Douglas Adams's Starship Titanic (13 page)

'If you'd really like me to,' said the bomb.

'Yes,' said Nettie.

'Very well,' said the bomb. 'I'll count — just for you, Nettie. But this is the last time… The very last time…'

Pause.

'I'm just doing this for you, Nettie.'

'Thank you, bomb.'

'Good luck, Nettie.'

'Good luck, bomb.'

'One thousand… nine hundred and ninety-nine…'

Nettie had been so intent upon her purpose of stopping the bomb that she hadn't realized how terrified she'd been, but the next moment she found out, her knees gave way, and she fell into Dan's arms that were suddenly there to catch her.

Bolfass stood on the Captain's Bridge of the
Starship Titanic
and could not believe his eyes, as he watched the Blerontinian mercenaries beat a retreat into their boarding craft.

'What on Yassacca's going on?' he exclaimed. 'Blerontinians don't just give up like that — they usually fight to our last man!' But, for good measure, he ordered another salvo of space-fire and the blackness around the mercenaries' craft exploded again with light and noise. In less time than it takes for a snork to poop on a plate, the ragtag flotilla had turned about, and with a blast of white-hot rocketry the loss adjusters' space fleet disappeared into the stars beyond the beautiful green planet of Yassacca.

At that very moment, Dan and Nettie burst onto the Captain's Bridge again.

'You should be in the cells!' snapped Bolfass,

'They shot straight at the enemy!' Corporal Inchbewigglit appeared behind them. 'That's why the mercenaries ran off!'

'We've got to do something about the bomb!' cried Nettie. 'It says this will be its last countdown,'

'That's terrible!' exclaimed Bolfass, looking very grave indeed.

'Yes! It says it will explode this time!'

'You
aimed
directly
at
the Blerontinians?'

'Isn't that what you're meant to do?' asked Nettie.

'Not it is
not
!' exclaimed Bolfass. 'We have a strict moral code! My dear lady! I'm sure you didn't mean to actually aim
at
them?'

'Well of course she did!' Dan was getting a bit short-tempered. 'It was the only way to stop them. What are we going to do about the bomb?'

'They ran off like zippo as soon as they realized Nettie was firing at them!' exclaimed Inchbewigglit enthusiastically.

'I shall have to put you all under arrest!'

'Captain Bolfass,' said Nettie in her most charming voice. 'We are ignorant of your ways on Yassacca, and can only react as Earth people, and on Earth, I'm afraid people aim to kill and maim each other. That's what weapons are for. I don't like it, but that is how it is. We didn't mean to infringe your code of honour, we just tried to save you and the Starship from the loss adjusters. Now listen…' And she flipped on the mobile phone.

'Nine hundred and twenty-two…' The bomb was still counting.

'We've got about thirteen minutes!'

'Very well,' said Bolfass, still stern-faced. 'We shall have to apologize to the Blerontinians.'

'But they were trying to kill
you
!' exclaimed Nettie.

'That is because they have no moral code that forbids them,' replied Bolfass, with undeniable logic.' I shall write the letter of apology as soon as I get a spare moment.'

'If we don't do something about the bomb,' exclaimed Dan, 'we're all of us going to be nothing
but
spare moments!'

You are right!' said Bolfass. 'I shall have it defused at once!'

Nettie insisted on being with the bomb while it was defused. 'I feel I owe it to it,' she said, when Dan tried to dissuade her. 'Besides, if it goes off, it doesn't matter whereabouts on the ship any of us are.'

The Yassaccan bomb disposal expert agreed, as he put his tool bag down beside the bomb.

'Four hundred and thirty-four…' said the bomb.

'Hi, bomb!' said Nettie.

'Four hundred and thirty-three…' said the bomb. Nettie somehow knew that it was not going to let itself be interrupted. This was the last countdown.

'How are you feeling, bomb?' Nettie asked.

