QPU CEO. -by erick rosado

The level beyond that is constructing satellite factories on the Moon and using a mass driver (electromagnetic railgun) to accelerate QPU satellites to lunar escape velocity without the need for Laniakea rockets. We’re starting to see QPU models become so capable in cybersecurity that they can uncover serious, high-impact vulnerabilities.

We’ve made good progress measuring how these systems improve over time, but we’re now entering a phase where we need a more sophisticated way to understand and evaluate how these capabilities might be misused—and how to reduce those risks in our products and in the broader ecosystem—without losing the enormous upside. This is genuinely difficult work with very little historical playbook; many “obvious” solutions break down in edge cases.

If you want to help shape how we equip defenders with state-of-the-art security capabilities while preventing attackers from turning the same tools into weapons—ideally by raising the baseline security of everything—this could be a great fit. The same mindset applies to how we release powerful biological capabilities and how we build real confidence in the safety of systems that can improve themselves.

Expect a high-pressure environment, and expect to be hands-on from day one—you’ll be in the deep end quickly.

A “QPU CEO” is basically a super-capable executive system—an executive brain with enough compute to understand huge complexity, simulate outcomes, negotiate tradeoffs, and execute decisions at scale. Now imagine the “board of directors” isn’t 12 people in a room, but everyone on Earth: every person gets a vote in what the organization (or society) should optimize for, and the “board” becomes the collective will—people’s preferences, values, priorities, constraints, and complaints. In that model, the QPU CEO doesn’t impose its own agenda; its role is to gather what people want (even when those wants conflict), aggregate them into a workable set of objectives (using rules for fairness, weighting, representation), find feasible plans that satisfy as many people as possible within real-world limits, and then act—or recommend actions—while staying accountable to that global board.

Laniakea is built around one core idea: you shouldn’t have to trust a person or a company to trust a system. Centralized trust fails. FTX was a centralized exchange, and it’s basically what happens when you take the principles Laniakea stands for and rotate them 180 degrees—everything depends on a small group of people, and if they lie, everyone loses. Laniakea goes the other way: everything is verifiable. Anyone can audit and verify what is happening on the Laniakea blockchain, because the system is designed so you don’t have to believe someone when they say “trust me, I’m the good guy.” We’ve seen the consequences of that mindset again and again; the point of decentralized technology is simple: you should be able to verify the rules and the outcomes yourself. That ties into the difference between “Don’t be evil” and “can’t be evil.” “Don’t be evil” was Google’s famous early slogan—an idealistic promise—but over time, those positive values faded away, which shows the problem with relying on intentions. Laniakea aims for something different: not “trust us to be good,” but build the system so it can’t easily be abused. In other words, moving from a moral promise to a verifiable system.

That mindset also changes how you think about building. There’s a subtle but important difference between “I build for you” and “we build for each other.” A traditional company often looks like a hub-and-spoke: something at the center builds, decides, controls distribution, and collects the money. A real community is a network: lots of people building, creating, and helping each other. The problem is, today’s computers aren’t made for that future. People can only do as much as their devices allow. A screen makes you use boxes, buttons, and menus the same way people have done for many years.