Chapter 9 Chapter 9 Engine

"Get out of the way!" Dr. Robert Stadler heard the words on the radio in his car.He couldn't tell whether the exclamation, screaming, and laughing that followed was himself or the voice on the radio—but when he heard the click, there was no movement, and the radio fell silent, never to be heard again. The voice came from the Wayne Falkland Hotel. He kept turning the brightly lit knob back and forth, but still heard nothing, no explanation or excuse for a technical glitch, no music playing to mask the silence.Not all radio stations can be received.He trembled all over, like a rider approaching the finish line, leaned forward and grasped the steering wheel, and stepped on the accelerator.The headlights of the car flickered on the short stretch of freeway ahead of him, and beyond them was the wild and lonely Iowa wilderness.

He didn't know why he had been listening to the radio; he didn't even know why he was trembling at the moment.Suddenly, he let out a dry laugh—it sounded like a nasty snarl—and it could have been directed at the radio, or at the people in the city, or at the night sky. His eyes were fixed on the sparse signposts on the highway.He didn't need to look at the map at all: during these four days, the map was etched into his brain like a web etched by strong acid.They can't take it away, he thought; they can't stop him.He seemed to feel that someone was chasing him, but in fact, there was no one within a few miles behind him, only the two red lights of his own car taillights, like two warning signs of danger, in the dark Iowa Run across the plains.

The impetus that directed his hands and feet came from four days ago, and that was the face of the man sitting on the windowsill and the faces of the people he met when he escaped from the room.He shouted at them that neither he nor they could communicate with Galt, and that they would all be ruined at Galt's hands unless they killed Galt first. "Don't be smart, Professor," Mr. Thompson replied coldly. "You've been talking about how you hate him, but when it comes time to act, you've done nothing. I don't know which side you're on." If he doesn't bow his head obediently, we may have to take coercive measures - such as arresting people he doesn't want to see being hurt - and you will bear the brunt of it, Professor." "Me?" He shook his head Head screamed in fear, and at the same time let out an embarrassed wry smile, "Me? I'm the person he hates most in the world!" "How can I know that?" Mr. Thompson replied, "I heard You were his teacher in the past, and don't forget, you were the only person he asked to see by name."

He was terrified, as if he felt that he was about to be crushed by two pressing walls: if Galt refused to bow his head, he would have no chance, if Galt came together with these people, his hope would be even greater. slim.It was also at that time that a distant picture gradually emerged in his mind: it was a mushroom-shaped house standing in the wilderness of Iowa. From then on, he only thought about Project X, and all other thoughts disappeared from his mind. He couldn't figure out whether the image that drew him back to this time and space was a house or an estate that ruled the country. Castle...I'm Robert Stadler—he thought—it's mine, it's based on my discoveries, they said I invented it...then I'll let them take a good look at it !He couldn't tell if he was referring to the man on the ledge, or someone else, or all of humanity... His thoughts were already like scattered fragments floating in the water: To take control...I'm going to show them look! ...to gain control, to rule...

If you want to survive, you have no choice... It was these words that he went back and forth as he made up his mind, and felt that the rest became clear--a primal emotion that clamored angrily that he didn't have to think everything so clearly.He wants to seize control of Project X and turn part of the country into his domain.In what way?His emotions replied: There is always a way.What about motivation?His mind insisted over and over that his motive was the fear of Mr. Thompson's gang, with whom he was no longer safe, and that it was entirely necessary.In the depths of his messy brain, there is another kind of fear among emotions, which has been deeply submerged like the meaning of his fragmented words.

These fragments became his only guide for four days—walking on deserted highways, crossing the chaotic countryside, learning to always cunningly rely on illegal means to obtain gasoline, staying in remote hotels under an alias, and never knowing what to do. Sleeping with erratic fears... I am Robert Stadler—he thought, repeating the words in his head like a mantra...to take control—he thought, Ignoring the meaningless traffic lights, speeding through half-abandoned towns—on the Taggart Bridge across the Mississippi River—through the occasional run-down farmstead over the Iowa wilderness… I'm going to show them - he thought - let them chase, they won't try to stop me this time... Even though no one is chasing him, he still thinks so - like now, only his own car is chasing him taillights and thoughts that sink in my heart.He looked at the muted radio and smiled sadly; the laugh was like a fist waving in the air.I'm the real one - he thought - I have no choice... there's no other way out... I'm going to show those savages who forgot I'm Robert Stadler... they'll all fall, But I won't! ...I will survive...I will win! ...I'm going to show them!

In his mind, the words were solid ground in a terribly still swamp; and their ties to each other sank at the very bottom.Once these words are joined together, it will form such a sentence: I will show him that there is no other choice if he wants to survive!Scattered with lights in the distance is the barracks established on the site of Project X, now named Harmony City.As he approached, he realized that things were not quite right here.The barbed wire was cut, and there were no sentries at the gate, but in the darkness and under the flickering searchlights, something unusual was happening: armed trucks and running figures could be seen, shouting orders and stabbing people. flash.His car was unstopped.

Beside a wooden shed, he found a soldier curled up motionless on the ground.Getting drunk—he'd rather think about it that way, but he felt guilty for some reason. The mushroom house was lying on a small hill in front of him, with light coming from the narrow windows, and an ugly chimney sticking out from under the roof, pointing to the dark wilderness.When he got out of the car at the door, a soldier blocked his way.The soldier is loaded with live ammunition, but has no hat on his head, and his military uniform looks very muddy. "Hey, where are you going?" he asked. "Let me in," ordered Dr. Stadler dismissively.

"What are you doing here?" "I am Dr. Robert Stadler." "My name is Joe Blow, and I'm asking what you're doing here, are you new here or have you been here before?" "Let me in, you idiot! I'm Dr. Robert Stadler!" It wasn't the name that seemed to convince the soldier, but his tone and the way he spoke, "Here's new," he said, opening the door and calling out to the people inside, "Hey, Mike, here's a Old man, look at what's going on." In the shabby and dark entrance hall reinforced by concrete, a man who seemed to be an officer greeted him, but his military uniform was open collar, with a cigarette dangling presumptuously from his mouth.

