A few villagers wondered why Almighty Bob would send his onlie begotten Sandwich Maker in a burning fiery chariot rather than perhaps in one that might have landed quietly without destroying half the forest, filling it with ghosts and also injuring the Sandwich Maker quite badly. Old Thrashbarg said that it was the ineffable will of Bob, and when they asked him what ineffable meant he said look it up.
This was a problem because Old Thrashbarg had the only dictionary and he wouldn't let them borrow it. They asked him why not and he said that it was not for them to know the will of Almighty Bob, and when they asked him why not again he said because he said so. Anyway, somebody sneaked into Old Thrashbarg's hut one day while he was out having a swim and looked up `ineffable'. `Ineffable' apparently meant `unknowable, indescribable, unutterable, not to be known or spoken about'. So that cleared that up.
At least they had got the sandwiches.
One day Old Thrashbarg said that Almighty Bob had decreed that he, Thrashbarg, was to have first pick of the sandwiches. The villagers asked him when this had happened, exactly, and Thrashbarg said it had happened yesterday, when they weren't looking. `Have faith,' Old Thrashbarg said, `or burn!' They let him have first pick of the sandwiches. It seemed easiest.
And now this woman had just arrived out of nowhere, and gone straight for the Sandwich Maker's hut. His fame had obviously spread, though it was hard to know where to since, according to Old Thrashbarg, there wasn't anywhere else. Anyway, wherever it was she had come from, presumably somewhere ineffable, she was here now and was in the Sandwich Maker's hut. Who was she? And who was the strange girl who was hanging around outside the hut moodily and kicking at stones and showing every sign of not wanting to be there? It seemed odd that someone should come all the way from somewhere ineffable in a chariot that was obviously a vast improvement on the burning fiery one which had brought them the Sandwich Maker, if she didn't even want to be here?
They all looked to Thrashbarg, but he was on his knees mumbling and looking very firmly up into the sky and not catching anybody else's eye until he'd thought of something.
`Trillian!' said the Sandwich Maker, sucking his bleeding thumb. `What...? Who...? When...? Where...?'
`Exactly the questions I was going to ask you,' said Trillian, looking around Arthur's hut. It was neatly laid out with his kitchen utensils. There were some fairly basic cupboards and shelves, and a basic bed in the corner. A door at the back of the room led to something Trillian couldn't see because the door was closed. `Nice,' she said, but in an enquiring tone of voice. She couldn't quite make out what the set-up was.
`Very nice,' said Arthur. `Wonderfully nice. I don't know when I've ever been anywhere nicer. I'm happy here. They like me, I make sandwiches for them, and... er, well that's it really. They like me and I make sandwiches for them.'
`Sounds, er...'
`Idyllic,' said Arthur, firmly. `It is. It really is. I don't expect you'd like it very much, but for me it's, well, it's perfect. Look, sit down, please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything, er, a sandwich?'
Trillian picked up a sandwich and looked at it. She sniffed it carefully.
`Try it,' said Arthur, `it's good.'
Trillian took a nibble, then a bite and munched on it thought- fully.
`It is good,' she said, looking at it.
`My life's work,' said Arthur, trying to sound proud and hoping he didn't sound like a complete idiot. He was used to being revered a bit, and was having to go through some unexpected mental gear changes.
`What's the meat in it?' asked Trillian.
`Ah yes, that's, um, that's Perfectly Normal Beast.'
`It's what?'
`Perfectly Normal Beast. It's a bit like a cow, or rather a bull. Kind of like a buffalo in fact. Large, charging sort of animal.'
`So what's odd about it?'
`Nothing, it's Perfectly Normal.'
`I see.'
`It's just a bit odd where it comes from.'
Tricia frowned, and stopped chewing.
`Where does it come from?' she asked with her mouth full. She wasn't going to swallow until she knew.
`Well it's not just a matter of where it comes from, it's also where it goes to. It's all right, it's perfectly safe to swallow. I've eaten tons of it. It's great. Very succulent. Very tender. Slightly sweet flavour with a long dark finish.'
Trillian still hadn't swallowed.
`Where,' she said, `does it come from, and where does it go to?'
`They come from a point just slightly to the east of the Hondo Mountains. They're the big ones behind us here, you must have seen them as you came in, and then they sweep in their thousands across the great Anhondo plains and, er, well that's it really. That's where they come from. That's where they go.'
