Cloner A Sci-Fi Novel About Human Clonin - By Emma Lorant Page 0,5
UK. All the banks are moving out of London. Lloyds has already built Bank House in Wine Street.’
The first organic fertiliser from Flaxton, enthusiastically called Doubler and more than living up to its name, had been as good for the firm of accountants instructed by Flaxton as it had for West Country farmers shrewd enough to switch to organic. Small farmers, hardly able to make ends meet before, found they could sell their produce at a good price. They flocked to buy Flaxton’s products.
On the back of Flaxton’s success Grew, Donsett, Tyler & Wildmore had quickly become the leading agricultural accountants. Flaxton’s headquarters was sited in an old mansion set in the Mendips. Their chief executive, Nigel Carruthers, owned a country estate there, near Priddy. Alec, astute as ever, had rapidly worked out that this dynamic West Country firm would expand, in fact be quoted on the Stock Exchange, before much longer. That was why he’d looked for his country house near Wells, the smallest city in England.
‘Good schools there,’ he’d explained to Lisa when she’d objected to moving to such a remote rural area. ‘Millfield’s in Street, and Wells Cathedral School has a very good reputation.’ It was the assuredness with which he’d talked of schools which had persuaded her to move from London.
Doubler, based on algae and patented world-wide, was obviously a winner. Now Flaxton were testing their latest product, Multiplier, first manufactured eighteen months before. The new fertiliser incorporated plankton, and promised to be an even greater success than Doubler. Somerset was the trial ground again, and the Graftley farm had been chosen as the first experimental site.
‘Somehow or other,’ Alec said as he peered through steel-rimmed glasses at his balance sheets, ‘though the chemists haven’t worked out the reasons yet, they think the strain of plankton they’re using for Multiplier encourages the shedding of extra ova in mammals, and increased egg laying in fowl.’ Alec beamed round the room as though he, personally, had invented Multiplier. ‘Give your chickens corn fertilised with it, and you’ll have more free range eggs than you can handle!’
‘Us can always sell they,’ Frank put in coolly, setting down his mug and sauntering over to Alec. ‘Get a good price for they.’
‘What d’you mean, ‘plankton’?’ Lisa asked. ‘Are you saying Multiplier’s completely organic?’
‘Absolutely; no artificial ingredients at all.’ Alec was drawing his finger along the lines of figures. ‘Just look at these projections we’ve been working on.’
‘Manufactured like Doubler, or is it a new process?’ Lisa wanted to know.
‘What? Yes, of course.’ He looked over his shoulder at the farmer peering suspiciously at the figures. ‘It is completely organic, Lisa; I told you. Algae are purely vegetable matter; plankton does contain some animal organisms. But they’re primitive organisms,’ he added hurriedly. ‘That’s still organic.’
‘Easy to tell by seeing the bigness - healthy enough,’ Frank assured Lisa. ‘No need for yer to worry none.’
‘Isn’t plankton something whales live on?’ Lisa persisted, holding Seb on her lap and helping him drink the Graftleys’ goat’s milk from a cup. Most children, Meg had assured her, tolerated it better than cow’s milk.
‘Exactly,’ Alec agreed. ‘The stuff can be produced rapidly and in vast quantities. And I’ll wager the eggs will be larger as well as more of them.’
‘The hens be mine to see to,’ Meg put in. ‘I do run a few for the family. No need for more’n that.’ She looked across at Alec’s papers, then at her husband. ‘I do like they to scratch around for their grub,’ she said firmly. ‘I reckon feed fertilised with Multiplier makes ’em double-yolk.’
‘Folk do like they double-yolkers,’ Frank gruffed, frowning at his wife. ‘If us do get a surplus, us can always sell they,’ he repeated. He cut the end off his Havana, placed it in his mouth, and lit it. It smouldered like a gun which had just fired.
Meg’s eyes slid away from him. She said nothing further.
‘I know you need the money, Frank,’ Alec said wickedly, the left side of his mouth rising more than the right. ‘You want to buy more privatisation issues to add to your little portfolio.’
Frank grinned. A brawny man, his neck and arms a deep darkened reddish-brown, his curly black hair showing wisps of grey, he still moved gracefully and quickly. ‘Only doing me bit for me country.’ He reached easily towards the floor, lifted his pewter mug to his lips again and took a long deep swallow.
‘We saw an enormous duck on our way over,’ Lisa told them.