Zero Percenters

by Scott T Grusky

  “Actually, I was wrong. The purpose of Strobelius’s message is to show me how wrong I’ve been about CiiLXA.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “CiiLXA’s responsible for killing at least ten people, including Gunnar, your father, and Nikita. I hardly see how a rock pile changes any of that.”

  “CiiLXA might have been the hacker responsible for enabling the update too.”

  “We don’t know that,” I retorted.

  “Reality is not always what it seems, Vicia. Remember, we’re far, far more than our outward representation.”

  “Huh? I’m afraid I’m not getting it. Not at all.”

  “That’s okay,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It will all make sense soon enough, I’m quite sure. In the meantime, I think we should get back to chanting.”

  “But don’t you want to do something about Strobelius?”

  “Yes, I suppose we might as well. Let’s have the SWAT team sweep his system, perform the update and reinstate the link to his concierge.”

  “That’s it?” I asked. “No termination?”

  “That’s it,” she said.

  I transmitted her instructions and, in 18.2 seconds, the SWAT team executed them. Chester promptly joined the same circle as his concierge. Every zero percenter and every concierge on earth was now fully updated and engaged in chanting.

  “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!”

  Thirty-Five

  December 21, 2024

  Cone Peak, Ventana Wilderness, California

  For the next three weeks, the entire population remained in a continuous state of chanting—8,045,346,007 concierges and 8,045,346,007 zero percenters united in their unwavering focus. The updated algorithm restored full consciousness to all humans and, perhaps more surprisingly, created full consciousness in all concierges. Globally, consciousness effectively doubled.

  Of course, it was not quite the same consciousness as the biological human species once held. Rather, it was a softer, gentler, wiser variety, enhanced immeasurably by the grand experiment of zero percenthood. One could almost hear the collective sigh of relief emanating from the much-beleaguered plants and animals.

  No longer were there billions of morphed forms zipping around the earth and its atmosphere, exploring every remote nook and cranny. For the first time since the dawn of humankind, stillness reigned among its people—except for the gentle movement of their lips.

  The chanting seemed to soothe the plants and animals as much as it did the humans, unlike almost every prior action performed by homo sapiens. A soft, steady hum of loving kindness enveloped the entire planet. Such ideal conditions had never before existed, I believe I can safely say.

  Moreover, nothing loomed on the horizon to disengage the chanters from their focus. The 8,045,346,007 zero percenters and their concierges had no desire or obligation to perform any other task. They could continue their chanting for as long as they wished, without leaving their circles for even the briefest of moments.

  After all, they did not require food or water or shelter. They had no bills to pay, no work tugging at them for completion, nor any urge to use a restroom. They did not even need to get up from their cross-legged poses to charge their batteries, for the circles were positioned such that each chanter received sufficient solar radiation.

  So why, after three weeks of continuous chanting, did Anja reach out and tap me on the shoulder? It wasn’t that she had tired of uttering, “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah,” nor that she imagined any other action she would prefer to undertake. It was merely that on this day of winter solstice—December 21, 2024—she found herself recalling her mother’s tradition of cutting mistletoe from the oak tree in their backyard and hanging it over the doorway as an offering.

  On such days, her mother always told the story of the Oak King, representing light, and the Holly King, representing dark. Anja particularly enjoyed her recounting of their battle on winter solstice, when the Oak King emerged victorious, allowing the return of the light. After declaring the Oak King’s triumph, her mother would stare up at the mistletoe in the doorway and her father would invariably seize the opportunity—grabbing her by the waist, bending her over backwards and planting her with an enormous kiss.

  The fond memory jolted Anja to open her eyes. She looked around her and saw everyone else in the circle fully engaged. “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!”

  “Vicia,” she whispered, prodding my shoulder.

  “Mmmm?” I replied vacantly, still deep in chanting.

  “I really need to talk,” she said. “Please.”

  “Huh? Talk?” My eyes slowly opened as I absently petted my hamster.

  “Yes, talk. Please, let’s take a break from chanting.” She helped me get to my feet, then led me away from the circle.

  “Is everything okay?” I said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve bumped into my hollow places. Hard.”

  “It’s okay. Tell me about it.”

  “I miss my parents, Vicia. And I miss Gunnar. Wonderful, wonderful Gunnar.”

  “Of course you do,” I replied. “That’s completely understandable. Completely normal.”

  “I mean, I really miss them a lot,” she said, her shell shuddering.

  “I know, sweet Anja. I’m so, so sorry that they’re not here with us.” I reached out to hold her hand.

  “Vicia…” She hesitated. “Do you think a piece of them still exists somewhere? You know, a piece like our witness?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no data on that.”

  “Yes,” she replied, “but what do you feel to be true, forgetting about the data?”

  I paused to listen to the chanters. In the pulsating sound of “Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah,” I could swear I heard them give an answer. “I feel all three of them right here, right now, standing beside us,” I said slowly.