Trillian frowned. There was something she wasn't quite getting about this.
`I probably haven't made it quite clear,' said Arthur. `When I say they come from a point to the east of the Hondo Moun- tains, I mean that that's where they suddenly appear. Then they sweep across the Anhondo plains and, well, vanish really. We have about six days to catch as many of them as we can before they disappear. In the spring they do it again only the other way round, you see.'
Reluctantly, Trillian swallowed. It was either that or spit it out, and it did in fact taste pretty good.
`I see,' she said, once she had reassured herself that she didn't seem to be suffering any ill effects. `And why are they called Perfectly Normal Beasts?'
`Well, I think because otherwise people might think it was a bit odd. I think Old Thrashbarg called them that. He says that they come from where they come from and they go to where they go to and that it's Bob's will and that's all there is to it.'
`Who...'
`Just don't even ask.'
`Well, you look well on it.'
`I feel well. You look well.'
`I'm well. I'm very well.'
`Well, that's good.'
`Yes.'
`Good.'
`Good.'
`Nice of you to drop in.'
`Thanks.'
`Well,' said Arthur, casting around himself. Astounding how hard it was to think of anything to say to someone after all this time.
`I expect you're wondering how I found you,' said Trillian.
`Yes!' said Arthur. `I was wondering exactly that. How did you find me?'
`Well, as you may or may not know, I now work for one of the big Sub-Etha broadcasting networks that -'
`I did know that,' said Arthur, suddenly remembering. `Yes, you've done very well. That's terrific. Very exciting. Well done. Must be a lot of fun.'
`Exhausting.'
`All that rushing around. I expect it must be, yes.'
`We have access to virtually every kind of information. I found your name on the passenger list of the ship that crashed.'
Arthur was astonished.
`You mean they knew about the crash?'
`Well, of course they knew. You don't have a whole spaceliner disappear without someone knowing about it.'
`But you mean, they knew where it had happened? They knew I'd survived?'
`Yes.'
`But nobody's ever been to look or search or rescue. There's been absolutely nothing.'
`Well there wouldn't be. It's a whole complicated insurance thing. They just bury the whole thing. Pretend it never happened. The insurance business is completely screwy now. You know they've reintroduced the death penalty for insurance company directors?'
`Really?' said Arthur. `No I didn't. For what offence?'
Trillian frowned.
`What do you mean, offence?'
`I see.'
Trillian gave Arthur a long look, and then, in a new tone of voice, said, `It's time for you to take responsibility, Arthur.'
Arthur tried to understand this remark. He found it often took a moment or so before he saw exactly what it was that people were driving at, so he let a moment or two pass at a leisurely rate. Life was so pleasant and relaxed these days, there was time to let things sink in. He let it sink in.
He still didn't quite understand what she meant, though, so in the end he had to say so.
Trillian gave him a cool smile and then turned back to the door of the hut.
`Random?' she called. `Come in. Come and meet your father.'
14
As the Guide folded itself back into a smooth, dark disk, Ford realised some pretty hectic stuff. Or at least he tried to realise it, but it was too hectic to take in all in one go. His head was hammering, his ankle was hurting, and though he didn't like to be a wimp about his ankle, he always found that intense multi- dimensional logic was something he understood best in the bath. He needed time to think about this. Time, a tall drink, and some kind of rich, foamy oil.
He had to get out of here. He had to get the Guide out of here. He didn't think they'd make it together.
He glanced wildly round the room.
Think, think, think. It had to be something simple and obvious. If he was right in his nasty lurking suspicion that he was dealing with nasty, lurking Vogons, then the more simple and obvious the better.
Suddenly he saw what he needed.
He wouldn't try to beat the system, he would just use it. The frightening thing about the Vogons was their absolute mindless determination to do whatever mindless thing it was they were determined to do. There was never any point in trying to appeal to their reason because they didn't have any. However, if you kept your nerve you could sometimes exploit their blinkered, bludgeoning insistence on being bludgeoning and blinkered. It wasn't merely that their left hand didn't always know what their right hand was doing, so to speak; quite often their right hand had a pretty hazy notion as well.
Did he dare just post the thing to himself?
Did he dare just put it in the system and let the Vogons work out how to get the thing to him while at the same time they were busy, as they probably would be, tearing the building apart to find out where he'd hidden it?
Yes.
