ADAMS, Douglas - Mostly Harmless Read online

  mounted up in the corner.

  She marched rather briskly out of the elevator a minute later,

  and went up to the reception desk again.

  `Now, I'm going to write this out,' she said, `because I

  don't want anything to go wrong.'

  She wrote her name in large letters on a piece of paper,

  then her room number, then `IN THE BAR' and gave it to

  the receptionist, who looked at it.

  `That's in case there's a message for me. OK?'

  The receptionist continued to look at it.

  `You want me to see if she's in her room?' he said.

  Two minutes later, Tricia swivelled into the bar seat next to

  Gail Andrews, who was sitting in front of a glass of white wine.

  `You struck me as the sort of person who preferred to sit

  up at the bar rather than demurely at a table,' she said.

  This was true, and caught Tricia a little by surprise.

  `Vodka?' said Gail.

  `

  `Yes,' said Tricia, suspiciously. She just stopped herself asking,

  `How did you know?' but Gail answered anyway.

  `I asked the barman,' she said, with a kindly smile.

  The barman had her vodka ready for her and slid it charmingly

  across the glossy mahogany.

  `Thank you,' said Tricia, stirring it sharply.

  She didn't know quite what to make out of all this sudden

  niceness and was determined not to be wrong-footed by it. People

  in New York were not nice to each other without reason.

  `Ms Andrews,' she said, firmly, `I'm sorry that you're not

  happy. I know you probably feel I was a bit rough with you this

  morning, but astrology is, after all, just popular entertainment,

  which is fine. It's part of showbiz and it's a part that you have

  done well out of and good luck to you. It's fun. It's not a science

  though, and it shouldn't be mistaken for one. I think that's some-

  thing we both managed to demonstrate very successfully together

  this morning, while at the same time generating some popular

  entertainment, which is what we both do for a living. I'm sorry

  if you have a problem with that.'

  `I'm perfectly happy,' said Gail Andrews.

  `Oh,' said Tricia, not quite certain what to make of this.

  `It said in your message that you were not happy.'

  `No,' said Gail Andrews. `I said in my message that I thought

  you were not happy, and I was just wondering why.'

  Tricia felt as if she had been kicked in the back of the

  head. She blinked.

  `What?' she said quietly.

  `To do with the stars. You seemed very angry and unhappy

  about something to do with stars and planets when we were

  having our discussion, and it's been bothering me, which is why

  I came to see if you were all right.'

  Tricia stared at her. `Ms Andrews - ' she started, and then

  realised that the way she had said it sounded exactly angry and

  unhappy and rather undermined the protest she had been trying

  to make.

  `Please call me Gail, if that's OK.'

  Tricia just looked bewildered.

  `I know that astrology isn't a science,' said Gail. `Of course

  it isn't. It's just an arbitrary set of rules like chess or tennis or,

  what's that strange thing you British play?'

  `Er, cricket? Self-loathing?'

  `Parliamentary democracy. The rules just kind of got there.

  They don't make any kind of sense except in terms of them-

  selves. But when you start to exercise those rules, all sorts of

  processes start to happen and you start to find out all sorts of

  stuff about people. In astrology the rules happen to be about

  stars and planets, but they could be about ducks and drakes for

  all the difference it would make. It's just a way of thinking about

  a problem which lets the shape of that problem begin to emerge.

  The more rules, the tinier the rules, the more arbitrary they are,

  the better. It's like throwing a handful of fine graphite dust on a

  piece of paper to see where the hidden indentations are. It lets

  you see the words that were written on the piece of paper above

  it that's now been taken away and hidden. The graphite's not

  important. It's just the means of revealing their indentations. So

  you see, astrology's nothing to do with astronomy. It's just to do

  with people thinking about people.

  `So when you got so, I don't know, so emotionally focused

  on stars and planets this morning, I began to think, she's not

  angry about astrology, she really is angry and unhappy about

  actual stars and planets. People usually only get that unhappy

  and angry when they've lost something. That's all I could think

  and I couldn't make any more sense of it than that. So I came

  to see if you were OK.'

  Tricia was stunned.

  One part of her brain had already got started on all sorts

  of stuff. It was busy constructing all sorts of rebuttals to do

  with how ridiculous newspaper horoscopes were and the sort of

  statistical tricks they played on people. But gradually it petered

  out, because it realised that the rest of her brain wasn't listening.

  She had been completely stunned.

  She had just been told, by a total stranger, something she'd

  kept completely secret for seventeen years.

