Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

We sat down on the sofa and Stig poked at the embers in the fire. There was a rabbit on a stick and I gave a deep sigh of relief - it wasn't going to be beetles for lunch.

'Those croquet players outside,' I began, 'do you suppose anything could induce them to play for the Swindon Mallets?'

'No. Only humans define themselves by conflict with other humans. Winning and losing have no meaning to us. Things just are as they are meant to be."

I thought about offering some money. After all, a month's salary for an averagely rated player would easily cover a thousand buy-back schemes. But Neanderthals are funny about money — especially money that they don't think they've earned. I kept quiet.

'Have you had any more thoughts about the cloned Shakespeares? asked Bowden.

Stig thought for a moment, twitched his nose, turned the rabbit, and then went to a large rolltop bureau and returned with a buff file — the genome report he had got from Mr Rumplunkett.

'Definitely clones,' he said, 'and whoever built them covered their tracks — the serial numbers are scrubbed from the cells and the manufacturer's information is missing from the DNA. On a molecular level they might have been built anywhere.'

'Stig,' I said, thinking of Hamlet, 'I can't stress how important it is that I find a Will clone - and soon.'

'We haven't finished, Miss Next. See this?'

He handed me a spectroscopic evaluation of Mr Shaxtper's teeth and I looked at the zigzag graph uncomprehendingly.

'We do this test to monitor long-term health patterns. By taking a cross-section of Shaxtper's teeth we can trace the original manufacturing area solely from the hardness of the water.'

'I see,' said Bowden. 'So where do we find this sort of water?'

'Simple: Birmingham.'

Bowden clapped his hands happily.

'You mean to tell me there's a secret bioengineering lab in the Birmingham area? We'll find it in a jiffy!'

'The lab isn't in Birmingham,' said Stig.

'But you said—?'

I knew exactly what he was driving at.

'Birmingham imports its water,' I said in a low voice, 'from the Elan valley — in the Socialist Republic of Wales.'

The job had just got that much harder. Goliath's biggest biotech facility used to be on the banks of the Craig Goch reservoir deep in the Elan before they moved to the Presellis. They had built across the border owing to the lax bioengineering regulations; they shut down as soon as the Welsh Parliament caught up. The lab in the Presellis did only legitimate work.

'Impossible!' scoffed Bowden. 'They closed down decades ago!'

'And yet,' retorted Stig slowly, 'your Shakespeares were built there. Mr Cable, you are not a natural friend to the Neanderthal and you do not have the strength of spirit of Miss Next, yet you are impassioned.'

Bowden was unconvinced by Stig's precis.

'How can you know me that well?'

There was silence for a moment as Stig turned the rabbit on the spit.

'You live with a woman whom you don't truly love but need for stability. You are suspicious that she is seeing someone else and that anger and suspicion hang heavily on your shoulders. You feel passed over for promotion and the one woman whom you truly love is inaccessible to you—'

'All right, all right,' Bowden said sullenly, 'I get the picture.'

'You humans radiate emotions like a roaring fire, Mr Cable - we are astounded at how you are able to deceive each other so easily. We see all deception so have evolved to have no need for it.'

'These labs,' I began, eager to change the subject, 'you are sure?'

'We are sure,' affirmed Stig, 'and not only Shakespeares were built there. All Neanderthals up to Version 2.3.5, too. We wish to return. We have an urgent need for that which we have been denied.'