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

Fixed.

And I'm doing another chunk that ends on the phrase - "TO THE RICHTERMOBILE!!"

Appropriate really.

Prologue thingy. A little behind schedule

------

It was not a dark and stormy night, though this would have been convenient for narrative purposes.

There had been some snow flurries early in the evening, but now at a little after two o' clock in the morning the streets of St. Petersburg were simply freezing over in the totally ordinary fashion, with no thought for dramatic convention. Steam rose from the gutters. The more unlucky tramps didn't.

Felix Yusupov scraped a match along the parapet of the bridge and lit a cigarette with shaking, manicured hands. He was an aristocrat of sensitive temperament, and had recently found that murder didn't agree with him. In his defence, their victim that night had been highly uncooperative in the matter of dying, most unsuitable for a first-time murderer. Yusupov took a deep drag, and coughed. His breath misted in the night air and mingled with the cigarette smoke.

The others had hauled the sack containing *it* out of the car and laid it out on the cobbles next to the parapet. Yusupov flinched, reliving the moment on the journey when Dmitry had wailed that *it* was moving again...the desperate fumble between the seats...the sound of the shots, insanely loud in the confined space of the auto... Had to be done, he told himself. Had to be done.

"Felix? Come over here. This is your party, after all. Hoho."
Very funny Nikolai, thought Yusupov bitterly. You should perform in the music halls. He walked over slowly to join the circle of conspirators standing over the sack. All were reluctant to touch it, and equally reluctant to show they were reluctant to touch it. There were many shuffled feet and downcast eyes. Finally Dmitry turned from the car and hefted a tyre iron in his tough soldier's hands.

"To make certain," he rumbled, in reply to Yusupov's horrified expression. "You were not so squeamish when you took my revolver and-"

"Alright! Alright. You make certain. Mother of God..." The dapper prince turned his back for a few moments, until the dull, fleshy thumps had ceased.

Now the other four each took a corner of the sack and heaved it up to rest on the parapet. Below, the canal ran swift and black beneath a thin coat of ice. A glance was exchanged between the four, then there was a mutual grunt of effort and the sack slid awkwardly over the edge. There was a splintering crack from the canal below, then a moment of silence.

Then there was another moment of silence.

Nikolai cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the jagged hole in the ice. "Perhaps you would like to say something to mark this occasion, Felix?"

Yusupov suppressed a nervous twitch, and thought for a moment. "Yes. Let us all go back to my place and get on the outside of some hot whiskies."

The old politician furrowed his brow and nodded slowly. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but it works. Gentlemen, we are all of us heroes. Tonight we may well have saved the motherland. Well done. Bloody well done."

Now there were a few nervous smiles and a little back-clapping, before the conspirators started to pile back into the car. Dmitry gunned the engine, and the automobile skidded off through the icy streets.

"One thing though..." frowned Yusupov, speaking over the excited talk of the others. "When he was shouting, raving, back at the house...after we shot him the first time..." He drifted off, lips moving soundlessly.

"Yes? What of it?"

"What were all those things about...'a dying pilchard'?"

Puzzled silence fell in the car interior for a moment. Then the chattering began again.

---

If they had cared to stay on the windswept bridge a little longer, they might have noticed the bubbles breaking gently in the ice hole. Or perhaps it wouldn't have been worth it, as they stopped after a few minutes.

Early on the morning of the nineteenth of December 1916, the corpse of Grigory Efimovich Rasputin was found bobbing on the surface of the Malaya Nevka canal. A malevolent grimace was frozen on his face; the ropes that held him had been snapped, and his arms were raised menacingly. But he was very dead. So that was that.

Except of course that it wasn’t.

Very nice.

I have a question, however. I think that when it comes to being serialised in The Post that might well do as a stand alone entry a sort of teaser trailer we could use leading into the main publication (which Shazz says could be on the Post 3rd Big Birthday Issue! - and shazz likes to build these things up a few weeks in advance - which is why I bothered doing a cast-list in the first place.)
My reason for asking this is, now having read it - and make no mistake I love your writing style - I'm struggling to think where we can put it (at the beginning, I know - it is a prolouge after all ) without spoiling the 'surprise' element in Rasputin knicking Leicester's place in the summoning and the 'rivaly/revenge' that spills out from that which my gut instinct is that is where some of the funniest moments are.

