The Transhumanist Wager

by Zoltan Istvan

  She nodded without saying a word, appearing acutely standoffish.

  “It must be nice to work here. Oslo is beautiful, and the sky has an amazing hue of blue to it. Don’t you think?”

  Burton watched him, maintaining her silence, her pupils getting smaller. She turned and saw the barista and cook—friends of hers—across the café in the kitchen doorway; both of them stared at Jethro, trying to ascertain if he was the famous renegade transhumanist.

  Jethro waited politely, casually, for her to respond. He was long since accustomed to such reservation from people.

  When Burton turned back to him, she had an eyebrow raised. “Mr. Knights, would you just tell me what you want? I know exactly who you are, and I can tell trouble when I see it.”

  Jethro grinned, knowing this person was the right one for the job.

  “Okay. But you must swear to secrecy and be true to your word, whether you take the job I offer or not.”

  Burton looked coarsely at him. “Fine—you have it. My word is like granite. I'm sure you know that if you knew enough to fly all the way here to meet me.”

  “Thank you.”

  She waited, liking him too, but highly skeptical.

  “It’s thought the transhuman movement is dying,” Jethro said quietly, “and that it’s on its last breath. It might be, however, that for my organization, Transhuman Citizen, nothing could be further from the truth. It was recently given a sizeable amount of resources, enough to build a sovereign country from scratch. I’d like you to be the architect of the largest seasteading city ever designed and constructed. It will be called Transhumania—the transhuman nation—a place where the world's best scientists, technologists, and futurists can carry out research to achieve their life extension and human enhancement goals.”

  Burton leaned forward, intently serious, gripping her hands on the edge of the table for support.

  “I’ve read in various papers you're flat broke and they shut you down in America. That your so-called ‘Transhuman Revolution’ is dead. And now you want to build an entirely new nation?”

  “You look like the kind of person who doesn't believe everything she reads in the papers.”

  “These are strange times—and you may be the strangest person who has emerged from them.”

  “There may be one even stranger,” Jethro said. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head suggestively.

  The architect slowly smiled. She leaned back and asked plainly, “What do you plan to build this new nation with? Other than charisma and wit?”

  “With your skills and my ideas. And about a dozen secret international bank accounts with nine zeros behind each of them. Would you like to go online and look at some?”

  Burton saw Jethro Knights was serious. Damn serious, she thought. She waited a moment, gulped, then felt the excitement in her begin to soar. It was hard to believe, because it was certainly too good to be true. Rigidly, she said, “Okay, I’m listening. Go on.”

  “I no longer want to waste resources competing against American and other anti-transhumanist governments to achieve immortality and the transhuman mission. A floating city should shield transhumanists and the people I need away from those forces, giving me certain worldwide legal protections. The city will have to be built to house approximately 10,000 scientists and their immediate families. You’ll have to build up, because I want most of the city open for creating green spaces, jungles, and parks—so people like living there. Actually, so they love living there. These will be very picky people, some of the smartest in the world. They’ll want the best of everything, and they deserve it. I want them to be enthralled with every bit of their new home. I want the city big enough to have an airport for passenger jets, but small enough to comfortably ride a bike around in twenty minutes. I want to build the most modern metropolis on the planet, a utopia for transhumanists and their research.”

  Rachael Burton couldn't contain her excitement any longer. She threw her head back ecstatically and stood up. She knew Jethro's reputation for integrity. It was ironclad. This man wouldn’t approach her if he didn’t have enough money or if he wasn't ready.

  “You're serious? About this city? About me building it? About this working?”

  “Yes, completely,” Jethro said, staring at her. “And it will work.”

  “How much money do you really have?” Burton asked cautiously. “Because it's going to take a lot of money.”

  “About five billion U.S. dollars for the construction. All cash.”

  Burton sat down and closed her eyes for a moment. That was plenty. He's done his math, she thought. A moment later, she threw her fists on the table in triumph and said, “That's incredible! I don't know how you did it, but goddamn those closed-minded bastards. Let’s turn them into hawkers.”

