For most of its length the Causeway skimmed the high tide level, but the 
middle kilometer arched to let ships through; not that anyone really needed 
ships anymore, but a few recalcitrant swabbies and some creative tour operators 
were still plying the Yangtze estuary in junks, which looked precious 
underneath the catenary arch of the big Feed, strumming the 
ancient-meets-modern chord for adherents of the National Geographic worldview. As Hackworth reached the apogee, he could see similar Causeways to 
port and starboard, linking the outskirts of Shanghai with other artificial 
islands. Nippon Nano looked Fujiesque, a belt of office buildings around the 
waterline, houses above that, the higher the better, then a belt of golf 
courses, the whole top third reserved for gardens, bamboo groves, and other 
forms of micromanaged Nature. In the other direction was a little bit of 
Hindustan. The geotecture of their island owed less to the Mogul period than to 
the Soviet, no effort being made to shroud its industrial heart in
fractal artifice. It squatted out there some ten kilometers from
New Chusan, sabotaging 
many expensive views and serving as the butt of snotty wog jokes. Hackworth 
never joined in these jokes because he was better informed than most and knew 
that the Hindustanis stood an excellent chance of stomping all over the 
Victorians and the Nipponese in the competition for China. They were just as 
smart, there were more of them, and they understood the peasant thing.