Quite honestly I want to know what you think because it wouldn't be so terribly hard to re-work the jist of the story to follow the lead of the newly written prolouge in that this is Rasputin's story from the start.

Your observations, interjections and solutions on the back of a postage stamp please.

Also, and this has set me going now; I've just thought, I'm going to have to re-work some of the cast-list introductions too. F'instance - I know you love the "evil undead megalomaniac. President of the United Sates of America" part - but that too also does rather spoil somthing that the story leads up to (think the "let's go get some power" line, the discussion with Tim at the airport and then the revelation in the Richter cave when the see Rasputin giving his inaugral address and the delightful - "and now to sam with the sports news" announcements.)

I'm go back over those character intros and double check to make sure we don't preempt ourselves. (which would after all this time be a bit embarressing!)

You make a good point, Mr Ostrich. I like the whole surprise element of how Raspy drops into the story too, and it'd be a pity to pre-empt that or have people waiting for it. If you can think of any use for the piece, by all means use it. If not, what harm?

Rewriting the cast list is a good idea - there's also something in there about the Devil sending Leicester after Rasputin which gives a bit too much away plotwise.

Here's the revised version of the opera scene - and not a little dog in sight

---

The front of the La Scala Opera House in Milan was a dazzling display of gardens, statuary, pillars and beautiful facades. Just my luck, thought UPS Guy, that I get to take the back way in. The alley round back was dank and stinking, with steam rising from the vents and the giant skips brimming over with rubbish. Guy adjusted his cap, produced his clipboard and knocked. The door was opened by a harassed-looking stagehand, and a burst of 'La Traviata' escaped.

"Si?"
"Delivery for Mr Pavarotti"
"Give it here. He's about to go on stage."
"I need his signature"

Guy was beckoned into the shadowy backstage area, all ropes, crates and rolled-up backcloths, and led up a rickety staircase into the dressing-room corridor.

"Here is his dressing-room, but be quick. What is the package, anyway?"
Guy racked his brains, unpleasantly aware that he had no plausible story.
"Pasta" he blurted out, then cursed his stupidity.
"Ah, go in. Mr Pavarotti is expecting you"

The dressing-room was plush, with couches and tasteful prints on the wall. Guy saw the familiar hulking figure of the famous tenor sitting before a mirror polishing off a plate of meatballs. He glanced up briefly from his exertions.
"Are you the pasta man?" he inquired through a mouthful of minnestroni.
"That's right," said Guy, approaching the unsuspecting singer and gripping the blackjack in his pocket "The pasta man..."
The strains of Libiamo Ne'lieti Calici filled the air, masking the surprised grunt and thump.

Five minutes later the famous tenor appeared on stage, and the assembled opera critics instantly noted that he seemed ill at ease. Probably another no-show by the pasta man, they whispered among themselves, and braced themselves for a disappointing evening. He didn't perform well without a gut full of mince. The great man waddled out on stage for the Drinking Song, and seemed to be scanning the chorus of happy townsfolk. One of their number seemed to be occupying a lot of his attention. Glory to God, whispered the Le Monde correspondant, he's about to go cannibal. He gripped his pencil a little tighter.

Agents were trained to operate under extreme stress, and having six cushions stuffed up your shirt with the eyes of five thousand people on you and your makeup beginning to run with the sweat was stressful, to be sure, but Guy still found his man. There, between a rosy Gypsy lass and a hawker of potatoes on sticks, there was a clown juggling, very badly as it hadn't been programmed well. Guy recognised it at once as one of the Cryo-Clowns of Doom, soon to explode and take half of Milan with it. He fingered the hilt of his prop sword.

