What is there to do after your home planet is destroyed? Drink, Arthur Dent thought, answering his own question. He figured Ford Prefect would already be heading to the nearest planet with an alcoholic drink that could be consumed by the human system, so he sat back and relaxed. Or tried to. He wasn't too upset, given the circumstances; he had already seen Earth destroyed by the Volgons at least once. But having your planet destroyed did leave you a little down, no matter how many times you'd been through it.
Just as Arthur had settled down to looking through some of the shorter entries in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (ranked #1 best seller three light years in a row according to Universe Weekly), Ford Prefect walked in.
"I'm afraid we've taken up some extra passengers." Ford said. Arthur looked up from a rather interesting article on the Grhejoken home planet. "I invited them for a drink on Beta 11, but they were quite insistent on getting back to their home planet. So we're taking a bit of a detour."
Arthur frowned. Interstellar traveling had its perks, but picking up stray hitchhikers when he needed a drink was not one of them. Especially not pushy ones. "Can't you refuse? They're just hitchhikers."
If it were possible for anything to show past his cool demeanor, Arthur would have sworn Ford looked offended.
"Just hitchhikers?" Ford started. Arthur immediately wished he could take back his words. "Just hitchhikers? Remember pal, you were once just a hitchhiker, and that's what saved you from vanishing with the rest of Earth. It is our duty to help along these fellow hitchhikers."
Arthur quickly gave in. He knew better then to fight with Ford on the subject of hitchhikers.
"Fine," he relented. "Where are they off to anyway?"
Ford quickly filled him in on the traveler's home planet, along with an extra warning: "They'll look familiar when you see them, but try your best not to insult them."
Arthur had about half a second to wonder what that meant before their guest's walked in. His first reaction was to laugh. His second was to stare, but a quick look from Ford reminded him not to do either. Instead, he put on his best face while being introduced to what he later found out were the Band-Aid people on Hajiet-Baron.
(Excerpt from the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, page 3849478, section 3b. Entry: Hajiet-Baron)
Hajiet-Baron is a thriving planet in the Calistro nebula whose landscape consists mostly of sheer rock walls. Although a great tourist planet for experienced rock climbers, it is more designed for the planet's only sentient life forms, the Travbil. The Travbils have risen up the evolutionary ladder with extraordinary adhesive appendages. But most impressive is their central nervous system, which consists of millions of white fibers that cushion their brain. Their brain being nearly one third the size of their body makes them one of the most intelligent species encountered. Second only, perhaps, to the Brain people of Brainworld.
As Arthur Dent learned more about the Travbils he learned why any laughter or staring would have been quite unacceptable at their first meeting. Not only did their intelligence severely outmatch his own, he learned that he resembled a larger version of writing utensil on their planet. After hearing that he decided not to tell them that they looked like bandages.
His thoughts were interrupted, however, by an intercom message telling all passengers to report to the control room.
"What's going on?" Arthur asked Ford, who had made the announcement.
"Intergalactic Police." He replied. Arthur hardly had time to cast a suspicious glance at Ford, who had been known to commit a few felonies, both in this galaxy and a few others, when Ford went on. "It seems our passengers are being prosecuted for robbing the galaxy's largest supply of Triple Antibiotic Ointment and shipping it back to their home planet on the black market."
"Triple Antibiotic Ointment? What would they want that for?"
"It's practically a drug on their planet. While easy enough to come by, it's incredibly addicting."
Suddenly, the Trevbils burst into the room. They conferred with a low humming noise, and then one wrapped himself around Arthur and Ford while the other started typing orders into the ship's computer.
"They're hijacking the ship!" Arthur cried out, before everything went black.
Arthur awoke still wrapped in the Trevbil, and being forced to walk. Ford had been moved to the other Trevbil so that they could walk easier. They seemed to be in a carnival, predictably on Hajiet-Baron. They were surrounded by other Trevbil, all shopping at the local merchant's shops. Their captors approached a large booth, which seemed to sell everything from clothing to food. And running it was none other then…
"Marvin!" Arthur and Ford shouted at the exact same time. "Boy are we glad to see you!" Ford finished.
"Yeah? Well I'm not glad to see you." Marvin replied, as depressed as ever. "After you left me on your last excursion I was forced to become a merchant to these miscreants. Although, I must say, they have excellent taste." He finished counting out the change for a Trevbil that had bought one of his garments.
"Look, we're sorry" Ford said. "We'll make it up to you if you help us out!" Just sell these two some Ointment!"
Marvin reluctantly agreed, and hummed to the two Trevbils. They seemed to come to an agreement, and the two convicts eagerly accepted dome Ointment. Seconds after rubbing it on their central nervous system they loosened their hold on Arthur and Ford. Arthur and Ford gratefully climbed out of the Trevbil's adhesive arms. "Marvin, do you have any disguises we could use? We have to get back to our ship." Ford said. "Marvin this, Marvin that." He snarled. "Fine. I just got in a new shipment of these winter coats. But you better pick me up once you get to your ship." They promised, and Marvin helped them into two tall wax paper sheaths. Then they ran off in the direction that they had come.
But they had an unexpected surprise waiting for them back at the ship. The Intergalactic Police had followed them to the planet. They arrested them on the spot as being the two Trevbil convicts.
"No," Arthur tried to explain, "We're human. Well I am at least. These are just costumes!" But the coats refused to come off, and the Police just laughed at his claims, saying, "The human race died out months ago."
Ford was no help; he rather fancied the idea of being arrested. He said it was an experience you had to try at least once in your life. So they ended up in the intergalactic jail, drinking cheap Arlewen-brewed beer. And Ford somehow seemed to justify it with, "Well, at least you got your drink!"