Атлант расправил плечи
Their Brothers’ Keepers
Therewasthegoalofallthoseconmenoflibraryandclassroom,whosoldtheirrevelationsasreason,their"instincts"asscience,theircravingsasknowledge,thegoalofallthesavagesofthenon-objective,thenon-absolute,therelative,thetentative,theprobable—thesavageswho,seeingafarmergatheraharvest,canconsideritonlyasamysticphenomenonunboundbythelawofcausalityandcreatedbythefarmer’somnipotentwhim,whothenproceedtoseizethefarmer,tochainhim,todeprivehimoftools,ofseeds,ofwater,ofsoil,topushhimoutonabarrenrockandtocommand:"Nowgrowaharvestandfeedus!"
No—shethought,expectingJimtoaskit—itwouldbeuselesstotrytoexplainwhatshewaslaughingat,hewouldnotbeabletounderstandit.
Buthedidnotaskit.Instead,shesawhimslumpingandheardhimsay—terrifyingly,becausehiswordsweresoirrelevant,ifhedidnotunderstand,andsomonstrous,ifhedid,"Dagny,I’myourbrother..."
Shedrewherselfup,hermusclesgrowingrigid,asifshewereabouttofaceakiller’sgun.
"Dagny"—hisvoicewasthesoft,nasal,monotonouswhineofabeggar—"Iwanttobepresidentofarailroad.Iwantit.Whycan’tIhavemywishasyoualwayshaveyours?Whyshouldn’tIbegiventhefulfillmentofmydesiresasyoualwaysfulfillanydesireofyourown?WhyshouldyoubehappywhileIsuffer?Ohyes,theworldisyours,you’retheonewhohasthebrainstorunit.
