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Marcus had been following a trail of rumors for months, and they’d led him to a seemingly impassable mountain range. If anyone else had been with him, they might have told him to give up at this point, and he chuckled weakly at the thought. In fact, they would have told him to give up before he ever made the journey, and a number of people did. He ignored all of them, however, because his hope and optimism were still far stronger than his despair.
After two days of picking his way through the rubble, he found what he was looking for — a faint track. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send him forward. If nothing else, maybe he would find water soon. He was about to the end of his stores, and it had been a week since the last time he’d found a stream. Perhaps two miles along the track, he found a small clearing. It wasn’t much, but with night coming on, it would have to do as a camping spot. He spread out his bedroll and fell asleep almost immediately.
The next morning, he found a stream and the first solid evidence that he was in the right location: the water had an oily sheen to it that suggested pollution. Since there were, to his certain knowledge, no factories in this section of Colorado and hadn’t been for at least ten years, he must have found the ones who disappeared. A taste of the water was enough to convince him to move upstream. Perhaps when he found the source of the pollutants, he would find potable water as well.
~*~*~
Hank was the one who found the interloper, and for the longest time, he stared at the unconscious man, debating the correct course of action. Typically, those few who found their way into the valley were sent back out into the world as soon as they received basic care — assuming anyone was inclined to cover the cost — and an amnesia pill — the cost of which was covered by everyone as a measure of defense against invasion. But there was something about this man that made him hesitate. Something about his pose even in an unconscious state reminded him of Francisco in the early days, when he was still passionate about Galt’s ideas, and that made no sense. A man who was out cold shouldn’t be able to radiate determination, but somehow, this one did. It was enough to convince Hank that perhaps he should speak on behalf of the intruder.
He bent down and lifted the man far more easily than he expected. For all the stranger’s height, he was barely more than skin and bones, and Hank wondered, not for the first time, how people were managing to survive outside the valley. A walk of perhaps a hundred yards took him to the small railcar he used to get from his home to his factory, and once Hank settled the man on the floor, he continued his journey down the side of the mountain.
~*~*~
When Marcus awoke, it took a moment to realize that he wasn’t imagining the warmth that surrounded him. It had been so long since he’d been comfortable that he’d forgotten what it actually felt like. The thought was depressing, and he put it aside in favor of finding his benefactor. He would have gotten out of bed immediately but for the wave of dizziness that assaulted him as soon as he tried to sit up. Instead, he settled back into the pillows and waited for the room to stop spinning.
As he lay there, he heard an argument outside his room. With nothing else to occupy his attention, he became an unwilling eavesdropper.
“You are being ridiculous.”
“He found his way through Taggart Pass,” was the response. “That alone speaks well of his willpower.”
“Fine. Then let him sink or swim on his own.” The man paused before adding harshly, “Do not coddle him.”
“I hardly think offering him medical treatment is coddling him.”
“Isn’t it? Doctor Franklin tells me you are paying for the treatment without expectation of remuneration.”
There was a heavy sigh. “What difference does it make to you, Francisco? It’s not as if you have a vested interest in my finances any longer.”
After a long pause, Francisco said, “I never stopped caring.”
The volume of their conversation dropped to the level where Marcus could only hear murmurs, but what he had heard was enough to bring his hope back to full blaze. Francisco was an unusual name; so unusual, in fact, that he was convinced it was none other than Francisco D’Anconia. If that was the case, then everything — leaving his home and enduring the hardships he’d suffered on the road — everything had been worth it.
With hope singing in his veins and a smile on his face, he fell asleep.
~*~*~
Hank stood next to the window in the guest room, with the dim illumination of a nightlight behind him and the sullen glow of his small steel mill brightening the sky outside. Though he stared into the night, the sight of his steel mill could no longer hold his attention the way it once did during those few hours he spent at home. The last several months, in fact, had seen his interest wane significantly. Ridiculous, really, but he couldn’t deny that he was more intrigued by the stranger on the bed than he had been by anything else lately.
A slight noise from the bed had Hank turning almost immediately. The man shifted restlessly, and after a moment, he opened his eyes, meeting Hank’s gaze almost immediately. The weight of expectation in the other man’s expression was almost too much for Hank to bear, but he stiffened his back and said, “I’m Hank Rearden.”
“I knew it. I knew I must have found at least one of you.” He pushed himself up on shaking arms. “That was Francisco D’Anconia out there earlier, wasn’t it?”
Hank nodded. “What is your name?”
“Marcus. Marcus Danvers.” Sweating from the effort of pushing himself upright, Danvers collapsed onto one elbow. “I apologize. I wanted very much to stand in front of you when we met.”
“The doctor tells me you’re significantly underweight,” Hank said, his voice unaccountably breaking slightly on the last word. He cleared his throat and continued, “It will be some time before you’ve regained enough strength to stand. I shouldn’t worry about it in the meantime.”
Marcus frowned and shook his head. “I don’t have time. I need to get back to Newday as quickly as possible. They’re waiting for me.”
“Where is Newday?”
“It’s in Wisconsin, on the coast of Lake Michigan.” Marcus struggled for a few seconds longer before acceding to the demands of his body and lying down again.
“I don’t recognize the name,” Hank said. “And I used to live in that region of the country.”
