conversation_id int64 1 2.52k | category stringclasses 1 value | conversation list |
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2,448 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nTranscriber's Note: THE ULTROOM ERROR sense of humor, though, even in the Ultroom! HB73782. Ultroom error. Tendal 13. Arvid 6. Kanad transfer out of 1609 complete, intact, but too near limit of 1,000 days. Next Kanad transfer ready. 1951. Reginald, son of Mr. Occasionally she glanced at her son in the play pen, who was getting a cheese grater and a linen baby book, all with perfunctory interest. \"I'm going to take the baby for a while,\" he said. knees hit the side of the play pen and young Laughton let out a don't even want to think about it.\" to get some rest?\" They checked the windows and tucked in the blankets. They paused in \"What do you do?\" inside and around the kid as much as possible. Keep your doors and stairs, ready for use, fully loaded, leaning it against the wall next to the telephone stand. \"Fine.\" \"Fine.\" \"Never mind the check, now, Martin. I see we're ready to go.\" He went \"Good-bye,\" Martin said, going to the door. forward on his face. door, gave the baby to the stunned Martin and headed for the to me, please?\" \"Aren't they—aren't they on the walk?\" Mrs. Laughton asked. \"But there walk.\" that.\" \"Where's Tiger?\" corner, eyes open, tongue protruding. He was dead. If we keep Reggie in the house much longer he'll turn out to be a moved slowly across the summer sky and a warm breeze rustled the were riding. The car roared up the street, swerved toward the parkway, tires screaming, bounced over the curb and sidewalk, straight toward The car came on, crunched over the play pen, killing the child. The tree, hitting it a terrible blow, crumbling the car's forward end so \"The with .30-.30?\" \"I'll say you wouldn't. The pair must have crawled away to die God \"Getting back to the man who ran over the child and killed Mrs. Laughton. Why did he pretend to be drunk?\" \"What does the man have to say?\" \"Guess you're right. Well, Mr. Smith won't think it's so funny when we Arvid 6—for John Smith Arvid 6—had lain in that position for Arvid 6 knew Tendal 13 had materialized and was somewhere in the doorway. There was a clang when the outer doorway was opened and Arvid 6 rose from his cot. with the brief case. \"Ring the buzzer when you're through.\" The jailer \"Your damned foolishness has gone far enough. I'm sick and tired of it,\" he declared. \"If you carry on any more we'll never get back to the Ultroom!\" \"I'm sorry, Tendal,\" the man on the cot said. \"I didn't think—\" that tree and killing that woman—that was the last straw. You don't here.\" sorry about that,\" Arvid 6 said. You know the instructions. Just because you work in the Ultroom don't job done. As it is, you almost totally obliterated me.\" Tendal 13 paced the length of the cell and back again, gesturing as he talked. \"You didn't have to come along at all, you know,\" Arvid 6 said. you was needed. I volunteered. Imagine that! I volunteered! Tendal 13 reaches the height of stupidity and volunteers to help Arvid 6 go back 6,000 years to bring Kanad back, to correct a mistake Arvid 6 made!\" He snorted. \"I still can't believe I was ever that stupid. I only prove it when I pinch myself and here I am. \"All right, all right,\" Arvid 6 said. \"I'll admit I've made some \"Shut up! For once you're going to listen to me. Our instructions specifically stated we were to have as little as possible to do with these people. But at every turn you've got us more and more enmeshed with them. If that's adventure, you can have it.\" Tendal 13 sat down idea of taking Reggie right out of his play pen. 'Watch me take that child right out from under its mother's nose' were your exact words. And before I could stop you, you did. Only you forgot an important \"And speaking of that night, you remember we agreed I was to do the space halfway to nowhere with two broken legs, a spinal injury, These twentieth century machines aren't what they ought to be,\" Arvid 6 said. \"You never run out of excuses, do you, Arvid? Remember what you said in the Ultroom when you pushed the lever clear over and transferred Kanad back 6,000 years? 'My hand slipped.' As simple as that. 'My hand slipped.' It was so simple everyone believed you. You were given no real punishment. In a way it was a reward—at least to you—getting to go back and rescue the life germ of Kanad out of each era he'd be born in.\" Tendal 13 turned and looked steadily and directly at Arvid 6. \"Do you far as it would go Arvid 6 flushed, turned away and looked at the floor. \"What crazy things have you been doing since I've been gone?\" Tendal 13 asked. Arvid 6 sighed. \"After what you just said I guess it wouldn't amuse before I had a chance to collect my wits, dematerialize or \"That's right.\" \"Who do you tell them you are?\" again. And I hope I'll never leave there again though I'm rejuvenated through a million years.\" \"Was Kanad's life germ transferred all right this time?\" Tendal 13 shook his head. \"I haven't heard. The transfers are getting more difficult all the time. In 1609, you'll remember, it was a case of pneumonia for the two-year-old. A simple procedure. It wouldn't work here. Medicine's too far along.\" He produced a notebook. \"The \"Do you think Kanad will be angry about all this?\" \"How would you like to have to go through all those birth processes, to have your life germ knocked from one era to the next?\" who came to the Ultroom to be transplanted to a younger body—and then sending him back beyond his original birth date—\" Tendal 13 got up and commenced his pacing again. \"Oh, I suppose Kanad's partly to blame, wanting rejuvenating at only 300 years. Some have waited a thousand or more or until their bones are like paper.\" \"I just wonder how angry Kanad will be,\" Arvid muttered. HB92167. Ultroom Error. Tendal 13. Arvid 6. Kanad transfer out of 1951 complete. Next Kanad transfer ready. 2267. Phullam 19, son of Orla 39 and Rhoda R, 22H Level M, Hemisphere B, Quadrant 3, Sector I. Arrive his 329th Day. TB92167 Arvid 6 rose from the cot and the two men faced each other. \"Before we leave, Arvid,\" Tendal 13 started to say. \"I hope I can count on that.\" Tendal 13 rang the jail buzzer. Matthews,\" Tendal 13 told the jailer. of the cell. Arvid 6, an amused set to his mouth and devilment in his eyes, watched \"Arvid!\" Tendal 13 walked briskly through the door, snatched Arvid 6 by the The jailer watched stupified as the two men vanished in the middle of\n\n<question>:\nWhere will Arvid 6 and Tendal 13 go after the end of the text?\n\n<options>:\nA To go back 6,000 years to re-attempt a Kanad recovery mission\nB To return to the Laughton's home in order to alter the crime scene\nC To travel to the Ultroom for Arvid 6 to face his consequences\nD To steal Phullam from his parents and get closer to recovering Kanad.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
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2,375 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nknow how it is. Snead's dead, don't you remember?\" Linton remembered. Howell had to know that he would remember. What were they trying to pull on him? \"The man who isn't Snead is leaving,\" \"Snead came to Greta's funeral. It's the least I could do.\" like him.\" \"He's practically running,\" Linton said. \"He almost ran out of the restaurant.\" \"Couldn't have been him, though,\" Linton answered automatically. \"My friend's dead.\" The thick man rocked forward and came down on all six feet. He threw paper money on the table as if he were disgusted with it. He plodded out of the place quickly. Howell breathed in deeply and sucked back Linton's attention. \"Now you've probably got old Snead into trouble.\" \"Snead's dead,\" Linton said. \"Oh, well, 'dead,'\" Howell replied. \"What do you say it like that for?\" Linton demanded angrily. \"The man's dead. Plain dead. He's not Sherlock Holmes or the Frankenstein Monster—there's no doubt or semantic leeway to the thing.\" \"You know how it is,\" Howell said. Linton had thought he had known how death was. He had buried his wife, Linton felt that his silence was asking Howell by this time. \"Who by?\" Linton asked, thinking: patently ridiculous, Linton hoped to bring the contradicting truth to the surface immediately. \"But it's wonderful,\" Linton said, thinking his immediate thoughts. \"Wonderful! Why should a thing like that be illegal? Why don't I know about it?\" in the White House, ready to assassinate if they have to. Death is their whole life. You got to realize that.\" \"That's not enough. Not nearly enough.\" \"Think of all the problems it would cause. Insurance, for one thing. Overpopulation. Birth control is a touchy subject. They'd have to take it up if everybody got resurrected when they died, wouldn't they?\" the cops find out about a place, they break in, smash all the equipment and arrest everybody in sight. That's about all they can do. The charges, if any, come under general vice classification.\" \"I don't understand,\" Linton complained. \"Why haven't I heard about it?\" word, not sex. You want to shock somebody, you tell him, 'You're going to be dead someday,' not anything sexual. You know how it is. The \"I see,\" Linton said. out of touch for some time. It might be true. Then again, they might be trying to trick him. They used to do that to see if he was really well. But the temptation was too strong. hospital for a nervous breakdown. I do all that, and for thanks, you yell at me and curse me. You kooks are all alike!\" Howell threw money on the table with the same kind of disinterest as the thick-set man and stalked out. well, Mr. Linton, we understand you've been causing disturbances.\" attempted to bribe an officer. That's disturbing, Mr. Linton, very Linton stared suspiciously. \"Do you know where I can find a \"Well, that's what you paid him to do, wasn't it? Did you think a policeman would just steal your money? Cynics—all you young people are cynics.\" really resurrect the dead?\" \"Will you stop being cynical? Of course I can!\" \"Size has nothing to do with it.\" \"No, my wife has been dead a long time. Months.\" \"Months?\" The doctor snapped those weeks away with his fingers. \"It could be years. Centuries. It's all mathematics, my boy. I need only one fragment of the body and my computers can compute what the rest of it was like and recreate it. It's infallible. Naturally there is a degree of risk involved.\" \"Infallible risk, yes,\" Linton murmured. \"Could you go to work right away?\" \"First, I must follow an ancient medical practice. I must bleed you.\" Linton grasped the situation immediately. \"You mean you want money. You realize I've just got out of an institution....\" addiction and more.\" \"What a wonderful professional career,\" Linton said, when he couldn't care less. \"Oh, yes—yes, indeed. But I didn't come out broke.\" \"Neither did I,\" Linton said hastily. \"I invested in shifty stocks, faltering bonds, and while I was away they sank to rock bottom.\" \"Then—\" \"When they hit rock bottom, they bounced up. If I hadn't found you, I would have been secure for the rest of my lonely, miserable life.\" \"All that's ended now,\" the doctor assured him. \"Now we must go dig up Beautifully.\" The certificate to allow reburial in Virginia hadn't been impossible to obtain. The doctor had taken the body and Linton's fortune and fed them both into the maw of his calculators, and by means of the secret, smuggled formulae, Greta would be cybernetically reborn. Linton shook his head. It seemed impossible. But Greta opened the It wasn't fair at all, Linton thought. He should have had some time to \"Greta!\" he said, feeling a slight revulsion but repressing it. No Greta swirled across the room and folded her arms across his shoulders. \"Now, now,\" Linton said, \"we mustn't get excited. You've been through a course it would be it hadn't changed even in the grave. He remembered \"My darling,\" he said gently, \"about Johnny—\" Her fine black brows made Gothic arches. \"Yes? What about Johnny?\" \"It was a terrible accident right after—that is, about five months ago. He was killed.\" \"Killed?\" Greta repeated blankly. \"Johnny Gorman was killed?\" \"Traffic accident. Killed instantly.\" \"But Johnny was your friend, your best friend. Why didn't you have him resurrected the same way you did me?\" have to pay premium prices for strawberries in February. I no longer have the money to pay for a resurrection of Johnny.\" Greta turned her back to him. \"It's just as well. You shouldn't bring But you're sure you haven't the money to do it?\" \"No,\" Linton said. \"I'm sold out. I've borrowed on my insurance to the hilt. It won't pay any more until I'm buried, and then, of course, you can resurrect me.\" \"Of course,\" Greta said. She sighed. \"Poor Johnny. He was such a good Linton followed the direction of Greta's gaze and found only an ashtray Greta pounced on the stand, hefted it at the base and ran toward him Linton leaped aside and Greta hit the edge of the desk instead of him. writhed against him provocatively. \"Frank, I'm sorry, dear, but I have to have that insurance money. It's hell!\" Linton understood immediately. He felt foolish, humiliated. All that money! He had resurrected a gold ring that had turned his knuckles green. No one must ever know. Linton twisted the stand away from his wife and watched her face in some appalled form of satisfaction as it registered horror and acceptance of the crumpled metal disk falling toward it. He split her head open and watched her float to the floor. finest detail, and he had thought she was his wife. It was what you thought was real that made it so, not the other way around. \"I've killed my wife!\" Linton called, rising from his knees, stretching his hands out to something. The pain stung him to sleep—a pain in his neck like a needle that left a hole big enough for a camel to pass through and big enough for him to follow the camel in his turn. doctor looked down at him consolingly. \"You'll have to go back, Mr. Linton. But they'll cure you. You'll be cured of ever thinking your\n\n<question>:\nWhat will likely happen after Mr. Linton killed Greta?\n\n<options>:\nA He will attempt to resurrect her again\nB He will be re-institutionalized\nC No one will ever find out what happened\nD He will lose all of his money\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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1,882 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nslowed, and settled to their proper The robots were built to serve sweet-smelling ooze, Alan eyed the robot apprehensively. Half buried in mud, it stood quiet in Then the robots figured out an places. Standing in the sticky, Frowning, worrying about the sounds, Alan momentarily forgot to watch his step until his foot suddenly plunged into an ant hill, throwing him to the jungle floor. \"Damn!\" He cursed again, again in the rustling jungle darkness. \"I wonder,\" he thought, \"how scraping the spongy ground like the tentacles of some monstrous it slithered off into the jungle In the distance the sky blazed as a blaster roared in the jungle. Then Alan heard the approaching robot, crunching and snapping its way through the undergrowth like an onrushing forest Alan peered around him at the vine-draped shadows, listening to the soft rustlings and faint \"All I need is to get lost.\" and silenced by an explosive crash. Alan started, automatically controlled by the towards the camp. Trees exploded to his left as another robot fired in his direction, caught at his legs, tripping him and holding him back. Then, through the trees he saw the Alan changed direction slightly to follow a line between the two robots coming up from with Alan, were the only humans on the jungle planet, Waiamea. ship and the eleven men who, either side, behind him. His eyes were well accustomed to the dark Stepping through the low killer robots shook the night behind and technicians to Waiamea three days before. Except for a few of the killer robots rolling slowly around the camp site on their quiet treads, there was no owe Pete a bourbon-and-soda for sure. Anybody who can build a robot that hunts by homing in on animals' mind impulses ...\" nightmare. Alan would have to He stepped forward again, and the robots would Without pausing to think, Alan leaped back, and fell sprawling over a bush just as one of the robots rolled silently a third robot slowly moved up in the distance. Without thinking, Alan turned slightly to the up from the right, lowering its turns he'd taken in the jungle. branches and crashed against the robot, clawing insanely at the with no one to stop it, automatically sending its robots in With an awkward jerk the robot wiping every trace of life from the planet. Technologically advanced machines doing the job He pictured the camp computer antenna and blaster barrel. wider and wider forays, slowly and without human masters cat's body overloaded the discharge circuits. The robot started But the back pressure of the alone. Shakily, Alan crawled a few feet back into the undergrowth where he could lie and watch the camp, but not himself be seen. Though visibility didn't make any difference to the robots, he felt safer, somehow, hidden. He knew now what the shooting blaster shot, Alan saw the steel glint of a robot only a hundred yards away, much nearer than himself, \"that Pete assembled these robots in a batch and then activated them all at once, probably they're tuned to pick up human eyes and looked up—into a robot's Alan grabbed his pocket blaster leaves or a twig fell softly to the ground, close to where he lay. Alan. He fired again, and again the robot reacted. It seemed familiar somehow. Then he remembered the robot on the river Reaching into his jacket, Alan bank, jiggling and swaying for pumas.\" They said the blast with your name on it would find you anywhere. This looked like Alan's blast. Slowly Alan looked around, sizing up his situation. Behind him the dark jungle rustled forbiddingly. seconds after each shot. \"Of wouldn't even singe a robot, but it just might stop one of those can't get to the camp with a pack of mind-activated mechanical killers running around. Then, unexpectedly, Alan saw building, housing the robot-controlling computer. Still firing at Straining every muscle in spite of the agonizing pain, Alan the door. It fired again, closer, for an unknown planet, with her that jutted up through the grass. saw another of the robots standing shakily in the dark edge of the jungle waiting, it seemed, for his small blaster to run dry. \"Be damned! You can't win now!\" Alan yelled between blaster From the corner of his eye he Alan unclenched his fists and ready, Alan rolled over onto his the device, falling in the grass at his feet. He dropped the useless \"No!\" He threw himself on the ground as a new robot suddenly locust-like insects that beat disgustingly against his eyes and mouth. \"Fagh!\" Waving his appeared around the edge engulfed in a swarm of the bugs. As he did so, a dark shapeless thing plopped from the robot paused momentarily, jiggling in place. In this instant, Alan jammed his hands into an insect hill and hurled the pile of dirt and insects directly at the robot's antenna. In a flash, the trees onto the spot where he had been lying stretched out. Then, like an ambient fungus, Alan whirled, startled. The planet's double moon had risen and he could see a robot rolling slowly across the clearing in his general direction, blasting indiscriminately robot fired erratically as Alan crouched and raced painfully for robot's pickup devices. Confused by the sudden dispersion of mind impulses, the headed for the jungle, each to a slightly different spot. Frantically, Alan slammed open the door as the robot, sensing Apparently the robot hadn't sensed him yet, but Alan didn't him strongly now, aimed by the blast. know what the effective range of its pickup devices was. He killer robot was equipped to crush, slash, and burn its way through undergrowth. Nevertheless, of it, barely out of blaster range. Only, the robot didn't get tired. Alan did. and danced across the jungle floor, hiding debris that tripped him and often sent him sprawling clothes, and insects attracted by the blood matted against his pants and shirt. Behind, the robot angry cat. Alan's fingers tensed on his pocket blaster. Swift shadowy forms moved quickly in a pack of small feline creatures leaped snarling and clawing back into the night. Mentally, Alan tried to figure The robot crashed on, louder now, gaining on the tired human. Legs aching and bruised, stinging from insect bites, Alan tried to force himself to run holding his hands in front of insect hill and a winged swarm exploded around him. Startled, Alan jerked sideways, crashing shadows. The robot crashed loudly behind him now. Without stopping to think, Alan fumbled along the ground after his gun, straining Alan stumbled forward. a mere hundred yards behind. He screamed at the blast. \"Damn you, Pete! Damn your robots! banks, the jungle reached out with hairy, disjointed arms as if to snag even the dirty little Alan, lying in the mud of the stream bed, felt the earth shake as the heavy little robot rolled Alan trembled. For the first Alan became a man. \"Dammit, no law says I have tree crashed heavily past Alan the moons, the killer robot stopped and its blaster swivelled slowly down. Frantically, Alan Alan slid slowly along the bank slightly overhanging the bank, the robot fired again. For a split second Alan seemed engulfed in flame Without hesitation Alan robot's treads churned furiously Alan's arms, then slammed a steel-skinned water monster trying to dislodge a tenacious crab, while Alan, arms and legs fiercely against the robot's metal skin. Slowly, trying to anticipate the stationary portion of the robot.\n\n<question>:\nWhy are the robots hunting Alan?\n\n<options>:\nA The robots aren't hunting Alan specifically. They are hunting all life forms.\nB The robots are hunting Alan because he invaded Waiamea.\nC The robots aren't hunting Alan. They're hunting pumas. Alan got in the way.\nD The robots are hunting Alan because he was illegally poaching pumas in the jungle.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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1,208 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\ntenements of the laborers' quarters, the wipes shouted from window to And her name, he saw, was Sue-Ann Bradley, Detainee No. WFA-656R. yelled bitterly to his pilot, above the flutter and roar of the He frowned at the rap sheet, trying to figure out what got a girl like her into a place like this. And, what was more important, why she couldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. He demanded: \"Why wouldn't you mop out your cell?\" me I was supposed to mop up. She banged on the door and said, 'Slush up, sister!' And then, ten minutes later, she called the guards and told them I refused to mop.\" The block guard guffawed. \"Wipe talk—that's what she was telling you to do. Cap'n, you know what's funny about this? This Bradley is—\" \"Shut up, Sodaro.\" Captain O'leary put down his pencil and looked at the girl. She was looked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting for him to judge their cases. He said patiently: \"Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out your cell. If you didn't understand what Mathias was talking about, you should have asked her. Now I'm warning you, the next time—\" other one asked her to move along.\" He added virtuously: \"The guard warned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure.\" Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: \"I don't care. I don't care!\" O'Leary stopped her. \"That's enough! Three days in Block O!\" It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. He Their names were Sauer and Flock. \"Owoo-o-o,\" screamed Sauer from one end of the cell block and \"Yow-w-w!\" shrieked Flock at the other. riled up.\" \"Let them in,\" the inside guard told him. \"The others are riled up already.\" Sue-Ann Bradley looked carefully at the floor and paid them no attention. The outside guard pulled the switch that turned on the \"Put that on. Being as you're a lady, we won't tie it up, but the rules say you got to wear it and the rules—Hey. She's crying!\" He shook his head, marveling. It was the first time he had ever seen a prisoner cry in the Greensleeves. tears. Sue-Ann Bradley had got a good look at Sauer and at Flock as she passed them by and she was fighting off an almost uncontrollable urge to retch. Sauer and Flock were what are called prison wolves. They were for them to remember what they really were, outside. Sauer was a big, Sauer stopped yelling for a moment. \"Hey, Flock!\" \"What do you want, Sauer?\" called Flock from his own cell. \"We got a lady with us! Maybe we ought to cut out this yelling so as not to disturb the lady!\" He screeched with howling, maniacal laughter. \"Anyway, if we don't cut this out, they'll get us in trouble, Flock!\" \"Oh, you think so?\" shrieked Flock. \"Jeez, I wish you hadn't said that, Sauer. You got me scared! I'm so scared, I'm gonna have to yell!\" The howling started all over again. The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned off don't quit this lousy job. Hey, you! Pipe down or I'll come in and beat your head off!\" \"Ee-ee-ee!\" screamed Sauer in a shrill falsetto. \"I'm scared!\" Then he \"Shut up !\" yelled the inside guard. Sue-Ann Bradley's weeping now was genuine. She simply could not help it. The crazy yowling of the hard-timers, Sauer and Flock, was getting under her skin. They weren't even—even human , she told herself miserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards the satisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedly Sauer and Flock still had enough spirit to struggle against the vicious system— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself to weeping and she didn't even care who heard her any more. Senseless! It never occurred to Sue-Ann Bradley that it might not be senseless, because noise hides noise. But then she hadn't been a prisoner very long. a pretty good old girl—that's why she's the block orderly. She's a lifer, she's got no place to go, she gets along with the other women. But today she put a woman named Bradley on report. Why? Because she told Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. Now Mathias wouldn't—\" The warden raised his hand. \"Please, O'Leary, don't bother me about His name was Flock. He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him, thought that maybe, after all, the man was really in pain. Maybe the crazy screams were screams of agony, because certainly his face was the The outside guard bellowed: \"Okay, okay. Take ten!\" lovely term for it. At the guard's yell, the inmates jumped to their feet. Bradley was a little slow getting off the edge of the steel-slat bed—nobody had warned her that the eddy currents in the tangler fields had a way of making metal smoke-hot. She gasped but didn't cry out. Flock was in that cell and he was doubled over. Couldn't it? But he could see Flock's face and the agony in it was real enough. And Flock was gasping, through real tears: \"Cramps. I—I—\" \"Ah, you wipes always got a pain in the gut.\" The guard lumbered around It wasn't pleasant. He finished untying Flock and turned away For Flock moaned behind him, oddly close. Flock—astonishingly, he was half out of his jacket \"All right,\" croaked Flock, tears trickling out of eyes nearly shut hurt. Unless the other screw makes trouble, you won't get hurt, so tell him not to, you hear?\" He was nearly fainting with the pain. It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes still streaming tears, Flock with Sauer standing right behind him, menacing Sauer shoved Flock out of the way. \"Hey, Warden!\" he said, and the It broke up the Base Championship Scramble Finals at Hap Arnold Field impact of the news from the prison. For the news touched them where their fears lay. Riot! And not merely a street brawl among roistering wipes, or a bar-room fight of greasers airmen tumbled out of their quarters and dayrooms at the screech of the alert siren, and behind them their wives and children stretched and yawned and worried. An alert! The older kids fussed and complained and their mothers shut them up. No, there wasn't any alert scheduled for tonight no, they didn't know where Daddy was going no, the kids couldn't get up yet—it was the middle of the night. struggled into their own airwac uniforms and headed for the briefing area to hear. They caught the words from a distance—not quite correctly. \"Riot!\" \"Club!\" snapped Alys, radarscope-sergeant, with two children querulously awake in her nursery at home. \"What in God's name is the But the airmen themselves heard the briefing loud and clear over the scramble-call speakers, and they knew it was not merely a matter of\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Sauer and Flock yell so much?\n\n<options>:\nA to scare the new Block O prisoners\nB they were angry at the system they were a part of\nC they were trying to distract the guards\nD they wanted to make Bradley cry\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,054 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthus it isn't always so! No, you're wrong. I'm not your father's ghost, even if I do look a bit obvious it must be a time machine. You'll sense that, too. You've seen a few buttons on a dash. You'll be puzzling over what I'll tell you, foggy nothing surrounding the cockpit it is probably the field that prevents passage through time from affecting us. The luggage section isn't protected, though. You start to say something, but by then I'm pressing a black button, You can't feel any motion, of course. You try to reach a hand out Then it comes to you slowly that you're actually traveling in time. to you, and I still can't help answering when you speak. \"Not exactly,\" I try to explain. \"Maybe it's no dimension—or it might be the fifth then the time-machine. And when you closed the loop by going back and saving yourself the trouble, it got all tangled up. I figured out once that such a universe would need some seven or eight time and space dimensions. It's simpler just to figure that this is the way time got bent back on itself. Maybe there is no machine, and it's just easier apparently, though there is a time effect back in the luggage space. You look at your watch and it's still running. That means you either increment of time from the main field. I don't know, and you won't open, yet you haven't seen any effects of air loss. \"Where are we getting our air?\" you ask. \"Or why don't we lose it?\" time nor space, apparently. How could the air leak out? You still feel gravity, but I can't explain that, either. Maybe the machine has a gravity field built in, or maybe the time that makes your watch run is responsible for gravity. In spite of Einstein, you have always had the idea that time is an effect of gravity, and I sort of agree, still. Then the machine stops—at least, the field around us cuts off. You feel a dankish sort of air replace the stale air, and you breathe interstellar civilization.\" You take another cigaret from me, and follow me. I've got a small flashlight and we grope through a pile of rubbish, out into a corridor. This is a sub-sub-sub-basement. We have to walk up a flight of stairs, and there is an elevator waiting, fortunately with the door open. We get in the elevator, and I say \"first\" to it. It gives out a coughing noise and the basement openings begin to click by us. There's no feeling of acceleration—some kind of false gravity they use in the future. Then the door opens, and the elevator says \"first\" back at us. It's obviously a service elevator and we're in a dim corridor, with You nod at me and I move out into the main corridor. A second later, You come out of the side corridor and go down a hall, away from the Trav:l Biwrou—F:rst-Clas Twrz—Marz, Viin*s, and x: Trouj:n Planets. Spej:l reits tu aol s*nz wixin 60 lyt iirz! But there is only a single picture of a dull-looking metal sphere, with passengers moving up a ramp, and the office is closed. You begin to get . There's an arrow pointing and you turn lower than they used to, apparently. Twenty floors up seems about the You go up the steps, but you see that it seems to be closed. You go home. But then a guard comes to the gate. Except for the short legs Axioms.' The museum's closed, but I'll be glad to let you study whatever you need for realism in your role. Nice show. I saw it twice.\" \"Thanks,\" you mutter, wondering what kind of civilization can produce guards as polite as that. \"I—I'm told I should investigate your He beams at that. \"Of course.\" The gate is swung to behind you, but obviously he isn't locking it. In fact, there doesn't seem to be a lock. \"Must be a new part. You go down that corridor, up one flight You get away from him, finally, after some polite thanks. The building seems deserted and you wander up the stairs. There's a room on your goes through a crazy wiggle inside, stops turning out a continual row corridor. You turn left and go past a big room in which models of spaceships—from the original thing that looks like a V-2, and is labeled first Lunar rocket, to a ten-foot globe, complete with miniature manikins—are sailing about in some kind of orbits. Then . Beyond is the end of the corridor, and a big conspicuous here. While you're searching for an answer, the guard pulls thing is absolutely fixed. You can't see any bolts, but you can't budge some other principle?—and nuclear binding-force energy terminals. But they're all held down by the same whatchamaycallem effect. probably bolted down, too, but you try it tentatively and you find it moves. There's a little sign under it, indicating you shouldn't touch it, since the gravostatic plate is being renewed. You expect a warning bell, but nothing happens. As a matter of fact, Well, you stagger down the corridor, looking out for the guard, but all You stumble down the stairs, feeling all the futuristic rays in the world on your back, and still nothing happens. Ahead of you, the gate There's another yell behind you. of your feet, with a sudden ringing sound. You don't wait to find out heavier at every step. Reaction sets in a bit and your knees begin to buckle, but you shake out and taps a pedestrian lightly on the shoulder. \"Sir, an emergency Pedestrians begin to move aside, and you and the stranger jog down the the information sheets, and you head down toward the service elevator. There is no button on it. In fact, there's no door there. You start looking for other doors or corridors, but you know this is right. The signs along the halls are the same as they were. forms a perfect door and the elevator stands there waiting. You get in, the deuce would that lowest basement be called? But the elevator has closed and is moving downward in a hurry. It coughs again and you're at the original level. You get out—and realize you don't have a light. in the direction of the time machine, bumping against boxes, staggering here and there, and trying to find the right place by sheer feel. Then a shred of dim light appears it's the weak light in the time machine. down beside it, and climb into the cockpit, sweating and mumbling. You reach forward toward the green button and hesitate. There's a red one Suddenly, there's a confused yell from the direction of the elevator it. Your finger touches the red button. you and the next button you touch—the one on the board that hasn't been used so far—sends you off into nothingness. There is no beam of nerves settle back to normal. You notice a third set of buttons, with because there is only one of you this time. Instead, everything flashes off and you're sitting in the machine in machine in front of your house, go to the future in the sub-basement, And with the controls set at 120 volts, 60 cycles and 15 amperes, you feel a little happier when you realize that the luggage space wasn't insulated from time effects by a field, so the motor has moved backward in time, somehow, and is back to its original youth—minus the calling it evolution and others calling it God. You go out, make a few provisions for the future, and come back to climb into the time machine that's waiting in the building you had put around it. Then you'll be\n\n<question>:\nWhy is there no feeling of acceleration in the elevator in the future?\n\n<options>:\nA The force is too fast to be felt.\nB The elevator doesn't actually move, only the scenery does.\nC It's moving slower in opposition to the gravity.\nD The false gravity used in the interstellar civilization.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,480 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe only kind of gag worth pulling, I always maintained, was a cosmic one—till I learned the Cosmos has a really nasty sense of humor! There were three of them. Dozens of limp little mutants that would have sent an academic zoologist into hysterics lay there in the metabolic accelerator. But there were three of about four square miles of the ranch. They had found a new delicacy, The afternoon my family returned home, I had a crew of workmen out tearing down the animal rooms and lab building. The caretakers had anesthetized all the experimental mutants, and the metabolic accelerator and other lab equipment was being dismantled. I wanted develop an embryonic culture of their own. Then they could leave my \"Daddy, I've tried and tried and I just can't turn this old key tight ranch and the fun would be on. \"I've finished my work and we no longer need the buildings. I'm going \"What?\" \"You can't turn this old key tightly enough.\" to write a paper about my results.\" My son asked, \"What happened to the animals?\" \"Turned them over to the university for further study,\" I lied. \"That's what I Twenty-four hours later, there wasn't a sign of animal experimentation \"Well,\" he said to her, \"you can't say our pop isn't a man of decision.\" meant it. But you really ought to. It would be your first.\" create them that I had been calling them volplas for ten years. No, twelve. I glanced across the animal room to where old Nijinsky thrust his graying head from a cage. I had called them volplas since the day old Nijinsky's elongated arms and his cousin's lateral skin folds had given me the idea of a flying mutant. When Nijinsky saw me looking at him, he started a little tarantella about his cage. I smiled with nostalgia when the fifth fingers of his ?\" She skated awkwardly between the rows of cages from which mutants with brown fur and blue fur, too much and too little fur, enormously long and ridiculously short arms, stared at her with simian, canine or Again in the laboratory, I entered the metabolic accelerator and limp little forms out to a mattress in the lab, two girls and a boy. The accelerator had forced them almost to adulthood in less than a learn to feed and play, perhaps to learn to fly. Meanwhile, it was clear that here was no war of dominant mutations. Modulating alleles had smoothed the freakish into a beautiful pattern. \"Lunch, dear.\" \"Come on, you old hermit. I have a buffet on the terrace.\" \"Our daughter says I'm eccentric. Wonder how the devil she found out.\" \"But you love me just the same.\" the ketchup and said, \"I've reached the dangerous age.\" I opened a bottle of beer and guzzled from it, blew out my breath and the dangerous age. And, lady, I'm going to have fun.\" \"Thanks. Yours deserve the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, too.\" Our son reared the new palomino I had just bought him for his I thought, \"By God, wouldn't he have a fit if he knew what I have back there in that lab! Wouldn't they all!\" as though a little water might help,\" she agreed, sitting \"Oh, . Why?\" pool. The cool sound of the dive sent the girl scurrying for her suit. I looked at my wife. \"What's the idea?\" \"Is that any reason for wearing clothes? Look at him. He's a young \"Well, if you feel that way about it, they'll both have to start \"This place is going to hell,\" I complained. \"The old man isn't allowed smacked her cheek. \"But the food and the old woman are still the best.\" \"Say, what goes with you? You've been grinning like a happy ape ever since you came out of the lab.\" \"Oh, not that again! You were dangerous at any age.\" I'm going to have a new kind of fun.\" the whole world. I've only had the feeling once before in a small way, but I've always....\" \"Well, when my old man was pumping his first fortune out of some oil to stand around quietly and watch people encounter the surprise that She let go of my ear. \"Is that the kind of fun you're going to have?\" eccentric ?\" I grinned. \"Forgive me if I eat and run, dear. Something in the lab can't wait.\" The fact was that I had something more in the lab than I had bargained for. I had aimed only at a gliding mammal a little more efficient than mutating colony, there had been a decidedly simian appearance in recent years, a long shift from the garbage-dump rats I had started with. But organizing their nervous activity after the slumbrous explosion of his arms out and tried to tease the spars open. They were not new. The spars had been common to the basic colony for years and were the result that had first appeared in Nijinsky. No longer jointed like a finger, Suddenly, as I teased the male volpla, this happened. The male watched me, grinning. Cloud Nine and he wants to celebrate.\" I danced a little jig the way old Nijinsky might do it. \"Oh, great! Oh, wonderful! Good old Guy! Everybody's a success. It's great. It's wonderful. Success on success!\" just settle for a worldly martini?\" dreamed. I would invent a euphonious set of words to match the Basic Then someone authoritative would find a colony and observe them. He Volpla wisdom would become a cult—and of all forms of comedy, cults, I think, are the funniest. \"What? Sure. Certainly.\" \"No,\" I answered. \"Should I?\" \"What broadcast?\" the kids had fruit juice and we watched the broadcast Guy had tuned in. After a bit, I got up and said, \"I have something out in the lab I want to check on.\" The scene had changed to a desert launching site. There was old Guy himself explaining that when he pressed the button before him, the a sort of little sigh. We watched the hatch slowly close. ?\" On the screen, Guy's big dead-earnest face was explaining more about the project and suddenly I realized that this was an instrument-bearing be something! I began to feel a little Abruptly the camera made a giddy swing, focused a moment, and we were the opportunity to slip the oldest of the males and his two females out playful curiosity about the world had been abandoned momentarily and he so that I could not get near. Suddenly he laughed with a shrill little whoop. After that, it was a carnival. turning and spiraling to a gentle halt. I laughed out loud with anticipation. Wait till the first pair of these Of course, the volplas didn't want to return to the lab. There was a stretched to dry. I watched them affectionately and wondered about the advisability of \"We can learn again. We want to stay here.\" His little face was so He looked around slowly at the breeze playing in the branches and \"Chances are they won't stay long. Keep your eye on the tree in case found a stick. \"Can you do this?\" threw it better than I had expected. little. He veered giddily in the new direction and again dropped like a It was a hero's welcome. He had to walk back, of course—he had no They were raptly curious about the bird. They poked at it, marveled at this?\" gleeful and greasily amorous during the meal. \"We like it here. We will stay. Tomorrow you bring more of us?\" \"Yes. I will bring many more of you, if you promise to keep them all his wonder. \"You say we came from there?\" \"I can't remember any old ones. You tell me.\" \"That's right.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the \"new kind of fun\" that the narrator wants to have now that his first experiment worked?\n\n<options>:\nA He wants to pursue his maid, since she doesn't seem interested in him\nB He is going to sit back and watch a chaotic plan come into place\nC He is going to spend more time outdoors with his kids, exploring the area\nD He is going to continue developing various types of mutant animals\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,423 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthat will bear food and be a home for our children. And perhaps most important of all, they'll make other men think of the stars and look up at them and feel humility—for mankind needs humility.\" He's already reached Mars and Venus. Let him leave Jupiter and the That was something I didn't have to worry about. My parents had died in a strato-jet crash when I was four, so I hadn't needed many of those \"You are cordially invited\" cards. Just one, which I'd sent to Charlie Taggart. Stardust Charlie, we called him, although I never knew why. He was a veteran of Everson's first trip to the Moon nearly twenty-five years ago, and he was still at it. He was Chief Jetman now on the me until he became father, mother, and buddy all in one to me. And I remembered, too, how his recommendation had finally made me a cadet. My gaze wandered over the faces, but I couldn't find Charlie's. It It doesn't matter Then Mickey stiffened. \"I see 'em, Ben! There in the fifth row!\" At last it was over, and the proud faces descended upon us in a huge, babbling wave. Then I saw him. Good old Stardust Charlie. His wizened little body was shuffling down an aisle, his eyes shining like a child's. He'd been sandwiched, evidently, in one of the rear it was hard to believe he'd once been young. He scratched his mop of steel-gray hair and grinned. \"You made it, boy,\" he chortled, \"and by Jupiter, we'll celebrate tonight. Yes, siree, I got twenty-four hours, and we'll celebrate as introduction of Charlie. You and Mickey looked strangely at Charlie, and I realized that old Stardust was not a cadet's notion of the ideal spaceman. Charlie scorned the skin-tight uniforms of the government service and wore a shiny black suit that was a relic of Everson's early-day Moon Patrol. You were kind. You shook hands and said, softly: \"It's a privilege to meet you, Charlie. Just think—one of Everson's men, one of the first to reach the Moon!\" weekend with us, aren't you, Ben?\" I shook my head. \"Charlie has only twenty-four hours liberty. We're \"Why don't you both come with us?\" you asked. \"Our folks have their Charlie, wouldn't you like a home-cooked meal before going back to the Moon?\" that he'd infinitely prefer to spend his liberty sampling Martian fizzes and Plutonian zombies. But this night seemed too sacred for Charlie's kind of celebration. \"Ben,\" he called, \"don't forget that offer. Remember you've got two \"No, thanks,\" I answered. \"Better not count on me.\" A moment later Mickey said, frowning, \"What was he talking about, Ben? Mickey looked down at his feet. \"I didn't want to tell you yet, Ben. so exciting. I'll just live a lot longer. I'm sorry, Ben.\" \"It doesn't change anything, Ben—right now, I mean. We can still have video, and a handsome automatic home that needed no servants or housework. Stardust Charlie was as comfortable as a Martian sand-monkey in a shower, but he tried courageously to be himself. At the dinner table he stared glassily at nothing and grated, \"Only hit streaked up from White Sands. We gazed for a few seconds up into the dark sky, and then you said: \"Charlie is funny, isn't he? He's nice and I'm glad he's here, but he's sort of funny.\" \"He's an old-time spaceman. You didn't need much education in those \"But he wasn't always a spaceman. Didn't he ever have a family?\" I smiled and shook my head. \"If he had, he never mentioned it. Charlie doesn't like to be sentimental, at least not on the outside. As far as I know, his life began when he took off for the Moon with Everson.\" in a Moon crash at the age of 36, or like a thousand others who lie Charlie—a kind of human meteor streaking through space, eternally alone, never finding a home. Or there's the other path. To stay on this little prison of an Earth leavin' that for you. It's full of old stuff, souvenirs mostly. Thought maybe you'd like to have 'em.\" I scowled, not understanding. \"Why, Charlie? What for?\" He shrugged as if afraid he might be accused of sentimentality. \"Oh, Some of these days, I won't be so lucky.\" I tried to laugh. \"You're good for another twenty-five years, Charlie.\" gonna get off the Shuttle this time, make one more trip to Mars. Tell We watched him leave, you and Mickey and I. \"When will you be back?\" you asked. Charlie's hard face contorted itself into a gargoylish grin. \"Maybe a couple of months, maybe a couple of years. You know spacemen.\" gone. \"What's the matter, Ben? Still sore? I feel like a heel, but I'm just \"Well, how about staying with us till you decide? Might as well enjoy Why must I make a choice? Why can't I have both Then you murmured, \"I—I want to marry you, Ben, but are you asking me to marry a spaceman or a teacher?\" \"Can't a spaceman marry, too?\" Ben? You'd be like Charlie. Gone for two have to be a spaceman forever. I could try it for a couple of years, you want to go on to Jupiter and Saturn and Uranus and on and on?\" \"Do you think I'd dare have children, Ben? Mickey told me what happened You can't stay here. You've You can take Dean Dawson's job and stay with Laura and have kids and a line in a history book. I cursed. I knew what Charlie would say. He'd say, \"Get the hell out of there, boy. Don't let a fool woman make a sucker out of you. Get out there on the I stood staring at the cylinder. Charles Taggart was dead. Charles Taggart was Charlie. Stardust Charlie. My heart thudded crazily against my chest. It couldn't be! Not Charlie! The audiogram had lied! You ran to it, shut it off. \"I'm sorry, Ben, so terribly—\" photos, some letters, a small black statue of a forgotten Martian god, a gold service medal from the Moon Patrol. This was what remained of Charlie after twenty-five years in space. It was a bitter bargain. A statue instead of a wife, yellowed letters instead of children, a medal instead of a home. Charlie sensed my indecision, that he left these things so that they Charlie was young once, his eyes full of dreams, and he faced the same decision that I am facing. Two paths were before him, but he tried to travel both. He later learned what we already know—that there can be no compromise. And you know, too, which path he finally chose. Do you know why he had to drug himself to watch me graduate? So he could look at me, knowing that I would see the worlds he could never live to see. Charlie didn't leave just a few trinkets behind him. He left himself, Laura, for he showed me that a boy's dream can also be a man's dream. why he wanted to reach Mars? Do you know why he didn't be lonely when men like Charlie roam the spaceways? Charlie wanted me to himself that night after graduation. He wanted us to celebrate as spacemen should, for he knew that this would be his last night on Earth. It might have seemed an ugly kind of celebration Space Rat , just off Chandler Field on the Grand Canal. Stardust Charlie will be there he'll go with me in memory to whatever part of the Galaxy I may live to reach. And so will you, Laura. I have two wedding rings with me—his wife's ring and yours.\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Ben leave with two rings?\n\n<options>:\nA to symbolize the life he's giving up\nB to represent his marriage to Luna\nC to remind him to come home and get married\nD to honor Stardust Charlie\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,794 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nlines—little clothing being required in the artificially warmed city. They entered an elevator and dropped thirty stories to the from an ancient subway car, except that it was air-tight, and was hurled by magnetic attraction As they approached, a lean man, carrying a black bag, darted out of an elevator shaft opposite the door, ran across the corridor, and entered. They pushed in after They were in a little room, cut in two by a high brass grill. against the wall, that reminded one of the waiting room in an old railroad depot. In the grill was a little window, with a lazy, brown-eyed A little door gave access to the and The Alien Intelligence in SCIENCE WONDER STORIES , the grill. his bag frantically, raving at the sleepy boy. \"Queek! I have tell you zee truth! I have zee most urgent necessity to go queekly. A patient The thin man in black, whom French heart-specialist, was dancing before the window, waving fiction authors ever to sit down the machine now. Russian diplomat from Moscow to Rio de Janeiro.... Two hundred seventy at the typewriter. When the vogue for science-fantasy altered in a rousing trio of space service. Regular installations all over the world in a year.... Ready now. Come on in.\" operas pressed a button. The door sprang open in the grill, and the frantic physician leaped through the order of the day, he produced Crucible of Power and when they it. \"Hands at your sides, don't breathe. Ready!\" He manipulated his dials and button. \"Why, hello, Eric, old man!\" were telling me about? Congratulations!\" A bell jangled before him on the panel. \"Just a minute. I've got a call.\" He punched the board again. Little bulbs lit and glowed for a second. The youth turned toward the half-hidden machine, spoke courteously. came from the machine. \"Sir, what have you done with my overcame them. A few \"None of your impertinence, by the validity of the notion that \"Ah, a dog. Must have jumped off the crystal. You can have him sent on for three hundred wireless transmission of matter is the next big transportation frontier to be conquered. It is sir! I want my dog.\" clothing shimmering with artificial gems, waddled pompously out of the door through which the frantic French doctor had heavily across the room, and out into the corridor. Shrill words floated back: for the sake of survival on the orders are to use the Express merely between the sixteen designated stations, at New York, . Since then, he has written millions of words \"Sure, old boy. I'd send you to heaven for that, if you'd give me the micrometer readings to set for what happens afterward.\" open again, and Eric led Nada Eric helped Nada to a place transmitted by the beam. It would look as if we were melting into the crystal.\" help support the gray, steel-ribbed glass roof above. Beyond, raid last night. But you better let me set you down in Hong Kong.\" A bell jangled. \"So long,\" the youth called. Nada and Eric felt themselves slid a small typewriter out of its drawer, and began pecking at it impatiently. Nada.... But now we on a desert South Sea island. the television. \"We'll find a nice dry cave, and have a fire in front of the sleep on. And pottery vessels to cook in. And you will find seeds and grown grain.\" Eric's novels, and watched the machine from the space before television screens. They thrilled at the simple, romantic lives his \"But first we must find a flint-bed. Eric had settled down to the on, without finding where a provident nature had left them even back to our apartment.\" And then they went hand in hand, to the side of the room and punched a series of buttons on a panel—a simple way of ordering breakfast sent up the automatic shaft from the kitchens below. Nada Stokes-Harding was also you've been through—I don't know what. But I'll have you \"You didn't bring any matches, dear?\" \"Matches! Of course not! there in five minutes. My private car—\" We're going back to Nature.\" soon.\" \"If dry wood were gold dust, we couldn't buy a hot dog.\" \"Eric, that reminds me that I'm hungry.\" He confessed to a few pangs of his own. They turned their attention meat, instead of drinking synthetic contemplation of each other's off the grime of another planet. in bed. At the end of the month he dollars and eighty cents, swarmed about them in clouds. Then came a sound from the delivered his promised story to seemingly not inconvenienced in Nada clung against Eric. the least by the inclement elements, his publishers, a thrilling tale of bringing the game home to you! But I'm afraid there is no way.—Wait! The Cosmic Express.\" rooms, nice and warm and bright, with hot foods coming up the shaft whenever we pushed the button, and the gay crowds in the park, and my old typewriter.\" \"Eric?\" she called softly. \"Yes, dear.\" The youth took the money, The roaring outside was closer. And suddenly it was answered by another raucous bellow, at considerable distance, that echoed The fearful sounds were repeated, alternately. And always And then an infernal din broke out in the darkness. Bellows. Screams. Deafening of electricity are united to form an atom.\" \"Fine! I thought you said you . And Millikan's Eric and Nada clung to each to convert the matter to be carried into power, send it out as a radiant beam and focus the beam to convert it back into atoms at the destination.