/.../ they'd been continually tortured by the technology that was supposedly assisting them.
The chief source of their torment was Orac, a wearing winking smartarse in a box who loved himself almost, but not quite as much, as an iphone, and who treated his human companions with the horty condescension of a professor of Latin snorting at an especially stupid peg.
Blake: Orac, I want to tap central spacecraft registry, can you do that?
Orac: 'Tap' -what is that?
Blake: Obtain information from the records.
It was a bit like watching people struggle with a beta version of Windows Vista thirty years ahead of its time.
Blake: You'll clear the receptor circuits to receive an emergency program. Confirm when ready.
Orac: [Clicking of relays]
Avon: Confirm readiness.
Orac: [Clicking of relays]
Avon: Come on, come on.
Orac: [Clicking of relays]
You know, sometimes it was like watching Jeremy Paxman wearily quizzing Michael Howard on Newsnight forever.
Orac: That information is not immediately available
Blake: Well, can you get it?
Orac: It has no bearing on the problem.
Blake: Can you get it?
Orac: Eventually.
Blake: How long is eventually?
Orac: It will require time and resources far in excess of the value of the information.
Blake: Well get it anyway I want the reason for that alert.
Orac: Very well... I will report... in due course.
Jersus, even apple computers aren't this snooty!
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