Part 4 (2/2)
”I'm sorry, sir, if...”
”I mean where's the percentage in being kind or helpful to a robot if it doesn't have any grat.i.tude circuits?”
”And you don't have any?” said the insect, who didn't seem to be able to drag itself out of this conversation.
”I've never had occasion to find out,” Marvin informed it.
”Listen, you miserable heap of maladjusted metal...”
”Aren't you going to ask me what I want?”
The insect paused. Its long thin tongue darted out and licked its eyes and darted back again.
”Is it worth it?” it asked.
”Is anything?” said Marvin immediately.
”What... do... you... want?”
”I'm looking for someone.”
”Who?” hissed the insect.
”Zaphod Beeblebrox,” said Marvin, ”he's over there.”
The insect shook with rage. It could hardly speak.
”Then why did you ask me?” it screamed.
”I just wanted something to talk to,” said Marvin.
”What!”
”Pathetic isn't it?”
With a grinding of gears Marvin turned and trundled off. He caught up with Zaphod approaching the elevators. Zaphod span round in astonishment.
”Hey... Marvin!” he said, ”Marvin! How did you get here?”
Marvin was forced to say something which came very hard to him.
”I don't know,” he said.
”But...”
”One moment I was sitting in your s.h.i.+p feeling very depressed, and the next moment I was standing here feeling utterly miserable. An Improbability Field I expect.”
”Yeah,” said Zaphod, ”I expect my great grandfather sent you along to keep me company.”
”Thanks a bundle grandad,” he added to himself under his breath.
”So, how are you?” he said aloud.
”Oh, fine,” said Marvin, ”if you happen to like being me which personally I don't.”
”Yeah, yeah,” said Zaphod as the elevator doors opened.
”h.e.l.lo,” said the elevator sweetly, ”I am to be your elevator for this trip to the floor of your choice. I have been designed by the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation to take you, the visitor to the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, into these their offices. If you enjoy your ride, which will be swift and pleasurable, then you may care to experience some of the other elevators which have recently been installed in the offices of the Galactic tax department, b.o.o.biloo Baby Foods and the Sirian State Mental Hospital, where many ex-Sirius Cybernetics Corporation executives will be delighted to welcome your visits, sympathy, and happy tales of the outside world.”
”Yeah,” said Zaphod, stepping into it, ”what else do you do besides talk?”
”I go up,” said the elevator, ”or down.”
”Good,” said Zaphod, ”We're going up.”
”Or down,” the elevator reminded him.
”Yeah, OK, up please.”
There was a moment of silence.
”Down's very nice,” suggested the elevator hopefully.
”Oh yeah?”
”Super.”
”Good,” said Zaphod, ”Now will you take us up?”
”May I ask you,” inquired the elevator in its sweetest, most reasonable voice, ”if you've considered all the possibilities that down might offer you?”
Zaphod knocked one of his heads against the inside wall. He didn't need this, he thought to himself, this of all things he had no need of. He hadn't asked to be here. If he was asked at this moment where he would like to be he would probably have said he would like to be lying on the beach with at least fifty beautiful women and a small team of experts working out new ways they could be nice to him, which was his usual reply. To this he would probably have added something pa.s.sionate on the subject of food.
One thing he didn't want to be doing was chasing after the man who ruled the Universe, who was only doing a job which he might as well keep at, because if it wasn't him it would only be someone else. Most of all he didn't want to be standing in an office block arguing with an elevator.
”Like what other possibilities?” he asked wearily.
”Well,” the voice trickled on like honey on biscuits, ”there's the bas.e.m.e.nt, the microfiles, the heating system... er...”
It paused.
”Nothing particularly exciting,” it admitted, ”but they are alternatives.”
”Holy Zarquon,” muttered Zaphod, ”did I ask for an existentialist elevator?” he beat his fists against the wall.
”What's the matter with the thing?” he spat.
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