"Who are you?" He asked, fumbling for the gun holster in his waist. "I am Dr. Robert Stadler." The name didn't do anything. "Who gave you permission to come here?" "I don't need permission." This sentence seemed to have some effect; the man took the cigarette from his mouth, "Who told you to come?" There was a trace of hesitation in his question. "Can I speak to the commander here?" Dr. Stadler demanded impatiently. "Commander? Dude, you're too late." "Then call the chief engineer!" "What? Oh, you mean Willie? That's all right, he's still around, but he's just been out on errands."

The others in the room listened to their conversation with trepidation and curiosity, when the officer waved his hand and called a man—a bearded, civilian-looking man with a ragged coat draped over his shoulders. "What's your business?" He snapped at Stadler and asked. "Can anyone tell me where the technicians here are?" Dr. Stadler asked politely, with a tone of command.The two people looked at each other, as if they felt that this problem had nothing to do with this place. "Are you from Washington?" the civilian-looking man asked suspiciously. "No, I want to tell you that I have nothing to do with those guys in Washington." "Oh?" The man seemed cheerful. "So, you are a friend of the people?" "I can be said to be the best friend of the people. I let them have all this." He pointed around with his finger. "It's you?" The man was very touched, "Are you one of those people who used to negotiate with the boss?" "From now on, I am the boss here." The two looked at each other and took a few steps back.The officer asked, "You mean your name is Stadler?" "It's Robert Stadler. If you don't already know, you'll soon find out who I am." "Sir, would you please come with me?" said the officer respectfully. What followed was a blur to Dr. Stadler, because his brain couldn't recognize what his eyes were seeing.In the dimly lit and messy office, there were moving figures everywhere, everyone with guns in their waists. His appearance made them nervous, and people began to suspect wildly, appearing reckless and afraid.He didn't know if any of them were trying to explain something to him;He kept saying, in a landowner tone, "I'm the boss here... this place is mine... I'm Dr. Robert Stadler—you fools, if you don't If you know the name, don't try to do it again. At your level, you will blow yourself to pieces sooner or later! Did you take high school physics? I don't think any of you have even been to high school! What are you doing here? Who are you?" Finally, he couldn't stop a thought in his mind, and it took him a long time to understand it—someone got there first: someone who had the same idea as him came here to do the same thing.He realized that just tonight, just a few hours ago, these self-proclaimed friends of the people, intent on establishing their own rule, had seized the assets of Project X.With sourness and incredible contempt on his face, he laughed at them: "You young criminals, you have no idea what you are doing! You think you - you alone - can play high Sophisticated scientific instruments? Who is the leader? I want to see your leaders!" It was his awe-inspiring majesty, his contempt, and their own panic--the blind panic of people who had never known what was safe or dangerous, who were doing what they wanted--would shake them into wondering whether he would It would be some mysterious upper echelon of their leadership; and they would be equally happy to defy or obey any authority.After passing nervous bosses one after another, he found himself led down the cast-iron steps and through the long, echoing corridor reinforced with concrete, to meet the "boss" himself. met. The boss is hiding in the underground control room.Surrounded by intricate instruments that create sound waves, Dr. Robert Stadler finds the new ruler of Project X leaning against a row of illuminated handles, knobs, and panels known as xylophones. It was Kuffy Mags. He wore a tight semi-military uniform and leather boots; the flesh on his neck was protruding from the collar; his black curls were beaded with sweat.He was swinging back and forth in circles in front of the xylophone, yelling and ordering people rushing in and out. "Send to every county official we can! Tell them the Friends of the People have won! Tell them to stop listening to Washington! The new capital of the People's Federation is Harmony, and it will henceforth be named Magsville. Tell them, I will limit them to send the money at a rate of 500,000 yuan per 5,000 people before tomorrow morning, otherwise they will die!" It took a while for Kuffy Mags' attention and dim brown eyes to come to Dr. Stadler. "By the way, what's your name, what's your name?" he yelled. "I am Dr. Robert Stadler." "Huh?