You， readers of these records， whoever you may be， you have the sun above you. And if you ever were ill， as I am now， then you know what kind of sun there is or may be in the morning； you know that pinkish， lucid， warm gold； the air itself looks a little pinkish； everything seems permeated by the tender blood of the sun； everything is alive； the stones seem soft and living， iron living and warm， people full of life and smiles. Perhaps in a short while all this will disappear， in an hour the pinkish blood of the sun will be drained out； but in the meantime everything is alive. And I see how something flows and pulsates in the sides of the Integral； I see the Integral； I think of its great and lofty future， of the heavy cargo of inevitable happiness which it is to carry up there into the heights， to you， unseen ones， to you who seek eternally and who never find. You shall find！ You shall be happy！ You must be happy， and now you have not very long to wait！
The body of the Integral is almost ready； it is an exquisite， oblong ellipsoid， made of our glass， which is everlasting like gold and flexible like steel. I watched them within， fixing its transverse ribs and its longitudinal stringers； in the stem they were erecting the base of the gigantic motor. Every three seconds the powerful tail of the Integral will eject flame and gases into universal space， and the Integral will soar higher and higher， like a flaming Tamerlane of happiness！ I watched how the workers， true to the Taylor system， would bend down， then unbend and turn around swiftly and rhythmically like levers of an enormous engine. In their hands they held glittering glass pipes which emitted bluish streaks of flame； the glass walls were being cut into with flame； with flame were being welded the angles， the ribs， the bars. I watched the monstrous glass cranes easily roiling over the glass rails； like the workers themselves， they would obediently turn， bend down， and bring their loads inward into the bowels of the Integral. All seemed one： humanized machine and mechanized humans. It was the most magnificent， most stirring beauty， harmony， music！
Quick！ Down！ To them and with them！ And I descended and mingled with them， fused with their mass， caught in the rhythm of steel and glass. Their movements were measured， tense and round. Their cheeks were colored with health， their mirrorlike foreheads unclouded by the insanity of thinking. I was floating upon a mirror-like sea. I was resting....Suddenly one of them turned his carefree face toward me.
"Well， better today？"
"What， better？"
"You were not here yesterday. And we thought something serious..." His forehead was shining—a childish and innocent smile.
My blood rushed to my face. No， I could not lie， facing those eyes. I remained silent； I was drowning....Above， a shiny， round， white porcelain face appeared in the hatchway.
"Hey！ D-503！ Come up here！ Something is wrong with a frame and brackets here， and..."
Not waiting until he had finished， I rushed to him， upstairs； I was shamefully saving myself by flight. I had not the power to raise my eyes. I was dazed by the sparkling glass steps under my feet， and with every step I felt more and more hopeless. I， a corrupted man， a criminal， was out of place here. No， I shall probably never again be able to fuse myself into this mechanical rhythm， nor float over this mirror-like， untroubled sea. I am to burn eternally from now on， running from place to place， seeking a nook where I may hide my eyes， eternally， until I...A spark cold as ice pierced me. "I myself， I matter little， but is it necessary that she also....？ I must see that she..."
I crawled through the hatchway to the deck and stood there； where was I to go now？ I did not know what I had come for！ I looked aloft. The midday sun， exhausted by its march， was fuming dimly. Below was the Integral， a gray mass of glass—dead. The pink blood was drained out！ It was obvious to me that all this was my imagination and that everything was the same as before； yet it was also clear to me that...
"What is the matter with you， D-503？ Are you deaf ？ I call and call you. What is the matter with you？" It was the Second Builder yelling directly into my ear； he must have been yelling that way for quite a while.
What was the matter with me？ I had lost my rudder； the motor was groaning as before， the aero was quivering and rushing on， but it had no rudder. I did not even know where I was rushing， down to the earth or up to the sun， to its flame....