\" carry more energy than long ones. The Express Ray is an electromagnetic vibration of frequency far higher than that of from the invisible monsters. The pitiful roof collapsed on the bedraggled get any recognizable object, not even how they get the radiation moments later, they were lying on the transparent table in the Cosmic Express office, with all those great mirrors and prisms the light that passes through a camera lens. The photographic on the plate—just the same as the Express Ray picks up an object and sets it down on the lens, using light rays, picks up a \"An analogy from television might help. You know that by means of the scanning disc, the picture and reproduces it again grill, fairly bubbling apologies. \"So sorry—an accident—inconceivable. through the object, progressively, dissolving layers of the thickness of a single atom, which are accurately reproduced at the other focus of the instrument—which receiving instrument is required, as in television. The object is built up of an infinite series of I've had the fellow locked up, and the 'dry-laws' are on the plane layers, at the focus of the power is required to rebuild the atoms. Do you understand, dear?\" I will be perfectly satisfied to get worry! Here comes breakfast. Let me butter your toast.\" A bell had rung at the shaft. She ran to it, and returned with ate a hearty meal with his pretty dainty dishes, which she set on a spouse, after they had washed a great silver tray, laden with opposite each other, and ate, getting little side table. They sat down faces as from the excellent food. When they had finished, she carried the tray to the shaft, slid it in a slot, and touched a button—thus disposing of the culinary cares of the morning. She ran back to Eric, who was as much satisfaction from at his typewriter. \"Oh, darling! I'm thrilled to death about the Cosmic Express! society—\" \"We can go to their office—it's only five minutes. The chap that operates the machine for the company is a pal of mine. He's not supposed to take passengers except between the offices they have scattered about the\n\n<question>:\nWhere do Eric and Nada's meals come from?\n\n<options>:\nA Their meals are synthesized using light rays to reproduce a picture of food onto a plate.\nB Their meals are delivered by a dumbwaiter.\nC They have a food replicator in their apartment.\nD Their meals are ordered on a device that sends messages to the apartment building kitchens.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,360 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nanything that Judy can’t solve.” Lorraine tilted her head disdainfully. “We’re sisters now. We’re both Farringdon-Petts and should be loyal to each other. But you always did take Judy’s Everyone has problems, and I’m sure Judy is no exception.” “You’re right, Lorraine,” announced Judy, coming in to serve dessert to the two friends she had invited “It looks grim all right,” agreed Judy. “I wonder for lunch at Peter’s suggestion. “I do have problems, and there are plenty of mysteries I can’t solve.” if there are new people living here they’ll never give us permission.” “Judy Dobbs, remember?” “Well, you were Judy Bolton when you solved “We might explore it without permission,” Judy “Name one,” charged Lois. “Just mention one single spooky thing you couldn’t explain, and I’ll won’t be enchanted. I told you—” “You told us very little,” Lois reminded her. “If you know anything about the people who live here now, I think you ought to let us know. Otherwise, “What you did wasn’t easy, Judy.” “It didn’t need to be as hard as it was,” Judy confessed. I’m afraid we won’t be very welcome.” “I don’t think they’ll welcome us, anyway. I do know who they are,” Lorraine admitted. “You remember her pretty face, “let’s not talk about him now.” “Very well,” Judy agreed. “What shall we talk about?” “It wasn’t important,” Lorraine replied evasively. “I was just out for a drive.” “You plutocrats!” laughed Judy. “Each with a car of your own. You’re not interested in Roger Banning, are you, Lois? I’m sure you can do better than that. I did know him slightly, but not from “Before I met you,” Judy said, thinking back, lot better. He was in our young people’s group at church.” “Sh!” Lois cautioned her. “Nice people no longer mention Dick Hartwell’s name. He’s doing time.” “For what?” asked Judy. Like Peter, her FBI husband, she preferred facts to gossip. Judy was almost sorry she had mentioned it. She would have preferred to forget. She liked to think she was a good judge of character, and she had taken Dick Hartwell for a quiet, refined boy who would never stoop to crime. but Lois and Lorraine insisted. It all began, she finally told them, the summer before they met. Horace Lois said impatiently. “Are we going to look for it, or aren’t we?” “I don’t see what all this has to do with the fountain,” Farringdon Daily Herald . He had turned in some interesting church news, convincing Mr. Lee that he had in him the makings of a good reporter. And so it was that “Of course we are. That’s what we came for. I Lorraine hesitated a moment and then replied evasively, “People don’t generally enter private estates without an invitation. That’s all.” “I’d better turn the car around,” Lois decided, “in case we have to leave in a hurry. I don’t expect of trespassing.” “I’m sure we will be,” announced Judy as two dark-coated figures strode down the road toward NO TRESPASSING sign, and this isn’t a welcoming committee coming to meet us!” Judy had stopped. She had seen her father’s tired scolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’t glad to have her. “You here again?” she had greeted her that summer, Ghost Parade . Judy wiped it away she noticed that it had fallen the freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would one it distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother and to hear her say in her usual abrupt fashion, “Enchanted fountain, indeed! If you let people know your wishes instead of muttering them to yourself, most of them aren’t so impossible.” “Were they?” asked Lois. Judy was telling them without interruption. “That’s the unsolved mystery,” Judy replied. A voice had answered, although she could see no one. exclaiming. “But a fountain doesn’t speak. It doesn’t have a voice.” “Wish wisely,” the voice from the fountain had said in a mysterious whisper. “Oh, Judy! Don’t keep us in suspense any longer. What did you wish?” “Patience,” Judy said with a smile. “I’m coming to that.” wise wishes. They seem rather selfish to me, now. I wasn’t thinking of anybody but me, Judy Bolton, and what I wanted. It wasn’t until after I began to “But what were they?” Lois insisted. Lorraine seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful. Judy did not notice the fear in her eyes as she replied airily, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I wished for lots of friends and a sister, and I wished I could marry a things. I wanted to go places, of course, and keep pets, and have a nice home, and—” “And your wishes all came true!” “Every one of them,” Judy agreed, “even the one enchanted?” Lois laughed at this, but Judy was serious as she “No, it was a hammock all right,” Judy assured “Do you mean a garden changes? I know,” Judy “I think I would have tried,” Judy admitted, “if really think it had heard my wishes. I was still wishing for a friend when I met you, Lois. It did seem “Sometimes,” Judy said fondly, “Blackberry thinks “He’ll remember he’s a cat fast enough if there are any mice up there,” Lois said with a giggle. reached it first and yowled for Judy to open it. of,” Judy urged her friends. confessed Lois as she followed Judy to the sewing room at the top of the last flight of stairs. “So am I,” Lorraine admitted. “I’m not superstitious “Now he thinks he’s a kitten,” laughed Judy. she?” Judy wondered. “When I first remember this you see on that high shelf by the window. I think she and Grandpa like the way they lived without any modern conveniences or anything.” “I think so, too,” Lois agreed, looking around the thoughtfully, “I’m sure that was one of their wishes. Another could have been to keep the good old days, as Grandma used to call them. That one came true in a way. They did manage to keep a little of the past when they kept all these old things. That’s what and Judy both questioned Lorraine, but that was all she would say. Judy wondered, as they searched to, wouldn’t you, Judy?” “I certainly would,” Judy replied enthusiastically. “The department store Brandts?” Judy questioned. A Strange Encounter Lorraine was not too enthusiastic about the proposed Judy thought she would, but she wasn’t too sure. She and Lois both argued that it would be better to inquire at the house. Lois knew Helen Brandt slightly. “She’d be glad to show us around. This way it looks as if we’re planning a crime,” Lois said as they easy to park in out-of-the-way places. Judy laughed about this one. He’s my Santa Claus, and it will soon be Christmas. Maybe I should have worn the fur coat he gave me last year.” “Your reversible’s better in case it rains. It’s too warm for snow. We picked a perfect day for this trip,” Lois continued, guiding the car around curves “Before what?” questioned Judy. “We know that, Judy. Honey told us all about Judy continued. “All sorts of little cupids and gnomes it was a stranger to Judy, but she would remember his hypnotic, dark eyes and swarthy complexion for a long time. The soft brown hat he was wearing covered most of his hair. “What’s the matter with you two?” asked Lois when the car had passed. “Aren’t you a little old for playing hide and seek?”\n\n<question>:\nWhich word least describes Judy?\n\n<options>:\nA humble\nB secretive\nC inquisitive\nD polite\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,500 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nbut they're quite likely to be asked to help the obstetrician by pushing a stuck baby from below. Debra's anatomy allows them to practise this skill It's my first go at delivering a baby by caesarean section – and the foetal head is impacted, jammed in its mother's pelvis. To be honest I'm struggling. and to learn where and how hard to push on the infant skull. \"Any practice you've done in the cold light of day will help you stay calm and composed in an emergency, and that's what we're aiming for,\" says Briley. The baby's mother – she's called Debra – remains impassive throughout these agonised fumblings. Her face reveals nothing of what she may be feeling. But then Debra has no feelings. Indeed she has no face…So you can stop worrying. Debra – Desperate Debra to use her full trade name – is a simulator designed to help doctors practise their skill at dealing with impacted foetuses: babies that get stuck trying to exit the womb by the normal route. She comprises the lower two thirds (ie from the mid-chest region downwards) of a life-sized but limbless female torso made of flesh-coloured silicone rubber. She comes with a vulva, a pre-cut incision in her abdomen and, most importantly, a uterus containing a foetal head that should, in the normal way of things, be free to emerge between her legs. But this fetus is going nowhere until an obstetrician – or in this case me – can successfully grasp and pull it out. A proper study of the clinical effectiveness of the Tydeman tube will necessarily involve women giving birth. Assessing the value of Debra as a simulator didn't require human subjects Given the universality of childbirth it's no surprise that, then as now, the womb turns out to be the most simulated of our organs. For the benefit of 18th-century midwives and doctors-in-training, the Bologna surgeon Giovanni Antonio Galli devised a birthing simulator comprising a glass uterus supported by an artificial pelvis and containing a flexible foetus. Trainees had to deliver the baby while wearing a blindfold. Only the tutor could witness the fumbling of their hands. The standard response is to perform a caesarean section. Every year some 160,000 babies are born in the UK this way, with almost two thirds of them classified as emergencies. One audit has suggested that roughly 8,000 babies get stuck and have to be delivered by caesarean at a stage when their mothers are fully dilated. \"Some of the babies will be so close to coming out by the normal route,\" says Tydeman, \"that it's then difficult to get them back up and remove them through the hole in the woman's tummy.\" Which women are most at risk of this setback seems to be largely unpredictable. \"We just observe that it happens… It's been discussed in the medical literature since the 1940s, but until 10 years ago, and throughout my training and most of my life as a consultant, it wasn't really talked about.\" Considering the universality of childbirth, impaction and the best way of dealing with it are topics that seem to have gone remarkably unstudied. \"There are strong opinions about why it happens and what to do, but very little research evidence,\" says Tydeman, adding that many of these opinions are contradictory. In a protracted birth that's destined to end with a caesarean, the longer the labour is allowed to go on before the obstetrician decides to intervene, the greater the likelihood that the baby's head will become impacted. However, concern over the rising number of babies born by caesarean has made doctors more wary of doing them – one consequence of which is that medical staff may allow a difficult birth to continue for longer before they resort to surgery. This could be boosting the frequency of impaction. But, again, no one is certain. When obstetricians doing planned caesareans slice open a mother's womb, what they usually see is the baby's head. By slipping a hand round and below it they can easily guide the baby out. \"When you do a caesarean for an impacted baby,\" says Tydeman, \"you make the incision in the same place, but what you might come across is a shoulder because the baby's so much further down [the birth canal].\" As I'd discovered for myself, sliding a hand around the baby's head is then far more difficult. \"It makes your fingers hurt,\" says Tydeman. \"It makes your pulse rate go up to about 200, and you break out in a sweat because know you've only got about five or 10 minutes before there are serious consequences. The clock is ticking.\" If a baby's head is jammed down in the mother's pelvic region, common sense suggests that it might help if a second person gives a gentle backward push on the area of its head visible through the mother's dilated cervix. \"In our unit,\" says Tydeman, \"when the woman is fully dilated and you'd expect the baby to come out normally [but it doesn't]… a registrar will be asking for a push-up about one in five times.\" Although registrars are doctors still in training, they're nonetheless experienced To understand the desperation of Debra and how the Tydeman tube might help to relieve it requires a brief foray into basic obstetric knowhow. Evolution has endowed us with heads proportionally so large that even when labour runs according to plan, the delivery process involves a bit of a squeeze. For the baby's head to get stuck on the way out may not be usual, but it's by no means a rarity. Tydeman didn't do much with the idea until 10 years ago when one trainee, who was experiencing real difficulty getting heads out, prompted him to think again about the problem. Around the same time, he met professor of obstetrics Andrew Shennan and consultant midwife Annette Briley, both of the Women's Health Academic Centre at St Thomas's hospital. Between them they came up with a device – the Tydeman tube – to make pushing on the foetus more controlled while simultaneously releasing any vacuum that might be holding it in place. The instrument is made up of a rigid plastic tube opening into a softer silicone cup. Pressure to the foetal head is applied using four pads projecting forward from the cup's interior. Holding the device by the tube, the user places the cup against the part of the head exposed through the dilated cervix, and presses. This pushes the baby back up into the uterus while releasing any suction pressure that may have been holding it, so allowing the obstetrician to extract it more easily. Because pressure is distributed equally between the four pads with a greater combined surface area than that of a user's fingertips, the risk of inadvertent damage is minimised. The following morning, at St Thomas's, Tydeman asked a visiting professor of obstetrics to have a look at Debra and tell him what she thought. She put her hand into Debra's womb, grasped the foetal head and said it felt just like the real thing. \"Terribly flattering,\" Tydeman laughs. So how valuable in training medical staff is a simulator like this? Very, according to Annette Briley. Imagine it's the middle of the night and an unplanned emergency caesarean is required: \"Some poor junior doctor might find himself trying to manage it on his own.\" To have practised the knack of extracting a firmly impacted baby from a simulator is lot better than first honing your skill on a real woman.\n\n<question>:\nWhich term best describes the author's tone toward delivering a 'baby' by C-section for the first time?\n\n<options>:\nA befuddled\nB petrified\nC apprehensive\nD confident\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
582 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBy EMMETT McDOWELL Death was Jaro Moynahan's stock in trade, and every planet had known his touch. But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life ribald ditty, a favorite of the planters and miners, the space pilots men and women sitting at the tables drank heavily of Latonka, the pale green wine of Mercury. Only the native waiters, the enigmatic, yellow-eyed Mercurians, seemed unaffected by the heat. They didn't sweat at all. \"Here's to the revolution,\" he said. His low voice carried an odd, compelling note. His eyes, light blue and amused, were pale against his \"No! Mercury is not ready for freedom. Only a handful of fanatics are engineering the revolution. The real Mercurian patriots are against it, but they are afraid to protest. You've got to believe me. The them. We haven't but a handful of troops.\" Jaro Moynahan wiped the sweat from his forehead with a fine duraweb The girl ignored the interruption. \"There is one man he is the leader, the very soul of the revolution. The Mercurians worship him. They will do whatever he says. Without him they would be lost. He is the rebel, Karfial Hodes. I am to offer you ten thousand Earth notes to kill Karfial Hodes.\" I'm telling the truth. We can't find him. That's why we called you. You've got to find him, Jaro. He's stirring up all Mercury.\" \"Who's putting up the money?\" \"I can't tell you.\" \"Ah,\" said Jaro Moynahan He wondered who was putting up the ten thousand Earth notes? Who stood to lose most in case of a revolution? The answer seemed obvious enough. Who, but Albert Peet. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. reputation of being able to take care of herself. He beckoned a waiter, paid his bill. As the Mercurian started to leave, in the dark as any alley-prowling cat. For centuries they had lived most their lives beneath ground to escape the terrible rays of the sun. Only at night did they emerge to work their fields and ply their trades. He peeled off a bill, put it in the waiter's hands. The Mercurian glanced at the bill, then back at the Earthman. There was no expression in his yellow eyes. \"She and the man, the queer white one who plays the piano, slipped out engineered it in the dark and the Mercurians were a clannish lot. either side: buildings with walls four feet thick to keep out the heat of the sun. Beneath his feet, he knew, stretched a labyrinth of rooms and passages. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the revolutionist, and the girl. interest. He had, he supposed, killed rather a lot of men. He had fought in was little doubt but that he had killed quite a number of men. But this business of hunting a man through the rat-runs beneath the city was out of his line. Furthermore, there was something phony about the entire set up. The Mercurians, he knew, had been agitating for freedom for years. Why, at this time when the Earth Congress was about to grant them Mr. Peet licked his lips again. \"I have come, Mr. Moynahan, on a matter matter. I preferred to remain behind the scenes, but the disappearance Mr. Peet licked his lips. \"But you will, surely you will. Unless Karfial Hodes is stopped immediately there will be a bloody uprising all over the planet during the Festival of the Rains. Earth doesn't \"Then I was right it is you who are putting up the ten thousand Earth notes.\" \"Not entirely,\" said Peet uncomfortably. \"There are many of us here, Mercurians as well as Earthmen, who recognize the danger. We have—ah—pooled our resources.\" \"But you stand to lose most in case of a successful revolution?\" is—ah—lucrative.\" Jaro Moynahan lit a cigarette, sat down on the edge of the bed. \"Why beat about the bush,\" he asked with a sudden grin. \"Mr. Peet, you've gained control of the Latonka trade. Other Earthmen are in control of the mines and the northern plantations. Together you form perhaps the strongest combine the Universe has ever seen. You actually run blocking it. You are, perhaps, the most cordially-hated group anywhere. Mr. Peet took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. \"Fifteen Mr. Peet shook his head. \"No. Karfial Hodes' men abducted her.\" white suit was blotched with sweat and dirt. \"They told me Mr. Peet was here,\" he said. \"It's for you,\" said Jaro over his shoulder. Mr. Peet came to the door. \"Hello, Stanley. I thought Hodes had you? \"I got away. Look, Mr. Peet, I got to see you alone.\" Albert Peet said, \"Would you excuse me, Mr. Moynahan?\" He licked his none, but the clerk had seen Mr. Peet with a young fellow take the railed off from the rest of the office. The door into Albert Peet's clearly he heard Albert Peet say in a high girlish tone: \"What's happened?\" cried Albert Peet in distress. \"What's wrong with \"But how badly?\" Peet was wringing his hands. \"Stanley,\" said Mr. Peet. \"You're bleeding all over my carpet. Why Jaro's attention. \"There's been an—ah—accident,\" said Mr. Peet, and he licked his lips. aren't telepathic, honey.\" Mr. Peet regarded Jaro Moynahan with distress. that—ah—a little extreme? I'm afraid it might incapacitate him, and I had a job for him.\" take them, Mr. Peet. Frankly, they give me the creeps. They might go Mr. Peet accepted the guns gingerly. He held them as if they might Mr. Peet came back into the room. \"Goodbye, Miss Webb,\" said Mr. Peet firmly. notes?\" \"That's fair enough,\" replied Jaro. Albert Peet sighed. \"I have the check made out.\" \"Only,\" continued Jaro coldly, \"I'm not ready to be bought off. I think Mr. Peet's face fell. \"You won't reconsider?\" \"You've killed him,\" said Peet. \"If I were you, Mr. Moynahan, I would his handkerchief. Whatever was going on, these boys played for keeps. \"But the police!\" she cried, as she caught her breath. \"There'll never be an investigation. Albert Peet will see to that. I was called here on what I supposed was a legitimate revolution. Instead I was offered ten thousand Earth notes to assassinate the leader of the revolution.\" \"What revolution? I'm going around in circles.\" \"The Mercurians, of course.\" \"I don't believe it,\" said the girl. \"The Mercurians are the most peaceable people in the Universe. They've been agitating for freedom, yes. But they believe in passive resistance. I don't believe you could induce a Mercurian to kill, even in self-protection. That's why Albert Peet and the rest of the combine had such an easy time gaining control \"Score one,\" breathed Jaro, \"I begin to see light. Miss Webb—ah, Joan—I've a notion that we're going to be a great team. How do you happen to be Albert Peet's private secretary?\" \"A gal's gotta eat. But the truth is, I was quitting. The Latonka Trust is almost on the rocks. Their stock has been dropping like a meteor.\" Jaro Moynahan raised his oblique brows but did not interrupt. \"Albert Peet,\" she continued, \"has been trying to sell out but nobody will touch the stock, not since it looks as if the Earth Congress is going to grant the Mercurians their freedom. Everybody knows that the\n\n<question>:\nWhat does Peet seem to care about the most?\n\n<options>:\nA keeping all of his power and money\nB the safety of all citizens on Mercury\nC getting off of Mercury\nD the people that work for him\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
2,461 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\neven think of it again. It seemed Pop Young was the one known to have nothing to do with him. But fully in his desperate writings back to Earth. Pop matter-of-factly tended the surface of the Moon's far side, and, Sattell undoubtedly dealt with it ghastly head-wound to explain his ability. One man partly guessed the it any time he chose. He did actually recover a completely vanished Earth-time a rocketship came around the horizon from Lunar City with stores for the colony deep underground. took care of them. He handed over from Earth, on a voyage equal to rather more than a thousand times to Earth. The rocket went away again. Come nightfall Pop the product of the mine, to be forwarded around the equator of the Earth. lowered the supplies down the long Pop didn't even ask. without him the mine down in the Crack would have had to shut down. The Crack, of course, was that the side of the Moon that Earth is nothing like it on Earth, of course. When it was first found, scientists descended into it to examine the exposed than history. They found the reason for the colony and the rocket landing The reason for Pop was something but— Early one lunar morning he was when he saw rocket-fumes in the sky. It was most unlikely. He wasn't on the Moon. In the Moon's slight gravity, But Sattell couldn't comfort himself so easily. He knew about Pop, up on the surface. He'd shipped out, whimpering, to the Moon to get far Pop made his way toward it in kinks in his head to survive. And those kinks— The first men to leave the colony had to be knocked cold and shipped on the far side of the Moon. out unconscious. They'd been underground—and the idea of open spaces. Even now raising a trail of slowly settling to see the sky. In any case Pop was didn't come from Lunar City, but from Earth. He couldn't imagine why. He did not even wildly connect thought of Pop, and Pop rather it with what—say—Sattell might powder. He knew only that the ship crystals out of the mine, knocking Pop reached the rocketship. He who he was, and as gently as possible what had happened to his wife and children. They'd been murdered after he was seemingly killed defending them. But he didn't remember Pop eagerly tried to ask him though, and he hunted up Sattell again to find out if he was right. And Sattell went into panic when Nowadays, by the Big Crack, Pop a rocketship from Lunar City got of jagged crater-walls. It slowed, and slowed, and curved down as it drew nearer. The pilot killed all forward motion just above the field and came therefore, he wanted to hurt. diamonds you've got for the ship from Lunar City! Bring 'em!\" Pop licked blood from his lips and the At such times Pop hardly thought Sattell knowing what had happened to his wife and children, but wiped out by an axe-blow. He did recover a good deal. When Sattell fled to another continent, Pop followed because he had some distinct memories of his wife—and the way he'd felt about her—and some fugitive of course, Pop was helpless to resent Pop had come to remember both his children and some of the happiness up for Lunar City, Pop tracked him. By that time he was quite sure that Sattell was the man who'd killed his family. If so, Sattell had profited by less than two days' pay for wiping out everything that Pop possessed. But Pop wanted it back. He couldn't prove Sattell's guilt. There was no evidence. In any case, he didn't really want Sattell to die. If he did, there'd be no way to recover more lost memories. Outrushing air tugged at Pop. After side of the Moon, Pop Young had it was stolen for the journey here. Sattell's associates had had to on the Moon Pop kept a waiting cannister ever thought of the value of the mine's production. If he would kill a woman and two children and think he'd killed a man for no more than a hundred dollars, what enormity presently. Otherwise the ship on the landing strip would destroy shack and Pop and the colony together. \"I'd guess,\" said Pop painstakingly, \"No,\" said Pop, \"they'll do it anyhow. If we were able to tell about 'em, they'd be chased. But if I'm dead and the shacks smashed and the cable burnt through, they'll be back on Earth long before a new cable's been got and let down to you. So they'll do all they can no matter But not Pop. He'd come to the what I do.\" He added, \"I wouldn't Moon in the first place because Sattell memories of them every day. He hadn't yet remembered the crime took down the cannister of diamonds which were worth five millions or more back on Earth. He found a bucket. He dumped the diamonds which lost them to him. Until he casually into it. They floated downward Pop regarded his drawings meditatively. Earth newly-mined diamonds sometimes fly to pieces from internal stress. On the Moon, it was not desirable that diamonds be exposed to ice clattered out to be returned to the humidifier. Less often he took out the CO from space that had made them. the moonscape. Pop Young meticulously Pop reflected hungrily that it was port and sees the cosmos unshielded Pop reached the rocket. He parts Sattell had managed to get There was no purpose in the sketching, save that he'd lost all his contents should weigh a hundred pounds on Earth. \"Any tricks,\" he rasped, \"and you live on the surface of the far side of to the lunar state of things. Living on the Moon was bad enough the crime Pop Young hadn't yet recalled. He considered that Pop had made no overt attempt to revenge himself because he planned some retaliation so horrible and lingering that it was worth waiting for. He came to hate Pop with an insane need to escape became an obsession on top of the other psychotic states normal to a Moon-colonist. But he was helpless. He couldn't kill Pop. He had no chance—and he was afraid. The one absurd, irrelevant thing he could do was write letters back to Earth. He did that. He wrote with the desperate, impassioned, frantic blend of persuasion prison, trying to induce someone to help him escape. But the ship had fuel on board for the trip back to Earth. And it blew, too. It would be minutes before all the fragments of the ship returned to the Moon's surface. On the Moon, But then an event occurred which bore directly upon Pop Young and Sattell and Pop Young's missing Moon. It looked like a perfect set-up. What do we do?\" \"Don't do a thing,\" advised Pop. \"It's all right. I blew up the ship and everything's all right. I wouldn't even mention it to Sattell if I were Moon's far side and trips through pictures of his wife and children in order to recover memories of happens when a self-centered and complacent individual unsuspectingly looks out of a spaceship missing portions of his life—the away from him. He'd get back more than ever, now! He didn't wonder what he'd do A millionaire cut his throat when if he ever remembered the crime Sattell had committed. He felt, somehow, that he wouldn't get that back he saw Earth dwindled to a mere blue-green ball in vastness. He could until he'd recovered all the rest. with only four passengers and turned back before reaching the Moon. Space-pilots could take the strain of space-flight because they had work to do. Workers for the lunar mines could make the trip under heavy sedation. But it was too early in the development of space-travel for\n\n<question>:\nWhat motivates Pop Young to live on the far side of the moon?\n\n<options>:\nA He is being compensated for a wrongful death suit that occurred back on Earth\nB He is close to Sattell's location, which enhances his memories of his wife and children\nC If he left his post, there would be no one to monitor the mines in the Big Crack\nD If he returned to Earth, he would be arrested for the murder of his family\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
674 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthe blackness of space to save a nation from ruthless invaders. He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. And at once there was an answer: \" You lie upon the world Dondromogon. \" I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, The voice had a note of triumph. \"You do not know that. It is as well, for this will be a birth and beginning of your destined leadership on Dondromogon.\" \"Destined—leadership—\" I began to repeat, and fell silent. I had need to think. The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from Dondromogon might be. \"Birth and beginning—destined leadership—\" Fantastic! And yet, for all I could say to the contrary, unvarnishedly true. \"Dondromogon?\" I mumbled. \"The name is strange to me.\" \"It is a world the size of your native one,\" came words of information. \"Around a star it spins, light-years away from the world of your birth. One face of Dondromogon ever looks to the light and heat, wherefore its metals run in glowing seas. The other face is ever away in cold darkness, with its air freezing into solid chunks. But because Dondromogon wavers on its axis, there are two lunes of its surface which from time to time shift from night to day. These are habitable.\" My eyes were tight shut against the dust, but they saw in imagination unceasing, bitter, with no quarter asked, given or expected. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. Now come invaders, to reap the benefits of discovery and toil.\" A pause. \"You find that thought unpleasant? You wish to right that called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid clad in metal-faced garments and wearing weapons in their girdles. I shelter.\" had first spoken. Then, to his comrade: \"No reward, then.\" its scabbard. \"If he's dead, we get pay for both warning and capture—\" \"They lie,\" I broke in, very conscious of my naked helplessness before \"Then manage to do so.\" She flung off her cloak and draped it over my nakedness. \"Walk along beside me. No tricks, and I promise you fair \"Stranger,\" he said to me, \"can you think of no better tale to tell \"I tell the truth,\" was my reply, not very gracious. \"You will have to prove that,\" he admonished me. \"What proof have I?\" I demanded. \"On this world of yours—Dondromogon, bearded fellow in a voluminous robe that enfolded him in most dignified gold-bound book that is third from the right.\" Then he turned back, and bowed toward me. \"Surely you are Yandro, the Conquering Stranger,\" he said, intoning as if in formal prayer. \"Pardon these short-sighted come equipped with all plausible knowledge. As it is—\" \"As it is, he may remember that the Conquering Stranger is foretold \"I still say you will understand my caution,\" he addressed me, with real respect and shyness this time. \"If you are Yandro himself, you can prove it. The prophecy even sketches a thumb-print—\" And he held the book toward me. It contained a full-page likeness, in color, of myself wrapped in a scarlet robe. Under this was considerable printed description, and to Doriza shook her head. \"That happens to be my cloak. I gave it to him because he was naked, and not for any treasonable masquerade. But the bustled to me. From under his robe he produced a pouch, and took out a \"Get up,\" I bade them. \"I want to hear why I was first bound, and now \"The Newcomers,\" supplemented Doriza. \"They have taken the \"Other Side\" of Dondromogon, and would take our side as well. We defend ourselves at the poles. Now,\" and her voice rang joyously, \"you will lead us to defeat and crush them utterly!\" \"Follow me, deign to follow me,\" Sporr said. \"Your clothing, your \"Our cities are below ground,\" he quavered. \"Whipped by winds above, transmute into food, to weave into clothing, to weld into tools and \"Behold!\" he said, with a dramatic gesture. \"Your garments, even as locker or cupboard, with a glass door through which showed the garments the door. The garments inside were old, I could see, but well kept and There was a kiltlike item, belted at the waist and falling to mid-thigh. A resilient band at the top, with a series of belt-holes, garment, a long strip of soft, close-woven fabric that spiralled neck. The only fitted articles were a pair of shoes, metal-soled and the neck, a belt-bag, and a handsome sword, with clips to fasten them I took the military cloak which Doriza had lent me and slung it over my \"It is indeed Yandro, our great chief,\" he mumbled. Then he turned and crossed the room. A sort of mouthpiece sprouted from the wall. \"I announce,\" he intoned into it. \"I announce, I, Sporr, the reader and fore-teller of wisdom. Yandro is with us, he awaits his partners and friends. Let them meet him in the audience hall.\" \"I serve Yandro,\" she vowed tremulously. \"Now and forever—and happy that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all Dondromogon.\" \"Please get up,\" I bade her, trying not to sound as embarrassed as I felt. \"Come with me. There is still much that I do not understand.\" mixture of awe and brightness. \"It is necessary that we live like this,\" she explained. \"The hot air of Dondromogon's sunlit face is ever rising, and the cold air from the dark side comes rushing under to fill the vacuum. Naturally, our strip of twilight country is never free of winds too high and fierce to I looked at my garments, and hers. There were various kinds of fabric, Doriza had no answer that time, but Sporr spoke up behind us: \"Great Yandro is wise as well as powerful. But the Newcomers do not want to help, not even to conquer. They want to obliterate us. There is nothing to do—not for lifetimes—but to fight them back at the two poles.\" were all men but two, and wore robes of black, plum-purple or red. At like some sort of a rodent. They all wore jewelry. Too much jewelry. \" Yandro! \" They all spoke the name in chorus, and bowed toward me. infant. I hear wonderful things, of which I seem to be the center. Are they true?\" \"The tenth part of the wonders which concern mighty Yandro have not been told,\" intoned Sporr, ducking his bearded head in a bow, but fixing me with his wise old eyes. the dignified folds of his purple robe. One carefully-tended hand will speak simply. Our hopes have been raised by Yandro's return—the return presaged of old by those who could see the future, and more \"You honor me,\" I told him. \"Yet I still know little. It seems that I am expected to aid and lead and save the people of this world called Dondromogon. But I must know them before I can help.\" Gederr turned his eyes upon the woman with the red hair, and gestured to her \"Tell him, Elonie.\" Then he faced me. \"Have we Yandro's\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the meaning of the garments given to the narrator?\n\n<options>:\nA It shows the reader that Yandro is preparing to fight Barak.\nB It shows the reader that the narrator is going to play the part of Yandro, but not believe in it.\nC It shows the reader that the narrator is becoming Yandro.\nD It shows the reader that all Dondromogon prophecies are true.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
700 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBut his attention was diverted by a gleam from one of the benches. Nebula McCray found an ally—and a foe! Out in the great gas cloud of the Orion In fact, they were. He could recognize barrel, chamber, trigger, even beside them. It was an older, clumsier model than the kind he had seen from Earth to the thriving colonies circling Betelgeuse Nine. McCray angles from the computer sights, automatically locked on their beacon stars, and found them correct Hatcher's second in command said: \"He has got through the first survival test. In fact, he broke his way out! What next?\" \"Wait!\" Hatcher ordered sharply. He was watching the new specimen and a troublesome thought had occurred to him. The new one was female and seemed to be in pain but it was not the pain that disturbed Hatcher, \"I know,\" Hatcher said, \"but watch. Do you see? He is going straight toward her.\" Hatcher, who was not human, did not possess truly human emotions but from a warm, bright navigator's cubicle on much better than any of his helpers. They could only be surprised at Hatcher knew that this was not a freak show, but a matter of life and \"This new one, I cannot communicate with her, but I get—almost—a whisper, now and then. The first one, the male, nothing. But this female is perhaps not quite mute.\" Hatcher hesitated. \"No,\" he said at last. \"The male is responding well. Remember that when last this experiment was done every subject died he is alive at least. But I am wondering. We can't quite communicate with the female—\" \"But?\" \"But I'm not sure that others can't.\" a useful RDF set. He located her direction easily enough, shielding the suit? It was slightly reassuring, McCray thought, to find that most of hadn't been even a shadowy outline of the three-sided, uneven opening But they seemed to have none. They were \"neutral\"—the color of aged It was a woman, all right. The voice had been so strained that he hadn't been positive. Even now, short black hair might not have proved it, and she was lying face down but the waist and hips were a woman's, apparently in her late thirties. She appeared to be Chinese. She breathed, a little raggedly but without visible discomfort her nothing more on his mind than completing his check-sighting and meeting . He could, of course, be dead. All this could be the fantasies of a McCray grinned into the pink-lit darkness. The thought had somehow For before the light had gone, McCray had seen what had escaped his eyes before. The suit and the microphone were clear enough in the pinkish glimmer McCray could not see any part of his own body at all. Someone was watching Herrell McCray, with the clinical fascination of a biochemist observing the wigglings of paramecia in a new antibiotic—and with the prayerful emotions of a starving, shipwrecked, sailor, watching the inward bobbing drift of a wave-born cask that may contain food. Suppose you call him \"Hatcher\" (and suppose you call it a \"him.\") Hatcher was not exactly male, because his race had no true males but it did have females and he was certainly not that. Hatcher did not in any way look like a human being, but they had features in common. If Hatcher and McCray had somehow managed to strike up an acquaintance, they might have got along very well. Hatcher, like McCray, was an description. Both held positions of some importance—considering their ages—in the affairs of their respective worlds. Physically they were nothing alike. Hatcher was a three-foot, hard-shelled sphere of jelly. He had \"arms\" and \"legs,\" but they were not organically attached to \"himself.\" They were snakelike things which Hatcher's principal task at this moment was to run the \"probe team\" which had McCray under observation, and he was more than a little the members of the other team workers were in a The probe team had had a shock. \"Paranormal powers,\" muttered Hatcher's second in command, and the others mumbled agreement. Hatcher ordered silence, studying the specimen from Earth. After a long moment he turned his senses from the Earthman. \"Incredible—but it's true enough,\" he said. \"I'd better report. Watch and even more, not one of them could have looked away to save his life from the spectacle of a creature as odd and, from their point of view, hideously alien as Herrell McCray. Hatcher hurried through the halls of the great buried structure in Hatcher identified himself and gave a quick, concise report: to see and so we illuminated his field of vision for him. about communicating with him, Hatcher? Any progress?\" The council conferred among itself for a moment, Hatcher waiting. It the probe-team room, he was in fairly close touch with what was going \"Stop fidgeting,\" commanded the council leader abruptly. \"Hatcher, you \"But, sir....\" Hatcher swung closer, his thick skin quivering slightly creature is in no way similar to us, you know. He relies on paranormal forces—heat, light, kinetic energy—for his life. His chemistry is not ours, his processes of thought are not ours, his entire organism is closer to the inanimate rocks of a sea-bottom than to ourselves.\" Hatcher. Yours is not the only probe team working. The Central Masses \"Have they secured a subject?\" Hatcher demanded jealously. The councillor paused. \"Worse than that, Hatcher. I am afraid their There was a moment's silence. Frozen, Hatcher could only wait. The again, each council member poised over his locus-point, his members Hatcher returned to his laboratory gloomily. Hatcher did not like the idea of endangering the Earthman. It cannot communication. Not even Hatcher had quite got over the revolting Hatcher did not want him destroyed. It had been difficult enough Hatcher checked through the members that he had left with the rest of entirely pleasant to Earthmen. A slit in the lower hemisphere of his Hatcher caught and poured into a disposal trough at the side of the reported—nothing new—and asked about Hatcher's appearance before the council. Hatcher passed the question off. He considered telling his But it seemed that the Probe Teams themselves might be betraying their \"Hatcher!\" second in command, very excited. \"What is it?\" Hatcher demanded. Hatcher was patient they dodged back to their niches on his skin, fitted just taken.... \"Now!\" cried the assistant. \"Look!\" At what passed among Hatcher's people for a viewing console an image Hatcher was startled. \"Another one! And—is it a different species? Or merely a different sex?\" \"Study the probe for yourself,\" the assistant invited. Hatcher studied him frostily \"Killing him, Hatcher?\" Hatcher rose and shook himself, his mindless members floating away like Light. White, flaring, Earthly light, that showed everything—even amazement in its tone, \"McCray, is that you? Where the devil are you is Herrell McCray,\" he cried. \"I'm in a room of some sort, apparently \"McCray!\" cried the tiny voice in his ear. \"Where are you? This is than light in its voyage between stars, made its regular position check, common sense was a liar. Light bore false witness. The line of sight was trustworthy directly forward and directly after—sometimes instruments, to comprehend a star bearing and convert three fixes into McCray thumbed down the transmitter button and gave a concise report The room was again unlighted—at least to McCray's eyes. There was not benches and McCray, staring, thought briefly of many-armed blind giants or shapeless huge intelligent amoebae, and felt the skin prickle at the back of his neck.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the image Hatcher’s team sees on the viewing consul?\n\n<options>:\nA A human female\nB Hatcher’s specimen\nC The Jordell Bank\nD A human male\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,064 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nExtrone was smiling innocently. \"Good. I want you to do something for Extrone asked, \"Is there a pass?\" \"Eh?\" Extrone said. Extrone raised his eyebrows. Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. \"I'm Ri gulped for air. \"But ... if there should be more than one?\" Extrone shrugged. \"I—Look, sir. Listen to me.\" Ri's lips were bloodless and his hands were trembling. \"It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. He killed a farn beast before \"Pitch camp, here!\" He crossed to Mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into Extrone's Ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. \"You, there!\" he called. \"He what?\" Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. wouldn't....\" Extrone said, \"Which one is he?\" Mia said, \"I don't think he even saw a blast area over here. I think he \"That one. Right over there.\" Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifle Mia looked at his companion. He spat. \"What hurts most, he pays us for it. I could buy half this planet, and he makes me his guide—at less than I pay my secretary.\" please \"Hey, you!\" Extrone called. don't, sir.\" \"Tie it,\" Extrone said inexorably. \"Let me hear you scream,\" Extrone said. \"You'll have to do better than that.\" Extrone inclined his head toward Ri screamed. \"See that you keep it up that way,\" Extrone said. \"That's the way I Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert. Extrone chuckled. \"You were with me on Meizque?\" \"We didn't have a chance,\" Mia objected. \"Everybody and his brother had Extrone laughed nervously. \"He must have heard.\" our fault Extrone found out.\" Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. \"I like this. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything I know.\" heard the rumor that farn beasts were somewhere around here. It wasn't \" I didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking,\" Mia said. Ri's mouth twisted. \"I didn't say you did.\" \"Hey!\" Extrone shouted. \"You, down there. There are two coming. Now \"There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too,\" Extrone said. \"He's good bait,\" Extrone said. \"He's fat enough and he knows how to scream good.\" Extrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settled Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spat Extrone began to tremble with excitement. \"Here they come!\" \"What in hell do you want?\" Extrone asked. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. \"How did it get there, gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed?\" \"Look!\" Extrone cried excitedly. \"Here it comes!\" \"So?\" Extrone mocked. locate and destroy it.\" Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turned \"Watch! Watch!\" Extrone cried gleefully. didn't you?\" \"Yes, sir. When we located it, sir.\" \"You'll destroy this one, too,\" Extrone said. Extrone said, \"To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here. Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. \"You'll Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away, \"Eh?\" Extrone said, turning, startled. \"Oh, you. Well?\" Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, \"You killed one, I believe, on Extrone held back the flap of the tent. \"Won't you come in?\" he asked Extrone narrowed his eyes. \"I see by your eyes that you are \"Oh?\" Extrone questioned mildly. \"I wouldn't say that. I understand \"I meant in our system, sir.\" \"Of course you did,\" Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of his \"Yes,\" Extrone said, \"I imagine they are. It would have been a shame if you had killed the last one. Don't you think so?\" Extrone pursed his lips. \"It wouldn't have been very considerate of you to—But, still, you gained valuable experience. I'm glad you agreed to come along as my guide.\" Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. \"If I had waited until it was safe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able to find such an illustrious guide.\" sir....\" \"Of course,\" Extrone said dryly. \"Like all of my subjects,\" he waved his hand in a broad gesture, \"the highest as well as the lowest slave, know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best.\" Extrone bent forward. \" Know me and love me.\" you and love you, sir,\" Ri said. \"Get out!\" Extrone said. \"It's frightening,\" Ri said, \"to be that close to him.\" Mia nodded. \"No?\" Mia challenged. \"Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow? Extrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them from \"When the invasion starts, he'll have to command all their loyalties. Mia smiled twistedly. \"How many has he already killed? How can we even And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting the Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in his Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. \"Very \"An alien?\" Extrone corrected. \"There's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. Of tearing an alien to pieces, sir.\" Extrone laughed harshly. \"It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me?\" Lin's face remained impassive. \"I guess it seems that way. Sir.\" \"All right,\" Extrone said, annoyed. \"I'll be careful.\" Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, a Extrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. \"For you, sir,\" the communications man said, interrupting his reverie. \"Damn,\" Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. \"It better be \"Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell bother in the middle of a radio broadcast, sir.\" \"I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting!\" Extrone \"Yes, sir.\" Extrone squinted up at the sun his eyes crinkled under the glare, and Extrone's eyes lit with passion. hole, Extrone nodded his head in satisfaction. Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. \"Damn!\" Extrone said. fast, too.\" \"Eh?\" Extrone said. \"They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather have surprise on our side.\" \"You don't seem to see what I mean,\" Extrone said. \" \"Oh?\" \"Let's get back to the column.\" \"Extrone wants to see you,\" Lin said. Extrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. \"The farn beast hunter, eh?\" Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. \"Tell me\n\n<question>:\nHow does Mia feel about Extrone?\n\n<options>:\nA Mia is frightened of Extrone, but he doesn't think Extrone will kill him.\nB Mia hates Extrone and is planning on killing him at the first opportunity.\nC Mia is frightened that Extrone is going to kill him.\nD Mia thinks Extrone is the kind of ruler the system needs.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
