“Oh,” said the girl archly, “doesn’t sound very productive to me.”
“No? Well have I got news for you, my love. We have discovered this planet’s future.”
Ford waited for this statement to have its effect. It didn’t have any. They didn’t know what he was talking about.
He continued.
“It doesn’t matter a pair of fetid dingo’s kidneys what you all choose to do from now on. Burn down the forests, anything, it won’t make a scrap of difference. Your future history has already happened. Two million years you’ve got and that’s it. At the end of that time your race will be dead, gone and good riddance to you. Remember that, two million years!”
The crowd muttered to itself in annoyance. People as rich as they had suddenly become shouldn’t be obliged to listen to this sort of gibberish. Perhaps they could tip the fellow a leaf or two and he would go away.
They didn’t need to bother. Ford was already stalking out of the clearing, pausing only to shake his head at Number Two who was already firing his Kill-O-Zap gun into some neighbouring trees.
He turned back once.
“Two million years!” he said and laughed.
“Well,” said the Captain with a soothing smile, “still time for a few more baths. Could someone pass me the sponge? I just dropped it over the side.”
Chapter 33
A mile or so away through the wood, Arthur Dent was too busily engrossed with what he was doing to hear Ford Prefect approach.
What he was doing was rather curious, and this is what it was: on a wide flat piece of rock he had scratched out the shape of a large square, subdivided into one hundred and sixty-nine smaller squares, thirteen to a side.
Furthermore he had collected together a pile of smallish flattish stones and scratched the shape of a letter on to each. Sitting morosely round the rock were a couple of the surviving local native men whom Arthur Dent was trying to introduce the curious concept embodied in these stones.
So far they had not done well. They had attempted to eat some of them, bury others and throw the rest of them away. Arthur had finally encouraged one of them to lay a couple of stones on the board he had scratched out, which was not even as far as he’d managed to get the day before. Along with the rapid deterioration in the morale of these creatures, there seemed to be a corresponding deterioration in their actual intelligence.
In an attempt to egg them along, Arthur set out a number of letters on the board himself, and then tried to encourage the natives to add some more themselves.
It was not going well.
Ford watched quietly from beside a nearby tree.
“No,” said Arthur to one of the natives who had just shuffled some of the letters round in a fit of abysmal dejection, “Q scores ten you see, and it’s on a triple word score, so… look, I’ve explained the rules to you… no no, look please, put down that jawbone… alright, we’ll start again. And try to concentrate this time.”
Ford leaned his elbow against the tree and his hand against his head.
“What are you doing, Arthur?” he asked quietly.
Arthur looked up with a start. He suddenly had a feeling that all this might look slightly foolish. All he knew was that it had worked like a dream on him when he was a child. But things were different then, or rather would be.
“I’m trying to teach the cavemen to play Scrabble,” he said.
“They’re not cavemen,” said Ford.
“They look like cavemen.”
Ford let it pass.
“I see,” he said.
“It’s uphill work,” said Arthur wearily, “the only word they know is grunt and they can’t spell it.”
He sighed and sat back.
“What’s that supposed to achieve?” asked Ford.
“We’ve got to encourage them to evolve! To develop!” Arthur burst out angrily. He hoped that the weary sigh and then the anger might do something to counteract the overriding feeling of foolishness from which he was currently suffering. It didn’t. He jumped to his feet.
“Can you imagine what a world would be like descended from those… cretins we arrived with?” he said.
“Imagine?” said Ford, rising his eyebrows. “We don’t have to imagine. We’ve seen it.”
“But…” Arthur waved his arms about hopelessly.
“We’ve seen it,” said Ford, “there’s no escape.”
Arthur kicked at a stone.
“Did you tell them what we’ve discovered?” he asked.
“Hmmmm?” said Ford, not really concentrating.
“Norway,” said Arthur, “Slartibartfast’s signature in the glacier. Did you tell them?”
“What’s the point?” said Ford, “What would it mean to them?”
“Mean?” said Arthur, “Mean? You know perfectly well what it means. It means that this planet is the Earth! It’s my home! It’s where I was born!”
“Was?” said Ford.
“Alright, will be.”
“Yes, in two million years’ time. Why don’t you tell them that? Go and say to them, ‘Excuse me, I’d just like to point out that in two million years’ time I will be born just a few miles from here.’ See what they say. They’ll chase you up a tree and set fire to it.”
Arthur absorbed this unhappily.
“Face it,” said Ford, “those zeebs over there are your ancestors, not these poor creatures here.”
He went over to where the apemen creatures were rummaging listlessly with the stone letters. He shook his head.
“Put the Scrabble away, Arthur,” he said, “it won’t save the human race, because this lot aren’t going to be the human race. The human race is currently sitting round a rock on the other side of this hill making documentaries about themselves.”
Arthur winced.
“There must be something we can do,” he said. A terrible sense of desolation thrilled through his body that he should be here, on the Earth, the Earth which had lost its future in a horrifying arbitrary catastrophe and which now seemed set to lose its past as well.
“No,” said Ford, “there’s nothing we can do. This doesn’t change the history of the Earth, you see, this is the history of the Earth. Like it or leave it, the Golgafrinchans are the people you are descended from. In two million years they get destroyed by the Vogons. History is never altered you see, it just fits together like a jigsaw. Funny old thing, life, isn’t it?”
He picked up the letter Q and hurled it into a distant privet bush where it hit a young rabbit. The rabbit hurtled off in terror and didn’t stop till it was set upon and eaten by a fox which choked on one of its bones and died on the bank of a stream which subsequently washed it away.
During the following weeks Ford Prefect swallowed his pride and struck up a relationship with a girl who had been a personnel officer on Golgafrincham, and he was terribly upset when she suddenly passed away as a result of drinking water from a pool that had been polluted by the body of a dead fox. The only moral it is possible to draw from this story is that one should never throw the letter Q into a pivet bush, but unfortunately there are times when it is unavoidable.
Like most of the really crucial things in life, this chain of events was completely invisible to Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent. They were looking sadly at one of the natives morosely pushing the other letters around.
“Poor bloody caveman,” said Arthur.
“They’re not…”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind.”
The wretched creature let out a pathetic howling noise and banged on the rock.
“It’s all been a bit of waste of time for them, hasn’t it?” said Arthur.
“Uh uh urghhhhh,” muttered the native and banged on the rock again.
“They’ve been outevolved by telephone sanitizers.”
“Urgh, gr gr, gruh!” insisted the native, continuing to bang on the rock.