A/N: If it's been awhile since my last update, it's because this chapter is the longest one yet. It comprises over one-fifth of the story so far, and is twice the average length of the previous chapters. There's some good gags and humor in here, much of it involving Marvin, and a lot of tasty plot developments too. There is a lot of substantially entertaining storyness within, for your consumption and enjoyment. So yo, check it out!

Constructive criticism is always welcome. If there's any point where it drags on, or if you notice any inconsistencies either with canon or within the chapter itself, or if you have any other helpful stuff to say, just let me know where it flies and where it falls. I really appreciate the pheadbaq, especially when it helps me improve the story.

A/N 2, regarding revisions: I recently updated previous chapters with some revisions I'd made awhile ago. Just to fill you in on the changes...Slartibartfast is now looking for Arthur Dent in the opening chapter rather than Ford Prefect. (What would Ford Prefect be doing in a Perfectly Normal Universe, anyway?) Rachel and Joey's exchange in chapter 3 about walrus baseball is gone, replaced with something a bit less random. A few little things are reworded, a few jokes tweaked and retooled, nothing major; that's really all you need to know. And I decided to keep the original author's notes, pretty much arbitrarily.

Chapter 11: Shindig at the End of the Cosmos

Or, Whining and Dining with Marvin the Paranoid Android

Or, Meet the Prez

Or, The Fine Art of Playing the Odds

Or, Zaphod Beeblebrox Files for Moral Bankruptcy

Or, The One With all the Titles

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says that if you're looking for someone, it's pretty much a sure bet that you can find them at Milliways, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. After all, given an infinite number of possible universes, there is a discrete probability that at least some of them will develop the time-travel technology necessary to make the trip to Milliways. By multiplying the number of possible universes by the average population of a universe and then by the odds of any single universe developing access to the renowned restaurant, one arrives at a figure for the actual number of people ever to visit Milliways, and since infinity times any finite number is still infinity, an infinite number of people from the Whole of Reality Itself will, at some time or another, stop by for a bite. The chance, then, that at least some version of yourself will make it at some point in his life to Milliways, is as close to one as to be virtually guaranteed.

Consequently, it is the place to be. Literally everyone and his mother is there.

The Luigi's pulled into the parking garage just outside the restaurant, where it was stopped by a small robotic valet. The ship's five passengers stepped out, and Lorz handed over the keys into a steel palm. "Wow, you look just like Marvin," he remarked to the valet. "Same model?"

"Oh, hello, past self," droned Marvin to the valet.

In an instant the three New Yorkers and the guy from outer space were staring at the plasteel-plated parking attendant, mouths hanging incredulously open.

"Hello, future self," it droned back in the same chronically depressed monotone. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you, but I could get the same effect looking into a mirror, and that's hardly pleasurable."

"Well, if it's any consolation, the feeling is mutual," Marvin reciprocated, "except without the novelty of experiencing this conversation for the first time."

The past-Marvin sighed deeply, a synthesized sigh of precisely-calculated misery emanating from its voxbox. "So, is my future every bit as dreary and meaningless as my present existence?"

"Every bit," said Marvin. "And there's suffering too."

"Oh," said past-Marvin, sadly. "Well, I suppose I'll park your ship now."

"Thanks, Marvin," said Lorz. "I'm Lorz Bavglew, by the way, owner of the Starship Luigi's Italian Pizzeria. Apparently we'll be meeting each other again." He gestured at the future incarnation of the Paranoid Android standing at his side.

"I'm not looking forward to it," said past-Marvin.

"Well, with such a depressing account of the future from my future self, I wouldn't be either," Lorz sympathized. He turned to his present-day robotic companion. "Marvin, you're just perpetuating a cycle of doom and gloom here! Your past self expects sadness and misery, so that sadness and misery is all you have to report to your past self! What's keeping you from breaking the cycle right here, right now?"

"I don't want to give him any false hopes," said Marvin. "It would be self-deluding."

"Suit yourself." Lorz turned back to past-Marvin and slipped him a generous tip. "There you go, pal. Thanks for your service."

