GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

NARRATOR: Far back in the mists of ancient time, in the great and glorious days of the Former Galactic Empire, life was wild, rich, and on the whole tax free. Mighty starships plied their way between exotic suns seeking adventure and reward amongst the furthest reaches of galactic space. In those days spirits were brave, the stakes were high, men were real men, women were real women, and small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri. And all dared to brave unknown terrors, to do mighty deeds, to boldly split infinitives that no man had split before and thus was the Empire forged.

Many men of course became extremely rich, but this was perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of because no one was really poor – at least, no one worth speaking of. And for these extremely rich merchants life eventually became rather dull, and it seemed that none of the worlds they settled on was entirely satisfactory, either the climate wasn’t quite right in the later part of the afternoon or the day was half an hour too long, or the sea was just the wrong shade of pink – and thus were created the conditions for a staggering new form of industry: custom made luxury planet building.

The home of this industry was the planet Magrathea where vast hyperspatial engineering works were constructed to suck matter through white holes in space and form it into dream planets, lovingly made to meet the exacting standards of the Galaxy’s richest men. And so successful was this venture, that very soon Magrathea itself became the richest planet of all time and the rest of the galaxy was reduced to abject poverty. And so the system broke down, the Empire collapsed and a long sullen silence settled over the Galaxy, disturbed only by the pen scratchings of scholars as they laboured into the night over smug little treatises on the value of a planned political economy. Magrathea itself disappeared and its memory soon passed into the obscurity of legend. In these enlightened days, of course, no one believes a word of it.

Meanwhile, on Zaphod Beeblebrox’s ship, deep in the darkness of the Horsehead Nebula . . .

F/X: STARSHIP BRIDGE BACKGROUND

FORD: I’m sorry, I just don’t believe a word of it.

ZAPHOD: Listen to me Ford, I’ve found it, I swear I’ve found it.

FORD: Look – Magrathea is a myth, a fairy story, it’s what parents tell their kids about at night if they want them to grow up to become economists, it’s . . .

ZAPHOD: And we are currently in orbit around it.

FORD: Zaphod, I can’t help what you may personally be in orbit around, but this ship . . .

ZAPHOD: Computer!

FORD: Oh no.

EDDIE THE COMPUTER: Hi there, this is Eddie your shipboard computer, and I’m feeling just great, guys, and I know I’m just going to get a bundle of kicks out of any programme you care to run through me . . .

FORD: Is this necessary?

ZAPHOD: Computer, tell us again what our current trajectory is.

E the C: A real pleasure fella. We are currently in orbit at an altitude of . . . three hundred miles . . . around the legendary planet of Magrathea. Golly!

ford Proving nothing. I wouldn’t trust that computer to speak my weight.

E the C: I can do that for you, sure . . .

FORD: No thank you.

E the C: I can even work out your personality problems to ten decimal places, if it’ll help.

TRILLIAN: Zaphod, we should have dawn coming up any minute now on the planet, whatever it turns out to be.

ZAPHOD: OK, OK, let’s just take a look at it. Computer.

E the C: Hi there! What can I . . .

ZAPHOD: Just shut up and give us external vision on the monitors, dim the lights on the Bridge.

F/X: ELECTRONIC SWITCHING

GRAMS: QUIETLY FADE UP A BIT OF MUSIC, PINK FLOYD, LIGETI OR WHATEVER

ZAPHOD: There . . . the dark mass you see on the screens now is the planet of Magrathea . . .

FORD: Or whatever . . .

TRILLIAN: I wonder if Columbus had this trouble?

ZAPHOD: (Getting increasingly exasperated) Who?

TRILLIAN: Sorry, just an esoteric Earth reference. He discovered a continent which went on to cause a bit of trouble. Arthur’ll tell you about it . . . Arthur?

ARTHUR: (As if he’s been day-dreaming) What?

TRILLIAN: You’ve been very quiet Arthur?

ARTHUR: Yes, I always find it very relaxing listening to other people arguing when I haven’t a clue what they’re talking about. The view’s a bit dull, isn’t it? Presumably it becomes absolutely enchanting later on.

ZAPHOD: (Who’s trying to conjure up some sort of drama) We are now traversing the night side. The surface of the planet is three hundred miles below us. In a moment we should see . . . there!

GRAMS: THIS POINT SHOULD COINCIDE WITH SOME SORT OF CRESCENDO IN THE MUSIC

ZAPHOD: . . . The Fires of Dawn! . . . the twin suns of Soulianis and Rahm . . .

FORD: Or whatever . . .

ZAPHOD: Soulianis and Rahm, two ancient furnaces of light, creeping over the black horizon . . . It’s fantastic, you’ve got to admit that.

FORD: (Flatly) It looks fantastic.

ARTHUR: (Quietly, aside to Trillian) Tricia, I feel I may be missing the point of something.