'Please don't talk to it while I'm defusing it,' said the bomb-disposal expert. 'It could be dangerous.'

'Have you got enough time?' asked Dan.

'Four hundred and thirty-two…' said the bomb.

'Depends,' said the bomb disposal expert, unscrewing a metal plate from the cabinet. 'If it keeps counting at this speed I should be OK, but sometimes on the last countdown they can speed up. This is a 8D-96 Full Force Mega-Scuttler — if it were an 8G or even a 9A we'd be fine. They put a servo-control mechanism in to stop that problem. But with the 8D, well… you just never know… Ah! This seems to be all in order…'

While he had been talking the bomb-disposal expert had removed the metal plate and exposed a dull red button which read: '
DEFUSE THE BOMB'
.

'Fortunately on the 8D they still included this automatic defuser — just to make it simple for us bomb disposal experts.' He pressed the button. Immediately the bomb stopped counting. There was a pause. Then a siren went off, the red button saying '
DEFUSE THE BOMB'
lit up and started flashing, and a glass cover slid across the button, preventing anyone from touching it.

'Wait a mo…' said the bomb disposal expert. 'This doesn't seem to be quite right…'

'Congratulations!' said the bomb. You have successfully defused the 8D-96 Full Force Mega-Scuttler. The Mega-Scuttler, however, is linked into the intelligence cybersystem of this starship, and unfortunately that system is currently incomplete. The bomb has therefore gone into Default Mode. Please refer to manual.'

'Where's the manual?!' asked the bomb-disposal expert — his voice betraying an edge of what Nettie (although she desperately tried to find a more comforting word) could only categorize as 'panic'.

'You're the bomb-disposal expert,' said Dan helpfully.

Meanwhile Nettie had discovered a small booklet tucked under the bomb cabinet. She riffled through the pages.

'How to preset the timer for cooking large joints!' she read.

'That's the manual for the gas oven!' exclaimed the bomb-disposal expert, grabbing it off Nettie and starting to read it avidly. Any technical manual was of interest to a Yassaccan. It was the sort of thing in which they could always find solace and escape — especially when under pressure.

Meanwhile Dan and Nettie were scouring the Engine Room for the right manual. By the time the bomb-disposal expert said: 'Look! It has the self-cleaning function!' Dan had found the 'Easy-To-Use Manual for the 8D-96 Full Force Mega-Scuttler, Your User-Friendly Bomb' stuffed behind some water pipes.

'The 8-96 Full Force Mega-Scuttler is designed to be the Ultimate User-Friendly Exploding Device,' he read. 'All operations are simple and self-explanatory.'

'Give me that!' cried the bomb-disposal expert, snatching the manual from Dan's hands. 'Default Mode,' he read. 'Once the bomb has gone into Default Mode, as a result of an incomplete intelligence system on board ship, the following conditions will apply: You will not be able to reach the defuse button. You will not be able to touch the bomb or the bomb cabinet. You will not be able to do anything any more to the bomb. So leave it alone. D'you understand? Good. The 8D-96 Full Force Mega-Scuttler will now explode in exactly six Dormillion days from the commencement of Default Mode,'

'Shit!' said Dan.

'Shit!' said Nettie.

'Shit!' said the bomb-disposal expert.

'H
ow long
is
a Dormillion day?' It was Nettie who was first to ask the obvious question.

'Thirty-six Dormillion hours,' said the bomb-disposal expert.

'How long's a Dormillion hour?' asked Dan.

'Seventy-eight Dormillion minutes,' said the bomb-disposal expert. 'It's about… well… How can I tell you? There's no point of reference.'

The three of them thought for some time and were just about to agree that it was impossible to convey any idea of time from one star system to another, when Nettie said:

'Got it!'

I won't tell you how she worked it out, but it was pretty clever. If you can't work it out for yourself, you'll have to write to the publishers of this book for a self-explanatory leaflet entitled: 'How Nettie Worked Out The Length Of A Dormillion Day'.

