by J M Bannon
Jimmy had no trouble arranging a ticket to Owen's exhibit, but his underworld influence couldn't save him from standing in line. The discussion surrounding a calculating machine piqued his interest, got him thinking about the roomful of abacus wielding clerks he had working in his latest venture and how they could not meet his needs. He made his way out of the queue and over to the Englishman with the sad turnout; only a few men listening to the man in a somber suit typical of an academic. The man standing next to the podium was portly and bald atop but the hair he did have was dark, wavy and grown out long like his side whiskers. Jimmy decided to liven the audience with his energy and wit and walked closer to the stage to read the placard of the presentation. The placard on the easel read;
Augustus De Morgan
Polymath and logician
London University
On mechanical computation and statistical problem solving
He stood there listening more intently to the scholar.
"With the machine that Babbage imagines and using the techniques outlined in the letters of Lady Lovelace before her untimely death, the works of Boole and other polymaths could be tested and proven. The Machine would deliver advancements in all sciences dependent on mathematics, this is why the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge seeks to build a calculation engine for the betterment of all society. Thank you for your time and I will now open the floor to questions," finished the orator.
No one clapped. What little audience there was got up and walked away. Jimmy stood his ground on the edge of the stage. Jimmy waved to De Morgan to come over.
"Do you have a question, sir?" asked De Morgan loudly for the audience.
"I do but the answers are not their business," Jimmy whispered.
"I would be happy to discuss your private interests after the open question period, Sir" De Morgan said loudly. Jimmy looked about what few people were present who showed no interest, it was obvious to Jimmy those sitting were there for the chair, not the lecture.
"How about you and I go have a chat, Mr. De Morgan? I would like to buy you a cup of tea in the commissary," offered Jimmy.
"I could have a tea break after my oratory," the man returned to the podium grabbing papers then made an exit from the stage. The stage manager was already taking down the placard for De Morgan.
As they walked toward the commissary, Jimmy began his queries. "So, you have a machine that can do the calculations you were talking about?"
"No Sir, the machine does not exist, the closest in operation are the trigonometric machines located on a few airships but these are purpose-built for navigation and the proprietary design of the Mechanists. The machine I suggest is a universal design, one that one day could calculate actuary tables on Monday then do an estimate of planetary movement on Tuesday," described De Morgan.
"You see, Mister?" De Morgan started.
"Lin, Jimmy Lin."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lin. Augustus De Morgan," replied the man.
The man didn't react to my name, Jimmy thought.
"Mr. Lin, these bloody Mechanists are trying to hold sway, holding a monopoly in the Empire. On the development and use of mechanical devices, they have influenced financiers who shun us and confuse the military that mechanical computation should be a military secret. My group has been lobbying for funding and at every door, we go to with hat in hand, bam! Slammed in our face," said De Morgan.
The two men navigated through the crowds to the commissary, De Morgan went to get in line.
"I am tired of Queues. Let's have a seat," Jimmy proposed, grabbing a table. He then turned to a young man, "How would you like a ticket to see the Dinosauria?"
"I don't have the money, Scalper," replied the lad.
“I’ll give you the ticket, all I want is for you to stand in line, buy two teas and bring them over to us, after that, I will give you this ticket. For your time and two cupa's you get to see Owen's Monsters."
"Righto mate, you have a deal," said the stranger.
Lin sat down at the small table and offered De Morgan a chair.
"You're a peculiar one, Mr. Lin. You may have just bought the most expensive tea in London," said Augustus.
"Perhaps, calling a stranger peculiar is the reason you are off-putting to investors," retorted Jimmy.
"Uh, I meant no offense, just an observation, and may I say in my defense that I am peculiar and that is why I do have trouble with the establishment. You see sir, I was not offered a position at Oxford because of my position on Christianity and my firm belief that the font of knowledge is not solely in Europe." finished De Morgan.
"You're an atheist?" asked Lin.
"No, more of a spiritualist. I don't fall into a specific dogma," replied De Morgan.
"When you say spiritualist, you mean like séances and ghosts," asked Jimmy.
"More towards the scientific bend, such as the Necronists," replied the polymath.
"I am friends with the White Witch of London," offered Jimmy.
"Ah, now I would truly enjoy meeting her for a cup of tea. What little you can glean from the papers is she has extraordinary talents in the study of metaphysics."
"I could make your acquaintance to Sister Rose if you would like, and everything is true, she has a great laboratory that she conducts all kinds of experiments in to help the coppers catch killers," mentioned Jimmy. He hadn't been to see her in months, but it wouldn’t be a big deal to drop in on the witch lady with this old man.
