1. Pre-Season Jitters

  When Gordon Bideau opened his usual video site, he wasn’t surprised to see the suggestion page filled with mostly the same topics and analysis. With the spring equinox under two weeks away, everyone’s fever was ramping up for the opening of Registration. In a few hours, actually.

  Most of the videos were rehashes of the previous Season’s tactical blunders as if the commenters could have done better. Hindsight is always perfect. Gordon much preferred the commentaries of Venceslas Donceanu, one of the most followed channels. Donceanu had been in Season 3, and many people scoffed at the idea of commentaries about a guy whose team had ended second and on Floor 6. Then they turned around and lapped analysis done by amateurs who would never go to Tower Climb.

  Gordon tabbed instead to the MIT Score Simulator page. The code-heavy script had just finished running, giving its verdict:

  Based on the described pathologies and the Season, our estimation is that your score will be in the 0.95-0.98 interval.

  Warning: This is not an official opinion of MIT, the MIT A.I. Lab, or any of its researchers, and should not be construed as an indication of your final placement should you register.

  The MIT had been collecting scores and describing pathologies since Season 5. The math and analysis heavy pages linked described the current hypotheses, notably that the score was almost certainly associated with other people’s scores and not just personal. The predictions were almost certainly never going to be better.

  The top 5% were potential winners for Registration. It was better than last season’s score when he was judged to be in the 0.9-0.95 range, probably.

  Just like three months ago, Gordon contemplated the link to the main site. It was useless to speculate – Registration did not open until past 8 am UTC. And you did not get extra points for early registration. Probably.

  XXXXXX.

  The hand on his shoulder nearly made him jump. As if such a feat was possible.

  “Will you do it?” said his uncle’s voice.

  “There’s never going to be a better chance. But I can only try it once, though…”

  “Do it. Or don’t do it. That’s what he says.”

  “Uncle! It’s a puppet.”

  “Full of wisdom. Even if it’s a writer’s wisdom.”

  Hands forcefully turned his chair on its rollers until Gordon’s face was looking at his uncle’s.

  “You’re not in a bad position. I know there are plenty of people in worse conditions than yours. But you’re not stealing their chance. The Tower decides. Not you. Not everyone.”

  .

  2. Registered

  Registration was simple. Gordon opened the page with its deceptively simple internet web form.

  Surname: Bideau

  Names: Gordon Warren

  Birthplace: 31.31, 89.33

  Birthdate: _/_/_

  Start Registration

  You filled in your details, and the little button would light up. Entire books were written about speculating why the button would not fire up unless the person listed were present and looking/visible from the screen where the registration process was taking place.

  It was also the only place where you had any control over Registration. People couldn’t register in your place or anything. If the button lit up, you were there for the process, and presumably, you consented to the process. Oh, and if you messed up with the details, the button did not light up.

  Qualifiers:

  Right-side developmental issues.

  Right-side non-functional leg, neurological/motor issues.

  Right-side partially functional arm, incomplete developmental issues, non-functional hand.

  Right-side neurological visual cortex issues, partially functional left-side eyesight.

  …

  Insufficient right-side kidney function.

  …

  Enhanced prostate cancer susceptibility.

  …

  Complete Registration

  The list of disabilities was extensive. For some reason, before birth, his right side had suffered massive damage while in the womb. He’d been born with very visible problems, and they’d never corrected – or even started to diminish – as he grew up. The only part of the long window that was slightly surprising to him was the seven genetic conditions listed.

  It was well known that the registration process highlighted any significant gene variant. That was one of the missing parts of the MIT scoring simulator – the impact of genetic “defects” was not widely known nor analyzed. Not only because most of the people doing the simulation did not have a full genome sequence available but also because Registration did not indicate exactly which genes it considered affected something.

  Still knowing that Gordon was susceptible to prostate cancer filled him with… mirth. Cancer was decades away. Kidney, he knew – his regular blood tests were always bad. The rest was known since birth or early childhood.

  Anyway, he was committed to the process. Merely looking at that page was sufficient to register. Even if he closed the page right now, he could not register for any future Seasons anyway.

  The last page let him enter his email address. That’s where he would receive the notifications at the end of Registration, seventy-two hours before the Tower Climb. Whether or not he was picked as a team member, or a bye for absent team ones. Or simply disqualified, to remain forever a crippled guy with mounting disabilities. The list of qualified would tell him anyway if he was one, but the mail would be a warning.

  The cheerful “Email Address Registered, Thank You!” notice failed to get a rise of him. He moved the wheelchair he’d been stuck in since eight toward the bed in the corner of his room and started the slow process of transferring toward the bed. At least he did not need life support.

  Even MIT’s models were ambiguous on the topic of life support. It seemed to depend on what life support was needed for, rather than simply a condition level.

