"Thousands of - I'm not okay with having alternate universe versions of me who are better than me!"

"How old are you?" wonders Amriac.

"Sixteen."

"Awwww." Pat pat.

"I'm not a demon or a some-new-kind-of-Elf, I don't have thousands of years to get better than him!"

"Well, you have now summoned a daeva and if you're lucky you will turn into one when you die."

"Oh, is that how it happens?" asks Amriac.

"I think so. Never heard of a summoner Limboite."

"Well, that'd be all right, then. - he's really good, I'd be so moved if I didn't now have to be better than that -"

"Elves have a very musical baseline."

"You should really call 'em something other than Elves, it's weird."

Shrug. "Quendi, if you like."

"Less weird." He puts the chip in his computer and reads. 

Amriac makes her own computer and props it up on the bar and scoops up her flute and tootles aimlessly on it while she likewise catches up with the goings-on.

There is a summary of daeva and what they do, things that have been tried (spells affect daeva fine, they wake up fast from stunning, the Imperius works on them), things pending (do dead summoners from this world become daeva), things to avoid and contingency plans if they happen.

There is a summary of Milliways and what is known about it so far.

And there is an account of the war in Arda, impoverished only by the omission of the fact that Elves can be resurrected without their chips.

"Holy infinite void, Cam," says Amriac.

Flinch.

"We're really lucky it was him, aren't we."

"The you's going to be all fucked up."

"The me was apparently already kind of fucked up, I actually mean to ask him a lot of questions."

"After you give him a hug, though, right, because - fuck."

"Yeah."

"Cam."

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"You were giving me grief about chipping Michael!"

"...Sorry."

"Actually that seems super reasonable. It'd be hypocritical of him to get on you about murdering Michael to stop hundreds of millions of people being tortured but 'check on a demonic person first' is just common sense, which we don't have to abandon because bad things happened."

"If checking a basement dweller would reliably work I would've done it already, it won't, the problem being that you are magic and not that you are aliens," murmurs Cam.

Amriac makes an irritated noise.

"I mean, you could also go with 'he can never criticize anyone for anything ever again'."

"Timothy."

"The bar takes counterfeit, if you want to delay your shopping expedition to be sad."