“We’re on our final approach, Mr. Reilly,” said the attendant.
She took his half-full glass of Coke and stowed the tray.
“Cool,” he replied, glancing up from his phone.
An understatement. After passing through U.S. customs at Vancouver International Airport, a chauffeur had driven him from the private lounge to a waiting Dassault Falcon 6X. The comparative luxury made his first-class flight from Toronto seem ordinary. A recruiting experience worthy of the next LeBron James or Connor McDavid. He lowered his footrest and eased his expansive leather seat into the upright position.
A graduate student of sustainable agriculture at the University of Guelph, known as ‘Moo U’ for its prominence in livestock research, he seemed an unlikely target for high-tech billionaires recruiting talent. Yet here he was, escaping a soul-crushing late spring snowstorm back home as he descended into paradise on a private jet.
The plane touched down, and Jayson disabled airplane mode on his phone, tapping his foot as he waited for a connection. Notifications filled the screen.
Mom has hit you!
Paul Beekman has hit you!
Two stories you’re following have new hitz!
Sheryl Decker added you to her hitzlist!
The notifications kept coming. Jayson opened the Hitz-It app and skimmed through his messages. After catching up, he created a new hit with the selfie he’d taken during the descent, adding the caption: ‘Just landed in Hawaii on Anton Kamaras’s private jet!’ Nice to be the one with something to brag about for a change. A flurry of reactions filled his screen.
“Mr. Reilly?” said the attendant. “Welcome to O’ahu.”
She stood by the open door, holding his suitcase and backpack.
“Sorry,” said Jayson, scrambling to put away his phone.
He gave her a nod as he took his bags and stepped into the dazzling sunshine. Shielding his eyes, he took in the surroundings. While the immediate area, flat and drab, offered little inspiration, the emerald peaks rising to the east and west hinted at the beauty of the place. A familiar voice caught his attention.
“Jayson! Welcome to O’ahu.”
The recruiter he’d met a few weeks earlier at a coffee shop on the university campus seemed a different person here, wearing cargo shorts and a gray t-shirt in place of the expensive suit he’d sported at their first meeting.
“Hey Mr. Young, good to see you,” replied Jayson as he descended the stairs. “I didn’t expect you to come and meet me.”
“No way I’d invite you to my home and not offer a proper welcome. That’s not the aloha way.”
Jayson set down his suitcase and extended a hand. His host took it, pulling him in for an unexpected hug in place of a handshake.
“Aloha, my friend.”
“Aloha, Mr. Young.”
“Cal,” he said with a wink. “Mr. Young stays on the mainland.”
Calvin Young. Although the name didn’t sound Hawaiian, he looked like he could be native. Jayson didn’t ask. He dealt with that enough himself—the brief looks of confusion after an introduction as people tried to reconcile his name with his dark hair and bronze skin.
Cal grabbed Jayson’s suitcase and rolled it towards a black Mustang convertible waiting on the tarmac nearby. He tossed it in the trunk and hurried to the passenger side to open the door for his guest.
“Let’s roll.”
Jayson set his pack in the back seat and got in, his nostrils flaring at the scent of new leather.
“Nice.”
His host smiled and hit the accelerator, eliciting a brief squeal from the tires as they sped for the gate, dodging a few military airplanes and helicopters along the way.
“This isn’t the main airport?”
“No. This is Wheeler Army Airfield. Mr. Kamaras has an agreement to use it.”
“Am I going to meet him? Mr. Kamaras?” asked Jayson, imagining the reactions if he posted a photo with him.
Cal shook his head.
“He doesn’t make it to the Center very often.”
The Center for Sustainability Research. A new venture, Cal had explained at their meeting in Guelph, founded by the tech entrepreneur to make the world a better, more livable place. He’d pledged billions of his own money to gather the best minds from around the world and fund their climate research. Somehow, Jayson had made the list of candidates.
“We’ll be down to Waipi’O in thirty minutes or so,” said Cal as they exited the base and turned onto the highway.
“Waipi’O?”
“Pearl Harbor,” said Cal. “Mr. Kamaras leased the vacant land on Waipi’O Peninsula from the Navy for the next hundred years. It’s where we’re headquartered.”
