CHAPTER TWELVE
Storm Coming
Holmes stood and looked out of the window. The lights in the street below glowed amber, adding emphasis to the driving rain as it splattered with force against the glass. I gave the fire a poke and settled back in my chair while my friend continued to gaze outside.
Eventually he cleared his throat and spoke. “I am reminded, Doctor, of the old Chinese curse.”
“May you live in interesting times,” I put in.
“Yes. That one.”
“I should point out, Holmes, that every civilisation in history has thought much the same. The world has always been in chaos and always will be. As the songwriter Billy Joel put it, We Didn’t Start the Fire.”
“I am inclined to agree with you, Doctor.” Holmes turned from the window and began to pace about the snug living room. “That said, there are unique factors at play today. For one, we have never been so reliant upon one single technology – the Internet.”
“We might go back to steam and whale oil.”
“If there are any whales left,” chuffed Holmes as he came to join me beside the fire.
Just then his restless eyes settled upon his infernal vaping machine that sat on the mantelpiece. He soon adjusted the digital settings and was swiftly enveloped in a thick cloud of nauseating elderflower vapour.
“You asked me earlier why the State should wish to spy upon us while leaving the actual criminals and terrorists to their own devices?”
“Yes, I did.”
“It is because they know that we are living in truly interesting times. There is an ill wind coming, Watson, and they know it.” Holmes expelled another remarkable quantity of vapour. “Information is the only true power.”
Dimly I could see that he was holding up his hand and counting on his fingers. I groaned inwardly.
“Economic chaos. Never-ending wars. Countless millions homeless and on the march. Diminishing resources. A shocking divide between rich and poor. Growing disgruntlement and massive unemployment. The rise of nationalism and right-wing politicians…”
Now I had to hold up my hand. “I get the picture, Holmes. And quite frankly most people would rather bury their heads in the sand – and who could blame them?”
“And what of your Internet, Watson, and its glorious ideals? The free flow of thoughts and ideas? The lives immeasurably improved?”
I had to shrug. “Nice idea while it lasted. But what’s gone is gone.”
“We can reclaim the Internet,” declared my friend with vehemence. “Everything you have learnt these past few days will set you free. You can employ the Dark Arts to keep yourself safe, you can employ them for the power of good.”
Holmes puffed deeply on his pipe. The room was suddenly so thick with his grey vapour that he was momentarily veiled from sight. Then from deep within the mist my friend spoke in a clear and authoritative voice.
“If they do not know who you are. If they do not know where you are, they cannot spy upon you, and they cannot fleece you, nor do you harm. Only by opening your eyes to the dangers – and by adopting elementary security measures – do we begin to take back control.”
“But seriously,” I asked my friend. “Who can be bothered?”
The vaporous clouds began to dissipate.
“Well, fuck it then,” said Holmes. “Let’s go down the pub.”
THE END