Perfectly Safe (10/?)
Title: Perfectly Safe
Fandom: H2G2
Character/s: The whole sort of general mishmash.
Arthur/Fenchurch later on, and eventually
Random/Mown for the crack pairing lulz.
Word Count: 1500 / (projected) 50,000
Rating: Whatever the film was rated. PG, was it? Something like that.
Summary: Earth has been demolished, but there are still a few kinks to be worked out.
Notes: Follows all continuities, and none of them at the same time (much like the series itself). On the whole, it ignores And Another Thing..., though that did provide a few good gags that I’ve thrown into a combine harvester and recycled into sort of flat-pack bits and pieces. Directly follows the events of Mostly Harmless.
Two chapters today, because the first one would have been mean to post on its own. Chapter 9 was supposed to tie into... something. It was about four in the morning when I started writing it, and by the time I got toward the end, I'd totally forgotten why I started writing that bit, and couldn't find it in my notes anywhere. But it was funny, so I kept it in anyway.
Chapter 10
Ship number 485ZQß-Σ for Jaglan Beta is now boarding at gate 249-Ʒ. Repeat, ship number 485ZQß-Σ for Jaglan Beta is now boarding at gate 249-Ʒ.”
This was it. The point of no return, and it was not as painful as Trillian had expected it would be. At the announcement, she simply got up, tossed what was left of her Quadradian ultra-java into a bin, and boarded the starliner for the first leg of her very long journey.
After nearly an hour of planning, the solution that had been worked out had turned out to be the simplest one.
Leg it.
As the Business End started its slow and laborious descent to land at the spaceport, Mown made his way to the nearest airlock with a large and slightly squirming bag slung over his shoulder.
“Up to something, Twinkletoes?” another Vogon asked as they passed one another in the corridor.
“No,” he said, rather unconvincingly. “Only taking some old uniforms down to Cargo Bay 16.”
“Cargo Bay 16 is that way, you idiot,” the other Vogon said, pointing down the other direction.
“Of course. My mistake.”
When it became clear to him that the other Vogon wasn’t going to leave, Mown started down in the direction of Cargo Bay 16, making a show and stomping heavily all the while. As he rounded the corner, the entire ship shook and rattled as it finally came to a land.
“Okay,” he said quietly, trying to look back round the corner. “I think he’s leaving. How fast can you run?”
Random said something muffled from inside the bag, and then jabbed at Mown’s back with her elbow.
“Right. Sorry about that.” Mown put the bag down and helped Random out of it before peering back round the corner.
“Is he gone?” Random asked, frantically looking round to make sure no one was going to sneak up on them.
“Nearly.” Mown watched as the Vogon lumbered around the corner, mumbling something to himself. “Okay. We have about three minutes. Go. Now!”
Random ran round the corner toward the hatch, surprised when Mown not only caught her up, but overtook her. Everything about this Vogon seemed wrong, but it was all wrong in the sort of way that was quite a relief. It meant that he wasn’t quite as unpleasant as the other Vogons, and also gave her a bit of confidence that she might actually get off of the ship alive.
At the hatch, Mown punched in a code to the door panel, which set off a klaxon and flashing lights in the corridor.
“I thought you were on my side,” Random hissed at him.
“I am,” Mown says. “It does that every time.”
He fiddled with the door panel for a bit longer, jabbing at buttons until the door finally pulled itself open.
“Go. I’ll catch you up,” Mown said, guiding Random through the narrow opening.
The hatch opened to one of the many airlocks built into Barnard’s Star. Random told the door, which had been manufactured by the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, to open. To her astounded relief, the doors had been vandalised almost immediately after Barnard’s Star’s opening, and did not declare their satisfaction at opening or sigh contentedly, but opened, and did so quickly.
Random had seen Barnard’s Star represented in various films and videos on the Sub-Etha, but this was her first experience with any sort of long-distance travel and hadn’t been properly prepared for the sheer immensity of the spaceport.
“Great Zarquon,” she muttered, looking up at the high ceiling, which had been painted to resemble some of the deeper regions of space.