TRILLIAN: Well, according to what Zaphod’s told me, Magrathea is a legendary planet from way back, which no one seriously believes in. Bit like Atlantis, except that the legends say the Magratheans used to manufacture planets.

ARTHUR: . . . Is there any tea on this spaceship?

GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

NARRATOR: Arthur Dent had basically assumed that he was the only native ape-descended Earthman to escape from the planet Earth when it was unexpectedly demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass, because his only companion, disconcertingly called Ford Prefect, had already revealed himself to be from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, and not from Guildford after all. So when, against all conceivable probability they were suddenly rescued from certain death in deep space by a stolen starship manned by two people, one of whom is Ford’s semi-brother the Infamous Zaphod Beeblebrox and the other of whom is Tricia McMillan, a rather nicely descended ape-person that Arthur once met at a party in Islington, it could only be because the ship was powered by the new infinite Improbability Drive, which of course it was. Slowly, majestically, this mighty starship begins its long descent towards the surface of the ancient planet which might or might not be Magrathea.

FORD: Well, even supposing it is . . .

ZAPHOD: It is.

FORD: . . . which it isn’t, what do you want with it anyway? I mean I take it you’re not here for the sheer industrial archaeology of it all. What is it you’re after?

ZAPHOD: Well it’s partly the curiosity, partly a sense of adventure, but mostly I think it’s the fame and the money.

FORD: It’s just a dead planet.

ARTHUR: The suspense is killing me.

NARRATOR: Stress and nervous tension are now serious social problems in all parts of the Galaxy, and it is in order that this situation should not be exacerbated in any way at all that the following facts will now be revealed in advance.

The planet in question is in fact Magrathea.

The deadly nuclear missile attack shortly to be launched by an ancient automatic defence system will merely result in the bruising of somebody’s upper arm and the untimely creation and sudden demise of a bowl of petunias and an innocent sperm whale.

In order that some sense of mystery should still be preserved, no revelation will yet be made concerning whose upper arm had been bruised. This fact may safely be made the subject of suspense since it is of no significance whatsoever.

Arthur’s next question about the planet is very complex and difficult and Zaphod’s answer is wrong in every important respect.

ARTHUR: Is it safe?

ZAPHOD: Magrathea’s been dead for five million years. Of course it’s safe. Even the ghosts will have settled down and raised families by now.

F/X: GRAMS FANFARE

VOICE: (If this can be done on five million year old tape so much the better. The voice is outwardly pleasant but actually rather cold and forbidding)

Greetings to you . . .

ALL: What’s that? (Or that sort of thing at least)

ZAPHOD: Computer!

E the C: Hi there!

ZAPHOD: What is it?

E the C: Oh, just some five million year old tape recording that’s being broadcast at us.

VOICE: This is a recorded announcement as I’m afraid we’re all out at the moment. The Commercial Council of Magrathea thanks you for your esteemed visit . . .

ZAPHOD: A voice from ancient Magrathea!

FORD: OK, OK.

VOICE: . . . but regrets that the entire planet is temporarily closed for business. Thank you. If you would like to leave your name and a planet where you can be contacted kindly speak when you hear the tone.

F/X: ANSWERING BEEP

TRILLIAN: They want to get rid of us. What do we do?

ZAPHOD:It’s just a recording, keep going. Got that computer?

E the C: I got it.

F/X: ROCKET THRUST

F/X: GRAMS LESS FANFARE

VOICE: We would like to assure you that as soon as our business is resumed announcements will be made in all fashionable magazines and colour supplements, when our clients will once again be able to select from all that’s best in contemporary geography. Meanwhile we thank our clients for their kind interest and would ask them to leave now.

ARTHUR: Well, I suppose we’d better be going then hadn’t we?

ZAPHOD: Shhhh! There’s absolutely nothing to be worried about.

ARTHUR: Then why’s everyone so tense?

ZAPHOD: They’re just interested. We keep going.

F/X: SOUND OF DESCENT CONTINUES. ACTUALLY I SUPPOSE I’D BETTER SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THIS: THE DESCENT NOISE SHOULD REALLY BE ONE OF THOSE CONTINUOUSLY DESCENDING SOUND BANDS WHICH NEVER REALLY GETS ANYWHERE BECAUSE WHILST TONES ARE IMPERCEPTIBLY DROPPING OUT AT THE BOTTOM, SO NEW ONES ARE COMING IN IMPERCEPTIBLY AT THE TOP

F/X: GRAMS EVEN LESS FANFARE

VOICE: (Getting quite cold now) It is most gratifying that your enthusiasm for our planet continues unabated and so we would like to assure you that the guided missiles currently converging with your ship are part of a special service we extend to all of our most enthusiastic clients, and the fully armed nuclear warheads are of course merely a courtesy detail. We look forward to your custom in future lives. Thank you.

