And Another Thing... Part 26

'And these nails,' said another. 'They just keep growing. Every day it's the same. Come back, Jasmin. Please come back.'

Buckeye Brown had a baleful glare triangle going on. First he looked down at his shoes, then over at Buff Orpington and finally at a tall, tanned man sporting red trunks and flip-flops with an emergency whistle clamped between his teeth.

Head and shoulders above these people stood the Thunder G.o.d.

I can bring these mortals together, thought Thor. One G.o.d. One faith. The more people that believe in me, the more I can charge. And I bet one of those girls could do a nice beard braiding One G.o.d. One faith. The more people that believe in me, the more I can charge. And I bet one of those girls could do a nice beard braiding. No sooner had this happy thought formed in his mind than the old insecurity came flooding back. It's going to be a disaster. The Sub-Etha people hate me. No matter how sensitively I kill this immortal fellow, all they're going to see is the negative. It's going to be a disaster. The Sub-Etha people hate me. No matter how sensitively I kill this immortal fellow, all they're going to see is the negative. Thor shrugged. Thor shrugged. I may as well get a few braids in, it might lift my spirits. I may as well get a few braids in, it might lift my spirits.

On the far side of the scorched circle, Wowbagger was feeling lightheaded and giddy. The moment had finally arrived when he could kiss this corporeal realm goodbye and good riddance. Several lifetimes' of suffering were almost at an end.

I think this guy could do it, thought Wowbagger. I'll get him a little riled up with some choice comments and he'll hit me with the big piledriver I'll get him a little riled up with some choice comments and he'll hit me with the big piledriver.

Thor certainly looked as though he was up to the job. Power came off him in waves and he was shooting practise lightning bolts at a bunch of volunteer cows who were providing moo-ving targets.

He's the one. I can feel it.

But there was an uncomfortable thorn in Bowerick Wowbagger's moment of celebration. The Earth woman, Trillian Astra, had changed him.

My heart pistons are pumping like crazy. I'm off my food. I have zero interest in insulting people. It's almost as if I have a virus, but I don't get viruses.

Wowbagger knew what had happened. The dark s.p.a.ce had taken a speck of attraction and amplified it until it seemed to him that he was in love.

Is that what happened, really? Couldn't I just be lucky for once? For a change?

Doubtful.

The lady in question was standing by the fence, arguing with her daughter. Also, remember, Bowerick old man, if you take the woman, you take the child too. Also, remember, Bowerick old man, if you take the woman, you take the child too.

And, surprisingly enough, that didn't bother him too much.

There's always the tube, though Trillian wasn't so impressed with that solution the last time.

Wowbagger waved across the meadow and Trillian waved back.

Waving. I can't even remember the last time I waved at someone.

Trillian finished the row by turning her back on Random and stomping across the field, her high heels puncturing the earth with each footfall.

'That girl,' she said, punching Wowbagger's forearm. 'She knows how to get me going.'

'What's she saying now?'

Trillian's face was pale, except for two apple-red spots on her cheeks. 'Anything she knows I won't want to hear.'

'It's just the dark s.p.a.ce talking. It will pa.s.s.'

'I don't think so. Random hates me and everything I love. I think if I had ever loved Arthur, she would hate him too.'

'You never loved him?'

'No. I just felt I was getting old and his were the only human swimmers available.'

'I see.'

'I left her before. I didn't really mean to, it just happened. So she hates me for that.'

'Surely, she doesn't hate you?'

Trillian nodded sharply. 'She does. She says that I made her miserable. And if she can't have a husband, why should I...'

And then Trillian decided to stop speaking, half a sentence too late.

Wowbagger coughed once in surprise, then had to cough several more times to cover for himself.

'I've scared you?'

'No. Not at all. Can I presume you were referring to me as potential husband material?'

