Part 13 (1/2)

'Just hear me out,' pleaded Zaphod.

'Nope.'

'Five seconds, what could it hurt?'

'No. Any question you could ask me, the answer would be no.'

Zaphod spat it out quickly. 'Is Thor home?'

'No, he b.l.o.o.d.y isn't!' roared Heimdall, the tips of his waxed moustache quivering.

'Really?'

The Asgardian G.o.d bared his teeth. 'Actually, yes. Yes, he is home. You're in b.l.o.o.d.y Asgard, aren't you?'

'He is! Could I...'

'No. It's back to negatives again, my friend. And when I say my friend my friend, I actually mean my hated enemy who I would like to see disembowelled and then sprinkled with salt my hated enemy who I would like to see disembowelled and then sprinkled with salt.'

'Come on, Heimdall. Forget all those misunderstandings and negotiate a little. This is important.'

Heimdall's cheeks were so red that it seemed quite possible that his head would explode.

'Misunderstandings? Misunder zark me. You have a lot of nerve, c.r.a.p-prod. You have enough sheer b.l.o.o.d.y gall for an entire bucket of Gall Stones.'

Guide Note: Gall Stones Light grey pebbles found on Damogran. Very cheeky.

'What say we put the past behind us, where it belongs, and just start again? We can do that, can't we? We're both rational adults.'

'We're both rational adults, but you should see Thor now. He's just a bag of nerves with a helmet on top after what you did to him.' both rational adults, but you should see Thor now. He's just a bag of nerves with a helmet on top after what you did to him.'

'That's why I want to talk to the boy. To explain.'

Heimdall took a moment for some breathing exercises, blowing into the gloved fingers of one hand which he wiggled before his face.

'Explain?' he said finally. 'You want to explain?'

'Yes, that's all I want from you wonderful G.o.ds,' said Zaphod in tones that would have the Sucky Crawlers of Sycophantasia reaching for their sick-bags. 'A chance to explain, and possibly make amends for, my previous mistakes.'

'Amends, eh?' Heimdall said. 'I suppose you do need to make amends.'

'Yes. Yes, of course I do. I repent and I deserve penance.'

'I know what you're doing there,' said Heimdall, scowling. 'Pus.h.i.+ng my G.o.d G.o.d b.u.t.tons. Who do you think you're fooling?' b.u.t.tons. Who do you think you're fooling?'

'I'm serious. Look at this face.'

Heimdall leaned in until his eyes filled the screen. These were eyes that could slice through the fat of a normal person's lies and find the bone of truth within.

'Very well, Zaphod Beebleb.a.s.t.a.r.d. Come outside and let's talk about amends.'

'Come outside? Into s.p.a.ce? Won't that be cold?'

'Fear not, mortal. I will extend a bubble of atmosphere to you.'

'Just step outside, then?'

'Out you come, Zaphod. Alone. You have one minute to decide.'

Left Brain hovered at Zaphod's shoulder.

'I think you should probably go,' he said. 'Don't worry about me. I'll be fine here inside the s.h.i.+p. I'm sure the atmosphere bubble will hold its integrity.'

'Can you check it?'

Left Brain squinted for a moment, then spasmed as lightning flashed inside his dome.

'The Asgardian computer doesn't share information, apparently.' Little spider-bots clicked along the gla.s.s, nipping at the scorch marks. 'There isn't a line out from the entire planet. If you go out there, you are on your own.'

Zaphod sighed and straightened his coat. 'People like me, LB, the truly great ones... we are always alone.'

LB nodded. 'That was good, but I wasn't ready with the lighting. Give me a second, then try it again.'

'Okay. Something warm. And not directly overhead. Makes my hair look thin.'

Left Brain interfaced with the s.h.i.+p's illuminations, putting a yellow spotlight on Zaphod's face.

'Ready?'

'What would you say my motivation was?'

'Greatness. Pure, undiluted greatness.'

Zaphod nodded gravely, accepting the truth of this. He steepled his fingers and spoke slowly.

'People like me...' he began, then Left Brain opened a tube and shot him into s.p.a.ce.