ARTHUR: Listen, if that’s their sales pitch, what must it be like in the complaints department?

ZAPHOD: Hey, this is terrific, it means we really must be onto something if they’re trying to kill us.

ARTHUR: Terrific.

TRILLIAN: You mean there is someone down there after all?

ZAPHOD: No, the whole defence system must be automatic, but the question is why. . .

ARTHUR: But what are we going to do?

ZAPHOD: Just keep cool.

ARTHUR: (Horrified) Is that all?

ZAPHOD: No, we’re also going to take evasive action. Computer, what evasive action can we take?

E the C: Er, none I’m afraid guys.

ZAPHOD: . . . or something.

E the C: There seems to be something jamming my guidance systems. Impact minus thirty seconds.

F/X: ALARM BELLS AND SIRENS GO OFF

E the C: Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. Please call me Eddie if it will help you relax.

ZAPHOD: Right. Errr. Look, we’ve got to get manual control of this ship.

TRILLIAN: Can you fly her?

ZAPHOD: No, can you?

TRILLIAN: No.

ZAPHOD: Ford?

FORD: No.

ZAPHOD: Fine. We’ll do it together.

ARTHUR: I can’t either.

ZAPHOD: I’d guessed that. Computer, I want full manual control now.

E the C: You got it. Good luck guys, impact minus twenty seconds.

ZAPHOD: OK Ford, full retro thrust and ten degrees starboard.

F/X: HOWLING SCREECH OF PROTESTING ROCKET ENGINES. THIS SECTION SHOULD BE AS VIOLENTLY NOISY AS POSSIBLE

TRILLIAN: We’re veering too fast!

FORD: I can’t hold her, she’s going into a spin!

ZAPHOD: Dive, dive!

F/X: EQUIPMENT AND BITS AND PIECES FLUNG AROUND CABIN

GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

NARRATOR: It is of course more or less at this point that one of our heroes sustains a slight bruise to the upper arm. This should be emphasized because, as has already been revealed, they escape otherwise completely unharmed and the deadly nuclear missiles do not eventually hit the ship. Our heroes’ safety is absolutely assured.

E the C: Impact minus fifteen seconds, guys.

ARTHUR: The rockets are still homing in, you can’t shake them. We’re going to die.

E the C: (Starts to sing ‘You’ll never walk alone’ in his very metallic voice)

ZAPHOD: Shut that bloody computer up! (But it continues)

TRILLIAN: Zaphod, can we stabilise at X zero zero 547 by splitting our flight path tangentially across the summit vector of 9GX78 with a five degree inertial correction?

ZAPHOD: What? Yes, I expect so, just do it. (Mutters) And God forgive you if you’re only bluffing.

TRILLIAN: Here we go.

F/X: EVEN MORE NOISE FROM THE ENGINES

FORD: Hey, where did you learn a stunt like that Trillian?

TRILLIAN: Going round Hyde Park Corner on a moped.

ZAPHOD: What?

FORD: It’s another Earth reference.

ZAPHOD: Tell me later.

ARTHUR: It’s no good, the missiles are swinging round after us and gaining fast. We are quite definitely going to die.

E the C: (Briefly interrupting his song) Impact minus five seconds.

ARTHUR: Why doesn’t anyone turn on this Improbability Drive thing?

TRILLIAN: Don’t be silly, you can’t do that.

ARTHUR: Why not? There’s nothing to lose at this stage.

TRILLIAN: Does anyone know why Arthur can’t turn on the Improbability Drive?

E the C: Impact minus one second, it’s been great knowing you guys, God bless.

TRILLIAN: I said does anyone know . . .

F/X: TREMENDOUS EXPLOSION, WHICH FAIRLY QUICKLY TRANSFORMS ITSELF INTO A LITTLE DRIBBLE OF FAIRLY LIGHT FILM MUSIC AND DIES AWAY

ZAPHOD: What the hell happened?

ARTHUR: Well, I was just saying, there’s this switch here you see and . . .

ZAPHOD: Where are we Trillian?

TRILLIAN: Exactly where we were I think.

ZAPHOD: Then what’s happened to the missiles?

FORD: Er, well according to this screen they’ve just turned into a bowl of petunias and a very surprised looking whale.

E the C: At an improbability factor of eight million, seven hundred and sixty seven thousand, one hundred and twenty eight to one against.

ZAPHOD: Did you think of that Earthman?

ARTHUR: Well, all I did was . . .

ZAPHOD: That’s very good thinking, you know that? You just saved our lives.

ARTHUR: Oh it was nothing, really . . .

ZAPHOD: Oh was it? Well, forget it. OK Computer, take us in to land.

F/X: CHANGE OF NOTE IN ROCKET DRIVE

ARTHUR: Well, I say it was nothing . . . I mean obviously it was something, I was just trying to say it’s not worth making too much of a fuss about . . . I mean just saving everybody’s life . . .

GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

NARRATOR: Another thing that no one made too much fuss about was the fact that against all probability, a sperm whale had suddenly been called into existence some miles above the surface of an alien planet. And since this is not a naturally tenable position for a whale, this innocent creature had very little time to come to terms with its identity as a whale before it had to come to terms with suddenly not being a whale anymore. This is what it thought as it fell.

F/X: POP AS OF WHALE SUDDENLY COMING INTO EXISTENCE SOME MILES ABOVE THE SURFACE OF AN ALIEN PLANET. INCREASING WIND

WHALE: Ah! What’s happening? Er, excuse me, who am I? Hello? Why am I here? What’s my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I? Calm down, get a grip now. Oh, this is an interesting sensation . . . what is it? It’s a sort of yawning tingling sensation in my . . . my . . . well I suppose I’d better start finding names for things if I want to make any headway in what for the sake of what I shall call an argument I shall call the world, so let’s call it my stomach. So . . . a yawning tingling sensation in my stomach. Good. Ooooh, it’s getting quite strong. And hey, what about this whistling roaring sound going past what I’m suddenly going to call my head? Head, that sounds good, yeah, head, good solid ring to it . . . and the whistling roaring sound, that can be wind . . . is that a good name? It’ll do . . . perhaps I can find a better name for it later when I’ve found out what it’s for, because there certainly seems to be a hell of a lot of it. Hey, what’s this thing, this . . . let’s call it a tail . . . yeah, tail, hey I can really thrash it about pretty good can’t I? Wow. Wow. Hey. Doesn’t seem to achieve much but I’ll probably find out what it’s for later on. Now – have I built up any coherent picture of things yet? No. Oh. Hey, this is really exciting, so much to find out about, so much to look forward to, I’m quite dizzy with anticipation . . . or is it the wind? Hey, there really is a lot of that now isn’t there? And wow, what’s this thing suddenly coming towards me very fast? Very very fast . . . so big and flat and wide it needs a big wide sounding word . . . like round . . . round . . . ground! That’s it, ground! I wonder if it will be friends with me?

F/X: SOUND OF SPERM WHALE HITTING THE GROUND AT SEVERAL HUNDRED MILES PER HOUR

(Pause)

GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

NARRATOR: Curiously enough the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was ‘Oh no, not again’. Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the bowl of petunias had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the Universe than we do now.

Meanwhile, the starship has landed on the surface of Magrathea and Trillian is about to make one of the most important statements of her life. Its importance is not immediately recognised by her companions.

TRILLIAN: Hey, my white mice have escaped.

ZAPHOD: Nuts to your white mice.

NARRATOR: It is possible that Trillian’s observation would have commanded greater attention had it been generally realized that human beings were only the third most intelligent life forms on the planet Earth instead of as was generally thought by most independent observers, the second.

ZAPHOD: (Very efficiently) OK, run atmospheric checks on the planets.

F/X: FLURRY OF VERY FAST COMPUTER VOICES RINGING AROUND THE SHIP IN WONDERFUL STEREO, REELING OFF MOSTLY LISTS OF INCOMPREHENSIBLE NUMBERS: A FEW RECOGNISABLE WORDS LIKE ATMOSPHERIC COMPOSITION, OXYGEN, NITROGEN, CARBON DIOXIDE, ATMOSPHERIC PRESSURE, GRAVITATIONAL ANOMALIES ETC.

(Meanwhile the others continue talking)

FORD: Are we taking this robot?

MARVIN: (Dejectedly) Don’t feel you have to take any notice of me please.

ZAPHOD: Oh, Marvin the Paranoid Android, yeah, we’ll take him.

TRILLIAN: What are you supposed to do with a manically depressed robot?

MARVIN: You think you’ve got problems. What are you supposed to do if you are a manically depressed robot? No, don’t try and answer that, I’m fifty thousand times more intelligent than you and even I don’t know the answer. It gives me a headache just trying to think down to your level.

F/X: ALL THE COMPUTER VOICES SUDDENLY STOP TOGETHER

ZAPHOD: Well? What’s the result?

VOICES: (All together) It’s OK but it smells a bit.

ZAPHOD: OK everybody, let’s go.

E the C: (His voice has undergone a radical change and now sounds like a prep school matron) Good afternoon boys.

ARTHUR: What’s that?

ZAPHOD: Oh. That’s the computer. I discovered it had an emergency back up personality which I thought might be marginally preferable.

E the C: Now, this is going to be your first day on a strange planet, so I want you all wrapped up snug and warm and no playing with any naughty bug-eyed monsters.

ZAPHOD: I’m sorry, I think we’d be better off with a slide rule.

E the C: Right, who said that?

ZAPHOD: Will you open up the exit hatch please, computer?

E the C: Not until whoever said that owns up.

