"Check on one, cue three for laser entry sequence."

"Magnetic field generator operational."

"All vocal Octogrids locked into octophonic harmonic positions."

"Audience cameras homed in and ready to roll."

"Red leader to base, I've been hit."

"Bride and monkey in position."

Arthur came away.

"Are you ready?" Asked Trillian, holding Arthur's hand.

"Ready for what?" Said Arthur. "I can't tell whether they're planning a wedding or a rock concert."

"I think it's a bit of both," grinned Trillian. "You know Zaphod. He's hired in a team of crying groupies to make me feel lucky."

"He doesn't deserve you," said Arthur.

"Tell him that," said Trillian. "He's giving me an entry in the Guide as the luckiest woman in the Universe."

A large, ugly creature beckoned them towards him. His hat declared he was a veteran of a Disaster Area tour.

"The eyes of the Universe are now watching," he said with a far away look in his eye. The other eye was watching for the cue. He stood holding a curtain closed. A magnificent noise came from the other side. A green light flashed above the curtain.

"You're on!" He opened the curtain and pushed them out.

They floated in a ma.s.sive, black arena. They were high in the air and in the distance could make out a platform supporting the specially invited guests. Spotlights picked out Arthur and Trillian as a 640 strong vocal choir burst into glorious song. Arthur looked around for the choir but couldn't see them. The Octogrid Vocal Choir was there in voice if not in body.

The Octogrid Vocal Choir was the most successful choir in the Universe. They contained the best voices ever heard. That was because some bright spark, called Ip, thought what a waste it was when singers died and so indulged in some grave digging. He rescued the vocal chords of some great singers and stretched them across an octagonal shaped grid. He used a computer to stretch and contract the grid and spun the grid on its axis so air pa.s.sed through the vocal chords to create sound. Ip built up his collection until he had enough to create eight grids of eighty voices and created an octophonic choir. This was fine until it was found that one singer had copyrighted his voice, which prevented it's use after the owner's death. A long, arduous and extremely profitable (for the lawyers) court case followed which eventually ended up being settled out of court by murdering the lawyers. The copyright firm signed up the choir, giving Ip a ma.s.sive settlement, which he used to put himself through Law School and later successfully sued the School for malpractice.

The Octogrids had been bordered by reflective strips, which caught the spotlights and scattered them all over. Suddenly, Arthur and Trillian took flight and flew around the arena at a frightening speed. Lighting gantries exploded into light and the choir spun themselves into a frenzy. Arthur and Trillian dive bombed the platform and landed with great delicacy besides Zaphod.

"Nice entrance," he whispered. "You should have been here for mine."

The lights dimmed and the choir settled down a bit. From above a shower of diamond shaped metal plates came down, the spotlights dancing through them. The plates stopped above the platform, held there by a magnetic field. The technicians tweeked the field generator and the plates revolved. Lasers burst out from nowhere into the magnetic field, deflecting everywhere. It put even the largest glitterball to shame. The choir whipped themselves up again as a priest floated down in front of the altar. They reached an o.r.g.a.s.m of sound (you had to be there) and fell silent.

Cameras locked in on the priest as he beckoned the couple forward.

"Well?" He said.

"Okay." Said Trillian.

"Why not." Followed Zaphod.

The choir erupted again as did the lights and the lasers.

The ceremony was over.

CHAPTER 64.

The reception was a loud, brash affair at Zaphod's home. The swimming pool was filled with Old Janx Spirit and Ford was one of the first to dive in. Bolo dived in to save him when he tried to drain the pool orally.

Arthur and Fenchurch stood by the food, trying to identify something that looked appetising and edible. It was a long fruitless search.

"I wouldn't say it was the most romantic wedding I've ever been to," said Arthur.

"It was certainly one of the best gigs I've been to," laughed Fenchurch.

"Still, I suppose the priest could do it another way, if you asked him," said Arthur.

"Probably."

"Not that I was thinking of asking him."

"Of course not."

Arthur looked deeply into a Kopwilsilus dip.

"Arthur, let's get married."

Arthur looked up.

"What? Why did you have to say that?"

"It seemed like you were having trouble."

"You've ruined all my plans, I was just building up to a big speech." Arthur looked back at the dip, which seemed to look back.

"I'm sorry, pretend I never said it."

"Well it's a bit difficult now."

"Arthur, ask me."

"Fenchurch, will you marry me?"

"I'll have to think about it."

Arthur picked up the dip in mock anger "I've thought about it. I will."

"I'll get the priest."

"I don't want to get married here, I want to get married on Earth."

"But that's omps away from here."

"Well I'm sure Zaphod or Ford will lend you a towel and you've still got your copy of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. We can leave after the party." She paused.

"You know, I'm really getting into this. .h.i.tch-hiking lark."

THE END.