"And that's how I came to be stuck on your primitive little planet," said Ford, concluding his long-winded, almost certainly fanciful (at least in parts), and probably never-to-be-repeated-OR-paraphrased exposition. Both Arthur and Agnes had manfully (or womanfully) maintained a polite silence throughout the entire narrative, and were loath to ask any questions for fear it would result in further monologues. This fear effected a prolonged silence once Ford had finished, which (astonishingly) felt even more excruciating.
When Ford next spoke, thankfully it was to deliver practical, helpful information.
"If you're gonna fly around the galaxy with me, there's a few items you'll need, items I just happen to have a surfeit of." He began to rummage around in his dilapidated duffel bag, stopping when it seemed he'd found something useful. He pulled out two objects that, to Arthur, looked a lot like artificial phalluses.
Handing one to each of them, he explained, "This is a Diverse Intelligent Life-form Decoding Object. It insures that you will be sexually compatible with any sentient being you encounter. It's called DILDO for short."
(It should be noted that the DILDO does nothing to facilitate linguistic translation, as it is unnecessary. As every English speaker naturally intuits, every intelligent life-form in the universe is automatically fluent in it, barring some hideous genetic defect.)
Arthur looked at it doubtfully. "Um, what do I do, exactly?"
"Just place the base of it next to the head of your penis." Ford then gave Agnes a teasing look. "I assume you don't need me to tell you where to put that..."
Smilingly shaking her head, "No," she reached her hand down her skirt and (for all Arthur and Ford could tell) installed the device perfectly.
In the meantime, Arthur was intrigued to discover that following Ford's instructions caused the device to open up at the base, fitting over his penis like a sheath, then conforming to its original appearance exactly.
Arthur poked at his apparently unmodified member with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. It doesn't seem especially...enhanced," he said, sounding somewhat disappointed.
"Wait until you're banging an Antarean sex-priestess up her eight-inch circumference pleasure hole," said Ford knowingly. "No point in carrying extra weight until you need it, eh?"
"You've got nothing to worry about, sweetie," said Agnes, with a sly smile. "I know a place you'll always fit..."
"Yes, well," said Arthur, a bit flustered and embarrassed. Whatever Ford had done to make her so besotted, he knew it couldn't last forever. He just wasn't sure he felt comfortable taking advantage, now that he knew the source of her ardor. Plus he dreaded her eventual outrage.
Opting for the time-honored stratagem of changing the subject, he shifted the focus of the conversation. "Erm, so, what else have you got in that bag of yours, Ford?" he asked.
Rummaging again for another second or two, Ford pulled out two towels, which looked suspiciously like towels from a Holiday Inn that had had the logos bleached off of them. Ford then proceeded to disabuse Arthur of that notion. "This, he said, with what sounded like a note of pride in his voice, "is the Toweltron Mark Zeta. It is the vanguard of towel technology. Automatically self-cleaning, it also serves to clean 100% of all surfaces, particularly biological ones."
Seeing the humans puzzled expressions, he rushed to clarify. "In other words, you can wipe yourself – or anything else – clean. Completely adjustable for moistness and soapiness, also serves as a makeshift bandanna or do-rag, AND," (now his grin was almost maniacal) "perfectly suited for life forms of the bipedal variety for turning any surface into a dynamite shag pad, no matter how harsh the surface may seem at first glance."
The next item looked even less impressive. Which isn't all that fair, since when it first came out, the I-phone, which this closely resembled, looked pretty damn impressive. But perhaps humans have gotten a little bit too used to the rapid pace of technological advance. Which is why the first thing out of Arthur's mouth was hardly enlightening:
"Oh, did you manage to save your I-phone?" He then paused and continued in a more sober tone. "I don't suppose it's much good with the planet destroyed and everything. No more phone service, no more Internet." Both him and Agnes sighed, unhappy to think of how completely the structure of their previous lives had been dismantled.
Then Agnes chimed in, in a brighter tone. "Are any of the apps still operational?"
Ford was visibly impatient. This, Arthur felt, was ungracious, considering they'd been attentively listening to his every word for some time.
"This isn't a bloody I-phone!" he yelled. This is a link to the vastest, most useful body of knowledge in the entire galaxy!"
