Transhumanist Wager, The (18 page)

“Kool-Aid, anyone?” she said,
jesting. “Kool-Aid?”

Jethro attended numerous lectures
and listened to many people’s conversations. There was a warm camaraderie in
the air; however, between the handshakes and greetings of friendly faces, he
could see many attendees were dismayed. They complained that this year's
conference was smaller than last year’s. And last year’s conference was smaller
than the year before that. There just wasn't enough money to go around anymore.
Scientists were increasingly unable to sell their technology or inventions—many
didn't even get booths because of the prohibitive cost. The demand for
avant-garde science products dried up with swelling public skepticism over
transhumanism and the dismal global economy.

Even worse, few scientists could
see anything changing in the near future. Some said the movement was bound to
stall completely in the next few years. Others predicted it would survive only
in tiny pockets around the world. Optimism about its promise, so strong just a
decade ago, was nowhere to be found.

During the final night of the
conference, in the crowded banquet hall, people sat listening to speakers,
sipping their cocktails, and waiting for the presentations to end so dinner
could be served. Jethro sat amongst the other speakers by a long table near the
podium. Dr. Whalefish was just finishing his speech on the need to recruit new
people and resources to the transhuman movement. People in the audience yawned,
nibbling their breadsticks.

A short applause followed the
scientist's speech, and Preston Langmore stood up and walked to the podium. He
introduced Jethro Knights and gave a quick biography of the young man. A few
people in the audience clapped and others roused, curious about what the
popular journalist and author of the radical paper would say.

“Thank you, Preston,” Jethro said
after arriving at the podium. He paused and carefully scanned the room,
studying the audience. A bright stage light filtered through his eyes, so he
couldn't see Zoe Bach in the far corner, standing with a swarm of other
observers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have been
graciously offered a job by Dr. Langmore, as a writer and senior consultant to
the World Transhumanist Institute. For a man of my young age, it’s a welcome
opportunity to directly participate in the transhuman movement.”

Some in the audience gently
applauded, assuming Jethro was going to accept the job. It seemed gracious of
him to do so publicly. Interest was piqued.

“However,” he said loudly, bringing
many in the audience to sharp attention, “I will not take the job. I will not
become just another cog of your lethargic movement. Or of this lethargic
conference. Or of the scientists here today who are hungry for so much more,
but actually do little to fulfill that hunger. Your watered-down version of
transhumanism is too weak for me. Your vision is sluggish and tedious. You
criticize and complain about those fools on the outside; about the conservative
government leaders who strangle us and withhold our resources; about the
religious populace who cut off our moral authority and condemn us; about the
anti-transhumanists who throw rocks at us and terrorize us. But you—out there
today, in
this
audience—you do nothing about it.

“We all know what marginal
progress, what little power, what lagging sophistication and innovation the world
would have without us pioneering creators. It was our efforts, our brains, our
genius that designed the planet’s nuclear warheads; that tamed its deadly
viruses; that engineered its supercomputers; that sent satellites all across
the solar system; that penned its most beneficial and liberating philosophies.
Yet, you still agree to play by all
their
rules, in
their
game,
under
their
laws—just so you may have the begged-for honor of trying to
achieve your immortality and your transhuman goals at a glacial pace.

“You continually let them tell us
what we can do and what we cannot do. You let them hold carrots in front of us
that we rarely reach, while our dreams fall by the wayside. And if occasionally
you do reach a carrot, they steal it back from you, telling you that it belongs
to them. That it belongs to the uneducated layperson, or the idiot, or the
beggar, or the freeloader on the street. That it belongs to their sacred
concept of humanity. That it belongs to everyone but you, the ones who made it
possible. It's absurd, my fellow transhumanists. And it's a game I will not
play.

“Five years ago, I left to sail
around the world after that debacle of the Transhumanism Town Hall Forum put on
by our countries' imbecilic leaders, hoping to return to a movement that had
progressed forward, hoping that transhumanism stood a better chance to achieve
its goals than it did before. And I ask you now, what has changed since then?”