“Hundred years, huh? I like his optimism.”
He doubted anything could be done in a thousand years, let alone a hundred, to fix what humanity had done to the planet. Anton Kamaras probably didn’t believe it, either. A billion-dollar publicity stunt to pay lip service to sustainability cost nothing for a man like him. He made that in a week while profiting from the status quo.
Stolen story; please report.
Maybe too harsh, considering Jayson’s own hypocrisy. After all, he’d jumped at the chance to take a private jet halfway around the world to interview for a job that was probably bullshit. How could he justify the environmental impact of his little joyride? Screw it. Why should he be the only one making sacrifices if everyone was fucked anyway?
The highway crossed over a ravine and swept to the right, revealing a swath of agricultural land to the west.
“I didn’t expect it to be so rural.”
“Yeah. There’s a lot of land like this on O’ahu. I mean, for its size,” said Cal. “Most of the population is packed pretty tight in Honolulu.”
“It’s nice. Not too different from back home in the summer.”
Cal laughed.
“Sure. And how many days is that?”
“Not nearly enough.”
The fields gave way to light industrial buildings as traffic got heavier. They crested a gentle rise, and the Pacific Ocean appeared in the distance.
“Still look like home?”
“No,” replied Jayson, shaking his head. “No, it does not.”
The ocean dipped below the horizon again as they headed down the other side of the rise into increasingly urban surroundings. A few minutes later, they exited the highway, passing a high school and traversing a small bridge before the water reappeared on the east side of Waipi’O Point Access Road. On the right, a beautifully manicured golf course stretched into the distance.
They continued down the road to where it swept around to a public soccer complex. At the midpoint of the curve, Cal turned left onto a narrow road obstructed by a lift gate and came to a stop at an unmarked guardhouse. The guard glanced up only briefly, offering a nod as he raised the gate with the touch of a button.
“Doesn’t exactly look like a multi-billion dollar operation,” said Jayson.
“We prefer to keep this place low profile. This gate is for local travel. The big stuff comes into the port by ship.”
“Why low profile? Don’t you want to show the world all the good you’re doing here?”
“Did you google the Center before coming?” asked Cal.
“Of course.”
“And what did you find?”
“To be honest? Not much. Some government filings, registration information, and a Hitz-It page with no contact info.”
“Exactly. This place is about results, not public relations.”
Jayson noticed an expansive array of solar panels between the road and the harbor on the left. It continued around the corner as far as he could see.
“That looks promising.”
“We can’t take credit for that. It belongs to the U.S. Navy. We’re doing a bit of solar, but mostly looking at other stuff.”
Beyond the solar array, they encountered a second gate more substantial than the first. Solid steel and twelve feet high, it obstructed the only means through an imposing concrete wall topped with a ribbon of fierce-looking razor wire. There were no guards to greet them, but arrays of cameras and other electronic monitoring equipment meant somebody knew they were there. The gate was already sliding open before the Mustang came to a stop.
On either side of the gravel road beyond the gate were dozens of small, neatly divided plots of land. A few tractors, trucks, and other miscellaneous agricultural equipment sat idly here and there in the fields on either side of the road.
“Sunday,” said Cal. “Not much happening today, but tomorrow it’ll be buzzing.”
“What’s with all this stuff?”
“This stuff is why you’re here. We’ve got people prepping the land back to the soil conditions native to the area before we showed up. Lots happened here with the military before and during World War Two, and we want to make sure it doesn’t mess with your research.”
“My research?”
“Yours—or whoever we end up bringing in to run the agricultural stuff. We have to start with the right control conditions.”
“And then what?”
“And then we look for ways to augment the soil—with only native, natural materials from the island—to make it best suited for various test crops.”
“No fertilizers or pesticides?”
“Nothing chemical. Just whatever you can make or find naturally. Like guano, or whatever.”
“So I’m here to haul bird shit?”
Cal looked at him and smiled.
“We’ve got people for that—and they didn’t fly in on a private jet.”
“So what’s the goal? What are you trying to do here?”
“Well, I’d summarize it as maximizing production while minimizing impact.”
“That’s a nice little garden project, I suppose, but I don’t see how it saves the world.”
