The Sensory Deception (15 page)

When the joint came to Chopper he went through the motions but didn’t inhale.

The effect was immediate. In sync with the waves breaking, a perfect low-frequency stimulus, each surfer leaned in as though in a car taking a turn. Chopper took a small wooden flute from his tackle box and played a little ditty. The flute, generating only audible frequencies, had no effect.
Good
. The next set of waves came in and caused the guys to fall backward, as though they were in a car taking off from a dead stop. As time passed, the effect grew more intense. The surfers lauded the “killer bud.”

Chopper stood and left the circle. He took a seat in the shadow of the bluff and watched. He slapped a rhythm against the sand with the palm of his hand. Instead of turning to look, the surfers leaned as though into a wind. One of them reached for his baseball cap as though it would fly away. Chopper found that each rhythm elicited the very responses predicted by the simulation.

He thought about warning them. He could have told them that his wicked bud didn’t mix with the low frequencies of ocean waves. It wouldn’t be unprecedented in surfer culture to admit that the grass was loaded with special effects, but that would mean he’d have to talk to them again. Talking to strangers was hard for Chopper. Besides, he rationalized, what was the worst that could happen?

He’d targeted and deceived a specific processing center in the brains of four test subjects. With the simulation confirmed, he could now determine the exact blend of sensory deception drugs that, when combined with certain external stimuli, would vault the brain of almost every user over the sensory saturation threshold.

Satisfied, Chopper walked back to the house. He spent the rest of the night moving between his computer and the chemistry lab/bathroom, developing and simulating compounds.

Later that day, the bodies of four surfers washed up on shore. Four perfectly healthy, experienced surfers drowned on the same day with no sign of a predator, and with toxic-screen levels of marijuana and hallucinogens consistent with the local culture. The mystery brought the community together. Farley, Gloria, Ringo, and Chopper joined the memorial on the beach that night. People lined up as the sun set.

A police officer sought out Farley and asked what might have happened.

“It’s a tragedy,” Farley said. “I hate to lose guys like that. Only thing that makes any sense is a sleeper wave.” Then he explained the concept. “A rogue or sleeper wave results from the random interference of a large number of regular waves—a
one-in-a-million event.” The police officer wrote it down, and as the explanation spread it brought a level of solace to the community.

Farley seemed torn up about it. Chopper didn’t get it. Four people isn’t even round-off error on seven billion. Why the fuss?

B
upin leaned back in his chair at the head of the glass and stainless steel table in the Sand Hill Ventures conference room. To his left, a window framed the calm beauty of redwood trees swaying in the breeze. A second reason he had taken this seat: there was also a window behind him oriented toward the southwest parking lot so that anyone looking at him would have to fight the glare.

Gloria and Farley came in, followed a few minutes later by Bupin’s partner, Joel McKay. Bupin didn’t look up from the proposal until everyone had settled in, Gloria and Farley to his left and McKay to his right.

Bupin let his glasses slide to the end of his nose, smiled a toothy grin, and cocked his head. “One baker’s dozen months have passed since last we met. One baker’s year and it is time to see fruit from your oven.” Bupin’s mixed metaphors, head-wagging, barely appropriate smiles, and broken English gave an illusion of humility that Bupin used to gain a negotiating advantage. Like verbal judo, his weak veneer encouraged adversaries to underestimate him. He had spent decades as a partner at what he and Joel had built into Silicon Valley’s most powerful VC firm. Not only did his quirks give a mythical quality to his eccentric, approachable reputation, but they still worked.

“We’ve got a lot to report,” Gloria said. She launched into PowerPoint slides listing milestone bullets.

As Gloria gave her report, Bupin flipped through his copy of the original VirtExArts proposal, comparing the road map she’d presented thirteen months ago with what she was telling them now. Depending on how he thought of it, they were either a month or so behind the original schedule—twelve months to production plus two months to launch—or three months behind if it took another two to develop the killer app. In either case, as start-up road maps go, they were doing all right.

Ten minutes into Gloria’s presentation, Bupin applied one of his favorite evaluation tools, watching instead of listening. Farley, sitting next to Gloria, made eye contact with everyone in the room. The way the others responded verified Bupin’s initial assessment of the tall man with the deep voice, infectious laugh, and sharp eyes. When Farley was in the room, even Bupin felt the urge to follow his lead. If Farley matured beyond his simple environmental goals, Bupin believed he could become as powerful as anyone in the valley.

When Gloria finished, Bupin said, “Your product, it is incomplete. You have just the two games, the bird and the bear? Why not king of the beasts? And where is Moby-Dick?” Staring at Gloria, he watched it sink in and then added, “Why not one game with guns and cars?”

“You don’t have the killer app,” McKay said. “You don’t have the sonar software spin-off. You’re off the road map.”

“Maybe the bridge has sailed on this venture,” Bupin said. Farley remained relaxed, but Gloria’s eyes narrowed and a line formed across her forehead.

As she was about to speak, McKay cut her off in a whining tone. “We told you over a year ago: too much
National Geographic
, not enough Disney.”

“Joel, please.” She pulled a sheet from a small stack. “After thirteen months, the hardware is ready. The team has shown that they can turn around first-rate software in weeks. We’re ready to get the whale data; it’s the next action item. How many start-ups have you seen that stayed any closer to their schedules? We’re in good shape and you know it.”

