He had carried out the instruction once before, but a number of troublesome circumstances had prevented him from being able to put the tick in the little box.
One of the troublesome circumstances was the Plural nature of this Galactic sector, where the possible continually interfered with the probable. Simple demolition didn’t get you any further than pushing down a bubble under a badly hung strip of wallpaper. Anything you demolished kept on popping up again. That would soon be taken care of.
Another was a small bunch of people who continually refused to be where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there. That, also, would soon be taken care of.
The third was an irritating and anarchic little device called the Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. That was now well and truly taken care of and, in fact, through the phenomenal power of temporal reverse engineering, it was now itself the agency through which everything else would be taken care of. The Captain had merely come to watch the final act of this drama. He himself did not have to lift a finger.
`Show me,’ he said.
The shadowy shape of a bird spread its wings and rose into the air near him. Darkness engulfed the bridge. Dim lights danced briefly in the black eyes of the bird as, deep in its instructional address space, bracket after bracket was final- ly closing, if clauses were finally ending, repeat loops halting, recursive functions calling themselves for the last few times.
A brilliant vision lit up in the darkness, a watery blue and green vision, a tube flowing through the air, shaped like a chopped up string of sausages.
With a flatulent noise of satisfaction, the Vogon Captain sat back to watch.
25
`Just there, number forty-two,’ shouted Ford Prefect to the taxi-driver. `Right here!’
The taxi lurched to a halt, and Ford and Arthur jumped out. They had stopped at quite a number of cash-dispensers on the way, and Ford chucked a fistful of money through the window at the driver.
The entrance to the club was dark, smart and severe. Only the smallest little plaque bore its name. Members knew where it was, and if you weren’t a member then knowing where it was wasn’t any help to you.
Ford Prefect was not a member of Stavro’s though he had once been to Stavro’s other club in New York. He had a very simple method of dealing with establishments of which he was not a member. He simply swept in as soon as the door was opened, pointed back at Arthur and said, `It’s OK, he’s with me.’ He bounded down the dark glossy stairs, feeling very froody in his new shoes. They were suede and they were blue, and he was very pleased that in spite of everything else going on he had been sharp-eyed enough to spot them in a shop window from the back of a speeding taxi.
`I thought I told you not to come here.’
`What?’ said Ford.
A thin, ill-looking man wearing something baggy and Italian was walking up the stairs past them, lighting a cigarette, and had stopped, suddenly.
`Not you,’ he said. `Him.’
He looked straight at Arthur, then seemed to become a little confused.
`Excuse me,’ he said. `I think I must have mistaken you for someone else.’ He started on up the stairs again , but almost immediately turned round once more, even more puzzled. He stared at Arthur.
`Now what?’ said Ford.
`What did you say?’
`I said, now what?’ repeated Ford irritably.
`Yes, I think so,’ said the man and swayed slightly and dropped the book of matches he’d been carrying. His mouth moved weakly. Then he put his hand to his forehead.
`Excuse me,’ he said, `I’m trying desperately to remember which drug I’ve just taken, but it must be one of those ones which mean you can’t remember.’
He shook his head and turned away again, and went up towards the men’s room.
`Come on,’ said Ford. He hurried on downstairs, with Arthur following nervously in his wake. The encounter had shaken him badly and he didn’t know why.
He didn’t like places like this. For all of the dreams of Earth and home he had had for years, he now badly missed his hut on Lamuella with his knives and his sandwiches. He even missed Old Thrashbarg.