Jasfoup tapped one
ebony claw against the screen of his bloodberry, shook it and pressed
a few more buttons, hissing all the while like a kettle going off the
boil.
Harold tried to ignore
him but the irritation was coming off the demon in waves. “What’s
up?”
“I've an intermittent
error on my PDA.” The demon shook it again. “It's annoying.”
“Want me to have a look?”
“You think you can
fix a PDA that operates in five dimensions plus two other's whose
very existence would warp your intellect into a cross between a
brontosaurus and an ant? A piece of equipment some of the oldest
intellects on the Nine Planes would have trouble logging onto, you,
who finds intellectual stimulation in counting the gravy stains on a
café tablecloth?”
“Yes.” Harold let
the insults slide past. “Fresh pair of eyes and all that. What
error are you experiencing?”
“I've got dropout on
the signal. There's an error message I've never seen before.”
Harold squinted at the
tiny screen. The problem with the Bloodberry, and why it never caught
on in a big way amongst the elohim* was its twenty-four inch screen.
The problem was it had been reduced to two inches, so what might have
been twelve-point text on a twenty-four inch screen was now was now
fourteen pica high on a two inch one. He'd need a microscope to read
it, even if it wasn't already in the Tongue of the Abyss. “What
does it say?”
“No signal”
*Fallen Elohim,
obviously. The angels who never rebelled eschew any technology later
than lobster-plate armour and Damascus steel with the possible
exception of milk chocolate. If Heaven ever Fell it would be from the
collective weight of obese cherubim.
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