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Series One Episode Fifty-Three As the rest of the students filed out of the lecture hall, Zelda slouched back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. Why oh why had she signed up for a Tuesday/Thursday class at the Ice Caves Institute for Higher Learning? She'd already taken a few college classes, skipped some grades, and gotten great marks; she didn't need any more meat in her academic resume. She'd just started high school; her workload was already quite high enough. 
And on top of everything else, it was entirely too darn cold up here. The scratchy fabric of her gloves irritated her eyelids, and she silently reminded herself to buy new ones. She was sure she'd forget, though; the last third of the class had rolled over her brain like water on a Mallard's back. Something about the Epic of Grarrlgamesh. She'd have to look it up later. If she remembered. When Zelda finally got her things together and trudged down to the bike rack, her bicycle had apparently been welded to the rack and the welding job subsequently transmogrified into ice. "Great," she muttered, crouching down to work out how best to chip it off. "Want some help?" asked an oddly cheerful voice, seeming very out-of-place under the thin lights of the big Euphrates Hall building. Zelda raised her head and pushed back her hat to see a boy who couldn't have been much older than she was. He was bundled up in a mismatched but efficient-looking ensemble of clothing, with untidy black hair and round green eyes peeping out from underneath a blue muffler and chokato-colored hat. But most importantly, he was holding an ice pick. "Hey, thanks," said Zelda gratefully, accepting the pick and setting to work on the ice. "I've never seen you here before," the boy remarked, leaning on the bike rack as Zelda chipped. "Technically my class ended ten minutes ago," she replied, nearly slicing a spoke in two with a badly aimed chop. 'I just didn't feel like leaving." "Ah. I just got out," said he. "Psychology. Mr. Dale's the teacher. The really tall green bruce - you've probably seen him." "I'm in Ms. Euphrates' Lost Desert Lit. She's a gold wocky, but I swear half my class is kyrii." "I wonder if she still says 'To some extent' and 'To some degree' all the time . . ." "Oh my gosh, she does!" Finishing the chipping, Zelda stood up and rocked her bike back and forth a few times. It lurched a bit, then rolled shakily out of the bike rack. "You've had her before, then?" "Last year I took Tyrannian I with her." The boy held out his hand. "I'm James." 
"Not Bond, I hope?" (He grinned.) "I'm Zelda.""So it is true." She blinked, thrown off guard. Had he heard about her somehow? Fame would be a bad thing at this point . . . "What's true?" "Well, I haven't asked you a single question all night." "Yes, you have. You . . ." She rapidly filed through the conversation in her head. "No. No, you haven't." "It's something we were talking about today in class - how someone can get answers without actually asking the questions. Like your class and name. So I tried it." "Interesting experiment." Zelda started pushing her bike out to the main walkway. "Hey, wait a minute!" James jogged for a moment to catch up to her. "You still have my ice pick!" "You'll have to ask for it back," replied the brunette solemnly. The boy stopped. "Check and mate," he remarked, not seeming in the least bit offended. "May I have my ice pick back?" Zelda allowed herself a triumphant grin, then handed it to him, straddling her bike and resting a foot on one of the pedals. "See you on Tuesday." "See you then," he agreed as she took off down the neatly shoveled path. There is a tradition in some parts of the world that the server of drinks at an establishment with a bar has an unofficial sacred duty. He hears not only the orders for beverages but the woes and worries of his patrons. He becomesn ot only a server but a confidante, a special class of friend - and with his experience, drawn from hearing many problems over many years, he provides wise advice that always proves a benefit to the troubled soul. Adam, at the slushie shop, was really, really bad at this. Ji didn't know that, but she wouldn't've cared much anyway. It was the one day of the week when she hadn't been surfing or had too much homework, so she could make the trek up to Happy Valley (yes, up to the valley. Don't question it); and there were some things too personal to rant about to the others on the surfing team, or her best friend, or her brother, or indeed anything less than a complete stranger. So she was going to rant at Adam whether he had anything intelligent to say about it or not. Actually, her current topic of frustration was not so much personal as so common that all her close companions were sick and tired of hearing about it. Adam, living as he did near the base of Terror Mountain, had absolutely no perspective for anything in the situation, so Ji got to start from the beginning and explain it all. 