'So… six Dormillion days must be roughly equivalent to ten Earth days!' said Nettie, after a few quick calculations.

'God! Nettie!' said Dan. 'You're so clever. Why didn't I think of that?'

The trio had just reported back to the Bridge of the Starship.

'How do we get it out of Default Mode?' Bolfass was questioning the bomb-disposal expert.

'Our only hope is to find the missing central core of the ship's intelligence,' said the bomb-disposal expert. 'If we can replace that, then I can probably defuse the bomb. Otherwise it'll blow in six Dormillion days.'

Bolfass turned to his assembled crew.'Men! You hear the seriousness of this situation. Our beloved home of Yassacca has been ruined by the construction of this Starship and the failure of the Blerontinians to honour their debts. We built in good faith. We put our entire way of life at risk to construct the most fabulous and beautiful starcraft the Galaxy has ever seen. The Blerontinians betrayed our trust. The only chance our world has of returning to its former prosperity is by our repossession of the
Starship Titanic
. If it is blown up by this treacherous bomb, the future of our world is grim indeed.

'Therefore I command you to search this ship again. I know we have scoured every last inch of it, but that missing central intelligence core must be on board somewhere, and we must find it…'

At this moment a scream was heard over the loudspeaker system.

'Lucy!' exclaimed Dan.

I have to explain what had happened to Lucy and The Journalist since the brief exchange of gunfire outside the Embarkation Lobby. The moment Nettie, Dan and Corporal Inchbewigglit ran after the retreating Blerontinians, The Journalist grabbed Lucy and pulled her into a side chamber off the Grand Axial Canal.

'What on Earth are you doing, The!' exclaimed Lucy, although it was pretty obvious that what The Journalist was doing was undoing the buttons of her pinstripe power-suit as fast as he possibly could, whilst at the same time apparently trying to see how far into her ear he could stick his tongue. 'The!' cried Lucy. 'Stop it!'

'No! No! No!' moaned The Journalist. 'Once we Blerontinian males have been aroused by a female, it takes us many many years — sometimes a lifetime — to get dearoused vis-à-vis that particular female.'

'What are you saying, The?' cried Lucy.

'Marry me, Lucy!' cried The Journalist, burying his face in her now exposed bra.

'Oh yes! Yes! Yes! The!' she cried.

'Squawk!' cried something else.

'We can get engaged and have a white wedding and a wedding cake and Dan can give the best man's speech and we'll have a honeymoon!' exclaimed The Journalist.

'Squawk!'

'Darling The!' cried Lucy, tears in her eyes. 'What am I doing? What am I saying?' Part of Lucy's legal training had suddenly started to reassert itself. It was something on the lines of: don't commit to anything that you may later regret. 'But I'm getting married to Dan! We're going to run a hotel! What was that squawk?'

'Squawk!' said the thing that was squawking.

'It was that!' exclaimed The Journalist, and suddenly a large parrot flew out of the dark recesses of the room and landed on The Journalist's shoulder. It was at that moment that Lucy screamed, and as she screamed, as luck would have it, she had inadvertently put her hand down on one of the ship's intercom buttons, with the result that her scream was relayed all round the
Starship Titanic
.

'Squawk!' said the parrot. 'Bloody genius!'

Back on the Captain's Bridge Bolfass pricked up his ears. 'What did that parrot say?'

'BLOODY GENIUS!' screamed the parrot over the intercom.

'Parrot!' yelled Captain Bolfass. 'What are you telling us?'

'Bloody genius!' repeated the parrot.

'PARROT!' Bolfass yelled into the intercom. 'We're looking for the missing central intelligence core for Titania's brain, do you know where it is?'

There was a silence.

'PARROT!' yelled Bolfass, but Lucy had removed her hand from the intercom button and was now using it to caress The Journalist's face as if his smooth features were a fortune-teller's crystal ball.