Feverishly, he packed it. He wrapped it. He labelled it. With a moment's pause to wonder if he was really doing the right thing, he committed the package to the building's internal mail chute.
`Colin,' he said, turning to the little, hovering ball. `I am going to abandon you to your fate.'
`I'm so happy,' said Colin.
`Make the most of it,' said Ford. `Because what I want you to do is to nursemaid that package out of the building. They'll probably incinerate you when they find you, and I won't be here to help. It will be very, very nasty for you, and that's just too bad. Got it?'
`I gurgle with pleasure,' said Colin.
`Go!' said Ford.
Colin obediently dived down the mail chute in pursuit of his charge. Now Ford had only himself to worry about, but that was still quite a substantial worry. There were noises of heavy running footsteps outside the door, which he had taken the precaution of locking and shifting a large filing cabinet in front of.
He was worried that everything had gone so smoothly. Every- thing had fitted terribly well. He had hurtled through the day with reckless abandon and yet everything had worked out with uncanny neatness. Except for his shoe. He was bitter about his shoe. That was an account that was going to have to be settled.
With a deafening roar the door exploded inwards. In the turmoil of smoke and dust he could see large, slug-like creatures hurrying through.
So everything was going well was it? Everything was working out as if the most extraordinary luck was on his side? Well, he'd see about that.
In a spirit of scientific enquiry he hurled himself out of the window again.
15
The first month, getting to know each other, was a little difficult.
The second month, trying to come to terms with what they'd got to know about each other in the first month, was much easier.
The third month, when the box arrived, was very tricky indeed.
At the beginning, it was a problem even trying to explain what a month was. This had been a pleasantly simple matter for Arthur, here on Lamuella. The days were just a little over twenty-five hours long, which basically meant an extra hour in bed every single day and, of course, having regularly to reset his watch, which Arthur rather enjoyed doing.
He also felt at home with the number of suns and moons which Lamuella had - one of each - as opposed to some of the planets he'd fetched up on from time to time which had had ridiculous numbers of them.
The planet orbited its single sun every three hundred days, which was a good number because it meant the year didn't drag by. The moon orbited Lamuella just over nine times a year, which meant that a month was a little over thirty days, which was absolutely perfect because it gave you a little more time to get things done in. It was not merely reassuringly like Earth, it was actually rather an improvement.
Random, on the other hand, thought she was trapped in a recurring nightmare. She would have crying fits and think the moon was out to get her. Every night it was there, and then, when it went, the sun came out and followed her. Over and over again.
Trillian had warned Arthur that Random might have some difficulty in adjusting to a more regular lifestyle than she had been used to up till now, but Arthur hadn't been ready for actual howling at the moon.
He hadn't been ready for any of this of course.
His daughter?
His daughter? He and Trillian had never even - had they? He was absolutely convinced he would have remembered. What about Zaphod?
`Not the same species, Arthur,' Trillian had answered. `When I decided I wanted a child they ran all sorts of genetic tests on me and could find only one match anywhere. It was only later that it dawned on me. I double checked and I was right. They don't usually like to tell you, but I insisted.'
`You mean you went to a DNA bank?' Arthur had asked, pop-eyed.
`Yes. But she wasn't quite as random as her name suggests, because, of course, you were the only homo sapiens donor. I must say, though, it seems you were quite a frequent flyer.'
Arthur had stared wide-eyed at the unhappy looking girl who was slouching awkwardly in the door-frame looking at him.
`But when... how long...?'
`You mean, what age is she?'
`Yes.'
`The wrong one.'
`What do you mean?'
`I mean that I haven't any idea.'
`What?'
`Well, in my time line I think it's about ten years since I had her, but she's obviously quite a lot older than that. I spend my life going backwards and forwards in time, you see. The job. I used to take her with me when I could, but it just wasn't always possible. Then I used to put her into day care time zones, but you just can't get reliable time tracking now. You leave them there in the morning, you've simply no idea how old they'll be in the evening. You complain till you're blue in the face but it doesn't get you anywhere. I left her at one of the places for a few hours once, and when I came back she'd passed puberty. I've done all I can, Arthur, it's over to you. I've got a war to cover.'
The ten seconds that passed after Trillian left were about the longest of Arthur Dent's life. Time, we know, is relative. You can travel light years through the stars and back, and if you do it at the speed of light then, when you return, you may have aged mere seconds while your twin brother or sister will have aged twenty, thirty, forty or however many years it is, depending on how far you travelled.
