Pyramids All The Way Down

     Theodaxx very carefully chipped off a piece of sandstone from Razul's pyramid. In order to be culturally sensitive, he made sure that the piece he cut out was as pyramidal as possible, and that he did not make too much of a mess. When he stepped outside the pyramid, Razul blinked out of sight--then came back as a miniature version of himself above the rock Theodaxx held.

     He still had the same booming voice. "Aha! I have still got it!" The flames cushioning his skull grew twofold. "Do you know how long it's been since I have breathed non-stuffy, non-tomb air?"

     "A long time?" guessed Theodaxx. Didn't you need lungs to breathe?

     "Such a long time..."

     Theodaxx stored him in the front basket of his GoQuick Galactic Motorbike (TM) and leisurely made his way to Qasala. The city was built in a shallow crater--or perhaps created that crater when it appeared suddenly all those years ago. At the downward ramp leading the way to the city gates, an orange Yurble guard stopped them.

     "Hey, alien, what do you think you're doing here?"

     "I--"

     "No, no, don't tell me. You're trying to push your cuisine"--the word "cuisine" was pronounced "KWEE-zeen"--"onto this kingdom again. And let me tell you: we have a health code."

     "Won't happen again, sir."

     "Then why are you here?"

     "Do you know where a man named 'Jazan' lives? I need to meet him."

     "That's King Jazan to you. He's at the palace. Let me save you some disappointment: he's very, very hard to reach. Doing kingly duties and all."

     As it turned out, King Jazan held frequent events wherein the common citizen could meet him. His wife, Nabile, often grew tired of her respectable, royal life. In lieu of unleashing her thieving skills upon the general populace, the happy couple came to an agreement: every week, King Jazan would give out free copies of his memoir to a roaring crowd. In exchange, all attendees agreed that some or all of their valuables might vanish into the royal treasury.

     The event was a hit. People would try to trick Queen Nabile into stealing all sorts of wacky objects, or spot her in the act--few actually succeeded. In fact, it actually boosted tourism to the kingdom, which had often struggled with it. Monetizing your centuries-long curse was very controversial to old-timers and young-timers. They said it was "vulgar" to "commercialize our suffering in a system designed to exploit us."

     Theodaxx thought this a little short-sighted. Their history was going to be a fact whether or not they made a little money on the side, so why not be entrepreneurial? And Qasala was a nice little kingdom. Sure, it didn't have as many tourist traps as Sakhamet, but its round buildings, and minarets, and minarets on top of minarets, calmed him down.

     Even here, the pyramid scourge continued. While eyeing the pyramid-shaped domes and pyramid-shaped tents, Theodaxx started to formulate a theory that, somehow, the common ancestor of all Neopians was obsessed with that awful structure. He was supposed to work in one after all this was done. He had one in his hands.

     "Let me breathe, please!"

     Theodaxx's fist was strained, joints locked around the piece of rock. Some of the limestone became powder. "Sorry," he told the mini-spectre.

     The plan to reunite Razul with his family was simple: Theodaxx would attach a 4-in-1 toaster-grill-oven-fryer to his person, put the mini-pyramid in it (along with some nice valuables), and strut about with it very conspicuously. He would claim that it was the most secure mini-vault in the entire galaxy. Not that any of the locals would know the difference, but to really sell the deal, he slapped a PIN-activated lock over the device. The PIN was the solution to a second-order differential equation he'd scribbled onto the side.

     He bought the tickets and executed the plan. Even wearing one of the cheap Linen robes they sold to tourists, the almost-radioactively green Aisha with six ears and a red triangle on his forehead stood out. A child pointed at him and asked their mother why there was a sick plant growing on his head.

     Theodaxx informed the child that they were perfectly normal ears on perfectly normal stalks, and with all that reception, he could hear unkind comments especially well.

     "Why not listen to all the kind things people say instead?" he was asked.

     "That's simply not how anybody works." Then, Theodaxx realized, he needed to appear extremely snooty. "I don't need to answer superfluous questions. I am going back to drink housefly iced tea clamade... from my platinum glass!"