—Oh, yes! Yes! Aren't you the big guy from outer space? You're the guy who caught some atom or something. Why, how did you get here?" "I should be the one to ask that question." "Huh? Professor, look, I'm not in the mood to joke now." "I'm here to take over." "Take over? Manage what?" "Whatever this device, this place, and the entire area within its reach." Mags stared blankly at him for a moment, then asked in a low voice, "How did you get here?" "drive." "I mean, who did you bring with you?" "no one." "What weapon are you carrying?" "Nothing, my name is enough." "You came alone with only your name and your car?" "That's right." Kuffy Mags burst into wild laughter at him. "Do you think," asked Dr. Stadler, "that you could operate such a device?" "Run away, professor, hurry up, run away before I let someone beat you to death! We don't need any scholars here." "What do you know about it?" asked Dr. Stadler, pointing to the xylophone. "Who cares? Technicians are worth a dime a dozen these days! Get the hell out! This ain't Washington! I'm done with all the dreamy guys in Washington! They're only negotiating and speaking with that ghost on the radio , nothing can be done! What is needed is action! Straightforward action! Go away, Doctor! Your days are numbered!" He moved his hands wildly, occasionally touching the handle on the xylophone.Dr. Stadler realizes that Mags is drunk. "Don't touch those handles, you fool!" Mags withdrew his hand reluctantly, and immediately waved it provocatively at the dashboard, "I can touch whatever I want! Don't tell me what to do!" "Get off the dashboard, get out of here! It's mine! Do you understand? It's my property!" "Property? Huh!" Mags let out a sneer like a growl. "I invented it! I created it! I made it!" "Is that you? Then thank you, doctor, thank you very much, but we don't need you anymore, we have our own repairman." "Do you know how much effort it took me to develop it? You can't even imagine a vacuum tube or even a light bulb!" Mags shrugged, "Maybe." "Then you still dare to ask for it? How dare you come here? Why do you?" Mags patted the holster, "That's all." "Listen, you drunk!" shouted Dr. Stadler, "do you know how dangerous this is?" "Stop talking to me like that, you old fool! Why do you talk like that to me? I could break your neck with just my hands! Don't you know who I am?" "You are a villain who knows no depth and is as cowardly as a mouse!" "Oh, really? I'm the boss! I'm in charge here, and I won't be manipulated by an old beggar like you! Get out of here!" The two of them stood in front of the xylophone panel and glared, both feeling terribly afraid.What Dr. Stadler dreaded and did not want to face was that he would never admit that what he saw was the last of his work, which he regarded as his spiritual flesh and blood.The causes of Kuffy McGrath's fear are far more widespread and permeate his entire life; he has lived his whole life in constant fear, and at this moment he does not want to admit what it is that frightens him. : Just when he was about to finish his work and thought he could sit back and relax, intellectuals—this kind of mysterious and incredible alien—did not be afraid of him and despised his authority. "Get out!" yelled Kuffy Mags, "I'm going to call my men and let them shoot you!" "Get the hell out of here, you disgusting, posturing, incompetent!" shouted Dr. Stadler. "Do you think I'll let you take advantage of my life? You think it's for you that I... betrayed—" He didn't go on, "Don't touch those handles, you're going to die!" "Don't give me orders! You don't need to tell me what to do! Your nonsense can't frighten me, I can do whatever I want. If I can't do this, wouldn't my efforts be in vain?" He sneered , reaching out towards a lever. "Hey, Kufi, don't mess around!" A person yelled from behind and rushed forward. "Stand back!" Kufi Mags roared, "Back off, all of you! Will I be scared? I'll show you who has the final say!" Dr. Stadler