FORD: Oh God.

E the C: Come on.

ZAPHOD: Computer . . .

E the C: I’m waiting. I can wait all day if necessary.

ZAPHOD: Computer, if you don’t open that exit hatch this moment I shall go straight to your major data banks with a very large axe and give you a reprogramming you’ll never forget, is that clear?

(Pause)

E the C: I can see this relationship is something we’re all going to have to work at.

F/X: EXIT HATCH OPENS. FAINT SOUND OF WIND

ZAPHOD: Thank you, let’s go.

F/X: THEY EXIT

E the C: It’ll all end in tears, I know it.

F/X: HATCH CLOSES LEAVING TOTAL SILENCE. WIND

GRAMS: PINK FLOYD ‘SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND’ INTRO. FROM THE ALBUM ‘WISH YOU WERE HERE’

(They all have to shout into the wind)

ARTHUR: It’s fantastic!

FORD: Desolate hole if you ask me.

TRILLIAN: It’s bloody cold. It all looks so stark and dreary.

ARTHUR: I think it’s absolutely fantastic!

ARTHUR: It’s only just getting through to me . . . a whole alien world, millions of light years from home. Pity it’s such a dump though. Where’s Zaphod?

ZAPHOD: (Calling from a distance) Hey! Just beyond this ridge you can see the remains of an ancient city.

FORD: What does it look like?

ZAPHOD: Bit of a dump. Come on over. Oh and watch out for all the bits of whalemeat.

GRAMS: THEY ARE ALL WALKING OFF AND THEIR VOICES FADE, WITH THE MUSIC

ARTHUR: Do you realize that robot can hum like Pink Floyd? What else can you do Marvin?

MARVIN: Rock and roll?

F/X: GRAMS AS THEY FADE INTO THE DISTANCE THE PINK FLOYD MUSIC CHANGES ABRUPTLY INTO ‘ROCK AND ROLL MUSIC’ BY THE FAB FOUR WITH JUST A SLIGHT ELECTRONIC DISTORT AND ECHO TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT THE ROBOT IS IN FACT SINGING IT

TRILLIAN: I wish I knew where my mice were.

ZAPHOD: (Approaching) OK, I’ve found a way in.

ARTHUR: In? In what?

ZAPHOD: Down to the interior of the planet – that’s where we have to go. Where no man has trod these five million years, into the very depths of time itself . . .

GRAMS: THEME MUSIC FROM 2001 (ALSO SPRACH ZARATHUSTRA) HAS BEEN BUILDING UP UNDER THIS AND NOW REACHES A CLIMAX

ZAPHOD: Can it, Marvin.

GRAMS: 2001 THEME STOPS ABRUPTLY

ARTHUR: Why underground?

ZAPHOD: Well according to the legends the Magratheans lived most of their lives underground.

ARTHUR: Why, did the surface become too polluted or overpopulated?

ZAPHOD: No, I think they just didn’t like it very much.

TRILLIAN: Zaphod, are you sure you know what you’re doing? We’ve been attacked once already you know.

ZAPHOD: Look, I promise you, the live population of this planet is nil plus the four of us.

TRILLIAN: And two white mice.

ZAPHOD: And two white mice if you insist.

FORD: Come on, let’s go if we’re going.

ZAPHOD: Er, hey, Earthman . . .

ARTHUR: Arthur.

ZAPHOD: Could you sort of keep the robot with you and guard this end of the passageway, OK?

ARTHUR: Guard, what from? You just said there’s no one here.

ZAPHOD: Yeah, well just for safety OK?

ARTHUR: Whose? Yours or mine?

ZAPHOD: Good lad. OK, here we go.

F/X: THEY SET OFF AGAIN. THE SOUND PICTURE STAYS WITH THEM SO THAT ARTHUR’S LINE AND MARVIN’S LINE SOUND SLIGHTLY FURTHER AWAY THIS TIME

ARTHUR: Well I hope you all have a really miserable time.

MARVIN: Don’t worry, they will.

F/X: DROP WIND SOUND AS THEY ENTER TUNNEL. SLIGHTLY EERIE BUT TINKLY MUSIC IN BACKGROUND . . . HEAVY SUBWAY ECHO

TRILLIAN: This is really spooky.

FORD: Any idea what these strange symbols on the wall are, Zaphod?

ZAPHOD: I think they’re probably just strange symbols of some kind.

FORD: Look at all these galleries of derelict equipment just lying about . . . does anyone know what happened to this place in the end? Why did the Magratheans die out?

ZAPHOD: Something to do I suppose.

FORD: I wish I had two heads like yours, Zaphod. I could have hours of fun banging them against a wall.

TRILLIAN: Shine the torch over here.

ZAPHOD: Where, here?

TRILLIAN: Well, we aren’t the first beings to go down this corridor in five million years then.

ZAPHOD: What do you mean?

