Transhumanist Wager, The (48 page)

************

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 have 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.”

“This is just hearsay, but I've heard
he was the one who hacked the Federal Reserve. And never got caught. A billion
dollars or something crazy like that. Apparently, he did it right from his
mother’s home in Los Angeles.”

Jethro laughed deeply. “Oliver, are
you the last to know?”

“Know what?” The tall Frenchman
stared at Jethro, genuinely surprised.

“Who do you think is holding that
kind of money for him? It's in the vaults below, and making a damn good
interest rate for him too.”

“Huh? Really? No one tells me
anything. My staff thinks I'm too straight.”

Jethro laughed. “That's why you're
in charge, my friend.”

They walked toward a window and saw
a supply freighter below them, 100 meters away, pulling into Transhumania’s
docks.

“Oliver, I need you to make
security as tight as possible. Now that things are getting intense we can
expect terrorist attacks at any moment. I want every ship scanned for
unauthorized personnel, dirty bombs, bio-agents, and anything else dangerous.”

“Of course. Our people and
detection systems wouldn't miss a thing. No ship or plane gets within fifty
miles of here without being digitally laser-scanned from the satellites, then
boarded and scoped by our machines.

“Fine. Just keep on top of it. It’s
one of our greatest vulnerabilities.”

“What about more people? Burton told
me you're looking into extension plans for the platform.”

“It's true, more qualified people
want to join than I can actually incorporate at the moment. So floating
extensions are being considered for the best of them. Seems the whole world
wants to come aboard now.”

“Well, of course. So what are you
going to do?”

“Honestly, we don't need them right
now. At least not here in the city. We already have the best. Our immortality
research is progressing so quickly we're going to be near the endgame in a decade.
Death under most circumstances will cease to exist for Transhumanians. And
those on the outside who can afford to will come here and buy near-perfect
health. We just need to fend off the world until that time comes.”

“What about after ten years?”

“There are so many possibilities
and angles, so much potential. But I don't plan to still be floating
Transhumania in another decade. I don't think anyone does, as wonderful as that
might be. I think the future holds going back into the world, bringing transhumanism
and its gifts to the continents.”

“So you're set on our timeline to
try and take it all back.”

“Yes, Oliver, I'm fully committed.
We should be ready for our war plans in twelve to twenty-four months at the
latest. We need the world’s resources and many of its talented people as well.
There are a lot of gifted transhumanists out there. Many of them just don't
know it yet. Once they do, however, they’ll significantly accelerate the speed
and success of our long-term goals.”

“Fine. Then we’ll stick to the
schedule and continue to let the world see our new weaponry and technologies.
Surely, that will vex them enough to compel them to come knocking someday.”

“That's the plan,” Jethro answered,
looking off towards the sea, feeling America just over the horizon. In his
head, the map of his life and ambitions was as vibrant and clear as ever.

************

Five months later, Dr. Preston
Langmore stood next to Jethro Knights’ dinner table, clutching a microphone. He
was giving a speech at the fifth anniversary celebration of Transhumania.
Listening to him were 10,000 other citizens who filled the sky hall on the top
floor of the Science Tower. Surrounding them was a forty-foot-high glass atrium
that panoramically overlooked the water. The horizon had engulfed the sun only
three minutes before. Looking out, one felt like a ship in the sky, drifting
amongst scattered clouds, a plethora of fading green, orange, and blue hues
blanketing everything.

“And so, my fellow colleagues, the
future is now upon us,” Langmore said, his words rolling slowly and precisely
off his aged tongue. “The new cell-like substance that we’ve developed has so
many applications. The manipulation of its DNA, controlled by our nanobots,
will bring unprecedented changes to human life in the next decade, perhaps even
in the next few years. We will begin our ascent to a truly immortal life form,
full of all the benefits of what it means to be a transhuman being.”

Clapping ensued around him. He
waited graciously and then continued.

“It is no coincidence that the
first fruits of our work are now appearing in full form exactly five years
after the launching of our beloved city. It gives me boundless pleasure to know
that many of you are already improving your bodies by undergoing the necessary
upgrades to achieve that which we always knew was possible: perfect
health."

Langmore continued his oration. A
host of other leading Transhumanians, including Rachael Burton, had given
speeches before him. Deliberately not on the schedule to speak that evening was
Jethro Knights. Swamped with keeping the city running smoothly and efficiently,
he chose instead to concentrate on greeting as many people as possible. He
shook hands, discussed research angles, offered congratulations on
breakthroughs, promised better budgets, dealt with grievances, and strove to
calm fears that the outside world would soon destabilize Transhumania’s
mission. His optimism and reassurances were strong pillars of confidence,
vision, and inspiration to all.