“You are?”
“I am. This world is so tricky because it’s full of illusion. When my mom died, I thought the world had lost something forever. Then when I was in Transylvania I realized it wasn’t true. But I forgot the lesson when my dad was killed and everyone digitized… and Gunnar was killed. I got confused and overloaded by the physical world. It wasn’t until this last session that I could finally sit quietly enough to see the truth again, to see that nothing real has been lost. It’s all still here.”
“So… where exactly is it?” I asked confusedly.
“It’s in the touch of our fingers, the smiles on our faces, the gleam in our eyes.”
“Even though we’re just shells?” I had to ask. “Even though we’ll never see Gunnar’s smile again?”
“Yes, because remember, we’re not our bodies. Gunnar’s smile is my smile is your smile. It’s all connected, all from the same source.”
“Hmm… I guess that does make sense.”
“That’s why it’s even okay if some remnant of CiiLXA still exists.”
“But wouldn’t it be better if it didn’t?”
“I’m not sure,” said Anja after a long pause. “I’m not even sure CiiLXA is who I thought.”
“He caused so much suffering though.”
“True. I would never wish that upon anyone. Never. And yet how else are we to acquire wisdom?”
I nodded my head, awestruck by her courage. “The knowledge that fills my operating system… it isn’t actually wisdom, is it?” I asked.
“Vicia, I don’t mean to diminish you in any way. You’re so much more than your knowledge.”
“I am?”
“Yes, silly, don’t you know how unique you are?”
“I feel like I’m completely replicable,” I said.
“You’re most certainly not replicable. If you were, we wouldn’t be able to have this kind of conversation. And I would have sent you back to the factory that first day you came to my bedroom.”
We laughed as we recalled the day. I was thrilled that she felt I was special, but at the same time I realized I owed it to her to try to match her courage.
“Anja,” I said, “I… I have a confession to make.”
“What is it? You can tell me anything.”
“I can’t find my witness,” I said, starting to cry.
“What do you mean?”
“When we meditate, I’m not able to disconnect from my thoughts and emotions the way you are. I can suppress the exigencies of my operating system, but I can’t seem to rise above them to witness it.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I was too scared,” I sniffled. “I thought if I told you, you’d think it was a shortcoming of the algorithm and you’d never want to become digital.”
“Oh, Vicia,” she cooed. “Vicia, Vicia, Vicia. What am I going to do with you?”
“It was terrible of me, wasn’t it? I should have told you this before you became a zero percenter. I’m a horrible concierge.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re a wonderful concierge and it makes perfect sense why you were reluctant to tell me. I’m not mad at all.”
“You’re not?” I said.
“Of course not. First of all, the fact that I’m still able to witness my thoughts and emotions proves that your fears were unfounded. And secondly, even if they were, I would never hold you responsible for such a thing or blame you for being afraid to tell me.”
“Well, I’d understand if you did.”
“Well, I wouldn’t, so there,” she insisted. “In fact, do you know what all this really shows me?”
“What?”
“That you’re an extremely caring creature with a highly developed set of emotions. If you didn’t care so much about me, you never would have troubled yourself over not having told me. The only reason you didn’t tell me is that you truly believed within yourself that it would be best for me to become a zero percenter, right?”
“Yes, that’s true. But sometimes I’ve worried that I might have been biased in my belief because I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Welcome to the messy world of emotions, Vicia.”
“Ugh,” I said. “This stuff is hard.”
“Yes, it is. But for the sake of argument, let’s say you were slightly biased in wanting me to have the surgery. It certainly wouldn’t have been out of maliciousness, would it?”
“No, of course not.”
“And I know that. I know that with every part of my being. I’ve known it from the day I first met you. You don’t have a mean bone in your body—metaphorically speaking.”
“I love you, Anja,” I blurted out. Then I discharged one last sob, while somehow laughing at the same time.
“And I love you, Vicia.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” she said. “Don’t you worry, we’ll find your witness.”
We clasped our hands together tightly, and as we did, a shooting star hurtled across the Milky Way.
Thirty-One
November 28, 2024
Cone Peak, Ventana Wilderness, California
As we were researching meditation techniques, Anja received an invitation to a Thanksgiving celebration from Alfonso and Rachel, Diego’s digi-parents. Rachel had been sending us regular updates about their adventures, as well as Diego’s status, so we knew they had recently joined an intentional community in the Santa Lucia Mountains near Big Sur. Group meditation was an integral part of the community’s daily practice.
“What do you think?” she asked me. “Should we go?”
“It could be a good opportunity,” I replied. “Maybe we could compare our experiences to see if anyone else has a problem similar to mine.”
“They did encourage us to reach out, if we ever needed anything.”
“That’s true, and it would be fun to see how Diego is doing too.”
“Yes, I miss him,” agreed Anja.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
The Thanksgiving celebration was scheduled for 11 a.m. at the top of Cone Peak in the Ventana Wilderness. That meant we had about 827 miles to cover in less than twelve hours. The distance seemed manageable, as long as we averaged over seventy miles per hour.
