The Transhumanist Wager

by Zoltan Istvan

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Transhumania. Welcome to the Transhuman Revolution.”

  PART IV

  Chapter 26

  Jethro Knights’ speech was translated into a dozen languages and played around the world by the media. People everywhere were outraged. It defied all expectations. It was hailed as the speech of a monster, a crazed tyrant, a powermonger, a demonically insane person, a vicious rogue criminal. A10 leaders condemned it as ludicrous. Middle East terrorist groups put a three-million-dollar fatwa on Jethro's head. Across America, many believed it was the Word of the Antichrist.

  A far smaller group of people felt differently. After so many years of being professionally stifled, intellectually muted, and socially ostracized, many transhuman entrepreneurs and scientists of the world cheered. While the speech was worded stronger than they themselves would have delivered, they respected Jethro Knights’ unwillingness to compromise the transhuman mission. They valued his promotion of the determined and accomplished individual. They applauded his hero’s journey to reverse the falling fortunes of the immortality quest. They especially appreciated the face-slapping of religion, human mediocrity, and overbearing government. Modern society was at a tipping point of such cowardly self-delusion and democratic self-sacrifice that someone needed to stand up and fight for what everyone wanted and admitted secretly to themselves: I want to reach a place of true power and security that can't be snatched from me at the world's whim.

  Frederick Vilimich also saw the speech and recorded it. He watched it five times in a row at his London mansion. The glow on his face was etched into his skin.

  He sent Jethro a one-line text—his first communication to him in weeks:

  Thanks for punching the world for me. V

  Jethro texted back:

  Thanks for giving me muscles to do so. J

  Every day over the next few months, Jethro continued meeting with top scientists and technologists around the world. In addition to receiving exceptional wages, each of the researchers who joined Transhumania was given a tax-free million dollar signing bonus. It was more money than many had accumulated in decades of work. If they brought approved colleagues from their fields with them, an additional hundred thousand dollars was given. The main obligations of those who joined the transhuman nation included staying their full five-year term and reaching reasonable performance goals in their work.

  To give scientists a sense of belonging, real estate ownership was created in the tallest skyscraper. One-, two-, three-, and four-bedroom residences were sold at enticing prices. Jethro made it cheaper to own than to rent, and most people opted to buy upon arriving. It replenished the cash Transhumania needed for actual research and city operations.

  Jethro ran the entire nation as if it were an aggressive, expanding technology company racing to bring an incredible invention to market. Every scientist had stock in its success, in the urgency of its mission. The result was a hiring domino effect. Soon, hundreds of scientists were showing up weekly to make tours of Transhumania and to sign contracts.

  A tenured Washington State microbiologist with a decorated history of interpreting the telomerase enzyme—responsible for aging—flew into Transhumania for the weekend. He told his staff and colleagues he was getting flown there on a private jet and being put up in a complimentary oceanfront hotel suite.

  “A free trip just to check it out—who wouldn’t go?” He said, half curious but also half skeptical about the supposed city of transhuman science.

  When he returned to his university on Monday, he was no longer the jovial, cynical scientist. He immediately began approaching his best colleagues.

  “I’d like you to come with me, Robert,” he said to his research partner. “Bring your whole family. There’s plenty of room.”

  “Is the money really that good?”

  “Forget the money. The laboratory facilities are like nothing on this continent. And everyone's so goddamn smart and interesting. Remember John Callahan? And Michelle Friedenberg from Berlin? They're all there already. Even Leonard Francis is moving there next month, they say.”

  “So you’re really going through with it, Jeff?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. We can do research ten times faster with the equipment they have. This is our chance of receiving the Nobel Prize.”

  Another scientist, Yuri Bennovin, head of the Finnish Government’s artificial intelligence unit—specializing in creating consciousness in computers—was invited and flown to Transhumania. He texted his wife a day after arriving:

  Please list our house and car for sale. We are going on the adventure of a lifetime.

