The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [558]
“For what purpose?”
“We recognize this pattern,” he said, jabbing a stubby finger at the chart. “In particular the high concentration of calcium just here. We can usually trace a chimera’s 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 worse. 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 due 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 précis. “How can you know me that well?”
There was a 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 hangs 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,” he said sullenly, “I get the picture.”
“You humans radiate emotions like a roaring fire, Mr. Cable. We are astounded 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 wish for that which we have been denied.”
“And that is?” asked Bowden.
“Children,” breathed Stig. “We have planned for just such an expedition, and your sapien characteristics will be useful. You have an impetuosity that we can never have. A neanderthal considers each move before taking it and is genetically predisposed towards caution. We need someone like you, Miss Next—a human with drive, a propensity towards violence and the ability to take command—yet someone governed by what is right.”
I sighed. “We’re not going to get into the Socialist Republic,” I said. “We have no jurisdiction, and if we’re caught, there will be hell to pay.”
“What about your plan to take all those books across, Thursday?” asked Bowden in a quiet voice.
“There is no plan, Bowd. I’m sorry. And I can’t risk being banged up in some Welsh slammer during the SuperHoop. I have to make sure the Mallets win. I have to be there.”
Stig frowned at me. “Strange!” he said at last. “You do not want to win for a deluded sense of hometown pride—we see a greater purpose.”
“I can’t tell you, Stig, but what you read is true. It is vital to all of us that Swindon wins the SuperHoop.”
Stig looked across to Mrs. Stiggins, and the two of them held a conversation for a good five minutes—using only facial expressions and the odd grunt.
After they had finished, Stig said, “It is agreed. You, Mr. Cable, and ourself will break into the abandoned Goliath reengineering labs. You to find your Shakespeares, we to find a way to seed our females.”
“I can’t—”
“Even if we fail,” continued Stig, “the Neanderthal Nation will field five players to help you win your SuperHoop. There