“It doesn’t. Not by itself. It’s just one piece of a complex puzzle—but an important one. Critical, even.”
The road continued past the fields toward Pearl Harbor, and some large, two-and-three-story buildings appeared ahead, overshadowed by the massive spectacle anchored offshore behind them.
“Holy shit,” said Jayson.
“Yeah. That’s the USS Ronald Reagan. It’s stationed at Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan, but we’re borrowing it for a few days.”
Jayson turned to Cal and raised an eyebrow.
“You can borrow an aircraft carrier?”
“You and I can’t,” he said with a laugh. “But Mr. Kamaras can.”
“Should I ask why?”
“We’re experimenting with fusion as a source of sustainable energy. Do you follow fusion research at all?”
“Just enough to know it’s always ten years away.”
“Not anymore,” said Cal, raising a finger. “We’ve cut that in half, and now it’s always five years away.”
Jayson laughed.
“Anyway,” continued Cal, “it takes a lot of power to do fusion research, and the Hawaiian government wasn’t thrilled with us building our own fission reactor. We borrow power from the ones on Navy ships like the Reagan to run tests.”
“What does the Navy get out of it?”
“Fusion reactors, if we’re successful. So a good deal both ways.”
Massive cables ran from an opening on the carrier’s side down to the water. Jayson scanned the shoreline and found they resurfaced near one of the buildings. Impressive as it was, the thought of collaborating with the military made him uneasy. Still, probably a good thing if it meant less radioactive waste from nuclear carriers and subs.
“Be good to the earth while going to bomb the shit out of some poor, brown villagers on the other side of the planet,” he said. “A kinder, greener brutality.”
“I know it doesn’t mesh with making the world a better place, but Mr. Kamaras approaches his goals like a chess match. Sometimes it takes a calculated sacrifice to win.”
“It’s hard to argue with his track record.”
“We’ll start with a facility tour tomorrow,” said Cal as they drove past the first set of buildings and headed southeast toward the water. “It’s past 9:00 eastern now, so you’re probably tired.”
“Yeah. A bit.”
But he wasn’t tired. His mind raced, still processing everything he’d seen in the last few minutes. Maybe it wasn’t all bullshit. He couldn’t imagine the United States Navy committing the resources of an aircraft carrier—a carrier group, even—to a billionaire’s vanity project. Thousands of personnel? Tens of thousands? He had no idea what kind of manpower and money it took to support a carrier group, but it was probably a lot.
They pulled up to the entrance of a modern-looking, boomerang-shaped building with a sweeping curved roof and a raised central hub circled with windows. A posh hotel minus the glitz, everything about the place felt clean and functional.
“This is the residence for our researchers and support staff,” said Cal as he led Jayson through the automatic sliding glass doors into the open foyer. “Up the main stairs here, you’ll find the cafeteria and common areas.”
The space felt bright and airy. A few people milled about on the mezzanine above, backlit by sunshine streaming in from the towering windows of the building’s central hub.
“Nice.”
“Here on the main floor, through those doors, you’ll find the gym, swimming pool, and laundry facilities. Use any of it while you’re here.”
They continued down the northern arm of the building until Cal stopped outside one of the doors. He fished around in his pocket and produced a badge with Jayson’s name and picture, marked with ‘visitor’ in bold red letters.
“Here we are.”
Jayson took the card and examined it for a moment.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and that’ll get you access to everything else here, too. Pool, laundry, whatever,” he added, pointing at the badge. “Don’t go anywhere without it.”
“Got it.”
“Meet you in the lobby at eight. Get some rest.”
Cal opened the door and ushered Jayson inside with a clap on the shoulder.
“See you tomorrow.”
A little larger than a standard hotel room, the suite boasted a kitchenette and living space with a couch and TV. He tossed his backpack onto the bed on his way to the eastward-facing floor-to-ceiling window at the far side of the room and looked outside. A spectacular view.
Ford Island, the aviation museum, and Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam lay across the water. Beyond that, the gleaming city of Honolulu rose against a backdrop of soaring emerald mountains. No wonder they called it paradise. Jayson smiled and took another selfie to post on his Hitz-It feed.