Author's note - This is one of my first MST fanfics, and, IMHO, one of my best. Like all my others, it's a work-in-progress; It got as far as Chapter 5 before my inspiration died.

Dedication: This fanfic is for Gypsy, MST3K mailing list moderator extraordinaire and dedicated HHGTTG fan, who was also the only person to write me back with feedback when I sent this out to the list.

MST3K/ "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" crossover

by Becky "Gypsy Jr." Mroczkowski

Timeframe: Mid-season 7

CHAPTER 1

DON'T PANIC

Joel Robinson awoke from an unrestful sleep with a pounding headache and a sharp pain in his lower back. The headache was par for the course, since the Taurellians, whose Star Jumper he'd managed to get a lift on, were twelfth-generation partiers who never seemed to have the need for sleep. The back pain, however, was a little harder to figure out. After a moment's hazy thought, Joel realized he'd been sleeping on his duffel bag.

Pulling the king-sized gym bag out from underneath him, Joel reached into a side pocket and pulled out a vial of aspirin. Quickly downing two of them, he unzipped the bag's main compartment and pulled out the object that had most likely been poking him in the side all night, reflecting bitterly that four years of heckling awful movies on the Satellite of Love hadn't prepared him at all for the unfriendly realities of space travel.  

The object he held in his hands was a calculator-like electronic book, about the size of an average hardback book and about a fourth as thick. Printed across the book's cover in two-inch tall raised gold letters were the reassuring words 'DON'T PANIC'. The name of the book was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and its microcircuits contained everything a lowly space traveler could ever want to know about anything in the entire known universe.

Except maybe, Joel thought to himself, how to get a life.

Meanwhile, some 200,000 light years away from where Joel Robinson was lying  uncomfortably on an old mattress in the cramped cargo hold of a Taurellian Star Jumper, aboard a small, virtually unnoticed satellite in a geosynchronous orbit around an equally small and unnoticed planet known as Earth, two robots and a human were having a spirited discussion, blissfully unaware that deep beneath the rocky crust of the planet below them, something was going down that would put the fate of the universe in their hands. Soon their moment of truth would come, but for now, the trio were contented performing the kind of daily activities that kept them sane in the face of bad movie after bad movie.

"Oh COME ON, Mike!" exclaimed the red, rotund gumball machine-looking robot called Tom Servo, "You cannot honestly think that Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls was a good movie!"

The human, Mike Nelson, just shrugged. "It made me laugh, that's all."

"Parts of it were pretty good..," said the golden robot named Crow , not really paying much attention to the argument.

"Oh SURE, pinhead," shouted Tom in a sarcasm-laden voice, "like the scene with the fake rhinoceros? How much more tasteless can you GET?!?" The little red 'bot looked as if he were about to explode.

"Well...okay. I see your point," conceded Crow "but you gotta admit, the first one WAS funny."

"Yeah, well - -"

A purple light suddenly began flashing and Mike quickly shushed the 'bots.  "Okay you guys, chill out. We got something coming in on the Hexfield," he said, pushing the blinking button on the desk. "Geez, I'm sorry I brought it up..."

The Hexfield Viewscreen slowly irised open, revealing a creature that looked like a fatter, almost infinitely more ugly version of Frankenstien’s monster. The huge, hulking mass of congealed body parts let out an unintelligible grunt and slowly turned to address Mike and the 'bots.

"Greetings, puny Earthlings," uttered the alien in a preternaturally deep, inexplicably British-accented voice, "we have traveled millions of light years to conquer your insignificant little home world."

"Uh...it's down there," said Mike cautiously, pointing discreetly in the general direction of the earth. The as-yet-unnamed alien looked slightly confused.

"Pardon me, Your Bulkiness," interjected Tom Servo, "but who exactly are you and what do you want with our planet?"

The alien thought a moment, as if trying to remember itself, but then gave up in defeat. "Who I am is not important," it finally said in a slightly evasive tone, "Soon the whole universe will know who we are. But be the first to know that with the help of your associate, we the, uh...." The alien's voice trailed off for a moment, but then he/she/it brightened. "Well, let's just suffice it to say that your pathetic armed forces haven't a chance of defeating us." The transmission ended in a short burst of static and the viewscreen went dark.

As the viewscreen irised shut, Tom let out a deep breath. "Was he talking about who I think he was talking about?"

"It can't be...." said Crow, "can it?"

Mike shook his head sadly. "Man, I knew Forrester was bent on world domination, but THEM? He must be getting really desperate."

