Атлант расправил плечи
Their Brothers’ Keepers
Shewentpastthelockedirondoorwheretheremnantofhismotorwasstillhidden,shedidnotstop,butafaintshudderwasheranswertothesuddenglimpseoftheunityandlogicintheeventsofthelasttwoyears.Astringofbluelightswentonintothedarkness,overpatchesofglisteninggranite,overbrokensandbagsspillingdriftsontherails,overrustypilesofscrapmetal.Whensheheardthestepscomingcloser,shestoppedandturnedtolookback.
ShesawasweepofbluelightflashbrieflyontheshiningstrandsofGalt’shair,shecaughtthepaleoutlineofhisfaceandthedarkhollowsofhiseyes.Thefacedisappeared,butthesoundofhisstepsservedasthelinktothenextbluelightthatsweptacrossthelineofhiseyes,theeyesthatremainedheldlevel,directedahead—andshefeltcertainthatshehadstayedinhissightfromthemomenthehadseenheratthetower.
Sheheardthebeatofthecityabovethem—thesetunnels,shehadoncethought,weretherootsofthecityandofallthemotionreachingtothesky—butthey,shethought,JohnGaltandshe,werethelivingpowerwithintheseroots,theywerethestartandaimandmeaning—he,too,shethought,heardthebeatofthecityasthebeatofhisbody.