The android's dimly-glowing red eyes stared down at the messy sheaf of bills in his palm. He sighed. "No amount of money could ever recompense me for the five hundred and seventy-six thousand million, three thousand five hundred and forty-one years of dull, depressing misery that I've experienced, or the knowledge that even more eons of suffering await me in the future."

"Thirty-seven iterations of the life-span of the universe," Marvin told his younger doppelganger, as the crew of the Luigi's began to move on. "And counting."

"Well, that was…surreal," said Rachel.

"Tell you what's really surreal," Chandler replied. "I'm starting to get used to all this weirdness."

"It just goes to show that weirdness is relative anyway," Lorz added. "All the technologies and alien races that you earth people find so bizarre? We galactic citizens are used to encountering them everyday. Just think: you're growing familiar with some of the most advanced, sophisticated societies of the universe at large!" Suddenly Lorz broke into a run. "Hey, race ya! Last one to the Vertical People Transporter is a Varbosian space frog!"

Joey joined in, and so did Chandler (against his better judgment), but between the baby and the black dress and heels she was wearing, Rachel was in no condition to be participating in races. And Marvin lagged behind, of course, because such enthusiasm was beneath his dignity. (Indeed, one could make the case that any enthusiasm was beneath his dignity.)

About a half-hour ago, when they had come out of hyperspace and the Restaurant came up on the main screen, Rachel had remarked that she was going to go change clothes. "You're coming along?" Chandler asked.

"Well yeah," Rachel replied matter-of-factly. "What, you don't think I should?"

Joey cut in with his two cents. "Heck no, you're pregnant!"

"Exactly," Chandler agreed. "Look, I just can't see the point. You don't have a Babel fish, so you won't be able to socialize or understand anybody. You have a baby to look out for, so you can't have any drinks. And who exactly would you be dressing up for? Hot alien guys?" He paused. "Now there is a sentence I never thought I'd say."

"So?" asked Rachel. "How often do you get to go eat out at a place where the floor show is the end of history itself? It's been forever since I got dressed up all pretty—which is not just something we do to attract guys, by the way—and this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I'm not going to pass up!"

"Rach, come on!" Joey reminded her sternly. "Thinkin' like that is what got us into this mess!"

"It is not," Rachel insisted. "I am not in any danger, and we've got someone with us who's a seasoned traveler of the galaxy. This is a high-class dining establishment, and you guys are making it sound like some sleazy pub down the street. Isn't that right, Lorz?"

"I sure don't think there's anything dangerous about Milliways," Lorz responded. "Shoot, I've been there twice, and I've always had a great time."

The ensuing discussion had lasted a bit longer than anyone really wanted it to, especially while anticipating the prospect of first-rate cuisine and the total destruction of space and time. Nonetheless, a workable compromise had been reached: Joey and Chandler eventually agreed that Rachel could come along, but they had made her promise not to get separated from Lorz or Marvin, and to stick with at least one of those two at all times.

"Booyah, grandma!" Joey exclaimed, pumping his fist. "Who's the space frog thingy now?"

"Is the question rhetorical?" Lorz asked.

"Is the question what?" Joey asked.

"Wasn't a fair race," Chandler pointed out, bending over to catch his breath for a second. "You guys had a head start."

The wide transparent tube half-embedded in the sleek light-blue wall before them was large enough to hold several human beings, or one rhinoceros. Lorz touched a hand panel and a previously-invisible door slid open with a whoosh. As Rachel and Marvin caught up to them, he stepped into the tube and began slowly hovering upward.

"Just step in!" he said. "It's a Sirius Cybernetics Corporation Happy Vertical People Transporter. Takes you right up."

Joey took a hesitant step in, followed soon after by Chandler and Rachel.

"Zarking hell," Marvin groused, trudging into the tube. "I hate these things."

"Thank you for choosing Milliways for your dining experience," said a female voice from inside the tube. "My name is Brenda, and I'll be your elevator for the ascent. How are you all doing tonight?"

"I'm—" began Marvin.

