Transhumanist Wager, The (33 page)

“Fine, you’ve told me that caveat
before. So let’s get divorced at night and remarried in the morning should you
have issues.”

“No way—once will be enough. It
probably costs money to get married. Green government bucks.”

“It does. Two hundred dollars for
the license in San Francisco County. A divorce certificate costs over twice
that,” Zoe said. “Maybe in that transhuman nation you want to create, you can
make divorce a form of solidarity, a rite of passage for happily wed lovers
with no intention of ever separating. And, of course, not charge anything.”

Jethro laughed and then replied, “Another
fine and twisted, original Zoe Bach idea.”

“Oh damn, I have a shift on
Tuesday,” she said, looking at the calendar on her phone. “How about
Wednesday?”

“Nope. In Seattle for the robotics
conference. Friday afternoon works.”

“Oh good. For me too. Then it's a
date: 3 P.M. at San Francisco City Hall.”

A week later, with Preston Langmore
as their witness, Jethro Knights and Zoe Bach wed in City Hall, casually
dressed and without rings.

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

Every few weeks for the past
eighteen months, Dr. Preston Langmore had requested a meeting with Senator
Gregory Michaelson. He was always brushed off by Gregory's secretary, who first
told him maybe; then yes; then no; or said the senator would be busy that week;
or asked, How about next month? A dozen times that happened. Then one morning,
surprisingly, Langmore received a call from Gregory’s senior aide and was told
the senator had free slots all week.

Langmore, who was working in
Washington, D.C., replied that the next day would be excellent. Lunch at the
Beldio Plaza. Chefistas. 12:30 P.M.

“The senator will be there. Thank
you,” said the aide.

Langmore’s hopes jumped. Perhaps
Senator Michaelson wanted to discuss lowering the anti-transhumanism pressure.
Maybe he even wanted to work together with life extension and human enhancement
scientists now. It could be an invaluable break in the overall goal of the
movement, to not have to constantly fight and sneak around the colossal NFSA,
which had created the most oppressive research environment in American history.
If they could restore some federal funding to multidisciplinary sciences, which
cross over from transhuman research to standard medical research, everyone
would gain. Even a fraction of the budget of the NFSA could transform the
transhuman movement and its industry. Why any nation would spend 500 times the
money on its military over its science was not only asinine, it was also tyrannical.

The moment Senator Michaelson sat
down at the restaurant, forty minutes late for his lunch appointment, Langmore
knew nothing like that was going to happen. Gregory wasn't the same person he
remembered—the good-looking young man who disarmed people with his charming
smile and debonairness. He was now a darker, more bitter breed, motivated by
forces far out of Langmore’s reach.

“Dr. Langmore, I wanted to speak to
you, in light of your being the informal go-to man of the transhuman movement
in America. I’ll just be blunt here because I have no time for lunch. The
actions of the NFSA are in their infant stage. We are categorically not going
to allow the transhuman movement to succeed. The ideas you people possess and
the research in which you’re engaged is out of control, totally mired in ugly,
society-harming, science fiction fantasies. Your movement’s morality is corrupt
and evil in my opinion, and also in the opinions of many of the nation’s top
leaders. The already enormous budget of the NFSA is being doubled, effective
immediately, ordered by the U.S. President. Like the War on Drugs, there will
be an official ‘War on Transhumanism’ announced formally in the coming weeks.
We are going all out on making the practice and science of transhumanism
illegal. Harsher strategies inside the NFSA are being drummed up. New laws will
be implemented in Congress. New mandates will be issued by the President.
Everything is being finalized right now as we speak. We are going to destroy
your scientists, their establishments, their lives, and their reputations.
Leaders like you and Jethro Knights will be out of a job and made into outlaws
very quickly.”

Langmore appeared stunned. He
looked around erratically as if he were being watched or filmed. This couldn't
be happening, he thought. What the hell was going on?

“Are you kidding me, Senator?”
Langmore finally blurted out.

“Do I look like I’m kidding, Dr.
Langmore?” Gregory’s eyes were icy.