took a step forward to stop him - but Mags shoved him aside with one hand, laughing wildly as he watched Stadler fall to the ground and yank him off with the other. A tie rod on the xylophone. The sound of impact—the tearing of metal and the screeching hiss of turbulent electrical crashes, the sound of a monster plunging on itself—was heard only inside the building, not outside.Seen from the outside, the whole house suddenly soared into the air without a sound, and broke into several pieces. Several blue lights roared straight into the night sky, and then fell back to the ground, turning into a pile of rubble.Within a radius of hundreds of miles covering four states, telephone poles fell like matchsticks, farmhouses were razed to pieces, and buildings in the city collapsed as if they were cut to pieces by an instant impact. Already a twisted corpse—the outskirts stretched halfway into Mississippi, where a locomotive and the first six passenger cars fell from the sky into the river like a rain of steel, the west span of the Taggart Bridge The paragraph was also truncated in the middle. The original site of Project X was in ruins, and inside it, there was no life, except for the brain that was once great, but now it seemed to go through endless minutes, moaning like a dead brain. Dagny felt an easy freedom, she didn't care about the pedestrians on both sides of the street, she just wanted to find a telephone booth immediately.It didn't make her feel alienated from the city: for the first time, she felt that she owned and loved it, and never before had she loved it with such closeness, dignity, and a sense of belonging.The night was quiet and refreshing; she looked at the sky with more solemnity than joy in her heart, but she still had a kind of joyful anticipation—the windless air was still cold, but there was a hint of spring in it. Get out of the way—she thought, not disgusted, but amused, with a sense of detachment and redemption, to passers-by, to the traffic crowds that hindered her haste, to all the things she had experienced in the past Afraid to say this.She had heard him utter these words less than an hour ago, and his voice still seemed to reverberate over the street, turning into a faint sneer. Hearing him say that, she laughed heartily in the ballroom of the Wayne Falkland Hotel; she put her hands over her mouth as she laughed so that only he and herself could see—his eyes were on her. When she came, she knew that her laughter would definitely be heard by him.They looked at each other for a short second, and under their gaze, people were screaming in shock. All the radio stations were cut off immediately, but the microphones were knocked upside down, and some people swarmed to the door. , overturned the table, and the wine glass was smashed to pieces. Then she heard Mr. Thompson waving at Galt, and shouting at the top of his lungs, "Take him back to his room, and keep him under full watch!"—the crowd made their way, and three men carried him out.Mr. Thompson's head hung down on his arms, and he seemed to be paralyzed for a while. Then he pulled himself together, jumped up, waved his henchmen to follow, and rushed out from a special exit on the side.There was no one to greet and command the guests: some of them tried to run away like chickens without their heads, while the rest sat there without moving.The banquet hall is like a ship without its captain.She made her way through the crowd and followed the group.No one stopped her. She found them gathered in a small study: Mr. Thompson slumped in a chair with his head in his hands, Wesley Mouche moaning, Eugene Lawson looking like an obnoxious Gritting teeth and sobbing like a child, Jim watched them with a strangely gloating nervousness. "I told you!" Dr. Ferris yelled. "Did I tell you? This is the result of your 'good words'!" She stood at the door without moving.They seemed to have noticed her, but they didn't seem to bother to answer her. "I'm resigning!" cried Zeke Morrison. "I'm resigning! I've had enough! Don't know what else to say to the people of the country! I can't and won't think !It's a waste of effort! There's nothing I can do! You can't blame me!I already resigned! He waved his arms indiscriminately, not knowing whether he was saying goodbye or saying goodbye, so he ran out. "He's prepared a hiding place for himself in Tennessee," said