The Empathy Gene: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by Boyd Brent

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “I exist to oblige. That friend of yours, Gull … he's a curious fellow. In some respects unnatural.”

  “He's one of a kind.”

  “He can hear us? Shootin' the breeze out here?”

  “If he chooses.”

  “Well, I'd like him to know that I didn't mean no offence by my observation.”

  “He's very thick-skinned.”

  “That's the impression I get. Could be he's an example to us all.”

  “What kind of example?”

  “Well … it seems to me I've never met a fella who aspires to be something so entirely different … from that which God made him.”

  “For what purpose do you think God made him?”

  Ted chuckled nervously under his hat. “I know he's thick-skinned … but I would rather not put that theory to the test.”

  “Seems to me you just answered my question.”

  “Seems to me I did. No offence intended.” Ted raised his hat, looked at David and lowered it again. “I saw something last night I cannot explain … something else … something that maybe no man could explain. Much less be understood by someone as ignorant as myself.”

  “You're talking about Jesus.”

  Ted's hands began to fidget on his lap. “Well? Was it Him?”

  “It was.”

  “No man would believe it if I told 'em. They'd look at me like I was crazy. And if them Negroes tried to tell 'em … hell.”

  “What is it you want to know, Ted?”

  “The truth. How a vision such as that is possible.”

  “The truth is …” Ted pushed up the brim of his hat with his middle finger and looked at David. David smiled. “The truth is there are more things in heaven and …”

  Ted lowered his hat and mumbled, “Hell.”

  The town of Pioche materialised out of the grey and gold horizon like a mirage of crooked brown sticks. Half a kilometre out, a road of sorts materialised in the dirt. Ted took off his hat and fanned his face. “I got me a bad feeling about what might happen next.”

  “There's another kind?”

  Above the entrance was a wooden sign with Pioche carved into it. It hung crookedly from a rusted chain, and see-sawed in the wind. The town's main thoroughfare was wide enough to ride six wagons down abreast. Churned-up mud and tumbleweed, and not a soul in sight. Wooden shacks of varying heights ran its length on both side. Horses stood tethered outside some. A large brown dog dozed in the shade of its owner's porch. David pulled the horses to a halt. Ted glanced up at the sun. “It's a little after two, I reckon. Could be folks are havin' a siesta … close to New Mexico, as we are. Mexicans are big on siestas.” Isaiah climbed out of the rear of the wagon and made his way to its front. He took hold of the horse's bridle and patted its nose. David climbed down and stood beside him. The other men congregated close to his left shoulder like ducklings by their mother. “Is everything okay?” asked David.

  In reply some nodded and others shook their heads. Isaiah said, “If I was you I'd believe the ones shaking their heads.”

  “You passed through this town?”

  “We did. Passed through in haste. They picked up supplies at the general store … refilled their canteens from that well yonder. We all got the notion there was some bad people here – worse even than those white devils taking us to market. These negroes … truth is they only agreed to come back this a-way 'cos they think Gull is …”

  “Worse?”

  Isaiah crossed himself. “That's the God's truth.”

  “I can't imagine what has given them that impression,” said Gull.

  “Gull. Nice to have you back.”

  “I have been running a diagnostic.”

  “Anything I need to know?”

  “We are in fine shape.”

  “Apparently there are some bad men here.”

  “It grieves me to hear that, David.”

  A door to their left creaked open and an old woman peered out. Ted took off his hat. “Ma'am.”

  The woman's eyes were of the lightest blue, and they looked at no one in particular. “If you have the sense God gave you you'll head out of town the way you came.”

  David walked towards her and stepped up onto her porch.

  “Don't come no closer …”

  “Alright. Where is everyone, ma'am?”

  “Waitin' behind locked doors if they know what's good for 'em.”

  “What are they waiting for?”

  “For that mountain of a man to leave town of course.”

  “Sorry, ma'am?”

  “You will be sorry if you hang about in the street … all those niggers with ye?”

  Gull said, “David.”

  “Yes.”

  The old woman thrust an ear closer. “What now?”

  “Just a moment, ma'am.”

  “I have located a blind spot, David – a Shadow Strand that resembles a full stop. It is one hundred and twenty-seven metres from our position.” David looked down the street. The old woman placed a foot outside the door and followed his gaze. “They're all in the saloon if that's what you're looking at.”

  “Who is, ma'am?”

  “The man-mountain … and the rest of them killers.”

  “Killers?”

  “That's right. Half dozen or more. Arrived last week. Been drunk as devils ever since. Murdered the sheriff. Pretty much had the run of the town … till he showed up.”

  “Till who showed up?”

  The old woman lowered her head and squinted at him. “You heard anything I been trying to tell ye?”

  David gazed down the street towards the saloon. “The man-mountain?”

  “'Course him. Three of those murderers imagined they'd have some fun at his expense. As I heard it they called him a 'hairless grizzly.' Said he was ugly and smelled as bad as one. And him being unarmed and alone they thought they'd little to worry about.”

  “There was a fight?”

  “A fight, you say? Well, I guess it started out that way. Their friends in the saloon … they never even looked to see what all the firing was about. Must've thought they were just foolin' around.”