Jethro Knights paused, sternly
observing the room. Everyone was at full attention now. Many in the audience
appeared stunned. Security personnel looked at each other, wondering where his
speech was going, if it was allowed—and whether they should stop it.

“What has changed?” Jethro
demanded, his voice hard and piercing. “Nothing, I tell you. Nothing at all has
changed. In fact, things are far worse for all of us. The end of our lives are
closer than ever. And it's because your methods are gentle, quiet, and
mouselike. They are, in my opinion, spineless. I declare your version of the
transhuman movement a failure. I declare your strategy feeble, weathered, and
aged. I don't want to hear about your science and ten-year studies anymore.
Some of the best of you will be dead in ten years. I want a real victory. I
want real progress. I want real change. I want our immortality guaranteed. I
want a transhuman world now—while I'm still alive on Earth to experience and
appreciate it.

“My fellow transhumanists, the
reason I have come here tonight is not to join your movement, but to ask you to
embrace mine. Tonight, I ask you to answer a novel calling, a courageous
challenge, a new stealth form of transhumanism. Tonight, I am starting a new
course for our futuristic dreams. Tonight I am launching the
Transhuman
Revolution
. It will be an unyielding, ultra-aggressive declaration to fight
anything that stands in the way of our transhuman way of life. I implore you to
join me in waging this battle.

“To lead the revolution I am
creating an assertive direct-action organization called ‘Transhuman Citizen.’
You may have read or heard about the type of transhuman champion that belongs
to this group in my essay,
Rise of the Transhuman Citizen.
Our goal is
to lead a global uprising—to transform our backwards planet into a
forward-looking transhuman world, full of unlimited scientific promise. Our aim
is to make that new world uncompromising in its moral thoughts, actions, and
transhuman creations. And we will stop at nothing to do so.

“But you cannot join Transhuman
Citizen by continuing to belong to two worlds—to
theirs
and to ours.
There is no middle ground in this revolutionary quest; you've already proven
that the neutral or halfhearted path is a wasted, futile act. To succeed in the
Transhuman Revolution, you must now choose sides. You must choose to be a
citizen of
their
world—or a citizen of transhumanism.” 

Jethro paused, feeling the energy
of the room. People's glares flowed right into him.

“Transhuman Citizen follows a
guiding and comprehensive individualist philosophy called TEF. It stands for
Teleological Egocentric Functionalism. Teleological—because it is every
advanced individual's inherent design and desired destiny to evolve.
Egocentric—because it is based on each of our selfish individual desires, which
are of the foremost importance. Functional—because it will only be rational and
consequential. And not fair, nor humanitarian, nor altruistic, nor muddled with
unreachable mammalian niceties. The philosophy is essential because it doesn't
allow for passive failure. It doesn't allow transhumanists to live in delusion
while our precious years of existence pass.”

Jethro inhaled a deep breath and
saw the crowd’s faces upon him; many looked skeptical and reserved. He said, “I
see your eyes upon me asking questions. You want to know exactly what
Transhuman Citizen and TEF are? What they will do differently than you? How far
will they go to succeed? I tell you now, our organization and philosophy is an
undertaking of war—yes, war—to connect today to the tomorrow we want,
regardless of the cost. We are a warriorlike system of thought and moral action
designed to find the best in ourselves. TEF is a philosophy defining the most
expedient course an individual can take to reach one's most powerful and
advanced self, whose primary initial purpose is to achieve immortality so that
one creates enough time for oneself to reach omnipotence. It is not concerned
with whose world it alters or destroys to get there. There is no right or wrong
in its mission. Just failure or success, life or death.

“To execute the Transhuman Revolution,
Transhuman Citizen will soon begin approaching the wealthiest, smartest, most
powerful, most fearless, most ambitious, and most capable people in the
world—many of you. And convince them we need to act and start fighting now;
that we can pave our way to unparalleled life extension and human enhancement
for those who deserve and desire it. We will dedicate all we have to succeed.
We will subordinate our nations, our families, our friends, and our wealth to
reach victory. Nothing will stand in our way. We will build a brave new reality
and vision for the world. We will buy it, steal it, or create it by force if
that is what must be done. We shall construct a civilization where our
experiments will go unmolested by others who think it's their right to judge us
and to stop us.