'Why's Captain Bolfass so interested in what a parrot says?' Nettie had turned to Corporal Inchbewigglit.

'In Yassaccan tradition,' whispered Corporal Inchbewigglit, 'parrots are the messengers of truth. We have a saying: "From the mouths of babes and parrots".'

Lucy, meanwhile, was wondering why she had said yes to everything The Journalist had just suggested. She thought she had probably made a terrible mistake, If only she could see the future in those strange orange-coloured eyes of his. 'You're crazy!' she said.

'Ohhh!' moaned The Journalist, and he chewed her bra-strap.

'Ahh!' said Lucy.

'Haaaa!' murmured The Journalist.

'Oh-uh!' replied Lucy.

'Oooooh!' he said.

'Oh! Uh! Ooh!' added Lucy.

'Ya! Ha! Haa?' asked The Journalist.

'Uh!' confirmed Lucy.

'Uh?' asked The Journalist again.

'Uh!' repeated Lucy.

'Uuuuuhh!' The Journalist was almost lost for words at this point. But Lucy carried on the conversation:

'OH!' she said.

'Ah?' He wondered how she could be so certain.

'AH!' She nodded. She was absolutely certain now. 'AH!'

And at that moment the entire company from the Captain's Bridge burst into the side chamber off the Grand Axial Canal, and stood riveted to the spot while they watched a highly qualified lawyer from Wilshire Boulevard and an underachieving member of the Blerontinian press corps doing the sort of things to each other that give inexpressible delight and pleasure to the participants, but which only tend to provoke ridicule from casual observers, and about which, therefore, I will not go into detail. Suffice it to say that the moment the Bridge party burst into the room, the parrot gave the loudest squawk it had given to date, and Lucy fell off the table onto The Journalist's face.

'LUCY!' exclaimed Dan.

'Parrot!' yelled Bolfass. 'Where is the missing intelligence core for Titania's brain?'

'Bloody Genius!' squawked the parrot.

'Don't talk rubbish!' shouted Bolfass.

'BLOODY GENIUS!' screamed the parrot.

'I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!' yelled Bolfass. It was also according to Yassaccan tradition that

parrots were supposed to answer any questions put to them.

'Squawk!'The parrot momentarily forgot its powers of speech.

'ANSWER MY QUESTION!'

'SQUAWK!'

The parrot flew off into the shadows at the further end of the chamber.

'Damn it!' Bolfass knew it was bad luck if a parrot refused to answer your question.

'I can explain everything,' Lucy was telling Dan.

'No! You can't! You can't explain ANYTHING!' screamed Dan. And Lucy suddenly thought: 'He's right!… He's absolutely RIGHT!'

'Perhaps that
is
your answer!' It was Nettie who had suddenly stepped forward and taken Captain Bolfass by the arm.

'Dear lady, it is good of you to trouble yourself with this matter, but I fear the parrot has not given any reply. I am doomed.'

'Didn't you tell me that this Starship was designed by some genius?'

'Leovinus!' exclaimed The Journalist. 'He was here on the ship when we crashed on the Earth!'

'Maybe
he
has the missing part?' It was all so clear to Nettie, although she didn't know why.

Something clicked in The Journalist's mind. 'Of course!' he exclaimed. 'When he ran off the ship — he was brandishing this glowing silver strip in his hand…'

'The central core intelligence!' exclaimed Bolfass.

'That's why it isn't on the ship?'

'So…' Captain Bolfass was putting two and two together but rather slowly.

'In order to get the missing central intelligence core for the ship's system, we've got to find this Leovinus character.' Nettie had decided to take over the deduction process. 'Leovinus is on Earth. But we can't get to the Earth because we don't know where it is, and the only way to find out where it is, is to get hold of the missing central intelligence core and refit it into Titania's brain. Gentlemen, we're screwed.'

It was then that the docking sirens sounded. The
Starship Titanic
was preparing itself for landing on the planet of Yassacca.