The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Zaphod looked around warily. The corridor was deserted and silent and gave no clue as to where Zarniwoop might be found. All the doors that led off the corridor were closed and unmarked.

They were standing close to the bridge which led across from one tower of the building to the other. Through a large window the brilliant sun of Ursa Minor Beta threw blocks of light in which danced small specks of dust. A shadow flitted past momentarily.

“Left in the lurch by a lift,” muttered Zaphod, who was feeling at his least jaunty.

They both stood and looked in both directions.

“You know something?” said Zaphod to Marvin.

“More that you can possibly imagine.”

“I’m dead certain this building shouldn’t be shaking,” Zaphod said.

It was just a light tremor through the soles of his feet—and another one. In the sunbeams the flecks of dust danced more vigorously. Another shadow flitted past.

Zaphod looked at the floor.

“Either,” he said, not very confidently, “they’ve got some vibro system for toning up your muscles while you work, or…”

He walked across to the window and suddenly stumbled because at that moment his Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive sunglasses had turned utterly black. A large shadow flitted past the window with a sharp buzz.

Zaphod ripped off his sunglasses, and as he did so the building shook with a thunderous roar. He leapt to the window.

“Or,” he said, “this building’s being bombed!”

Another roar cracked through the building.

“Who in the Galaxy would want to bomb a publishing company?” asked Zaphod, but never heard Marvin’s reply because at that moment the building shook with another bomb attack. He tried to stagger back to the elevator—a pointless manoeuvre he realized, but the only one he could think of.

Suddenly, at the end of the corridor leading at right angles from this one, he caught sight of a figure as it lunged into view, a man. The man saw him.

“Beeblebrox, over here!” he shouted.

Zaphod eyed him with distrust as another bomb blast rocked the building.

“No,” called Zaphod, “Beeblebrox over here! Who are you?”

“A friend!” shouted back the man. He ran towards Zaphod.

“Oh yeah?” said Zaphod, “Anyone’s friend in particular, or just generally well disposed of people?”

The man raced along the corridor, the floor bucking beneath his feet like an excited blanket. He was short, stocky and weatherbeaten and his clothes looked as if they’d been twice round the Galaxy and back with him in them.

“Do you know,” Zaphod shouted in his ear when he arrived, “your building’s being bombed?”

The man indicated his awareness.

It suddenly stopped being light. Glancing round at the window to see why, Zaphod gaped as a huge sluglike, gunmetal-green spacecraft crept through the air past the building. Two more followed it.

“The government you deserted is out to get you, Zaphod,” hissed the man, “they’ve sent a squadron of Frogstar Fighters.”

“Frogstar Fighters!” muttered Zaphod, “Zarquon!”

“You get the picture?”

“What are Frogstar Fighters?” Zaphod was sure he’d heard someone talk about them when he was President, but he never paid much attention to official matters.

The man was pulling him back through a door. He went with him. With a searing whine a small black spider-like object shot through the air and disappeared down the corridor.

“What was that?” hissed Zaphod.

“Frogstar Scout robot class A out looking for you,” said the man.

“Hey yeah?”

“Get down!”

From the opposite direction came a larger black spider-like object. It zapped past them.

“And that was…?”

“A Frogstar Scout robot class B out looking for you.”

“And that?” said Zaphod, as a third one seared through the air.

“A Frogstar Scout robot class C out looking for you.”

“Hey,” chuckled Zaphod to himself, “pretty stupid robots eh?”

From over the bridge came a massive rumbling hum. A gigantic black shape was moving over it from the opposite tower, the size and shape of a tank.

“Holy photon, what’s that?”

“A tank,” said the man, “Frogstar Scout robot class D come to get you.”

“Should we leave?”

“I think we should.”

“Marvin!” called Zaphod.

“What do you want?”

Marvin rose from a pile of rubble further down the corridor and looked at them.

“You see that robot coming towards us?”

Marvin looked at the gigantic black shape edging forward towards them over the bridge. He looked down at his own small metal body. He looked back up at the tank.

“I suppose you want me to stop it,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Whilst you save your skins.”

“Yeah,” said Zaphod, “get in there!”

“Just so long,” said Marvin, “as I know where I stand.”

The man tugged at Zaphod’s arm, and Zaphod followed him off down the corridor.

A point occurred to him about this.

“Where are we going?” he said.

“Zarniwoop’s office.”

“Is this any time to keep an appointment?”

“Come on.”

Chapter 7

Marvin stood at the end of the bridge corridor. He was not in fact a particularly small robot. His silver body gleamed in the dusty sunbeams and shook with the continual barrage which the building was still undergoing.