Arthur Dent, a perfectly ordinary Earthman,
was rather surprised when his friend, Ford Prefect,
suddenly revealed himself
to be from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse,
and not from Guildford after all.
He was even more surprised
when, a few minutes later, the Earth was unexpectedly demolished
to make way for a new hyperspace bypass.
But this was as nothing to their joint surprise
when they were rescued from certain death by a stolen spaceship
manned by Ford's semi-cousin, the infamous Zaphod Beeblebrox,
and by Trillian, a rather nice young astrophysicist
Arthur once met at a party in Islington.
However, all four of them are soon totally overwhelmed
by surprise when they discover that the ancient world of Magrathea,
a planet famed in legend
for its surprising trade in manufacturing other planets,
is not as dead as it was supposed to be.
For Zaphod, Ford and Trillian,
surprise is pushed to its very limits when this happens.
And when Arthur Dent encountered Slartibartfast
the Magrathean coastline designer,
who won an award for his work on Norway
and learns that the whole history of mankind
was only being run for the benefit of a few white mice anyway,
surprise is no longer adequate and he is forced to resort to astonishment.
Mice?
Mind your head.
Excuse the mess.
Most unfortunate, a diode blew in one of the life-support computers.
When we came to revive our cleaning staff,
we discovered they'd been dead for 30,000 years.
Who's going to clear away the bodies?
That's what no-one seems to have an answer for.
Mice?
Look, are we talking about the same things?
Mice mean to me little white furry creatures
with a cheese fixation and women standing screaming on tables
in early '60$ sitcoms.
Ea rth ma n,
it is sometimes hard to follow your mode of speech.
Remember, I have been asleep inside this planet of Magrathea
for, erm...
Five million yea rs,
and know little of these early '60$ sitcoms of which you speak.
These creatures you call mice, you see, are not quite as they appear.
They are merely the protrusion into our dimension of vast hyper intelligent,
pan-dimensional beings.
Er, oh...
This business with the cheese and the squeaking isjust a front.
They've been experimenting on you.
Ah! No!
No, look, you've got it wrong! It was us.
We were experimenting on them.
Making them run down mazes, ring little bells,
eat little bits of cheese.
And, and, by analysing their behaviour
we were able to learn all sorts of things about ourselves.
Such subtlety.
Well, how better to, erm, to disguise their true natures?
How better to guide your way of thinking
than to be right down there, amongst you
suddenly running down the maze the wrong way,
eating the wrong bit of cheese,
unexpectedly dropping dead of myxomatosis.
If it is finely calculated, the cumulative effect is enormous.
Do not be alarmed. Just sit.
That's, erm, back, back.
I must tell you that your planet and people
have formed
the matrix of an organic computer
running a ten-million year research program
into the ultimate question of Life,
the Universe
and everything.
See, they really are particularly clever,
hyper intelligent pan-dimensional beings.
Attention, please!
Slartibartfast. Would Slartibartfast and the visiting Earth creature,
please report to the Works Reception area immediately.
However... - Repeat, immediately!
However, in the field of management relations,
they're absolutely shocking.
Rea lly?
Yes! Well, you see, every time they give me an order,
I want to jump on a table and scream.
Yes. Well, I could see that would be a problem.
There are, of course, many problems connected with life,
of which some of the most pressing are,
why are people born?
Why do they die?
And, why do they spend so much of the intervening time
wearing digital watches?
Many millions of years ago, a race of hyper intelligent
pan-dimensional beings,
became so fed up with the constant bickering about the meaning of life
that they decided to sit down and solve it once and for all.
And to this end, they built themselves a stupendous supercomputer
called Deep Thought, that was so amazingly intelligent
that even before its data banks had been connected up,
it had started from first principles with...
And had got as far as deducing the existence of rice pudding and income tax
before anyone managed to turn it off.
Do not be alarmed.
BOOK“. Only after Deep Thought has been programmed
with all the knowledge in the Universe,
do two men, selected of all their race, approach it.
What is this great task for which I, Deep Thought,
the second greatest computer in the Universe of Time and Space
have been called into existence?
