Transhumanist Wager, The (39 page)

Vilimich lifted his head, grunted
loudly, and deferentially said, “I met Dr. Bach once in Indian Kashmir. She
correctly diagnosed me with colon cancer.”

“Yes, I remember that. She told me
the story. She was a talented doctor. The tent you gave to the village of
Kundara is still there today serving its purpose.”

Vilimich’s lips puckered at the
word “purpose.” The Russian crudely cleared his throat.

“Mr. Knights, I came here today
with an incredible proposition for you. I have things to give you to help your
big troubles—such as half my wealth.”

Jethro listened carefully,
understanding that this man was testing him.    

“That's a lot of wealth, Mr.
Vilimich.”

“In this day and age, it's enough
to buy or start a new country, if you know what I mean. Which I’m quite certain
you do.”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“Yet, I would only share such a
thing if I were to get something very specific in return. And I must tell you,
I'm not a transhumanist. At least, not like you and your colleagues.”

Jethro appeared surprised.

“If you're not a transhumanist,
then what are you?”

“I'm a man who wants something
back. Something very precious to me.”

“I don't understand. A man like you
could have anything,
everything
. What could you want?”

Vilimich turned and stared hard at
Jethro. “I want my wife and son back. They were killed twenty-six years ago by
terrorists.”

The Russian's fat finger grabbed a
small washed-out photo of his wife and son from his shirt pocket, and showed it
to Jethro. Then he whispered, “I want them back more than anything I've ever
wanted.”

Jethro's demeanor instantly
changed. His face turned white, and clutching the table in front of him, he
dropped down into a chair.

“I'm sorry. I know who you are, but
I never knew that about your family,” Jethro said softly. The photograph of the
man’s wife and child was now permanently seared into his memory.

Vilimich carefully placed the photo
back into his shirt pocket. “Most people do not know that about me. But I
believe we can help each other. I've read your essay on 11th dimensional
superstring theory realities—on quantum manufacturing and DNA recycling. On time
continuum intervention,” Vilimich said intensely. “It's your vision. You can
solve our tragedies, our mutual dilemmas—with my money. It’s a perfect deal.”

Jethro threw his head back and
turned away, feeling sick. He looked like a man going from an extreme high to a
punishing low. Now he understood why Vilimich had come to him. Regardless, the
pain for Jethro was still too great to broach this subject, this far-fetched
possibility that might still be centuries off technologically. Besides, he
already knew it wasn't the right motive for living or for pushing transhumanism
forward.

Vilimich watched him in silence,
perceiving the young man's anguish. “What is it?” the Russian asked.

“Mr. Vilimich, I don't know how
else to say this. My wife doesn't want to come back to this world. She told me
that as she lay dying.”

An empty silence filled the room as
both men contemplated this.

Vilimich broke it. “Nonsense. Maybe
she didn't want to then. Not when she's in pieces and dying in excruciating
pain. But what about later—when everything in the world is different—when it's
all energy, or living software, or created quantum fields of probabilities? And
everything else that you describe and believe could eventually happen.”

“That might be true,” Jethro
whispered, considering for an instant the odds of such a reality.
You must
master the quantum universe if you want to reach the omnipotender's full
potential
, he remembered Zoe saying.

Silence ensued. The conference room
seemed far smaller than it had three minutes ago. Each man felt tied down,
strapped.

Jethro recovered. “How exactly can
I help you, Mr. Vilimich?”

“I want you to find the 11th
dimensional realities you wrote about in your essay—to find a way to the
outermost frontiers of science and existence. And then to search for those whom
we love. To help us get to them. To rediscover them. To reanimate them. Of all
people, you can make these things possible. You have the ultimate vested
interest. I can give you billions of dollars for exactly that mission. We can
build a nation of scientists to accomplish it. It may not follow the pure
transhuman and immortality quests you wanted, but it's close enough.”