     Everybody took a few steps back from him. He had stuck the role, and now, he had to find other disconnected, haughty socialites, which was a bit of a problem, because, like negative charges, they repelled each other. The solution? Find a few positive charges: rubes who would certainly believe he was rich and accomplished.

     A gaggle of Neopians from Neopia Central--which, frustratingly, was not the capital of the planet--was the perfect dupe. They wore over-large caps and sunglasses and had with them some sort of boxy four-wheeled red vehicle they wanted Queen Nabile to steal. The vehicle did, however, cough out exhaust that formed a pyramidal shape as it disappeared into the air.

     Theodaxx complimented the vehicle. It was on the cutting edge of on-planet engineering, and they were all very proud of it, convinced it would change the world. They were also enamoured with the "doohickey" he carried.

     He cleared his throat dramatically. "This is the best, most secure storage box in the galaxy! Nobody, definitely not on this planet, can crack it!"

     "It says here that it is a 4-in-1 toaster-grill-oven-fryer."

     Of course one of these people was able to read the Alien Aisha language, but Theodaxx was never one to let a winning smile falter. "Well, son," he said, patting the elderly Peophin's shoulder, "that is one of the foundations of security: you should never let potential threats know you have something valuable in the first place!"

     No response came. The Peophin's expression was completely blank. At first, he worried that the gentleman did not quite buy his explanation, but as more time passed, the unresponsiveness may have indicated something worse. He wiggled a hand in front of his face.

     Nothing.

     "Sir?" he said. "Hey, this man needs medical atten--"

     The entire area was similarly still, and nobody paid attention to anything. Well, nobody except for a certain pink Ixi who liked to wear dark expensive dresses. She was currently stepping into the red vehicle.

     They stared at each other.

     "Uh, this is awkward," said Queen Nabile. "You're immune to time-freeze magic."

     "This is your spell?" Theodaxx bowed. "You are a woman of many talents."

     "Not my spell. Sometimes, a thief has to utilize others." She shrugged, situated herself in the front seat, and adjusted the vehicle's mirrors. "Do you own this thing, by any chance?"

     "Nope."

     "Oh, good, so I'm still undetected. Now, ah, if you can just forget that I was here..."

     Theodaxx shrugged. "I don't know if I can do that. I was top of my class at..." He was never top of his class at anything, but he did win a "Most Likely to Destroy the Universe" superlative. "... math."

     "That's not a very memorization-heavy field. It relies more on your problem-solving abilities, more than anything. Just saying. For example, you have a second-order differential equation written on your 4-in-1 box--"

     "--my vault--"

     "--your vault. The answer is 4-4-8-1-1."

     She was pretty good. "Huh. That's correct." He approached the vehicle and motioned for her to lower one of its glass panes. "I guess problem-solving is important. We don't need to remember every last detail, do we? If you can forget I gave you this, I can forget I saw you."

     Nabile took the box. "Sounds good. What does this mysterious box have in it, anyway...?"

     "I forgot."

     "I see." She set the box in the passenger seat. "I'll see you for the first time, then."

     "I cannot wait to meet the great queen someday."

     The Ixi royal scoffed, put the key into the ignition, and clumsily navigated the vehicle away, stubbing someone's sandals in the process. When Theodaxx offered to help, she merely reminded him that he was not officially witnessing any of this.

     After she "escaped" with the vehicle, she returned to the shadows, and after a few drawn glyphs and incantations, the event resumed as normal. The case of the missing vehicle had astonished the crowd, allowing him to make a clean exit. What a ruckus for such a primitive method of transportation! The homeworld had busses that could take you to any of its moons in an hour.

     Theodaxx checked in at a nearby hotel--a glitzy one run by a faerie from the Arctic, for the tourists who couldn't stand the heat. It did not have a precise temperature control system: he could sometimes see trails in the air while he was paying for his stay, but that was much better than the alternative.

     He layered five blankets on top of each other and took a little Adorative nap. His dreams contained a warm, happy reunion between a father and son, interrupted by a giant Gebmid with teeth sharpened into perfect pyramids. It extended its horrendous, Sharky-like jaw and swallowed them up, and from its belly, he heard a voice yell an approximation of his name.

     "Theodore! Theodore!"

