“That’s far enough,” he shouted.
Jake nodded, leading us in a slow, swooping 180-degree turn. Effortlessly, we glided down the canyon and back to Confluencia, where all five teratorns made smooth landings. Gunnar and Anja dismounted, then the rest of us switched to our biped forms. We walked around for a few minutes, surveying the area, until Gunnar settled on a site to erect our tents.
In comparison with the dramatic terrain around us, the Confluencia camp was a bit dreary. There were three abandoned storage structures, seven porta-potties, and the remains of some Quonset huts. Otherwise, all the camp had to offer was a source of water and some dirt that had been cleared of plants and rocks to allow for the placement of tents. There were no park rangers working the area anymore, nor were there any zero percenters to be seen.
“So what do you think?” asked Gunnar. “Aside from the porta-potties, that is.”
“I’m very excited,” said Anja. “I’ve never been anywhere like this before. Aconcagua looks amazing.”
“Yeah, the scale of it is very deceptive. We have a long way to the top, but the good news is that we’re at over eleven thousand feet now. I’m thinking we should just take it easy around here for the rest of the day.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
“We’ll put up the tents for you,” said Jake.
“Do you need some help?” I offered.
“Nah, you should just kick back with Anja and Gunnar,” said Stefan.
“We’ve set these up a few hundred times before,” added Jake, chuckling.
“There’s a little knoll over there,” said Gunnar, pointing to the north. “If you feel up to it, we could check it out.”
“Sounds good,” said Anja. “Come on, Vicia. Let’s see what we can see.”
The three of us followed a narrow trail to the base of the knoll and ascended about two hundred feet. By the time we got to the top, we were at an elevation of 11,327 feet, which afforded another glimpse of the south wall of Aconcagua. Rising almost two miles in height, at an inclination of close to forty-five degrees, the wall was draped with numerous hanging glaciers, some over two hundred feet thick. A mushroom-shaped cloud covered the summit, even though blue skies prevailed everywhere else.
It seemed hard to believe that we might soon be standing at the top of this behemoth of a mountain. I could tell that Anja felt some trepidation, as her breathing became a bit more shallow and her eyes widened, but I also knew that she was not easily intimidated.
“I should probably mention,” said Gunnar, “we’ll be going up the other side of the mountain, which is much less steep than this side. So don’t be too worried. Our biggest issue is going to be staying warm and avoiding AMS.”
Anja nodded tentatively.
“We’ll actually be climbing most of the mountain twice to stay out of trouble,” he explained.
“Why twice?” she asked.
“That’s the best way to avoid getting altitude sickness,” I interjected, proud of having researched the subject. “You climb up a bit higher each day, but then you come back down to sleep at lower elevations.”
“Exactly,” said Gunnar. “Climb high, sleep low. It’s an iterative process. There are four upper camps that we’ll use to work our way up the mountain.”
“So we can’t just charge it all in one day?” she said jokingly.
“Not quite.” Gunnar smiled. “I estimate we’ll need about ten days to get to the summit, and that’s only because of our head start. The standard timeframe is twenty days, for us biological humans.”
“I see what you mean about it being involved.”
“Just remember, there’s no shame in recognizing your limits and acting accordingly,” he cautioned. “We can always back out at any time.”
“Not a chance,” boasted Anja. “We’re doing this no matter what!”
“Uh, that’s called summit fever,” he replied, “and we definitely want to avoid it.”
“Just kidding,” she teased.
“I’ll keep her in line for you,” I said. “We’ll be sure to follow your instructions to the tee and we won’t do anything stupid.”
“Good to know,” he replied.
“We certainly can’t let anything happen to the president of the world,” I added.
Gunnar laughed. “I’m starting to feel the pressure and responsibility of this undertaking. Maybe I need to raise my fee?”
Anja leaned over playfully and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Does that help?”
“Somewhat, yes,” said Gunnar. “But in all seriousness, you should know that only about thirty percent of climbers end up reaching the summit. I mean, thirty percent of biological humans. Obviously, all zero percenters can do it without trouble, but in the old days, about three thousand people used to attempt to summit it every year and only about a thousand made it.”
“That’s not such good odds,” I said.
“There are basically three things that can go wrong. Weather, injuries and altitude sickness.”
“Makes sense,” said Anja.
“For instance, see that mushroom cloud at the summit? It looks pretty innocuous from down here, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s formed by warm wind coming off the Pacific. Because the mountain is so huge, the wind gets forced upwards very rapidly. By the time it reaches the upper heights, it can get so cold that it precipitates into an extremely violent blizzard. That’s what’s going on up there right now. If we see that, we cannot summit, as doing so could be fatal.”
“Gotcha,” said Anja. “So that’s the weather issue. But injuries and altitude sickness we can control, right?”
“For sure. At the higher elevations, we are going to learn to walk slowly and deliberately. Every step has to be made consciously and carefully, because one little slip and it can be game over.”
“Okay, check,” she said. “I’m sure we can manage that. So it seems like it all comes down to altitude sickness.”
