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Tamerlane Pryce. That is the name of the mysterious last-minute addition to
the candidate pool. Jande knows that name. Everyone on Thālith al Naʽāmāt
Bida knows it, and probably beyond. In the early days of colonization, he
was responsible for an ambitious—but ultimately abandoned—planetary project.
Back on Earth in the ancient days, they used to have these things called
zoos. They locked animals in cages, and let people gawk at them. Over time,
various state regulations attempted to make these facilities more and more
ethical, and that pattern never really stopped.
Zoos were eventually outlawed, replaced with less harmful methods of using
animals as entertainment, but these weren’t all that great either. They were
a lot better, but still dangerous, and in some cases, still exploitative.
Space colonization sat on the cusp of basically doing away with the animal
entertainment industry altogether. It was ultimately replaced with simulated
environments, but the early Bidans didn’t know that at the time. They
figured the best way not to disturb animals was to pretend to be them.
Pryce was placed in charge of cataloging every species on the planet, and
developing the mind transference technology that would allow a user to
become whatever creature they wanted, and live amongst the native
population. The project didn’t last long. There was such fierce backlash
that they shuttered the program, and transitioned the world to a less
invasive culture. Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida is what it is today because early
settlers were very deliberately trying to avoid Pryce’s vision. They live in
harmony with the fauna now. Many believe they owe Pryce everything, but
that’s a bit of a stretch. The question is, where has he been all this time?
“I’m not the Pryce you know,” Tamerlane explains as Van is introducing the
rest of the contenders. “It would be hard to explain to you, but in your
terms, I’m a dupe. I never did what the history books said I did. That was
all someone else. But I was informed that I have always been entitled to a
piece of the pie, so I’m here now.”
“And finally,” Van announces, “Jande Ter Avest!”
Jande steps forward and waves at the crowd and cameras. What is he doing?
“As you can see folks,” Van goes on, “they’re all very confused. To them, it
has only been a few hours. That is by design. We want them to be
disoriented. We want them to be a little shaky. It will make them want it
more. And what is it they want?”
“Oversight!” the audience yells, as if they rehearsed it, which they
probably have.
Jande is getting the feeling that this is not the first episode of this
reality show. They probably produced a whole introduction while the
candidates were dead.
“Oversight, that’s right!” Van agrees. “They wanna be the fabled
Superintendent. Now, lots of cultures have this rank. It scales however high
you want. But from what we read in the charter, Bida does things a little
differently.” He’s a lot more charismatic than he seemed when Jande first
met him. “Most Superintendents are there just in case. They’re all about
staffing. If someone gets out of line, and bureaucracy is too slow to
correct them, they can step in and push them out. This means that a
Superintendent has to be above reproach, so it’s pretty important that
deciders get it right.
“It’s even more important for us, because the Bidan Superintendent
will have a great deal of responsibilities, and even more power. We’ll get
to that as the competition heats up. Hint-hint, wink-wink. But for now,
candidates...we need to see where you stand.” He waits a moment. “Seriously,
look down. Where do you stand?”
Jande looks down at the floor. A glowing number 1 is now under his feet.
“Say it out loud! Say it proud! Where do you stand!” Van encourages.
Most of the candidates call out their numbers, and they are all weird. They
don’t go from 1 to 11. They go as high as 815, which is where Dare Finnian
sits.
“This is your qualified rating, or QR. Now, we’re really excited about the
QR, because it’s not actually in the charter. It was very vague about this,
but we came up with a scoring system between one and eight-fifty. Everyone
is starting in a different place, because you all have pasts. As you can
see, the Quiratani are ranked significantly higher, but they won’t stay that
way for long.” He lowers the mic and looks over at the closest drone camera,
which is of a different design than the others. “Can we drop ‘em?”
Part of the floor starts collapsing into nanites, leaving only circular
platforms underneath everyone. One of the Eyrenlanders is too far away from
his number, and he slips over the edge. He has to grab on for dear life, or
he’ll fall to his death.
Dare hops over to Pryce’s platform, then to the Eyrenlander’s, and helps him
up.
“Ah, look at that!” Van notes. “They still think they’re friends!” He nods,
and looks up at a leaderboard that has appeared in the sky. “Survey
says...850! This is a competition, people. If you die, you’re done. There is
no helping. There is no empathy. There is no mercy,” he adds in a grittier
voice. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”
Dare jumps back over to his own platform, head literally held high,
unashamed.
Van waits for him to finish up. “Okay. That will not be the last time we see
someone go over. The first challenge has just about begun. Candidates, I
recommend you move to the centermost spot. It’s simple, but deadly. The game
is called Still Hunter. The more you move, which doesn’t include blinking,
swallowing, or facial tics, the more your platform will fall away.
Eventually, you run out of platform, so don’t...move. The challenge doesn’t
end until our first death. I’ll give you a few minutes to scratch your
itches and do a little stretching, and then we’ll start the clock. Oh, wait,
what’s this?”
A woman who is neither Quiratani nor Eyrenlander has jumped off of her
platform, and grabbed onto someone else’s shaft. She survived, and is now
sliding down.
“Looks like we have a runner,” Van explains. “I’ll have to confer with my
associates so we can figure out what we’re gonna do here. In the meantime, I
hope you’re all situated, because the clock starts in four, three, two,
aaaaaand go!”
Jande does not remember the escape artist’s name, but he’ll learn it because
she never leaves the arena. She walks back in an hour later with her head
hung low. “They won’t let me quit. I failed to read the fine print.” She
goes back to her post to suffer a penalty for trying to leave. She has to
stand on one leg for twice as long as she was gone.
The gamemakers probably expected the challenge to last a lot longer than it
does, which is what you get for only making it last until the first person
falls. One of the cocky Eyrenlanders cannot stop moving. He appears to be
particularly not well-suited for a baseline human body. He unwillingly chips
away at his platform little by little. It turns to dust and sloughs off in
inconsistent volumes. Only five minutes after the attempted quitter’s
return, he loses his footing, and plummets to his death.
The competition has taken its first casualty. At the end, Jande has retained
his rank, having barely lost any of his platform. Dare, on the other hand,
lost none of it at all, and jumped up to second place with a new score of
24. He is the biggest threat now.