Now the orchestra pounded in with the overture to the famous Drinking Song, and Guy faced another unpleasant realisation - he had no idea what the song lyrics were, and had only a very rudimentary grasp of the Italian required to bluff one's way into opera houses. Too late - the little plinky up-and-down bit that meant he had to sing had arrived. He cleared his throat and sang, in a slightly quavering alto-bass:
"Vieta-to fumare! Camer-iere! La lista de vini! Tagli-atelli!"*
In the orchestra pit the conductor had bitten his baton in half, but the music went on. Guy hopped a few dance steps across the stage towards the cyborg juggler. The robot's head turned suspiciously towards him, and it's eyes blazed red. He swallowed hard, and began to sing again.
"Il pom-eriggio! Carte di cred-ito! Il frutti-vendolo! Camere con bag-no!"*
Muted sounds of someone choking on an aperitif were emanating from one of the balconies, but by now Guy had skipped his way over to the juggling cyborg and, with an operatic twirl, he tore its face off.

The gunmetal grey face of the clown, enlivened only by the sinister red grin daubed across the mouth region, glowered out at the audience. They gasped. Somewhere a woman screamed and collapsed dramatically.

Realising even with its very basic programming that the jig was very much up, the Cryo-Clown lunged at Guy with a wickedly sharp steel forearm blade, and ripped his stomach open.
A blinding drift of feathers emerged from the perforated pillows, and Guy hopped nimbly backwards through the cloud. The clown lumbered after him buzzing incoherently and flailing wildly...

"A quite daring interpretation of the classic, but not, one feels, one worthy of repitition. Kudos to Maestro Alfonso for his choreography though..." Kultur Zeitschrifte, Opera Review.

...only to find Guy poised with a slim fencing epée, which he swished around professionally.
"Have at you," he suggested.
The Cryo-Clown decided to have at Guy instead and, to great applause, jumped forward with programmed hatred in its dead red eyes.
Guy stepped backwards again and raised the blade, which punched through the triple-reinforced titanium hide of the robot and pierced a very precise spot in the dark innards.
The ton of metal landed on Guy, crushing him beneath its torso. A quiet voice burbled in his ear.

"You have selected the failsafe shutdown procedure. Are you sure you wish to shut down this unit?"

"You have selected 'Yes'. Please wait while this unit shuts down."

"It is now safe to turn off this unit. Thank you. In accordance with protocol #23a, this unit will self-implode in one minute. Have a nice day. In so far as that is possible. Fifty-five seconds."

"It never ends..." growled Guy to himself and, clambering to his feet, he shouted to the rapt audience. "Umm...mi scusi! The..um...the fire exits are located to your left and right as you leave the auditorium..."

An hour later, when the fire had been put out and the carabinieri recalled, Guy was strolling through the Parco Sempione beside the lake trying to rub the scorch marks out of his brown suit. His secret Agency cell phone burst into a plinky rendition of Beethoven's 'Ode To Joy'. He flipped it out and to his ear with the practised ease of a life-long poser.
"Agent Orange here"
"Who? Is that you, UPS Guy?"
Guy sighed.
"Yes, Jill, it's me. Yes, Italy is nice. Yes, it's mostly all still here. Thank you, I do my best. What can I help you with?"
Two minutes later he was on his way to the aeroporto for a plane back to England.

-----

*Okay, translations of the Italian words Guy sings for use in footnotes:

"Vieta-to fumare! Camer-iere! La lista de vini! Tagli-atelli!"
=
"No smoking! Waiter! The wine list! Tagliatelli!"

"Il pom-eriggio! Carte di cred-ito! Il frutti-vendolo! Camere con bag-no!"
=
"The afternoon! Credit cards! The greengrocer! A room with a bath!"

*applaudes*

woo-hoo!



(*laughs himself silly at the itlaian song lyrics.* )


*sniff hmm-hmm. yes. that will do nicely.


I'll run it by Shazz but I think the prolouge will work well as a trailing piece the Post can use to advertise the story. after all it doesn't exactly give anything away - and it sets up the exposition/explanation of 'who,huh,what?' rather nicely.