2,033 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nturn Ledman over to the authorities. THE HEROES By ROBERT SILVERBERG out their names,\" Ledman The planet itself was tough enough—barren, desolate, enough to stop the most adventurous and and quitting you can find yourself another wife! After dedicated. But they had to run head-on against a mad genius who had a motto: we're going back out there to finish that search-pattern. Earth needs uranium, honey, and I know you'd never be happy quitting in the middle we dump this guy I'm sacking in for twenty hours, and then Death to all Terrans! \"Let's by a shining new world of gleaming towers and flying I could think of six, eight names now. None of them had been particularly close friends. You don't get time to make close friends out here. \"I never bothered to find HUNTED sand in the delicate mechanism of the atomic engine. But no she blamed it all on said casually. \"They were \"Can't we turn back now, Ron?\" Val pleaded. \"Maybe there isn't any uranium in this sector at all. I think we're crazy to keep on searching out here!\" I started to tell her that the to wipe every last one of you out, one by one.\" things, virtually robot at the time of the atomic wars. \"I'm quite sane, believe me. But I'm determined to drive the Geigs—and UranCo—off arguing with her. I stared ahead at the bleak, desolate wastes of the Martian Mars. Eventually I'll scare \"No,\" Ledman said evenly. think I'm backing down now sad. I could almost feel sorry and clumsily enfolded hers. \"Come on, kid. Remember—we're doing this for Earth. We're heroes.\" She glared at me. \"Heroes, keep the industries of radioactives-starved the others to clear off.\" He rocked back and forth in his gleaming, deadly blaster in his hand. the geigers had been obstinately hushed all day, except for their constant undercurrent snapped. \"Well, let me show you. You're on Mars hunting uranium, right? To mine and ship the radioactives back to Earth to keep the atomic engines going. Right?\" I nodded over at our geiger Mars,\" Val said irrelevantly. much inflamed by the idea of Ledman said acidly. \"How search for uranium as I was. We knew the pay was poor, but we had felt it a sort of coming to Mars to help in the \"Ah—two young heroes,\" \"Atomics cost me my legs,\" Earth going. And we'd always had a roving foot, both of us. No, we had decided together to come to Mars—the way we decided together on everything. Now she was turning against me. he said. \"You remember the that great accident—killing hundreds, injuring thousands represented Ledman Atomics. more, sterilizing forty miles that sudden explosive tumult that meant we had found pay-dirt. I started to feel tired dose of radiation instead. Not enough to kill me,\" he said. Mars, until I recalled that I hadn't. In fact, she had come up with the idea before I did. the explosion and the amputation, my fellow-members on the board of Ledman Atomics our grandparents' mistakes. \"They renamed Ledman Atomics. Who did you say you worked for?\" I began, \"Uran—\" title than Ledman Atomics, but not quite as much heart, wouldn't you say?\" He grinned. \"I saved Mars, lost myself, built this Dome, and swore to get even. There's not a great deal of uranium on this planet, but enough to keep me in a style to which, unfortunately, I'm home on Earth. It wasn't much, but people in love don't need very fancy surroundings. down over one eyebrow, and it seemed hard to believe that we'd exchanged Earth and all it held for us for the raw, untamed wasn't seriously worried about his threat to wipe out and twisted as Ledman's. \"Really think you can kill The Geig Corps preferred married couples, working in teams. That's what had finally cut me off. But Ledman every Earthman on Mars? Of all the insane, cockeyed—\" \"You've conceived an impossible scheme of revenge and now you're taking it out on nothing, nothing at all to you. That's not sane!\" His eyes blazed. \"Who are for, Ron?\" was. But I had to get Ledman ruined cities had been hidden a spider's web is for a trapped fly. It wasn't Martians that had done it. There weren't any Martians, hadn't been for That did it. Ledman hadn't I \"Ron—\" thought all his kind had died glued-in instantly. Ledman wore an outmoded, bulky spacesuit and a fishbowl helmet, weren't attached to his Ledman clawed his way to him covered before he comes to. But how?\" \"Teamwork,\" Val said. She swivelled around on the floor until her head was near my are you?\" \"You'll find out soon mind. She began to nibble the vile-tasting tangle-cord, running Then I turned and faced Ledman. \"No. That's the difference between sane people and insane,\" I told him. \"I'm not going to kill you at all. I'm the chair and the two exhaust \"They'll help you on Earth. \"What's going on, Ron?\" They'll take all the hatred and sickness out of you, and turn you into a useful member of \"I hate Earthmen,\" he spat out. \"I hate all of them.\" \"I know,\" I said sarcastically. \"You're just all full of talking. We trudged along together, with him following hated Earth so much you had to leave.\" The answer to that came to me quick enough: we had to. Earth needed radioactives, and the only way to get them was to get out and look. The Ledman scowled, and then great atomic wars of the late 20th Century had used up much of the supply, but the them back together again. In three centuries the shattered \"She's right,\" I told him. \"The atom can take away, but it can give as well. Soon after you left they developed atomic-powered prosthetics—amazing They had used their atomics to make bombs. We used ours for fuel. It was an atomic world. Everything: power drills, printing presses, typewriters, can openers, ocean liners, powered by the inexhaustible energy of the dividing atom. But though the energy is inexhaustible, the supply of nuclei isn't. After three centuries of heavy consumption, the supply failed. The mighty machine that was Earth's industry had started to slow down. And that started the chain of events that led Val and me to end up as a madman's prisoners, on Mars. With every source of uranium mined dry on Earth, we had tried other possibilities. All sorts of Ledman,\" I said. \"All this uranium from the oceans. In forty or fifty years, they'd get some results, we hoped. Earth. But you decided to channel everything out as revenge.\" \"I still don't believe it—those to. Millions of starving, freezing humans tooth-and-clawing in it in the useless shell of a great atomic civilization. So, Mars. There's not much uranium on Mars, and it's not easy to find or any cinch to mine. But what little is there, Enter the Geig Corps: volunteers out on the face of Mars, combing for its uranium deposits. And here we are, I thought. two hummocks on the desert. Just out of the way enough to escape observation. Ledman.\" He herded us off to Gregory Ledman the killer Ledman had caught us, I remembered now that I had been driving her mercilessly—me, with my chromium legs and atomic-powered muscles. No wonder she was ready to fold! and I put Ledman\n\n<question>:\nWhich of these do Ron and Ledman have in common?\n\n<options>:\nA They have both been wrong by the companies that they worked for\nB They both want to find an alternative to uranium\nC There were both injured in the same accident\nD They are both obsessed with finding uranium\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
2,230 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nNot all the world’s citizens were content. Bergstrom was waiting in his office when Zarwell arrived that evening. see what he looks like first. They’ll be disappointed.” Zarwell opened his eyes a slit to knew now that it had been a spaceport. His captor’s broad face jeered down at Zarwell. “Have a good sleep?” he asked with mock solicitude. Zarwell did not deign to acknowledge that he heard. Zarwell followed his gaze to where a younger man, with a blond lock of hair on his forehead, stood behind him. The youth nodded and went out, while the other pulled a chair While their attention was away from him Zarwell had unobtrusively loosened his bonds as much as possible with arm leverage. As the Zarwell told him. The grin faded from the oily face as the man stood up. He leaned over the cot—and Zarwell’s left hand reversed his weight and drove his fist at Zarwell’s head. Zarwell pulled the struggling body down against his chest and held it there until all agitated in the palm of his hand. He knew now why he always carried it. Bergstrom, asked. John Zarwell shook his head. “Did I talk while I was under?” nonchalance. “The next couple “How does it tie in with what I Zarwell did not answer. His Bergstrom’s neat-boned, fair-skinned told you before?” memory seemed on the point of face betrayed no emotion other than an introspective stillness should do it.” complete return, and he sat quietly, yet?” “I don’t see why not.” Zarwell Bergstrom had his bad moment. [p 137 “You’re not going to …” he began at the sight of the gun. He tried Zarwell corrected him. “You’d be foolish!” Bergstrom obviously realized how close he was to death. Yet surprisingly, after the first start, he showed little fear. Zarwell had “Good.” Bergstrom rose. “The thought the man a bit soft, too adjusted to a life of ease and some chatter as he administered serum is quite harmless, John.” He maintained a professional diversionary The floor beneath Zarwell’s feet Bergstrom shook his head. “I know it’s been broken before. But you need me. You’re not through, wall. Bergstrom continued talking, analyst.” “No.” Bergstrom was angry now. “Is that the best you can do?” turn you in to the police, I’d have done it before this.” Zarwell debated with himself the truth of what the other had said. “Why didn’t you turn me in?” he trouble.” and Zarwell sank deep into viscous depths. “Lie back and relax. to be past, Bergstrom spoke more Don’t …” calmly, even allowed himself to ZARWELL found himself above. They faded, were gone. The words tumbled down from Zarwell’s eyebrows raised. “Who am I?” he asked, very interested now. Without attention he put his pistol away in a trouser pocket. Bergstrom brushed the question I even know who you are!” forehead creased with his mental the human worlds. I’d like to talk more with you on that later.” While Zarwell considered, Bergstrom pressed his advantage. “One more scene might do it,” he said. 145 ] Zarwell made his decision quickly. “Go ahead,” he answered. ALL Zarwell’s attention seemed on the cigar he lit as he rode down the escalator, but he surveyed The stranger face smiled approvingly “O DD,” Bergstrom said. He brought his hands up and joined part in the planning of the As he zipped open the briefcase more to you than the first, I suppose?” “No,” Zarwell answered. He was not a talking man, Bergstrom reflected. It was more than He was a man who could handle himself well in an emergency. Bergstrom shrugged, dismissing his strayed thoughts. “I expected down at his appointment pad. “Tomorrow at two, then?” Zarwell grunted acknowledgment and pushed himself to his feet, apparently unaware that his Zarwell left the analyst’s office. gray-mottled with windows. Zarwell believe the part you’re playing?” “A good man must have done that job on your mind,” Bergstrom homes of the laborers and lower class techmen who live there. Zarwell passed a group of smaller children playing a desultory 146 ] “Trust and money,” Zarwell said drily. game of lic-lic for pieces of Zarwell nodded. “I’m glad to hear that,” Bergstrom assured him. “Now that “Your memory’s back then?” The floor continued its transmutation, Zarwell stopped him with an upraised The next morning when Zarwell you see the reason for all this? I’m tired. I’m trying to quit.” “Quit?” Bergstrom did not quite ] follow him. Zarwell explained listlessly. “A gang of hoods had taken over the government. I helped organize a commented. “I’d have hesitated to also. “I’m not a professional do-gooder.” Zarwell’s tone appealed to Bergstrom for understanding. “I have only a normal man’s indignation at injustice. And now I’ve done A village was being ravaged. Men struggled and died in the streets. Zarwell moved among Johnson can do your own revolting. I’m through!” Bergstrom did not argue as he left. RESTLESSNESS drove Zarwell was nearing its end. Zarwell was riding a shaggy pony outside a high wall surrounding the stricken metropolis. He moved in and joined a When a man strolled to his side and stood watching the workmen, he was not surprised. He waited for can spare a few minutes,” the stranger said. Zarwell turned and studied the killing. Zarwell was not the leader of the invaders, only a lesser figure in the man without answering. He was rebellion. But he had played a leading in the streets again, plundering and medium tall, with the body of an The job had been well done. break in the panorama. Now Zarwell The man nodded. Zarwell tried to feel the anger he wanted to feel, but somehow it Time passed, without visible “You’re Johnson?” he asked. was fleeing, pursued by the Against his will he found himself liking the man, and wanting at least to be courteous. He inclined his conflict engulfed him. Weary but resigned he accepted it, and did what he had to do …BERGSTROM was regarding BERGSTROM was regarding him with speculative scrutiny. Johnson smiled agreeably and “You’ve had quite a past, apparently,” 141 ] Zarwell smiled with mild embarrassment. “At least in my dreams.” “Dreams?” Bergstrom’s eyes They …” past.” Zarwell’s expression became wary. He watched Bergstrom closely. After a minute, however, he seemed satisfied, and he let himself Zarwell found himself not listening as Johnson’s voice went on. The of what I saw,” he observed. “That’s why you’re here, you know,” Bergstrom answered. “To story was always the same. But why “… and we need your help.” Johnson had finished his speech. Bergstrom went on, “that your lost Zarwell gazed up at the bright memory will turn out to be no ordinary sky. He pulled in a long breath, and let it out in a sigh. Bergstrom said confidently. until next week end,” Zarwell reminded him. “That’s right.” Bergstrom tomorrow?” “I suppose I could.” “Fine,” Bergstrom said with satisfaction. “I’ll admit I’m considerably more than casually interested A WORK truck picked Zarwell needs. When Zarwell arrived, six months before, the vitalized area Zarwell pulled his sun helmet lower, to better guard his hot, dry worker’s mouth. Zarwell gazed idly about at the other laborers. Fully three-quarters\n\n<question>:\nHow does Bergstrom feel about Zarwell?\n\n<options>:\nA Bergstrom thinks Zarwell is a dangerous man. He is thinking about turning Zarwell over to the authorities.\nB Bergstrom thinks Zarwell is a very sick and confused individual. He is going to have Zarwell committed.\nC Bergstrom hates Zarwell. He is planning to kill Zarwell during the next therapy session.\nD Bergstrom admires Zarwell. He wants Zarwell to help him plan a government revolution.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
542 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nTOLLIVER'S ORBIT was slow—but it wasn't boring. And it would get you there—as long as \"Just don't try to sucker me in on the deal. I know you're operating something sneaky all through the colony, but it's not for me.\" The big moon-face of Jeffers, manager of the Ganymedan branch of Koslow Spaceways, glowered back at him. Its reddish tinge brightened the office noticeably, for such of Ganymede's surface as could be seen through the transparent dome outside the office window was cold, dim and rugged. The glowing semi-disk of Jupiter was more than half a million miles distant. orbiting Ganymede! \"Try not to be simple—for once!\" growled Jeffers. \"A little percentage listen ! Maybe they live soft back on Earth since the mines and the Jovian satellite colonies grew but they were out here in the beginning, most of them. his body. It had been built for Ganymede, but not for Jeffers. whenever your contract's up. Think we'd bend a good orbit on your account?\" Tolliver stared at him silently, but the other had difficulty meeting on a contract. Five hundred credits a week base pay, five hundred for hazardous duty. How else can you get pilots out to Jupiter?\" \"Okay I can't fire you legally—as long as you report for work,\" hazardous duty!\" \"Doesn't matter,\" answered Tolliver, grinning amiably. \"The hazardous part is just being on the same moon as you for the next six months.\" He winked and walked out, deliberately leaving the door open behind him so as to enjoy the incoherent bellowing that followed him. He'll come around. I just want to get back to Earth with a clean rep. Let Jeffers and his gang steal the Great Red Spot off Jupiter if they like! It's their risk. Tolliver began to have his doubts the next day which was \"Tuesday\" by the arbitrary calender constructed to match Ganymede's week-long journey around Jupiter. His contract guaranteed a pilot's rating, but someone had neglected to specify the type of craft to be piloted. On the bulletin board, Tolliver's name stood out beside the number of one of the airtight tractors used between the dome city and the spaceport, or for hauling cross-country to one of the mining domes. Tolliver turned to see Red Higgins, a regular driver. \"What do you mean?\" \"They say some home-office relative is coming in on the \"What's wrong with that?\" asked Tolliver. \"Outside of the way they keep handing out soft jobs to nephews, I mean.\" orbit. Wait till you see the baggage you'll have to load!\" Later in the day-period, Tolliver recalled this warning. Under a portable, double-chambered plastic dome blown up outside the ship's in stronger gravity than Ganymede's. Her trim coiffure was a shade too blonde which served to set off both the blue of her eyes and the cap \"Sorry to keep you waiting,\" she said, sliding into the seat beside Tolliver. \"By the way, just call me Betty.\" \"Sure,\" agreed Tolliver thinking, Ohmigod! Trying already to be just \"It's true enough,\" Tolliver assured her. \"We need people out here, and it costs a lot to make the trip. They found they could send back loaded ships by 'automatic' flight—that is, a long, slow, economical orbit and automatic signalling equipment. Then they're boarded approaching Earth's orbit and landed by pilots who don't have to waste their time making the entire trip.\" He followed the signals of a spacesuited member of the port staff and maneuvered out of the dome. Then he headed the tractor across the frozen surface of Ganymede toward the permanent domes of the city. \"How is it here?\" asked the girl. \"They told me it's pretty rough.\" \"What did you expect?\" asked Tolliver. \"Square dances with champagne?\" \"Don't be silly. Daddy says I'm supposed to learn traffic routing and the business management of a local branch. They probably won't let me square inch of Ganymede is likely to be dangerous.\" from the city to the spaceport.\" \"Don't sneer at Ganymede, honey!\" he warned portentously. \"Many a mission!\" \"You can call me Betty. What happened to him?\" \"I'll tell you some day,\" Tolliver promised darkly. \"This moon can strike like a vicious animal.\" \"Oh, they told me there was nothing alive on Ganymede!\" deliberately dipped one track into an icy hollow. In the light gravity, the tractor responded with a weird, floating lurch. \"Those slides,\" he continued. \"Ganymede's only about the size of Mercury, something like 3200 miles in diameter, so things get heaped up at steep angles. When the rock and ice are set to sliding, they come at you practically horizontally. It doesn't need much start, and it and port. \"It certainly is an honor to have you on Ganymede with us! That's all, he told me to find out what was wrong with operations on Ganymede. Betty, and Tolliver thought he muttered something about \"just landed.\" After a moment, the big man came out of his daze enough to stab an In the gravity of Ganymede, the man was knocked off balance as much as yourself.\" \"I'll come along with you, Tolliver,\" said the girl. \"Let's not argue about it,\" said Betty, a trifle pale but looking determined. \"I'm coming with you. Is that stuff getting soft yet?\" Tolliver. \"Why do you want them?\" \"Honey, I just don't think it will be so easy to lay hands on a dusty, moist air puffing out into the near-vacuum of Ganymede's nearest outcropping of rock. It promptly developed that she had something to learn about running on ice in such low gravity. Until they were out of direct line of sight from the settlement, Tolliver simply dragged her. Ganymede. They took one short rest, during which Tolliver was forced He ran a practiced eye over the board, reading the condition of the ship. It pleased him. Everything was ready for a takeoff into an economy orbit for Earth. He busied himself making a few adjustments, doing his best to ignore the protests from his partner in crime. He warned her the trip might be long. expectantly, and the man who flickered into life on the screen wore a uniform. \"Space Patrol?\" whispered Tolliver incredulously. \"That's right,\" said Betty. \"Uh ... Daddy made arrangements for me.\" Tolliver held her in front of the screen so she would not float out could arrange for a cruiser to escort his daughter to Ganymede and request as if he had been hanging in orbit merely until learning who to go down after. They really sent her out to nail someone , Tolliver realized. Of says it's set for a six-month orbit, or economy flight. Whatever they call it. I don't think he has any idea where we're headed.\" Tolliver pulled her back, holding her in mid-air by the slack of her The girl grinned. \"Relax, Tolliver,\" she told him. \"Did you really believe Daddy would send his own little girl way out here to Ganymede to look for whoever was gypping him?\" \"You ... you...?\" \"Sure. The name's Betty Hanlon. I work for a private investigating firm. If old Koslow had a son to impersonate—\" \"I'd be stuck for six months in this orbit with some brash young man,\" ! Can't they get us back? How can you tell where we're going?\" \"I know enough to check takeoff time. It was practically due anyhow, so we'll float into the vicinity of Earth at about the right time to be picked up.\" He went on to explain something of the tremendous cost in fuel the case in about three hours on Ganymede.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat and where is Ganymede?\n\n<options>:\nA It’s a planet close to Earth.\nB It’s a planet close to Jupiter.\nC It’s a moon close to Mercury.\nD It’s a moon close to Jupiter.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
666 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWarrior of Two Worlds By MANLY WADE WELLMAN He was the man of two planets, drawn through the blackness of space to save a nation from ruthless invaders. He was Yandro, the he was destined to fight both sides. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from And at once there was an answer: \" You lie upon the world Dondromogon. \" I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, beneath, or indeed within me—I could not say. I lifted a hand, and knuckled dust from my eyes. \"How did I get here?\" I demanded of the speaker. \"It was ordered—by the Masters of the Worlds—that you should be brought from your own home planet, called Earth in the System of the star called Sun. Do you remember Earth?\" And I did not know whether I remembered or not. Vague matters stirred deep in me, but I could not for certain say they were memories. I asked yet again: \"Who am I?\" The voice had a note of triumph. \"You do not know that. It is as well, need to think. The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from worlds away, for a specified purpose here on whatever windswept planet Dondromogon might be. \"Birth and beginning—destined leadership—\" Fantastic! And yet, for all I could say to the contrary, unvarnishedly true. \"Dondromogon?\" I mumbled. \"The name is strange to me.\" \"It is a world the size of your native one,\" came words of information. birth. One face of Dondromogon ever looks to the light and heat, wherefore its metals run in glowing seas. The other face is ever away in cold darkness, with its air freezing into solid chunks. But because Dondromogon wavers on its axis, there are two lunes of its surface which from time to time shift from night to day. These are habitable.\" My eyes were tight shut against the dust, but they saw in imagination such a planet—one-half incandescent, one-half pitchy black. From pole \"War is fought between the two strips of habitable ground. War, unceasing, bitter, with no quarter asked, given or expected. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. wrong?\" \"Anyone would wish that,\" I replied. \"But how—\" \"You are going to ask how you were brought here. That is the mystery of the Masters .\" The voice became grand. \"Suffice it that you were blocky silhouette, a building of sorts. back to a solid wall. My first glance showed me that my companions were creatures like myself—two-legged, fair-skinned men, shorter and slighter than I, but a curved stock to fit the palm of the hand, borne snugly in a holster. With such arms I had a faint sense of familiarity. \"Who are you, and where are you from?\" said one of the two, a broad-faced middle-aged fellow. \"Don't lie any more than you can help.\" I felt a stirring of the hair on my neck, but kept my voice mild and level: \"Why should I lie? Especially as I don't know who I am, or where I'm from, or anything that has happened longer ago than just a moment. I woke up out there in the dust storm, and I managed to come here for shelter.\" \"He's a Newcomer spy,\" quoth the other. \"Let's put him under arrest.\" \"And leave this gate unguarded?\" demanded the other. \"Sound the studied me apprehensively. \"He's big, and looks strong, even without \"What's this?\" The challenge was clear, rich, authoritative. Someone else had come, A woman this time, not of great height, and robust but not heavy. She \"A spy,\" one ventured. \"He pushed in, claimed he was no enemy, then tried to attack—\" \"They lie,\" I broke in, very conscious of my naked helplessness before Beyond, it gave into several passages. She chose one of them and conducted me along. \"You are surely not of us,\" she commented. \"Men I have seen who are heavier than you, but none taller. Whence came you?\" I remembered the strange voice that had instructed me. \"I am from a far world,\" I replied. \"It is called—yes, Earth. Beyond that, I know nothing. Memory left me.\" \"Stranger,\" he said to me, \"can you think of no better tale to tell than you now offer?\" \"I tell the truth,\" was my reply, not very gracious. \"You will have to prove that,\" he admonished me. \"What proof have I?\" I demanded. \"On this world of yours—Dondromogon, isn't it called?—I'm no more than an hour old. Accident or shock has taken my memory. Let me have a medical examination. A scientist probably can tell what happened to put me in such a condition.\" \"I am a scientist,\" offered Doriza, and came forward. Her eyes met mine, suddenly flickered and lowered. \"His gaze,\" she muttered. bearded fellow in a voluminous robe that enfolded him in most dignified \"The stranger of the prophecy!\" he cried, in a voice that made us all You mystic doctors are too apt to become fuddled—\" \"But it is, it is!\" The graybeard flourished a thin hand at me. \"Look at him, you of little faith! Your mind dwells so much on material strength that you lose touch with the spiritual—\" generally does, you have committed a blasphemy.\" The other made a little grimace. \"This may be Yandro, though I'm a souls to worship, not to study. If indeed he is Yandro,\" and he was most respectful, \"he will appreciate, like a good military mind, my caution against possible impostors.\" \"As it is, he may remember that the Conquering Stranger is foretold against you, Sporr. You should have been able to instruct me, not I you.\" prove it. The prophecy even sketches a thumb-print—\" And he held the book toward me. It contained a full-page likeness, in color, of myself wrapped in a men take into thought. The ears in the picture are like the ears of the real man—\" \"That could be plastic surgery,\" rejoined the officer. \"Such things are artfully done by the Newcomers, and the red mantle he wears more easily assumed.\" Doriza shook her head. \"That happens to be my cloak. I gave it to him because he was naked, and not for any treasonable masquerade. But the thumb-print—\" worshipped.\" II They rose, but stood off respectfully. The officer spoke first. \"I am level of light and sound. \"Our cities are below ground,\" he quavered. \"Whipped by winds above, we must scrabble in the depths for life's necessities—chemicals to transmute into food, to weave into clothing, to weld into tools and body for the first time—towered rather bluffly, with great breadth of chest and shoulder, and legs robust enough to carry such bulk. The beard. Then he bowed, supple and humble, his palms together. that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all Dondromogon.\" mixture of awe and brightness. \"It is necessary that we live like this,\" she explained. \"The hot air of Dondromogon's sunlit face is ever rising, and the cold air from the dark side comes rushing under to fill the vacuum. Naturally, our fight. No crops can grow outside, no domestic animals flourish. We must pen ourselves away from the sky and soil, with stout walls and heavy as tall as I and nobly proportioned, with hair of a red that would be \"You honor me,\" I told him. \"Yet I still know little. It seems that I am expected to aid and lead and save the people of this world called Dondromogon. But I must know them before I can help.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the significance of the narrator’s height?\n\n<options>:\nA It shows he is liar.\nB It shows he is not from Dondromogon\nC It shows he is the Conquering Stranger\nD It shows he is not from Earth\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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2,434 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAI: what's the worst that could happen? Because no single discipline is ideally suited to this task, the centre emphasises the importance of interdisciplinary knowledge-sharing and collaboration. It is bringing together a diverse community of some of the world's best researchers, philosophers, psychologists, lawyers and computer scientists. Executive director of the centre is Stephen Cave, a writer, philosopher and former diplomat. Harry Armstrong, head of futures at Nesta, which publishes The Long + Short, spoke with Cave about the impact of AI. Their conversation has been edited. Harry Armstrong: Do you see the interdisciplinary nature of the centre as one of its key values and one of the key impacts you hope it will have on the field? Stephen Cave: Thinking about the impact of AI is not something that any one discipline owns or does in any very systematic way. So if academia is going to rise to the challenge and provide thought leadership on this hugely important issue, then we’re going to need to do it by breaking down current disciplinary boundaries and bringing people with very different expertise together. That means bringing together the technologists and the experts at developing these algorithms together with social scientists, philosophers, legal scholars and so forth. I think there are many areas of science where more interdisciplinary engagement would be valuable. Biotech’s another example. In that sense AI isn’t unique, but I think because thinking about AI is still in very early stages, we have an opportunity to shape the way in which we think about it, and build that community. Climate change suffers from the problem that the costs are not incurred in any direct way by the industrialists who own the technology and are profiting from it. With AI, that has been the case so far although not on the same scale. There has been disruption but so far, compared to industrialisation, the impact has been fairly small. That will probably change. AI companies, and in particular the big tech companies, are very concerned that this won't go like climate change, but rather it will go like GMOs: that people will have a gut reaction to this technology as soon as the first great swathe of job losses take hold. People speculate that 50m jobs could be lost in the US if trucking is automated, which is conceivable within 10 years. You could imagine a populist US government therefore simply banning driverless cars. So I think there is anxiety in the tech industry that there could be a serious reaction against this technology at any point. And so my impression is that there is a feeling within these companies that these ethical and social implications need to be taken very seriously, now. And that a broad buy-in by society into some kind of vision of the future in which this technology plays a role is required, if a dangerous – or to them dangerous – counteraction is to be avoided. Technology is emerging from a certain legal, political, normative, cultural, and social framework. It's coming from a certain place. And it is shaped by all of those things. This conversation cannot be in the hands of any one group. It oughtn't be in the hands of Silicon Valley billionaires alone. They've got their role to play, but this is a conversation we need to be having as widely as possible. The centre is developing some really interesting projects but perhaps one of the most interesting is the discussion of what intelligence might be. Could you go into a bit more detail about the kinds of questions you are trying to explore in this area? You mean kinds of intelligence? Yeah. I think this is very important because historically, we've had an overwhelming tendency to anthropomorphise. We define what intelligence is, historically, as being human-like. And then within that, being like certain humans. And I think, still, this anthropomorphic picture of the kind of humanoid android, the robot, dominates our idea of what AI is too much. And too many people, and the industry as well, talk about human-level artificial intelligence as a goal, or general AI, which basically means like a human. But actually what we're building is nothing like a human. When the first pocket calculator was made, it didn't do maths like a human. It was vastly better. It didn't make the occasional mistake. When we set about creating these artificial agents to solve these problems, because they have a completely different evolutionary history to humans, they solve problems in very different ways. And until now, people have been fairly shy about describing them as intelligent. Or rather, in the history of AIs, we think solving a particular problem would require intelligence. Then we solve it. And then that's no longer intelligence, because we've solved it. Chess is a good example. It certainly is a very ambitious project to create the atlas of intelligence. Where do you think this AI-human conflict, or concept of a conflict, comes from? Do you think that's just a reflection of historical conversations we've had about automation, or do you think it is a deeper fear? But at the same time, we're competitive and murderous. We have a strong sense of in-group versus out-group, which is responsible for both a great deal of cooperation, within the in-group, but also terrible crimes. Murder, rape, pillage, genocide and they're pointed at the out-group. And so I think it's very natural for us to see AIs in terms of agents. We anthropomorphise them as these kind of android robots. And then we think about, well, you know, are they part of our in-group, or are they some other group? If they're some other group, it's us against them. Who's going to win? Well, let's see. So I think that's very natural, I think that's very human. You can think, well, we in the West have long been justifying power relations of a certain kind on the basis that we're 'cleverer'. That's why men get to vote and women don't, or whatever. In a culture where power is not based on intelligence but, say, on a caste system, which is purely hereditary, we’d build an AI, and it would just tune in, drop out, attain enlightenment, just sit in the corner. Or we beg it to come back and help us find enlightenment. It might be that we find a completely different narrative to the one that's dominant in the West. I think one worry that we haven't talked about is that we've become extremely dependent upon this technology. And that we essentially become deskilled. There's an extent to which the history of civilisation is the history of the domestication of the human species sort of by ourselves, and also by our technology, to some extent. And AI certainly allows for that to reach a whole new level. Just think about GPs with diagnostic tools. Even now, my GP consults the computer fairly regularly. But as diagnostic tools get better, what are they going to be doing other than just typing something into the computer and reading out what comes back? At which point, you might as well do away with the GP. But then, who does know about medicine? And so we do need to worry about deskilling and about becoming dependent. And it is entirely possible that you can imagine a society in which we're all sort of prosperous, in a sense. Our basic bodily needs are provided for, perhaps, in a way, to an extent that we've never before even dreamed of. Unprecedented in human history. And yet, we're stripped of any kind of meaningful work. We have no purpose. We're escaping to virtual reality. And then you could imagine all sorts of worrying countercultures or Luddite movements or what have you. I guess that's the kind of scenario that – I haven't sketched it terribly well – but that's the kind of thing that worries me more than missile-toting giant robots. It's just one example, but the idea that we can live much more resource-efficiently, because we are living more intelligently through using these tools. And therefore can undo some of the damage of the last Industrial Revolution. That's my main utopian hope, I guess. Vintage toy robot image by josefkubes/Shutterstock\n\n<question>:\nGP most likely stands for?\n\n<options>:\nA generic pharmaceutical\nB ghost publisher\nC geriatric patient\nD general practitioner\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
321 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nso much as a landslide to bring the Fault to the attention of the It is not really surprising that it took so long to figure out the connection. The population of the states affected was in places as low as five people per square mile! The land was so dry it seemed The even more ironic solution to the problem began in the summer of The report was—no fire at all. The rising cloud was not smoke, but It may seem odd that the simplest explanation was practically not Edison were shaken to pieces by incredible earthquakes, whole bus- and most violent and widespread earthquake North America—probably the scene of disaster. \"No one here has ever seen anything like it.\" And affected area. \"When it's over you can come back and pick up the miles away, the now-familiar lurch and steady fall had already sent the danger of rock slides from minor quakes. The geologists went home There wasn't much to wait for. The news got worse and worse. The Platte down. They danced \"like sand in a sieve\" dry, they boiled into rubble. Telephone lines, railroad tracks, roads snapped and simply disappeared. Virtually all east-west land communication was suspended and the President declared a national emergency. By 23 September the Fault was active well into Wyoming on the north, and rapidly approaching the border of New Mexico to the south. Trinchera and Branson were totally evacuated, but even so the over-all Tremendous fissures opened up perpendicular to the Fault, and a general subsidence of the land was noticeable well into Kansas and Nebraska. The western borders of these states, and soon of the Dakotas and Oklahoma as well, were slowly sinking. On the actual scene of the disaster (or the scenes the land shuddered downward in gasps and leaps. Springs burst to the surface in hot geysers and explosions of steam. assured that everything possible is being done.\" But what could be floods, in the usual sense. The water moved too slowly, spread itself Perhaps the North Platte disaster had been more than anyone could take. 193 people had died in that one cave-in. Certainly by 7 October it had to be officially admitted that there was an exodus of epic proportion. Nearly two million people were on the move, and the U. S. was faced with a gigantic wave of refugees. Rails, roads and air-lanes were an American Airlines plane was wrecked inexorable descent. a punctured balloon,\" read one newspaper report. \"Like a cake that's was a sigh and a great cloud of dust, and Oklahoma subsided at the seemed to rise a little like the edge of a hall carpet caught in a draft, and sank. So did the entire Mississippi and Alabama coast, at about the same moment. The tidal wave which was to gouge the center from the U. S. marched on the land. From the north shore of Lake Ponchartrain to the Appalachicola River in Florida, the Gulf coast simply disappeared. Gulfport, Biloxi, Mobile, Pensacola, Panama City: 200 miles of shoreline vanished, with over two and a half million people. An hour later a wall of water had swept over every town from Dothan, Alabama, to Bogalusa on the Louisiana-Mississippi border. Then, as ominous creakings and groanings of the earth announced the One head of the wave plunged north, eventually to spend itself in thirst of the soil temporarily broke the furious charge. deluging Hobart and almost all of Greer County. Despite hopeful announcements that the wave was slowing, had virtually stopped after inundating Oklahoma City, was being swallowed up in the evacuating the entire area between Colorado and Missouri, from Texas to North Dakota. Lubbock, Texas, went under. On a curling reflex the tidal wave blotted out Sweetwater and Big Spring. The Texas panhandle disappeared in one great swirl. Whirlpools opened. A great welter of smashed wood and human debris was the cliffs of New Mexico and fell back on itself in foam. Would-be the water broke furiously on the newly exposed rock. It was the most terrible sound they had ever heard. collision between two solid bodies. We couldn't see for over an hour, along the line of the original Fault. Irresistible fingers closed on Sterling, Colorado, on Sidney, Nebraska, on Hot Springs, South Dakota. The entire tier of states settled, from south to north, down to its eventual place of stability one thousand feet below the level of the new sea. precarious havens for half-drowned humanity. Waves bit off a corner of Missouri, flung themselves on Wichita. Topeka, Lawrence and Belleville were the last Kansas towns to disappear. The Governor of Kansas went down with his State. Virtually the only people saved out of the entire population of Pierre, rescuers. The barn, luckily collapsing in the vibrations as the waves bore down on them, became an ark in which they rode out the disaster. But such lightheartedness and such happy endings were by no means typical. The world could only watch aghast as the water raced north western Nebraska and the Dakotas. But when the waters came to rest along what is roughly the present shoreline of our inland sea, it was estimated that over fourteen million people had lost their lives. No one could even estimate the damage to property almost the entirety of eight states, and portions of twelve others, had simply vanished from the heart of the North American continent forever. It was in such a cataclysmic birth that the now-peaceful Nebraska Sea Today, nearly one hundred years after the unprecedented—and happily unrepeated—disaster, it is hard to remember the terror and despair of those weeks in October and November, 1973. It is inconceivable to think of the United States without its beautiful and economically essential curve of interior ocean. Two-thirds as long as the Mediterranean, Dakota. What would the United States have become without the 5600-mile coastline of our inland sea? It is only within the last twenty years that any but the topmost layer of water has cleared sufficiently amelioration of climate brought about by the proximity of a warm sea? The now-temperate state of Minnesota (to say nothing of the submerged Dakotas) must have been Siberian. From contemporary accounts Missouri, water's edge? Or incredible Colorado, where the morning skier is the Now, ending as it does at Memphis and drawing its water chiefly from the Appalachian Mountains, it is only a slight remnant of what it was. of Manitoba and crossroad of a nation. The political situation has long been a thorny problem. Only tattered remnants of the eight submerged states remained after the flood, but none of them wanted to surrender its autonomy. The tiny fringe of Kansas seemed, for a time, ready to merge with contiguous Missouri, but following the lead of the Arkansas Forever faction, the remaining population decided to retain political integrity. This has resulted in the continuing anomaly of the seven \"fringe States\" represented in Congress by the usual two Senators each, though the largest of them is barely the size of Connecticut and all are economically indistinguishable from their neighboring states. Fortunately it was decided some years ago that Oklahoma, only one of the eight to have completely disappeared, could not in any sense be considered to have a continuing political existence. So, though there are still families who proudly call themselves Oklahomans, and the Oklahoma Oil Company continues to pump oil from its submerged real estate, the state has in fact disappeared from the American political scene. But this is by now no more than a petty annoyance, to raise a smile dead, untold property destroyed—really offsets the asset we enjoy Unimaginable too would have been the general growth of population in the states surrounding the new sea. As the water tables rose and manufacturing and trade moved in to take advantage of the just-created axis of world communication, a population explosion was touched off of\n\n<question>:\nWhat's the most unexpected result of the disaster?\n\n<options>:\nA Because of the new sea, there are no more rivers to trade by.\nB Even though millions of lives were lost, the economy is now booming due to the sea.\nC Coast-to-coast travel via buses and trucks is now a thing of the past.\nD Many of the previous states have dissolved.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,463 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nlearned of it the same way. Pop didn't even think of it again. It seemed Pop Young was the one known man who could stand life on the to have nothing to do with him. But Sattell undoubtedly dealt with it fully in his desperate writings back Pop matter-of-factly tended the to Earth. secret, but only partly. His name was Sattell and he had reason not to talk. Pop Young alone knew the whole truth, and he kept his mouth shut, too. It wasn't anybody else's Pop didn't even ask. Pop continued to search absorbedly for material with which to capture to recover the years that had been memory. Sattell still seemed necessary, and in his spare time he worked industriously at recovering some missing portions of his life that Sattell He thought often of Sattell, down We didn't come here for nothing!\" happily tell himself that it feels delicious. Sometimes it does. But Sattell couldn't comfort himself so easily. He knew about Pop, up on the surface. He'd shipped out, least partly hysterical. It was the tension landed. Then nothing happened. Pop made his way toward it in savagery due to terror. But, guidance. Sattell got the shakes when he thought of Pop, and Pop rather probably knew it. Of course, by the children and some of the happiness it with what—say—Sattell might Sattell. The facts spoke for themselves. Pop had come back to consciousness about Pop Young's shack in cannisters in a hospital with a great wound in his head and no memory Even when Sattell—whimpering—signed shack, he was pretty certain about time he took the job tending the what had happened to his wife up for Lunar City, Pop tracked and children. They'd been murdered He'd pictured the complete set-up he set about trying to pick up the threads of the life he could no longer remember. He met Sattell quite by accident. Sattell looked familiar. Pop eagerly tried to ask him questions. And Sattell turned gray and frantically denied that he'd ever seen Pop before. All of which happened back on Earth and a long time ago. It seemed to Pop that the sight of Sattell had brought back some vague and cloudy memories. They were not sharp, though, and he hunted up Sattell Pop simply gaped. He couldn't And Sattell went into panic when he returned. Nowadays, by the Big Crack, Pop wasn't so insistent on seeing Sattell, but he was deeply concerned with quite take it in. Sattell helped bring back. Pop was a highly conscientious man. He took good care of his job. There was a \"This,\" snapped the red-headed the recovery of the memories that by the edge of the Big Crack. Pop Pop gazed at the plastic, fascinated. The red-headed man leaned forward, snarling. He slashed Pop Bring them here! Understand?\" Pop said numbly: \"What the hell?\" The red-headed man hit him \"Then phone down to the mine! Tell Sattell I'm here and he can come on up! Tell him to bring any He leaned forward. His face was only inches from Pop Young's. It was seamed and hard-bitten and At such times Pop hardly thought of Sattell. He knew he had plenty Sattell knowing what had happened to his wife and children, but it was hearsay only. He had no memory of them at all. But Sattell stirred the lost memories. At first Pop followed absorbedly from city to city, He twitched all over. Then he wiped out by an axe-blow. He did recover a good deal. When Sattell fled to another continent, Pop followed struck cruelly again at Pop Young's face. He seemed filled with fury, at he'd felt about her—and some fugitive of course, Pop was helpless to resent it. There were no weapons on the Moon and the mention of Sattell's When Sattell frenziedly tried to deny knowledge of the murder in Tangier, Pop had come to remember both his mental images of his children. of his married life. him. By that time he was quite sure that Sattell was the man who'd killed his family. If so, Sattell had profited by less than two days' pay for wiping out everything that Pop possessed. But Pop wanted it back. He couldn't prove Sattell's guilt. There was no evidence. In any case, he didn't really want Sattell to die. If he did, there'd be no way to recover more lost memories. Sometimes, in the shack on the far side of the Moon, Pop Young had odd fancies about Sattell. There was Somehow, the mention of Sattell had detail. He knew Sattell. That part was simple. Sattell had planned this made his mind work better. It always multi-million-dollar coup, as a man in prison might plan his break. The man knew the routine here in every the mine, for example. In each two it was stolen for the journey here. Sattell's associates had had to if he shook it, and it was worth no more than so many pebbles. But sometimes Pop wondered if Sattell more than two men—with Sattell as could do nothing. and Pop and the colony together. \"I'd guess,\" said Pop painstakingly, \"that Sattell figured it out. He's probably got some sort of gun to grinned savagely at Pop. He held a The red-headed man checked \"No,\" said Pop, \"they'll do it anyhow. to scream. But not Pop. He'd come to the Moon in the first place because Sattell was here. Near Sattell, he found very nasty hand-weapon trained on young man with a young wife who tell Sattell a thing about it, if I were you. It'll save trouble. Just let him Pop's middle. dearly. And when he was near Sattell \"Don't come in!\" he said mockingly. \"And I don't give a damn Sattell. He simply wanted to be near him because it enabled him to recover again to find out if he was right. Sattell, he suddenly recovered a completely new memory. On their first wedding anniversary, so long ago, the moonscape. Pop Young meticulously Pop reflected hungrily that it was If it had not been for his vacuum suit and the cannister he carried, Pop clearly when he thought of Sattell, so by keeping Sattell in mind he recovered shook and trembled. Pop said calmly: Sattell had no such device for adjusting anyhow, then, but living one mile underground from Pop Young was much worse. Sattell clearly remembered the crime Pop Young hadn't yet recalled. He considered that Pop had made no overt attempt to revenge some retaliation so horrible and lingering that it was worth waiting for. He came to hate Pop with an insane ferocity. And fear. In his mind the need to escape became an obsession But he was helpless. He couldn't leave. There was Pop. He couldn't kill Pop. He had no chance—and he was afraid. The one absurd, irrelevant thing he could do was write thumped under Pop Young's vacuum boots. He turned. fell, too. Wherefore most men tended own affairs with fascinated attention. But then an event occurred which bore directly upon Pop Young and Sattell and Pop Young's missing years. Somebody back on Earth promoted If we were able to tell about \"We felt a shock! What happened? What do we do?\" \"Don't do a thing,\" advised Pop. It didn't seem to have anything to do with Pop or with Sattell. But it did. There were just two passenger section of the plastic. When it was carved, he'd paint it. While he worked, he'd think of Sattell, because missing portions of his life—the parts Sattell had managed to get Sattell had committed. He felt, somehow, that he wouldn't get that back until he'd recovered all the rest.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the relationship between Sattell and Pop Young?\n\n<options>:\nA Sattell uses methods to help Pop recover his memories\nB Sattell is trying to escape Pop, who believes he killed his family\nC Sattell was Pop's neighbor back on Earth\nD Sattell is Pop's son and the only witness who saw Pop murder his wife and other children\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,390 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWhich goes to prove that, in some magnificent Melopolis, encradling the Oracle of Delni. I do not, of still there is a grandeur in the very stones that transcends their human sculptors, and it is no wonder to me that many cling tenaciously, and ignorantly, to the old religion. Cling to the gods of old, who drew man upward from wherever he began. In whose names Man killed and plundered, while struggling up. In whose to live in peace with his knowledge and his power. Gone now are all the ancient evils, wars, emergencies. babbling in excitement. many jokes and, I fear, would have had a lonely life of it had it not \"Gone? It cannot be gone. It has always been—\" \"All of it?\" I asked. what will happen with no more children?\" A man my age does not hurry in the heat of the midday sun—maddugs nenglishmin go out in the midday sun, as the ancients say, although I They are of an age to enter manhood, and have all the energy such young men do. As we entered the city, we were surrounded by confusion and consternation. And can the simple people be blamed? They were aware that they stood in the midst of an unprecedented happening emergency. For a machine had failed! Not in the memory of the eldest among us has a machine failed. They were created so long ago, indeed, that the ignorant believe them to have been constructed by the gods themselves. And never, so far as I know, has one failed. Small wonder that the watcher had been negligent. Indeed, the watcher is more a tradition than a necessity. Besides, had he been sober, he would not have known what to do. For who knows the mysterious workings of the machines? sacrifice, and finally, as the light of the sun was falling between the He rambled through the customary opening remarks and then, continually smoothing his white beard—of which he is excessively proud—approached the crux of the matter and the Conclave finally heard the facts it had had departed for home and supper. Yet perhaps it is for the best, for those left were the most earnest and intelligent. \"I would not bore you,\" he said, \"with details of which only the gods are sure. Know, then, that once granted a few cells of Prelife, it is an easy matter for the Maternite Machine to add more and more thus assuring us, as has always been, a continuous source of Prelife to be born by the Generating Machine as children. The machines bear the exact claim. Such it has always been from time immemorial.\" A murmur of assent and approval of these virtuous words whispered around the Hall. Indeed, I might call it an emergency. For the M-Maternite Machine has actually failed.\" Cries of \"Treason\" sprang up, and I fear it might have gone hard for has been dried up. It will not function. There is no more. And there At this I feared the Conclave was about to riot. It is at such times that I most revere the wisdom of the ancients, who decreed seventy years the minimum age for a member of the Conclave. They shouted and \"Is there no way, then, to produce more Prelife in order that the machines may produce more children for us? \"As I have said,\" he replied, \"give the machines but a bit of Prelife and they will produce more. But take away that least bit, and they are helpless.\" Such heresy could have brought a sad end to the priest had not the Conclave been so exhausted by the events of the day. We leaned back to think. been a beginning to Prelife? For the Machine, it seems, cannot make it and yet it came from somewhere.\" \"Riddles are not called for,\" I answered severely. \"Are not riddles often the beginning of knowledge?\" he asked, in that irritating dumber-than-thou attitude of his. \"Must there not, long ago, have been a source of Prelife: a source now forgotten? And may it not even now—should we discover it—be available to us? I am reminded of the story of the animals of old—\" \"I know well the legend of the animals, but what does it have to \"If it be so,\" I said, quieting the hub-bub that followed, \"and I would men—if it were so, then, what of it?\" \"May it not be,\" Rocsates put in, \"that these animals had no machines to reproduce their kind? For surely the gods would not grant machines \"And how, then, did these animals reproduce?\" I asked. \"How, indeed? And is there not a legend—admitted only a legend—that says there was a time before the machines, and before the Maternite Machine, and that at such a time both the animals and Men reproduced from within their own bodies?\" went on: and so delicate, that they are kept in an air-tight tomb lest, being handled, they be destroyed and all knowledge within them lost. different from the rest of us. To the advantage, your skin is fairer and your features more often handsomer than ours. To the disadvantage, your excretory system is not so mechanically dextrous as ours. And, you may say, why should this not be so? There is, indeed, no reason why we should all be identical. Perforce you have the advantage, perforce we cause for this? Do you not wonder, She's, whence you come and for what reason?\" \"Of course,\" he replied. \"In the course of my reading I have read were created in that time, for not one of them mentions the machines. Then reproduction was carried on by individuals, without help of the land, but they have lived with us for all time somehow intimately related to the physical distinctions of the She's!\" These last sentences were shouted to be heard above the roar of the seems to have been so simple that there was once a problem of over-population.\" Order was lost among the Conclave as each man turned to speak to his neighbor, and for some time I could not restore order. I realized that assembled overwhelmed him. \"It seems,\" I shouted, \"that there is a flaw in your logic.\" For if such there was, I was hopeful of dismissing the entire affair with no harm done. \"For if people reproduced too often, why then this reproduction must have been a pleasant thing to do otherwise they would not have done so to excess. And if it was a pleasant thing to do, where is the necessity for the machines, and why were they created?\" the process of reproduction was of such At this impudence the Conclave dissolved in an uproar, and I was beyond I needed a sufficient excuse to call a meeting of the Conclave, appearance—he looked as if he had not slept of late, nor eaten either. His eyes were sunken, and his features had doubled in age. He was bent \"I have indeed discovered the secret of reproduction,\" he began. \"After Life.' It seems to be some sort of a do-it-yourself pamphlet.\" He dropped the book on the table and rubbed his hands over his eyes. There was something in the man's behavior that commanded everyone's attention. He went on, speaking low. \"The word 'Sex' is not defined, but it seems to mean....\" His words trailed off. He was obviously unsure of how to continue. \"I had better start at the beginning, I When he finished the Conclave sat in horrified silence. His words, \"Shall not these organs which you mention have atrophied by now? With no use throughout all these generations, will they not have evolved into nothingness?\" \"I do not think so,\" Rocsates replied after a while. \"What to us is an eon, to evolution is but an instant. And then the swelling of the undergo such an ordeal for the City? had been a horrible day. The inhuman indignity, the cries— \"We do not deserve praise, Sias,\" he said. \"The truth is, we ... we sort of enjoy it.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich sentence describes the central theme of this story?\n\n<options>:\nA History is doomed to repeat itself because humans fail to learn from their mistakes.\nB A society that does not include younger generations in its governing bodies will fail to evolve.\nC The death of curiosity, combined with overreliance on technology, will lead to an ignorant society.\nD Too much emphasis on masculine ways of thinking and innovating will ruin a society.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
