And Another Thing... Part 25

'Finally!' cried one cow.

'Maximum setting, please!' begged another.

Trillian took his arm. 'I know this species. They want to be eaten.'

'I'm not going to eat them, but I may shoot them.'

Random was still emotional from the journey. 'Why don't you shoot them all, alien? Show my mother what you're really like.'

Wowbagger felt Trillian squeeze his arm and his anxiety drained away.

He looked at her. How was that possible? How did you do that? How was that possible? How did you do that?

As previously discussed, the Universe has an aversion to tenderness and cannot allow it to exist for long, as every loving glance has to be balanced by a short sharp shock somewhere else in the cosmos. Sometimes not so short.

Guide Note: Bowerick Wowbagger or, as the H2G2 H2G2 describes him, 'that green frood with the hoopy ship who goes around insulting people', has to this point shared three tender moments in real s.p.a.ce with Trillian Astra, or as describes him, 'that green frood with the hoopy ship who goes around insulting people', has to this point shared three tender moments in real s.p.a.ce with Trillian Astra, or as WooHoo WooHoo magazine would dub her, 'The Lucky Gal who Bagged the Bagger', and each of these moments had to be paid for by other unfortunate individuals at antipodal points in the Universe. Glam Fodder, a planning officer on Alpha Centauri, had his finger nipped by a pygmy vole that had climbed into his monthly brown bag because the bag donor had decided to recycle his speef sandwich bag. Ursool Dypher, a marriage counsellor from the super-hot system of Hastromil, suffered a panic attack when her three o'clock married couple turned out to be the son and daughter she had given up for adoption as a younger being. Morty Grimm, the lead singer with the Hooloovoo super group Visible Spectrum, suffered third-degree diffusion when the lighting engineer accidentally put a blue gel on the singer's solo spotlight. magazine would dub her, 'The Lucky Gal who Bagged the Bagger', and each of these moments had to be paid for by other unfortunate individuals at antipodal points in the Universe. Glam Fodder, a planning officer on Alpha Centauri, had his finger nipped by a pygmy vole that had climbed into his monthly brown bag because the bag donor had decided to recycle his speef sandwich bag. Ursool Dypher, a marriage counsellor from the super-hot system of Hastromil, suffered a panic attack when her three o'clock married couple turned out to be the son and daughter she had given up for adoption as a younger being. Morty Grimm, the lead singer with the Hooloovoo super group Visible Spectrum, suffered third-degree diffusion when the lighting engineer accidentally put a blue gel on the singer's solo spotlight.

This tender moment was torn asunder by the arrival of a golf cart convoy. It might have been a dramatic entrance had the leading cart actually managed to breach the enclosure gate, instead of becoming entangled in splintered planks.

Arthur's cow friend spat a wad of cud. 'Morons. And these are the people in charge.'

'Vegetarians?' Arthur offered.

'No. They love pigs. Can't get enough of pigs. But us poor cows, for some reason we're not on the menu. So thank goodness for you, sirs. Thank goodness for you.'

Aseed Preflux crawled from the wreckage of fence and cart.

'Hey, Arthur,' said Ford. 'What do you get if you cross a fence with a cart?'

Arthur never had time to hazard a guess because they were set upon by Tyromancers.

'Step away from that barbecue,' Aseed ordered shrilly. 'We need those cows.'

Ford hissed into Arthur's ear: 'I'll stall them. You get Bessy on the barbecue.'

The cow overheard. 'I resent that. We're not all called Bessy, you know. As a matter of fact, Bessy Bessy is quite pa.s.se in sophisticated circles. Trisjam and Pollygrino are the names of choice this season.' is quite pa.s.se in sophisticated circles. Trisjam and Pollygrino are the names of choice this season.'

Aseed shouldered his way through the a.s.sembled cattle until he arrived, breathless and battered, before the newcomers.

'Who is in charge here?' he demanded to know.

Wowbagger stepped forward, avoiding anything that squelched or steamed.

'That would be me. I am Bowerick Wowbagger, the ship's captain.'

'What ship? I don't see any ship.'

'That's because it's camouflaged, you bletcherous nincomp.o.o.p.'

Aseed flushed. 'What? There's no call for that. How dare you?'

'Now, that's more like it,' said Wowbagger, gratified. 'Surprise and outrage. Reminds me why I used to do this job.'

'Used to?' said Trillian.

Wowbagger glanced at his shoes, which were still reasonably clean. 'Lately, it's lost its appeal.'

Aseed's courage blossomed as the other colonists began to show up, wondering what all the commotion was about.

