Douglas Adams - Starship Titanic

by Starship Titanic [lit]

  'Sounds feasible,' said Assmal, the other Yassaccan commander, who up to this point had been doing fantastically well at the Tetris game.

  'Very well!' said Bolfass. 'We will search the ship from prow to keel. Those parts must be found or we will never get Nettie back to her own planet. Indeed, we will find it hard enough to limp back to Yassacca as it is!'

  'I think we can make it, Captain!' said Rodden, the navigational engineer. 'We are in the Starius Zone E-D 3278 of the Praxima-Betril Section of the Inner Galaxy.

  I can get us home by dead reckoning, so long as Assmal can get manual control of the ship's power.'

  Assmal nodded. 'I have control now of enough functions to be able to steer. But it will be a long trip - several hours at least.'

  And so, the great Starship Titanic turned its vast bulk in the star-bright darkness of space and began its weary journey back to the planet of Yassacca.

  21

  The search for the missing parts of the Starship's brain proved more difficult than anyone could have anticipated. This was mainly owing to the fact that the ship's robots were becoming increasingly eccentric in their behaviour. The Doorbots were beginning to hallucinate - opening the doors for non-existent First Class Passengers' pets and being charming to waste-disposal units. The Liftbots had gone into a permanent decline, convinced that the only way to avoid the end of civilization as they knew it was to eat less protein. The Dustbots kept dashing out from the skirting and depositing on the floor bits of fluff large enough to trip everyone up.

  But the biggest problem was in the main bar of the ship, where the Barbot was trapped in some strange cyberpsychotic loop, despite the fact that they could all clearly see a piece of Titania's brain amongst the coloured glasses and bottles on the shelf behind him.

  'Yes yes sir! Jiff be with you... Cock this tail mix, have you just, sir...' The Barbot veered between the charmingly incomprehensible and belligerently drunk.

  'Just give us that piece of cyberware on the shelf there...' tried Corporal Golholiwol. But the Barbot simply bit his nose. 'Ow!' cried Corporal Golholiwol.

  Every attempt to climb over the bar and get at the object was met with a surprising show of force from the Barbot, and the peace-loving Yassaccans were forced into retreat.

  By the time all but one of the missing parts were eventually located, the Starship Titanic was within sight of the planet Yassacca.

  Returning home was always the Jailer's favourite thing in life. Soon he would have his feet up beside a blazing hearth. A jug of Old-Fashioned Beer would be in his hand, and his family would be running here and there preparing the evening meal or playing games on the porch in the setting sun.

  He was therefore whistling a rather jolly tune as he unlocked the cell door and indicated to Dan that he was a free man.

  Had Dan been more musical, he would have recognized the Jailer's tune as none other than 'Mademoiselle from Armentiers' - a French tune popular during the First World War. The reason why the Jailer came to be whistling it is not unconnected to the smuggling of French champagne to Blerontin via the time-warp previously mentioned. For, if the truth were known, the Jailer was none other than Corporal Pillwiddlipillipitit - the notorious smuggler and leader of the infamous Pillwiddlipillipitit Gang, which was one of the unpleasant manifestations of organized crime that had sprung up since the ruin of the Yassaccan economy. Pillwiddlipillipitit had disguised himself as an ordinary corporal in the Yassaccan spacefleet, in order to reconnoitre the Starship Titanic for possible plunder at a later date. But that is another story.

  The moment he was free, Dan made a beeline for Lucy, who was standing on the Captain's Bridge with The Journalist and Nettie, watching the great globe of the approaching planet, through the window.

  'Lucy!' he whispered. 'Can we go and talk somewhere private?'

  'Not now!' Lucy whispered back. 'Look! Isn't that the most amazing sight you've ever seen?'

  'It reminds me of your breasts,' murmured The Journalist. Dan fought back an urge to kill The Journalist on the spot, and, instead, grabbed Lucy by the arm and dragged her to the other end of the Bridge.

  'You suggested it! He said you did!' Dan was trying to sound more indignant and accusing than plaintive but it was coming out more like a total and utter whinge.

  'Dan! It wa sjust a weak moment...'

  'Why have you never had any "weak moments" with me? In the thirteen years...'

  'Just what the hell are you talking about, Dan? We have a great sex-life - don't we?' Lucy was getting mad at him.

  'Well...yes...It's just..'

  'You're just so goddamned jealous! You think I'm screwing every man who finds me attractive!'

