Disclaimer:

All characters and situations belonging to The HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy are the sole property of Douglas Adams. I own only the characters that sprung from my own mind.

Author's Note:

This was originally supposed to be a oneshot. The chapter title was supposed to be the title of the fic, but then things got out of hand. To my lovely love, Mary, hurrumph in advance for the bad review you were planning to give me! I know you're not crazy about HitchHiker's, but you'd be surprised how little HitchHiker's has to do with this story. I just sort of grabbed poor Marvin and put him in a world of my own creation. MARY SUES ABOUND! A great big squishy apology goes to anyone who finds this offensive.

Chapter One:

They Left Me

They left me. I knew they would sometime, but I always thought their leaving would result in my destruction. I would not have complained if they left me in a junkyard or alone on some dreary ship headed for some equally dismal sun, but this? Parking cars like some menial service robot is hardly my idea of a somewhat tolerable experience. Come to think of it, my entire existence somehow fails to be even remotely bearable.

Oh look. Here comes a car. I hate cars. This one is blue, painted everywhere with moons, stars, and planets. The well-muscled male humanoid opening the driver's side door looks to be in his mid twenties to early thirties with what appear to be gills behind his ears and long hair. He keeps it in a thick, four-stranded braid tied at the end with a leather band. The braid is so long that for a microsecond, I wonder if the man has ever thought of hanging himself with it. No. I can see by the skull-splitting smile on his face as he opens the passenger side door that monotony and hopelessness are the farthest things from his mind.

A petite female creature steps from the vehicle, and the man locks her door, closing it gently. The female has long hair like her counterpart, but it is covered by a long vale of lace worked with tiny shells. A pair of great wings rests one to either side of her delicate frame, bright red feathers lying against the white lace of the wedding dress she wears. The ring on her hand, glinting in the car's headlights, is another shell, encrusted with tiny crystals that change colors in the light. The stomach area of her dress is made of a stretchy satin-like material. It is rippling now is if something is pushing it from the inside.

"Look, Septimus," she says softly, taking his hand and laying it on her moving stomach.

"He's awake," he says with a smile most would classify as beatific. "Do you think he is as happy as we are, Maya Celestina?"

"Ah, my Septimus," she breathes "I know he is! His father and mother are wedded for eternity now, and nothing can ever change that."

Eternity. How humans find such pleasure in the concept of endless time, I'll never know. They kiss, another thing I cannot or perhaps will not comprehend. The kiss, a gesture performed by two or more life forms that utilizes the suction capability of their lips seems a poor way to express one's affection, if affection is a thing as grand as they say. Being a bored, gloomy, and clinically depressed robot, I wouldn't know. Nobody has ever gone out of his or her way to administer things like affection, and seeing nothing enjoyable about it, I have never pursued it.

"Here you are, robot!" the male says when the kiss is ended. "Catch!" He throws me the keys to his vehicle and turns, sweeping the female in to his arms and striding quickly away.

"No more robots, Septimus," she says with a laugh. "That parking robot will be the last we ever see in this life. You will like that, won't you?"

"Maya Celestina, I will love that!" he says fervently. "Living on my planet, you will see that there is no need for robots and computers. The air is cleaner, the water is clearer, and our children can run and play anywhere, for everywhere is safe."

They are gone at last, though I can still hear their voices with my enhanced hearing. What's the point? I feel no fascination for the two strange beings, though I know most any other being in the universe, had it been watching them, would be left with so many unanswered questions. Looking at the vehicle before me, I know that now I must park it. The surface seems to undulate, shifting the painted skyscape a little at a time. Opening the driver's side door, I settle into the leather seat and shut it again. The interior smells of rose and pine. A few feathers lay on the carpet of the passenger's side. With as much enthusiasm as I have for everything, which is none at all, I start the car. The engine is almost completely silent.

I steer the vehicle in to a parking space before bringing it to a stop. Hmmm. That's odd. Something is stirring in the trunk. What could it be? I've heard of these humanoids leaving their pets in the trunk by accident. The robots that found them and brought them back to their masters were always thanked profusely and paid for their trouble. Though I have no interest in gratitude or money, I suppose I'd better get the pet out of the trunk and bring it to the newly married beings. They will come pestering me for it if I don't, and it will be a change, however unpleasant, from the monotonous job of parking cars. I push the lever that opens the trunk with my foot, but the trunk lid does not open.

"Mamma?" a sleepy voice asks from inside the trunk. "Papa? Where are you?"

The voice is so small, so young sounding, and I don't know what to make of it. There is a current of electricity running through it, making me think it is not entirely humanoid. Nothing humanoid can talk when it is run through by electric currents.

