“And that was …?”

“A Frogstar Scout robot class A out looking for you.”

“And that?” said Zaphod, as a third one seared through the air.

“A Frogstar Scout robot class C out looking for you.”

“Hey,” chuckled Zaphod to himself, “pretty stupid robots, eh?”

From over the bridge came a massive rumbling hum. A gigantic black shape was moving over it from the opposite tower, the size and shape of a tank.

“Holy photon, what’s that?” breathed Zaphod.

“A tank,” said the man. “Frogstar Scout robot class D come to get you.”

“Should we leave?”

“I think we should.”

“Marvin!” called Zaphod.

“What do you want?”

Marvin rose from a pile of rubble farther down the corridor and looked at them.

“You see that robot coming toward us?”

Marvin looked at the gigantic black shape edging forward toward them over the bridge. He looked down at his own small metal body. He looked back up at the tank.

“I suppose you want me to stop it,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“While you save your skins.” “Yeah,” said Zaphod, “get in there!”

“Just so long,” said Marvin, “as I know where I stand.”

The man tugged at Zaphod’s arm, and Zaphod followed him off down the corridor.

A point occurred to him about this.

“Where are we going?” he said.

“Zarniwoop’s office.”

“Is this any time to keep an appointment?”

“Come on.”

Chapter 7

Marvin stood at the end of the bridge corridor. He was not in fact a particularly small robot. His silver body gleamed in the dusty sunbeams and shook with the continual barrage which the building was still undergoing.

He did, however, look pitifully small as the gigantic black tank rolled to a halt in front of him. The tank examined him with a probe. The probe withdrew.

Marvin stood there.

“Out of my way little robot,” growled the tank.

“I’m afraid,” said Marvin, “that I’ve been left here to stop you.”

The probe extended again for a quick recheck. It withdrew again.

“You? Stop me?” roared the tank. “Go on!”

“No, really I have,” said Marvin simply.

“What are you armed with?” roared the tank in disbelief.

“Guess,” said Marvin.

The tank’s engines rumbled, its gears ground. Molecule-size electronic relays deep in its microbrain flipped backward and forward in consternation.

“Guess?” said the tank.

Zaphod and the as yet unnamed man lurched up one corridor, down a second and along a third. The building continued to rock and shudder and this puzzled Zaphod. If they wanted to blow the bulding up, why was it taking so long?

With difficulty they reached one of a number of totally anonymous unmarked doors and heaved at it. With a sudden jolt it opened and they fell inside.

All this way, thought Zaphod, all this trouble, all this not-lying-on-the-beach-having-a-wonderful-time, and for what? A single chair, a single desk and a single dirty ashtray in an undecorated office. The desk, apart from a bit of dancing dust and single, revolutionary new form of paper clip, was empty.

“Where,” said Zaphod, “is Zarniwoop?” feeling that his already tenuous grasp of the point of this whole exercise was beginning to slip.

“He’s on an intergalactic cruise,” said the man.

Zaphod tried to size the man up. Earnest type, he thought, not a barrel of laughs. He probably apportioned a fair whack of his time to running up and down heaving corridors, breaking down doors and making cryptic remarks in empty offices.

“Let me introduce myself,” the man said. “My name is Roosta, and this is my towel.”

“Hello Roosta,” said Zaphod.

“Hello, towel,” he added as Roosta held out to him a rather nasty old flowery towel. Not knowing what to do with it, he shook it by the corner.

Outside the window, one of the huge sluglike, gunmetal-green spaceships growled past.

“Yes, go on,” said Marvin to the huge battle machine, “you’ll never guess.”

“Errrmmm …” said the machine, vibrating with unaccustomed thought, “laser beams?”

Marvin shook his head solemnly.

“No,” muttered the machine in its deep guttural rumble. “Too obvious. Antimatter ray?” it hazarded.

“Far too obvious,” admonished Marvin.

“Yes,” grumbled the machine, somewhat abashed. “Er … how about an electron ram?”

This was new to Marvin.

“What’s that?” he said.

“One of these,” said the machine with enthusiasm.

From its turret emerged a sharp prong which spat a single lethal blaze of light. Behind Marvin a wall roared and collapsed as a heap of dust. The dust billowed briefly, then settled.

“No,” said Marvin, “not one of those.”

“Good though, isn’t it?”

“Very good,” agreed Marvin.

“I know,” said the Frogstar battle machine, after another moment’s consideration, “you must have one of those new Xanthic Restructron Destabilized Zenon Emitters!”

“Nice, aren’t they?” said Marvin.

“That’s what you’ve got?” said the machine in considerable awe.

“No,” said Marvin.

“Oh,” said the machine, disappointed, “then it must be …”

“You’re thinking along the wrong lines,” said Marvin. “You’re failing to take into account something fairly basic in the relationship between men and robots.”

“Er, I know,” said the battle machine, “is it …?” It trailed off into thought again.

“Just think,” urged Marvin, “they left me, an ordinary, menial robot, to stop you, a gigantic heavy-duty battle machine, while they ran off to save themselves. What do you think they would leave me with?”

“Oooh, er,” muttered the machine in alarm, “something pretty damn devastating I should expect.”

“Expect!” said Marvin. “Oh yes, expect. I’ll tell you what they gave me to protect myself with, shall I?”

“Yes, all right,” said the battle machine, bracing itself.

“Nothing,” said Marvin.

There was a dangerous pause.

“Nothing?” roared the battle machine.

“Nothing at all,” intoned Marvin dismally, “not an electronic sausage.”

The machine heaved about with fury.

“Well, doesn’t that just take the biscuit!” it roared. “Nothing, eh? Just don’t think, do they?”

“And me,” said Marvin in a soft low voice, “with this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side.”

“Makes you spit, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” agreed Marvin with feeling.

“Hell, that makes me angry,” bellowed the machine. “Think I’ll smash that wall down!”

The electron ram stabbed out another searing blaze of light and took out the wall next to the machine.

“How do you think I feel?” said Marvin bitterly.

“Just ran off and left you, did they?” the machine thundered.

“Yes,” said Marvin.

“I think I’ll shoot down their bloody ceiling as well!” raged the tank.

It took out the ceiling of the bridge.

“That’s very impressive,” murmured Marvin.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” promised the machine. “I can take out this floor too, no trouble!”

It took out the floor too.

“Hell’s bells!” the machine roared as it plummeted fifteen stories and smashed itself to bits on the ground below.

“What a depressingly stupid machine,” said Marvin and trudged away.

Chapter 8

So, do we just sit here, or what?” said Zaphod angrily; “what do these guys out here want?”

“You, Beeblebrox,” said Roosta. “They’re going to take you to the Frogstar — the most totally evil world in the Galaxy.”

“Oh yeah?” said Zaphod. “They’ll have to come and get me first.”

“They have come and got you,” said Roosta. “Look out the window.”

Zaphod looked, and gaped.

“The ground’s going away!” he gasped. “Where are they taking the ground?”

“They’re taking the building,” said Roosta. “We’re airborne.”