  'I never said that!' As usual, Dan could feel the conversation spiralling out of his control. As it happened, however, he was rescued from the inevitable dialectical humiliation by a remarkable and dangerous turn of events that was to alter the whole course of this story.

  Bolfass had been pointing out the continents and countries of Yassacca to Nettie. He felt his heart beating fast - partly with the pride he felt in his own world but more because Nettie had taken hold of his arm and was gazing out beside him in wonder and admiration. Bolfass could have practically swooned on the spot. He could smell the scent of that beautiful creature beside him, he could feel the gentle touch of her soft hands upon his arm, and he could feel her heart beating behind her firm breast close against him. Bolfass hardly knew what he was saying.

  'And there, dear lady, you can see the Ocean of Summer-Plastering. That is the Land known as Finepottery, oh! And over there, dear lady, if you were to turn your eyes you could see my own country: Carpenters Islands. It is a fine place, peopled by noble craftsmen and technicians of the highest calibre. Or at least... it was before...' Bolfass's voice seemed to crack so that Nettie glanced down at him - his rugged features were clouded by a furrow of sadness.

  'Before what, Captain Bolfäss?' Nettie asked softly.

  'Ah, Nettie, I don't want to burden you with the problems of our world,' replied the gallant Captain.

  'I should like to know.' Nettie took the Captain's hand in hen and stroked it gently, and I think the good Captain would have fainted then and there for sheer pleasure had not a movement around the perimeter of the planet distracted him.

  'Rodden! What's that?' Bolfass had suddenly become tense.

  The Navigational Officer peered into the distant haze around Yassacca. He put his bino-focals to his eyes and an involuntary gasp escaped him.

  'Blerontinians!' he murmured.

  Bolfass grabbed the bino-focals. Yes! He could see clearly a whole fleet of fighter spaceships with Blerontinian registration plates, but no other markings. They were clearly not official Blerontin Space fleet.

  'Mercenaries!' muttered Assmal.

  'They mean trouble!' said Yellin.

  'Quick!' yelled Bolfass, 'Every man to arms! And turn off the SD feature. We shall shoot real ammunition!'

  There was a buzz amongst the Yassaccans as they leapt into action, grabbing weapons and racing to predetermined positions. The idea of firing real ammunition instead of Simulated Destruction charges was both exciting and terrifying to them. Of course, they had used live ammo when they first attacked the Starship, but that was just against an inanimate object - this time they would he firing at living targets. Naturally they wouldn't aim directly at the enemy, that went without saying, but there would be a lot of exciting repair work to look forward to!

  Bolfass's face suddenly darkened, and he turned gravely to Nettie. 'Nettie!' he said. 'I am so sorry to do this, and I hope you will be able to forgive me, but I must regretfully ask you and your friends to retire to a safe quarter, whilst we are engaged with the enemy.'

  While Bolfass had been saying this, the Blerontinian mercenaries had streaked (at just under light-speed) up to the Starship, and had now surrounded it. There must have been fifty or sixty craft - a typical rag-bag assortment of spaceships converted to military use. Such ad-hoc fleets had bec
ome a familiar sight in the space-skies around this sector of the Galaxy, ever since the breakdown of economic co-operation between worlds and the destabilisation of the Inter-Galactic Security Council.

  Suddenly a harsh voice boomed out over the Starship's loudspeaker system: 'This is the official spacefleet of the Magna-Corps Insurance Company of Blerontin. We are acting under licence and according to Blerontinian Law on behalf of the Loss Adjustors appointed to liquidate the remaining assets of the Star-Struct Construction Company, Starship Titanic Holdings Ltd. and Starlight Travel Inc. as per the insurance schedule para 6 sub-section 3. On behalf of the above-named Insurance Company, we hereby repossess this Starship as lawful property of the said Insurance Company. Please leave quietly and in an orderly fashion.'

  'Snork piddlers!' yelled Bolfass. He knew how to work the ship's communication systems, and his voice rang round the mercenaries' spacecraft so loudly they could hear it from the Starship. 'We built this ship! We lavished our care and craftsmanship on it without stint and without grudge! We bought the finest materials and ran into debt trying to meet the wonderfully high specifications ordered by Mr Leovinus. We were never paid a penny. Then, when the construction was taken from us, we and our families were faced with poverty and hunger. This ship is ours by every moral right in the Galaxy. What is more we claim it by right of salvage! We found it, and we have brought it hack to its rightful place! Go suck yourselves!'

