The Empathy Gene: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by Boyd Brent

  “It's not like there's anyone left for me to harm.”

  “You have the means to move through the Event Helix. Through time. Your experiments on me led to that, so I am in some way responsible.”

  Goliath raised his palms towards the heavens and shook them. “Woe is you, son. Which reminds me: the problems we encountered have been ironed out, and Carradine has improved this latest generation of vessels in every conceivable way. They are coming for you, and by the look of you there ain't a whole lot of fight left. Hell, if I put my mind to it I could probably bundle you off the edge of this rock right now.”

  “I'm mending.”

  “Well, my advice would be to mend faster.”

  David glanced up at his seat above the cave. The sun had crept up to it now. He climbed the boulder steps and sat in the alcove, looking down at Goliath. “I've met some chronically deluded people here. Maybe your own beliefs – that the Architects are waiting to reward a lone survivor of some war between empathy and all else – maybe that's just wishful thinking.”

  “The difference between me and these primitives is that my beliefs are based on firm scientific data. I cracked the Architects' code, as I believe I was supposed to. A feat to end all feats.” Goliath walked to the edge of the precipice. He turned and smiled at David, his intentions clear.

  David clambered to his feet. “Please. Don't kill him. He's just an old man. He's no threat to you.”

  “And you imagine you are? Having spent time with you, I find my long-standing opinion that empathy is an outmoded construct has only been reinforced. It makes you weak. It is your Achilles heel, and this explains why the Architects have provided me with the means to terminate your kind.” Goliath huffed up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it over the edge. “I came here because I thought I might be able to talk some sense into you, but what do I get for my troubles? I get likened to a considerable pain in the ass.” Goliath shook his head and turned towards the void. All went into slow motion for David as he slid and stumbled down the rocks towards Goliath. By the time he reached the bottom, he was alone on the precipice.

  Thirty two

  David spent the next twenty-seven days healing in sunlight by day. By night Gull climbed to the plateau to train him, and brought his body to the peak of physical condition. At dusk on the twenty-eighth day, David opened his eyes to see a storm on the horizon. The storm had whipped up not only sand and earth, but a dark speck that may or may not have been a man. David leaned forwards in the alcove. “Do you see what I see?”

  “I see more than you see, David.”

  “Is someone coming?”

  “Yes.”

  “How far?”

  “Three kilometres.”

  “You think it's a vessel?”

  “The figure is too far away for me to read its vital signs, but I think the assumption is imperative.”

  David stood, stretched and touched the roof of his alcove, and in that instant he looked like a statue of a Greek hero frozen for all eternity. He stepped from the alcove, dropped to the precipice and landed like an athlete awaiting the start of the one-hundred-metre race.

  “I would strongly advise against a similar means of decent for the next drop, David.”

  “I feel like I could make it.”

  “A deceptive feeling.”

  “I know it.” David stood and picked up a bundle of coiled rope, then threw it over the edge. At the bottom he went into the cave that had been Ahaz's. He emerged wearing a black toga, with an axe strapped across his back, and in his hand he carried the shovel. Mark was sitting on a rock, arms folded, waiting for him. “Whenever I see you with that shovel it makes me nervous. Why is that?”

  David dug the spade end into the ground and leaned his weight on the handle. “Your instincts are good.”

  “So who is to die now?”

  David looked out over the scrub land. “There's a storm headed this way.”

  Mark followed his gaze. “A big one.”

  “Best you leave before it gets here.”

  Mark dug some dirt from beneath his nails. “There was one amongst the others – a man from Jerusalem who caught a glimpse of you just before he left, during one of your rare descents. He said he recognised you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “He seemed quite certain. He said you were the Christ, and that you'd risen from the grave.”

  “He was wrong on both counts.”

  “He told the hermit and then blamed himself when the hermit tried to reach you … and died for his trouble.”

  “He needn't have. The hermit was possessed.”

  “By who?”

  “By someone who wants me dead.”

  “A demon?”

  David shrugged. “He might as well be.”

  “Is he coming for you now?”

  “No. But one of his assassins is.”

  “Just one? Are you sure?”

  “I'm sure.”

  “One grave, then?”

  “One grave.”

  “Make sure you do not end up in it.” David squeezed Mark's shoulder. “Death is a luxury I can't afford.” He strode out towards the storm and Mark called after him. “Then there is no need for me to leave … no need to end my quarantine early. I have just three days left.”

  “No. I don't suppose there is.” David walked three hundred metres and started to dig a grave. The wind picked up and he leaned into it, his robes flapping towards the caves behind him. The wind smelled of rain, but there was no rain. Lightning flashed across the horizon, but there was no thunder. “Why are you digging a grave now, David?”

  “If that is a vessel approaching, it was a man once. Still is. A man enslaved. Just as I was.”

  “There is no need to talk above the winds.”

  “Alright.”

  “You are very relaxed, David.”

  “I am resigned, and I know I can rely on you to send my vitals through the roof at the appropriate time.”

  “You may rely on me. A word of caution: Goliath claimed that this generation of vessels has been enhanced.”