1,727 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHe was glad when the official greeting was over. He was a very tired man and he had come farther, traveled longer and over darker country, than kiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some old friends and a relative or two. He didn't want to talk about the journey. He wanted to forget the immediacy, the urgency, the terror then perhaps he would talk. returned and his voyage was very much like the voyages of the great surprised that he'd had to do this. He'd thought Edith would be watching at a window. And perhaps she Ralphie was with her. They held onto each other as if seeking mutual support, the thirty-three-year old woman and ten-year-old boy. They looked at him, and then both moved forward, still together. He said, \"It's good to be home!\" Edith nodded and, still holding to Ralphie with one hand, put the other -I'll-put-my-pack-aside jokes that spoke of terrible hunger. She was trembling, and even as her lips came up to touch his he felt the everything would loosen up just as his commanding officer, General Carlisle, had said it would early this morning before he left \"Give it some time,\" Carlisle had said. \"You need the time they need the time. And for the love of heaven, don't be sensitive.\" Edith was leading him into the living room, her hand lying still in his, down beside him—but she had hesitated. He wasn't being sensitive she had hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him. Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco De Gama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon—but more so. Carlisle had said lots of things, but even Carlisle who had worked feature. It was like looking into the mirror and seeing himself twenty-five years ago. But Ralphie's face was drawn, was worried in a Edith said, \"He made top forum the six-month period before vacation, and He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering the warmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears as feared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even in continent-to-continent experimental flight. They had been right to worry. He had suffered much after that blow-up. ran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in She said, \"Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around and make small talk and pick up just where you left off.\" He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do—make small talk and pick up just where he'd left off. But they didn't expect it of him they wouldn't let him they felt he had changed too much. \"Not this bed,\" he murmured, and was a little sorry afterward. had known, and that the beds and the barrier between them were her own choice, if only an unconscious choice. He went to the bed near the window, stripped off his Air Force blue jacket, been treated properly and would soon disappear. But she had never seen them. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps pajamas and robes and dark rooms would keep them from her until they were gone. Which was not what he'd considered at all important on leaving Walter Reed Hospital early this morning which was something he found distasteful, something he felt beneath them both. And, at the same time, he began to understand that there would be many things, previously beneath them both, which would have to be considered. She had changed Ralphie had changed all the people he knew had probably changed—because they thought had changed. He was tired of thinking. He lay down and closed his eyes. He let himself taste bitterness, unhappiness, a loneliness he had never known before. But sometime later, as he was dozing off, a sense of reassurance began filtering into his mind. After all, he was still Henry Devers, the same man who had left home eleven months ago, with a love for family and friends which was, if anything, stronger than before. Once he could return to old values, old relationships, the normalcies of the backwash Before he'd become the First One, it would have been a noisy affair. His family had never been noted for a lack of ebullience, a lack of talkativeness, and Ralphie had always chosen mealtimes—especially with company present—to describe everything and anything that had happened to him during the day. And Edith herself had always chatted, especially with his mother, though they didn't agree about much. Still, it had been good-natured the general tone of their lives had been good-natured. before, but his mother had always reacted with a bright smile and a quip Aunt Lucille made a few quavering statements about the Ladies' Tuesday Garden Club, and Hank looked across the table to where she sat between irritated him with an excess of physical and verbal caresses—she barely touched his shoulder and fled. murmured something to her husband. Joe cleared his throat and said Lucille was rapidly becoming a vegetarian and he guessed she was going into the living room for a while. \"She'll be back for dessert, of Hank looked at Edith Edith said, \"Hank!\" the lot of you.\" Mother and Joe returned a few minutes later where he sat forcing food down his throat. Mother said, \"Henry dear—\" He didn't answer. She began to cry, and he was glad she left the house then. He had never said anything really bad to his mother. He was afraid this would have been the time. Joe merely cleared his throat and mumbled something about Edith said, \"He'll stay home, Hank. We'll spend an evening together—talking, watching TV, playing Monopoly.\" they shouldn't count on him for normal social life. He fell asleep quickly, lying there in his clothes. But he didn't sleep long. Edith shook him and he opened his eyes to a and it seemed her old smile. \"They're so anxious to see you, Hank. I could barely keep Phil from coming up and waking you himself. They want to go out and do the town. Please, Hank, say you will.\" It didn't turn out that way. He was disappointed but then again, he'd also expected it. This entire first day at home had conditioned him to full of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, and and Hank went right on drinking. Edith said something to him, but he face—pretty Rhona, who'd always flirted with him, who'd made a ritual of flirting with him. Pretty Rhona, who now looked as if she were going to be sick. for her to come close on her own, and she did, and yet she didn't. Because while she put herself against him, there was something in her face—no, in her eyes she was trying to be the old Edith and not succeeding. This time when the music ended, he was ready to go home. would satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula or another monster from the movies.\" Edith said, \"Oh, Hank, don't, don't!\" \"Hank,\" Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, \"I'm so sorry—\" all work out in time.\" \"Yes,\" she said quickly, \"that's it. I need a little time. We all need a little time. Because it's so strange, Hank. Because it's so frightening. what Carlisle had told him, even as Carlisle himself had reacted as all men did. Edith said, \"Yes, and I'm so grateful that you're here, Hank. Please She came to him and touched his face with her lips, and he was satisfied. Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories of how they announced death and the presence of monsters. He shivered and pulled the covers closer to him and luxuriated in being safe in his own home.\n\n<question>:\nWhich best describes how Edith feels about Henry's return home?\n\n<options>:\nA She is uncertain about how the Henry in front of her is different from the one who left 11 months ago\nB She feels relieved that he made it back from his trip alive.\nC She is thankful that her family is now back together.\nD She is nervous about how the environment of Henry's trip might have changed him.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,233 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nA Gleeb for Earth Galaxy Science Fiction May 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that What really got me mixed up in this was the mysterious disappearance of India, China, England, everywhere. My kid, he reads. He says it's no joke. He wants to call the cops or Glmpauszn, will be born. Today I hang in our newly developed not-pod just within the mirror gateway, torn with the agony that we calculated must go with such tremendous wavelength fluctuations. I have attuned myself to a fetus within the body of a not-woman in the not-world. Already I am static and for hours have looked into this weird extension of the Universe with fear and trepidation. As soon as my stasis was achieved, I tried to contact you, but got no response. What could have diminished your powers of articulate and surrounded with an impregnable chimera. Quickly, from the not-world vibrations about you, I learned the not-knowledge of your location. So I must communicate with you by what the not-world calls \"mail\" till we meet. For this purpose I must utilize the feeble vibrations of various not-people through whose inadequate articulation I will attempt to make my moves known to you. Each time I will pick a city other than the one I am in at the time. I, Glmpauszn, come equipped with powers evolved from your fragmentary reports before you ceased to vibrate to us and with a vast treasury I must leave off now because the not-child is about to be born. When it is alone in the room, it will be spirited away and I will spring from the pod on the gateway into its crib and will be its exact vibrational likeness. I have tremendous powers. But the not-people must never know I am among them. This is the only way I could arrive in the room where the gateway Gezsltrysk, what a task! Farewell till later. Glmpauszn Wichita, Kansas birth. I learned the following day that the opposite component of my not-mother, my not-father, had been away riding on some conveyance during my birth. He was out on ... what did they call it? Oh, yes, a bender. He did not arrive till three days after I was born. This was the first use I had made of the so-called vocal cords that and retreated across a nearby field. A prolonged search was launched, but I eluded them. What unpredictable beings! I reported my tremendous progress back to our world, including the cleverness by which I managed to escape my pursuers. I received a reply But you know old Blgftury. He wanted to go on this expedition himself alleged world and our own. It is merely an offshoot of our primitive time classifying them. Anyway, I shall carry on swiftly now to the inevitable climax in which I singlehanded will obliterate the terror of the not-world and return to our world a hero. I cannot understand your Glmpauszn I had tremendous difficulty getting a letter off to you this time. My process—original with myself, by the way—is to send out feeler vibrations for what these people call the psychic individual. Then I establish contact with him while he sleeps and compel him without his knowledge to translate my ideas into written language. He writes my letter and mails it to you. Of course, he has no awareness of what he has done. My first five tries were unfortunate. Each time I took control of an accomplished these miracles through the thick skull of this incompetent. In simple terms then: I crept into a cave and slipped into a kind of sleep, directing my squhjkl ulytz & As I said before, floods of impressions are driving into my xzbyl ... Glmpauszn I received your first communication today. It baffles me. Do you greet me in the proper fringe-zone manner? No. Do you express joy, hope, pride, helpfulness at my arrival? No. You ask me for a loan of five bucks! ripped across the closely joined vibration flux, whose individual fluctuations make up our sentient population. Even our eminent, all-high Frequency himself has often been jeopardized are joined by a thin fringe of filaments. Our world, on the vibrational plane, extends just a bit into this, the not-world. But being a world of higher vibration, it is ultimately tenuous to these gross peoples. While we vibrate only within a restricted plane because of our purer, more stable existence, these people radiate widely into our world. They even send what they call psychic reproductions of their own selves into ours. And most infamous of all, they sometimes are able to force some of our individuals over the fringe into their world temporarily, causing them much agony and fright. The latter atrocity is perpetrated through what these people call mediums, spiritualists and other fatuous names. I intend to visit one them up while examining the \"slang\" portion of my information catalog which you unfortunately caused me to use. So, for the ultimate cause—in this, the penultimate adventure, and for the glory and peace of our world—shake a leg, bub. Straighten up and fly right. In short, get hep. As far as the five bucks is concerned, no dice. Glmpauszn all being forwarded to Blgftury. If I were not involved in the most important part of my journey—completion of the weapon against the not-worlders—I would come to New York immediately. You would rue that Glmpauszn I experience a tickle. studying this phenomenon, along with other racial characteristics of Glmpauszn in any of your vibrations to us, gleebs ago, when you first came across to this world. It will stint my powers? Nonsense! Already I have had a the inevitable. Anyway, what the old xbyzrt doesn't know won't muss his vibrations. I went to what they call a nightclub here and picked out a attracted to me instantly. After all, the body I have devised is ends which send sensations to the brain. The brain interprets these impulses in a certain manner. As a result, the fate of secretion in the adrenals on the ends of the kidneys increases and an enlivening of the quickly. Now in all the motion pictures—true representations of life and love I think I'll get a hot report off to the old so-and-so right now. It'll take him a gleeb to figure this one out. I'll tell him I'm setting up an atomic reactor in the sewage systems here and that all we have to do is activate it and all the not-people will die of chain asphyxiation. Boy, what an easy job this turned out to be. It's just a vacation. Joe, Glmpauszn psychic influence in the room somewhere. That was me, of course, but I was too busy with the redhead to notice. Anyway, Mrs. Somebody wanted to make contact with her paternal Grandma Lucy, nothing! This medium had actually brought Blgftury Quickly! Glmpauszn Florence, Italy September 10 Dear Joe: This telepathic control becomes more difficult every time. I must pick closer points of communication soon. I have nothing to report but Glmpauszn transmitted to the human organism, will cause a disease whose end will be swift and fatal. First the brain will dissolve and then the body will fall apart. Nothing in this world can stop the spread of it once it is loose. Absolutely nothing. We must use care. Stock in as much gin as you are able. I will bring with me all that I can. Meanwhile I must return to my original place of birth into this world of horrors. There I will secure the gateway, a large mirror, the vibrational point at which we shall meet and slowly climb the frequency scale to emerge into our own beautiful, now secure world. You and I together, Joe, conquerors, liberators. You say you eat little and drink as much as you can. The same with me. Even in this revolting world I am a sad sight. My not-world senses falter. This is the last letter. Tomorrow I come with the gateway. When hgutry before the ghjdksla! Glmpauszn\n\n<question>:\nHow did Glmpauszn come to Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA he teleported\nB he was born\nC he walked through a mirror\nD via spaceship\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nEarly in American Beauty , Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey), a weary reporter for a media magazine, masturbates in the shower while informing us in voice-over that we're witnessing the highlight of his day. He peers through tired eyes out the window at his manicured suburban tract-house lawn, where his wife, Carolyn (Annette Bening)--whose gardening clogs, he points out, are color-coordinated with the handles of her shears--snips roses (American beauties) and twitters about Miracle-Gro to a gay yuppie (Scott Bakula) on the other side of a white picket fence. \"I have lost something,\" says Lester. \"I'm not exactly sure what it is but I know I didn't always feel this ... sedated.\" Apparently, Lester doesn't realize that snipped roses are garden-variety symbols of castration, or he'd know what he has lost. But the makers of American Beauty are about to give Lester his roses back. At a high-school basketball game, Lester is transfixed by a blonde cheerleader named Angela (Mena Suvari), who is twirling alongside his daughter, Jane (Thora Burch). Ambient noise falls away, the crowd disappears, and there she is, Lester's angel, writhing in slow motion--just for him. She opens her jacket (she's naked underneath) and red rose petals drift out. Later, Lester envisions her on a bed of red petals, then immersed in a bath of red petals. Back in the roses for the first time in years, he's soon pumping iron, smoking pot, and telling off his frigid wife and faceless bosses, convinced that whatever he has lost he's getting back, baby. A merican Beauty is so wittily written and gorgeously directed that you might think you're seeing something archetypal--maybe even the Great American Movie. But when you stop and smell the roses ... Well, that scent isn't Miracle-Gro. The hairpin turns from farce to melodrama, from satire to bathos, are fresh and deftly navigated, but almost every one of the underlying attitudes is smug and easy: from the corporate flunky named \"Brad\" to the interchangeable gay neighbors (they're both called \"Jim\") to the brutally homophobic patriarch next door, an ex-Marine colonel (Chris Cooper) who has reduced his wife (the normally exuberant Allison Janney) to a catatonic mummy and his son, Ricky (Bentley), to a life of subterranean deception. (The colonel's idea of bliss is watching an old Ronald Reagan military picture on television: How's that for subtle?) Lester's wife, Carolyn, is even more stridently caricatured. A real-estate broker who fails to sell a big house (her only potential customers are blank-faced African-Americans, Indian-Americans, and surly lesbians), she wears a mask of perky efficiency and insists on listening to Muzak while she and her husband and daughter eat her \"nutritious yet savory\" dinners. It's amazing that Mendes and Ball get away with recycling so many stale and reactionary ideas under the all-purpose rubric of \"black comedy.\" But it's also possible that those ideas have rarely been presented so seductively. Several months ago, Daniel Menaker in Slate in contemporary film in which the protagonist attempts to break through our cultural and technological anesthetization into \"the real.\" That's the theme here, too, and it's extraordinarily potent, at times even heartbreaking. The symbols, however, have been cunningly reversed. In movies like sex, lies, and videotape (1989), the protagonist has to put away the video camera to \"get real\" in American Beauty , it's Ricky Fitts, the damaged stoner videomaker next door, who sees beauty where nonartists see only horror or nothingness. In the film's most self-consciously poetic set piece, Ricky shows Lester's dour daughter Jane--in whom he recognizes a kindred spirit--a video of a plastic bag fluttering up, down, and around on invisible currents of wind. Ricky speaks of glimpsing in the bag's trajectory an \"entire life behind things\"--a \"benevolent force\" that holds the universe together. The teen-ager, who likes to train his lenses on dead bodies of animals and people, sells wildly expensive marijuana to Lester and somehow passes on this notion of \"beauty.\" By the end, Lester is mouthing the same sentiments and has acquired the same deadpan radiance. That must be some really good shit they're smoking. It's not the druggy philosophizing, however, that makes American Beauty an emotional workout. It's that the caricatures are grounded in sympathy instead of derision. Everyone on screen is in serious pain. The manipulative sexpot Angela, who taunts her friend Jane with the idea of seducing her dad, acts chiefly out of a terror of appearing ordinary. As the military martinet, Cooper goes against the grain, turning Col. Fitts into a sour bulldog whose capaciously baggy eyes are moist with sadness over his inability to reach out. (When he stands helplessly in the rain at the end, the deluge completes him.) The character of Carolyn is so shrill as to constitute a libel on the female sex, but there isn't a second when Bening sends the woman up. She doesn't transcend the part, she fills it to the brim, anatomizes it. You can't hate Carolyn because the woman is trying so hard--to appear confident, composed, in control. When she fails to sell that house, she closes the shades and lets go with a naked wail--it's the sound of a vacuum crying to be filled--then furiously slaps herself while sputtering, \"Shut up--you're weak--shut up. \" Then she breathes, regains her go-get-'em poise, replaces her mask. Carolyn isn't a complicated dramatic construction, but Bening gives her a primal force. An actress who packs more psychological detail into a single gesture than others get into whole scenes, Bening was barreling down the road to greatness before she hit a speed bump called Warren. It's a joy to observe her--both here and in Neil Jordan's In Dreams (1999)--back at full throttle. Kevin Costner is 11 years older than he was as Crash Davis, the over-the-hill minor-league catcher in Bull Durham (1988), but he can still get away with playing a professional ballplayer. He moves and acts like a celebrity jock, and he can make his narcissistic self-containment look as if he's keeping something in reserve--to protect his \"instrument,\" as it were. In For Love of the Game , he's a 40ish Detroit Tigers pitcher having his last hurrah: The team has been sold and the new owners don't necessarily want him back. For about half an hour, it's a great sports movie. Costner stands on the mound shaking off the signals of his longtime catcher (John C. Reilly) he forces himself to tune out the huge Yankee Stadium crowd (the background blurs before our eyes and the sound drops out) and he mutters darkly at a succession of batters, some old nemeses, some old buddies.\n\n<question>:\nBased on the reviewer's description of Lester and his family, what is their likely socioeconomic status?\n\n<options>:\nA Below poverty level\nB Blue collar\nC White collar\nD Middle class\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIn his room at the Elsby Commercial Hotel, Tremaine opened his luggage heavy man with a creased face and thick gray hair looked up from behind an ancient Underwood. He studied Tremaine, shifted a toothpick to the opposite corner of his mouth. In a back room Tremaine said, \"To everybody but you this is just a we don't know much yet.\" Tremaine covered \"I didn't expect any easy answers, Jess. But I was hoping maybe you had something ...\" \"Course,\" said Jess, \"there's always Mr. Bram ...\" \"Mr. Bram,\" repeated Tremaine. \"Is he still around? I remember him as a hundred years old when I was kid.\" \"Still just the same, Jimmy. Comes in town maybe once a week, buys his \"Well, what about him?\" \"Nothing. But he's the town's mystery man. You know that. A little touched in the head.\" \"There were a lot of funny stories about him, I remember,\" Tremaine \"I've never seen any harm in Bram,\" said Jess. \"But you know how this town is about foreigners, especially when they're a mite addled. Bram \"Beats me, Jimmy. You remember old Aunt Tress, used to know all about ancestors and such as that? She couldn't remember about Mr. Bram. She was kind of senile, I guess. She used to say he'd lived in that same \"Oh?\" Tremaine stubbed out his cigarette, lit another. \"What happened in the streets playin' with matches by now. I'm waiting for the day they'll make jail age.\" \"Why Bram?\" Tremaine persisted. \"As far as I know, he never had any dealings to speak of with anybody here in town.\" \"Oh hoh, you're a little young, Jimmy,\" Jess chuckled. \"You never knew Tremaine shook his head. already old. And nobody was ever fool enough to mention the name Bram in front of her.\" Tremaine got to his feet. \"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your ears Tremaine. \"I won't be a minute,\" Tremaine said. \"Just want to check on when the Bram property changed hands last.\" The man turned to Tremaine, pushing a drawer shut with his hip. \"Bram? He dead?\" \"Nothing like that. I just want to know when he bought the place.\" The man came over to the counter, eyeing Tremaine. \"He ain't going to sell, mister, if that's what you want to know.\" Tremaine put a hand on the counter, looked thoughtful. \"I was hoping to save a trip.\" He lifted his hand and scratched the side of his jaw. It was ten minutes before he beckoned Tremaine over to the table where \"No, thanks,\" Tremaine said. \"That's all I needed.\" He turned back to the door. \"What's up, mister?\" the clerk called after him. \"Bram in some kind of The man was looking at the book with pursed lips. \"Nineteen-oh-one,\" he said. \"I never thought of it before, but you know, old Bram must be dern near to ninety years old. Spry for that age.\" \"I guess you're right.\" The clerk looked sideways at Tremaine. \"Lots of funny stories about old Bram. Useta say his place was haunted. You know funny noises and \"Maybe so.\" The clerk leaned on the counter, assumed a knowing look. \"There's one story that's not superstition....\" Tremaine waited. \"You—uh—paying anything for information?\" \"Now why would I do that?\" Tremaine reached for the door knob. The clerk shrugged. \"Thought I'd ask. Anyway—I can swear to this. Nobody in this town's ever seen Bram between sundown and sunup.\" Untrimmed sumacs threw late-afternoon shadows on the discolored stucco facade of the Elsby Public Library. Inside, Tremaine followed a The woman darted a suspicious look at Tremaine. \"You have to handle Tremaine leafed over, reading slowly. he saw the name Bram: Mr. Bram has purchased a quarter section of fine grazing land, Tremaine set off at a run, covered the two blocks to the hotel, yanked open the door to his car, slid into the seat, made a U-turn, and headed north after the police car. Two miles into the dark hills north of the Elsby city limits, Tremaine \"Mind if I have a word with him? My name's Tremaine.\" Tremaine?\" \"I thought you were going to keep your men away from Elsby until I gave the word, Grammond.\" Grammond snorted. \"Okay, Tremaine,\" he said. \"You're the boy with all the answers. But if you get in trouble, don't call me Back in his room, Tremaine put through a call. \"Don't tell me my job, Tremaine!\" the voice snapped. \"And don't try out your famous temper on me. I'm still in charge of this investigation.\" \"I....\" Tremaine started. He looked at the old lady. \"I want some \"How long has Mr. Bram lived in Elsby?\" Miss Carroll looked at him for a long moment. \"Will what I tell you be used against him?\" \"I'm not at all sure I know what the term 'national interest' means, James. I distrust these glib phrases.\" \"I always liked Mr. Bram,\" said Tremaine. \"I'm not out to hurt him.\" \"Mr. Bram came here when I was a young woman. I'm not certain of the year.\" \"What does he do for a living?\" \"That is his only name. Just ... Bram.\" \"You knew him well once, Miss Carroll. Is there anything—\" Tremaine stood up. \"I'm sorry. Really sorry. I didn't mean to grill complete confidence in you. If anything I can tell you about Bram will be helpful to you, it is my duty to oblige you and it may help him.\" She paused. Tremaine waited. \"Many years ago I was courted by Bram. One day he asked me to go with him to his house. On the way he told me a terrible and pathetic tale. \"There is one other thing,\" she said, \"perhaps quite meaningless....\" \"I'd be grateful for any lead.\" \"Bram fears the thunder.\" III As Tremaine walked slowly toward the lighted main street of Elsby a car pulled to a stop beside him. Jess leaned out, peered at Tremaine and asked: \"Any luck, Jimmy?\" Tremaine shook his head. \"I'm getting nowhere fast. The Bram idea's a dud, I'm afraid.\" \"Funny thing about Bram. You know, he hasn't showed up yet. I'm getting a little worried. Want to run out there with me and take a look around?\" \"Sure. Just so I'm back by full dark.\" Tremaine went to the car, dropped the pistol in his coat pocket, stared at Tremaine. \"I'm too damned old to start believing in spooks,\" he said. \"You suppose those damn-fool boys are hiding here, playing tricks?\" with burnin out a Commie, is there?\" \"Bram's a Commie, is he?\" Tremaine said softly. \"How'd you find that out, Hull?\" \"Who says so?\" The boy looked directly at Tremaine for an instant, flicked his eyes to them spies. Wanted to know all about any funny-actin people around hers.\" \"And you mentioned Bram?\" The boy darted another look at Tremaine. \"They said they figured the spies was out north of town. Well, Bram's a foreigner, and he's out that way, ain't he?\"\n\n<question>:\nDid the questions Tremaine needed answers to get resolved?\n\n<options>:\nA No. He still doesn't know where the transmission is coming from.\nB No. He thinks that Miss Carroll is behind this out of spite for Mr. Bram, but he's not quite sure.\nC Yes. Mr. Bram was the cause of the transmission, so Tremaine's question has been answered.\nD Probably. Mr. Bram is certainly evil, so Tremaine knows for sure where this investigation will lead.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nJUPITER'S JOKE the great red spot of terrible Jupiter. didn't foul me with this trip to good old Jupiter. Then I croaked, \"Jupiter! What for? Are you running outa space in stir? court didn't seem important just then. Jupiter was worse than the pen, a lot worse. Jupiter was a death sentence. the Red Spot of the planet, floating in some kind of artificial anti-gravity field in the gaseous portion of the atmosphere—\" and in some way worm from them the secret of their anti-gravity field, say, eminently suited to the task.\" He beamed at me. I looked around. They were all beaming. At me! Suddenly I smelled a rat as big as an elephant. That whole Kooleen caper: Had it been just a trap to lead me straight to this? I hadn't been able to figure how they'd cracked my setup.... when I already had more counts against me than a cur has fleas. Not Crude, but it was all I could squeeze out. I squeezed out more when I saw those pictures, though. Those inhabitants were charming, just charming if you like scorpions. Well, a cross between a scorpion and a grasshopper, to be accurate. Floating among that red stuff, they showed up a kind of sickly purple turning to gangrene around the edges. the great Casey Ritter, daredevil of the Solar System!\" he sneered. They were really stumped. They hadn't expected me to take this attitude at all. No doubt they had it figured that I'd gratefully throw myself into a sea of ammonia among man-size scorpions just for the hell of it. Nuts! After all, in the pen a man can eat and breathe, and a guard won't reach in and nip off an arm or leg while he's got his back safe and secure in the grip of the good old Iron College, I relaxed. asteroid real estate racket. Pard Hoskins was his alias, and he had the tag of being a real slick operator. We swapped yarns for about a week when we met, and then I asked him what's his rap this trip. \"Oh, a pretty good jolt if they can keep hold of me,\" he says. \"I just His eyes watered at the memory, yearning like a hound-dog's over a fresh scent. I couldn't believe it. Those emeralds were in the inner shrine of the super-sacred, super-secret temple of the cavern-dwelling tribe of and sell 'em to Akroida. She's nuts about jools. What that old girl won't give me fer 'em—\" He whistled appreciatively, thinking about it. again. The memory still makes me fry. \"Akroida,\" he explained in his own sweet time, \"is the queen-scorp of them idiotic scorpions that lives on Jupiter. I sold her the Halcyon Diamond that disappeared from the World Museum five years ago, remember?\" He winked broadly. \"It come from Mars in the first place, \"You mean those scorpions have really got brains?\" \"Brains!\" he snorted. \"Have they got brains! Why, they're smarter than people! And not ferocious, neither, in spite of how they look, if you fer them. Besides, the space suit rig you got to wear, they can't bite you. Akroida's not a bad old girl. Partial to arsenic on her lettuce, already penetrated the Great Red Spot of old Jupiter and come out that I could pry more information out of Pard Hoskins. Hoskins was in the bunch. He'd never get out of there, and he knew it. those scorpions, and how he'd made Akroida mad. \"I put on a yeller slicker,\" he confessed sadly. \"That there ammonia mist was eatin' into the finish on my spacesuit, so I draped this that took me in was colorblind, so I didn't have no warning at all. I found out that them scorpions can't stand yeller. It just plain drives them nuts! Thought they'd chaw me up and spit me out into the chlorine before I could get outa the damn thing. If my colorblind pal a-purpose to upset her.\" Then he winked at me. \"But then I got off in a corner and cooked up some perfume that drives them nuts the other way sorta frantic with ecstasy, like the book says. Didn't have a chance to try it on Akroida, though. She wouldn't give me another audience. It's in the stuff they He ruminated a few minutes. \"Tell you what, chump. Make them shell out with a green an' poiple spacesuit—them's the real Jupiter colors—an' put just a touch o' that there perfume on the outside of it. Akroida'll do anything fer you if she just gets a whiff. Just anything! But remember, don't use but a drop. It's real powerful.\" II slipped down onto the Red Desert of Mars and picked up the Killicut Ritter, compared with the value of the secret you are to buy with of emeralds back into its little safe. \"Instead of sniping at me, why patted my pretty enameled suit, which was a study in paris green and passionate purple. I patted the three hundred pounds of arsenic crystals for Akroida and thing, and the temperature rose to nearly forty. Meanwhile the hopper-scorp reached the ship. Hastily I squirted some of my Scorpion-Come-Hither lure on the chest of my spacesuit, opened the lock, and popped out, brave as could be. Face to face with that thing, though, I nearly lost my grip on the handle. In fact, I'd have fainted intimate—or rather, the taps were. There was even a rather warm expression discernible in the thing's eyes, so I took heart and decided else. \"I've never been here before, and so I've never met the charming lady,\" I informed him. \"However, I have something very special in the way of jewels—not with me, naturally—and the rumor is that she might out thoughtfully, just like an ordinary business man, and I managed to tap out yes. He drifted closer close enough to get a whiff.... A shudder of ecstasy stiffened him. His head and eyes rolled with it, and he wafted closer still. Right there I began to harbor a premonition Hoskins. How had he made friends with the brute in the first place? natural lump on his back, and he darted away from me. I opened the throttle and tore after him among the immense red blobs that were now beginning to be patterned with dozens of green-and-purple scorpions, all busy filling huge baskets with buds and tendrils, no doubt. Other scorpions oared and floated about in twos and threes in a free and peaceable manner that almost made me forget that I was scared to persecutor was right, too. That anti-grav secret was worth more than block, skyscrapers and all. It was like a mammoth red cavern, and it glowed like the inside of a red light. No wonder those scorpions like green and purple. What a relief from all that red! A patch in the middle of the hall became a floating platform holding up a ten-ton cannon and twice as mean and dangerous. She was idly nipping shaking the jewels that were hung all over her repulsive carcass, and making the Halcyon Diamond on her chest blaze like a bonfire.\n\n<question>:\nThere is one central object that saves Casey Ritter and Pard Hoskins from the wrath of Jupiter’s scorpion race. What is it and what does it do?\n\n<options>:\nA A potion that causes the scorpions to go insane.\nB A yellow space suit. The scorpion race considers yellow is a sign of serious respect.\nC A yellow space suit. The scorpion race considers yellow a sign of romantic love.\nD A perfume that makes the scorpions fall in love with whoever wears it.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe robots were built to serve Man to do his work, see to his comforts, make smooth his way. Then the robots figured out an additional service—putting Man out of his misery. \"I wonder,\" he thought, \"how Pete could cram enough brain into one of those things to make it hunt and track so perfectly.\" He tried to visualize the computing circuits needed for the operation of its tracking mechanism robot, clawing insanely at the robot, crunching and snapping its way through the undergrowth like an onrushing forest fire. He froze. \"Good Lord! antenna and blaster barrel. They communicate with each other! The one I jammed must turns he'd taken in the jungle. He began to move along the bank, away from the crashing \"All I need is to get lost.\" and silenced by an explosive crash. Alan started, \"Blaster fighting! But it can't automatically controlled by the camp computer. That's where I'll bet anything they're towards the camp. Trees exploded to his left as another robot fired in his direction, too far away to be effective but churning towards him two robots coming up from either side, behind him. His eyes were well accustomed to the dark now, and he managed to dodge most of the shadowy vines and branches before they could snag or trip him. Even so, he stumbled which had clung across the barrel. wiping every trace of life from slashes from ankle to thigh. The crashing rumble of the killer robots shook the night behind him, nearer sometimes, then falling slightly back, but the planet. Technologically advanced and technicians to Waiamea three days before. Except for a few of the killer robots rolling slowly around the camp site on their quiet treads, there was no for sure. Anybody who can build a robot that hunts by homing in on animals' mind impulses ...\" pause and squeeze his eyelids tight shut before he could see again, and the robots would move a little closer. He stepped forward Alan leaped back, and fell sprawling over a bush just as one of the robots rolled silently up from the right, lowering its blaster barrel to aim directly at briefly against brilliance as a third robot slowly moved up in the distance. Without thinking, To his right the trees silhouetted itself from the smoldering branches and crashed against the He pictured the camp computer with no one to stop it, automatically sending its robots in wider and wider forays, slowly With an awkward jerk the robot swung around and fired its blaster, completely dissolving the But the back pressure of the cat's body overloaded the discharge circuits. The robot started lower half of the cat creature to shake, then clicked sharply and shorted the blaster cells. as an overload relay snapped The killer turned and rolled back machines doing the job for which they were built, completely, thoroughly, without feeling, camp, but not himself be seen. Though visibility didn't make any difference to the robots, he felt safer, somehow, hidden. He knew now what the shooting him breathed fire, then exploded. In the brief flash of the blaster shot, Alan saw the steel glint of a robot only a hundred yards away, much nearer than he had thought. \"Thank heaven \"I suppose,\" he muttered to himself, \"that Pete assembled these robots in a batch and then activated them all at once, probably never living to realize that they're tuned to pick up human blinked the pain tears from his eyes and looked up—into a robot's Instinctively, in one motion Alan grabbed his pocket blaster and fired. To his amazement the robot jerked back, its gun wobbled and started to tilt away. Then, getting itself under control, it swung back again to face Alan. He fired again, and again the robot reacted. It seemed familiar somehow. Then he remembered right hand. \"This pop gun wouldn't even singe a robot, but it just might stop one of those pumas.\" missing the obvious. \"The blaster transmitting mental energy to the the robot on the river for a few seconds. They even do it to themselves!\" Firing intermittently, he pulled himself upright and hobbled ahead through the bush. The robot shook spasmodically with each shot, its gun tilted upward at an awkward angle. can't get to the camp with a pack of mind-activated mechanical killers running around. night. On the other hand, I certainly grass stood the headquarters building, housing the robot-controlling computer. Still firing at short intervals he started across the door. It fired again, closer, that jutted up through the grass. slightly different spot. From the corner of his eye he saw another of the robots standing as he fumbled with the lock for his small blaster to run dry. \"Be damned! You can't win shakily in the dark edge of had, at last, given him a reason for living. \"Not to be killed!\" A few feet from the building's door his blaster quit. stone ripped past him, torn loose cells released themselves from the device, falling in the grass at his feet. He dropped the useless gun. \"No!\" He threw himself on the ground as a new robot suddenly appeared around the edge the robot paused momentarily, jiggling in place. In this of a blaster. Then another. planet's double moon had risen and he could see a robot rolling slowly across the clearing in his general direction, blasting indiscriminately robot's pickup devices. Confused by the sudden dispersion of mind impulses, the robot fired erratically as Alan crouched and raced painfully for headed for the jungle, each to a by the blast. Frantically, Alan slammed open the door as the robot, sensing Apparently the robot hadn't point blank. He saw nothing, his mind thought of nothing but the red-clad safety switch mounted sensed him yet, but Alan didn't know what the effective range him strongly now, aimed beside the computer. Time stopped. There was nothing else in of its pickup devices was. He try.\" He moved into the blackness. Powerful as a small tank, the killer robot was equipped to crush, slash, and burn its way through undergrowth. Nevertheless, he acknowledged the question in Alan's eyes, \"you hit the switch. space medical insignia. \"Yes,\" he could manage to keep ahead of it, barely out of blaster range. Only, the robot didn't get tired. Alan did. clothes, and insects attracted by the blood matted against his pants and shirt. Behind, the robot crashed imperturbably after him, lighting the night with fitful the charge remaining in his blaster. There wouldn't be much. load in fresh cells this morning!\" The robot crashed on, louder now, gaining on the tired human. Legs aching and bruised, bank, jiggling and swaying for seconds after each shot. \"Of course!\" He cursed himself for buckled. His blaster fell into the The robot crashed loudly behind him now. Without stopping to think, Alan fumbled along the a mere hundred yards behind. He screamed at the blast. \"Damn you, Pete! Damn your robots! as the heavy little robot rolled slowly and inexorably towards he thought, \"in battle dress.\" He tried to stand but his legs were almost too weak and as now, he would have to watch, quieted and the muzzle again pointed down. Pressing with all his might, blaster swung slightly away. But Without hesitation Alan threw himself across the blaster housing, frantically locking his arms around the barrel as the robot's treads churned furiously in the sticky mud, causing it to buck and plunge like a Brahma blaster jerked upwards wrenching fiercely against the robot's metal skin. Slowly, trying to anticipate He fumbled for the sheath clipped to his belt, found it, and extracted the revolving housing and the stationary portion of the robot. With a quick prayer he jammed in the knife blade—and\n\n<question>:\nWhat would have happened if Allen's blaster had not run out of charge?\n\n<options>:\nA He would still have hit the switch, ending the story the same way.\nB He would have been able to shoot the switch from where he stood instead of having to make a run for it.\nC He would have accidentally cut off communication with other ships.\nD He would have been able to shoot down the robots and not need to hit the switch.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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276 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThere should be an epitaph for every man, big or little, but a really grand and special one for Loner Charlie. longer. But not now. Not now.\" He turned away and walked to the window. \"Now the world is dead. The whole world is dead.\" New York lay quietly below him. It was the hour of indecision when day has not quite made up its mind to leave and night has not yet sensations of angry rage. He wanted to cry, to weep angry tears of protest. To any man, WHO HAPPENED TO BE THE LAST MAN ON EARTH! Charles picked up a heavy book end off the table and crashed it through the thick pane of window glass. attacking his olfactory patch with the retching smell of decaying flesh. Charles ignored it. Even smells had lost their customary meanings. He felt the rage build up inside again, tearing at his viscera. His stomach clenched up like an angry fist. \"But I don't want to be the last man alive!\" he shouted. \"I don't know what to do! I don't know where to go, how to act! I just don't know—\" A paroxysm of sobbing shook his body. Trembling, he dropped to his \" Maybe I'm not the last! \" The thought struck him with suddenness, promisingly, edged with him down the hall to the elevator that he had to run himself. The lobby was littered with debris, human and otherwise. Charles ignored it. The street that led towards the Bureau of Vital Statistics was a mess of desolate carnage. Charles overlooked it. Shop fronts smashed, stores looted, gyro-cars wrecked, proud buildings defaced. was fun, just a bowl of cherries, until....\" Two years ago the animals had started dying. Strangely enough the rats had gone first, to anybody's notice. Sales of poison dropped, scientific laboratories chained to a perpetual rodent-cycle began to complain bitterly. governments around the world. The U.N. met at emergency sessions to cope with the situation. The president of the world-wide Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals committed suicide. Within a year it was obvious to everyone that man was the only animal left on earth. The panic which had begun with the death of the animals was quieted somewhat by the fact that humans seemed immune to the pandemic. But the gone. Less than a month ago no more than a few thousand people remained in New York. And now.... \"I've got to find out,\" Charles told himself. He meant it, of course, who was dead, and where everybody was. Once a year the Bureau issued The Index, an exact accounting of Earth's four billion inhabitants. Four billion names and addresses, compressed into microprint, a tremendous achievement even for the \"Proud Era.\" In all of his life, Charles had never once glanced at The Index. The average person had little necessity to do so since the Bureau information service would answer questions free of charge at any time. of the world. The silence became unbearable. Charles walked to the master control panel. With newly acquired dexterity he switched the computer screens on and watched them glow Charles activated the switches that would flash a schematic map of New York on the screen. \"There's bound to be somebody else left here. After all, there were at least twenty of us just a couple of days ago.\" And alive then.\" Including the blond young woman who had died just this afternoon.... Charles stopped talking and forced his eyes upwards. Peripheral vision one . Charles was by himself, the last person alive in all of New York City. He began to tremble violently. The silence of the room began to press quickly in on him. His frantic fingers searched for the computer plague. It's only logical that—\" He stopped. For even as he spoke, the light winked out! The counter clicked again. Alone. Alone! Charles screamed. The bottom dropped out from under him! Why? the race. Man began to think, to differentiate himself from the other animals, when he first asked the question: \"Why?\" But thinking about \"why\" didn't answer the question itself, Charles \"You've got about ten minutes warning,\" he said to himself. \"I guess that most people wanted to die inside of something—inside of anything. Not out in the unprotected open.\" Civilization equals life equals noise. Silence equals.... Why. His mind kept returning to the question. Of all the people on earth, me. The last. Why me? the most perfect? Had he led the best of all possible lives? Was that it? Had God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, spared his life, saved him, singled him out because he was most nearly a saint, most nearly Charles sighed. What about—? Chance. That was it! The laws of probability, the bell-shaped curve, assumptions about good and evil, no need for teleological arguments concerning cause and effect. Simply explain it by chance. Somebody had to be the last to go and that was— \"No,\" Charles said, standing up in the quiet of the spring evening. \"No, chance won't do it. No man can reckon with chance. The mind Make it simple, he thought. And he finally wrote: HERE LIES THE BODY OF THE LAST MAN ON EARTH Yes. That was it. Simple. Let whoever came afterwards figure out the rest. Let them decide. He smiled and finished the painting. Charles was hungry. He got up and started for one of the restaurants difference, it seemed to Charles that he'd probably have a long time to wait. \"Maybe it's just a disease, and I'm immune. I was immune to smallpox. The vaccination never took. That's probably it.\" to the restaurant. This was the way the plague began, but—His mind quickly repressed the idea. It couldn't be the plague. He was immune! Another burst of pulsating, shattering pain crashed through his body, tearing down the defenses of his mind, putting an end of his thoughts useless. His body, out of his voluntary control, tried to run off in all directions at once. Charles struggled to end his body's disorganized responses, to channelize all his energy into one direction. His mind came back into action. He set up his goal everything else seemed irrelevant: he had to get back to the park, to his hermit's cave, to his long, narrow home. He couldn't die until then. gave way, he crawled. When his knees buckled, he rolled. When his stomach protested, he vomited. It made no difference. Charles refused to think. Machines, especially half-broken machines, do not think they only work. Sweating, straining, bleeding, retching, he He gathered energy from his final reservoirs of strength for one final movement that would throw him headlong into the shallow grave. He Instantly the thought struck him with paralyzing devastation. The answer to it all poked its face out from the recesses of his mind and sapped the last bit of his energy, corroding his nerves and dying into it, swinging senseless in the air, pointing accusingly at the empty coffin. The world will end, not with a bang, nor with a whimper, but with the last man's anguished cry at the unreasonableness of it all. Charles screamed. The large, invisible, ovular being that hung suspended over the Empire State Building rested from its exertion. Soon it was approached by the metal, until then partially obscured by the papers, became legible: HERE LIES THE BODY OF THE LAST MAN ON EARTH— CHARLES J. ZZYZST GO TO HELL!\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the true explanation for Charles being the last man on Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA The invisible aliens exterminated people according to chance and probability. Charles just so happened to be killed last.\nB The invisible aliens exterminated people in alphabetical order, according to the the Bureau of Vital Statistics index. Charles happens to be last on the list, with the last name Zzyzst.\nC The invisible aliens exterminated people according to how normal they were. Charles just so happened to be the most normal human alive.\nD The invisible aliens exterminated people in the order of a foretold prophecy. Because he was a prophet, Charles was killed last.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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1,327 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nDole vs. the For several weeks now, pundits have debated how Bob Dole would exit the stage. Would he depart on a negative note about his opponent or a positive one about himself? Would he leave with anger or with humor? In the past several days, the issue has been settled. Dole, it appears, will end his political career raging against the New York Times . Dole's spat with the gray lady went public on Thursday, Oct. 24. In New Orleans, Dole charged the paper with ignoring a story about a Miami drug dealer who got invited to the White House. \"This is a disgrace,\" Dole insisted. \"I doubt if you even read it in the New York Times . They probably put it in the want ads. They don't put any anti-Clinton stories in the New York Times . Only anti-Dole stories in the New York Times .\" Dole repeated his attack for the next five days. \"We are not going to let the media steal this election,\" he told a crowd in Dallas on Friday. \"This country belongs to the people, not the New York Times .\" On Saturday, in Visalia, Calif., he added, \"I know that with a crowd this size, the New York Times will write not many people showed up, but the other papers will get it right.\" On Sunday (the day the Times endorsed Clinton), Dole called the paper \"the apologist for President Clinton for the last four years and an arm of the Democratic National Committee.\" In a CNN interview broadcast Monday, Dole said the Times \"might as well be part of the Democratic Party. ... They hammer us on a daily basis. We make a major speech, they bury it back on section D. They put a front-page story that, well, Bob Dole and Jack Kemp didn't get along together 12 years ago.\" On Tuesday, Dole was still at it, referring to the 28 words of the 10th Amendment, and quipping, \"That's about what I got in the New York Times today.