Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
Butnothingrespondedtothefiguresinhismind;"lives"wasjustaword,ithadnomeaning.
Heraisedthetelephonereceivertohisear,hecalledtwonumbers,hesummonedanengineerandafiremantoreportfordutyatonce.
EngineNumber306hadleftforWinston,whenDaveMitchumcamedownstairs."Getatrackmotorcarreadyforme,"heordered,"I’mgoingtorunuptoFairmount."Fairmountwasasmallstation,twentymileseastontheline.Themennodded,askingnoquestions.BillBrentwasnotamongthem.MitchumwalkedintoBrent’soffice.Brentwasthere,sittingsilentlyathisdesk;heseemedtobewaiting.
"I’mgoingtoFairmount,"saidMitchum;hisvoicewasaggressivelytoocasual,asifimplyingthatnoanswerwasnecessary."TheyhadaDieseltherecoupleofweeksago...youknow,emergencyrepairsorsomething...I’mgoingdowntoseeifwecoulduseit."
Hepaused,butBrentsaidnothing.
"Thewaythingsstackup,"saidMitchum,notlookingathim,"wecan’tholdthattraintillmorning.We’vegottotakeachance,onewayoranother.NowIthinkmaybethisDieselwilldoit,butthat’sthelastonewecantryfor.Soifyoudon’thearfrommeinhalfanhour,signtheorderandsendtheCometthroughwithNumber306topullher."
WhateverBrenthadthought,hecouldnotbelieveitwhenheheardit.Hedidnotansweratonce;thenhesaid,veryquietly,"No.