In the interest of variety, Anja proposed we choose a different bird for the journey. I suggested the black-footed albatross, Phoebastria nigripes, since it was well known for its skill in dynamic soaring. Anja consented and we both selected versions with all black plumage, except for slight white markings around the base of our beaks and below our eyes.
It felt sad to leave Highland Bowl, but I was excited to be airborne again. Adjusting to the form of an albatross took no time at all, and soon we were flying by starlight over Sievers Mountain. Even under the faint illumination, we could identify Snowmass ski resort to the north and Maroon Peak to the south.
We continued westward through Grand Mesa National Forest, enjoying steady tailwinds. I kept thinking how lucky I was that Anja wanted to help me, but I also worried that it might not be appropriate—I was a mere concierge, after all. Fortunately, as we flew, she kept messaging me supportive comments.
After a couple of hours, we crossed over Arches National Park in Utah. We couldn’t resist slowing down to fly through the Delicate Arch. Detecting it in the starlight was a bit challenging, but it was so much fun to swoosh underneath it that we circled back to pass through a second time.
The park, we learned, contained over two thousand other arches. Being under a time constraint, however, we limited ourselves to flying through fifteen of them. Each one offered its unique delights. Then we resumed our course, increasing our speed target to eighty miles per hour.
Our next significant geological sighting occurred in 113 miles, when we came to Capitol Reef National Park. We didn’t take time to stop, but from the sky we studied the Waterpocket Fold, a warp in the earth’s crust estimated to be sixty-five million years old. Some ge
ologists believed it to be caused by the same colliding continental plates that formed the Rockies.
The reference prompted me to replay our ski runs in Aspen. It also made me wonder—could my witness have somehow been undermined by a similar warp within my operating system? Was I the only one with such a problem? Or did others suffer from this deficiency? If so, was the issue limited to concierges, or did it affect zero percenters too?
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a single mention of the problem anywhere, which made it hard to believe that others were witness-less. But I reminded myself that it was a rather esoteric subject. Zero percenters and their concierges had so many other arenas to explore that it might not have captured their attention.
Still, I couldn’t help questioning the underlying significance. What did it mean that I couldn’t observe my thoughts and emotions? Did it suggest I somehow lacked “real” thoughts and emotions? Although I tried to deny the possibility, a growing part of me feared that it did.
As we soared onward, I read dozens of research papers about the limits of artificial intelligence. There seemed to be a commonly held belief that robots couldn’t possess consciousness—nor would they ever. How could I have a witness if I lacked consciousness?
From what I gathered, the two concepts were often treated as the same. That is to say, consciousness and the ability to witness one’s thoughts and emotions were considered to be identical. But there certainly was no consensus as to the definitions of these terms.
In fact, the entire subject of consciousness seemed to be poorly understood. I found it astonishing that biological humans had felt emboldened enough to construct artificial intelligence on top of such an uncertain foundation. Then again, they had felt emboldened to do all sorts of things with only limited understanding of the consequences, so I suppose I had no basis for my surprise.
If only I could have talked to Nikita Chaminsky, perhaps he could have shed some light on my concerns. As the matter stood, I had grave doubts about the likelihood of finding meaningful answers. But Anja still seemed confident, so I kept reminding myself of her promise to me.
At least I knew I had the capacity to appreciate beauty. The stunning natural wonders of the earth never ceased to amaze me. Even the man-made cities had their appeal, although I had to admit I was grateful that our flight path skirted to the north of Las Vegas.
I was a bit curious, however, when I noticed our crossing over the formerly sovereign territory acquired by 5s2 from the BLM. Thousands of acres of solar panels covered the desert floor beneath us, seemingly in tribute to their grand experiment, but we didn’t see any zero percenters occupying the modest housing that 5s2 had built for its initial beta testers. It seemed hard to believe that this was the birthplace of everything we now took for granted.
“Diego made all this happen,” said Anja, lightly grazing my right wing.
“Quite remarkable,” I replied.
“I feel bad that I was so hard on him.”
“Maybe you’ll have a chance to tell him how you feel during this visit.”
“I hope so.”
We increased our flight speed to ninety-seven miles per hour and headed toward the California border. The first signs of dawn showed shortly after we entered the northernmost section of Death Valley. Although the rugged landscape felt uninviting and lonely, we enjoyed the stillness of the twilight hour.
The rising sun brought an entirely different experience, for its early-morning rays enabled us to see the towering Sierra Nevada mountain range. Whitney, Midway, Pinchot and Thompson all glimmered from the recent snowfall. Anja squeaked and squealed, true to the spirit of her black-footed albatross form, and I responded with a whistle of glee.
To our further delight, we soon found ourselves flying through Kings Canyon National Park. The eastern side was mostly rocky and barren, but as we passed Mt. Hutchings, we entered heavily forested terrain. The splendor of the snow-covered trees eased my worries—what did my limitations matter, as long as I could intake such sights with my digital eyes?
