Volume 2 - The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe by Douglas Adams Read Free Book Online Page A

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.”

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.
    He did, however, look pitifully small as the gigantic black tank rolled to a halt in front of him. The tank examined him with a probe. The probe withdrew.
    Marvin stood there.
    “Out of my way little robot,” growled the tank.
    “I’m afraid,” said Marvin, “that I’ve been left here to stop you.”
    The probe extended again for a quick recheck. It withdrew again.
    “You? Stop me?” roared the tank. “Go on!”
    “No, really I have,” said Marvin simply.
    “What are you armed with?” roared the tank in disbelief.
    “Guess,” said Marvin.
    The tank’s engines rumbled, its gears ground. Molecule-size electronic relays deep in its microbrain flipped backward and forward in consternation.
    “Guess?” said the tank.
    Zaphod and the as yet unnamed man lurched up one corridor, down a second and along a third. The building continued to rock and shudder and this puzzled Zaphod. If they wanted to blow the bulding up, why was it taking so long?
    With difficulty they reached one of a number of totally anonymous unmarked doors and heaved at it. With a sudden jolt it opened and they fell inside.
    All this way, thought Zaphod, all this trouble, all this not-lying-on-the-beach-having-a-wonderful-time, and for what? A single chair, a single desk and a single dirty ashtray in an undecorated office. The desk, apart from a bit of dancing dust and single, revolutionary new form of paper clip, was empty.
    “Where,” said Zaphod, “is Zarniwoop?” feeling that his already tenuous grasp of the point of this whole exercise was beginning to slip.
    “He’s on an intergalactic cruise,” said the man.
    Zaphod tried to size the man up. Earnest type, he thought, not a barrel of laughs. He probably apportioned a fair whack of his time to running up and down heaving corridors, breaking down doors and making cryptic remarks in empty offices.
    “Let me introduce myself,” the man said. “My name is Roosta, and this is my towel.”
    “Hello Roosta,” said Zaphod.
    “Hello, towel,” he added as Roosta held out to him a rather nasty old flowery towel. Not knowing what to do with it, he shook it by the corner.
    Outside the window, one of the huge sluglike, gunmetal-green spaceships growled past.
    “Yes, go on,” said Marvin to the huge battle machine, “you’ll never guess.”
    “Errrmmm …” said the machine, vibrating with unaccustomed thought, “laser beams?”
    Marvin shook his head solemnly.
    “No,” muttered the machine in its deep guttural rumble. “Too obvious. Antimatter ray?” it hazarded.
    “Far too obvious,” admonished Marvin.
    “Yes,” grumbled the machine, somewhat abashed. “Er … how about an electron ram?”
    This was new to Marvin.
    “What’s that?” he said.
    “One of these,” said the machine with enthusiasm.
    From its turret emerged a sharp prong which spat a single lethal blaze of light. Behind Marvin a wall roared and collapsed as a heap of dust. The dust billowed briefly, then settled.
    “No,” said Marvin, “not one of those.”
    “Good though, isn’t it?”
    “Very good,” agreed Marvin.
    “I know,” said the Frogstar battle machine, after another moment’s consideration, “you must have one of those new Xanthic Restructron Destabilized Zenon Emitters!”
    “Nice, aren’t they?” said Marvin.
    “That’s what you’ve got?” said the machine in considerable awe.
    “No,” said Marvin.
    “Oh,” said the machine, disappointed, “then it must be