There were tears in Trillian's eyes. 'Yes, but it was just talk. You've dreamed about this moment for so long and I have nothing to offer you but hards.h.i.+p. This life is for Random, I've promised her. You go ahead and kill yourself, don't worry about me.'

'It sounds selfish when you put it like that.'

Trillian wiped her cheeks. 'No, I understand perfectly. You've had a terrible time being immortal in that wonderful s.h.i.+p of yours. Drinking beer and insulting people, not to mention being incredibly handsome and charming. It's been h.e.l.l for you, I realize that.'

'You make it sound glamorous.'

'Wasn't it? I seem to recall you being linked to several starlets.'

'That was just physical. Those females meant nothing to me.'

This is historically the third worst things to say to a female of any species.

'They meant nothing? Why not?'

Wowbagger spread his arms. 'How could they? Even as we mated, they were growing old.'

There's number two.

Trillian's eyes flashed. 'Growing old. We all grow old, Bowerick. Believe it or not, I'm growing old too.'

Wowbagger realized that his lack of intimate communication over the years was doing wonders to increase his chances of dying alone in the very immediate future.

'You may be growing old,' he said desperately, 'but you have years left before you're too old to reproduce.'

And there's number one. Badabingo. Green stick in the green hole.

Zaphod and Ford were reunited in a flurry of complicated Betelgeusean ritual handshakes that neither of them could ever remember past the second under-arm squelch.

Ford abracadabra'd a couple of sea-dragon's eggs from his satchel and mixed them both a c.o.c.ktail.

'I love opera,' he said, when the effects had worn off. 'It goes so well with drinks. A pity we didn't have some blood sludge to nibble on.'

Zaphod smacked his lips. 'Blood sludge. That takes me back. You remember that implement?'

'I do remember it.'

'And the thing with the curvy end?'

'Wow. That was one h.e.l.l of a froody retreat. Monks. Who knew.'

They sat on a patch of springy gra.s.s that had escaped Thor's lightning display, watching the pootle-tink birds soar overhead.

'Are they supposed to lay eggs in mid-air?' wondered Zaphod. 'Seems a little devil-may-care.'

'Those birds lay a lot of eggs. They're just trying to keep the population down.'

Arthur strode across the meadow, intent on interrupting the soiree with some pertinent information, something most Betelgeuseans don't like to deal with on a daily basis in case it spoils their mood.

Guide Note: Betelgeuseans have been known to ignore reality completely, especially if they happen to be holding a drink of the alcoholic kind, more especially if there are novelty ice cubes in the drink which can clink hypnotically and make the most urgent impending disaster seem trivial. It is a little known cosmic irony that the Praxibetel communities on Betelgeuse Seven were enjoying the precog Pantheoh's opera The Great Collapsing Hrung Disaster The Great Collapsing Hrung Disaster when the real Hrung Disaster actually occurred. Only Ford Prefect's father survived because he had snuck away from his work colleagues to try to pick up a better signal on his when the real Hrung Disaster actually occurred. Only Ford Prefect's father survived because he had snuck away from his work colleagues to try to pick up a better signal on his Guide Guide in order to follow in order to follow Last Behemoth Standing. Last Behemoth Standing. The Hrung in question had little to say about his collapse apart from he had decided to give up interpretive dance and he was sorry for the inconvenience The Hrung in question had little to say about his collapse apart from he had decided to give up interpretive dance and he was sorry for the inconvenience.

'Vogons,' said Arthur, flapping a hand vaguely towards the skies. 'There are Vogons on the way.'

Zaphod seemed about as concerned about Vogons as a Bugblatter Beast would be concerned about Beastblatter Bugs.

'Don't worry about it, ape man. Enjoy the moment.'

'Don't worry about it?' Arthur spluttered. 'Didn't you see what they did to the Earth? Don't you remember those death rays?'

Zaphod's smile was so condescending that it would have earned him five years in an Ashowvian prison.

