The Gastropoda Imperative by Peter Barns (parable of the sower read online txt) 📕

Troy was excited. It had taken him most of the day to organise the trip and he was really looking forward to it. Especially if things went well and he and Lyra got it together, as he was planning.

It had taken a lot of persuasion but Lyra had finally agreed to go to the party with him. He hadn’t exactly lied to her when he’d let her assume that it was being held at Fin and Willow’s house, but if he’d told her where it was being held, there was no way she’d have agreed to come.

Willow had been primed to take the call if Lyra’s mother checked that it was all right for Lyra to spend the night at their house. She could do a surprising good impersonation of her mother’s voice when she had to, as her school had found out on more than one occasion. In fact Willow and Fin’s parents were going out to their own party in Exeter and wouldn’t be home until at least two in the morning. Plenty of time for them to have a bit of fun.

Bringing his mind back to the present, Troy went over the arrangements in his mind. Yes, he’d thought of everything - beer, music, transport, even a blow-up lilo for him and Lyra to use on the beach.

***

As she kissed her mother and aunt goodbye, Lyra felt a little guilty. She didn’t usually lie, but she so wanted to go to this party with Troy. And where was the harm? They’d be back at Willow and Fin’s by one a.m. at the latest.

Lyra rushed down the lane towards the small quay outside the village. The sun was low in the sky and it was beginning to darken. Checking her mobile she saw it was almost a quarter past eight. Damn, she was late. Her mother’s fault for insisting that Lyra couldn’t leave until she’d checked with Willow’s mother first. Willow had come through trumps and her mum had finally given her the go ahead.

Hurrying onto the old wooden boards of the quay, Lyra looked around for the others, heart sinking when she saw that nobody was waiting for her. Surely they hadn’t left for the party without her? Feeling her whole body slump, Lyra looked down at the ground, the first stinging tears glistening in her eyes.

Then she heard a low laugh coming from somewhere to her left. Walking over to the edge of the quay, she looked down. Troy sat looking up at her in the back of a large dingy.

He waved. “Hi Lyra,” he called. “Come on down the ladder and we can get going.”

Frowning, Lyra squatted down so she could hear him better. “Get going where? I thought we were supposed to be going to a party.”

“We are,” Troy called back up to her. “It’s a surprise. Come on, I’ll explain all about it on the way there.”

Lyra made her way down the seaweed covered rusty ladder bolted into the concrete quay, praying that she wouldn’t slip and end up in the water. Stepping into the dingy, she was steadied by Troy’s arm around her waist. There were four other people sitting in the dingy and Lyra found it difficult getting to her seat at the stern without treading on feet, constantly having to apologise as she went.

Finally settling herself down, she looked over at Fin, who was sitting alongside a slim girl with cropped black hair. She had the most dazzling smile Lyra had ever seen.

This is my girlfriend, Kirsti,” Fin said.

“Oh hi.” Lyra nodded a greeting.

“The guy trying to start the motor is Lee, and the way he’s going about it, he’s going to end up the late Lee if he doesn’t get his finger out.” Lee looked over his shoulder and smiled before going back to fiddling with the outboard motor. “And that’s Betts.”

Betts waved her fingers and Lyra waved back.

At that moment Lee, who’d been pulling at the starter cord as hard as he could, gave a shout. “That’s it guys. Untie the painter and let’s get going.”

“Don’t see no van Gough around here,” Fin shouted back, bending his ear so it looked as if it was missing.

“Will you stop messing about and untie the rope you moron,” Troy shouted at him.

With a muttered, “Ooh get you!” Fin cast the rope off.

Lee twisted the throttle and the outboard roared. He guided the dingy out to sea and pretty soon they were cresting the waves, the spray splatting Lyra as she held on to the side of the boat. The noisy engine made it to difficult to talk, so she settled down, leaning into Troy’s shoulder. He slipped his arm further around her waist, pulling her into his side.

Wherever they were going didn’t matter now because Lyra was quite happy just sitting in Troy’s arms, her hand trailing in the water.

***

Conal had found himself in a dilemma after Georgi Zhukov’s phone call earlier in the evening. The man had finally worked out the location of the computer that had been used to try to access the file. It was on the main land, opposite the island - a small cottage called Sea View Holdings. Conal had looked up the co-ordinates on Google Maps and printed a copy out. He’d sat in his lounge for quite some time, wondering whether he should chase it up or not. After all, the Old Man had more or less told him to butt out.

After his meeting with Drewsbeck, Conal had spent some time digging around and asking questions about the project on Flat Rock Island, trying to lay to rest the uneasiness he was feeling. What he discovered had worried him.

According to Security, they had contacted Drewsbeck about the trouble the boatman was having raising the staff on the island before getting in touch with Conal. Yet the Old Man had acted as though the whole thing had been a big surprise to him when he had arrived on the island.

