"Me? They want me?" Arthur gaped in astonishment.
"You see another Arthur Dent around here?" Zaphod rolled all four of his eyes.
"I don't even know them! What could they possibly want with me?"
No one answered. They were all staring at Arthur with growing horror. "What?" he asked.
Trillian rummaged through her purse until she found a small compact mirror. "Here," she said. "You'd better look for yourself."
Arthur did so. His face had gone green.
Bright green.
The green of grass, or at least of grass on Earth.
"He's going to die," said Marvin.
"No, he's not!" Trillian insisted. "At least, not for a long time, I hope."
"You hope?" Arthur was not reassured by this.
Ford remembered what he'd done with the medicine and retrieved both bottles, then had a good look at the warning labels. "Oh, Zarquon. What have I done?"
Arthur found this even less reassuring.
Meanwhile, the four-armed aliens were still hanging on the line, and they were getting a bit impatient. "Where," their leader demanded, "is the one called Dent?"
"He's . . . indisposed right now," Ford said. "Can I take a message?"
"Excuse me," Trillian said. "We haven't been properly introduced. What is your race-name?"
"That is not important!"
"I rather think it is."
"We demand to speak to the one called Dent, in whatever condition he may be! You have fifteen greblocks to produce him!"
And suddenly the screen went dark.
"What's a greblock?" Arthur asked.
Ford looked it up. "It's a measure of time approximately equal to the Earth minute."
"Oh, wonderful. D'you think they want me fried, boiled, or fricasseed?"
Zaphod was strangely silent all this time. In fact, he seemed to be doing everything he could to make himself scarce, though he could hardly be inconspicuous in his current outfit.
"Zaphod?" said Trillian.
"You don't need me here for this, do you, babe? I'll be in my cabin practicing my acceptance speech for the Frood of the Year award."
Trillian looked at Arthur. Something was up.
Ford, meanwhile, was checking the Guide. "Here it is. I cross-referenced 'greblocks' with 'four arms' and found it. They're called Zubranites. Here, listen for yourselves." He pressed a button and the Guide spoke.
"Zubranites. As a species, the Zubranites are the most belligerant race in the galaxy. It is rumored that one of their most destructive wars began when someone looked at their king in a funny way, though as no one survived said war, no actual documentation exists. This war was so long and widespread that in the end, the Galactic Tribunal banned all Zubranites from possessing any weapon larger than a pea shooter. However, the Zubranites, being the right bastards that they were, hijacked a Krelinian warship and used it to terrorize not only the Council but anyone else who got in their way. In brief: avoid."
"Well, that's very helpful," Arthur said. "Does it say how to avoid being killed by them?
"Don't be there in the first place," said Ford.
"I think it's a little late for that."
"How are we for time?" Trillian asked.
"Still got eight greblocks left, folks!" Eddie announced. "If I can help in any way, please let me know!"
"Actually, Eddie, there is something you can do for us," Ford said. "Find out what they want—"
"You mean besides me?" Arthur spluttered.
"Where's Zaphod got to?" Trillian wondered. "He usually likes to be in the middle of things."
"Not things like this, I'm guessing," said Ford.
Trillian pressed the button for the ship-wide PA system. "Zaphod, where are you?"
There was no immediate answer.
"Zaphod, we need you. You're the only one who can negotiate with the Zubranites—"
"What?" said Arthur. Trillian motioned for him to be quiet.
"I'm a little busy right now, babe," the eventual answer came. "Tell them I'll be right there, and open up the bar. Get 'em drunk and they'll agree to anything."
"What do Zubranites drink?"
"Oh, just put everything out and let them choose. Bye!"
Trillian, shaking her head, opened up the bar and lined up bottles of variously colored liquids while Ford and Arthur waited for the Zubranites to contact them again.
"They're probably going to blow us up first and ask questions later," Marvin lamented.
"Message coming through!" Eddie announced.
Ford, Arthur and Marvin watched as the lead Zubranite's face darkened. "Where is Arthur Dent?"
"What? He's right—" Ford began, but Trillian shushed him.
"He'll be along shortly. In the meantime, would you like to come over and have a drink?"
The Zubranite considered this. "How do we know there will be no deception? Dent has already betrayed us once."
"I have?" Arthur was completely baffled by this turn of events. He'd never even met these—whatever they were—before in his life. What could he have possibly done to upset them?
