Part 36 (1/2)

The Heart of Gold Heart of Gold lifted silently off the s.p.a.ceport concrete. lifted silently off the s.p.a.ceport concrete.

'It never hurts to have a back-up plan,' said Zaphod, then he was gone.

Left Brain had been plugged into the plasma a bit long and was feeling a little hyper.

'Look who it is, the great Galactic President, gracing us with his presence.'

Zaphod heaved the sack of gold into a locker. 'Hey, LB. Nice work with the light and wind machine.'

Left Brain bonked Zaphod with his gla.s.s. 'I don't appreciate being used as your effects guy. You were elected President of the Galaxy, Zaphod. Don't you have any dignity?'

Zaphod rubbed his crown. 'I don't understand the question.'

He strode to the bridge, pa.s.sing through several auto-doors that were programmed to recognize him and deliver appropriately laudatory comments as he pa.s.sed through.

'Oooh, he looks fit,' gushed service corridor one.

'Nice hair, Zaphy,' piped the central elevator, who had always been a little cheeky.

'You make me wanna be organic,' said the mids.h.i.+p bridge door.

As he sauntered on to the bridge, feeling about fifteen esteemetres better about himself, Zaphod noticed a hammer icon revolving on the main screen.

'When did that come in?' he asked Left Brain, who was of course hovering by his shoulder, suspiciously close to the spot where he used to be attached.

'A few hours ago. I think I have separation anxiety,' said Left Brain. 'I miss my neck.'

'No problem,' said Zaphod, settling into the captain's chair. 'We can get you stuck back on here whenever you like.'

'No thanks,' said Left Brain. 'I can take a few pills for the anxiety, or maybe buy a Hol-O-Trunk. Anything is better than waking up beside an asinine lout like yourself.'

Zaphod thought the word 'asinine' to himself several times then immediately forgot it.

'Play the message.'

'Background music?'

'No. Just whatever came in, and I don't want anyone overhearing this.'

'Very well. s.h.i.+elds up.'

On screen the hammer icon twirled and became a video box. Thor's hirsute features filled the screen.

'Hey, Zaph. h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo. This is a... I bet this isn't even... Okay, okay, now I see it. We're on.' The G.o.d composed himself. 'h.e.l.lo, Zaphod, this is your client, Thor the Thunder G.o.d. I am not dead, as you probably guessed.'

'I had guessed,' crowed Zaphod, punching the air.

Guide Note: The whole martyrdom concept has been working well for G.o.ds since the mid-morning of time when Raymon the Louche, resident G.o.d of Tarpon VII, avoided making a ruling over who owned what baby by faking his own death through o.r.g.a.s.mic overdose. Raymon realized that people liked him much better now that he was dead and they tended to base their decisions on third-hand hearsay of stuff he might have whispered under his breath to a deaf leper in a cave. Raymon's cheque still went directly into his account and now all he had to do was appear in shadowy form to a virgin once every few thousand years and say something cryptic like, 'The tiny stones will save us all, be sure that you covet the pebbles.' The Raymon method became such a successful model that soon G.o.ds all over the Galaxy were faking their deaths and cursing Raymon for copyrighting death by o.r.g.a.s.mic overdose.

Thor leaned in close to the camera. 'It was the martyr comment. Like you said. I was walking along that big bomb, thinking that if I let it kill me then the humans would think I died for them. So I gave it a hundred per cent up to the Vogon s.h.i.+p when I heard the detonator spark and hid in their pipework for a minute. I thought I'd tap the s.h.i.+p with Mjollnir, make it look like a bit of shrapnel did for her, but then they just took off into hypers.p.a.ce. Don't know why. Don't care either. Anyway, that's it. I'm off back to Asgard now, ready for resurrection if you need me. I think I might have pulled my groin though, so give me a while to get my fitness back. Give me a buzz, let me know if the martyr thing worked. Also, get me some gold, I am so strapped it's not funny. Last thing, keep your eye out for my helmet. I must have lost it in the explosion and it's my favourite one. I'm going to sign off, I have another call coming in.' Thor beat his chest with one fist, then winked at the camera. 'Nice work, manager.'

Zaphod closed the video window, flabbergasted. 'Wow,' he said. 'I can't believe that martyr idea worked. Also, I am amazed that Thor picked up on it, subtle as it is. My stratagems are generally so nuanced that most people need to hear them a couple of times.'

Left Brain bobbed before Zaphod's eyes. 'You don't remember saying anything about martyrs, do you?'

'No,' replied Zaphod. 'But that doesn't mean I didn't say it.'

'So you actually thought your one client was dead?'

'Of course not. You can't kill a G.o.d. Even that guy who drove into the white hole is still alive, even if his parts are spread across several dimensions.'

'What about that special bomb?'

Zaphod snorted. 'The QUEST? Who do you think sold that to the Vogons? I'm surprised it didn't fall out of the sky. I put a lawnmower engine on that thing.'

Left Brain was quiet for a moment, except for the clicking of spider-bots gathering condensation on the inner curve of his...o...b..

'Just the two of us again. What would you like to do?'

Zaphod crossed his boots on the console. 'I don't know. Thor's martyrdom video needs a while to go viral, so we have time on our hands. What were we doing before all this?'

'We were raising funds for your re-election campaign.'

Zaphod was surprised. 'We were? But I'm already President.'

'You were were President,' corrected Left Brain in the patient tone of a pre-school teacher explaining for the umpteenth time why it was not a good idea to drink the paint water, 'until the moment you were convicted of a first-degree felony.' President,' corrected Left Brain in the patient tone of a pre-school teacher explaining for the umpteenth time why it was not a good idea to drink the paint water, 'until the moment you were convicted of a first-degree felony.'

'But everyone still calls me Mr President.'

'All ex-presidents are known as Mr President.'

'Isn't that confusing?'

'Not for more than half a second, if you have half a brain.'

Zaphod frowned. 'Do you have to multiply those halves?'

Left Brain steamed in his jar. 'Just forget the halves. You were president, now you're not. Is that straightforward enough for you?'

'So who is the actual President?'

'Currently?'

'Yes. And right now.'

Left Brain did not take a moment to consult anything because everyone knew who the Galactic President was, with the exception of all the regular pa.s.sengers on this s.h.i.+p, with the possible but definitely not definite exception of Ford Prefect.

'It's Spinale Trunco of the Headless Hors.e.m.e.n tribe of Jaglan Beta.'

Zaphod bolted upright, which is not easy when your feet are propped on a console. His heel stumps sparked as he stamped in vexation.