Yevgeny Zamyatin

“ Instantly my arms became foreign, swinging out of time, and I began to tell O-90 in a low voice that tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, was the day of the first flight of the Integral, and that it was to be something that had never happened before in all history, great, miraculous.
“Think of it! For the first time in life to find myself outside the limits of our city and see—who knows what is beyond the Green Wall?” ”

“ I was alone among arms and legs appearing for a second and disappearing. I was running. . . .
I dashed to the entrance of a house to stop to catch my breath, my back close to the door—and suddenly, like a splinter borne by the wind, a human being was thrown toward me.
“All the while I . . . I have been following you. I do not want . . . do you see? I do not want . . . I am ready to . . .”
Small round hands on my sleeves, round dark blue eyes—it was O-90. She just slipped along my body like a unif which, its hanger broken, slips along the wall to fall upon the floor. ”

“ How much fuel for the motors shall we load on? If we count on three, or say three and a half hours . . .”
I see before me, over a draft, my hand with the counter and the logarithmic dial at the figure 15.
“Fifteen tons. But you’d better take . . . yes, better take a thousand.”
I said that because I know that tomorrow . . . I noticed that my hands and the dial began to tremble.
“A thousand! What do you need such a lot for? That would last a week! No, more than a week!” ”