“It’s a new town — barely two years old.” Marcus spoke with a fervor that Hank himself used to have, back when he first arrived in the valley. “My sister and I founded it. We wanted to have a real city again. The kind we used to have back before — before —”
“Back before we went on strike, you mean?”
Blushing slightly, Marcus nodded. “And we’re getting there, too.”
“Then why are you here?”
“We need help, Mr. Rearden. Not much, but some. We’ve started working with another community near where you had your first mines, and they’re doing okay, but they’re having trouble getting as much ore out as you used to.” Marcus licked his lips. “We’ll pay you; we’re not asking you to help for free. But we don’t have much gold, so we can only ask for a little help.”
Hank felt as though he’d been been slapped, though the reason why was a mystery. After all, wasn’t Marcus offering exactly what he should? Galt had certainly laid it out for everyone to see, so why should the offer of payment seem like an insult? He gave himself a mental shake and took a deep breath to calm himself down.
“I found no gold on you when I undressed you,” Hank said, his tone harsher than he intended.
Marcus turned his face away. “There are places to hide it where most people won’t look.”
Of course there were, and Hank should have thought of that himself. “Isn’t that inconvenient?”
“Not if you aren’t eating much.” Marcus gave him an unhappy look. “May we speak of why I’m here?”
“I think I get the gist of it, Mr. Danvers. You want me to go back with —”
“I don’t!” Marcus again struggled to sit up, and this time, he succeeded. “That’s just it. I’m paying you to answer some questions is all. I don’t — we couldn’t find enough gold to pay for you to come back with me. I’m not sure there’s enough gold left in the world for that.”
“And you think asking me a few questions here will be enough to help — what’s the name of the other community?”
Shyly, Marcus said, “They call it Hankton. It may seem silly to you, but you’re a hero to those folks. And to the folks in Newday, too.”
“I’m no hero,” Hank said. With that, he walked out of the guest room.
~*~*~
His chat with Hank Rearden, brief and unsatisfying as it was, sapped the last of the strength Marcus had regained from sleeping, and he sank back into his pillow. The only positive note in the interview was the fact that Rearden hadn’t said no. He hadn’t said yes, either, but Marcus felt it was simply a matter of proving that he had gold to pay him with. Perhaps in the morning, he would be able to show Rearden that Marcus wasn’t looking for a handout.
Between that thought and the next, Marcus fell asleep again.
~*~*~
In the morning, Hank took breakfast to Marcus and asked, “Why do you think I’m a hero?”
“You left the world. You wouldn’t let them steal your work.”
“I did allow it. I signed the certificate that gifted my metal to the government.”
“Everyone knows that was a lie,” Marcus said, his eyes shining with a fervor that was at once energizing and uncomfortable. Hank had forgotten what it was like to feel so passionately about something.
“I signed the certificate of my own free will. What Ragnar chose to do afterward had nothing to do with me. I’m no hero.”
“But —” Marcus visibly swallowed as Hank studied him. “I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I?”
“I walked away from the problem. I don’t believe that makes me a hero. It merely makes me pragmatic.” For the first time in years, Hank felt a glimmer of excitement. There was an overlooked truth in that statement, and he told Marcus, “Don’t misunderstand me: leaving was the right thing to do. However, I’m not convinced that staying away was also correct.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Rearden.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You will.”
~*~*~
Ten days passed before Hank felt comfortable leaving Marcus to his own devices. Plentiful food and antibiotics had done wonders for his general health, and Marcus was at last able to walk short distances on his own. Hank left his house shortly after breakfast, promising Marcus that he would be back by lunchtime, and decided to walk to town. Despite the ever-present haze that had steadily grown as industry developed in the valley, the day was beautiful, and Hank found the tension in his shoulders loosening with each step he took.
Once he reached Midas Mulligan’s office, Hank said, “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“You know I won’t be able to help you. None of the gold is to leave the valley,” Midas said.
“I understand, and I have no intention of asking for it. Instead, I’d like you to keep it in trust.”
“Have you spoken with John about this?”
“Several times,” Hank said wryly. “He’s made it clear that I won’t be welcome to return.”
“Then why should I keep it in trust for you?”
“Not for me. For those others who find their way into the valley. Marcus was the first, but I doubt he’ll be the last.”
“I don’t like this, Hank.”
“You don’t have to. It’s my decision.”
“I know, but I’ll be sorry to see you leave. You’ve thrived here.”
“For a time, yes. Lately? Not especially. Out there, however, I’ve no doubt I’ll thrive once more.” Hank smiled. “It’s a different world than it was when we came here. Marcus Danvers is proof of that.”
“It’s too soon for any of us to leave. You should talk the boy into staying.”
“He has responsibilities elsewhere.”
An ugly flush stole up Midas’ face. “His sole responsibility is to himself and no other. You know that. Or you did.”
“I know you don’t understand this, and perhaps I’m foolish for hoping you will, but all I ask is that you try: Marcus is fulfilling his responsibility to himself by returning home. It’s his choice and none other’s.”
“I still say his energy is best expended here.” Midas glared at Hank. “And so is yours.”
“I’m stagnating. There’s no real challenge.” Hank stood up and walked to the window. “Outside the valley is where I’ll find what I need.”
Midas sighed heavily. “When will you leave?”
“In a few more weeks. It will take that long for me to wrap up my affairs, and Marcus needs the time to regain his strength.”
“And what does Francisco have to say about this?”
“He called me a scab and stopped speaking to me once I told him I was leaving.”