"This is my point Mr. Lin, folks like myself and your Ms. Caldwell are outsiders and challenge the establishment. In ten years her theories may be de rigueur in the field of metaphysics and metaphysics may be just a specialty of general physics, but the Establishment is too tied to the current belief system. Here is an example, I edited a book by a genius named Ramchundra, a self-taught polymath from India. Smarter than any bloke in Oxford or Cambridge yet discounted because of his brown skin. I don't believe white Europeans have a monopoly on knowledge or spirituality and I have a mental advantage to review these sources because of my open mind. As an example, your people have the abacus and it is an amazing tool for calculation. However, it is nearly useless here because we have so many measurement systems; money is in pounds, shillings and pence, avoirdupois and troy weight you see. Where in China everything is base ten. My friend Boole has a math and logic system for a base two system that the machine would use for easier calculation," said De Morgan.
Jimmy felt he was being lectured to and was becoming bored. "So, this machine, if you built it, could I calculate the chances of a horse winning a race?" asked Jimmy.
"More accurately and faster than some bookie trackside; furthermore, with the inclusion of more of the elements that impact race results, the machine would improve upon its results."
Jimmy took in a deep breath. He liked that answer.
"How much would it cost to build this machine?" Jimmy asked speculating upon his earnings in advance.
"It's a tidy sum, the budget we had brought forward was sixty-thousand pounds sterling," answered De Morgan.
"And you could make this machine determine the right odds for a particular wager?"
"You are missing the point, Mr. Lin."
"I do apologize, I was unable to attend all of your lecture, I am just a businessman, can you please enlighten me?" replied Jimmy.
"The universal machine, will process a formulated math equation and solve it. No matter how complex it could complete the task. Someone like me who has a higher understanding of mathematics could write you a formula for the machine to solve," offered De Morgan.
"So, you could write a formula to determine the best odds on a wager?"
"Oh Mr. Lin, this machine is much bigger than finding that one horse to place a bet, but yes, with my equation and the input of the data I could tell you the right odds for a race," offered DeMorgan.
"Here is your tea mate," the lad set down a tray with two cups and a pot of steeping tea. "Here is the ticket," offered Jimmy, he d
idn't even give the lad a second look as he handed him the precious ticket. "You better run, it’s starting soon," said Jimmy, his head swimming, not because of the concept of the math but of the opportunity. "How familiar are you with betting Mr. De Morgan?"
"I am not," retorted De Morgan as he creamed his tea.
"Well, I am, it's my livelihood. I'm not in the business of gambling but making money off gamblers, and so is every other bookie. One part of the gambling industry is called laying off bets. You see a good bookmaker knows his maths and intends to have the odds set so that he attracts a nearly equal amount of money for and against a wager. If you notice your book is getting too lopsided, it's helpful to place a bet with another bookie to reduce your risk. Bookies come to me for just that service, I've been thinking if I had more accurate information I could be more efficient at choosing the lay off bets I accept," said Jimmy.
The wavy-haired man's eyes lit up. His intellectual fire stoked. "Asymmetrical information is the term Mr. Lin, and that is exactly what the machine and I can offer. An advantage for you to accomplish two things: have access to a bigger pool of information and a faster way to process that information. A speculative analysis of speculators," De Morgan reached into his coat pocket, removed a notebook and pencil and drew out for Jimmy strange notations of letters and symbols. "I would suggest you first do a mathematical analysis of known results. In your example races where horses won and where the odds were incorrect. This analysis can then be compared to future races along the same variables to determine when a race appears suspect. I could do all of this in a matter of hours or minutes with the aid of the machine," described De Morgan.
Jimmy smiled. He didn't understand the how, but he grasped the result. "So, you could identify where everyone was placing the wrong bet?"
"Exactly! Let's say, for example, you could collect the information you're speaking of fast and centrally,"
"maybe by Wire-Type," interrupted Jimmy.
Yes, that would work, a central wire type office. Then we would need to put that data into the algorithm. "
Algorithm, are you just making these words up to impress or confuse me?" challenged Jimmy.
"That is a word for the formula a complex maths equation. Then we take all the inputs to determine outputs," explained Augustus.
"And this algorithm would tell me the good and bad bets?" asked Jimmy.
"Ah, this is where judgment prevails and can't replace a gentleman in the business. You could see the machines' numbers and how it compared with the human-generated numbers and how far off it was. Based on that you could pick the bets to take."
"Giving me an asymmetrical advantage," noted Jimmy.
De Morgan chuckled. "To be correct, the asymmetrical information gives you a competitive advantage."
Jimmy didn't like to be corrected. "Ok, I have some asymmetrical information you can take advantage of Professor. I will give you the money to build your machine and pay you to write me my formula, but before you say yes or talk to another living soul about my proposition, I suggest you ask around about Mr. Jimmy Lin and decide if you are prepared to do business with me."
"Will I learn anything more than the rumors that you are a notorious gangster?" replied De Morgan.
5
Monday, 4th of March
9:15 p.m. Monastère de la Prairie vallonnée, Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region of France.
Henri Allard wound his clock and waited behind the locked door to his bedroom. As second in command he earned the Abbot’s room for his quarters. But this was a monastery and a monk’s cell was a monk’s cell; not much more than a bed, a desk and a simple chair. Quite the opposite than the country chateau where Hume resided.
