“Will she take me back?” cried Gregory.
“She will. This time, she will. I've asked her to. There will not be a second chance, however. And as for me and the NFSA—you know what needs to be done. That's why the President appointed you. So do it better. Do it louder. Get the job done. The nation is counting on you, Gregory. Your wife is counting on you. God is counting on you. I am counting on you. Look beyond your small self and join the grander spiritual stage unfolding around you. It’s a holy ultimatum, Gregory Michaelson. It's your choice.”
The sobbing man looked at Reverend Belinas, solemnly nodding. Tears obscured his vision. As he clenched his fists, he promised himself he would not again fail those whom he cared about.
Chapter 20
“Will you marry me, Jethro Knights?” asked Zoe Bach, continuing a conversation from weeks ago.
It was an honest question. They were at a frozen yogurt shop they often visited, their left hands interlocked across the table. Her belly was starting to show the child they had made.
Zoe worked when she could for Transhuman Citizen and still did surgery graveyard shifts. In downtown Palo Alto, they were known as the inseparable pair, always touching or holding on to one another when they walked. No one was surprised when her stomach swelled, her hair lengthened, and a rosy glow began radiating from her cheeks.
Jethro continued laboring for the transhuman movement at a grueling pace, always seven days a week, often functioning with just a few hours of sleep a night. Much of his time was spent on airplanes, as he lectured in faraway places and searched out new, wealthier donors. He also befriended numerous transhumanist groups on different continents. Human enhancement and life extension leaders from many nations were increasingly warming to his philosophy, TEF. Despite its aggressiveness, it appealed to their honor and to the best in themselves. Amongst a world full of frivolities, hard choices in difficult times required a stronger integrity than ever before. TEF delivered and refused to compromise.
Jethro’s new friendships also helped him form joint research projects to further common transhuman aims. He was now spending nearly half of his group's funding to directly sponsor immortality and transhuman research, often the most radical types which couldn't find money elsewhere. His pet projects were artificial intelligence morality, human cloning, and mind-machine interface. He gravitated towards supporting the work of scientists who others blackballed as too extreme and fringe, whose experiments usually occurred in small private laboratories or in the basements of nameless colleges.
To the layperson and the public, Transhuman Citizen was also gaining respect and recognition. Over time, it cemented its role as the leading radical transhumanist group in America: the one that sparked the most attention in the press; the one that youth and students joined most frequently; the one that organized the most demonstrations, strikes, and street trouble when religion or government challenged a transhuman project. Even the label, “Transhuman Citizen,” had come to represent a trigger term in popular culture, providing a fighting euphemism for groups and people who faced oppression.
Ironically, just as Jethro Knights’ organization was starting to make inroads into cracking ethical barriers and getting large swaths of society to consider transhumanist ideas, Transhuman Citizen’s initial steep membership rise began to plateau—and then drop. Stiff headwinds created by the NFSA's new mandates and propaganda campaigns were starting to take hold. A month earlier the agency’s pushy television commercials had begun rolling out across the country, openly discrediting transhumanism in favor of a crafty “back-to-good-old-fashioned-health” crusade. Additionally, the NFSA teamed up with the dreaded Internal Revenue Service to audit and comb over the books of private transhuman clinics and research labs across the country, hassling and penalizing scientists and employees for even the slightest accounting errors. Worst of all, the NFSA overhauled the patent-issuing process in biotechnology, making it difficult to control and own patents with controversial life extension and human enhancement possibilities. First, they bashed and choked the transhuman scientists, then they chained down the entrepreneurs who might invest in those scientists. Secure patent ownership and control was critical to entrepreneurs making capital investments in transhuman research.
“My love, you know that I’m not a fan of marriage,” Jethro said, pushing aside his yogurt and staring carefully into Zoe’s eyes after she asked him to marry her. “You know that I don't see what right the government or anyone else has to do with putting a stamp on a commitment as sacred as love. All the government is doing is layering more legal control over our lives and choices, and making the historical division of private property more tangible for themselves. Matrimony originally began, and continues to serve, as a function of economics. You and I just want to be happily and freely in love.”
“Sure—call me old-fashioned and naive. But what about the numerous legal benefits when there's a child involved?” she asked, staring fixedly back at him. “Or if I were incapacitated in a hospital where a life-and-death decision by a legal spouse was needed?”
Jethro grimaced for an instant, not wanting to imagine anything harmful ever happening to Zoe.
“The same thing can be accomplished by power-of-attorney documents,” he answered, “that say we’re guardians of the child. Or a notarized legal consent proving I’m your domestic partner.”
“How is that different than getting married though? Power of attorneys and notarized legal consents are valid because they're sanctioned by the government.”
“Point taken.”
“We all choose to live in a civilized country we have agreed to be a part of, to follow rules and to not beat each other over the head with clubs. Being legally bound to me just facilitates and streamlines that process—a process you’ve already agreed to with your reasoning mind.”
“Point taken again,” said Jethro.
“So your reluctance—since I know you hope and want to spend your life with me—is purely symbolic. And whether you like it or not, your child or I might suffer hassles and setbacks in this world because of that symbolic non-action of yours. Is that really worthwhile? Is that really the most rational thing if we choose to live here in legalistic America, and raise our child here, and live according to laws we generally agree to?”