- Ahem. Your task, 0 Computer... - No, wait a minute.
Did he say, second greatest?
Erm...
0 Deep Thought,
are you not as we designed you to be, the greatest,
the most powerful computer of all time?
I describe myself as the second greatest, and such I am.
Can we just clear this up?
0 Deep Thought,
are you not a greater computer than the Milliard Gargantubrain,
which can count all the atoms in a star in a millisecond?
The Milliard Gargantubrain? A mere abacus!
Mention it not.
Are you not a greater analyst than the Googleplex Star Thinker
in the Seventh Galaxy of Light and Ingenuity?
Googleplex Star Thinker?
Molest me not with this pocket calculator stuff.
But are you not a more fiendish disputant
than the Great Hyperlobic Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler of Ciceronicus 12?
The Great Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler could talk all four legs
off an Arcturan MegaDonkey.
Only I could persuade him to go for a walk afterwards.
Then, what is the problem?
There is no problem.
I speak of none but the computer that is to come after me.
I think this is getting needlessly messianic.
A computer whose merest operational parameters
I am not worthy to calculate,
but which it will be my destiny, eventually, to design.
Look, can we get on and ask the question?
Oh, all right.
0 Great Computer,
the task we have designed you to perform is this.
We want you to tell us the answer.
The answer?
The answer to what?
- Life! Everything! - The Universe!
Tricky.
But, can you do it?
Yes, I can do it.
You mean, there is an answer?
A simple answer?
Yes. Life, the Universe and Everything. There is an answer.
There is an answer! At last!
But I 'II have to think about it.
We demand admission!
Now, what?
We demand that you can't keep us out.
We demand that you can't keep us out!
- Who are you? Get out of here! - I am Majikthise!
And I demand that I am Vroomfondel!
It's all right. You don't need to demand that.
All right.
I am Vroomfondel!
And that is not a demand.
That is a solid fact.
What we demand is solid facts.
No, we don't. That is precisely what we don't demand.
We don't demand solid facts.
What we demand is a total absence of solid facts.
I demand
that I may
or may not be Vroomfondel!
Who are you?
We are philosophers.
- That we may not be. - Yes, we are!
We are most definitely here as representatives
of the Amalgamated Union of Philosophers,
Sages and Luminaries, and other professionalthinking persons.
And we want this machine off, and we want it off now!
We demand that you get rid of it!
Well, what's the problem?
I'll tell you what the problem is, mate. Demarcation, that's the problem.
We demand that demarcation may or may not be the problem.
You just let the machines get on with the adding-up
and we'll take care of the eternal verities, thank you very much.
By law,
the quest for ultimate truth is the inalienable prerogative
of your working thinkers.
And if the machine actually goes and finds it,
we're straight out of a job, aren't we?
I mean, what's the use of us sitting around half the night
arguing whether there may...
- Or may not. - Be a god!
If this machine only goes and gives you his phone number in the morning?
That's right!
We demand rigidly defined areas of doubt and uncertainty.
Might I make an observation at this point?
You keep out of this, Metal Nose!
We demand that that machine not be allowed to think
about this problem!
If I might make an observation.
All I wanted to say was this,
my circuits are now irrevocably committed
to calculating the answer
to the Ultimate Question of Life, Universe, and Everything,
but the program will take me a little while to run.
How long?
Seven
and a half...
What? Not till next week?
Million years.
How long?
I said I'd have to think about it.
And it occurs to me that running a program like this
is bound to create considerable interest in the whole area of popular philosophy.
Yes?
Keep talking.
Everyone's going to have his own theory about what answer
I 'm eventually going to come up with.
And who better to capitalise on that media market than you, yourselves?
So long as you can keep violently disagreeing with each other
and slagging each other off in the popular press,
and so long as you have clever agents,
you can keep yourselves on the gravy train for life.
Bloody hell!
Now, that's what I call thinking.
Er, Vroomfondel, how come we never think of things like that?
Dunno.
I think our minds must be too highly trained, Majikthise.