TRILLIAN: Look, fresh mouse droppings.

ZAPHOD: Oh, your bloody mice.

TRILLIAN: (Nervous) What’s that light down the corridor?

ZAPHOD: It’s just torch reflection.

FORD: This stuff must be worth millions you know, even if we don’t find any actual money . . .

ZAPHOD: It’ll be there. Trust me.

FORD: Trust you? Zaphod my old mate, I’d trust you from about as far as I could comfortably take your appendix out.

TRILLIAN: There’s definitely something happening down there . . .

ZAPHOD: No . . .

TRILLIAN: Listen!

F/X: SUDDEN ELECTRONIC ZAP. CRIES FROM ZAPHOD, FORD AND TRILLIAN, SLUMP OF BODIES. UNIDENTIFIABLE SOUNDS . . . OF MOVEMENT AROUND THEM. FADE. FADE UP WIND

GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

NARRATOR: The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is a very unevenly edited book and contains many passages which simply seemed to its editors like a good idea at the time.

One of these supposedly relates the experiences of one Veet Voojagig, a quiet young student at the University of Maximegalon, who pursued a brilliant academic career studying ancient philology, transformational ethics and the wave harmonic theory of historical perception, and then, after a night of drinking Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters with Zaphod Beeblebrox, became increasingly obsessed with the problem of what had happened to all the biros he’d bought over the past few years.

There followed a long period of painstaking research during which he visited all the major centres of biro loss throughout the galaxy and eventually came up with a rather quaint little theory which quite caught the public imagination at the time. Somewhere in the cosmos, he said, along with all the planets inhabited by humanoids, reptiloids, fishoids, walking treeoids and superintelligent shades of the colour blue, there was also a planet entirely given over to biro life forms. And it was to this planet that unattended biros would make their way, slipping quietly through wormholes in space to a world where they knew they could enjoy a uniquely biroid lifestyle, responding to highly biro-orientated stimuli . . . in fact leading the biro equivalent of the good life.

And as theories go this was all very fine and pleasant until Veet Voojagig suddenly claimed to have found this planet, and to have worked there for a while driving a limousine for a family of cheap green retractables, whereupon he was taken away, locked up, wrote a book, and was finally sent into tax exile which is the usual fate reserved for those who are determined to make a fool of themselves in public.

When one day an expedition was sent to the spatial coordinates that Voojagig had claimed for this planet they discovered only a small asteroid inhabited by a solitary old man who claimed repeatedly that nothing was true, though he was later discovered to be lying.

There did, however, remain the question of both the mysterious sixty thousand Altairian dollars paid yearly into his Brantisvogan bank account, and of course Zaphod Beeblebrox’s highly profitable second-hand biro business.

Meanwhile, on the surface of Magrathea, two suns have just set.

ARTHUR: Night’s falling. Look robot, the stars are coming out.

MARVIN: I know, wretched isn’t it.

ARTHUR: But that sunset. I’ve never seen anything like it in my wildest dreams . . . the two suns . . . it was like mountains of fire boiling into space.

MARVIN: I’ve seen it. It’s rubbish.

ARTHUR: We only ever had the one sun at home. I came from a planet called Earth you know.

MARVIN: I know, you keep going on about it. It sounds awful.

ARTHUR: Ah no, it was a beautiful place.

MARVIN: Did it have oceans?

ARTHUR: Oh yes, great wide rolling blue oceans.

MARVIN: Can’t bear oceans.

ARTHUR: (Sigh) Tell me, do you get on well with other robots?

MARVIN: Hate them. Where are you going?

ARTHUR: I think I’ll just take a short walk.

MARVIN: Don’t blame you.

SLARTIBARTFAST: Good evening.

ARTHUR: . . . Aaaah! Who . . .?

(The next speaker is a man called Slartibartfast. He is getting on for elderly and speaks quietly, not unkindly. He is not quite as vague as he pretends)

SLARTI: You choose a cold night to visit our dead planet . . .

ARTHUR: Who . . . who are you?

SLARTI: My name is not important.

ARTHUR: I . . . er . . . you startled me.

SLARTI: Do not be alarmed, I will not harm you.

ARTHUR: But you shot at us. There were missiles.

SLARTI: Merely an automatic system. Ancient computers ranged in the long caves deep in the bowels of the planet tick away the dark millenia, and the ages hang heavy on their dusty data banks. I think they take the occasional pot shot to relieve the monotony. I’m a great fan of science you know.

ARTHUR: Really . . .?

SLARTI: Oh yes.

ARTHUR: Ah. Er . . . (He can’t work out who’s meant to take the lead in this conversation)

SLARTI: You seem ill at ease.

ARTHUR: Yes. No disrespect, but I gathered you were all dead.

SLARTI: Dead? No, we have but slept.

ARTHUR: Slept!

