Zero Percenters

by Scott T Grusky

  “Wha-what exactly are you suggesting?” the chairman stuttered.

  Seven

  October 10, 2024

  Rodna Mountains, Transylvania, Romania

  After landing at the aerodrome, Anja headed straight for the Rodna Mountains of the Eastern Carpathians. She had never been there before, but she had heard the region contained some of the most wild terrain in all of Romania.

  The diversity of the flora and fauna exceeded her expectations. She wandered through seemingly endless meadows of cornflower, wild thyme, yarrow, brown knapweed, earthnut pea, red clover, spiny restharrow, birdsfoot trefoil, spreading bellflower, and her favorite of all, kashubian vetch. These were just the common sightings. Over one thousand species of flowering plants dotted the Rodna Mountains National Park. It also boasted an astonishing array of rare birds—some 350 distinct species—not to mention numerous exotic mammals.

  As the days grew shorter and the shepherds began their descent to the lowlands, Anja found herself drawn to higher elevation. The crisp air and scenic vistas at the mountain peaks settled her mind, even if the vegetation was more austere and the animal sightings fewer. First, she climbed Omului, then Cisa, Coasta Neteda, Ineu and lastly Ineut.

  For as long as she could remember, Anja had been plagued by anxiety about the future of humanity. Whether it be global warming, genocide, war, corruption, poverty, injustice or technology, concerns were always gnawing at her, preventing her from being at peace. Where was the insanity of the world leading? How would the human species continue? What could she do in the face of all these problems?

  But atop the peaks of the Rodna Mountains, her anxiety somehow diminished. She could feel her internal dialogue receding. The endless chatter in her mind, the feeling of being inside a hamster wheel, being owned by the world’s worries, seemed to release its claim on her. She’d experienced moments of such release in other wilderness areas, but here it seemed stronger and more complete.

  The calmness so soothed her, she barely noticed the lack of fellow humans. With winter approaching, there were no longer villagers inviting her to share meals, nor other hikers. She had to rely on her stash of nuts and berries, supplemented by whatever edibles she could find that grew on the craggy slopes. Occasionally, she descended to one of the surrounding alpine lakes and managed to catch trout.

  She occupied most of her time, however, by simply remaining still. The feeling was addictive. For hours on end, Anja sat cross-legged, perched on a ledge at seven thousand feet, watching and observing.

  With practice, she noticed it was almost as easy to look inward as outward. Though she had no prior experience in meditation, the serenity of her surroundings enabled her to fall into a trancelike state for seemingly as long as she wanted. Her inward space, she determined, was even more calming than the pristine surroundings.

  It was during one of these trances, after many days of practice, that she had a realization—perhaps an obvious one, but one that had never before occurred to her. She was not her thoughts, she was merely aware of them. She was not her emotions, she just felt them.

  She laughed to herself as multiple layers of the realization unfolded. For Anja, it was liberation, transformation, almost like a key to the universe had been handed to her. She was not her body. The vessel that sat on the mountain side was not her. She was the one who was aware of her thoughts and emotions, she was the one who was aware of the vessel sitting on the mountaintop.

  This was why she had come to Transylvania. This was the understanding she had been missing all these years, the understanding she had overlooked when her mother died—when it seemed that everything she lost was inextricably connected to her mother’s body, a body she now recognized to be illusory.

  And yet, unpeeling a further layer, she could see that absolutely nothing before her or within her was truly real. None of her worries were real. None of this was her.

  At last, she could return home.

  Eight

  October 15, 2024

  Dealu Floreni, Transylvania, Romania

  The trek back to Dealu Floreni was over two hundred kilometers and required five days of rigorous hiking. To Anja’s surprise, she did not come across a single person on her return, even though she passed several small villages and farms. It had been three weeks since she had seen anyone at all.

  Anja did notice what appeared to be migrant birds, but they were too far away to identify. They flew in odd formations and seemed to make unusual movements in the sky. She also heard several large animals rustling in densely forested areas. They sounded like lynx or possibly brown bears, but they moved too stealthily for her to see. She could only catch glimpses of fast-moving bodies.

  She really just wanted to go home. Her trip had been incredible, her most life-changing journey ever, but she was exhausted. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal in many days. She missed her creature comforts, her office, her colleagues. She realized she missed her father too. It was the first time she had ever been homesick.

  At last, she approached the aerodrome in Dealu Floreni. She spotted a young man in the distance, near the hangar where the Bombardier was parked. He was wearing a jogging suit and appeared to be practicing sprinting, but the speeds he reached were far faster than made sense to Anja. Had she not been so tired, she might have thought harder about how she was seeing such a thing.

  Instead, she walked into the small office at the aerodrome and began filling out her flight plan, along with the passenger manifesto. A manicured blonde woman with model-like features entered from an adjacent room.

  “No need for these documents,” she said, extracting them from Anja’s hands. “Jet travel no longer permitted.”

  “Excuse me?” Anja replied. “I need to return to the United States. My family owns the Bombardier out there.”

  “As courtesy, you may choose one final destination for jet, as long as it on list of certified recycling centers.”

