‘Cloned sheep. I just made them,’ said Abe. ‘But they are not true clones, because true clones would simply be carbon copies of the first sheep used, the ugly one. You’ll see that these are far from ugly. Quite the opposite. I’ve told the industry that I used the very rare Andalucian mountain sheep to breed with, but the truth is there is no such sheep. That’s a shame actually – with a proper original I could make really strong clones, perfect the process. But I created my sheep from scratch, using Bert’s prize-winning merino. There, in the depths of the SPI-clone, the sheep’s original genes merge with the newly introduced DNA – in this case, Janey’s – to form a new blueprint: the long-haired sheep. And then I just push the button, and out pop as many as I need. And –’ here he paused to smile proudly at Janey – ‘this flock is the first of the dazzling Dubbo Seven Blonde variety – the first time we’ve used Jane Blonde’s hair instead of Janey Brown’s. They’ll create a storm.’
At this, G-Mamma broke into spontaneous applause, and even Alfie ventured some praise, although in typical Alfie-fashion it was fairly backhanded. ‘Brilliant,’ he said, nodding slowly. ‘Sick, but brilliant.’
Janey looked down at the sheep in the pen beneath her. It was brilliant – every bit as clever as she might have expected of her genius father. She wanted to be pleased for him and congratulate him on his success and his cleverness, but somehow all she could think about was poor Maddy having her DNA sucked out of her on a nightly basis, so much so that it made her wool disappear, and that these odd-looking sheep were made partly from her own spy genes. Something about it made her stomach turn, and she could see from Mrs Halliday’s face that her headmistress was also repulsed by the whole thing, though the others were all gazing admiringly at her father like a small Abe Appreciation Society.
Suddenly Janey thought of something. ‘Why do you need to keep making them, Dad? You said a few hundred would make you your fortune. So why not stop at that? Then Maddy could just . . . I don’t know, retire or whatever old, baldy sheep do.’
Abe turned to her with a penetrating stare. ‘Good question, Blonde. You’re quite right, of course. I’ve perfected the SPI-clone mechanism, but there’s something I haven’t got quite right yet. As I mentioned, cloning from the original would make much stronger copies. I can make a very reasonable copy with a very limited amount of DNA, but because it’s limited, the lifespan of my sheep-clones is very short. Less than a day. In fact, they seem to have what I call a “Cinderella” defect – just as the sun goes down, they . . . well, dissolve.’
‘And that’s why your customer’s flock completely disappeared!’ Janey gasped. ‘When you said you’d “sort it out”, you meant you’d make some more!’
Abe smiled proudly. ‘Correct. And while I’m doing it, I’m trying to solve the Cinderella defect. I can’t keep turning up with a new flock every morning. I intend to make as many sheep as I can – take over the market. The world! And then,’ he added quickly, with a look at Janey’s face, ‘we can all retire and settle down together.’
‘That gunk! It’s not food at all, is it? Those little patches in the paddock are melted sheep!’ Janey looked from her father to the sheep, unable to put words to her innermost thoughts. As ever, what her father was doing really was quite fascinating, totally unique, but this time there was something about it that she really didn’t like.
Fortunately Mrs Halliday said it for her. ‘Forgive me for saying this: I understand perfectly, of course, why you would want to create a safe life for yourself and for your family – I’ve done very much the same myself, retraining as a headmistress. But isn’t this a little . . . unethical?’
There was a long pause as Abe considered this. Finally he nodded. ‘I expect it is. To normal mortals it probably would seem that way, and certainly the newspapers were full of discussion on the ethics of cloning when Dolly the sheep appeared. But I’ve already formed new life with the Crystal Clarification Process, and saved life through the nine-life bubble. Is either of those things “ethical”? Probably not. But if the right person has all the information it doesn’t matter. And . . . I think I am that person.’
Janey stared for a moment at the glint of steel in her father’s soft brown eyes. ‘Dad,’ she said softly, ‘why didn’t you just ask me for some hair? I would have given it to you. Or use Chloe’s? You’re our dad. We would have helped you.’
Chloe gave a slight nod, watching Abe a little fearfully as he stood, silent, choosing his words carefully. ‘So many good questions, Blonde,’ he said at length. ‘Good spy work. Why not use Chloe’s hair? Chloe, who’s right here with me? Well, her hair is so fine and lank, it wouldn’t make very good wool.’ Chloe’s lip wobbled, but Abe ignored her. ‘Yours is stronger – even when it’s Brown hair. And now you’re Jane Blonde, and it’s more powerful and glorious than ever.’
