At that moment, a bullet whistled through the space that had previously contained his head, continued it’s path and lodged itself firmly in the heart of someone standing in the crowd. No-one heard the shot because of all the cheering and those around him assumed the man had suffered a heart attack. They were wrong because fate had deemed this to the man in a former life and for variety had opted for the bullet this time. Arthur saw none of this and could therefore feel no sorrow for Agrajag.
“Arthur,” shouted Ford. “This is all very nice, but I imagine that the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation will come looking for us soon.”
“But Ford,” sighed Zaphod, lapping up the adulation even though it wasn’t for him. “The Heart of Gold is one invalid improbability drive ship.”
“Ah, I know,” said Ford, a grin creeping onto his face. “But I found a back up improbability drive generator in our quarters. All we need to do is fix the stabilisers and we’re history here.”
“I think Arthur is already history on this planet,” said Fenchurch, proud of her man.
“Ford,” said Zaphod, still waving at the crowd. “We need an atomic vector plotter to connect the back up to the ship and I used the last one two weeks ago to unblock the toilet.”
“I knew there was something we forgot at the megamarket last week,” moaned Trillian.
“Perhaps these people have one,” said Bolo, hopefully.
“Any race that looks up to a puny primate is hardly likely to have evolved up to atomic vector plotter level,” muttered Zaphod.
Unfortunately, his bearers heard this. They dropped him, which didn’t hurt, then jumped on him, which did.
“Blasphemer!” They yelled.
In no time at all, Zaphod was trussed up by the crowd and suspended from a pole held by his bearers.
“Hey guys,” he moaned. “Can’t you take a joke? You’ve got as much humour as a Vogon Stag Night!”
The power of this statement was lost on the Stavromulans, as they had never even met a Vogon, let alone be subjected to the ugliness of a Vogon bride.
“Serves you right,” said Trillian. “You chose the wrong place to insult Arthur.”
“Arthur, get them to put me down!” Yelled Zaphod, letting his cool slip to lukewarm.
“We will do with him as you wish,” said Latigid.
“Leave him as he is until I decide,” said Arthur, gloating.
“Zaphod broke into a sob and Marvin broke into the Death March to cheer Zaphod up.
The procession entered a long tunnel which Arthur failed to gauge accurately and subsequently remembered this by having to endure a bump on the head and the accompanying pain.
The tunnel emerged into a large open air amphitheatre packed with Stavromulans. Marvin’s bearers literally collapsed with joy as they reached the stage.
“Don’t apologise,” said Marvin, knowing full well they had no intention of doing so. “I expect to be thrown about. It’s all part of life.”
He was barely heard over the roars of the crowd as Arthur was introduced.
“Look,” argued Zaphod. “The crowd have got what they want. Why don’t you let me go?”
Latigid was unimpressed.
“Your arguments have become stale and boring.”
“Stale, me?” Zaphod protested. “I’m so fresh my sell by date is light years away. By nunk, Arthur, I’ll get you for this.”
Arthur wasn’t listening. He was devouring all the adulation being thrust upon him. He walked to the front of the stage and held his arms out. This inspired more hysterical cheers from the crowd. He cleared his throat to speak and a sudden hush fell over the crowd.
“People,” he started. He felt it was a strong opening seeing as he had no insight into their culture. They hung on his every word. “I am Arthur Dent.”
Screams went up from the crowd but this time as a result of the robots from Sirius appearing around the top of the amphitheatre. The place emptied like a train full of lemmings at the White Cliffs of Dover.
“We’ve caught up with you again,” said Jeremy. “It wasn’t even a good chase this time. You killed off our scouts, which was a bit unsporting and you waited here for us. I think you’ve lost interest, so if you can’t be bothered, we’ll just kill you. What is that robot doing with you?”