Dinkie Holloway thoughtfully, as if he had made a similar plan before, but was still hesitating whether the time had come. "Even if he can get there, he won't last long," Mochi said. "There are robbers everywhere, and the traffic is like this—" He spread his hands and said nothing. She understood the meaning of the pause; she understood that no matter what escape these people had prepared for themselves, at this moment they all realized that they were at the bottom of the well. She saw no fear in their faces; she had seen a hint of fear once, but it was an instinctive reaction.Some of them looked indifferent, while others looked like liars who believed that the trick was over. They neither wanted to fight nor regretted, and their expressions were much more relaxed—and Luo Sen, who was only sullen, was still refusing to wake himself up. ——and Jim with a weird smile on his face but an extremely nervous expression. "How, how?" In this crazy world, Dr. Ferrez seemed like a fish in water, and couldn't help asking, "What are you going to do with him now? Do you still want to argue, debate, and make long speeches? " No one uttered a word. "He...must...save...us," Mochi seemed to be squeezing the last drop of his brain into the blank, and said slowly, as if issuing an ultimatum to reality, "he had to go...to take over... …and save the system." "Then why don't you write him a love letter for it?" said Ferris. "We have to... let him... take over... we have to force him to take care of it." Mo Qi whispered like sleepwalking. "Now," Ferris' voice dropped suddenly, "do you understand the true value of the National Academy of Sciences?" Mochi didn't answer him, but she saw that they all seemed to understand him. "You objected to that private research project of mine as 'impractical,'" Ferris said softly, "but what did I tell you?" Mochi didn't answer, and wrenched his knuckles hard. "This is not the time for nervousness," said James Taggart, with a sudden and unexpected refreshment, though his voice was equally unnaturally deep. "We needn't twitch about it." "I think..." Mo Qi murmured dully, "I think... the end justifies the means..." "It's too late to hesitate and make big arguments," Ferez said. "Only direct action will work now." No one said anything; they seemed to use their momentary silence, rather than speaking, to continue the discussion. "It's no use," began Dinkie Holloway, "he won't budge." "That's why you think so!" Ferris said with a sneer, "You haven't seen the effect of our experimental torture devices. Last month, three murderers confessed to three unsolved murders." "If..." As soon as Thompson said the words, his voice suddenly became crying, "If he dies, we are all finished!" "Don't worry," Ferez said, "he's not going to die. To prevent that possibility, the Ferrez torture apparatus can be safely adjusted." Mr. Thompson did not answer. "I see... we have no other choice..." Mochi was saying, his voice almost mosquito-like. They stopped talking; Mr. Thompson was trying to avoid the eyes of the crowd, and then suddenly exclaimed, "Well, you can do what you want! I can't help it! You can do what you like!" Dr. Ferris turned his head to Lawson. "Eugene," he said sternly but softly, "go to the broadcast control room and put all the stations on standby and tell them I'll be there in three hours. Will have Galt do the radio address." A delighted smile suddenly appeared on Lawson's face, and he ran out with his feet up. She knew in her heart that she understood their plan and why they had such a plan.They didn't think it would work, they didn't think Galt would back down; they didn't want him to back down.They feel that there is no hope of salvation; they do not want to be saved.Fueled by their indescribably panicked emotions, they had been resisting reality—and now, at last, they had a sense of belonging.These people who have been avoiding their own consciousness don't have to think about why they feel this way-they just have a sense of being valued, because this is what they have been seeking, and this is what runs through them all. Feelings and actions, all their desires, choices and realities in their dreams.This is the true face and means of their resistance to reality and their blind pursuit of an inexplicable paradise.They didn't want to live; they wanted him dead. The horror she felt was fleeting, like