The Empathy Gene: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by Boyd Brent

  “Santos Demingo is not a representative of the law. He is a gangster.”

  “Who will die by my hand if he forces it. But maybe it won't come to that … maybe we can put him and his men to good use.”

  “A developing theme in your thinking of late.”

  Ayita spoke up a sleepy voice. “I recognise this place. The river upon which my settlement rests … it comes from the west and flows south beyond those caves.” Ayita pointed to two o'clock in the direction they faced. From her vantage point on the horse, she saw the silver grey of the caves rise out of the lighter landscape. To the right of the caves were flecks of green, as though dabbed from the brush of an impressionist painter. David looked back in the direction of their pursuers and then in the direction they must travel. “I have a suggestion,” said Gull.

  “Make it.”

  “Ayita can hide in the caves. Once the danger has passed she can make her way to what remains of her settlement on foot.”

  “Danger doesn't pass here. It comes in waves.”

  “Our tracks will lead the men away from the caves. The Event Helix clearly shows that Ayita will reach the survivors of her tribe.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. I am certain.”

  “And our own path towards the fort?”

  “Is obscured by a Shadow Strand, as all our paths have been. As the paths of all men must be. But there is good news: within this Shadow Strand only one possible Exit Point remains. Only one location where your death is possible.”

  “Is it close to the fort?”

  “One hundred and twenty metres from its main entrance.”

  “Well, given the plan we have in mind … that's either the best possible news or the worst.”

  David and Ayita entered the cave. It had a broad entrance through which the light of the rising sun poured. At the back of the cave were several small entrances, large vertical cracks, which led deeper into a labyrinth. David approached the most central of these and squeezed a little way in, peering into the gloom. He squeezed his way out and looked over at Ayita. She was examining something in the wall. David approached her and said, “You're going to be safe here. Plenty of places to hide.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No. Not maybe. I have it on good authority: you're going to be reunited with the survivors of your people.” A section of rock housed something off-white in colour that stuck out, ever so slightly, as though attempting to squeeze itself free of its confinement. Ayita reached up and ran a finger along its silken edge. “It is one of the giants that once roamed this land …”

  “It is the jaw bone of Tyrannosaurs Rex,” said Gull. “The first cataclysmic event, the asteroid that rendered these creatures extinct, occurred not far from this location. And it paved the way for the humanity project.”

  David leaned against the wall and looked closely at the ancient fossil. “Is that right? And what of the second cataclysmic event? The one that occurs approximately five hundred years from now… the one that drives humanity off-world? What was its purpose?”

  “That I do not know. Possibly to hasten the outcome of the experiment … the war.”

  David tapped the long-extinct creature's jaw bone. “Whatever arranged this experiment, this war, does not have long to wait for its outcome.”

  “If we are not successful then the efforts of those you represent will be rendered as futile as this extinct beast.”

  David drew a deep breath and placed a hand on Ayita's shoulder. “It's time I was leaving. Find yourself a hiding place … some of those cracks are too small for a man to fit through. Tomorrow it will be safe to continue your journey.”

  “You are going to find the people who murdered my family?”

  “I am.”

  “Are they going to pay for what they have done?”

  “They are.”

  Fifty eight

  David sat crossed-legged on a ridge of elevated rock. The ocean that had once covered this land had worked and reworked the ridge into a giant question mark. David was perched on the dot at its base, his countenance so still that buzzards had begun circling overhead. He was hatless and stripped to the waist, his face tilted towards the sun. His eyes were closed and his left eyelid twitched. Behind that eyelid David strolled within the forest of his memory. Gull walked at his side and looked like his mirror image. “I don't think I've ever known these woods so quiet, Gull. Not even a breeze …”

  “I have quelled the enthusiasm of your memory. I hope you don't mind.”

  “You know I don't. It's a serenity that any man might covet. I take it time has slowed outside?”

  “Yes. To something approximating a standstill.”

  “Good. We may need all the time we can get.”

  “You have a plan in mind?”

  David stopped and looked about at the forest representation of his mind. “I've had a seed of an idea. It's stored in here somewhere.”

  “To access stored information you need only to cast for it, as though casting a fishing line.”

  “Alright …” David's idea came to him through a rustle of the trees. He shook his head and added, “If only the solution to putting it into practice was this easy to come by.”

  “Do you require the use of your imagination?”

  “No. The solution is technical in nature. More your area of expertise than mine.”

  “I am flattered, David. What is it you wish to achieve? I believe it has something to do with securing the assistance of Santos Domingo and his men?”

  “That's right. As you have pointed out, my death will need to be convincing. And Goliath must witness it.”

  “You would like us to stage a play for Goliath?” said Gull.

  “Of sorts. One where the ending is much to his liking.”

  “As Santos Domingo understands it, you murdered his brother. It is unlikely he will be open to suggestions regarding the manner of your punishment. He might wish to take you back to Santa Catarina to answer to the law.”

