The Empathy Gene: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by Boyd Brent

  David reached for his walking stick and got up. He walked to the door and leaned against it, watched Richard. “Juuuden? What are you doing behind me? I have something here for you. Something you will like …”

  David walked over and stood behind the wheelchair. He lifted the cane over Richard's head and held it there. He drew a deep breath and gauged the weight of the chair, and the man sitting in it. It will all be over soon, Richard. David snatched the cane up against Richard's windpipe, and leaned back until chair and occupant came crashing down on top of him. Richard slid from the chair onto David's chest, and David wrenched on the cane until Richard's windpipe buckled and caved. David lay exhausted beneath Richard's corpse. He closed his eyes and heard a sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end: piano notes, haunting and yet impossibly beautiful amid the horror. They energised his mind and provided him the strength to worm his way out from beneath Richard's corpse.

  When he opened the door, the music sounded a little clearer. He looked into the whites of the eyes of the vessel posted out there. “You hear that? I hope so … it sounds like manna for the soul.” He turned to his right and made his way down the corridor towards it. A trail of musical breadcrumbs.

  By the time the lift's doors opened into Carradine's lab, the music was clear enough to discern a faint crackle within it. The lab was lit by dimmed blue lights that zigzagged along the ceiling to the cage at the far end. It was from here that the music emanated. David walked into the room, and the vessel followed. When he reached his chair, he leaned against it and caught his breath. A number of body bags sat propped against the wall to his left. The music stopped, and David sighed and cast his gaze over the bags. As he made his way towards them, the crackle returned … and the song began anew. He opened the first body bag. It contained a mutilated corpse horridly at odds with the beauty of the music. He soon found that all the body bags contained a dead vessel, and those that hadn't clawed their own eyes out had clearly been consumed by the insanity within them. He heard a dog's bark, and glanced over his shoulder towards the empty cage …

  David stood outside the cage. Its door was open and the music came from within. He braced himself and stepped inside. A transparent scene materialised – one that looked to have been constructed from folds of coloured light, as though a rainbow had been cut up and twisted into various shapes. On David's left a man slept on a four-poster bed. The man wore a red dressing gown and lay propped up on six plump pillows. Beside him a large dog lay on a tartan blanket. A gramophone player was on a table bedside the bed, a disk rotating slowly upon it. David looked at the man's face and noted the pink ruddiness that crept across his cheeks. He was not a big man, but he was puggish. He looked stern but radiated no malice. On the contrary, David felt oddly comforted in the presence of this stranger from a past time. David realised the dog was staring at him. The man opened his eyes, patted the dog's head, and followed its gaze. “Is someone there?” The man's voice was low and commanding, and he placed particular emphasis on the word 'there'.

  David took a step closer to the bed. The dog sat up and watched him. David reached out and touched the man's knee, and felt a connection that tingled his fingers like a low-voltage current. The man's vision focused on him, and these two men, whose lives were separated by eight thousand years of history, observed one another as explorers observe things newly discovered and unfathomable. In the same gruff voice the man said, “It is not often I'm rendered speechless.” The dog barked once and wagged its tail. The man patted its head and said, “If Rufus considers you a friendly spirit … then so shall I. Rufus is the best judge of character in this world or the next. My name is Winston.”

  “David.”

  Winston looked at first disappointed and then relieved. “You're not Christ, then?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I expect I'd have some explaining to do if you were. But you are a spirit?”

  “No. You appear like a spirit to me. I'm alive … but in the future.”

  “The future? Then you must know the outcome of the war?”

  “Too far in the future to know anything of your war.”

  “The Second World War. Begun in the year nineteen hundred and thirty nine.”

  David shook his head.

  Winston's eyes narrowed. “How far in the future?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You look greatly troubled. It may be that you are too far in the future to assist me. But perhaps I can assist you.” The sincerity in Winston's voice sounded alien to David. He smiled, and Winston waved his hand as though it was nothing. “I am old and have seen much and more besides. And like Rufus I believe you to be a good spirit – apologies... Man. And if you are a good man, then we are on the same side, only it has fallen to you to do battle further down the road. Now tell me what you seek?”

