Chief locates the area, and sticks his hands in the machine. Are they dirty enough? He's had too many algae meatloafs, I guess, because he can't fit in. And who should show up just in time, of course, but Danny Noon. Whose hands were meant for architecture. Whose beautiful hands were meant to create beauty, places for living, places where space speaks, where living and the line are in accordance. To work in math and lines so clear they're like looking through glass. To build cabins.
Danny sticks his hand in the machine, everybody yells at everybody else, it's really super intense, but at least Chief's not in danger. Hey, once they took Saul's eye, who knows? Not us, until they said Danny's name out loud -- that's how you know they're fracked -- and put him here, now, to do this. Everybody -- Chief, Fenner -- talks Danny through it, whatever the feldercarb is that he's working with. And it works, and the line gets going. And the tylium rolls. And when he pulls his arm out, it's ripped open by the machinery, and he begins to scream.
Seelix deals with my Danny, as everybody stares. Children. Chief. Fenner, talking loudly through it, and they lay the boy down upon the floor, his arm half gone, and Chief looks at him, and looks at Seelix, and looks at Xeno Fenner. Chief thinks about machines, and people, and war, and mutiny, and how solving problems is not the same as keeping them alive. And Chief stands up, as Seelix is shouting for gauze, and he meets Fenner's eyes -- it only takes one look -- and the two of them make their way down the line. Down past the belt, and the smelter, and the engine, and the motor, and the fire, and the sparks, and the ore, and everybody watches, stares. And Galen Tyrol looks at the lever, and at Fenner, and he does the math.
Xeno's Paradoxes are twofold: the second paradox ("You Cannot Even Start") illustrates how if a Geminon wants to reach a Caprican freighter, even if it's stationary, he has to go half the way; before he gets half the way, he must go a quarter; but first, one-eighth; but before then, a sixteenth. The first states that if you have a Caprican and a Geminon, the Geminon has to take a certain amount of time to reach the place where the Caprican already was. In this time, the Caprican has moved forward: the Geminon has to break that glass ceiling and move forward again. Whenever Achilles reaches a place the tortoise has been, even over generations, he still has farther to go. (Even though it's shitty to call the estate tax "the death tax," that doesn't change the essential shittiness of not having an estate tax at all, because money is changing hands whether it's earned or not; graduate education is the secret magic hacker codes of the world that rich white men hand down to their rich white sons, along with their money, and everybody else can suck it.)