Volume 2 - The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe Read Free

deceased.
    The protruding upper halves of the letters now appear, in the local language, to read “Go stick your head in a pig,” and are no longer illuminated, except at times of special celebration.
    Arthur threw away a sixth cup of the liquid.
    “Listen, you machine,” he said, “you claim you can synthesize any drink in existence, so why do you keep giving me the same undrinkable stuff?”
    “Nutrition and pleasurable sense data,” burbled the machine. “Share and Enjoy.”
    “It tastes filthy!”
    “If you have enjoyed the experience of this drink,” continued the machine, “why not share it with your friends?”
    “Because,” said Arthur tartly, “I want to keep them. Will you try to comprehend what I’m telling you? That drink …”
    “That drink,” said the machine sweetly, “was individually tailored to meet your personal requirements for nutrition and pleasure.”
    “Ah,” said Arthur, “so I’m a masochist on a diet am I?”
    “Share and Enjoy.”
    “Oh, shut up.”
    “Will that be all?”
    Arthur decided to give up.
    “Yes,” he said.
    Then he decided he’d be damned if he’d give up.
    “No,” he said, “look, it’s very, very simple … ail I want … is a cup of tea. You are going to make one for me. Keep quiet and listen.”
    And he sat. He told the Nutri-Matic about India, he told it about China, he told it about Ceylon. He told it about broad leaves drying in the sun. He told it about silver teapots. He told it about Summer afternoons on the lawn. He told it about putting in the milk before the tea so it wouldn’t get scalded. He even told it (briefly) about the history of the East India Company.
    “So that’s it, is it?” said the Nutri-Matic when he had finished.
    “Yes,” said Arthur, “that is what I want.”
    “You want the taste of dried leaves boiled in water?”
    “Er, yes. With milk.”
    “Squirted out of a cow?”
    “Well, in a manner of speaking I suppose …”
    “I’m going to need some help with this one,” said the machine tersely. All the cheerful burbling had dropped out of its voice and it now meant business.
    “Well, anything I can do,” said Arthur.
    “You’ve done quite enough,” the Nutri-Matic informed him.
    It summoned up the ship’s computer.
    “Hi there!” said the ship’s computer.
    The Nutri-Matic explained about tea to the ship’s computer. The computer boggled, linked logic circuits with the Nutri-Matic and together they lapsed into a grim silence.
    Arthur watched and waited for a while, but nothing further happened.
    He thumped it, but still nothing happened.
    Eventually he gave up and wandered up to the bridge.
    In the empty wastes of space, the
Heart of Gold
hung still. Around it blazed the billion pinpricks of the Galaxy. Towards it crept the ugly yellow lump of the Vogon ship.

3
    “Does anyone have a kettle?” Arthur asked as he walked on to the bridge, and instantly began to wonder why Trillian was yelling at the computer to talk to her, Ford was thumping it and Zaphod was kicking it, and also why there was a nasty yellow lump on the vision screen.
    He put down the empty cup he was carrying and walked over to them.
    “Hello?” he said.
    At that moment Zaphod flung himself over to the polished marble surfaces that contained the instruments that controlled the conventional photon drive. They materialized beneath his hands and he flipped over to manual control. He pushed, he pulled, he pressed and he swore. The photon drive gave a sickly shudder and cut out again.
    “Something up?” said Arthur.
    “Hey, didja hear that?” muttered Zaphod as he leaped now for the manual controls on the Infinite Improbability Drive, “the monkey spoke!”
    The Improbability Drive gave two small whines and then also cut out.
    “Pure history, man,” said Zaphod, kicking the Improbability Drive, “a talking monkey!”
    “If you’re upset about something …” said Arthur.
    “Vogons!” snapped Ford. “We’re under