da.solongandthanksforallthefish-第1部分

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laxy　lies　a　small　unregarded　yellow　sun。
　　Orbiting　this　at　a　distance　of　roughly　ninety…two　million　miles　is　an　utterly　insignificant　little　blue　green　planet　whose　ape…descended　life　forms　are　so　amazingly　primitive　that　they　still　think　digital　watches　are　a　pretty　neat　idea。
　　This　planet　has　…　or　rather　had　…　a　problem；　which　was　this：　most　of　the　people　on　it　were　unhappy　for　pretty　much　of　the　time。　Many　solutions　were　suggested　for　this　problem；　but　most　of　these　were　largely　concerned　with　the　movements　of　small　green　pieces　of　paper；　which　is　odd　because　on　the　whole　it　wasn't　the　small　green　pieces　of　paper　that　were　unhappy。
　　And　so　the　problem　remained；　lots　of　the　people　were　mean；　and　most　of　them　were　miserable；　even　the　ones　with　digital　watches。
　　Many　were　increasingly　of　the　opinion　that　they'd　all　made　a　big　mistake　in　ing　down　from　the　trees　in　the　first　place。　And　some　said　that　even　the　trees　had　been　a　bad　move；　and　that　no　one　should　ever　have　left　the　oceans。
　　And　then；　one　Thursday；　nearly　two　thousand　years　after　one　man　had　been　nailed　to　a　tree　for　saying　how　great　it　would　be　to　be　nice　to　people　for　a　change；　one　girl　sitting　on　her　own　in　a　small　cafe　in　Rickmansworth　suddenly　realized　what　it　was　that　had　been　going　wrong　all　this　time；　and　she　finally　knew　how　the　world　could　be　made　a　good　and　happy　place。　This　time　it　was　right；　it　would　work；　and　no　one　would　have　to　get　nailed　to　anything。
　　Sadly；　however；　before　she　could　get　to　a　phone　to　tell　anyone　about　it；　a　terribly　stupid　catastrophe　occurred；　and　the　idea　was　lost　forever。
　　This　is　her　story。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　1
　　
　　That　evening　it　was　dark　early；　which　was　normal　for　the　time　of　year。　It　was　cold　and　windy；　which　was　normal。
　　It　started　to　rain；　which　was　particularly　normal。
　　A　spacecraft　landed；　which　was　not。
　　There　was　nobody　around　to　see　it　except　some　spectacularly　stupid　quadrupeds　who　hadn't　the　faintest　idea　what　to　make　of　it；　or　whether　they　were　meant　to　make　anything　of　it；　or　eat　it；　or　what。　So　they　did　what　they　did　to　everything　which　was　to　run　away　from　it　and　try　to　hide　under　each　other；　which　never　worked。
　　It　slipped　down　out　of　the　clouds；　seemingly　balanced　on　a　single　beam　of　light。
　　From　a　distance　you　would　scarcely　have　noticed　it　through　the　lightning　and　the　storm　clouds；　but　seen　from　close　to　it　was　strangely　beautiful　…　a　grey　craft　of　elegantly　sculpted　form：　quite　small。
　　Of　course；　one　never　has　the　slightest　notion　what　size　or　shape　different　species　are　going　to　turn　out　to　be；　but　if　you　were　to　take　the　findings　of　the　latest　Mid…Galactic　Census　report　as　any　kind　of　accurate　guide　to　statistical　averages　you　would　probably　guess　that　the　craft　would　hold　about　six　people；　and　you　would　be　right。
　　You'd　probably　guessed　that　anyway。　The　Census　report；　like　most　such　surveys；　had　cost　an　awful　lot　of　money　and　didn't　tell　anybody　anything　they　didn't　already　know　…　except　that　every　single　person　in　the　Galaxy　had　2。4　legs　and　owned　a　hyena。　Since　this　was　clearly　not　true　the　whole　thing　had　eventually　to　be　scrapped。
　　The　craft　slid　quietly　down　through　the　rain；　its　dim　operating　lights　wrapping　it　in　tasteful　rainbows。　It　hummed　very　quietly；　a　hum　which　became　gradually　louder　and　deeper　as　it　approached　the　ground；　and　which　at　an　altitude　of　six　inches　became　a　heavy　throb。