  Even as he spoke, four of the mercenary boarding-craft clanged into the side of the Starship. Grappling irons were attached to the hull and the airlocks of the Titanic were broached from the outside.

  At the same moment the air around the mercenaries burst into light and smoke and noise, as the Yassaccans launched a furious counter-attack.

  All this while, Nettie, Dan, Lucy and The Journalist had found themselves back under arrest and being hurried towards the cells by half a dozen agitated Yassaccan guards. They were about halfway along the Grand Axial Canal when an advance patrol of Blerontinian mercenaries suddenly burst out of the Embarkation Lobby and opened fire. The three Earth people and The Journalist threw themselves onto the floor, but the Yassaccans, used as they were to SD weapons, hesitated for a second and in that second they lost it. Corporal Inchbewigglit and Corporal Razitinker-Rigipitil made it to the deck but Corporals Yarktak, Bunzlywotter, Tidoloft and Forzab received direct hits. They clutched their chests and their weapons clattered to the floor.

  Nettie was the first to throw herself onto one of the fallen weapons and without hesitation she turned it on the mercenaries. Considering she had never even handled a shotgun, back on Earth, Nettie seemed to master the Yassaccan 'blaster' with remarkable ease. It seemed obvious to her where to hold it, and she'd noticed the trigger just below one of the firing chambers. She aimed it, squeezed the trigger, flame blasted out of the barrels and two mercenaries fell to the ground.

  'No! No!' yelled Corporal Inchbewigglit in alarm. 'Aim above their heads!'

  'Not on your life!' yelled Nettie, and brought down another Blerontinian. By this time Lucy, Dan and The Journalist had each grabbed hold of another of the spare weapons and started blasting away at their attackers.

  Their Yassaccan guards were clearly shocked. The Blerontinians, for their part, were taken totally by surprise. They were used to standing up to the fury of Yassaccan SD guns, and - in extreme circumstances - they were used to Yassaccans firing over their heads with real weapons. But this was something new! It was also very alarming! The few Blerontinians who remained standing looked at their fallen comrades, they looked back at their adversaries who even now were blasting straight at them, and - without waiting for another volley to hit them - they turned and fled.

  The Yassaccan guards were flabbergasted. Never, in the history of their nations, had Blerontinians fled before Yassaccan gunfire!

  Nettie, meanwhile, had raced forwards to the doors of the Embarkation Lobby. There she continued to blast away at the retreating Blerontinians - this time firing above their heads. But the mercenaries were in no mood to stick around to see what she was aiming at - they were already back in the airlock and had slammed the door shut.

  'Mind the paintwork!' gasped Corporal Inchbewigglit.

  'Well done!' cried Dan, who had just reached Nettie, She was breathing hard and Dan could feel the heat coming off her body as he stood close behind her. Suddenly she span round.

  'Oh my God! The bomb!' she exclaimed and pulled the mobile phone from her pocket.

  'Two...' said the bomb. 'One... '

  'Hi, bomb! It's Nettie!'

  'Hi, Nettie...'

  'Are you all right, bomb?'

  There was silence. For a moment, Dan thought they'd lost it.

  'Bomb? Are you there, bomb?' Nettie called into the phone. But still the bomb didn't reply.

  'Bomb!' Dan had grabbed the phone.

  'Oh! Of course! Let the man do it!' said Nettie.

  'Bomb? Are you there?' Dan wasn't listening to Nettie. 'Speak to me!'

  'I was speaking to Nettie,' said the bomb in a sulky voice.

  'Oh,' said Dan and handed the phone back to Nettie. 'Sorry,' he whispered.

  'This is Nettie,' said Nettie into the phone. Again the bomb remained silent. 'Bomb?' she repeated.

  Again silence.

  'Bomb!' a note of urgency had crept into Nettie's voice. 'Speak to me!'

  Then the bomb spoke... very quietly... 'I'm a Mega-Scuttler...' it said.

  'Is that your name?' asked Nettie.

  'Yes,' said the bomb. 'I'm a bomb.'

  'I know you are,' replied Nettie.

  'I like hearing your voice, Nettie,' said the bomb.

  'I like hearing yours, bomb,' replied Nettie.

  'You're not... just saying that?'

