Gradually the topography of the distantly approaching ocean bed
resolved with greater and greater clarity on the computer displays until
at last a shape could be made out that was separate and distinct from
its surroundings. It was like a huge lopsided cylindrical fortress which
widened sharply halfway along its length to accommodate the heavy
ultra-plating with which the crucial storage holds were clad, and which
were supposed by its builders to have made this the most secure and
impregnable spaceship ever built. Before launch the material structure
of this section had been battered, rammed, blasted and subjected to
every assault its builders knew it could withstand in order to
demonstrate that it could withstand them.
The tense silence in the cockpit tightened perceptibly as it became
clear that it was this section that had broken rather neatly in two.
“In fact it’s perfectly safe,” said one of the officials, “it’s built
so that even if the ship does break up, the storage holds cannot
possibly be breached.”
Three thousand, eight hundred and twenty five feet.
Four Hi-Presh-A SmartSuits moved slowly out of the open hatchway of
the salvage craft and waded through the barrage of its lights towards
the monstrous shape that loomed darkly out of the sea night. They moved
with a sort of clumsy grace, near weightless though weighed on by a
world of water.
With his right-hand head Zaphod peered up into the black immensities
above him and for a moment his mind sang with a silent roar of horror.
He glanced to his left and was relieved to see that his other head was
busy watching the Brockian Ultra-Cricket broadcasts on the helmet vid
without concern. Slightly behind him to his left walked the two
officials from the Safety and Civil Reassurance Administration, slightly
in front of him to his right walked the empty suit, carrying their
implements and testing the way for them.
They passed the huge rift in the broken backed Starship Billion Year
Bunker, and played their flashlights up into it. Mangled machinery
loomed between torn and twisted bulkheads, two feet thick. A family of
large transparent eels lived in there now and seemed to like it.
The empty suit preceded them along the length of the ship’s gigantic
murky hull, trying the airlocks. The third one it tested ground open
uneasily. They crowded inside it and waited for several long minutes
while the pump mechanisms dealt with the hideous pressure that the ocean
exerted, and slowly replaced it with an equally hideous pressure of air
and inert gases. At last the inner door slid open and they were admitted
to a dark outer holding area of the Starship Billion Year Bunker.
Several more high security Titan-O-Hold doors had to be passed
through, each of which the officials opened with a selection of quark
keys. Soon they were so deep within the heavy security fields that the
UltraCricket broadcasts were beginning to fade, and Zaphod had to switch
to one of the rock video stations, since there was nowhere that they
were not able to reach.
A final doorway slid open, and they emerged into a large sepulchral
space. Zaphod played his flashlight against the opposite wall and it
fell full on a wild-eyed screaming face.
Zaphod screamed a diminished fifth himself, dropped his light and sat
heavily on the floor, or rather on a body which had been lying there
undisturbed for around six months and which reacted to being sat on by
exploding with great violence. Zaphod wondered what to do about all
this, and after a brief but hectic internal debate decided that passing
out would be the very thing.
He came to a few minutes later and pretended not to know who he was,
where he was or how he had got there, but was not able to convince
anybody. He then pretended that his memory suddenly returned with a rush
and that the shock caused him to pass out again, but he was helped
unwillingly to his feet by the empty suit – which he was beginning to
take a serious dislike to – and forced to come to terms with his
surroundings.
They were dimly and fitfully lit and unpleasant in a number of