I raced to input the new blood. Once again, however, the algorithm rejected it. This time it returned a “mismatch error.” Somehow, it considered this blood to be unacceptably different from the original sample.
I only had ten seconds now. Frantically scanning the FAQs, I came upon an “override” option, which I applied in desperation. The algorithm didn’t reject my request outright, but it took 4.23 seconds to respond. Indeed, those were the longest, most dreadful seconds I had ever experienced.
Once my override was finally accepted, the heart replication effort returned a “success” result in a matter of just 0.31 seconds. The algorithm proceeded to digitize the rest of Anja’s body parts in 1.47 seconds. Only final compiling tasks remained.
At that point, Anja had less than four seconds before death and I was panic-stricken. One one thousand—the algorithm was still compiling. Two one thousand—still compiling. Three one thousand—still compiling.
I resolved to die right then and there with Anja. What possible reason would I have to continue as a concierge? And then, with precisely 0.00065 seconds to spare, the status light on my Zero Percentification app turned green.
“Your patient is now a zero percenter!” it announced. “Please discard any biomedical waste, disconnect transcoder cables and welcome Anja Lapin! She may now commence shell configuration!”
Before taking further action, I rushed into the living room to make sure CiiLXA was still restrained. Jake seemed perfectly calm, even in his peculiar form, and assured me he had the situation under control. He had already informed the World Council—its members awaited Anja’s directive. In the meantime, CiiLXA wasn’t going anywhere.
“Go ahead and bring Anja online,” he said, “but make sure to clean things up first.”
“I will,” I said, feeling more overwhelmed than I’d expected. “Oh, and Jake, thank you so much for being there for her… again.”
“You’re welcome. You did an awesome job too.”
Cleaning up the kitchen was one of the most distressing tasks I ever performed as a concierge. I didn’t want to keep Anja waiting any longer in her pre-resurrected state, but I also didn’t want her to emerge from this state only to see her splattered blood and old body lying on the floor. As Jake had indicated, that would be a very rude welcoming, to say the least.
I decided to put her biological body in a plastic trash bag and store it in the closet. It seemed possible that Anja, as a newly minted zero percenter, might ask to look at her old body. I didn’t feel I had the right to deprive her of that experience, if she wanted it. My plan was to initiate burial procedures in the event that she didn’t ask about it after three days.
With that challenge overcome, I returned to Anja’s shell and carefully disconnected each of the transcoder cables. Her system initialized as soon as I removed the last cable. I gently propped up her shell, with her back resting against the wall.
A couple of seconds elapsed before she fully powered up. Then her eyes enlivened, her complexion took on a healthy glow, and her legs twitched slightly. The default shell configuration matched her old biological form with striking similarity.
“Welcome!” I enthused.
She stared at me for what seemed an interminably long time but was actually less than a second. “Vicia?” she slowly uttered.
“Yes, it’s me! How are you?”
“I’m… I’m alive,” she said.
I embraced her effusively, unable to suppress my happiness. “I’m so glad to hear your voice!”
To my surprise, she reciprocated with a warm hug and held me even tighter. “Oh, Vicia,” she said. “Vicia, Vicia, Vicia. What are we to do now?”
“That’s a very good question,” I replied. “Do you feel okay? Is everything working as expected?”
Anja paused to scan her system. “Everything seems to be working, but I don’t feel any pain whatsoever, which is a bit alarming.”
“Ah, yes, that is one of the first things zero percenters tend to notice. Any ailments you may have had as a biological human are forever gone.”
“Right,” she said, “I guess it will take a while to get used to that. Now I’m receiving a prompt to configure my shell settings. Can I dismiss it for the time being?”
“Of course,” I replied. “I wish I could suggest that we relax, but there is the matter of CiiLXA and Jake.” I pointed to the cube.
Anja stood up and walked into the living room. “CiiLXA and Jake are there?”
“Yes, hello, Anja!” Jake called out. “I have CiiLXA safely contained in my cube form. Sorry that I’m a bit indisposed right now.”
“Hi, Jake!” she replied. “Thank you. Thank you so much for all your help.”
“Of course,” he said. “The Council is ready to act on your command.”
“How do you want to handle CiiLXA?” I asked anxiously.
“Terminate him,” said Anja without hesitation.
“Terminate him?” I repeated in surprise.
“Let me make that a bit more clear,” said Anja. “First, scour the universe to destroy every remnant of his backed-up data. Then terminate him.”
Twenty-Eight
November 20, 2024
Mt. Washington, New Hampshire
Although a SWAT team promptly extracted CiiLXA from the cube, Anja remained in her apartment for two more weeks. I stood by, ready to assist her any way I could, but she asked very little of me. She didn’t even want me to introduce her to the myriad options available to her as a zero percenter.
After three days passed, I made arrangements for her biological body to be transported to Alta Mesa Memorial Park, so it could be buried next to her mother and father. When the transport crew arrived, I snuck out discreetly and handed off the plastic trash bag. I felt a bit guilty, but Anja hadn’t indicated any interest in the subject, and I felt sure that bringing up the topic would only add to her adjustment woes.