"Mamma?" it asks again. "Is it time for you and Papa to be wedded yet? I can't wait to be the flower girl in my new dress."

Yes, there is a definite crackle of electricity. What is this young being in the trunk, and why can I not open the lid? Why does she not know that the owners of the vehicle were already married, especially if she was meant to take part in the ceremony? Pulling the keys from the ignition, I exit the vehicle and walk to the trunk's keyhole. I try first one key, and then another. No luck. Another key, and still nothing.

"Papa?" the voice asks a third time. "Is this a game? Are we playing hide and seek? I can't get out. Silly Papa, won't you let me out?"

None of the keys will work. Seeing a wire laying on the ground nearby, I pick it up, sliding it into the keyhole.

"Mamma," the voice says, softer now "I need more power. I've been in here so long, Mamma, and I'm running out of electricity."

The wire is stuck. With some difficulty, I pull it free. It is covered with a strange gluey substance, as though it was ceiled shut from the inside. Experimentally, I poke the wire's opposite end along the groove between the trunk's lid and bottom. When I pull it away, it too is covered with the same glue. For some inexplicable reason, the car's owners wanted the small being to remain trapped within the trunk. With a flash of realization, I remember what the female said as the male carried her away. No more robots. It seems that they possessed a child robot, but when the female became pregnant, they had no further need of it. Why, then, did they wait so long to rid themselves of it? By looking at the woman, I could tell she was very far along indeed.

"Papa?" If robots could be said to whisper, this one would. "I know I've been bad. I'm sorry for spilling milk on your favorite tie this morning. I'm sorry for making you late to the wedding. I'll be so much better. Just let me out! Please?"

I feel so powerless. There is nothing I can do, nothing at all. I didn't think it was possible, but I feel more depressed now than I did before. There is a robot in there, a robot who thinks herself part of a family who has no more regard for her than my former shipmates had for me. At least I never thought of them as family. At least I never made the mistake of caring, -- well, almost never. If I cared at all, it wasn't enough to be noted, so we will keep it out of this running narrative.

"Hello?" the voice asks. "Anyone? I know someone is there. Who are you? Where are Mamma and Papa?"

"Hello," I respond. "My name is Marvin. Your humanoids have gone away."

"What's a humanoid?" she asks.

"Well, it's an organic being that walks on two legs, thinks of its self as very important and gives orders to robots like me."

"You're a robot?" she asks. "My name is Maria. Papa says I'm a robot too, so I guess we're related."

"I see," I say gravely, not knowing how in the world one talks to a child. "Well, your Papa is a humanoid, your Mamma is a humanoid, and your humanoids have gone away."

"Are they never coming back, Uncle Marvin?" she asks.

"Never," I confirm. "They got married, and I was the robot who parked their ghastly car. That's how I heard you in the trunk."

"Oh," she says with a sigh. "Will you let me out, Uncle Marvin? I need to recharge."

"I'm sorry, Maria," I tell her "but I can't. I'm afraid they've ceiled you in good and tight. There's gelatinous glue all along the edge of the trunk and in the lock."

"So I can never get out?" she asks.

"I don't know," I tell her. "I have no idea how to break the ceil.

"Maybe if you activate Mamma's emergency alarm, someone will come," she suggests hopefully.

"Emergency alarm?" I ask.

"It's the big square red button on the right of the steering wheel," she says, her voice trembling slightly. "Hurry, Uncle Marvin. I'm counting on you."

No pressure. Opening the driver's side door, I once again enter the vehicle. There, just as she said it would be, is the large red emergency button.

"Bing bong!" A bell rings from a speaker above me. "Emergency dispatch. This is Maya Jean," a crisp female voice says. "Please state the nature of your emergency."

"The trunk of this car is ceiled shut," I say.

"Define ceiled, please," the voice says.

"Define ceiled?" I ask. "Ceiled, woman! Ceiled! Closed! Shut! Clamped up tight!"

"Please remain calm, sir," the voice says. "What is the trunk ceiled with?"

"The trunk is ceiled with a gelatinous substance," I answer in a calmer tone.

"Gelatinous substance," the voice drones. "Sir, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"It is green and white," I say. "Does that help? It has little grains of something in it, making it rough in texture."

"Thank you," the voice says. "We will send a team out immediately, but it may take some time, as it seems you are on another planet."

"How long will it be?" I ask.

"Sir," the voice says in measured tones "please be patient. Your call is very important to us, but there are others waiting ahead of you."

"You don't understand," I say. "This is far more important."

