“Who in the Galaxy would want to bomb a publishing company?” asked Zaphod, but never heard Marvin’s reply because at that moment the building shook with another bomb attack. He tried to stagger back to the elevator – a pointless manoeuvre he realized, but the only one he could think of.
Suddenly, at the end of the corridor leading at right angles from this one, he caught sight of a figure as it lunged into view, a man. The man saw him.
“Beeblebrox, over here!” he shouted.
Zaphod eyed him with distrust as another bomb blast rocked the building.
“No,” called Zaphod, “Beeblebrox over here! Who are you?”
“A friend!” shouted back the man. He ran towards Zaphod.
“Oh yeah?” said Zaphod, “Anyone’s friend in particular, or just generally well disposed of people?”
The man raced along the corridor, the floor bucking beneath his feet like an excited blanket. He was short, stocky and weatherbeaten and his clothes looked as if they’d been twice round the Galaxy and back with him in them.
“Do you know,” Zaphod shouted in his ear when he arrived, “your building’s being bombed?”
The man indicated his awareness.
It suddenly stopped being light. Glancing round at the window to see why, Zaphod gaped as a huge sluglike, gunmetal-green spacecraft crept through the air past the building. Two more followed it.
“The government you deserted is out to get you, Zaphod,” hissed the man, “they’ve sent a squadron of Frogstar Fighters.”
“Frogstar Fighters!” muttered Zaphod, “Zarquon!”
“You get the picture?”
“What are Frogstar Fighters?” Zaphod was sure he’d heard someone talk about them when he was President, but he never paid much attention to official matters.
The man was pulling him back through a door. He went with him. With a searing whine a small black spider-like object shot through the air and disappeared down the corridor.
“What was that?” hissed Zaphod.
“Frogstar Scout robot class A out looking for you,” said the man.
“Hey yeah?”
“Get down!”