OUT OF HERE!"
Kalitha blinked at him; behind the glasses, her eyes were a brilliant violet. "I'm off duty."
Zaphod smacked the side of the booth and uttered a few obscure Betelgeusian curses.
"Can't you do something?" shouted Ford. "Those . . . whatevers . . . are shooting at us!"
"Well . . ." she said, infuriatingly slowly, "I could—if I wasn't off duty."
"Don't you care that they're going to kill us, you cow?" Zaphod screamed.
"Personally, I think you deserve it."
"What? Don't you know who I am?"
"Yes," she said, with a maddening grin. "That's why I think you deserve it."
"Oh, for Zark's sake!" said Ford.
Arthur had a thought. "Did you," he asked Kalitha, "actually clock off yet?"
"What? Oh . . . no, I don't think so."
"Then you're not actually off duty yet. And we'd be very grateful if you could help us,"Arthur finished. Damn, now his stomach was starting to act up too. He'd known that food had been off. Ha, he thought, told you so.
Kalitha stared at him, puzzled, while the four-armed aliens tested the laser-proofing of the booth. So far, it was holding, but for how long?
Finally she said, "Oh, sod it," grabbed a set of keys off a peg, and left the safety of the booth for a very unsafe future.
It took no time at all to unclamp the Heart of Gold. "Everybody inside!" said Zaphod, once the hatch had opened.
"Does that include me?" said Marvin.
Tempting though it was, Zaphod couldn't leave the Paranoid Android behind. "Yes, it includes you, Marvin! Now get inside before something happens to you!"
"You don't really care about me. No one does."
"Yes, we do! Get in there!"
Marvin lumbered into the ship as if he were auditioning for a role as a stuntman in a Godzilla movie. Once everyone was inside, the Heart of Gold hastily took off from the car park, leaving behind a handful of frustrated four-armed aliens who shook multiple fists at the departing ship, before remembering that they had their own.
It was after they had left the planet that Arthur and his friends began to really have problems.
One of which was the mysterious appearance of another ship, which then started shooting at them. There was no call-sign ID, but it was safe to assume that it was their four-armed pursuers.
Another problem was making itself known inside Arthur's own body. He was really, really not feeling well now. His stomach was doing loop-the-loops at about a mile a minute, and he was starting to feel dizzy as well.
He was about to say something to that effect when the enemy ship started firing.
"Oh, damndamndamndamndamn . . ."
"Get us out of here!" Zaphod pleaded with Eddie.
"Will do!" Eddie plotted out a course that should have enabled the Heart of Gold to escape their pursuers; however, the four-armed aliens clung to them for several hundred light-years before finally falling behind and disappearing.
"Well, thank you, Eddie, for finally doing something right," Zaphod said. "That last burst of speed really did the trick."
"Dirty trick," said Ford, who was picking himself up from the floor. "Everyone all right?"
"I'm fine," said Trillian, brushing herself off.
"Me too," said Kalitha.
"We don't care about you," Zaphod snapped at her.
"Yeah, you wouldn't," she countered. "You don't care about anyone but yourself!"
"I don't suppose anyone cares about me either," said Marvin.
That left one member of the party still unaccounted for. "Arthur?" Ford called out.
There was a groan from behind a console. Ford went over and gave him a hand up.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I don't think so," Arthur said. "I think . . ."
Suddenly he collapsed into Ford's arms.
Zaphod looked puzzled. "That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?"
"I don't think so," said Trillian.
(1)Oddly enough, no one had ever mispronounced her surname. This was largely because not many beings with less than four mouths ever attempted to pronounce it in the first place.