“But what’s he doing here?”
Ford peered through the top at the figure within.“Not a lot,” he said, and suddenly flashed one of those grins of his which always made people think he’d been overdoing things recently and should try to get some rest. He scampered over to another sarcophagus. A moment’s brisk towel work and he announced:
“This one’s a dead hairdresser. Hoopy!”
The next sarcophagus revealed itself to be the last resting place of an advertising account executive; the one after that contained a second-hand car salesman, third class.
An inspection hatch let into the floor suddenly caught Ford’s attention, and he squatted down to unfasten it, thrashing away at the clouds of freezing gas that threatened to envelope him.
A thought occurred to Arthur.
“If these are just coffins,” he said, “Why are they kept so cold?”
“Or, indeed, why are they kept anyway,” said Ford tugging the hatchway open. The gas poured down through it. “Why in fact is anyone going to all the trouble and expense of carting five thousand dead bodies through space?”
“Ten thousand,” said Arthur, pointing at the archway through which the next chamber was dimly visible.
Ford stuck his head down through the floor hatchway. He looked up again.
“Fifteen thousand,” he said, “there’s another lot down there.”
“Fifteen million,” said a voice.
“That’s a lot,” said Ford, “A lot a lot.”