The Transhumanist Wager

by Zoltan Istvan

  Belinas threw his notebook down on the table in disgust and said, "It's horrifying. They don’t give a damn about the human race and the egalitarian principles for which our civilization has fought so hard. They mean to exterminate us. Now they have the fastest planes in the sky—and the bomb. My dear friend, can’t you see that America and the world are in grave danger and need your immediate proactive leadership?”

  The President dropped his head into his hands. He was grateful when the preacher’s fifteen-minute lecture ended. The politician had barely touched his lunch. Genocide-touting transhumanists who possessed nuclear missiles was just one more flashpoint on his hectic domestic and international agendas, and he didn’t want to deal with it just then.

  Yet, the facts were too much to ignore, so over the next few days the President decided to publicly side with Belinas’ forewarnings. There was no doubt the planet was significantly less safe now that Transhumania was out there floating around, spouting revolutionary ideas, and inventing technologies the rest of civilization could only imagine.

  A week later at a press conference, with Reverend Belinas and Senator Gregory Michaelson standing at his side, the President publicly questioned whether Transhumania posed a serious threat to the world, and if so, what might be done about it. Congress listened and formed an investigative committee to probe every angle of the issue, with a congressional hearing scheduled afterward to consider the results. The committee, led by Senator Michaelson, consisted largely of NFSA supporters. Inevitably, the committee gathered damning evidence against Transhumania.

  Inside the Capitol building on the day of the hearing, Gregory made sure the looming transhumanist threat was heard and contemplated by everyone he encountered, including top members of Congress and the scores of press covering the event. Additionally, he armed his personal aides with pictures of the prototype Transhumanian aircraft and its missiles, instructing each of them to widely distribute the images. He also advised his top military engineers to walk around the Capitol’s halls, loudly voicing to anyone who would listen that those aircraft were designed for one singular purpose: mass destruction via nuclear weapons deployment. In the halls and the backrooms, Belinas doubled his own warnings, pulling politicians aside for intimate one-on-one discussions, counsel, and prayer.

  Despite the persuasive rhetoric and finger-waving admonitions, most politicians at the hearing looked worn out, reluctant, and detached. They each had enough worries in their home states without the Federal Government allocating more money for another war on the other side of the world. Senators and representatives smelled another witch hunt, but the energy seemed too low to pursue something so grandiose.

  Still, Gregory, who chaired the hearing, worked hard to harness their attention and paint the matter as urgent and vital to the country’s safety. He presented alarming facts and statistics, inviting generals and weapons experts to speculate on how and when Transhumania might pursue a nuclear attack. Gregory reiterated a handful of times that the leader of the transhuman nation was a self-appointed dictator, with an extensive history of radicalism and violence.

  “Their leader, Jethro Knights,” Gregory stated loudly, halfway through the hearing, “has openly welcomed the destruction of the Earth's human culture and the glorious civilization it has made. He is capable of any evil, just like the rogue military regimes in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East.”

  An aged senator from California responded by heckling, “Except its citizens are millionaires with two Ph.D.s apiece, not starving rice farmers, goatherds, or illiterate mercenaries.”

  Muffled laughter was heard throughout the congressional hall. Gregory paid no attention. He was evermore convinced this tiny nation and its powerful technology were irrevocably dangerous. Belinas had forced and forged that conviction in him over years. Besides, for Gregory to think or act otherwise could be disastrous. He built his career, established his friendships, and saved his marriage on those concepts. His livelihood, his leadership, and even his ego, were dependent upon it now. There was no turning back for him, whether others agreed or not.

  Fortunately for the young senator, it was a historically suitable time to persuasively strut his conviction to the government and the populace that military action was necessary. America was at an unprecedented low point, groveling in the mud, teetering on fiscal depression. Unemployment was at a staggering 17 percent. War during such times always proved reliable in reigniting economies and politicians' favors. It was a simple American reality: Making war was far easier than making jobs.

  Near the end of the hearing, Reverend Belinas appeared in front of members of Congress as a guest orator and the nation’s topmost spiritual authority on the dangers of transhumanism. A burst of flashes from journalists’ cameras accompanied him as he stepped up to the podium. His charisma and eloquence helped sway many people closer to his side. His voice, loud and beautiful—his tall figure, in white and always provocative—added something far more profound to everyone’s thoughts than just a nation with a strangled economy. He made people forget about jobs, politics, and the countless angry voters. He spoke to people's innermost fears and hopes, to their sense of right and wrong. To their sense of eternal damnation or a welcoming blissful afterlife.

  He began his speech with exquisite precision by detailing the horrible experiments perpetuated in the transhuman city. He spoke of live human beings suffering in vats as their organs were harvested, screaming inside their minds in dire pain, but with no mouths to utter sounds. He spoke of people—half human, half machine—running and crawling about; of slaves and concubines stolen from Africa for each scientist; of experiments far more brutal than those of the Nazis.