"Oohh!" said Agnes. "You mean like the Internet?"
"No, not the Internet," said Ford, growing ever more irritated. "This is the Hitchhiker's Manual, a continually updated open-source informational text about everything in the galaxy, every planet, every sentient species, every political system; you name it, and if it's not in the Manual, you're probably making it up."
Understanding dawned on Arthur. "So it's like Wikipedia!" he exclaimed.
"Sort of," conceded Ford. "But it's for profit, and the last time someone tried planting fake information, they were reduced to a crispy cinder, then a very fine ash."
"What?!" cried Arthur, alarmed. "You mean that thing can barbecue people? How can you carry it around without being sure a solar flare or something won't trigger it?" Arthur's faith in technology was inextricably linked to his belief in Murphy's Law.
"Oh, no," chuckled Ford. "The Manual didn't fry them. No, they slandered one of the holy prophets of Andromeda Seven. His followers found out, and took care of business."
"So I take it freedom of speech doesn't get much protection in the galaxy at large?" asked Agnes, concerned.
"There are two ways to protect your freedom of speech in this cosmos," said Ford, "just as there are two excellent ways to protect your reputation . Anonymity and a gun."
*****
Ford had left what were probably the last two remaining humans by themselves in the consequently slightly larger cabin, which Arthur (once his senses started reliably informing his awareness again) could not help but notice had a distinct odor that was an odd mixture of leather and copper. Ford was presumably working out how they were going to abandon their current abode, being that it was presumably under the control of whoever had just demolished Earth, making it a less than hospitable environ for a majority of their party.
Before leaving, he had made a point of informing them that he would be gone for at least an hour, which filled Agnes with glee and Arthur with a sense of dread. He had to admit to himself he was tempted to say the Hell with her eventual disillusionment and take full advantage of her continued desire for him while it lasted. The conflicting urge, to break down and confess the truth of the matter, as far as Arthur understood it, also boded disaster. How could she ever trust him or Ford again? And Arthur was certain that their continued survival depended on them staying together at all costs. (Maybe not Ford's, but definitely him and Agnes's.)
But look at her! Sitting there all moon-eyed, eager to offer up her body to him, perhaps more, and don't most relationships start this way, a temporary skewing of perception, lust overriding reason? And there were no other humans. Didn't they, didn't HE, especially, have a duty? Didn't their survival convey SOME responsibility?
And, come to think of it, how much was HE under Ford's spell? Certainly he didn't need much manipulation to accept a blowjob from a beautiful woman, or to cooperate with someone who was helping him escape certain death, but he still had gone along with it with remarkably little protest, internal or external, which was unusual for him...
So, in that case, couldn't he be excused if he just gave in, went with the flow? Surely Ford could be relied on to make sure everything went well; perhaps he could even fix things so the two of them fell in love and stayed that way. Deep down, Arthur had always wanted to meet a nice girl and settle down with her, not quite under these precise circumstances, to be sure, but Arthur wasn't one of those people they consulted when the rules were drawn up; he just considered himself lucky if he was invited to play, so why not just make the best of whatever situation he found himself in?
Ultimately, it was the look of utter adoration she was giving him that decided him. Pissed off at him he could handle. The glare that said, "You're an utter bastard!" he'd weathered, not often, but often enough. But that look, that fawning, almost-more-appropriate-to-pets-than-humans look, the look that carried with it the certainty that anything hurtful or selfish he did would be met with that utter crestfallenness best express in the phrase, "Did I do something wrong?" It wasn't something he could just take advantage of, that required a level of callousness he just couldn't allow himself.
Of course, telling Agnes the truth of the situation wasn't going to make things any easier. It probably wouldn't even make things right between them. But it would be a start.
If you aren't by nature a courageous person, it doesn't mean that you're doomed to a life of ineffectual cowardice. But it does mean you need to be emotionally intelligent. We've all done things that surprised us, in how they surpassed the limits of our everyday selves, some brave, some merely foolhardy. Sometimes we're motivated by conscience, sometimes one gets possessed by a sense of reckless abandon, and sometimes alcohol is involved. Regardless, if we want to maximize those experiences, it's important to pick our moments.