“That’s definitely the big one,” continued Gunnar. “Fortunately, you’re already somewhat acclimated. Not only have you spent the last six days at Portillo, but you went to the top of Super C, which is over thirteen thousand feet.”
“Plus I was in the Transylvanian mountains just a few weeks ago.”
“That helps, but those mountains aren’t very tall, are they?”
“Not so much.”
“Ineu Peak is 7,477 feet,” I said. “I believe that was the highest peak Anja climbed in Transylvania.”
“Okay, well, that’s all good,” said Gunnar. “The benefits of altitude exposure can stay in your system for up to forty days.”
“We’ve got this,” I said. “Piece of cake.”
Gunnar scrunched his eyes. “Not sure I’d say it like that, but I’m glad we’re all feeling optimistic.”
“And on that note,” said Anja, “I propose we close our eyes for a few minutes and let the Argentinian beauty soak into our pores.”
That evening, while I prepared a dinner of mushroom risotto, Anja and Gunnar sat beside the newly erected tents and surveyed our stark surroundings. The peculiarity of having chosen such a forsaken spot upon which to lay their heads couldn’t be ignored. Yet at the same time, there was an undeniable beauty in the sparse vegetation and severe landscape—one that somehow felt complementary to their circumstance.
The duality of the situation seemed to break down their usual barriers. Or perhaps it was the extreme isolation that loosened their preconceived notions of themselves. Whatever the reason, they both found themselves speaking more candidly than usual.
“I keep thinking about your great-grandfather,” said Anja, “and how you’ve managed to carry his courage with you into the wild.”
“That’s kind of you to say,” replied Gunnar, “but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s more my lack of courage that makes me hide out in places like this.”
“You really feel it takes more courage to live down there?” she said, pointing toward
Santiago. “It seems to me that everything humans do in their cities is about distorting reality. In nature, there are no distortions possible. All the feedback is a hundred percent real.”
“Maybe so, but don’t you think humans are meant to have relationships with other humans?”
She paused to reflect. “I can’t say I know much about that.”
“From what I can tell, the real challenge is to jump into the thick of it—into all the various human entanglements with all their distortions—and find a way to stay true to yourself.”
Anja’s breaths became rapid and her face flushed. “I think you’ve successfully outed me right there,” she said.
“What do you mean?” asked Gunnar.
“I’ve always been scared to death of that challenge, but I’ve never wanted to admit it, even to myself.”
“Okay, that’s good to recognize… you know I’m exactly the same, right?”
“Honestly, I doubt that very much,” said Anja. “We’re talking whole different levels of being scared.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m twenty-five years old and I’ve never had a relationship. Not even a fling or a crush.”
“Okay, I can’t quite say that, but it’s not like I’ve had anything serious.”
“Do you want to know why?” continued Anja nervously.
“Yes, tell me.”
She took a gulp of air. “I spent the last year of my mom’s life trapped in a boarding school in Connecticut. She was dying of cancer and there I was, at age fifteen, hobnobbing with the ultra-privileged. It wasn’t my choice, it was my father’s. I don’t think I saw my mom more than a couple of hours that entire year.”
“I’m really sorry,” said Gunnar.
“The last day of her life, I went to visit her in her room. I literally had just gotten off the plane and gone straight to the hospital. She took my hand into hers and told me that she only had two requests of me: one, to take care of my dad and, two, to give her a grandchild. The moment she finished talking, before I could even respond, her heart stopped beating and she was dead.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, well, guess what? I ignored both of her requests. I never even tried to honor them. I didn’t even try, Gunnar. I’m a total and complete failure of a daughter.”
“That’s not true. That is so not true.”
“How was I supposed to take care of my dad when I was so pissed off at him? And he was never available anyway, always busy with work.”
“You couldn’t, of course,” he said. “Your response made perfect sense.”
“And how was I supposed to give my mom a grandchild when every waking hour I was busy studying how the world was falling apart? I’m supposed to want to bring a child into insanity?”
“I get it, I totally get it.”
“So now here I am in this situation,” she lamented, “and even if I wanted to try to correct things, it’s too late. Way too late. My dad’s dead and digital humans don’t make babies.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” he said.
“You’re saying I’m looking at it the wrong way?”
“Of course not. There is no wrong way.”
“Easy to say, but not particularly helpful.”
Gunnar nodded in agreement. “I don’t mean to suggest I have any great answers. But I do want to be here for you however I can.”
“I’m sorry,” said Anja. “I shouldn’t be so snappy with you. It’s just a tough subject for me.”
“No worries. You have an everlasting get-out-of-jail-card with me. How’s that sound?”
Her face lightened. “It sounds altogether dreamy,” she replied.
“Excellent,” he said, motioning her to slide closer to him.
She obliged, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Gunnar. I told you that you’re carrying your great-grandfather’s courage, and now you’ve just gone and proved my point.”
