Chapter 7
Marvin stood at the end of the bridge corridor. He was not in fact a particularly small robot. His silver body gleamed in the dusty sunbeams and shook with the continual barrage which the building was still undergoing.
He did, however, look pitifully small as the gigantic black tank rolled to a halt in front of him. The tank examined him with a probe. The probe withdrew.
Marvin stood there.
“Out of my way little robot,” growled the tank.
“I’m afraid,” said Marvin, “that I’ve been left here to stop you.”
The probe extended again for a quick recheck. It withdrew again.
“You? Stop me?” roared the tank. “Go on!”
“No, really I have,” said Marvin simply.
“What are you armed with?” roared the tank in disbelief.
“Guess,” said Marvin.
The tank’s engines rumbled, its gears ground. Molecule-sized electronic relays deep in its micro-brain flipped backwards and forwards in consternation.
“Guess?” said the tank.
Zaphod and the as yet unnamed man lurched up one corridor, down a second and along a third. The building continued to rock and judder and this puzzled Zaphod. If they wanted to blow the building up, why was it taking so long?
With difficulty they reached one of a number of totally anonymous unmarked doors and heaved at it. With a sudden jolt it opened and they fell inside.
All this way, thought Zaphod, all this trouble, all this not-lying-on-the-beach-having-a-wonderful-time, and for what? A single chair, a single desk and a single dirty ashtray in an undecorated office. The desk, apart from a bit of dancing dust and single, revolutionary form of paper clip, was empty.
“Where,” said Zaphod, “is Zarniwoop?” feeling that his already tenuous grasp of the point of this whole exercise was beginning to slip.
“He’s on an intergalactic cruise,” said the man.