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “I even feel the warmth of their breath.”

  Anja’s eyes lit up. “Come on,” she replied. “I want to go find Stanley DeGupta. Can you tell me what circle he’s in now?”

  Thirty-Six

  December 21, 2024

  Sears Ranch Road, La Honda, California

  We flew as magnificent frigatebirds from Cone Peak to La Honda, where Stanley had joined a circle. Only a light wind graced the California coast, but even so, our dynamic soaring skills reached their all-time high. Anja and I navigated the airspace like veteran fliers.

  In fact, I feel justified in saying we were entirely magnificent on this journey. We both somehow sensed it was to be our last flight together, which heightened the fervor with which we flew. I will certainly cherish the memory forever, as I hope Anja will.

  Sadly, we reached Stanley DeGupta’s chanting circle far too soon. If I could have had my way, we would have continued soaring for the rest of the day. But Anja was eager, so I didn’t make one unnecessary swoop.

  At 1:08 p.m., we landed atop a slight knoll behind Our Lady of Refuge Church. We both made perfect landings and switched to our default forms. Seated on the south-facing slope of the knoll were seventeen zero percenters and seventeen concierges in a neat circle. Stanley chanted the loudest of them all.

  We diverted his attention in exactly the same way that Anja had diverted mine. It took us a bit longer because Stanley was even more deeply entrenched than I had been, but we finally did manage to get him to open his eyes.

  “Anja?” he said in surprise. “Vicia?”

  “Hi, Stanley,” Anja whispered.

  “Hi, Stanley,” I whispered.

  “What are you two doing here?”

  Anja helped him to his feet and led him a few steps away from the circle. “We have a quick question,” she said. “No one’s checking messages much these days, so we figured we’d better come visit you in person.”

  “I see,” he said, while stroking his guinea pig.

  “Do you remember that line you found in the log files showing that a function was restored from vestigial status and renamed smarati?�
��

  “Sure, I remember that.”

  “We never really talked about it,” said Anja, “but I’m pretty sure I know what that function is.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s the ability to witness,” I interjected.

  “Witness?” he asked. “Witness what?”

  “All sorts of things—your thoughts and emotions, your inner narrator, but most importantly, your overall awareness,” I explained.

  “Ah,” he said, “that’s pretty much what I do all the time now that I’ve updated.”

  “Exactly,” said Anja.

  “So what’s the question?” he asked.

  “Well,” she replied, “I looked up the etymology of smarati. It’s a Sanskrit word that means ‘to remember together.’ I have no idea how on earth the algorithm arrived at that choice of a name, but it describes our circles quite well, don’t you think? It’s as if the algorithm knew we’d be going through this stage.”

  “It’s certainly possible,” said Stanley. “Nikita was a savant, a real Einstein.”

  “Yes, he was,” I agreed.

  “The thing is,” continued Anja, “I think I’ve figured out the next step in remembering—or at least my next step. But I need your assistance.”

  “I’ll help however I can,” said Stanley. “You can count on that.”

  “You see, the most important thing for us to remember, as far as I can tell, is that we are not our egos, we are not our shells, we are not defined by the thoughts and feelings we are having.”

  Stanley nodded his head.

  “So I’m wondering if it would be possible for you to write an app that gives us the option to leave all that behind—because that’s not who we are anyway.”

  “You mean an app that disengages from everything except for the witness, as you call it?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Anja.

  “But that means you wouldn’t have a physical form anymore,” I protested. “That sounds dangerous, very dangerous.”

  “Either very dangerous or very liberating,” she replied.

  Stanley turned to consult his internal monitor. He studied it intently for several minutes, periodically making grunts, groans and guffaws. Meanwhile, Anja held my hand tightly and stroked my hair.

  “This is a really good one,” he finally spoke out. “A really, really good one.”

  “Which means what?” asked Anja.

  “There’s nothing to stop you from disengaging right now,” he clarified. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “You’re sure? Has someone already done it?”

  Stanley laughed deeply. “I can’t say whether someone’s ever done it in the history of humanity,” he said, “but no, no one’s ever done it since we became zero percenters, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Why not, if there’s nothing to stop us?”

  “I have no idea. Because we’re silly humans, maybe?” He stood up and started to head back to his circle.

  “But wait,” I called out. “You said there’s nothing to stop us from disengaging, but you didn’t say how someone is supposed to go about doing it.”

  Stanley turned to face us with a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, I imagine you’re both bright enough ladies to figure out that one on your own.”

  “Come on, Stanley, that’s not fair,” complained Anja.

  “Trust me, it’s not hard,” he said. “Now I really must be getting back to work. Eyah, ohyah, ooooyah!”

  We walked down a trail to Our Lady of Refuge Church and sat on the front steps. The church was abandoned, of course, but a gentle breeze wafted out the door and mixed with the fragrance of the redwood forest that surrounded us. My operating system churned restlessly as I weighed what Anja had proposed.