No one spoke for a long moment, until Tom broke the silence.

"Well, what are we gonna do about it, you guys? We can't just sit here and let the forces of evil destroy the universe!"

"There's not really much else we can do," answered Mike. "They'll probably be calling with this week's experiment any minute."

"We can't just SIT HERE!" repeated Tom.

"Well, whoever that guy was," mused Crow, "it's a pretty safe bet he’d be a better ruler than Newt Gingrich."

Despite their admittedly lousy predicament, everyone managed to share a hearty laugh.

CHAPTER 2

PARTY ANIMALS FROM THE 25th DIMENSION

In addition to being the galactic tourist's best friend, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is also an excellent way to pass the time if you happen to have an extra hour or two to spare on your way to Alpha Tau. Having spent a good two thirds of his journey with his head under a pillow and the other third shooting spitballs at a picture of Bob Dole that had somehow found its way onto the starship's wall, Joel decided to spend a few minutes boning up on the finer points of intergalactic etiquette. Skimming the Guide's index, he found that there were suprisingly few (one of which being to never go up to a Tereskian and say hello, as they consider it a great insult and will maim and disfigure you accordingly). Just for the heck of it, he punched in "TAURELLIANS" and was rewarded with this entry:

One of the few species in the entire universe who know how to throw a really

rockin' party. If your goal in life is to rock and roll until you drop dead from exhaustion,

these are the guys to go to. They are originally from the planet Taurellia in the

twenty-fifth dimension known as Xanthosia, and crossed over to our reality to find new

suppliers of snacks and party favors and recruit new entertainment. Be wary of entering

their dimension, however, as you may never want to come back.

Just as Joel finished reading this, the intercom panel above his head squawked to life. The announcer, who was nearly drowned out by a bouncy rock 'n' roll tune Joel vaguely recognized as Kiss's "Rock and Roll All Night", spoke with what Joel supposed was the Xanthosian equivalent of a surfer dude accent.

"Hey, hey, HEY! Mellow greetings to all you little animals out in PARTYLAND!!!! We'll be touching down on Zarcos Twelve in about twenty minutes for a quick refueling stop, but after that..."

The rest of the announcement was promptly cut off as a new, much louder rock song came bouncing noisily out of the ship's loudspeakers. Sighing, Joel reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of earplugs. It was just about time to join the party.

The Taurellian's party was pretty much like every party Joel had ever been to on Earth: loud, sweaty, smoky, cramped, and very bad for the senses. In Joel's experience, these were the sort of parties where you invariably ended up dancing with women wether you wanted to or not. The only palpable difference seemed to be that at this party, the partygoers were all four feet tall, had tails and claws, wore outfits made completely from pink rhinestones and fake florescent orange fur, and were green. Joel made a face in disgust and tried to calm himself by reading the instructions on the paper packet his earplugs were in. They went as follows:

1. With clean hands, slowly roll and compress. Plug into a very thin, crease-free cylinder.

2. While compressed, insert plug well into ear canal. Fitting is easier if outer ear is pulled outwards and upwards during insertion.

3. With fingertip, hold plug in place until it begins to expand and block noise.

This was all accompanied by the appropriate illustrations, of course. Joel put the packet back in his pocket, deciding he didn't need something so simple that was so complicated. As he stood pondering what kind of backwards, technologically-impaired society would need detailed instructions for something as low-tech as a pair of earplugs, he was approached by an (apparently female) Taurellian partygoer.

"You wanna dance?"

He looked at her in amazement. "Do I look like I want to dance?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I just met you, so I really can't tell. That's why I asked. So do you?"

Joel shook his head. "Not really. Thanks for asking, though."

She narrowed her eyes and squinted at him appraisingly. "Just what is your deal anyway, man?"

"It's a long story. Basically, I was trapped on a satellite for four and a half years by a mad scientist who forced me to watch movies. When I finally escaped, I decided to take a little spin around the galaxy."

She stared at him skeptically. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I told you it was a long story."

It was this exact moment that the shipwide P.A. system chose to come to life again. By this time the announcer was nearly screaming. His voice had lost its previous disc jockey-ish zeal and was straining just to be heard.

"ATTENTION!!!!! WE ARE APPROACHING ZARCOS TWELVE AND ARE PREPARING TO LAND!!!!! ALL PASSENGERS PREPARE TO DISEMBARK!!!!!! WE WILL BE LANDING IN FIVE MINUTES!!!!!! THAT IS ALL!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!"

