direction as far away from
the concept of transhumanism as possible. Jethro Knights left before the forum
concluded.
“Good old-fashioned, basic health,”
the President declared. “That's what people really want. Make your movement
sound more like transhuman chicken soup. Neutralizing the rhetoric will help
everyone and also calm people’s nerves.”
Ultimately, the government only
wanted the polarization of the country and the terrorism to stop, and to take
from transhuman science only that which was ethical from a conservative
Judeo-Christian point of view—which was very little. The rest of the
experimental life extension and human enhancement research would best be
discarded, it insisted.
For Langmore, the forum was both a
disaster and an utter failure. His scientists desperately needed federal
funding to jump-start their fields. They also needed laws and regulations
removed so they could openly do their experiments. Without the ability to
experiment, everything else was pointless. Currently, many transhuman
scientists were secretly working at night on their projects in university labs.
Or in their own garages with inferior scientific equipment bought secondhand
off the Internet. Many used their own negligible funds and resources to try to
accomplish their research. Some were Nobel Prize recipients who were all but
outcasts in their own nation. It was an appalling, embarrassing way to move
their immensely promising fields ahead.
Perhaps, if we all go back to
riding bicycles and living in teepees we’ll solve global warming too, thought
Dr. Cohen, disheartened. He wondered whether the world was teetering on the
brink of a second Dark Ages. His mind flashed to Galileo, Copernicus, and
Giordano Bruno—scientists who were chastised or burned at the stake for their
revolutionary ideas that later propelled civilization forward.
Why are people always so stupid and
afraid? thought Dr. Cohen in dour frustration, running fingers through his
mushroom hair.
Chapter 5
Forty-eight hours after the
Transhumanism Town Hall Forum, Russian oil magnate Frederick Vilimich arrived
via his private jet in Srinagar, the summer capital of Indian Kashmir. With his
team of seasoned engineers and geologists, Vilimich planned to spend five days
scouting out the nearby Himalayas to determine their oil production
capabilities. He believed Kashmir might possess an untapped trove of global
crude. The ongoing war in the region meant it was a shrewd time to acquire
resource concessions from governments and landowners.
Vilimich was a huge, boisterous,
middle-aged man with a thick, four-inch-long beard. Standing 6 feet 7 inches
and built of solid muscle that had the ungainly habit of protruding out of his
clothes, the Russian mogul towered over nearly everyone he encountered. He had
to crouch low just to walk through his jet and make it out of the doorway
without banging his head.
Descending the stairs of his plane
to the tarmac, Vilimich was excited about his trip. Discovering new oil fields
was one of the greatest pleasures of his business. As soon as he started
walking towards the airport terminal, however, he began to feel weak and
nauseated. The feeling didn’t surprise him. A week ago he had begun to notice a
strange pain in his lower left abdomen. It was accompanied by short spates of
weakness, dizziness, and headaches. In the terminal, he told his team he had to
sit down and rest for a minute. The lead engineer immediately suspected
something was seriously wrong. His normally vigorous boss was pale and out of
breath. He sent the other engineers to a hotel and took Vilimich to the city’s
main hospital.
In the dated infirmary, Vilimich’s
pain and symptoms grew worse. An Indian doctor with a blue turban came in to
examine him. Before the doctor even uttered a word, Vilimich coarsely asked the
man where he had received his medical training.
“In Delhi, sir.”
Vilimich shooed him away, insisting
that he would only
the concept of transhumanism as possible. Jethro Knights left before the forum
concluded.
“Good old-fashioned, basic health,”
the President declared. “That's what people really want. Make your movement
sound more like transhuman chicken soup. Neutralizing the rhetoric will help
everyone and also calm people’s nerves.”
Ultimately, the government only
wanted the polarization of the country and the terrorism to stop, and to take
from transhuman science only that which was ethical from a conservative
Judeo-Christian point of view—which was very little. The rest of the
experimental life extension and human enhancement research would best be
discarded, it insisted.
For Langmore, the forum was both a
disaster and an utter failure. His scientists desperately needed federal
funding to jump-start their fields. They also needed laws and regulations
removed so they could openly do their experiments. Without the ability to
experiment, everything else was pointless. Currently, many transhuman
scientists were secretly working at night on their projects in university labs.
Or in their own garages with inferior scientific equipment bought secondhand
off the Internet. Many used their own negligible funds and resources to try to
accomplish their research. Some were Nobel Prize recipients who were all but
outcasts in their own nation. It was an appalling, embarrassing way to move
their immensely promising fields ahead.
Perhaps, if we all go back to
riding bicycles and living in teepees we’ll solve global warming too, thought
Dr. Cohen, disheartened. He wondered whether the world was teetering on the
brink of a second Dark Ages. His mind flashed to Galileo, Copernicus, and
Giordano Bruno—scientists who were chastised or burned at the stake for their
revolutionary ideas that later propelled civilization forward.
Why are people always so stupid and
afraid? thought Dr. Cohen in dour frustration, running fingers through his
mushroom hair.
Chapter 5
Forty-eight hours after the
Transhumanism Town Hall Forum, Russian oil magnate Frederick Vilimich arrived
via his private jet in Srinagar, the summer capital of Indian Kashmir. With his
team of seasoned engineers and geologists, Vilimich planned to spend five days
scouting out the nearby Himalayas to determine their oil production
capabilities. He believed Kashmir might possess an untapped trove of global
crude. The ongoing war in the region meant it was a shrewd time to acquire
resource concessions from governments and landowners.
Vilimich was a huge, boisterous,
middle-aged man with a thick, four-inch-long beard. Standing 6 feet 7 inches
and built of solid muscle that had the ungainly habit of protruding out of his
clothes, the Russian mogul towered over nearly everyone he encountered. He had
to crouch low just to walk through his jet and make it out of the doorway
without banging his head.
Descending the stairs of his plane
to the tarmac, Vilimich was excited about his trip. Discovering new oil fields
was one of the greatest pleasures of his business. As soon as he started
walking towards the airport terminal, however, he began to feel weak and
nauseated. The feeling didn’t surprise him. A week ago he had begun to notice a
strange pain in his lower left abdomen. It was accompanied by short spates of
weakness, dizziness, and headaches. In the terminal, he told his team he had to
sit down and rest for a minute. The lead engineer immediately suspected
something was seriously wrong. His normally vigorous boss was pale and out of
breath. He sent the other engineers to a hotel and took Vilimich to the city’s
main hospital.
In the dated infirmary, Vilimich’s
pain and symptoms grew worse. An Indian doctor with a blue turban came in to
examine him. Before the doctor even uttered a word, Vilimich coarsely asked the
man where he had received his medical training.
“In Delhi, sir.”
Vilimich shooed him away, insisting
that he would only
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