Loose Cannon: Is This A Data Ship I See Before Me?

News item: Google Inc. announced plans to launch floating storage ships for its data processing units. These ships, which would be anchored off the coast of America, would capture the motion of waves to fuel power sources.

News Item: Maritime hijacking, commonly known as piracy, is on the rise, with 61 attacks in the Gulf of Aden so far in 2008, compared with 13 for all of 2007.

June 2012

The pirates aren’t happy.

Three years ago, Google launched its first floating data repositories. Since then, the company’s stock has soared, buoyed in no small part by dramatic cuts in its energy expenses. And the armada Google maintains allows data transmission around the world at speeds thought impossible last decade.

So what’s the downside? Ask Long Tooth Cutlass, a self-described “nautical soldier of fortune, especially other people’s fortune.” I met Cutlass some years back at The Salty Linguist, a tavern that caters both to erudite buccaneers as well as writers with a taste for things seafaring.

I’m writing this from aboard Cutlass’s pirate vessel, the Piqued Odds. We’re somewhere near the coast of Yemen. It’s been a week of sailing and watching Captain Cutlass stomp around ranting about the hazard of stealing Google information.

“I won’t even touch the stuff,” Cutlass says. “I’ll move in on a ship carrying most cargo, but you can keep your data.” He spits out the last word as one might spit out a mouthful of milk a month past its prime.

The reason for his disdain is purely economic. For those shipping guns or drugs, the price of losing the occasional hold’s worth is factored into the cost of doing business.

“But those scurvy data privacy dogs say information shouldn’t be compiled at all, and the millennial generation thinks all information should be free,” Cutlass says. “Where’s the potential payoff? Taking possession of a database is like herpes. Can’t use it. Can’t dump it. Once you have it, you’re stuck with it.”

The Google ships aren’t marked, I point out. Surely it’s inevitable that the Piqued Odds will board one by accident?

“I take precautions, see?” Cutlass says. As we approach a likely floating target, Cutlass raises a series of nautical signal flags – colored cloths used by ships when radio communication isn’t possible.

“Surrender Or Die” read the Piqued Odds’ flags.

Nearly immediately, a series of answering flags appear on the masts of Cutlass’s prey. “We Are Not Armed. Take What You Want From Us And Let Us Go Free.”

Cutlass turns to me. “Now, watch,” he says. He orders another series of flags raised, these reading “Are Ye Carrying Any Booty?”

The target ship responds with a massive display of flags, which blot out most of the horizon behind it. “Damn!” says Cutlass. “That’s a Google ship. You can tell by the response flags.”

I ask him what he means.

“Flags on Google ships are raised by computers – that’s how they get them up so fast. Them there on the main mast read ‘We Are Carrying A Large File Of Consumer Information. We Will Turn It Over To You In Return For Safe Passage.’” Cutlass says, pointing at the tallest mast.

“Now look at the foremast and mizzenmast. The smaller masts are where the flags with the less-relevant responses are. The Google computer has seized on the word ‘booty’. The flags up front are referencing pieces of eight and rum. That one on the back is offering us pictures of J-Lo.”

There is a pause on the deck of the Piqued Odds. Then Cutlass raises a final series of flags.

“Never Mind: We’ll Try Our Luck In The Caribbean. Have A Nice Day.”

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