Chronopunk: A novel (Episode 16)
If you went back in time, what knowledge would you gift the past to save the future?
Chapter 46
2009
“Opposition to Bitcoin will be fierce. It’ll come from all directions — the authorities, the entrenched financial elite, and even well-meaning skeptics. Some will fight it, others will simply complain. But make no mistake, the resistance will be intense.”
Sergey regards Mody with a curious blend of intrigue and irreverence. His long face holds a stoic expression, and his demeanor remains calm.
Mody continues:
“Sound money is inherently anti-elite. It strips power from the state and places it directly in the hands of the people. But it’s subtler than that. It reveals hidden truths — like a search algorithm fine-tuned to uncover clues about objective reality.”
“How does Bitcoin reveal truth?” Sergey asks, his Russian accent faint but noticeable.
“Where is the truth hidden?” he adds with a slight smirk.
“‘Truth’ is a big word,” Mody reflects.
“And that’s a good question — where is it? Well, it’s in nature. We don’t really know what it is or where to find it, but our oracle — nature itself — reveals it to us. All we can do is keep trying to approximate it. That’s why we need a neutral referee. Sound money is one.”
After graduating from Stanford, Sergey Levirov accepted a position as an assistant professor in Berkeley’s electrical engineering department. Though well-known in the AI community, he enjoys dabbling in cryptography.
“It’s just a hobby,” he once told a friend, modestly.
Lisa had pegged Sergey as the ideal point of contact for Mody.
“He’s defiant, but not a rebel,” Lisa told Mody shortly before he left. “Sergey is driven by discovery — he genuinely wants to push the boundaries of science. His main work is in AI and robotics, but his mathematical talent and rare ability to simplify complex problems make him the ideal person to help launch Bitcoin. Plus, he’s not exactly chatty. He’s not going to spill the beans, if you know what I mean.”
Setting up a meeting with Sergey wasn’t difficult. Mody approached him in the Berkeley cafeteria, introduced himself, and Sergey — ever polite — invited him for coffee. But beneath the soft-spoken manner lies a wit that’s almost lethal.
Sergey reminds Mody of his toughest opponents in the cage. Unassuming and modest on the surface, but armed with a sharp arsenal of techniques and flawless execution — the kind that makes it clear, almost instantly, that he’s a serious contender in whatever arena he steps into.
‘Exactly as Lisa predicted,’ Mody thought, as his conversation with Sergey began to take shape.
Sergey was skeptical — understandably so. He was sitting across from a man claiming to have come from the future, proposing the launch of a digital currency. His curiosity was piqued, but even for someone as open-minded and genuinely driven by technology as Sergey, this all edged a little too close to science fiction.
“You come from the future?” Sergey asks, his voice soft but unmistakably skeptical.
“Look, Sergey, I know how crazy this sounds — and I won’t blame you if you walk away. But please, just hear me out. I’ve written the white paper with my partner and a team of cryptography experts from our time. We’re about fifty years ahead of you, and I swear, even your wildest imagination couldn’t begin to grasp the pace at which science and technology will evolve in the coming decades.”
Sergey smiles, a subtle grin playing on his face — as if to say, Don’t assume you know what I’m thinking. Who can tell what visions of the future are dancing behind those eyes?
Mody presses on.
“We’ve made dramatic advancements in quantum computing and cryptography. The reason I reached out to you is because I need an expert — someone who can help translate our knowledge into the technological landscape of your time. Our models can’t do that. We couldn’t simultaneously align the exact coordinates of the multiverse with the necessary technological trajectory. But you can help me with that.”
Sergey raises an eyebrow, the grin widening.
“Multiverse?”
“Like I said — you’re free to walk away. But at least hear me out.”
Sergey nods thoughtfully.
“Let’s imagine the U.S. is split in two along the Continental Divide — East and West. The East keeps the dollar, the Federal Reserve, and the full machinery of Washington bureaucracy. The West, on the other hand, adopts a more libertarian economic model. Money is rule-based, similar to the gold standard. Or better yet — a digital currency with a fixed supply.”