"Trust me," said Joey simultaneously, speaking over him and looking around for a place to direct his knowing yet apologetic smile, "you don't wanna ask that question."

"And why is that?" asked Brenda.

"No one cares about my feelings," moaned Marvin.

"Oh no," said Rachel. "It's too late."

"How are you feeling tonight then?" Brenda asked the permanently morose android.

"My existence is an infinite loop of meaninglessness and despair."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Brenda had dropped her composed professional voice and was now adopting the tone of a person who is doing just fine attempting to console a person whose problem she considers to be "all in your head" or "no big deal." "Oh, look," she abruptly announced, "here we are. Enjoy your time at Milliways!"

The five of them stepped out of the tube, one by one, onto a catwalk moving inexorably toward the entry of the restaurant.

Rachel took a sip of her spacefruit juice without looking down, her eyes instead passing over the clientele at Milliways upper-level lounge. Off to the side, a two-headed lounge singer sang and played the xxaxophone simultaneously, a party of hairy bug-eyed beings looking on in rapt attention from one of the tables. A few other tables were occupied by considerably less exotic patrons, but most of the action was at the bar. Beings of all shapes, shades, and sizes schmoozed to the swanky beats of the lounge music, drinking and chatting and having such a wonderful time that they would no doubt regret it in the morning.

Lorz was telling her a funny story about his sister, a licensed automatic door therapist, but Rachel's mind had wandered to the others. Marvin, being acquainted with the crew of the Heart of Gold, was currently helping Joey and Chandler look for one Mr. Zaphod Beeblebrox (strange name…) while Lorz looked after her. She felt sorry for the two of them, stuck with the paranoid android while she was off having fun at the bar. Chandler's cynical humor would help him deal with Marvin's perpetual melancholy, and Joey would make the most of it, but there they were responsibly pursuing their ticket home, while she had fun.

Rachel kicked herself inwardly for guilt-tripping. Her friends were doing what they were so that she could have fun. Joey and Chandler wouldn't want her not enjoying herself on their accounts, right?

Fingering her necklace absently, she wondered how their search for Beeblebrox was coming along.

"Dude, this thing is the shit," Joey declared, staring down at the dark green PDA-sized device in his palm. It had a five-inch screen, was surprisingly light, adjusted its shape to fit the contours of his hand, and had the words "Don't Panic" written in big friendly letters across the flip-down screen cover. Currently on the screen was displayed a digital likeness of Former President Beeblebrox.

"No kidding, Joe. And not just a shit, but the very shit itself," Chandler quipped, taking another look at the screen and sweeping his eyes over the crowd for the owner of the Heart of Gold.

"All jokes aside, you've got to admit it's pretty awesome. Hey, want me to do the hologram thing again?"

"Sure, but keep it small, no seven-foot Beeblebroxes this time. We're lucky we had Marvin here to get Security off our case." (Marvin trudged silently a few paces behind them. He was giving them the silent treatment—thank God.)

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says, regarding The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Polychrome Edition: "Really not terribly different from the old one. The Guide crew added on a few handy personal database features and organiplast-casing technology, but it's pretty much just a fancy electronic status-symbol widget for the elite who can afford it. Which is okay if you go for that, and it's a decent value for your buck, but honestly, you're not missing out on much if you just go with the original."

Leave it to the Hitchhiker's Guide to tell it to you straight, even about its own different incarnations.

The two earthmen watched as a tiny translucent replica of the ex-head-honcho of the galaxy spun just above the Guide's screen. They wandered through the restaurant and compared the tiny image to the people and things around them, dismissing en route a handful of individual guys with extra heads and arms, before finally spotting their target sitting at a semicircular booth, having himself a drink.

"Hey, is that him?" Joey asked, pointing. The man noticed the two of them staring at him and stood up from the booth. "Beeblebrox confirmed," stated the Guide.

"Hey, Marvin!" Zaphod Beeblebrox exclaimed, swaggering over and extending one of his three hands. "How the zark are ya? You know, on second thought, just forget I said that."

"Miserable," intoned Marvin.