  “I've little doubt that your own enhancements will more than be a match for it.”

  “Thank you for your vote of confidence.”

  David looked out over the scrub land, but could see little beyond the cloud of dust whipped up by the storm. “How far?”

  “Four hundred metres. Close enough for me to read its vital signs.”

  “And?”

  “It is a vessel, David.”

  “I'm glad.”

  “There would be no shame in letting me fight him.”

  “No, there wouldn't. And we're a tag team, so feel free to jump in if it means the difference between life and death. But I believe my imagination and sense of purpose will give me an edge. No offence.”

  “None taken.”

  “How far?”

  “Three hundred metres and closing.” David climbed out of the partially dug grave. He threw down the shovel and lifted the axe from his back. He felt the weight of it and spun it using his wrist. “I will provide you with the strength and speed you require during the encounter, David. You need not concern or distract yourself with requests.”

  “Alright.” The dust had transformed the wind into a tangible, shifting entity, out of which emerged the vessel, harried by the winds, its robes flapping and snapping before it. It stopped ten metres from David and straightened its back, rolling its head to loosen its muscles. It reached over its shoulder and drew a sword from a scabbard. It planted the sword in the earth and rolled its head again, then drew the sword from the ground and walked forwards. David felt a burst of air as something shot past his right ear. He blinked and the vessel's mouth was suddenly filled with the feathered end of an arrow. It stumbled sideways and David saw the arrow's shaft jutting from the back of its neck.

  “Take its head now,” urged Gull. David strode forwards. He stood before the swaying figure and held the axe uncertainly like a man preparing to fell a tree in
high winds. He grasped it two-handed and swung at the neck, and the head lurched into the air and was carried a little by the wind and fell. The vessel slumped onto its side. David saw Mark approaching, and he walked towards him but stopped when his smile became a study in terror. David turned and saw the vessel standing without its head. It bent forwards and picked up its sword with a flourish, its stump so thickly congealed with blood that it looked to have been sealed with wax from Satan's own stamp. “Gull?”

  “I am scanning the vessel for information. Please bear with me …”

  David tightened his grip on his axe and found himself in two minds: attack the monstrosity or place something between them – namely space. To aid with this decision he asked, “Is this thing invulnerable?”

  “Nothing is invulnerable. Goliath knows my preference for taking the heads of my victims. And taking the name I choose for myself into account, it appears he is mocking me with this update.”

  “So how do we kill it?”

  “My scan will be completed in sixty seconds. Its torso is protected by reinforced Roman body armour. So, in the meantime, I suggest amputating its legs.” The vessel slashed at the air and cut a figure of eight from it. It dashed forwards with a light-footedness that suggested its head served only as a hindrance. It slashed at David's throat and David threw himself back in an arc, landing on his left hand. He pushed with that arm, and it powered him upright where he swung the axe at its groin. The vessel leapt high enough to perch on its own shoulders and David stepped back and slashed at the air twice.

  “The vessel's body is receiving instruction from its head,” said Gull. “The two are linked by an analogue signal. The signal's range is one hundred metres.” David glanced at the vessel's head some five metres away. “Can I out-sprint it?”

  “No.”

  David called out, “Mark!”

  “I'm here.” Mark's voice was distant and somewhere over David's right shoulder.

  “Arrows are no good, Mark. We need to put a hundred metres between it and its head.” The vessel halted its attack and shifted its weight back and forth from left to right foot. Its demeanour was one of macabre contemplation. “You think it understands me, Gull?”

  “I think its head heard you and has relayed that information to its body.” In his right-side peripheral vision, David clocked Mark hurrying over the scrub. “The vessel's head has a radar-assisted view of its surroundings,” said Gull. “It knows where Mark is and what his intentions are. I am sensing a surge of energy. Brace yourself, David. It's going to attempt to finish you.”

  The blows came thick and fast upon David's axe. They were twelve in number, and they echoed across that barren land like the chimes of an impatient clock. At 'midnight' the vessel turned and ran after Mark. Mark had its head and was sprinting into the darkening storm. He was a nimble man, but even at full sprint the vessel was gaining on him, fast. David was hot on the heels of the vessel. So it was that these three unlikely souls made their way across that ancient scrub land. David clambered up a steep bank, and from that elevated position he hurled the axe, which struck the vessel's legs. It stumbled and went ploughing into the dirt. David scooped up the axe and fell on the vessel, smashing through spine and ribs until he reached the ground. The vessel bucked like a bronco and David was thrown clear. It scampered to its feet but David rugby-tackled it back down. It spun onto its back and kicked David across his face, clambering up again. It managed half a dozen paces before stumbling to its left and crashing to its knees. It began to inch forward like a child's toy in need of fresh batteries, then it stopped. David considered his options for a moment, then swung the axe and buried it in its stump. The vessel didn't even flinch; it might as well have been a tree stump. Gull said he considered the final axe blow overkill, and in reply David whistled through his teeth and shook his head. Neither of them saw Mark or the head he'd run off with again.