'Sorry to interrupt your tender moment...'

(On a cruise liner near Barnard's Star, the ship's doctor sneezed and stabbed himself in the knee with a Motox hypodermic. The knee was put on a strict water diet for two days, in spite of all its moaning.) '... but what is your business here, Wowbagger?'

'I have come to drop these humans off with their own kind and I was going to insult everyone, but now I don't think I'll bother.'

Aseed perked up a little. 'These people are our own kind? They are Tyromancers?'

Wowbagger's chin jerked. 'Tyromancers? You people are Tyromancers? I don't believe it!'

Aseed's upswing in perkiness levelled off. 'Don't tell me: you don't believe in the Cheese. You think it's all in my head.'

'No. I actually know the Cheese. I haven't seen old Cheesy in for ever.'

Preflux dropped to his knees. Something squelched and another something cracked and steamed. 'Yyou know the Cheese? You have been in His exalted presence?'

'Exalted? Who told you that?'

'The Cheese Lord Himself, in my visions.'

Wowbagger nodded. 'He's still doing the dream bit. Some things never change. Find an empty brain and slip yourself in, that's always been Cheesy's modus operandi. I've been down this G.o.d route before: a long time ago I hired Cheesy to kill me. He tried with some kind of cheese dip. It didn't work, obviously, but I've been lactose intolerant ever since.'

'Did you bring Ed.a.m.nation down upon us?'

'Ed.a.m.nation? That's hilarious. Really? No. Come on. You can't expect people not to laugh if you insist on using theological terms like that. If you're talking about the big ball of cheese over the other settlement, I think you'll find that was another s.p.a.ceship rolling into a normality zone.'

'Not Ed.a.m.nation?'

'I doubt it. In fairness to Cheesy, he might be a junior G.o.d, but he's not great on projection. The last I heard he was studying for his Middle Grade divinity exams, and seeing as I haven't seen any Holy Cheese calendars around, I am guessing he failed.'

'Me too,' said a cow. 'Because he's a loser, just like you, Preflux.'

'Shut it, cow, or so help me...'

The cow spat. 'What are you going to do? Not eat me?'

'That's right. I won't eat you and I won't eat your entire family. Wherever they hide, I'll find them and not eat a single bite.'

The cow was cowed. 'This is not over, Preflux,' he muttered.

Aseed's phone rang and he took a brief call, glancing back along the road towards the tunnel. 'So, you're a representative of the Cheese, Wowbagger?'

Wowbagger frowned. 'I wouldn't say representative. I know him a little. We had a few beers.'

Aseed persisted. 'You are a friend, then. A champion, if you like.'

'An acquaintance at best.'

'It's just that from what my insider tells me, Hunter has got himself a real G.o.d.'

'Ah.'

'And he's on the way over here.'

'I see. And you'd like me to represent the Cheese.'

'Would you? That would be fab.' Aseed made the triangle sign.

'What's that?'

'It's a cheese triangle. Appease the Cheese. It's kind of a slogan I made up.'

Wowbagger laughed. 'Don't move. I have to get a photo of that for Cheesy, he will be so thrilled.'

Aseed's triangle wavered. 'He can't see us? The Cheese is not all around us?'

'Cheesy? It's all he can do to hook himself up to a dish and send out dairy dreams. And I'll tell you something else: he loves beef and cheese. Especially meals that combine beef and cheese.'

Aseed's hands dropped to his sides. 'All this time we have been protecting the cheese vessels...'

The air crackled suddenly and Arthur felt the hair standing on his forearms. 'I feel as though I should be running away. Thor might remember me.'

In the sky, to the east, a small storm cloud churned just above the tree line. Photogenic lightning bolts shot from its belly at regular intervals and there seemed to be a huge being riding the bolts.

Wowbagger smiled wryly. 'Beeblebrox actually got the big guy himself. I don't believe it.'

'Believe it,' said Ford. 'You called him Fat a.r.s.e, remember?'

Trillian shielded her eyes with a forearm, squinting to catch a glimpse of the Thunder G.o.d.

'He is such a show-off. A big hammer isn't everything, you know. Maybe it's all a big light show. Maybe he doesn't even want to fight.'

A statement like this virtually guarantees a contradictory and, considering the characters involved, melodramatic event, and Trillian as a journalist should have known better than to utter it.

Guide Note: There is a theory, postulated by Schick Brithaus, the controversial bone doctor from pre-telepathy Kakrafoon Kappa, which states that the Universe is built on uncertainty and that a definitive statement/action creates a momentary energy vacuum into which flows a diametrically opposing statement/action. Famous vacuum-inducing statements include: Surely that's not going to fit in there?