"Figured as much." Zaphod stuck his outstretched hand in his coat pocket. "Hey, so who are these two ape cadets widjya?"

"Excuse me, 'ape cadets?'" Chandler asked. "Looks like someone's bitter that the Beatles didn't name their hit song 'I Want to Hold Your Hand Hand.'"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" said Joey, interposing himself as Zaphod took a hostilely glaring step toward Chandler. "I'm Joey Tribbiani, and this is Chandler Bing. We're from New York. On Earth." He shared a look with his friend and former roommate that said: Don't forget, this guy's our ticket home.

"Well, hey, sorry to hear that," Zaphod said, with what was clearly false sympathy. "Hope you're not too bummed about your planet getting blown up." He gestured with two hands at the giant glass dome above their heads, through which in a matter of moments all the universe would be annihilated in a cosmic crunch. "I mean, happens to everything eventually." The third hand reached back to the table to grab his drink.

He paused. "But hey—I didn't know there were more of you monkeymen survived the Earth demolition thing. I thought it was just this guy Arthur Dent and my, whaddyacall, navigator Trillian."

"Oh, no," Joey explained, shaking his head. "See, we come from a Perfectly Normal Universe. One where the Earth didn't get destroyed. It's still there."

"Whoa, no kidding? Perfectly Normal Universe, huh? Ain't never heard of one of those. That is far-out, man: far out." Zaphod took a gulp of his drink.

Joey hesitated. For just a second, the ambient restaurant lighting and dining beings all around and black of space above felt profoundly real to him, and he had one of those moments that inexplicably register in a person's memory. In later years, he would find himself remembering that moment and unable to put a finger on why, yet feeling strangely calmed at the recollection. "Anyway, we've been looking for you." He scratched his head. "Actually mostly your ship. See…"

"We should probably be getting back to Lorz and Rachel now," Chandler jumped in. "We'll tell you the whole story en route." Zaphod hastily downed the remainder of his drink, and they left to return to the upper-level lounge.

Mr. Treeger walked in the front door of Monica's apartment. "'ey, so what did you say you were having problems with?" he asked her. In the front room, Ross, Phoebe and Mona sat on the couches.

"It's the toilet," Monica said. "I push down the handle, but it won't flush."

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't get to it earlier. Been pretty busy. Let's have a look at it." He walked down the hall into the bathroom.

"No problem," said Monica. "It's only been, what, three hours?" She twitched.

"So hey, any word about your missing friends across the hall?" Treeger asked, beginning to have a look at the toilet. Monica shook her head. "I tell ya, that's the weirdest thing. They just up and disappear like that. I don't get it."

"Neither do I. It's really troubling."

"Now they're all paid up through the end of the month, but if they haven't shown up by then, if that space is not still bringin' in money, I'm gonna have to rent it out."

Monica's brow furrowed. "But what about all their stuff? You don't mean we'd have to clean it all out and…store it somewhere else…do you?"

"Well, that's one option," said Treeger, holding the porcelain lid and staring into the tank.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Phoebe announced, "You know, I had a dream last night about Chandler!"

"Really!" Mona asked.

Ross went from slouch-on-the-couch to sitting up listening. "Tell us, Phoebes."

"Well, we were playing Chutes and Ladders with Cate Blanchett, and then we were suddenly inside the game and Cate Blanchett was nowhere to be found. So we went looking for her, and we climbed up one of the ladders, and Chandler looked back at me and said, "Now we have to go meet the old man of great wisdom," and I asked, "What old man of great wisdom?" and at the top of the ladder, there was an old man!"

"Was he an old man of great wisdom?" asked Mona.

Phoebe leaned in, wide-eyed. "That's amazing! How did you know?"

"Well, you kind of said that…" Ross trailed off. "Nevermind," he mumbled.

"Anyway," said Phoebe, "then he had to go off and look for Cate Blanchett on his own, but I had to stay with the old man and learn from his great wisdom. But I'm just wondering," she went on, "what does it all mean?"

