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

After that, all was quiet, and there was no sound other than the soft sobbing of two terrified women, both convinced that they were about to die.

As Conal tapped the Enter key, the password screen disappeared to be replaced by a long list of files. Conal saw the smile form on Lyra’s face as she leant forwards and studied the screen.

“See anything you recognise?” he asked.

Lyra shook her head. “I only got as far as the password screen before,” she said. “After I tried a few different words I gave it to Fin.”

“Shouldn’t we be sending an email or something,” Betts said.

Conal tapped the bottom of the screen with a fingertip. “No Internet icon is showing on the Task Bar, so I guess this computer’s not connected to the outside world. More of the Old Man’s security paranoia.”

“The Old Man?” Lee said.

“Oh nothing. I’ll tell you about it later. What it means is that we can’t use the computer system to get in touch with people on the main land.”

“Great,” Troy said. “Now what?”

Conal swung round in his seat to face him. “Look, I went and saw Willow before I came over to the island.” That information had them all raising their eyebrows and glancing at one another. “I was trying to track down Lyra to find out which computer she had used to access the file. Willow told me that you had come over to the island for a party. The point is, that when Fin and Lyra don’t show up, she’ll raise the alarm.”

“But that might not be until tomorrow morning,” Lee said.

“Well, we’ll just have to sit it out and wait. Somebody will come in the end.”

Lee nodded slowly and looked at Troy. “Suppose that makes sense.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. What’s happened to Piers? He got back alright didn’t he?” Conal felt a bit guilty that he’d only just noticed that Piers was missing, but he still felt a bit light-headed and was finding it hard to think properly.

Troy pushed himself away from the wall. “He’s locked in the Electrical Intake room.”

“Locked?” Conal raised his eyebrows.

Troy glanced down at the floor for a moment, then raised his head.

“Troy had to cut one of those things out of his leg,” Lyra said, coming to Troy’s rescue. “He was unconscious. We were scared that he might have more inside him somewhere. You saw what happened to Fin. We were frightened to bring him in here with us.”

Conal nodded his understanding and stood up, putting a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “That was brave of you going out there like that Troy.” Looking at the other’s he broke into a big smile. “It was brave of you all. I guess Piers and I owe you our lives.”

***

Lyra was trying to make up her mind what file to open next, when Conal came into the room and sat down beside her.

“Is Piers okay?” she asked.

“I think so. I made him as comfortable as I could.” Conal rubbed a hand over his bald head, sucking in his breath when he touched the wound. “I left him locked in there. I don’t think he’s any threat, but—” He shrugged.

Lyra opened another file and ran her eyes down the contents. It seemed to be full of formulae which meant nothing to her. “What are the others doing?” she asked.

“Trying to make something to eat with the beans and spaghetti. Going to be a real cordon bleu surprise,” Conal laughed. “If they don’t poison us all that is.”

Lyra stopped scanning the file and closed it, wiping her eyes with her knuckles. She’d been at it for half-an-hour and was getting tired of reading page after page.

“Find anything?” Conal asked.

Lyra turned to face him. It was the first time she’d actually really looked at the man. He had quiet a handsome sort of face really, but he was a bit short and stocky for her taste.

What are you thinking of, girl. He’s old enough to be your dad.

Pushing the embarrassing picture from her mind, she looked at him with a serious expression. “Look, the others may take you at face value, but from the few things you’ve let slip, I think you know far more about what’s going on here than you’re saying.”

Conal sat back in his chair and nodded, his lips twitching in a wry smile. “No fooling you is there?” Lyra just kept staring at him. “Okay. I don’t know much, just that the scientist in charge of the project here—”

“Lexi?”

“Yes, Lexi Mills. She was convinced that she could breed protein for the third world, based on some kind of slug. Apart from the fact that something went terribly wrong and they all got killed, I’m in the dark as much as you are.”

“You were part of the cover up here on the island, weren’t you?”

“You were going to tell me what you found out,” Conal said, ignoring the question.

Lyra turned to the computer and opened a file. “This file outlines what Lexi was trying to do. It’s a mixture of ideas, notes, scribblings and personal thoughts.” Lyra scrolled the screen down until she found what she was looking for. “Take a look at this newspaper report. I think this was her starting point.”

Conal read the headline and first paragraph.

‘MILLIONS OF ‘KILLER SLUGS’ SET TO TAKE OVER GARDENS.

After the worst year on record for slugs, things are about to get even worse with millions of a new species of ‘killer slug’ expected to take over gardens this spring. It is thought the new species came into the UK via imports of salad leaves. The monster slugs, from Spain, that can grow up to five inches long, have been found eating dead mice, dog mess and even each other.’

“You’re right in what you said.” Lyra spoke firmly, almost lecturing Conal as she explained what she’d discovered. “It’s incredible anyone would even try to do this, even with all the advances there have been in genetic engineering over the years.” Scrolling down the screen again, she found another section and pointed at it. “Seems she managed to breed them to grow a lot bigger and have a quick generational turnaround.”