“The morality of Transhuman Citizen
is defined and decided by the amount of time we have left to live. Not by
democracy, decency, altruism, kindness, or notions of humanity and mammalian
love—and especially not by that petty, archaic concept of religion. It is
forged by the evolutionary dictates of our deepest instincts and reason, which
scream to overcome death and launch an advance into our brilliant future. That
is our mounting cry.

“Over the next few years you will
see us prowling the streets in your cities, in your universities, in your
backyards. You will see us on television and in the newspapers. You will hear
us coming through the radio. You will watch us stream across the Internet. Not
only for our defiant campaigns, or for our radical scientific discoveries, or
for our influential hand in reshaping the culture of our species. But also for
whomever we have beaten down. For whomever we have humiliated and humbled. For
what religions we have ridiculed and thwarted. For what governments we have
sabotaged and upended. And, quite possibly, for what enemy we have maimed and killed.
Because we will lobby not only with resources, intellect, and forceful
attitude, but also with might. With power. With militancy. With ferocious terror,
if we have to. You will know the wrath and morality of a people who will stop
at nothing to achieve immortality and the goals of transhumanism.

“I urge you to join me, for I can
see you are my allies—my brothers, sisters, and friends. Our very lives are at
stake this moment. And every minute we give them, we take away from ourselves.
I urge you to support and join Transhuman Citizen and its philosophy
TEF—radical as it may be to you—as we embark on the most critical journey of
our lives, and embrace the quest to discover how far we can go as humans, as
cyborgs, as conscious intelligent machines, as rays of light, as pure energy,
as anything the future brings.

“May you all reach your dreams in
the Transhuman Revolution.”

Jethro Knights was finished, standing
tall and observing the hall. The media’s television camera operators, who stood
mostly bored throughout the night, were utterly awake now, focusing their
machines on Jethro’s face—his brows, his blazing blue eyes, his utter
seriousness. The room was silent, but it still felt loud. Jethro's words
lingered, echoed, were heavy in everyone's consciousness.

Preston Langmore didn't know what
to make of it. Or what to say. He sat frozen. Most of the crowd did the same,
shocked and speechless. Only a lone woman, standing far in the back, grinned
and clenched her fists together, her heart pounding violently.

Then, after nearly twenty seconds,
a young scientist stood up in front. He cautiously began to clap, his hands
slowly coming together. Moments later, another young person stood up and
clapped, and then another; then the older ones began joining in. The words
Jethro said played over in many people's minds, especially in those of the
eldest:
Some of the best of you will be dead in ten years. . . . I want a
transhuman world now—while I'm still alive on Earth to experience and
appreciate it.
”

Soon, applause from all over roared
throughout the hall. Some people raised their knuckles together and made the transhumanist
sign by crossing their index fingers and thumbs into an infinity symbol. Others
whistled, hooted, or stomped their feet. Jethro hit a nerve. The agonizingly
slow slithering of the transhuman movement reared its head and revealed its
teeth. No one was going to leave through the back exit tonight.

Jethro bowed in grateful
acknowledgment to the standing ovation. He picked up his papers and walked
alone down the middle of the isle to the banquet hall's exit doors, and then
continued through the empty conference floor past the vacant booths. Some
photographers and videographers followed closely behind him.

When Jethro Knights reached the
outside of the Phillips Expo Center, he descended the wide marble steps of the
main entrance, unhurried. Within twenty meters of the building, thousands of
barricaded protesters waited and shouted. Tense police stood together, holding
the mob back. One of the protestors took aim and lobbed a large rock at Jethro
as he neared the bottom of the steps. The stone missed. Jethro watched the rock
hit the steps, roll, and stop a few meters from his feet. He walked to it,
picked it up, and looked coldly at the crowd. Then he pitched it with full
force right back from where it came.