Allard set the clock on his desk, near the windows facing the courtyard. He drew his blinds and sat down heavily onto the bed, considering his life’s work, spent as a Necronist, here at the monastery.
All Initiates trained in this location prior to induction into the Guild, then stationed to various posts around the continent. Allard was proud that Hume had seen his prowess and selected him for grooming into the White Wyrding sub order of the Necronists, who continued to research and push forward an understanding of the metaphysical arts. The only tradeoff was Allard had spent most of his time in the Order secluded at the monastery.
At the appointed time the clock buzzed and hummed. From the small lens behind the clock face, almost too small to notice, a light shined out into the room. The beam dazzled as it darted around projecting a doorway, as if it was painted with light. Not an actual wood or steel door, but a square shaped portal of shimmering light, appearing as a sheet of falling water.
Allard stood from the bed and walked through the gate, the scene reminded him of a hall of mirrors, but instead of mirrors on each of the twenty walls a framed opening appeared. The compact space could accommodate four people to stand without intruding on each other, all around the portals glowed. It was this venerable location that allowed his secret society to move from place to place.
The Nexus was a hub for members to move between the various operations. The Doctor had shown him how to interpret the ciphers written on a slate board inside the Nexus. The board contained times and dates coded to his name and instructions for which door he should proceed to for a meeting. In position above the slate board a decorative clock had been placed.
Henri removed his pocket watch and gazed at the fantastic timepiece. He admired the exquisite craftsmanship, and what it symbolized for him: inclusion into a crucial movement significantly influencing history. The bedroom clock and the handheld timepiece had been given to him by Caiaphas. After many months of study, he understood how the inner mechanism opened a door to the Nexus. Synchronizing time was critical for the operation of the gates and the Nexus. He did so by adjusting the time on the watch to match the clock in the sanctum, then upon his return setting the table clock to the same time.
Planned gate openings were dictated by the codes listed on the blackboard below the clock. In circumstances like today he intended to work in the laboratory, he would step into the Nexus, notate the number of hours needed next to his name, then pull the chain-cord adjacent to door number six.
Somehow this signaled the Belgian Doctor or one of his subordinates to engage gate six keeping it accessible for the duration noted on the chalkboard. Allard scribbled four hours and pulled the chain.
Water trickled down the top of the copper panel, then formed into a solid sheet.
Henri had watched this a few times and knew to wait; a snap and pop of electricity incited and the sheet of water glimmered. A green light illuminated over the doorway, his signal to proceed through the water coming out into his personal laboratory.
The lab was a sanctuary away from Hume’s stifling control and rudderless leadership. This is where the real work on the Homunculus was being done. Henri would be the one who brought artificial life to the Guild and take his rightful place as the premier metaphysical savant. He just couldn’t do it with Hume’s incremental approach and glacial speed; he had surpassed his mentor’s work.
Allard could leapfrog Hume’s research track even with limited staff and time. His small team consisted of the Belgian surgeon and an American who was a seedy fellow who participated in the Kansas border wars, he brought materials and supplies to the lab.
Henri had been working in secret at the Monastery until the accident, afterward he shared his findings from the apparent catastrophe with Caiaphas. Henri’s breakthrough aligned with the advent of the gate technology. Doctor Caiaphas built an advanced workshop in a secret location; Henri had a feeling it was overseas given the supplies he received.
The laboratory was immense in size, an underground cellar of stone construction. Henri’s first order of business was to review the state of the soul corral, his prized innovation. Based on Hume’s original work it couldn’t capture a soul but it could warehouse large amounts of life energy, able to sustain the individual life-force in a state of suspension.
&n
bsp; The machine occupied a sizable amount of space, over four meters wide and three meters tall. Attached to one end, a large glass tube circled around in a loop, a giant endless race track for the soul.
Acolyte Rousseau’s design to concentrate the life energy of two cattle into an ampule, showed promise, however, Henri’s system held the life-force of over two hundred twenty-thousand head of bison, hence the nickname: soul corral. The contraption gave Allard the ability to imbue an animation with one or more lives. He knew that Rousseau’s concentrated test would not extend the life of subject fourteen. Through what was initially a catastrophe for his clandestine project, he had already unlocked the secret of sustained animation.
Directly adjacent to the beast soul corral stood a duplicate device. It was originally built to warehouse more of the animal life essence, but now it held another type of life force.
Allard walked past the soul corrals and rejuvenation chambers to the meat cooler. There the Belgian surgeon was crafting subject eighteen. The sides of the cooler housed the inventory of bison muscle, sinew, bone and organs. The center of the cooler acted as a surgical theater, on top of the work table was a homunculus. This specimen was twice the size of the others the Surgeon had previously made, more complex and horrific than number seventeen.
“Where is the Yank?” asked Allard as he stepped into the cooler. His breath caused a fog as he spoke into the cool air.
“He is not here and from what I can see, hasn’t been for some time,” replied the Belgian. Allard leaned in to scrutinize the man’s work. The back of the beast was open, he was in the midst of sewing in the brain stem and sensory organs.