Jethro winced, his stomach
churning. He shook his head disparagingly.

“Close enough, Mr. Vilimich? Are
you serious? Have you read the
TEF Manifesto
?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I have. I’ve
read everything of yours. But that time has passed. That opportunity is over
for the transhumanists. You won't succeed anymore. But this opportunity is
here, right now, in front of you. The offer of a lifetime.”

Jethro waved his arm and said, “The
TEF Manifesto
doesn't change over time. It also doesn’t change because
its success becomes unlikely. It’s here, right now, and completely alive. Its
main point—
If you love life, you will always strive to reach the most
advanced form of yourself possible while protecting that life
—is perpetual.
The thing you speak of, Mr. Vilimich, could be hundreds or thousands of years
away, if possible at all. Furthermore, it isn't even related to you or me
directly, or to the
TEF Manifesto
. Bringing back the dead—especially
those presumably not cryonically frozen or preserved correctly—is very
different than extending and improving the lives of those presently living.”

Frustrated, Jethro shook his head
and said, “What you want is just not even on the transhuman timeline right now.
And it would be irresponsible to dedicate more than only a fraction of
transhuman resources to it at a moment when the real goals of the movement are,
literally, on the verge of collapse; when the longevity of our own lifespans
are so immediately threatened. It's just not the current purpose of the
transhuman mission.”

“Yes, I understand that. But it’s
the current purpose of
my
mission. Of why I became one of the wealthiest
and most powerful individuals on the planet. I want to see my family again, not
just be a bankrolling devotee of transhumanism. Do you understand that? And as
a recent cancer survivor, I might only have ten or twenty years left to
directly attempt it. That’s
my
mission.”

“But your money could be used for
more practical and possible goals, for near-term successes like your own
immediate health and longevity. Then, at some later point, you could consider
tackling the monumental task of bringing back the dead. What you want is not
even reasonable just yet.”

“I didn’t get to be so successful
because I was always reasonable.”

Jethro shook his head emotionally.
He stood up, walked toward the window and put his right palm flat on the glass.
He could see his fingers slightly shaking. He could also foresee how this
conversation was going to finish. The Russian was immovable, blinded by
despair, blinded by endless lonely days and nights of hurt feeding upon itself.
For an instant, Jethro wondered if this forlorn fate might one day also end up
his.

“Mr. Vilimich, I understand what
you are saying and what you want.”

“So can you do it? I can give you
billions of dollars and we'll buy an army of scientists to find a way to my
family—and to yours.”

Jethro thought about the
possibilities: Zoe and her frozen hippocampus; her preserved DNA; her organs’
whereabouts; the stem cells from her umbilical cord. The allure for immediately
beginning such a venture was colossally strong, as it was a possible cure to
the agonizing pain from the loss of Zoe.

Then Jethro remembered the
bodysurfing wave in the Bahamas.

“Even if such a complicated quest
were possible in my lifetime, the answer is no,” Jethro said. “I'm sorry—it's
just not my path.”

“What?” Vilimich replied, stunned.
“But this is a one-in-a-million chance for you. There won't be another like it.
You’ll never get as much money as I can give you from anywhere else. You’ll be
lucky if someone gives you even a hundred dollars anymore.”

“That’s probably true.”

“So why the hell not?”  

“Because it's not what my
philosophy, TEF, was created for, or what Transhuman Citizen is trying to
achieve. It's not what
I'm
trying to achieve.”

“How can you say no? You're almost
bankrupt. Your transhumanist friends have deserted you. Your movement is
practically nonexistent. And most importantly, she's gone, and you want her
back. You don't have a choice.”

Jethro turned to him sharply.
“You're wrong, Mr. Vilimich. I do have a choice. My own life, its power, and
its potential are still plenty to choose from, regardless of the circumstances
you think you see me in. In fact, it's more you who lacks the choice—if you
want
me
to help
you
.”