The spot on the back of Conal’s neck flashed ice cold and he glanced over at the car’s window, checking that he hadn’t accidentally opened it.

Thinking back to his meeting with Drewsbeck yesterday at the office, Conal had to admit that he’d seemed more than a bit evasive, and had cut all Conal’s attempts at any follow up dead.

Georgi had told Conal on the phone that he was meeting with Drewsbeck in two hours, so if he wanted to get to the computer first, he’d better shift himself. Conal had faffed about for a further half hour before making up his mind.

It was getting late and the roads were quiet, making the trip from London quicker than Conal had feared it might be. Turning off the M5 motorway, he’d pushed the BMW as hard as he could, and could now see the Bristol Channel glinting under the moonlight away on his right. Glancing at the dashboard clock, he frowned - should be there in about twenty minutes.

Conal pushed on, praying that he hadn’t just driven three hundred and eighty odd kilometres on a wild goose chase.

***

Macey hummed to herself as she got the bags out of the car. Opening the boot, she pulled out the five litre can of petrol, picked up the rest of the bags and staggered to the front door.

It opened as she reached it. “Here, let me help you with those,” her sister said. “Leave the petrol by the door, I’ll put it in the shed later.”

“You sure you can manage all those?” Macey said, eyeing her sister critically.

“I’ve got to get back in the saddle sometime Macey. Stop fussing. I’m perfectly able to carry a few bags of shopping. In fact I was thinking its perhaps time you and Lyra went back to London.” Freda groaned as she lifted one of the bags onto the kitchen table. “Well, perhaps a couple more days,” she said with a smile.

Macey made the tea and brought a cup over to her sister, who was sitting with her right hand under her left arm, rubbing her armpit.

Macey sat down and frowned at her. “You okay?”

“Of course I am.”

Macey wasn’t so sure. It was one thing for her sister to say she was well enough to cope on her own, but quite another when she sat there like a woman twice her age. Macey drank her tea, watching her sister. Perhaps she should ring the hospital tomorrow and make an appointment to see her sister’s consultant.

Stanley Brentford eased the ache in his shoulders, rubbing his neck as he stretched it. He’d been driving for hours and he ached all over. “Going to have to stop for the night soon babes,” he said to his wife.

Betty looked down at the map spread out across her knees and tutted, trying to follow the wiggly lines running across it in the dim light, with the tip of her finger. “Looks like there’s a sort of track that runs up on to the cliff top farther ahead. It’d be nice if we stayed there overnight and woke up to the sound of the sea in the morning.”

“A sort of track.” Stan chuckled. “You want me to take a ton of RV up a sort of track.”

“It’s just up ahead on the left. We could at least take a look.”

Five minutes later Stanley turned the big RV onto what looked to him to be nothing more than a footpath. “Hang on a sec,” he said, stopping the RV and holding his hand out.

His wife passed him the map and lowered the window as he studied it. “I can smell the sea,” she said, knowing how useless he was at map reading.

Stanley grunted, handing the map back and grinding his teeth. As if in sympathy, the RV’s gears also ground when Stan drove off again. “Sorry babes, must be more tired than I thought.”

The sound of grinding gears sparked off a memory for Betty. A memory of early childhood and the old wreck of a van that her father used to drive - the gear box so worn that it couldn’t be moved without making that self same racket.

Sort ‘em out mate, they’re all in one box.

Betty smiled to herself, hearing her father’s words as though he were sitting right beside her. She still missed her dad, even though he’d died ten years ago, just after she’d turned eighteen. Now here she was with a family of her own.

The big vehicle thumped down into a rut and out again, shaking everything inside. She heard Jason give a muted cry from behind her and turned to look around the back of her seat. He was tucked up in his carrycot, firmly strapped to the back of the seat. She could see his perfect little face screwing up as he got ready to cry, and wondered how much further they had to drive.

“Here we go,” Stan said, turning off the engine. He opened the door. “Just going for a quick piss. Won’t be a sec.”

“Stanley, use the toilet. That’s what it’s for.”

“Just have to empty the bloody thing later,” he grumbled as he stalked off into the night, his torch lighting up the grass in front of him.

“Be careful.”

“Okay babes.”

Stanley didn’t particularly want a pee, he just wanted a bit of time on his own. Ever since their son was born, it had been Jason this and Jason that. Hell, he hadn’t realised how many different kinds of bloody nappies there were. He’d be glad to get back to work. Maternity leave might be good, but too much of a good thing could drive you bloody crazy.

Stan stood looking out across the moon dappled sea. He’d never been one for the countryside, having spent all his life in London, but even he had to grudgingly admit that the view was something special. Digging out his pouch, he rolled himself a cigarette, sighing contentedly as he sucked the tobacco smoke deep into his lungs.

Stanley took another puff