Guide Note: As divine dynasties go, the Aesir, the G.o.ds of Asgard, are not exactly the biggest pseudopods on the amoeboid. Adored on less than a thousand worlds, they can fairly be cla.s.sed as middle-tier G.o.ds. Zeus, the father of the rival Olympians, has often publicly claimed that he has 'pulled fluff b.a.l.l.s from his navel that were bigger than Asgard', but this is more than likely simply an attempt to exacerbate Odin's legendary planet envy. Odin and Zeus have had a 'bit of a thing' going for several thousand years, ever since Zeus accidentally turned Odin into a wild boar during one of his 'take human form and plant some wild oats' visits to the planet Earth. But even though the G.o.ds of Asgard have not achieved the same level of penetration as the Olympians, or even some of the novelty G.o.ds such as Pasta Fasta, who began his career as a restaurant chain icon, they are significant for what they have contributed to popular culture, most notably the horn, which they use to decorate their ceremonial helmets, create music and, most importantly, fill with beer. Scientists have postulated that without the phrase 'do you fancy a horn of beer?' in their lexicon, several worlds would never have emerged from their cataclysmic planetary war phase. what they have contributed to popular culture, most notably the horn, which they use to decorate their ceremonial helmets, create music and, most importantly, fill with beer. Scientists have postulated that without the phrase 'do you fancy a horn of beer?' in their lexicon, several worlds would never have emerged from their cataclysmic planetary war phase.

Heimdall, G.o.d of Light, left Zaphod thras.h.i.+ng in the inky void for twenty-nine seconds before lobbing out an atmosphere yo-yo to reel him to safety. In those twenty-nine seconds Zaphod Beeblebrox was forced to think on the inside of his head rather than transmitting his thoughts directly to the Universe as he preferred. His tangent-ridden reflection resulted in the oft-quoted 'Beeblebrox's Inner Monologue', of which there are two published versions: the official one, which Zaphod produced after a weekend on the writer Oolon Colluphid's estate, and the unofficial version, which was picked up telepathically by Left Brain and included in his memoirs, Life in a Fishbowl Life in a Fishbowl. Both accounts will be presented and you can make up your own mind which is more accurate.

The Official Version And so, the moment has arrived. I grieve bitterly, not for myself, but for those who have been denied the ecstasy of knowing Zaphod Beeblebrox. People will recognize the name, I suppose. Beeblebrox has done a few small things in his short existence. How will I be remembered? As a supernova perhaps, a celestial body that blazes in the night sky, a light in the darkness, granting those that felt its heat on their faces a moment of wonder and perhaps hope. This would be enough. There are those who heap praise upon my shoulders, lauding me as a prophet, a revolutionary, or a great satisfier of women. I accept the praise with gracious modesty, but if I could choose my own epitaph, I would simply say that Zaphod Beeblebrox surprised everyone. In a good way.

And the Unofficial Version Oh, zark. Big... Big... B-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-G. s.p.a.ce everywhere, but no air! My hair will collapse. And I always bloat in zero g g. Heimdall, you total b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Look, a ball of ice. Smoothie, s.h.i.+ny, wish I could lick it. What underpants am I wearing? For the autopsy, you need to think about these things. New ones with drainage, I hope. Ford, dude. You were froody, we were froody together. But I was slightly more froody. I bet this gets big coverage. It's not every day a Galactic President gets dumped out of an airlock by his own head.

There was a third version, that flickered just below the surface of Zaphod's consciousness. Left Brain didn't hear it and Zaphod didn't remember it.

So, Zaphod's buried personality monologued internally, as I did not hold my breath there will be no lung damage, but that does mean I have less than half a minute before oxygen-deprived blood reaches my brain. I could have done so much more with my time... as I did not hold my breath there will be no lung damage, but that does mean I have less than half a minute before oxygen-deprived blood reaches my brain. I could have done so much more with my time...

Asgard The Light G.o.d watched Zaphod spasm, with no little satisfaction in his all-seeing eyes. He stood on the lip of Bifrost, the portal between Asgard and the rest of the Universe, counting down the seconds until he would have to choose between rescuing Thor's old manager or letting him die.