  Yours, Yuri

  The chairperson of Tokyo’s oldest university philosophy department—a professor specializing in biomedical ethics—was also flown into Transhumania for three days.

  When she returned to Japan, she seemed out of place, out of rhythm.

  “What’s wrong with you, Fujian?” asked her husband, an aerospace engineer. “You’ve been acting like a ghost.”

  “I feel like I’ve been living in a vacuum for thirty years. Like I let the world tell me what to do. What to wear. What to think. What brand and color of lipstick to buy. I can’t believe how amiss I’ve been. For years, I’ve written about this stuff but never really lived it. Transhumania reminded me how to be honest again, how to be authentic. The revelation of those lost years is hard to bear, Moko.”

  She left two weeks later—her husband in tow—to live, teach, and write on Transhumania.

  Every day, Jethro’s jets brought in an ever larger number of scientists from all over the world. Each visitor’s initial sense was disbelief; they looked out the airplane's window at an iridescent floating city, shooting out of the shifting blue ocean far below. Upon arrival to Transhumania, pilots were instructed to fly circles around the city a few times to give onlookers a good aerial view. For many, such a bountiful and mysterious place seemed too surreal to actually exist, to just land on and walk around. It was like a new Wonder of the World, something imagined only in dreams. Then, there were friends and colleagues from all over the planet in one place, with one mission. All in the same state of mind. Many scientists commented they felt like graduate students again—when the world was something miraculous to believe in, when anything was still possible, when the next great discovery or the next great technological leap was perhaps just months away.

  The logistics of running Transhumania were incredible. Rachael Burton went from chief architect to mayor of the city, advising staff on how to manage millions of details. Preston Langmore was in charge of leading and organizing the direction of the science and research. Jethro hired Francisco Dante to start a fifty-person news service in the city, complete with its own 24-hour television channel. Citizens basked in luxury and were treated like rock stars. Many joined fitness programs, learned new languages in night classes, and wandered around the numerous multimillion-volume libraries spread throughout the city. Citizens formed orchestras, chess teams, and culinary clubs. Fishing trips, rounds of golf, and jungle hikes on nearby tropical islands were arranged on weekends. Transhumania’s boats and helicopters ferried scientists to and from their destinations.

  Problems occurred, but they were quickly worked out for the most part. These were not people who complained about a broken hot shower or a bad Internet connection. These were professionals of the highest order, and they were all building the nation together. They fixed things themselves, went out of their way to improve operations, and helped one another when they could. These citizens were people of action, of doing—and doing it right.

  At night, many of them looked at the stars from the windows of their skyscrapers and felt as if they had arrived on a remarkable new planet. They were never happier or more productive, or bound with a greater sense of drive.

  ************

  Six months after Jethro Knights' Transhumania press conference, Reverend Belinas and Senator Gregory Michaelson met with the President of the United States in t
he Oval Office of the White House.

  “Sir, I really believe you need to speak to the Chinese President next week when he visits—about Transhumania,” said Belinas.

  “What for? There’s not any immediate threat. We only need to monitor the situation. They're just a bunch of floating sci-fi kooks.”

  Belinas was perturbed. A cigarette burned in his mouth, and he slumped in a leather chair next to the President’s desk. The reverend silently swore to himself. Two hours before, he received news that his congregation of believers had decreased for the third year in a row. His funds and resources had diminished too. The rumor was that his popularity had peaked. The core issue was more likely tied to the economy, which was shattered from coast to coast. Even his celebrity and heir supporters were closing their wallets. In the past twelve months, many banks had permanently shut their doors. Insurance companies around America evaporated. Manufacturing plants were empty and listless. Commercial real estate projects going up anywhere in the country were almost entirely commissioned by the government. Times were not just difficult, they were desperate.

  “Have you heard much from anyone, Sir—about Transhumania? Military might? Anything?” asked Gregory, leaning casually against a bookcase in a corner of the room. He held a half-finished glass of Scotch.

