The laboratory shed is tiny, and after years of experiments every shelf is full. There are racks of beakers, rows of flasks, piles of notebooks and crates of grey ore everywhere. Pixel Marie Curie needs space for a new experiment, so she decides to tidy up in the only direction left: upwards, into a wobbly pile she has already named Beaker Tower.
Each piece swings in over the pile and has to land just right. A careful drop keeps the tower wide; a hasty one shaves off an edge. Build high enough and the tower climbs through the roof, past the chimneys of Paris and up among the stars, where the glassware glows softly in the dark. How high can patient science go?
