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Chapter Twenty-eight

Meanwhile, more millions of miles away than the mind can comfortably encompass, Zaphod Beeblebrox was throwing a mood again.

He had repaired his ship --- that is, he'd watched with alert interest whilst a service robot had repaired it for him. It was now, once again, one of the most powerful and extraordinary ships in existence. He could go anywhere, do anything. He fiddled with a book, and then tossed it away. It was the one he'd read before.

He walked over to the communications bank and opened an all-frequencies emergency channel.

``Anyone want a drink?'' he said.

``This an emergency, feller?'' crackled a voice from halfway across the Galaxy.

``Got any mixers?'' said Zaphod.

``Go take a ride on a comet.''

``OK, OK,'' said Zaphod and flipped the channel shut again. He sighed and sat down. He got up again and wandered over to a computer screen. He pushed a few buttons. Little blobs started to rush around the screen eating each other.

``Pow!'' said Zaphod. ``Freeeoooo! Pop pop pop!''

``Hi there,'' said the computer brightly after a minute of this, ``you have scored three points. Previous best score, seven million five hundred and ninety-seven thousand, two hundred and ...''

``OK, OK,'' said Zaphod and flipped the screen blank again.

He sat down again. He played with a pencil. This too began slowly to lose its fascination.

``OK, OK,'' he said, and fed his score and the previous one into the computer.

His ship made a blur of the Universe.


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