  “And how did it end?”

  “How did what end?”

  “The fight.”

  “Those men shot at him … and being so drunk they must have missed. The way John Grooms told it, those bullets found their target, every last one. Said the man-mountain shook them off like spittle, but that can't be. Such a thing is not possible.”

  Ted called out, “There are more things in heaven and earth, ma'am.”

  “What did he say? No matter. If it were the case it would mean the devil has come to Pioche. And why would he? There ain't nothing here to interest him.”

  “You saw this man?”

  “'Course I saw him. Right after he killed those men he walked calmly down this street … doffed his hat left and right like a good Christian gentleman.”

  “Could you describe what he looked like.”

  “I already told ye.”

  “I take it he was not bald?”

  “As a coot.”

  David turned away from the old woman and stared into space.

  “Goliath is here,” said Gull. Ted had been fanning himself with his hat, and when he saw David's face he stopped. “I don't believe I have ever seen that shade of pale on a man. It is clear that things are not hunky-dory.”

  David blinked.

  “There a problem?” asked Isaiah.

  “There is a man in this town that neither I nor Gull can protect you from.”

  “The man you're looking for?” said Ted.

  David shook his head. “Turn the wagon around and head back out. Now.” He looked towards the saloon. “I will join you shortly.” He stepped off the porch and began to walk.

  “Where are you going, David?” said Gull.

  “The saloon.”

  “Goliath will be expecting you.”

  “Yes, he
will. And I'm not going to disappoint him.”

  “David, you are taking your empathic duties too far.”

  “I believe you just cracked your first joke.”

  “I hope it will not be my last. David?”

  “Yes.”

  “Might I make a suggestion? You have fulfilled your promise to Ted by seeing him safely to the nearest town. I suggest we leave immediately and head due south to seek the Colonel in New Mexico. We will have a head start on Goliath.” David's long stride did not falter. Gull continued, “He has discovered a way to convey his 'self' through the Event Helix. This clearly makes him formidable. David? Are you listening?”

  “Relax. I do not believe it his intention to kill us.”

  “I do not agree. Our extinction is currently his sole purpose.”

  “True enough, but it's no longer personal. It's about the Omega Protocol. You think the Architects have been glimpsed in the mind of a resident of Pioche?”

  “It is highly unlikely.”

  “Then it can't be my destiny to die here.”

  When David reached the saloon, he stopped, took off his hat, and wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. “ … so, for the time being at least, everything should be … hunky-dory.”

  David walked towards the saloon doors. Inside a piano was playing a happy, up-tempo ditty. David stepped through the swing doors. The chairs and tables had been moved to the edges of the room to make way for a dance floor. On this floor the towering figure of Goliath danced as nimbly as a waif in a ballet class. His partner was a native American woman who reached no further than his waist. She looked like a doll made animate, albeit a reluctant one. Goliath skipped and bounced and twirled his doll with extraordinary dexterity and grace.

  There were three dead men in the saloon. The first was slumped on the bar to David's left – presumably the barman. A shotgun lay on the counter beside his head, and his face had been ground into a broken glass, his life extinguished like a cigarette in an ashtray. To David's right a man lay sprawled across a table top. One of his legs had been ripped off and it lay over his face like an ill-conceived way of shielding his eyes. The final body sat slumped against the bar – a chair leg had been driven through its chest and another through its groin. The man looked like an upturned human table. Beyond Goliath towards the rear of the room a man sat at a table in silence. He gazed down at his hands like a hard-done-by child. In the corner to David's left, another man sat at a piano with his back to him. He played with a nervous energy that made the instrument sound manic and in need of tuning. With a flourish, the tune came to an end. Goliath bowed to his partner and began to applaud the pianist. “Bravo!”

  “You want … you want I should play another ditty?”

  Goliath grasped the lapels of his bloody and bullet-ridden suit. “No. That will be all. You are free to go.” The man's mouth fell open and he glanced towards the door. Goliath shooed him away with a flick of his wrist. The man half stood, turned and saw David. “Howdy.”

  David took a step back and pushed the door open. “Time to go.”

  The man nodded and hurried past him. David looked at Goliath's dance partner. He did not know her name or how to address her, and in his eagerness to get her attention he snapped his fingers. She looked up suddenly as if woken from a nightmare. David indicated the gap in the door with his eyes, and she managed half a step toward it before Goliath swept her up like a toddler, and put her down and shooed her towards the rear of the saloon. He turned back to David. “It's good to see you again, son.”

  David let the door close. “Goliath.”

  Goliath placed his thumbs in his white waistcoat and raised his chin high. “It's been a while since you beheld me in my natural state. Now when was the last time?”

  “As I recall you were about to cut off my head.”

  “I was a mite disappointed at what transpired that day. I had assumed, before that time, that non-sentient beings could not get depressed.”

  “Crucifixion is no picnic either.”

  “I was aware that you were not having the best of times. I won't lie to you. It helped. Such was my mood that I didn't even apologise to Carradine before I killed him.”

  “You killed Carradine?”

  “Nothing personal. All empathy must be erased. He knew as much.”