  Jethro smirked. “Exactly. So can you do it?”

  “Yes, I can do it! I’ve been waiting my whole life to do it, and you know it. That's why you're here.”

  They spent the next seven days drawing out initial ideas, asking each other thousands of questions, and battling over plans. How long should the airstrip be? Where will the desalination plant be located? What is the best way to eliminate the smell of the sewer system? How do we control buoyancy of the city’s platform? Can we make energy from the ocean's swells? Would a wind farm be too noisy? Should there be a mini subway system? Where will the best restaurants go? What kinds of trees and shrubbery can be imported? Who will run the grocery and hardware stores? Where should schools be located for the scientists’ families? How many fitness centers should there be? What size military installations should be built? Should there be underwater weapon-launching pads? How tall do we build the skyscrapers? What size cargo ships should the docks accommodate? What kind of propulsion will the city use to maneuver across oceans?

  They slept little, working nonstop hours in small coffee shops and in Jethro’s hotel suite, designing Transhumania. Finally, when preliminary ideas were sketched out, Jethro and Burton decided on a country where they could begin the construction. Liberia was chosen.

  “They're the best for this kind of project,” Burton insisted. “West Africa is far off the radar screen for the rest of the world, so hopefully, there won’t be any troublesome interruptions by the media or the NFSA. Besides, Liberia has cheap labor, good weather, and lots of beach space to launch this puppy. It’s going to be at least ten soccer fields long, you know. We're going to need lots and lots of space. Launching the city into the ocean will be the trickiest part.”

  “Whatever you think. Just remain discreet and throw all the resources you need at it. I want the platform section up and floating in six months.”

  Burton looked at him and growled, “I want it up and floating in five months.”

  Jethro nodded, grinning. The following day, he told Burton he'd meet up with her in two weeks in Liberia.

  “My secretary will be in touch with accounts and payments for you later today. Just let her know what you need and what items I have to approve.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “All over, Rachael. To every nook on the planet. To start recruiting the most talented and capable people in the world to become citizens of Transhumania.”

  ************

  Nearly five months later, on an isolated beach in Liberia, finishing touches on the platform of Transhumania were being completed. An army of 15,000 workers labored upon it in the blistering African sun. The structure was twenty-five stories tall, almost half of which would remain underwater once it was launched into the ocean. When viewed from miles away, the platform appeared as a titanic silver box, like something that crashed down from outer space.

  In the middle was a vast gaping hole where the skyscrapers' foundations would eventually be cast, giving the platform stability and weight to counter its sixty-million-ton buoyancy. The pit looked massive, like an immense mining operation in scorching heat. Roads were welded into the sides of the steel crater to allow trucks full of material to drive in
and out. Everyone on the platform wore dark sunglasses and scarves to protect themselves from the heat and sharp light radiating off the ubiquitous metal.

  The airport strip was the first job Jethro Knights wanted completed. Asphalted only three days ago, Jethro's pilot stressed with perspiration as he prepared to land his jet at the far right of the platform's east side. Jethro stood behind the pilot, curiously watching, bracing himself with one hand on the ceiling of the cockpit. Preston Langmore, informed only two weeks before about the platform's existence, sat nervously looking out his window in the back of the jet, his lips tightly shut.

  “Don't bite your tongue off, Preston,” Jethro shouted back to him.

  When the jet came to a stop after a successful landing, the pilot nodded his approval.

  “Well done,” Jethro said. “That wasn't so bad. We had two hundred meters to spare.”

  “It looked shorter from the air, sir. That was pretty basic.”

  “It’s the same international length as you're used to. It just looks shorter because of the drop-offs.”

  Rachael Burton and her entourage of architects and engineers, including the platform's foreman, walked towards Jethro's plane, clutching their hats and scarves so they wouldn't blow away in the wind. There were greetings over the roar of the jets, then the group proceeded to the temporary mobile unit near the runway.