"Ssh!" said Trillian. "I think I'm getting somewhere with them. Just let me try and talk to them a little more, okay?"
"I don't think it's going to help!"
"We won't know till we try. What's the worst that could happen?"
"They could destroy the ship?" said Ford.
"You're not helping," Trillian said. "Go and fetch Zaphod while I keep them busy."
"I think I need to lie down for a while," Arthur groaned.
"Fine, you do that. I can handle this myself."
The Zubranite leader had no idea what was going on. Where was Arthur Dent? Who was this strange green creature? Why were these beings offering him drinks instead of cowering in fear? He was completely off the star map on this one.
He turned to his first officer. "What do we do now?" he whispered.
"Sir, our transport ray is trained on their ship. We can kidnap one of the other crew—the green one, perhaps—and offer a trade: Dent for this one."
"What if they attack us instead?"
"With that little thing?" The first officer regarded the other ship with scorn.
"Hold off on the kidnapping for now. Perhaps they will see reason and turn over Dent without too much persuasion. Or perhaps I will simply get them drunk."
In the Heart of Gold's sickbay, Arthur was trying to sleep, but he felt too hot and uncomfortable to get any proper rest. He browsed through his copy of the Guide, wondering if it had a chapter on "What to do if you are at the mercy of a Zubranite warship."
It did. The advice it offered was "Pray."
Oh, thanks a lot, that's very helpful, Arthur thought grumpily. He read a few pages further, but there wasn't anything else that would be useful in a dangerous situation. He lay back and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was staring at a fire engine. A fire engine like the ones on his bedroom wallpaper . . .
It took him a moment to realize he was looking at his own bedroom wallpaper. He was getting a bit old for it now, he thought; almost seventeen and his mum still treated him like a baby. He'd have to talk with Dad about getting the room done over.
Arthur got out of bed and walked down the stairs, being careful to step over the worn place in the carpet where he kept slipping, and found his mother in the kitchen.
"Oh!" she said. "You're up early, dear. Sit down and I'll make your breakfast."
He sat. Something felt wrong with this, but he couldn't say what.
"I won't be here when you get home," Mum was saying, as she made the tea. "I have a meeting in the morning, a tennis lesson in the afternoon, and then I'm going shopping with Aunt Janey. Tell Dad I'll be home by eight. There's a casserole in the freezer you two can reheat—"
"Are you coming?" a man's voice called out. It wasn't Arthur's dad.
Ford! Arthur thought, and then wondered who Ford was. He had the strange feeling that this was someone he shouldn't know yet. He got out of bed (Wait a second, wasn't I just in the kitchen?) and looked out the window. Sure enough, there was a man standing just outside the door.
Arthur's mum came running out to greet this familiar stranger with a big kiss. "You were supposed to meet me here an hour ago, you silly thing!"
Arthur's brain couldn't cope with what he was seeing. "I don't believe it. Ford . . . and my mum . . . I thought they didn't get on . . ." He had a vague memory of a Christmas party that had ended badly, but that hadn't happened yet, had it?
He jumped out of bed (What, again?) and fell through the floor.
This is just like Alice in Wonderland, he thought as he fell past the wardrobe in the spare room, through that floor and into the dining room, through the dining table and on through to the cellar. Hang on, how am I still alive?
Someone was calling him from a great distance. "Arthur? Arthur! Arthur, what are you doing on the floor?"
He opened his eyes, slowly. He had fallen out of bed and was lying with his face pressed into the floor, which was very cold. Trillian helped him up.
"We have a problem," she said.
"What, apart from the huge alien warship about to destroy us?"
"They're not going to destroy us. I convinced them to come over and have a drink while we talk it out."
"You what? How?"
"Long story. Never mind that now. I need you to come help me find Zaphod."
"What, he's missing? Maybe the aliens took a hostage!"
She gave him her long-suffering look. "Nobody's taking hostages."
"Is the hostage secure?" the Zubranite second-in-command asked.
The duty officer nodded. "All ready for a spot of torture."
"Drinks," the second-in-command scoffed. "I told him it was a bad idea, but he went anyway. He won't find out about this, will he?"
"Absolutely not."
"Excellent." The alien officer went off to torture his prisoner.
It says something about the size of a Krelinian warship that those aboard it regarded such a ship as the magnificent, state-of-the-art, and very expensive Heart of Gold as a "little thing."