Douglas Adams's Starship Titanic Read Online Free Page A

indignation' which in turn quickly became 'bitter resentment' which equally quickly was transformed into 'burning thirst for vengeance' and so to 'cold fury'.
    'Brobostigon!' murmured the Great Man, 'That bastard has been skimping on the syntho-neurones!'
    The Journalist made another note, but Leovinus turned on him so suddenly that he stuck his thumb in his mouth and pretended to be sucking at it.
    'This can't happen on this ship,' explained Leovinus, as he picked up the fallen robot. 'Every Doorbot has a fail-safe neuron embedded in its circuitry that cancels out any non-rational activity such as we just witnessed. They are expensive items, but, I think you will agree, well worth the money.'
    The Journalist nodded and pretended that he had a splinter in the end of his thumb.
    'Except that that BASTARD BROBOSTIGON HAS OBVIOUSLY LEFT THEM OUT! When I see him I'll…' But Leovinus stopped in mid-sentence.
    'He's probably wondering what else is wrong with the ship,' thought The Journalist with mounting excitement he could feel a story materializing in front of him — a big story, a humongous story — and the great thing was he wouldn't have to do anything — it was all going to unfold in front of him. He knew it. And, sure enough, before The Journalist could pretend to find the non-existent splinter, Leovinus had given the Doorbot a quick adjustment, the door had opened and the Great Man had been bowed through into the corridor beyond.
    'Enjoy your honeymoon, you lucky couple!' called the Doorbot cheerfully. The Journalist noted this down, and hurried after the great architect and ship-builder,who had just turned right into one of the most astounding architectural spaces The Journalist had ever entered.
    It was an oval space, marked out by columns. Around the perimeter wall was painted a frieze depicting the favourite recreational pastime of the Founding Fathers of Blerontin: posing for frieze-painters. Leovinus was standing staring up at a huge statue of a winged female that stood at the other end. But The Journalist's eye went down… down and down into what seemed like an infinity of descent, for there at his feet was the great Central Well that occupied the gigantic keel of the Starship. It was the spine of the ship, and around it, like nerve impulses, illuminated elevators constantly went up and down servicing the living quarters that were stacked below them — tier after tier. At the very bottom, far far down below near the bilges of the ship, the Super Galactic Traveller De Luxe Suites; above them, the Second Class Executive Duplexes; and above them, far above them, the fabulously appointed First Class Staterooms.
    But The Journalist scarcely had time to take all this in, for Leovinus was off, striding through the many-columned hall towards the far vestibule — through which he disappeared.
    By the time The Journalist had caught up with him, Leovinus was standing on the jetty of an even more extraordinary and beautiful feature of the Starship Titanic : the Grand Axial Canal, Second Class.
    From the Central Well of the Starship ran two great canals — one to the fore and one to the aft. These partly had the effect of cooling the engines, but were also elegant recreational facilities. Up and down the canal, gondolas plied their way, the automated gondoliers each singing their own personal selection of Blerontinian folksongs — but particularly the one about the beautiful young female acrobat who fell in love with a gondolier and gave him six pnedes (approximately one million pounds sterling) as a tip.
    Leovinus was doing his from-blank-disbelief-to-cold-fury routine again. The Journalist took note.
    'They are not supposed to sing unless they've got passengers!' Leovinus seemed to be choking as he clambered down into the nearest waiting gondola. The singing immediately stopped.
    The Journalist joined him and said: 'Perhaps they're doing a test? Reversing everything?' It was the only thing he could think of that was in