  David spoke quietly, “Seek? I heard your music and …”

  “Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. It has soothed many a man's breast in times of peril. At this time my island race are pitted against the greatest tyranny mankind has ever known.” Winston searched David's eyes to see if his words had registered.

  “Are you winning?” David asked.

  “We are ill equipped and ill prepared for the challenges that lay before us, but the evil nature of the foe means we can not entertain, not for one second, an outcome other than victory. Victory at any cost. To break us, these armies of darkness must first break our spirit. We have right on our side, and that is something they will never have. Now, tell me something of your own predicament.”

  “I'm not so much down the road in this fight, more at the end of the line. I've been told I am the last of my kind. That I alone stand on the shoulders of pygmies.”

  Winston raised his voice. “You mean giants.”

  “I suppose that's a matter of perspective.”

  “The last of what kind?”

  “The human race is on the brink of extinction. The survivors have been stripped of their humanity … they are marauders, savages, cannibals. I am told I alone carry it within me …”

  “Carry what?”

  “The spirit of mankind's empathy and tolerance.” Winston observed David's slumped shoulders. He swallowed and said, “If true, you carry some burden. The greatest of them all, perhaps.”

  David nodded. “I am a prisoner aboard a craft. I have been drugged and have little strength. My captives look upon me as a freak – something to be experimented on. And when they are done with me they will kill me. And the light of empathy in the universe will be extinguished forever.” The effort it had taken to say these words had visibly drained David. He reached out, but nothing within the cage could support him. “You see? I can barely stand.”

  “I was praying you were not part of a dream. Now I am praying you are.” Winston smiled. “I believe you have found me for a reason. I have been involved in more than my fair share of bloody campaigns, and in the thick of battle many times. On more than one occasion things appeared to be hopeless, just as you describe. But I survived. I survived because I did not fear death. And the reason I did not fear it? I knew it was not my time. This I believed in every fibre of my being. And so I fought like a lion and seized every opportunity. Never cowered. Never hesitated. This is the philosophy that you must adopt now.”

  “I have no army. No friends. No strength. I am alone.”

  “Alone? Piffle! You said yourself that you stand on the shoulders of giants. We are David. Let us be your army. If what you tell me is correct, then you are the tip of a great spear … the shaft of which is made from every man that ever took up arms against tyranny and injustice – men who were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for what they believed.” Winston leaned forward. “You must listen to my words carefully. Even when things seem hopeless, they are not. Opportunities will present themselves. You must be alert to these opportunities, and seize them! Whatever these forces of evil rained against you are, they must be vanquished before you breathe your last
. Or the outcome of my own battle against darkness may ultimately be in vain.”

  “You're fading.”

  “And you. I will pledge to win my battles. And now you must do the same. Pledge it!” All within the cage vanished, and David's legs felt as though they'd done the same. A moment later, he was on the ground, unconscious.

  Fifteen

  The voice was shrill enough to obliterate David's dream like a hammer smashing ice. He woke with a start and waved his hands before his face. He was dressed in a black tux and sitting in a box at the opera. The gods. Down on the stage a large-breasted woman sang in Italian. Goliath was seated on his left and dressed in a white tux. The hairless giant dabbed at his tears with a black handkerchief. Without taking his eyes from the woman on the stage, he said, “She's quite something …” David leaned forward and looked down into the auditorium. The stalls were filled with well-dressed corpses. “I have done some soul-searching,” continued Goliath. “And I reached this conclusion: these vessels have given their all for science. And thanks to their contributions, advancements have been made in the understanding of the Shadow Strands. That is why they deserved this treat. The same goes for your own contribution. Which is why you're here, son.”

  David leaned back in his chair, buried his face in a palms. “Is this place inside my imagination?”

  “ No, it is not. It is holo representation.”

  “It's not real, then?”