‘But why . . . why didn’t you just ask me, instead of getting hairs off my SPI-buys box and pulling them out of the hairbrush? That’s why you kept wanting to brush my hair, isn’t it, Chloe?’
Abe huffed out a great sigh as Chloe nodded, now sobbing softly. Gently, he took Janey’s shoulders in his enormous hands, damp with sweat from the strain of explaining everything to his beloved daughter. ‘I should have. I know I can trust you. You come the minute I say I need your help. You sacrifice everything for me. You’ll do whatever it takes to save me and your family,’ he said gently, smiling down at her. ‘But I wanted to be sure I had perfected everything before involving you. I’ve done it before – turned up and disturbed your life, embroiled you in all sorts of danger, then walked away and left you to deal with it. I wanted to be sure. This time I wanted to be absolutely sure that we would never need to be separated . . . again.’
He looked around at the gathered spies, gazing at Alfie, Chloe and finally Janey, who he gathered up in an enormous embrace. Of course. That’s why he’d been worried and unable to tell her. He wanted them to be together properly this time. He hadn’t become head of his own spy organization without having a heap of determination alongside his massive creativity and inventing genius, and he had vowed to sort all this out himself before bothering her with the details.
Squashing down the globule of discontent that was bobbing in her gullet, Janey smiled cheerily. ‘It’s really very clever, Dad. But look, the sun’s nearly up. Bert will be waking in an hour or so. Hadn’t we better get back to the house before he suspects anything?’
Her words seemed to diffuse the slight air of tension. ‘You’re right as ever, Janey,’ said Abe, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘I expect we could all do with some sleep. Although it will only be a bit – good job we spies are made of stern stuff! Alfie, why don’t you show your mum to your room? Chloe, you can sort Janey out, can’t you?’
Janey’s twin beamed at her. ‘Yes! Come on, Janey. We can be all sisterly and chat under the sheets.’
‘Sure.’ Janey smiled back at her. It was nice to see a grin lighting up Chloe’s sallow face. ‘If Trouble can kip down on the end of the bed too.’
Thus organised, everyone but Abe trooped down the SPIral staircase, and he waved to them before heading back through the door to the lab. Janey fended off a yawn as they crossed the packed earth to the house and held up a hand to Mrs Halliday and Alfie as they disappeared into their room. ‘See you in the morning. In about an hour. Goodnight, G-Mamma.’
The twins stumbled into Chloe’s room; Janey ached with tiredness, and for the first time she seemed more fatigued than Chloe. She stared in the mirror as Chloe climbed into the enormous bed and Trouble hopped up on to the duvet, the yawn that had been building up for a few minutes finally bursting out and splitting her face right across the middle. She giggled at her reflection, but even as she did so she heard the same whispering voice sneak into her brain. ‘Blonde, I despise you!’ rumbled her father’s voice.
‘What is that?’
Chloe threw back the duvet. ‘What?’
‘I keep thinking I hear Dad say he hates me!’ said J
aney.
‘You must be very tired,’ said Chloe slowly. ‘Your mind’s playing tricks on you. Of course he doesn’t hate you!’
Janey shook her head quickly. It was ridiculous. She’d just seen her father, and he was very proud of her and her spy instincts. Chloe was right – tiredness must be getting to her. Firmly wishing she could leap into a Wower, Janey clambered into bed, yawning again. She patted Trouble on the head. ‘What are you lying on, Twubs? A little cat duvet?’
Trouble was lying on his own little white quilt, silky and gleaming against the tawny glow of his fur. Janey looked at it more closely. It was a handkerchief or, to put it more accurately, it was a Wowed tissue, like the stack Alfie had stored in his drawers. Janey shrugged. Maybe it was Alfie’s. She hauled the duvet over herself.
Her twin’s solemn grey eyes were fixed on her. ‘Goodnight, Janey,’ said Chloe softly.
‘Mmm, night,’ said Janey. ‘I’m sleepy.’
‘It’s been a long night,’ agreed Chloe. ‘Sleep well.’
