A Hitchhiker Retires (3/3)
Apr. 24th, 2007 07:26 pm"Ford?"
"Yes, Arthur?"
"I've come to a realization."
"And what would that be?"
"We're getting too old for this."
Ford peered up at the main ventilation shaft. The duct went straight up through the heart of the building, connecting every floor. A narrow ladder was affixed to one side. Their destination was the Accounts department, on the 22nd floor.
"The thought had crossed my mind," he agreed after a moment.
"I mean, really too old," Arthur continued. "I don't think you and I could make it up to the second floor like this, let alone the twenty-second."
"We'll figure something out." Ford stepped onto one of the rungs and grabbed hold with both hands. The instant his second hand gripped, the ladder lurched upwards. He let go with one hand, and the ladder stopped. "See?" he said quickly, covering up his surprise. "You worry too much."
Arthur, on the ground, could see the new rungs coming up from the base of the ladder, fed in a loop from the other side of the wall. On one of the rungs was a small inscription declaring this to be an "Eleladder" along with a familiar and oft-dreaded company logo. "I never thought I'd say this, Ford, but thank goodness for Sirius Cybernetics."
A tinny, metallic voice rang from, well, from the rung. "You're welcome."
"Oh, shut up," the Earthman snapped, climbing onto the ladder.
They found that the ladder would only move when both hands of each passenger were holding on, which was unusually safety-conscious of Sirius, but at least they could control their ascent. The two rode the eleladder all the way to the 22nd floor, where they climbed into an adjoining duct.
"What do you intend to do when we get to Accounts?" Arthur asked in a hushed whisper as they crawled.
"I haven't thought that far ahead," Ford replied.
"What?!"
"Well, frankly, I'm surprised we've made it this far."
"Terrific. You better come up with something soon; we're almost there!"
"I know, I know! Don't rush me."
There was silence for a moment, and then Arthur spoke up again. "Ford? I don't mean to rush you, but I just thought you'd like to know there's a gentleman pressing the muzzle of a gun against my back."
Ford huffed. "Tell him to wait his tu-- oh." He looked over his shoulder and saw the very same guard he'd asked directions from earlier. Obviously, he'd worked out who they were and had circled back after them. "In that case, you'd better grab hold of my legs," Ford added with a sigh.
Thirty years ago, perhaps even fifteen, Arthur would have asked why. He knew better than that now, and simply grabbed hold. As soon as Ford felt the pressure, he hit the wall of the duct with his fist in a quick staccato pattern. Almost immediately, an enormous gust of air filled the entire space, blowing back toward the main shaft. Ford covered his satchel with his body, but otherwise didn't move. Had Arthur not been holding on to Ford, he would have been blown backwards in an instant. The security guard, on the other hand, was only holding on to his gun, which wasn't nearly as rooted down as Ford. He disappeared down the shaft in less than a second, after which, the air died down.
"What the hell was that?!" Arthur panted.
Ford shrugged nonchalantly. "I signaled the ventilation system that there was a blockage in this vent, so it sent a blast of air to clear it."
"But why didn't it blow you back as well?"
"Grit. Determination. And a zarking big magnet in my satchel."
"Why do you have a -- never mind. I don't want to know. Did you kill that guard?"
Ford looked over his shoulder at Arthur. "Of course not!"
"Oh, good. There's something in the shaft, then, that detected him falling and caught him?"
"No, I just mean that it was the impact that killed him, not me."
Arthur grimaced. "You've gotten brutal in your old age."
"It's been a brutal life. Everything we've been through... Vogons, Krikkitmen, Antarian insurgents, Forsaken... you saying it hasn't made you harder?"
"Not hard enough to kill."
"Then you're a better being than me. But, I've always believed that." Before Arthur had a chance to respond to that, Ford pushed open a vent and swung down out of the duct.
Arthur dropped down next to him in the darkened room. "Where are we?" he whispered.
"Supply closet," Ford replied. "Inside the Accounts department."
"Ah. So, did you come up with a brilliant plan to accomplish your goal?"
Ford thought for a moment. "Actually, yes. Pass me that stapler."
A moment later, the door to the supply closet burst open. Arthur appeared, followed closely by Ford. He was gripping Arthur by the arm and pressing the butt of the stapler (pushed mostly into his sleeve to conceal it) underneath the Earthman's chin. "All right!" he barked. "Let's just everybody be cool, and I won't have to plug this poor sniveling bastard."
"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" Arthur hissed at him through gritted teeth.
Fortunately, the commotion in the office covered up the sound, as everyone scrambled for the exits, for refuge under their desks, or, in at least three cases, for weapons hidden in file cabinets. Only one person in the department seemed to be unconcerned by this development, and as it just so happened, it was exactly the person Ford was looking for.
