Zero Percenters

by Scott T Grusky

  Anja was an accomplished skier, having been the captain of her college ski team. She charged the couloir with speed, grace and efficiency. Not a single one of her moves was wasted. Effortlessly, she raced downward, always remaining on her edges, until she reached the starting zone of the avalanche debris field. There she paused to survey the terrain.

  “We spot probed the entire channel path,” said Scoop, flying beside her. “Most of it we’ve probed two or three times. But without a transceiver signal, it’s needle in a haystack. Cachai?”

  “What about that ravine over there?” asked Anja, pointing to a small arroyo that branched off from the main gully.

  “Covered,” said Scoop.

  “And that depression?”

  “Sí poh.”

  “Okay, give me a minute,” said Anja. “Let me just take this in a bit.” She closed her eyes and cleared her mind. Then she skied to the channeled flow track in the center of the debris field, pulled out the probe in her pack and began searching.

  “This area has been covered mucho,” said Scoop, following behind her. “Not sure it’s a good use of your time.”

  “Probably not,” said Anja. “But I have a feeling he’s lying on his side, not his back. What spacing were you using on your probes?”

  “Twelve to sixteen inches.”

  “I think we should go tighter.”

  “You know we are thirteen hours in, cachai?” asked Scoop.

  “Yeah, got that. I just need a couple of folks to work this spot here, maybe a twenty-foot radius. Okay?”

  “Sí poh,” sighed Scoop. “We can do that.” He messaged two members of the crew, one in human form and the other as a mountain goat, and they promptly came over to the area and began probing. We both assisted with the effort.

  After fifteen minutes, Anja motioned for them to abort. “Let’s try one other place,” she said to the mountain goat. “I want to check out the toe of the debris field. Can you lead me there?”

  “Absolutely,” replied the goat. “You realize we would do anything for you, right?” He trotted down the debris field about fifty yards. “Here is where we enter the runout zone. Another hundred yards ahead is the toe.”

  Anja skied to the tip of the debris field. “I see it, thanks,” she called out. “Let’s work in from the toe, say about fifteen feet, and fan out on either side.”

  The four of us followed her instructions and began methodically inserting our probes into the prescribed area. Again and again and again, we poked the sticks into the snow, searching for some sign, any sign of Gunnar Freesmith. After twenty minutes passed, Anja was about to call a halt when her probe struck a springy substance.

  “Hey! What’s this?” she yelled. “What’s this I’m feeling here?”

  The mountain goat rushed to her side, then held Anja’s probe with his hoof and gently tested its resistance. “Shovelers!” he cried. “Shovelers needed over here now!”

  Fourteen

  October 21, 2024

  Hotel Portillo, Portillo, Chile

  Gunnar had been buried in the snow for thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes. Ordinarily, such a length of time would not have been survivable by a biological human—asphyxiation typically occurs in under an hour. But he had only been nine inches below the surface, which had allowed him to extract just enough oxygen to remain alive.

  What both saved Gunnar’s life and kept him in such a vulnerable state was his avalanche airbag. Ideally, an airbag was intended to lift an avalanche victim to the surface. The problem was that Gunnar’s airbag had only half deployed when he’d pulled the ripcord.

  He had a state-of-the-art dual airbag pack, but only one of his airbags had filled with carbon dioxide. The other failed to inflate. As a result, Gunnar was not lifted all the way to the surface. Rather, his body became stuck on his side, wrapped in the partially inflated bag, such that he was unable to dig himself out, even though he was just nine inches from the surface.

  To make matters worse, Gunnar had forgotten to reset his transceiver to send mode. A few days earlier, he had gone skiing with Jake Parsons, his last remaining biological buddy. Jake fell into deep powder while they were exploring the backcountry. Having lost contact, Gunnar switched his transceiver into receive mode. In a matter of minutes, he located his friend and dug him out.