Yes, very salutary, but what about the Earth and mice and things?
All will become clear to you.
Are you not anxious to hear what the computer had to say
seven and a half million years later?
Erm, yes.
Quite.
The time is nearly upon us.
Seven and a half million years we've waited.
Seventy-five thousand generations,
since our ancestors set this program in motion.
And in all that time, we shall be the first to hear the computer speak.
It's an awesome prospect!
Deep Thought is about to speak.
Good evening!
Er, 9... Good evening!
Deep Thought, do you have...
Have you...
An answer for you?
Yes, I have.
There really is one?
There really is one.
To everything?
The secret of the Universe, the great question of Life and Everything?
Yes.
And, are you ready to give it to us?
I am.
N ow?
Now!
Wow!
Though, I don't think you're going to like it.
It doesn't matter. We must know it.
Now?
Yes.
Now.
All right.
Well?
You're really not going to like it.
Tell us!
The answer to the Great Question...
Yes?
Of Life, the Universe and Everything...
Yes?
- “13. - Yes?
- is... - Yes?
Forty-two!
It was a tough assignment.
Forty-two?
Is that all you've got to show for 7.5 million years' work?
I think the problem is that you've never actually known what the question is.
But it was the great question!
The Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything!
Yes, but what actually is it?
Well...
Just everything.
You know,
everything!
Exactly.
You have to know what the question actually is,
in order to know what the answer means.
Well,
can you please tell us the question?
The Ultimate Question?
Yes!
Of Life, the Universe and Everything?
Yes!
Tricky.
But, can you do it?
No!
But I'll tell you who can.
- Tell us! - Tell us.
I speak of none but the computer that is to come after me.
A computer whose merest operational parameters,
I am not worthy to calculate.
Yet, I will design it for you.
A computer which can calculate the answer to the Ultimate Question.
A computer of such infinite and subtle complexity
that organic life itself shall form part of its operational matrix,
and you, yourselves, shall take on new forms and go down into the computer
to navigate its ten million-year program.
Yes, I shall design this computer for you.
And I shall name it also unto you.
And it shall be called,
the Earth!
Oh, what a dull name.
So, there you have it.
Deep Thought designed the Earth.
We built it and you lived on it.
And the Vogons destroyed it five minutes before the program was completed.
Yes! Ten million years of planning and work gone, just like that.
Well, that's bureaucracy for you.
You know, this explains a lot.
Because, all my life, I've had
this unaccountable feeling in my bones that something
sinister was happening in the Universe.
No one would tell me what it was.
Oh, no, that's just perfectly normal paranoia.
Everyone in the universe has that.
Everyone?
Everyone.
Ah! Well, maybe that means something?
That outside the Universe we know,
some alien intelligence...
Maybe. Who ca res?
Perhaps, I'm old and tired
but I always think the chances of finding out what really is going on
are so absurdly remote that the only thing to do is to say,
hang the sense of it and just keep yourself occupied.
Look at me, I design coastlines. I got an award for Norway.
Where's the sense in that?
None that I've been able to make out.
I've been doing fjords all my life.
For a fleeting moment, they become fashionable,
I get a major award.
In this replacement Earth we're doing,
I've been given Africa to do,
and of course, I'm doing it with whole fjords again
because I happen to like them.
I'm old-fashioned enough to think they give
a lovely baroque feel to a continent.
Then, they tell me it's not equatorial enough.
What does it matter?
Science has achieved some wonderful things, I know,
but I'd far rather be happy than right, any day.
- And are you? - No.
That's where it all falls down, of course.
Pity. Sounded like a rather good lifestyle, otherwise.
Attention, please.
Would Slartibartfast and the visiting Earth creature,
please report at once to the reception area.
Now? To meet mice?
You want me to meet mice now?
It won't be a great social occasion, I'm afraid.
Repeat, at once!
I seem to be having this tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle.
I beg your pardon?
What? I'm sorry.
Fatuous thing to say, really.
I thought so.
It is, of course, well known that careless talk costs lives,
but the full scale of the problem is not always appreciated.
