'And what would you be?' Atherton asked contemptuously. 'Czar of this utopia?'

Buher was not in the least offended. Speaking half to himself, as he looked off into the green universe through which they had just passed, he said slowly, 'Do you know... there was a very primitive tribe once, high up in the mountains of Mexico, who lived on very good soil, but they simply lacked the technology to till it. An American construction company was there, building roads, and just before they left, they gave a tractor to the natives and showed them how to operate it. And after the natives had learned to plow their fields, do you know what they did with the tractor?'

‘They ate it,' said Pasarian, speaking up for the first time that morning.

It was not clear whether Buher missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. 'They built a church around it,' he said, answering his own question, ‘and they hoisted it up on an altar, and they got down on their knees before it, and they worshipped it.'

Atherton suddenly felt cold.

Just then, a white-coated technician ran up to the group. 'Excuse me, Mr Thorn,' he interrupted. ‘You're wanted on the telephone. It's urgent.'

Richard thanked the technician and excused himself from the group. The heated discussion continued as he headed off to take the call.

'The oil countries didn't hesitate to put the knife to our jugular vein, did they?' asked Buher. 'What's so different about food?' He held out his hands as if to say, What else can we do? 'If there's a knife at your belly, you keep your hands at your side, right? Control. Organization. Why call my policy unethical? It's the only alternative left to us in a world of increasing complexities!'

Atherton was still not convinced. 'If we're going to make tenant farmers out of the hungry peoples of the world,' he said, his patience wearing thin, 'why not go all the way and turn them into slaves?'

'Customers,' said Buher emphatically. 'And the point is, we'd keep their bellies full.'

As much as he disliked Buher's manner, Pasarian's main concern had always been, and would always remain, the feeding of his people. 'I have to agree with Paul,' he said. 'I think we should move in this new direction.'

Just then Richard returned, pale from yet another crisis. 'Marion died in her sleep last night,' he said. 'Coronary occlusion.'

Atherton was genuinely shocked. 'Oh, Richard!' he said, 'I'm so sorry!'

Thorn nodded his thanks, his mind already considering all the things that would now have to be done. 'I'm afraid I have to leave,' he said, turning to Atherton. 'Can you drive me to the helicopter?'

Atherton nodded. 'Of course.'