  “I don't imagine he has a trial in mind.”

  “What do you imagine he has in mind?”

  David patted Gull on the back. “I believe you have just hit the nail on the head.”

  “Please explain.”

  “We're going to plant an idea inside his mind.”

  “Are you referring to hypnosis?”

  “I was hoping you might come up with something that will not require the dangling of a watch.” David glanced up towards the forest's canopy, beyond which his imagination lay. “I know it can be done. I just don't know how.”

  “Neither do …” said Gull, breaking into a smile.

  “Apparently you just cast a line of your own. What is it?”

  “It will require some thought, David.”

  “Yours or mine?”

  “You were correct about the solution being more technical than intuitive.”

  “Yours then.”

  Gull indicated the path ahead and the identical men strolled along it. “The human brain is an inferno of electrical activity,” said Gull.

  “So I believe.”

  “It is the brain's electrical nature that makes our own symbiosis possible. For purposes of serenity, I veil all electrical activity during your visits. Otherwise we would be forced to shout above the crackle of a billion lightning storms.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Pulses of electricity escape these storms day and night. They pass through your skull and continue out into the cosmos. In this regard the pulses are not unlike radio signals.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “If these electronic pulses could be directed from your mind into the mind of Santos Domingo … in theory data could be transferred inside them. Data that could be coded to influence his actions.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Can theory be turned into fact? Yes, but without an imagination to enable an intuitive leap, I will require a considerable length of time. A method of directin
g a stream of electronic pulses with pinpoint accuracy must be devised, along with a means of placing data inside them.”

  “How long will you need?”

  “A number of years.”

  “I take it you're referring to years that pass in here?”

  “Quite so. Time you could spend wondering the forest in contemplation. Or you else could rejoin the buzzards circling overhead for a moment and then return to hear it.”

  “Buzzards.”

  “As you wish. And the information you wish to plant?”

  “All that's required of Santos Domingo is that he execute me in full view of that fort.”

  “Execute how?”

  “Not something I care to think about. I think it best I leave the details to you. I will obviously need to emerge in one piece.”

  “Then might I suggest hanging? I can reinforce the appropriate neck muscles to ensure that decapitation is not the result.”

  David rubbed a sudden crick in his neck. “I believe hanging is popular in these times.”

  “To prevent any undue distress, I will ensure you lose consciousness at the appropriate moment.”

  “Very thoughtful. And what of that other calculation? The shock wave that carries news of my death?”

  “I discovered a great many intangibles in calculating how long it would take the event – any event – to become permanent and fixed. And erring on the side of caution, it would be unwise to allow the shock wave to continue on its journey for longer than two minutes.”

  “I'll be counting on you to resuscitate me before those two minutes expire.”

  “We live together, or die together. And I wish to live as long as possible.”

  David nodded. “I'll leave you to your work.”

  “So what have you decided upon? A number of years of contemplation in these woods, or a moment outside with the Buzzards, David?”

  “Like I said, buzzards.”

  “As you wish.”

  David glanced up at the buzzards, and then at the cloud of dust stirred up by the approaching posse. He raised his hands above his head in mock surrender, closed his eyes, and felt himself drawn back into the forest. “Hello, David. Sorry for the delay. The calculations required more time than I expected.”

  “Can't say I noticed.”

  “There was a reason they took longer. I think you're going to be pleased with my innovations.”

  “You are aware that Santos Domingo and his men are here?”

  “Yes. Be assured, while you're with me their progress is effectively frozen.”

  David observed his body double for a moment. “You're looking particularly pleased with yourself.”

  “I have devised a way to make the transfer of data into the mind of Santos Domingo more tangible.”

  “How?”

  “By turning it into an experience we might undertake together.”

  “We have undertaken this whole journey together.”

  “This will be more like a day out.”

  David opened his mouth to speak and closed it again.

  “I don't get out much, David.”

  “I appreciate that. Please confirm where we're going.”

  “Into the mind of Santos Domingo.” Gull's smile broadened and he walked behind a tree, and when he emerged he was holding a small cactus and a shovel. He placed the cactus on his palm and handed it to David. “Of all my experiments, I am most proud of this one. I believe it is my most creative.”

  “Tell me it's not just a cactus?”

  “It is a receptacle. One that contains ideas pertinent to our mission.”

  “And they promote my being hung by the neck until dead?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “No need to sound quite so enthusiastic about it.”

  Gull reached out and touched one of the cactus's spines. “In many ways it mimics the planting of any idea – something usually achieved using language. But this cactus is considerably more potent than words.” A rectangle of glowing light appeared in the trunk of the tree beside Gull. “This door will propel us into the mind of Santos Domingo.”

  David stepped closer and peered into the bright rectangle. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. I have made the crossing hundreds of times.”

  “And what if we get stuck over there?”