There was a slight grumble at the mention of disembarking, but the Taurellians apparently took it in stride. In the Taurellian culture, another planet was simply another place to boogie down. Oddly enough, their preparations seemed to entail grabbing as many snacks, party favors and CDs as they could get their hands on and stuffing them all into large plastic bags. Naturally, a fight broke out and was stopped only when the ship landed.

After the dozens of Taurellians, many of them still bickering over who would get to listen to what CD for the sort duration of the shore leave, had left the ship, Joel bade farewell to the overly friendly Taurellian lady and wandered down to the nearest bar. He found it in the form of a sidewalk cafe, complete with table umbrellas, poetry being read, and . . . really bad music.

After a moment, Joel realized it was kareoke night. The singer up on stage, wailing a screechy rendition of the Beach Boys' "Barbara Anne" into the microphone, was a teenage girl, about fifteen years old, Joel guessed, with short dishwater blonde hair and green eyes framed by a pair of glasses that were the epitome of geekdom. Besides the standard teen-issue T-shirt and jeans, she wore a dusty blue-green baseball cap and a backpack. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Joel couldn't place it.  He shoved the thought to the back of his mind and found himself an empty table. As he sat down, a noisy argument started between an irate waiter and the patrons sitting at the table behind him.

"Whaddya mean y'want us to leave?" asked a slurred voice, "We jus' got here."

Joel heard a loud hiccup. Whoever the speaker was, he was obviously incredibly drunk.

The waiter struggled to keep his temper. "May I remind you, sir," he said through clinched teeth, "that you have been here since eight o'clock this morning and have been drinking almost nonstop ever since?"

"Listen," said a third, slightly less drunk British-sounding voice, "there's no need for this. Let's just pack it in and go."

"Don't bother, Arthur," piped up a fourth voice, "we've got a right to be here."

The waiter stood on the sidewalk and fumed.

Fearing blood might be shed if this conversation went any farther, Joel decided it was time to intervene. Turning around, he got a good look at the bickering customers.  They were basically human in appearance, with the somewhat major exception that one of them had three arms and two heads. The fourth individual, a small furry creature who Joel could only assume was the waiter, stood by the table getting angrier by the second.  Joel walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me." he said in his most polite voice, " is there something I can help you with?"

The waiter looked up at him, slightly mystified. "Yeah, if you can get these guys outta here. They've been bugging the customers all morning. Bad for business . . . even the service robots are getting fed up."

Joel appeared to give this matter serious thought. " You might want to think about that. I happen to be a representative of the law firm of Smithson, Jan, and Grey," said Joel, using the first three names that popped into his mind, " and you might be at risk of a major lawsuit if you force these people to leave. Freedom of expression and all that. Why don't you let me have a talk with them?"

The waiter didn't even bother to reply. He just left. Joel wasn't quite sure he'd bought his story, but it really didn't matter. It had worked anyway.

"Wow," said the two-headed customer, " Why didn't we think of that? We could've had that guy out of our face hours ago."

The man sitting beside him nodded. "Sure, buddy. Hey thanks, man," he added, now speaking to Joel, " Who are you anyway?"

Joel told him, and also explained the circumstances by which he'd come to be sitting in a sidewalk cafe on Zarcos Twelve.

The man whistled a long, low note of amazement. "That is one wild story, man. By the way, my name's Ford Prefect. The guy with three arms over there is my semi-cousin Zaphod Beeblebrox. You might have heard of him. Used to be President of the Galaxy. And this," He gestured toward the man sitting to his left, who appeared to be sleeping, " is Arthur Dent. He's from Earth, too."

"Listen," interrupted Zaphod, " thanks for the help and all, but we really should be going now. I'll go get Jessie." He stood up and motioned to the girl on stage, who Joel surmised was Jessie.

"So," continued Ford doggedly, "Where're you headed?"

"I dunno," Joel shrugged, " Anywhere, I guess."

"Great," grinned Ford, "need a lift?"

CHAPTER 3

DEEP 13

Deep in the heart of the Earth, in a hidden hideout somewhere beneath southern Minnesota, Dr. Clayton Forrester was having a minor communications crisis.

"Check, check - is this thing on?? Cheap Korean wiring....Testing, one, two three...." Feedback reverberated through the small cavelike room.

"CLAYTON!!!!!"

Forrester winced. Extricating himself from the tangled mess of red and green cables, he poked his head out from under the computer console with a weary sigh.

"Yes, Mother?"

Pearl Forrester was a short, stocky, formidable woman with a disparaging attitude  and a glare that could melt ice at fifty paces. Forrester was receiving the brunt of both as she stared at him with undisguised contempt.

