On a sudden impulse, Xuasus knelt down on the flattened summit. He stared hard at the square stone
in the center, its face worn smooth by centuries of human contact. For this was where mothers brought
their children, to touch their heads against the warm rock and allow the pyramid's mystical energies to
flow through them. A lot of the younger people laughed at the custom, but all the women said it
brought good luck.
Xuasus's own mother had brought him here as a baby—not that touching his head to the stone seemed
to have done him much good. He was hopeless at school, and though he was good enough at sports,
Tony always beat him. Until today, of course.
Perhaps the energies are like the battery in my radio, he thought, stooping lower, his forehead only
inches from the stone. They have to be recharged sometimes.
Before he knew what happened, a jet of erupting piezoelectricity took his head clean off.