h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Ignorence can be a wonderful thing.

Just as the fate of Humanity, The World and The Universe hung in the balance, our intreped hero,s Secret Agents Arthur Robinson and his enigmaticly named partner X, were sat in relative comfort and blissful seclusion traveling deep underground en route to their destination deep inside Europe.

Ignorence can also be potentially deadly as we shall see in a approximately two paragraphs...

Arthur and X were on a mission from Guy to uncover the secret riddle of what does 'the dying pilchard bleeds under a Turqoise moon' - *actually* mean?
Thus far their investigations had led them - in the manner of a Sunday Afternoon Out Shopping With The Missus For Shelving - straight to the nearest pub.

They had arrived in Switzerland several weeks ago, long before the climatic events occuring beneath Stone Henge (all references See: A872624, esp. I, XVII & XXIII ) In the initial stages then these passages respresent the missing period of time between when they left Guy's bedside after defeating a death squad of Cryo-clownz and the cliffhanger ending from the last storytime.
They had selected as their mode of transport one of the old underground travelling tubes from Leicesters original smuggling empire. Now the thing about these travel tubes is this: In order to be able to traverse the globe in sufficient time as one needs to rule over an international criminal operation they have to necessarily travle EXTREMELY fast.

This was a fact not lost on Arthur and X who having chosen to ignore the instruction manual had subsequently been unable to locate the brake and had shot out of the exit ramp like a cork from a bottle of bubbly.

They parked the tube in a nearby tree and succesfully negotiated several layers of branches back down to Terra Frima and so having arrived began to discharge their mission.

The pub incidentally that we mentioned earlier and where our heores are curretly locaated is called "The Blue Moon." It looked like any other pub that might have been plucked from any English Street - One thing in particular marked it out as unique however. It stood alone in the middle of nowhere. A large flat, empty, green plain stretched away in every direction. There may have been mountains in the distance or maybe it was a cloud. It wasn't even obvious how the materials to build it had even arrived there were no rods no any sign of civilisation whatsoever.
Indeed Arthur and X had only found the place at all due to the pair's legendary sense of direction and because the curious ability of an englishman to sense the nearby presence of beer whilst on holiday is, quite frankly, uncanny.

The publicans who ran the place certainly knew how to appeal to te hearts and minds of the masses (wherever they were) across the wooden beam, above the mantle was the motto-cum advert: "Cold Outside. Come inside - Drink beer!"
There was also, as is tradition, a lone chalk board propped up hopefully outside - it proudly proclaimed:

"THE ONLY TOILET IN 100 MILES!!!"

Reasoning that this might come in handy - Arthur and X had decided to go inside and strike up a conversation with whoever was inside...

*psst* What do I do?

*psst* write something.

F74565?thread=145244

F'rinstance this is how the last one started....

maybe I should write a bit more to get it going....bear with me while I oil the imagination cogs...

Does it have to be written story or can I just throw ideas at you and then hope one knocks you out?

um....well I don;t tend to play arbiter of what goes in till later when I have to edit the whole sorry mess ...

basically anyone and everyone contributes another segment of a continuing story - so yeah write another piece

The idea being I have no idea where you'll take the story after I post so hopefully it will fire me off in new drections. same for everyone.

Occassionally it happens in a fervour of posting that two or more people may post contrasting and divergent continuations of the story - and then we have to decide which way we have to go. (recall if you will the multi-thread postings drive from ST1 - was a device employed to make sense of the many many divergeent realities that were bing created by a flurry of different posts. )
but that happens relatively rarely....

so in essense post a short snippet of wherever you would like to take the story next...


Arthur and X have discovered a pub in the middle of switzerland completely isolated - insde there was...a party - it was deserted... there was an old goatherder sat at the bar nursing a small glass of some yellowish fluid whistling a off-key version of 'oh my Darling Clementine' - i dunno.

let us on your imagination work. as it were...

The door to the pub creaked open.
It would have been considered empty if it weren't for the 25 or so souls sitting at tables.

Apart from the traditional smell and monobrowed barman, Arthur and X noticed a familiar someone in the corner.

'Isn't that--' began X before being cut off.
'Yep, that's him,' sighed Arthur. 'Shawn Dalmooreby.'

The man to which they referred was an ex member of The Agency.
Once a man's man, who always lived forever, Shawn Daltmooreby was fired by The Agency's head, Boutros Boutros Ghali when he drifted into alcoholism after numerous attempts to chat-up ladies has required many order for martinis.
It was that, or Boutros would have had to fire Daltmooreby for his horrifically bad wig which would fall back over the former spy's bhead whenever he lifted an eyebrow.

oooh that's good. oh yes.


Alas the hour draws late...I'll be back to pick this uptomorrow....

'I wonder what he's up to?', mused X

'I suspect he's waiting for his lady friend.', replied Arthur 'Come on lets get a drink.'

The two spy's walked over to the bar, when they were shocked to find no one there. Well no one at their eye level.

'Can I help you?', said the bar man.

Arthur ordered the round. 'We'll have two pints of your finest lager please.'

