The Sensory Deception (36 page)

Farley was still uncomfortable. Bupin’s abrupt change of heart didn’t make sense. The conversation got stranger when Bupin said that he was forming a nonprofit foundation dedicated to hands-on solutions to environmental problems. Then Bupin said, “You predicted more than one year ago that sensory saturation would recruit volunteers to the environmental cause. As each person emerges from Moby-Dick’s reality, they wish to help. I am among them. My foundation will provide these volunteers an outlet, and I will appreciate your recommendations. It is a new business to me.”

Then Farley realized what was really bothering him. It was one thing to have Bupin come around to their side—that’s what sensory saturation did—but Bupin’s behavior had changed well beyond that. Where were his mixed metaphors and broken clichés?

It made Farley wary. Then, as though reading his mind, Chopper said, “Farley, I got this guy.”

“Okay,” Farley said. He looked at Tahir, who didn’t seem to understand. “Sayyid Hassan and I were discussing the next step.
The documentary got him the world’s attention, now he needs to use it.” He noticed Sy’s brow furrow. “We want to remove the waste. We want to return it to those who produced it.”

“Yes!” Bupin said. “Perfect. VISHNU’s first act is to clean Somalia coast. Obvious! Now you tell me what you need.”

The statement engaged Tahir.

Farley said, “I need twenty-five scuba divers.”

Tahir added, “Don’t send anyone who is timid. We have to anticipate another raid. If you can, select navy and marine veterans.”

Farley continued, “I need a radioactive waste expert and a barge with a reinforced hull to carry it all back to Europe. I need people who care about the mission, are capable of stomaching confrontations with pirate thugs, understand the danger of handling this stuff, and are willing to accept direction. We need tents, mess kits, and food for a month-long operation.”

Bupin said, “I will make this happen.”

“Can you transmit video of the operation as it unfolds?” Gloria asked.

“We’ll record and upload everything daily,” Farley said.

“Perfect,” she said. “We have to keep the momentum.”

“No, no,” Bupin said. “We will do better. We will embed two professional journalists with you.”

VirtExArt’s gross revenue for the week following the Moby-Dick release was ten times Gloria’s estimate. Gloria hired a manager, three assistant managers, and a squad of technicians. She and Ringo trained them at night when the arcade was closed and then expanded the hours to 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 a.m. The arcade was packed from around noon to midnight, with regulars showing
up in the slow hours. The regulars were a peculiar lot, video gamers and combat veterans. Analysts claimed that the total escape from reality that VirtExArts provided had intrinsic appeal to both groups and warned that it could be addictive.

As each person emerged from a chamber, he or she was given a drink and a tablet computer that could be used to sign up to volunteer with Bupin’s foundation, Venture Instruments to Sustain and Heal Nature with Urgency, VISHNU.

Bupin had a dozen new engineers hired within the month and ordered three dozen more VirtExReality jumpsuits. Ringo moved back to Silicon Valley to direct development of the next dozen VirtExReality chambers and to start development of more apps.

Not everything was perfect, though. About 5 percent of the population experienced motion sickness. Chopper formulated a weak antiemetic, mixed it in Vitaminwater, and recommended it to patrons for at least their first trip into virtual reality. There was a shift in customer response after the antiemetic concoction was introduced. People emerged from the experience more passionate, and nearly everyone who emerged either contributed to the foundation, offered to volunteer, or both. The surprise was how adamant customers were in their desire to do whatever it took to stop humanity’s attack on the planet.

Chopper explained it as the difference between stepping out of a VirtExReality chamber with a stomachache and emerging in the full glow of health. Of course, Chopper was aware of the real reason. However, maintaining this level of recruitment would require another trip to the Amazon.

W
ith an exploding list of volunteers, it took less than a month to assemble Farley’s team. Bupin’s admin assistant found a nuclear scientist with experience handling radioactive waste. Chopper insisted that they determine her qualifications before she experienced the Moby-Dick VR and that they perform an interview afterward.

The same admin worked through Dubai’s Jebel Port to find a shipping firm that would lease them a small, fully crewed marine barge.

The day before the cleanup team was scheduled to arrive, the
Cetacean Avenger
dropped anchor. Farley had spent the past few weeks mapping the coastline and isolating the boundaries where the barrels of waste sat below the water. Sayyid Hassan himself had been on the skiff as the work was done. He didn’t say much, but Farley was heartened by his presence. Maybe he was starting to see the value after all.

Farley couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited to see a friend. Sitting in the sand, barefoot, shirtless, and suntanned, Farley watched Gaynes’s Zodiac come ashore.

Gaynes clapped Farley’s back and said, “You look like a fuckin’ refugee. What have you been up to?”