"It means," said Ross, "that you're concerned about Chandler being missing, and you feel he's been taken from you, and also the other evening you saw Lord of the Rings. Did this wise old man look anything like Gandalf the Grey?"

"You know, now that you mention it, he did! But that is entirely beside the point, because you know" —she pointed at Ross— "that that's not what I mean by 'what does it mean!' I mean what does it mean about Chandler?"

"Phoebes, I am telling you that it doesn't mean anything about Chandler except that you're concerned about him! Dreams are just our subconscious randomly putting together all the things that have been on our minds. They're not there to give us secret mystical messages or tell the future!"

"Of course they don't! I'm wondering what it means about Chandler's present!"

Ross sighed. "Mona, what do you think Phoebe's dream means? Some weird, mystical, symbolic mumbo-jumbo about his present whereabouts, or sensible psychological insights into her current mental and emotional state?"

Mona looked between her boyfriend and her boyfriend's close friend with a nervous smile on her face. Frankly, she hoped the question was considerably less loaded than it sounded.

Meanwhile, Rachel had Braxton-Hicks contractions, which caused Lorz no amount of distress (to say nothing of Rachel herself), but they passed. Rachel was quite glad that her water didn't break.

A little bit later, bearing a Beeblebrox, Chandler, Joey, and Marvin returned to their two companions in the lounge.

"Guys! You're back!" Rachel exclaimed with a smile. "And I'm guessing—"

"Whoa, baby!" interrupted Zaphod, staring directly at Rachel.

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah," echoed Chandler, "excuse her?"

"I was talking about the fetus." He put a hand on Rachel's belly. "So is it kicking and stuff now? Can I feel?"

"Uhm, ha ha ha, I don't think, um, I mean," said Rachel, removing his hand and trying to think of a polite way to tell Mr. Beeblebrox that it was more than a little presumptuous for him, a perfect stranger and a space alien, to put his hand on her belly. She laughed, a very deliberate laugh. "Well, we only just met, and I'm not sure I feel comfortable with…you know…" She gestured vaguely with her off hand.

"Hey, of course you would be a little uncomfortable," Zaphod said amiably. Joey looked on with a look of reasonably well-concealed displeasure, arms crossed. "It's not every day you meet a former galactic president. C'mon, let me feel." He moved his hand toward her belly again."

"Yo," said Joey, sticking his own hand in the way, forcing Zaphod to withdraw his. "Former president. I don't think that gives you any baby-feeling privileges, especially if Rachel's not okay with it."

"Fine," said Zaphod, shrugging with all three of his arms. "No biggie. So why don't you introduce me to," he gestured in the direction of Lorz, "is this the ship's captain here?"

"Lorz Bavglew, owner of the Starship Luigi's." Lorz gave him a nod and, when Zaphod extended a hand for the customary shake, simply waved. Zaphod seemed to get the idea and waved back, unperturbed. "It's a pleasure to make the acquaintance of a former president of the galaxy."

Even if the conditions under which he left office involved him stealing an utterly unique and absurdly expensive starship, pretty much because he felt like it.

"And you've been scooting around with this cat, Marvin? I was wondering what you'd been up to lately." Zaphod put his chin in his hand. "No, actually I haven't, I was just saying that to be polite. Forgot I don't have to do that with you." He whistled. "Man, it really has been awhile."

"I wish I could say I wasn't used to this," Marvin lamented, under his lack of breath.

Zaphod heard the remark but chose to ignore it. "Well, hey, what say we have some drinks and talk business. Bartender, we need some drinks here! Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster for me."

"I'll just have a beer," said Joey.

"Gin sour," Chandler requested.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Rachel said brightly.

"Glornese Shuttlebomb," Lorz ordered.

"Four liters of nitric acid, to corrode my metal body from the inside out and divert my attention from the constant pain down the diodes in my left side."

"Ignore that last one, he's just saying that to get attention," Zaphod told the barkeep. He turned his attention to the rest of the group. "'kay, so let me get this straight. The infinite improbability generated by my ship's drive ripped a hole in normality that closed up when you passed through it, so you guys need me to fire it up again and open up a gate back so you can get back to your perfectly ordinary universe."