  She turned to look at Gail.

  `I...'

  She stopped.

  A tiny security camera up behind the bar had turned to

  follow her movement. This completely flummoxed her. Most

  people would not have noticed it. It was not designed to be

  noticed. It was not designed to suggest that nowadays even an

  expensive and elegant hotel in New York couldn't be sure that

  its clientele wasn't suddenly going to pull a gun or not wear a tie.

  But carefully hidden though it was behind the vodka, it couldn't

  deceive the finely honed instinct of a TV anchor person, which

  was to know exactly when a camera was turning to look at her.

  `Is something wrong?' asked Gail.

  `No, I... I have to say that you've rather astonished me,'

  said Tricia. She decided to ignore the security camera. It was

  just her imagination playing tricks with her because she had

  television so much on her mind today. It wasn't the first time it

  had happened. A traffic monitoring camera, she was convinced,

  had swung round to follow her as she walked past it, and a secu-

  rity camera in Bloomingdales had seemed to make a particular

  point of watching her trying on hats. She was obviously going

  dotty. She had even imagined that a bird in Central Park had

  been peering at her rather intently.

  She decided to put it out of her mind and took a sip of

  her vodka. Someone was walking round the bar asking people

  if they were Mr MacManus.

  `OK,' she said, suddenly blurting it out. `I don't know how

  you worked it out, but...'

  `I didn't work it out, as you put it. I just listened to what

  you were saying.'

  `What I lost, I think, was a whole other life.'

  `Everybody does that. Every moment of every day. Every

  single decision we make, every breath we draw, opens some

  doors and closes many others. Most of them we don't notice.
>
  Some we do. Sounds like you noticed one.'

  `Oh yes, I noticed,' said Tricia. `All right. Here it is. It's

  very simple. Many years ago I met a guy at a party. He said he

  was from another planet and did I want to go along with him. I

  said, yes, OK. It was that kind of party. I said to him to wait

  while I went to get my bag and then I'd be happy to go off to

  another planet with him. He said I wouldn't need my bag. I said

  he obviously came from a very backward planet or he'd know

  that a woman always needed to take her bag with her. He got a

  bit impatient, but I wasn't gong to be a complete pushover just

  because he said he was from another planet.

  `I went upstairs. Took me a while to find my bag, and then

  there was someone else in the bathroom. Came down and he

  was gone.'

  Tricia paused.

  `And...?' said Gail.

  `The garden door was open. I went outside. There were

  lights. Some kind of gleaming thing. I was just in time to see

  it rise up into the sky, shoot silently up through the clouds and

  disappear. That was it. End of story. End of one life, beginning

  of another. But hardly a moment of this life goes by that I don't

  wonder about some other me. A me that didn't go back for her

  bag. I feel like she's out there somewhere and I'm walking in

  her shadow.'

  A member of the hotel staff was now going round the bar

  asking people if they were Mr Miller. Nobody was.

  `You really think this... person was from another planet?'

  asked Gail.

  `Oh, certainly. There was the spacecraft. Oh, and also he

  had two heads.'

  `Two? Didn't anybody else notice?'

  `It was a fancy dress party.'

  `I see...'

  `And he had a bird cage over it, of course. With a cloth over

  the cage. Pretended he had a parrot. He tapped on the cage and

  it did a lot of stupid ``Pretty Polly'' stuff and squawking and so

  on. Then he pulled the cloth back for a moment and roared with

  laughter. There was another head in there, laughing along with

  him. It was a worrying moment I can tell you.'

  `I think you probably did the right thing, dear, don't you?'

  said Gail.

  `No,' said Tricia. `No I don't. And I couldn't carry on doing

  what I was doing either. I was an astrophysicist, you see. You

  can't be an astrophysicist properly if you've actually met someone

  from another planet who's got a second head that pretends to be

  a parrot. You just can't do it. I couldn't at least.'

  `I can see it would be hard. And that's probably why you

  tend to be a little hard on other people who talk what sounds

  like complete nonsense.'

  `Yes,' said Tricia. `I expect you're right. I'm sorry.'

  `That's OK.'

  `You're the first person I've ever told this, by the way.'

  `I wondered. You married?'

  `Er, no. So hard to tell these days isn't it? But you're right

  to ask because that was probably the reason. I came very close

  a few times, mostly because I wanted to have a kid. But every guy

  ended up asking why I was constantly looking over his shoulder.