\" The Times has reacted to this assault by highhandedly quoting everything and explaining none of it, leaving its readers baffled as to why the Republican nominee is so upset at the paper. In fact, Dole's fury at the Times is hardly news to those who work at the paper. According to Katharine Seelye, who has covered Dole since the beginning of his campaign, the complaints date from December 1995, when Dole staff members first protested that she had misunderstood the candidate's position on abortion. The real bitterness, however, began in May, when the paper played what Dole aides billed as a major address about welfare on Page 19 of the business section. Since then, campaign honchos have peppered the paper's reporters and editors with constant phone calls and letters complaining about unfair treatment. Reporters traveling with Dole caught a glimpse of the enmity Oct. 9, when Nelson Warfield, Dole's press secretary, staged a public confrontation with Seelye. The candidate, Warfield told reporters waiting to board the campaign plane, had just come from an appearance on G. Gordon Liddy's radio show. Why, Seelye asked, weren't reporters told about the appearance in advance? According to reporters present, Warfield snapped that it wouldn't make any difference because the Times would get the story wrong anyway. Then, on the plane, Warfield walked back to the press section and grandly served Seelye with a copy of a letter from Communications Director John Buckley to her boss, Times Washington Editor Andrew Rosenthal. No Dole staff would be quoted by name for this story, but speaking on background, a senior campaign official elaborated upon the complaint. \"They've just done a miserable job throughout this campaign,\" the official said. \"The coverage of Dole has been excessively bitchy from day one, in addition to having a number of extraordinary factual problems.\" With Seelye, the official says, the problem is \"not being able to transcribe a tape accurately.\" With Adam Nagourney, the Times ' other reporter covering Dole full time since the summer, \"the problem is an incredible focus on the little picture as opposed to the big picture.\" As an example, the official cites a September story in which Nagourney lumped together Dole's fall from a platform in Chico, Calif., and his mistaken reference to the \"Brooklyn\" Dodgers as \"a rough stretch of politicking.\" Other than those two episodes, the official says, Dole actually had a great week. The campaign's complaint extends to unequal treatment--a nine-part series on Clinton's record, which the official describes as \"the softest portrait since they invented black velvet\"--and the Times perpetually underestimating the size of Dole crowds. \"Clinton even gets better photographs,\" the official contends. But though unflattering, Seelye's Mametizing of Bob Dole can hardly be called unfair. It is not as if the Times cleans up Clinton's quotes Dole sounds absurd when he alleges that the paper that broke Whitewater and the story of the first lady's commodities trades has not been aggressive in pursuing Clinton scandals. All sorts of potential Dole scandals have been soft-pedaled by the media, including the Times , because he is so far behind. It's true that coverage of Clinton on the campaign trail has been somewhat softer than the coverage of Dole, as even other Times reporters acknowledge. But the explanation is institutional, not ideological. The press, as many have complained, overemphasizes the \"horse race\" aspect of politics. As a side effect of that disease, reporters have excessive respect for a well-run campaign. (In 1988, Republican George Bush benefited from this phenomenon.) A cruder reality is that reporters need to have a relationship with Clinton after Tuesday. None of these factors, though, is unique to the Times . So why is Dole singling it out? Dole's attacks on the Times have the appearance of being an exercise in populist demagogy. In one of his great cue-card reading remarks, Dole tried to explain his recent attacks on CNN the other night by saying, \"I like the media. They don't like them in the South.\" But this pat explanation doesn't entirely make sense. Red meat for right-wing crowds doesn't help Dole with the centrist voters he would need to turn around in order to make the miraculous happen. And in fact, according to a senior Dole aide, the attacks are heartfelt on the candidate's part. Dole has been going after the Times over the objections of advisers who have been telling him there's no percentage in picking fights with the press. But if Dole is attacking the Times because he is truly furious and not because he thinks it will help him get elected, what is he so angry about? The answer, I think, is that there has always been a Nixonian streak in Bob Dole, by which I mean a part of him which feels shut out of the closed circle of the Eastern establishment. At the Republican convention, Dole blasted the Clinton administration as a \"corps of the elite who never grew up, never did anything real, never sacrificed, never suffered, and never learned.\" That phrase recalled an attack he made on the press long ago, in the days of Watergate, when he accused the Washington Post of being in bed with George McGovern. \"There is a cultural and social affinity between the McGovernites and the Post executives and editors,\" Dole said then. \"They belong to the same elite: They can be found living cheek-by-jowl in the same exclusive chic neighborhoods, and hob-nobbing at the same Georgetown parties.\" The deeper story here isn't whether Dole was wrongly shunted onto D19 when he ought to have been on A1. It's his feelings, as he says goodbye to politics, about the people who get to decide.\n\n<question>:\nWho didn't agree with Dole about the way the Times treated him?\n\n<options>:\nA Dole's campaign officials\nB Katharine Seelye\nC John Buckley\nD Andrew Rosenthal\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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1,401 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nyou weren't afraid of them, were you?\" Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Of course using live bait is the best way to lure dangerous alien animals ... unless it turns out that you are the bait! \"No, sir. No, because....\" \"We're somewhat to the south, I think,\" Ri said, bending over the crude \"What are you going to do?\" Ri asked, terrified. \"Why, I'm going to tie the rope around your waist and stake you out as bait.\" \"No!\" \"Oh, come now. When the farn beast hears you scream—you Delicately, Extrone raised a hand to his beard. \"I'd hate to lose a day crossing the ridge,\" he said. \"Yes, sir,\" Ri said. Suddenly he threw back his head. \"Listen!\" \"You'll be safe,\" Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. \"I'll shoot the animal before it reaches you.\" Ri gulped for air. \"But ... if there should be more than one?\" were trembling. \"It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. \"He what?\" Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. Ri breathed with a gurgling sound. \"He said he ought to kill you, sir. That's what he said. I heard him, sir. He said he ought to kill you. He's the one you ought to use for bait. Then if there was an accident, sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. I wouldn't....\" Mia glanced nervously over his shoulder. \"It's that damned pilot's Ri shrugged hopelessly. us.\" Ri cleared his throat nervously. \"Maybe you're right.\" \"It's the Hunting Club he don't like.\" \"Wait,\" Ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. \"You don't want to use me, sir. Not after I told you.... Please, sir. If anything should happen to me.... Please, sir. Don't do it.\" then, I wouldn't be one of his guides. Why didn't he hire somebody else?\" \"Tie it,\" Extrone ordered. \"No, we better go on. He may have sent a spy in.\" They pushed on, being careful to blaze the trees, because they were not professional guides. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. \"We don't want to get too near,\" Ri said after toiling through the \"So?\" Ri said. \"But who are they?\" It was Mia's turn to shrug. \"Whoever they were, they couldn't have been hunters. They'd have kept the secret better.\" \"We didn't do so damned well.\" \"We didn't have a chance,\" Mia objected. \"Everybody and his brother had Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. \"I like this. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything I know.\" too. That was our mistake. The pilot must have been the one who told Extrone we'd hunted this area.\" \"I didn't think a Club pilot would do that.\" I didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking,\" Mia said. Ri's mouth twisted. \"I didn't say you did.\" \"Listen,\" Mia said in a hoarse whisper. \"I just thought. Listen. To hell with how he found out. Here's the point. Maybe he'll shoot us, too, when the hunt's over.\" Ri licked his lips. \"No. He wouldn't do that. We're not—not just anybody. He couldn't kill us like that. Not even him . And besides, why would he want to do that? It wouldn't do any good to shoot us. Too Ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tether tree, his eyes wide. \"There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too,\" Extrone said. \"Making them come to your bait, where you can get at them.\" He opened his right hand. \"Choose your ground, set your trap. Bait it.\" He snapped his hand into a fist, held the fist up before his eyes, imprisoning the idea. \"Spring the trap when the quarry is inside. Clever. That makes the waiting more interesting. Waiting to see if they really will come to your bait.\" Lin shifted, staring toward the forest. \"I've always liked to hunt,\" Extrone said. \"More than anything else, I \"No,\" Extrone argued. \"People should hunt for the love of hunting.\" \"Killing?\" \"Hunting,\" Extrone repeated harshly. The farn beast coughed. Another answered. They were very near, and there was a noise of crackling underbrush. \"He's good bait,\" Extrone said. \"He's fat enough and he knows how to scream good.\" Ri had stopped screaming he was huddled against the tree, fearfully eying the forest across from the watering hole. \"Wait,\" Extrone said. \"Let's see what they do.\" He had not moved the rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breath beginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. \"How did it get there, gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed?\" waited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. The farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwing \"Watch! Watch!\" Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. Extrone held back the flap of the tent. \"Won't you come in?\" he asked without any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. Ri looked away from his face. Ri waited uneasily, not answering. Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. \"If I had waited until it was safe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able to \"Get out!\" Extrone said. \"It makes you think,\" Mia added. He twitched. \"I'm afraid. I'm afraid \"No,\" Ri said stubbornly. \"Listen,\" Mia pleaded. \"No,\" Ri said. \"Even if we tried to tell them, they wouldn't listen. Everybody would plotting against him. Not even at first. I think they helped \"No?\" Mia challenged. \"Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow? \"The people won't support them,\" Ri answered woodenly. learning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keep them from exposing him like we were, so easy.\" \"No!\" Ri snapped. \"It was to keep the natural economic balance.\" \"You know that's not right.\" their loyalties. To keep them from revolt again. They'd be ready to believe us, then. He'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying to tell the truth.\" \"You're wrong. He's not like that. I know you're wrong.\" guess?\" Ri swallowed sickly. \"Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret?\" in the middle of a radio broadcast, sir.\" \"I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting!\" Extrone find out what they want, first. I don't want to be bothered unless it's important.\" \"Look,\" Extrone said. \"If that's the case, why do we bother tracking them? Why not make them come to us?\" \"They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather have surprise on our side.\" \"You don't seem to see what I mean,\" Extrone said. \" We won't be the—ah—the bait.\" \"Oh?\" \"Let's get back to the column.\" Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy. \"What's he want to see me for?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat isn't a reason that Ri turned on Mia?\n\n<options>:\nA he thought Mia had a better chance to survive\nB Mia's ideas scared him\nC he thought his honesty would save him\nD he didn't want to be bait\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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676 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHOMECOMING BY MIGUEL HIDALGO What lasts forever? Does love? The rider was of medium size, with huge, strong hands and seemingly the dust-caked, tired body, yet there they were, seeking, always seeking—searching the clear horizon, and never seeming to find what they sought. the horse. Then both man and horse plunged headlong into the waiting from the river in the battered coffee-pot he had salvaged, and while he waited for it to boil, he went to his horse, Conqueror, stroking his dying fire, seeing the bright glowing coals as living fingers clutching at the wood in consuming embrace, taking all and returning nothing but all else was at rest. Images began to appear, drawn from inexhaustible files, wherein are kept all thoughts, past, present, and future.... It was the night before he was to go overseas. World War III had been declared, and he had enlisted, receiving his old rank of captain. He was with his wife in the living room of their home. They had put the children to bed—their sons—and now sat on the couch, watching the \"I've got something to tell you, and something to show you.\" voice which always seemed to send a thrill through his body. \"It's for you dead, if need be. Read the inscription.\" his and making him oblivious to everything except that she was there in his arms and that he was sinking deep, deep into a familiar sea, where he had been many times before but each time found something new and unexplored, some vastly different emotion he could never quite explain. large ruby in the center. When he opened it, he found a picture of her in one side, and in the other a picture of the children. He took her in his arms again, and loosened her long, black hair, burying his face in the abyss which seemed to have no beginning or any end. The next morning had been bleak and gray. The mist clung to the wet, sodden ground, and the air was heavy in his lungs. He had driven off in the jeep the army had sent for him, watching her there on the porch until the mist swirled around her feet and she ran back into the house and slammed the door. His cold fingers found the locket, making a little bulge under his uniform, and the touch of it seemed to warm the blood in his veins. Three days later they had landed in Spain, merged with another where the fighting had begun. Already the city was a silent graveyard, littered with the rubble of towers and cathedrals which had once been great. miles lay behind, a dead man on every foot of those miles. Yet victory was near. The Russians had not yet used the H-bomb the threat of annihilation by the retaliation forces had been too great. He had done well in the war, and had been decorated many times for bravery in action. Now he felt the victory that seemed to be in the air, and he had wished it would come quickly, so that he might return to her. Home. The very feel of the word was everything a battle-weary soldier needed to make him fight harder and live longer. Suddenly he had become aware of a droning, wooshing sound above him. It grew louder and louder until he knew what it was. \"Heavy bombers!\" The alarm had sounded, and the men had headed for reflecting a blinding light. They were bound for bigger, more important targets. When the all-clear had sounded, the men clambered from their screaming noises which had jarred the people from sleep in time to die. The defending planes roared into the sky to intercept the on-rushing bombers. The horrendous battle split the universe. Many bombers fell, victims of fanatical suicide planes, or of missiles that streaked across the sky which none could escape. cities, where men had not died quickly and mercifully, but had rotted away, leaving shreds of putrid flesh behind to mark the places where they had crawled. The retaliatory forces had roared away to bomb the Russian cities. Few, if any, had returned. Too much blood and life were on their hands. Those who had remained alive had found a resting place on the crown of some distant mountain. Others had preferred the silent peaceful merciful beams of filtered light found their aluminum coffins. The war had ended. To no avail. Neither side had won. Most of the cities and the majority of the population of both countries had been destroyed. Even their governments had vanished, leaving a silent nothingness. The armies that remained were without leaders, without sources of supplies, save what they could forage and beg from an unfriendly people. They were alone now, a group of tired, battered men, for whom life held nothing. Their families had long since died, their bodies turned to dust, their spirits fled on the winds to a new world. Yet these remnants of an army must return—or at least try. Their exodus was just beginning. Somehow he had managed to hold together the few men left from his force. He had always nourished the hope that she might still be alive. And now that the war was over he had to return—had to know whether she was still waiting for him. They had started the long trek. Throughout Europe anarchy reigned. He and his men were alone. All they could do now was fight. Finally they had commandeered a small yacht, and they had taken to the sea. After months of storms and bad luck, they had been shipwrecked somewhere off the coast of Mexico. He had managed to swim ashore, and had been found by a fisherman's family. Many months he had spent swimming and fishing, recovering his strength, inquiring about the United States. The Mexicans had spoken with fear of the land across the and the few people who might have survived, were crazed and maimed by leaving to those once great fertile stretches, nothing but the sad, temporal beauty that comes with death. No people had he seen. Only the ruins of what had once been their cities. He had walked through them, exhausted. The mountains were just beginning, and he hoped to find food there. He had not found food, but his luck had been with him. He had found a horse. Not a normal horse, but a mutation. It was almost twice And he had followed. Over a mountain, until they came to a pass, and only measure time by the cycles of the sun and the moon. Finally he had taken the horse, the rifle and what food was left, and once again started the long journey home. The farther north he went, the more life seemed to have survived. He no human beings. what it had once been. He could not be more than two days' ride away. Once he was through this desert, he would find her, he would be with her once again all would be well, and his long journey would be over. The images faded. Even memory slept in a flow of warm blood. Body and length of his frame. A deep ridge ran down the length of his torso, separating the muscles, making the chest broad. Well satisfied with his burning stream within his body. But day at last gave way to night, and day burned into night. empty of life. trying to decipher some inscription inside it. He knew then. He had come home. feet were stones, reluctant to leave the earth. His body was a weed, it, and stared at the pictures, now in the dim moonlight no longer faces of those he loved, but grey ghosts from the past. Even the ruby of darkness. \"Nothing is forever!\" He thought he had shouted the words, but only a \"Forever—forever. Only death is forever.\" He could have sworn he heard the words. He ran. Away from the house. To the large horse with a horn in the of strength left him. His shoulders slumped, his head dropped onto his chest. Conqueror trotted away, the sound of his hooves echoing hollowly in the vast emptiness.\n\n<question>:\nWho is the protagonist of the story and what is their main objective?\n\n<options>:\nA An ex soldier who fought in World War III, looking for his children who have gone missing.\nB An ex soldier who fought in World War II, traveling home to his wife and children.\nC An ex soldier who fought in World War III, traveling home to his wife.\nD An ex soldier who fought in World War III, looking to avenge his wife’s death.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,810 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSTAR MOTHER A touching story of the most That night her son was the first star. She stood motionless in the her heart, watching him rise above the fields where he had played as a boy, where he had worked as a young man and she wondered whether he was thinking of those fields now, whether he was thinking of her standing alone in the April night with her memories whether he was thinking of the verandahed house behind her, with its empty rooms and silent halls, that once upon a time had been his birthplace. past the dark edge of the Earth and disappeared from sight. A boy grown up too soon, riding round and round the world on a celestial carousel, encased in an airtight metal capsule in an Why don't they leave the stars alone? she thought. Why don't they leave the stars to God? came early the next morning: Expect to bring your son down . She went about her work as usual, collecting the eggs and allocating them in their cardboard boxes, then setting off in the station wagon on her Tuesday morning run. She had expected a deluge of questions from her customers. She was not disappointed. \"Is Terry really way up there all alone, Martha?\" \"Aren't you scared , Martha?\" \"I do hope they can get him back down all right, Martha.\" She supposed it must have given egg woman change into a star mother overnight. She hadn't expected the TV interview, though, and she would have avoided it if it had been politely possible. But what could she do when the line of cars and setting up their equipment in the backyard? What could she say when the suave young man came up to her and said, \"We want you to know that we're all very proud of your boy up there, questions.\" Most of the questions concerned Terry, as was fitting. From the way the suave young man asked them, though, she got the impression that he was trying to prove that her son was just like any other average American boy, and such just didn't happen to be the case. But whenever she opened her mouth to mention, say, how he used to study till all hours of the night, or how difficult it had been for him to make friends because of his shyness, or the fact that he had never gone out for football—whenever she started to mention any of these things, the suave young man was in great haste to interrupt her and to twist her words, by requestioning, into a different meaning altogether, till Terry's behavior pattern seemed to coincide with the behavior pattern which the suave young man apparently considered the norm, but which, if followed, Martha was sure, would produce not young men bent on exploring space but young men bent on exploring trivia. A few of the questions concerned herself: Was Terry her only child? (\"Yes.\") What had happened to her husband? (\"He was killed in the Korean War.\") What did she think of the new law granting star mothers top priority on any and all information relating to their sons? (\"I think it's a fine law ... It's too bad they couldn't have shown similar humanity toward the by the time the TV crew got everything repacked into their departure. Martha fixed herself a light supper, then donned an old suede jacket of Terry's and went out into the garden to wait for the sun to go down. According to the time table the general had outlined in his first telegram, Terry's first Tuesday night passage wasn't due to occur till 9:05. But it seemed only right that she should be outside out. Presently they did, and she watched them wink on, one by one, in the deepening darkness of the sky. She'd never been much of a one for the stars most of her life she'd been much too busy on Earth to bother with things celestial. She could remember, when she was much younger and Bill was courting sometimes and once in a while, But this was different. It was different because now she had new affinity with its myriad inhabitants. They seemed to come alive, almost, out of the blackness of the night ... too, she noticed with a start. Some of them were blue and some were red, others were yellow ... green ... orange ... It grew cold in the April garden and she could see her breath. There was a strange crispness, a strange clarity about the night, that she had never known before ... She glanced at her watch, was astonished to see that after nine. Where had the time gone? Tremulously she faced the southern horizon ... and saw her Terry appear in his shining chariot, riding up the star-pebbled path of his orbit, a star in mass of the Earth ... She took that she was wildly waving her like a little girl, and she wished him pleasant dreams and a safe return and wrapped the wish in all her love and cast it starward. the chickens, fixed and ate her breakfast, collected the eggs and put them in their cardboard boxes, then started out on her Wednesday morning run. \"My land, Martha, I don't see how you stand it with him way up there! Doesn't it get on your nerves ?\" (\"Yes ... Yes, it does.\") \"Martha, when are they bringing him back down?\" (\"Today ... Today !\") \"It must Martha.\" (\"Yes, it is—in a way.\") Wonderful ... and terrible. If only he can last it out for a few more hours, she thought. If only they can bring him down safe and sound. Then the vigil mother can take over the awesome responsibility of having a to inform you that meteorite impact mechanism, making ejection impossible. Will make every effort to find another means of accomplishing your son's return. Terry!— See the little boy playing beneath the maple tree, moving his tiny cars up and down the tiny streets of his make-believe village the little boy, his fuzz of hair gold in the sunlight, his cherub-cheeks pink in the summer wind— Terry!— Up the lane the blue-denimed young man walks, swinging his thin tanned arms, his long legs making near-grownup strides over the sun-seared grass the falling in the hazy September air— Terry ... —probably won't get a chance to write you again before take-off, but don't worry, Ma. The is the greatest bird they ever built. Nothing short of a direct meteorite hit can hurt it, and the odds are a million to one ... Why don't they leave the stars alone? Why don't they leave the stars to God? The afternoon shadows lengthened western hills. Martha fixed supper, tried to eat, and couldn't. After a while, when the light began to fade, she slipped into Terry's jacket and went outside. Slowly the sky darkened and the stars began to appear. At length her star appeared, but its swift passage blurred before her Martha did not move. Please God , she thought, let it be Terry , even though she knew that it couldn't possibly be Terry. Footsteps sounded behind her, paused. Someone coughed softly. She \"Good evening, ma'am.\" She saw the circlet of stars she saw the stern handsome face she saw the dark tired eyes. And she knew. Even before he spoke again, she knew— \"The same meteorite that ma'am. It penetrated the ma'am?\" personally. I know how you must feel.\" \"It's all right.\" \"We will, of course, make every effort to bring back his ... remains ... so that he can \"No,\" she said. \"I beg your pardon, ma'am?\" She raised her eyes to the patch of sky where her son had passed in his shining metal sarcophagus. Sirius blossomed there, blue-white and beautiful. beheld the vast parterre of Orion with its central motif of vivid forget-me-nots, its far-flung blooms of Betelguese and Rigel, of Bellatrix and Saiph ... the Crab there lay the pulsing petals of the Pleiades ... And them. \"I think I understand, that's the way you want it ... The stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they.\" \"More beautiful than they've house. Transcriber's Note: Amazing Stories Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. typographical errors have been corrected without note.\n\n<question>:\nWhy doesn't Martha's description of Terry fit what the reporter considers to be the norm?\n\n<options>:\nA Terry is passionate about space exploration.\nB Terry didn't like football.\nC Terry is an only child.\nD Terry is shy. A bookworm, who doesn't play sports.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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187 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nwire as the scrambler went into operation. \"Okay, can you read me all right? I'm set up in Elsby. Grammond's boys damned room crouched over a dial. I'll be out and around for the rest of the afternoon.\" \"I want to see results,\" the thin voice came back over the filtered hum of the jamming device. \"You spent a week with Grammond—I can't wait another. I don't mind telling you certain quarters are pressing area—\" and turned in at a yellow brick building with the words ELSBY came to the counter and put out his hand. \"How are you, Jimmy? What brings you back to the boondocks?\" \"Let's go somewhere and sit down, Jess.\" \"Hold it, Jimmy. To me it just looks like a beer ad. I'll take your word for it.\" \"The point is this, Jess: we think we've got it narrowed down to this \"Mr. Bram,\" repeated Tremaine. \"Is he still around? I remember him as a hundred years old when I was kid.\" \"Still just the same, Jimmy. Comes in town maybe once a week, buys his groceries and hikes back out to his place by the river.\" \"Well, what about him?\" sometimes he gave us apples.\" \"I've never seen any harm in Bram,\" said Jess. \"But you know how this town is about foreigners, especially when they're a mite addled. Bram has blue eyes and blond hair—or did before it turned white—and he talks just like everybody else. From a distance he seems just like an \"How long's he lived here in Elsby?\" then?\" \"You remember Soup Gaskin? He's got a boy, name of Hull. He's Soup all over again.\" \"I remember Soup,\" Tremaine said. \"He and his bunch used to come in the drug store where I worked and perch on the stools and kid around with me, and Mr. Hempleman would watch them from over back of the prescription counter and look nervous. They used to raise cain in the other drug store....\" \"Soup's been in the pen since then. His boy Hull's the same kind. Him on fire.\" \"What was the idea of that?\" \"Dunno. Just meanness, I reckon. Not much damage done. A car was passing by and called it in. I had the whole caboodle locked up here for six hours. Then the sob sisters went to work: poor little tyke Jess rocked his chair back on two legs, looked at the ceiling, frowning. \"This would ha' been about nineteen-oh-one. I was no more'n foot, of course, broad backed, curly yellow hair—and a stranger to boot. Like I said, Linda Carroll wanted nothin to do with the local bucks. There was a big shindy planned. Now, you know Bram was funny practically. Just before sundown they went off together in that fancy shay. And the next day, she was home again—alone. That finished off her reputation, as far as the biddies in Elsby was concerned. It was always did know who busted Soup Gaskin's nose and took out his front teeth.\" line written in faded ink: \"May 19. Acreage sold, One Dollar and other G& V consid. NW Quarter Section 24, Township Elsby. Bram. (see Vol. 9 & \"What's up, mister?\" the clerk called after him. \"Bram in some kind of trouble?\" \"No. No trouble.\" The man was looking at the book with pursed lips. \"Nineteen-oh-one,\" he said. \"I never thought of it before, but you know, old Bram must be old Bram. Useta say his place was haunted. You know funny noises and The clerk shrugged. \"Thought I'd ask. Anyway—I can swear to this. Nobody in this town's ever seen Bram between sundown and sunup.\" Untrimmed sumacs threw late-afternoon shadows on the discolored stucco through it, muttering. \"What date was it you wanted?\" \"Nineteen-oh-one Elsby. Mr. Bram will occupy the home and will continue to graze a been a resident of Mrs. Stoate's Guest Home in Elsby for the past A Severe Thunderstorm. Citizens of Elsby and the country were much \"Damn!\" he said aloud. An elderly man veered, eyeing him sharply. Tremaine set off at a run, covered the two blocks to the hotel, yanked open the door to his car, slid into the seat, made a U-turn, and headed Two miles into the dark hills north of the Elsby city limits, Tremaine \"What's your problem, mister?\" a harsh voice drawled. \"What's the matter? Run out of signal?\" \"What's it to you, mister?\" \"Are you boys in touch with Grammond on the car set?\" the word, Grammond.\" doing might have been influenced if I'd told you about the Elsby angle.\" go underground.\" \"You've got it all figured, I see. I'm just the dumb hick you boys use for the spade work, that it?\" out a signal. For all I know, it's forty midgets on bicycles, pedalling all over the damned state. I've got fixes in every county—\" \"You were wise to leave Elsby. There is no future here for a young man.\" \"How long has Mr. Bram lived in Elsby?\" \"Why did a healthy young fellow like Bram settle out in that isolated him to his house. On the way he told me a terrible and pathetic tale. He said that each night he fought a battle with evil beings, alone, in twisted her fingers together, her eyes fixed on the long past. \"When we reached the house, he ran to the kitchen. He lit a lamp and threw open a concealed panel. There were stairs. He went down ... and left me dud, I'm afraid.\" \"Funny thing about Bram. You know, he hasn't showed up yet. I'm getting a little worried. Want to run out there with me and take a look around?\" \"Sure. Just so I'm back by full dark.\" As they pulled away from the curb Jess said, \"Jimmy, what's this about me. He smells headlines in this he doesn't want to be left out.\" \"Well, the State cops could be mighty handy to have around. I'm before the square-built house. The windows were dark. The two men got out, circled the house once, then mounted the steps and rapped on the door. There was a black patch of charred flooring under the window, and \"In the car.\" \"Better get it.\" lay on the oilcloth-covered table. \"This place is empty,\" he said. \"Anybody'd think he'd been gone a week.\" \"Not a very cozy—\" Tremaine broke off. A thin yelp sounded in the distance. \"I'm getting jumpy,\" said Jess. \"Dern hounddog, I guess.\" A low growl seemed to rumble distantly. \"What the devil's that?\" Tremaine said. Jess shone the light on the floor. \"Look here,\" he said. The ring of light showed a spatter of dark droplets all across the plank floor. \"That's blood, Jess....\" Tremaine scanned the floor. It was of broad slabs, closely laid, scrubbed clean but for the dark stains. \"Maybe he cleaned a chicken. This is the kitchen.\" \"It's a trail.\" Tremaine followed the line of drops across the floor. It ended suddenly near the wall. \"What do you make of it. Jimmy?\" lounged on a steel-framed cot, blinking up at the visitor under a mop of greased hair. \"Cops.\" \"Who says so?\" the corner of the cell. \"Cops was talkin about 'em,\" he said. \"Spill it, Hull,\" the policeman said. \"Mr. Tremaine hasn't got all night.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat kind of area is Elsby?\n\n<options>:\nA Rural and old-fashioned\nB Urban and busy\nC Flashy and rich\nD Run-down and dirty\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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1,800 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nOne can't be too cautious about the people one meets in Tangier. They're all weirdies of one kind or another. Me? Oh, Here Myself By MACK REYNOLDS The Place de France is the town's hub. It marks the end of Boulevard Pasteur, the main drag of the westernized part of down to the Grand Socco and the medina. In a three-minute walk from the Place de France you can go from an ultra-modern, California-like resort to the Baghdad of Harun al-Rashid. It's quite a town, Tangier. King-size sidewalk cafes occupy three of the strategic corners on the Place de France. The Cafe de Paris serves the best draft beer in town, gets all the better custom, and has three shoeshine boys attached to the establishment. You can sit of a sunny morning and read the Paris edition of the New York while getting which comes to about five cents at current exchange. You can sit there, after the paper's read, sip your expresso and watch the people go by. Tangier is possibly the most cosmopolitan city in the world. In native costume you'll see Man, and occasionally a Senegalese and Chinese, Hindus and Turks, Levantines and Filipinos, North both sides of the Curtain. In Tangier you'll find some of the world's poorest and some of the richest. The poorest will try to sell you anything from a shoeshine to their not very lily-white bodies, and the richest will avoid your eyes, afraid you might try to sell them something. In spite of recent changes, the smugglers and black-marketeers, fugitives from justice and international con men, espionage drug addicts, displaced and said, \"Hello, Paul. Anything new cooking?\" He sank into the chair opposite me and looked around for the waiter. The tables were all crowded and since mine was a face he recognized, he assumed he was welcome to intrude. It was more or less standard procedure at the Cafe de Paris. It wasn't a place to go if you wanted to be alone. Paul said, \"How are you, Rupert? Haven't seen you for donkey's years.\" The waiter came along and Paul ordered a glass of beer. Paul was an easy-going, sallow-faced little man. I vaguely remembered \"What's in the newspaper?\" he said, disinterestedly. \"Pogo and Albert are going to fight a duel,\" I told him, \"and Lil Abner is becoming a rock'n'roll singer.\" He grunted. \"Oh,\" I said, \"the intellectual type.\" I scanned the front page. \"The Russkies have put up another manned satellite.\" \"They have, eh? How big?\" \"Several times bigger than Paul said, \"What ever happened A French girl went by with a Paris. Every pore in place. We both looked after her. \"You know, what everybody was seeing a few years ago. It's too bad one of these bloody manned satellites wasn't up then. Maybe they would've seen one.\" \"That's an idea,\" I said. way. I didn't know Paul very well, but, for that matter, it's comparatively seldom you ever get to know anybody very well in Tangier. Largely, cards are played close to the chest. My beer came and a plate of tapas for us both. Tapas at the Cafe de Paris are apt to be potato salad, a few anchovies, Just to say something, I said, \"Where do you think they came from?\" And when he looked blank, I added, \"The Flying Saucers.\" He grinned. \"From Mars or Venus, or someplace.\" \"Ummmm,\" I said. \"Too bad landed on the Yale football field and said Take me to your cheerleader , or something.\" Paul yawned and said, \"That them. If they were aliens from space, then why not show themselves?\" I ate one of the potato chips. It'd been cooked in rancid olive probably sit around here and think of two or three that made sense.\" Paul was mildly interested. see. You're not eligible for membership until you, well, say until you've developed space flight. Then you're invited into the club. Meanwhile, they send secret missions down from time to time to keep an eye on your progress.\" Paul grinned at me. \"I see you in a neatly tailored gray after her. advanced civilization on, say, \"Don't interrupt, please,\" I said with mock severity. \"This air. Isn't that what we'd do, in a few million years, if Earth lost its water and air?\" \"I suppose so,\" he said. \"Anyway, what about them?\" \"Well, they observe how man is going through a scientific population boom. A boom, period. Any day now he's going to have practical space ships. Meanwhile, he's also got the H-Bomb and the way he beats the drums on both sides of the Curtain, he's get away with it.\" Paul said, \"I got it. So they're scared and are keeping an eye on us. That's an old one. I've read \"I got a better one. How's and revolutions, and greed for giving us a bad time here on don't know where we're going or how we're going to get there.\" I finished my beer and clapped my hands for Mouley. \"How do you mean, where we're going ?\" in the world today. They're trying to industrialize, modernize, catch up with the advanced countries. Look at Egypt, and Israel, and India and China, and Yugoslavia and Brazil, and all the rest. Trying to drag themselves up to the level of the advanced at the so-called advanced countries. Up to their bottoms in climbing crime and suicide rates, the loony-bins full of the balmy, unemployed, threat of war, spending all their money on armaments it. Why, a man from Mars would be fascinated, like.\" Mouley came shuffling up in his babouche slippers and we both ordered another schooner of beer. Paul said seriously, \"You brick wall. Where are they, these observers, or scholars, or spies or whatever they are? Sooner or later we'd nab one of them. You know, Scotland Yard, or the F.B.I., or Russia's secret in police, counter-espionage outfits and security agents that an alien would slip up in time, no matter how much he'd been trained. Sooner or later, he'd slip up, and they'd nab him.\" I shook my head. \"Not necessarily. The first time I ever considered this possibility, it seemed to me that such an alien would base himself in London or New York. Somewhere where he could use the libraries for research, center of things. But now I don't think so. I think he'd be right here in Tangier.\" \"Why Tangier?\" \"It's the one town in the world where anything goes. Nobody gives a damn about you or your affairs. For instance, I've known you a year or more now, and I you make your living.\" \"That's right,\" Paul admitted. could care less. Where are you from, Rupert?\" you mean?\" \"I felt your mind probe back a few minutes ago when I was talking about Scotland Yard or in, neither of us is humanoid. Where are you really from, Rupert?\" about you?\" \"Deneb,\" he told me, shaking. We had a laugh and ordered another beer. \"What're you doing here on Earth?\" I asked him. \"Researching for one of our meat trusts. We're protein quite a delicacy. How about you?\" \"Scouting the place for thrill tourists. My job is to go around to these backward cultures and help stir up inter-tribal, or international, conflicts—all according to how advanced they are. Then our tourists come in—well shielded, of course—and get their kicks watching it.\" Paul frowned. \"That sort of\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Paul doing in Tangier?\n\n<options>:\nA He is on a business trip to find a source of protein.\nB He is on a business trip scouting locations for thrill-seeking tourists.\nC He is vacationing.\nD He is in Tangier to watch the satellite launch.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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58 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nchance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. The \"Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth!\" room. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it. By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probably Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailed that way. She was sitting on his bunk. No three-tailed mouse. No Old Woman either. Oh, she was a female human, though, this creature at which O'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am! \"I was in your burner room.\" Her voice matched the rest of her, a blend when he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads who snapped back over his shoulder, \"Use your shower!\" O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted that Burner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's, would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now. Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary. Oh, very quite! even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tells to himself, something that sounded like, \"Blabbering like I'd had a nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby.\" Then feed the Old Woman?\" \"Search me,\" Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully. \"Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for! Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck at was saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save her O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had not opened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surely his dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't she \"Oh, I'm Trillium,\" she assured Callahan sweetly. \"But Grandmamma's pirate, couldn't you hide her somewheres better than that? Shut up, don't flimflam the Old Woman!\" With which ominous remark, rendered in a zesty devil-may-care manner, however, Callahan threw himself into O'Rielly's shower. Trillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as a the doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the cap and coverall uniform of a baggage boy. \"I threw them in there before you came on duty before blast-off,\" Trillium explained. \"I knew the burner room would be warm.\" Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through this ship. O'Rielly chortled as he tucked her under his bunk. \"Now don't you worry about another thing!\" way Grandmamma knew it would!\" O'Rielly's shower opened and Callahan, glowing like a young bucko, bounced onto the bunk. \"Well, did you hide her good this time? No, don't tell me! I want to be surprised if the Old Woman ever finds her.\" \"If what old woman finds whom?\" a voice like thin ice crackling wanted to know. The watch room's door had opened. Wouldn't think the Old Woman was a day over seventy-five, let alone near two hundred. Cut of her uniform probably lent a helping hand or three to the young snap of her figure. Her voice was an iceberg exploding. \"At attention!\" Never in his right mind would any crewman dare fail to come stiffly erect the instant the Old Woman appeared. Behind her stood a colorfully Wasn't too bad a fib. The more O'Rielly thought of Trillium, the more women—merely chanced to arise whilst we was scientifically analyzing the control phenomenon, ma'am. Naturally I offered this innocent young Present company excepted, of course,\" Callahan hastened to say with a courtly bow. \"Stay at attention!\" Old Woman sniffed the air near Callahan's face, she muttered through her teeth, \"if it is that vino.\" Something horrible as a plague flickered in her eyes, then the old ice was there again. \"Apprentice Burnerman, don't you know what your shower is for? Then use it! Mr. Callahan, remain at attention while I inspect this The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than two steps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possibly door, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansed of person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and His Excellency were already coming out of the burner room, dripping with sweat. Old Woman opened the shower with her customary commanding air. \"You Woman, a prime symbol of her gender's superiority, whipped a razor edge onto her own words. \"Facilities of the Captain's quarters are more satisfactory.\" \"No more so than those of the Ambassadorial Suite.\" Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leave O'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from busting out laughing for joy. Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! And yanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. \"Trillium?\" His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of the sabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. \"Trillium!\" \"Trillium,\" O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, \"why do you have to at that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth at O'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. \"All right, come along!\" looked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness and \"Interplanetary emergency.\" Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonally pleasant. \"Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting.\" that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. \"Trillium! My \"By your granddaughter, at least,\" Madame President replied coolly. \"An innocent child,\" Mr. President snapped, \"obviously kidnapped by those two idiotic Earthmen there!\" as he roared, \"You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium, tell the truth!\" \"Very well. Grandmamma told me how.\" \"Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged,\" His Excellency Dimdooly declared. \"Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the first thing about such things!\" \"She learned,\" Trillium stated emphatically, \"a hundred and twenty-five Trillium's advised from the Venus panel. \"Take him away, girls,\" Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse was yanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. \"Unhand me, you fool creatures! Guards! Guards!\" \"Save your breath,\" Berta advised him. \"And while you're in the cooler, tranquility.\" Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden. Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He looked top man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you take \"Oh, well,\" O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyond did Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?\" O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trillium\n\n<question>:\nHow did Trillium sneak her way onto the ship?\n\n<options>:\nA She disguised herself as a boy hustling bags through the ship.\nB She had an enchanted Earthman help her onto the ship.\nC She had sneaked on while no one was looking and went straight to the burner.\nD She disguised herself as a boy who was serving food in the quarters.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,608 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nmutants as children. He had been brought up in it. Emotion came in conflict with the grim necessities of his job. Somehow he would have to love them in the parlor and kill them in the kennel. It was only a matter of adjustment. cages. There had been two highly reluctant mothers, but he skipped them and left the seizure to the local authorities. Yates had already brought in the three from yesterday. cup and staring fixedly out the window at the kennels behind the house. and miserable. \"Honeymoon's over, huh?\" \" Intelligent animals!\" that were to be had without the threat of a warrant. The screams and pleas and tears of the owners left him gloomily despising himself. If Delmont's falsification had been widespread, he might have to turn several of the thirty-five over to central lab for dissection and ultimate destruction. That would bring the murderous wrath of their owners down upon him. He began to understand why bio-inspectors were frequently shifted from one territory to another. \"And what can I do? You know how the Federation handles employment. They looked over my aptitude tests and sent me to Bio-Administration. If I don't want to follow my aptitudes, the only choice is common labor. That's the .\" \"I suppose you have an aptitude for killing babies?\" she said sweetly. Norris withered. His voice went desperate. \"They assigned me to it because I Somewhere a puppy was yapping, and a parrot croaked the lyrics of never got farther than \"mamma,\" \"pappa,\" and \"cookie.\" Anthropos was afraid to make the quasi-humans too intelligent, lest sentimentalists proclaim them really human. suburban street wound among the pastel plasticoid cottages that were set approximately two to an acre on the lightly wooded land. With its population legally fixed at three hundred million, most of the country had become one big suburb, dotted with community centers and lined were emotionally safer than the quasi-human chimp-K series called \"neutroids.\" When a pet neutroid died, a family was broken with grief and such. Not to mention that sign—'dumb blondes.' They outlawed that one when they executed that shyster doctor for shooting K-108s full of growth hormones, trying to raise himself a harem to sell. Besides, were class-C—defective heredity. He found himself in Sherman III Community Center—eight blocks of you're required to keep sales records until they've been micro-filmed. birth dates during July 2234. This is in connection with the Delmont Negligency Case. Seize all animals in this category, impound, and run If allowed to reach age-set or adulthood, such a deviant could be dangerous to its owner or to others. Hold all seized K-99s who show the slightest abnormality in the normalcy tests. Forward to central three hundred animals a month. He tried to estimate how many of July's influx had been K-99s from Bermuda Factory. Forty, at least. Could he do it in a week? And there were only eleven empty neutroid cages in his kennel. The other forty-nine were occupied by the previous inspector's \"unclaimed\" inventory—awaiting destruction. \"She insists it's going to a hospital. Worst part is that she's heard of the disease. Knows it can be cured with the proper treatment—in humans. Of course, no hospital would play along with her fantasy and \"It's not funny. I've got to get those neutroids. It's in connection with the Delmont case.\" twelve. They're in the truck.\" \"That's good,\" she said. \"You've got only twelve empty cages.\" He neglected to tell her that he had stopped at twelve for just this \"Come on,\" he grunted. \"Let's unload some neutroids, before I forget all about work.\" They went out to the kennels together. The cages were inside a sprawling concrete barn, which was divided into three large rooms—one for the fragile neuter humanoid creatures, and another for the lesser mutants, such as cat-Qs, dog-Fs, dwarf bears, and foot-high lambs that never matured into sheep. The third room contained a small gas chamber with a conveyor belt leading from it to a crematory-incinerator. Norris kept the third locked lest his wife see its furnishings. The doll-like neutroids began their mindless chatter as soon as their keepers entered the building. Dozens of blazing blond heads began dancing about their cages. Their bodies thwacked against the wire mesh as they leaped about their compartments with monkey grace. Their human appearance was broken by only two distinct features: short until death. \"They must be getting to know you pretty well,\" Anne said, glancing around at the cages. Norris was wearing a slight frown as he inspected the room. \"They've He walked along a row of cages, then stopped by a K-76 to stare. \" Apple cores! there?\" She reddened. \"I felt sorry for them, eating that goo from the mechanical feeder. I drove down to Sherman III and bought six dozen \"They get to love whoever feeds them.\" \"I can't see—\" plant. His job was taking the unfertilized chimpanzee ova out of the egg-multiplier, mounting them in his machine, and bombarding the gene structure with sub-atomic particles. It's tricky business. He ovum. He passed it on to the incubators to get a credit, knowing it wouldn't be caught until after birth.\" \"It wasn't caught at all?\" Anne asked. the back of the kennel-truck. He grinned at his wife. \"This little potential murderer. All these kiddos are from the machines in the section where Delmont worked.\" And it was designed to be as affectionate as a human child. \"Put it in the cage, Anne,\" he said quietly. She looked up and shook her head. \"It belongs to somebody else. If it fixes a libido attachment on you, what—\" \"I know what I'm saying. We're class-C on account of heart-trouble in both our families. Well, I don't care, Terry. I'm not going to waste a heart over one of these pathetic little artificial animals. We're going to have a baby.\" \"You know what they'd do to us?\" \"If they catch us, yes—compulsory divorce, sterilization. But they won't catch us. I'll have it at home, Terry. Not even a doctor. We'll hide it.\" brandishing a pistol and screaming, 'You stole my baby! You gave me the wrong baby! Where's my baby?' kennels. A half moon hung low in a misty sky, and the wind was chilly carried them to a large glass-walled compartment. These were the long-time residents willingly—like children after the Piper of Hamlin. When he had gotten them in the glass chamber, he sealed the door and turned on the gas. The conveyor would automatically carry them on to the incinerator. Now he had enough cages for the Bermuda-K-99s. He hurriedly quit the kennels and went to sit on the back steps. His eyes were burning, but the thought of tears made him sicker. It was that it would never be all right, neither the creating nor the killing, until he—and the whole world—completely lost sanity. And then kennel-truck, meaning to get the rest of the Bermuda-K-99s so that he was obvious. Society manufactured them because killing them was permissible. Human babies could not be disposed of when the market became glutted. The neutroids offered solace to childless women, kept them satisfied with a restricted birth rate. And why a restricted birth rate? Because by keeping the population at five billions, the Federation could insure a decent living standard for everybody. Where there was giving, Norris thought glumly, there was also taking\n\n<question>:\nThe barn and kennels are allusions to:\n\n<options>:\nA Ethnic experimentation labs\nB Torture chambers\nC Unethical animal testing facilities\nD Concentration camps\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
