The Journalist was at a loss to see why the great man was so angry, but Leovinus was already striding across to the far wall. There he yanked at a decorative panel. ‘Upside down!’ he yelled. ‘I sometimes think I have to build the entire ship with my own hands!’ And he produced a screwdriver and proceeded to replace the panel in the correct position. ‘Can’t they see the entire ambient structure of the room is destroyed by exactly that sort of inattention to detail?’
The Journalist made a note in his thumb-recorder.
‘Welcome to the Starship Titanic.’ The smart robot was now addressing a light-fitting that protruded from the wall. ‘Allow me to show you the facilities available to Second Class Travellers.’ The thing then turned smartly on its heels and walked straight into the nearest closed door. There was a clang and the robot fell backwards onto the highly decorative marble floor. ‘Here you may see the Grand Axial Canal, Second Class!’ it announced proudly and extended a whitegloved hand at the ceiling.
The Journalist made another note in his thumb-recorder.
Leovinus’s reaction to the robot’s minor mishap was also noted down in The Journalist’s thumb-recorder. It started off as ‘blank disbelief’ and ended up as ‘cold fury’. In between it went through a fascinating range of adjustments all of which were noted down by The Journalist: ‘surprised dissatisfaction’ was rapidly replaced by ‘stupefied indignation’ which in turn quickly became ‘bitter resentment’ which equally quickly was transformed into ‘burning thirst for vengeance’ and so to ‘cold fury’.
‘Brobostigon!’ murmured the Great Man, ‘That bastard has been skimping on the syntho-neurones!’
The Journalist made another note, but Leovinus turned on him so suddenly that he stuck his thumb in his mouth and pretended to be sucking at it.
‘This can’t happen on this ship,’ explained Leovinus, as he picked up the fallen robot. ‘Every Doorbot has a fail-safe neuron embedded in its circuitry that cancels out any non-rational activity such as we just witnessed. They are expensive items, but, I think you will agree, well worth the money.’
The Journalist nodded and pretended that he had a splinter in the end of his thumb.
‘Except that that BASTARD BROBOSTIGON HAS OBVIOUSLY LEFT THEM OUT! When I see him I’ll…’ But Leovinus stopped in mid sentence.
‘He’s probably wondering what else is wrong with the ship,’ thought The Journalist with mounting excitement he could feel a story materializing in front of him – a big story – a humungous story, and the great thing was he wouldn’t have to do anything – it was all going to unfold in front of him. He knew it. And, sure enough, before The Journalist could pretend to find the non-existent splinter, Leovinus had given the Doorbot a quick adjustment, the door had opened and the Great Man had been bowed through into the corridor beyond.
‘Enjoy your honeymoon, you lucky couple!’ called the Doorbot cheerfully. The Journalist noted this down, and hurried after the great architect and ship-builder, who had just turned right into one of the most astounding architectural spaces The Journalist had ever entered.
It was an oval space, marked out by columns. Around the perimeter wall was painted a frieze depicting the favourite recreational pastime of the Founding Fathers of Blerontin: posing for frieze-painters. Leovinus was standing staring up at a huge statue of a winged female that stood at the other end. But The Journalist’s eye went down… down and down into what seemed like an infinity of descent, for there at his feet was the great Central Well that occupied the gigantic keel of the Starship. It was the spine of the ship, and around it, like nerve impulses, illuminated elevators constantly went up and down servicing the living quarters that were stacked below them – tier after tier. At the very bottom, far far down below near the bilges of the ship, the Super Galactic Traveller De Luxe Suites; above them, the Second Class Executive Duplexes; and above them, far above them, the fabulously appointed First Class State Rooms.
But The Journalist scarcely had time to take all this in, for Leovinus was off – striding through the many-columned hall towards the far vestibule – through which he disappeared.