“How many points do you want tonight?”
“I want you to say: ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’”
Slowly, he nodded. “Okay then. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, satisfied.
“Yes,” Jethro said brusquely. “Yes—as long as it’s not a big social wedding. Such contrived and overblown ceremonies, like funerals, are tacky. Far too many people live for their high-priced, ritualistic wedding days—or their blood-diamond engagement rings, for that matter—and not for the start of spending time with their spouses. It seems mostly a private matter.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Whatever, sweetheart—we’re obviously not them. So, is next week okay?”
“Sure. I think Tuesday is mostly open. But grab it quick before it fills.”
Jethro stared at her for a while, thinking. He watched her green eyes move in the shadows of her threadlike black hair. She stared back, eating her chocolate mousse frozen yogurt, waiting for him to speak. In the background, classical music played and other customers ordered their desserts.
“Zoe, you’re right on so many levels about why you want to get married. For me, part of the issue is that I don’t really believe I’m going to live here yet—in America, with its impoverished philosophical outlook. Or its legal and political buffoonery. But that's purely technical. More importantly, I like the idea of waking up every morning and not being bound to another person, even you, unless I choose it. I think the choice to love someone should be made every day, maybe every hour. That's what makes it special. That’s what makes it authentic. In general, anything that limits options—except the option to be stupid or wrong—is mistaken.”
“Fine, you’ve tol
d me that caveat before. So let’s get divorced at night and remarried in the morning should you have issues.”
“No way—once will be enough. It probably costs money to get married. Green government bucks.”
“It does. Two hundred dollars for the license in San Francisco County. A divorce certificate costs over twice that,” Zoe said. “Maybe in that transhuman nation you want to create, you can make divorce a form of solidarity, a rite of passage for happily wed lovers with no intention of ever separating. And, of course, not charge anything.”
Jethro laughed and then replied, “Another fine and twisted, original Zoe Bach idea.”
“Oh damn, I have a shift on Tuesday,” she said, looking at the calendar on her phone. “How about Wednesday?”
“Nope. In Seattle for the robotics conference. Friday afternoon works.”
“Oh good. For me too. Then it's a date: 3 P.M. at San Francisco City Hall.”
A week later, with Preston Langmore as their witness, Jethro Knights and Zoe Bach wed in City Hall, casually dressed and without rings.
*************
Every few weeks for the past eighteen months, Dr. Preston Langmore had requested a meeting with Senator Gregory Michaelson. He was always brushed off by Gregory's secretary, who first told him maybe; then yes; then no; or said the senator would be busy that week; or asked, How about next month? A dozen times that happened. Then one morning, surprisingly, Langmore received a call from Gregory’s senior aide and was told the senator had free slots all week.
Langmore, who was working in Washington, D.C., replied that the next day would be excellent. Lunch at the Beldio Plaza. Chefistas. 12:30 P.M.
“The senator will be there. Thank you,” said the aide.
Langmore’s hopes jumped. Perhaps Senator Michaelson wanted to discuss lowering the anti-transhumanism pressure. Maybe he even wanted to work together with life extension and human enhancement scientists now. It could be an invaluable break in the overall goal of the movement, to not have to constantly fight and sneak around the colossal NFSA, which had created the most oppressive research environment in American history. If they could restore some federal funding to multidisciplinary sciences, which cross over from transhuman research to standard medical research, everyone would gain. Even a fraction of the budget of the NFSA could transform the transhuman movement and its industry. Why any nation would spend 500 times the money on its military over its science was not only asinine, it was also tyrannical.
The moment Senator Michaelson sat down at the restaurant, forty minutes late for his lunch appointment, Langmore knew nothing like that was going to happen. Gregory wasn't the same person he remembered—the good-looking young man who disarmed people with his charming smile and debonairness. He was now a darker, more bitter breed, motivated by forces far out of Langmore’s reach.
“Dr. Langmore, I wanted to speak to you, in light of your being the informal go-to man of the transhuman movement in America. I’ll just be blunt here because I have no time for lunch. The actions of the NFSA are in their infant stage. We are categorically not going to allow the transhuman movement to succeed. The ideas you people possess and the research in which you’re engaged is out of control, totally mired in ugly, society-harming, science fiction fantasies. Your movement’s morality is corrupt and evil in my opinion, and also in the opinions of many of the nation’s top leaders. The already enormous budget of the NFSA is being doubled, effective immediately, ordered by the U.S. President. Like the War on Drugs, there will be an official ‘War on Transhumanism’ announced formally in the coming weeks. We are going all out on making the practice and science of transhumanism illegal. Harsher strategies inside the NFSA are being drummed up. New laws will be implemented in Congress. New mandates will be issued by the President. Everything is being finalized right now as we speak. We are going to destroy your scientists, their establishments, their lives, and their reputations. Leaders like you and Jethro Knights will be out of a job and made into outlaws very quickly.”
Langmore appeared stunned. He looked around erratically as if he were being watched or filmed. This couldn't be happening, he thought. What the hell was going on?
