Part 16 (1/2)
”Oh d...”
”And that was with a coffee machine.”
He waited.
”That's a...”
”You don't like talking to me do you?” said Marvin in a low desolate tone.
Trillian talked to Arthur instead.
Further down the chamber Ford Prefect had found something of which he very much liked the look, several such things in fact.
”Zaphod,” he said in a quiet voice, ”just look at some of these little star trolleys...”
Zaphod looked and liked.
The craft they were looking at was in fact pretty small but extraordinary, and very much a rich kid's toy. It was not much to look at. It resembled nothing so much as a paper dart about twenty feet long made of thin but tough metal foil. At the rear end was a small horizontal two-man c.o.c.kpit. It had a tiny charm-drive engine, which was not capable of moving it at any great speed. The thing it did have, however, was a heat-sink.
The heat-sink had a ma.s.s of some two thousand billion tons and was contained within a black hole mounted in an electromagnetic field situated half-way along the length of the s.h.i.+p, and this heat-sink enabled the craft to be manoeuvred to within a few miles of a yellow sun, there to catch and ride the solar flares that burst out from its surface.
Flare-riding is one of the most exotic and exhilarating sports in existence, and those who can dare and afford it are amongst the most lionized men in the Galaxy. It is also of course stupefyingly dangerous those who don't die riding invariably die of s.e.xual exhaustion at one of the Daedalus Club's Apres-Flare parties.
Ford and Zaphod looked and pa.s.sed on.
”And this baby,” said Ford, ”the tangerine star buggy with the black sunbusters...”
Again, the star buggy was a small s.h.i.+p a totally misnamed one in fact, because the one thing it couldn't manage was interstellar distances. Basically it was a sporty planet hopper dolled up to something it wasn't. Nice lines though. They pa.s.sed on.
The next one was a big one and thirty yards long a coach built limos.h.i.+p and obviously designed with one aim in mind, that of making the beholder sick with envy. The paintwork and accessory detail clearly said ”Not only am I rich enough to afford this s.h.i.+p, I am also rich enough not to take it seriously.” It was wonderfully hideous.
”Just look at it,” said Zaphod, ”multi-cl.u.s.ter quark drive, perspulex running boards. Got to be a Lazlar Lyricon custom job.”
He examined every inch.
”Yes,” he said, ”look, the infra-pink lizard emblem on the neutrino cowling. Lazlar's trade mark. The man has no shame.”
”I was pa.s.sed by one of these mothers once, out by the Axel Nebula,” said Ford, ”I was going flat out and this thing just strolled past me, star drive hardly ticking over. Just incredible.”
Zaphod whistled appreciatively.
”Ten seconds later”, said Ford, ”it smashed straight into the third moon of Jaglan Beta.”
”Yeah, right?”
”Amazing looking s.h.i.+p though. Looks like a fish, moves like a fish, steers like a cow.”
Ford looked round the other side.
”Hey, come and see,” he called out, ”there's a big mural painted on this side. A bursting sun Disaster Area's trade mark. This must be Hotblack's s.h.i.+p. Lucky old b.u.g.g.e.r. They do this terrible song you know which ends with a stunts.h.i.+p cras.h.i.+ng into the sun. Meant to be an amazing spectacle. Expensive in stunt s.h.i.+ps though.”
Zaphod's attention however was elsewhere. His attention was riveted on the s.h.i.+p standing next to Hotblack Desiato's limo. His mouths hung open.
”That,” he said, ”that... is really bad for the eyes...”
Ford looked. He too stood astonished.
It was a s.h.i.+p of cla.s.sic, simple design, like a flattened salmon, twenty yards long, very clean, very sleek. There was just one remarkable thing about it.
”It's so... black!” said Ford Prefect, ”you can hardly make out its shape... light just seems to fall into it!”
Zaphod said nothing. He had simply fallen in love.
The blackness of it was so extreme that it was almost impossible to tell how close you were standing to it.
”Your eyes just slide off it...” said Ford in wonder. It was an emotional moment. He bit his lip.
Zaphod moved forward to it, slowly, like a man possessed or more accurately like a man who wanted to possess. His hand reached out to stroke it. His hand stopped. His hand reached out to stroke it again. His hand stopped again.
”Come and feel the surface,” he said in a hushed voice.
Ford put his hand out to feel it. His hand stopped.
”You... you can't...” he said.
”See?” said Zaphod, ”it's just totally frictionless. This must be one mother of a mover...”
He turned to look at Ford seriously. At least, one of his heads did the other stayed gazing in awe at the s.h.i.+p.
”What do you reckon, Ford?” he said.
”You mean... er...” Ford looked over his shoulder. ”You mean stroll off with it? You think we should?”
”No.”
”Nor do I.”
”But we're going to, aren't we?”
”How can we not?”
They gazed a little longer, till Zaphod suddenly pulled himself together.
”We better s.h.i.+ft soon,” he said. ”In a moment or so the Universe will have ended and all the Captain Creeps will be pouring down here to find their bourge-mobiles.”
”Zaphod,” said Ford.
”Yeah?”
”How do we do it?”