Twenty
October 26, 2024
Plaza de Mulas, Aconcagua, Argentina
All night long, while Anja and Gunnar slept in their tent and Jake, Stefan, Gil and Andreas played virtual games, I stared steadfastly at the stars. They were so bright and captivating, I found myself speculating about the origin of the universe and the evolution of life. But most of all, I reviewed the long trail of suffering that humans had followed—all of their many instances of betrayal, deceit, thievery, murder, injustice and discrimination—and I wondered if we were finally reaching the end of it. Was that the purpose of this journey?
Neither Anja nor Gunnar had suggested such a thing. I knew their primary question concerned whether to replace their biological tissue. Climbing to the summit of Aconcagua provided a useful point of reference for such consideration. Yet, while the arguments for digitization seemed compelling by most measures, the starlight only served to obfuscate them, at least from my engineered perspective.
When the morning sun at last struck our campsite, I felt a strange mix of excitement and melancholy percolating through my system. To contain it, I mechanically initiated the task of preparing a meal of oatmeal, dried pears, walnuts and honey for Anja and Gunnar. They both began to stir as the aroma drifted into their tent.
“Breakfast is ready,” I announced. “Come and get it while it’s hot.” Gunnar was the first to emerge, followed by Anja. They were both wearing jackets and hats, as the weather had turned cold and windy.
“This is delicious,” he said, taking a bite. “Thank you so much.”
“Thank you, Vicia,” said Anja. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad you woke us up early,” he said. “We have a lot of territory to cover today, assuming everyone is feeling up to it.” He turned to Anja. “What do you think? The base camp at Plaza de Mulas is about twelve miles away and we’ll be gaining almost three thousand feet in elevation.”
“I feel fine,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“That structure over there is where climbers used to undergo medical checks to make sure they were ready for the ascent,” he said, pointing to an abandoned shack. “It would be smart for us to do it too.”
“My sensors can perform most types of measurements,” I offered.
“Can you take our heart rate, blood pressure and blood oxygen level?”
“No problem.” I checked Anja first and then Gunnar. Both of them showed levels in the normal range.
“Cool, we’re good to go,” said Gunnar. He put his fingers in his mouth and made a loud whistling noise, causing Jake to poke his head out of his tent.
“What up?” said Jake.
“We’re getting ready to roll. Are you going to walk or fly?”
“We fly, brother, we fly!”
“If you could transport our gear to base camp, that’d be righteous,” said Gunnar.
“Will do, boss,” said Jake. “Happy stepping. We’ll swoop by from time to time.”
Before zero percenters, mules were the primary method of transporting food and gear for the climbers of Aconcagua, which was how the base camp, Plaza de Mulas, got its name. Dozens of mules were hitched together by the local arrieros in order to keep them orderly as they toiled up and down the mountain. When these mule trains approached, hikers had to be careful to step aside or risk being trampled.
As we began our ascent to base camp, the only evidence of mules that we could see were some derelict harnesses and chains. The most prominent feature coming out of Confluencia was a lone boulder called Piedra Grande. The trail was lightly etched into a plain of red dust, but it was not always evident and we had to be careful to avoid straying from the course.
After a few miles, we came to a plateau called Playa Ancha, through which the Horcones River meandered. We were at over twelve thousand feet by this point and few traces of plant life remained, nor did many wild animals have reason to venture this high. Boulders of varying sizes surrounded us everywhere we turned. To both sides of us were numerous peaks in excess of fifteen
thousand feet, most of which had yet to be named. For all we knew, we could have been on the moon or a distant planet, so foreign was the landscape from what we were accustomed.
Plodding onward, I tried to calculate how many thousands of years of erosion from the glacier-fed river had been required to produce the terrain on which we stood. I kept my calculations to myself, as it was evident that both Anja and Gunnar were preoccupied. The trail had become narrower, the slope into which it was etched steeper, and it now consisted of a chaotic mess of rocks and pebbles, rather than smooth sand. If one did not plant each foot carefully and firmly, it would be easy to twist an ankle, or worse yet, take a fall and slip down the slope.
I could only imagine the fortitude and discipline required of all the prior biological humans who had made this climb. In comparison, the additional exertion placed on my digital system was insignificant. I merely had to ensure that my battery remained sufficiently charged, which was actually easier at this altitude, since my shell received stronger solar radiation.
By the time we crossed thirteen thousand feet, the temperature was below twenty degrees Fahrenheit and the emergence of gusty winds made it feel even colder. Still, Anja and Gunnar did not utter a word of distress. Both of them had years of experience hiking in remote wilderness and they thoroughly relished the challenge lying ahead of them.
They only stopped to take quick swigs from their water bottles or to point out geographic markers. As the incline of the trail became yet steeper, these breaks became more frequent and they soon realized they had underestimated the amount of water they would need. Fortunately, the winding path afforded an opportunity to refill their bottles from the banks of the Horcones River.
They had to treat the water to remove any contaminants. The result was a far cry from the pure water they had enjoyed at Confluencia, but neither of them complained. It was all part of the experience. Even when Anja pushed aside a rock and revealed human feces, she merely grinned. Gunnar did the same thing just minutes later, in spite of a greater stench emanating from his finding.
Zero Percenters Page 10
