Part 2: The Dueanian Cycle #3

Post date: Mar 11, 2017 2:21:56 PM

Part 2: The Dueanian Cycle

Fisher walked down the beach for a quarter mile, turning several times to ensure that she kept Baylee well in sight.

What had she gotten herself into and had she already crossed a line that she couldn't retrace? Life as a Sperm Gather wasn’t all that grand as she tried to make everyone believe but it was all she had.

Fisher sighed. Her thoughts drifted back home.

It was hard to admit to herself that her mother could be right and that she should consider signing up for an upcoming Colony Building Mission.

Nothing mankind had tried so far was advancing people's ability to produce children in sufficient numbers that would sustain any hope for the future. How many more years before there were no people left on the planet?

There was a flash in Fisher’s peripheral vision.

She turned to see the fire that Lark had been making, only a short time ago, was now a blazing inferno.

Should she trust the man as Baylee did? And what about Dewey?

Could she set aside all her logic and clear-headed reasoning to open herself up to the possibility that there were actually other entities other than mankind in the universe?

She had to admit, the Forlorn Ones were reproducing and that was an indisputable fact. Too many of the Sperm Releasers she’d mated with lately had confirmed the whispers.

Could Baylee’s friend Dewey have anything to do with the Forlorn Ones sudden ability to produce children after so many years of trying, without success, to conceive in the facilities?

Fisher turned and headed back up the beach.

It was worth finding out.

Despite the determined look on Fisher’s face the conciliatory glint to her eyes reassured Baylee that her best friend was once more on her side.

Lark carried a fallen log over to where Fisher stood. She nodded to the man curtly as he positioned the log in front of the fire.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you.” Fisher eyed Lark as he brushed pieces of bark and moist clumps of earth from the log.

“It’s a start.”

Fisher frowned. She sat down and leaned forward, her hands clasped as she rested her arms on her knees.

Lark carried another log over to Fisher and put it down a few feet away from her. He then kicked a couple of small rocks and ran the toe of his boot along the ground, smoothing the area before settling himself down on the hard earth

“You’re too young to be a Forlorn One.”

Lark propped his arm up on the end of the log and adjusted his baseball cap. He did not look at Fisher. “That’s because I’m not.”

“What crime did you commit to get yourself tossed out of a facility?” she asked.

Law and order, in this day and age, was a far cry from what it was even fifty years ago. Reproduction facilities did not have the capacity to house the convicted, so for major crimes such as murder, which was a rarity, the guilty were punished by expulsion.

“You’re assuming I’ve lived in a facility.”

Fisher’s eyes widened and she straightened her back. “You haven’t?”

Lark shook his head.

“Not even as a little boy?”

Lark shrugged. “Nope.”

Fisher shifted on the log. This was not what she had expected. “What about your family?”

Lark glanced at Baylee, who was fidgeting once more with her vial. He shot her a look that clearly said, ‘she’s your friend so get over here and explain’.

He finally looked at Fisher. “Dead. Long ago.”

Fisher nodded sadly. “Don’t you ever get…lonely?”

Taking Lark’s hint, Baylee joined her two friends and rested a hand briefly on Lark’s shoulder before sitting down on the log between them.

Lark inhaled deeply. “Loneliness is a concept for people who aren’t resourceful enough to do for themselves.”

Fisher made a face. “I can see that point of view.”

“Really?” Baylee piped up, turning to stare at Fisher. “Because I certainly can’t.”

Fisher laughed. “That’s because you’ve never had to rely on yourself for anything.”

“Hey now, that’s not fair, Fishy,” Baylee said. “There have been plenty of times—”

“You’ve misunderstood her meaning,” Lark interrupted.

Baylee looked reproachfully at Lark. “Oh…have I, now?”

Lark smirked. He leaned forward to grab a long stick and began to poke at the shifting logs on the fire. “Your friend is an only child.”

Surprise filtered across Fisher’s features. “How do you know that?”

“Baylee told me.”

“Bay!” Fisher whined. “What else have you been telling his guy?”

“Nothing!”

“Everything,” Lark disputed. “She’s been talking up a storm. Fishy this…Fishy that. I think I know more about you than I—”

Seeing the horrified expression on Fisher’s face Lark erupted into laughter.

“Oh, you little lair.” Baylee cried and swatted Lark. “How do you expect her to like you if you’re so mean?”

“Your friend liking me was never part of the deal.”

Fisher’s eyebrows shot up. “Deal!” She shouted. “What deal?”

Lark shrugged and turned his attention back to poking the fire.

Baylee turned to Fisher. “There was no deal.”

“Now who’s the lair?”

Baylee gifted Lark with a scornful glare. “She thinks we made a deal about her.”

With the end of the stick Lark extracted a few semi-burned pieces of wood and shifted them to one side of the fire pit.

“Didn’t we?”

“Baylee Annie Sonja Prudence Wright, you tell me what's going on right now.”

Baylee cringed.

The only time anyone used her full name was when her father was reprimanding her. Which wasn’t very often since she hardly fought with her other siblings. Still she didn't like to be reminded that she was definitely in the wrong in not telling Fisher the whole truth.

“Now that’s a mouthful.”

Baylee’s glare turned pleading. “Don’t start.”

“You’re the one who needs to start explain to your friend,” he said in forced innocence. “She deserves answers.”

“I do have a name, you know.”

Lark paused and glanced over his shoulder. He ignored the indignation in Fisher’s tone.

“Is it as long as Baylee’s?” he inquired.

Baylee saw Fisher’s shoulders tense.

“Yes.”

“Is there any particular name of yours that you would prefer me to call you?”

“Fisher would suffice.”

Lark turned back to the fire. He took a deep breath. “No.”

“No?”

“Lark,” Baylee said slowly.

Lark ignored the touch of warning in Baylee’s voice.

“Fisher doesn’t do her justice. She far too pretty to have a dumb name.”

Fisher definitely was not mollified by Lark’s comment that she was pretty. She stood up and put her hands on her hips.

“This from a man who has what…only one name? And Fisher isn’t dumb, it’s one of my father’s middle names.”

Lark also got to his feet. He faced her.

“Alright I’ll concede,” he said contritely. “I’m sorry I called your name dumb, but I’m still not calling you by it. Nor am I going to call you ‘Fishy’ like Baylee does. Your last name is Butterfield so I could call you Butt, but that would be rude. So I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Fine,” Fisher sniped. “When it comes to your name I don’t have to think about it. I’m going to call you Dipshit.”

Lark laughed. “I’ve pitched a lot of shit in my time, so that may be fitting.” He turned from the fire. “I’m going to make us some coffee.” He glanced pointedly at Baylee before walking away. “I’d advise you to take this time to explain things to your friend.”