"I'm the head of this department," the canoid said, hands raised calmly and ears flattened. "How about we just clear this room now, and you and I can discuss things rationally?"
Ford laughed. "I'm a bit past rational at this point! Get everybody out of here, nice and slow. Single file, if you please."
The workers and service drones filtered out as ordered. Once the door closed and locked, the department head nodded and slowly dropped his hands. "All right, Mr. Prefect, now we can talk."
"There's only one thing I need," Ford snarled, pressing the stapler harder against Arthur's chin, "and it doesn't involve talking!"
"Mr. Prefect! If you'll simply calm down and listen. We are prepared to acquiesce to your request. If you'll just release Mr. Dent there and put the stapler down, we can start the paperwork on your pension."
Ford's eyes narrowed, but he did put the stapler down and let Arthur go. His hand was getting tired anyway.
The canoid smiled. "Excellent. Now, if you'll just have a seat here."
Ford shook his head. "So that the snipers can get a clean shot? I don't think so. Let's sit over here where there's no direct line from the windows."
"As you wish." He lifted his water dish and took a couple of laps before setting it down and crossing the room to join Ford at the less exposed desk. "Now, half salary, was it?"
"It was half when I walked in. Now it's seventy-five percent. Or I tear this building down."
"Don't be absurd, Mr. Prefect," the Accounts head said with an amused grin. "I'm prepared to offer fifty-five."
"I'm a founding hitcher. Sixty-five," Ford insisted.
Arthur slid over in a chair from a neighboring desk. "Ford, what are you doing? Just take the offer; it's what you wanted!"
"They don't want me to have it, which makes me want it that much more," he replied, then looked back to the canoid. "Sixty-five. Come on, I don't have all day."
"I simply can't go higher than sixty percent," the canoid answered sadly. "It's really quite beyond me."
At Arthur's insistent glare, Ford sighed. "Oh, fine, then. Sixty. Let's get on with it."
***
Three floors up, Zarniwoop sat behind his desk watching the "hostage situation" through the closed-circuit cameras, chuckling to himself.
"You're simply going to give in to him, sir?" asked a security guard behind him.
Zarniwoop smiled. "Of course, Sargeant Il-Drango. I always intended to."
"Then why all the pretense? He assaulted you, sir, jumped out a window, tried to kill me... You're saying you let him do all that?"
"Naturally. This is Ford Prefect we're talking about. He wouldn't have trusted it if he didn't have to work for it."
-- End --
"Yes, Arthur?"
"I've come to a realization."
"And what would that be?"
"We're getting too old for this."
Ford peered up at the main ventilation shaft. The duct went straight up through the heart of the building, connecting every floor. A narrow ladder was affixed to one side. Their destination was the Accounts department, on the 22nd floor.
"The thought had crossed my mind," he agreed after a moment.
"I mean, really too old," Arthur continued. "I don't think you and I could make it up to the second floor like this, let alone the twenty-second."
"We'll figure something out." Ford stepped onto one of the rungs and grabbed hold with both hands. The instant his second hand gripped, the ladder lurched upwards. He let go with one hand, and the ladder stopped. "See?" he said quickly, covering up his surprise. "You worry too much."
Arthur, on the ground, could see the new rungs coming up from the base of the ladder, fed in a loop from the other side of the wall. On one of the rungs was a small inscription declaring this to be an "Eleladder" along with a familiar and oft-dreaded company logo. "I never thought I'd say this, Ford, but thank goodness for Sirius Cybernetics."
A tinny, metallic voice rang from, well, from the rung. "You're welcome."
"Oh, shut up," the Earthman snapped, climbing onto the ladder.
They found that the ladder would only move when both hands of each passenger were holding on, which was unusually safety-conscious of Sirius, but at least they could control their ascent. The two rode the eleladder all the way to the 22nd floor, where they climbed into an adjoining duct.
"What do you intend to do when we get to Accounts?" Arthur asked in a hushed whisper as they crawled.
"I haven't thought that far ahead," Ford replied.
"What?!"
"Well, frankly, I'm surprised we've made it this far."
"Terrific. You better come up with something soon; we're almost there!"
"I know, I know! Don't rush me."
There was silence for a moment, and then Arthur spoke up again. "Ford? I don't mean to rush you, but I just thought you'd like to know there's a gentleman pressing the muzzle of a gun against my back."
Ford huffed. "Tell him to wait his tu-- oh." He looked over his shoulder and saw the very same guard he'd asked directions from earlier. Obviously, he'd worked out who they were and had circled back after them. "In that case, you'd better grab hold of my legs," Ford added with a sigh.
