Chapter 8
In space travel, you see, said Slartibartfast, as he fiddled with some instruments in the Room of Informational Illusions, in space travel…
He stopped and looked about him.
The Room of Informational Illusions was a welcome relief after the visual monstrosities of the central computational area. There was nothing in it. No information, no illusions, just themselves, white walls and a few small instruments which looked as if they were meant to plug into something which Slartibartfast couldn’t find.
Yes? urged Arthur. He had picked up Slartibartfast’s sense of urgency but didn’t know what to do with it.
Yes what? said the old man.
You were saying?
Slartibartfast looked at him sharply.
The numbers, he said, are awful. He resumed his search.
Arthur nodded wisely to himself. After a while he realized that this wasn’t getting him anywhere and decided that he would say “what?” after all.
In space travel, repeated Slartibartfast, all the numbers are awful.
Arthur nodded again and looked round to Ford for help, but Ford was practising being sullen and getting quite good at it.
I was only, said Slartibartfast with a sigh, trying to save you the trouble of asking me why all the ship’s computations were being done on a waiter’s bill pad.
Arthur frowned.
Why, he said, were all the ship’s computations being done on a wait… –
He stopped.
adj. 愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,阴沉的