Nebulae and supernovae and more stars and comets than Random could count acted as a surrogate for the actual sky, since the spaceport’s many bright lights and the lack of atmosphere surrounding the asteroid effectively rendered the sky a lifeless and very boring permanent state of endless blackness. Barnard’s Star had always seemed so much smaller in the vids; even the terminal seemed to stretch on for miles in either direction, with various beings shuffling madly to board their flights.
Random was startled out of her daze by a small blast behind her.
“Resistance is useless!” several Vogons shouted out in chorus.
Random didn’t know where Mown was, but she didn’t have time to figure it out. She ran blindly for the crowd, dodging round travellers and knocking into luggage and carts. She didn’t look behind her, but Random knew that the Vogons were still chasing after her, and she knew this because every few seconds, one of them would shoot at her. The Vogons, being the worst shots in the Galaxy, hit targets all around her, blowing up wheeled suitcases and small newsagents without ever managing to hit the intended target. Still, even a Vogon does get lucky from time to time, so Random had very little time to take solace in the fact that her assailants were Vogons, as opposed to Blagulon Kappans, who spend quite a lot of their training and a fair amount of their leisure time learning how to fire at moving targets whilst blindfolded and riding an Arcturian Megadonkey.
“Over here!”
Random looked round frantically at the voice, surprised to find Mown beside her once more. He took her hand in his and ran straight for a crowded corridor and for the pub district.
“Why are we going here?” Random asked, struggling to keep pace with the Vogon.
“Bigger crowds. Easier to hide.”
Realising that Random was only slowing their pace, Mown picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Random demanded. “Put me down, or I’ll scream.”
Mown didn’t put her down.
“Is everyone on your planet like you?” he asked, dodging around a wide pillar and into a crowded Brequindan bar.
“I wouldn’t know,” Random spat as Mown put her back on her feet. “I only just went there for the first time this morning.”
“Great,” Mown said, not paying her much attention. “Now shut up.”
He ignored the nervous looks the bar’s patrons were giving him as they slowly backed away.
“Don’t tell me to shut up,” Random said.
“Shut up,” Mown repeated.
He finally noticed the crowd. “Three-hundred per-cent tax increase to anyone who doesn’t act normal,” he told the people standing round.
He knew he didn’t actually have that power, but since most of the Galaxy was rather frightened of Vogons, no one has actually ever bothered to verify just what sorts of power they did hold, which in turn only opened doors for gross misrepresentation of power.
The crowd immediately went back into its role of drunken travellers, and became even more loud and unruly than it had been before. Beer bottles were broken with gusto, and a group of travelling ultra-football players had begun chanting about how their next game would have slightly more minorly-fatal injuries than the last.
“Where’d they go?” a Vogon just outside the bar shouted loudly.
“We’ll never find them in this,” a second said.
“Jeltz is gonna kill us for this.”
“Well, let’s go get it over with. I won’t be able to enjoy my day if we put it off.”
The Vogons trundled off back to the Business End.
“Well, that was easy,” Random said quietly. She carefully peered round the corner to watch them go. “They didn’t even try. Are you sure you’re really a Vogon? Because you don’t act like one.”
Mown shrugged, which was interesting to watch because Vogons don’t have much in the way of shoulders.
“Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?” Mown asked wearily.
“The first one,” Random said, still watching various travellers give the retreating Vogons a wide berth as they returned to the ship.
She wasn’t usually the compliment-giving sort, so she wasn’t sure how to follow it up.
“But even if you aren’t, you still look like one,” she pointed out. “That’s bound to draw attention.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Mown asked. “I can’t exactly change my face. Not without major surgery.”
Random took a moment to consider this. “I’ve seen on the Tri-D vids that this place has shops,” she said. “We can try something that always works in the vids.”
“I don’t think shopping is going to help matters,” Mown protested.
“No, wait here.”
Random left the pub and attempted to follow the massive amount of signs to the shopping district of Barnard’s Star. She’d found a wallet in the ship she’d taken on Lamuella, and in it had been a credit card belonging to someone called Ford. And if this Ford person could afford an RW6, then he could afford some new clothes for herself and her new friend, Random figured.