　　At　last　it　dropped　and　was　quiet。
　　A　hatchway　opened。　A　short　flight　of　steps　unfolded　itself。
　　A　light　appeared　in　the　opening；　a　bright　light　streaming　out　into　the　wet　night；　and　shadows　moved　within。
　　A　tall　figure　appeared　in　the　light；　looked　around；　flinched；　and　hurried　down　the　steps；　carrying　a　large　shopping　bag　under　its　arm。
　　It　turned　and　gave　a　single　abrupt　wave　back　at　the　ship。　Already　the　rain　was　streaming　through　its　hair。
　　…　Thank　you；　…　he　called　out；　…　thank　you　very。。。
　　He　was　interrupted　by　a　sharp　crack　of　thunder。　He　glanced　up　apprehensively；　and　in　response　to　a　sudden　thought　quickly　started　to　rummage　through　the　large　plastic　shopping　bag；　which　he　now　discovered　had　a　hole　in　the　bottom。
　　It　had　large　characters　printed　on　the　side　which　read　（to　anyone　who　could　decipher　the　Centaurian　alphabet）　Duty　free　MegaMarket；　Port　Brasta；　Alpha　Centauri。　Be　Like　the　Twenty…Second　Elephant　with　Heated　Value　in　Space　…　Bark！
　　…　Hold　on！　…　the　figure　called；　waving　at　the　ship。
　　The　steps；　which　had　started　to　fold　themselves　back　through　the　hatchway；　stopped；　re…unfolded；　and　allowed　him　back　in。
　　He　emerged　again　a　few　seconds　later　carrying　a　battered　and　threadbare　towel　which　he　shoved　into　the　bag。
　　He　waved　again；　hoisted　the　bag　under　his　arm；　and　started　to　run　for　the　shelter　of　some　trees　as；　behind　him；　the　spacecraft　had　already　begun　its　ascent。
　　Lightning　flitted　through　the　sky　and　made　the　figure　pause　for　a　moment；　and　then　hurry　onwards；　revising　his　path　to　give　the　trees　a　wide　berth。　He　moved　swiftly　across　the　ground；　slipping　here　and　there；　hunching　himself　against　the　rain　which　was　falling　now　with　ever…increasing　concentration；　as　if　being　pulled　from　the　sky。
　　His　feet　sloshed　through　the　mud。　Thunder　grumbled　over　the　hills。　He　pointlessly　wiped　the　rain　off　his　face　and　stumbled　on。
　　More　lights。
　　Not　lightning　this　time；　but　more　diffused　and　dimmer　lights　which　played　slowly　over　the　horizon　and　faded。
　　The　figure　paused　again　on　seeing　them；　and　then　redoubled　his　steps；　making　directly　towards　the　point　on　the　horizon　at　which　they　had　appeared。
　　And　now　the　ground　was　being　steeper；　sloping　upwards；　and　after　another　two　or　three　hundred　yards　it　led　at　last　to　an　obstacle。　The　figure　paused　to　examine　the　barrier　and　then　dropped　the　bag　he　was　carrying　over　it　before　climbing　over　himself。
　　Hardly　had　the　figure　touched　the　ground　on　the　other　side　when　there　came　sweeping　out　of　the　rain　towards　him　a　machine；　lights　streaming　through　the　wall　of　water。　The　figure　pressed　back　as　the　machine　streaked　towards　him。　it　was　a　low　bulbous　shape；　like　a　small　whale　surfing　…　sleek；　grey　and　rounded　and　moving　at　terrifying　speed。
　　The　figure　instinctively　threw　up　his　hands　to　protect　himself；　but　was　hit　only　by　a　sluice　of　water　as　the　machine　swept　past　and　off　into　the　night。
　　It　was　illuminated　briefly　by　another　flicker　of　lightning　crossing　the　sky；　which　allowed　the　soaked　figure　by　the　roadside　a　split…second　to　read　a　small　sign　at　the　back　of　the　machine　before　it　disappeared。
　　To　the　figure's　apparent　incredulous　astonishment　the　sign　read；　〃My　other　car　is　also　a　Porsche。〃
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　2
　　