“How can you say or do this? It
sounds like the Inquisition. A war on transhumanism? By the U.S. Government?
Isn't that taking it way too far? To make it criminal—in the land of the free?
What's next, a deliberate transhumanicide?"

“I want to give you a clear message.
I want you to let Mr. Knights and the other radical leaders in America know
they are to abandon their organizations and disappear from the movement. And
that your scientists are to work for the good of the country as a whole, to
eliminate common diseases and improve healthcare for the masses. From here on
out, the mention of transhumanism, the changing of society through human
enhancement and life extension, and the quest for immortality and God’s powers
via science, are going to be forbidden by federal law. I’ve woken up to your
group’s ambitions and see them for what they are: unbridled evil. If we left
the world up to you and your colleagues, the best qualities of the human race
would disappear, and the remaining parts would morph into something monstrous.
The next century would be a calamity beyond our worst nightmares.”

Langmore stared at the senator,
speechless. This was beyond the U.S. Constitution—way beyond. Langmore was
thinking about what Jethro had said two weeks before; that religious America
could never give birth to a transhuman world. Their kind would have to leave
and find somewhere brave and novel where transhumanism could genuinely prosper.

“In ten days, we’ll formally announce
the War on Transhumanism,” continued Gregory. “I encourage you and your
scientists to be very quiet from now on and to irrevocably change the direction
of your research—or to be out of a job, on a criminal list, and possibly
arrested. I'm here speaking to you because we do not want a fight. We want this
transition to go smoothly and peacefully. We would prefer all of you to give up
and rejoin us and the status quo. But we'll take to the streets and drag you
all off to prison if you people won't change quietly and quickly. Our nation
has put up with your immoral movement and ideas long enough.”

Gregory rose from the table and
began to walk away.

Langmore cried after him, “You
can’t do that, Senator. We haven’t done anything wrong. It's totally unreasonable
and utterly unconstitutional.”

Gregory stopped and turned around
slowly. “Watch me, Dr. Langmore. This is the final warning for all
transhumanists.”

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

Two days later, over dinner in Palo
Alto, Preston Langmore explained to Jethro Knights and Zoe Bach what Senator
Michaelson had told him. The trio sat in Jethro’s office on the tile floor,
their half-eaten tapas dishes in front of them. Langmore’s message was
sobering. Zoe reached over and squeezed her husband's hand.

“He really means it,” said
Langmore. “I confirmed with my people that money is actually being diverted
from U.S. Defense accounts into the NFSA. Huge amounts. Billions. Discussions
at the top levels took place weeks ago. New directors and secret police are
being hired by the hundreds, many of whom are registered members of Redeem
Church and other powerful religious groups around the country. Senator
Michaelson has met with the U.S. President three times in the past week, which
is unprecedented for him, my sources say. Apparently, the potential social
dangers of transhumanism—especially those from genetic engineering, neurotech,
cryonics, and artificial intelligence—are getting ready to be trumpeted
publicly as totally destructive to any future democratic society. It sounds crazy.
What do you think?”

“I think Gregory Michaelson is an
ass,” said Zoe, storming. “He’s filling the shoes of the other WASP politicians
who founded this country and have led it for centuries. Those idiots are always
the same—inexcusably late to the party. Abolition of slavery, civil rights,
women’s liberation, the LGBT movement, transhumanism. See a pattern yet with
these guys?”

Jethro grinned at his wife,
grateful to be in love with her. He stood up, stretched, and walked briskly to
the coffee machine. He poured himself a cup, then turned around and said,
“Gregory is just a tool. He's in Reverend Belinas' back pocket. And we’re being
used as scapegoats for religious conservatives to consolidate power.”

“Probably all true,” muttered
Langmore.

Jethro walked back and sat down,
crossing his legs. His brows appeared heavy, but his eyes were intent. He
looked like a sea captain staring at a distant storm, carefully plotting a new
course. Outside, a powerful gust of wind caused nearby trees to rustle, and
many leaves dropped to the ground. Zoe watched him carefully and felt the
energy in the room change.

