"Oh," said Trillian.
"Er . . ." said Arthur.
"Well?" said Ford.
"Look," said Zaphod, "will you get it into your heads? That's just a recorded message. It's millions of years old. It doesn't apply to us, get it?"
"What," said Trillian quietly, "about the missiles?"
"Missiles? Don't make me laugh."
Ford tapped Zaphod on the shoulder and pointed at the rear screen. Clear in the distance behind them two silver darts were climbing through the atmosphere toward the ship. A quick change of magnification brought them into close focus--two massively real rockets thundering through the sky. The suddenness of it was shocking.
"I think they're going to have a very good try at applying to us," said Ford.
Zaphod stared at them in astonishment.
"Hey, this is terrific!" he said. "Someone down there is trying to kill us!"
"Terrific," said Arthur.
"But don't you see what this means?"
"Yes. We're going to die."
"Yes, but apart from that."
"Apart from that?"
"It means we must be on to something."
"How soon can we get off it?"
Second by second the image of the missiles on the screen grew larger. They had swung round now on to a direct homing course so that all that could be seen of them now was the warheads, head-on.
"As a matter of interest," said Trillian, "what are we going to do?"
"Just keep cool," said Zaphod.
"Is that all?" shouted Arthur.
"No, we're also going to . . .er . . . take evasive action!" said Zaphod with a sudden access of panic. "Computer, what evasive action can we take?"
"Er, none, I'm afraid, guys," said the computer.
"Or something," said Zaphod, " . . .er . . ." he said.
"There seems to be something jamming my guidance systems," explained the computer brightly, "impact minus forty-five seconds. Please call me Eddie if it will help you relax."
Zaphod tried to run in several equally decisive directions simultaneously. "Right!" he said. "Er . . . we've got to get manual control of this ship."
"Can you fly her?" asked Ford pleasantly.
"No, can you?"
"No."
"Trillian, can you?"
"No."
"Fine," said Zaphod, relaxing. "We'll do it together."
"I can't either," said Arthur, who felt it was time he began to assert himself.
""I'd guessed that," said Zaphod. "Okay, computer, I want full manual control now."
"You go it," said the computer.
Welcome to the weekend--the time when I take full manual control of my life for a couple days. From now until Tuesday morning, I decide what I'm going to do and when I'm going to do it. Nobody looking over my shoulder, telling me what my next job is.
Of course, that doesn't mean that I have nothing to accomplish this weekend. I have plenty to keep me busy. I just don't feel like doing anything right now. It is one of those days where, as soon as I got home after work, I felt exhausted. Still do.
This exhaustion could have something to do with a video I found on Facebook this afternoon. It was of my daughter marching with her class through the halls of her elementary and middle schools in her cap and gown while the little kids applauded. In the background, I could hear "Pomp and Circumstance" playing through the overhead speakers. I've watched that video about twenty times now, and it has choked me up every time. Just watched it again. Choked up again.
So, here is the first thing on my agenda: a nap. As soon as I finish this post. After that, dinner with my family at a local restaurant. Then, maybe some reading when I get home. That's it. I don't plan on being very ambitious tonight.
Saint Marty will leave the ambition for tomorrow.
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