“Gone. I don’t have any of those funny feelings I had yesterday.”
“Okay, that’s good. And how sore are you?”
“My leg muscles do feel pretty tight,” she admitted. “Yesterday was quite a workout for me, and that move I pulled on the puma wasn’t exactly in my usual repertoire, but I’m surprised that I actually feel okay.”
“The reason I ask,” I continued, “is that climbers have made successful summits from Nido. But it requires an extremely long day with a very early-morning start.”
“Yeah? Go on.”
“The way I see it,” I said, “with this new information, we have just three options. The first is we abort. The second is we climb to Camp 2 today and try to summit tomorrow. The third is we climb to Nido today and try to summit from there tomorrow.”
“So what are you leaning toward?” asked Anja.
“As a general rule, I favor safety above all else. Under ordinary circumstances, option one would be my recommendation. However, nothing at all is ordinary about our situation, that goes without saying. So after crunching the probabilities, weighing the emotional factors, and factoring in Gunnar’s points, I’m leaning toward option three.”
“That’s what I like too,” said Gunnar.
“I’m a bit shocked to hear you both say that,” said Anja, “and I’m even more shocked that I’m not in disagreement. I guess I must really, really want to do this. The thing is, though, why shouldn’t we make more headway today, so that the summit day isn’t so hard?”
“Two reasons,” answered Gunnar. “First, we want the day before summiting to be as restful as possible. Second, we want to reduce the chances of getting AMS. We’ve already been to Nido, so it’s going to be way less taxing for us to sleep there than to sleep at the next camp up.”
“That’s what my analysis concludes too,” I concurred.
“There you go,” he said.
Anja paused for a moment. “Okay,” she replied, giving each of us a high five. “I’m on board with option three. Let’s do this, come what may.”
After breakfast, we packed up and headed for Nido de Cóndores once again. Our plan was to get there by lunchtime and spend the afternoon resting and acclimating. Then it would be early to bed for Anja and Gunnar, as we would need to make an alpine start the following morning, in order to give us sufficient time to reach the summit.
Fortunately, the hike to Nido was quite a bit easier the second time, since we were familiar with the trail. It also helped that Anja and Gunnar were better adjusted to the altitude. The idea that we might be standing on the summit very soon occupied our thoughts and we charged past the 5000-meter stone without stopping—just slowing enough to confirm we were not being tracked.
When we reached Cambio de Pendiente, we gazed to the north and saw another swarm of zero percenters in the sky. This time, they were in the form of robotic flying machines, instead of flamingos. I counted 212,538 of them. For our amusement, they spelled out in blinking cursive letters, “Go Anja! Go Gunnar! Go Vicia!”
After the show, Jake, Gil, Andreas and Stefan swooped down beside us, still in the form of flying machines.
“How’d you like that?” said Jake.
“Incredible!” cried Anja.
“Sorry we bailed on you this morning,” explained Gil. “We had to do some coordinating to make it happen.”
“No worries,” replied Gunnar, “but you missed a pretty weird scene at Canadá.”
“A scene?” said Andreas.
“A puma attack, to be specific,” Anja said.
“What?” exclaimed Jake. “Pumas don’t come up this high.”
“Not typically, no,” said Gunnar.
“No one’s seen a puma on Aconcagua for years,” said Stefan. “There’s no prey up here for them.”
“Yeah, it seems that I was the prey this morning. But Anja and Vicia saved my ass.”
“That’s crazy,” said Jake. “I’m sorry we weren’t there to help out. Are you all okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine. Just a few little scratches is all.”
“Gunnar’s like Iron Man,” said Anja proudly. “But I guess you already know that.”
The guys chuckled. “He is a pretty tough dude,” replied Jake. “But, man, I feel bad we weren’t there. We’ll do a much better job watching over you from now on.”
“You better,” joked Gunnar. “No more slouching around in virtual space.”
They all laughed again and flashed us peace signs with their robotic appendages. Then they shot off toward Mount Mercedario. Their support, along with the encouragement of the zero percenters, provided a boost that powered us the rest of the way to Nido.
When we got there, our campsite was already set up and our gear was stashed inside the tents. Several bottles of water stood neatly by the entrance. Jake, Gil, Andreas and Stefan had cleared the area of snow and placed three sitting stones next to the tents.
We each took a seat and enjoyed the majestic view. Although the temperature was only ten degrees Fahrenheit, it felt reasonably warm in the sun because there was little wind. We couldn’t see the summit of Aconcagua, but the path to it was clearly delineated.
From Nido, we would climb about 2,500 feet of steep switchbacks before reaching the Gran Acarreo, a long traverse in loose scree. Then came the perilous Canaleta, an even steeper stretch of about eight hundred feet that was at an incline of almost forty degrees and composed of sand and loose rocks. Luckily, it was now covered in snow and ice, allowing for an easier ascent wearing crampons. Altogether, we still needed to gain over 4,500 feet in elevation—and all in one day.
To ease our anxiety, we decided to pass the time playing cards. Meanwhile, Anja and Gunnar munched on granola bars, nuts, and dried fruit. Much to their chagrin, I won at nine consecutive rounds of poker and four consecutive rounds of bridge.
