He picked up five small plastic squares and laid them on the board that lay just in front of the rack.
The five squares had on them the five letters E, X, Q, U and I. He laid them next to the letters S, I, T, E.
“Exquisite,” he said, “on a triple word score. Scores rather a lot I’m afraid.”
The ship bumped and scattered some of the letters for the n’th time.
Trillian sighed and started to sort them out again.
Up and down the silent corridors echoed Ford Prefect’s feet as he stalked the ship thumping dead instruments.
Why did the ship keep shaking? he thought.Why did it rock and sway?Why could he not find out where they were?Where, basically, were they?The left-hand tower of The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy offices streaked through interstellar space at a speed never equalled either before or since by any other office block in the Universe.In a room halfway up it, Zaphod Beeblebrox strode angrily.
Roosta sat on the edge of the desk doing some routine towel maintenance.
“Hey, where did you say this building was flying to?” demanded Zaphod.
“The Frogstar,” said Roosta, “the most totally evil place in the Universe.”
“Do they have food there?” said Zaphod.
“Food? You’re going to the Frogstar and you’re worried about whether they got food?”
“Without food I may not make it to the Frogstar.”
Out of the window, they could see nothing but the flickering light of the force beams, and vague green streaks which were presumably the distorted shapes of the Frogstar Fighters. At this speed, space itself was invisible, and indeed unreal.
“Here, suck this,” said Roosta, offering Zaphod his towel.
Zaphod stared at him as if he expected a cuckoo to leap out of his forehead on a small spring.
“It’s soaked in nutrients,” explained Roosta.
“What are you, a messy eater or something?” said Zaphod.
“The yellow stripes are high in protein, the green ones have vitamin B and C complexes, the little pink flowers contain wheatgerm extracts.”
Zaphod took and looked at it in amazement.
“What are the brown stains?” he asked.