The Sensory Deception (23 page)

Farley clung to the side of the Zodiac and watched Moby-Dick make another lazy dive.

Behind him, Chopper said, “I’d help you in, but…”

Farley climbed aboard the Zodiac and stood over Chopper. The entire right side of Chopper’s torso was pale yellow and scattered with congealed blood. His shoulder was folded at a right angle in front of him so that his chin nearly rested on it. His right arm was tucked tight at the elbow like a broken wing, and, staring at the spot where Moby had just disappeared, he was happy.

Farley maneuvered the boat under the crane and attached the chain. As the crane reeled the Zodiac in, Farley finally asked the question: “What the fuck were you doing out there?”

Chopper laughed and winced. “No way was I going to stab a whale. No way.”

“Instead you sacrificed yourself?” Farley’s voice was rising. “You think that animal would have noticed the prick of one of those darts? Damn it, Chopper, how the hell are we going to get you healed?” He motioned to the coast. “I don’t think Mogadishu Memorial Hospital has a bed for you.”

Chopper shrugged his left shoulder and said, “Look, there aren’t ten sperm whales like him on the whole planet, and I’m one of seven billion people. His life is worth a billion of mine.”

Yes, Chopper was in pain, plenty of pain, pain increasing in intensity every second. The geometry of his body was the real shock. After being thrown into the ship’s hull he had slid into the water. Not having the use of one arm to tread water hadn’t surprised him. Looking down and realizing that his shoulder had been twisted in front of him—this surprised him, but he dealt with it. By the time Farley pulled him aboard the Zodiac, he had manufactured a blind spot below his chin so he couldn’t see his injuries.

The
Cetacean Avenger
medic, Ann Witherby, whose qualifications for the role consisted of her experience as an emergency medical tech in London, stood by as the Zodiac was lowered to the deck.

Farley took Chopper’s good hand and helped him up. To stave off the pain, Chopper tried to concentrate on Ann’s breasts, but she was a small woman in a baggy T-shirt so he switched to her hair—a light bob, mostly blond but with dark roots.

Her eyes got wider as Chopper stood and stepped on deck. The act of standing turned out to be considerably more painful than sitting, so he stood with perfect vertical, if not rotational, posture.

“Bloody hell,” Ann said. “He needs surgery; it’s the only way to tell what’s what in there.”

“If you can just help me shift it back in place,” Chopper said, “I’ll be fine.”

Ann ran her hands along his shoulder and down his injured limb. She straightened the wrist first, then the elbow, and finally
stretched out the arm. Chopper kept his eyes on the horizon the whole time. He said, “Looks like Gaynes’s friends are here.” Then Ann exerted torque on the bicep to gauge the amount of freedom. This action crossed his pain threshold.

Chopper conceded one short, sharp groan. He tried to cover it with humor. “Oh, Annie, that’s how I like it.”

To Farley, Ann said, “Place your hand right here,” indicating the area on Chopper’s back where the shoulder blade ought to have been.

Chopper felt Farley’s hand on his back.

“It’s swelling right up,” Ann said.

“I can see that,” Farley said.

Ann said, “I find the tension on the skin right here, where it’s already purple, unpleasant.”

Chopper said, “Me too.”

Ann said, “I believe every tendon has torn. The rotator cuff is still here, you can feel it, but as you can see, the shoulder is a wee bit displaced.”

“Yeah, a wee bit.” Farley moved his hand up and over Chopper’s mangled shoulder. He and Chopper looked each other in the eye and Farley exerted pressure. He said, “Chopper, you’re going home.”

The words caught Chopper by surprise. Farley should know better. He said, “I’m not going anywhere until we’re finished here.”

Farley increased the pressure.

Chopper glared at Farley. As the pressure grew he couldn’t help but grind his teeth. Finally, he yelled, “Okay!”

Farley let go of the bad shoulder and embraced the good one. “We did it, man,” he said. “We actually did it.”

Chopper tried to nod, but the pain stopped him. “For that experience, I’d give up both shoulders.”

Farley took Chopper’s good hand and offered it to Ann. “How do we get him to a hospital?”

“Yes, well,” she said, guiding Chopper toward the sick bay. “You’ll have to inquire with the captain.”

Farley ran up to the bridge. The pilot pointed down to the starboard deck where Gaynes stood against the gunwale. A ladder had been lowered to one of the pirate boats. Farley asked the pilot what their procedure was for getting injured sailors to hospitals. The pilot said he’d need to discuss it with the captain but then indicated a chart. The
Cetacean Avenger’s
position was marked in blue pencil.

The pilot said, “You came from the closest major city, Nairobi. From here, it’s about a thousand miles away, at least five hundred of it by land.”

There was another mark on the chart, this one due north a few hundred miles farther up the Horn of Africa, marked in red. Farley asked, “Is this where the Norwegian whaler went?”

“That’s the location of a pod of migrating fin whales,” the pilot said. “If the whaler isn’t there yet, it will be soon.”

Behind him, Tahir appeared at the top of the stairs. “Farley, we have a problem.”

“I have to get Chopper to a doctor. He needs surgery.”

Tahir said, “That is not our most urgent problem.” He stepped forward and pointed to a cluster of skiffs along the starboard side and another at the bow. “There is a debate among our hosts regarding the fee for the large fish you equipped. Captain Gaynes is more interested in separating himself from the problem than participating in its solution.”