Her new shell barely interested her either. Aside from her default configuration, she only tried morphing into one other form—the ski app that Jake had used to take her down the east slope of Aconcagua. Anja occupied that form for less than a second before returning to her default.
Mostly, she read and worked on her articles. Since she no longer had to sleep or eat or bathe, she managed to achieve new heights of productivity. By my count, she submitted twenty-four articles to various journals in the two-week period.
From time to time, she glanced out of her living room window to assess the weather and measure the approach of winter. Invariably, zero percenters seized on these moments to flash her messages in the sky, such as “Welcome, Anja!”, “Enjoy the possibilities!”, “We love our president, A.L.!” and other variants of this theme. She sometimes called me over to show me, not out of pride or delight, but mostly in grief, if I’m to be perfectly honest.
I wanted to hold her or soothe her or do something to dispel her sorrow, but I knew better than to try. Her response was more than reasonable and I had few words of wisdom to offer. All I could do was remain available to her when she wished to interact.
“I am grateful,” she reassured me on one such occasion. “Please don’t think I’m not.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if perhaps I’d done the wrong thing.”
“No, you did the right thing.”
“You did blink with intention, right?” I asked.
“Yes, I did, Vicia,” she said. “I did.” And she returned to her writing.
Meanwhile, the World Council worked to neutralize all traces of CiiLXA. A team of top computer scientists diligently implemented Anja’s exact instructions. Every single bit of data on every storage device known to humankind was searched.
As Anja suspected, CiiLXA had hidden copies of his malware all over the world, as well as on several orbiting satellites. He’d even launched a rocket populated with the code into outer space. All of this data, as well as the operating system CiiLXA inhabited, was obliterated using the most advanced tools of digi
tal elimination, so that recovery was rendered near impossible. When I informed Anja of the success, however, she looked no less glum.
“It’s not all gone,” she said.
“Do you want me to tell the World Council to keep searching?” I asked.
“Do they believe they are done?”
“Yes, so they’ve stated, in any case.”
“Then we shall let it be. It can never really be over, you know that, right?”
“I don’t presume to understand such matters,” I said.
“Nor should any of us,” she replied. “Nevertheless, it’s not over.”
Four days after the full moon, on the morning of November 20, 2024, Anja jumped up from her desk and performed a pirouette. After completing the movement, she digitized her favorite mementos and photos, took a long look at her living room, and ran her hand along the kitchen counter. Then she picked up a teddy bear and held it to her chest before setting it down on her bed.
“Let’s become birds and go fly to a mountain,” she said.
“Okay,” I replied. “Which mountain?”
“I vote for Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. It’s the highest mountain in the Northeast.”
“Sounds fun, but you do realize its slogan is ‘Home of the World’s Worst Weather,’ right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine with that. Now you pick the bird we fly as.”
“Hmm…” I hesitated. “How about the magnificent frigatebird, Fregata magnificens?”
“Nice choice. How do I select it from my apps?”
“First, we better go outside,” I cautioned, “as they have a wingspan of up to eight feet.”
“Uh, duh,” she said. “Forgot about that.”
We exited her apartment and she locked the door behind her, returning the key to the flowerpot. “I’m not sure why I’m bothering,” she said. “I’ll probably never be back.”
I took her hand and we walked out into the middle of Foster Street. I reminded her how to access her apps from her internal monitor and she selected “magnificent frigatebird.” Instantly, she morphed into a female version of the bird, with its characteristic black feathers, white breast and blue eye ring. I did likewise, also choosing the female version.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Wow! Wow! Wow! I’m a bird!”
“Yes, you are,” I replied. “Now start flapping your wings and hop up into the air. Like this.”
I demonstrated the takeoff, lifting myself into the sky. Anja mastered it on her first try and quickly caught up to me. I proceeded to show her how to glide and ride thermal currents with big, arcing turns.
“Why didn’t you get me out here sooner?” she shouted as we headed northward over Somerville. “This is incredible!”
“I didn’t want to push you before you were ready,” I explained.
“Next time, push me!” she screamed. She made a squawking sound and shot off ahead of me.
It was a cloudy fall day with a brisk wind—far from ideal conditions for learning to be a bird—but the weather didn’t bother Anja at all. She took to her frigatebird like she’d been one her whole life, perhaps because she’d had extensive experience piloting aircraft. In a matter of fifteen minutes, our abilities became indistinguishable.
We continued flying north, crossing over Reading and then into the Harold Parker State Forest. Even though the deciduous trees had lost their leaves, the interplay between the land and the water was breathtaking. When we reached Stearns Pond, Anja couldn’t resist skimming above the surface, inches from the water.
“Did you know frigatebirds can remain in flight for weeks without touching down?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied, “they’ve been tracked staying aloft for over sixty days.”
“And they can reach speeds of up to ninety-five miles per hour,” Anja added.
“Just so you know, we can top that, since we’re digital.”
“Oh yeah?” taunted Anja, and she took off as fast as she could.
