“What’s happening?” Asked Ford, emerging from a room with Bolo and looking as dishevelled as everyone else, much to his surprise.
“We got hit during a space battle,” explained Zaphod, flicking on the scanner screen. “We spun out of control and crash landed on this planet and as you can see, hundreds of it’s rather short looking inhabitants are flooding over the desert towards us.”
“What are we going to do?” Asked Fenchurch.
“The monkey man is going out to talk to them,” said Zaphod, casually.
“What?” Yelled Arthur.
“I knew we should have got him a replacement brain,” said Zaphod. “Do you want to know where the tea is before you go?”
“Zaphod! You can’t send Arthur out there,” exclaimed Trillian. “They could tear him to pieces.”
Zaphod declined to comment, but grinned. His teeth acted as a red rag to Arthur. He charged across the bridge, intending to send Zaphod flying, but Zaphod neatly side stepped and Arthur flew past, through a happy door that opened on seeing a body flying towards it and wished Arthur a fruitful journey. Arthur rolled down some stairs and ended up by the main airlock, which gladly hissed open.
Arthur was confronted by hundreds of cheering dwarves.
“Hooray, ‘Our Seventh Obu’ is dead. Long live our saviour!” They cheered.