  “Sure, I hear stuff all the damn time. It seems people can’t talk enough about it, whether its voters, the press, or other politicians. The French President asked me about it at lunch the other day. He said, ‘What if they develop a nuclear bomb?’”

  Belinas and Gregory carefully watched the President for an answer.

  “Hell, I don’t know. We can’t make a ruckus or cause an embargo just because of something we don't know for sure. Freezing the city's assets is impossible anyway; the CIA Director told me we can’t trace any of their bank accounts. Frankly, our people don’t think they’re working on any nuclear bomb technology. The satellite images don't show any enrichment going on.”

  “Why not?” Belinas asked. “Jethro Knights is a militant man. Surely he wants that type of power and would use it if he had it.”

  “Quite possibly because you made him that way, Belinas,” the President shot back sharply. It was the first time he had revealed he was suspicious about whether the NFSA had really accomplished its goals.

  Belinas turned pale and quickly sat upright. The President's jab of frustration hit strongly.

  In the corner, Gregory also stood up straighter.

  The President frowned, not meaning to scare or badger his longtime minister. He was still very much on the reverend’s side, and added, “Look, Belinas, the generals just don’t think the transhumanists have the resources or time for that. It’s not a strong use of their time or part of their agenda.”

  The President took a sip of his water, then said firmly, “Gentleman, we are old friends here, and men bound together in faith. I want to protect America and the world just as much as you do. But we are losing our shirts right now because of the economy. Damn crisis just a few years ago was a prolonged recession. Now people are starting to wonder if it’s a full-blown depression. My priorities are elsewhere. America is too poor and frustrated for another war against some far-out, far-off cause.”

  There was a long, awkward silence. It filled the room as the President looked at his wristwatch. He sighed, then said, “And now, friends, I have to meet Senator Charleston about a fourth extension of the unemployment bill. More pork to deliver. I feel like a damn pizza man these days.”

  Belinas shot Gregory a foul glance, encouraging him to press the President further.

  “What about the scientists and engineers?” Gregory asked.

  “What about them?”

  “They’re disappearing by the thousands.”

  “What can we do? Tell them no, you can’t go? Pay them more? Christ, they’re transhuman rogues anyway. If they don't want to be here, then they don’t really belong here. Besides, there are others stepping up who do, replacing the old.”

  “Some of those leaving are the best we have. Shouldn’t we keep them here? Insist they stay?”

  “Gregory, how shall we do that? Shall we have a ‘War on Scientists Leaving’ as well?”

  The President got up from his chair and walked to the window. He was full of raw nerves these days and he knew it. He looked out over the White House lawn and saw his Golden Cocker Spaniel taking a shit. Eight feet away a Secret Service officer was holding a small shovel to scoop it up. The politician smiled stupidly.

  “I don’t want them to go,” the President said softly, “but to make it illegal for them to leave is not only beyond unconstitutional, it’s tyranny. I agreed with your War on Transhumanism. I’m a God-fearing man, and I want the human species to remain what it is. But to go further than that—to make it illegal to think what you want, where you go, and what you study—when there's no tangible proof it’s hurting others, then that is too far. We must hold to our own values with our cherished beliefs and our unified sense of what is morally right. We must teach them our rules by example, not by guns or force.”

  Belinas disagreed. He emphatically disagreed. He wanted an iron fist. Using guns and force was exactly how the transhumanists needed to be handled and taught. Belinas stared at the portrait of President Andrew Jackson on a nearby wall, knowing soon he would bypass the President's authority if necessary, and go straight to Congress. Or better yet, straight to the generals.

  ************

  Jethro Knights stood atop Memorial Vista, gazing pensively at Transhumania below him. He was exhausted from endless travels and meetings. It was good to be here, he thought, good to be home. Near him, the commemorative statue of Dr. Nathan Cohen now stood. A sculptor from Taiwan, a longtime advocate of transhumanism, was chosen for the commission. Jethro had offered him excellent compensation to make the statue, but the artist refused to charge anything, balking at Jethro.