  Anja had no idea what this person was talking about, but she reminded herself she was in Romania. Bureaucracy could lead to some weird mix-ups there, and she was far too tired to engage with her. “I want to go to the San Jose airport in California,” she said.

  “Not on list. Closest is Palo Alto.”

  “Okay,” sighed Anja.

  “You may proceed. Plane has already been refueled.”

  “Thanks, do you have any food for sale here?”

  “Food?” said the woman incredulously. “There is no food anymore.”

  Anja just shook her head. This was not the kind of hospitality she was accustomed to in Transylvania, but she’d gone hungry for so long, she could last another fifteen hours.

  She walked across a field to the Bombardier and climbed aboard. Then she sat down at the cockpit and reached for her knapsack. To her relief, it held one remaining granola bar.

  As she gobbled down the bar, she went through flight check procedures, then switched on the engines. She thought about powering up her smartphone before departing, but she decided against it. She was too tired to deal with messages. There would be plenty of time for that later.

  Nine

  October 16, 2024

  Palo Alto Airport, California

  Although the jet stream worked against her, Anja enjoyed a smooth flight without significant turbulence. The onboard radar detected zero cross-traffic for the duration, which seemed odd, but was statistically possible. After fifteen hours, the Bombardier at last descended into the Bay Area. Air traffic control cleared it for landing at Palo Alto airport, which also seemed odd.

  Palo Alto was a small private airport—it only had one runway and wasn’t licensed for international traffic. But Anja assumed her father had some reason for wanting her to land there. 5s2 had a substantial fleet of corporate jets and paid millions in aviation taxes and fees, so it was conceivable that Chris had received some sort of waiver.

  As she approached the runway, she saw there were no other jets on the field or anywhere in the vicinity. She had never seen the ai
rport so empty in all her years of flying, especially not on a Wednesday afternoon. But again, she was too tired to give the matter much thought. She made a clean landing and followed the signals of the marshaler to park the Bombardier.

  Upon disembarking with her knapsack and phone, she was met by an airport worker in an orange jumpsuit. “Hello,” he said. “Taking the plane in for recycling?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied. She couldn’t believe the recycling subject was coming up again, now that she was back in the United States.

  “It’s a public service we provide, since there’s no reason to keep the plane,” explained the worker.

  Anja was more confused than ever. “What if I want to?”

  “Uh, why?”

  “Look, I’ve been flying for fifteen hours straight. Can you point me to the customs agent and we’ll deal with this later?”

  “Customs was disbanded weeks ago.” He looked at her like she was from an alien species. “Have you been off-grid or something?”

  “Yes. Does that matter?”

  “So, uh, you’re not a zero percenter?”

  “A what?” Anja felt like she had entered some sort of dream state. She was about to pinch herself, when Diego arrived at her side.

  “Anja,” he exclaimed. “I came as soon as I heard you landed.” He gave her a big hug.

  “Thank God,” she replied. “Can you get me out of here, please? I’m starving.” She was so glad to see him that she didn’t notice how much younger and fitter he looked.

  “Of course,” Diego said. He instructed the airport worker to arrange a deferral for the Bombardier, then he took hold of Anja’s hand and led her into the terminal. “Come with me. I’m going to see if we can track down some sort of vehicle. There aren’t many cars left. I take it you haven’t upgraded yet?”

  “Upgraded?”

  “Hmm,” he said. “It seems we have some catching up to do.”

  Flashing his credentials, Diego quickly borrowed a Tesla from the recycling center. With Anja safely installed in the passenger seat, he drove them out of the airport and headed for Chris’s house.

  “There’s so much to tell you,” he sighed. “So much has happened since you left, it feels like it’s been years. But the first thing you have to know, as much as I hate telling you this… your father was killed. I’m terribly, terribly sorry, Anja.”

  She looked at him in shock and horror, then she slumped over in her seat and fainted from exhaustion.

  Ten

  October 17, 2024

  Lapin Home, Palo Alto, California

  Anja awoke in her childhood bedroom. Diego had prepared her a breakfast of eggs, hash browns, toast, coffee and orange juice. The food sat neatly arranged next to her phone on the nightstand. Before taking a bite, however, she remembered what he had said.

  “It’s not true, is it?” she whimpered. “It can’t be true. My father is dead?”

  Diego rushed to her side from the living room. “Yes,” he affirmed sullenly. “I’m afraid it is.”

  “But how? I need to know everything.”

  Slowly and methodically, he recounted Nikita’s discovery and the ensuing drone-led executions of Chris and the AI team. By the time he was done, Anja’s eyes were filled with tears.

  “They didn’t deserve to die like that,” she groaned.

  “No, they certainly didn’t.”

  “It’s insane. I despise this world. And I especially despise technology. This is the kind of suffering it always causes.”

  “It was a terrible, terrible act of cowardice. I’m so sorry.”

  “I thought I’d figured something out in Transylvania,” she lamented. “I thought I could start to have a normal life. And now this happens…”

  “What took place was beyond horrendous. Every waking hour, I miss your father’s presence.”