  What do you tell someone? At one point I even thought I might

  just go to a sperm bank and take pot luck. Have somebody's child

  at random.'

  `You can't seriously do that, can you?'

  Tricia laughed. `Probably not. I never quite went and found

  out for real. Never quite did it. Story of my life. Never quite

  did the real thing. That's why I'm in television I guess. Nothing

  is real.'

  `Excuse me lady, your name Tricia McMillan?'

  Tricia looked round in surprise. There was a man standing

  there in a chauffeur's hat.

  `Yes,' she said, instantly pulling herself back together again.

  `Lady, I been looking for you for about an hour. Hotel said

  they didn't have anybody of that name, but I checked back with

  Mr Martin's office and they said that this was definitely where

  you staying. So I ask again, they still say they never heard of

  you, so I get them to page you anyway and they can't find you.

  In the end I get the office to FAX a picture of you through to

  the car and have a look myself.'

  He looked at his watch.

  `May be a bit late now, but do you want to go anyway?'

  Tricia was stunned.

  `Mr Martin? You mean Andy Martin at NBS?'

  `That's correct, lady. Screen test for US/AM.'

  Tricia shot up out of her seat. She couldn't even bear to

  think of all the messages she'd heard for Mr MacManus and

  Mr Miller.

  `Only we have to hurry,' said the chauffeur. `As I heard it Mr

  Martin thinks it might be worth trying a British accent. His boss

  at the network is dead against the idea. That's Mr Zwingler, and

  I happen to know he's flying out to the coast this evening because

  I'm the one has to pick him up and take him to the airport.'

  `OK,' said Tricia, `I'm ready. Let's go.'

  `OK, lady. It's the big limo out the front.'

  Tricia turned back to Gail. `I'm sorry,' she said.

  `Go! Go!' said Gail. `And good luck. I've enjoyed meeting

  you.'

  Tricia made to reach for her bag for some cash.

  `Damn,' she said. She'd left it upstairs.

  `Drinks are on me,' insisted Gail. `Really. It's been very

  interesting.'

  Tricia sighed.

  `Look, I'm really sorry about this morning and...'

  `Don't say another word. I'm fine. It's only astrology. It's

  harmless. It's not the end of the world.'

  `Thanks.' On an impulse Tricia gave her a hug.

  `You got everything?' said the chauffeur. `You don't want

  to pick up your bag or anything?'

  `If there's one thing that life's taught me,' said Tricia, `it's

  never go back for your bag.'

  Just a little over an hour later, Tricia sat on one of the pair of

  beds in her hotel room. For a few minutes she didn't move. She

  just stared at her bag, which was sitting innocently on top of the

  other bed.

  In her hand was a note from Gail Andrews, saying, `Don't

  be too disappointed. Do ring if you want to talk about it. If I

  were you I'd stay in at home tomorrow night. Get some rest.

  But don't mind me, and don't worry. It's only astrology. It's not

  the end of the world. Gail.'

  The chauffeur had been dead right. In fact the chauffeur

  seemed to know more about what was going on inside NBS than

  any other single person she had encountered in the organisation.

  Martin had been keen, Zwingler had not. She had had her one

  shot at proving Martin right and she had blown it.

  Oh well. Oh well, oh well, oh well.

  Time to go home. Time to phone the airline and see if

  she could still get the red-eye back to Heathrow. tonight. She

  reached for the big phone directory.

  Oh. First things first.

  She put down the directory again, picked up her handbag,

  and took it through to the bathroom. She put it down and took

  out the small plastic case which held her contact lenses, without

  which she had been unable properly to read either the script or

&n
bsp; the autocue.

  As she dabbed each tiny plastic cup into her eyes she reflected

  that if there was one thing life had taught her it was that there

  are times when you do not go back for your bag and other times

  when you do. It had yet to teach her to distinguish between the

  two types of occasion.

  3

  The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has, in what we laughingly

  call the past, had a great deal to say on the subject of parallel

  universes. Very little of this is, however, at all comprehensible

  to anyone below the level of Advanced God, and since it is

  now well-established that all known gods came into existence

  a good three millionths of a second after the Universe began

  rather than, as they usually claimed, the previous week, they

  already have a great deal of explaining to do as it is, and are

  therefore not available for comment on matters of deep physics

  at this time.

  One encouraging thing the Guide does have to say on the

  subject of parallel universes is that you don't stand the remotest

  chance of understanding it. You can therefore say `What?' and

  `Eh?' and even go cross-eyed and start to blither if you like