a fleeting moment in a changing scene: she discovered that what she once thought of as human was not.She gained a sense of clarity and a final answer, an urgency to act now.He was dangerous; it was not in her mind to bother her with half-human, half-ghost behavior. "We have to make sure," Wesley Mouch said in a low voice, "that no one knows about this..." "No one will know," said Ferris; their voices were low and careful, like plotters. "It's a secret. It's an independent building in the Academy of Sciences...completely soundproof, far away from other places...only a few of us have entered..." "If we fly—" Mochi was talking, but suddenly stopped, he seemed to have noticed the warning expression on Ferris' face. She saw Ferris turn his gaze to her, as if suddenly remembering that she was there.She met his gaze, pretending that she didn't care and didn't understand, so that he could see that she was completely indifferent.Then, as if she had just realized that they wanted to talk alone, she shrugged her shoulders, turned around slowly, and left the room.She knew that they could no longer worry about her anymore. She walked through the hall and walked out of the hotel as if nothing happened.But as soon as she walked out of the block and just turned a corner, she threw her head up and sprinted, and the hem of her evening dress was like a bulging sail, clinging to her leg. When she was running in the dark at this moment, only wanting to find a phone booth, there was another feeling in her heart, beyond the imminent danger and the tension caused by worry, it surged up irresistibly: that was a person who had never been there before. The feeling of freedom that the world that has not been covered has brought her. She saw a light from the window of the roadside bar on the pavement.When she entered the half-empty room, no one gave her a second glance: the few guests still sat around the blank blue screen of the television, whispering, waiting nervously. Standing in the small phone booth, she dialed the number OR 6-5693 as if she were in the cabin of a spaceship bound for another planet. Francisco's voice came over immediately: "Hello?" "Is it Francesco?" "Hello, Dagny, I'm waiting for your call." "Did you hear the radio?" "heard it." "They're planning to make him bow now," she steadied her voice as if she were reporting a fact. "They're planning to torture him. They have a machine called the Ferrez torture machine that's housed in a National Academy of Sciences." In a separate building, in New Hampshire. They talked about flying, and said he'd be on the air within three hours." "Understood, did you call from a payphone?" "right." "Are you still wearing that evening dress?" "right." "Listen now, go home, get dressed, pack what you need, pack your jewelry and valuables as much as you can, pack some warm clothes, we won't have time for that in the future .In forty minutes, meet me at the NW corner two streets east of the Taggart station gate." "it is good." "See you later, Slug." "See you later, Fisk." Within five minutes, she was back in the bedroom of the apartment and ripped off her evening dress.She threw it on the floor like a uniform for an army she no longer served.She put on a dark blue suit—a white turtleneck underneath, recalling Galt's words.She packed a trunk and a satchel, and put her jewelry in the corner, which contained a Rearden alloy bracelet she had acquired in the outside world, and a five-dollar gold piece she had earned in the valley . Leaving the apartment and locking the door, even though she knew she might never open it again, seemed so easy.But when she came to the office, she felt sad for a moment.No one saw her come in; the room was empty; the huge Taggart building seemed eerily quiet.She stood and looked at the room, at what it had been through.Then she smiled—no, it's not that hard, she thought; she opened the safe and took out the papers she wanted.There was nothing she wanted to take except a picture of Natenell Taggart and a map of the Taggart company.She removed the two frames, folded the portrait and the map, and stuffed them into her case. While locking the box, she heard hurried footsteps.As the door was flung open, the chief engineer rushed in; trembling all over, his face contorted. "Miss Taggart!" he cried. "Thank God, Miss Taggart, you're here! We've been looking for you