'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 trowned. l here 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.'

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.'

Chapter 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.