I'm thinking what to do about Guy's debrief - I'll see what I can hammerout this weekend (Sunday most probably as *somebody* has got tickets to go and see the WWE wrestling LIVE in manchester - shamelessly smug )

oh and I'll stick in all the new bits and make the revisions we've discussd tomorrow - along with coding up the rest of the story. I'm down to the last LED of forum now - however *glowers ever so slightly in Legion's direction without a trace of hypocrisy* - THERE ARE SOME QUITE LONG POSTS ON THAT PAGE, AREN'T THERE?

For your early perusal....


http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/classic/A856109



G'night.

That looks I'm in awe at the hours of coding you must be doing. I know the word 'hero' is bandied around a lot but, well...

There's one little gaffe that I made in the opera scene - the opera playing should be 'Rigoletto', 'cause that's the one with the Drinking Song I was thinking of in it. It's just one line - "he opened the door and a burst of 'xxx' escaped." Am I being anal in wanting to correct this?



Very probably.

I prefer 'meticulous to a fault' - less well...no wait MORE hygenic, I reckon.

And my knowledge of the fine art of italian opera house ranks nil so quite frankly I wouldn't have spotted the difference and it would matter little to me if I had had, however, we can't be faulted on our facts, I shall change it.

Hero? gosh.

Actually I cheat. I copy and paste an awful lot (especially those tags - there is only so many times on is prepared to type out

also I've discovered a neat little trick. by placing the brackets directly beneath the & Tags you can encapsulate the entire document in one text box and need never repeat the trial of using one whenever you want to make text appear like between paragraphs.

Also, I used to do paragraph breaks like this.


blarb warb waffle mum-arf-barble.

blah blah yakkity shmakity.

but have since converted to using the page-break single self-closing tag sort, which uses the same style as the page break tag but which until I tried I had always thought forbidden by the arcane magics the parsar uses that translate GuideML code to viewable entries.

blarb warb waffle mn-arf-barble.

blah blah yakkity shmakity.

This effectivly halves the number of paragraph tags I need to type (as well as the text boxes that used to accompany them) and is therefore a darn site quicker too! (I knocked off your prologue in about 30 mins. not including tweaking the number of page breaks I need to force a decent gap between "St Petersburg" and"(that's in Russia - stoopid!)".

http://snewosoft.ath.cx/



oooooh legion.....

Oooohhh Clive...

So when do we 'go live' in the Post?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/classic/F19815?thread=179271&skip=40&show=20 # 46 onwards....

An early Christmas Great. I think I should keep an eye on that thread.

How's the coding going? You winning?

Just got back from the Wrestling. (It was coooooool!!)

I'll resume fighting the good fight on the morrow.

I've never seen the attraction of wrestling really - although I do like those soap-y bits the WWE does with wrestlers sleeping with each other's wives and whatnot. I think I lost touch with it all circa Hulk Hogan and 'Suburban Commando'

Undertaker rocks IMHO.

Anyhoo - just gonna start doing some more coding while dinner settles.

I'm as far as the show down with Bob and Rasputin. I'll try and get as far as Gonz's death and then see what i want to do from there.

Rasptuin just took a dip in the lava pool.

Getting towards the end now....I'll finsih it soon then begin the back-sweep picking up any speling errors mis-spaced things and tidying up some of the coding (esp: God's speech)

Then just hack at it into several bite-sized readily consumable chunks and e-mailt he code over to shazz who will post-ify it.

*ahem* - that is of course after we finish it off of course. I've got some ideas for Guy's de-brief...I'm ruminating still...

Also i forgot to add I'll make all the changes as well. like updating the opera scene and re-editing thr "let's go get some power!" line.

I remember the Undertaker, I think...wore a big wide-brimmed hat and had a whole coffin-thing going, right?

Excellent about the 'Divine Comedy' (*nice* touch ), I'm ning off to read now...

(Also eagerly awaiting Guy's debrief, and planning the Leicestercat scene...)

thank ye. I was thinking about expanding that after all the dante/Hell references - perhaps "a Divine Comedy in three parts." - or is that pushing it?

'taker is now re-styled as more kick-ass biker sort. but yeah that's 'im.


btw what are we gonna do about the leicester demon with cat's mind? (or is that what you meant?)