  “Impossible. Our conveyance is merely a projection. Should the connection be severed or discontinued, we will find ourselves returned to the source of the projector: your mind.”

  David took a step back and gestured towards the entrance. “After you.”

  David emerged into a dimly lit expanse filled with cacti, each plant the height of a man. They stood in uniformed lines with paths between them, resembling an army of soldiers unearthed from a Mexican's tomb. David looked at the tiny plant in his hand. “You sure it's big enough?”

  “Quite sure.” They were standing on an area of loose soil. Gull thrust the shovel into it and hurled its contents over his shoulder. “I expect you're wondering why his memory is filled with cacti?” said Gull.

  “Because he's a Mexican?”

  Gull paused mid-shovel. “It was not my intention to succumb to a stereotype.”

  David folded his arms across his chest. “You have failed in your intentions.”

  “I wished only to provide an environment that could be differentiated from your own memory – one where you might be afforded some sense of where you are.”

  “That hole deep enough yet?”

  “Yes.” David placed the cactus inside it and Gull covered it with soil. Gull planted the shovel in the ground and leaned on it. “I sense you have a question.”

  David cleared his throat. “Very perceptive. What's in it?”

  “The cactus?”

  “Of course the cactus.”

  “A number of suggestions that Santos Domingo will find impossible to resist. Firstly, it will convince him that your brother has taken up temporary residence at the fort. Secondly, he will believe that your brother is a mild-mannered man who will be watching for your approach. And last but by no means least: that the biggest indignity you could suffer would be to be hung like a common criminal before your brother's eyes. What do you think, David?”

  “I think your previous experience has served you well for this type of work.”

  “Only now I am utilising it for the furtherance of empathy. Do you imagine the Architects will look favourably on my contribution?”

  “Do you imagine they'll look favourably on mine?”

  “Very much so. Should you succeed in defeating Goliath, then yours will a towering achievement. A shining example.”

  “Of what?”

  “The most resilient and determined life form in creation.”

  “You make me sound like a cockroach.”

  “To the contrary. A roach is a self-serving organism that has more in common with our enemies.”

  “I don't feel shiny or towering. More perched, precariously I might add, on the shoulders of giants … like a child held up to flick a switch.”

  “If you are successful then what do you imagine will become of me?”

  “Same thing that becomes of me.”

  “And that is?”

  “Same thing that becomes of all men. We die.”

  “When you die, only your flesh and the forests that contain your memories will perish.”

  “Are you aware of something else?”

  “Consciousness and imagination. I have observed how they are entwined at a sub-atomic level. It is my contention that once freed of their electrical bindings, they will be released.”

  “To what end?”

  “To embark upon the next phase of their evolution.”

  “You mean like a soul?”

  “No, David. Nothing like a soul. A soul is something born of Man's conceit. It is something that awaits judgement, as though a higher power has taken a personal interest in it.”

  “There are some things I can conceive. I know this fight i
s worthwhile. I don't know how I know it, but I do. But beyond this fight I can conceive of little else, and what I can conceive falls within the realms of speculation.”

  “Your analogy of being held up to turn on a switch is a brilliant one.”

  “How so?”

  “It is suggestive of an illumination of the way forward. The ability to see that you are as yet unable to see.”

  “If that's true you're going to see it too.”

  “I have no imagination. I am the personification of memory. Of data. Of clutter.”

  David placed a hand on Gull's shoulder. “Goliath is convinced the Architects will make him sentient. If we succeed, and if they exist, it seems only right that they do the same for you. We're in this together.”

  “I am merely a construct. A tool at your disposal.”

  “I don't believe that.”

  “I appreciate your attempts to provide me comfort. The truth is, I may never become sentient. Therefore, I may never truly exist.”

  “Existence is painful.”

  “It is also … glorious. You were created by the Architects, while I was created by Man. A poor substitute, if you don't mind my saying.”

  “I don't.” The cactus began to grow, and both David and Gull stepped back and craned their necks to watch its progress. “Is there a giant up there?” murmured David.

  “Yes. And his name is Santos Domingo.” The cacti in the surrounding fields began to shrivel, as though captured on time-lapse camera. David had a clear view to the horizon in all directions. Gull indicated the expanse in which they stood. “We are in the area of Santos Domingo's mind that would have proffered suggestions as to your demise.”

  “Apparently he wasn't going to be short on ideas.”

  Gull looked up at the towering 'beanstalk'. “Quite so. But now all those ideas have been superseded … by my own.”

  Fifty nine

  David opened his eyes and observed the approaching posse. He raised his hands higher and under his breath he murmured, “I presume Santos isn't going to start blasting away with that hand cannon.”

  “I have removed that option from his mind.”

  “What about from his trigger finger?” David's smile widened and he suppressed the urge to wave. The outlaws lined up before David with Santos Domingo at their centre. Santos Domingo glanced left and right down his line of men. He rode out and looked David over as though inspecting him for a fault.