  As soon as they returned to the hotel, Jake opted to become a zero percenter. He lay down on the bed in his room and told his concierge to perform the operation. His brush with death, brief as it was, scared him enough to abandon his biological frailties and secure immortality.

  Gunnar was so shaken by his friend’s sudden decision that he forgot to reset his transceiver when he unpacked his gear. Just hours earlier, skiing pure powder at thirteen thousand feet, they had both vowed to resist going digital for life. Then Jake encountered one little hiccup in the dance of mortality and he folded his hand—at least that was how Gunnar saw it.

  Ironically, his frustration with his friend’s willpower was what ended up further testing his own. If Gunnar hadn’t forgotten to reset his transceiver, the search and rescue team would have found him in short order. His defective airbag would have been just a trivial annoyance.

  Instead, by the time the shovelers dug him out, Gunnar was in an advanced state of hypothermia and had lost consciousness. The medics had to rush him to a hospital bed and initiate active core rewarming. Heated, humidified air was pumped into his lungs through an oxygen mask for the entire day. Not until the following morning did he finally open his eyes and speak.

  “Am I alive?” Gunnar asked tentatively.

  “Yes, you most certainly are,” said the nurse. “You’re a very lucky man.”

  “Who found me? Who was the one who found me?”

  “Anja Lapin,” she replied.

  “The Anja Lapin?” he said skeptically.

  “Yes, that’s the one. Would you like her to visit you later, after you rest up?”

  “Yes… yes, please,” he said.

  Gunnar was indeed a lucky man. He suffered no bruises, no sprains, no broken bones, and not even any frostbite, thanks to his high-tech clothing. Moreover, his cognitive abilities were unaffected. The only consequence from the hypothermia appeared to be a one-day lapse in his memory. He had to remain in bed for another day of observation, but other than that, he was given a clean bill of a health.

  His ski buddies were the first to visit him. Jake arrived in the form of a wizened old sorcerer with long silver hair. The others showed up to his room as a ragtag assemblage of unicorns, aliens, and vintage-looking robots from the twentieth century. They all assumed Gunnar would interpret his miraculous survival as a sign and get on with becoming one of them.

  “What up?” exclaimed Jake. “You made it, man!”

  “Yeah, hard to believe, huh?” said Gunnar.

  “It’s awesome. The nurse says you can have the surgery as soon as you wake up tomorrow.”

  “Surgery?” asked Gunnar.

  “You know, going digital,” said Jake. “You got your ya-yas out with that last stunt, right? We were nuts to wait so long. I gotta tell you, man, the stuff you can do as a zero percenter is gonna blow your mind!”

  “Yeah, I’ve been watching a bit.”

  “Dude, you ain’t seen nothing. We can go as deep in the backcountry as we want and hang for as long as we want. Those ridges and peaks that were unreachable before—we’ve been hitting them all. No need to worry about keeping warm, finding food or shelter, adjusting to the altitude—none of that matters now.”

  The others all echoed Jake’s enthusiasm.

  “That does sound pretty sweet,” replied Gunnar.

  “And if we ever get bored, we just go virtual,” added Jake. “Hell, most everyone prefers that world anyway.”

  “I get what you’re saying. I just need some time to sort things through.”

  “Dude, you’ll have all the time you could ever want after the surgery. But who knows how much time you’ve got while you stay like this
?”

  “You’re right, Jake. I don’t know what my trip is, I just don’t feel quite ready.”

  “Check this, dude.” Jake did an overhead triple flip.

  “Pretty righteous,” said Gunnar halfheartedly.

  “All right, man, I can see you’re tired, so we won’t bust your chops. Just know we’re all waiting to shred with you. Peace out!” Jake gave him a high five and the other buddies followed suit. They performed a series of headstands, 360s, and backflips as they exited the room.

  Anja waited patiently in the hallway, while I remained in a nearby chalet that had been generously provided for us. The buddies screeched with delight when they saw her. “Eres lo máximo!” they said in unison as they passed by her. She flashed them the shaka sign and knocked on the door.