“How about we try meditating again?” Anja suggested.
“Good idea,” replied Gunnar.
“It might help us clear our minds for tomorrow,” she added.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
We crossed our legs, slowed our breathing, and closed our eyes.
“Remember,” said Anja, “you are not your thoughts or your emotions. You are the one who is witnessing them.”
“I am not my thoughts or my emotions,” repeated Gunnar. “I am the one who is witnessing them.”
“I am not my thoughts or my emotions,” I said. “I am the one who is witnessing them.”
In a matter of minutes, both Anja and Gunnar dropped into a peaceful space, despite our terrifying ordeal that morning. Eager to join Anja and Gunnar, I continued mouthing Anja’s two sentences: I am not my thoughts or my emotions. I am the one who is witnessing them. Over and over, I repeated them, while using my breathing simulator. Every time my operating system wandered, I came back to the sentences.
At first, I made no progress. The whir of data processing within my system remained as active as ever. Then I recalled the insight I’d had on the trail and I visualized what it had felt like to climb up steep terrain. I traced in my logic board the mechanics of placing one foot after another on the ground, again and again, while focusing on nothing else.
I wouldn’t say it led to the big breakthrough I sought. I still found it impossible to witness my thoughts and emotions. However, I did manage to push aside my inclination to address the pending tasks in my queue. This itself seemed like an accomplishment and I felt rather proud of myself.
Perhaps I had a shot at being humanlike after all.
Twenty-Three
October 29, 2024
Summit, Aconcagua, Argentina
Whether from anticipation, exhaustion, the altitude, or all three factors, I could not speculate, but as before Anja and Gunnar fell asleep as soon as they laid down their heads in their tent. No doubt they both wished to continue where they had left off that morning—their playful eyes made that clear. But the demands of the climb required a postponement of such des
ires.
At 2 a.m., under a faint sliver of a crescent moon, I awoke them both to begin our ascent. Modest winds of about fourteen miles per hour buffeted the tents, as they donned their down pants, high-altitude coats, face masks, mittens and double boots. The temperature was six degrees Fahrenheit, which may not have warranted such heavy gear, but we expected to encounter far colder conditions and it would be too difficult to make adjustments later.
“Before we start,” said Anja, “I want to tell you both how much this journey has meant to me. Whether we reach the top or not, I will cherish this experience for the rest of my life.”
“I feel likewise,” said Gunnar, “of course.”
“Ditto that,” I said. “A concierge couldn’t hope for more.”
I handed them each a hot cup of cheddar potato soup, which they gulped down hurriedly. Then we strapped headlamps over our hats, threw our packs on our backs, and stepped out into the starry night. Fortunately, we could rely on Jake, Gil, Stefan and Andreas to pack up our remaining belongings.
“Remember,” said Gunnar, “we don’t want to push too hard, too early. Let’s take it easy and cruise for the next few hours. It’s all about conservation of energy today.”
“Got it,” said Anja.
“Conservation of energy,” I repeated.
With Gunnar leading, we commenced the upward march. Our headlamps provided only modest illumination. We had enough light to see the immediate trail and avoid stumbling on rocks, but everything beyond thirty feet was pitch black.
Our biggest challenge was detecting the switchbacks. Sometimes, we accidentally continued going straight for a few steps before realizing we had overshot a turn in the trail. After a few missteps, Gunnar noticed that by adjusting his headlamp to aim higher than ours, we could optimize our coverage of the trail and thereby better detect the turns.
We continued treading upward, while remaining careful not to walk too quickly or aggressively. In some ways, hiking in the dark seemed preferable to the daylight, as there was nothing to distract us from the simplicity of the act. The gentle wind felt like a loving caress and the starlight like a soft kiss.
Every hour or so, Anja and Gunnar stopped to drink water and eat a snack from their goody bags, which included nuts, power bars, dried fruit, gels and chocolate bars. We usually continued standing during these quick breaks, as the trail was too narrow and precarious to offer any decent spots to sit. Following our conservation of energy motto, we spoke as few words as possible.
As the first sign of dawn showed, we came to a subtle crest in the ridge and noticed some small wooden huts. These indicated our arrival at Camp 3, known as Refugio Berlín. Gunnar led us into the least dilapidated of the huts.
“Let’s rest inside here for a bit,” he said.
We entered a small A-frame structure, took off our packs, and sat down on a wooden bench. It didn’t look like anyone had used the hut for quite some time, as a layer of dust covered all the surfaces. Nonetheless, we appreciated having a respite from the wind.
“We’re at 19,490 feet now,” I said. “Just 3,351 feet to go.”
“That’s great,” said Anja, taking a gulp of water.
“Berlín is where most climbers used to summit from,” said Gunnar. “So you could consider this spot the official beginning of our day.”
“Hmm… not sure if that’s a motivator or not,” she replied.
“The sun’s not up yet, so I think it means we’re in good shape,” I said.
“Same here,” he agreed. “How’s everyone feeling?”
“I feel fine,” I said. “And the weather report is still looking good. No signs of a storm until tomorrow.”