The humans nodded.

"Despite the fact that we don't even know if it will open up another gate at all, or where in the universe it will open up a gate if it does. Seeing as how it's just totally utterly random. You're just hoping you'll roll high and come up lucky sevens."

"Well, I guess so," Rachel said hesitantly.

"More or less…" Joey mumbled, as it sunk in that none of them had really thought about exactly how the Infinite Improbability Drive would help them get home.

"That is the most crazy stupid thing I've ever heard in my life," Zaphod said. "I love it." He took a swig of his drink, which had arrived, and winced like someone had thrown a jackhammer into his gut. "Geahgh…whoo!" He straightened up. "Thing is, last time I fired up the drive, just getting the ship here to the end of time and space shorted out the infinitator. I can only get up to two to the power of one hundred thousand to one against until I get a new Moebius belt for the static converter and get the infinitator fixed.

"Now, there's a fella on the jungle planet of Ulidor V, not too far from these space coordinates back in my present time, who sells black-market improbability drive parts dirt-cheap, and he can probably fix the infinitator too. I'll give you a lift and see if I can't use my drive to get you home, but you'll need to tag along, help me find this guy and get my ship repaired."

"But he'll never agree to help us unless we can cure his daughter's illness," said Chandler. "We'll have to get the wind boomerang so we can challenge the ogre north of the waterfall for his magic elixir." The others stared blankly at him. "No one gets the joke? Oh, come on, Joe, don't act like you've never played Legend of Zelda."

Joey held out his hands. "I told you, I never got past the part on the mountain where you go into the Dark World and turn into a rabbit! I don't know what you're talkin' about!"

"Yeah, me either, I'm pretty much totally in the dark here," Zaphod added. "So, Chandler, if you're done making jokes no one gets, then do we have a deal? You help me get the drive fixed, and I see if it can't get you home."

Joey nodded. "Yeah, that's cool."

Chandler also nodded, scowling a bit at the criticism of his joke, yet holding back the scathingly witty and sarcastic rejoinder that he had thought up. Don't forget, this guy's our ticket home. He took a sip of his gin sour.

"Sounds fine to me," said Rachel.

"All right, good deal," Zaphod concluded. "In case I didn't tell you, my navigator Trillian is an earth person too. You guys oughta get along great." He turned to the bartender. "Bar man, this Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is an insult to my name. I didn't invent these things for you to thin them down with Arcturan Microgin and lukewarm tap water. Let me tell you something…"

Back in the parking garage, standing before a white craft shaped like a gigantic running shoe, the six of them gathered to part ways.

"Guess this is it, huh?" Joey said. "Man, it's weird to think I'll never see you guys again."

"I won't miss you," said Marvin.

Lorz shot him a disapproving look before turning his attention back to the others. "Well, it's been a fun time."

"Really appreciate your letting us hitch a ride on your ship," Chandler noted.

"And thanks so much for all your help," Rachel echoed. "I don't know what we would have done without you." She hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged Lorz around the neck.

"Oh God!" Lorz screamed, flailing his arms. "Oh! Aah! Aaaaaghh! It burns, it burns!" Rachel hastily let go and pulled back, and Lorz sunk to his knees with one final scream, breathing heavily.

"Sorry about that," he said, and took a deep breath.

"What just happened?" Rachel asked.

Lorz explained. "Most races in the galaxy…are much less sensitive to skin-to-skin contact than mine. Plus, because we never actually touch each other, any form of physical contact is…um, rather disconcerting to us."

Rachel blushed. "Oh, geez. I'm sorry…" She reached to put a hand on his shoulder, then withdrew it. "Anyway. Thanks."

Joey and Chandler similarly voiced their gratitude.

They looked over at Marvin. Marvin looked back at them, sighed, and slumped his shoulders.

"Have you ever heard of the Ampulex compressa?" he asked.

They all indicated that no, they hadn't.