2,112 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthat sounds bad. It wasn't. I'd been doing it for years and nobody ever complained. It started when I was a kid, this business of being able to explore the insides of things like purses and sealed boxes and locked drawers how they hurt. Maybe you think it's fun. For the most part, it really isn't. I always knew what was in Christmas presents before I unwrapped them, and therefore Christmas was always spoiled for me as a kid. I can't feel the color of anything, just its consistency. An apple senses about the become pretty good at guessing. I was a little disappointed. I've run across a gun or two in my time. But I never say anything. I learned the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut in the fourth grade when Miss Winters, a stern, white-haired disciplinarian, ordered me to eat my sack lunch in the classroom with her instead of outside with some her absence, which I dutifully did. Class had hardly resumed when she started looking around the desk for her favorite mechanical pencil, asking if any of us had seen it, and looking straight at me. I didn't want her to think I had taken it while she always kept in the upper right drawer of her desk. \"It's in your purse,\" I blurted out. I was sent home with a stinging note. Since then I've kept quiet. At one time I assumed everybody was able to sense. I've known better for years. Still, I wonder how many other people are as close-mouthed about their special gift as I am about mine. I used to think that some day I'd make a lot of money out of it, but how? I can't read thoughts. I can't even be sure what some of the can't stand the alarm. When I first learned to do this, I thought I had it made. I even went to Las Vegas to try my hand, so to speak, with the ratchets and pawls So I'm stuck with a talent I've found little real use for. Except that it amuses me. Sometimes. Not like this time on the plane. slips and slippers, lingerie and laundry, a jig saw puzzle and a ukulele. I never did find my suitcase because I found the bomb first. thought: Which one of these.... No, none of them would know it was there. I glanced out the window again My heart was beating in jackhammer rhythm my mouth was dry and my mind was numb. Tell somebody about the bomb before it's too late! No, they'd think I put it there. Besides, what good would it do? There would be panic and they'd never get the plane down in time—if they believed me. doughnut, paper spoon, sugar and dehydrated cream envelopes, and a napkin. I goggled at her, managed to croak, \"No, thanks.\" She gave me an odd look and moved along. My seatmate had accepted hers and was tearing at the cellophane. I couldn't bear to watch her. like trying to work with greasy hands, and I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to stop it. \"Anything the matter?\" start again. I wouldn't be able to stay with it, keeping it still. I considered telling the authorities as soon as we landed, or maybe calling in ahead, but wouldn't that just bring suspicion, questions. Maybe I could convince them I could stop a clock—but not before the bomb exploded. And then what? My secret would be out and my life would be changed. I'd be a man not to be trusted, a prying man, a man literally with gimlet eyes. \"Were you really asleep that time?\" \"Not really,\" I said. I was tempted to tell the woman I was subject to \"Yeah.\" He was so bored I was tempted to tell him what was in it. But he was eying me with a \"well-why-don't-you-get-along?\" look. I said, \"What happens if nobody claims it?\" \"Take it inside. Why?\" He was getting too curious. \"Oh, I just wondered, that's all.\" through my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfied me. I should not have been there, that much I knew something very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what could I do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take the bag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself. tell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain the whole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my own business. \"No. I'm waiting for someone.\" I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against the escaped my grasp. \"Do you have my suitcase?\" from her and hurl it out through the doorway into the street, but I restrained myself. She stopped and stared. I noticed a short, fat man in a rumpled suitcoat and unpressed pants staring, too. Ignoring him, I said, The girl said, \"Why?\" I was beginning to think it was the only word she knew. At the same time I was wondering why anyone would want to kill someone so lovely. don't ask me why.\" She gave me a speculative look. range it wasn't difficult to stop the balance wheel. Just the same, when I came out I was wringing wet. \"Now will you please tell me what this is all about?\" she said stiffly. the short, fat man into the coffee shop. Over coffee I explained it all to her, how I had this extrasensory ability, how she was the first person I had ever revealed it to, and how I had discovered what was in her overnight bag. staring vacantly across the room. \"Joe put it there.\" Behind her eyes she was reliving some recent scene. \"Who is Joe?\" \"My husband.\" I thought she was going to really bawl, but she got in some books we'd both finished reading—for my sister. That's when he must have put the—put it in there.\" I said gently, \"Why would he want to do a thing like that?\" \"I don't know.\" She shook her head. \"I just don't know.\" And she was close to bawling again. Then she recovered and said, \"I'm not sure I want to know.\" I admired her for saying it. Joe must have been crazy. \"It's all right now?\" she asked. I nodded. \"As long as we don't move it.\" I told her I didn't know how much more time there was, that I'd been thinking it over and that the only way out seemed to be to tell the because she knew she hadn't packed a clock. It wasn't good, but it would have to do. \"We've got to get it deactivated,\" I said, watching the fat man pay for his coffee and leave. \"The sooner the better.\" I asked her why she didn't claim the bag at the same time the other people had. She said she had called her sister and the phone was busy for a long while. \"See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old battered suitcase?\" \"Bag? Suitcase?\" he mumbled. Then he became excited. \"Why, a man just stepped out of here—\" He turned to look down the street. \"That's him.\" We stood there. I could visualize the wreckage of an old gray coupe in the middle of a street, but I couldn't visualize the driver. That was all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia was thinking. She said, \"About those bags,\" and looked at me. \"I—I don't care about mine. I didn't have much of anything in it.\" \"I feel the same way,\" I said. \"Would it be all right if we didn't bother to report it?\" \"Well,\" the policeman said, \"I can't make you report it.\" \"I'd rather not then,\" Julia said. She turned to me. \"I'd like some\n\n<question>:\nHow does the narrator feel about his special ability?\n\n<options>:\nA He doesn't find it that useful most of the time but he does consistently use it in specific situations\nB He finds it to be his greatest source of amusement, and enjoys keeping secrets of what others carry\nC He is glad he has this ability instead of a different more dangerous one\nD He is disappointed he cannot tell anyone about it because he wants to show it off\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,235 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nme because of some of my guests who frankly are stew bums. Also they might think I was on booze, too, or maybe the hops, and get my license What really got me mixed up in this was the mysterious disappearance of two of my guests. They both took a powder last Wednesday morning. Now get this. In one room, that of Joe Binkle, which maybe is an alias, I find nothing but a suit of clothes, some butts and the letters I include here in same package. Binkle had only one suit. That I know. underwear. The pants were up in the coat and inside of them was also the underwear. All this was buttoned up like Binkle had melted out of Now. In the room right under Binkle's lived another stew bum that checked in Thursday ... name Ed Smith, alias maybe, too. This guy was a Mr. Joe Binkle Plaza Ritz Arms New York City Dear Joe: Greetings, greetings, greetings. Hold firm in your wretched projection, for tomorrow you will not be alone in the not-world. In two days I, As soon as my stasis was achieved, I tried to contact you, but got wave interaction to make you incapable of receiving my messages and inadequate articulation I will attempt to make my moves known to you. All is well, only they shot this information file into my matrix too fast. I'm having a hard time sorting facts and make the right decision. Gezsltrysk, what a task! Glmpauszn Dear Joe: Mnghjkl, fhfjgfhjklop phelnoprausynks. No. When I communicate with you, I see I must avoid those complexities of procedure for which there are equipment. These not-people are unpredictable and strange. Their doctor came in and weighed me again the day after my birth. Consternation reigned when it was discovered I was ten pounds heavier. What difference could it possibly make? Many doctors then came in to see me. As they arrived hourly, they found me heavier and heavier. Naturally, since I am growing. This is part of my instructions. My not-mother (Gezsltrysk!) then burst into tears. The doctors conferred, threw up their hands and left. I learned the following day that the opposite component of my not-mother, my not-father, had been away riding on some conveyance during my birth. He was out on ... what did they call it? Oh, yes, a bender. He did not arrive till three days after I was born. When I heard them say that he was straightening up to come see me, I standing by the crib examining a syringe the doctor had left behind. He stopped in his tracks on entering the room and seemed incapable of speech. low-pitched, guttural and penetrating even to myself. It must have jarred on my not-father's ears, for he turned and ran shouting from the room. They apprehended him on the stairs and I heard him babble something the doorway and instead of being pleased at the progress of my growth, she fell down heavily. She made a distinct thump on the floor. This brought the rest of them on the run, so I climbed out the window and retreated across a nearby field. A prolonged search was launched, but I eluded them. What unpredictable beings! learned otherwise, while they never have. New sensations crowd into my consciousness and I am having a hard Glmpauszn establish contact with him while he sleeps and compel him without his has done. My first five tries were unfortunate. Each time I took control of an sleep, directing my squhjkl ulytz & uhrytzg ... no, it won't come out. Anyway, I grew overnight to the size of an average person here. where is your naked friend? I'm going to make an example of him.\" That was it—I had forgotten clothes. There is only one answer to this oversight on my part. My mind is confused by the barrage of impressions must feel each, become accustomed to it. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the information I have been given is very unrealistic. You have been inefficient, Joe. What will Blgftury and the others say of this? My great mission is impaired. Farewell, till I find a more intelligent mind so I can write Glmpauszn cause—in this, the penultimate adventure, and for the glory and peace Glmpauszn June 19 Dear Joe: Your letter was imponderable till I had thrashed through long passages in my information catalog that I had never imagined I would need. Glmpauszn Dear Joe: A great deal has happened to me since I wrote to you last. Systematically, I have tested each emotion and sensation listed in even the vagaries of slang in the not-language.... Ahhh! Pardon me again. I feel much better now. You see, Joe, as I attuned myself to the various impressions that constantly assaulted my mind through this body, I conditioned myself to react exactly as our information catalog instructed me to. Glmpauszn July 20 Dear Joe: Now you tell me not to drink alcohol. Why not? You never mentioned it in any of your vibrations to us, gleebs ago, when you first came across and tries to induce her to do something biological. She then refuses. This pleases both of them, for he wanted her to refuse. She, in turn, asleep. I thoughtfully drank quantities of excellent alcohol called gin and didn't even notice when the blonde girl left. I am now beginning to feel the effects of this alcohol again. Ha. Don't I think I'll get a hot report off to the old so-and-so right now. It'll take him a gleeb to figure this one out. I'll tell him I'm setting up an atomic reactor in the sewage systems here and that all we have to do is activate it and all the not-people will die of chain asphyxiation. Boy, what an easy job this turned out to be. It's just a vacation. Joe, you old gold-bricker, imagine you here all these gleebs living off the fat of the land. Yak, yak. Affectionately. Glmpauszn July 25 Dear Joe: All is lost unless we work swiftly. I received your revealing letter the morning after having a terrible experience of my own. I drank a The medium had turned out all the lights. He said there was a strong psychic influence in the room somewhere. That was me, of course, but I was too busy with the redhead to notice. the fringe area and got caught in the works. Did he look mad! His zyhku was open and his btgrimms were down. Glmpauszn September 10 Dear Joe: This telepathic control becomes more difficult every time. I must pick closer points of communication soon. I have nothing to report but I had got my mechanism as close to perfect as possible when I realized that, in my befuddled condition, I had set off a reaction that inevitably would result in an explosion. I had to leave there immediately, but I could not create suspicion. The management was not aware of the nature of my activities. I moved swiftly. I could not afford time to bring my baggage. I stuffed as much money into my pockets as I could and then sauntered I was checking out. Naturally he was stunned since I was his best customer. At this point the blast came. My nerves were a wreck from the alcohol. \"See?\" I screamed. \"Not safe. I knew they were going to blow up!\" He stood paralyzed as I ran from the lobby. Oh, well, never say die. Glmpauszn September 25 Dear Joe: I have it! It is done! In spite of the alcohol, in spite of Blgftury's niggling criticism, I have succeeded. I now have developed a form climb the frequency scale to emerge into our own beautiful, now secure world. You and I together, Joe, conquerors, liberators. You say you eat little and drink as much as you can. The same with Glmpauszn\n\n<question>:\nWhy couldn't Glmpauszn communicate with Joe the \"normal\" way?\n\n<options>:\nA Joe wasn't as talented as Glmpauszn\nB Joe was trying to avoid Glmpauszn\nC Joe had drunk too much alcohol\nD Joe was moving around too much\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
951 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nfor Purnie's game—but his new friends played very rough! Purnie ran laughing and shouting through the forest until he could run no more. He fell headlong into a patch of blue moss and whooped with delight in having this day free for exploring. He was free to see the heavy purple fluid overhead held fast in its manufacture of whorls and nimbi. With everything around him in a state of perfect tableau, Purnie hurried toward the ocean. If only the days weren't so short! he thought. There was so much to Purnie had stopped time, the bees—like all the other creatures he met—had been arrested in their native activities, and he knew that as soon as he resumed time, everything would pick up where it had left off. far from home. He chose to ignore the oft-repeated statement that an hour of time-stopping consumed more energy than a week of foot-racing. He chose to ignore the negative maxim that \"small children who stop He chose, instead, to picture the beaming praise of family and friends when they learned of his brave journey. The journey was long, the clock stood still. He stopped long enough to frozen in a steep glide, preparatory to a beach landing. Purnie had heard of these playful creatures many times. Today, with his brothers in school, he would have the pets all to himself. Further down the of munching seaweed. \"Hi there!\" Purnie called. When he got no reaction, he remembered that he himself was \"dead\" to the living world: he was still in a zone of time-stopping, on the inside looking out. For him, the world would continue to be a tableau of mannikins until he resumed time. interrupted in the least their respective tasks had been performed with continuing sureness. It was time itself that Purnie had stopped, not the world around him. He scampered around the rockpile and down the sandy cliff to meet the done, for he felt weak and dizzy. Already time-stopping had left its mark on his strength. But his spirits ran on unchecked. The tripon thought Purnie's feat was superb. It stopped munching long enough to give him a salutory wag of its rump before returning to its repast. Purnie ran from pillar to post, trying to see and do everything at once. He looked around to greet the flock of spora, but they had glided \"Hi there, wanna play?\" Purnie's invitation got nothing more than startled glance from the animals who quickly returned to their chatter. He scampered up the beach, picked up his lunch, and ran back to them, the scenery and get to work. Time is money. I didn't pay for this expedition just to give your flunkies a vacation.\" The animals stopped so suddenly that Purnie nearly tangled himself in their heels. now!\" When the three animals went back to join the rest of their group, the first two resumed walking. Purnie followed along. \"I imagine you'll triple your money in six months.\" When they stopped, Purnie stopped. At first he had been interested in the strange sounds they were making, but as he grew used to them, and as they in turn ignored his presence, he hopped alongside chattering to Purnie saw one of the animals hovering around him with a little box. Thankful for the attention, he stood on his head. \"Can you do this?\" He was overjoyed at the reaction. They all started making wonderful \"I have you under contract, Benson! You are responsible to me, and what's more, you are on my property. Put him in a box.\" Purnie was tired. First the time-stopping, then this. While this day had brought more fun and excitement than he could have hoped for, the strain was beginning to tell. He lay in the center of the circle He didn't have to wait long. The animals forming the circle stepped back and made way for two others who came through carrying a box. Purnie sat up to watch the show. \"Hell, Captain, why don't I just pick him up? Looks like he has no intention of running away.\" \"All right, careful now with that line.\" \"Come on, baby. Here you go. That's a boy!\" Purnie took in these sounds with perplexed concern. He sensed the imploring quality of the creature with the rope, but he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He cocked his head to one side as he into the little crowd. \"I've got my lunch, want some?\" The party came to life once more. His friends ran this way and that, and at last Purnie knew that the idea was to get him into the box. He picked up the spirit of the tease, and deliberately ran within a few feet of the lead box, then, just as the nearest pursuer was about all. Now pick him up.\" The pang in his leg was nothing: Purnie's misery lay in his confusion. motionless over his head while the rest of the rope snaked its way in transverse waves back to one of the two-legged animals. Purnie dragged himself through the congregation, whimpering from his inability to open-mouthed disbelief as the rope fell harmlessly to the sand—on the spot where Purnie had been standing. \"My God, he's—he's gone.\" Slowly at first, the giant pencils began cascading down the short distance to the sand. Purnie fell back onto solid ground, horrified at the spectacle before him. The agonizing screams of the animals below \"I didn't mean it!\" Purnie screamed. \"I'm sorry! Can't you hear?\" He hopped back and forth near the edge of the rise, torn with panic and Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves. The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding of death. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of the animals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregarding the consequences, he ordered time to stop. tugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie worked slowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as far as his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their condition position, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock. Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue into a new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him. At last he could do no more He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period of time-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... without him. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness, he knew he must first resume time. Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and then Purnie as sounds came from the animal. \"What's the matter with me? Somebody tell me! Am I nuts? Miles! Schick! What's happening?\" \"Hah-hah-hah! Seventeen! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsible for this. Hee-hee!\" Purnie opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Had his friends gone? He pulled himself along on his stomach to a position between two rocks, where he could see without being seen. By the light of the twin moons had become familiar. \"Where are you?\" Purnie paid little attention to the antics of his friend he was beyond understanding. He wondered what they would say at home when he Purnie's ears as the creature turned slowly and called in different directions. He watched the animal walk over to the pile of scattered logs and peer around and under them. now, and where their light broke through the swirling clouds a double shadow was cast around the animal. With foggy awareness, Purnie watched the creature shake its head slowly, then walk away in the direction of the others. Purnie's eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. The beach was deserted now, and his gaze was transfixed on a shimmering white square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnie\n\n<question>:\nHow does Purnie stop time?\n\n<options>:\nA Purnie stops time using tripons.\nB Purnie stops time by standing on his head.\nC Purnie stops time using radiation.\nD Purnie stops time with his thoughts.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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1,125 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSlate beer-testing team were coping with lagers and trying to see if they could taste the 3-to-1 price difference between the most- and least-expensive brands. (Click for a wrap-up of the first round of beer tasting.) The answer was: They found one beer they really liked, Samuel Adams Boston Lager , and one they really hated, imported Grolsch from Holland. Both were expensive beers--Grolsch was the most expensive in the test--and otherwise the testers had a hard time telling beers apart. The members of the team, as noted in the original article, all hold day jobs at Microsoft, mainly as designers, managers, and coders for Microsoft Word. The point of the second test was not to find the difference between cheap and expensive beers but instead to compare a variety of top-of-the-line beers. Was there one kind the tasters preferred consistently? Could they detect any of the subtleties of brewing style and provenance that microbrew customers pay such attention to when choosing some Doppelbock over a cream ale? Since the tasting panel had left the first round grumbling that cheap lagers were not a fair test of their abilities, this second round of testing was advertised to the panel as a reward. Every beer in Round 2 would be a fancy beer. A microbrew. A \"craft beer.\" A prestigious import. These were the kinds of beer the panel members said they liked--and the ones they said they were most familiar with. One aspect of the reward was that they would presumably enjoy the actual testing more--fewer rueful beer descriptions along the lines of \"urine\" or \"get it away!\" were expected than in the first round. The other aspect of anticipated reward was the panelists' unspoken but obvious assumption that this time they would \"do better\" on the test. Intellectual vanity being what it is, people who had fought for and won jobs at Microsoft and who still must fight every six months for primacy on the employee-ranking scale (which determines--gasp!--how many new stock options they receive) would assume that their skill as tasters was on trial, just as much as the beer was. Of course they were right, which is what made this round as amusing to administer as the first one had been. Here is what happened and what it meant: 1. Procedure. This was similar in most ways to the experimental approach of Round 1. The nine testers who showed up were a subset of the original 12. The missing three dropped out with excuses of \"my wife is sick\" (one person) and \"meeting is running long\" (two). Best and Worst , one of each from the group. 2. Philosophy. The first round of testing was All Lager. This second round was All Fancy, and Mainly Not Lager. As several correspondents (for instance, the of Best American Beers ) have helpfully pointed out, the definition of lager provided last time was not exactly \"accurate.\" If you want to stay within the realm of textbook definitions, a lager is a beer brewed a particular way--slowly, at cool temperatures, with yeast that settles on the bottom of the vat. This is in contrast with an ale, which is brewed faster, warmer, and with the yeast on top. By this same reasoning, lagers don't have to be light-colored, weak-flavored, and watery, as mainstream American lagers are. In principle, lagers can be dark, fierce, manly. Therefore, the correspondents suggest, it was wrong to impugn Sam Adams or Pete's Wicked for deceptive labeling, in presenting their tawnier, more flavorful beers as lagers too. 3. Materials. The 10 test beers were chosen with several goals in mind: To include one holdover from the previous test, as a scientific control on our tasters' preferences. This was Sam Adams , runaway winner of Round 1. a) Best and Worst. Compared to the lager test, we would expect the range of \"best\" choices to be more varied, since all the tested beers were supposed to be good. This expectation was most dramatically borne out in the \"Best and Worst\" rankings. The nine tasters cast a total of nine Worst votes and 11.5 Best votes. (Tester No. 1 turned in a sheet with three Best selections, or two more than his theoretical quota. Tester No. 4 listed a Best and a Best-minus, which counted as half a vote.) This best-liked beer belonged to the same category, Hefeweizen, as the least-liked product, from Pyramid. This was also the only outright Anheuser-Busch product in the contest (the Redhooks are 75 percent A-B free). It is safe to say that all tasters would have said beforehand that they would rank an American macrobrew last, and Anheuser-Busch last of all. Although it clearly won on overall preference points, Michelob Hefeweizen was the only beer not to have received a single \"Best\" vote. The first two anomalies can be written off as testament to the power of a blind taste test. The third suggests an important difference in concepts of \"bestness.\" Sometimes a product seems to be the best of a group simply because it's the most unusual or distinctive. This is why very high Wine Spectator ratings often go to wines that mainly taste odd. But another kind of bestness involves an unobtrusive, day-in day-out acceptability. That seems to be Michelob Hefe 's achievement here: no one's first choice, but high on everyone's list. Let's go to the charts: Next, we have \"corrected average preference points,\" throwing out the high and low marks for each beer. The result is basically the same: If we are Gradgrind-like empiricists, living our life for \"welfare maximization\" as described in introductory econ. courses, the conclusion is obvious. We learned from the first experiment to buy either Sam Adams (when we wanted maximum lager enjoyment per bottle) or Busch (for maximum taste and snob appeal per dollar). From this second round we see an even more efficient possibility: Buy Michelob Hefeweizen and nothing else, since on the basis of this test it's the best liked and the cheapest beer. By the way, if there is a single company whose achievements the testing panel honored, it would be Anheuser-Busch . From its brewing tanks came two of the double-crown winners of the taste tests: plain old Busch , the Taste-o-meter and Snob-o-meter victor of Round 1, and Michelob Hefeweizen , the preference-point and Val-u-meter winner this time. But, of course, there is another possibility: that what is excluded in a blind taste test is in fact what we want, and are happy to pay for, when we sit down with a beer. The complicated label, the fancy bottle, the exotic concept that this beer has traveled from some far-off corner of Bohemia or even the Yakima Valley--all this may be cheap at the $1.25-per-pint cost difference between the cheapest and the most expensive beers. In elementary school, we all endured a standard science experiment: If you shut your eyes and pinch your nose closed, can you tell any difference in the taste of a slice of apple, of carrot, of pear? You can't--but that doesn't mean that from then on you should close your eyes, hold your nose, and chew a cheap carrot when you feel like having some fruit. There is a time and place for carrots, but also for juicy pears. There is a time for Busch, but also for Full Sail \"Equinox.\" For scientists who want to continue this work at home, here are a few suggestions for further research: As a variation, show them the list ahead of time and ask them to pick out the beer they know they love and the one they know they hate. Then compare this with the \"after\" list. Remember to stay strictly in the scientist's role. Don't take the test yourself.\n\n<question>:\nWhat was the difference between the first and second test?\n\n<options>:\nA Beer type and expense\nB Beer type only\nC The types of beer in both stages of the test were the same, but the presentation method differed significantly\nD Expense only\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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2,078 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWe know that paedophiles, murderers and other violent criminals come in many shapes and sizes. If we knew nothing about their criminal history, some of their photos might even appear attractive. But the idea that someone's features betray their character is something rooted deep within us it's the reason why certain photos perform well on dating apps, or why trustworthy-looking politicians might rack up votes. But how wrong are our hunches of perceived criminality? the idea that the appearance of plants and animals offers clues to their nature. For example, as one writer of the time suggested, walnuts are good for curing headaches because they're shaped a bit like a human head. The theories in della Porta's book were supported by dozens of detailed illustrations which, by comparing human faces to those of animals, suggested that they must surely share similar character traits. Hancock describes attending a conference where one speaker showed a series of black faces and white faces to students (who were mostly white) and asked them what they thought the experiment was about. \"They knew that he was trying to assess whether they would rate the black ones as more criminal,\" says Hancock. \"But then they did!\" We attribute social characteristics based on opinions we already hold about certain kinds of faces: whether they look unusual in some way, whether they resemble a partner, a family member or even ourselves, or perhaps have some other cultural association. Physiognomy ultimately stems from what Alexander Todorov, professor of psychology at Princeton University, calls an 'overgeneralisation hypothesis'. \"People,\" he wrote, \"use easily accessible facial information (eg an expression such as a smile, cues to gender and ethnic group) to make social attributions congruent with this information (eg a nice person).\" In a social media age, the pictures we choose to represent ourselves online are a form of self-presentation driven by those social attributions and the knowledge that our pictures are being judged. Experiments at Princeton found that we take less than one tenth of a second to form an opinion of strangers from their pictures, and those opinions tend to stand firm even if we're exposed to those pictures for a longer period of time. That tendency to judge instantly gives rise to a number of selfie tropes that are deemed to elicit positive responses, particularly when it comes to photos on dating profiles: certain angles, particular expressions, minute adjustments of eyebrows and lips that might appear to be about narcissism and vanity, but are more about a fear of being incorrectly assessed. After all, false suppositions based on people's faces are hugely influential within society, and in extreme cases they can have a huge impact on people's lives. When retired teacher Christopher Jefferies was held by police in connection with the murder of Joanna Yeates in Bristol back in 2010, more than half a dozen newspapers gave his unusual appearance particular scrutiny and made assumptions accordingly, which in turn influenced public opinion. This culminated in substantial damages for defamation, two convictions for contempt of court and a painful ordeal for Jefferies, who was entirely innocent. This kind of deep-seated bias looms large throughout physiognomic works of the 19th and 20th centuries, from absurdities such as Vaught's Practical Character Reader of 1902 (handy if you want to find out what a \"deceitful chin\" looks like) to more inherently troubling volumes such as Cesare Lombroso's Criminal Man. pointy or snubbed fingers or toes. In a woeful misreading of Darwinian theory, Lombroso unwittingly founded the field of anthropological criminology, and more specifically the idea of the born criminal: a hereditary quality that posed a danger to society and must be rooted out. His theories became discredited during the 20th century, but the kind of bias displayed by Lombroso can still be found in legal systems across the world studies show that people with stereotypically 'untrustworthy' faces tend to receive harsher treatment than those who don't. There's evidently some consensus over people's attitudes toward certain faces, but it doesn't follow that the consensus is correct. The only attributes that we're reasonably good at detecting, according to research done at the University of Michigan in the 1960s and later tested at the University of Stirling in 2007, are extroversion and conscientiousness. For other traits there's insufficient evidence that our hunches are correct, with anomalies explained by our evolved aversion to 'ugliness', established links between broader faces and powerful physiques, or cultural associations with certain demographics which are reinforced with nagging regularity by newspapers, books, television and film. Data-driven studies, based upon huge quantities of facial data, would seem to offer the final word on this. Since 2005, computational models have used various techniques to test for links between social attributes and facial features, resulting in suggestions that our faces can betray, for example, political leanings, sexual orientation and criminality. One BBC Future article from 2015 even describes the 'discipline' of physiognomy as 'gaining credibility'. But Todorov details many problems with these studies, pointing out the challenging nature of doing such experiments with sufficient rigour – not least because different images of the same people can prompt wildly differing results. The aforementioned study at Shanghai's Jiao Tong University, with its enthusiastic, data-driven analyses of such questions as \"What features of a human face betray its owner's propensity for crimes?\" prompted a wave of press coverage. The vision outlined in these articles is of an unethical dystopia where neural networks can assess our faces and establish a likely score for criminality – but Todorov is scathing about this paper, too. \"The main problem is the sampling of the images,\" he says. \"There is not enough information about the [nature of] the images of the people who were convicted. Second, clearly, there are huge differences between the two samples [of convicts and non-convicts] [in terms of] education and socio-economic status.\" In other words, your appearance is affected by the kind of life you've led, so the classifiers within the computer program are simply distinguishing between different demographics rather than detecting a propensity for criminal behaviour. Todorov is also wary of these classifiers misidentifying more 'innocent' people than identifying actual criminals, and accuracy is a concern shared by Peter Hancock. \"Networks don't assess faces in the same way that we do,\" he says. \"One of our systems, which is a deep network, has a recognition engine which generates an ordered list of how similar various faces are. And sometimes you get good matches – but other times you look at them and say, well, it's the wrong race! To humans they look completely different. And that underlines the fact that the networks are working in a different sort of way, and actually you don't really know how they're working. They're the ultimate black box.\" This isn't to say that the use of big data, and particularly the use of composite imagery (digitally blending together certain types of faces) doesn't give us useful information and fascinating correlations. \"You can, for example, take a given face and use computer software to make it look more or less trustworthy,\" says Hancock. \"I remember a colleague playing with this and he made a less trustworthy version of George W Bush – and how shifty did he look! I'm surprised that they're not using these techniques in political advertising, because you couldn't tell that anything had been done [to the picture], but when you look at it you think 'I wouldn't trust him'.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich is the least likely thing computers could pick up on from a photo?\n\n<options>:\nA The impact of socioeconomic status on a person's character\nB An underlying capability of committing crime\nC The effect of wealth on someone's life\nD How social a person is likely to be\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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993 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nA night without darkness passed. Ben lay waiting for Maggie's return, a He began to understand. \"And your husband needs an astrogator? That's \"We need all the good men we can get.\" there, Ben saw moving figures. He could not tell if they were Earthmen, \"Why aren't you with him now?\" \"He said unexplored space is no place for a woman. So I've been \" Coma esta, senor? \" a small voice piped. \" fine, senor \"Don't the authorities object?\" ?\" Ben shook his head. \"Not very strongly. The I. B. I. has too many problems right here to He thought, There probably would be a crackdown.\" Ben scowled. \"What happens if there is a crackdown? And what will you \"I'm not buying.\" The dirty-faced kid shrugged. \"Then I show you to good table,— tres . I do not charge you, senor .\" The boy grabbed his hand. Because Ben could think of no reason for resisting, he followed. They plunged into shifting layers of smoke and through the drone of alcohol-cracked voices. Ben stiffened. \"And that's why you want me for an astrogator.\" Several times, Ben glimpsed the bulky figures of CO go?\" Her thin face was criss-crossed by emotion—alarm, then bewilderment, then fear. \"I don't know. That would be up to Jacob.\" , Ben told himself. \"A Space Officer Is Honest\" \"A Space Officer Is Loyal.\" \"A Space Officer Is Dutiful.\" For an instant, Ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the dead waiter. He wet his lips but did not drink. His gaze wandered over the faces of the Inn's other occupants. You've got to find him part of Ben as sight in his eyes. Again, its face would be a pop-eyed mask of surprise as Ben's fist from a corner of the gaping mouth. You can forget a living man. You can defeat him or submit to him or ignore him, and the matter is over and done. You can't escape from a memory that has burned into your mind. been successful. Ben, quietly and moderately, wanted to celebrate. Ben smiled. \"If it weren't for spacemen, you wouldn't be here.\" Ben stiffened. He was twenty-four and dressed in the white, He'd sought long for that key. At the age of five—perhaps in order to dull the memory of his parents' , Ben thought. He took his drink and moved three stools down the bar. Cobb followed. \"You don't like the truth, eh, kid? You don't like people to call you a sucker.\" Ben rose and started to leave the bar, but Cobb grabbed his arm and Until this instant, Ben had suppressed his anger. Now, suddenly and Ben knew that he was dead. Then, for a single absurd second, Ben was seized with terror—just as, He was sorry he'd hit Cobb, of course. He was not sorry he'd run. Escaping at least gave him a power of choice, of decision. You can do two things , he thought. You can give yourself up, and that's what a good officer would do. That would eliminate the escape charge. You'd get off with voluntary , Ben reflected, n'est-ce-pas ?\" Ben threw a fifty-cent credit piece on the table. \"Here. Take off, will Ben didn't answer. ?\" Ben raised his hand as if to strike the boy. \" reward must have been offered for his capture. Whom could he trust? The wheel with Ben as their focal point. Ben's direction. , his brain screamed. Just another second— Or would the exits be guarded? He heard the hiss. body overpowered him. In the dark world beyond his fading consciousness, he heard a voice yell, \"Turn on the damn lights!\" Then a pressure and a coldness were on his left hand. He realized that someone had seized it. \"Yes.\" His thick lips wouldn't let go of the word. \"You want to escape—even now?\" \"Yes.\" \"You may die if you don't give yourself up.\" \"No, no.\" He tried to stumble toward the exit. \"All right then. Not that way. Here, this way.\" flicked on. Hands were guiding him. He was aware of being pushed and pulled. A door closed behind him. The glare of the flashlight faded from his vision—if he still had vision. \"You're sure?\" the voice persisted. \"I'm sure,\" Ben managed to say. \"I have no antidote. You may die.\" His mind fought to comprehend. With the anti-paralysis injection, at once. \"Anti ... anti ...\" The words were as heavy as blobs of mercury forced from his throat. \"No ... I'm sure ... sure.\" He didn't hear the answer or anything else. consciousness was an intangible evolution from a world of black nothingness to a dream-like state of awareness. He felt the pressure of hands on his naked arms and shoulders, hands that massaged, manipulated, fought to restore circulation and sensitivity. He knew they were strong hands. Their strength seemed to transfer itself to his own body. For a long time, he tried to open his eyes. His lids felt welded constantly above him—a face, he supposed. He tried to talk. Although his lips moved slightly, the only sound was a deep, staccato grunting. But he heard someone say, \"Don't try to talk.\" It was the same gentle voice he'd heard in the Blast Inn. \"Don't talk. Just lie still and rest. Everything'll be all right.\" Everything all right There were long periods of lethargy when he was aware of nothing. There were periods of light and of darkness. Gradually he grew aware of things. He realized that the soft rubber mouth of a spaceman's oxygen mask was clamped over his nose. He felt the heat of electric blankets swathed about his body. Occasionally a tube would be in his mouth and Always, it seemed, the face was above him, floating in the obscuring mist. Always, it seemed, the soft voice was echoing in his ears: \"Swallow this now. That's it. You must have food.\" Or, \"Close your eyes. Don't strain. It won't be long. You're getting better.\" Better \"Yes.\" \"Why?\" Suddenly he began to cough. Breath came hard. She held the oxygen mask in readiness. He shook his head, not wanting it. \"Why?\" he asked again. \"It would be a long story. Perhaps I'll tell you tomorrow.\" A new thought, cloaked in sudden fear, entered his murky consciousness. \"Tell me, will—will I be well again? Will I be able to walk?\" He lay back then, panting, exhausted. \"We're not in Hoover City?\" \"No.\" He looked at her, wondering. \"You won't tell me?\" \"Not yet. Later, perhaps.\" Fascinated, Ben nodded. He gaped incredulously, struggling to rise from his pillows. \"I—don't get it.\" \"There are ways of finding out what we want to know. As I told you, we She lowered her gaze. \"I hope you'll be able to.\" Rest.\" He tried to relax, but his mind was a vortex of conjecture. \"Just one more question,\" he almost whispered. \"Yes?\" She hesitated. He thought, Damn it, of all the questions, why did I Ben stared at the photo for a long time. At length, he slipped into And towering above him was a red-bearded man whose great hands reached down and beckoned to him. Ben crawled through the night on hands and knees, his legs numb and useless. The crying of the children was a chilling wail in his ears.\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Ben a potential asset to Maggie and her husband?\n\n<options>:\nA He's an astrogator, and one that's now off the radar. He's free to do the kind of job they need.\nB He's an astrogator, and a very talented one at that. He can complete the job they need done.\nC As a space officer, he can help get them out of any legal trouble they might encounter.\nD He's in a position where he can't say no. He has to do whatever they tell him.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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1,338 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\ntwo people wave back. Then the plane climbed toward the east and was gone. \"Well,\" Don said as they turned to go back to Cavalier, \"now we know that they know. Maybe we'll begin to get some answers. Or, if not answers, then transportation.\" like it here?\" \"If you mean don't I like you, the answer is yes, of course I do. But if I don't get out of this handcuff soon so I can take a bath and get into clean clothes, you're not going to like me.\" \"You're still quite acceptable, if a bit whiskery.\" She stopped, still holding his arm, and he turned so they were face to face. \"So kiss me,\" she said, \"before you deteriorate.\" They were in the midst of an extremely pleasant kiss when the brief case at the end of Don's handcuff began to talk to him. \" Cold up here!\" Don had taken a passing interest earlier in the evening asked, \"Why did we stop?\" But it was likely that all she noticed then was the brief case he carried, attached by a chain to a handcuff on his left wrist. \"Will we be here long?\" Don asked the conductor. He didn't want to miss his plane at Columbus. The sooner he got to Washington, the sooner he'd get rid of the brief case. The handcuff it was attached to was one \"Can't say,\" the conductor told him. He let the door close again and went down to the tracks. Don hesitated, shrugged at the redhead, said, \"Excuse me,\" and followed the conductor. About a dozen people were milling around the train as it sat in the dark, hissing steam. Don made his way up to the locomotive to an old bearded gentleman wearing a civil defense helmet, a topcoat and riding boots. \"You'd go over the edge, I tell you,\" the old gentleman was saying. the old man. Then let's go.\" The bearded man—he called himself Professor Garet—went off with the fireman. Don followed them. They had tramped a quarter of a mile along not one of your old ragged, random edges such as might have been caused by an explosion. This one had the feeling of design behind it. Standing on tiptoe and repressing a touch of giddiness, Don looked over the edge. He didn't have to stand on tiptoe any more than he had to sit on the edge of his seat during the exciting part of a movie, but the Don looked at the fireman, who had an unbelieving expression on his face, then at the bearded old man, who was smiling and nodding. \"You see what I mean,\" he said. \"You would have gone right over. I Don Cort, sitting in the back seat of the car with the redhead from the club car, asked, \"Cavalier?\" \"Miss Jervis. I'm Civek. You know Mr. Cort, I suppose.\" The girl smiled sideways. \"We have a nodding acquaintance.\" Don nodded and grinned. \"There's plenty of room in the dormitories,\" Civek said. \"People don't said, \"if we don't settle back in the meantime.\" \"Was there any sort of explosion?\" Don asked. \"What's that?\" Don asked. \"I haven't the faintest idea. I'm a politician, not a scientist. Professor Garet went on about it for a while, on the telephone, about \"What do you mean by that?\" Jen Jervis asked. \"Well, I don't see how you can get down. Do you?\" \"Does Superior have an airport?\" Don asked. \"I've got to get back to—to Earth.\" It sounded odd to put it that way. \"Nope,\" Civek said. \"No airport. No place for a plane to land, either.\" \"Maybe not a plane,\" Don said, \"but a helicopter could land just about anywhere.\" \"No helicopters here, either.\" \"Maybe not. But I'll bet they're swarming all over you by morning.\" \"Hm,\" said Hector Civek. Don couldn't quite catch his expression in the You go right in that door, where the others are going. There's Professor Garet. I've got to see him—excuse me.\" The mayor was off across the campus. Don looked at Geneva Jervis, who was frowning. \"Are you thinking,\" he asked, \"that Mayor Civek was perhaps just a little less than completely honest with us?\" \"I'm thinking,\" she said, \"that I should have stayed with Aunt Hattie another night, then taken a plane to Washington.\" \"Washington?\" Don said. \"That's where I'm going. I mean where I was National Bank, that's all. Where do you work?\" \"I'm with Senator Bobby Thebold, S.O.B.\" Don laughed again. \"He sure is.\" \" Mister knew, but as he was looking for a table a willowy blonde girl smiled and gestured to the empty place opposite her. \"You're Mr. Cort,\" she said. \"Won't you join me?\" \"Thanks,\" he said, unloading his tray. \"How did you know?\" \"The mystery man with the handcuff. You'd be hard to miss. I'm Alis—that's A-l-i-s, not A-l-i-c-e—Garet. Are you with the FBI? Or did her purse and unfolded a four-page tabloid. Don blinked at the headline: Alis said. Don read the story, which seemed to him a capricious treatment of an apparently grave situation. bottom.\" Don creased the paper the other way, took a sip of coffee, nodded his thanks, and read: handwritten) he (c) has not the temerity to ask his linotype operator to set. Don said, \"I'm beginning to like this Ed Clark.\" \"He's a doll,\" Alis said. \"He's about the only one in town who stands up densely populated with co-eds than Cavalier was. \"You may call me Alis,\" she said. \"And I'm nineteen.\" Don grinned. \"Going on?\" \"Three months past. How old are you , Mr. Cort?\" \"Don's the name I've had for twenty-six years. Please use it.\" \"Gladly. And now, Don, unless you want another cup of coffee, I'll go with you to the end of the world.\" \"On such short notice?\" Don was intrigued. Last night the redhead from the club car had repelled an advance that hadn't been made, and this morning a blonde was apparently making an advance that hadn't been ,\" Alis said. \"What I meant—for \"What's happening?\" he asked when he saw them. \"Any word from down there?\" \"Not that I know of,\" Don said. He introduced him to Alis Garet. \"What are you going to do?\" \"What going to steal your old train.\" The conductor reckoned as how he might just do that, and did. \"You know,\" Don said, \"I was half-asleep last night but before the train \"I should think it'd be all dried up by now. I'm going to have a look.\" \"Don't! You'll fall off!\" \"I'll be careful.\" He walked cautiously toward the edge. Alis followed a spell of dizziness to pass. The Earth was spread out like a topographer's map, far below. Don took another wary step, then sat down. \"Chicken,\" said Alis. She laughed uncertainly, then she sat down, too. \"I still can't see where the water goes,\" Don said. He stretched out on his stomach and began to inch forward. \"You stay there.\" Finally he had inched to a point where, by stretching out a hand, he \"How do you feel?\" Alis asked. back.\" He inched away from the edge, then got up and brushed himself off. He returned her compact. \"I guess you know where we go next.\" . \"What's the other source, besides the faucet in your bathroom?\" Don asked.\n\n<question>:\nWhich would Alis be least likely to say?\n\n<options>:\nA \"I'd love to leave Superior.\"\nB \"Most people in Superior are a little different.\"\nC \"I know how to get us back down.\"\nD \"Don, I'd love to get to know you better.\"\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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966 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"Well, it's still a favor.\" Hendricks' face hardened. \"Favor? You wouldn't know a favor if you stumbled over one. I did it because it's standard procedure for your type of case. Anyone can—free of charge—have treatment by the best psychologists to relieve tension. And—despite the treatment, Joe until it took you apart and put you back together again the way it wanted you to be. \"Being an Ex, you'll get the kind of job you always wanted,\" Hendricks continued. \"You'll get a good-paying job, but you'll work for it. You'll work eight hours a day, work harder than you've ever worked your head is going to say, Work! Work! Exes always get good jobs because employers know they're good workers. \"But during these next few days, you'll discover what being an Ex is like. You see, Joe, the treatment can't possibly take all the criminal tendencies out of a man. So the treatment does the next best to break one now and then, but you won't be able. I'll give you an illustration....\" Joe's face reddened as Hendricks proceeded to call him a series of names. He wanted to smash the fat, grinning face, but the muscles in his arm froze before it moved it an inch. strike someone except in self-defense . He opened his mouth to tell Hendricks exactly what he thought of him, the CPA, the whole world. But the words stayed in his throat, the pain .... Hendricks laughed. \"You'll change your opinion. We live in a clean, wonderful world, Joe. A world of happy, healthy people. Except for freaks like yourself, criminals are—\" man who could be trusted with any responsibility, any amount of money. And therefore, an EX (a convicted criminal who received the treatment was commonly called an Ex because he was in the strictest sense of the word an Ex-criminal) ... an Ex was always offered the best jobs. \"Well,\" the girl said. \"I'm honored. Really. But I got a date at ten. \" Joe discovered to his dismay that the girl was telling the truth when Commissioner Hendricks was a remarkable character. There was something hadn't made him so ugly, for more than half the voters who elected men to high political positions were women. Anyone who knew Hendricks well liked him, for he was a friendly, likable person. But the millions of women voters who saw his face on posters and on their TV screens saw only the ugly face and heard only \"Okay,\" Joe said. \"I'll save you the trouble. I admit it. Attempted rape. I confess.\" Hendricks smiled. \"Sorry, Joe. You missed the boat again.\" He reached \" He waved his hand. \"Okay. Shut it off. I confess to conspiracy.