SLARTI: Yes, through the economic recession you see.

ARTHUR: What?

SLARTI: Well five million years ago the Galactic economy collapsed, and seeing that custom built planets are something of a luxury commodity, you see . . . you know we built planets do you?

ARTHUR: Well yes, I’d sort of gathered . . .

SLARTI: Fascinating trade . . . doing the coastlines was always my favourite, used to have endless fun doing all the little fiddly bits in fjords . . . so anyway, the recession came so we decided to sleep through it. We just programmed the computers to revive us when it was all over . . . they were index linked to the Galactic stock market prices you see, so that we’d be revived when everybody else had rebuilt the economy enough to be able to afford our rather expensive services again.

ARTHUR: Good God, that’s a pretty unpleasant way to behave isn’t it?

SLARTI: Is it? I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of touch. Is this robot yours?

MARVIN:No, I’m mine.

ARTHUR: If you call it a robot. It’s more a sort of electronic sulking machine.

SLARTI: Bring it.

ARTHUR: What?

SLARTI: You must come with me, great things are afoot . . . you must come now or you will be late.

ARTHUR: Late? What for?

SLARTI: What is your name, human?

ARTHUR: Dent. Arthur Dent.

SLARTI: Late, as in the late Dentarthurdent. It’s a sort of threat you see. Never been very good at them myself, but I’m told they can be terribly effective.

ARTHUR: All right, where do we go?

SLARTI: In my aircar. We are going deep into the bowels of the planet, where even now our race is being revived from its five million year slumber. Magrathea awakes.

F/X: AIRCAR SHOOTS FORWARD . . . OH, BY THE WAY, WE’VE ALSO HAD THE SOUND OF THEM GETTING INTO IT DURING THE PRECEDING SPEECH

ARTHUR: Excuse me, what is your name by the way?

SLARTI: My name is . . . my name is Slartibartfast.

ARTHUR: (Trying not to laugh) I . . . I beg your pardon?

SLARTI: Slartibartfast. (Fading)

ARTHUR: Slartibartfast?

SLARTI: I said it wasn’t important. (Fade out)

GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

NARRATOR: It is an important and popular fact that things are not always what they seem. For instance – on the planet Earth Man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much . . . the wheel, New York, wars, and so on, whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely the dolphins believed themselves to be more intelligent than man for precisely the same reasons. Curiously enough the dolphins had long known of the impending demolition of Earth and had made many attempts to alert mankind to the danger, but most of their communications were misinterpreted as amusing attempts to punch footballs or whistle for titbits, so they eventually gave up and left the Earth by their own means shortly before the Vogons arrived.

The last ever dolphin message was misinterpreted as a surprisingly sophisticated attempt to do a double backwards somersault through a hoop whilst whistling the ‘Star Spangled Banner’, but in fact the message was this: ‘So long and thanks for all the fish.’ In fact there was only one species on the planet more intelligent than dolphins, and they spent a lot of their time in behavioural research laboratories running round inside wheels and conducting frighteningly elegant and subtle experiments on man. The fact that man once again completely misinterpreted this relationship was entirely according to these creatures’ plans. Arthur Dent’s current favourite fact is that life is full of surprises.

GRAMS: THE KYRIE FROM LIGETI’S REQUIEM (QUIETLY AT FIRST)

F/X: HUM OF THE AIRCAR IN FLIGHT THROUGH UNDERGROUND PASSAGES. IT SLOWS DOWN

SLARTI: Earthman, we are now deep in the heart of Magrathea. I should warn you that the chamber we are about to pass into does not literally exist within our planet. It is simply the gateway into a vast tract of hyperspace. It may disturb you.

ARTHUR: (Nervously) Oh . . .

SLARTI: It scares the willies out of me. Hold tight.

F/X: ACCELERATION OF AIRCAR, HATCHWAY OPENING

GRAMS: SHARP INCREASE IN MUSIC VOLUME AS IF THE SOUND IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE CHAMBER

F/X: CAR SHOOTS INTO AN UNIMAGINABLY VAST CAVERNOUS SPACE

ARTHUR: (Gasp of terror)

SLARTI: Welcome to our factory floor!

ARTHUR: Aaah! The light . . .

SLARTI: This is where we make most of our planets, you see.

ARTHUR: Does this mean you’re starting it all up again now?

SLARTI: No no, for heaven’s sake, the Galaxy isn’t nearly rich enough to support us yet . . . no, we’ve been awakened to perform just one extraordinary commission, it may interest you . . . there in the distance in front of us.

ARTHUR: (Chilled) Oh no . . .

SLARTI: You see?

ARTHUR: The Earth!

SLARTI: Well the Earth Mark 2 in fact. It seems that the first one was demolished five minutes too early and the most vital experiment was destroyed. There’s been a terrible hooha and so we’re going to make a copy from our original blueprints.

