CHAPTER 7
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“Death’s too good for them,” he said.
The long steel-lined corridor echoed to the feeble struggles of the two humanoids clamped firmly under rubbery Vogon armpits.
“This is great,” spluttered Arthur, “this is really terrific. Let go of me you brute!”
The Vogon guard dragged them on.
“Don’t you worry,” said Ford, “I’ll think of something.” He didn’t sound hopeful.
“Resistance is useless!” bellowed the guard.
“Just don’t say things like that,” stammered Ford. “How can anyone maintain a positive mental attitude if you’re saying things like that?”
“My God,” complained Arthur, “you’re talking about a positive mental attitude and you haven’t even had your planet demolished today. I woke up this morning and thought I’d have a nice relaxed day, do a bit of reading, brush the dog. . . It’s now just after four in the afternoon and I’m already thrown out of an alien spaceship six light years from the smoking remains of the Earth!” He spluttered and gurgled as the Vogon tightened his grip.
“Alright,” said Ford, “just stop panicking.”
“Who said anything about panicking?” snapped Arthur. “This is still just the culture shock. You wait till I’ve settled down into the situation and found my bearings. Then I’ll start panicking.”
“Arthur you’re getting hysterical. Shut up!” Ford tried desperately to think, but was interrupted by the guard shouting again.
“Resistance is useless!”
“And you can shut up as well!” snapped Ford.
“Resistance is useless!”
“Oh give it a rest,” said Ford. He twisted his head till he was looking straight up into his captor’s face. A thought struck him.
“Do you really enjoy this sort of thing?” he asked suddenly. The Vogon stopped dead and a look of immense stupidity seeped slowly over his face.
“Enjoy?” he boomed. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean,” said Ford, “is does it give you a full satisfying life?
Stomping around, shouting, pushing people out of spaceships. . . ”
The Vogon stared up at the low steel ceiling and his eyebrows almost rolled over each other. His mouth slacked. Finally he said, “Well the hours are good. . . ”
“They’d have to be,” agreed Ford.
Arthur twisted his head to look at Ford.
“Ford, what are you doing?” he asked in an amazed whisper.
“Oh, just trying to take an interest in the world around me, OK?” he said. “So the hours are pretty good then?” he resumed. The Vogon stared down at him as sluggish thoughts moiled around in the murky depths.
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