"Have you seen my Barry Manilow CD?"

Forrester gritted his teeth. "Mother, I am in the middle of an elaborate and delicate plan of world conquest . . . . I didn't touch your CD."

Pearl looked down at him witheringly. "I don't know what it is with you and your little 'rule the world' schemes. Honestly, with your brother coming in two days and all..."  She left the room humming "Copacabana", leaving her son to his own bizarre devices.

Forrester groaned. With all the excitement of his latest plan, he'd completely forgotten about his older brother's visit. He really didn't need it right now....he was downright sick of hearing how pathetic he was compared to his brother, a subject his mother brought up at every opportunity. He already knew how pathetic he was - he didn't need it rubbed in his face. With one last sigh of frustration, he ducked back under the console to continue his work.

CHAPTER 4

HITCHIN' A RIDE

The ship was called GoldenEye 14, and with good reason. Its entire exterior was painted a gaudy, glittery shade of gold, with a large florescent pink lightning bolt spray-painted on the side of its hull. Joel guessed this had been Zaphod's doing. He fervently hoped the ship's interior wasn't as flashy. He was already on his way to Exedrine-ville.

"Wiiiise meeen saaaay.....only foooools ruuush iiinnn...."

Joel glanced over his shoulder to find Jessie following him, wearing a Walkman and completely oblivious to her surroundings. Joel tapped her on the shoulder.  She took off her headphones. Joel could clearly hear the lyrics to Elvis's "Can't Help Falling in Love" before she turned it off.

"Hi."

"Hi. I don't think we've been introduced yet. Joel Robinson."

She shook his hand. "Jessie Forrester. Jessica, if you must." She rolled her eyes.

Joel did a double take. "Did you say Forrester?"

"Um, yeah." She looked at him warily.

"Are you any relation to a Dr. Clayton Forrester?"

Jessie rolled her eyes again. "He's my uncle. Geez, what a weirdo."

Joel was inclined to agree.

"You know him?"

Joel considered telling her the whole story, but decided against it. He settled for a simple "Yes".

"Hey, how'd you get here anyway?" he asked her.   Her answer was vague, but Joel though he heard her mumble something about 'space camp'. The rest of her reply was cut off by Zaphod yelling at them from the portal. "Yeah, we're coming!" Jessie yelled back at him. She turned back to Joel with a grin on her face. "Don't worry. We don't even let him drive when he's sober."

Joel smiled. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad.

Joel was relieved to find that the ship's interior design was done in a series of muted pastels. What with the noise of the city and Jessie's acapella rendition of a rock tune about peaches that Joel didn't even recognize, the last thing he needed was another distraction.

Jessie led him to the bridge, where Ford, Arthur, Zaphod and a woman Joel didn't know yet were arguing with Lizzie, the ship's computer.

"Listen, you overblown IBM," Ford was saying to it, "We're telling you we want to go to Thalius IIX . . . ."

" . . . . And I'm telling you that you can't," the computer replied patiently.

Ford looked up with a frustrated look on his face and noticed Joel.

"Oh, hi Joel. Be with you in a minute. Now listen, Circuits-for-Brains..."

"You shouldn't be too hard on her, you know," Joel interrupted. "She's just following her programming."

"Well, the programming stinks," Zaphod muttered.

"Arthur, who is this?" whispered the unknown woman.

"Oh, sorry. Trillian, this is Joel Robinson. Joel, this is Trillian."

"Hi. Nice to meet you. Can I try?" he asked, indicating the computer. "I'm pretty good with this stuff."

Ford relinquished his chair with relief. "Be my guest."

Joel sat down in front of the computer terminal. "Lizzie?"

"Yes?" She sounded worn out. Given the ship's age and its current passengers Joel didn't blame her.

"Can you tell us why we can't go to Thalius IIX?

"Certainly. I am in the middle of a routine Level X diagnostic, which will be running for another three hours and ten minutes. I'm afraid we can't go anywhere until it's completed."

Joel nodded and typed a quick series of commands into the keyboard:

override: x://maintenance//diag1

set course: Zarcos XII :to: Thalius IIX

Presently, the computer beeped and spewed out a message:

"Plotting course."

Joel smiled in satisfaction. Not a single eye in the cabin was anywhere but on him. He laughed in answer to the unasked question.

"Some of my best friends have circuits for brains."

To Be Continued....

Want a preview of what's in store for Chapter 5? Do you even want to see a Chapter 5? Let me know!!

gypsyjr512@aol.com