ARTHUR: You . . . are you saying that you originally made the Earth?

SLARTI: Oh yes . . . did you ever go to a place . . . I think it’s called Norway?

ARTHUR: What? No, no I didn’t

SLARTI: Pity . . . that was one of mine. Won an award you know, lovely crinkly edges.

ARTHUR: I can’t take this – did I hear you say the Earth was destroyed . . . five minutes too early?

SLARTI: Shocking cock up, the mice were furious.

ARTHUR: (In a dead way) Mice.

SLARTI: Yes, the whole thing was their experiment you see. A ten million year research programme to find the Ultimate Question – big job you know.

ARTHUR: Look, would it save you all this bother if I just gave up and went mad now?

GRAMS: SIG. TUNE

NARRATOR: Has Slartibartfast flipped his lid? Are Ford, Zaphod and Trillian dying in fearful agony, or have they simply slipped out for a quick meal somewhere? Will Arthur Dent feel better with a good hot drink inside him? Find out in next week’s exciting instalment of The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

ARTHUR: I’m sorry but I’d probably be able to cope better if I hadn’t bruised my arm.

ANNOUNCER: Zaphod Beeblebrox is now appearing in ‘No Sex Please, We’re Amoeboid Zingat-Ularians’ at the Brantersvogon Starhouse.

FOOTNOTES

This show was recorded on 13 December 1977. The only addition to the cast was the splendid Richard Vernon who played Slartibartfast. Douglas adds the following note on how his name came about.

Slartibartfast

I thought that this character should be a dignified, elderly man, weighed down with the burden of a secret sorrow. I wondered what this sorrow should be, and thought perhaps he might be sad about his name. So I decided to give him a name that anybody would be sad to have. I wanted it to sound as gross as it possibly could, while still being broadcastable. So I started with something that was clearly completely unbroadcastable, which was PHARTIPHUKBORLZ, and simply played around with the syllables until I arrived at something which sounded that rude, but was almost, but not quite, entirely inoffensive. (DNA)

The dramatic missile attack and all the noisy evasion manoeuvres caused us problems because, as always, the effects were put on after the actors’ recording and a lot of complicated jiggling around with their lines was needed in order not to drown them out. The lesson learnt from this was that in future when we recorded any scene that was to have loud effects over it we would force the actors to project by feeding a variety of loud noises down their headphones. All this probably added to the extreme mental uncertainty they had already from the lines they had to deliver.

Douglas adds the following note on the origins of the whale.

The Whale

Ah yes, the whale. Well, this came about as a result of watching an episode of a dangerously insane TV detective show called Cannon in which people got shot the whole time for incredibly little reason. They would just happen to be walking across the street, and they would simply get killed, regardless of what their own plans for the rest of the day might have been.

I began to find the sheer arbitrariness of this rather upsetting, not just because characters were getting killed, but because nobody ever seemed to care about it one way or another. Anybody who might have cared about any of these people – family, friends, even the postman – was kept firmly offstage. There was never any ‘Good night sweet Prince’ or ‘She should have died hereafter’ or even ‘Look you bastard, I was meant to be playing squash with this guy tonight’ just bang, clear them out of the way, on to the next. They were merely, excuse me, Cannonfodder.

I thought I’d have a go at this. I’d write in a character whose sole function was to be killed for the sake of a small detail in the plot, and then damn well make the audience care about it, even if none of the other characters in the story did. I suppose I must have succeeded because I received quite a number of letters saying how cruel and callous this section was – letters I certainly would not have received if I had simply mentioned the whale’s fate incidentally and passed on. I probably wouldn’t have received them if it had been a human either. [DNA]

The splat of the whale hitting the ground was partially made up from the batter pudding splat from the Goon show, a fact that might interest people who have seen similarities between the two shows.

To publicize the stage show of Hitch-Hikers a twenty five foot whale was thrown off Tower Bridge. Unlike the stage show it floated.

As a final note on the whale those people interested in sinister conspiracy theories might find some significance in the fact that the whale speech twice disappeared from the multi-track tape for no reason that we could fathom, and had to be re-recorded. Those people of a more technical frame of mind might be more inclined to think that we didn’t really know how our equipment worked.

Originally the mice were gerbils, but this was changed because gerbils sounded altogether too interesting.

Music Details

Kotakomben from the LP Einsteig by Gruppe Between

(Used in the opening Magrathea speech)

Space Theme from Yamashta by Stomu Yamashta

(Used in the story-so-far speech)

Oxygene by Jean Michel Jarre

(Used several times as calming music during the missile attack).

That’s Entertainment

(Used as the light dribble of film music)

Wind on Water from Evening Star by Fripp and Eno.

(Used in the biro speech, which incidentally was originally written for show four but cut back into this show)

Over Fire Island by Fripp and Eno Another Green World

(Used in the dolphins speech)