  .

  3. Minus Ten Days

  XXXXXX stuff in-between, background story.

  There were probably over two million people gathered around their computers as the countdown to the end of Registration ticked. Waiting to see what the email they got – when they actually got it – would look like. Or simply refresh the season page to see who was listed, hoping to see their names. Or their family’s names. Or their friends’.

  Gordon closed every tab except a relaxing music stream, leaving only the mail application open. No sense in agonizing.

  The only concession to the wait was the countdown. There were applications for this, small ticking icons in the corner of your computer setup.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Ding.

  The universal signal for “you have mail”. It could be anything else, of course, but…

  From:

  To:

  Subject: Score compute final! Check your position!

  Great news everyone! The final scores for the Season 21 qualifiers are out! And you score 0.983. That’s score number 34 for the season, guaranteeing you a team placement for one of this season's climber team slots!

  Head up to the final team and bye list for a list of every qualified participant.

  We hope to see you in Season 21 of Tower Climb and eagerly anticipate your performance in this brand-new season!

  Will you beat the previous scores? Only time will tell!

  Note: You have until March 21, 9:31 UTC, to present yourself at the tower entrance for the team allocation. If you fail to do so, your place will be allocated to one of the bye qualified climbers. Do not let this unique occasion slip by!

  .

  4. T-minus-one

  The scene looked like a movie disaster scene. Flashing lights, people everywhere, and wheelchairs, stretchers, and other implements all over. Except that, in this case, the ambulances were bringing the victims in.

  9:31 UTC was the middle of the night in south Nebraska, which added to the scene's flavor. But that’s when the equinox happened, and the equinox – and the Tower – did not care for people’s schedules. No matter, there would be hundreds of millions all over the globe up and waiting. The only thing that would draw bigger audiences was the Olympics opening, and even then if you counted replays.

  Gordon and his uncle had made their way to the startup area in one of the many ambulances requiring clearance to get into the controlled zone. There might have been simpler setups in the early seasons, but everyone qualified for season twentyone had massive problems, sometimes requiring heavy life support.

  Once they reached the parking area near the Entrance, the medic staff came out, prepared everything, and wheeled Gordon out of the transport vehicle, with Uncle Marcus following.

  The reception area was a huge expanse. There were small buildings – a press center – to the side for the duration. But lots of people were milling, most near the Entrance proper.

  Gordon spotted another wheelchair-bound person, Iannis Sordakis, with whom he’d exchanged quick mails during the hectic days of pre-climb. He waved but was not sure the Greek man had spotted him.

  People came from all over the world. There had been calls to restrict the tower access to American citizens, but that had quickly ended when everyone realized that once the Tower allocated scores, unless you were on the list, you weren’t going in. An eight-team season with only four teams running had put an end to that stupidity as every nation with qualified people threatened severe diplomatic repercussions.

  These days, people from North Korea got a visa to the United States in less than 12 hours. The wonders of the world never cease to amaze.

  Gordon also spotted Tanabe Hitomi. The young woman was enveloped with the exoskeleton systems specially designed for her from her Japanese home, allowing her to at least walk toward the entrance proper. You did not know the exact meaning of the final score of everyone qualified, but no one got to the top scores these days without massive, crippling disabilities, visible or otherwise.

  Still, congratulations on being able to walk there. Which almost certainly meant her “real” disabilities were worse, at least for the weird and unbalanced ways the Tower scored every one.

  There were flashes as the accredited press took pictures. Not that those were necessary; if you crossed the Entrance, the streams were pretty much guaranteed to feature you in a very expansive manner. Anyone could snip those pictures from the Tower streams, but habits die hard.

  Up above, a gigantic silver screen was coupled with a projector retransmitting the “official” stream. A slowly circling counter, listing 1:15 until the start of the climb. On-screen was one of the anime-type sequences that filled the last six hours before the start. Eight people clad in improbable manners in a Roman arena, fighting a gigantic monster, with swords – huge ones, of course – spells and super-sayan final forms.

  Half of the time, the people failed. But it was meaningless entertainment, not rehashes of previous climbs. Those were featured on the side channels, the endless streams that fans of Tower Climb created to comment on previous or current climbs.

  Gordon was wheeled toward the Entrance by one of the helpers, his Uncle at the other side. He missed his own chair, where a simple joystick would have let him stay in control.

  Then he snorted. He probably would never sit in that chair again. He wouldn’t even have to learn to walk.

  Then, it was his time to get flashes thrown his way. He even recognized the guy from the AFP, who had pestered him for a pre-season interview. He raised his left hand to wave slightly, constricted his face into a simile of a smile, and whispered to Uncle Marcus, “Can we keep advancing?”

