The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Read Online Free PDF

the sky, over every nation on Earth. Motionless they hung, huge, heavy, steady in the sky, a blasphemy against nature. Many people went straight into shock as their minds tried to encompass what they were looking at. The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.
    And still nothing happened.
    Then there was a slight whisper, a sudden spacious whisper of open ambient sound. Every hi-fi set in the world, every radio, every television, every cassette recorder, every woofer, every tweeter, every mid-range driver in the world quietly turned itself on.
    Every tin can, every dustbin, every window, every car, every wineglass, every sheet of rusty metal became activated as an acoustically perfect sounding board.
    Before the Earth passed away it was going to be treated to the very ultimate in sound reproduction, the greatest public address system ever built. But there was no concert, no music, no fanfare, just a simple message.
    “People of Earth, your attention, please,”
a voice said, and it was wonderful. Wonderful perfect quadraphonic sound with distortion levels so low as to make a brave man weep.
    “This is Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz of the Galactic Hyperspace Planning Council,”
the voice continued.
“As you will no doubt be aware,
the plans for development of the outlying regions of the Galaxy require
the building of a hyperspatial express route through your star system,
and regrettably your planet is one of those scheduled for demolition. The
process will take slightly less than two of your Earth minutes. Thank
you.”
    The PA died away.
    Uncomprehending terror settled on the watching people of Earth. The terror moved slowly through the gathered crowds as if they were iron filings on a sheet of board and a magnet was moving beneath them. Panic sprouted again, desperate fleeing panic, but there was nowhere to flee to.
    Observing this, the Vogons turned on their PA again. It said:
    “There’s no point in acting all surprised about it. All the planning
charts and demolition orders have been on display in your local planning
department in Alpha Centauri for fifty of your Earth years, so you’ve
had plenty of time to lodge any formal complaint and it’s far too late to
start making a fuss about it now.”
    The PA fell silent again and its echo drifted off across the land. The huge ships turned slowly in the sky with easy power. On the underside of each a hatchway opened, an empty black square.
    By this time somebody somewhere must have manned a radio transmitter, located a wavelength and broadcast a message back to the Vogon ships, to plead on behalf of the planet. Nobody ever heard what they said, they only heard the reply. The PA slammed back into life again. The voice was annoyed. It said:
    “What do you mean, you’ve never been to Alpha Centauri? For
heaven’s sake, mankind, it’s only four light-years away, you know. I’m
sorry, but if you can’t be bothered to take an interest in local affairs that’s
your own lookout.
    “Energize the demolition beams.”
    Light poured out of the hatchways.
    “I don’t know,”
said the voice on the PA,
“apathetic bloody
planet, I’ve no sympathy at all.”
It cut off.
    There was a terrible ghastly silence.
    There was a terrible ghastly noise.
    There was a terrible ghastly silence.
    The Vogon Constructor Fleet coasted away into the inky starry void.

Chapter 4
    Far away on the opposite spiral arm of the Galaxy, five hundred thousand light-years from the star Sol, Zaphod Beeblebrox, President of the Imperial Galactic Government, sped across the seas of Damogran; his ion drive delta boat winking and flashing in the Damogran sun.
    Damogran the hot; Damogran the remote; Damogran the almost totally unheard of.
    Damogran, secret home of the Heart of Gold.
    The boat sped on across the water. It would be some time before it reached its destination because Damogran is such an inconveniently arranged planet. It consists of nothing but middling to large desert