Atlas Shrugged [738]
It took some time before Cuffy Meigs' attention and bleary brown eyes could be drawn to focus on the person of Dr. Stadler. "Well, what is it? What is it?" he snapped.
"I am Dr. Robert Stadler."
"Huh?- Oh, yeah! Yeah! You're the big guy from outer spaces, aren't you? You're the fellow who catches atoms or something. Well, what on earth are you doing here?"
"It is I who should ask you that question."
"Huh? Look, Professor, I'm in no mood for jokes."
"I have come here to take control."
"Control? Of what?"
"Of this equipment. Of this place. Of the countryside within its radius of operation."
Meigs stared at him blankly for a moment, then asked softly, "How did you get here?"
"By car."
"I mean, whom did you bring with you?"
"Nobody."
"What weapons did you bring?"
"None. My name is sufficient."
"You came here alone, with your name and your car?"
"I did."
Cuffy Meigs burst out laughing in his face.
"Do you think," asked Dr. Stadler, "that you can operate an installation of this kind?"
"Run along, Professor, run along! Beat it, before I have you shot!
We've got no use for intellectuals around here!"
"How much do you know about this?" Dr. Stadler pointed at the Xylophone.
"Who cares? Technicians are a dime a dozen these days! Beat it!
This ain't Washington! I'm through with those impractical dreamers in Washington! They won't get anywhere, bargaining with that radio ghost and making speeches! Action-that's what's needed! Direct action!
Beat it, Doc! Your day is over!" He was weaving unsteadily back and forth, catching at a lever of the Xylophone once in a while. Dr. Stadler realized that Meigs was drunk.
"Don't touch those levers, you fool!"
Meigs jerked his hand back involuntarily, then waved it defiantly at the panel. "I'll touch anything I please! Don't you tell-me what to do!"
"Get away from that panel! Get out of here! This is mine! Do you understand? It's my property!"
"Property? Huh!" Meigs gave a brief bark that was a chuckle.
"I invented it! I created it! I made it possible!"
"You did? Well, many thanks, Doc. Many thanks, but we don't need you any longer. We've got our own mechanics."
_ "Have you any idea what I had to know in order to make it possible?
You couldn't think of a single tube of it! Not a single bolt!"
Meigs shrugged. "Maybe not."
"Then how dare you think that you can own it? How dare you come here? What claim do you have to it?"
Meigs patted his holster. "This."
"Listen, you drunken lout!" cried Dr. Stadler. "Do you know what you're playing with?"
"Don't you talk to me like that, you old fool! Who are you to talk to me like that? I can break your neck with my bare hands! Don't you know who I am?"
"You're a scared thug way out of his depth!"
"Oh, I am, am I? I'm the Boss! I'm the Boss and I'm not going to be stopped by an old scarecrow like you! Get out of here!"
They stood staring at each other for a moment, by the panel of the Xylophone, both cornered by terror. The unadmitted root of Dr. Stadler's terror was his frantic struggle not to acknowledge that he was looking at his final product, that this was his spiritual son. Cuffy Meigs'
terror had wider roots, it embraced all of existence; he had lived in chronic terror all his life, but now he was struggling not to acknowledge what it was that he had dreaded: in the moment of his triumph, when he expected to be safe, that mysterious, occult breed-the intellectual -was refusing to fear