Conal leant closer to the screen and pointed. “What’s all this?”

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Lyra said. “She wanted to engineer two more abilities into the Syclers - as she named them. One was for them to be able to digest plastics—”

Conal laughed. “As if,” he said.

“No wait,” Lyra put a hand on his arm. “Look at this.” Opening another window, she clicked on a file. “See there?”

Conal’s forehead crinkled into a frown as he read.

‘WHITE-ROT FUNGI DEMONSTRATES FIRST BIODEGRADABILITY OF PHENOLIC RESIN.

Phenolic resins, phenol−formaldehyde polymers previously thought to be non biodegradable, are produced at an annual rate of 2.2 million metric tons in the United States for many industrial and commercial applications. Three independent lines of evidence established their biodegrad ability with the white-rot fungus Phanerochaete chryso- sporium.’

“Jesus, she genetically engineered a slug that could eat plastic using a fungus?”

Lyra nodded. “With the help of this Panerocy whatever stuff. But then she hit a problem.”

“Just the one?” Conal joked.

Lyra threw him a look, then continued with her lecture. She was really enjoying herself now. “The Syclers were doing well, growing to about 260 millimetres, they ate everything that was organic, including plastics, and the protein produced was a viable food source. Lexi was ticking all the boxes as they say. Trouble was, the Syclers ate one another as well. That’s where this guy comes into the picture.” Lyra clicked another file and a smiling face appeared on the screen. “Meet Brian Goldhand, he’s a leading entomologist.” Lyra glanced at Conal and saw from his expression that he hadn’t made the connection. “His speciality is the study of termites.”

Conal shrugged. “Well,” Lyra said, getting well into it now. “Not only are termites meat eaters, handy for the recycling, but they are also eusocial, which means—”

“They have a socially organised hierarchy,” Conal cut across her.

She nodded. “Trouble is, that led to a couple of unforeseen consequences. The Syclers might have stopped eating one another, except in exceptional circumstances, but the eggs Lexi developed produced a Queen and it was this Queen that laid the eggs that killed Fin on the beach. She’s out there somewhere.” Lyra held up her hand as Conal went to speak. “Not only that,” she said, “but the Syclers went on to develop the ability to use the formic acid termites defend themselves with into a powerful anaesthetic that enables them to knockout their prey. They can move pretty fast, but are no match for most animals. This gave them the advantage they needed to catch their prey.”

“Bloody hell,” Conal breathed, do you realise what she had here?”

Lyra nodded. “Yes, she’d done just what she’d set out to do.”

Conal looked at Lyra. He’d forgotten for a moment that she was just a young girl, albeit a very intelligent one. “No, I mean the consequences if these things ever got over to the mainland and bred.”

Lyra nodded, looking serious. “Yes, they could kill people easily enough. We’ve already seen that.”

“No, not just that, serious though that is. I’m thinking more about their ability to digest plastic. Look around this place. What’s missing? It didn’t strike me until now. All these pieces of metal and the half destroyed instruments. They’re all missing plastic. Think how many things are made of plastic these days. Christ if these things mutated any more, maybe into something smaller that we couldn’t spot so easily, they could destroy the world as we know it.”

“So that’s why—” Lyra turned back to the computer and began tapping the keyboard.

“What?” Conal said.

“Look, it’s a report to someone called Dermot Drewsbeck saying that she’s closing the project down.”

Conal looked at the screen, noticing a link at the bottom. Taking the mouse from Lyra he clicked on it. It led to a file containing a series of emails between Lexi and Drewsbeck.

Lexi wanted the project closed immediately, Drewsbeck wanted her to carry on, telling her that he would send all the experts she needed to get around the problems. The argument went back and forth, until she had finally threatened to take the whole thing to the press.

Drewsbeck had agreed to meet her on the island that afternoon to discuss it, telling her that he wanted all the staff present so he could get everyone’s views.

Conal looked at the date, his eyes widening. It was the same day that he’d been called to the island by the boatman. The Old Man had set them up.

It hadn’t been the accident Drewsbeck had pretended it was. He’d had them killed!

King checked the radio again. It was still silent. There were a number of reasons that Payne could be off air, none of them good. He’d need to get a move on.

They’d found the big metal cover of the refuse chute with the aid of a metal detector. It was under a few millimetres of concrete but it had taken the best part of an hour to drill the holes and set up the charges.

King checked with his 2IC once more and they both ran back to the rocks, trailing a wire behind them, Hunkering down, King nodded and Watts turned the handle on the detonator.

***

Macey was crying quietly, hands covering her mouth.

“Sh, what’s that?” her sister said.

Gulping back her tears, Macey listened, straining her ears to hear the smallest sound. She was terrified, could