“Are you kidding me, Senator?” Langmore finally blurted out.
“Do I look like I’m kidding, Dr. Langmore?” Gregory’s eyes were icy.
“How can you say or do this? It sounds like the Inquisition. A war on transhumanism? By the U.S. Government? Isn't that taking it way too far? To make it criminal—in the land of the free? What's next, a deliberate transhumanicide?"
“I want to give you a clear message. I want you to let Mr. Knights and the other radical leaders in America know they are to abandon their organizations and disappear from the movement. And that your scientists are to work for the good of the country as a whole, to eliminate common diseases and improve healthcare for the masses. From here on out, the mention of transhumanism, the changing of society through human enhancement and life extension, and the quest for immortality and God’s powers via science, are going to be forbidden by federal law. I’ve woken up to your group’s ambitions and see them for what they are: unbridled evil. If we left the world up to you and your colleagues, the best qualities of the human race would disappear, and the remaining parts would morph into something monstrous. The next century would be a calamity beyond our worst nightmares.”
Langmore stared at the senator, speechless. This was beyond the U.S. Constitution—way beyond. Langmore was thinking about what Jethro had said two weeks before; that religious America could never give birth to a transhuman world. Their kind would have to leave and find somewhere brave and novel where transhumanism could genuinely prosper.
“In ten days, we’ll formally announce the War on Transhumanism,” continued Gregory. “I encourage you and your scientists to be very quiet from now on and to irrevocably change the direction of your research—or to be out of a job, on a criminal list, and possibly arrested. I'm here speaking to you because we do not want a fight. We want this transition to go smoothly and peacefully. We would prefer all of you to give up and rejoin us and the status quo. But we'll take to the streets and drag you all off to prison if you people won't change quietly and quickly. Our nation has put up with your immoral movement and ideas long enough.”
Gregory rose from the table and began to walk away.
Langmore cried after him, “You can’t do that, Senator. We haven’t done anything wrong. It's totally unreasonable and utterly unconstitutional.”
Gregory stopped and turned around slowly. “Watch me, Dr. Langmore. This is the final warning for all transhumanists.”
************
Two days later, over dinner in Palo Alto, Preston Langmore explained to Jethro Knights and Zoe Bach what Senator Michaelson had told him. The trio sat in Jethro’s office on the tile floor, their half-eaten tapas dishes in front of them. Langmore’s message was sobering. Zoe reached over and squeezed her husband's hand.
“He really means it,” said Langmore. “I confirmed with my people that money is actually being diverted from U.S. Defense accounts into the NFSA. Huge amounts. Billions. Discussions at the top levels took place weeks ago. New directors and secret police are being hired by the hundreds, many of whom are registered members of Redeem Church and other powerful religious groups around the country. Senator Michaelson has met with the U.S. President three times in the past week, which is unprecedented for him, my sources say. Apparently, the potential social dangers of transhumanism—especially those from genetic engineering, neurotech, cryonics, and artificial intelligence—are getting ready to be trumpeted publicly as totally destructive to any future democratic society. It sounds crazy. What do you think?”
“I think Gregory Michaelson is an ass,” said Zoe, storming. “He’s filling the shoes of the other WASP politicians who founded this country and have led it for centuries. Those idiots are always the same—inexcusably late to the party. Abolition of slavery, civil rights, women’s liberation, the LGBT movement,
transhumanism. See a pattern yet with these guys?”
Jethro grinned at his wife, grateful to be in love with her. He stood up, stretched, and walked briskly to the coffee machine. He poured himself a cup, then turned around and said, “Gregory is just a tool. He's in Reverend Belinas' back pocket. And we’re being used as scapegoats for religious conservatives to consolidate power.”
“Probably all true,” muttered Langmore.
Jethro walked back and sat down, crossing his legs. His brows appeared heavy, but his eyes were intent. He looked like a sea captain staring at a distant storm, carefully plotting a new course. Outside, a powerful gust of wind caused nearby trees to rustle, and many leaves dropped to the ground. Zoe watched him carefully and felt the energy in the room change.
“You two are the most important people in my life,” said Jethro. “So I want to tell you this first. It’s something I realized over a year ago, and have privately mentioned a few times to you both. I believe I’m now ready to declare it to all transhumanists after hearing that news.”
Zoe and Preston didn't have to search Jethro's face for answers. They already knew what he was going to say. They also knew it would change their lives forever. It was about Transhumania—his chosen name for an autonomous transhuman nation. Every time Jethro was dogged and stifled by America and the world’s short-sighted conservatism, he dreamt more vigorously of creating and founding such a utopia—a lasting panacea for transhumanists. It would be a mature evolution of the movement, he believed. A place far away from the reticent world, where radical scientific progress and the search for immortality could go unheeded.
“It’s no use here anymore,” Jethro said. “I’m utterly disillusioned with our progress in this klutzy, religion-addicted country. We've done well, for sure. We're putting up a good fight. Transhuman Citizen has spread everywhere. We have members and supporters in every major town and city. But America is a bureaucratic mess full of twisted legalities, conservatism, and religiosity that does nothing but slow us down. Ultimately, it keeps us unproductive.
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