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Still he knew what he had to do。 As the Vogon craft screamed through the air high above him he opened his satchel。 He threw away a copy of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat； he threw away a copy of Godspell： He wouldn't need them where he was going。 Everything was ready； everything was prepared。
He knew where his towel was。
A sudden silence hit the Earth。 If anything it was worse than the noise。 For a while nothing happened。
The great ships hung motionless in the air； 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 enpass 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 dust bin； every window； every car； every wine glass； 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 quadrophonic 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 that two of your Earth minutes。 Thank you。〃
The PA died away。
Unprehending terror settled on the watching people of Earth。 The terror moved slowly through the gathered crowds as if they were iron fillings 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 on Alpha Centauri for fifty of your Earth years； so you've had plenty of time to lodge any formal plaint 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 space。
By this time somebody somewhere must have manned a radio transmitter； located a wavelength and broadcasted 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 into 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 islands separated by very pretty but annoyingly wide stretches of ocean。
The boat sped on。
Because of this topological awkwardness Damogran has always remained a deserted planet。 This is why the Imperial Galactic Government chose Damogran for the Heart of Gold project； because it was so deserted and the Heart of Gold was so secret。
The boat zipped and skipped across the sea； the sea that lay between the main islands of the only archipelago of any useful size on the whole planet。 Zaphod Beeblebrox was on his way from the tiny spaceport on Easter Island （the name was an entirely meaningless coincidence … in Galacticspeke； easter means small flat and light brown） to the Heart of Gold island； which by another meaningless coincidence was called France。
One of the side effects of work on the Heart of Gold was a whole string of pretty meaningless coincidences。
But it was not in any way a coincidence that today； the day of culmination of the project； the great day of unveiling； the day that the Heart of Gold was finally to be introduced to a marvelling Galaxy； was also a great day of culmination for Zaphod Beeblebrox。 It was for the sake of this day that he had first decided to run for the Presidency； a decision which had sent waves of astonishment throughout the Imperial Galaxy … Zaphod Beeblebrox？ President？ Not the Zaphod Beeblebrox？ Not the President？ Many had seen it as a clinching proof that the whole of known creation had finally gone bananas。
Zaphod grinned and gave the boat an extra kick of speed。
Zaphod Beeblebrox； adventurer； ex…hippy； good timer； （crook？ quite possibly）； manic self…publicist； terribly bad at personal relationships； often thought to be pletely out to lunch。
President？
No one had gone bananas； not in that way at least。
Only six people in the entire Galaxy understood the principle on which the Galaxy was governed； and they knew that once Zaphod Beeblebrox had announced his intention to run as President it was more or less a fait acpli： he was the ideal Presidency fodder1。
What they pletely failed to understand was why Zaphod was doing it。
He banked sharply； shooting a wild wall of water at the sun。
Today was the day； today was the day when they would realize what Zaphod had been up to。 Today was what Zaphod Beeblebrox's Presidency was all about。 Today was also his two hundredth birthday； but that was just another meaningless coincidence。
As he skipped his boat across the seas of Damogran he smiled quietly to himself about what a wonderful exciting day it was going to be。 He relaxed and spread his two arms lazily across the seat back。 He steered with an extra arm he'd recently fitted just