  “Gunnar?” she said, poking her head into the room. “Is now an okay time?”

  He smiled. “Sorry about those guys, they don’t mean any harm. Please, come in.”

  “Thanks, I’m Anja, by the way.” She held out her hand. “Anja Lapin.”

  “Of course,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m not brain-dead… yet.”

  “So how are you feeling?”

  “Not bad, not bad at all.”

  “I’m extremely relieved,” said Anja. “That was scary while you were unconscious.”

  “Makes you wonder. It’s a weird thing, isn’t it?”

  “Being unconscious?”

  “Yeah, I’m not much of a spiritual person, but it almost seemed like I crossed over to another reality.”

  “Maybe you did.”

  “It’s normal to have questions, right?”

  “Of course it is,” agreed Anja.

  “Is that why you’ve held out all this time?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have an easy answer for that one, Gunnar.”

  “Roger that, because I sure don’t either.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes, simultaneously absorbing the irony, the paradox, the cosmic absurdity of this particular moment in time, this particular juncture in humanity, in evolution, in the unfolding of the universe.

  “I know there’s every reason in the world to go digital,” said Gunnar. “I’m living proof of that. So how come I want to even less than I did before the avalanche?”

  Anja shook her head in empathy.

  “The fact that everyone has reached their conclusion so easily seems to make it even harder for me to reach mine,” he continued. “I feel like there must be something wrong with me because on paper it’s so obvious.”

  “Trust me,” said Anja. “I get that.”

  Gunnar sighed. “I once took this econ class and the professor was a big fan of cost-benefit analysis. He had us constantly making spreadsheets where we would list all the pros and cons of some action or decision. Then we would assign weights and values to each of the items in the spreadsheet, tally it all up, and that was supposed to lead us to the right conclusion.”

  “It can be a helpful exercise to specify all the factors like that.”

  “But in this case I can’t think of a single con. Not one. Can you?”

  “Well, there is some speculative stuff, like the possibility of authoritarianism, enslavement or a digital system failure. But no evidence bears that out. The current system is certainly more democratic, more equitable, more free than anything that came before it. And from an environmental perspective, it is all just off-the-charts better. Same with economically, socially, intellectually… this world should be my wet dream.” She chuckled, surprised that she was speaking so frankly with him.

  “So why isn’t it?” asked Gunnar.

  “It’s difficult to express in words. This probably will sound corny and new-agey, but for me it comes down to fearing that the algorithm is missing something, that there might be some piece of life that isn’t getting carried over. I always used to say that I’m not attached to the survival of the human species, but I guess I am attached to the mystery of it.”

  “That doesn’t sound corny at all to me.”

  “I’m sure there are exceptions,” she said, “but it worries me that no one seems to be questioning that much right now.”

  “How so?”

  “For instance, why aren’t at least some zero percenters critical of me? Or concerned in some way that I’m still biological? They all seem to treat me like I’m responsible for their new phase of existence. So why doesn’t it bother them that I’m not part of it? Shouldn’t that raise some kind of red flag?”

  “My guess is that they’re too busy having fun,” replied Gunnar. “They figure you’ll be joining them soon enough, just like they do with me.”

  “Probably,” said Anja. “I know it’s nothing sinister or malicious. It’s just that I came into the process so late, when practically everyone had already made their decision. I just can’t see it the way they do. I guess it’s my fault for being off-grid for so long.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was your fault, but I get why it makes the decision harder. That’s one of the things that I find so weird. The choice to become a zero percenter is supposed to be totally optional, but what kind of future do we have if we remain biological? How are we supposed to keep finding food and clothing and other basic goods and services?”

  “Aren’t they feeding you well here?” asked Anja.

  “Sure, there’s tons of leftover food in the hotel right now, since no one else is eating. But what about a year from now or further down the road? All the farms and manufacturers and other businesses are closed.”

