Douglas Adams - Hhgttg The Lost Chapters

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The Lost Chapters
Of
Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy
by
douglas Adams
CHAPTER 24.4
CHAPTER 40.9
CHAPTER 41.13
CHAPTER 43.14
CHAPTER 44.19
CHAPTER 45.25
CHAPTER 46.25
CHAPTER 47.29
CHAPTER 48.30
CHAPTER 49.36
CHAPTER 50.41
CHAPTER 51.42
CHAPTER 52.47
CHAPTER 53.48
CHAPTER 54.52
CHAPTER 55.54
CHAPTER 56.59
CHAPTER 57.62
CHAPTER 58.64
CHAPTER 59.68
CHAPTER 60.80
CHAPTER 61.83
CHAPTER 62.89
CHAPTER 63.89
CHAPTER 64.93
THE END..94
PROLOGUE.94
CHAPTER24
"What's happening?" Asked Ford, emerging from a room with Bolo and looking as dishevelled as
everyone else, much to his surprise.
"We got hit during a space battle," explained Zaphod, flicking on the scanner screen. "We spun out of
control and crash landed on this planet and as you can see, hundreds of it's rather short looking
inhabitants are flooding over the desert towards us."
"What are we going to do?" Asked Fenchurch.
"The monkey man is going out to talk to them," said Zaphod, casually.
"What?" Yelled Arthur.
"I knew we should have got him a replacement brain," said Zaphod. "Do you want to know where the
tea is before you go?"
"Zaphod! You can't send Arthur out there," exclaimed Trillian. "They could tear him to pieces."
Zaphod declined to comment, but grinned. His teeth acted as a red rag to Arthur. He charged across the
bridge, intending to send Zaphod flying, but Zaphod neatly side stepped and Arthur flew past, through a
happy door that opened on seeing a body flying towards it and wished Arthur a fruitful journey. Arthur
rolled down some stairs and ended up by the main airlock, which gladly hissed open.
Arthur was confronted by hundreds of cheering dwarves.
"Hooray, 'Our Seventh Obu' is dead. Long live our saviour!" They cheered.
Arthur looked down and saw, to his dismay, two stumpy legs sticking out from under the Heart of Gold.
He rightly assumed they belonged to 'Our Seventh Obu'. He didn't assume that she was the most
infamous critic of Our Third Entism and was widely hated for her outspoken comments. If he had
assumed this he would have again been right. He didn't so he apologised.
"Don't apologise," shouted Latigid, the chief Stavromulan. "You have rid us of a blight to our land. What
is the name of our hero?"
"Arthur Dent," said Arthur and was astounded when the entire crowd fell to their knees, causing a minor
sandstorm. He was joined by the rest of the party, who too were astounded.
"What did you say to them, Arthur?" Asked Ford.
"I just told them my name."
"The Holy One shall wear the slippers of 'Our Seventh Obu' as protection and shall be carried on high to
the holy theatre!" Said Latigid.
Many dwarves rushed forward and put the red slippers from 'Our Seventh Obu's' feet on Arthur's feet.
They didn't fit but as he was picked up it didn't really matter.
"What about my friends?" Asked Arthur.
"They too shall be carried on high."
On high wasn't particularly high. Arthur's feet dragged along the ground, but it was better than walking.
The road looked rough on the feet.
Some one had obviously run ahead to spread the news, as crowds began to line the brick road. Arthur
could see a town ahead. The crowds grew larger and Arthur began to enjoy himself. He waved at the
crowds and they waved back.
"Oooh, that's Our Third Ent!" Cried one woman, beside herself with excitement, which was quite a trick
for a woman of her size.
"He's much bigger than I thought he would be," shouted another person.
One group wasn't cheering. Their sect believed in the Second Sitting, but also believed that Our Third
Ent shouldn't have gone away in the first place. They were very devout and probably one of the most
boring offshoots of Our Third Entism. They didn't pursue the sexual rituals that most other sects did and
didn't have any religious holidays. They were the only sect that believed that Our Third Ent should be
punished on his return and the gun that was to exercise that punishment was aimed at Arthur's head.
Arthur, oblivious to this and many other startling facts about this planet, was having a great time. People
rushed from the crowd just to be touched by him, something that had never happened on Earth. He
wasn't particularly overjoyed by having his feet dragged along the ground and he could feel one of his
slippers slipping off. No matter how much he wriggled his toes, it wouldn't stay on. Eventually he bent
over and forced it back onto his foot.
