Chapter 9
Arthur felt at a bit of a loss. There was a whole Galaxy of stuff out there for him, and he wondered if it was churlish of him to complain to himself that it lacked just two things: the world he was born on and the woman he loved.
Damn it and blast it, he thought, and felt the need of some guidance and advice. He consulted the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He looked up `guidance' and it said `See under ADVICE'. He looked up `advice' and it said `see under GUIDANCE'. It had been doing a lot of that kind of stuff recently and he wondered if it was all it was cracked up to be.
He headed to the outer Eastern Rim of the Galaxy where, it was said, wisdom and truth were to be found, most particularly on the planet Hawalius, which was a planet of oracles and seers and soothsayers and also take-away pizza shops, because most mystics were completely incapable of cooking for themselves.
However it appeared that some sort of calamity had befallen this planet. As Arthur wandered the streets of the village where the major prophets lived, it had something of a crestfallen air. He came across one prophet who was clearly shutting up shop in a despondent kind of way and asked him what was happening.
`No call for us any more,' he said gruffly as he started to bang a nail into the plank he was holding across the window of his hovel.
`Oh? Why's that?'
`Hold on to the other end of this and I'll show you.'
Arthur held up the unnailed end of the plank and the old prophet scuttled into the recesses of his hovel, returning a moment or two later with a small Sub-Etha radio. He turned it on, fiddled with the dial for a moment and put the thing on the small wooden bench that he usually sat and prophesied on. He then took hold of the plank again and resumed hammering.
Arthur sat and listened to the radio.
`...be confirmed,' said the radio.
`Tomorrow,' it continued, `the Vice-President of Poffla Vigus, Roopy Ga Stip, will announce that he intends to run for President. In a speech he will give tomorrow at...'
`Find another channel,' said the prophet. Arthur pushed the preset button.
`...refused to Comment,' said the radio. `Next week's jobless totals in the Zabush sector, it continued, `will be the worst since records began. A report published next month says...'
`Find another,' barked the prophet, crossly. Arthur pushed the button again.
`...denied it categorically,' said the radio. `Next month's Royal Wedding between Prince Gid of the Soofling Dynasty and Princess Hooli of Raui Alpha will be the most spectacular ceremony the Bjanjy Territories has ever witnessed. Our reporter Trillian Astra is there and sends us this report.'
Arthur blinked.
The sound of cheering crowds and a hubbub of brass bands erupted from the radio. A very familiar voice said, `Well Krart, the scene here in the middle of next month is absolutely incredible. Princess Hooli is looking radiant in a...'
The prophet swiped the radio off the bench and on to the dusty ground, where it squawked like a badly tuned chicken.
`See what we have to contend with?' grumbled the prophet.
`Here, hold this. Not that, this. No, not like that. This way up. Other way round, you fool.'
`I was listening to that,' complained Arthur, grappling helplessly with the prophet's hammer.
`So does everybody. That's why this place is like a ghost town.' He spat into the dust.
`No, I mean, that sounded like someone I knew.'
`Princess Hooli? If I had to stand around saying hello to everybody who's known Princess Hooli I'd need a new set of lungs.'
`Not the Princess,' said Arthur. `The reporter. Her name's Trillian. I don't know where she got the Astra from. She's from the same planet as me. I wondered where she'd got to.'
`Oh, she's all over the continuum these days. We can't get the tri-d TV stations out here of course, thank the Great Green Arkleseizure, but you hear her on the radio, gallivanting here and there through space/time. She wants to settle down and find herse…