The Machine Stops | Page 6

impenetrable wall that touched the stars. It was supposed that
no one but the gods could exist above their summits. How we have
advanced, thanks to the Machine!"
"How we have advanced, thanks to the Machine!" said Vashti.

"How we have advanced, thanks to the Machine!" echoed the passenger
who had dropped his Book the night before, and who was standing in
the passage.
"And that white stuff in the cracks?--what is it?"
"I have forgotten its name."
"Cover the window, please. These mountains give me no ideas."
The northern aspect of the Himalayas was in deep shadow: on the
Indian slope the sun had just prevailed. The forests had been destroyed
during the literature epoch for the purpose of making newspaper-pulp,
but the snows were awakening to their morning glory, and clouds still
hung on the breasts of Kinchinjunga. In the plain were seen the ruins of
cities, with diminished rivers creeping by their walls, and by the sides
of these were sometimes the signs of vomitories, marking the cities of
to day. Over the whole prospect air-ships rushed, crossing the
inter-crossing with incredible aplomb, and rising nonchalantly when
they desired to escape the perturbations of the lower atmosphere and to
traverse the Roof of the World.
"We have indeed advance, thanks to the Machine," repeated the
attendant, and his the Himalayas behind a metal blind.
The day dragged wearily forward. The passengers sat each in his cabin,
avoiding one another with an almost physical repulsion and longing to
be once more under the surface of the earth. There were eight or ten of
them, mostly young males, sent out from the public nurseries to inhabit
the rooms of those who had died in various parts of the earth. The man
who had dropped his Book was on the homeward journey. He had been
sent to Sumatra for the purpose of propagating the race. Vashti alone
was travelling by her private will.
At midday she took a second glance at the earth. The air-ship was
crossing another range of mountains, but she could see little, owing to
clouds. Masses of black rock hovered below her, and merged
indistinctly into grey. Their shapes were fantastic; one of them

resembled a prostrate man.
"No ideas here," murmured Vashti, and hid the Caucasus behind a
metal blind.
In the evening she looked again. They were crossing a golden sea, in
which lay many small islands and one peninsula. She repeated, "No
ideas here," and his Greece behind a metal blind.

II
THE MENDING APPARATUS
By a vestibule, by a lift, by a tubular railway, by a platform, by a
sliding door--by reversing all the steps of her departure did Vashti
arrive at her son's room, which exactly resembled her own. She might
well declare that the visit was superfluous. The buttons, the knobs, the
reading-desk with the Book, the temperature, the atmosphere, the
illumination--all were exactly the same. And if Kuno himself, flesh of
her flesh, stood close beside her at last, what profit was there in that?
She was too well-bred to shake him by the hand.
Averting her eyes, she spoke as follows:
"Here I am. I have had the most terrible journey and greatly retarded
the development of my soul. It is not worth it, Kuno, it is not worth it.
My time is too precious. The sunlight almost touched me, and I have
met with the rudest people. I can only stop a few minutes. Say what
you want to say, and then I must return."
"I have been threatened with Homelessness," said Kuno.
She looked at him now.
"I have been threatened with Homelessness, and I could not tell you
such a thing through the Machine."

Homelessness means death. The victim is exposed to the air, which
kills him.
"I have been outside since I spoke to you last. The tremendous thing
has happened, and they have discovered me."
"But why shouldn't you go outside?" she exclaimed, "It is perfectly
legal, perfectly mechanical, to visit the surface of the earth. I have
lately been to a lecture on the sea; there is no objection to that; one
simply summons a respirator and gets an Egression-permit. It is not the
kind of thing that spiritually minded people do, and I begged you not to
do it, but there is no legal objection to it."
"I did not get an Egression-permit."
"Then how did you get out?"
"I found out a way of my own."
The phrase conveyed no meaning to her, and he had to repeat it.
"A way of your own?" she whispered. "But that would be wrong."
"Why?"
The question shocked her beyond measure.
"You are beginning to worship the Machine," he said coldly.
"You think it irreligious of me to have found out a way of my