“Let’s discuss this over a drink,” pleaded Zaphod.
They headed into one of the 42 bars that had been littered all over the complex. The barman of this one stood proudly behind his bar, polishing glasses. Ford reached the bar first.
“Do you serve Pan Galactic Gargle-Blasters?” He asked. “And don’t say we serve anyone with the money.” The barman reached over the bar and picked Ford off the ground by the collar of his blazer.
“I happen to be one of the most experienced Pan Galactic Gargle-Blaster mixers in the Universe,” muttered the barman in Ford’s ear. Ford clapped his hand down on the barman’s flattish head. The smacking noise and the shock caused the barman to drop Ford.
“Is that so?” Said Ford.
“That is so,” said the barman.
“Well, buddy boy, I’m going to put you to the test,” said Ford. “Do you know who is in our party? No? Zaphod Beeblebrox, that’s who.”
“Er, really?” Said the barman, swallowing hard.
Zaphod leaned against the bar, smiled, raised a hand and emitted his coolest ‘Hi’.
“So mix one up and we’ll see what Zaphod has to say,” said Ford.
“It won’t take a minute, Mr Beeblebrox,” flustered the barman.
Zaphod placed all three hands on the bar and started breathing deeply. He rolled his heads in opposite directions, which caused a flutter of applause to come from the small crowd that had formed. A small camera hovered above the bar, transmitting the pictures to all the video screens in the night-club.
Zaphod started puffing and slapping his cheeks. He decided to use his right head for the drinking and his left head for the observing. He bent his knees and squatted down, his hands still on the bar. He blew loudly several times and stood upright. He turned to his audience, now quite large, and jogged on the spot. He thrust his arms up in a ‘Rocky’ type pose, one he had been mastering in front of the mirror, which started the applause again.
“I will need a silver spoon, preferably the one you used to make the drink, a timing device, a glass of water and a cloth,” said Zaphod like a magician looking for volunteers. The barman dutifully produced all of these items and nervously placed them in front of Zaphod, who was staring at him like a boxer. The barman avoided Zaphod’s eyes and put the drink down on the bar. The barman stood back and rubbed his hands together anxiously.
Zaphod sipped the glass of water, swilled it around in his mouth, gargled with it and spat it out. His suit had sensed the atmosphere of the moment and displayed dark, moody colours.
“Wait a minute!” Cried the barman. He ran over to the drink and dropped an olive in it. “I forgot, the heat of the moment.”
Zaphod’s glare shut him up. Zaphod lifted the glass to the light and squinted at it. He sniffed it as one would sniff smelling salts, knowing full well what they smelt like. He nodded and picked up the spoon. He scooped up a drop of the drink and switched on the timing device. Fumes smoked away from the spoon and when a hole appeared in the spoon, Zaphod stopped the timing device. He looked at the time and nodded again. He wiped away the residue liquid from the bar with the cloth before it started eating it’s way through that. Zaphod rolled his heads again, much to the delight of the crowd and started puffing again. He took the glass in his hand, looked at the ceiling, looked at the barman, looked at the drink and then, while the left head watched closely, downed the drink in one.
Ford and Arthur helped Zaphod to his feet. He shook his heads and steadied himself.
“Well barman,” said Zaphod hoarsely. “That was good, very good. Set up three for us.”
The audience erupted, the barman cried and Arthur suddenly realised he was expected to drink one of these liquid stun guns.
“Don’t worry,” said Ford to Arthur, who was holding the glass as one would hold an anaconda. “Take it in sips, it’s quite pleasant.”
Arthur took a hesitant sip and screwed his face up in anticipation. There was no pain. It felt like slipping into a hot bath inside out.