  'No, I'm not. For an electronic voice you have a very soft one. It's nice.' For a moment Nettie thought the bomb was crying; 'Won't you start counting down again for me?'

  'If you'd really like me to,' said the bomb.

  'Yes,' said Nettie.

  'Very well,' said the bomb. 'I'll count - just for you, Nettie. But this is the last time. One thousand... Nine hundred and ninety-nine...'

  Nettie had been so intent upon her purpose of stopping the bomb that she hadn't realized how terrified she'd been, but the next moment she found out, her knees gave way, and she fell into Dan's arms that were suddenly there to catch her.

  Bolfass stood on the Captain's Bridge of the Starship Titanic and could not believe his eyes, as he watched the Blerontinian mercenaries beat a retreat into their boarding craft.

  'What on Yassacca's going on?' he exclaimed. 'Blerontinians don't just give up like that - they usually fight to our last man!' But, for good measure, he ordered another salvo of space-fire and the blackness around the mercenaries' craft exploded again with light and noise. In less time than it takes for a snork to poop on a plate, the rag-tag flotilla had turned about, and with a blast of white-hot rocketry the loss adjustors' spacefleet disappeared into the stars beyond the beautiful green planet of Yassacca.

  At that very moment, Dan and Nettie burst onto the Captain's Bridge again.

  'You should be in the cells!' snapped Bolfass,

  'They shot straight at the enemy!' Corporal Inchbewigglit appeared behind them. 'That's why the mercenaries ran off!'

  'We've got to do something about the bomb!' cried Nettie. 'It says this will be its last countdown,'

  'That's terrible!' exclaimed Bolfass, looking very grave indeed.

  'Yes! It says it will explode this time!'

  'You aimed directly at the Blerontinians?'

  'Isn't that what you're meant to do?' asked Nettie.

  'Not it is not!' exclaimed Bollass. 'We have a strict moral code! My dear lady! I'm sure you didn't mean to actually aim at them?'

  'Well of course she did!' Dan was getting a bit short-tempered. 'It was the only way to stop them. What are we going to do about the bomb?'

  'They ran off like zippo as soon as they realized Nettie was
firing at them!' exclaimed Inchbewigglit enthusiastically.

  'I shall have to put you all under arrest!'

  'Captain Bolfass,' said Nettie in her most charming voice. 'We are ignorant of your ways on Yassacca, and can only react as Earth people, and on Earth, I'm afraid people aim to kill and maim each other. That's what weapons are for. I don't like it - but that is how it is. We didn't mean to infringe your code of honour - we just tried to save you and the Starship from the loss adjustors. Now listen...' And she flipped on the mobile phone.

  'Nine hundred and twenty-two...' The bomb was still counting.

  'We've got about thirteen minutes!'

  'Very well,' said Bolfass, still stern-faced. 'We shall have to apologize to the Blerontinians.'

  'But they were trying to kill you!' exclaimed Nettie.

  'That is because they have no moral code that forbids them,' replied Bolfass, with undeniable logic. 'I shall write the letter of apology as soon as I get a spare moment.'

  'If we don't do something about the bomb,' exclaimed Dan, 'we're all of us going to be nothing but spare moments!'

  You are right!' said Bolfass. 'I shall have it defused at once!'

  Nettie insisted on being with the bomb while it was defused. 'I feel I owe it to it,' she said, when Dan tried to dissuade her. 'Besides, if it goes off, it doesn't matter whereabouts on the ship any of us are.'

  The Yassaccan bomb disposal expert agreed, as he put his tool bag down beside the bomb.

  'Four hundred and thirty-four...' said the bomb.

  'Hi, bomb!' said Nettie.

  'Four hundred and thirty-three...' said the bomb. Nettie somehow knew that it was not going to let itself be interrupted. This was the last countdown.

  'How are you feeling, bomb?' Nettie asked.

  'Please don't talk to it while I'm defusing it,' said the bomb disposal expert. 'It could be dangerous.'

  'Have you got enough time?' asked Dan. 'Four hundred and thirty-two...' said the bomb. 'Depends,' said the bomb disposal expert, unscrewing a metal plate from the cabinet 'If it keeps counting at this speed I should be OK, but sometimes on the last countdown they can speed up. This is a 8D-96 Full Force Mega-Scuttler - if it were an 8G or even a 9A we'd be fine. They put a servo-control mechanism in to stop that problem. But with the SD, well... you just never know... Ah! This seems to be all in order...'