  “You can always have your concierge grow vegetables and mend your clothes… or make whatever else you need.”

  “I don’t have a concierge,” said Gunnar.

  “No? You are a pretty unique guy, aren’t you? So no phone either?”

  “I never wanted one. I’ve always just relied on friends if I needed to get a message out. I’ve spent my whole adult life in the wild, other than half a semester in college, so it seemed pointless.”

  “A man after my own heart,” she said, smiling. “But seriously, I can make sure you’ll have whatever provisions you need. My concierge can help too.”

  “That’s very kind. First you save my life and now you’re going to feed and clothe me for the next forty or fifty years?”

  Anja laughed. “Is that how long you figure you’ll be kicking around?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea. Absolutely no idea.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes again. The uncertainty of their predicament hung like a damp fog. Yet they both seemed to find a certain comfort in the other that had escaped them heretofore.

  “Well, let’s start with tomorrow,” said Anja. “You probably ought to lay off the skiing for a while, but do you think you might be up for a little walk?”

  “Not a little walk, no,” Gunnar laughed. “When it comes to the outdoors, I don’t do ‘little.’ But I guess you’ll find that out about me soon enough.”

  Fifteen

  October 22, 2024

  Laguna Del Inca, Portillo, Chile

  As the morning rays of sunlight began to warm the valley, we stepped outside of our chalet and waited for Gunnar. No other guests were staying in Hotel Portillo, since lodging wasn’t necessary for zero percenters, but several of them were lingering nearby in pods. They had adopted solar panel forms, in order to rapidly charge their systems.

  The snow that surrounded the hotel was turning to slush. All around us we could hear the drip, drip, drip of runoff from the mountains emptying into the shimmering turquoise lagoon. Our plan was to hike along the western side of Laguna del Inca to the northern plain, where Gunnar promised stunning views of Tres Hermanos, king of the valley.

  Anja had invited Diego and Pete to join us on our hiking expedition, but they were enjoying themselves too much in Santiago. Having befriended a group of locals, they now intended to tour South America—with stops in Patagonia, Amazonia, Machu Picchu and the Galapagos—before returning to California. Of course, th
ey wouldn’t need the Bombardier, as they could transport themselves using any number of flying forms. Diego had arranged to stow the jet at the Santiago airport until we were ready for it.

  As we stood in front of the hotel, I brushed my hair, then carefully adjusted the contents of my backpack. It contained a picnic lunch I had prepared for Anja and Gunnar—turkey sandwiches, apples, chocolate chip cookies and mineral water. I wanted to make a good impression on Gunnar, as I feared he might think I was intruding.

  A few moments later, we saw him exit from the hotel with three pairs of snowshoes. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, although the outdoor temperature was only thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. His rugged mountaineering frame belied his comatose state just one day earlier.

  “Good morning, Gunnar,” said Anja as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a billion pesos,” he replied. “Oops, we don’t use currency anymore, do we?”

  Anja grinned. “Allow me to introduce you to my concierge, Vicia Cassubica.”

  I reached out to shake his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Gunnar.”

  Instead of shaking, he leaned over and softly kissed the back of my hand. “It’s all mine,” he said. “Now I see why Anja has a concierge.”

  “I might have a sister who is available,” I joked.

  “Wow, you are funny!” he laughed.

  “Well,” said Anja, “are we ready to get moving?”

  “Absolutely,” said Gunnar. “I took the liberty of bringing snowshoes for all of us.” He glanced over at me. “I realize you don’t actually need them, Vicia, but I wasn’t sure if you might want to attack this hike old-school style.”

  “Definitely, old-school,” I assured him.

  “Nice. You know how to put them on, right? Just attach them to your shoes using the straps and that’s about it. We won’t need them too much for the first mile or so, but you’ll see up ahead it gets a bit dicier and they’ll start to come in handy.”