He leans in slightly.
“Now picture how these two economies evolve over time. It’s crucial to assume that both sides start with the same people — just like East and West Germany. Same culture, same language, same work ethic. The only difference? The money. So… how do you think those economies would evolve?”
Mody pauses, eyes fixed on Sergey, who seems on the verge of responding — but holds back.
Mody continues:
“My conjecture is that the West would outperform. By far. It would foster more successful businesses, more influential art, stronger science, and more stable social institutions. That’s my prediction. What do you think?”
Sergey leans back, considering.
“You have a point. As Lenin said: ‘The best way to destroy the capitalist system is to debauch the currency.’ What you’re proposing would make that impossible. I can see why it might work.”
Sergey looks up and thinks aloud:
“A rule-based currency, completely run by a network. No throat to choke, no central banker to bribe or threaten.”
He pauses, a hint of excitement visible on his face.
“A cryptocurrency that nobody can alter. And it’s all in the algorithm. Nice idea. But how do you solve the ‘Byzantine Generals’ Problem?”
“Proof of work,” Mody replies.
“You make it so that only those with the most to lose have the power to destroy it.”
“Interesting. So, if a big government decides to destroy Bitcoin, it just prints billions, buys the majority of Bitcoin, and then destroys it.”
“Point well taken. In that case, the people who hold Bitcoin would make billions and become extremely rich. But yes, there are vulnerabilities.”
Sergey takes a sip of his coffee. Mody watches him carefully, still uneasy about having revealed his true identity to this man. Lisa had conducted extensive background checks and run multiple AI-driven simulations - ironically using Sergey’s reinforcement learning algorithms - to model trajectories with Sergey involved. Most of them turned out fine.
Sergey seems unfazed by the grandiose plan Mody just presented, not to mention the fact that he’s talking to a man who claims to have been born more than twenty years in the future. As a true technologist, Sergey is wholly dedicated to the pursuit of progress, guided by the motto: anything possible under the laws of physics might actually happen. Viewed through that lens, Mody’s claims don’t seem so far-fetched. During his PhD, Sergey explored concepts of time travel, and while he achieved few concrete results, he came to understand that time travel is, in principle, a possibility.
“Why do you care so much about the truth?” Sergey finally breaks the silence.
Mody lets the question linger for a moment. Sergey waits patiently.
“The quest for truth is what separates us from savages—from destruction, suffering, and decline.”
“And why do you care so much about these things?” Sergey presses.
“Because it’s my job and my purpose in life. I was chosen by a group of dedicated people to fulfill this mission. Quite frankly, I don’t care about the whys. I’m far more focused on the hows.”
Sergey studies him, takes a sip of his coffee, and then speaks.
Sergey leans forward, his voice low. “There’s a section in Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago where he talks about truth. It’s unnerving, to say the least. He writes, ‘I was captured and tortured by both the Nazis and the Communists. The Nazis were searching for what they believed was the truth, trying to extract it from me. The Communists, by contrast, didn’t care about the truth. Their torture and interrogation were almost an afterthought, like an ex post facto adjustment to the truth they’d already manufactured. They decided to torture me first and then, as a finishing touch, invented a truth I was supposed to confess.’ That line haunted me. I couldn’t read the book for days. I had nightmares. A world like that is terrifying.”
Mody feels the tension rising in the room, as if decades of Russian state terror are suddenly channeled through Sergey’s faintly accented voice into the present.
Sergey continues, his tone thoughtful:
“I think truth is an illusion—but a useful one. In robotics, we’re working on intelligent machines, and I often think about what that means. What is intelligence, anyway? During my PhD and later as a postdoc, I grappled with the theoretical underpinnings of intelligence—why reasoning occurs in the human brain and, more recently, how it might emerge in a digital brain. But you know what? I realized it doesn’t matter. What really matters is building a machine that can navigate the world autonomously. And you know what I realized?”
Mody meets his gaze, pausing briefly before responding:
“What?”
“I’m in the how business, not the why business.”
He smiles.
