Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
Theycan’ttreatmelikeoneoftheirday-coachpassengers.IexpectthemtogetmewhereIwanttogowhenIwantit.Don’ttheyknowthatI’monthistrain?"
"Theyknowitbynow,"saidLauraBradford."Shutup,Kip.Youboreme."
Chalmersrefilledhisglass.Thecarwasrockingandtheglasswaretinkledfaintlyontheshelvesofthebar.Thepatchesofstarlitskyinthewindowskeptswayingjerkily,anditseemedasifthestarsweretinklingagainstoneanother.Theycouldseenothingbeyondtheglassbayoftheobservationwindowattheendofthecar,exceptthesmallhalosofredandgreenlanternsmarkingtherearofthetrain,andabriefstretchofrailrunningawayfromthemintothedarkness.Awallofrockwasracingthetrain,andthestarsdippedoccasionallyintoasuddenbreakthatoutlined,highabovethem,thepeaksofthemountainsofColorado.
"Mountains..."saidGilbertKeith-Worthing,withsatisfaction.
"Itisaspectacleofthiskindthatmakesonefeeltheinsignificanceofman."Whatisthispresumptuouslittlebitofrail,whichcrudematerialistsaresoproudofbuilding—comparedtothateternalgrandeur?Nomorethanthebastingthreadofaseamstressonthehemofthegarmentofnature.Ifasingleoneofthosegranitegiantschosetocrumble,itwouldannihilatethistrain."
"Whyshoulditchoosetocrumble?"askedLauraBradford,withoutanyparticularinterest.