\" Hendricks rose from behind the desk, walked leisurely to where Joe was slouched in a chair. \"Give me your CPA ID.\" Hendricks crossed the room, deposited the card in a slot and punched a When Hendricks handed him the new card, Joe saw that the words DANGEROUS CRIMINAL TENDENCIES were now in red and larger than before. And, in slightly smaller print, the ID card stated that the owner was a DCT First Class. \"You've graduated,\" Hendricks said coldly. \"You guys never learn, do you? Now you're a DCT First Class instead of a Second Class. You know Hendricks leaned closer until Joe could feel his breath on his face. they'd be famous.\" \"Lay off,\" Joe said. \"I got a headache. That girl—\" Hendricks leaned even closer and glared. \"You listen, Joe. This is interesting. You see, it doesn't stop with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. There's thousands of people like them. Years ago, they got their kicks from binoculars and—\" \"Lay off!\" Joe squirmed in the chair. He'd been lectured by Hendricks before and it was always an unpleasant experience. The huge man was like a talking machine once he got started, a machine that couldn't be stopped. \" Hendricks stopped, wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief and lit a cigarette. \"I'm doing you a favor, Joe. I'm trying to explain something you're too a favor—\" Hendricks shrugged his shoulders negligently. \"Not entirely a favor. I want to get rid of you. Usually I come up here and sit around and read books. But guys like you are a nuisance and take up my time.\" \"I couldn't leave if I wanted to,\" Joe said. \"I'm flat broke. Thanks to your CPA system, a DCT can't get a decent job.\" Hendricks reached into a pocket, withdrew several bills and extended them. \"I'll loan you some money. You can sign an IOU and pay me back a little at a time.\" ?\" Hendricks shrugged again. \"Have it your way.\" Joe laughed. \"If your damned CPA is so all-powerful, why can't you make \"Damn it, there must be some way you can help me! We both want the same thing. We both want to see me convicted of a crime.\" \"How can I help you without committing a crime myself?\" Hendricks thirst. There's a water cooler in the next room.\" Joe stared at the door to the adjoining office as it closed behind the big man. Hendricks was—unbelievably—offering him a victim, offering him a crime! Almost running to the desk, Joe opened the book, selected a name and address and memorized it: John Gralewski, Apt. 204, 2141 Orange St. When Hendricks came back, Joe said, \"Thanks.\" \"Huh? Thanks for what? I didn't do anything.\" When Joe reached the street, he hurried toward the nearest subway. As a Except men like Joe Harper. No system is perfect. Along with thousands of other DCTs, Joe refused to believe it, and when he reached apartment He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, \"Hey. Wake up. Hey!\" He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minute he was still having the nightmare. \"I just saw your doctor,\" Hendricks said. \"He says your treatment is over. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.\" As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference. himself. He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be an he looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken months and he had, between operations, been locked in his room. Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back. Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change: Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now, down there waiting for you because they're curious, because they're glad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You're an ex of guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and get your autograph.\" Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he did understand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could see the people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheer ex-murderer came out. In Hendricks' robot-chauffeured car, he ate the fudge and consoled himself with the thought, People are funny. Who can understand 'em? Hendricks and said, \"Thanks for what you did. It turned out great. I'll be able to get a good job now.\" \"That's why I met you at the hospital,\" Hendricks said. \"I want to Class won't take the free psycho treatment or—\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Hendricks help Joe?\n\n<options>:\nA Hendricks knows becoming an EX is the way for Joe to get an excellent job.\nB Hendricks helps Joe because they are friends.\nC Hendricks knows Joe will not go for the free treatment.\nD Hendricks thinks he can also become an EX and get an excellent job if he helps Joe.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,890 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIt was in the privacy of his room that Pembroke became about it? Lucky you! Frank Pembroke \"With so many beautiful women in Puerto Pacifico,\" said came up the stairs and into the office shortly before noon. \"Good day, sir,\" said Pembroke Anyway, I won't ever marry,\" she said. \"I'm the paramour Either that, or she had a basic flaw of loquacity that no one else had discovered. Pembroke decided he would have to cover his tracks carefully. would arrive. The series of events leading up to Pembroke's present occupation had commenced on a dismal, Pacific a year earlier. Bound for overcast evening in the South Sydney, two days out of Valparaiso, I'll miss you terribly.\" \"Oh, but you'll be dead by then,\" she pouted. \"So I mustn't seemed vaguely redolent of citrus trees. Standing on the forward deck, Pembroke was one of the first to perceive the peculiar odor \"Yes? Please tell me.\" \"In the first place,\" said Pembroke, Elena Mia went down. Pembroke was in the second. The roar of the sinking ship was the last thing he heard for some time. Pembroke came as close to being was a trait Pembroke had never recognized in himself, nor had it elevate the glory and safety of others above that of themselves. Lacking such loyalties, Pembroke that she was irrevocably in love with him. Tomorrow might bring his death, but it might also ensure his escape. After forty-two years of searching for a passion, Pembroke had at last found his. Earth and the human race that peopled it. And Mary Ann would help him to save it. The next morning Pembroke talked to Valencia about hunting. told him that there were no living creatures anywhere but in the city. Pembroke said he was going out anyway. He picked up Mary Ann at her the beach. of course, had to be just like Earth. That, after all, was the purpose of Puerto Pacifico. By noon they had rented a jeep and were well away from at Pembroke as he passed. Seldom had he enjoyed so ingenuous an invitation. He halted the city. Pembroke and Mary city. On the outskirts, where the sand and soil were mixed and no footprints would be left, Pembroke hopped off. Mary Ann would go straight to the police and report that Pembroke had attacked her and that she had shot said. Pembroke smiled, uneasily. him. If necessary, she would conduct Please help me, please!\" \"You're not casual enough, for one thing,\" said Pembroke, deciding to play along with her for not prosecute Mary Ann for killing an Earthman. Now Pembroke had himself to look weary and hungry and aimless. Only the last would be a deception. Two weeks later Pembroke phoned Mary Ann. The police had accepted her story without handed it to him. \"Any time after six,\" she said. Pembroke left the beach and walked through several small Pembroke had seen the corpses of Earthmen being carted out of had admitted that she did not. There would be very few Earthmen left in Puerto Pacifico, and it would be simple enough to locate him if he were reported as no out but to do away with Mary Ann. Pembroke headed for the Pembroke watched with lifted eyebrows as the clerk whisked beach. He knew she invariably went there in the afternoon. He \"What the hell was that?\" Pembroke demanded. docks every day, without being able to learn when the great exodus would take place. Yet he was to leave shortly. If there was any but the most superficial examination, Pembroke would no doubt be discovered and exterminated. \"Well, they've got a point,\" said Pembroke. \"Incidentally, just where are we, anyway? What city is this?\" \"Puerto Pacifico,\" she told him. \"Isn't that a lovely name? It means peaceful port. In Spanish.\" But since no one seemed the Pacificos' aberrant mannerisms to apply a corrective to any of off every west coast state, city, town, and inlet. None, to the best of his knowledge, was called Puerto Pacifico. He headed for the nearest service station and asked for a Pembroke began hobbling toward the docks. Almost at once he found himself face to face asked Pembroke. \"That all depends on where She obeyed. He followed. The crowd grew thicker. They neared \"Pardon me, there's a customer,\" the boy said. \"This is Puerto Pacifico.\" Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense their turn, he and Mary Ann each went into separate ones. Pembroke found himself alone in the little room. the docks and Pembroke saw that Keep the map.\" \"Thanks. One more thing,\" Pembroke said. \"What's over all they want from us.\" \"Where's Seattle?\" \"Seattle? State o' Washington.\" surrogate for a mid-twentieth century American male, itinerant type. place, you've had it.\" Pembroke returned to the has been sufficiently chlorinated. In the meantime, serve us well.\" frantically, she called his name several times. Pembroke mingled with the crowd moving toward and it's not Brisbane, and Suddenly Mary Ann was quiet. \"Ambulance squad,\" Pembroke's Tahiti. There are a lot of places that,\" said Pembroke, snickering again as he moved away from the Pembroke went right on hating himself, however, till the night he was deposited in a field bar. Pembroke took his rum and tonic and moved over to Spencer's booth. one by one and walked out of the Pembroke was explaining to the police how he had drifted far from the scene of the sinking of lost interest in him. They got up the on a piece of wreckage, and had been picked up by a Chilean trawler. How he had then made his way, with much suffering, up the coast to California. Two days later, his identity established and his circumstances town,\" said Pembroke. \"That's \"Your bet's as good as mine,\" said Pembroke. \"It's not Wellington, Now, seated at his battered desk in the shabby rented office over Lemark's Liquors, Pembroke gazed without emotion at the two demolished Pacificos that lay sprawled one atop the other \"I hope you like it in Puerto Pacifico. Because there isn't any place to go from here and there \"And, by the way,\" he added, it's not Long Beach, and it's not in the corner. His watch said you tell me. isn't any way to get there if effectively. Pembroke tossed his third victim onto the pile, then opened a can of lager, quaffing \"Mr. Valencia,\" said Pembroke. \"I've noticed that you walk with a very slight limp. If it appreciatively. Seating himself He would be out of business soon, once the FBI agent had got there. Pembroke was only in it to for thought in what you have said, Mr. Pembroke. However, Mr. Spencer, your value has failed to prove itself. You have only Valencia left. Spencer ordered another martini. Neither he nor sunk the ship? Valencia and the waitress and the three babes? Ah, come on.\" table. Loitering at the juke box, Pembroke overheard the conversation. \"You Spencer?\" \"That's right,\" said the fat he wondered, had gone out on their backs during their first day in Puerto Pacifico? Pembroke shaved, showered, and put on the new suit and shirt he had bought. Then he took after the other denizens of Puerto Pacifico Pembroke had listened to that afternoon. After eating they danced for an hour, had a few more drinks, then went to Pembroke's room. He still knew nothing about her and had almost exhausted his\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Puerto Pacifico?\n\n<options>:\nA Puerto Pacifico is a training ground for the androids that the aliens are sending to prepare Earth for invasion.\nB Puerto Pacifico is a training ground for the android forces that are preparing to invade Earth.\nC Puerto Pacifico is a training ground for the aliens who will be replacing key humans on Earth in preparation for invasion.\nD Pembroke has died and Puerto Pacifico is his purgatory.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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1,753 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nhas to be—somewhere. As a result, all his advice to Nordon, and all his questioning on In his office apartment, Malloy leafed trying to stall our men are actually working at trying to reach a decision. those men, as a team, are unbeatable because, in this situation, they're psychologically incapable of losing.\" a question in his mind. \"Since you know all that, couldn't you have handled it yourself?\" Malloy, Permanent Terran Ambassador \"Maybe, but I doubt it. They might Malloy ran his finger down the columns have gotten around me someway by and Braynek have blind spots, but paranoia. The man wasn't technically insane he could be as lucid as the next morbidly suspicious that every man's hand was turned against him. He trusted no one, and was perpetually on his guard against imaginary plots me, in the first place. No, I couldn't go. The reason why I'm here, cooped up in this office, hiding from the Saarkkada the way a good Saarkkadic bigshot should, is because I like it that way. I suffer from agoraphobia and xenophobia. \"I have to be drugged to be put on a spaceship because I can't take all Malloy sighed and pushed the dossiers that empty space, even if I'm protected from it by a steel shell.\" A look of revulsion came over his face. away from him. No two men were alike, and yet there sometimes seemed to be an eternal sameness about all men. He considered himself an individual, for instance, but wasn't flabby muscles, sagging skin, a memories of Diane, dead these ten years, but still beautiful and alive in Malloy closed his eyes. Somewhere out there, a war was raging. He didn't even like to think of that, but it was necessary to keep it in mind. And, Malloy knew, his own position even in the major production line, but it was necessary to keep the drug supply the term to cover a wide range of differences—but their minds just didn't function along the same lines. to one of them would have meant instant loss of prestige. To their way of thinking, an important official was aloof. The greater his importance, the greater must be his isolation. The Occeq of Saarkkad himself was never seen except by a handful of picked nobles, who, themselves, were never seen except by their underlings. It was a long, roundabout way of doing business, but it was the business at all. To violate the rigid social setup of Saarkkad would mean the instant closing off of the supply of biochemical products that the Earth and her allies and outposts. The job would have been a snap cinch in the right circumstances But Malloy didn't have top-grade men. They couldn't be spared from work that required their total capacity. It's inefficient to waste a man on a where there are more important jobs that will tax his full output. So Malloy was stuck with the culls. Not the worst ones, of course there war effort. Malloy knew that, no matter work, useful work could be found for him. Physical handicaps weren't at all difficult to deal with. A blind man can work very well in the total darkness of an infrared-film darkroom. Partial for in one way or another. The mental disabilities were harder to deal with, but not totally impossible. On a world without liquor, a regulations. But Malloy didn't like to stop at merely thwarting mental quirks he liked to find places where they were useful . The phone chimed. Malloy flipped \"Malloy here.\" \"Mr. Malloy?\" said a careful voice. She was uncommunicative. She liked to gather in information, but she found it difficult to give it up once it was in her possession. Malloy had made her his private secretary. Nothing—but nothing —got out of Malloy's office without his direct order. It had taken Malloy a and persecutions. head that it was perfectly all right—even desirable—for her to keep secrets from everyone except Malloy. Malloy looked at him. \"Didn't you Number two suffered from some She came in through the door, sort of emotional block that left him know? I wondered why you appointed over to Malloy. continually on the horns of one dilemma Malloy let her stand there while he or another. He was psychologically it didn't matter because no one would ever find out from her what he had done unless she was ordered to tell someone. incapable of making a decision if he were faced with two or more hushed voice. Malloy read the whole thing through, fighting to keep his emotions possible alternatives of any major her emotions were a secret. Finally, Malloy looked up. \"I'll let Malloy watched her go out the door without actually seeing her. The war was over—at least for a while. He looked down at the papers again. is too costly to allow it to continue any longer than necessary, and this one had been going on for more than thirteen years now. Peace was necessary. But not peace at any price. a reputation for losing wars and winning at the peace table. They were clever, persuasive talkers. They could they'd be able to retrench and rearm, and the war would break out to allow supervision of the production potential, forced to disarm, rendered their own advantage ... Already, they had taken the offensive in the matter of the peace talks. only by low-intelligence animals. The Karna considered this to be fully neutral territory, and Earth addition, they demanded that the conference begin in three days, Terrestrial time. was only a few million miles from a planet which was allied with Earth, and that it was unfair for Earth to take so much time in preparing for an galaxy, most of whom had remained as neutral as possible during the of sticking their figurative noses into a battle between the two most powerful races in the galaxy. within the three-day limit or lose what might be a vital point in the negotiations. of the communique, Malloy Malloy knew the woman would listen in on the intercom anyway, and it was better to give her permission to do so. Malloy waved him to a seat. probably one of the most important jobs you'll ever have in your life. It Malloy explained the problem of man. It involves risk, of course. If you make the wrong decisions, your name will be mud back on Earth. But I don't think there's much chance of that, really. Do you want to handle small-time operations all your life? Of course not. \"You'll be leaving within an hour \"No,\" said Malloy, \"I'm sending I recall, Mr. Malloy. Should I have?\" capable of spotting a trap a mile away. You'll be in charge, of course, but I want you to pay special attention to As soon as Nordon had left, Malloy heavy, protruding brows. Malloy asked Again Malloy went through the explanation trick you every step of the way,\" Malloy will be to find the loopholes they're laying out for themselves and plug them. Don't antagonize them, but don't baby them, either. If you see anything underhanded going on, let Nordon know immediately.\" \"They won't get anything by me, Mr. Malloy.\" Malloy had full reports on the whole Malloy handed them to the secretary, and as he read, Malloy watched good man, Malloy had to \"I thought they would,\" said Malloy, Malloy nodded. \"I think so. The threw a dilemma right back at them.\" \"How do you mean?\" \"Nordon had a mental block against making decisions. If he took a girl out on a date, he'd have trouble making up his mind whether to kiss her or not until she made up his mind for him, one way or the other. He's with one, single, clear decision which admits of no alternatives, he can't move at all. this was, and the more importance there is attached to his decisions, the more incapable he becomes of making them.\" \"What about Braynek?\" \"Paranoid,\" said Malloy. \"He thinks everyone is plotting against him. In this case, that's all to the good plotting against him. No matter what they put forth,\n\n<question>:\nWhich is probably the hardest thing for Malloy to deal with in his current position?\n\n<options>:\nA Being surrounded by aliens\nB His day-to-day responsibilities as a diplomat\nC Not being able to spend time outside on the beautiful planet\nD Having to stay isolated from other people\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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1,317 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nElizabeth is a lurid paraphrase of the old Groucho Marx line about Doris Day: \"I knew the Virgin Queen before she was a virgin.\" As the movie tells it, she was a sylvan, redheaded princess (Cate Blanchett) given to gamboling with her fella (Joseph Fiennes) between periods of internment in the Tower of London on charges of conspiring to overthrow her half-sister, the heatedly Catholic Queen Mary (Kathy Burke). The daughter of the second wife of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, and therefore dubbed a bastard by the papists, the Protestant Elizabeth ascends the throne to find the air still thick with smoke from roasted heretics, a team of skulking Catholics plotting her assassination, and a council of advisers (lords, bishops, sundry old boys) who snigger openly at the prospect of taking orders from a woman. Only a strategic marriage to a Spaniard or a Frenchman will mollify all factions, her advisers insist, but the pickings prove dismal. (Her French suitor enjoys wearing dresses.) After skulls are smashed, throats slit, and bosoms skewered in the name of Christ, Elizabeth decides to: a) \"unsex\" herself and become a symbol--the Virgin Queen, married only to England You can't be both a queenly queen and a womanly woman, says the script (by Michael Hirst)--at least not in 1554. (The director, Shekhar Kapur, made the same point in his grim 1994 Indian epic The Bandit Queen , against a backdrop of scrubby plains along the Ganges.) Is this feminist take historically accurate? Probably, although the evidence suggests that Elizabeth had developed a head for stratagems earlier in life (her position had been precarious since the beheading of her mother) and came to the throne with few girlish illusions about How Things Work in a barbarous state. That said, the movie's approach makes for juicy melodrama. The tone of Elizabeth comes nearer to the nihilistic relish of Jacobeans such as John Ford and John Webster than to the more sorrowful horror of the Elizabethan dramatists Ben Jonson and William Shakespeare. It's even closer to a Jacobean drama of our own age: The Godfather (1972), which it emulates by cutting back-and-forth between queen and courtiers in prayer and the roundup and slaughter of Catholics on their privies, in bed with their mistresses, and so on. Their severed heads look on, wide-eyed, as Elizabeth directs her hair to be shorn--images of her girlhood flashing by as her locks rain down--and then walks weightily to her throne, now a chalk-faced gorgon. With all due respect to Blanchett, Bette Davis, and Glenda Jackson, my favorite Elizabeth I remains Miranda Richardson's capricious, baby-talking psychopath on the BBC comedy Blackadder II . (Casting about for a new lord high executioner, she mews to Rowan Atkinson, \"There are thousands of Catholics simply dying to have their heads sneaked off --and there's no one to organize it.\") But Blanchett comes in a close second, pulling off the transition from hapless young woman to coolly ruthless monarch with uncommon subtlety. Gradually expunging all empathy from her moist, pink eyes and permitting her visage to ossify, she gives this carnival of carnage an awe-inspiring center. A more subversive sort of queen is on display in Velvet Goldmine , Todd Haynes' musical fantasia on the early '70s era of \"glam\" or \"glitter\" rock. Here the monarch is a David Bowie-esque singer called Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) and his spidery, space-age alter ego, Maxwell Demon. The movie opens with a spaceship depositing an infant Oscar Wilde on the stoop of a Dublin townhouse. Then it skips ahead to track a jade pin (it signifies hedonistic liberation) from the custody of a young Wilde to a swishy fringe creature called Jack Fairy to the regal Slade, a bisexual superstar who carries the news to all the young dudes. After that, we're in an Orwellian 1984 that's presided over by a vaguely fascist president and by arena rockers who serve as propagandists for a repressively conformist state. Whatever happened to Brian Slade, the glitter kids, the visionary exhibitionists and gleeful poseurs? Borrowing its framework from Citizen Kane , the movie follows a reporter (Christian Bale) assigned to reconstruct Slade's life and solve the mystery of his whereabouts. Martin Brest, the director, is known for shooting a ton of footage and then \"finding\" his films in the editing room. What do you suppose he \"found\" when he scrutinized these miles of celluloid with Pitt doing nothing and taking his sweet time doing it? The first adaptation of this story (originally a play) was the 1934 Death Takes a Holiday , which came in at a perky 78 minutes. A conceit this fragile needs to whiz along to keep our disbelief in suspension, but Meet Joe Black grinds on for three hours (longer than either Beloved or Saving Private Ryan ), and Pitt acts as if he has leased the screen by the year. Anthony Hopkins plays the zillionaire communications baron whom Death enlists in the hope of understanding the human condition--an odd choice for a tour guide, since most people's condition doesn't involve personal helicopters, sprawling mansions on Long Island Sound, or Manhattan apartments that sport Olympic-size swimming pools. Four screenwriters, among them the great Bo Goldman ( Melvin and Howard , 1980 Shoot the Moon , 1982), labored on this moldy script, which features characters who ask questions that begin \"Am I to understand that ...?\" and a corporate villain who directs another character to \"wake up and smell the thorns.\" It apparently never occurred to even one of these overpaid scribes to eliminate Hopkins' rueful realization that he'd \"never write the great American novel\"--no kidding, given his flagrantly Welsh accent. Actually, Hopkins gives this humanistic magnate considerable weight, so that whether or not Death takes him before he can stop to smell the roses and make amends to his neglected children becomes a matter of some suspense. The rest of the cast works with equal fortitude, especially Jeffrey Tambor (Hank \"Hey now!\" Kingsley on The Larry Sanders Show ) as Hopkins' milksop son-in-law and Marcia Gay Harden as his party planning, perpetually wilting elder daughter. As the younger daughter, the dark eyed, spaghetti thin Claire Forlani has to carry the picture's bathos on her exquisite shoulders. Her tremulous thoroughbred act wears thin, but it's hardly her fault: She has to emote like mad opposite a black pit of death--or is that the Black Death of Pitt?\n\n<question>:\nHow does the author feel about the film, Elizabeth?\n\n<options>:\nA the story is well-told but inaccurate\nB it has great acting, but confusing plot\nC it is overall enjoyable to watch\nD the focus of the film takes away from the plot\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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35 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nGRIFTERS' ASTEROID By H. L. GOLD Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought! Johnson asked skeptically: \"How about a sample first?\" tall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing something incoherent. They met in the doorway, violently. \"We're delirious!\" Joe cried. \"It's a mirage!\" Harvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering this juice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously. \"Water—quick!\" Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water so glasses without washing them. \"Where you heading?\" \"Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port?\" Joe asked. \"Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off.\" Harvey grinned puzzledly. \"We didn't take any whiskey.\" Harvey nudged him warningly. \"Easy, my boy, easy.\" He turned to the bartender apologetically. \"Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands are more to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to, Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: \"But what are we to preposterous. We simply can't afford it.\" Johnson's response almost floored them. \"Who said anything about After giving them directions that would take them to the free-water \"Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague?\" said Harvey as he and Joe picked up buckets that hung on the tank. \"Johnson, as I saw instantly, \"Just the same,\" Joe griped, \"paying for water isn't something you can a faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went to \"What's this doing here?\" Harvey asked, puzzled. \"I thought Johnson had But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water and They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample. \"The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on,\" said Harvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. \"Joseph, the good-natured artist in me has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until we have had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from this Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door they stopped and their fists unclenched. The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick and unpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for.... \"Joseph!\" he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. \"Don't you feel well?\" Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes were gently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his features drooping like a bloodhound's. \"Bring him in here!\" Johnson cried. \"I mean, get him away! He's coming ?\" demanded Johnson. \"I come down with it every year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get him out of here!\" Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor and his gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathe in tiny, uncontaminating gasps. Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-hand When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partner waited for the inevitable result. Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for several moments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomed \"Maybe you need another dose,\" Harvey suggested. Joe recoiled. \"I'm fine now!\" he cried, and sprang off the bar to prove it. Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face, \"Medicine,\" Harvey propounded, \"should taste like medicine.\" To Joe he With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed the clearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe dropped mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had been \"But why use it on me?\" Joe demanded furiously. Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. \"Did Johnson ask to taste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to produce the same \"Okay, okay,\" Joe said. \"But you shoulda charged him more.\" \"Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of which that swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables he possesses. We could not be content with less.\" \"Well, we're starting all right,\" admitted Joe. \"How about that thing with six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off?\" Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively. Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carried Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking about food at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. \"It's only water we were short of,\" Harvey said apprehensively. \"We've Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He saw none. \"Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe,\" he said guardedly. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices were whispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in the complained Harvey. \"I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honest Harvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished in Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty with \"You can go to hell!\" Joe growled. \"We won't pay it!\" Johnson sighed ponderously. \"I was afraid you'd act like that,\" he said \"restaurateur,\" pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign to \"It doesn't matter any longer,\" Harvey said with elaborate \"That's right,\" Johnson came back emphatically. \"But what would your \"Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now?\" \"Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable to sell.\" \"Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money would tempt you!\" Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing off asked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at its worst and expects nothing better. \"Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room of Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. \"Aw, Harv,\" he protested, \"do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we were getting the key!\" chance now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who might have more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here.\" Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out. his part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoeba \"Do not jump to hasty conclusions,\" Harvey cautioned. \"Another word, and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had, with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventor of this absolutely awe-inspiring device.\" saying I'll buy, but what is it I'm turning down?\" Again Harvey smashed his fist down. \"Do you dare to repeat the scurvy Johnson recoiled. \"No—no, \"Why, I don't know,\" Johnson said in confusion. \"For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detect the simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosed failed. But that was understandable a sensitive soul like his could stand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure to\n\n<question>:\nWhy do Harvey and Joe change thier plan when confronting Johnson about the water?\n\n<options>:\nA Joe suddenly feels unwell, and Harvey needs to help him.\nB They want to buy Genius, and don't want there to be bad blood.\nC Joseph's son is large and intimidating, and they want to avoid a fight.\nD They don't think they could take Joseph in a fight.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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345 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nTHE AVENGER By STUART FLEMING Karson was creating a superman to fight the weird super-monsters who had invaded Earth. But he was forgetting one tiny thing—like calls to like. things which you call hate, fear, joy and love, as they do not. If I went to Earth, I would use your people to further my knowledge, just as the invaders do. I would have no reason to kill the invaders. They are more nearly kin to me than your people.\" arrangement: I did what Peter wished, so long as I did not actively the machinery, and like Peter. than they were. I did not even wish that Peter were not dead, for satellite, about the Earth endlessly gathering knowledge into its Out there, away from the muffling, distorting, damnable blanket of atmosphere, away from Earth's inexorable gravitational pull, would be a laboratory such as man had never seen. The ship would be filled with the sounds of busy men and women, wresting secrets from the reluctant ether. A new chemistry, a new physics glad that what he had seen was terrible reality rather than even more terrible illusion. INVADERS APPEAR IN BOSTON. 200 DEAD PLANES FROM SAHARA AREA WORLD POLICE MOBILIZING \"The reason for this ... order must be apparent to all civilized peoples. For the Invaders have spared no part of this planet in their reports or my words who have not seen the Invaders, or whose friends have not seen them. \"The peoples of the world, then, know what they are, and know that we face the most momentous struggle in our history. We face an enemy superior to ourselves in every way . \"Since the Invaders first appeared in Wood River, Oregon, 24 hours ago, they have not once acknowledged our attempts to communicate, or in any way taken notice of our existence as reasoning beings. They have treated a newly-discovered race of lower animals. They have not attacked our centers of government, nor immobilized our communications, nor laid siege to our defenses. But in instance after instance, they and this is more intolerable than any normal invasion. \"I have no fear that the people of Earth will fail to meet this challenge, for there is no alternative. Not only our individual lives are threatened, but our existence as a race. We must, and will, destroy the Invaders!\" laboratory. Peter took it in fifteen seconds, running, and stumbled to a halt in front of the door marked \"Radiation.\" She had set her door mechanism to \"Etaoin Shrdlu,\" principally because he hated double-talk. \"What makes, Peter my love?\" she asked, and bent back to the ledger. there's trouble or not. What—\" \"I'm sorry, I forgot,\" he said. \"But you have a scanner?\" helpless protoplasm. The thin moaning that went up from them was more horrible than any cry of agony. \"The Invaders are here, citizens,\" the commentator was saying in a strangled voice. \"Stay off the streets. Hide yourselves. Stay off the streets....\" His voice droned on, but neither of them heard it. \"Peter!\" she said faintly. \"Why do they broadcast such things?\" but they have to do it. This isn't like a war, where the noncombatants' morale has to be kept up. There aren't going to be any noncombatants, this time. Everybody in the world has to know about them, so that he can fight them—and then it may not be enough.\" The viewpoint of the teleo sender changed as the two red beings soared out to switch off the scanner, and froze. The girl felt his muscles tense abruptly, looked back at the scene. The Invaders were floating up the sloping side of a tall, pure white structure that dominated the through the solid wall, or simply melted away. The man and woman clung together, waiting. She was after him, clinging to his arms. \"No, Peter! Don't go in there! Peter! cleared away to make room for an incompleted setup. Peter walked down Peter forced himself forward another step. Little Harry Kanin, In a moment Peter realized what they were doing to him. He stood, especially a woman. But you stood actual mental contact with them \"But where is she?\" Peter complained. \"You still haven't explained why Arnold frowned. \"All right,\" he said. \"I guess you're strong enough to take it. She's underground, with the rest of the women and children, and a good two-thirds of the male population. That's where you'll go, \"But why?\" Peter whispered. Arnold's strong jaw knotted. \"We're hiding,\" he said. \"Everything else has failed.\" Peter couldn't think of anything to say. Dr. Arnold's voice went on \"And since then?\" Peter asked huskily. enough to take care of a quarter of the earth's population, the other three-quarters will be dead, or worse.\" \"I wonder,\" Peter said shakily, \"if I am strong enough to take it.\" \"Our last hope?\" \"Yes. You're a scientist.\" \"I see,\" said Peter. And for the first time, he thought of the The Avenger . He stepped away now, and joined the group a little distance away, silently waiting. \"They'll live, and we'll die, because they're a superior race. We're a million years too far back even to understand what they are or where they came from. Besides them, we're apes. There's only one answer.\" She was crying now, silently, with great racking sobs that shook her or a dozen ears—or a better brain. Out of those millions of possible mutations, there's one that will save the human race. We can't fight them , but a superman could. That's our only chance. Lorelei—darling—don't you see that?\" She choked, \"But why can't you take me along?\" He stared unseeingly past her wet, upturned face. \"You know why,\" he said bitterly. \"Those rays are strong. They don't only work on embryos come back, Peter.\" boys !\" We'll come back, but not as men. We'll come back, but not as octopi. He was trembling violently. He ran the last few steps, stumbled into the airlock, and pressed the stud that would seal the door behind him. Avenger its slow, monstrous alchemy upon him. Peter waited until the changes from the incubators. Time went by, meaninglessly. He ate when he was hungry, slept when his driving purpose let him, and worked unceasingly, searching for the million-to-one chance. He stared sometimes through changed eyes at the tiny blue star that was Earth, wondering if the race he had left behind still burrowed in its worm-tunnels, digging deeper and deeper away from the sunlight. But were searching for.\" His eyes glowed suddenly in their misshapen sockets. \"You are. Your brain is as superior to mine as mine is to an anthropoid's. You solve instinctively problems that would take our mechanical computers hours of work. You are a superman.\" \"I am without your imperfections,\" I said, flexing my arms. He rose and strode nervously over to the window. I watched him as he \"And now,\" he said softly, \"we will go home. I've waited so long—keeping the control chamber and the engine room locked away from you, not telling you, even, about Earth until now—because I had to be sure. But now, the waiting is over. \"They're still there, I'm sure of it—the people, and the Invaders. You can kill the Invaders, Robert.\" He looked at me, a little oddly, almost as if he had some instinctive knowledge of what was to come. But he went on swiftly, \"On Earth we they are. You can understand them, and so you can conquer them.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Peter's mission aboard The Avenger?\n\n<options>:\nA To seek a solution to the aliens out in space.\nB To take the embryos with him and start a new life for humans.\nC To mutate embryos until they come across someone who can fight the aliens.\nD To seek out a \"superman.\" Someone who can face the aliens for them.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,760 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nEarth vast distance did not mean that isolation could endure forever. The history of the planet was slightly it was not much out of the way to swing nearer Earth. For days the two within the ship comment. They had to decide soon. \"We've got to make or break,\" each other—and invent better weapons.\" \"It's not what they've done,\" said Bal, the second alien. \"It's than a hundred light-years to go.\" can spare a week and still get there on time.\" \"A week?\" said Bal. \"To settle in everything they do.\" \"It won't take much,\" said have to be deliberate. A meteor shower could pass over and their was such a planet as Earth.\" to look at them.\" Bal rustled, flicking the screen intently. \"Very much like ourselves,\" he said at last. \"A bit shorter perhaps, and most certainly incomplete. Except for the one thing they lack, and that's us. Is that what you wanted me to say?\" \"It is. The fact that they are an incomplete version of ourselves touches me. They actually seem defenseless, though I suppose they're not.\" \"Tough,\" said Bal. \"Nothing we can do about it.\" \"There is. We can give them nothing in this region of space our people want,\" said Ethaniel. \"And how long can Earth last? Ten years? Even ten months? The tension is building by the hour.\" them over. We're not committing ourselves by looking.\" They went much closer to Earth, not intending to commit themselves. For a day they circled the planet, avoiding radar detection, which for them was not difficult, testing, and sampling. worse than I imagined.\" \"In what way?\" \"Well, we knew they had the were.\" \"I know.\" \"We also knew they could deliver the big bomb, presumably by some sort of aircraft.\" \"That was almost a certainty. They'd have no use for the big bomb without aircraft.\" \"What's worse is that I now find they also have missiles, range one thousand miles and upward. They either have or are near a primitive form of space travel.\" there, wondering when it's going to hit them. Nervousness could set it off.\" \"It could, and the missiles There's so little time,\" Ethaniel said. \"Language isn't the difficulty. Our machines translate \"You could do that and you'd really get to know them. But that takes time—and we don't have it.\" \"I realize that.\" can do for them—but we have to try.\" before. We take the trouble to find out what a people are like and when we can't help them we feel bad. It's going to be that way again.\" He rose and stretched. the ship moved much closer to Earth. They no longer needed instruments revolved outside the visionports. The southern plains were green, coursed with rivers the oceans were blue and much of the northern hemisphere was glistening white. Ragged clouds covered the pole, and a dirty pall spread over the mid-regions of the north. \"I haven't thought of anything \"Nor I,\" said Bal. \"We're going to have to go down there cold. And it will be cold.\" \"Yes. It's their winter.\" \"I did have an idea,\" said Bal. \"What about going down as supernatural hundred years ago it might have worked. Today they have satellites. They are not primitives.\" \"I suppose you're right,\" said Bal. \"I did think we ought to take advantage of our physical differences.\" \"If we could I'd be all for it. But these people are rough and desperate. They wouldn't be fooled by anything that crude.\" what they'll have to do if they're going to survive, how they can keep their planet in one piece so they can live on it.\" \"That'll go over big. Advice is always popular.\" \"None. We leave the ship here and go down in separate landing \"They can't intercept the beams we use.\" \"They can't, and even if they did they wouldn't know what to them to think that we don't need to talk things over.\" \"I get it. Makes us seem better than we are. They think we know exactly what we're doing even though we don't.\" \"If we're lucky they'll think that.\" Bal looked out of the port at the planet below. \"It's going to be cold where I'm going. You too. Sure we don't want to change our plans and land in the southern hemisphere? It's summer there.\" \"I'm afraid not. The great that holiday you mentioned. We'll be running straight into it. That won't help us any.\" \"I know, they don't like their holidays interrupted. It can't be and TV. Now it seems to be chiefly a time for eating, office parties, and selling merchandise.\" holiday.\" \"That's a good description. I didn't get as much of it as I the people, and they're hard to pin down.\" \"I see. I was thinking there might be some way we could tie ourselves in with this holiday. Make it work for us.\" \"They can't touch it. No matter how they develop in the next hundred years they still won't be \"I'll be with you. On the other side of the Earth.\" hurry if things get rough. They don't think much of each other. I don't imagine they'll like aliens any better.\" \"They may be unfriendly,\" Ethaniel acknowledged. Now he switched a monitor screen until he looked at the slope of a mountain. It was snowing and men were cutting small green trees in the snow. \"I've thought of a trick.\" \"If it saves my neck I'm for it.\" \"I don't guarantee anything,\" said Ethaniel. \"This is what I was thinking of: instead of hiding the ship against the sun where there's little chance it will \"Say, pretty good,\" said Bal. \"They can't imagine that we'd no way of checking it. Also, they won't be eager to harm us with our ship shining down on them.\" \"That's thinking,\" said Bal, the darkness of space, pulsating with light, Bal said: \"You know, I feel better about this. We may that he entered a small landing Earth. As soon as it was And the spaceship circled Earth, unmanned, blazing and winter skies of the planet below could equal it in brilliancy. Once a man-made satellite came near Earth to illuminate it. Never, or In five days the two small landing craft that had left it arched up from Earth and joined the orbit of the large ship. The two small craft slid inside the large one and doors closed behind them. In a short time the aliens were going to fail but at the last minute they came through.\" Ethaniel smiled. \"I'm tired,\" he said, rustling. \"Me too, but mostly I'm cold,\" said Bal, shivering. \"Snow. Nothing but snow wherever I went. Miserable climate. And yet you had me go out walking after that first day.\" seemed to be a good idea,\" said Ethaniel. \"If I went out walking one day I noticed that the next day the officials were much more cooperative. If it worked for me I thought it might help you.\" \"It did. I don't know why, but it did,\" said Bal. \"Anyway, this agreement they made isn't the best but I think it will keep them from destroying themselves.\" \"It's as much as we can expect,\" said Ethaniel. \"They may \"Why?\" knelt in the snow and called me at them and went about my business.\" He shivered again. \"It was always cold. I walked out, but sometimes I flew back. I hope that was all right.\" In the cabin Bal spread his great wings. Renaissance painters had never seen his like but their paintings they had pictured him innumerable times. \"I don't think it hurt us that out. Some creature of their folklore I suppose. You know, except for our wings they're very much like ourselves. Their legends are bound to resemble ours.\" \"Sure,\" said Bal. \"Anyway, peace on Earth.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy did the aliens decide to land during wintertime?\n\n<options>:\nA They did not have enough gas to circle back in the summer time.\nB They preferred the cold in the northern hemisphere to the heat of the southern hemisphere.\nC They had to land now, and went where they could identify the best people to talk to.\nD Their clothing fit in better in colder climates.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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389 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nStart by asking whether human beings have a right to reproduce. I say \"yes.\" I have no moral right to tell other people they shouldn't be able to have children, and I don't see that Bill Clinton has that right either. When Clinton says, \"Let us resist the temptation to copy ourselves,\" it comes from a man not known for resisting other temptations of the flesh. And for a politician, making noise about cloning is pretty close to a fleshly temptation itself. It's an easy way to show sound-bite leadership on an issue that everybody is talking about, without much risk of bitter consequences. After all, how much federally funded research was stopped by this ban? Probably almost none, because Clinton has maintained Ronald Reagan's policy of minimizing federal grants for research in human reproduction. Besides, most researchers thought cloning humans was impossible--so, for the moment, there's unlikely to be a grant-request backlog. There is nothing like banning the nonexistent to show true leadership. The cloning procedure is similar to IVF. The only difference is that the DNA of sperm and egg would be replaced by DNA from an adult cell. What law or principle--secular, humanist, or religious--says that one combination of genetic material in a flask is OK, but another is not? No matter how closely you study the 1 st century texts, I don't think you'll find the answer. Even if people have the right to do it, is cloning a good idea? Suppose that every prospective parent in the world stopped having children naturally, and instead produced clones of themselves. What would the world be like in another 20 or 30 years? The answer is: much like today. Cloning would only copy the genetic aspects of people who are already here. Hating a world of clones is hating the current populace. Never before was Pogo so right: We have met the enemy, and he is us ! Adifferent scare scenario is a world filled with copies of famous people only. We'll treat celebrity DNA like designer clothes, hankering for Michael Jordan's genes the way we covet his Nike sneakers today. But even celebrity infatuation has its limits. People are not more taken with celebrities than they are with themselves. Besides, such a trend would correct itself in a generation or two, because celebrity is closely linked to rarity. The world seems amused by one Howard Stern, but give us a hundred or a million of them, and they'll seem a lot less endearing. Clones already exist. About one in every 1,000 births results in a pair of babies with the same DNA. We know them as identical twins. Scientific studies on such twins--reared together or apart--show that they share many characteristics. Just how many they share is a contentious topic in human biology. But genetic determinism is largely irrelevant to the cloning issue. Despite how many or how few individual characteristics twins--or other clones--have in common, they are different people in the most fundamental sense . They have their own identities, their own thoughts, and their own rights. Should you be confused on this point, just ask a twin. One recurring image in anti-cloning propaganda is of some evil dictator raising an army of cloned warriors. Excuse me, but who is going to raise such an army (\"raise\" in the sense used by parents)? Clones start out life as babies . Armies are far easier to raise the old fashioned way--by recruiting or drafting naive young adults. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori has worked well enough to send countless young men to their deaths through the ages. Why mess with success? The notion of an 80-year-old man cloning himself to cheat death is quaint, but it is unrealistic. First, the baby wouldn't really be him. Second, is the old duffer really up to changing diapers? A persistent octogenarian might convince a younger couple to have his clone and raise it, but that is not much different from fathering a child via a surrogate mother. Fear of clones is just another form of racism. We all agree it is wrong to discriminate against people based on a set of genetic characteristics known as \"race.\" Calls for a ban on cloning amount to discrimination against people based on another genetic trait--the fact that somebody already has an identical DNA sequence. The most extreme form of discrimination is genocide--seeking to eliminate that which is different. In this case, the genocide is pre-emptive--clones are so scary that we must eliminate them before they exist with a ban on their creation. What is so special about natural reproduction anyway? Cloning is the only predictable way to reproduce, because it creates the identical twin of a known adult. Sexual reproduction is a crap shoot by comparison--some random mix of mom and dad. In evolutionary theory, this combination is thought to help stir the gene pool, so to speak. However, evolution for humans is essentially over, because we use medical science to control the death rate. Whatever the temptations of cloning, the process of natural reproduction will always remain a lot more fun. An expensive and uncomfortable lab procedure will never offer any real competition for sex. The people most likely to clone will be those in special circumstances--infertile couples who must endure IVF anyway, for example. Even there, many will mix genetics to mimic nature. Another special case is where one member of a couple has a severe genetic disease. They might choose a clone of the healthy parent, rather than burden their child with a joint heritage that could be fatal. The most upsetting possibility in human cloning isn't superwarriors or dictators. It's that rich people with big egos will clone themselves. The common practice of giving a boy the same name as his father or choosing a family name for a child of either sex reflects our hunger for vicarious immortality. Clones may resonate with this instinct and cause some people to reproduce this way. So what? Rich and egotistic folks do all sorts of annoying things, and the law is hardly the means with which to try and stop them. The \"deep ethical issues\" about cloning mainly boil down to jealousy. Economic jealousy is bad enough, and it is a factor here, but the thing that truly drives people crazy is sexual jealousy. Eons of evolution through sexual selection have made the average man or woman insanely jealous of any interloper who gains a reproductive advantage--say by diddling your spouse. Cloning is less personal than cuckoldry, but it strikes a similar chord: Someone has got the reproductive edge on you. Once the fuss has died down and further animal research has paved the way, direct human cloning will be one more option among many specialized medical interventions in human reproduction, affecting only a tiny fraction of the population. Research into this area could bring far wider benefits. Clinton's knee-jerk policy changes nothing in the short run, but it is ultimately a giant step backward. In using an adult cell to create a clone, the \"cellular clock\" that determines the difference between an embryo and adult was somehow reset. Work in this area might help elucidate the process by which aging occurs and yield a way to reset the clocks in some of our own cells, allowing us to regenerate. Selfishly speaking, that would be more exciting to me than cloning, because it would help me . That's a lot more directly useful than letting me sire an identical twin 40 years my junior.