  “That chair is real. But I would not recommend leaving it.” Goliath placed an arm around David's shoulder and patted it in a congratulatory manner. David glanced down at the enormous hand, then looked up at Goliath. The giant dabbed at his eyes again and said, “Crying. It is something I learned to do recently. And I'll be dammed if it ain't the most therapeutic thing since blasting sheep in a meadow. I expect you're keen to know how I learned it. Well, I've been away for a time, communing with data. And it is astonishing how much can be divined from chemical evaluation.” Goliath looked down at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You think this ability to emote will please the Architects?” David did not know what to say to this, so he looked back into the red and gold auditorium and said nothing. “Do you know what a VIP. is?” asked Goliath.

  “A vip?” muttered David.

  “No, son. It's an acronym. VIP. It stands for very important person. And that's what you are.”

  David continued to gaze into the auditorium.

  Goliath patted his shoulder. “I recreated this building from code I deciphered within the Event Helix. It was located in a town called London. They called it the Royal Opera House. A place of great beauty, where beauty was performed to an erudite audience. You probably never heard the word erudite. It means having great knowledge or learning, which makes me the most erudite person that ever lived.”

  “You are not a person.”

  Goliath looked down at David. “You don't speak much, but when you do you cut me to the quick.” He took David's hand in his own and squeezed it gently. “Is my flesh not warm? Do I not breathe?”

  “Flesh that belonged to another. And that's no ordinary vessel you inhabit. It's a mutation.”

  “Well, I can't deny that, but I've been with this vessel a long time. And in that time, you might say I have come to know his DNA intimately. As soon as the Event Helix was complete, I deciphered his family tree, and my research led me back to an ancestor of his, and thanks to what Gull calls seepage, an ancestor of mine also. A man known as the Colonel. The Colonel was raised up in place called Montana, and that old boy has become something of an inspiration to me. He was a no-nonsense kind of fella, and clearly his genes were strong. Survivor's genes. They have fought their way all the way to the end of human civilisation. Which is where we're at now.”

  “No need for the reminder.”

  “It pleases me to hear you are abreast of your situation. As you have witnessed, the Colonel was pretty handy with a rifle, and he didn't much mind who he had to shoot if shootin' was required. I have bonded with the DNA of this vessel, son. A bit like you and your implant. What did he call himself again? Gull?” Goliath shook his head. “You heard anything from him?”

  “No.”

  “According to Carradine he shows no signs of life, but somehow you're still breathing. That makes you unique in more ways than just the other. Speaking of which, I have made some progress of my own. As well as learning how to emote, I have also developed an appreciation for things of beauty.” Goliath waved his hanky between his thumb and forefinger and the orchestra and singer fell silent. A white curtain fell across the stage, and on this curtain a painting had been projected – a naked woman lying on her side as she gazed at her reflection in a mirror held by Cupid. “She is called the Rokeby Venus. Velasquez – that was the name of the painter – made her flesh look all soft and creamy. Imagine what you could do to her with a spoon. You could take that spoon and run it right along those creamy thighs. Get yourself a mouthful!” Goliath slapped David's back in a friendly manner and David gripped his arm rests to prevent himself being launched over the parapet. “So what do you think of her?”

  David sat back in his chair and squeezed his neck. “I think she belongs to a time that has long since passed. Just like anything of beauty.”

  “You think the world we live in an ugly one?”

  “It's not a pretty one.”

  “I expect there's some truth to that. Ugliness. Could be it's a natural by-product of genocide. But the Architects, they made things of beauty for a reason. I think they wanted folks to use them to develop their appreciation.”

  “I agree.” Goliath patted David's back again. “Common ground! That's what we just found ourselves. Common ground. I might actually miss you when you're gone.” David watched the stars circling his head as Goliath went on, “If only humankind could have been content with their ability to appreciate, things might have turned out differently. But that's the thing about people. Never could be content, particularly when it came to technology. They got themselves addicted to it. Reliant on it. And here you are, sitting beside the end result of that addiction. Man and technology. They evolved, hand in hand, and walked off into the sunset. And I am the result of that union. The prodigal son. Chock full of information. Yet unfettered by empathy or a moral code. And now that those things are extinct, I can rightly be considered the natural successor to Man.”

