Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
"DoyouthinkI’mgoingtoletyouholdmeupbecauseofsomemiserabletunnel?Doyouwanttowreckvitalnationalplansonaccountofatunnel?TellyourengineerthatImustbeinSanFranciscobyeveningandthathe’sgottogetmethere!"
"How?"
"That’syourjob,notmine!"
"Thereisnowaytodoit."
"Thenfindaway,Goddamnyou!"
Theconductordidnotanswer.
"DoyouthinkI’llletyourmiserabletechnologicalproblemsinterferewithcrucialsocialissues?DoyouknowwhoIam?Tellthatengineertostartmoving,ifhevalueshisjob!"
"Theengineerhashisorders."
"Ordersbedamned!Igivetheordersthesedays!Tellhimtostartatonce!"
"Perhapsyou’dbetterspeaktothestationagent,Mr.Chalmers.IhavenoauthoritytoansweryouasI’dliketo,"saidtheconductor,andwalkedout.
Chalmersleapedtohisfeet."Say,Kip..."saidLesterTuckuneasily,"maybeit’strue...maybetheycan’tdoit."
"Theycaniftheyhaveto!"snappedChalmers,marchingresolutelytothedoor.
Yearsago,incollege,hehadbeentaughtthattheonlyeffectivemeanstoimpelmentoactionwasfear.
InthedilapidatedofficeofWinstonStation,heconfrontedasleepymanwithslack,wornfeatures,andafrightenedyoungboywhosatattheoperator’sdesk.
