Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
Hegrippedtheconductor’sarmtighter.
"But...butwhatarewegoingtodo?"
"Theengineer’sgonetocallWinston."
"Call?How?"
"There’saphonecoupleofmilesdownthetrack."
"Willtheygetusoutofhere?"
"Theywill."
"But..."Thenhismindmadeaconnectionwiththepastandthefuture,andhisvoicerosetoascreamforthefirsttime:"Howlongwillwehavetowait?"
"Idon’tknow,"saidtheconductor.HethrewChalmers’handoffhisarm,andwalkedaway.
ThenightoperatorofWinstonStationlistenedtothephonemessage,droppedthereceiverandracedupthestairstoshakethestationagentoutofbed.Thestationagentwasahusky,surlydrifterwhohadbeenassignedtothejobtendaysago,byorderofthenewdivisionsuperintendent.Hestumbleddazedlytohisfeet,buthewasknockedawakewhentheoperator’swordsreachedhisbrain.
"What?"hegasped."Jesus!TheComet?...Well,don’tstandthereshaking!CallSilverSprings!"
ThenightdispatcheroftheDivisionHeadquartersatSilverSpringslistenedtothemessage,thentelephonedDaveMitchum,thenewsuperintendentoftheColoradoDivision.
"TheComet?"gaspedMitchum,hishandpressingthetelephonereceivertohisear,hisfeethittingthefloorandthrowinghimupright,outofbed.
