A/N: Bet you thought it'd never 'appen!

Chapter Four: Dry Dock

We found ourselves docking— I suppose its called docking, anyway— in the bay— some sort of bay, anyway, except, not a cargo one— of a ship— spaceship that is, not regular, garden-variety, sea-going ship— that was a bit bigger— at least— than the one we were already in. Also it was shaped like a running shoe. After that, things got a little Star Warsy for me.

The alien called Ford Prefect, who hadn't deigned to explain to me why he was named after a particularly buggery sort of car, gestured me towards the hatch.

"On the other side lay all the things you never imagined," he said rather pompously, and sniggered to himself.

I eyed him. "Will I like it?"

He opened his mouth, paused, reconsidered, then said, "Probably not."

"Then you go first."

He gave a light shrug of his shoulders and opened the hatch by asking the computer repeatedly to do it for him, getting irritated, threatening the computer, sweet-talking the computer, banging on the computer, and then finally just turning the knob by hand. To my surprise, the room we thus emerged into was in all ways perfectly normal.

Except for the presence in it of a man with two heads and three arms, that is.

He was ostensibly checking his teeth in a mirror held by a morose-looking little robot, but I could tell at once that he was in fact merely admiring himself. Maybe even admiring his teeth, I don't know, but there was little excuse for that. They were large and white and square and he showed them off far too much, turning and baring them at Ford in what was probably a grin but wouldn't have looked out of place in a miniseries by Steven King.

"Ford!" he said unnecessarily, since we all knew who Ford was. "Ford Ford Fordy Ford Ford Ford!"

Ford, thus haled, sighed deeply and dropped his jacket on the floor in the corner. The morose-looking little robot sighed as well and headed for the jacket, bending to pick it up; it couldn't get its fingers to close around it and the garment slipped off and landed on the floor again. The robot gave a sigh like one who has the weight of the world on its shoulders, and bent again; I didn't have to watch to know that the ritual was going to occur again. I didn't have to watch, but I did anyway. Not every day you see a frustrated robot.

"Right," said Ford, "who gave him sugar?"

"The President of the Galaxy, Ford, I'm the President of the Galaxy, I can take what sugar I want, but its not an addiction I can stop when I really want to stop when I really want to I just don't want to really."

"And caffeine?"

"Ex," corrected the first feminine voice I'd heard thus far, "Ex-President of the Galaxy," and the requisite space babe walked in; except, thank God, she wasn't a babe. She was smallish and darkish and had large deer-like brown eyes and a sensible nose and freckles. Clearly someone I could work with. Unfortunately she didn't pay me the slightest attention; instead, she quietly walked over to help the morose-looking robot, who didn't appreciate it.

"When one is trying to fulfill what few duties have been requested of one," the morose-looking robot intoned morosely, "and one's duties are fulfilled for them, one is truly made aware of one's incredible worthlessness, except in this case its me. Here I am, brain the size of a planet, picking up coats. I could be saving worlds with this brain, you know—"

"Hush," said the requisite space not-babe, and walked out, brushing tiny bits of dust off Ford's jacket. Ford called a thanks after her and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Woooargh," he said.

I was noticed, then.

"Hey!" said the two-headed, three-armed—

"Zaphod," said Ford, for which I was grateful.

"Stowaway?"

"Of course not. I brought her with me."

"Right, right, right," said Zaphod, "right, that's great, you found a friend, and I'm glad of that Ford, 'cos everyone needs a friend, the only question is, why?"

Ford almost blinked at him, but caught himself just in time.

"This is Lemon Gently," he said. "You know? Lemon? Gently?"

"Can you eat it?" said Zaphod.

Ford sighed again.

"Lemon Gently? Didn't we— did we not talk about this? I distinctly remember talking about it."

"Could be," said Zaphod, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at the ceiling. "But I doubt it."

"Did we not discuss the fact that the world was ending again, the planet was being blown up? And did someone not say, we should get out of here? And did someone else not say, yeah, sure, but how about taking ol' Dirk along? And did someone else not point out, but he makes a lot of trouble and mess, and did someone else not counter, yeah, but so do we all, and did someone else suggest how about instead we take his daughter for old time's sake, and did someone else not agree, and did another someone else not agree, and did someone else not say, hey look, I found a tenner?"

"Yeah, uh, that was me," said Zaphod, looking inexplicably guilty.

Ford immediately advanced on him with one hand stuck out. "Give it back!"

"I found it!"

"In my pocket!"

"I can't be responsible for finding something just because I've stuck my hand in your trousers!"

It was at this point that I said, "Right, that's about enough of that, thank you."

They turned to look at me, but neither of them spoke, and so I filled the silence for them.

"I'd like to know what's going on here. That is, maybe not exactly everything that's going on here, what with the hand down trousers examination, though perhaps that's not the best way of putting it— lets just say there are bits of this conversation that I would rather not be fully informed about. That way when the police ask me I can tell them truthfully that I really don't know. I tend to be wary about that sort of thing. But I would like to know what else is going on here, all this about the old team and messes and hassles and the earth blowing up and whatnot; clearly you knew my father, I get that, but how? Why? Where? When? What for? What was he doing? If there's any chance of legal action being taken here I think I should be fully informed just so I can protect myself. It only makes sense. On the other hand if it turns out I've unknowingly been kidnapped I'd like names and addresses so I can lay blame at the door to which it rightfully belongs."

They stared at me for some seconds.

"She really is Dirk's kid, isn't she," said Zaphod. It was not a question.

"Yes," said Ford, quietly.

"Belgium," said Zaphod, inexplicably.