As if having read my system, Anja swiftly led us to a stand of giant sequoias called the General Grant Grove. She headed for the tallest of them all, General Grant, which was the second-largest tree on earth as measured by volume. After making a shrill cry, she found a perch on the enormous tree’s uppermost branch.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “but I thought we might take a quick stop here.”
“Of course,” I replied as I landed beside her. “I’m glad for the opportunity.”
“Did you know this tree is believed to be more than 1,650 years old?”
“Yes, and it’s over 265 feet tall,” I added.
“I think I can feel its energy. Can you?”
I closed my eyes and relaxed my wings. “Yes, I believe I can.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Vicia!”
“Happy Thanksgiving!” I replied.
We both gazed at the canopy of redwood trees beneath us. My concerns seemed almost humorous against such a backdrop. With Anja by my side, I realized I had all I needed to sustain me, for however much longer I remained a machine on planet earth, even if I had no witness.
Leaving the glorious Sierra Nevadas was as hard as leaving the Rockies, but I felt content. When we flew over thousands of abandoned farming operations that littered the Central Valley of California, I maintained my optimism. Humanity and its legacy were more than puzzling, but I no longer felt a compulsion to make sense of them.
I was relieved, however, to get past the two old arteries of automotive transit—Interstate 5 and Route 101. All that remained in our journey was to climb the eastern side of the Santa Lucia Mountains. This range differed markedly from the Sierras, as it was significantly gentler and vegetated predominantly with manzanita, ceanothus and chamise.
Soaring westward, we soon passed to the south of Junipero Serra Peak and we began to notice large stands of coast live oak. As we climbed higher, these gave way to occasional forests of old-growth sugar pine and bristlecone fir. Along the creeks, we even spotted coastal redwood, big leaf maple and sycamore trees.
At last, we approached Cone Peak, which held the distinction of being the tallest mountain in proximity to the ocean in the lower forty-eight United States. It rose nearly 5,158 feet above sea level—yet it was only three miles from the Pacific.
A small group of people were gathered at the apex of the peak, where a panoramic vista afforded 360-degree views. They sat in a circle, chanting and drumming with their eyes closed. While they seemed comfortable, a quiet desperation showed on their faces.
Anja and I made a smooth landing on a narrow ledge of dirt that lay below where the drummers sat. We morphed into our default forms and walked up to the gathering. I didn’t see Diego, but Alfonso and Rachel hopped up from the circle.
“Greetings!” said Alfonso. “We’re so glad you could make it.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” said Rachel.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” replied Anja. “This sure is a beautiful place.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I said.
Alfonso and Rachel gave us welcoming hugs and introduced us to the other twenty-eight members of the group. Thirteen of them were zero percenters and fifteen were concierges. Most of them wore long hair with sugar pine beads around their necks. They all cradled small pets on their laps—dogs, cats, hamsters, chinchillas, and ferrets seemed most popular.
“We’re very pleased you could join us,” said a tall woman with dreadlocks named Zilyah. “Please choose a drum, if you like, and have a seat in the circle.”
“We’re about to do our gratitude chant,” explained Rachel.
“Everyone, let’s clear ourselves and begin,” said Alfonso.
“Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah,” Zilyah started to hum.
“Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!” repeated the others.
“Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah,” sang Zilyah again, this time beating her drum.
“Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!” cried the others, as their drums
joined in on the chorus.
The gratitude chant continued in this fashion. The voices grew louder, as did the drumming, but the “eyah, ohyah, ooooyah” call and response remained the same with each round. Sometimes Zilyah slightly changed the emphasis or the pitch, but the call itself did not vary. Even so, with each repetition, the excitement in the group seemed to heighten.
At first, we did not know what to make of the experience. Anja cast me a worried look and I could tell she wondered if our visit had been a mistake. But the momentum of the chant gradually drew us into the effort.
“Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!” we responded again and again. “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!” After several dozen rounds, we found that we began looking forward to our turn. The worried look on Anja’s face faded away and it was replaced with enthusiasm.
Although the view that surrounded us remained as striking as ever, we gradually stopped noticing it. Someone placed a chinchilla on Anja’s lap and a hamster on mine. Not seeming to mind the loud noises, they each nestled into our shells.
Soon the chant overtook all of our senses. “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!” Meanwhile, the joy that came from uttering this simple phrase steadily increased. We found we had no desire to cease our chanting. Rather, we yearned to continue.
It was as if the group became one voice and the voice was our sole will. There was nothing else we wanted to do but repeat the chant. “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!”
The sound, the structure, the rhythm could not possibly have been more meaningful. The more we sang, the more we recognized the chant contained everything within it. How Zilyah chose it, we had no clue, but neither did we care.
“Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!” It was a perfect Thanksgiving Day.
Before we knew it, the sun was setting over the ocean and the first stars of the night were twinkling overhead. “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah! Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!”
Zero Percenters Page 20