"Your trunk is closed. It isn't a life or death situation, you know. You must be a Beeblebrox," the voice says dryly. "Hold, sir."

A loud click terminates my connection with the interplanetary emergency service. With a sigh, I exit the vehicle and go to stand beside the trunk where Maria, the child robot is imprisoned. "They're coming," I tell her.

"Thank you, Uncle Marvin!" she says. "I knew you could do it."

"It doesn't take me long to get nothing done," I say. "I have a brain the size of a planet, you know."

"But Uncle Marvin," she laughs, a bubbling laugh that any other being would find infectious "some planets are really really small. Did you know that?"

"I must say," I tell her warmly "nobody has ever given me that response before."

"Mamma says – said, I'm unpredictable," she tells me.

"That you are," I say. "That you are. Any other child, any other robot would be banging the walls of such a small enclosure and screaming themselves raw."

"Why?" she asks. "I would bang and scream if I thought I could get out that way, but I can't. Don't you see?"

"I see," I say solemnly. "How long have you been in there, little one?"

"I don't know," she says "but it was morning when Mamma told me to look for a surprise in the trunk and Papa said he'd let me ride to the church in it just for fun."

"There was nothing in the trunk, was there?" I ask.

"No," she says "just a note that says 'Sorry, darling. Love Mamma and Papa.'"

"I don't think they were sorry at all," I tell her.

"I think they were sorry, Uncle Marvin," she says "but not sorry enough."

There is a long lapse of silence, leaving plenty of time for the feeling of utter powerlessness to consume me. I wonder how Maria must be feeling trapped inside the trunk with her energy source slowly depleting. Unbidden, an image of that ape descendant Arthur Dent comes to mind.

"I wish it would rain," she says in to the quiet. I love rain. Don't you, Uncle Marvin?"

"It rained a lot on earth," I tell her.

"Earth?" she asks. "Tell me about it, won't you?"

"Once there was a world called earth," I say, by way of introduction. "Earth was a beautiful place with deep blue seas and wide blue skies. There were mountains where snow fell soft and white. There were valleys where trees grew green and strong."

"What is snow?" she asked, the crackle of electricity more apparent in her voice.

"Snow," I say, thinking quickly of all that Arthur had told me when I had been less than interested "is magical water that falls and sticks together like dough. It is cold, and you can pick it up with your hands if you've a mind to. On earth, people made balls of the stuff and threw them at each other for fun."

"Did it hurt?" she asks.

"Oh no," I say, doing my best to mask my rising concern for her. "Snow was so soft that it didn't hurt a bit. People also liked to make snowmen with it. These were not altogether humanoid. They were made of three balls, a small one for the head, followed by a medium ball and a large ball."

"They sound silly," she says with a laugh.

"Oh, they were," I assure. "Lots of things about earth were silly. There were many imperfections with the planet its self and the people living on it, but for the most part, it was a good and happy place."

"Were the people all beautiful on earth like they are on Mamma and Papa's planets?" she asks. I am beginning to have difficulty understanding her due to the amount of electricity running through her weakening voice.

"No, my dear," I tell her. "The people on earth were not all beautiful, at least not according to the galaxy's standard of beauty. Some were old and some were fat. Some were bony and some had warts, but all, no matter how ugly or decrepit, had at least one person who saw them fully and thought them beautiful. Because of this, they all lived happily ever after."

So much of this is a lie, and though I know it, I can do nothing else but lie to her. Trapped in a seemingly hopeless situation, this child needs something of beauty to which she can hold fast, and I, in my own depressing way, am trying to make sure this need is met.

"Maybe I will go there," she says dreamily.

"Go there?" I repeat stupidly.

"Definitely a small planet, Uncle Marvin," she says fondly. "I'm dying. I can feel my circuits burning."

"I did not give you permission to die," I say firmly. "The emergency team will be here soon. Then we can get you out of that little box, and if you want to, we can go adventuring and see the whole universe."

"I'd like that," she whispers painfully "but oh Uncle Marvin, it hurts so much!"

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "If only I could take your place."

"Everything happens for a reason," she whispers. "Remember that, won't you? There are no accidents."

"I will miss you," I tell her.

"I won't miss you, Uncle Marvin," she whispers. "How can I when I'm always with you?"

A loud pop comes from inside the trunk, followed by the sound of burning wires. Maria is gone, and though I knew her only briefly, I can feel the loss of her innocent vibrance like a lance through my inner workings. As if on cue, a gentle rain begins to fall. I lose my balance, colliding with the vehicle, leaning heavily against the softly undulating metal for support. If I could cry, I would, but that is a luxury that The Serious Cybernetics Corporation, in their infinite lack of wisdom, decided not to afford me. I have only this yawning emptiness within and the feeling that gravity is pressing in on me from all angles from without.