  Thirty three

  At midday, David was sitting cross-legged in the alcove above his cave. The storm had moved off, making way for the sun. Neither he nor Gull had spoken for over an hour. David had studied the horizon for Mark's return, but now he closed his eyes and drifted towards that state between sleep and consciousness that suited solar regeneration. He had not drifted far when he felt something pulling him, like an airlock had been opened and a vacuum created behind him. The sensation was by no means unpleasant, and sensing Gull's handiwork he went with it.

  When David opened his eyes, he was sitting cross-legged on the throne of his imagination. Gull stood below him at the edge of the forest's clearing. “Hello, David.”

  “Gull. Everything okay?” Gull looked above David. “I have been studying the Event Helix.”

  David turned and looked up. The Event Helix rose above him and filled the cosmos of his imagination. It looked exactly as it had that day with Goliath in the meadow. “How have you done this?”

  “In order for Goliath to view the Event Helix within your imagination, he had first to plant the relevant data in this forest. And then forge a means of channelling it into your imagination. I have simply utilised Goliath's handiwork.” David unfolded his legs and stood up. A staircase appeared, and he walked down it and stood beside Gull. “Do you not find it astonishing that your imagination can contain it?”

  “It is vast. And beautiful,” said David.

  “Goliath required near-infinite computing power to realise and build it. The process required centuries. But he was able to place a copy inside your imagination in the time it takes a man to blink. It is quite a feat for a being to contain, within an area of his mind, everything that ever was; everything that ever will be.”

  David gazed into the Event Helix, his eyes searching out the dark areas of the Shadow Strands. “Not everything.”

  “It may surprise you to know that we have occupied a Shadow Strand since we fell back in time.”

  “It must be a big one.”

  “It is. I have located only two others of a compatible size. In many respects the one we now occupy is no longer a Shadow Strand.”

  “Something we did?”

  “The events it once shadowed have been revealed in our wake. And they have forged links within the greater mechanism.”

  “Are you saying those things are now set in stone?”

  “Yes. They have become a part of history.”

  “That's some responsibility.”

  “It is the responsibility of all men.” Gull placed a hand on David's shoulder. David felt a tingling in the right side of his mind, and the Event Helix moved closer. Gull pointed to an area above and to their left, where a cylindrical Shadow Strand slanted down at an angle from left to right. Another, thinner Shadow Strand coiled around it and made contact with it intermittently. The image came closer and grew larger. “This is the Shadow Strand we currently inhabit. And we are nearing its end.”

  “Can't say I've grown particularly attached to the place.”

  “We entered at its top when we fell back in time to Jerusalem in AD 33. As we moved down through it we have encountered all we have here.”

  “It's been a laugh a minute.”

  “The dangers have not been inconsiderable. Failure to make it to where we are now being made possible by the other Shadow Strand – the one that coils round it and makes contact with it at specific points. Those are exit points … or places where your death was possible. The last exit point lies close to the bottom, there … that one awaited us had we lost our encounter with the headless vessel.” Gull squeezed David's shoulder. The Event Helix backed up and rotated slightly before coming closer again. David ran a hand through his beard. “Another Shadow Strand?”

  “Yes. Having survived this one, it seems we are to be rewarded with the opportunity of entering it.”

  David folded his arms, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes. “Looks like it has a lot more exit points.”

  Gull glanced at David and adopted a similar pose. “It contains a great many places where death waits as an option.
But it is not all bad news.”

  David looked at Tyburn’s projected face and saw that it was his own face momentarily. David decided to let it go. “Well? If there is something up there that even approximates good news, I'd like to hear it.”

  “I have located something of importance inside the next Shadow Strand. And have taken it upon myself to call it the Alpha Key.”

  “Alright. What is it?”

  “I believe it is the key to landing our first blow against Goliath.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Through detailed observation and study of the Event Helix. For instance, in an effort to understand its complexities, I made a study relating to the similarity in yours and Christ's appearance. The likeness could not have been a coincidence. Firstly, because the odds on such a thing would be too great. And secondly because there is no such thing as coincidence.”

  “You sound like the primitives of this time.”

  “The primitives here assign vacuous meanings to coincidence. They imagine they see personal omens were there are none. Coincidences that appear to defy odds of many billions to one have occurred with startling regularity throughout the history of the universe. Having studied the Event Helix, I now understand how this is possible: there are no such things as 'odds' or 'chance.' There are only certainties: certainties that things will occur and certainties that they will not. The only exception to this governing rule of the universe occurs within the confines of the Shadow Strands. And in the end their events too must subscribe to the whole. As Goliath pointed out, everything within the mechanism must fit perfectly for the universe to function – much like the mechanism of a clock if it's to tell the correct time. Regarding the similarities in your appearance to Christ's, millions of people have had a doppelgänger – some live concurrently, and others manifest at other times in history. I have traced the sequence of DNA events that connected you to Christ within the mechanism, and have discovered the location where they intersected and DNA was shared by a common ancestor. The chromosomes you share with Christ have lain dormant in the web of human connections for half a million years. During your conception they activated and passed on a similarity of facial appearance and height.”