This will come to you as a profound personal shock, particularly if you didn't know you had a twin brother or sister. The seconds that you have been absent for will not have been sufficient time to prepare you for the shock of new and strangely distended family relationships when you return.
Ten seconds' silence was not enough time for Arthur to reassemble his whole view of himself and his life in a way that suddenly included an entire new daughter of whose merest exist- ence he had had not the slightest inkling of a suspicion when he had woken that morning. Deep, emotional family ties cannot be constructed in ten seconds, however far and fast you travel away from them, and Arthur could only feel helpless, bewildered and numb as he looked at the girl standing in his doorway, staring at his floor.
He supposed that there was no point in pretending not to be hopeless.
He walked over and he hugged her.
`I don't love you,' he said. `I'm sorry. I don't even know you yet. But give me a few minutes.' \it We live in strange times. We also live in strange places: each in a universe of our own. The people with whom we populate our universes are the shadows of whole other universes intersecting with our own. Being able to glance out into this bewildering complexity of infinite recursion and say things like, `Oh, hi Ed! Nice tan. How's Carol?' involves a great deal of filtering skill for which all conscious entities have eventually to develop a capacity in order to protect themselves from the contemplation of the chaos through which they seethe and tumble. So give your kid a break, OK? \beginflushright Extract from Practical Parenting in a Fractally \endflushright \beginflushright Demented Universe \endflushright
`What's this?'
Arthur had almost given up. That is to say, he was not going to give up. He was absolutely not going to give up. Not now. Not ever. But if he had been the sort of person who was going to give up, this was probably the time he would have done it.
Not content with being surly, bad-tempered, wanting to go and play in the paleozoic era, not seeing why they had to have the gravity on the whole time and shouting at the sun to stop following her, Random had also used his carving knife to dig up stones to throw at the pikka birds for looking at her like that.
Arthur didn't even know if Lamuella had had a paleozoic era. According to Old Thrashbarg the planet had been found fully-formed in the navel of a giant earwig at four-thirty one Vroonday afternoon, and although Arthur, as a seasoned galactic traveller with good `O' level passes in Physics and Geography, had fairly serious doubts about this, it was rather a waste of time trying to argue with Old Thrashbarg and there had never been much point before.
He sighed as he sat nursing the chipped and bent knife. He was going to love her if it killed him, or her, or both. It wasn't easy being a father. He knew that no one had ever said it was going to be easy, but that wasn't the point because he'd never asked about being one in the first place.
He was doing his best. Every moment that he could w rest away from making sandwiches he was spending with her, talking to her, walking with her, sitting on the hill with her watching the sun go down over he valley in which the village nestled, trying to find out about her life, trying to explain to her about his. It was a tricky business. The common ground between them, apart from the fact that they had almost identical genes, was about the size of a pebble. Or rather, it was about the size of Trillian and of her they had slightly differing views.
`What's this?'
He suddenly realised she had been talking to him and he hadn't noticed. Or rather he had not recognized her voice.
Instead of the usual tone of voice in which she spoke to him, which was bitter and truculent, she was just asking him a simple question.
He looked round in surprise.
She was sitting there on a stool in the corner of the hut in that rather hunched way she had, knees together, feet splayed out, with her dark hair hanging down over her face as she looked at something she had cradled in her hands.
Arthur went over to her, a little nervously.
Her mood swings were very unpredictable but so far they'd all been between different types of bad ones. Outbreaks of bitter recrimination would give way without warning to abject self-pity and then long bouts of sullen despair which were punctuated with sudden acts of mindless violence against inanimate objects and demands to go to electric clubs.
Not only were there no electric clubs on Lamuella, there were no clubs at all and, in fact, no electricity. There was a forge and a bakery, a few carts and a well, but those were the high water mark of Lamuellan technology, and a fair number of Random's unquenchable rages were directed against the sheer incomprehensible backwardness of the place.
She could pick up Sub-Etha TV on a small Flex-O-Panel which had been surgically implanted in her wrist, but that didn't cheer her up at all because it was full of news of insanely exciting things happening in every other part of the Galaxy than here. It would also give her frequent news of her mother, who had dumped her to go off and cover some war which now seemed not to have happened, or at least to have gone all wrong in some way because of the absence of any proper intelligence gathering. It also gave her access to lots of great adventure shows featuring all sorts of fantastically expensive spaceships crashing into each other.