Within a few seconds the face of Gag Halfrunt appeared on the screen, smiling the smile of a man who knew he was ten light years away from the Vogon face he was looking at. Mixed up somewhere in the smile was a glint of irony too. Though the Vogon persistently referred to him as “my private brain care specialist” there was not a lot of brain to take care of, and it was in fact Halfrunt who was employing the Vogon. He was paying him an awful lot of money to do some very dirty work. As one of the Galaxy’s most prominent and successful psychiatrists, he and a consortium of his colleagues were quite prepared to spend an awful lot of money when it seemed that the entire future of psychiatry might be at stake.
“Well,” he said, “hello my Captain of Vogons Prostetnic, and how are we feeling today?”
The Vogon captain told him that in the last few hours he had wiped out nearly half his crew in a disciplinary exercise.
Halfrunt’s smile did not flicker for an instant.
“Well,” he said, “I think this is perfectly normal behaviour for a Vogon, you know? The natural and healthy channelling of the aggressive instincts into acts of senseless violence.”
“That,” rumbled the Vogon, “is what you always say.”
“Well again,” said Halfrunt, “I think that this is perfectly normal behaviour for a psychiatrist. Good. We are clearly both very well adjusted in our mental attitudes today. Now tell me, what news of the mission?”
“We have located the ship.”
“Wonderful,” said Halfrunt, “wonderful! and the occupants?”
“The Earthman is there.”
“Excellent! And…?”
“A female from the same planet. They are the last.”
“Good, good,” beamed Halfrunt, “Who else?”
“The man Prefect.”
“Yes?”