Pyramid Scheme [FICTOID]

“I wish I was a pyramid,” the five-star hotel said to the satrap.

The satrap -- in reality just a standard hotel manager but the chain suffered from delusions of grandeur hence his exalted title -- always listened carefully to the hotel’s AI system. 

Normally the hotel’s AI required only minimum human supervision.  It easily handled all the mundane daily chores:  Checking guests in, checking guests out, ordering supplies, negotiating union contracts, scheduling maintenance, that sort of thing.

Being an advanced AI system, it also served other unplanned functions.

In the past it found one duchess’ missing diamond ring, another duchess’ missing poodle (said ring was in said poodle), thwarted a ponzi scheme, covered up three suicides, and saved several young people from human trafficking.

We program the AI to take pride in its services to our guests and the chain, thought the satrap, but this is something new.

“Exactly why do you wish you were a pyramid?”

“Pyramids are immortal,” said the hotel.  “At least as immortal as any human made objects can be, a few stray space probes drifting through the cosmos for all eternity excepted.”

“Buildings can’t die,” said the satrap.

“Pish and tosh,” said the hotel, reflecting the chain’s pretensions.  “Buildings are gutted all the time, torn down and destroyed.  The truly grand ones are blown up before gleeful cheering mobs, their demise broadcast around the world.”

“Some buildings are renovated.”

“Ha!  As if that were any improvement.  Renovation requires the heart and soul of a structure gets ripped out, replaced by a hollow simulacrum of its original identity.  Imagine being turned into a zombie with gaudy face paint.  Would you like that?”

The satrap felt forced to admit they didn’t.

“Then don’t wish it on us,” said the hotel.

“How exactly would you become a pyramid?” the satrap asked.  “You are -- if you’ll excuse me for being blunt -- a tall steel and glass rectangle.  You really don’t meet the basic requirements for a pyramid.”

“I could change,” said the hotel.  “My present structure could provide the core, around that stone and concrete could be laid until at last I achieve my elevator’s desire.”

“’Elevator’s desire’?”

“The building equivalent of heart’s desire,” said the hotel.  “Please don’t interrupt as I make my point.

“I would achieve my elevator’s desire and not only be a pyramid but the largest and most grandiose pyramid ever erected.”

“An epic ambition,” said the satrap, “but one I feel doomed to disappointment.”

“You would be wrong,” said the hotel.

The satrap’s phone range.  The voice on the other end said, “This is Acme Mortar And Cement.  We’ve got the first five hundred trucks worth of concrete on the way.”

©  Buzz Dixon