The Sensory Deception (35 page)

As Bupin’s VR experience unfolded, the others sat at the bar watching the video feed on a monitor. No one in the focus group had rammed the ship. Most had dived under it or changed course. A few had lost the battle to the colossal squid. The first time Chopper did the demo, he had made short work of the squid and came out injury free. After the harpoon exploded, he rolled his body to the side and taunted the whalers until they fired another harpoon. Then he rammed the ship, over and over, delivering a torturous, drawn-out series of blows to the hull that ultimately sunk it.

In developing the software, Chopper and Ringo had talked about the possibility of someone’s ramming the ship like a kamikaze. When no one in the focus group had made that choice, they’d wondered if anyone ever would and what the choice implied about the user’s character. As he’d watched the Moby-Bupin experience unfold, Chopper realized that Moby-Bupin would fight to the death the instant the squid tore out his eye.

It was impossible to tell how much of Bupin’s immersion in the experience was due to sensory deception. The result was all that mattered. The feeling of triumph filled his heart as he offered Bupin the steaming antidote.

Over the course of an hour, Bupin recovered. And he recovered with gusto. He took over Gloria’s laptop and rewrote the business plan in fifteen minutes. He’d always hated Gloria’s estimates, so he raised the ceiling. Prior to stepping into the VirtExReality chamber and Moby-Dick’s experience, he’d known that this company’s success depended on winning a race. Only amateurs believed that patents could actually obstruct competition. If any other company got close with a mainstream application, VirtExArts would lose. Winning required saturating the market with nature apps before other companies closed in with Disney apps. To win, they needed engineers and zoologists. He called three people in the Valley at their homes and formed a team of headhunters. He charged them with hiring two dozen engineers and a dozen naturalists. He made another call to his administrative assistant and told him to lease and equip space in an industrial park in Silicon Valley, new headquarters for VirtExArts.

Bupin liked to do things by the dozen. Multiples of twelve had worked for the Romans, after all. He wanted a dozen new applications, starting with the King of the Beasts. He sent an e-mail to Ringo and Chopper, who had long since returned to the hotel, asking them to propose a dozen ambitious VR experiences. He wrote
ambitious
in bold type. In another e-mail, he told Sand Hill Ventures’ marketing director that she would now answer to Gloria. He wanted VirtExReality Arcades opened in San Francisco, Seattle, Denver, Austin, Chicago, Madison, Minneapolis, Miami, Orlando, Washington, D.C., New York, and Boston before the end of the fiscal quarter.

As he hit send on the last e-mail, he got a response from Chopper, who said, “The ultimate nature VR app is a human experience: You’re the tribal chief fighting deforestation in the
Amazon Basin. Well-funded invaders set the fire, and you have to choose between leading your tribe to safety and fighting for your way of life.”

As the sun rose, Bupin set to work on another task altogether. He was an executive. His entire life was predicated on accepting the truth and acting on it immediately. Over the years, many of his friends and mentors had made the switch from business to philanthropy. He’d never understood it before, had always thought he could do more to help the world as a VC. He’d never liked the word
charity
either, thought it sounded lazy. But now he got it. He would start his own foundation. This foundation would get to work like no other. He’d name it Vishnu, after the Hindu God of protection and destruction, and have a team of copywriters come up with an acronym. If VirtExArts could convert him, it would convert a lot of people. VISHNU would have an army of volunteers. At first he thought this was an original idea, but something nagged at his memory. He looked back through his notes. Farley had suggested this in their first meeting at Sand Hill Ventures. He needed to get Farley on the phone. He called his admin again, this time waking him up. Two hours later the admin called back and said, “This will take time.” He knew better than to say it couldn’t be done; Bupin didn’t like assistants who said such things.

G
loria, wearing a gorgeous black cocktail dress and matching pumps, worked her way through the throng of celebrities and movie and video game industry executives crowding the entrance to her VirtExReality Arcade. She paused in the doorway. The crowd was as dense inside as on the sidewalk out front and didn’t thin out for a block in each direction. The street was effectively closed.

Inside, Ringo and Chopper wore tuxedos. Ringo watched over the VirtExReality chambers, helping the models they’d hired and trained for the event, and Chopper stood behind the bar. Without Farley around, he needed a task. Tonight he handed out drinks. Gloria watched him for a minute as he made sure that everyone in the queue had a drink. He looked back at her. So much energy and angst in that perfect-looking cover, and the silly yellow tackle box always at his side like a macho purse.

She scanned the crowd and her excitement subsided. She felt alone. This was Farley’s party. He should have been there.

Outside, Bupin was holding court in the middle of the street. Gloria did a double-take. The men Bupin was sharing Cuban cigars with were not the corporate titans she expected to see him schmoozing. The governor stood next to him, along with a senator, two congressmen, and the presidents of the Sierra Club, the Nature Conservancy, and the World Wildlife Fund. When he
saw her, he gave her a pointed look whose message was obvious: “Make sure these people get the demo.”

