Volume 2 - The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe by Douglas Adams Page A
Authors: Douglas Adams
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If he could cook a good meal he wouldn’t worry about the rest of the Universe. I want to meet a cook.”
Roosta sighed heavily.
“What are you doing here anyway?” demanded Zaphod, “what’s all this got to do with you?”
“I’m just one of those who planned this thing, along with Zarniwoop, along with Yooden Vranx, along with your great-grandfather, along with you, Beeblebrox.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I was told you had changed, I didn’t realize how much.”
“But …”
“I am here to do one job. I will do it before I leave you.”
“What job, man? What are you talking about?”
“I will do it before I leave you.”
Roosta lapsed into an impenetrable silence.
Zaphod was terribly glad.
9
The air around the second planet of the Frogstar system was stale and unwholesome.
The dank winds that swept continually over its surface swept over salt flats, dried up marshland, tangled and rotting vegetation and the crumbling remains of ruined cities. No life moved across its surface. The ground, like that of many planets in this part of the Galaxy, had long been deserted.
The howl of the wind was desolate enough as it gusted through the old decaying houses of the cities; it was more desolate as it whipped about the bottoms of the tall black towers that swayed uneasily here and there about the surface of this world. At the top of these towers lived colonies of large, scraggy, evil-smelling birds, the sole survivors of the civilization that once lived here.
The howl of the wind was at its most desolate, however, when it passed over a pimple of a place set in the middle of a wide gray plain on the outskirts of the largest of the abandoned cities.
This pimple of a place was the thing that had earned this world the reputation of being the most totally evil place in the Galaxy. From without it was simply a steel dome about thirty feet across. From within it was something more monstrous than the mind can comprehend.
About a hundred yards or so away, and separated from it by a pockmarked and blasted stretch of the most barren land imaginable was what would probably have to be described as a landing pad of sorts. That is to say that scattered over a largish area were the ungainly hulks of two or three dozen crash-landed buildings.
Flitting over and around these buildings was a mind, a mind that was waiting for something.
The mind directed its attention into the air, and before very long a distant speck appeared, surrounded by a ring of smaller specks.
The larger speck was the left-hand tower of the
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
office building, descending through the stratosphere of Frogstar World B.
As it descended, Roosta suddenly broke the long uncomfortable silence that had grown up between the two men.
He stood up and gathered his towel into a bag. He said:
“Beeblebrox, I will now do the job I was sent here to do.”
Zaphod looked up at him from where he was sitting in a corner sharing unspoken thoughts with Marvin.
“Yeah?” he said.
“The building will shortly be landing. When you leave the building, do not go out of the door,” said Roosta, “go out of the window.”
“Good luck,” he added, and walked out of the door, disappearing from Zaphod’s life as mysteriously as he had entered it.
Zaphod leaped up and tried the door, but Roosta had already locked it. He shrugged and returned to the corner.
Two minutes later, the building crash-landed amongst the other wreckage. Its escort of Frogstar Fighters deactivated their force beams and soared off into the air again, bound for Frogstar World A, an altogether more congenial spot. They never landed on Frogstar World B. No one did. No one ever walked on its surface other than the intended victims of the Total Perspective Vortex.
Zaphod was badly shaken by the crash. He lay for a while in the silent dusty rubble to which most of the room had been reduced. He felt that he was at the lowest ebb he had ever reached in his life. He felt
Roosta sighed heavily.
“What are you doing here anyway?” demanded Zaphod, “what’s all this got to do with you?”
“I’m just one of those who planned this thing, along with Zarniwoop, along with Yooden Vranx, along with your great-grandfather, along with you, Beeblebrox.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I was told you had changed, I didn’t realize how much.”
“But …”
“I am here to do one job. I will do it before I leave you.”
“What job, man? What are you talking about?”
“I will do it before I leave you.”
Roosta lapsed into an impenetrable silence.
Zaphod was terribly glad.
9
The air around the second planet of the Frogstar system was stale and unwholesome.
The dank winds that swept continually over its surface swept over salt flats, dried up marshland, tangled and rotting vegetation and the crumbling remains of ruined cities. No life moved across its surface. The ground, like that of many planets in this part of the Galaxy, had long been deserted.
The howl of the wind was desolate enough as it gusted through the old decaying houses of the cities; it was more desolate as it whipped about the bottoms of the tall black towers that swayed uneasily here and there about the surface of this world. At the top of these towers lived colonies of large, scraggy, evil-smelling birds, the sole survivors of the civilization that once lived here.
The howl of the wind was at its most desolate, however, when it passed over a pimple of a place set in the middle of a wide gray plain on the outskirts of the largest of the abandoned cities.
This pimple of a place was the thing that had earned this world the reputation of being the most totally evil place in the Galaxy. From without it was simply a steel dome about thirty feet across. From within it was something more monstrous than the mind can comprehend.
About a hundred yards or so away, and separated from it by a pockmarked and blasted stretch of the most barren land imaginable was what would probably have to be described as a landing pad of sorts. That is to say that scattered over a largish area were the ungainly hulks of two or three dozen crash-landed buildings.
Flitting over and around these buildings was a mind, a mind that was waiting for something.
The mind directed its attention into the air, and before very long a distant speck appeared, surrounded by a ring of smaller specks.
The larger speck was the left-hand tower of the
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
office building, descending through the stratosphere of Frogstar World B.
As it descended, Roosta suddenly broke the long uncomfortable silence that had grown up between the two men.
He stood up and gathered his towel into a bag. He said:
“Beeblebrox, I will now do the job I was sent here to do.”
Zaphod looked up at him from where he was sitting in a corner sharing unspoken thoughts with Marvin.
“Yeah?” he said.
“The building will shortly be landing. When you leave the building, do not go out of the door,” said Roosta, “go out of the window.”
“Good luck,” he added, and walked out of the door, disappearing from Zaphod’s life as mysteriously as he had entered it.
Zaphod leaped up and tried the door, but Roosta had already locked it. He shrugged and returned to the corner.
Two minutes later, the building crash-landed amongst the other wreckage. Its escort of Frogstar Fighters deactivated their force beams and soared off into the air again, bound for Frogstar World A, an altogether more congenial spot. They never landed on Frogstar World B. No one did. No one ever walked on its surface other than the intended victims of the Total Perspective Vortex.
Zaphod was badly shaken by the crash. He lay for a while in the silent dusty rubble to which most of the room had been reduced. He felt that he was at the lowest ebb he had ever reached in his life. He felt
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