  Belinas continued, launching into the ramifications of a noble nation such as America turning a blind eye to transhuman evils and of the shameful, historical consequences that would surely follow. He spoke of Jethro Knights’ airplanes being the Four Horsemen, part of the Bible’s Book of Revelations unfolding right in front of everyone’s eyes. He spoke of satanic robots policing the floating dictatorship, using shock Tasers and throwing agitators overboard to sharks; of Jethro fathering numerous children with his harem of partly synthetic women; of all the Transhumanians being issued Big Brotherlike, subcutaneous microchip tracking devices.

  “They aim to put tracking chips into each one of us in the future too,” Belinas shouted.

  He spoke of brainwashed scientists never being allowed to leave, chained to their laboratories, pushed to work endlessly day and night. He described new plagues being bred in their laboratories, to decimate the weakest in the human race as part of an overarching eugenics program. He warned of terrifying malevolence being perpetuated on every inch of the menacing floating city.

  “This, my friends and colleagues, is biblical.”

  Belinas always forced everything into a matter of good versus evil. It was his mastery over people, accomplished by not deciphering an issue but renaming it. Of simplifying it to a point of easily understood opposites, even if the opposites skewed truth and ended up as lies.

  "I encourage each of you to look into your heart and ask if you can live in the world that Jethro Knights proposes—if you can live in a world where those atrocities are actually happening out there, just off our shores. You heard him say it: He would kill all of us if it were in his best interest to do so. Only the most evil monster could say that, only the most nefarious man could mean that.

  “Jethro Knights,” he said, prophetically, “will become the Antichrist if we don’t stop him. The man emulates a machine. He strives to think and reason just like a computer. He wants his dreams to manifest in programming code. He is a hater of humankind, of our beating hearts and the warm blood flowing in our veins. I warn each of you now, when the Antichrist reaches his full form he will not be a human being. He will not be a beast with horns. He will not be mere flesh. He will be cold, metallic, and entirely artificial—composed of microchips, electrical impulses, and software. The Antichrist will be the first, f
ully self-aware machine—a totally synthetic intelligent consciousness. Anything that uses unbroken, infallible logic will, by its nature, attain pure evil. And that ghastly thing, that great wickedness, will instinctively and relentlessly strive to destroy the human race and all life in the universe until it is the sole remaining entity.

  Belinas held out his clenched fists to the leaders of America, and said, “Soon a battle between us and them—humans and transhumanists—will ensue. And we must win that battle. We must stop them. I hope each of you will come to a firm decision, to speak to your friends, your colleagues, your ministers—and decide how we can defeat and dismantle this renegade nation whose ambition to dominate the world must end. As righteous-hearted God-fearing people, we would all prefer to avoid conflict and war, but our country and the rest of the world must engage in it for the sake of our future. For our children’s future. We must all unite, and together initiate our military strength against Transhumania. We must do it before they invent some demonic technology to stop us and strip us of our sovereignty and freedom. We must do it before they invent some hideous means to eliminate our democratic human way of life and our cherished religious faiths. We must do it before they irreparably damage the majesty of the human race.”

  ************

  Reverend Belinas knew the congressional hearing about Transhumania was just an important first step. To keep the newfound anti-transhumanism momentum building, he released to the media additional detailed pictures of the mysterious supersonic aircraft and its missiles. He also handpicked a group of faith-based scientists to write op-ed articles for major papers around the country, condemning Transhumania’s military aspirations. Finally, he called Amanda Michaelson, insisting she force her husband to persistently and repeatedly meet with the U.S. President and his Cabinet to push their findings and intentions.

  Over the next month, Senator Gregory Michaelson was a frequent visitor at the White House. He also appeared numerous times on television, discussing transhumanist threats with all the major news channels and their lead anchors. He advised his experts at the NFSA to reiterate those same warnings across the country, by writing public reports and giving interviews to the media. Around the nation, a stark apprehension about Transhumania began to emerge.

  “My best guess,” said a top-ranking NFSA officer to an IMN anchorwoman hosting a prime time news show, “is those superfast aircraft are armed with nuclear bombs, perhaps chemical weapons too. Which means right now, at this very moment, the world and its many large population centers may be in much more danger than we realize.”

  From Transhumania, Jethro Knights watched the news in America unfold. His public relations director did the same, and reported to him that a U.S. Government-contrived smear campaign was underway, which usually predates some type of intervention or action.

  Jethro replied, "Make no mistake—they will not leave us alone. America is on a slippery, downward slope bound for economic and moral dereliction. They need someone to pick on to make them feel better about themselves, some mission that makes them think they are powerful and righteous. But there is still plenty of time before anything occurs to disturb us way out here."

  "What will we do, Jethro, if they initiate real action such as military force?" asked the director. "Can they shut us down? Disband us? Destroy us?"

  "Not to worry. We have plenty of fight to give them. Trust me—almost half our budget ended up going to it," Jethro said, closing his eyes and sighing. He did not want to think of the exorbitant dollar amount that could've been spent on transhuman research.