Fandom: H2G2
Character/s: The whole sort of general mishmash.
Arthur/Fenchurch later on, and eventually
Random/Mown for the crack pairing lulz.
Word Count: 1500 / (projected) 50,000
Rating: Whatever the film was rated. PG, was it? Something like that.
Summary: Earth has been demolished, but there are still a few kinks to be worked out.
Notes: Follows all continuities, and none of them at the same time (much like the series itself). On the whole, it ignores And Another Thing..., though that did provide a few good gags that I’ve thrown into a combine harvester and recycled into sort of flat-pack bits and pieces. Directly follows the events of Mostly Harmless.
Two chapters today, because the first one would have been mean to post on its own. Chapter 9 was supposed to tie into... something. It was about four in the morning when I started writing it, and by the time I got toward the end, I'd totally forgotten why I started writing that bit, and couldn't find it in my notes anywhere. But it was funny, so I kept it in anyway.
Chapter 10
Ship number 485ZQß-Σ for Jaglan Beta is now boarding at gate 249-Ʒ. Repeat, ship number 485ZQß-Σ for Jaglan Beta is now boarding at gate 249-Ʒ.”
This was it. The point of no return, and it was not as painful as Trillian had expected it would be. At the announcement, she simply got up, tossed what was left of her Quadradian ultra-java into a bin, and boarded the starliner for the first leg of her very long journey.
After nearly an hour of planning, the solution that had been worked out had turned out to be the simplest one.
Leg it.
As the Business End started its slow and laborious descent to land at the spaceport, Mown made his way to the nearest airlock with a large and slightly squirming bag slung over his shoulder.
“Up to something, Twinkletoes?” another Vogon asked as they passed one another in the corridor.
“No,” he said, rather unconvincingly. “Only taking some old uniforms down to Cargo Bay 16.”
“Cargo Bay 16 is that way, you idiot,” the other Vogon said, pointing down the other direction.
“Of course. My mistake.”
When it became clear to him that the other Vogon wasn’t going to leave, Mown started down in the direction of Cargo Bay 16, making a show and stomping heavily all the while. As he rounded the corner, the entire ship shook and rattled as it finally came to a land.
“Okay,” he said quietly, trying to look back round the corner. “I think he’s leaving. How fast can you run?”
Random said something muffled from inside the bag, and then jabbed at Mown’s back with her elbow.
“Right. Sorry about that.” Mown put the bag down and helped Random out of it before peering back round the corner.
“Is he gone?” Random asked, frantically looking round to make sure no one was going to sneak up on them.
“Nearly.” Mown watched as the Vogon lumbered around the corner, mumbling something to himself. “Okay. We have about three minutes. Go. Now!”
Random ran round the corner toward the hatch, surprised when Mown not only caught her up, but overtook her. Everything about this Vogon seemed wrong, but it was all wrong in the sort of way that was quite a relief. It meant that he wasn’t quite as unpleasant as the other Vogons, and also gave her a bit of confidence that she might actually get off of the ship alive.
At the hatch, Mown punched in a code to the door panel, which set off a klaxon and flashing lights in the corridor.
“I thought you were on my side,” Random hissed at him.
“I am,” Mown says. “It does that every time.”
He fiddled with the door panel for a bit longer, jabbing at buttons until the door finally pulled itself open.
“Go. I’ll catch you up,” Mown said, guiding Random through the narrow opening.
The hatch opened to one of the many airlocks built into Barnard’s Star. Random told the door, which had been manufactured by the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, to open. To her astounded relief, the doors had been vandalised almost immediately after Barnard’s Star’s opening, and did not declare their satisfaction at opening or sigh contentedly, but opened, and did so quickly.
Random had seen Barnard’s Star represented in various films and videos on the Sub-Etha, but this was her first experience with any sort of long-distance travel and hadn’t been properly prepared for the sheer immensity of the spaceport.
“Great Zarquon,” she muttered, looking up at the high ceiling, which had been painted to resemble some of the deeper regions of space.
