He raced in a frenzy to the end of the corridor, through the entrance chamber and beyond. He arrived on the flight deck, slammed and bolted the door behind him. He leant back against the door breathing hard.
Within seconds, a hand started beating on the door.
From somewhere on the flight deck a metallic voice addressed him. “Passengers are not allowed on the flight deck. Please return to your seat, and wait for the ship to take off. Coffee and biscuits are being served. This is your autopilot speaking. Please return to your seat.”
Zaphod said nothing. He breathed hard, behind him, the hand continued to knock on the door.
“Please return to your seat,” repeated the autopilot. “Passengers are not allowed on the flight deck.”
“I’m not a passenger,” panted Zaphod.
“Please return to your seat.”
“I am not a passenger!” shouted Zaphod again.
“Please return to your seat.”
“I am not a… hello, can you hear me?”
“Please return to your seat.”
You’re the autopilot?” said Zaphod.
“Yes,” said the voice from the flight console.
“You’re in charge of this ship?”
“Yes,” said the voice again, “there has been a delay. Passengers are to be kept temporarily in suspended animation, for their comfort and convenience. Coffee and biscuits are being served every year, after which passengers are returned to suspended animation for their continued comfort and convenience. Departure will take place when the flight stores are complete. We apologize for the delay.”
Zaphod moved away from the door, on which the pounding had now ceased. He approached the flight console.
“Delay?” he cried, “Have you seen the world outside this ship? It’s a wasteland, a desert. Civilization’s been and gone, man. There are no lemon-soaked paper napkins on the way from anywhere!”
“The statistical likelihood,” continued the autopilot primly, “is that other civilizations will arise. There will one day be lemon-soaked paper napkins. Till then there will be a short delay. Please return to your seat.”
“But…”