Chapter 7

The Question

"Proceed where?" asked Ford, getting up. "Oh, hi Zaphod; Arthur." The green-skinned man looked confused. "I'm not proceeding anywhere," he said.

"Well, how can you be proceeding, then?" asked Trillian, also getting up. The man gave her a look of deep dislike. "Anyway," he said.

"No, seriously," said Trillian, "don't you have to be moving to proceed?"

"Anyway," said the man, glaring so hard at her that his monocle fell out.

"I just ask," said Trillian, "because—"

"Do you want to die in an unnecessarily painful and bloody manner?!" screamed the man.

"Not particularly," said Trillian.

"Then be quiet and allow me to explain."

"Explain what?"

"What I would explain if you would all just shut up and allow me to get started!"

"Oh." Trillian thought about this for a bit. "Okay."

"Thank you. My name," began the green-skinned man, "is Zaklion Tragliole." He was cut off by a roar of laughter from Zaphod that was hastily turned into a coughing fit. "Is there," he asked, "something amusing about my name?"

"Well, no, not really," said Zaphod, trying to breathe. "It's just that… well… Zaklion Tragliole? What did you ever do to piss your parents off like that?" Zaklion's expression darkened. Ford tugged Zaphod's sleeve. "He's a Naufrag," he hissed.

"How does that excuse him?"

"They don't have parents," Ford said. "They reproduce by…" he broke off, looked dubiously at Arthur and Trillian, and whispered something in Zaphod's ear. "Really?" asked Zaphod. "That doesn't sound likely." Ford whispered something else. Zaphod paled. "How many legs?"

"Amusing as this undoubtedly is," said Zaklion, "may we get back to the point? And incidentally, you have little right to accuse me of having an odd name when you're called Zaphod Beeblebrox."

"What's wrong with Zaphod Beeblebrox?" asked Zaphod, instantly defensive.

"What's wrong with Zaklion Tragliole?"

"Well, for a start—" said Zaphod, displaying a lack of regard for irony that would have caused a Llaculian, a race known for their staggering bluntness, to bow down in awe. Ford hit him upside the head before he could cause a major galactic conflict.

"Anyway," said Zaklion, with great self-control, "as I was saying, now that you are all here, I may explain the purpose for which I have gathered you. Since, my earliest days, I have been engaged in a quest to discover the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything."

"Yeah, us too," muttered Trillian.

"After much deciphering of ancient texts, consulting the wisdom of the latest cyber-philosophers and drinking Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters on desert islands, I discovered the location of said Question, and accordingly, set out to capture it. I hired the Imarwanien Official Scout Force for this purpose, but sadly, you evaded them at every turn. I'd imagine that they have quite a vendetta against you by now. I'll admit that blowing up the Star Federation was a nice touch."

"See!" said Zaphod. "He managed to find the question by getting drunk somewhere sunny! Why couldn't we have done that?"

"Ssh!" hissed everyone else.

"The Question," announced Zaklion impressively, "is there."

There was a short, shocked silence. Then Ford spoke. "No, no, no," he said reassuringly, "that's Zaphod Beeblebrox. I'll admit it's an easy mistake to make if you're not too clear about the precise nature of the Question and have, perhaps, had one too many Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters, but—"

"Not him, you fool!" interrupted Zaklion. "In his pocket!"

Very slowly, Zaphod reached into his pocket and pulled out the laser pistol from the Imarwanien ship.

"It so happens," explained Zaklion, "that the particular quantum wavelengths encoding the Question resolve every fifteen thousand millennia, and that they are always encoded to a specific individual. The individual this time just happened to be your monkey." He pointed at Arthur, who began to protest loudly.

"But," objected Trillian, who had been listening carefully, "if these wavelengths are encoded to Arthur, why did the gun – I mean, the Question – turn up in Zaphod's pocket?"

"Most likely because manifesting in the ape's pocket would be considerably detrimental to its continued wellbeing?" said Zaklion, regarding Arthur's much-bespattered dressing gown unfavourably. Arthur's dressing gown was a law unto itself, an entity so grimy and coated with the effluvia of several different galaxies and centuries that it had practically become sentient. Zaklion eyed it warily. It eyed him back, considering whether or not it would help the situation to eat him. Eventually it decided against it and merely emitted a low growl before settling back down for a short nap. This was a dressing gown with priorities.

While Arthur was busy being indignant, Ford, Trillian and Zaphod examined the laser pistol. There wasn't a lot to examine. A perfectly standard barrel, a perfectly standard trigger, a mildly sub-standard nuclear fission compression chamber. It certainly didn't look like the Ultimate Question. "So," asked Ford, voicing everyone's doubts, "if this is the manifestation of the Question, how do we get the Question itself out?"

There followed a selection of interesting ideas, ranging from the logical (just fire it) to the Zaphod (set Marvin on Zaklion and run for it while he's occupied, commandeer the nearest ship and travel to Kelphagus Minor under assumed names, whereupon we sell the gun to the highest bidder and get very, very drunk on the proceeds). The only real objection to this last plan was that the merchants of Kelphagus Minor, none of whom were born yesterday, would dismiss out of hand such truthful and plausible claims as a couple of miscreants, one of whom happens to be the President of the Galaxy, having the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything. Which was very disobliging of them, but such is life. In fact, they had just about decided to try making a run for it, using Marvin as cover, when there was a polite 'a-hem' sound from behind them. They looked up. They were surrounded by Zaklion's rhinoceros guards, and Zaklion himself was pointing an extremely large and dangerous-looking laser blaster at them. It had a slight resemblance to Zaphod's pistol, but only in the way that the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal resembles an average cockroach.

"Hand over the Question," said Zaklion, "and no-one gets hurt."