The Sheep Look Up Read Online Free PDF Page B

out, right?
    Quarrey: Precisely. I designed a gadget to be mounted on the wing of a plane and catch the contaminants on little sticky plates-I have one here, I don't know if your viewers can see it clearly…Yes? Fine.
    Well, each unit has fifty of these plates, time-switched to collect samples at various stages of a journey. And by plotting the results on a map I've been able to pin down-like you said-factory-smoke from New Jersey over nearly two thousand miles.
    Page: Lots of people argue that can't be done with the accuracy you claim.
    Quarrey: I wish the people who say that would take the trouble to find out what my equipment is capable of.
    Page: Now this is all very disturbing, isn't it? Most people have the impression that since the passage of the Environment Acts things have taken a turn for the better.
    Quarrey: I'm afraid this seems to be-uh-an optical illusion, so to speak.
    For one thing, the Acts don't have enough teeth. One can apply for all kinds of postponements, exemptions, stays of execution, and of course companies which would have their profits shaved by complying with the new regulations use every possible means to evade them. And the other point is that we aren't being as watchful as we used to be. There was a brief flurry of anxiety a few years ago, and the Environment Acts were introduced, as you said, and ever since then we've been sitting back assuming the situation was being taken care of, although in fact it isn't.
    Page: I see. Now what do you say to people who maintain that publicizing these allegations of yours is-well, not in the best interests of this country?
    Quarrey: You don't serve your country by sweeping unpleasant facts under the carpet. We're not exactly the most popular nation in the world right now, and my view is that we ought to put a stop right away to anything that's apt to make us even less well liked.
    Page: I guess there could be something in that. Well, thanks for coming and talking to us, Lucas. Now, right after this next break for station identification…
    IN SPITE OF HAVING CHARITY A MAN LIKE

SOUNDING BRASS
    "I guess the nearest analogy would be with cheese," said Mr.
    Bamberley. To show he was paying attention Hugh Pettingill gave a nod. He was twenty, dark-haired, brown-eyed, with a permanently bad-tempered set to his face-pouting mouth, narrowed eyes, prematurely creased forehead. That had been stamped on him during the bad years from fourteen to nineteen. Allegedly this was the first of many good years he was currently living through, and he was fair-minded enough to expose himself to the possibility of being convinced.
    This had started with an argument concerning his future. During it he had said something to the effect that the rich industrial countries were ruining the planet, and he was determined never to have anything to do with commerce, or technology, or the armed forces for which Mr.
    Bamberley retained an archaic admiration. Whereupon: this instruction, too firmly phrased to be termed an invitation, to go on a guided tour of the hydroponics plant and find out how constructively technology might be applied.
    "I don't see why we shouldn't improve on nature!" Mr. Bamberley had chuckled.
    Hugh had kept his counter to himself: "So what has to happen before you realize you haven't?"
    Portly, but muscular, Mr. Bamberley strode along the steel walkway that spined the roof of the factory, his arms shooting to left and right as he indicated the various stages through which the hydroponically-grown cassava they started with had to pass before it emerged as the end product, "Nutripon." There was a vaguely yeasty smell under the huge semi-transparent dome, as though a baker's shop had been taken over by oil technicians.
    And in some senses that was an apt comparison. The Bamberley fortune had been made in oil, though that was two generations back and neither this Mr. Bamberley-whose Christian name was Jacob but who preferred to be called Jack-nor his younger brother