Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [490]
“His what?”
“You see, today is June first, and the three of us—John, Francisco and I—have had breakfast together on every June first for twelve years.”
“Here?”
“Not when we started. But here, ever since this house was built eight years ago.” He shrugged, smiling. “For a man who has more centuries of tradition behind him than I have, it’s odd that Francisco should be the first to break our own tradition.”
“And Mr. Galt?” she asked. “How many centuries does he have behind him?”
“John? None at all. None behind him—but all of those ahead.”
“Never mind the centuries,” said Galt. “Tell me what sort of year you’ve had behind you. Lost any men?”
“No.”
“Lost any of your time?”
“You mean, was I wounded? No. I haven’t had a scratch since that one time, ten years ago, when I was still an amateur, which you ought to forget by now. I wasn’t in any danger whatever, this year—in fact, I was much more safe than if I were running a small-town drugstore under Directive 10-289.”
“Lost any battles?”
“No. The losses were all on the other side, this year. The looters lost most of their ships to me—and most of their men to you. You’ve had a good year, too, haven’t you? I know, I’ve kept track of it. Since our last breakfast together, you got everyone you wanted from the state of Colorado, and a few others besides, such as Ken Danagger, who was a great prize to get. But let me tell you about a still greater one, who is almost yours. You’re going to get him soon, because he’s hanging by a thin thread and is just about ready to fall at your feet. He’s a man who saved my life—so you can see how far he’s gone.”
Galt leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “So you weren’t in any danger whatever, were you?”
Danneskjöld laughed. “Oh, I took a slight risk. It was worth it. It was the most enjoyable encounter I’ve ever had. I’ve been waiting to tell you about it in person. It’s a story you’ll want to hear. Do you know who the man was? Hank Rearden. I—”
“No!”
It was Galt’s voice; it was a command; the brief snap of sound had a tinge of violence neither of them had ever heard from him before.
“What?” asked Danneskjöld softly, incredulously.
“Don’t tell me about it now.”
“But you’ve always said that Hank Rearden was the one man you wanted to see here most.”
“I still do. But you’ll tell me later.”
She studied Galt’s face intently, but she could find no clue, only a closed, impersonal look, either of determination or of control, that tightened the skin of his cheekbones and the line of his mouth. No matter what he knew about her, she thought, the only knowledge that could explain this, was a knowledge he had had no way of acquiring.
“You’ve met Hank Rearden?” she asked, turning to Danneskjöld. “And he saved your life?”
“Yes.”
“I want to hear about it.”
“I don.‘t,” said Galt.
“Why not?”
“You’re not one of us, Miss Taggart.”
“I see.” She smiled, with a faint touch of defiance. “Were you thinking that I might prevent you from getting Hank Rearden?”
“No, that was not what I was thinking.”
She noticed that Danneskjöld was studying Galt’s face, as if he, too, found the incident inexplicable. Galt held his glance, deliberately and openly, as if challenging him to find the explanation and promising that he would fail. She knew that Danneskjöld had failed, when she saw a faint crease of humor softening Galt’s eyelids.
“What else,” asked Galt, “have you accomplished this year?”
“I’ve defied the law of gravitation.”
“You’ve always done that. In what particular form now?”
“In the form of a flight from mid-Atlantic to Colorado in a plane loaded with gold beyond the safety point of its capacity. Wait till Midas sees the amount I have to deposit. My customers, this year, will become richer by—Say, have you told Miss Taggart that she’s one of my customers?”
“No, not yet. You may tell her, if you wish.”
“I.‘m—What did you say I am?” she asked.
“Don’t be shocked, Miss Taggart,” said Danneskjöld. “And don’t object. I’m used to objections. I’m a sort of freak here, anyway.