“Nothing particularly exciting,” it admitted, “but they are alternatives.”
“Holy Zarquon,” muttered Zaphod, “did I ask for an existentialist elevator?” he beat his fists against the wall.
“What’s the matter with the thing?” he spat.
“It doesn’t want to go up,” said Marvin simply, “I think it’s afraid.”
“Afraid?” cried Zaphod, “Of what? Heights? An elevator that’s afraid of heights?”
“No,” said the elevator miserably, “of the future…”
“The future?” exclaimed Zaphod, “What does the wretched thing want, a pension scheme?”
At that moment a commotion broke out in the reception hall behind them. From the walls around them came the sound of suddenly active machinery.
“We can all see into the future,” whispered the elevator in what sounded like terror, “it’s part of our programming.”
Zaphod looked out of the elevator – an agitated crowd had gathered round the elevator area, pointing and shouting.
Every elevator in the building was coming down, very fast. He ducked back in.
“Marvin,” he said, “just get this elevator go up will you? We’ve got to get to Zarniwoop.”
“Why?” asked Marvin dolefully.
“I don’t know,” said Zaphod, “but when I find him, he’d better have a very good reason for me wanting to see him.”