Guide Note: On the continent of Ashowvia everyone is so highly strung that facial expressions and intonations have had to be regulated. The Twenty-Year Kowtow border conflict was sparked off by a raised eyebrow, which later turned out to have been plucked that way, giving rise to the Ashowvian sayings: 'Think before you pluck', 'Irresponsible plucking costs lives' and 'Pluck one pluck all'.

'The Grebulons destroyed the Earth,' said Zaphod, 'not the Vogons. It's complicated I don't expect you to understand.'

'Complicated? How is it complicated?'

'It's complicated for a monkey. Not for an evolved being.'

Arthur wiggled his fingers. 'I'm evolved. I've got thumbs, see?'

'Thumbs?' Zaphod snorted. 'If that's all there was to evolution, thermoles would rule the Galaxy.'

'Thermoles,' said Ford. 'Eight thumbs, great at opening jars, but about as many brain cells as blood sludge.'

'Remember that blood sludge? I got barley and maybe garlic.'

'That's what I thought. Definitely barley.'

Arthur's hands shook before him, as though he was playing an invisible accordion.

'Vogons! h.e.l.lo? The Vogons are coming!'

'Yes, we know,' said Zaphod. 'But they have to jump through some pretty bendy s.p.a.ce to get here. By my calculations they won't make it for a couple of centuries, if they make it all.'

'Centuries? Are you sure?'

'Of course. Relax, Arthur.'

If Ford hadn't been drinking, the phrase 'by my calculations' coming out of the mouth on this particular head of Zaphod's might have set a few warning lights flas.h.i.+ng, but the sun was warm, there were pretty girls everywhere and Ford did not want the image of a dribbling Vogon in his head to destroy the mood.

Arthur, on the other hand, had never met a good mood he couldn't puncture.

'You seem very mellow, Zaphod. Aren't you supposed to be upset?'

'Why should I be upset? Thor is back on the books and I am about to relaunch his career. Things are so great I may just turn a freeze ray on myself to preserve my froodiness for future generations.'

'What about the fat a.r.s.e thing?'

'What fat a.r.s.e thing?'

'Wowbagger was calling you Fat a.r.s.e, remember? That's what got us started on this whole thing.'

Zaphod's eyes wobbled in their sockets as he cast his mind back.

'Nope. I'm not getting anything. Fat a.r.s.e, you say? He never did.'

In spite of all his experience with Zaphod, Arthur was flabbergasted. 'You don't remember, Zaphod? What are you even doing here?'

Zaphod patted Arthur's shoulder. 'I go with the moment,' he said, adopting the wise tone he saved for what he believed to be special moments in other people's lives. 'Don't try to understand me, just be grateful that you felt the warmth of Zaphod Beeblebrox's aura on your wonderstruck face.'

Arthur's face did not seem particularly wonderstruck. 'Whatever, Zaphod. But he called you Fat a.r.s.e, take my word for it.'

'Once? More than once?'

'Several times.'

Zaphod jumped to his feet. 'Right. Time to get this party started. More than eight times, would you say?'

'Maybe twelve. At least ten.'

Zaphod strode across the scorched earth. 'Thor. Thor, old friend. Ready to make a new video?'

I should have smoked, thought Wowbagger. Why not? All this time trying to stay in shape while simultaneously hiring a succession of idiots to rub me out. That's a little bit of a contradiction there, Bowerick old boy. Perhaps there's a part of you that wants to live. Why not? All this time trying to stay in shape while simultaneously hiring a succession of idiots to rub me out. That's a little bit of a contradiction there, Bowerick old boy. Perhaps there's a part of you that wants to live.

Bowerick rubbed his suddenly itchy nose, thinking that it would be nice to have these epiphanies before setting up a death match with one of the Aesir.

Wowbagger stood alone on one diagonal of the scorched X, waiting for Thor to extricate himself from his manager, a group of statesmen, several admiring trainers and a girl who seemed to be braiding his beard.

'Come on,' he called. 'I don't have all day.'