“My dream is to build what I call a Robinson Crusoe robot—a machine you could leave on a deserted island, or on Mars for that matter, and it would figure out how to survive. It would build its own energy supply, shelter, and whatever else it needs to keep going. That’s my dream. Whether there’s truth in it or not, I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Maybe truth is just the carrot humans need to keep going. I often think about my robot stranded on Mars. What drives it?”
“Truth?” Mody interjects.
“You could say that.” Sergey nods.
“Do you enjoy being part of history - or writing history?” Sergey interrupts the conversation.
“What do you mean with ‘history’?” Mody counters.
“What are we doing here?” Sergey presses. “You’re asking me to help design a technology conceived half a century in the future, meant to save society from moral, economic, and social decay. That’s history, isn’t it? Do you enjoy being part of it?”
Mody pauses, his expression darkening as he thinks.
“Enjoy is the wrong word,” he says finally. “I’m intrigued and, quite frankly, pissed off. I had to abandon the woman I love and my child for this. So no, I don’t enjoy it.”
“Then why are you here?” Sergey asks, his voice sharp. “Why are we having this conversation?”
“Because I relish the power this project gives me,” Mody replies. “Technology is leverage, and leverage is power. I enjoy power.”
Sergey frowns.
“That’s very Faustian, my friend.”
“Faust with a twist,” Mody says, a wry smile breaking through. “I sold my soul for a good cause. I gave up the woman I love and my child to save society from decay. Does that count?”
Mody chuckles, but the sound carries a bitter edge.
Sergey doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady.
“Do you know why Zeus punished Prometheus?” he asks.
“Because he gave humans fire and the path to knowledge,” Mody replies. “Zeus didn’t like that.”
“No, that’s not why he punished him,” Sergey says.
“Then why?” Mody asks.
“Because Prometheus gave humans fire and the path to knowledge without also teaching them humility,” Sergey answers.
Mody nods slowly. “Hmm, I see. Good point. I can see why Zeus got upset. But what’s Prometheus supposed to do with humility? What’s an engineer supposed to do with humility?”
“Nothing,” Sergey replies, his voice measured. “But Zeus was upset because knowledge without humility is naked violence—nothing to celebrate. Knowledge with humility, though, is magic, something to cherish.”
“I see,” Mody says, leaning forward. “And do you see humility in my Bitcoin proposal?”
“Yes, I do,” Sergey answers. “It’s a noble cause—some might even call it a milestone. If we succeed in implementing this protocol and creating a global digital currency, we could nudge humanity toward a brighter future. Throughout history, people have struggled to safeguard their wealth from predators. What you’re proposing is the ultimate bearer instrument: whoever holds it in their mind owns it. No one can steal it from you. Your money goes to the grave with you. It’s remarkable. I love the idea, and I’ll help you make it a reality.”
Sergey tilts his head, his eyes locking onto Mody’s. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Mody replies, his tone guarded.
“You’re from fifty years in the future. So much science and technology must have been developed—autonomous robots, quantum computers, countless marvels. Why choose to bring this cryptocurrency white paper back in time? Why not something else?”
Mody’s gaze softens, his eyes glistening as he recalls a conversation with Lisa about this very topic. A sudden chill runs down his spine.
“Bringing technology back from the future isn’t as straightforward as it sounds,” he says, his voice steady but heavy. “In fact, it’s nearly impossible. Part of it stems from the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, and part from sheer technological barriers. But let’s not get bogged down in philosophy here. Your question is valid. This project wasn’t sanctioned by any government or official body—it’s the brainchild of a group of scientists. We decided that instead of bringing back knowledge, we’d create a system to foster knowledge creation. That’s what sound money is: fertile ground for innovation and prosperity.”
Mody raises his coffee mug for a toast, his eyes bright with resolve.
“To answer your question: we chose to bring an idea back in time, not a technology—an idea that, if planted properly with the knowledge and technological prowess of your time, could create a system where people earn, save, and spend their money autonomously, free from interference by authorities. In short, we chose to bring liberty back in time.”
Sergey laughs, a warm sound, and lifts his mug in a cheerful clink.
End
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