"But why don't you just go?" he kept asking. "What could they
do to keep you out? It's not like they own the pier.""I don't think you're quite getting this," Ji said impatiently, a Grapity Slushie melting in her hand. "Look, close your eyes." The red-haired teenager obediently closed them. "Now picture this thirty-foot-high wooden pier. Taller than this building and a whole lot longer, and there's more under the water. They used to dock cruise ships here, darnit. We're talking big." "No kidding," said Adam, tilting his head upwards (eyes still closed). Ji shot him an odd look, but went on. "So this big pier has lots of supports. Lots of big beams, all made of wood 'cause it's cheap, okay?" "Mmhmm." "Except nobody's used this thing in ten years. At least, nobody who cared enough to keep it up properly. So all these beams are old, and planks have fallen out, and things are wobbling and rotting and broken. Under the water it's even worse. It's like a giant splintery death trap." Adam shuddered as Ji went on. "Really big waves come through here, and go right through under the pier. Steer right, and you're zipping between beams and supports, on the kind of waves you never get on the tourist beaches. Steer wrong, or fall, and you get slammed, sliced, and shredded by all this wood." Adam winced. "Why do you want to do something like that?" he asked, eyes still firmly clamped shut. "The fun. The thrill. The challenge. Take your pick." "Do I have to?" "Look, my point is . . ." Ji took a gulp of her now-liquid slushie. "If you do this ride at the same time as someone else, it's so much more dangerous. The more people, the harder. That's why they try to keep down the number of people they let surf there." "But how do they stop you from--?" "Isn't it obvious?" snapped the brunette impatiently. "If you're not on the list, and you catch a wave there, guys who are allowed catch the same one and try to run you off course." Adam's eyes snapped open. "You're kidding!" Ji shook her head. "Saw it happen to this poor unwary meerca. Well, he kinda brought it on himself, what with that swagger - but still. Those guys mean business." "Can't you just call the cops or something?" Ji rolled her eyes. "Dude, think for a second, will ya? The authorities would shut the whole place down in five seconds flat." "Oh. I guess that's true." The redhead looked sheepish. "Eheh. Sorry about that." "You're part faerie, aren't you," muttered Ji sarcastically. That set Adam off. "I'm not gay!" he snapped, slamming a hand against the bar. "Why does everybody think that? Is it the hair? Listen, it took years to get it this long and I'm not cutting it now. But all I want is a girlfriend! Just someone smart, nice, hot - I mean, personality is most important and all, but is it a crime to want her to look good? - that I can live happily ever after with. But nobody even expects me to ask 'em out, because they all just assume--" "Dude, chill!" Ji's shout cut off Adam's rant; he blinked, stopped in his tracks, mouth still open. "I was being literal," the brunette explained wearily. "You look like maybe your great-great-grandmother was a faerie, meaning the little winged things Balthazar puts in bottles." ". . . oh." Adam pondered this. "Why? Is it the hair? The eyes?" "Something about the way you carry yourself," replied Ji smoothly. "Plus the fact that you're such a bloody airhead." ". . . Hey!" The girl finished off her slushie in one swill and got up to toss the cup out. "Say," called Adam after her, "do you do anything musical? Sing, play keyboard, or something?" "Maybe. Why?" "Well, my skeith and me are trying to put together a band. He plays drums and I sorta play guitar. We just need some more people to play, plus someone to come up with the music . . .' Ji pondered this. One song, one contest won. Could she write more? Did she want to? What more did she have to say? "I'll think about it," she called back, and trudged out into the snow without waiting for a reply. There is no formal government in Neopia. Tyrannia has its Council, Sakhmet and Meridell have their rulers, Faerieland has its Queen - but in Neopia everything runs on its own. The law was set down by Adam and Donna, and is enforced by the Chia Police. So in a sense, it is a theocracy - a system ruled by God. But then again, the law can be changed. It exists to protect all Neopians; if there are people in need of protecton, the law alters, at the expense of nobody (except perhaps the aggressors). So in some ways it is a democracy in the fairest possible form. To change the law, it is only necessary to raise the public awareness enough that the law alters - without getting stamped out of existence by the aggressors in the meantime. Ko-Kira's Scorman Rights campaign is trying to do just that. Let's stop in and see how they're doing. The scorman girl in question had just wearily entered her house, legs weaving from side to side in a struggle to support her. All the same, she was grinning, still giggly from the rush of achievement, as she collapsed on the couch. There was a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace; a desk and file cabinet had been set up next to it, and Paul was sitting there, also enjoying the warmth. Leaning against an Angelpuss Pillow, Ko-Kira let out a long whistle. "Balthazar's claws, that was exciting!" she exclaimed. "That guild has eight hundred members! Eight hundred! And I think I've got them all on my side!" The quiet scorman at the desk nodded. "You're speaking at a guild with two thousand tomorrow. Moe made you dinner." "Whoa. Two thousand?" "Yes." "They won't all be there, will they?" "I don't know." 