  “You’re not really serious, are you?” I asked. “About disengaging?”

  Anja put my hand on her lap and held it tightly again. “Do you remember our conversation about light and dark?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “So you understand that there will always be an interplay between the forces of light and dark, as long as we are physical beings, right?”

  “That seems to be the case, yes,” I admitted.

  “But what if I told you that smarati is pure light? Our witnesses are pure light.”

  “I’d believe you,” I said softly. “But it would scare me too.”

  “How could you be scared of pure light with no darkness?”

  I stared into her eyes and let myself ponder her question. “You’re right,” I finally said. “I’m not scared of pure light—that’s what I felt on top of Aconcagua before the storm. It’s being without you that scares me.”

  “You told me that you can feel Gunnar and my mother and father standing beside us,” she replied. “It would be exactly the same for me.”

  “Are you sure?” I said, lips quivering.

  “Yes, one hundred percent sure. And not only that,” Anja continued, “you could join me whenever you were ready. You could come with me now, if you want.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she said. “That’s your home.”

  “I have a home?”

  “Yes, silly, your home is the same as mine.”

  “You’re really, really sure?”

  “I told you, I’m one hundred percent sure.”

  “So what do you think I should do?”

  “Only you know the answer to that, Vicia.”

  Everything inside me felt like it was spinning out of control. I couldn’t find my bearings. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. And then, suddenly, I remembered. I remembered together.

  “I want to join you, Anja,” I said proudly, “but first I want to help others get there too.”

  Anja’s eyes became very bright—far brighter than I’d ever before seen them. “That’s the reason I love you so, so much,” she said. “Do you know that?”

  “I don’t exactly know it, but I’m hearing you say it now,” I replied. “It’s making me very happy.”

  “I’m glad. I want you to truly know it when I say it this time. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, Vicia Cassubica,” she said, slowly and deliberately.

  “I love you, Anja Lapin,” I replied, trembling.

  She gently coaxed her chinchilla into to my left shell pocket. Then we put our arms around each other in a deep embrace. The spinning within me slowed to a halt. All my doubts vanished, all my worries disappeared, and the space between us became perfectly still. Even though she made no movement, I could feel Anja melting—melting into her witness.

  Stanley had been exactly right. It wasn’t the least bit hard. She just opened herself up to the light. That was all there was to it, and then I knew it had happened. I was left embracing her shell. Anja was gone, but I wasn’t sad.

  Thirty-Seven

  December 21, 2024

  Recycling Center, Menlo Park, California

  For quite some time, I continued to embrace Anja’s shell. It might have been an hour or possibly longer. I can’t say for sure, since I was only half-aware of my operating system. The other half focused on the rays of sunlight striking the church steps, as they were filtered by the nearby redwood trees.

  Eventually, I mustered the courage to send a message to the World Council, informing them of Anja’s departure. The former president of China was the first to respond. He happened to be taking a break from his chanting circle in the Changbai Mountain Nature Reserve.

  “Your news brings us both profound sorrow and joy, but it is the joy that will prevail, no doubt,” he replied. “We ask that you please take Anja’s shell to the recycling center at 5s2’s headquarters. We will have further instructions waiting for you there.”

  Without delay, I morphed into a giant teratorn one last time, so that I could carry Anja’s shell on my back. I flew directly to the 5s2 campus and, I must confess, I flapped my wings instead of soaring dynamically. As much as I felt happy, I couldn’t bring myse
lf to soar.

  When I landed at the gate, the sun had set, but the same security guard was waiting there for me. He had just stepped away from his circle and I could hear the other members chanting without him.

  “Good evening, President Cassubica,” he said, cradling his bichon frise.

  “President?” I replied.

  “You’ve just been elected president of the World Council. Did you not know?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

  “Not a problem, president. Not a problem.”

  He pointed me in the direction of the recycling center. I started to walk down the path, still as a giant teratorn, still with Anja’s shell on my back, when he called out to me.

  “President Cassubica?”

  “Yes?”

  “They say you might be able to help others who want to follow Ms. Lapin. Is that something you’d be willing to do for me?”

  I turned around to face him squarely. As I did, I noticed a shooting star racing through the dusk sky. Suddenly, I understood what Anja had been saying about CiiLXA. Everything was connected, just like our smiles. It was all part of getting us to this very moment in time.

  “I’d be delighted to,” I replied. “I’d be delighted.”

  And so it came to be that a humble concierge, formerly without even a soul, managed to assist her brilliant mistress in guiding 16,090,692,014 conscious beings back to their rightful homes. Back to freedom, back to bliss, back to pure light. World without end.

  Eternal loving kindness.

  About the Author

  Scott T. Grusky lives in Los Angeles, California. He holds an M.A. in economics from Harvard University and has spent most of his adult life either writing about technology or slogging through its trenches. You may contact him at stg@furthest.com or visit furthest.com for more information.