“I feel pretty good too,” said Anja. “There’s just one thing that’s nagging at me.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“I keep thinking about kicking that puma over the ledge.”
“Yeah, that was pretty far up there in the annals of martial arts.”
“Thanks, but it’s the way the puma’s body felt when I kicked it that’s bothering me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gunnar.
“I’m realizing now it didn’t quite feel like flesh and bone. It felt too firm, not enough give.”
“Now that you mention it, I remember being surprised by the way its neck and jaw felt too.”
“Was it like this?” I said, leaning closer so they could touch my shell. They both reached out to feel it.
“Maybe,” said Anja, “but it’s hard to say for sure without reenacting my move.”
“I’d have to agree,” said Gunnar.
“Go ahead, do what you need to do,” I offered. “I’m tough.”
“Well, maybe if we did gentler approximations, it would be sufficient,” he said.
“As you wish.”
Gunnar turned to consult Anja. “What do you think?”
“We might as well try,” she said. “You go first, but don’t say anything until after my turn. I don’t want to be biased.”
“Fair enough,” said Gunnar. “Here goes nothing.” With one swift move, he grabbed my neck and jaw, mimicking the twisting motion he used on the puma, but applying less force.
“Nice one,” said Anja. “Now we’ll need to go outside for my turn.”
“No problem,” I replied.
We all exited the A-frame. Anja walked ahead of us about ten yards, then she ran back toward me and replicated her kick move. Even though she was far gentler with me than she had been with the puma, she knocked me onto the ground with ease.
“Sorry, Vicia,” she said.
“It’s okay,” I replied, as I hoisted myself upright. “What are your conclusions?”
“Not very good.”
“Not good at all,” agreed Gunnar. “The puma’s body felt a lot like yours.”
“I was afraid of that,” I replied.
“So does that mean it was a zero percenter?” asked Anja.
“Not possible,” I said. “Pumas, lions, tigers, jaguars and other cats known to prey on humans aren’t allowed as shell options. Neither are bears, sharks, crocodiles or alligators, for the same reason.”
“And even if they were,” said Gunnar, “wouldn’t their concierge shut them down immediately, if they tried to attack another human?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“But what else could it be?” asked Anja.
“Some kind of rogue device,” ventured Gunnar.
“Exactly,” I said. “But only an alien species or a human who is not linked to a concierge would have been able to create it.”
“This is getting a bit scary,” said Anja.
“You’re right, it’s looking a lot less like a random attack and a lot more like a premeditated one.”
“Seems like it might officially be time to abort,” said Gunnar.
“What about being proactive, not defensive?” replied Anja. “If it’s true that the attack was premeditated, then we’ll be tipping our hands if we abort. But if we press on, it won’t look like we’ve figured out anything. So aborting could actually be riskier.”
“You’ve got a point there,” said Gunnar.
“It’s a very tough call,” I said. “When I crunch the probabilities, I don’t get a clear result. There’s too much uncertainty to make a meaningful assessment.”
“I guess it still boils down to how important it is to reach the top,” said Gunnar.
“At this point,” said Anja, “I feel like I have to go there no matter how scared I am. I feel like it’s not really a choice for me anymore. But I’ll understand if you guys want to bow out.”
“You have to go there?” I said. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s not a logical thing. It’s just what I feel… there’s a little voice inside of me that keeps telling me that the confusion swirling in my head will somehow be lifted if I can get up there. I’ve learned so much from this journey already. It would seem like a waste not to follow it to its conclusion.”
&nb
sp; “I think I know what you mean,” said Gunnar.
“You do?” she asked. “Even though you just said it might be time to abort?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied, reaching to hold her hand. “I’ve had a lot of confusion swirling inside my head too. Ever since my coma, I feel like I’ve been drifting at sea with no sail, no rudder, no anchor. I love Jake and the guys, but when I look at them, there’s this aching emptiness that wells up in me. I start losing my ability to tell what’s real and what’s not. You two—and this trip—are the only reason why I haven’t totally lost my mind.”
“Then we have to continue,” said Anja. “It’s that simple. Because I know a lot about aching emptiness, and trust me, you don’t ever want to let it overtake you.”
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. Are you?”
“If you are, I am. Definitely.”
“I guess that settles it then,” I said. “I’m here to support you both.” I said this almost mechanically, but inside myself I was surprised that I too felt the same way as Anja and Gunnar.
Without further delay, we got back on the trail and continued up the ridge. We were on high alert now. Nothing could be taken for granted any longer, and while this increased our anxiety, it also united us in our resolve—we were going to climb to the summit no matter what awaited us around the next bend.
Soon we passed an old campsite called Colera. The path turned even more rugged as we came upon a series of rock formations with white boulders and small cliffs. Gunnar told us the area was known as Piedras Blancas.
From there, the trail returned to zigzagging. The sun was starting to rise and we appreciated the warmth on our faces each time the path veered eastward. Blue skies prevailed, with just a few puffy white clouds to the north.
The early-morning sun produced a visual feast—its low angle perfectly illuminated the numerous glacier-draped peaks. We hiked with a steady rhythm and a sense of growing wonder. Each step we took led to yet another spectacle.
Zero Percenters Page 13