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It
was
a
net
of
connections
,
more
intricate
,
more
crucial
than
all
of
their
wires
and
circuits
:
the
rational
connections
made
by
that
human
mind
which
had
fashioned
any
one
part
of
them
for
the
first
time
.
They
are
alive
,
she
thought
,
but
their
soul
operates
them
by
remote
control
.
Their
soul
is
in
every
man
who
has
the
capacity
to
equal
this
achievement
.
Should
the
soul
vanish
from
the
earth
,
the
motors
would
stop
,
because
that
is
the
power
which
keeps
them
going
—
not
the
oil
under
the
floor
under
her
feet
,
the
oil
that
would
then
become
primeval
ooze
again
—
not
the
steel
cylinders
that
would
become
stains
of
rust
on
the
walls
of
the
caves
of
shivering
savages
—
the
power
of
a
living
mind
—
the
power
of
thought
and
choice
and
purpose
.
She
was
making
her
way
back
toward
the
cab
,
feeling
that
she
wanted
to
laugh
,
to
kneel
or
to
lift
her
arms
,
wishing
she
were
able
to
release
the
thing
she
felt
,
knowing
that
it
had
no
form
of
expression
.
She
stopped
.
She
saw
Rearden
standing
by
the
steps
of
the
door
to
the
cab
.
He
was
looking
at
her
as
if
he
knew
why
she
had
escaped
and
what
she
felt
.
They
stood
still
,
their
bodies
becoming
a
glance
that
met
across
a
narrow
passage
.
The
beating
within
her
was
one
with
the
beating
of
the
motors
—
and
she
felt
as
if
both
came
from
him
;
the
pounding
rhythm
wiped
out
her
will
.
They
went
back
to
the
cab
,
silently
,
knowing
that
there
had
been
a
moment
which
was
not
to
be
mentioned
between
them
.
The
cliffs
ahead
were
a
bright
,
liquid
gold
.
Strips
of
shadow
were
lengthening
in
the
valleys
below
.
The
sun
was
descending
to
the
peaks
in
the
west
.
They
were
going
west
and
up
,
toward
the
sun
.
The
sky
had
deepened
to
the
greenish
-
blue
of
the
rails
,
when
they
saw
smokestacks
in
a
distant
valley
.
It
was
one
of
Colorado
’
s
new
towns
,
the
towns
that
had
grown
like
a
radiation
from
the
Wyatt
oil
fields
.
She
saw
the
angular
lines
of
modern
houses
,
flat
roofs
,
great
sheets
of
windows
.
It
was
too
far
to
distinguish
people
.
In
the
moment
when
she
thought
that
they
would
not
be
watching
the
train
at
that
distance
,
a
rocket
shot
out
from
among
the
buildings
,
rose
high
above
the
town
and
broke
as
a
fountain
of
gold
stars
against
the
darkening
sky
.
Men
whom
she
could
not
see
,
were
seeing
the
streak
of
the
train
on
the
side
of
the
mountain
,
and
were
sending
a
salute
,
a
lonely
plume
of
fire
in
the
dusk
,
the
symbol
of
celebration
or
of
a
call
for
help
.
Beyond
the
next
turn
,
in
a
sudden
view
of
distance
,
she
saw
two
dots
of
electric
light
,
white
and
red
,
low
in
the
sky
.
They
were
not
airplanes
—
she
saw
the
cones
of
metal
girders
supporting
them
—
and
in
the
moment
when
she
knew
that
they
were
the
derricks
of
Wyatt
Oil
,
she
saw
that
the
track
was
sweeping
downward
,
that
the
earth
flared
open
,
as
if
the
mountains
were
flung
apart
—
and
at
the
bottom
,
at
the
foot
of
the
Wyatt
hill
,
across
the
dark
crack
of
a
canyon
,
she
saw
the
bridge
of
Rearden
Metal
.
They
were
flying
down
,
she
forgot
the
careful
grading
,
the
great
curves
of
the
gradual
descent
,
she
felt
as
if
the
train
were
plunging
downward
,
head
first
,
she
watched
the
bridge
growing
to
meet
them
—
a
small
,
square
tunnel
of
metal
lace
work
,
a
few
beams
criss
-
crossed
through
the
air
,
green
-
blue
and
glowing
,
struck
by
a
long
ray
of
sunset
light
from
some
crack
in
the
barrier
of
mountains
.
There
were
people
by
the
bridge
,
the
dark
splash
of
a
crowd
,
but
they
rolled
off
the
edge
of
her
consciousness
.
She
heard
the
rising
,
accelerating
sound
of
the
wheels
—
and
some
theme
of
music
,
heard
to
the
rhythm
of
wheels
,
kept
tugging
at
her
mind
,
growing
louder
—
it
burst
suddenly
within
the
cab
,
but
she
knew
that
it
was
only
in
her
mind
;
the
Fifth
Concerto
by
Richard
Halley
—
she
thought
:
did
he
write
it
for
this
?
had
he
known
a
feeling
such
as
this
?
—
they
were
going
faster
,
they
had
left
the
ground
,
she
thought
,
flung
off
by
the
mountains
as
by
a
springboard
,
they
were
now
sailing
through
space
—
it
’
s
not
a
fair
test
,
she
thought
,
we
’
re
not
going
to
touch
that
bridge
—
she
saw
Rearden
’
s
face
above
her
,
she
held
his
eyes
and
her
head
leaned
back
,
so
that
her
face
lay
still
on
the
air
under
his
face
—
they
heard
a
ringing
blast
of
metal
,
they
heard
a
drum
roll
under
their
feet
,
the
diagonals
of
the
bridge
went
smearing
across
the
windows
with
the
sound
of
a
metal
rod
being
run
along
the
pickets
of
a
fence
—
then
the
windows
were
too
suddenly
clear
,
the
sweep
of
their
downward
plunge
was
carrying
them
up
a
hill
,
the
derricks
of
Wyatt
Oil
were
reeling
before
them
—
Pat
Logan
turned
,
glancing
up
at
Rearden
with
the
hint
of
a
smile
—
and
Rearden
said
,
"
That
’
s
that
.
"
