population policies of the Union might be, the practical elements were kept under wraps – solely to guarantee absolute cleanliness and avoid contamination, naturally. He’d be the first overseas visitor for some time. An exception was being made.
In return, almost as a courtesy, Strether had let it be known that his interest arose not out of prurience or nosiness but as a cattleman who wished to be better informed about techniques with which he was wholly familiar. That seemed to satisfy them.
The landscape undulated in the morning sun. On a far hill the blades of wind turbines turned lazily. The maize was already tall and would soon turn golden. It would be cut before June and a second crop planted. Here in England a double harvest had been possible for over half a century, though in northern Scotland a second oats or barley harvest was attainable only in the warmest years. Rice-planting trials were under way near Portsmouth with a new hardy strain. Those areas of the civilised world that did not lack water had gained tremendously from the increase in ambient temperatures. It was not clear to Strether, as he gazed with a rancher’s envious eye over the greenly rippling fields, why anybody likely to benefit from it, as northern Europe had, could ever have objected to global warming.
That view, had he articulated it too often, would have raised eyebrows. It was another example among many of the quirky perspective he sensed he brought to his post. He was aware that the diplomatic community regarded him as an outsider.
Some of the reasons were obvious. He had not attended their universities nor engaged life-long in diplomacy. He was unfamiliar with the conventional wisdom. An alternative choice of ambassador, schooled at Georgetown or Princeton would have known the score and been acquainted with senior figures on the circuit. Many US Foreign Service professionals had attended European universities; Strether now suspected that they were alumni of ÉNA.The reflection put him on his mettle. A doctorate in farm management and animal husbandry might not rate as highly as a PhD in international relations from the Sorbonne with three languages. But he had earned his living in the real world. He held cussedly to what he regarded as real values. He was prepared to be convinced; but he was no pushover.
The train slowed; air brakes whispered, friction increased between the coach body and the magnetised rail. A well-modulated woman’s voice announced that they were approaching Salisbury East and reminded him to take all his belongings with him. Nobody mentioned Porton Down. Officially there was nothing secret about it. He could have applied to see its annual accounts or the Director’s last report to Parliament. But the phone number was not listed and it was not on the tourist maps. It existed, but everyone behaved as if it did not. The Europeans, and the English in particular, seemed to have no difficulties with such contradictions.
Strether rose, stretched and headed for the door. The warm breeze on his face was a pleasure after the carriage’s chill air-conditioning. On the platform he watched as passengers alighted and boarded. The doors hissed shut, the whole train seemed to breathe, a faint hum could be heard. The hairs rose on the back of his neck in response to the electric field. The linear induction motors lifted the machine vertically a bare twenty centimetres from the track and it slid away without a sound, slowly at first then with increasing rapidity until it disappeared in a flash of silver over the horizon.
‘Good journey, I hope?’
‘Oh, hi, Marius. Yes, fine. Wish we had those in New York or Chicago.’
Marius grimaced. ‘Horribly expensive, I’m afraid. Capital costs are astronomic. We have to subsidise this line. Still, it’s pollution-free, so needs must.’ He took Strether by the arm and led him to the walkolator.
Marius was dressed less formally than at the Palace. His cream tunic was undone
In return, almost as a courtesy, Strether had let it be known that his interest arose not out of prurience or nosiness but as a cattleman who wished to be better informed about techniques with which he was wholly familiar. That seemed to satisfy them.
The landscape undulated in the morning sun. On a far hill the blades of wind turbines turned lazily. The maize was already tall and would soon turn golden. It would be cut before June and a second crop planted. Here in England a double harvest had been possible for over half a century, though in northern Scotland a second oats or barley harvest was attainable only in the warmest years. Rice-planting trials were under way near Portsmouth with a new hardy strain. Those areas of the civilised world that did not lack water had gained tremendously from the increase in ambient temperatures. It was not clear to Strether, as he gazed with a rancher’s envious eye over the greenly rippling fields, why anybody likely to benefit from it, as northern Europe had, could ever have objected to global warming.
That view, had he articulated it too often, would have raised eyebrows. It was another example among many of the quirky perspective he sensed he brought to his post. He was aware that the diplomatic community regarded him as an outsider.
Some of the reasons were obvious. He had not attended their universities nor engaged life-long in diplomacy. He was unfamiliar with the conventional wisdom. An alternative choice of ambassador, schooled at Georgetown or Princeton would have known the score and been acquainted with senior figures on the circuit. Many US Foreign Service professionals had attended European universities; Strether now suspected that they were alumni of ÉNA.The reflection put him on his mettle. A doctorate in farm management and animal husbandry might not rate as highly as a PhD in international relations from the Sorbonne with three languages. But he had earned his living in the real world. He held cussedly to what he regarded as real values. He was prepared to be convinced; but he was no pushover.
The train slowed; air brakes whispered, friction increased between the coach body and the magnetised rail. A well-modulated woman’s voice announced that they were approaching Salisbury East and reminded him to take all his belongings with him. Nobody mentioned Porton Down. Officially there was nothing secret about it. He could have applied to see its annual accounts or the Director’s last report to Parliament. But the phone number was not listed and it was not on the tourist maps. It existed, but everyone behaved as if it did not. The Europeans, and the English in particular, seemed to have no difficulties with such contradictions.
Strether rose, stretched and headed for the door. The warm breeze on his face was a pleasure after the carriage’s chill air-conditioning. On the platform he watched as passengers alighted and boarded. The doors hissed shut, the whole train seemed to breathe, a faint hum could be heard. The hairs rose on the back of his neck in response to the electric field. The linear induction motors lifted the machine vertically a bare twenty centimetres from the track and it slid away without a sound, slowly at first then with increasing rapidity until it disappeared in a flash of silver over the horizon.
‘Good journey, I hope?’
‘Oh, hi, Marius. Yes, fine. Wish we had those in New York or Chicago.’
Marius grimaced. ‘Horribly expensive, I’m afraid. Capital costs are astronomic. We have to subsidise this line. Still, it’s pollution-free, so needs must.’ He took Strether by the arm and led him to the walkolator.
Marius was dressed less formally than at the Palace. His cream tunic was undone
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