And just to be sure she did, Janey pressed gently on the ring she was still wearing under the bedclothes. The duvet straightened as the USSR’s forcefield anchored itself around Janey’s body, and as the dawn chorus of parrots and cockatoos reached a crescendo, Janey fell into a deep sleep.
hands, knees and bumpsamaisies
The bedroom was empty when Janey’s eyes opened again a few hours later: no Chloe, no Trouble and no strange ghostly voices talking to her from the dressing table. Sunshine was radiating through the thin cotton curtains, so Janey threw the blankets to one side and swung her legs, still clad in SPIsuit silver, on to the polished wooden floor.
She needed to grab a pair of jeans and a top to get out of her SPIsuit, so she pulled open one of Chloe’s enormous wooden drawers and rifled through her clothes. She’d just found a pair of sawn-off jeans when she noticed something white, scrunched into a corner of the drawer. ‘The handkerchief!’ It was clearly the one Trouble had been sleeping on last night as there was an enormous slash through the middle of it from his sabre-claw – there must have been a tussle to get him off it. Janey grinned: Trouble was pretty possessive when he was particularly fond of something, and he’d obviously become very partial to the hanky. She’d have to apologize to Chloe on her cat’s behalf . . .
In the cut-off jeans and a clean T-shirt, Janey made her way to the big airy kitchen, wondering if she might be too late for breakfast. She needn’t have worried – all her friends, even Bert, were still sitting around the table. Only Abe was missing from the picture, as he often seemed to be in the morning (though Janey now understood why).
‘Good morning, Janey, do join us,’ said Mrs Halliday briskly. ‘Sit. It’s time for breakfast.’ She clapped her hands efficiently like she did before school assembly and pointed Janey towards a chair.
As directed, Janey sat in the chair next to Alfie. He grunted vaguely in her direction and sank his teeth into some thickly buttered toast. ‘Thought you were all getting some beauty sleep,’ he said eventually between bites. ‘Doesn’t seem to have done you any good.’
‘Alfie Halliday!’ His mother batted him around the head with the newspaper. ‘I’ll have you doing lines after breakfast. Don’t be rude! And don’t talk with your mouth full.’
‘Hey, lighten up, dude!’ said G-Mamma from the counter, where she was loading her dish with a hillock of Cheerios. It took Janey a moment or two to realize that her godmother was talking to Mrs Halliday. G-Mamma stood between the doors of the double fridge, bouncing them off either hip in time to her new rap as she emptied a lake of milk on to her cereal. ‘Yeah. Lighten up. Check it out:
‘Lighten up, dude
It’s only food
And you’re the fool
To think it’s rude
Lighten up, Ma
He’s come so far
And it’s only gross
If the food’s been chewed . . .’
‘That’s enough, Rosie,’ barked Mrs Halliday suddenly. ‘Behave yourself and act your age, or there’ll be lines for you too. “I will not rap at mealtimes.” One hundred times!’
Janey was a bit taken aback at the headmistress’s sharp response. She looked over at Bert, whose narrowed eyes were flicking between G-Mamma and Mrs Halliday as if he was watching a tennis match. ‘Sorry, Bert, I think we’re all a bit tetchy. Not much sleep with worrying about the sheep.’
G-Mamma leaped instantly into action again, scooting around the tiles yelling, ‘Not much sleep cos of all those sheep! Ye-erp . . . ye-erp, ye-erp. No shut-eye when your sheep must fly! Ye-erp . . . ye-erp, ye-erp,’ as Mrs Halliday scraped back her chair and wagged a finger at her, Alfie droned, ‘Oh, not again,’ and started pelting G-Mamma with wet cornflakes, and Chloe shuffled around the table, muttering to herself. ‘Sorry, what a mess,’ Janey heard her say. ‘Oh, sorry, Alfie, don’t you like your cereal? I could make something else. Sorry.’ What on earth was wrong with everyone?
Bert had clearly had enough. He waited until one of G-Mamma’s body-popping circuits had taken her safely off his route, rammed his hat on his head and scarpered for the back door. ‘Gotta go. Got some proper sheep arriving,’ he said to nobody in particular.
Janey grabbed a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table and followed him. ‘Bert, wait for me!’ She caught him up as he strode off towards the high gates with DUBBO SEVEN in spiky gold lettering silhouetted against the skyline. ‘You ran off pretty quickly.’
‘Not really my kind of people,’ said Bert slowly. ‘That mad woman, wotsername . . . Rose? Rosie? She’s a bit . . . well, scary, if you ask me. I’ve never met a woman who could eat all my rock cakes at one sitting.’