everywhere!" She didn't answer; she looked at him, waiting for what to say. "Miss Taggart, have you heard?" "What did you hear?" "Then you still don't know! My God, Miss Taggart, this... I can't believe it, I still can't believe it, but... Oh, my God, what are we going to do? Ta... ...the Taggart Bridge is down!" She stared at him, frozen in place. "Destroyed! Blown up! Apparently blown up in a second! No one can tell what happened - but it looks like...they think it's something from Project X." what's up, and... Looks like those sound waves, Miss Taggart!Everything in a radius of a hundred miles was destroyed!It's impossible, absolutely impossible, but everything in that range seems to be destroyed! ...we don't get any answers!Whether it's newspapers, radio stations, or the police, no one can find the reason!We're still looking, but the word from nearer that—" He shuddered, "only one thing is certain: the bridge is gone!Miss Taggart, we don't know what to do! " She rushed to the desk and grabbed the phone.Her hand stopped in mid-air, and then, with the greatest strength in her life, she slowly and painfully lowered her arm and put the microphone back.她似乎觉得用了很久，仿佛她的胳膊是在对抗着人的身体所不能对抗的无形的压力——就在这短短的若干瞬间里，在这静静的无名的痛苦之中，她明白了十二年前的那个晚上弗兰西斯科的感受——明白了一个二十六岁的小伙子在同他的发动机诀别时的心情。 “塔格特小姐，”总工程师叫道，“我们不知道该怎么办啊！”话筒咔嗒一声被轻轻地放回到架上。“我也不知道。”她回答说。 她知道，过一会儿这一切就都会结束：她让那个人进一步调查后再回来向她汇报——然后一直等着他的脚步声在楼道内渐渐消失。 最后一次走过车站候车厅的时候，她望了望内特内尔·塔格特的雕像——同时也想起了她许过的承诺。现在它只能算是一种象征性的表示罢了，她心想，不过，这样的告别却是内特内尔·塔格特应该享有的。她身上没有可写的东西，于是便从包里拿出口红，微笑着抬起头，望着完全会理解她的这张大理石的面孔，在他脚下的基座上画了个大大的美元符号。 她先到了离车站大门东侧隔着两条街的街角。在等待的时候，她看到惊慌的迹象开始显露，如同汩汩细流，不久就会将这个城市吞没：汽车明显开得太快，有些车上装满了一家子的东西，格外多的警车纷纷疾驰而过，远处的警笛声不绝于耳。显然，大桥被毁的消息正在传遍全城；他们将会知道这座城市难逃厄运，将会蜂拥出逃——但他们已经无路可走，而且这一切和她再也没有关系了。 她远远地望见弗兰西斯科的身影正向这边走来；在看清那张用拉下的帽子遮住了双眼的面孔之前，她已经辨认出了他敏捷的步伐。走近后，她看到他瞧见了自己。他挥了挥手，露出了打招呼的微笑。他那带有德安孔尼亚特征的特意用力挥动的手臂便犹如是在自己领地的门外迎接着一个盼望已久的游子。 他走上前来之后，她便庄重地挺直身体，望着他的脸，望着这座全世界最具规模的城市的高楼大楼，当着她所期待的这一见证，用充满信心和坚定的声音缓缓说道：“我以我的生命以及我对它的热爱发誓，我永远不会为别人而活，也不会要求别人为我而活。” 他点了一下头，表示接受，此刻，他脸上的笑容是在向她致意。 接着，他一手拎过她的箱子，一手握起她的胳膊，说了声，“走吧。” 以创始人费雷斯博士命名的“F项目”建筑是一个用混凝土加固过的小楼，它位于一处山坡的底部，而国家科学院则依山建在更高更开阔的地方。从科学院的窗户里望去，只能从遮天蔽日的密林中看到那幢建筑上露出的一小块灰色屋顶；它看上去只有下水道的井盖那样大。 这幢建筑共有两层，形状像是一个小方块不对称地摞在了一个大方块的上面。一层没有窗户，只有一扇镶满了铁钉的房门；二层只开了一个窗户，宛若一张长了独眼的面孔，不愿意多见阳光。院里的人们对这栋房子并不好奇，而且他们对于那些可以通向它的道路总是尽量绕开；尽管没人说过，但他们都觉得在这幢房子里进行的是专门以恶疾细菌做试验的项目。 占满两层楼的各个实验室里充满了饲养着天竺鼠、狗和老鼠的笼子。但整个建筑的核心和真实用意却是深藏在地底的一间地下室；地下室四处贴满了板状的多孔隔音材料，只是施工质量欠佳，隔音板已经出现裂缝，露出了洞穴里的岩石。 这幢建筑始终处在由四名精选卫兵构成的警卫小组的戒备之下。今天晚上，一个长途电话从纽约打来，警卫组立刻根据紧急指示，增加到了十六个人。“F项目”的所有警卫和其他人员都经过了仔细的审查，最基本的条件只有一个：绝对服从命令。 这十六名警卫夜里被布置在楼外和楼内的地上和空出的实验室里把守，他们执行任务时绝无猜疑，想都不想地下有可能会发生什么样的事情。 地下室内，费雷斯博士、韦斯利·莫奇和詹姆斯·塔格特坐在靠墙一字排开的椅子里。一台看上去像是个形状不规则的小柜子一般的仪器摆在他们对面的一角。仪器的前面有成排的玻璃旋钮，每个旋钮上都有一小段红色的刻度，一块看起来像是放大器的方屏，一排排的数字、木柄和塑料按钮，它的一边是一只控制开关的拉手，另一边是一个单独的红色按钮。这台仪器似乎比那个操纵它的技术人员的面孔更加生动；他是个壮实的年轻人，身上的衬衫已被汗水湿透，两只袖口高高地挽起；他那一双灰蓝色的眼睛正全神贯注地盯着手底下的活计；他的嘴唇不时地翕动几下，像是在默念着脑子里的程序。 一根短短的电线从机器上伸出来，连到了后面的一个蓄电池上。在机器的前方，长长的线圈如同章鱼张牙舞爪的触角，沿着石地板向前伸去，通向一张皮垫，垫子上方挂了一盏发出刺眼亮光的锥形灯。约翰·高尔特躺在皮垫上，被五花大绑。他被剥去了衣服，电线末端小小的金属电极片被绑在他的手腕、肩膀、臀部和脚踝处；胸前连着一个听诊器般的装置，装置的另一头连着那个放大器。 “直说吧，”费雷斯博士第一次对他开口说道，“我们是想让你彻底掌管国家的经济，让你独揽大权，让你去发号施令，明白不明白？我们希望由你去下命令，并且决定该下什么样的命令。我们可不会只是想想而已。现在，你的那些演说、大道理、辩论或者消极服从都救不了你。你要是不想出办法来，就只有死路一条。你要想离开这里，就必须拿出一个解决问题的确切方案，并且还要通过广播告知全国。”他扬起手腕，晃了晃戴的秒表，“限你在三十秒之内决定是否开口，否则，我们可就要动手了。你听明白没有？” 高尔特正视着他们，面无表情，仿佛早就料到了这些。He didn't answer. 在沉默中，他们听见秒表无声地走着，听见莫奇紧紧地攥着椅子的扶手，发出窒息一般的时断时续的喘息。 费雷斯向仪器旁的技师挥手示意。技师推动拉手，红色的玻璃钮亮了起来，同时发出了两种声音：一种是发电机的嗡鸣，另一种则是钟表一般有节奏的敲击，但却伴随着一种怪异低沉的回响。他们愣了片刻才明白过来，这声音是从放大器里传出的高尔特的心跳。 “三号。”费雷斯说着，伸出了一个指头示意道。 技师按下其中一个旋钮下方的按键，高尔特周身颤抖了起来；电流通过他的手腕和肩膀，使得他的左臂剧烈地痉挛抽搐。他的头甩向后方，闭起双目，咬紧嘴唇，一声未吭。 技师的手松开按钮，高尔特的胳膊停止了抖动，浑身一动不动。 三个人面面相觑，费雷斯的眼里一片苍白，莫奇是害怕，塔格特流露出了失望。沉重的敲击声继续在沉默中回响着。 “二号。”费雷斯说。 这一次，电流是在高尔特的胯部和脚踝之间穿行，他的右腿抽搐了起来。他的两手抓住垫子的边沿，脑袋从一边猛地甩到另一边，便再也不动了。心跳的声音渐渐加快了一些。 莫奇身体向后闪去，紧紧地贴在了椅子的靠背上。塔格特向前探出身子，几乎离开了座位。 “一号，慢一点。”费雷斯命令。 高尔特的全身猛然向上一挺，然后又摔回来，长时间地抽搐，被捆绑住的双手在拼命地挣扎——电流此刻经过他的肺部，从一只手腕通向了另一只手腕。技师慢慢转动旋钮，逐渐加大了电压；指针正移向用红色标明的危险区域。由于肺部的痉挛，高尔特开始上气不接下气。 “受够了没有？”电流一被切断，费雷斯便吼叫了起来。 高尔特没有回答，他的嘴唇微微颤动了几下，想吸进些空气。从听诊器里传来的心跳正在加快，但在他竭力让自己放松的努力下，呼吸渐渐恢复了平稳和节奏。 “你对他太手软了！”塔格特瞪着躺在垫子上的赤裸身体，叫喊道。 高尔特睁开眼睛看了看他们。除了看出他的眼神既坚定而又完全清醒，他们从中便再也看不到任何其他的东西。他随即又将头一垂，依然一动不动地躺着，仿佛已忘记了他们的存在。 他的裸体与这间地下室格格不入。这一点，他们嘴上不说，却都心照不宣。 他那颀长的线条从脚踝流淌至平坦的胯部，经过腰际的曲线，到达挺直的肩膀，犹如一尊具备了古希腊神韵的雕塑，却有着更加高大、轻盈、生动的外表和瘦削中的干练，涌动着一股无穷的精力——这副身躯的主人绝非驾驭双轮战车的武士，而是飞机的创造者。正如古希腊雕塑——把文中的形象赋予人的雕塑的韵味与本世纪建造的厅堂的精神大异其趣，他的身体也与一间专用于史前活动的地下室极不相称。这种冲突更加明显，因为他似乎应该和电线、不锈钢、精密仪器，以及控制台上的操纵杆在一起才对。