For instance, at the very moment that Arthur said,
”I seem to be having this tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle, ”
a freak wormhole opened up in the fabric of the space-time continuum
and carried his words far back in time, across almost infinite reaches of space
to a distant galaxy, where strange and war-like beings were poised
on the brink of frightful interstellar battle.
The two opposing leaders were meeting for the last time
and a dreadful silence fell across the conference table
as the commander of the Vl'hurgs,
resplendent in his red-jewelled battle shorts,
gazed levelly at the G'Gugvunt leader squatting opposite him
in a cloud of green sweet-smelling steam,
and with one million sleek, horribly be-weaponed
star-cruisers poised to unleash electric death
at his single word of command,
challenged the vile creature
to take back what it had said about his mother.
The creature stirred in its sickly, broiling vapour.
At that very moment, the words,
”I seem to be having this tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle, ”
drifted across the table.
Unfortunately, in the Vl'hurg tongue,
this was the most dreadful insult imaginable.
And there was nothing for it but to fight terrible war.
Eventually, of course,
after their galaxy had been decimated over a few thousand years,
it was realised that the whole thing had been a ghastly mistake.
And so, the two opposing battle fleets settled their few remaining differences
in order to launch a joint attack on our galaxy,
now positively identified as the source of the offending remark.
For thousands more years,
the mighty ships tore across the empty wastes of space
and finally dived screaming onto the planet Earth,
where, due to a terrible miscalculation of scale,
the entire battle fleet was accidentally swallowed by a small dog.
Those who study the complex interplay of cause and effect
in the history of the Universe say that this sort of thing is going on
all the time, but that they are powerless to prevent it.
Meanwhile, Arthur Dent is about to be confronted
with the terrible reality of all that he has so far learnt.
Arthur, you're safe!
Am I? Oh, good.
Hi. Come in. Food!
What happened to you?
Well, our hosts here have been, you know, gassing us and zapping
our minds and being generally weird.
They're now giving us this amazingly keen mealto make it up to us.
Have some vegan rhino cutlet. It's really excellent.
Hosts? I don't see any hosts.
Ew! There are mice on the table!
Yes. Sorry,
I wasn't quite prepared for...
Let me introduce you. This is Benjy Mouse.
Hi there!
And this is, erm, Frankie Mouse.
Pleased to meet you.
Aren't they...
The mice I brought from Earth, yes.
- WelL.. - Try some grated Arcturan Megabonkey.
Excuse me!
Yes, thank you, Slartibartfast. You may go.
What?
Oh, very well...
I'll go and get on with some of my fjords, then.
Well, in fact, that won't be necessary.
I don't think we'll be needing the new Earth any longer.
What?
I've got one thousand glaciers poised and ready to roll over Africa!
Thank you, Slartibartfast. That will be all!
Yes, sir. Thank you very much.
Well...
Goodbye, Ea rth man.
Sorry about your planet. Hope the lifestyle comes together.
Now, to business!
Oh, yeah, to business!
To business!
I beg your pardon?
I'm sorry, I...
I thought you were proposing a toast.
Now, Earth creature,
we now have been running your planet for the last ten million years
in order to find this wretched thing called the Ultimate Question.
Just as we were about to see the fruit of millions of years of work
you go and let your planet get blown up!
- Still, the best laid plans of mice... - And men.
- What? - And men.
The best laid plans of mice and men.
And what have men got to do with it?
Listen, we've got to have that question!
Well, I'm sorry, I can't help you.
Shall we be off?
Hey, get this, will you, Earthman.
You are a last-generation product of that computer matrix, right?
I mean, you were there right up to the point
when your planet got the finger, yeah?
So, your brain was a part of the penultimate configuration
of the computer program.
Of the what?
- Have a drink. - I will.
The mice seem to think that the question might be buried somewhere in your brain.
- Is that what they think? - Yes. And they want to buy it off you.
- What, the question? - Yeah.
No, no, your brain!
What?
Well, that's all right, isn't it? Who'd miss it?
Thank you!
I thought you said you could just read his brain electronically?
