The Empathy Gene: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by Boyd Brent

  Their rooms were located on the second floor – identical rooms in reverse and separated by a narrow corridor. At the end of this corridor hung a map of Mexico dated 1812. Ayita looked through the open door into her room – it contained a bed, a chamber pot and a free-standing bath. “They'll bring hot water presently,” said David. “Get some rest.” As if on cue, wooden shoes clip-clopped up the stairs. David drummed his fingers silently upon the stocks of his pistols.

  “It's a servant,” said Gull. “I believe she is carrying hot water.”

  The servant was the innkeeper's daughter and her already thunderous expression was darkened further by the realisation that the rumours of her having to 'wait hand and foot on an Indian whore' had not been exaggerated.

  David closed the door. He sat on the bed and took off his hat. “I have something to show you,” said Gull.

  “You've added an extension to our library?”

  “No. With your permission I would like to project a holo image of Fort Arturo into this room.”

  “Fort Arturo?”

  “It is where Goliath intends to imprison the Colonel.”

  “Alright. Let's see it.”

  “It will require the use of one of your eyes. Do you have a preference?”

  “No preference.” David's left eye began to cloud over and then darken. His right eye looked down at a holographic image of Fort Arturo. The image filled the floor between him and the tub of steaming water, and showed a wide body of water that flowed along the length of the tub. On the banks of this water stood a square fort the colour of tree bark. A sentry turret rose from each of its four corners, and it had a single entrance in the form of a drawbridge. The drawbridge was raised, and below it a semi-circle of water encompassed the whole like an azure necklace. “Is that a moat?”

  “Yes, David. The stronghold's walls are twenty metres high, and the drawbridge is the only way in or out. The large body of water will soon be known as the Gulf of California. As well as the Colonel and his men, the fort contains one hundred enemy combatants, all with similarly enhanced abilities to your own. They are commanded by an entity powerful enough to crush all about him like so many insects. What is more, he can detect our approach for a radius of five kilometres in all directions.”

  “Please confirm you are talking about Goliath.”

  “Who else, David?”

  “In your opinion, what do we need to get in there and kill the Colonel?”

  “Excluding a miracle?”

  “Yes. I'm not Him.”

  “To subdue Goliath long enough to allow us time to locate and terminate the Colonel would require an army of vessels fifteen hundred strong.”

  “So, our only option as far as Goliath sees it is to slink off and eventually to die?”

  “Or else to die in a futile attempt at reaching the Colonel.”

  David lay down and the image of Fort Arturo was relocated to the ceiling. He closed his eye.

  Fifty six

  David slept for six hours, and when he awoke the sun had gone down and his room was dark. There was a single gas lamp in the room. David lit it, stripped off and climbed into the cold bath water. Ten minutes later he lay with his head propped on its rim.

  “Are you well rested, David?”

  “Well enough. Is Ayita alright?”

  “Her vital signs suggest she is sleeping soundly.”

  “How far are we from the camp where Goliath seized her?”

  “A day's ride. Have you given any thought to our conundrum? Perhaps you have experienced a eureka moment in the bath?”

  David closed his eyes. “No eureka moment.”

  “That is hardly surprising. You are unable to access your imagination and fully concentrate. This is because a gaggle of trees has been vying for your attention. I suspect they have been leading you back into the past.”

  “The people I've met, places I've been, the things I've witnessed …”

  “Are a distraction. You must ignore those voices and concentrate on the task at hand.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Now you are rested, you must ascend the steps and sit upon the throne of your imagination. If a solution exists, it will provide the best chance to conjure it.”

  David opened his eyes. He was lying in the bath in a clearing close to the edge of the cosmos. Gull was standing beside the bath, holding a robe. David listened for his thoughts but he could hear nothing. “The forest cannot grow here,” said Gull. “This accounts for the serenity.”

  David stood up, took the robe from his doppelgänger and slipped into it. “It's like having amnesia.”

  “Quite so. If you take half a dozen steps back towards the forest, the voices will return.” David stepped in the opposite direction.

  He sat on the throne of his imagination and savoured the silence. Gull was standing below him at the edge of the clearing. He cleared his throat, and David looked down at him. “Might I suggest that you conjure the image of Fort Arturo for contemplation, David?” David ran a hand through his beard, and an image of Fort Arturo appeared and floated before him. “Take the image,” said Gull. “Take it and travel closer to the stars … contemplate it.”

  “I can travel higher?”

  “You are confined only by the limits of your imagination. And your imagination has no limits.”

  “Alright.” Alix appeared. She crouched over the fort and smiled down at it like a benevolent giant. “It's good to see you,” said David.

  “And you …” Gull cleared his throat and Alix vanished. David raised a hand in parting, and the chair and accompanying image floated up into the heavens. For a time, David could still see the forests of the left side of his mind spread towards the horizon, but as he travelled higher the left hemisphere grew smaller and soon it was no bigger than his thumb – a thumb now consumed by the infinity of space. David leaned forward, placed his chin on his fist and contemplated the fort and the task at hand. He smiled and muttered, “Of course,” and sat back in the chair, wondering why the solution hadn't presented itself earlier. Alix appeared again. She was standing at his right shoulder and she said, “I don't like it. Your plan's too risky.”