  The side of the tower approached. And the Entrance. A sculpted doorway with antique columns to each side. Up until six hours before the season, it was plain-looking rock flanked by decoration. Now, it was filled with a blackness that absorbed all light, reflecting none. As dark as a black hole, but without the other effects.

  The medic stopped the wheelchair a few feet away, asking, “you’re ready?” one last time. Gordon gave a nod, then Uncle Marcus swept away the plaid covering, and he and the medic both grabbed him and lifted him from the chair.

  He didn’t even pretend to walk – he’d never been good at that – and let them drag him upright to the Entrance. Then, Uncle Marcus let him go, and he started to fall into the blackness.

  5. Carrousel

  The transition to the Carrousel was smoother than Gordon had even expected. He simply stepped out of the doorway behind him, and that was it.

  He was standing on his two legs. For the first time. Unassisted.

  And it felt entirely natural as if that had always been the case. He lifted his right hand, flexing it. He brought the left to compare. There was no real difference visible, except, of course, the mirror image. Even the nails were grown and normal, not the ingrown, sickly-looking claws he had his entire life.

  But the best thing about it was that he could take his time.

  The so-called Carrousel was one of those bits that did not make it to the stream. It suffered from what austere-looking serious people called “extreme time dilatation effects” which meant precisely what it said in plain words.

  From Gordon’s perspective, he had all the time to go. From the outside world, the list of climbers would fill in, four per second, until the full team list was displayed along with their startup choice.

  Speaking of which…

  Archon would be gone. Of course. Juggernaut was gone if it ever was there. Covenant, for all its faults, was certainly gone.

  Gordon was ranked 34. Meaning there were potentially thirty-three people who had priority over him, assuming none of them had defaulted. Pretty much half of the possibilities were exhausted.

  The Carrousel offered 65 starting choices for Tower Climb, offering picks and options for each of the sixty-four climbers.

  Gordon walked around the Carrousel, looking at the outfits and choices and marveling at the simple fact that he did, in fact, walk. Naked, of course, but that was why the Carrousel was not rebroadcast later. Or so everyone assumed.

  He could stay for hours. Or even days, if he wanted, until he passed away from thirst and woke outside of the Entrance at 9:32 UTC, having forfeited his run and left room for a bye.

  Or he could pick a power, fade to the Start, and find out who was there in his team. So, he kept making the whole circle, just counting. He finished with 34 filled stalls, meaning two forfeits only before him. He pitied a bit those byes that would replace the missing climbers. They would find themselves in the Carrousel, qualified to climb after all, but with only a handful of choices remaining, down to two only for the last.

  Enough dithering, Gordon, he said to himself. Time to start making a choice.

  Each choice offered a power and a line. Covenant, for instance, was serious mojo. Pick Covenant, and you could resurrect any climber that fell during the run.

  Of course, that was it. You just did little until called upon. And if you used it, your team would have to make a choice: sacrifice their next power pick to recharge Covenant or press on. Despite that, few people passed on Covenant. You became the person most needed to survive since, of course, you could not use it for yourself. And you could recover from a mistake where other teams could not.

  Gordon stopped.

  Feng-Shui. The name was highlighted, hologram-style, over a stylish black Daoist robe, along with a simple power explanation. Feng-Shui was there for this season.

  Nobody had seen it in combination with Covenant, and it was suspected it would be combo-breaking. Feng-Shui was a Water power, while Covenant was a Wood one.

  If some speculations were right, Feng-Shui could be used to restore Covenant. For free. Feng-Shui itself did not recover, typically, but you could feed it a Metal power, which tended to be faster, so it was generally assumed that it could be used in the same way. Assuming, of course, that you ended with both powers in the same team.

  Picking Feng-Shui meant you were stuck with Water. You could only pick Water powers, no matter what. Not that there was anything wrong with Water, but Gordon didn’t like what came out of the line.

  He stopped and contemplated the slick white suit with a sword dangling at its side. It only lacked a mask to feel like an Olympic fencer’s outfit, save that it was heavily padded, more than a regulation’s, and with a long neck.

  Metal was the line he’d studied most. He would probably fight left-handed, from habit. Metal was popular, though, so… Gordon kept circling the Carrousel, checking more carefully.

  In the end, there were only four Metal options left out of nine at the start. Groove, Mirror, Morning, and the inenarrable One-Tail. Mirror, nobody expected to see it back, yet it came every three seasons, like clockwork. It would compete with One-Tail – which, as the name implied, granted you a swishing fox tail – as the most obnoxious power. At least One-Tail eventually upgraded to Nine-Tail.

  Morning… Morning was something he hadn’t seen or studied. It had shown only during the third season, long before anyone obsessively studied, recorded, and analyzed all base Powers.

  More power. More what power? Gordon wondered.