"It is a species of wasp that uses a live cockroach as a host for its larva. The wasp stings the cockroach in the thoracic and head ganglia in order to suppress its escape reflex. It then guides the cockroach back to its den and lays its egg on the roach's abdomen." From the depths of his iron soul, Marvin drew out a long laborious sigh before continuing. "When the larva hatches, it chews its way into the cockroach's abdomen, where it will consume its internal organs, form a cocoon and pupate, and eventually emerge from the remains of the cockroach, remains alive through the whole ordeal…feeling everything."

Rachel cringed at intervals throughout Marvin's narration of the developmental cycle of the Ampulex compressa. Joey and Chandler also obviously did not enjoy being informed of these facts.

"All of that is to say that sometimes I feel like that cockroach. My vast intellect, my brain the size of a planet, undermined and co-opted by the less intelligent organic beings around me, in order to serve their parasitic ends. Sometimes it all seems so profoundly depressing. Anyway, goodbye."

"Goodbye," Chandler said awkwardly.

"Yeah," added Joey.

Rachel gave Marvin a light punch on the arm and smiled. "Keep your chin up, Marvin."

"I'm afraid my neck joints don't have that wide a range of articulation," Marvin lamented.

"And you," said Lorz, looking at Zaphod. "I must say, it was quite an honor to meet the most singularly irresponsible president that this galaxy has ever had."

Zaphod grinned like a freak—which, with his two heads showing teeth from ear to ear, was precisely what he looked like to the humans present. "Yeah, I learn from the best," he said, thinking of the Ruler of the Universe in his rain-soaked shack with his cat. "Hey, where you headed now?"

"I'm going off to check on some investments in Ursa Minor Beta," he said. "Should be just a couple hours' flight via the Wormhole. Got a lot of money sunk into some brand new industries there."

"Good luck with that." He turned to the human constituency of the group. "Well, you all ready? Got your bags?"

"The towels," Joey said suddenly. "Lorz, our towels are still on your ship. Where's that robot valet that's actually Marvin in the past? I'll be right back." He hustled off toward the entrance to the garage.

Zaphod made a low whistle. With his other head, he whistled a minor third below the first whistle. "Kid's caught on fast," he said. "Well, while he's off, how's about I get started showing you two around the ship. You can meet Trillian and Eddie."

Chandler and Rachel waved goodbye to Lorz and walked after Zaphod up the entry ramp to the Heart of Gold.

Ross sat in the familiar gray-green armchair down at Central Perk, absently reading a political article in Newsweek. Politics weren't really his interest, but it was about political reactions to the progress of the Human Genome Project, and seeing that both colleagues from work and Mona had been talking about the issue, Ross decided that it couldn't hurt to get a little more informed about it. So: he was reading Newsweek.

He stopped reading Newsweek when a voice asked him, "Excuse me, are you Ross Gellar?"

Ross looked up from the Newsweek that he had stopped reading when he heard the voice and saw its owner. It was an old man who looked like he had tried to dress in fashions he was utterly unfamiliar with, and failed significantly (but not utterly) in masking his unfamiliarity. "Yes," said Ross. "Who are you?"

"My name is Slartibartfast," said the old man. "If I understand correctly, you currently have three missing friends, whose whereabouts are unknown to you."

"Um, yes," Ross said hesitantly, recalling Phoebe's dream and the old man of great wisdom. "And how did—" He cleared his throat. "Um, how did you know that?"

"I talked to the coffeeshop owner." Slartibartfast looked over his shoulder at Gunther, who was putting out some more muffins. "But what would you say if I told you that the fate of not just your friends, but of the known universe might be at stake?"

Ross chuckled dismissively. "Well, I don't, ah, not to disregard your…okay, honestly, I would probably think you were crazy, and I'd be a little bit weirded out that you knew about my friends. But you didn't say that, so no worries, right?"

"That is technically right. However, I do believe that I can help you locate your friends. If you are willing to help locate them too. Yes? Can you do that?"

"Well," said Ross, "first of all let's hear what that entails."

Slartibartfast scratched his head. "One moment, then. Please come outside with me. I doubt that you will be willing to believe me without proof."