“Zaphod Beeblebrox the Fourth. Concentrate!”
“The Fourth?”
“Yeah. Listen, I’m Zaphod Beeblebrox, my father was Zaphod Beeblebrox the Second, my grandfather Zaphod Beeblebrox the Third…”
“What?”
“There was an accident with a contraceptive and a time machine. Now concentrate!”
“Three minutes,” said Ford Prefect.
“Why,” said Arthur Dent, “are we doing this?”
“Shut up,” suggested Zaphod Beeblebrox.
Trillian said nothing. What, she thought, was there to say?
The only light on the bridge came from two dim red triangles in a far corner where Marvin the Paranoid Android sat slumped, ignoring all and ignored by all, in a private and rather unpleasant world of his own.
Round the central console four figures hunched in tight concentration trying to blot from their minds the terrifying shuddering of the ship and the fearful roar that echoed through it.
They concentrated.
Still they concentrated.
And still they concentrated.
The seconds ticked by.