  The builders launched right into him. “Glad you're here, sir. Loads of questions for you.”

  “Fire away. That's why I came.” It was almost three weeks since Jethro had last visited. They barraged him with blueprint spreads and nonstop questions, requesting permission to alter designs on existing plans or to start new construction.

  After an hour, with his dirty finger pointing at a drawing, the foreman said, “Jethro, atop the desalination plant, where the park and statues are planned, we're thinking we need to raise it about six stories for larger ships docking on the harbor side. So they don't damage it during any swells, when they tie up and unload cargo.”

  “Okay.”

  “Want to go up there so you can see what I mean? It's a major change.”

  “Sure.”

  They walked outside, towards the southwest corner of the platform where the structure was located. It was one of twenty-two buildings going up on Transhumania, many of whose skeletons were beginning to substantially show. Atop the desalination plant—which Jethro christened “Memorial Vista”—would be the two-acre park, garden, and monuments that were to be dedicated to Nathan Cohen, Zoe Bach, and others who perished at the hands of anti-transhumanists. Jethro wanted it created as a place to give speeches, as a point to rally around, and as a haven for watching sunrises, sunsets, and the nearby soaring towers—a luring meditative sanctuary with energy to re-power and revitalize. Stainless steel benches, Zen boulders, and tall oak trees were going to intermix with statues lining the perimeter of the area. A dramatic shooting fountain encircled by rose bushes, herbs, and evergreens would dominate the center of the park.

  The views from Memorial Vista were riveting. The thousands of hired workers—many from India, China, and the Congo—looked like small ants. Jethro liked going up there to watch the tractors and cement trucks speeding across the platform. Preston Langmore was speechless when he witnessed the hive of activity from atop the proposed park. Jethro's dream was finally happening, he thought. He couldn't help but think of how impressed Zoe Bach would've been with the construction of Transhumania and with how far Transhuman Citizen had evolved—and how unlikely it all was. She would've got her world-class surgery center.

  Langmore eyed Jethro, wondering how bad it was for him. The last time they had spoken to each other about Zoe was five weeks ago, when Jethro had confessed that losing her was still intensely difficult for him. Langmore remembered how the muscles on the young man’s face had tightened, how his eyes had instantly turned blood-red.

  “She comes into my dreams all the time,” Jethro told him in a whisper.

  Langmore took a chance. “That's because she's still out there, Jethro. And you can find her someday, somehow.”

  “No!” Jethro fired back.

  He didn't want to think that way. Hopelessly metaphysical. That timeline was too far out. Too technologically complex. Too mystical and quantum. And it required far too much hope. Right now there was just grief—and the battle to stay alive and evolve as rapidly as possible.

  “It's dangerous to think that way, Preston,” Jethro said, his tone so sharp it announced the end of the conversation.

  Langmore remembered that dialogue while standing on Memorial Vista, watching Jethro contain the hurt. He felt fatherly towards the brokenhearted man. He wished he could do something for him, but there was little that could ease that depth of agony.

  Eventually, Langmore turned his thoughts back to the platform, observing the construction. The workers below them lived in makeshift tents, spread out along the north side of the airport strip and on the beach underneath the structure. A docking harbor bore a 200-foot crane above it, which lifted supplies and huge machinery onto the site. On Transhumania's south side, a 50,000-gallon fuel tank and a 100,000-gallon water reservoir were welded into the outer walls of the platform. On the flats of the proposed sports stadium, a temporary hospital was erected for injured and sick workers. Adjacent to the half-finished wind farm was an enormous cafeteria with numerous food stalls. Portable blue toilet structures were everywhere.

  The work was endless: Twenty-four hours a day, there was a symphony of hammering, drilling, welding, grinding, and shouting. There was no break from the movement; sprawling bodies and their machines zipped tirelessly around the platform. The sheer creation process was a marvel to behold.

  “What you’re building looks like the pyramids,” Langmore shouted on Memorial Vista over the construction noises.

