At that same precise moment, Ford Prefect was in mid air. This was not because of anything wrong with the ship’s artificial gravity field, but because he was leaping down the stair-well which led to the ship’s personal cabins. It was a very high jump to do in one bound and he landed awkwardly, stumbled, recovered, raced down the corridor sending a couple of miniature service robots flying, skidded round the corner, burst into Zaphod’s door and explained what was on his mind.
“Vogons,” he said.
A short while before this, Arthur Dent had set out from his cabin in search of a cup of tea. It was not a quest he embarked upon with a great deal of optimism., because he knew that the only source of hot drinks on the entire ship was a benighted piece of equipment produced by the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation. It was called a Nutri-Matic Drinks Synthesizer, and he had encountered it before.
It claimed to produce the widest possible range of drinks personally matched to the tastes and metabolism of whoever cared to use it. When put to the test, however, it invariably produced a plastic cup filled with a liquid that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea.
He attempted to reason with the thing.
“Tea,” he said.
“Share and Enjoy,” the machine replied and provided him with yet another cup of the sickly liquid.
He threw it away.