Атлант расправил плечи
Their Brothers’ Keepers
Thecalendarwasrunbyamechanismlockedinaroombehindthescreen,unrollingthesamefilmyearafteryear,projectingthedatesinsteadyrotation,inchangelessrhythm,nevermovingbutonthestrokeofmidnight.ThespeedofDagny’sturngavehertimetoseeaphenomenonasunexpectedasifaplanethadreverseditsorbitinthesky:shesawthewords"September2"movingupwardandvanishingpasttheedgeofthescreen.
Then,writtenacrosstheenormouspage,stoppingtime,asalastmessagetotheworldandtotheworld’smotorwhichwasNewYork,shesawthelinesofasharp,intransigenthandwriting:
Brother,youaskedforit!
FranciscoDomingoCarlosAndresSebastiand’Anconia
Shedidnotknowwhichshockwasgreater:thesightofthemessageorthesoundofRearden’slaughter—Rearden,standingonhisfeet,infullsightandhearingoftheroombehindhim,laughingabovetheirmoansofpanic,laughingingreeting,insalute,inacceptanceofthegifthehadtriedtoreject,inrelease,intriumph,insurrender.
OntheeveningofSeptember7,acopperwirebrokeinMontana,stoppingthemotorofaloadingcraneonaspurtrackofTaggartTranscontinental,attherimoftheStanfordCopperMine.