And: I am sick of betting the same numbers every week. They are never going to come up.

And: We are a peaceful people. Not even the Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax would want to pick a fight with us.

And: You look gorgeous in that sweater, Felix. There is no way anyone is going to call you a freak and throw you in a dumple composter.

And: Maybe it's all a big light show. Maybe he doesn't even want to fight.

Sub-atomic beings heard the whoosh whoosh of energy suction, and into the vacuum flowed a ma.s.sive lightning bolt that scorched a huge section of the meadow, leaving only cooked cow carca.s.ses and a ma.s.sive X right in the centre. of energy suction, and into the vacuum flowed a ma.s.sive lightning bolt that scorched a huge section of the meadow, leaving only cooked cow carca.s.ses and a ma.s.sive X right in the centre.

'Lucky blebers,' muttered a surviving cow.

Wowbagger's central brain and a.s.sorted ganglia were flooded with conflicting emotions. For millennia, his most heartfelt wish had been to die, but now there was a slice of light in his darkness, a chance that the principle he sought his death by was in fact flawed. His dilemma was this: would it be wise to pa.s.s up a sterling opportunity to get himself killed, on the off-chance that he could enjoy a few brief decades of happiness with this already dying woman?

'I guess X marks the spot,' said Ford, a hank of charred meat in his hand. He turned to the nearest cow. 'Do you have any sauce? This is a little dry.'

Arthur found that he was not as scandalized by this sort of behaviour as he once had been. Repeated exposure to Ford Prefect's rampant gourmandizing had eroded some of his behavioural notions.

'I believe that someone mentioned wine,' he said, trying not to sound overly enthusiastic.

Random scowled, although no one noticed as it was one of her two normal expressions, the other being a contemptuous curl of the lip.

'That is disgusting,' she said, transitioning smoothly into expression number two. 'You two are pigs.'

'Pigs?' said the cow. 'Don't talk to me about pigs.'

10.

The word went out to the sentient beings of Nano that there was some major aggravation about to kick off in Tyropolis and it would probably be best to steer clear until the earth stopped shaking. Which, of course, meant that everyone made their way immediately to the scorched meadow on the outskirts of the town, except Nickles Adare, an ex-mayor of New York who was locked in a Cong treatment room on enforced detox.

The pootle-tink birds were among the first to arrive, having the advantage of sensitive primary feathers, which their leader, Perko St Waring Speckle, used to steer a borrowed minibus. Perko stopped the bus by driving it into the ditch and then sent two of his flock to keep places at the fence, while the rest of them went in search of dairy-free cappuccinos.

The personal trainers arrived next, racing across the fields in diamond formation, seemingly untroubled by the mid-afternoon sun. Having cleared the fields, they jogged along the road, each with a bicycle on one shoulder and a beautician on the other.

'Shouldn't you be riding that thing?' Arthur commented to a bulging young man who happened to warm down beside him.

'Oh, grow up,' snapped the trainer and stalked off, leaving Arthur bewildered.

Thor was limbering up in the scorched meadow, throwing a few shapes and making sure his leggings were securely secured. He felt nervous. Truth be told, though it probably never would be especially to Zaphod he felt terrified. This was his first public display since that d.a.m.nable video had aired, which thankfully no one here seemed to have seen. As far as these people were concerned, he was a first-cla.s.s G.o.d who had never dabbled in rockstardom or candid movies. He had a chance to make a good impression here. Something he could build on.

If I do well today, Thor realized, it could go a long way to restoring my reputation. I really hope this immortal plays along and doesn't die too quickly. A G.o.d killing a non-G.o.d can seem a little unsympathetic if it isn't played just so. it could go a long way to restoring my reputation. I really hope this immortal plays along and doesn't die too quickly. A G.o.d killing a non-G.o.d can seem a little unsympathetic if it isn't played just so.

There was quite a crowd gathered and the atmosphere seemed very festive. The younger pootle-tinks were plucking dead tail feathers and helicoptering them down on the field while a caffeine-hyped squad of veterans were doing flyovers, complete with synchronized loops and stunt dips.

The trainers were forming a human pyramid on the crisped fringe of gra.s.s, while the kind-hearted beauticians were consoling the desperate residents of Tyropolis and Cong, most of whom had long since forgotten how to beautify themselves.

'It's my hair,' one elderly lady wailed. 'I pointed the hot blowy thing at it, but still it won't change colour.'