Janey thought she heard a tiny tinge of grudging admiration in his tone as she scurried to keep up with his long gait. ‘She’s not that bad usually. None of them are. G- . . . I mean, Rosie doesn’t normally rap all the time, and Alfie isn’t usually as mean as that, not deliberately anyway, and Mrs Halliday – well, she is a headmistress, but she’s not usually all schoolmarmy like this morning outside of school.’
‘Right,’ said Bert. ‘So they saved it all up for me, eh? Ha. I have to tell you, Janey, life was a lot quieter before they all turned up. Before your father turned up offering to buy me out, now I think about it. And I’m not sure now whether I should just have stuck with me good old curly-haired sheep and less money. Yeah, mate. Less money, less hassle, fewer weirdos.’
‘I think maybe it’s the heat,’ said Janey apologetically. ‘They’re just not quite themselves at the moment.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Neither’s my dad really. I could say the same thing about him. In fact, I did say the same thing about him.’
It was true. Everyone, her dad included, was acting in a very extreme sort of fashion. It wasn’t that they weren’t being themselves exactly. Quite the opposite – they were even more like themselves than they usually were. She couldn’t comment on Chloe, naturally, although sometimes she wanted to shake her to stop her being quite so wet. Why had their father taken Chloe when they were separated at birth? Perhaps it was a sign of Janey’s strength right from the moment they were born – that she could survive without his constant care.
‘Well, I’ve got some normal sheep arriving in a bit,’ said Bert with some relief. ‘I’ll be back on familiar ground then. Talking of which,’ he said, turning to her with a broad grin that creased his leathery face and exposed a fine gold canine tooth, ‘you’re on Aussie turf now, girl. How do you feel about throwing a boomerang?’
Janey grinned. ‘My dad sent me one! I haven’t tried it though.’
‘You come with me.’
In the paddock nearest the gate, the two of them spent a happy half-hour, Bert demonstrating how to sweep the boomerang through the air so that it spun, with its strange floop-floop sound, right around the field to land back near his feet. Correcting Janey’s stance and her elbow, he helped her to figure out how to make it feel exactly right, so that she let out a holler of
joy just as the truck containing the new sheep trundled through the Dubbo Seven gates. ‘I did it! Right back to my hand! That’s two things I’m good at now – blowing bubblegum bubbles, and throwing boomerangs.’
‘Well done, Janey,’ said Bert with his slow smile. ‘We’ll make an Aussie of you yet. Want to help me unload?’
Tucking the boomerang into the back of her jeans, Janey readily obliged, slapping woolly backs and clapping her hands at the sheep to funnel them into the field. After a few moments Trouble began to help them, bouncing around behind the sheep in the truck to force them down the ramp and through the gate. He still looked like Trouble the Spycat, with his golden go-faster stripes down his sides and a great floppy Elvis quiff waggling madly as he jumped up and down, but even he was acting strangely. He loved her father, so why he had nearly chopped his hand off at the wrist was something of a mystery. And why was he so attached to that handkerchief?
‘That’s the lot then.’ Bert slammed the gate shut and drove a peg through the iron loop to keep it closed. ‘Thanks, Janey. You and your . . . your cat were a lot of help.’
Janey scratched the back of a nearby sheep. ‘They’re nice. Maddy will be much more at home with this lot,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and get her.’
Maddy was probably camped out behind the Spylab, close but not too close to the strange-looking, odd-smelling (too clean, Janey decided) sheep she’d helped create. With Trouble trotting eagerly at her side, Janey walked away from the gates, back past the house. Near the veranda, she paused: it had been fun spending some the morning with Bert, but her friends and family, even a brand-new sister, were right here. It was time she enjoyed their company instead. Besides, there were a few things she needed to find out.
When she walked through the back door, however, Janey stopped short. The scene before her looked like a photograph, with Alfie and Chloe on one side of the table, slumped at the shoulders and staring blankly into space, and Mrs Halliday and G-Mamma in almost identical positions opposite them, except that G-Mamma had a long trail of jam dripping from one side of her mouth. Several flies were buzzing fretfully around it; even when one landed on her lip, G-Mamma didn’t twitch to move it away. They looked like shop dummies . . .
Jane Blonde: Twice the Spylet Page 11