Nebulae and supernovae and more stars and comets than Random could count acted as a surrogate for the actual sky, since the spaceport’s many bright lights and the lack of atmosphere surrounding the asteroid effectively rendered the sky a lifeless and very boring permanent state of endless blackness. Barnard’s Star had always seemed so much smaller in the vids; even the terminal seemed to stretch on for miles in either direction, with various beings shuffling madly to board their flights.
Random was startled out of her daze by a small blast behind her.
“Resistance is useless!” several Vogons shouted out in chorus.
Random didn’t know where Mown was, but she didn’t have time to figure it out. She ran blindly for the crowd, dodging round travellers and knocking into luggage and carts. She didn’t look behind her, but Random knew that the Vogons were still chasing after her, and she knew this because every few seconds, one of them would shoot at her. The Vogons, being the worst shots in the Galaxy, hit targets all around her, blowing up wheeled suitcases and small newsagents without ever managing to hit the intended target. Still, even a Vogon does get lucky from time to time, so Random had very little time to take solace in the fact that her assailants were Vogons, as opposed to Blagulon Kappans, who spend quite a lot of their training and a fair amount of their leisure time learning how to fire at moving targets whilst blindfolded and riding an Arcturian Megadonkey.
“Over here!”
Random looked round frantically at the voice, surprised to find Mown beside her once more. He took her hand in his and ran straight for a crowded corridor and for the pub district.
“Why are we going here?” Random asked, struggling to keep pace with the Vogon.
“Bigger crowds. Easier to hide.”
Realising that Random was only slowing their pace, Mown picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Random demanded. “Put me down, or I’ll scream.”
Mown didn’t put her down.
“Is everyone on your planet like you?” he asked, dodging around a wide pillar and into a crowded Brequindan bar.
“I wouldn’t know,” Random spat as Mown put her back on her feet. “I only just went there for the first time this morning.”
“Great,” Mown said, not paying her much attention. “Now shut up.”
He ignored the nervous looks the bar’s patrons were giving him as they slowly backed away.
“Don’t tell me to shut up,” Random said.
“Shut up,” Mown repeated.
He finally noticed the crowd. “Three-hundred per-cent tax increase to anyone who doesn’t act normal,” he told the people standing round.
He knew he didn’t actually have that power, but since most of the Galaxy was rather frightened of Vogons, no one has actually ever bothered to verify just what sorts of power they did hold, which in turn only opened doors for gross misrepresentation of power.
The crowd immediately went back into its role of drunken travellers, and became even more loud and unruly than it had been before. Beer bottles were broken with gusto, and a group of travelling ultra-football players had begun chanting about how their next game would have slightly more minorly-fatal injuries than the last.
“Where’d they go?” a Vogon just outside the bar shouted loudly.
“We’ll never find them in this,” a second said.
“Jeltz is gonna kill us for this.”
“Well, let’s go get it over with. I won’t be able to enjoy my day if we put it off.”
The Vogons trundled off back to the Business End.
“Well, that was easy,” Random said quietly. She carefully peered round the corner to watch them go. “They didn’t even try. Are you sure you’re really a Vogon? Because you don’t act like one.”
Mown shrugged, which was interesting to watch because Vogons don’t have much in the way of shoulders.
“Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?” Mown asked wearily.
“The first one,” Random said, still watching various travellers give the retreating Vogons a wide berth as they returned to the ship.
She wasn’t usually the compliment-giving sort, so she wasn’t sure how to follow it up.
“But even if you aren’t, you still look like one,” she pointed out. “That’s bound to draw attention.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Mown asked. “I can’t exactly change my face. Not without major surgery.”
Random took a moment to consider this. “I’ve seen on the Tri-D vids that this place has shops,” she said. “We can try something that always works in the vids.”
“I don’t think shopping is going to help matters,” Mown protested.
“No, wait here.”
Random left the pub and attempted to follow the massive amount of signs to the shopping district of Barnard’s Star. She’d found a wallet in the ship she’d taken on Lamuella, and in it had been a credit card belonging to someone called Ford. And if this Ford person could afford an RW6, then he could afford some new clothes for herself and her new friend, Random figured.