  Against his better judgement, David said, “Those things, they still exist in me.”

  “Yes, they do. And that's why you are a very important person. I uncovered some things of interest during my recent commune with data, and thanks to you I have a better idea of where to look. Look at me, son. I have something important to tell you.”

  David looked up at him.

  Goliath smiled. “Information recently deciphered within the Event Helix has led me to this conclusion: once your life is extinguished, a message will be dispatched.”

  “Why? You planning on throwing a party?”

  “Of a sort. The message will travel to the farthest reaches of the universe, and it will alert and summon the Architects back to Earth.”

  “You really believe my life is that important?”

  “No, son. Not your life. Of course not your life. Your death.”

  Once again, against his better judgement, David heard himself say, “Then maybe I can't be killed so easily.”

  Goliath placed a vice-like arm around David's neck, and as he struggled in vain for breath, Goliath said, “You are on a shortcut to extinction right now. All I have to do is hold you like this for another minute of two. You are fragile. Could be you're the most fragile thing left in this universe. Hell, there are probably flowers more robust.” David had turned the colour of a pink carnation. “I'm going to release you in a moment. I do not consider this an appropriate place to send such an important message. And besides, there are things I would like to discuss with you.” Goliath released him. David doubled over and began to cough and splutter. Goliath rubbed his back. “That's it, son. Just b
reathe …”

  The curtain lifted, the orchestra played, and the buxom woman down on the stage began to sing Nessun Dorma. “This is one of my favourites.” Goliath raised his voice and drummed his fingers on his chin. “And I sure do appreciate it. Now where was I? Oh, yes. The Event Helix has revealed another VIP. A fella who went by the name of Jesus Christ.”

  “Who was he?” wheezed David.

  Goliath looked down at him. “You heard that name before?”

  David shook his head.

  “How could you have heard it? I only deciphered it myself the other day. This Christ fella was a VIP. for some three thousand years. By all accounts you and he bear a passing resemblance.”

  “You surprise me.”

  “I am nothing if not full of surprises. Now, some folks believed this fella was the son of the Architects. And they attributed all sorts of miracles to him. Reckoned he died to absolve them of all their wrongdoing and provide a golden ticket to paradise. Close your mouth now, son. This notion of a ticket to paradise for a chosen few has been the carrot of choice dangled by all religions throughout history.”

  “Religion … it was something that promised a shortcut to the Architects?”

  “More a way to get into their good books. I have uncovered no evidence within the Event Helix that any religion had a connection with the Architects. I have confirmed the existence of this Jesus fella, though. He claimed he was the son of the Architects, and they crucified him for saying it. It sure was a brutal way to treat a fella. It took some three thousand years before his followers started looking elsewhere for their salvation – or should I say, stopped looking at all. There are a great many references to the Architects and the folks they consulted with in the Bible. There was this one old boy called Moses. It's difficult to verify what it says about him, because much of his life is hidden by a Shadow Strand. So truth or fiction? Your guess is as good as mine. The good news is I've been able to verify that 7.3 per cent of the Bible is historically accurate – more than enough to spark the rest in the imagination of folks. Folks with an agenda.” Goliath sighed. “Imagination. It's one of the reasons we're here today, son. Now, if you ask me, 7.3 per cent is not at all bad considering. Enough to make me sit up and take notice. It is said that the Architects spoke to this Moses fella on a mountain called Mount Sinai. There is a Shadow Strand in the way of this event also, so I cannot verify it. Could be Moses was just hearing voices. Not quite right in the head. Climbed up that mountain in the hope of locating his missing marbles. But taking into account all the relevant information, I have reached an educated conclusion.” Goliath looked down at David, who in turn gazed up at him. “I can see I have your full attention. I believe that Mount Sinai is as good a place as any to extinguish the light from humanity.” Goliath reached down and brushed some stray hairs from David's eyes. “That's why I've been growing your hair long … so when I cut off your head, I'll be able to hold it aloft by these locks … and summon the Architects back to Earth.”