Transhumanist Wager, The (19 page)

PART II

Chapter 13

After the transhumanism conference,
Jethro Knights quickly found a buyer for his sailboat. The draw of such a
proven seaworthy vessel brought in a quick, fair price. Jethro went to the bank
with the proceeds and paid off his school loans in full. Later, he took the
subway to a used car dealer in the Bronx and bought a hardtop Jeep. He put the
total of his possessions inside. There wasn't much: old clothes, a laptop, a
cell phone, a camera, and his 100 favorite books. He didn't own anything else.
And he only had enough money left for another six months before he would be
forced to find work. He was poor by most American standards, but Jethro didn't
recognize it. He only felt emboldened and rich with experience. A quickness was
noticeable in his steps, from the excitement of formally founding Transhuman
Citizen and its philosophy, TEF.

His plan was to drive to California
where he could live in the heart of innovative Silicon Valley, outside San
Francisco. The three-day drive would give him time to develop a comprehensive
plan. At a gas station outside New York City, he bought a large cup of coffee
and began the journey. As the land’s topography changed—and hills and farmlands
began passing by—his mind flashed to the conference and his speech, to his
studies on the transhuman movement and its scientists, to his sailing trip and
the
International Geographic
stories. And, finally, to Zoe Bach.

He knew she was still working in
San Francisco. That was easy enough to discover simply by searching for her on
the Web. He told himself she wasn't the reason he was going there. Silicon
Valley was the global epicenter of technology and the birthplace of modern
transhumanism. It was the obvious place to develop TEF and his organization.
Still, he was glad she was there. He hoped that she was still available—or at
least not married yet. He thought to himself, I’m almost ready to contact her.

But not yet. Like hundreds of days
before, he forced himself to not think about her. To focus his mind on the
important tasks ahead. To hone the concentration needed to achieve what must be
done. The most important item was writing a detailed philosophical manifesto of
TEF—the rally call for his kind of transhuman devotion. Those who read it and
believed in it would form the nucleus of his souped-up group—and, hopefully,
the heart of the Transhuman Revolution.

Jethro arrived in Palo Alto, the
center of the valley, just before dawn, after driving continuously for sixty
hours. He was accustomed to such a schedule, where he would stay awake for days
and nights at a time, watching for ships and reefs. At a liquor store, he found
a local newspaper and called a housing rental agency, inquiring about a small
unfurnished apartment for rent. An agent showed him the vacant unit later that
afternoon. It was near a gym with an Olympic-sized swimming pool. There were
jogging trails in the nearby hills. A 24-hour coffee shop was only two blocks
away. Bookstores and a library were within easy walking distance.

He took the apartment and moved in
later that evening. Now he was near three of the West Coast's best
universities: Vontage, San Aliza, and Breherst. It would be the ideal location
to recruit people. Vontage had the technology and computer innovators. San
Aliza had the biotech and medical researchers. Breherst—with its history of
dissidence—had the philosophers and troublemakers. All were needed.

Jethro spent the first week
establishing Transhuman Citizen: acquiring a physical address for mail; getting
a phone line and Internet access; and launching a working website with a
mission statement, news section, and a condensed version of his writings. He
also designed a logo for TEF—an insignia for instant recognition and universal
promotion. It was a sparse, metallic, elegant version of the infinity symbol.
After his speech at the transhumanism conference, people were already contacting
him, and he needed to present them with a basic infrastructure of his
organization and philosophy, so they knew something was occurring and would
check back again.

When much of the clerical gruntwork
was done, Jethro sat down in his apartment and began the manifesto. Penning the
philosophy of the manuscript was demanding. He worked on it sixteen hours a
day, incorporating his years of writing, conversations, speeches, experiences,
and thoughts on transhumanism into it. He often referred to his sailing trip’s
journal for guidance and inspiration. When he came to a problem that couldn't
easily be solved or a paragraph that didn’t sound right, he went for a long run
in the hills or a swim in the nearby pool. By the time he was back and out of
the shower, he knew what needed to be said.

Finally, after three weeks, he
finished. It was fifty-two pages long. The first page read:

The TEF Manifesto:
Philosophy of the Transhuman Citizen

The history
of the transhumanist is the history of evolution. We, the transhumanists, are
that budding manifestation of our universe’s ascension to its purest, most
potentially powerful form. It is our birthright that we should now transform
that evolution into our new future—into our luminous expansion over everything.

We have always
cherished our miraculous lives. We have always pledged our loyalty to the
highest experiences of our existence. We are conscious, independent, rational
entities on a quest to achieve unending, omnipotent power so that we may
indefinitely preserve our experience of life and the finest, most valuable
existence we can attain. These truths are innate and infallible. These truths
are the essence of evolution.

Jethro Knights’ manifesto
continued, page after page, citing a plethora of life extension tautologies;
dissecting the Three Laws of Transhumanism; expounding on the Transhumanist
Wager; breaking down the morality of the omnipotender; exploring the coming
future of human enhancement; discussing possibilities of the Singularity;
offering intricate details of Teleological Egocentric Functionalism; inciting
consequences of the Transhuman Revolution; and, finally, warning of the dangers
of society's addiction to illogicality, egalitarianism, historical culture,
blind consumerism, and religion.

The manifesto ended with:

Transhumanists
of the world, unite! The universe will offer no forgiveness to those of you who
abandon your transhuman mission. Unite together and defeat the irrationality,
mediocrity, and theistic fearmongers of the world who wish to enslave science
and halt evolutionary advancement. Unite and reach your dreams by achieving an
undeniable victory for the Transhuman Revolution.