The thing Bupin liked most about Silicon Valley was that it allowed people to fulfill their potentials. That is, it allowed attractive people to become beautiful. He said, “With just two Animal Planet apps, you constrain your growth for zero reason. Cold-air balloons do not fly.”

“The bottom line is, we’re ahead of any
reasonable
expectations,” Gloria said. “When was the last time a Sand Hill venture generated a profit in its first two years?” She kept her voice steady. “You’re holding us to an unfair standard.”

“No, honey, there’s a difference,” McKay said. “VirtExArts is capable of generating a profit, and so it should. Didn’t they teach that at Stanford?”

Gloria’s eyes got even larger at being addressed as “honey.” She took a deep breath and held it. Bupin waited for her to explode.

“Let’s talk about Moby-Dick.” Farley spoke in a deep, calm, confident voice.

Instead of exploding, Gloria remained silent, holding that breath.

Farley continued, “There have been some complications in obtaining the experiential data of a bull sperm whale, but it’s solvable.”

“Everything is solvable with enough money,” McKay said.

Farley turned to Gloria. “Could you present the numbers?”

She exhaled the breath, nodded to Farley, pasted a smile on her lips, and addressed Bupin as though McKay had left
the room. She put up a PowerPoint slide with dollar figures. “Here are line items for leasing a ship and crew for up to three months.”

McKay smirked. Bupin cocked his head back and to the right. He could feel his cowlick wave like a flag at the top of his skull. The numbers were trivial, barely six figures. His admin could sign off on that much, a perfectly reasonable request, but it wouldn’t be granted. To Bupin, this was an exercise in business skills. A test for both Gloria and Farley that would make them better, stronger, more valuable partners.

Using maps on the overhead projector, Farley indicated the locations of the four known pods of sperm whales and how long the expedition would require, concluding, “We couldn’t anticipate having to crew our own ship.”

Bupin said, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.”

McKay said, “Greenpeace has three whale pods and they won’t play with you? I’m sorry, Farley, that was a big oversight. Obviously we can’t be involved with this enviro-terrorist guy in the Indian Ocean.” He shook his head as though consoling Farley. “But we can solve this problem.”

“Of course,” Farley said. “I’d like to keep the solution in perspective, too. We’re asking for less than one percent of your initial investment, a tiny increment.”

“Then you anticipate my requirement.”

“I’d appreciate it if we could forgo a discussion on licensing.”

“There is another way,” McKay said. Then he paused, as though expecting to catch Farley.

“We can discuss mainstream gamelike apps,” Farley said. “If we have sufficient resources, we could have a few ready shortly after the VirtExReality Arcades are open and running nature apps, not before.”

Bupin appreciated how Farley offered a concession while withdrawing it at the same time. The scientist had a long way to go, but he was making progress.

“If you won’t negotiate,” McKay said, “neither will I.”

Gloria said, “He just offered half of what you want.”

McKay turned to Bupin and said, “I’m finished here.” He stood and gathered his things.

“That’s it, then?” Gloria asked.

McKay said, “Either develop profitable apps yourselves or give us permission to license others to do so.”

Gloria said, “You’re giving us an ultimatum?”

“Excuse me, Gloria.” McKay stepped toward her and looked straight down at her. “Have you forgotten who you work for?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry,” Farley said. “What you call profitable apps will eliminate demand for nature apps, and as you know, the nature apps are the reason we’re doing this.”

“No, no,” Bupin said. “You think upside down. Common mistake. You hold the starter’s pistol. Other developers begin your race many laps behind. Let your competition fund your work. You can’t win if you are not playing.”

Farley didn’t respond. It made Bupin wonder what backup plans they had.

At the door, McKay said, “Our goals are inconsistent, Farley. Good luck. Our employee, Gloria, will continue to be responsible for our forty-nine percent interest in VirtExArts, but unless you change your mind, I don’t think I’ll be personally involved. Good day.”

Farley whispered something to Gloria, she nodded, and he assembled his things. He stood and leaned toward Bupin, his arm extended to shake hands.

Bupin took his hand.

“Bupin,” Farley said, “we’ll figure out a way to get past this hurdle, and we’ll be in touch.” Farley left the room. Gloria followed him, and the two whispered in the corridor. She came back in and disconnected her laptop from the projector.

Bupin stood and said, “Please visit my office when you finish here.”

As he walked by, she handed him a stack of documents and said, “Would you help me with these?”

“Of course. Contracts. I love me the good contract to read!”

Back at his desk, he looked through Gloria’s documents. She had done good work. He believed and hoped that she would succeed. He also understood that in the forty thousand years that humans have been doing business, the fundamentals have neither changed nor become easier to learn. The next few months would be a turning point in her career. She was just shy of thirty years old, the perfect age to leap up the career ladder. The licensing issue would be a significant test. Would she surrender her clients’ values or find a way to use them to strengthen the company? Was she an investor with foresight and creativity, or not?

Gloria came into his office a few minutes later and sat on the opposite side of his cluttered desk. Bupin’s office looked out on a peaceful courtyard from the corner of the building. Shelves along the walls were decorated with a mix of Silicon Valley memorabilia—a primitive mouse, an old oscilloscope, one of the first HP pattern generators—and colorful Hindu art.