The sensational advertising drew the red-carpet trawlers, and the documentaries—both Farley’s
Pirates at the Plank of Life
and the studio-produced ninety-minute version,
Survival in Somalia
—drew the People Who Care. The crowd was split between those in designer dresses or tuxedos and those in jeans and flip-flops; some even smelled of patchouli. But everyone there had one thing in common. Or did they? Gloria looked more closely. They didn’t all have it in common, just those who had already experienced Moby-Dick.

Every person who stepped out of the VirtExReality chamber had the same look: slightly pale, almost shocked, but with eyes focused and jaws clenched. With purpose. That was it—purpose. Pissed off and ready to do something about it.

While the grand opening of the VirtExReality Arcade carried into the night, it was broad daylight on the Somali coast, where Farley was teaching some kids how to surf. He’d sequestered a fallen log and carved a narrow longboard. The coast was safer now. The boats that had been patrolling over the toxic waste dump had disappeared after his documentary reached viral status. The professionally produced version of the documentary had now been out for a week.

Tahir sat in the shade at the southwest corner of the camp watching Sy’s men pace through the clear zone. Bored men succumbing to long-practiced habits.

Several days later, they were invited to share the evening meal in Sy’s tent. These dinners weren’t rare, though their frequency had decreased as Farley’s and Tahir’s stay became protracted.
Farley hoped that at this dinner Sy would proclaim his debt paid. Not that Farley believed his work here was complete; he wanted that toxic waste removed and sent back to its owner if possible. But it was time to go home.

Farley followed Tahir into the tent. Dr. Osman greeted them. Sy sat in his usual place on the carpet, near but not touching several pillows. His expression was stern. Farley and Tahir sat in their usual places opposite him.

It was then that Farley noticed a conspicuous presence. Where you would expect a condiment tray or a basket of rolls sat the satellite phone.

He looked back at Sy.

“I am evaluating the result of your payment,” Sy said. “Your film may yet have positive effects, but I am concerned about repercussions—vicious animals when cornered and all that.”

Farley motioned to the phone.

Sy said, “Yes, we’re expecting a call from your associates in California.”

“Did you set this up?”

“No,” Sy said. “I received a message through my usual channels that we should expect a call and that it might benefit my people.”

“Okay,” Farley said. “The documentary got the attention we need for the next step. Now you have to demonstrate the willingness and drive to solve your own problems. That will secure the support you need to start cleaning up your country.”

“Yes, well,” Sy said. “The ‘God helps he who helps himself’ philosophy would seem to be an illusion of capitalism.” He leaned forward and brought his hands together as though in prayer. He peered at Farley and said, “I will listen to what your comrades have to say. But first we will eat in peace.”

When the call came, Farley, Tahir, Sy, and Dr. Osman were relaxing with after-dinner tea. Sy answered, spoke for a few
seconds, and then offered the phone to Farley, who enabled the speakerphone feature.

Farley could picture the scene at the other end. Gloria, Chopper, Ringo, and Bupin were in a conference room at the Beverly Hilton, probably sitting in leather chairs around an expansive table with a speakerphone at its center. Farley was lying on Persian rugs, propped up on threadbare pillows. The sound of Gloria’s voice penetrated his soul. He wanted to close his eyes and listen to her, not so much her words as her tone. He pictured her in a suit leaning forward on the table. After these months of desolation, he couldn’t help it. She lived in his thoughts and dreams.

Gloria described the VirtExReality Arcade opening. Then she explained the details of the new business plan, tentatively describing how the business would expand. Farley looked around the tent. The design he had set in place years before was filling out. It was his plan, his business, the fruit of his labor, and it would be executed without him. He sipped his red tea and took a deep breath. Gloria said, “Hello?” as though she thought they’d lost reception.

Just as he had in their morning meetings back in Santa Cruz, Farley said, “Chopper, what have you got?”

“I’ve got it down,” Chopper said. “You remember the Indian VC, Bupin?”

Farley said, “Of course.”

“He’s on board. Gloria’s making the calls under his guidance.” He enunciated the last word in a way that suggested Gloria was being treated like a figurehead. Farley found that difficult to believe, but knew better than to question Chopper’s intuition. So he tested it.

Farley said, “Bupin, what have you got?”

There was a pause. Farley expected one. A working relationship between two leaders requires an agreement, a balance of capitulation. When the pause grew pregnant, Farley said, “Well?”

Bupin cleared his throat and said, “You’ll have a staff in place when you return. Engineers, zoologists—anything you need.” Then he rattled off the locations of the new VirtExReality Arcades along with their opening dates, followed by a description of the industrial park and new business headquarters.

“To stay ahead of the competition,” Bupin continued, “we need more applications. It is best that we not hit soft. The King of the Beasts is obvious one; you are already in Africa, perhaps you can record the data? We are also investigating one altogether different approach, a rain forest deforestation application.” Then he gave Farley the contract that was required for the two of them to succeed: “I am your consultant. Standard practice for rapid start-up growth.”