  David looked at her. “Nothing is without risk. Life itself is a kamikaze mission.”

  “You imagine you can trust Gull … with your life?”

  “I can imagine anything here.”

  “That's what bothers me.” Alix crouched and stared at the figurine-sized figure of David lying on the ground outside the fort. He looked like a felled chess piece. “But you're dead,” she said.

  “If it's Gull's intention to survive, then he must resuscitate me.”

  Anna came running out of the darkness. She was wearing her red dress, and she stood before the fort like a child before an elaborate sand castle. She reached down to the tiny figure of David upon the ground and tried to poke life into it. She frowned and said, “I don't think you can trust him. Why does he want to look so much like you?”

  David leaned forwards in his chair. “You have become a very suspicious young lady.”

  “It's what kept her alive when so many others perished,” said Alix. “Her instinct for survival is pure and uncluttered … as only a child's can be.”

  David sat back in his chair. “Only it's not a child's instinct. It's my own.” Alix and Anna vanished.

  David found Gull sitting in the library reading a book entitled Choices and Consequences. When he saw David approaching, he placed a bookmark inside the volume and closed it. “You look like the cat that got the cream,” he said. David sat in the armchair opposite him and crossed one leg over the other. “I look smug?”

  “You do. And the suspense is killing me.”

  “You said that to me once before, when you'd hidden that 'gift' in the closet. Clara.”

  “A regrettable episode, and one that has pride of place in my embryonic conscience. You have conjured a solution to the problem at hand?”

  “I have. Goliath's resources … they
make him the most powerful entity in this scenario?”

  “By an unquantifiable margin.”

  “Then he must be made to assist us. Do the lion's share of our work.”

  “An unlikely scenario, if you don't mind my saying.”

  “Maybe not. In the seconds and minutes following my death, what will Goliath conclude?”

  “He will conclude that the Omega Protocol exists in the memory of someone close to your corpse. And he would be correct in his assumption.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “All the data suggests so.”

  “Alright. And what action will he take?”

  “He will plunder the minds of all within a kilometre radius for the information he seeks.”

  “And what would happen to these plundered people? Plundered vessels?”

  “They would be left in a vegetative state,” said Gull.

  “How long would it take the Event Helix to relay the news of my death to Goliath?”

  “It would be instantaneous, as though a curtain is raised inside the Event Helix.”

  “And having received this news, how long would it take him to ransack all those minds?”

  “I would need time to make a precise calculation, but even with the vast computing power at his disposal he would require several hours to sift through all that biological data.”

  “Several hours is more than enough time.”

  “For what, David?”

  “To scale the walls of the fort and locate the Colonel.”

  “But you will be a corpse.”

  “Not if you bring me back, and resuscitate me before my brain suffers through lack of oxygen. I imagine you could do that?”

  “Given the right conditions.”

  “How long can a person be dead before their brain suffers permanent damage?”

  Gull leaned forward in his chair. “The brain can remain starved of oxygen for several minutes, but what if Goliath discovers the Omega Protocol in that time?”

  “My death marks the spot. Not my feigned death. This message, this shockwave … up there in my imagination, I saw that it would take a period of time to travel throughout the entirety of the Event Helix – a period of time before my death is set in stone. Before it actually becomes an event.”

  “I concur. The shockwave will require a period of time to fully complete its journey.”

  “You think you can work out how much time?”

  “I believe I can come up with an estimation.”

  “Make it a priority. Up there it was clear to me that if I'm resuscitated the shockwave will be stopped in its tracks.”

  “Your theory is an intriguing one.”

  David shook his head. “Imagination and intuition … when they're uncluttered by the logical toiling of the left side … there are no theories. Only facts.”

  Gull smiled. “Quite so, David.”

  “So while Goliath is busy ransacking the minds of his 'comrades' for the Omega Protocol, you resuscitate me. And then we find the Colonel.”

  “What if Goliath does not begin his search immediately?”

  “Again, up there on that chair, I saw it as plain as day: once he receives news of my death, it will be like a starting pistol has been, in his words, 'shoved up his jacksy and fired'.”

  “The manner of your death will need to be highly convincing.”

  “Yes, it will. And that is not a discussion I'm looking forward to having.” Gull looked over David's head into the starry expanse of his imagination with an expression that suggested he coveted the factual possibilities of imagination when combined with intuition more than ever. Then he looked askance and his eyes moved from left to right as though reading from an invisible book. “What is it?” said David.

  “Ayita … she requires our assistance.”