  “Did you pay yourself for building Transhumania, Mr. Knights? Do you have a salary? Or a personal savings account? Or how about a retirement portfolio? No, of course not. Those things are superfluous for you. Because this isn't your job, it’s your life. Please don't insult me with what is going to be the paramount assignment of my life.”

  The effect the artist created in the statue of Nathan Cohen was haunting. The shimmering, life-sized bronze body—headless and tortured—was being dragged away by black-stained, ghostly hooded men. Five feet away, cemented into the ground, was a sculpted skull; the expression on its face was adamant, enduring, unyielding.

  Jethro also wanted the artist to create a statue of Zoe Bach; however, Jethro chose to postpone it indefinitely. It still hurt too much. The visceral reminder on Memorial Vista would be crushing. He pushed his mind away from thinking of Zoe tonight. Instead, Jethro concentrated on the sunset. It was magnificent, fading amongst a kaleidoscope of colors etched in the drifting clouds. He turned from the statue, and his eyes wandered to the benches lining the city’s edge.

  In view, there was only one skyscraper remaining with substantial work to be finished: the shortest, called the Technology Tower. Its skeleton, almost 70 percent covered in siding, was fifty-two stories high. Soaring above it were two other highrises: The middle building was sixty-six stories, called the Science Tower; the last and tallest building, eighty stories in height, was named the Transhumania Tower. Each of the towers—bearing slightly varying hues of silver, green, and blue glass siding, configured to emulate circuitry design—shot towards the sky, harmoniously complementing one another.

  Already complete, the Transhumania Tower contained many of the citizens’ homes near the top, including Jethro's minimalistic but intriguing three-room residence. His customized dwelling was informally dubbed the “Immortality Bridge” because most of the city’s essential command controls were located inside it. Dozens of servers, computers, and monitors neatly packaged against his living room wall could maneuver and operate all of Transhumania. Friends, colleagues, and guests of the city loved to visit
for coffee or tea and watch the thousands of blinking lights, flow diagrams, and fluctuating color graphs on the screens. Near the floor-to-ceiling window of his dining room, Jethro placed a twenty-person glass table overlooking the sea. It was his place to host important meetings and dinners.

  Farther down in this skyscraper, on floors forty-seven and forty-six, were located the offices and broadcasting studios of the Transhumania News Network. Below that, on floors thirty-nine and thirty-eight, was the Lojban Center, where a team of international linguists specialized in improving and teaching Transhumanians a syntactically unambiguous human language. The phonetically spelled language based on predicate logic was called Lojban, and over time, Jethro planned to make it the official language of Transhumania. It was the most effective and straightforward language on the planet for both human-to-human and human-to-computer communication.

  Below the Lojban Center, many of the city's best restaurants and shops occupied the middle and lower floors, including multilevel grocery, department, and hardware superstores. In the bottom section of the tower were numerous conference halls, an elaborate spa complex, and the five-star Transhumania Hotel for guests. A gymnastics arena, a basketball court, and an ice-skating rink were located at varying upper levels in the twenty-five story basement. Storage units, long-term car parking, and emergency cargo holds made up the bottom levels.

  The Science Tower looked complete on the outside, but workers were still finishing the interior of the highest stories. That skyscraper was for biology, chemistry, physics, and the medical fields. Sections of the building were separated between the disciplines of biotechnology, cryonics, cellular regeneration, nanomedicine, cybernetics, life extension pharmacology, chemistry, cognitive science, cloning, gene therapy, neuroscience, organ farming, tissue engineering, bacterial transformations, viral containment, psychiatry, cancer research, and nuclear physics. A floor was even dedicated to the fledgling field of quantum mechanics and its relationship with the brain and consciousness. At the bottom of the building was a five-story medical center, including the trauma and surgery bay, which was the most advanced of its kind in the world. Research and medical care were already underway on many floors of the building.