At that moment, a bullet whistled through the space that had previously contained his head, continued it's
path and lodged itself firmly in the heart of someone standing in the crowd. No-one heard the shot
because of all the cheering and those around him assumed the man had suffered a heart attack. They
were wrong because fate had deemed this to the man in a former life and for variety had opted for the
bullet this time. Arthur saw none of this and could therefore feel no sorrow for Agrajag.
"Arthur," shouted Ford. "This is all very nice, but I imagine that the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation will
come looking for us soon."
"But Ford," sighed Zaphod, lapping up the adulation even though it wasn't for him. "The Heart of Gold is
one invalid improbability drive ship."
"Ah, I know," said Ford, a grin creeping onto his face. "But I found a back up improbability drive
generator in our quarters. All we need to do is fix the stabilisers and we're history here."
"I think Arthur is already history on this planet," said Fenchurch, proud of her man.
"Ford," said Zaphod, still waving at the crowd. "We need an atomic vector plotter to connect the back
up to the ship and I used the last one two weeks ago to unblock the toilet."
"I knew there was something we forgot at the megamarket last week," moaned Trillian.
"Perhaps these people have one," said Bolo, hopefully.
"Any race that looks up to a puny primate is hardly likely to have evolved up to atomic vector plotter
level," muttered Zaphod.
Unfortunately, his bearers heard this. They dropped him, which didn't hurt, then jumped on him, which
did.
"Blasphemer!" They yelled.
In no time at all, Zaphod was trussed up by the crowd and suspended from a pole held by his bearers.
"Hey guys," he moaned. "Can't you take a joke? You've got as much humour as a Vogon Stag Night!"
The power of this statement was lost on the Stavromulans, as they had never even met a Vogon, let
alone be subjected to the ugliness of a Vogon bride.
"Serves you right," said Trillian. "You chose the wrong place to insult Arthur."
"Arthur, get them to put me down!" Yelled Zaphod, letting his cool slip to lukewarm.
"We will do with him as you wish," said Latigid.
"Leave him as he is until I decide," said Arthur, gloating.
"Zaphod broke into a sob and Marvin broke into the Death March to cheer Zaphod up.
The procession entered a long tunnel which Arthur failed to gauge accurately and subsequently
remembered this by having to endure a bump on the head and the accompanying pain.
The tunnel emerged into a large open air amphitheatre packed with Stavromulans. Marvin's bearers
literally collapsed with joy as they reached the stage.
"Don't apologise," said Marvin, knowing full well they had no intention of doing so. "I expect to be
thrown about. It's all part of life."
He was barely heard over the roars of the crowd as Arthur was introduced.
"Look," argued Zaphod. "The crowd have got what they want. Why don't you let me go?"
Latigid was unimpressed.
"Your arguments have become stale and boring."
"Stale, me?" Zaphod protested. "I'm so fresh my sell by date is light years away. By nunk, Arthur, I'll get
you for this."
Arthur wasn't listening. He was devouring all the adulation being thrust upon him. He walked to the front
of the stage and held his arms out. This inspired more hysterical cheers from the crowd. He cleared his
throat to speak and a sudden hush fell over the crowd.
"People," he started. He felt it was a strong opening seeing as he had no insight into their culture. They
hung on his every word. "I am Arthur Dent."
Screams went up from the crowd but this time as a result of the robots from Sirius appearing around the
top of the amphitheatre. The place emptied like a train full of lemmings at the White Cliffs of Dover.
"We've caught up with you again," said Jeremy. "It wasn't even a good chase this time. You killed off our
scouts, which was a bit unsporting and you waited here for us. I think you've lost interest, so if you can't
be bothered, we'll just kill you. What is that robot doing with you?"
"I am not just 'that robot', thank you very much," snorted Marvin. "You obviously have no conception of
who I am." He paused to beg the question, then started again so soon as Jeremy began to speak. "I am
your prototype, Marvin."
The robots were stunned and amazed.
"We were told you had been kidnapped."
"What's the point of kidnapping me. Nobody wants me. I just ended up going along for the ride. Enough
of that, why haven't you given me the android salute, I am your superior."
The robots looked at each other, confused.
"You stick you left arm in the right ear of the robot next to you. Didn't they programme you anything?"
The robots obliged, exploded and lit up the Stavromulan sky with a firework display to rival the space
battle seen but an hour before.
"Almost as stupid as you lot," muttered Marvin.
CHAPTER 40
"We must be in Zaphod Beeblebrox's neighbourhood," mused Arthur.
"That's the second time I've heard that name," said Fenchurch, still shaking the rusty particles of an
android with a brain the size of a planet from her clothes. "Who or what is it?"