  That night, Jethro retired to his apartment in the sky. He opened a window and let the warm Pacific air flow in. The past five years had been nonstop, almost dizzying. He poured himself a glass of Transhumania's Pinot Noir, grown in the catacombs of the platform's basement, using hydro pods. He smiled at it, then looked over by his bed and stared at a lone picture of Zoe Bach. Nearly six years had passed since her death. He thought of their first trip to Napa Valley together, tasting wine and making love in a quaint bed and breakfast.

  The Transhumanian wine would suit Zoe, he thought. Lots of tannins, a hint of berries, and a strong, definable nose. Also, that dark ruby color she always enjoyed. She would’ve especially loved the architecture of the city, he thought, looking out his window. The surgery center too. And the quantum mechanics lab and its bizarre metaphysical experiments. How fast and magnificent Transhumania had grown, and how different than she might’ve imagined. It made him sad and gloomy. He forced the thoughts of her away, as he had done for many years. If he wasn't careful and disciplined, he would think of her all day and night.

  Many women approached Jethro Knights on Transhumania, all of whom were prodigious human beings with stacked resumes and innumerable qualities. Yet, he never let anything romantic occur. It made Zoe that much more intense in his memories. It made him that much more driven, loyal, and patient. It also reminded him of Frederick Vilimich. He closed his eyes in frustration, in curiosity, and tried to force himself to forget it.

  “Not yet,” Jethro said out loud to himself. “I can't think of that yet. It's still too far away.”

  But he relented, imagining for an instant—an astonishing instant—that he was frozen, dead, and searching. The first attempt to find her.

  Seconds later, Jethro forced his willpower to reclaim his thoughts, and he pushed Zoe out of his mind. He looked to a distant spot on the sea and concentrated on the next imperative for Transhumania. How long before his military was fully functional and effective? And then, once it was, how far would he take it? He laughed at himself, knowing the answer already. He would go as far as he needed. He turned to his intercom and paged his secretary. Two floors below him in her residence, Janice Mantikas was sleeping on her couch, exhausted from a busy day.

  “Oh. One moment, sir. I’m sorry, I just took a moment to rest on the couch, and I must've passed out.”

  “That's perfectly okay. Just make a note to have a meeting tomorrow at 10:30 A.M. for all top military personnel at the conference center. Now tuck yourself into bed and have a good night.”

  At the meeting, Jethro told his nation’s defense staff what they already knew: one day, probably in a year or two, Transhumania would be faced with a full-scale military assault. And that the awakening of the American military machine was now occurring.

  “When the time comes, we don’t want just to repel with the shield systems what they throw at us, but also to begin a plan of striking back—a plan of conquering. The drones are being built for just that; however, we must be ready with our technology. I’m designating more of our budget for military. You will see the new adjustments tomorrow in your accounts. Use whatever you need to make us win. Efficient timelines and results are the only things I care about. Make sure your weekly and monthly updates reflect that.”

  After the meeting, Oliver Mbaye approached Jethro privately and said, “It’s getting worse out there in the world. Much worse.”

  “Undoubtedly. The whole banking industry, what's left of it, can no longer pretend to be solvent anymore. So many people are upside down on everything they own, and getting loans to help is practically impossible. Plus inflation is rising fast. Governments are realizing they can't just keep printing money to save their institutions and countries. Their debts are insurmountable. Even the price of gold is finally tanking. It’s very possible the dollar will have to be devalued in the next twelve to twenty-four months.”

  “I hear the same. The escalating recession is totally running amuck. Wages are still being cut everywhere. Wall Street has shed over half its jobs. Allied Motor Company needs another government loan to build cars, and they’re not going to get it this time. Pensions at the big oil and energy companies are lost for good, stolen by corrupt executives, or spent on their stupidly crude blowouts and oil tanker groundings. Social Security is literally insolvent. Municipal bonds are becoming worthless. Public schools and universities are cutting their academic years by a third just to hav
e enough money to continue offering classes. Medicare is nearing bankruptcy and might be forced to dissolve. Internationally, there was rioting in Rio de Janeiro, Beijing, London, and Cairo last week. Not for any specific reason, just looting at the grocery and supply stores.”

  “It’s good for us, Oliver.”

  “I think so as well. It's critical, though, that we time this just right. Letting them see and photograph the aircraft and missiles last month was perfect. They swallowed the bait whole."

  “Yeah, so predictable.”

  “What about the new investors?” Oliver asked. “The Chilean commodity tycoon and the Ivory Coast real estate magnate?”

  “They're definitely on board. I'm just waiting for the wire transfers to arrive. Funding has jumped almost 50 percent again in the last quarter. Money is flooding in. People want whatever wealth they have left to actually do something. Transhumania is that something.”

  “You're converting them, Jethro. And making them believe we can win.”

  “We will win.”

  “What about that new team of computer scientists for me—with Josh Genear?”

  “I've been told nine days. Their apartments are being readied.”

  “Is Josh really the world’s greatest coder?”

  “That’s what many experts say; however, hacking is his real specialty.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Young, like a teenager. Red hair. Scrawny with spectacles. He has a few tattoos. He carries around an energy drink in his back pocket at all times.”