　　Rob　McKeena　was　a　miserable　bastard　and　he　knew　it　because　he'd　had　a　lot　of　people　point　it　out　to　him　over　the　years　and　he　saw　no　reason　to　disagree　with　them　except　the　obvious　one　which　was　that　he　liked　disagreeing　with　people；　particularly　people　he　disliked；　which　included；　at　the　last　count；　everyone。
　　He　heaved　a　sigh　and　shoved　down　a　gear。
　　The　hill　was　beginning　to　steepen　and　his　lorry　was　heavy　with　Danish　thermostatic　radiator　controls。
　　It　wasn't　that　he　was　naturally　predisposed　to　be　so　surly；　at　least　he　hoped　not。　It　was　just　the　rain　which　got　him　down；　always　the　rain。
　　It　was　raining　now；　just　for　a　change。
　　It　was　a　particular　type　of　rain　he　particularly　disliked；　particularly　when　he　was　driving。　He　had　a　number　for　it。　It　was　rain　type　17。
　　He　had　read　somewhere　that　the　Eskimos　had　over　two　hundred　different　words　for　snow；　without　which　their　conversation　would　probably　have　got　very　monotonous。　So　they　would　distinguish　between　thin　snow　and　thick　snow；　light　snow　and　heavy　snow；　sludgy　snow；　brittle　snow；　snow　that　came　in　flurries；　snow　that　came　in　drifts；　snow　that　came　in　on　the　bottom　of　your　neighbour's　boots　all　over　your　nice　clean　igloo　floor；　the　snows　of　winter；　the　snows　of　spring；　the　snows　you　remember　from　your　childhood　that　were　so　much　better　than　any　of　your　modern　snow；　fine　snow；　feathery　snow；　hill　snow；　valley　snow；　snow　that　falls　in　the　morning；　snow　that　falls　at　night；　snow　that　falls　all　of　a　sudden　just　when　you　were　going　out　fishing；　and　snow　that　despite　all　your　efforts　to　train　them；　the　huskies　have　pissed　on。
　　Rob　McKeena　had　two　hundred　and　thirty…one　different　types　of　rain　entered　in　his　little　book；　and　he　didn't　like　any　of　them。
　　He　shifted　down　another　gear　and　the　lorry　heaved　its　revs　up。　It　grumbled　in　a　fortable　sort　of　way　about　all　the　Danish　thermostatic　radiator　controls　it　was　carrying。
　　Since　he　had　left　Denmark　the　previous　afternoon；　he　had　been　through　types　33　（light　pricking　drizzle　which　made　the　roads　slippery）；　39　（heavy　spotting）；　47　to　51　（vertical　light　drizzle　through　to　sharply　slanting　light　to　moderate　drizzle　freshening）；　87　and　88　（two　finely　distinguished　varieties　of　vertical　torrential　downpour）；　100　（post…downpour　squalling；　cold）；　all　the　seastorm　types　between　192　and　213　at　once；　123；　124；　126；　127　（mild　and　intermediate　cold　gusting；　regular　and　syncopated　cab…drumming）；　11　（breezy　droplets）；　and　now　his　least　favourite　of　all；　17。
　　Rain　type　17　was　a　dirty　blatter　battering　against　his　windscreen　so　hard　that　it　didn't　make　much　odds　whether　he　had　his　wipers　on　or　off。
　　He　tested　this　theory　by　turning　them　off　briefly；　but　as　it　turned　out　the　visibility　did　get　quite　a　lot　worse。　It　just　failed　to　get　better　again　when　he　turned　them　back　on。
　　In　fact　one　of　the　wiper　blades　began　to　flap　off。
　　Swish　swish　swish　flop　swish　flop　swish　swish　flop　swish　flop　swish　flop　flop　flop　scrape。
　　He　pounded　his　steering　wheel；　kicked　the　floor；　thumped　his　cassette　player　till　it　suddenly　started　playing　Barry　Manilow；　thumped　it　again　till　it　stopped；　and　swore　and　swore　and　swore　and　swore　and　swore。
　　It　was　at　the　very　moment　that　his　fury　was　peaking　that　there　loomed　swimmingly　in　his　headlights；　hardly　visible　through　the　blatter；　a　figure　by　the　roadside。
　　A　poor　bedraggled　figure；　strangely　attired；　wetter　than　an　otter　in　a　washing　machine；　and　hitching。
　　…　Poor　miserable　sod；　…　thought　Rob　McKeena　to　himself；　realizing