The man eyed them suspiciously, then started pulling their pints. He was an oldish man, who was built like he should have been holding up planets not pulling pints. Arthur had a feeling that he could probably look after himself in a fight.

'I ain't seen you two around 'ere. What do they call you?', enquired the bar keep.

'They don't call us anything.', said X in a I-do-actually-have-name-but-wont-be-telling-you-thankyou-very-much kind of way.

'So what suspicous business are you up to? Anyone who doesn't have a name is usually up to something.'

'We're not up to anything', replied Arthur, 'We just don't want people to know who we are.'

'Here you go'. The Bar man put the pints down, and Arthur paid for the drinks. 'Enjoy your business gentlemen'. The man winked then went further down the bar to deal with another customer.

Arthur and X turned around went to sit at a near by table.

Just then a huge man in a duffel coat with a bearded face, arrived through the door forcefully.

'Bloody Hell!', said Arthur as he ducked below the table.

'What is it?', asked X as he turned around to look at what had happened. He didn't recognise the new comer.

X ducked bent down to speak to Arthur. 'Whats going on?', asked X.

'Get up!', whispered Arthur as forcefully as possible. 'He might get suspicious'.

X got up a bit, so it looked like he was bent over his pint.

'Who is that man?', asked X as inconspiciously as possible.

'That is Andrei Sreka.', whispered Arthur 'He's from the Russian maffia. And if he see's me I'm dead.'

Is that alright?

< Well between us we've managed to come up with characters already met... An alcholic and Ex-Mafia Russian..!


*psst* Clive (if that is your real name) we should do some kind of cheesy Bondesque song... >

< Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! >

"What's happening now?" Arthur pressed.

"Andrei seems to be settling down at Dalmooreby's table - they're embracing, they seem to know each other." X said.

At that moment Andrei glanced around the room and locked eyes with X.
and then looked away again and sat down, appearing not to register the rictus-like look of absolutle innocence that had frozen on X's face like a toddler with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"It's alright he hasn't seen us." he whispered to Arthur who was crouched down on his haunches with studied look of concern.

"What is Shawn doing here??" Arthur was muttering to himself - "doesn't make sense."

"Who is he?"

"Well you remember I said Boutros had fired him years ago for drinking on the job?"

"Yes" said X taking a substantial quoff from his pint, appearing not to notice the irony.

"well it was more than that...I was still just a recruit then...Boutros...was...just The Boss, I didn't know him till later, We hadn't met either - Shawn was one of the old grandees, been around for years. He departed in a bit of huff. People said him and Boutros had fought or maybe he'd been sent away on a secret mission and this was his cover. You know what gossip hounds you to hang roung the water cooler in sub basement 27a of the Field Operative training centre!"

Suddenly there was a commotion on the other side of the room.

Andrei had risen to his feet and was shouting in a loud voice - "Pah! enuff ov ziz! lies! filthy Eeenglish!" and pulling his coast tighly around him he marched out of the door.

In all the commotion Neither Arthur nor X had seen Andrei slip Dalmooreby a note. The patient and relaxed former Agent, palmed the note and brought his hand around just enough that he could read it.

TWO SPIES BEHIND UZ BY ZE PIANO - MEET AGAIN AT MIDNIGHT.


"Bless him." thought Shawn. You had to admire the lengths to which Andrei fully flung himself into his false identities - he even wrote in Russlish.

He allowed his gaze to drift up just enough so that his eyes were masked behind the droop of his overly large toupee. Through the strands of grey, matted fake hair, he spotted one character perched by a table, idly flipping a beer-mat and catching it again. 'Trying to be inconspicious was *so* obvious sometimes,' he thought, surpessed a smirk as he did so.

'Well that was one - where was the other one?'

....


HCP, VERC your getting the idea....I'm loving these new characters to play with..

Clive.

Shawn looked down slightly, between the table which blocked his full view of X.
X had a second pair of legs.

'That makes two', he sighed.

Daltmooreby stood up and made his way into the nearby toilet door which some vandal had deemed hilarious to scratch out the 'I' to make 'TO LET'.

< And it's HPB... >

sorry it was late...I also misspelt Daltmooreby's name (nice contraction of 4 previous bond actors by the way....)

"I've got to know what he's doing here..." said Arthur. "Stay here - if Andrei comes back distract him or something!"

Arthur unfurled himself and adjusting his tie set off across the bar to the 'to let'.

He gingerly opened the door expecting to see Sean, in his white suit, stood at a urinal - but not only had the spy vanished into thin air - there was no toilet in here either!

A few missing tiles exposed some piping that had yet to be completed.

Arthur glanced around, the cubiles lay in piles of self-assembled abstraction. There was a small window frosted over - not big enough to let a man through and certainly not one to permit passage to the portly waist of Daltmoreby.

Feeling most perplexed and more than a little puzzled Arthur quickly surveyed all that was before him and quickly left again.

On his way over back to rejoin X Arthur stopped by the bar - he attracted the monobrowed barman's attention.

"Yes?"