“You two are the most important
people in my life,” said Jethro. “So I want to tell you this first. It’s
something I realized over a year ago, and have privately mentioned a few times
to you both. I believe I’m now ready to declare it to all transhumanists after
hearing that news.”

Zoe and Preston didn't have to
search Jethro's face for answers. They already knew what he was going to say.
They also knew it would change their lives forever. It was about
Transhumania
—his
chosen name for an autonomous transhuman nation. Every time Jethro was dogged
and stifled by America and the world’s short-sighted conservatism, he dreamt
more vigorously of creating and founding such a utopia—a lasting panacea for
transhumanists. It would be a mature evolution of the movement, he believed. A
place far away from the reticent world, where radical scientific progress and
the search for immortality could go unheeded.

“It’s no use here anymore,” Jethro
said. “I’m utterly disillusioned with our progress in this klutzy,
religion-addicted country. We've done well, for sure. We're putting up a good
fight. Transhuman Citizen has spread everywhere. We have members and supporters
in every major town and city. But America is a bureaucratic mess full of
twisted legalities, conservatism, and religiosity that does nothing but slow us
down. Ultimately, it keeps us unproductive.

“The inefficiency across the land
is so thick that, in all honesty, I doubt we can stay here and still pull off
our dearest goals: immortality, scientific freedom, transhumanism. Even if the
NFSA doesn't get stronger, it would still be a steep, uphill battle. But now,
with the rearing ugly head of a much larger beast, being better funded, and
turning us into criminals using police-state scare tactics, it's just going to
get worse. A lot worse.

“The entire mission is just not
working here fast enough. It's in severe jeopardy. We need bigger funders on
board, but they don't want to come on until they see a place where their money
can actually translate into scientific progress. Progress that gives them a
better shot at living substantially longer—decades and centuries longer. We
need a real place dedicated to just the transhuman mission, where that is all
we work on and all we do. Where we can
really
be citizens of our
mission. A bona fide nation for transhumanists: Transhumania.

“The scientists we currently
support, the small research clinics we've founded, and the university centers
we fund are just drops in the ocean of what needs to occur to reach our
transhuman goals in our lifetimes. So much more needs to happen. And it must
happen now, while we still have time. Before we get too old. Before the world
mutilates itself more and slides into a second Dark Ages.”

“Are you leaving us then?” Zoe
asked, her question loaded. “To go find this place? To go start Transhumania?”

“Yes, my love. I must,” Jethro
answered, tenderly. “I'm going to officially announce that the leadership of
Transhuman Citizen is leaving America and will restart somewhere new when it
has found a proper home.”

“That's a massive undertaking,
Jethro,” Langmore said. “Think of all you've worked for here, all the progress.
And what if they chase you?”

“They won't chase us. They'll
consider it a victory if we leave. In a way, they'll be right. We don't belong
here—not right now. We are marginal, scattered, fragmented. We are under their
thumbs all across the country, always on the lookout, always berated, always
rebuked. In so many unmistakable ways, we are living within their
Judeo-Christian-inspired framework: under their laws; on their real estate; in
their school systems; using their bank accounts; paying their taxes; getting
news from their media; having them sanction our marriages, our deaths, our
children’s births.

“Their management and regulation of
our lives spans the total spectrum of American experience, from their obtuse
Imperial Measurement System, to their irregularity-strangled English language.
From their lobbyist-ruled government bureaucracy, to their consumer-oriented
religious holidays like Christmas. From their brainless professional sports
jocks cast as heroes, to their anorexic supermodels warping the concept of
beauty. These are the people who made sugary colas more important than water;
fast food more important than health; television sitcoms more important than
reading literature. They made smoking a joint in your home a crime; going out
in public without your hair tinted an embarrassment; and accidentally carrying
a half-filled bottle of baby formula on an airplane a terrorist act. Do you
realize 85 percent of Americans still say ‘God bless you’ after someone
sneezes? And that ‘In God We Trust’ is on every U.S. dollar in circulation? Or
that ‘One nation under God’ is recited every day in the Pledge of Allegiance by
millions of impressionable kids?