That would destroy the Universe in toto, added Marvin. Good idea, if you ask me. They won’t get it to work, though.
Why not, if it’s so brilliant?
It’s brilliant, said Marvin, they’re not. They got as far as designing it before they were locked in the envelope. They’ve spent the last five years building it. They think they’ve got it right but they haven’t. They’re as stupid as any other organic life form. I hate them.
Trillian was continuing.
Zaphod tried to pull the Krikkit robot away by its leg, but it kicked and growled at him, and then quaked with a fresh outburst of sobbing. Then suddenly it slumped over and continued to express its feelings out of everybody’s way on the floor.
Trillian was standing alone in the middle of the chamber tired out but with fiercely burning eyes.
Ranged in front of her were the pale-faced and wrinkled Elder Masters of Krikkit, motionless behind their widely curved control desk, staring at her with helpless fear and hatred.
In front of them, equidistant between their control desk and the middle of the chamber, where Trillian stood, as if on trial, was a slim white pillar about four feet tall. On top of it stood a small white globe, about three, maybe four inches in diameter.
In fact, explained Trillian, you are so dumb stupid (She was sweating. Zaphod felt that this was an unattractive thing for her to be doing at this point) you are all so dumb stupid that I doubt, I very much doubt, that you’ve been able to build the bomb properly without any help from Hactar for the last five years.
Who’s this guy Hactar? said Zaphod, squaring his shoulders.
If Marvin replied, Zaphod didn’t hear him. All his attention was concentrated on the screen.
One of the Elders of Krikkit made a small motion with his hand towards the Krikkit robot. The robot raised his club.
There’s nothing I can do, said Marvin. It’s on an independent circuit from the others.
Wait, said Trillian.