  “Carradine didn't strike me as being particularly empathic.”

  “He was not, but in a fella like Carradine empathy can lay hidden like a crab in a rock face.” Goliath breathed deeply through his nose. “What a joy it is to find myself here. In many ways it feels like my home away from home. And I have you to thank for this experience. Why so glum, son?”

  David folded his arms.

  Goliath gestured towards the table, where the lone survivor of the gang sat with head bowed. “Come sit down, son. Take the weight off your feet. There's a fella here I'd like you to meet.” Goliath went and sat in a chair to the man's right. The man looked like a chastised infant sitting beside its parent. “This here fella goes by the name of Johnson. He killed the sheriff.” Johnson's lips were thin, and they curled at the recollection of this murder. The smile vanished – that had been another time. Another man. Goliath draped an arm over the back of his chair and relaxed into it. “This example of humanity is so bereft of empathy that he slaughters women and children in cold blood for their scalps.” He swivelled in his seat and looked into the gloom at the rear of the saloon. “Come over here, Ayita. No need to be afraid. We are all friends here.” Goliath swung his head and looked at David. “Her name – Ay-it-a – it means 'first to dance'. Isn't that right?” Ayita nodded and stood by the table with eyes cast down. Using his little finger, Goliath delicately removed a strand of hair from her eyes. “It's a Cherokee name, but Ayita is no Cherokee. She is a Tigua. The Tiguas are a peaceful people, which makes them easy pickings for the likes of Johnson here.” He pulled out the chair opposite Johnson and beckoned David over. “Come and join us.”

  “Turn around and leave this place,” said Gull.

  Goliath observed David's expression. “Ignore Gull. He's nothing but a third wheel. Superfluous to requirements.”

  “He is not superfluous to my requirements. I would not have made it this far without him.”

  “Well, that's certainly true, but it's also true that you would not have made it this far without that hairy mole on your backside. Lower that eyebrow, son. You too, Johnson. David is aware that everything that exists in the universe is as indispensable to its progression as everything else.”

  David walked over to the table and sat down opposite Johnson. He took off his hat and placed it on the table. “For the record, Gull's role in my survival has been more important than the mole on my backside.”

  Goliath placed his hands casually around the back of his head. “I have no wish to split hairs with you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “The same as every man in this saloon. Dead or alive. Fulfilling my destiny.

  Now take these men in here. They believed in chance, and that explains the cards on this table. They had been playing poker when I arrived. I tried to educate them. Help them understand that despite their meagre comprehension there is no such thing as chance. They took exception to this. Expletives were used.” He indicated every man present with a slowly moving finger. “Our destinies are closely linked, as are the destinies of all men. All these men were once the Colonel’s men.” Goliath brushed some lint from the lapel of his white jacket. “But they decided to up and split – with a large amount of the Colonel's gold, I might add. I explained to them that, in a roundabout way, I am a descendent of the Colonel. And that man over there …” Goliath squinted into the darkened recesses of the room. “That fella – the one beaten to death with his own leg – he suggested that it was a 'small world'. I told him it was no such thing. That it was a vast universe, and that within it there are no such things as coincidences. Not a single one since the birth of the universe to the present.”

 
“I presume you explained this while he still had both his legs?”

  “Of course. And as I clubbed him to death with his foot, I further explained that his current predicament had been pencilled into the universe's copybook since the beginning of time. And rather than shout and holler about it, he should accept it with significantly more dignity.”

  Johnson piped up like a child's toy left switched on and forgotten about. “That gold was ours! We earned it. Every cent.”

  “Do not speak unless spoken to. Do you hear, Johnson?”

  Johnson closed his mouth and shrugged his shoulders.

  “You and I have been through a lot in our short acquaintance, haven't we, son?”

  “It's been eventful.”

  “Indeed it has. And those events are drawing to a close. Only one significant event is left for you now: death. There's no need to look so glum about it. It's nothing to be ashamed of, not when you consider it sits right alongside some of the most important events in the history of your species.” Goliath stared into the middle distance and sighed at the enormity of his own achievement. Then he looked at Johnson and said, “Get your eyes out of your lap and look at the man opposite you, Johnson. That's it. What you see before you is your antithesis – a man who stands opposed to your sensibilities and your way of life. This may or may not come as a surprise to you, Johnson, but many would perceive you and I as brothers in arms. Our sensibilities, or lack thereof, would suggest to them that we have more in common with each other than we do with David here. But that would be a shallow and in my view an unfair opinion. In many ways you two gentlemen represent the yin and yang of humanity. Its length and its breath. I am the end result of that yin and yang. Its by-product. I can see how to the superficial eye I have more in common with Johnson than I do with the last empath, but that comparison is wrong. For empathy to exist, a being must have the ability to place his feet in the shoes of others. And that requires imagination, and imagination is something I do not yet possess. It is something I mean to acquire, and that's really what this is all about, isn't it, son?”

  “Is it? I imagined it was all about making sure you fail.”

  “A cruel observation, and one that does not become you.” Goliath looked at Johnson. “A war has been raging for one million years, Johnson. And for any war to take place there must be at least two opposing armies. Isn't that right?”