“You mean between fighting pirates, filming documentaries, identifying and isolating toxic waste, and planning the cleanup? Surfin’, dude.”

They met Tahir and Dr. Osman in Sy’s tent. Sy wasn’t there. The red rooibos tea was in a steaming pot on a tray with crumpet-approximating biscuits set on a rug in the center of a ring of pillows. Farley poured the tea and started to tell Gaynes what had happened since they came ashore, but Gaynes had seen the documentary.

“A month ago you couldn’t turn on a TV without seeing it,” Gaynes said. “So we’re chasing that Norwegian whaler a hundred clicks south of India, right? I turn on the TV to BBC International and I see this guy’s mug.” He pointed at Tahir. “That’s when I knew I’d be hearing from you again.” He sipped his tea, leaned toward Farley, and said, “You’re doing good work. I’m glad I can help.”

Farley and Gaynes exchanged stories for half an hour before Sy finally entered the tent. He didn’t speak, just sat and waited for the conversation to resume. It threw Farley. This was not King Sayyid Hassan’s way. Gaynes tried to engage Sy, asking about offshore traffic and describing recent reports of piracy that had made the mainstream news. Sy answered formally. His English accent sounded slightly different to Farley. Across from him, Tahir was staring at Sy. Tahir caught Farley’s glance and furrowed his brow as though to say, “Something is wrong.”

At the next pause in Gaynes’s monologue, Farley said, “Sy? You okay? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Sy’s lips strained into a smile. “Indeed, it weighs on me.”

“The safety of this village is our highest priority,” Farley said. “But we have to remove the waste and get it back to the source.
The cleanup team is thoroughly vetted and we’ll have a live news feed. Any act of piracy will generate an immediate international response.”

“Is the UN connected?”

“No. But we’ve primed the world to respond to any injustice.”

“Plus,” Tahir injected as Farley sipped his tea, “we are capable of an immediate response. The cleanup team has fifteen navy and ten marine veterans, including five former SEALS and three former Force Recon marines.”

Gaynes muttered, “What the fuck?”

Sy turned to Farley. “This team will be armed?”

“No,” Farley said. He sipped the hot liquid again and then spoke in his most deliberate tone, fully conscious of how his sentences started at high volume and ended with an implied demand for concentration. “They are capable men and women, these divers. Should their military skills be needed, you will decide whether or not to arm them. But they are capable and will be ready.” He switched to a conversational tone, hoping to unwind the tension he saw in Sy’s face. “Look, the mission is clear: we’re cleaning up the mess of a European corporation on live television. It’s a pretty good reality show.”

Sy rubbed his eyes. “The stakes are perhaps a bit higher than that.”

“Sy,” Farley said, “I would no more challenge your authority than I would bring a bunch of neophytes into a war zone.”

“Then you do understand,” Sy said, now looking straight into Farley’s eyes.

“I believe I do,” Farley said. “Our success is generating support for fixing the problems that face your country. Real support from real people, not bureaucrats stroking their chins, real people willing to do real work.”

“I’m more concerned that you understand what your failure could generate.”

“Sy,” Farley said, “this is the opportunity you have been preparing for your entire life.”

“I appreciate what you are trying to do.” Sy spoke in measured tones. “I pray that you will understand my situation.”

Farley leaned forward and put a hand on Sy’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll be working with a nuclear scientist, and she’s bringing all of her equipment.” Sy looked up at him, and Farley tightened his grip. “Your village is our greatest concern.”

“Yes,” Sy said, looking away. “It is mine, too.”

Farley was up early the next morning. Watching the sunrise from the beach brought back the image of Chopper and Gloria, his two favorite people, sitting on the bluff that first morning. Farley wanted nothing more than to get this done and go home.

From the converted-sonar video of the waste site, Farley estimated it would take a month to raise the barrels, secure them on the barge, and get the hell out of there. Randy Gaynes had agreed to guide the barge back to the French Riviera. A completely transparent act of civil heroism available on video to anyone on earth, arrogance countered by arrogance.

A few hours later, Farley was at the bow of the
Cetacean Avenger
with Randy Gaynes. Both of them looked north through binoculars until they spotted the barge. As it worked its way south, Farley could resolve people on the bridge, then on the deck: his crew. He was tired of trudging around Sy’s village feeling helpless.

As the barge floated down the coast and over the water that concealed the drums of radioactive waste, Gaynes and Farley
lowered a Zodiac and crossed from the ship to the barge. Farley could see Tahir on shore watching. He wondered where Sy was. It seemed out of character for Sy not to have his own pirate navy greet visitors to his kingdom.