Trillian nodded patiently to herself, counted to an even higher number, tossed the tray lightly aside, walked to the transport room and just teleported herself the hell out of his life.
She didn’t even programme any coordinates, she hadn’t the faintest idea where she was going, she just went a random row of dots flowing through the Universe.
Anything, she said to herself as she left, is better than this.
Good job too, muttered Zaphod to himself, turned over and failed to go to sleep.
The next day he restlessly paced the empty corridors of the ship, pretending not to look for her, though he knew she wasn’t there. He ignored the computer’s querulous demands to know just what the hell was going on around here by fitting a small electronic gag across a pair of its terminals.
After a while he began to turn down the lights. There was nothing to see. Nothing was about to happen.
Lying in bed one night and night was now virtually continuous on the ship he decided to pull himself together, to get things into some kind of perspective. He sat up sharply and started to pull clothes on. He decided that there must be someone in the Universe feeling more wretched, miserable and forsaken than himself, and he determined to set out and find him.
Halfway to the bridge it occurred to him that it might be Marvin, and he returned to bed.
It was a few hours later than this, as he stomped disconsolately about the darkened corridors swearing at cheerful doors, that he heard the “wop” said, and it made him very nervous.
He leant tensely against the corridor wall and frowned like a man trying to unbend a corkscrew by telekinesis. He laid his fingertips against the wall and felt an unusual vibration. And now he could quite clearly hear slight noises, and could hear where they were coming from they were coming from the bridge.
Computer? he hissed.
Mmmm? said the computer terminal nearest him, equally quietly.
Is there someone on this ship?
Mmmmm, said the computer.
Who is it?
Mmmmm mmm mmmmm, said the computer.
What?
Mmmmm mmmm mm mmmmmmmm.
Zaphod buried one of his faces in two of his hands.
Oh, Zarquon, he muttered to himself. Then he stared up the corridor towards the entrance to the bridge in the dim distance from which more and purposeful noises were coming, and in which the gagged terminals were situated.
Computer, he hissed again.
Mmmmm?
When I ungag you…
Mmmmm.
Remind me to punch myself in the mouth.
Mmmmm mmm?
Either one. Now just tell me this. One for yes, two for no. Is it dangerous?
Mmmmm.