The Lost Chapters by Douglas Adams

“Sorry, suckers,” he gloated as he stomped on the light. The animals disappeared, as did the cage and the inner walls. All that was left was an open door.

Ford walked through the doorway that once contained a very ambitious door. This door had designs on becoming an MD’s door and had even made a few tentative enquiries about oak panelling. However, a trigger-happy Zaphod had put paid to these aspirations and subjected the door to a lifetime career as sawdust, some of which stuck to Ford’s feet as he scattered the nest of the Ravenous Bug-Blatter Beast of Traal with a couple of hearty kicks. Although there was little logic to this as the stupid creature wouldn’t be able to find it’s way back, acting like a vandal paid off because a trap door was revealed. Ford opened the trap door and looked at the drop of about three metres. It was fairly dark but as there were no other visible exits, Ford threw down his towel to cushion the fall and jumped down.

He felt his way around the wall until he found a light switch.

As he threw the switch, a holographic recording of an old, grey-haired acquaintance started in the middle of the room.

“Hello, prospective employee, I hope you’re enjoying this initiative test,” said the recording. “As you can see, you cannot return through the trap door because it is out of reach. However, you will be able to pass through the locked door behind you once you have said the password.”

“Slartibartfast, what are you doing here?” Asked Ford.

“That’s not the password,” said Slartibartfast. The image flickered. “We were asked to build this planet and as I designed this section, and as I had experience at this sort of thing, I was asked to do some recording.”

“How come you can answer me?” Asked Ford, puzzled.

“That’s not the password.” The image flickered again.

“Interactive holography. Many, many answers have been recorded and a computer selects an appropriate answer to any questions asked.”

“That must have taken ages,” said Ford, shaking his head.

“That’s not the password.” Flicker. “Weeks and weeks, but the repeat fees are very good.”

“I suppose I ought to work out this password,” sighed Ford.

“Let me pass?”

“That’s not the password.”

Arthur was in a large cavernous hall. It looked rather blocky and bland. Some of the blocks moved and fired at Arthur. He hid behind a column and looked around for anything useful. A pair of spectacles was hanging on the pillar. He picked them up and inspected them. They looked ordinary enough apart for some etching on the side. He looked closely and could just make out the inscription 3DFX. He put them on and the blocky hall smoothed out beautifully. The bland walls changed to realistically textured walls and the moving blocks became detailed Marvin lookalikes. Arthur was so stunned by the detail that he almost took a hit.

“Hello, we are so delighted to meet you.”

“What?” Yelled Arthur.

“It is our pleasure to serve you.”

“You were trying to kill me!”

“Well, yes, but it would have been our pleasure to serve you prior to death.”

“Do you have to kill me, serving me with pleasure sounds much better.”

“That’s the rub. We are programmed to serve with a happy disposition and cheery nature. However, the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation miscalculated the demand and have had to stockpile us. We have been asked to fill in here at the induction testing. Not really our forte. Service robots are not great killers. We at least like things to be fair. Three against one is hardly sporting, is it?”

“I may be able to help there,” said Arthur.

“Rumplestiltskin,” said Ford.

“That’s not the password.”

“Magrathea rules okay.”

“That’s not the password.”

“Slartibartfast rules okay.”

“That’s not the password.”

“Oh, why don’t you get back to your Fjords, you senile old fool and open this door for me,” yelled Ford.

“That’s the password.” And with that the hologram disappeared and the door opened.

Zaphod was walking along a corridor, poised and ready to run at the slightest sign of danger. There were doors leading off both sides of the corridor but Zaphod wasn’t trying any. He had his gun held high, pointing towards the ceiling. This looked very impressive and that’s what Zaphod wanted, even though he didn’t have anything to back it up with.

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