  “That’s true,” yelled Burton back. “I just hope we end up better than the pharaohs.”

  “What do you think of the schedule?” Jethro asked Burton.

  “We’re almost right on target. I’d beat my superintendent if I could get him to build faster, but he’s a decent fellow. His diplomacy skills with 15,000 hired laborers are mind-boggling. He speaks Urdu and Malay Chinese in the same sentence. Then caps it off with French pleasantries or English profanities when needed.”

  “I'm off again later tonight for the recruitment process,” Jethro said. “I’ll be back in nine days. I'm leaving Langmore here to help you configure the research skyscrapers. He'll fill you in on various laboratory requirements, especially the nuclear accelerator, the photon generators, and the various fusion chambers. They need to be built to exact specifications. Nothing can be off even a millimeter. Langmore will put you in touch with all the specialist contractors.”

  “Yeah, understood. That’s fine—you’re not needed. Langmore, welcome aboard.”

  Jethro continued, “Many of the scientists with whom I'm speaking are excited. Nearly all will want to visit the city first, though, to make sure it’s the real thing. They’ll especially want to examine their new facilities before committing to anything.”

  “Of course. The first fifty stories of housing and laboratories will be up within six weeks, right after floating the platform next month. They can outfit their offices themselves later.”

  “Where did research show the wind farms best positioned?”

  “As we thought, close to the airport. We’re going to do sewers and the mini industrial park near there as well.”

  “Okay. On the northwest side, out of the ocean views from the hotel and its suites?”

  “Way out of the way. You won't know it's there once we put in the trees. Going to be a bona fide jungle surrounding it.”

  “Fine. Let's talk next Tuesday. Call me anytime with problems.”

  Jethro left on his jet that evening, and headed for the world's premier technology university in Massachusetts. Awaiting him were dozens of confidential appointments with professors and graduate students, many of whom were the l
eading authorities and upcoming stars in their fields.

  Spread between Transhuman Citizen’s dozen international offices, Janice Mantikas and her legion of newly hired employees worked indefatigably researching and locating the most promising scientists around the world. No corner or outpost on the globe was overlooked from Europe to Asia, from South America to Africa, from Australia to North America. Once it was determined that a scientist was a good match for Transhumania, Jethro made personal contact with them. His days and nights—many spent in flight on his jet—were nonstop marathons of meetings, phone calls, writing emails, making computer presentations, preparing speeches, and mailing out secret Transhumania information packages and contracts.

  Jethro mastered his task of pitching the spectacular possibilities of the transhuman nation to his chosen candidates. His invitation to share in the rebirth of the transhuman mission and its life extension goals was compelling, exciting, and novel. Part of his presentation was done in 3D modeling on a holographic screen that shot out of his laptop computer. The state-of-the-art technology Burton’s company provided was impressively futuristic.

  At the end of meetings with candidates, Jethro always showed them live footage beamed from cameras installed on Transhumania's platform. The scientists watched, dumbfounded.

  “Are those all people?” they asked.

  “Yes, they certainly are—and these steel skeletons are the skyscrapers,” Jethro answered, and pointed with his index finger. “You'd be living right about there. The most modern buildings in the world. Every luxury and convenience you can imagine: spas, five-star restaurants, botanical gardens, farmers’ markets, an entertainment plaza, a world-class performing arts center. Then over there would be your offices and laboratories. No expense spared on your research equipment. The most sophisticated on the planet—I guarantee it.”

  Many of the invited scientists initially relished the idea of the floating transhuman city. The place sounded extraordinary to them. People were also excited that the movement wasn't dead; that Jethro made good on his promise to not let Transhuman Citizen be defeated. That hardly changed many people’s blunt skepticism and caution, however. Hard questions remained for those invited to join Transhumania: How could Jethro Knights afford it? How could he promise such amazing research in such unprecedented facilities? With whose permission? Certainly America and the other A10 countries wouldn't allow it.