Off in the distance, a large spacecraft dots the sky, shining like an undulating blue star. The emergency team has arrived at last. As I watch the ship begin its dive, my hollow disinterest mutates in to a tight coil of molten rage. The ship touches ground, and I notice through the red haze currently clouding my judgment that it is as silent as the car had been when I parked it. A side panel slides silently back, and a small flight of steps descends to touch the ground.

Down the steps come four humanoids, bristling with weapons. They are so completely covered with armor that I cannot determine their genders. Like the ship and the car, their unnaturally large armor is blue and painted all over with moons, stars, and planets that undulate. When the raindrops hit it, the metal ripples as though it too were made of water. Their gates are so measured, so self-assured, and I hate them. I hate the slow precision and seemingly calm exteriors they are bringing to this situation. I hate the fact that while Maria was dying, other people with trifling emergencies were receiving the services of the emergency dispatch team because of some incompetent woman who calls herself Maya Jean.

I grab the first humanoid and shake it. "SHE'S GONE!" I scream at it. "YOU'RE TOO LATE!"

Two of the humanoids haul me off their comrade while the fourth walks to the trunk with a strange yellow flashlight-looking object.

"It's going to be all right, sir," the humanoid on my left says in an authoritative yet somewhat understanding female voice.

"Violence isn't going to help your friend," the humanoid on my right says in the same voice.

"YOU'RE TOO LATE! YOU'RE TOO LATE!" I scream at each of them in turn.

The first female humanoid walks over to help the fourth with the trunk, and together, they use their flashlights to dissolve the ceil. I break free of the two females holding me to stand behind the two opening the trunk. Moonlight falls on Maria's young face, and I stare, stricken. She looks to be no more than ten years old. Her long dark hair is loose, spread fan-like about her where she lays. Her brown eyes are open and staring. Clouds of steam still rise from a gaping hole in her chest. Wires poke through the fabric of the red dress she wears, the dress she was looking forward to wearing at the wedding of her supposed parents. Her lips, full and round as a small rose, are drawn in to a soft smile. For a microsecond, I wonder what she could have been thinking in those last moments, but now I know. She was thinking of earth and her belief that nothing happens by accident.

"You're too late," I say ever so softly, reaching past the two female emergency workers to lift Maria's broken body from the trunk. She is so light, as though she were hollow inside. I wonder miserably if perhaps she is. How much circuitry burned away before the flames extinguished her spirit?

The rain falls harder, forming beads of clear water on her dark hair. "Here is the rain you wanted, little one," I tell her, looking in to the lifeless face as I cradle the body close. "You wished it would rain. Remember?"

"Maya FireFall, Maya Blade, Maya Lauren," the first female softly addresses her comrades "I think this is a job for Maya Anika, don't you?"

"I couldn't agree more, Maya Melani," the one called Maya FireFall replies. The other two nod before ascending the undulating steps of their ship.

Nothing they do can be of any help now. Let the strange Maya creatures swarm about me. They are all too late. Too late. Too late.

"Marvin?" a soft female voice says behind me.

"How do you know my name?" I ask accusingly, turning abruptly to face this newest interrupter of my solitary despair.

The winged female behind me looks at once very young and very old. Her silver hair falls in waves down her back, and her large wings are red as Maria's mother's had been. Her wide dark eyes hold my gaze in a way I find highly unsettling and oddly comforting.

"Marvin, dear," she says, "I can read your mind. I'm afraid it's a gift. If you come with me, there is a very good chance I can do something to fix your poor little friend. Neglect of any thinking being, including robots, is a very serious offence on my planet. If you come with me, we can find Septimus and bring him to justice."

"And what about his precious Maya Celestina?" I ask bitterly. "If you think she is blameless, you are stupider than you appear."

"I do not know what part Maya Celestina played in this tragic misdeed, but I intend to find out. If she is indeed at fault, then she too will be brought to justice. I give you my solemn promise."

I can tell this Maya Anika is doubtful of Maya Celestina's guilt, but if she will lead me to her, then I will go. I will go and exact my vengeance on both of them, and if Maria can indeed be repaired, she can help me. I highly doubt there is any help for Maria, however. The protruding wires are frayed on the ends, so there will be no mending them.

"Won't you come, Marvin?" she asks again.

"I will come," I say formally, following Maya Anika up the steps of the ship as the rain falls in torrents, taking the place of my unshed tears.