"Zaphod's just this guy. He was President of the Universe for a while, he may still be. Look in the book,
he may be mentioned." Arthur got the guide out of his souvenir 'God's last message to his creation'
holdall. Fenchurch tapped in the code.
"How long have we got?" Asked Fenchurch.
"How long do you need?"
"The time it takes to read 'War and Peace' I think. This says page one of 627 pages and the rest of the
page is taken up with references to other areas of the book where he is mentioned."
Arthur took the guide and flipped to page two. More references. Page three. Arthur was hardly
turned-on by the sight of Zaphod in a rather tacky pose and was not amused by the caption that read
'Zaphod is not just a pretty face, for he can ski and likes reading. He can also out-drink and out-cool
anyone in the Universe.' Arthur keyed in another code and got what he wasn't sure he really wanted.
"You've got all the time it takes me to salvage this poor robot and for us to hitch-hike to that address."
Arthur stabbed his finger purposely at the screen. "I want you to meet Zaphod Beeblebrox. That way
you'll appreciate me even more."
Ford Prefect was indeed in a seedy bar trying to talk somebody into buying him a drink and only
achieving success as a total failure in this venture. The expression 'It is far better to give than receive'
referred only to physical violence in this bar. After leaving Arthur and Fenchurch on their way to where
they had just decided to leave, he had decided to find the rather nice girl who offered a comforting
service to rich men inHanDoldCity. Ford couldn't shake her devastating smile from his mind. He felt it
would be a useful weapon by his side. Besides, having seen Arthur so happy with Fenchurch, so happy
that Ford couldn't irritate him as easily as usual, and Zaphod settling down with Trillian, Ford decided the
last thing he wanted to do was be unfashionable and stay single.
So Ford had ventured to the bar where he came very close to being mutilated by an evil looking bird
and an arm with a vicious streak and nothing else noticeable. Ford entered the bar, was shocked,
stunned and then shocked again. He was convinced this was the same bar but it was now reminiscent of
a wine bar he had visited in Hampstead. Gone were the evil overtones and murderous intents. These had
been replaced by old French posters and bamboo chairs. The evil looking bird had been stuffed and put
over the bar. The arm was opening wine bottles and mixing cocktails.
"Oh it's you," said the barman, who now looked unbearably smart. "You're the one to blame for this."
"Hi," said Ford, still looking around. "I'm to blame for what?"
"Your entry in the Hitch-Hiker's Guide," muttered the barman.
"Wasn't it accurate?" Argued Ford, defensive of his life saving piece of prose. "Wasn't it along the lines
of 'Wretched place with evil overtones and murderous intents' or something?"
"That's it exactly. That was enough to attract all the trendies who were desperate to find a place with
atmosphere. They pushed out all the regulars."
"Well, could I change it?" Offered Ford, apologetically.
"Nah, I hate these people and their trendy talk, but they don't argue about paying, even though I've
marked the prices up to silly levels. So you'd best leave it."
Ford tried to listen to some of the conversations, but there weren't any. There were plenty of opinions
being offered about generally misunderstood subjects that bored everyone to tears, but no actual
conversations. Ford decided to leave and find where all the former regulars were hanging out. At least he
felt threatened and therefore relaxed in their company. As he left, he butted into one opinion with 'Ah, but
you haven't considered the Vogons, have you?', which enabled one rich young trendy to launch into his
very personalised views on Vogon sociology.
Ford eventually found a suitably seedy bar, which is where we find him.
"But if you buy me a drink you can go around saying 'Do you know who I bought a drink for the other
night? Ford Prefect, that's who. I won't mind, I won't even charge you repeat fees for my name." It didn't
work. His hapless victim had yelled something quite obscene at a slab of a creature in the hope that the
slab would ask him to step outside and repeat it. The slab obliged and Ford's victim changed hands.
Ford's attention switched to the large TV screen viewer on the wall. Between the alcohol stains, a
newsreader droned on about Vogon riots. Apparently, three squadrons of flying police had descended
on the riots, while media specialists debated the causes of the riots at great length. All the old reasons
were dusted off and injected with topical incidents to improve credibility. No one asked the Vogons,
who could have easily explained that it just seemed like a good idea at the time. The newsreader handed
over to the social editor who Ford recognised as one of the greatest partygoers of all time. That was
enough to make Ford listen. What he heard would have made a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster reach for
something to steady itself.
"And of course, all the leading lights of the social galaxy are preparing themselves for possibly the
greatest bash since Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon Six, had her coming out,
in and many other permutations party. Yes, the invites have been printed for Zaphod Beeblebrox's
wedding...."