"erm...I was just wondering I need to use the toilet and - ", gesturing in the direction of the 'to let'

"Oh no. I quiyt understand - follow me."

Arthur signalled to X his intention with a complicated series of blinks and facial ticks and walked behind the bar and through the curtain folowing the barman.

He led Arthur along a corridor - Arthur always curious watched as a rom with basic kitchenette facilities passed by on his right, a broom cupboard on his left and soe stairs up to presumbaly the bedrooms.

"Here we go" said the barman up hooking an overly large ring of keys from his belt. selecting a tiny bronze coloured one, he unlocked the back door and Arthur got his first look at The Toilet.

At the end of a long strip of garden - surrounded by a small stricken fence, drew one's eyes to the cheerfully inept crazy paving path ambled down the centre isle of the lawn to a stand-alone shack. An Out-House. Arthur felt his soul chill and shrivel up inside him..

"That" he said swallowing hard "is the toilet?"

"Uh huh" said the barkeep - "you''ll need these" he added, handing arthur a small ice pick and a newspaper.

"uhh?" gesticulated Arthur a bit unsure of why.

The barman had clearly dealt with this situation before: "It get's very cold out here on the plains at night - we tend to find the water in the bowl freezes so you'll need this to chip through - also we don't have any paper left so that will have to do.
S'where we've got the name from y'see The Blue Moon, I can't count the number of times we've come down to find guests frozen to the seat who've needed to be thawed out again! My advice: try not to sit down if you can at all help it."

"I see" said Arthur testing the point of the pick with his thumb experimentally.

"Run along now, I got customers to serve" and he turned on his heels and left.

Arthur looked down at the objects in his hand and back out at the limp structure of the toilet..it's sheer delapidatedness was beyond decription nonetheless he figured Daltmoorby must have hidden somewhere... Arthur stepped outside.


-----------------------------------


From his vantage point on the ceiling, Daltmoorby finshed counting to 10,000 let go of the button and the crampon and steel wire that had suspended him above the 'to let's' doorway retracted into his wrist-watch and Sean landed with nimble and cat-like grace. Turning he adjusted his wig in the dirty mirror that hung on the opposite wall and walked out of the door.

"So soon?" remarked X, attempting to lean nonchalantly against a bird-bath and discovering that he couldn't.
"Something stinks here, but it's not that privy." Arthur paused for a moment, rather pleased with himself. "Yees. Right. I'll check the upper floors, the rooms. Daltmooreby can't have gotten far..."
"I'll investigate the outhouse a little more, I think." X blanched at his partner's look. He took the newspaper and icepick and marched with deliberate dignity into the dim recesses of the primitive toilet. The door rattled when he slammed it shut.
"A little privacy, hmm?"

Arthur slinked through the back door out of the night, hearing the barman shouting 'Last orders, bitte!', and insinuated himself along the wall to the stairs. He suggested himself up them, and implied himself along the door-lined upper corridor, as silent and lethal as a sharp rock. From the rooms, tremendous Teutonic snores assailed his ears.
So, Daltmooreby, he thought. You were good, back in the day. You were very good indeed, for a womanising, alcoholic misanthrope with a gambling problem. But - and this was a very private thought, which the professional side of Arthur's brain would disavow all knowledge of - but now you're old...
His darting eyes lighted on a small mess lying outside the door to room 14.
...and you're making mistakes. Good good.
He rumoured himself over to the door and looked closer. An empty bottle of Soviet-era vodka, and a small clinical bottle labelled 'Hair Apparent: Super-Glue for the Folically-Fake'.
Arthur gave a tiny, professionally-acceptable smile, and spoke softly into his collar.

His business concluded, X was examining the fetid inside of the outhouse.
A secret switch, he decided. Had to be. Maybe if he tried the planks in the wall...
The wall revealed nothing but woodworm, and a strange sticky fungus he had to wipe off his fingers.
Alright. Try tugging on the 'Girls Of Tbilisi 1967' calendar...
The greasy hook snapped, X fumbled and the girls of Tbilisi plummeted into the depths where even narrative is reluctant to delve.
Finally, just as he was considering the potential of the rusty toilet-roll holder to be a gateway to secret realms, his earpiece fizzled into life and began breathing soft words into his eardrum.
"...outside room 14, and I can hear voices...strange smell of cheese...proceeding to enter without detection..."
There was a distant click.
"...see Daltmooreby and Andrei...talking, arguing...there's someone else, his back is turned...wait, I can-"
There was a sudden burst of noise from the earpiece, and the transmission cut off.

There was nothing suggestive about the way X made his entrance into the room. His first thought was that the room was empty - recently and hurriedly vacated, to judge by the lit cigarette butts and a half-finished gateaux. The second thing that caught his attention was, as Arthur had mentioned, an overpowering smell of cheese.
The third thing to focus his mind was his partner, revealed in the flickering light of a swinging bulb, lying on his belly on the narrow bed, apparently unconscious.
And painted blue from head to toe.

X sighed, and went downstairs to look for some white spirit. Luckily the bartender, who had a low opinion of his rural customers' ability to recognise vodka, had plenty in stock.