Farley looked down to the deck and then back at the red mark on the chart. “We’ve held Gaynes back as long as he’ll let us.” He
stepped toward the stairs and motioned for Tahir to follow. On deck, he said, “I have to check the incoming data from Moby-Dick. I want you glued to the captain. Find us some options.”

In the cargo-hold lab, Farley clicked the mouse of the DAQ laptop. It had already acquired a few gig of data. He checked the log for confirmation that the primary DAQ system in Santa Cruz had also acquired the data. He opened the video file captured from the camera he’d placed in front of the whale’s dorsal ridge. The screen started dark, then went underwater-green, and soon he could make out the long gray-black length of the whale’s back. When Moby surfaced, the video showed the terrific geyser of his blow. Farley could also see several of the detectors. Every one of them was in place. Then he ran test software that skimmed through the other data feeds, checking for continuity of input.

Farley moved on to his next problem. Conveniently, it walked in under its own power. His entire right side wrapped in white tape, Chopper was a half-mummy. He was also pleasantly buzzed on pain medication, but his shoulder had not been reset. Chopper checked the data feed, and saw the sequence of downloads. Since salt water is a conductor, the instruments couldn’t communicate with the satellite if they were deeper than a few feet. Each sensor included a depth monitor. Every time the whale surfaced, the transmitters would upload the sensor data to the satellite. Chopper set to work comparing files to check the bit error rate.

A few steps from the lab, Farley ran into Tahir.

“You’ve been invited to dine with Sayyid Hassan and Captain Gaynes,” Tahir said.

“What else have you got?”

“Before Sayyid will permit the
Cetacean Avenger
to continue its voyage, you must pay the duty.”

“Yeah, we have an idea for how we can help Sy, but we need to get Chopper to a hospital.”

“Gaynes is negotiating the ship’s departure,” Tahir said. “You asked me to determine our options; I came to report that the captain is negotiating away those options.”

“We are finished here anyway.” Farley then told Tahir to assemble their remaining detection equipment. They had several hydrophones and three extra video recorders. “Load it into a backpack, and don’t let anyone touch it.”

As they separated, Tahir said, “Farley, it would be unwise to trust Sayyid Hassan.”

“I have an injured man and a debt to pay.”

Farley rushed to sick bay, where he found Ann staring at a well-dog-eared copy of
Gray’s Anatomy
. Without looking up, she said, “I’m afraid that if I reset his shoulder without an X-ray to guide me, I could tear his rotator cuff or even crush tendons.”

Farley said, “It has to be done.”

Now she looked up and said, “The real danger is that it could hemorrhage. It may have already. I don’t have the equipment or training to tell. He needs a doctor.”

“What’s the longest he can go without hospital care?”

“If he’s not hemorrhaging, and if we figure out how to reset his shoulder, perhaps a week. No more than a fortnight. However, should he hemorrhage, you must get him to a surgeon in a matter of hours.”

“Either zero or seven days?”

“Sorry, really, I’m not qualified,” Ann continued. “If he hemorrhages or—I don’t know what—you see? I won’t be able to help him.”

S
ayyid Hassan greeted Farley with an outstretched arm. Gaynes motioned to the vacant spot at the table. Farley shook Sy’s hand and sat.

Sy spoke as though unloading the weight of his worries with each word. “You have obtained from my ocean that for which you came. You are not without courage, though perhaps without wisdom. I have come to collect the tariff.” Sy’s eyes were forlorn and deep, as though he expected betrayal.

Farley could only contemplate the burden this man carried. Two thousand people relied on him, two thousand people whose lives had been betrayed by the forces of “civilization.”

Farley turned to Gaynes, who was leaning back in his chair. Gaynes tapped his watch. Sy’s expression chilled.

Farley was confident of the value a documentary could have for Sy and his people, but he wasn’t sure he could sell it. “Sy, I can help you in a fundamental way. But right now my closest friend needs immediate transportation to a hospital.”

“I have a doctor in my village.”

“You do? Good. Can he do magnetic resonance imaging? X-rays?”

“Don’t offend me.”

“I need to get my friend to the hospital. I’ll pay you the fee, but I might need some credit.”

“Our doctor is an Oxford-educated surgeon,” Sy said, “and we have surgical equipment.”

Gaynes interrupted. “Farley, you need to pack your equipment. You’re going ashore.” There was an edge in his voice.

“Where has your doctor practiced? Do you have a room with sanitary conditions?”

“Do not offend me,” Sy said. “I don’t offer credit without collateral. You will be welcome in my camp until the duty for your fishing expedition has been paid. Once I understand how you will compensate us, I will arrange transport for your friend.”

To Farley, Gaynes said, “It’s settled.” Then, to Sy, “Now get your maggots out of the way of my ship.”

Sy stood. “We are agreed?”

Farley stroked his beard. They had to go ashore to record the documentary. If they tried to stay aboard the ship, there was no telling if Gaynes would get Chopper to a doctor in time. In all likelihood, Chopper would convince Gaynes that his health was less important than getting the
Cetacean Avenger
between those fin whales and the whaling ship, and Gaynes wouldn’t take much convincing. If he hemorrhaged aboard ship, Ann couldn’t help him. Farley couldn’t shake the vision of Chopper’s torso folded in half. They had to get him straightened out, and they had to do it with a surgeon who could sew up the mess inside. Plus, he had to admit to himself, he wanted Chopper by his side.