Oh, yes. But we'd have to get It out first.
It's got to be prepared, treated.
Diced!
Thank you!
It could always be replaced, if you think it's important.
Yes.
An electronic brain, a simple one should suffice.
Simple one?
Yeah! All you'd have to do is program it to say, "What?"
"I don't understand" and "Where's the tea?"
Who'd know the difference?
- What? - See what I mean?
I'd notice the difference!
Oh, no, you wouldn't. You'd be programmed not to.
Let's get out of here.
I'm sorry, mice, old mates, but I don't think we've got a deal.
Hey, let's not be hasty, I mean, think of the spondulics!
Emergency! Emergency! Hostile alien police
in Section 8A! Defence stations! Defence stations!
Galactic police! Hell and bats' doos! We gotta go! Whoosh!
Creatures, where are you going?
Out, out, out!
But the question to the answer of Life, the Universe and Everything?
Think of the issues at stake!
- Which way? - Any way!
This way!
Don't you understand what you're throwing away?
Don't you understand how much money we could all make
appearing on chat shows!
Huh! All this fuss about ten pounds of earthling brain!
- Let's go! - Where are we going to go?
Over there!
Which way do you reckon, Zaphod?
Er, at a wild guess, I'd say, um,
this way.
Yeah, this way.
Okay, Beeblebrox, hold it right there! We've got you covered!
Cops!
Anyone else want a guess?
Yeah... This way!
We don't wanna shoot you, Beeblebrox!
Suits me fine!
Back to the lift?
Back to the lift.
They're shooting at us! I thought they said they didn't want to do that!
Yeah, I thought they said that.
Hey, I thought you said you didn't want to shoot us!
It isn't easy being a cop!
What did he say?
He said that it isn't easy being a cop.
That's his problem, isn't it?
I would have thought so, yeah.
Now, listen!
I think we've enough problems of our own having you out there shooting at us,
so if you'd like to avoid laying your personal problems on us as well,
I think we'd all find it a lot easier to cope!
Now, look, buddy!
You're not dealing with any dumb, two-bit,
trigger-pumping morons with low hairlines, little piggy eyes
and no conversation.
We're a couple of caring, intelligent guys
you'd probably really like if you met us socially.
I don't go around gratuitously shooting people and then brag
about it in seedy space-rangers bars.
I go around gratuitously shooting people
and then I agonise about it, afterwards, to my girlfriend!
- And I write novels! - Yeah. He writes 'em in crayon.
Though I haven't had any published yet,
so I better warn you,
I'm in a mean mood!
Who are these guys?
I think I preferred it when they were shooting.
So, are you gonna come quietly, or are you gonna let us blast you out?
Which would you prefer?
You still there?
Yeah!
We didn't enjoy that at all!
We could tell.
Now, listen to this, Beeblebrox,
and you better listen good!
Why?
Erm, because it's gonna be very intelligent
and quite interesting, and humane.
Okay. Shoot... I mean, fire away.
Argh! Don't! Please!
Sorry! Misunderstanding there.
Beeblebrox, either you all give yourselves up
and let us beat you up a little
though not too much, because we are firmly opposed to needless violence,
or, er...
Or we blow up this entire planet!
And one or two others that we noticed on the way over.
But that's crazy! You wouldn't do that!
Yes, we would!
I think we would. Wouldn't we?
Oh, yes, we have to! No question!
But why?
Tell her.
- No, you tell her. - You tell her!
- You tell her. No, you.. - You tell her! Just tell her!
Will one of you tell her?
It isn't easy being a cop!
Listen. If we keep them talking, maybe their brains will seize up.
Shall we shoot them up again for a while?
Yeah, why not?
Wait!
That just about wraps it up for this lifetime, I guess.
It's really been nice running into you again, Zaphod.
♪ Zaglabor astra cad
♪ l-loetry mansion ban trio ♪
What the hell are you doing?
This is an ancient Betelgeuse death anthem.
It means,
"After this, things can only get better."
♪ Zaglabor astra cad
♪ l-loetry mansion ban trio ♪