Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of the Adventures of Professor Moriarty

The coming financial and political upheaval will restore common people’s belief that they wield some control over their collective destiny. In truth, the equations of world domination are unfurling according to the Professor’s designs. Time now to dive into the datastreams.

In the last two decades, the Professor’s equations have grown exponentially in both complexity and accuracy. The information society that he calculated into existence has yielded, as per the model based on his equations, a surveillance society that collects so much data that only the Professor’s exquisitely trained mind can synthesize it.

The Professor wields every string of the surveillance society like a master puppeteer. It is a world of his own making, a world in his own image. He rules it. He dominates it. And no one – not even the Detective, even if he were, improbably, still alive – will ever wrest it from him.

That night, for the first time in a decade, following his unprecedented nap-time victory, the Professor does not dream of the Detective. Does not dream of the Detective defeating him. The Detective is again absent the next night … And the next …

A pyramid, reflects the Professor during a trip to Egypt, is the perfect mathematical expression of the perfect human society. A construct of concentric rungs, each superior tier smaller than the inferior yet dominating the lower and larger tier, until the top rung is reached, and that rung has only one component. The ruler. The pharaoh. The alpha. The Professor.

The Professor is in Cairo to oversee a crucial play in his game of world domination. His personal attention is not strictly required, but without his presence there is a 17.3 per cent probability that the move will fail. Factoring his on-hand intervention, that probability falls to 0.002 per cent.

The three arms dealers, the four bankers, the seven foreign diplomats, the one representative of the Egyptian government, the two environmental activists, the six revolutionary militia commanders, the three insurance brokers, the five industrialists, the two civil rights advocates, and the three religious figures do not meet each other. The Professor handles every discrete aspect of the negotiations, and it all goes smoothly, exactly according to the Professor’s calculations. Having now met all the actors in this particular action, the Professor recalculates that, even without his presence in Cairo, the likelihood of this venture’s success would really have been 99.12 per cent.

World domination is so ridiculously effortless. All that is needed is to apply meticulously the proper equations and act on them without mercy or hesitation.

It has now been one year since the Detective has been banished from his dreams. The Professor is as all-powerful in dream as he is in reality. The world responds to his every whim as if it were a limb directly attached to his perfectly calibrated brain. The world is his, and there is no one, not a single person on the entire planet, with even the slightest potential to pose any serious, or even minor, challenge to his hegemony.

On the night of the anniversary of his conquest of the Detective of his dreams, the Professor falls into slumber with perfect serenity and confidence.

… Only to be once again visited by the Detective, who all this time has been secretly plotting against the Professor. The Professor’s worldwide empire collapses. His operatives and vassals turn against him. All of his schemes are revealed. His web of influence is ripped apart. The Detective is ruthlessly victorious, the Professor utterly ruined and destroyed.

The Professor wakes before dawn, his entire body covered in sweat. It takes him a moment to realize that his body feels different, uncomfortable.

He rushes to a mirror and gazes upon the naked body of an ashen old man. He once more resembles the persona he adopted against the Detective in the late 1800s. But older – more decrepit, more defeated.

The Professor cancels all of his appointments for the day. He spends the next few hours recalibrating the formula that keeps him alive, the legendary Fountain of Youth. He lets himself appear a few years older than he has recently done – late thirties rather than late twenties. Neither young, nor old. Eternal.

That settled, he dives into the datastreams to lose himself in the ceaseless flow of information at his disposal, but after thirty minutes he disengages in disgust.

There is no real information in the datastreams. Everything is as he has calculated and put into motion. There are no surprises. There is no chaos. There is no opponent. The grip of his will upon the world is as precise as it is unshakeable.

That night, he again dreams of absolute destruction at the hands of the Detective.

For the first time since his childhood eight hundred years ago, the Professor’s mind is in disarray. His own equations are subtly beyond his grasp. The datastreams are incomprehensible gibberish. When faced with the prospect of issuing instructions to the network of subordinates who sustain his empire, he is dumbfounded.

How long can he afford to ignore his life’s work? How long before entropy sets in, unhinging the precision of the equations at the foundation of his world order?

His mind refuses to supply the mathematical solution to these questions.

The Detective continues to haunt the Professor’s sleep. Every night, in dreams, the Detective relentlessly pursues, outwits and conquers the Professor.

Every minute of every day, the Professor feels his body ageing and decaying. He can no longer recall the mathematical formula that gives him control over the ageing process.

The Professor goes through the motions of his daily routine. The teleconferences with his operatives. The meetings with politicians and financiers. Reading the reports. He must maintain appearances. He must appear in control.

If any of his agents and vassals wonder at his prolonged silence, at the absence of fresh directives, they do not voice their apprehension. But the Professor feels that the balance of power is shifting. At least some of them are intuiting his current weakness, perhaps even planning a coup.

Despite the Professor’s neglect, his empire runs along smoothly, wealth and power trickling inexorably upward, poverty and oppression spreading in concentric circles of dominance. The world is still the world of his creation. His vassals are still getting wealthier and more powerful every passing day. Nevertheless, the Professor expects that unless he soon regains his mathematical acuity someone or some faction will attempt to usurp his position. If the potential traitors hesitate, it is because they fear that upsetting the status quo might disrupt the system that grants them the riches and privileges they crave with such greed and desperation.

But the lust for power cannot be underestimated. The most predatory among his entourage must be able to smell his weakness. The instinct to pounce can only be ignored for so long. Someone will act. And soon.

The Professor wakes from yet another dream defeat at the hands of the Detective knowing that the time has come. The air in the tower is supercharged. As the day progresses, everyone is oh so careful to appear subservient. The tension mounts with each passing second, and it can only be relieved with a bloodletting.

But who will die? Who shall be the sacrifice? The Professor or the usurpers?

The sun sets, and still no overt move has been made against him.

In his office, he pretends to log in to the datastreams. He has been unable to sift through the information for weeks, but still, should he be surveyed, he makes a show of interfacing with the flow of information. He must maintain the illusion of control, of power.

But he ignores the digital babble and focuses on his immediate environment. His caution is rewarded: they are here, in this room. There are three of them. They no doubt believe they are being stealthy.