Thirty years ago, perhaps even fifteen, Arthur would have asked why. He knew better than that now, and simply grabbed hold. As soon as Ford felt the pressure, he hit the wall of the duct with his fist in a quick staccato pattern. Almost immediately, an enormous gust of air filled the entire space, blowing back toward the main shaft. Ford covered his satchel with his body, but otherwise didn't move. Had Arthur not been holding on to Ford, he would have been blown backwards in an instant. The security guard, on the other hand, was only holding on to his gun, which wasn't nearly as rooted down as Ford. He disappeared down the shaft in less than a second, after which, the air died down.
"What the hell was that?!" Arthur panted.
Ford shrugged nonchalantly. "I signaled the ventilation system that there was a blockage in this vent, so it sent a blast of air to clear it."
"But why didn't it blow you back as well?"
"Grit. Determination. And a zarking big magnet in my satchel."
"Why do you have a -- never mind. I don't want to know. Did you kill that guard?"
Ford looked over his shoulder at Arthur. "Of course not!"
"Oh, good. There's something in the shaft, then, that detected him falling and caught him?"
"No, I just mean that it was the impact that killed him, not me."
Arthur grimaced. "You've gotten brutal in your old age."
"It's been a brutal life. Everything we've been through... Vogons, Krikkitmen, Antarian insurgents, Forsaken... you saying it hasn't made you harder?"
"Not hard enough to kill."
"Then you're a better being than me. But, I've always believed that." Before Arthur had a chance to respond to that, Ford pushed open a vent and swung down out of the duct.
Arthur dropped down next to him in the darkened room. "Where are we?" he whispered.
"Supply closet," Ford replied. "Inside the Accounts department."
"Ah. So, did you come up with a brilliant plan to accomplish your goal?"
Ford thought for a moment. "Actually, yes. Pass me that stapler."
A moment later, the door to the supply closet burst open. Arthur appeared, followed closely by Ford. He was gripping Arthur by the arm and pressing the butt of the stapler (pushed mostly into his sleeve to conceal it) underneath the Earthman's chin. "All right!" he barked. "Let's just everybody be cool, and I won't have to plug this poor sniveling bastard."
"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" Arthur hissed at him through gritted teeth.
Fortunately, the commotion in the office covered up the sound, as everyone scrambled for the exits, for refuge under their desks, or, in at least three cases, for weapons hidden in file cabinets. Only one person in the department seemed to be unconcerned by this development, and as it just so happened, it was exactly the person Ford was looking for.
"I'm the head of this department," the canoid said, hands raised calmly and ears flattened. "How about we just clear this room now, and you and I can discuss things rationally?"
Ford laughed. "I'm a bit past rational at this point! Get everybody out of here, nice and slow. Single file, if you please."
The workers and service drones filtered out as ordered. Once the door closed and locked, the department head nodded and slowly dropped his hands. "All right, Mr. Prefect, now we can talk."
"There's only one thing I need," Ford snarled, pressing the stapler harder against Arthur's chin, "and it doesn't involve talking!"
"Mr. Prefect! If you'll simply calm down and listen. We are prepared to acquiesce to your request. If you'll just release Mr. Dent there and put the stapler down, we can start the paperwork on your pension."
Ford's eyes narrowed, but he did put the stapler down and let Arthur go. His hand was getting tired anyway.
The canoid smiled. "Excellent. Now, if you'll just have a seat here."
Ford shook his head. "So that the snipers can get a clean shot? I don't think so. Let's sit over here where there's no direct line from the windows."
"As you wish." He lifted his water dish and took a couple of laps before setting it down and crossing the room to join Ford at the less exposed desk. "Now, half salary, was it?"
"It was half when I walked in. Now it's seventy-five percent. Or I tear this building down."
"Don't be absurd, Mr. Prefect," the Accounts head said with an amused grin. "I'm prepared to offer fifty-five."
"I'm a founding hitcher. Sixty-five," Ford insisted.
Arthur slid over in a chair from a neighboring desk. "Ford, what are you doing? Just take the offer; it's what you wanted!"
"They don't want me to have it, which makes me want it that much more," he replied, then looked back to the canoid. "Sixty-five. Come on, I don't have all day."
"I simply can't go higher than sixty percent," the canoid answered sadly. "It's really quite beyond me."
At Arthur's insistent glare, Ford sighed. "Oh, fine, then. Sixty. Let's get on with it."
***
Three floors up, Zarniwoop sat behind his desk watching the "hostage situation" through the closed-circuit cameras, chuckling to himself.
"You're simply going to give in to him, sir?" asked a security guard behind him.
Zarniwoop smiled. "Of course, Sargeant Il-Drango. I always intended to."
"Then why all the pretense? He assaulted you, sir, jumped out a window, tried to kill me... You're saying you let him do all that?"
"Naturally. This is Ford Prefect we're talking about. He wouldn't have trusted it if he didn't have to work for it."
-- End --