也许对那些打量着他的人来说，这正是他们拼命抗拒和埋藏在心底最深处的那个想法，他们只知道那是一种弥漫开来的仇视和看不清的恐惧——也许正是因为现今的世界里没有这样的雕塑，他们才把一台发电机变成了章鱼，把他这样的身体变成了章鱼的触须。 “我知道你对电力学的某些方面很精通，”费雷斯冷笑着说，“但我们也是如此——你不觉得吗？” 在寂静之中，回答他的只有两个声音：发电机嗡嗡的低鸣和高尔特的心跳。 “混合方式！”费雷斯朝技师晃了晃一根手指，下令道。 此时的电击变得毫无规律，时而一波接一波，时而间隔数分钟。只能从高尔特的大腿、手臂、躯干或全身的抽搐抖动才能看出电流究竟是发自某两片电极还是在各处同时击出。旋钮上的指针不断地逼近红色的标记，然后又退下去：这台仪器被调教得既能施加出最大限度的痛苦，又不会伤及受刑者的身体。 守在一旁的观察者们实在难以忍受那只有心跳声的一阵阵间歇：此时，心脏的跳动完全失去了节奏。设计的间歇只是让心跳能减缓下来，而不是为了让受刑者得到喘息，电击随时都会再次袭来。 高尔特放松地躺着，仿佛是放弃了对痛苦的抵抗，并不希望减轻，而只是想去承受它。他的嘴唇刚一张开喘息，便又猛地闭紧，他并没有去控制身体僵硬的抖动，但电流一消失，他就会停下来。只是他脸上的皮肤依然紧绷，闭紧的嘴唇不时地向两边抽动。当电击经过他的胸膛时，他那金铜色的头发便会随着脑袋一起摆动，如同风一般地吹打着他的面颊，扫过他的眼睛。观察者们起初还在纳闷他头发的颜色为什么变得越来越深，后来才意识到那是被汗水浸透了。 原先的意图是想让受刑者一直能听见自己的心脏随时都会爆裂的恐怖声音，但现在却是行刑的人们听着这断续不齐的脉搏时，会随着每一次心跳的消失而无法喘气，害怕得浑身哆嗦。此时的心脏听上去像是在极大的痛苦和无比的愤怒之下疯狂地蹿跳，并撞击着胸腔。心脏是在发出抗议；而那个人却没有。他静静地躺着，双眼紧闭，两手放松，仿佛是在捍卫生命般地聆听着自己心跳的声音。 韦斯利·莫奇第一个开了口，“我的上帝呀，弗洛伊德！”他尖叫起来，“不要把他整死！千万别把他整死！他一死，我们就完了！” “他不会死，”费雷斯吼叫着，“他将会求死不得！仪器不会让他死！这通过了严密计算，是万无一失的！” “噢，这还不够吗？他现在会听我们的话了！我肯定他会听话了！” “不，还不够！我不是想让他听话，我是要让他去相信，去接受，而且是想去接受！我们必须要让他主动去为我们干活！” “接着来呀！”塔格特叫道，“你还等什么？难道不能再把电流加大些？他连喊都没喊一声！” “你没毛病吧？”莫奇惊叫着，当电流正在令高尔特抽动不已的时候，他瞥了一眼塔格特：塔格特正全神贯注地盯着看，虽然目光显得呆滞而毫无生气，然而他眼睛周围的脸部肌肉却扭成了一幅下流无耻的享乐图。 “受够了没有？”费雷斯不断地对高尔特吼叫着，“你现在是不是想干我们要你干的事了？” 他们没听到回答。高尔特不时地抬头看他们一眼。他的眼睛下方出现了一圈青紫，但眼睛却清澈而清醒。 随着恐慌的上升，这几个观察者全然忘掉了周围的环境和语言——他们三人的声音汇成了一股令人分辨不清的尖叫：“我们要你去接手！……我们要你去管！……我们命令你去下命令！……我们要求你去独裁！……我们命令你去挽救我们！……我们命令你去思考！……” 除了能够决定他们性命的心跳声之外，没有回答。 电流正穿过高尔特的胸部，脉搏声像是跌跌撞撞的狂奔一样，变得紊乱而急促——突然，他的身子一动不动地松弛躺倒：心跳的声音停止了。 这沉寂犹如晴空霹雳，他们还没来得及喊叫出来，便发生了另一件令他们大惊失色的事情：高尔特睁开眼睛，抬起了头。 紧接着，他们发现发动机嗡嗡的响声也听不见了，控制台上的红灯已经熄灭：电流停了下来；发动机熄火了。 技师徒劳地伸手按着按钮，一遍又一遍地用力扳动开关的把手。他抬腿踹了踹仪器的一侧。红灯没有亮，依然没有声音。 “怎么啦？”费雷斯厉声问道，“怎么啦，到底是怎么回事？” “发动机出毛病了。”技师无可奈何地说。 "What happened?" "I have no idea." “那就查出原因，把它修好！” 此人并不是受过训练的电工；把他找来，看中的不是他的技术，而是因为他什么按钮都敢按；他学习这份工作所需付出的努力，只不过是在自己的意识中不留下其他任何事情的空间。他将仪器的后盖打开，茫然地瞪着里面复杂的线路：什么毛病都看不出来。他戴上橡胶手套，拾起一对钳子，胡乱地紧了紧几个螺栓，挠了挠脑门。 “我不知道，”他说；他的声音里透出了一种无可奈何，“我怎么会知道？” 三个人一起站了过来，凑到仪器后面，瞪着里面那不听话的装置。他们这样做纯粹是出于下意识：他们明白自己一无所知。 “你必须把它修好！”费雷斯吼道，“必须让它工作！我们必须得有电才行！” “我们必须得接着干！”塔格特嚷嚷着；他在哆嗦着，“这简直是荒唐！我不管！ 我绝不会停下来！绝不能便宜了他！”他朝垫子的方向指了指。 “想点办法！”费雷斯冲着技师喊道，“别光站着，想想办法啊，把它修好！我命令你把它修好！” “可我不知道它出了什么毛病。”那个人眨巴着眼睛说。 “那就查！” “我怎么查呀？” “我命令你把它修好，你听见没有？要是修不好它的话，我就炒了你，把你关进监狱！” “可我不知道问题出在什么地方，”那人一头雾水地叹着气，“我不知道该怎么办。” “是振动器出了毛病，”一个声音在他们的身后说道，他们一下子转过身来。 高尔特正努力喘着气，但说话的口吻完全就是一个直率而能干的技术员。“把它取出来，撬开铝壳，你会看见一对焊在一起的触点。把它们拉开，用把小锉刀清理一下凹陷的地方，然后装上外壳，把它插回到机器里——发电机就会工作了。” 很久，屋里鸦雀无声。 技师正瞪着高尔特；他看到了高尔特的眼神——即便是他，也能看出那对墨绿色眼睛里所闪烁出的亮光的含意：那是一种轻蔑捉弄的眼光。 他后退了一步，即便是他，也突然从他混乱模糊的意识里，从某种说不出、看不出、连脑子都不用动的方式里，明白了这间地下室所发生的一切。 他看着高尔特——看着那三个人——看着那台仪器。他浑身一哆嗦，扔下钳子便跑了出去。 高尔特放声大笑起来。 那三个人慢慢地从仪器前退开。他们无论如何也不愿意承认那位技师所明白的事实。 “不！”塔格特突然号叫起来，他瞧着高尔特，一步蹿了上去，“不！我不会就这么放过他的！”他跪在地上，发疯一般地寻找起那个振动器的铝筒来，“我要把它修好！我要自己修好它！我们必须接着来，必须要把他打垮！” “慢着点，吉姆。”费雷斯一把将他拽了起来，不安地说。 “难道我们……难道我们今晚还没折腾够吗？”莫奇面带央求地说；他正望着技师跑出去的那扇门，眼神里既带着羡慕，又流露着恐惧。 “不行！”塔格特喊叫道。 “吉姆，你还嫌他受得不够吗？别忘了，我们必须得小心一点。” “不行！他还没受够呢！他连叫都没叫一声！” “吉姆！”莫奇突然大喝了一声，塔格特脸上的某种表情令他感到了害怕，“我们绝不能杀了他！这你是知道的！” “我不管！我要制服他！我要听见他叫！我要——” 紧接着，倒是塔格特突然发出了一声长长的、尖厉的号叫，尽管他的眼睛仍在茫然地瞪着空中，却在猛然间看到了什么。他看到的是自己的内心，看到了他多年来用情绪、躲避、假装、妄想、假话所苦心经营的保护墙在一瞬间的灰飞烟灭——在这一瞬，他明白他是想要高尔特去死，完全清楚他自己的末日也将紧跟着来临。 他突然间看清楚了藏在自己一切行为背后的动机。那绝不是他无法交流的灵魂或者对他人的爱，也不是他的社会责任感或者维护他自身形象的骗人的鬼话：那是一种想要扼杀一切生命的毁灭欲望，是为了证明自己可以藐视现实并不受任何牢固不破的事实的束缚而存在，从而要去毁灭所有的生命，同现实作对的冲动。就在这一瞬间以前，他还一直感觉到自己对高尔特的仇恨超过了对其他的任何人，感觉到这股仇恨就毋庸置疑地证明了高尔特的罪恶，为了他自己的生存就一定要除掉高尔特。而此刻，他明白了他是要用自己随之灭亡的代价来换取高尔特的毁灭，他明白了他从未想要过生存，他要摧残和毁灭的正是高尔特的伟大之处——他不得不承认这种伟大，因为无论承认与否，衡量这种伟大的只能有一个标准：他对现实的掌控力令所有的人都可望而不可即。此时，詹姆斯·塔格特发现自己正面临着最终的选择：接受现实，或者去死。他的感情选择了死亡，而不是向高尔特所属的那个现实的领域投降。从高尔特本人的身上——他明白了他是想要毁灭一切的存在。 他内心想法与意识的交锋并不是依靠语言：正如他的想法是由各种情绪组成的一样，此刻笼罩着他的便是一种他无力驱散的情绪和幻想。对于那些他尽量避免去看的小巷，他再也不能唤出迷雾去遮挡自己的视线：此时，他在每一条巷子的尽头看到的都是他对生命的仇恨——他看到了雪莉·塔格特渴望着生活的快乐面孔，他一直想打碎的也正是那种渴望——他看到了自己那张理应遭到所有人憎恶的杀人犯的脸，他见到有价值的东西就毁，用杀戮去掩盖自己无以饶恕的罪恶。 “不是……”他呆望着那幅景象，躲闪地甩着脑袋，嘴里呻吟着，“不是……不是……” “是的。”高尔特说道。 他看到高尔特的眼睛直直地盯着自己，仿佛高尔特正在看着他所看见的一切。 “我在广播里已经告诉过你了，对吧？”高尔特说。 这正是那枚令詹姆斯·塔格特怕得要死、无法逃避的印戳：它是客观现实的印记和证明。“不是……”他再一次有气无力地说了一声，但声音里已经没有了活气。 他站在原地，茫然地瞪向空中，随即两腿一软，跌坐在地上，两眼仍是直呆呆地，全然忘记了他的举止和周围的一切。 “吉姆……”莫奇喊了一声，却没有听到回应。 莫奇和费雷斯并没有去问问自己或者奇怪塔格特究竟是怎么回事；他们知道绝对不能冒险去揭开这个谜，否则便会遭到和他同样的下场。他们清楚是谁在今晚彻底地崩溃，清楚无论塔格特的身体能否坚持下去，他这个人都已经完了。 “咱们……咱们还是让吉姆离开这里吧，”费雷斯哆嗦着说，“把他送到医生那儿……或者别的什么地方去吧……” 他们将塔格特扶了起来；他没有反抗，昏昏沉沉地听从着摆布，被推着向前挪动着脚步。本想把高尔特整成这副样子的他却尝到了其中的滋味。他的两个同伙一边一个，搀扶着他的手臂，将他带出了房间。 他使他们逃离了高尔特的目光。高尔特一直盯着他们；他的目光实在过于冷峻，有种穿透力。 “我们还会回来，”费雷斯冲着警卫的头头喝令道，“守在这里，不许任何人进来，听明白没有？任何人都不行。” 他们将塔格特拥进他们那辆停在入口的街边的汽车。“我们会回来的。”费雷斯的面前并没有人，他对着大树和漆黑的夜空恨恨地说着。 眼下，他们唯一确定的就是要逃离那间地下室——在那里的一台死掉的机器旁边，绑着一个活着的发动机。