     The local clock had the small arm pointing at five and the large one at six. Theodaxx had reinforced the curtains' sun-blocking power with an absurd number of bedsheets and hotel towels.

     When he emerged from his cloth fortress, he was greeted by a very, very small image of Razul. "Theodore!"

     "Can't a man get his sleep around here?"

     Razul proceeded to ignore his protests. "It is time to fulfil my side of our agreement."

     "I would think it would take more than half an hour to reconnect with your family."

     "Half an hour--? It is currently dawn. But never mind that."

     The spectre recounted their reunion. The king and queen were having dinner when, with a loud announcement, Razul came in with gold-hemmed, voluminous robes that would have dragged a lot of dirt behind him, but since he was a ghost, they didn't. He couldn't do many things as a ghost, like eat, but there were some perks.

     Anyways--anyways--Jazan had a most churlish reaction to his presence. His eyes bulged. He stuttered something like, "You... you are supposed to be dead," and had Nabile hide behind him as he brandished a scimitar. "I saw you. You..."

     "My son!" Razul spread his arms. "You know that death cannot stop me. I see you are very happy with your wife."

     "Fiend," Jazan tilted his sword in a guard position. "On my honour, you shall not even come near anybody I love."

     "It is too late for that. I have been nearby for several hours."

     "Hours... no..."

     One of the serving staff had just come out of the kitchen to serve dessert, and they looked different--better! Prettier! Stronger! Jazan had left the palace, and the help, all to wither away and become quite unseemly. Since he obviously did not care about the palace, Razul took the initiative and spruced up the place.

     And in return? All he got was an angry son who was not open-minded enough to accept his changes. The palace lacked ambience and atmosphere. The halls were blindingly bright. Cobwebs, rather than being placed artfully over some sarcophagus, were strewn about between dozens of boxes. The servants and guards were wearing that dreck from Neopia Central, and what kind of dignified place would hire staff with graphic t-shirts?

     Jazan was as passive as ever, off and about on ill-conceived adventures away from Qasala. He wasn't even serious about continuing the family line; there wasn't a little prince or princess for Razul to greet and spoil. Instead, the accommodations that should have gone to the future of Qasala had instead gone to gift shops and kitschy collectable coin machines.

     Qasala used to be the shining diamond of the Lost Desert. Now, it was being despoiled by tawdry tourists and--"could you believe it, Theodore?"--businesspeople. Jazan said that centuries of being buried left its mark on the local economy and that they needed to catch up. To what? The wider, disgusting modern world?

     Jazan "agreed" and played nice for a while before attempting to crush the mini-pyramid to which his father was bound. It did not work: Razul was tied not to the shape of the rock, but to its substance. In destroying it, the King of Qasala had inadvertently made several thousands of little pieces he could attach himself to, pieces light enough for the wind to distribute over the entire kingdom, in time.

     But he had still attempted to vanquish him. Razul put Jazan in "time out" alongside his wife since she at least made him happy and attempted to make him see reason as he hyperventilated into some sort of brown bag. He would get over it after a few days in a cold, dark, enclosed space. It worked to calm down Beekadoodles, at least.

     "Is that the custom where--when--you came from?" asked Theodaxx.

     "Oh yes, oh yes, he's been through worse. I had the servants prepare him his favourite meal, so he shall have that to devour when he awakens. This leaves time for my end of the arrangement before I must check on him again. Come. We must make haste."

     They did. Theodaxx quickly checked out of the hotel to an unchanged street. Everything seemed in order to him: the domes, the pyramid-shaped tents the nomads occupied, the guards' uniforms... it all looked as it had. When he stepped out the gates, the Tonu guard he had encountered greeted him. Something that looked like toilet paper unfurled from one of his boots.

     Morning broke just as they arrived at the listening post. Theodaxx thought a little about knocking on the entrance but ultimately decided to get the jump on the trespassers. He found a tripwire in the area using his wrist-mounted light. Before he could do anything about it, however, Razul snapped it with a foot. A bundle of arrows phased right through the spectre.

     Razul stared down the figures which appeared thereafter. They were the same motley crew that Theodaxx had earlier met, engulfed in shadow. The power systems had gone partially out. He scoffed, sweeping his arms dramatically, and an azure magical steam flooded the area. Theodaxx instinctively covered his nose.

