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‘Up, up, up!’
“上，上，上！”
A slug was preparing to launch a rocket at him. Ford couldn’t believe it. He was hanging from a towel in mid-air and a slug was preparing to fire rockets at him. He was running out of anything he could think of doing and was beginning to get seriously alarmed.
一条鼻涕虫正准备向他发射导弹。福特简直不敢相信自己的眼睛，他抓着毛巾悬在半空，而一条鼻涕虫还准备拿导弹打他。别的招数他再也想不出来了。现在福特货真价实地紧张起来。
This was the sort of predicament that he usually relied on having the Guide available for to give advice, however infuriating or glib, but this was not a moment for reaching into his pocket. And the Guide seemed to be no longer a friend and ally but was now itself a source of danger. These were the Guide offices he was hanging outside, for Zark’s sake, in danger of his life from the people who now appeared to own the thing. What had become of all the dreams he vaguely remembered having on the Bwenelli Atoll? They should have let it all be. They should have stayed there. Stayed on the beach. Loved good women. Lived on fish. He should have known it was all wrong the moment they started hanging grand pianos over the sea-monster pool in the atrium. He began to feel thoroughly wasted and miserable. His fingers were on fire with clenched pain. And his ankle was still hurting.
过去遇到这种状况，他通常都会依赖《指南》为自己提供的建议，无论它的建议多么油腔滑调，多么让他火冒三丈，但现在可不是往包里伸手的时候。而且，《指南》似乎也不再是他的老伙计和盟友，反而变成了危险的源泉。看在老天的份上，他现在就挂在《指南》的大楼外边，生命安全被那些似乎掌握了大楼所有权的家伙威胁着。他隐约回想起他们在布温内利.阿托尔的那些梦想，它们都哪儿去了？他们本该就那样算了。他们本该留在那儿，留在海滩上，爱那些好女人，把鱼当饭吃。他们刚开始在前庭的海怪水池上挂大钢琴的时候他就该想到，这一切最后肯定没有好结果。福特开始觉得自己虚弱悲惨到了极点。他的手指抓的太紧，好像着了火，而且他的脚踝也仍然在痛。
Oh thank you, ankle, he thought to himself bitterly. Thank you for bringing up your problems at this time. I expect you’d like a nice warm footbath to make you feel better, wouldn’t you? Or at least you’d like me to…
哦，真是多谢你，脚踝，他苦哈哈地想。谢谢你在这种时候提起你的麻烦。我猜你是想热乎乎地洗个脚好舒服舒服，唔？或者你至少想要我……
He had an idea.
他有了个主意。