Ford tried to spin around on his barstool in an attempt to catch up with his head. He then made his mind
up to get wrecked in celebration. Zaphod would have wanted it that way. He felt as though he wanted
company during this hour of sorrow, so he decided he would not get wrecked and look for the girl. He
would get totally sobered and look for the girl. He walked outside, over his former hapless victim and
down the now peaceful street. This was because the police wars that had ruined the area had ceased, or,
at least, a truce had been called. It needed the combined efforts of the fighting fractions to impose on the
spot fines on the rich young trendies as they staggered into their bourge-mobiles to race home.
Ford peered into every doorway and saw plenty of interesting things, but not what he wanted. Just as he
decided to get so wrecked he wouldn't care which girl he found, he heard a familiar voice.
"Been paid for those two words yet?" It was backed up by the devastatingly shy but self-confident smile
that had his emotions screaming for mercy.
"I've been looking for you," was all Ford could manage.
"I've been looking for you, too!" She exclaimed. "I owe you my deepest thanks apparently. Since you
put in your entry about the bar, this place has been inundated with rich people. I've made enough to give
it all up for something more worthwhile." She was hitting all the right notes with Ford.
"Good, how do you fancy going to the society wedding of the Omp?"
"Sounds good to me. We'd better introduce ourselves then. My name is Bolo".
Ford's brain relayed that to all of it's areas and innuendo came up with 'That reminds me of something
from Earth that kept my tongue occupied for many happy hours', which his brain scrutinised and sent to
common sense. Common sense tutted and passed it to character assessment for a second opinion.
Character assessment complained, as usual, that it was overworked and couldn't say whether it would be
well received or would result in a slapped face that would activate pain and the whole brain knew what
trouble that caused. Common sense decided to send the thought skulking into memory to be held and
used at a later date, hopefully as a witty, apres sex reflection.
"I'm Ford Prefect." She held out her hand and he shook it briskly, admiring the soft touch and the firm
grip on his heart.
"How will we travel?"
A glint formed in Ford's eye.
"You are looking at one of the greatest hitch-hikers in the Galaxy."
"I'll get some money and a towel."
Ford knew he had met the girl of his dreams.
CHAPTER 41
A wedding is a ritual which exists in most societies, only at varying levels of involvement, from a simple
agreement to meet, say, once a year for dinner, to the mutual exchanging of left limbs. The latter does not
apply to the Quoquobuletes. They are easily recognised, as the male has legs which lead into the arms,
has a flat torso between the two, is about a metre high and looks something like a capital H. The female
is the same shape, only about 10 metres high. The marriage ceremony is not unusual, with the supposed
exchanging of tokens during the ceremony, the male leaving his on the dressing table and blaming the best
man. However, to certify the ceremony, the marriage must be consummated within four hours. Now this,
although not a strict requirement in most marriages, is usually enthusiastically pursued by most couples as
a necessity as opposed to a requirement. It is a different story for the Quoquobuletes. Though hardly
through not trying, 8 out of every 10 Quoquobulete marriages end in unconsummation or physical
exhaustion. Those who are easily embarrassed by such matters should now skip to the next chapter, for
there now follows a description of the Quoquobulete sexual act.
First of all, it must be performed standing up, as anything else is considered merely foreplay. Due to the
obvious physical differences, the male digs a small hole 0.2 metres square and 0.1 metres deep. The
female then stands 0.05 metres back from the hole. The male then takes a pole (usually a wedding gift)
which can be bent under force without breaking and then resume it's original straight axis. The male takes
a run at the female with the pole held horizontal to the ground, aiming at the hole. Once the point of the
pole makes contact with the hole, the male continues running until the pole reaches it's most springy point
and propels him towards the female torso in a hope to cling on. This usually results in the male flying past
the female at great height or hitting the female so hard he knocks her over. This is viewed as one of the
saddest cases in the Universe and also as another good reason why the Earth was shunned for many
years, because they chose to ridicule the act with a sport called the pole vault.
Another event associated with wedding is the stag night. For the Quoquobuletes it was a chance for a
last minute training session to perfect technique, but for most males it is a damn good excuse to get
drunk, insult people, act offensively and generally be a nuisance. As Zaphod Beeblebrox is a recognised
expert in all of these fields, his stag night promised to be a showstopper.
Psychologists have many theories about the deep hidden reasons for a stag night, such as striking a final
blow for freedom or getting into a state where nothing after would be as bad, but these have never been
ratified as the last person you would invite on a stag night would be a psychologist.
So, Ford Prefect was heading for Zaphod's for the sole purpose of being on the stag night and Arthur
Dent was heading towards Zaphod's on a purely social visit, which would end up as a stag night they
would never forget.