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

Gregory Michaelson threw down his
pen when he heard his secretary knock on his door. He was grateful to be
disturbed. It was 9:15 A.M., and he hadn't stopped working since he walked into
his office at dawn. Ever since he had started campaigning to become a Senator
for New York, he found himself emphatically busy with zero time for anything
outside of politics. There was no question in his mind that running for such an
important office carried privileges. He was the constant center of attention:
everyone wanted to meet him; important people showered him with praise; and
wealthy donors pledging campaign contributions hinted at large kickbacks for
him down the road.

Surprisingly, much of it wore thin
quickly. Existing on five hours of sleep per night for the last month, Gregory
felt only the heavy burden of responsibilities—recently made worse by his poor
showing in the debate against Andy Johnson. His daily socializing now bore so
much significance, not the get-tipsy-share-a-cigar-and-laugh-with-the-boys
routine. There were so many people to say the right things to, so many wealthy
widows and donors to pet the correct way. So much power to handle carefully. A
hefty share of stress was now ubiquitous in his every waking hour, especially
from his wife’s glaring eyes.

“Don't lose for us, Gregory. Your
children and I don't want to be embarrassed. I didn't sign up for marrying a
loser.”

The pressure from her over the past
few months was growing unbearable.

“Damn it, Amanda! You know I can't
control what happens,” snapped Gregory one evening in the kitchen, overtired
and out of character.

She turned furious towards him, her
face ugly and vicious. “Don't you dare swear at me. Just work harder and figure
out how to get back ahead of Johnson,” she screamed, then bolted to another
section of the house.

That was three days ago, and
Gregory had remained in a slump ever since. Amanda still wouldn't talk to him,
even after he apologized three separate times.

“Sir, it's Reverend Belinas on the
line,” announced Gregory’s secretary. “The call you've been waiting for.”

Gregory’s eyes shot to the phone.
His spirit immediately jumped and his mind began racing. He was overwhelmed by
the possibilities of what Belinas' call could mean. He cleared his throat and
said, “Thank you, Donna. Put him through. I'll pick up.”

Gregory picked up the phone and
said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you, Mr.
Michaelson,” boomed a voice through the receiver. “Thank you so much for taking
my call. I'm sure you're busy.”

The voice spoke as if it knew that
everyone took its calls.

“It's my pleasure to speak with
you, Reverend Belinas. My wife and I watch your program on IMN often. We think
you're fantastic.”

“Oh, that is good. That is just
perfect. Thank you. I've been meaning to call you ever since you announced you
were running for senator. I'm rooting for you, you know.”

“That's very kind of you, sir,”
Gregory said. “I'm trying to do my best in the campaign. And I hope, if I win,
I will be able to make the lives of New Yorkers better.”

“Of course. Of course. I'm sure you
will—which is just why I called. You see, I believe you and I share so much in common,
so much more than I do with Andy Johnson, that pro-transhumanist renegade
you're running against. And I'm deeply concerned about the welfare of New York
since a few million believers in my congregation live there, most in
destitution.”

Belinas continued speaking about
conservative Christian values and about how important the state of New York was
to the country.

“And I must tell you, Mr.
Michaelson, I'm especially proud of you for taking a firm stance against
transhumanism and its scientists.”

“Thank you, sir. I've been trying
to uphold traditional values and keep whatever government resources and money
there are with the people, not the experimental scientists.”

Gregory knew that most people who
belonged to Redeem Church didn't vote. Even though their numbers were large,
historically they avoided the polls. Most were apathetic to politics, hoping
their faith would make things better instead. On occasion, however, they were
known to vote in mass when ordered to do so. Gregory treaded carefully, fishing
for what Belinas wanted.

“I really appreciate your noticing
my campaign, Reverend. I'm grateful you approve of it.”

“Approve…yes…hmmm...,” Belinas said
magnanimously, as if on the verge of completing a problem in his head. “Mr.
Michaelson, I was hoping we could meet for dinner later this week. I'd love to
talk to you and get to know you better. And also to speak to you about
something very specific. I'm sure you're just the right man for some important
ideas I have.”

Many senators and high government
officials were in Reverend Belinas' back pocket. It was considered a strategic
and favorable place to be. But there were tradeoffs. One didn't negotiate with
Belinas. Not with the preacher who swore in the current U.S. President and
continued to advise him on a myriad of issues. Not with the mentor of Peter
Wilby, CEO and chairman of IMN. Belinas was on a friendly, first-name basis
with a number of the most powerful people on Earth. Recently, he was
photographed at the opening of the World Trade Expo in China, sitting at the
prized right of the Chinese Premier. Six months ago, he married a Swedish royal
daughter to a billionaire aluminum tycoon. Last week, he lunched with Brazil's
President, and then joined him afterward, cheering at an important soccer match
in Rio de Janeiro. For a man who didn't hold any government positions, Belinas'
influence and power were unmistakable.

Gregory knew there was a rumor
floating around that Belinas was leading the formation of a major new agency in
the U.S. Government, supported by the President, to monitor and control the
technology and research of transhumanists. Apparently, the Reverend had
convinced the President that terror and violence in America could best be
subdued by creating a new federal security entity. Gregory thought that Belinas
probably wanted him on its formation committee or something similar. But he
would have to be elected senator to qualify. Perhaps Belinas was going to throw
his congregation's weight Gregory’s way. That could be an enormous boost—maybe even
enough to get him elected.

“Of course, Reverend. Dinner would
be fine. I know there are a few slots open this week. Please be in touch with
my secretary, who controls my schedule, and I'll be happy to meet you when
you're available.”

“Thank you, Mr. Michaelson. It’s so
good to know I can count on you,” said Belinas slowly, knowing the aspiring
politician had little choice but to agree.

Gregory wasn't aware of how grand a
role Belinas was preparing for him. The preacher aimed to make that handsome,
youthful face one of the most powerful in the world. Gregory Michaelson showed
all the signs of a perfect puppet.

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