Атлант расправил плечи
The John Galt line
Shemovedslowlyalongthelengthofthemotorunits,downanarrowpassagebetweentheenginesandthewall.Shefelttheimmodestyofanintruder,asifshehadslippedinsidealivingcreature,underitssilverskin,andwerewatchingitslifebeatingingraymetalcylinders,intwistedcoils,insealedtubes,intheconvulsivewhirlofbladesinwirecages.Theenormouscomplexityoftheshapeaboveherwasdrainedbyinvisiblechannels,andtheviolenceragingwithinitwasledtofragileneedlesonglassdials,togreenandredbeadswinkingonpanels,totall,thincabinetsstenciled"HighVoltage."
Whyhadshealwaysfeltthatjoyoussenseofconfidencewhenlookingatmachines?—shethought.Inthesegiantshapes,twoaspectspertainingtotheinhumanwereradiantlyabsent:thecauselessandthepurposeless.Everypartofthemotorswasanembodiedanswerto"Why?"and"Whatfor?"—likethestepsofalife-coursechosenbythesortofmindsheworshipped.Themotorswereamoralcodecastinsteel.
Theyarealive,shethought,becausetheyarethephysicalshapeoftheactionofalivingpower—ofthemindthathadbeenabletograspthewholeofthiscomplexity,tosetitspurpose,togiveitform.Foraninstant,itseemedtoherthatthemotorsweretransparentandshewasseeingthenetoftheirnervoussystem.