The Russian looked at the man,
assiduously considering him. In a rough voice, he said, “Explain yourself.”

“I want you and your massive
resources here more than any other donor or investor I've ever met. I like you
just by looking at you. And I deeply respect what you’ve been through in life,
and how you went through it, especially now that I know your tragic past. Your
gifts would change everything for me. They would change everything for the
movement. Transhumanism has always needed one colossal donor like yourself
backing it so it could make genuine strides forward; however, I only want your
donation on terms that I believe in and that I can deliver. I can only take
your money on the same singular condition I offer every donor—to uphold the
TEF
Manifesto
and work towards accomplishing sensible and realistic transhuman
goals. And that means this: We don’t tackle goals we can’t reach before our own
deaths. Perhaps more importantly, it means we don't live for others, even our
most cherished loved ones.”

“That's foolish.”

“Why is it foolish, Mr. Vilimich?”
Jethro shot back, his voice gritty, the question loaded with an aching
challenge. “What do you want those things for—your son and wife alive again
with you?”

“What kind of question is that? How
can one answer it? It’s so obvious.”

“Yes, but your answering it is
especially important. Since this transhuman movement that I've dedicated my
life to, lost my wife and unborn child over, gave my youth for, is as much
about my philosophical integrity as anything else, and not just about…lost
love,” Jethro said, with difficulty.

“Are you suggesting I am not
capable of philosophical integrity? Or that finding my loved ones should not be
worthy?”

“I am not suggesting anything like
that. But dedicating half your wealth to this organization on your terms would
transform its direction and essence. And I already like and believe in its
direction and essence. What you want is something very different.”

“There's nothing wrong with what I
want. It’s honorable!” Vilimich exclaimed, slamming his clenched fist into his
chest.

“I never said it isn't. What I
am
saying is that it doesn't fit with the
TEF Manifesto
. It's not in line
with the current motive or mission of Transhuman Citizen. I'm sorry, Mr.
Vilimich. I’ll only accept your money if you believe in and support
transhumanism and life extension for the right reasons—for yourself, first and
foremost. And I would only accept donations that go towards those
goals—reasonable ones. No one can highjack or buy our lives and motives here,
no matter how much money they offer, or how powerful they are. One of the most
important truths of the
TEF Manifesto
states there can be no slavery or
compromise of core transhuman ideals. Even those we love most cannot change
that truth,” Jethro said, painfully thinking of Zoe. “This is an organization
and a way of being, with a philosophy that rejects living or existing for
others. And it also rejects being illogical and unreasonable.”

The Russian was silent. The space
inside the room continued to shrink for both men. Vilimich was not used to a
man questioning his own emotions. His own intellect. His own motives.
Especially these motives, so profoundly ingrained in him for decades. So
acutely engulfed in his heart. Vilimich was not used to a man who cared so much
about the best in himself, about the best in the universe. He was not used to a
man who could love so much; who so utterly lacked fear; whose honor and will
were impenetrable, like the largest oil find in the deepest, rockiest part of
the planet.

Vilimich felt like he was at the
southern Russian oil fields again as a young man, concocting how to make his
fortune, wondering how to amass power so the peons around him could not
suppress his dreams. He held his tongue—and fists—out of respect.

“I didn’t understand there were
wrong reasons for supporting transhumanism.”

Jethro was careful now.

“I wouldn’t look at it as right and
wrong. There are just reasons all of us here agree to for our movement. Like
wanting to gain power and live forever because we love life, and not because we
are searching for something that once made us love it. We start from that point
of departure. Our resources go towards that. They go towards the pursuit of our
own immortality. At least, at first. The rest is still unknown. There may be
possibilities to bring back loved ones, but I don't count them as real or
reasonable yet because they are many decades—most likely centuries—into the
future. And we have other essential priorities like staying alive and
eliminating the threat of death to ourselves, which comes first and foremost.
Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t see anything when it comes
to my wife and child, except getting back to them
now
.”