Three weeks had passed since Lucifer had left Hell. They had quite probably been the busiest three weeks in Rastaphur and Johnson's demonic little lives.

"Status report?" said Rastaphur, clipboard and pen in hand. He was standing behind a computer operator at one of the long banks of new terminals.

"Things going according to schedule, sir," said the operator, a tiny little demon with bluish skin and pointed buck teeth. We've just achieved a link with the eastern side of the Lake of Fire."

"Very good, Farfnel. Let me know when the 9th Circle and Niflheim are on line."

Rastaphur turned to leave, making furious little scribbles on the clipboard.

"Oh, sir?" said Farfnel.

"Yes?" said Rastaphur, turning his head towards the diminutive devil.

"That reminds me, Pluto is making an awful lot of fuss about the new set-up."

"The Disney dog?" said Rastaphur quizzically.

"No, the Greek god of the Underworld," said Farfnel, a little confused. "He's not the only one, everyone's wanting to talk to the Master. Is there any idea when he'll be back from his vacation in Alaska?"

"No, and Johnson and I have strict orders that he is not to be disturbed. I'll talk to the Lords of Hell later. Thank you, Farfnel."

Rastaphur walked away.

"No problem, sir," Farfnel called after him.

Rastaphur walked passed the new banks of computers, each equipped with a big color screen and a mouse as well as an operator furiously typing away. The computer operators represented a broad spectrum of the population of Hell---well, at least of the ruling class of Hell. Everyone from the Fallen, to the Higher Princes, to the smaller demons of obscure religions were being trained with the computers.

The old Hell was almost completely gone in the face of the technological onslaught of the past few weeks. Where there was once a whipping post, there now stood a switchboard where a large demon with spikes all down his back acted as receptionist.

"This is Hell, can I put you on hold? Thank you," the demon said into the phone. His fingers were a flurry on the switchboard. "May I help you? Yes, I understand you've been holding for three weeks, sir. But, sir, this is Hell, after all. I understand you need to talk to the man in charge, but he's busy at the moment. He'll get to you as soon as possible. I'm putting you on hold again, sir. Thank you."

"How's it going, Svegtarr?" asked Rastaphur, pausing to make a few notes on his clipboard.

"Excellent, sir. I think we're really addressing the needs of the newer class of damned souls. Especially those who were in banking and the stock exchange. A Mr. Tungsten from New York who was formerly the head of a rather large international trading company has been on hold since the moment the phones were installed and he couldn't be happier."

"So, you think we're getting to him more effectively than we would have with the old rack or whips."

"Oh, yes, sir. These new souls definitely have something they can relate to now."

"Excellent. Excellent. Thank you, Svegtarr, you're doing a wonderful job. I'll be sure to mention it to the Big Guy."

"Oh, you're too kind, sir," said Svegtarr, his red skin blushing to a deeper red.

Rastaphur continued on until he reached the head office. He opened the door to find Johnson sitting behind the desk, feet up in the air, staring intently into the terminal before him.

"Johnson," said Rastaphur. He entered the room and closed the door behind him. The door was one of the few things about the place they hadn't changed.

On the back wall of the room was a huge wall composed of TV screens. Next to it was a bank of VCRs happily whirring away. The bean bag chair was long gone, replaced with a modern leather recliner with electric controls and a cooler built into the armrest.

The desk that Johnson was sitting at was the same, but it had several odes to modern technology scattered across it. Of primary interest was the computer, but there was also a fax machine, video phone, and cappuccino maker resting on its marbled surface.

"Shh. Don't bug me, I've almost got it. Almost . . . almost . . .---damn!" Johnson slammed his hand down onto the desk. "I got a new high score, though. I made it to the 10th level that time."

"What are you doing?"

"Playing this intriguing little game with these falling blocks. See, you rotate them and then drop them down so that---"

"Yes, I've seen it," said Rastaphur, holding up a hand to ward off the description of Hell's latest addiction. "So, have you accomplished any actual work today?"

"Oh yes, I've . . . and then there was . . . well, I almost did the . . . but there were these little rotating blocks that were so wonderful, and you keep dropping them down---"

"Right. Well, we've got some problems. The Lords of Hell are getting a nervous. They can't remember a time in the past when Lucifer's gone on vacation. That, coupled with all the new changes is making them a little suspicious." Rastaphur was pacing nervously around the room, the stress clearly showing on his face.

"Well, what are they gonna do? Break in here and demand to see him?" said Johnson, feeling more than a little cocky.

*BAMM* came the pounding at the door.

Rastaphur's head nearly spun off, he turned it so quickly. Johnson would have needed new pants if he had been wearing any in the first place.

"Never say anything like that again, or I will kill you," said Rastaphur pointing a shaking accusatory finger at Johnson.

*BAMM* came the pounding again. This time, the door flew off it's hinges as a result. In walked Anubis, the jackal-headed Egyptian God of the Underworld.

"Where is Satan?" asked Anubis, his voice thundering throughout the room. He pointed a whole handful of long, withered fingers towards Rastaphur and Johnson. "I demand to see him now, or I shall utterly lay waste to both of you!"

* * *

Copyright © 1994 by Robert T. Bakie

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five