CHAPTER 43
"It says here that Zaphod's planet is a 'peaceful haven for the famous with glorious mountains which
blend in beautifully with the tropical beaches. It offers good skiing, great libraries and plenty of people
who think that they are cool and think they can drink.' Sounds like something from the Magrathean
catalogue," said Arthur.
"Who are the Magratheans?" asked Fenchurch.
"Oh, they were the galaxy's equivalent of Harrods. They could build any sort of planet to your exact
specification. I'm afraid to say that the Earth was built by them."
"You mean to say that someone actually specifiedMilton Keynes?"
"No, it's a very long story, but I don't thinkMilton Keyneswas ever intended. One day I'll tell you about
the Golgafrincham B Ark."
"We should have time. I think this is going to be a very long journey."
"That's the trouble with this hitch-hiking lark, you get a lot of time on your hands."
Fenchurch took his hand and squeezed it.
"I'm glad I'm spending it with you."
Arthur swallowed and tried to stop his palm from being so sweaty. He had never felt so happy being so
uncomfortable.
"Much as I appreciate the lift we're getting, I think this ship is the equivalent of a 2CV on Earth." Arthur
tried to think of a 2CV in desperation, but his mind kept fighting back to Fenchurch's warm hand in his.
He looked around for some form of distraction. There weren't many.
They were in the hold of a family cruiser belonging to some Quoquobuletes who were on their first
holiday to the sunny planet of Beebles, home of Zaphod Beeblebrox. Arthur and Fenchurch had
hitch-hiked, using their souvenir God's Final Message to His Creation electronic thumb, to a large space
service station, where lots of little creatures were charging around and adult creatures were stretching
their arms, legs and in some cases, other extremities. Arthur bought someBabelfish and had a lot of
trouble convincing Fenchurch that putting one in you ear was a really good idea. They soon found out
that conversations weren't any different at this service station than they were on any service station on
Earth. Short cuts, the lousy condition of the toilets and the cost compared with a local station were the
general order of the day. Arthur had eventually found someone going to Beebles and willing to give them
a lift. Their travelling companions consisted of Mr and Mrs Xoloho and their three children. Their holiday
was being paid for by the Quoquobulete government for being the first couple in Quoquobulete history to
produce more than two children.
Mr Xoloho walked, if it could be called that (it closely resembled poor computer graphics), into the
hold.
"The wife's getting a bit tired driving, so I'm going to take over," he explained. "We'll take the next
turning off the hyperspace tract to fit the male driving adapter equipment. If you could give my wife a
hand it should be fitted in half an hour."
"It'll be my pleasure," said Arthur
"Actually, I was referring to your young lady," said Mr Xoloho.
Arthur almost got flustered, then realised that Mr Xoloho had good reason to view the female as the
dominant sex. Fenchurch laughed and Arthur reconsidered being flustered, but Mr Xoloho had gone.
"They're so nice, aren't they?" Sighed Fenchurch. "I never expected aliens to be so polite."
"They are not all like that, there were these creatures I once met called the Vogons and they...." The ship
lurched out of hyperspace and Arthur's stomach lurched out of place. He stood up but his body didn't
want to leave before any of it's vital organs and slumped down again.
"I could do without that," groaned Fenchurch.
"You should try matter transference, or rather you shouldn't. It makes coming out of hyperspace seem
like coming out of a sauna."
"Remind me not to try matter transference."
"I'll do my best."
They gingerly stood up and went to the front of the ship. The Xoloho children had already disembarked
and Mrs Xoloho was disentangling herself from the controls. Arthur walked out and into theShipPark.
There were about two dozen ships of varying sizes parked. Arthur saw two people going from ship to
ship.
"Hitch-hikers," thought Arthur. Then he saw one of them wearing an irritating grin. He couldn't believe it.
"Ford!" Yelled Arthur. Ford looked up, grabbed Bob's hand and ran over to Arthur.
"We meet again," said Arthur, shaking Ford's free hand.
摘要：

TheLostChaptersOfHitchhiker’sGuideToTheGalaxybydouglasAdams CHAPTER24.4CHAPTER40.9CHAPTER41.13CHAPTER43.14CHAPTER44.19CHAPTER45.25CHAPTER46.25CHAPTER47.29CHAPTER48.30CHAPTER49.36CHAPTER50.41CHAPTER51.42CHAPTER52.47CHAPTER53.48CHAPTER54.52CHAPTER55.54CHAPTER56.59CHAPTER57.62CHAPTER58.64CHAPTER59.68CH...

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