`You can’t mean that! How could anyone possibly, er, I mean…’
`She had me because I was meant to make things fit for her. That was my job. But I fitted even worse than she did! So she just shut me off and carried on with her stupid life.’
`What’s stupid about her life? She’s fantastically successful, isn’t she? She’s all over time and space, all over the Sub-Etha TV networks…’
`Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’
Random turned and ran off again. Arthur couldn’t keep up with her and at last he had to sit down for a bit and let the pain in his leg subside. The turmoil in his head he didn’t know what to do with at all.
He hobbled into the village an hour later. It was getting dark. The villagers he passed said hello, but there was a sense of nervousness and of not quite knowing what was going on or what to do about it in the air. Old Thrashbarg had been seen pulling on his beard a fair bit and looking at the moon, and that was not a good sign either.
Arthur went into his hut.
Random was sitting hunched quietly over the table.
`I’m sorry,’ she said. `I’m so sorry.’
`That’s all right,’ said Arthur as gently as he knew how. `It’s good to, well, to have a little chat. There’s so much we have to learn and understand about each other, and life isn’t, well it isn’t all just tea and sandwiches…’
`I’m so sorry,’ she said again, sobbing.
Arthur went up to her and put his arm round her shoulder. She didn’t resist or pull away. Then Arthur saw what it was she was so sorry about.
In the pool of light thrown by a Lamuellan lantern lay Arthur’s watch. Random had forced the back off it with the back edge of the butter spreading knife, and all of the minute cogs and springs and levers were lying in a tiny cock-eyed mess where she’d been fiddling with them.
`I just wanted to see how it worked,’ said Random, `how it all fitted together. I’m so sorry! I can’t get it back together. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. I’ll get it repaired! Really! I’ll get it repaired!’
The following day Thrashbarg came round and said all sorts of Bob stuff. He tried to exert a calming influence by inviting Random to let her mind dwell on the ineffable mystery of the giant earwig, and Random said there was no giant earwig and Thrashbarg went very cold and silent and said she would be cast into outer darkness. Random said good, she’d been born there, and the next day the parcel arrived.
This was all getting a bit eventful.
In fact, when the parcel arrived, delivered by a kind of robot drone that dropped out of the sky making droning robot noises, it brought with it a sense which gradually began to permeate through the whole village, that it was almost one event too many.
It wasn’t the robot drone’s fault. All it required was Arthur Dent’s signature or thumb print, or just a few scrapings of skin cells from the nape of his neck and it would be on its way again. It hung around waiting, not quite sure what all this resentment was about. Meanwhile, Kirp had caught another fish with a head at both ends, but on closer inspection it turned out that it was in fact two fish cut in half and sewn together rather badly, so not only had Kirp failed to rekindle any great interest in two-headed fish but he had seriously cast doubt on the authenticity of the first one. Only the pikka birds seemed to feel that everything was exactly normal.
The robot drone got Arthur’s signature and made its escape. Arthur bore the parcel back to his hut and sat and looked at it.
`Let’s open it!’ said Random, who was feeling much more cheerful this morning now that everything around her had got thoroughly weird, but Arthur said no.
`Why not?’
`It’s not addressed to me.’
`Yes, it is.’
`No, it isn’t. It’s addressed to… well, it’s addressed to Ford Prefect, in care of me.’