A sudden suspicion hit Ko-Kira, and she raised herself up on her elbows to
look directly at Paul. "What's the biggest guild I'm scheduled to speak
at? I mean, what's the biggest one you sent the flier-thing to?""NMPP." "What?" "No More Poor People." "How big's that?" "Seventeen thousand." Ko-Kira sank back onto the couch and buried her head in her hands. "This is ridiculous." There was silence for a moment, broken only by the fire. Then the golden-haired scorman let out a short, high, choked laugh. "This is amazing," she said quietly. "This is just amazing. All those thousands of people . . . now if I can just get them to rally behind us, we'll be all set . . ." She hadn't realized that she'd drifted off, but when Ko-Kira woke up the fire was out and Luplee was curled at her side. The room was otherwise dark and empty; the noise of the crowd that had been gathered outside that evening was gone, replaced by an eerie silence. She tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use; she was wide awake. So, trying not to disturb her Lupe's slumber, Ko-Kira got up slowly and went to the kitchen to scrounge for leftovers from the dinner she'd slept through. While Ko-Kira ws reheating two slices of Garden Fresh Pizza, something outside caught her eye. She walked over to the window and leaned on the sill, scanning the yard; a gibbous moon lit up the trees and occasional shrub, but nothing else. Probably it had just been a wild Petpet, or a Korbat out for a nocturnal flight. Then, without warning, Ko-Kira realized she hadn't done her algebra homework. Her math teacher was a gruff, by-the-book Grarrl named Mr. Mathers; he definitely wouldn't appreciate her slacking for the sake of some off-the-wall civil rights campaign. With a sigh, the young scorman tiptoed up the stairs, bringing her pizza and a glass of hot chocolate. She'd just have to try to get it all done - and not get grass stains on the carpet. Melony, Moe, and Ko-Kira walked together up a hill in Neopia Central several days later; Melony was studying the map Paul had drawn for them. "There should be a left turn coming up," she announced. "Then we should see Cute City signs." "What kind of a name for a city is that, anyway?" put in Moe. "The kind of name for the kind of city that people go to when they want to build the kind of guild that we want to see," replied Melony swiftly. "Which means helping-people sorts of guilds." "Aha." It had been a cold day, and snow was scheduled to fall again, but not until that evening; now, though, a little wind picked up, and the girls pulled their jackets tighter around them. "Hey, 'Kira, you okay?" Mel asked suddenly. "You've been kinda quiet . . ." Ko-Kira looked over at her best friend and smiled. A D on that math test, two skipped Language Arts dittos, a science project due tomorrow that I'm only halfway through . . . "I'm just cold. You know how scormans are . . . We like heat." "Hey, there's Cute City!" exclaimed Moe. Sure enough, adorable little buildings with cheery expressions were beginning to appear, straight ahead. "Now to find this guild," declared Mel firmly. Ko-Kira felt better. She'd catch up on that homework later - and in the meantime, she had a friend to unequivocally point her in the right direction. "I think I need to see that again," said James to Zelda as they walked out of the theater later that afternoon, passing the posters in the lobby advertising the smash hit The Da Rigan Code. "After I've double-checked some of the facts . . . Do you think it's plausible?" "What, that ancient magics can come back up to influence our modern world?" Zelda thought of her own Mist of Evian. "Yes. It happens more often than you'd think. Someone should try to find that one painting they started with . . ." James nodded, dropping his popcorn bag in a trash can and folding his arms as they left the building. "Now, me, I'm skeptical," he said frankly. "Everything in nature, no matter how magical, follows predetermined regulations. Therefore . . ." "Hold on, then," interrupted Zelda. "What about free will?" "That's--" James was cut off by a sudden beeping noise. "Is that coming from your pocket?" Zelda pulled out her communicator and switched off the beeping. Someone had pushed the emergency button, and hers was just close enough to pick up on it. "It's just a little gadget I came up with . . . Listen, I have to go." "All right," replied James mildly. "Would you like to finish our discussion over smoothies some time?" "Sure, why not." The brunette was already striding away; she didn't turn back long enough to see James' rather disheartened wave after her. "Mel . . ." "Hang on, 'Kira. I'm about to get a really sweet deal on these jelly clubs . . ." "There's an emergency, Melony. And it's coming from the direction of our house!" "Oh borovan," gasped Melony. "Listen, I gotta go," she told the shopkeeper. "Can you hold on to those for a little bit?" "Sorry, sweetie, no can do," replied the cloud Quiggle sympathetically. "Oooooooh . . ." Melony groaned, glancing at the brightly colored Jelly Clubs and clenching her fists. Then she turned and dashed out after Ko-Kira and Moe. So much for swinging by this place on the way home from Cute City. Her other obligations had cut in anyway. Naomi had pondered transforming, but she doubted long bows and bare feet would help her now. She'd dropped her communicator when it got too hot to hold, and was now picking her way through the smoky hallway. She'd already gotten Aca_ra_88 out of there, but 'Nite was still in her room, so the orange-haired girl had dashed back through the living room - which was in flames - to find her. She could only pray that the older pets had gotten out on their own. Oh, Donna, I hope someone gets here in time . . . |