     When the fumes cleared, the silhouettes slumped over, motionless. Theodaxx raised his wristlight to illuminate their faces, which now resembled medical diagrams of the musculoskeletal system. Their limbs were wrapped with strips of worn linen.

     "Razul!" he censured, "I said I wanted them gone by non-lethal means!"

     "They're not dead."

     A scan revealed that all their vital signs were completely fine; they just appeared as though they were the walking dead. That was right, thought Theodaxx, in Neopia, you could "paint" people all sorts of colours.

     "It's cosmetic, Theodore. Your enemies still live, but when they see their reflection, all will be reminded of the fate which awaits us all, and their acquaintances will shun them; they will wander until the end, isolated, unable to even carry out the duties the Sway would give them."

     In some parts of the Alien Aisha Empire, their apparel would be seen as quite fashionable.

     "Also," added Razul, "they are bound to obey any of your commands."

     "This seems inhumane," muttered Theodaxx.

     "Inhumane, you say? And what would your people do?"

     He proceeded to explain that, back in the empire, wrongdoers would undergo a voluntary reformation plan. Of course, if they did not want to partake in the voluntary reformation plan, they would instead be frozen in stone and placed in a quiet, meditative space free of any and all distracting stimuli to think about their lives, until the time came that they would desire to join the voluntary reformation plan.

     For one of the few times in his life, Razul was left completely speechless. He could only say, "And you want to establish relations with Neopia?"

     "That is the plan," said Theodaxx, poking one of the trespassers, rousing him slightly. "We'll establish mutual relations, then trade, learn about our respective cultures, etcetera."

     "Hm." If he were capable of having a thoughtful look in his eyes, he would have had one. "Best of luck, then."

     The Alien Aisha told the Sway members to leave, never come back, and make sure his message was received by the order. Once the listening post was up and running properly, nobody could break in. Even this ancient technology was leagues above whatever they could muster.

     He got up to fixing up the place. First, he performed a quick diagnostic by pulling out a lightweight Reas (TM) computer and mapping out the general floor plan of the main chamber. The blueprints, now long discarded into the public repository, were swiftly downloaded and examined. Everything he needed to repair the solar-powered generator was within reach.

     Next, he ordered a new door. Back when this pyramid--which, according to the blueprints, was actually a tesseract--was built, they had not quite yet perfected self-limiting AC technology, so the fact that the space remained open to the desert was a bit of a problem. Thankfully, he had bought a magical manual foldable fan until this problem could be solved. The embedded systems did not need more than a reboot to start working, though some of the warning lights had to be replaced.

     One could live without them. The main, dome-shaped screen in the ceiling flickered to life, displaying the relevant system details as a planetarium would show the night sky. Theodaxx inclined his chair all the way back and extended his fingers until they made contact with a gossamer, rubbery keypad that had descended from the apex of the ceiling, opened a local newscast in the background, and got to work on his research.

     Mostly, the news droned on, familiarizing him a little with the planet's politics and culture. A segment followed a live count-down of the "obelisk skirmish," a mysterious object many factions in Neopia pursued in order to receive boons from the obelisk spirit. He inferred that this was the primary religion of this planet in the modern age since so many different factions vied for it--and it centred around an object that was very much like a pyramid.

     There was a segment about the Defenders of Neopia, another about the Altador Cup. Slowly, they became less interesting, settling into a dull noise about the weather. They almost fooled him into thinking that he wasn't sitting alone, in the middle of nowhere, but instead in a lively little office, where he could tune into some gossip every once in a while.

     Theodaxx had already met Nabile, so the Lost Desert must have been a good place to start meeting leaders. Next--Faerieland, perhaps? Or Altador? No, no--Altador simply had many tourists, but the Faerie Queen was perhaps the most powerful individual in Neopia. Besides, since he had already met with Mira, the space faerie, a little networking was in order.

     The news had started back to life again when Theodaxx hit "send" on his mail to her. An annoying jingle played, followed by the words "BREAKING NEWS" in a horrible, misshapen yellow font that undulated like a sine wave.

To be continued…