  She paused to wipe the tears from her eyes. “You don’t seem like you’ve been grieving that much. You look twenty years younger.”

  “We need to talk about that, Anja. I need to catch you up on what’s been happening since we started giving the algorithm away, but I’m not sure now’s the time.”

  “I’m not brain-dead. Now’s fine.”

  “It’s a bit complicated,” he sighed. “And I can see you’re upset.”

  “Of course I’m upset. I just found out my dad was murdered. That doesn’t mean I need to lie on my back and twiddle my thumbs all day.”

  “You’re right. I’m only trying to think about what’s best for you. You haven’t even eaten your breakfast yet.”

  “I’ll eat while you explain things,” she said, reaching for a piece of toast. “Please, I keep seeing all kinds of weird stuff.”

  “You promise you’ll stop me if it gets to be too much?”

  She rolled her eyes, insulted by the mere suggestion.

  “All right,” he said. “If you eat, I’ll talk.”

  She took a bite of her toast, followed by a sip of juice.

  “First of all,” he started, “it’s important to understand that we never expected adoption would be this rapid. Never in our wildest dreams. But we had to do something. We couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. So a few days after the attack, we launched a small beta program in Nevada. It all came from the recommendations in your articles. Of course, I tried to contact you for input.”

  “I was off-grid, like I told you I’d be.”

  “Understood. Still, you should know, it was because of your stature in the academic community that the board was ultimately persuaded, even without your presence—and even though it meant giving up our corporate structure, all of our profits, our whole capitalistic enterprise.”

  “Hmm,” said Anja, swallowing a mouthful of eggs.

  “I was the one who pitched the idea. It’s something I’m pretty proud of… but obviously, I’ll let you reach your own conclusions. I’m not going to try to persuade you.”

  “You couldn’t even if you tried. Keep going, please.”

  Diego nodded. “We already had a substantial solar array in Nevada, so we decided to use our cash reserves to buy an adjacent tract of a hundred thousand acres from the BLM and then we cut a deal with the Feds to make it essentially a sovereign state. We didn’t want the beta testers to have to worry about taxes or anything like that going forward. It’s funny what a couple of trillion dollars can accomplish.”

  She rolled her eyes. “5s2 and its mountains of dough.”

  “Not anymore though… that’s ancient history.” He hesitated again. “You’re sure I should keep going? You’ve suffered a huge shock.”

  “Yes, go on,” she insisted. “About the beta program.” She chomped on her hash browns for emphasis.

  “It was actually pretty straightforward,” he continued. “Whoever signed up could choose to use the algorithm to replace any of their body parts. If you had a bad heart, bad kidney, bad liver, whatever, you could replace it for free. At first, most people just replaced one or two organs. It made sense to go slowly… all this was totally unknown territory. But we realized early on that the real gains would come from replacing everything.”

  “Uh, I have no idea what ‘replacing everything’ means.”

  “You know, digitizing every organ and tissue in the body, so that you no longer have any biological components.”

  “Sorry,” said Anja, “but I still don’t get what that means. Are you trying to tell me that blood would become digital too? And if you truly digitized everything, why would you need lungs or a heart or a tongue, for that matter?”

  “Bingo, so you do get it,” replied Diego. “When you replace everything, the situation suddenly becomes very interesting because you no longer need stuff like your respiratory system, circulatory system, digestive system and so on. All of those parts become vestigial, for lack of a better word.”

  She shook her head. “This sounds insane. But even if any of it made sense, how on earth would you digitize someone’s consciousness?”


  “Aha, great question, and I’m afraid you’re not going to like my answer here either. You see, the truth is, we have no idea how. Initially, we didn’t conceive of using the algorithm to digitize a complete living being. We only thought it would work for replacing individual organs and tissues. But as it turns out, it works for absolutely everything. Consciousness was not the stumbling block we expected—I’m living proof.”

  “Huh? You expect me to believe that you’re one hundred percent digital right now? That’s nuts!”

  “Yeah,” he chuckled, “it sort of is and it sort of isn’t.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?” said Anja, almost angrily.

  Diego paused to reflect. “Perhaps I can explain it like this. When you’re purely digital, there’s nothing left that is vulnerable or that can get sick. Suddenly, you’re released from all of your daily burdens. There’s no need to eat or breathe, no need to worry about being too hot or too cold, no need to deal with aches and pains, no need to buy stuff, no need to go to work. I mean, I really can’t list it all for you, it’s way too much to articulate, but the bottom line is when you’re a zero percenter, you become truly free. Plus, as an added bonus—and I hope you’ll appreciate this, Anja—you no longer pollute or contribute to global warming whatsoever.”

  She raised her eyebrows, although almost imperceptibly. “A zero percenter?” she asked.

  “That’s the term people started using when they crossed the threshold and had zero percent biological tissue left inside them. In the beginning, people would track their percentages… you’d start off being maybe ninety-five percent biological, then when that went well, you’d replace a bit more and be seventy-five percent, then fifty percent and so on and so on, until eventually you were a zero percenter.”