  Fifty seven

  An inebriated and pot-bellied Mexican had burst into Ayita's room and slapped her unconscious. At the other end of the corridor, at the top of the stairs, his two accomplices aimed their pistols at David's door. The pot-bellied Mexican stumbled into the corridor with Ayita over his shoulder. The larger of his companions set off down the stairs while the other kept his gun trained on that door. As the freshly bathed woman was carried past, he wiped some spittle from his mouth and followed. When Ayita reached the landing below she opened her eyes, and in that instant a shadow dropped past the window. Ayita's head bobbed about as her kidnapper carried her down the next flight of stairs. A crack! was heard below. The pot-bellied Mexican called out to his friend. When there was no reply, he pressed his back to the wall and indicated to the man behind him that he should go down and investigate. The man edged past and called out also. Sweat prickled on his brow, and he cocked the gun and then, as though startled by a sound behind him, swung his arm and levelled the gun up the stairs. A shot rang out. Blood spurted from his neck and he spun to the floor.

  The pot-bellied Mexican lifted Ayita off his shoulder and used her as a human shield. As he drew his pistol, David stepped into view below. He was stark naked and dripping wet, and held a gun in each hand. Three shots boomed in that boxed-in space, none fired by a pot-bellied Mexican. Ayita was sprawled across the dead man's lap. She opened her eyes and David advised her not to look at his face.

  “Why not?”

  “It's no longer a face.” A commotion of excitable voices could be heard outside. David stepped forward, picked up Ayita and moved swiftly up the stairs. He put her down outside her room and told her to get her things together. “We'll be checking out in one minute.”

  David emerged from his own room fully dressed and securing his second gun-belt. He cocked an ear towards the stairs and heard tentative voices that spoke of 'murder' and 'justice' and 'death'. A gruff male voice called out, “What have you done, amigo? Murdered the brother of Santos Demingo? He will hunt you to the edge of the earth, friend.”

  David raised his voice. “Not exactly a new development for me, friend.”

  “There is no way out for you. You are a dead man.”

  “As is the first man to come up those stairs.” David picked up Ayita. He carried her back into her room and shunted up the window. He looked down into a dark alleyway. Ayita shook his arm. “The drop is much too far!” David picked her up and climbed out. He landed on his feet and relaxed into a crouch, then ran to his left into a deserted backstreet. He turned right and sprinted to the rear of the stables, Ayita bouncing and groaning under his arm.

  David had been switching from a gallop to a canter and back again for close on an hour. Now he brought the panting horse to a halt, swung it around and looked back at the lights of Santa Catarina. They shone in the distance like a swarm of angry fireflies – at least, that's how David perceived the mood of those lights. “Are they following us yet, Gull?”

  “There is some commotion at the town's southern boundary, but as yet no one is tracking us.”

  David looked up at the heavens. “No stars. The moon's barely a sliver.”

  “There will be scant light to track us by before dawn.”

  “How long till dawn?”

  “Four hours and twenty-two minutes.”

  David climbed down from the panting horse and handed Ayita the reins. Ayita's right eye was black, and her left cheek swollen. “I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner.”

  Ayita winced as she tried to smile, and when she spoke it sounded as though her tongue had swollen to twice its size. “They would have killed me. And by the time they did I would have welcomed death.”

  “I think it best if I sprint for a while, Gull. Take some weight off the horse.”

  “The exercise will do you good. We would make greater progress with my radar-assisted view.”

  “Agreed.”

  “May I assume control?”

  David patted the horse. “Yes. In a moment.” He looked up at Ayita. “I'm going to run. You'll be riding alone for a while.”

  For the next four hours, Gull jogged across the pitch-black terrain with a sleepy
Ayita riding at a trot behind him. He ran in a straight line towards her camp, and only deviated from his course to avoid the sand vipers that appeared to be as numerous in that land as they had been in the scrub lands outside of Jerusalem.

  When David resumed control over his body, the first rays of dawn had begun to illuminate the edges of the vast plateau he had crossed. He slowed to a stop. Between deep breaths he said, “They tracking us now?”

  “Yes, David. Seventeen men rode out of Santa Catarina six minutes ago. Each man has a spare horse. I estimate that they will reach our position in approximately four hours. Three kilometres south west of our position there are a number of caves. I suggest we lure them inside.”

  “Murder them?”

  “Terminate them.”

  “That conscience you're cultivating … it's struggling to define the difference between terminating a man and murdering him.”

  “Are they not two words with the same meaning?”

  “The same outcomes, maybe, but if they had the same meaning that would make us murderers. It's a question of karma.”

  “Karma?”

  “So I believe. You might say that men who are terminated had it coming, while men who are murdered do not.”

  “And who decides which men have it coming?”

  David took off his hat and ran the back of his hand across his brow. “Could be only those with empathic natures can make that call. The men pursuing us have a genuine grievance – at least, that's how they see it.”

  “The men we killed were intent on raping and murdering Ayita. It's unlikely they would have listened to reason.”

  “And that's why they had it coming, but planning the murder of seventeen men who are hunting, as they see it, a murderer and a fugitive? It doesn't feel right.”