Douglas Adams's Starship Titanic by Douglas Adams

Author:Douglas Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

16

While Dan had gone to talk to the bomb, the prematurely aged Nettie had taken the opportunity to look around the room in which she found herself. At first she thought it must be some sort of torture chamber or at least an interrogation room. But, once she’d put on her translatorspecs, she realized she was in the ship’s Hairdressing Salon and Beauty Parlour. The thumbscrews were actually elaborate nail-clippers, the electric chairs were highly ergonomic sitting structures, and the individual gas chambers were hairdriers. It was obvious once you read the motto over the doorway:

‘WELCOME TO THE STARSHIP TITANIC BEAUTY THERAPY AND HAIR CREATIONRY. YOU WILL LEAVE HERE LOVELIER AND YOUNGER.’

Nettie put out a wizened finger and pressed the button on the wall beside the couch, which was marked: ‘Press for service’. A metal cage on an articulated arm suddenly sprang up over the back of the couch and dangled a few inches in front of her face. At the same time a large glass case began to descend from the ceiling until both she and the couch were encompassed by it. A reassuring voice then said:

‘We have assessed your beauty requirements and, whilst recognizing you have a severe problem, we would like to reassure you that there is nothing that you can wish to be done that we cannot accomplish, thanks to the de-aging and re-beautifying techniques pioneered by Dr Leovinus in this machine. Lie back and relax whilst we return you to the bloom of youth. Normally our therapy would require just a few minutes, but in critical cases such as yours a little longer may be necessary. We apologize for the delay.’

The next moment, the cage fixed itself over her face and the glass case filled instantly with some purple gas. Nettie was terrified for a second, but then relaxed as the perfumes began to enter her nostrils: erotic perfumes, exotic perfumes – scents she had never imagined, scents of far away and wonder . . . at the same time the feeling on her face was inexpressibly soft and kindly. She lay back and just hoped that Dan had managed to talk to the bomb.

Dan hurried back from the Engine Room to find that Nettie had disappeared. Where he’d left her there was now a glass case filled with purple gas.

‘Nettie!’ he cried, banging his fists on the glass, but with no effect. He looked all round the thing, but was unable to find any off switch or any way he could prise the thing off her – if indeed Nettie was in there.

After nearly fifteen minutes of futile effort, he suddenly remembered he’d need to speak to the bomb again. So he rushed back to the Engine Room as fast as he could.

Meanwhile, The Journalist was still trying to put his hand back up Lucy’s pinstripe power-suit skirt.

‘You see, we’re just not used to casual sex,’ he was assuring her. ‘Blerontinian women make such a fuss about it. You know . . . they

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