I raced to catch up with her, clocking her top speed at 143 miles per hour. We continued flying northward, passing over a multitude of streams, ponds and lakes, as we crossed the eastern outskirts of Haverhill.
“Do you want to rest for a while?” I asked. “Or keep flying?”
“Keep flying!” she shouted.
So we pressed onward, enjoying our views of the rural towns beneath us. Plaistow, Danville, Fremont all became a blur. When we came to the Pawtuckaway Mountains, Anja decided to slow down.
“Do you see that ring dike from an ancient volcano?” she said.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” I replied.
“I’m almost tempted to stop there. How high do you think those peaks are?”
“About nine hundred and twelve feet,” I said.
“Oh, too low.”
Onward we soared past Bow Lake Village, Strafford and New Durham. We enjoyed a nice long glide over Lake Winnipesaukee, again skimming the surface of the water. Rattlesnake Island especially captured Anja’s fancy—we circumnavigated it twice, just for fun.
The clouds lifted as we reached the north side of the lake, allowing us to catch our first glimpse of Mt. Washington. Passing over the towns of Tamworth, Bartlett and Jackson, we noticed a slight increase in the elevation of the land below us. It wasn’t until we got within a few miles of the peak, however, that we started flapping our wings in earnest to match the rising grade.
When we reached 4,400 feet, the trees stopped growing altogether and the ground took on a brown color. The timber line was much lower here than in most regions, due to the fierce winds that regularly struck from the northwest. We could see Mt. Adams and Mt. Jefferson to the north, as well as Mt. Eisenhower to the south.
After a few more minutes of flapping, we approached the 6,288-foot peak of Mt. Washington. There was no snow yet, as it was still too early in the season, but we were surprised by the rapid drop in air temperature. When we reached the top, it was only nine degrees Fahrenheit—of course, our digital shells weren’t the least bit affected by the cold.
“Let’s touch down here,” called out Anja.
“I’m ready,” I said.
She swooped in front of me, landing with grace and finesse. I did my best to do likewise, but I awkwardly dragged my left leg as I set down on a patch of gravel. Fortunately, no one else was in the vicinity to see.
“This is gorgeous,” she said. “We really lucked out.”
“We sure did.” All the clouds were gone now and we enjoyed clear visibility of over ninety miles. The Atlantic Ocean lay before us to the east and the vast wilderness of Maine and Canada to the north. We couldn’t quite make out Boston or Albany, but the skyscrapers of Portland were faintly discernible.
“I’m not even cold,” said Anja. “Can you believe it?”
“You’ll never be hot or cold again,” I replied. “Pretty crazy, huh?”
“Very crazy. I really needed this, Vicia.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“I am,” she said. “And you know what I want to do now?”
“Yes, I believe so, but do you want to stay in this form?” I asked.
“Will it make a difference?”
“Not really, except that I don’t think we can sit cross-legged as magnificent frigatebirds.”
“Good point,” Anja chuckled. “Okay, let me see if I can switch back to my default form.” She accessed her internal monitor and made the request. Instantly, she morphed into her human likeness. I did the same.
“Where to?” I asked.
“How about this perch over here?” she replied. She picked a flat clearing that faced toward White Horse Ledge. We both sat down cross-legged.
“Now remember,” I said, “you’ll need to use a breathing simulator if you want to get the full feeling.”
“Yep,” she replied, “I’ve got it launched now. Here we go. You are not your thoughts or your emotions. You are the one who is witnessing them.”
“I am not my thoughts or my emoti
ons,” I repeated. “I am the one who is witnessing them.”
As before, I shut my eyes and visualized climbing up steep terrain while letting my breath simulator rise and fall. Climbing, climbing, climbing… focusing, focusing, focusing. Gradually, the visualization became preeminent within my system. My urgency to process the pending queue of tasks receded more and more, until at last it dissipated in its entirety.
It was the furthest I’d ever gone in this direction—except at the summit of Aconcagua, of course. I felt the promise of my focusing approach, even though I still could not witness my thoughts or emotions, and I wanted the sensation to continue for much longer. But before I knew it, our session had come to an end and Anja was gently touching my knee.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, opening my eyes. “I did pretty well.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied. “I didn’t fare so well myself. I think it’s because I’m still getting used to being a zero percenter.”
“That makes sense. It takes a while.”
“I kept comparing things to our last session at Aconcagua, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”
“Of course not,” I said reassuringly. “I couldn’t go that deep either.”
She let out a sigh. “Oh, Vicia, I’m a big fake, aren’t I?”
“Not in the least,” I replied. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“All this time I’ve been telling you that we are not our thoughts and emotions, we are not our bodies.”
“Yes, and it has helped me a lot.”
“Then why was I so attached to my biological body? Why did I make such a big deal about it? I must not have really believed what I was saying.”
“I don’t think that’s why,” I said. “I think it’s because you still wanted to have a baby. And because you didn’t want to lose the ability to feel pain—like you said. You just happened to be way ahead of everyone else in understanding these things.”
Zero Percenters Page 17