He pushed away the glass and leaned forward.

– Hear me, hear me, - he said.

The solution was brilliant, and went like this:

The planet of Krikkit was to be enclosed for perpetuity in an envelope of Slo-Time, inside which life would continue almost infinitely slowly. All light would be deflected round the envelope so that it would remain invisible and impenetrable. Escape from the envelope would be utterly impossible unless it were locked from the outside.

When the rest of the Universe came to its final end, when the whole of creation reached its dying fall (this was all, of course, in the days before it was known that the end of the Universe would be a spectacular catering venture) and life and matter ceased to exist, then the planet of Krikkit and its sun would emerge from its Slo-Time envelope and continue a solitary existence, such as it craved, in the twilight of the Universal void.

The Lock would be on an asteroid which would slowly orbit the envelope.

The key would be the symbol of the Galaxy - the Wikkit Gate.

By the time the applause in the court had died down, Judiciary Pag was already in the Sens-O-Shower with a rather nice member of the jury that he’d slipped a note to half an hour earlier.

Two months later, Zipo Bibrok 5/108 had cut the bottoms off his Galactic State jeans, and was spending part of the enormous fee his judgments commanded lying on a jewelled beach having Essence of Qualactin rubbed into his back by the same rather nice member of the jury. She was a Soolfinian girl from beyond the Cloudworlds of Yaga. She had skin like lemon silk and was very interested in legal bodies.

– Did you hear the news? - she said.

– Weeeeelaaaaah! - said Zipo Bibrok 5/108, and you would have had to have been there to know exactly why he said this. None of this was on the tape of Informational Illusions, and is all based on hearsay.

– No, - he added, when the thing that had made him say - Weeeeelaaaaah - had stopped happening. He moved his body round slightly to catch the first rays of the third and greatest of primeval Vod’s three suns which was now creeping over the ludicrously beautiful horizon, and the sky now glittered with some of the greatest tanning power ever known.

A fragrant breeze wandered up from the quiet sea, trailed along the beach, and drifted back to sea again, wondering where to go next. On a mad impulse it went up to the beach again. It drifted back to sea.

– I hope it isn’t good news, - muttered Zipo Bibrok 5/108, - ‘cos I don’t think I could bear it.

– Your Krikkit judgment was carried out today, - said the girl sumptuously. There was no need to say such a straightforward thing sumptuously, but she went ahead and did it anyway because it was that sort of day. - I heard it on the radio, - she said, - when I went back to the ship for the oil.

– Uhuh, - muttered Zipo and rested his head back on the jewelled sand.

– Something happened, - she said.

– Mmmm?

– Just after the Slo-Time envelope was locked, - she said, and paused a moment from rubbing in the Essence of Qualactin, - a Krikkit warship which had been missing presumed destroyed turned out to be just missing after all. It appeared and tried to seize the Key.

Zipo sat up sharply.

– Hey, what? - he said.

– it’s all right, - she said in a voice which would have calmed the Big Bang down. - Apparently there was a short battle. The Key and the warship were disintegrated and blasted into the space-time continuum. Apparently they are lost for ever.

She smiled, and ran a little more Essence of Qualactin on to her fingertips. He relaxed and lay back down.

– Do what you did a moment or two ago, - he murmured.

– That? - she said.

– No, no, - he said, - that.

She tried again.

– That? - she asked.

– Weeeeelaaaaah!

Again, you had to be there.

The fragrant breeze drifted up from the sea again.

A magician wandered along the beach, but no one needed him.

– Nothing is lost for ever, - said Slartibartfast, his face flickering redly in the light of the candle which the robot waiter was trying to take away, - except for the Cathedral of Chalesm.

– The what? - said Arthur with a start.

– The Cathedral of Chalesm, - repeated Slartibartfast. - It was during the course of my researches at the Campaign for Real Time that I…

– The what? - said Arthur again.

The old man paused and gathered his thoughts, for what he hoped would be one last onslaught on his story. The robot waiter moved through the space-time matrices in a way which spectacularly combined the surly with the obsequious, made a snatch for the candle and got it. They had had the bill, had argued convincingly about who had had the cannelloni and how many bottles of wine they had had, and, as Arthur had been dimly aware, had thereby successfully manoeuvred the ship out of subjective space and into a parking orbit round a strange planet. The waiter was now anxious to complete his part of the charade and clear the bistro.

– All will become clear, - said Slartibartfast.

– When?

– In a minute. Listen. The time streams are now very polluted. There’s a lot of muck floating about in them, flotsam and jetsam, and more and more of it is now being regurgitated into the physical world. Eddies in the space-time continuum, you see.

– So I hear, - said Arthur.

– Look, where are we going? - said Ford, pushing his chair back from the table with impatience. - Because I’m eager to get there.

– We are going, - said Slartibartfast in a slow, measured voice, - to try to prevent the war robots of Krikkit from regaining the whole of the Key they need to unlock the planet of Krikkit from the Slo-Time envelope and release the rest of their army and their mad Masters.

– It’s just, - said Ford, - that you mentioned a party.

– I did, - said Slartibartfast, and hung his head.

He realized that it had been a mistake, because the idea seemed to exercise a strange and unhealthy fascination on the mind of Ford Prefect. The more that Slartibartfast unravelled the dark and tragic story of Krikkit and its people, the more Ford Prefect wanted to drink a lot and dance with girls.

The old man felt that he should not have mentioned the party until he absolutely had to. But there it was, the fact was out, and Ford Prefect had attached himself to it the way an Arcturan Megaleech attaches itself to its victim before biting his head off and making off with his spaceship.

– When, - said Ford eagerly, - do we get there?

– When I’ve finished telling you why we have to go there.

– I know why I’m going, - said Ford, and leaned back, sticking his hands behind his head. He gave one of his smiles which made people twitch.

Slartibartfast had hoped for an easy retirement.

He had been planning to learn to play the octraventral heebiephone - a pleasantly futile task, he knew, because he had the wrong number of mouths.

He had also been planning to write an eccentric and relentlessly inaccurate monograph on the subject of equatorial fjords in order to set the record wrong about one or two matters he saw as important.

Instead, he had somehow got talked into doing some part-time work for the Campaign for Real Time and had started to take it all seriously for the first time in his life. As a result he now found himself spending his fast-declining years combating evil and trying to save the Galaxy.

He found it exhausting work and sighed heavily.

– Listen, - he said, - at Camtim…

– What? - said Arthur.

– The Campaign for Real Time, which I will tell you about later. I noticed that five pieces of jetsam which had in relatively recent times plopped back into existence seemed to correspond to the five pieces of the missing Key. Only two I could trace exactly - the Wooden Pillar, which appeared on your planet, and the Silver Bail. It seems to be at some sort of party. We must go there to retrieve it before the Krikkit robots find it, or who knows what may hap?