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the underlying defence that the writer has in defence of cloning?\n\n<options>:\nA There is nothing to fear about it. It can't be used for evil, and there is no evidence suggesting it will affect us negatively.\nB There is nothing intrinsically unnatural or immoral about it. Science supports it, and we already owe ourselves to previous new methodologies.\nC It will be a great way to continue the populace. It will give people different options in terms of raising children, and even continuing their own lives vicariously through their clones.\nD It is going to happen anyway, so people may as well accept it for what it is and move on.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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2,075 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nsend the intruder on his way. Keech and the little people just stood by the entire problem all but whipped. It is not difficult to understand why. houlihan's that the small people with their quick eyes and clever fingers could The working model and the fact spot all sorts of minute shortcomings was a great help. And I was equation by ... Walt Sheldon On the sixteenth day I covered a each other to hush, be quiet, and the soft breeze stirring them up again. I had known precisely such piece of paper with tiny mathematical symbols and handed it to Keech. \"Thank you, Mr. Houlihan,\" said \"Mr. Houlihan,\" said Keech, us control, we would have lacked a workable equation when we set about putting the first moon rocket \"And now, Mr. Houlihan,\" said around those extraordinary engines \"Well,\" said Keech in surprise, and in some awe, too, \"well, now, musha Lord help us! 'Tis the first time I ever heard such a speech from a mortal.\" He turned to his what the drive amounts to despite now, do you hear, for Mr. Houlihan—friend which nuclear salts have been previously dissolved—this small factor of the little people as to weary you. Perhaps you had better take my word for it that without this equation—correctly stated, mind you—mankind would be well advised not And I lit my pipe and smoked it slowly and chuckled to myself at how I had gotten the best of the little people. Surely it was not every mortal who could accomplish that. I had given them the wrong equation, of course. They would never get their spaceship to work now, and had not been a specialist in my field I would hardly have found myself engaged in vital research at the But I am, after all, a scientist. If I measures to prevent it, for I had the advantage of being able to see them. first it might be children at play, but then at the time I was a bit absent-minded. I tiptoed to the edge of the trees, not wanting to deprive any small scalawags of their pleasure, determined the true coefficient of discharge, which I never could have I saw? Not children, but a group of little people, hard at work. There was a leader, an older one Equation, and that was honor and glory enough for me. I could with a crank face. He was beating There was no sense in cheating him out of the gold to boot, for leprechauns are most clever in matters of this sort and he would have had it back soon enough—or else made it a burden in some way. Indeed, I had done a piece of work greatly to my advantage, and also to the advantage of humankind, and when a man can do the first and include the second as a fortunate byproduct become convinced they could never For if I had shown the little people on my tenth birthday. And I had how to make a spaceship they would have left our world. And \"Come along now, people!\" said this crotchety one, looking straight work! You'll not be needin' to mind that man standin' there! You know he can't see nor hear us!\" Oh, it was good to hear the rich old tongue again. I smiled, and the foreman of the leprechauns—if that's what he was—saw me smile and became stiff and alert for a moment, as though suspecting that perhaps I actually could see him. Then he shrugged and turned away, clearly deeming such a thing impossible. I said, \"Just a minute, friend, little souls. They began to scurry little creatures!\" But the glade was silent, and they had all disappeared. They thought I catch one and keep him. Or so the wanted to talk to the little people. and looked about the glade. I knew they were all hiding nearby, watching me apprehensively. I lifted my head to them. \"Listen to me now, little people!\" I called out. \"My name's Houlihan of the Roscommon Houlihans. father used to say! Come on out now, and pass the time o' day!\" Then I waited, but they didn't answer. The little people always had been shy. Yet without reaching a decision in so many words I knew had to talk to them. I was so lonely that my mind had become clogged. I knew that if I could just once hear the old tongue again, and talk about the old things, I might be able to think the problem through to a satisfactory conclusion. And with that the little people suddenly appeared. The leader—he seemed more wizened and bent than before—approached me slowly and warily as I stood there. The others all followed at a safe distance. I smiled to reassure \"And mine's Houlihan, as I've \"Mr. Houlihan,\" said Keech, too acutely aware of the perversity of human nature.\" \"Yes,\" I said. \"Well, as you will Houlihan.\" Houlihan. And afterward we'll appreciate \"That's exactly what's got me curious.\" The others had edged in a bit now and were standing in a circle, group of little people be building a the little people. It happens every astonish me.\" \"And why wouldn't I know a \"A doctor of science, now,\" said Keech. \"Invited by the American government to work on the first moon can advise you of it.\" \"A scientist, is it,\" said Keech. has just now crossed my mind, Mr. Houlihan that you, being a scientist, might be of help to us.\" \"How?\" I asked. \"Well, I might try starting at the beginning,\" he replied. \"But continue.\" \"We had to come here,\" said Keech, \"to learn how to make a knows.\" \"Myself included,\" I agreed. \"Then why do you need a spaceship?\" I scratched my cheek. \"How would a man unravel a statement such as that?\" \"It's very simple. With all the super weapons you mortals have developed, there's the distinct possibility that possibility,\" I said. \"Well, then, as I say,\" said Keech, \"the little people have decided now. We've spied upon you and learned how to do it. Well—almost how to do it. We haven't learned yet how to control the power—\" \"Hold on, now,\" I said. \"Leaving working on that. 'Tis not our concern. I was inclined to suggest the thought it was by the Russians. There's one thing which puzzles center. later, if they tried to spy out the \"A nuclear engineer.\" \"Well, then, it may be that you can help us—now that you know we're here.\" \"Help you?\" \"The power control, Mr. Houlihan. As I understand it, 'tis necessary right information I would take special in eerily mysterious fashion with a to know at any instant exactly chorus of small voices. I thought at \"Whatever it might be named,\" said Keech, shrugging. \"'Tis the one thing we lack. I suppose eventually you people will be gettin' around to it. But meanwhile we \"And you want me to help you with this?\" \"Well, now, Keech,\" I said finally, \"why should I help you?\" \"Ha!\" said Keech, grinning, but not with humor, \"the avarice of humans! I knew it! Well, Mr. Houlihan, I'll give you reason enough. The pot o' gold, Mr. Houlihan!\" us how to make our ship work.\" \"Well, now, that's quite an offer,\" I said. Keech had the goodness his working model. It would go down in scientific about the whole project. It was a most fascinating session. I had often wished for a true working had been inserted in the budget for it. Keech brought me paper and pencil and I talked with the aid of diagrams, as engineers are wont to do. Although the pencils were small and I had to hold as you would a needle, I was able to make many sensible observations and even a few innovations. do without Keech's pot of gold, was comfortable enough. Every once in a while someone from the town of day, and then, in subtle fashion,\n\n<question>:\nWhy of these is not a reason Houlihan agreed to help the little people?\n\n<options>:\nA He saw it as an opportunity to clear his head about his own work\nB He figured their ship could act as a test case for his work\nC He felt a kinship with them because of his family's history\nD He figured he was the only one with knowledge to help them solve their problem\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nNebula McCray found an ally—and a foe! thought, very much like the parts of a bullet-gun. \"Herrell McCray, Herrell McCray, Herrell McCray, this is Jodrell Bank calling Herrell McCray....\" And louder, blaring, then fading to normal volume as the AVC circuits panic and fear: \" Jodrell Bank! Where are you? Help!\" and a number of inconvenient sizes. McCray tripped over something Hatcher's second in command said: \"He has got through the first McCray had no idea where he was, and no way to find out. but it was not the pain that disturbed Hatcher, seemed to be in pain \"I know,\" Hatcher said, \"but watch. Do you see? He is going straight toward her.\" Hatcher, who was not human, did not possess truly human emotions But the room itself was hard fact. McCray swore violently and out loud. he did feel amazement when he was amazed, and fear when there was but Starship Jodrell Bank to this damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out to hurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud in exasperation: \"If I could only see !\" Hatcher knew that this was not a freak show, but a matter of life and \"This new one, I cannot communicate with her, but I get—almost—a Hatcher hesitated. \"No,\" he said at last. \"The male is responding well. death. He said, musing: the female—\" \"But?\" The woman's voice was at such close range that McCray's suit radio made Jodrell Bank McCray was hardly surprised at that , an explosion, himself knocked himself. He tried to reassure her as he searched for a way out of the out, brought here in a suit ... well, it was an explanation with more he had been close enough to shock McCray regarded it grimly. He went back in his memory with meticulous suit? It was slightly reassuring, McCray thought, to find that most of McCray was beginning to feel more confident. It was astonishing how a had happened to him, but what had happened to the ship? McCray grinned into the pink-lit darkness. The thought had somehow For before the light had gone, McCray had seen what had escaped moment of study, his chest. McCray could not see any part of his own body at all. Someone was watching Herrell McCray, with the clinical fascination antibiotic—and with the prayerful emotions of a starving, shipwrecked, sailor, watching the inward bobbing drift of a wave-born cask that may Hatcher was not exactly male, because his race had no true males it did have females and he was certainly not that. Hatcher did not in If Hatcher and McCray had somehow managed to strike up an acquaintance, they might have got along very well. Hatcher, like McCray, was an of his culture. Both enjoyed games—McCray baseball, poker and Hatcher's principal task at this moment was to run the \"probe team\" which had McCray under observation, and he was more than a little The probe team had had a shock. \"Paranormal powers,\" muttered Hatcher's second in command, and the others mumbled agreement. Hatcher ordered silence, studying the watch McCray, and they would do their job and even more, not one of them could have looked away to save his life from the spectacle of Hatcher hurried through the halls of the great buried structure in Hatcher identified himself and gave a quick, concise report: about communicating with him, Hatcher? Any progress?\" Still, Hatcher fretted. He wanted to get back. biophysical nuances of his enclosure —\"and tried to guess his needs and we're frightening him half to death. We can't go faster. This creature is in no way similar to us, you know. He relies on paranormal forces—heat, light, kinetic energy—for his life. His chemistry is not ours, his processes of thought are not ours, his entire organism is closer to the inanimate rocks of a sea-bottom than to ourselves.\" \"But in a \"Have they secured a subject?\" Hatcher demanded jealously. There was a moment's silence. Frozen, Hatcher could only wait. The again, each council member poised over his locus-point, his members Hatcher returned to his laboratory gloomily. they had a reputation for demanding results at any cost—even at the cost of destroying the only thing you had that would make results possible. be said that he was emotionally involved it was not pity or sympathy communication. Not even Hatcher had quite got over the revolting Hatcher did not want him destroyed. It had been difficult enough Hatcher checked through the members that he had left with the rest of took time to eat. In Hatcher's race this was accomplished in ways not Hatcher caught and poured into a disposal trough at the side of the reported—nothing new—and asked about Hatcher's appearance before the ages past, had almost destroyed Hatcher's people. Only by running and But it seemed that the Probe Teams themselves might be betraying their existence to their enemies— \"Hatcher!\" second in command, very excited. \"What is it?\" Hatcher demanded. Hatcher was patient At what passed among Hatcher's people for a viewing console an image Hatcher was startled. \"Another one! And—is it a different species? Or Hatcher studied him frostily And then, in a completely different mood, \"We may need him badly. We may be in the process of killing our first one now.\" Hatcher rose and shook himself, his mindless members floating away like The dark was absolute, but he remembered where the spacesuit had been For a second he thought he heard the far-off voice, quiet, calm and almost hopeless, that he had sensed hours before but then that was a very faint, an almost inaudible elfin hiss. McCray switched the light on and looked around. There seemed to be no amazement in its tone, \"McCray, is that you? Where the devil are you He forgot smell, sound and temperature and leaped for the suit. \"This is Herrell McCray,\" he cried. \"I'm in a room of some sort, apparently \"McCray!\" cried the tiny voice in his ear. \"Where are you? This is \"I am answering, damn it,\" he roared. \"What took you so long?\" \"Herrell McCray,\" droned the tiny voice in his ear, \"Herrell McCray, acknowledge please. Herrell McCray, Herrell McCray....\" McCray took a deep breath and thought. Something was wrong. Either they they had message implied McCray thumbed down the transmitter button and gave a concise report Hurriedly McCray scrambled into the suit. By the time he was sealed down he was coughing from the bottom of his lungs, deep, tearing rasps that pained him, uncontrollable. Chlorine or fluorine, one of them was in the air he had been breathing. He could not guess where it had come from but it was ripping his lungs out. He flushed the interior of the suit out with a reckless disregard for daring only shallow gasps that made him retch and gag. After a long in dense air, with conduction pouring energy in faster than the cooling coils could suck it out and hurl it away, it was the McCray had no way of knowing just how hot it was going to get. Nor, for that matter, had the suit been designed to operate in a corrosive McCray caught it up and headed for the door. It felt good in his do next all those questions could recede into the background of his mind while he swung the ax and battered his way out of this poisoned oven. Crash-clang! The double jolt ran up the shaft of the ax, through his McCray got the thin of the blade into the crack and pried it wide. McCray put the broad of his back against the broken door and pressed it as nearly closed as he could it might not keep the gas and heat out, but it would retard them. The room was again unlighted—at least to McCray's eyes. There was not\n\n<question>:\nWhat feeling did McCray and Hatcher both feel at least once during this article?\n\n<options>:\nA Alarm\nB Excitement\nC Confidence\nD Rage\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAI: what's the worst that could happen? The Centre for the Future of Intelligence is seeking to investigate the implications of artificial intelligence for humanity, and make sure humans take advantage of the opportunities while dodging the risks. It launched at the University of Cambridge last October, and is a collaboration between four universities and colleges – Cambridge, Oxford, Imperial and Berkeley – backed with a 10-year, £10m grant from the Leverhulme Trust. Stephen Cave: Thinking about the impact of AI is not something that any one discipline owns or does in any very systematic way. So if academia is going to rise to the challenge and provide thought leadership on this hugely important issue, then we’re going to need to do it by breaking down current disciplinary boundaries and bringing people with very different expertise together. That means bringing together the technologists and the experts at developing these algorithms together with social scientists, philosophers, legal scholars and so forth. I think there are many areas of science where more interdisciplinary engagement would be valuable. Biotech’s another example. In that sense AI isn’t unique, but I think because thinking about AI is still in very early stages, we have an opportunity to shape the way in which we think about it, and build that community. At a recent talk, Naomi Klein said that addressing the challenge of climate change could not have come at a worse time. The current dominant political and economic ideologies, along with growing isolationist sentiment, runs contrary to the bipartisan, collaborative approaches needed to solve global issues like climate change. Do you see the same issues hampering a global effort to respond to the challenges AI raises? Climate change suffers from the problem that the costs are not incurred in any direct way by the industrialists who own the technology and are profiting from it. With AI, that has been the case so far although not on the same scale. There has been disruption but so far, compared to industrialisation, the impact has been fairly small. That will probably change. AI companies, and in particular the big tech companies, are very concerned that this won't go like climate change, but rather it will go like GMOs: that people will have a gut reaction to this technology as soon as the first great swathe of job losses take hold. People speculate that 50m jobs could be lost in the US if trucking is automated, which is conceivable within 10 years. You could imagine a populist US government therefore simply banning driverless cars. So I think there is anxiety in the tech industry that there could be a serious reaction against this technology at any point. And so my impression is that there is a feeling within these companies that these ethical and social implications need to be taken very seriously, now. And that a broad buy-in by society into some kind of vision of the future in which this technology plays a role is required, if a dangerous – or to them dangerous – counteraction is to be avoided. My personal experience working with these tech companies is that they are concerned for their businesses and genuinely want to do the right thing. Of course there are intellectual challenges and there is money to be made, but equally they are people who don't think when they get up in the morning that they're going to put people out of jobs or bring about the downfall of humanity. As the industry matures it's developing a sense of responsibility. But luckily, we have got to that point in recent years of accepting that we are not the only form of intelligence. But now, AI is challenging that from a different direction. Just as we are accepting that the natural world offers this enormous range of different intelligences, we are at the same time inventing new intelligences that are radically different to humans. And I think, still, this anthropomorphic picture of the kind of humanoid android, the robot, dominates our idea of what AI is too much. And too many people, and the industry as well, talk about human-level artificial intelligence as a goal, or general AI, which basically means like a human. But actually what we're building is nothing like a human. When the first pocket calculator was made, it didn't do maths like a human. It was vastly better. It didn't make the occasional mistake. When we set about creating these artificial agents to solve these problems, because they have a completely different evolutionary history to humans, they solve problems in very different ways. And until now, people have been fairly shy about describing them as intelligent. Or rather, in the history of AIs, we think solving a particular problem would require intelligence. Then we solve it. And then that's no longer intelligence, because we've solved it. Chess is a good example. But the reality is, we are creating a whole new world of different artificial agents. And we need to understand that world. We need to understand all the different ways of being clever, if you like. How you can be extremely sophisticated at some particular rational process, and yet extremely bad at another one in a way that bears no relation to the way humans are on these axes. And this is important, partly because we need to expand our sense of what is intelligent, like we have done with the natural world. Because lots of things follow from saying something is intelligent. Historically, we have a long tradition in Western philosophy of saying those who are intelligent should rule. So if intelligence equates to power, then obviously we need to think about what we mean by intelligence. Who has it and who doesn't. Or how it equates to rights and responsibilities. But at the same time, we're competitive and murderous. We have a strong sense of in-group versus out-group, which is responsible for both a great deal of cooperation, within the in-group, but also terrible crimes. Murder, rape, pillage, genocide and they're pointed at the out-group. And so I think it's very natural for us to see AIs in terms of agents. We anthropomorphise them as these kind of android robots. And then we think about, well, you know, are they part of our in-group, or are they some other group? If they're some other group, it's us against them. Who's going to win? Well, let's see. So I think that's very natural, I think that's very human. There is this long tradition, in Western culture in particular, with associating intelligence and dominance and power. It's interesting to speculate about how, and I wish I knew more about it, and I'd like to see more research on this, about how different cultures perceive AI. It's well known that Japan is very accepting of technology and robots, for example. You can think, well, we in the West have long been justifying power relations of a certain kind on the basis that we're 'cleverer'. That's why men get to vote and women don't, or whatever. In a culture where power is not based on intelligence but, say, on a caste system, which is purely hereditary, we’d build an AI, and it would just tune in, drop out, attain enlightenment, just sit in the corner. Or we beg it to come back and help us find enlightenment. It might be that we find a completely different narrative to the one that's dominant in the West. One of the projects the centre is running is looking into what kind of AI breakthroughs may come, when and what the social consequences could be. What do you think the future holds? What are your fears – what do you think could go right and wrong in the short, medium and long term? That's a big question. Certainly I don't lie awake at night worried that robots are going to knock the door down and come in with a machine gun. If the robots take over the world, it won't be by knocking the door down. At the moment, I think it's certainly as big a risk that we have a GMO moment, and there's a powerful reaction against the technology which prevents us from reaping the benefits, which are enormous. I think that's as big a risk as the risks from the technologies themselves.\n\n<question>:\nWhen does Stephen Cave think the general public will react to the role of AI?\n\n<options>:\nA Once they realize they can lose money if they are not in the AI industry\nB Once they realize that AI can be dangerous\nC Once they think jobs are being lost to AIs\nD Once the AI companies have a larger share of the general market\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nMachines in the Garden But then, \"soft\" is not a word you can apply to Princess Mononoke , however pantheistic its worldview. The film, which is rated PG-13, is full of splattery carnage. If Miyazaki in long shot is contemplative, in close-up he's ferocious. He's both inside and outside the action: He knows when to rock your world and when to induce a state of sorrowful detachment. According to the New York Times , Toy Story animators screened reels of his work when their imaginations flagged, and writers for Star Trek named an alien species after one of his features. Watching Princess Mononoke --which has been dubbed to Disney/Miramax specifications by American and English stars but retains its two-hour-plus length, its gory beheadings, and its grim, near-apocalyptic finale--you can understand their worship. It isn't that Miyazaki's work is technically so dazzling in this age of digitized miracles it's that everything is sublimely in proportion. The movie has a scope that makes Hollywood's homiletic, follow-your-dream fables look even more solipsistic. Miyazaki is after nothing less than the moment in our history (the film is set in the 14 th and 15 th centuries) when the power shifted from a \"natural\" world to one shaped by human technology. It's the beginning of what Bill McKibben called \"the end of nature\"--that is, when nature became no longer an autonomous, self-regulating force but one touched (and, in Miyazaki's view, poisoned) by human industry. The hero, Ashitaka, a warrior from the isolationist Emishi clan, is forced in the first scene to kill a marauding boar--a god turned into a demon (covered in roiling, corrosive worms) by an iron ball lodged in its body. Infected, destined to be consumed by--and to die of--rage, Ashitaka leaves his village in search of the iron ball's source. He discovers a fortress-cum-arms-manufacturing plant called Irontown, presided over by one of the most complex villains in modern film: the regal Lady Eboshi. On one hand, she's a benevolent industrialist who presides over a warmly matriarchal society they'd like to eat him. The wolf god, Moro, is slightly more sympathetic, but that's because her adopted \"daughter,\" San (a k a Princess Mononoke), is human. San is first seen sucking a wound of her huge wolf mother, then, as the gore drips from her mouth, training her dark eyes on Ashitaka with feral hatred. Her second appearance--a lone attack on Irontown to assassinate Lady Eboshi--is one of the movie's high points. It's Miyazaki's use of sound--and silence--that takes your breath away: the determined tap of the wolf princess's shoes as she scuttles over the fortress's rooftops the silence of Eboshi and her army as they stare at this tiny yet formidable tomboy against the black sky. Their battle is so furious that the blades streak and lose definition--it's almost subliminal. It's a shame that the wolf princess warms up to Ashitaka and spends the rest of the film either saving him or being saved by him. She loses that punk-bitch allure. The voice of Claire Danes doesn't help. When Danes says, \"I'd do anything to get you humans out of my forest,\" she sounds like a Valley Girl peeved over lack of parking spaces at the mall. (San needs a more ragged voice--I'd be interested to hear the original Japanese actress.) Billy Crudup is just as Disneyfied (Miramaxed?), but that doesn't hurt as much because Ashitaka is conceived from the start as a rather bland ingénu. Gillian Anderson's growling Moro sounds silly (she doesn't have the breath control), and the fey-hick tones of Billy Bob Thornton are too recognizable as the Akim Tamiroff-like mercenary, Jigo. But Minnie Driver--coming off a triumphantly dizzy Jane in Tarzan --once again provides a voice that the animators deserve. \"Bring the strange-ah to me late-ah,\" she commands in sexy Martian Queen cadences that will stir the loins of Flash Gordon fans everywhere. \"I would like to thank him puh-sonally.\" The overfamiliar voices nudge Princess Mononoke closer to its American counterparts--but not by a lot. There's always something wondrously strange. The \"kodamas\" are little tree spirits on doughboy bodies. They cock their trapezoidal dice heads and emit a series of clicks then their heads pop back with a conclusive rattle. Something about them seems just right I could watch them for hours. (Miyazaki limits their appearances to seconds--he doesn't wear out their mystery the way that, say, George Lucas would.) And no Hollywood animated feature would end with such a powerful vision of apocalypse, as the land is bestridden by a colossus dropping a thick, caustic, tarlike gel that recalls the post-Hiroshima \"black rain.\" Can you take the kids? I think so. As Miyazaki said at a New York Film Festival press conference, \"Children understand intuitively that the world they have been born into is not a blessed world.\" Princess Mononoke , at least, can tell them why. Directors of violent genre pieces like Craven (who got this mainstream gig in return for doing the Scream sequels) or Carl Franklin or Sam Raimi sometimes want so badly to belong to Establishment Hollywood--to go to the Academy Awards--that they neuter themselves. Bending over backward to show how sensitive they can be, they forget that violence--even if it's just emotional violence--belongs in \"ordinary\" dramas, too. Craven does good work with the young actors in the classroom scenes, but the film has a reticence common to most biopics and a mushy, TV-movie humanism that blands out its texture. OK, I was a puddle after some scenes, like the one where Guaspari pushes a student to get her to improve her posture and discovers that the girl is wearing a leg brace. But how much more emotional the Carnegie Hall climax would have been if instead of suddenly seeing these East Harlem kids on stage with Perlman, Stern, Joshua Bell, etc., we'd seen them rehearsing first and struggling to keep up. There's too much music of the heart and not enough music of the callused fingers. Soderbergh is one of those rare filmmakers who learn on the job. Working within a tight genre structure, he's discovering hundreds of ways of editing a given scene that can give it the richness of a novel. Is he totally successful? No he misses now and then, which is why the technique sticks out. But what a fantastic effort. See it and weep for what's missing in most other movies.\n\n<question>:\nTo which director does the film reviewer offer the most praise?\n\n<options>:\nA Sam Raimi\nB Steven Soderbergh\nC Wes Craven\nD Hayao Miyazaki\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
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"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThis week, soft-porn entrepreneur Ron Harris began auctioning the eggs of fashion models on the Internet. His site, ronsangels.com (named after the 1970s' babe show Charlie's Angels ), invites visitors to \"bid on eggs from beautiful, healthy and intelligent women.\" Like Dr. Richard Seed, who recently declared his intention to clone human beings, Harris has attracted the attention of the media and politicians who are \"looking into\" whether he can be stopped. Most people agree that Harris is a creep and that his site is an outrage. What they don't agree on is why. Here's what the critics have to say about the auction--and each other. 1. Egg auctions will produce designer babies. Harris cites his experience as a horse breeder and asks, \"We bid for everything else in this society--why not eggs?\" Alarmists, agreeing that Harris \"can put you into your own designer baby by selling eggs,\" predict that his success will steer \"the future of human breeding\" toward \"genetic engineering.\" 3. Egg auctions will promote the survival of the fittest. Doomsayers predict that once \"beautiful eggs are available strictly to people who are willing to spend an ungodly sum for them,\" the rich will transform themselves into a \"super-race\" reminiscent of the Nazis. To this, Harris replies, \"It is not our intention to suggest that we make a super society of only beautiful people. This site simply mirrors our current society, in that beauty usually goes to the highest bidder.\" But this reply only fuels concern that gradually, society will separate into \"genetic haves and have nots.\" 4. Egg auctions will promote the survival of the unfittest. Harris writes that only men with \"substantial financial resources\" are fit to give his models' offspring \"a financially secure and stable life.\" But skeptics wonder whether women who sell their eggs to the highest bidder--and men who buy these eggs for the sole purpose of spawning good-looking children--may produce children just as dysfunctional as themselves. As Calgary Sun columnist Sydney Sharpe put it, \"Any woman ... who enters into this mephistophelian pact has a few screws loose. Maybe her kid will, too. Not to mention the buyers who sign her up.\" 5. Egg auctions will fail to promote the survival of the unfittest. Many models, if not most, have had cosmetic surgery. A model who is perfectly ruthless will conceal this fact when selling her eggs. (One of Harris' \"angels\" has already been caught lying about her age.) How does Harris know whether his models have had collagen injections and nose jobs? \"There's no way to know that. You can ask the girl and hope she tells you the truth,\" he says. Annas concludes that since there's \"no way to know how much of their beauty is a product of their genes, plastic surgery, a makeup artist, or exercise,\" only a \"naive\" person would buy their eggs on the basis of the photographs displayed on the site. \"You don't want to see the models,\" he points out. \"You want to see pictures of their parents.\" On this theory, children produced by the egg auction are likely to be the offspring of liars on one side and fools on the other. 9. The auction exploits desperate buyers. Harris preaches pure capitalism, saying it's \"unfair to put a limit on a girl's ability to make money\" by auctioning her eggs. In turn, fertility clinic operators accuse Harris of \"taking advantage of couples trying to conceive\" and exploiting \"desperate people ... susceptible to the dreams he is trying to sell.\" USA Today laments, \"This is about human need. And human greed.\" 10. The auction exploits desperate sellers. By late Monday, Harris had only a handful of bids, and only one was verified as legitimate. On the other hand, 50 women had asked him to put their eggs up for auction. Gradually, the media concluded that the donors were the true victims. USA Today described the models as \"struggling actresses,\" reported that they were unaware of the health risks of donating eggs, and quoted one as saying, \"I'd rather do this than do Playboy or Penthouse .\" Harris' sole verified bidder told the paper that selling eggs was \"better than prostitution.\" Harris constantly refers to the donors as his \"girls\" and describes them like cattle--\"We have a legitimate bid of $42,000 on one of the girls.\" He gets a 20 percent commission on each winning bid, though he takes no responsibility for executing financial transactions or medical procedures. \"We have no control over the quality, safety or legality of the items advertised, the truth or accuracy of the listings, the ability of sellers to sell items or the ability of buyers to buy items,\" he stipulates. His role, he explains, is simply to \"find beautiful girls, take beautiful photographs of them, [and] put them up on the Web.\" To some critics, the mystery isn't, as Harris suggests, how women throughout history have exploited their sexual power over men, but how pimps like him have come away with the profit. 11. The auction exploits voyeurs. The Washington Post thinks Harris isn't targeting either buyers or sellers. He's not serious about selling eggs, says the Post . He's just using the sex appeal of his models and the intriguing perversity of a human egg auction to drum up publicity and attract Internet traffic to his site, from which he can sell advertising and subscriptions ($24.95 a month to view profiles of the models), hawk his forthcoming book ( Naked Power ), and direct prurient visitors to his various porn sites. A spokesman for fertility doctors suspects that ronsangels.com is really aimed at \"adolescent boys.\" 14. Egg buyers will reap unintended consequences. Sophisticated skeptics point out that Harris' application of Darwin's theories to human professional success overlooks the interaction of genetics and human psychology. To begin with, if a child produced by Harris' auction fails to turn out as pretty as the buyer expected, the buyer may shun the child, or the child may grow to hate herself for disappointing her parents. (On the Today show, Harris said of this theory, \"That's a pretty cynical view of human nature.\") Second, if the child turns out pretty but doesn't want to be a beauty queen, her parents may force her in that direction anyway, thereby stifling her true talents and preventing her from becoming successful. Third, the child's good looks may attract too much attention of the wrong kind, eventually destroying her. Critics cite Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe as examples. This critique challenges two precepts of Harris' worldview. First, while pretending to accept human nature as a given, he violates it by peddling strangers' eggs and encouraging the production of children who will probably never know their mothers. Family association, loyalty, and love are among the best parts of human nature. Slavish catering to physically attractive strangers is among the worst. If we're going to challenge human nature, the critics ask, why not start with the latter rather than the former?\n\n<question>:\nWhat kind of person would buy eggs at an auction such as Harris'?\n\n<options>:\nA A wealthy person who is desperate to have a child.\nB A wealthy, superficial, and naive person trying to ensure their child will be beautiful, healthy, and intelligent.\nC A wealthy, superficial person who wants to ensure they have a physically pleasing child. This person, however, is not intelligent enough to see the flaws of the plan.\nD A wealthy person who wants to manipulate their child's physical appearance.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
1,949 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"You're taking it mighty approached the object only calm,\" he said ironically. looked like. And all they got clobbered Goliath. \" Let for their patience was the desk, chewed on his knuckles and said nothing. One part of his mind wanted him to play it cagey, to behave the way the newspaper wanted him to behave, about it, except that the Senator part of him, a rebel part, wanted him to stay on the trail of the story he felt sure was about to break. \"I didn't mean to make trouble, Jerry couldn't identify stepped the past two days. I couldn't help thinking something was up.\" \"Even if that's true, we'll drunk to obtain information—well, that's not only indiscreet, Bridges. It's downright Then the voice spoke again Jerry deduced that it must have been activated by the decreased load of the ship. that kind of advantage, Mr. Conners. Not that she wasn't a toothsome little dish ...\" Jerry grinned. \"I didn't take amazement and consternation. item which had started the whole affair, and he seemed more interested in the romantic rather than political implications. As he walked beside him, he said: \"So what really happened, pal? That Greta babe really let down her hair?\" Jerry growled. Ruskin giggled. \"Boy, she's quite a dame, all right. I think they ought to get the Secret obviously impressed by the mechanism they had assembled. It stood impassive until they Service to guard her. She really obeyed the final instruction. simple as the job was, they were \"With Greta, I hope,\" Ruskin sighed. \"What a way to get radioactive.\" after seventy-two frustrating and they gave him snickering that bothered him it was the certainty that something of first, but as the meeting got under way, he knew that it was Jerry looked up from his who was coming through the door of the Bar & Grill. So did every other patron, but for different reasons. Greta Johnson had that effect upon men. Even the confining effect of a mannishly-tailored suit didn't hide her outrageously feminine qualities. She walked straight to his table, and he stood up. \"They told me you might be here,\" she said, breathing hard. last night.\" \"Look, Greta—\" Wham! Her hand, small and delicate, felt like a slab of lead when it slammed into his cheek. She left a bruise five fingers wide, and then turned and stalked out. He ran after her, the restaurant proprietor shouting about the unpaid bill. It took a rapid dog-trot to reach her side. \"Greta, listen!\" he panted. \"You don't understand about last night. It wasn't the way that lousy columnist said—\" She stopped in her tracks. \"I wouldn't have minded so much if you'd gotten me drunk. But to use I thought you knew anything.\" She was pouting now. \"Well, how do you suppose I feel, knowing you're only interested in me because of the Senator? Anyway, I'll probably lose my without unleashing \"Good-bye, Greta,\" Jerry said the terrible forces of power won't want to see me any more.\" \"Did I say that?\" \"It just won't be any use. deteriorates into heedless We'll always have this thing between She looked at him for a moment, and then touched his us.\" and relentlessly—to destroy and then sighed. \"Oh, well. I guess there's no use fighting it. Maybe if I the cause of it all, a placid, \"Greta!\" highly-polished metal robot, was \"That's not the idea,\" Greta said stiffly. newsmen, Greta leaned forward and said: \"At first, they thought it was it. Then there were joint meetings, and nobody could figure out what left him vaguely unsatisfied. He tried to explain his feeling to Greta on his first night back in Washington. They were in his apartment, and it was the first time Greta had consented to pay him the visit. you?\" Greta pouted. \"You've had the coolly, sipping lemonade. \"They have been in contact with it now \"It's not that,\" Jerry said been nagging me.\" \"But don't you think he's done good? Don't you think they'll be impressed by what he said?\" \"I'm not worried about that. \"Greta,\" Jerry said mildly, \"I I think that damn robot did Greta snuggled up to him on the sofa. \"You worry too much. Don't you ever think of anything else? You should learn to relax. It can be fun.\" She started to prove it to him, and Jerry responded the way a normal, healthy male usually embrace, he cried out: \"Wait a minute!\" \"What's the matter?\" \"I just thought of something! Now where the hell did I put my old notebooks?\" they?\" Greta said. \"That's all right with me,\" Greta said haughtily. \"I know thinks that if we don't agree, they might do something drastic, She took her hat and coat from last chance to change his mind, and then left. the hall closet, gave him one \"Well, how else can I take it? I'm not even supposed to know when I'm not wanted.\" like blow us all up. It's kind put her fingers to her lips. \"Oh, dear, now you'll really think I'm terrible.\" young. He was winded by the time he asked the pretty girl at the desk where Professor Martin Coltz could be located. the students seemed incredibly is so careless about—\" She \"Didn't I say I wouldn't?\" a massive woman with gray hair and impervious to Jerry felt decrepit, but managed will of the U. S. Marines. But Jerry Bridges tried. \"You don't understand, Lana,\" he said. \"I don't want to see He followed her directions, and located a fresh-painted student at the door, who told him that Professor Coltz would to say: \"It must be something new since I was here. Jerry entered, except for the Jerry remembered. He was a blinked when Jerry said: \"When will that be?\" \"In an hour. He's in a terribly They sat at facing student desks, and chatted about old times. But Jerry was impatient to get to the point of his visit, to match.\" She looked at him with exasperation, and then gathered up and he blurted out: a stack of memorandums and \"Professor Coltz, something's been bothering me. It bothered it. She came out of the press secretary's office two minutes later with Howells himself, and \"What do you mean, Jerry?\" \"There was something about Jerry, and snapped: \"You know better than I do, Mr. Howells. I'm just doing my job Coltz shifted uncomfortably. \"I don't recall every silly thing I said, Jerry.\" Jerry?\" \"Just this, Professor. I had a little daydream, recently, and I group that worked in the quiet and secrecy of a University on a fantastic scheme to force the idea of peace into the minds of \"Don't thank me, I'm not doing you any personal \"Jerry, if you do this—\" \"You don't have to say it, Professor, I know what you're the rear seat flanked by two Sphinx-like Secret Service men, knew that he was the only passenger more than a daydream.\" Jerry braked the convertible to a halt, and put his arm around Greta's shoulder. She looked up at the star-filled night, and sighed romantically. Jerry pointed. \"That one.\" Greta shivered closer to him. \"And to think what that terrible planet can do to us!\" He swung his other arm around her, and Venus winked approvingly. and unhurried. They had done a good job of keeping the excitement He was allowed to leave the car and stroll unescorted. He tried to talk to some of the became a growl that increased of scary.\" She shivered delicately.\n\n<question>:\nFor what reason is Greta most angry at Jerry?\n\n<options>:\nA He stole her source and took credit for her 'scoop'\nB He feigned attraction to get valuable information\nC He talked negatively about her to her colleagues\nD He convinced her to get too intoxicated\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
977 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nera than to have them shipped from the future—he seldom went ashore, and then only at the urging of a newly assigned cousin anxious to see When he was pressed by the current cousin to make a land visit kin—but by those who hadn't been born yet? disappeared and Ninian came to take care of him. Mothers had a way of disappearing around those parts and the kids were often better the descendants were Martin showed his work in Italy, so that the cousin could be Sometimes he wondered who Ninian really was. Obviously that story about her coming from the future was just a gag. Besides, if she really was his great-great-grand-daughter, as she said, why would she tell him to call her \" Aunt Ninian the current cousin—who was passing as his nephew by now. instead of mopping up the floor with him. \"But I can't understand,\" he would say, keeping his face straight. \"Why do you have to come from the future to protect me against your cousin Conrad?\" conversation, anyhow. \"When he does show up, I'll protect you,\" the cousin vowed, touching his ray gun. \"You haven't a thing to worry about.\" voyaged to southern waters. There was a war in the south and they hid time. The Interregnum passengers from the future, plus one bored and aging contemporary. She to know what gave. They tried talking to Ninian, but she certainly knew Ninian bought one of those smallish, almost identical houses that Raymond. From time to time, there were other visitors—Uncles Ives and Bartholomew and Olaf, Aunts Ottillie and Grania and Lalage, and many more—all cousins to one another, he was told, all descendants of his. From Ninian and her cousins, there was only an impersonal kindness. them were insane, or what Ninian had told him at first was the truth. They came from the future. When Martin was sixteen, Raymond took him aside for the talk Ninian had the not so intelligent life-forms on the other planets,\" Raymond \"I've told you—our world is precisely the same as this one!\" Raymond snapped. \"We just come a couple of centuries or so later, that's all. But remember, our interests are identical. We're virtually the same past and think in the future. his descendants. They were all exceedingly handsome and cultivated he had discovered that Raymond was perhaps the most intelligent of the the fact that our great-grandfather discovered the super-drive, we might never have reached the stars. Which is ridiculous—his feeling great-grandchildren, but a great-grandchild can hardly be held \"Oh, I do!\" Martin said. He had pieced the whole thing together for himself long since, but he wanted to hear how Raymond would put it. \"Unfortunately, Professor Farkas has just perfected the time transmitter. Those government scientists are so infernally officious—always inventing such senseless things. It's supposed to be hush-hush, but you know how news will leak out when one is always desperate for a fresh topic of conversation.\" Anyhow, Raymond went on to explain, Conrad had bribed one of Farkas' assistants for a set of the plans. Conrad's idea had been to go back in time and \"eliminate!\" their common great-grandfather. In that way, there would be no space-drive, and, hence, the Terrestrials would never get to the other planets and oppress the local aborigines. a rush. \"I wormed the whole thing out of him and all of us—the other cousins and me—held a council of war, as it were, and we decided it was our moral duty to go back in time ourselves and protect you.\" He beamed at Martin. The boy smiled slowly. \"Of course. You had to. If Conrad succeeded in cousins possessed to a consternating degree. he had learned long ago that nobody did anything for nothing. But saying so was unwise. \"We bribed another set of plans out of another of the professor's night and day, he would never be able to carry out his plot. So we made our counter-plan, set the machine as far back as it would go—and here we are!\" course Ninian But Raymond rushed on: \"Soon as Ninian goes and I'm in full charge, exile,\" Raymond explained, \"even though our life spans are a bit longer which, he felt, would increase its efficiency. But still he was dubious. \"Maybe it'll work on someone coming from outside this house time ?\" \"Never fear—it has a temporal radius,\" Raymond replied. \"Factory guarantee and all that.\" \"Just to be on the safe side,\" Martin said, \"I think I'd better have When it came time for the parting, it was Ninian who cried—tears at at understanding his descendants, far better than they at understanding that she'd come see him again. She never did, though, except at the very last. Raymond and Martin moved into a luxurious mansion in a remote area. The dozen years later, they weren't touched. Martin was never sure whether descendants were exceedingly inept planners. from the future, all available artifacts were antiques. Otherwise, stood in the front hall and present them to a local museum, because several times he fancied he saw them move. He also became an adept with the ray gun and changed the surrounding landscape quite a bit with it, until Raymond warned that this might lead Conrad to them. least twenty of the cousins came back through time to hold one of \"Don't be a fool, Grania!\" Raymond snapped. \"Well, Martin, have you none of us knows a thing about science. But it could happen. Subconscious osmosis, if there is such a thing. That way, you might invent something ahead of time. And the fellow we got the plans from particularly cautioned us against that. Changing history. Dangerous.\" \"Might mess up our time frightfully,\" Bartholomew contributed, \"though, their times.\" difference in history. There were so many of them all through the ages.\" Cousin Ives—now that Martin was older, he was told to call the descendants cousin which Martin christened The Interregnum . They traveled about from sea to ocean and from ocean to sea, touching at various ports and making trips inland. Martin saw the civilized world—mostly in fragments nearly intact semi-civilized world and the uncivilized world, much the The other cousins appeared to find the yacht a congenial head-quarters, largely because they could spend so much time far away from the they never moved back to land. Martin spent the rest of his life on The Interregnum there was no valid reason why an ocean should stop a traveler through time. More cousins were in residence at once than ever before, because they came for the ocean voyage. They spent most of their time aboard ended in a brawl, because one cousin was sure to accuse another of then Ives would tell Martin of the future world he had come from. The picture drawn by Raymond and Ninian had not been entirely interbred aristocracy, to which Martin's descendants belonged by virtue of their distinguished ancestry. \"Not only natives livin' on the other worlds,\" Ives said as the two He always felt that if any of the cousins could have come to realize been Ives. However, when the yacht touched at Tierra del Fuego one bitter winter, Ives took a severe chill. They sent for a doctor from the future—one of the descendants who had been eccentric enough to continent, a hundred years or more before the date of his birth. A great many of the cousins turned up at the simple ceremony. All were cousin from the future The Interregnum voyaged to every a while, Martin couldn't tell one from another. Cousin after cousin All the cousins were young, for, though they came at different times in his life, they had all started out from the same time in theirs. Only the young ones had been included in the venture their elders.\n\n<question>:\nHow did Ninian, Raymond, and the other cousins go back in time?\n\n<options>:\nA They bribed the assistant for the plans and blackmailed or tortured someone to build the time transmitter for them.\nB Professor Farkas' assistant sent them back in time using the time transmitter after they gave him a bribe.\nC They bribed the assistant for the plans and hired a gadget enthusiast to build the time transmitter for them.\nD Professor Farkas sent them back in time with the time transmitter.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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678 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWhat lasts forever? Does love? Does death?... Nothing lasts forever.... Not even forever the dust-caked, tired body, yet there they were, seeking, always seeking—searching the clear horizon, and never seeming to find what they sought. the water would torrent, deep into the cool embrace of the clear liquid. They soaked it into their pores and drank deeply of it, feeling life going once more through their veins. Satisfied, they lifted themselves from the water, light spilled across the sky, making the mountains silent scarlet shadows on the face of the rippling water. Quickly he gathered dying fire, seeing the bright glowing coals as living fingers clutching at the wood in consuming embrace, taking all and returning nothing but ashes. Slowly his eyelids yielded. His body sagged, and blood seemed to fill his brain, bathing it in a gentle, warm flood. all else was at rest. Images began to appear, drawn from inexhaustible files, wherein are kept all thoughts, past, present, and future.... It was the night before he was to go overseas. World War III had been voice which always seemed to send a thrill through his body. \"It's for you so long as you wear it, I'll come back, even from the dead, if need be. Read the inscription.\" shimmering light, letting it spin at the end of its chain. It caught the shadows of the fire and reflected them, greatly magnified, over the The next morning had been bleak and gray. The mist clung to the wet, sodden ground, and the air was heavy in his lungs. He had driven off little bulge under his uniform, and the touch of it seemed to warm the blood in his veins. Three days later they had landed in Spain, merged with another where the fighting had begun. Already the city was a silent graveyard, littered with the rubble of towers and cathedrals which had once been great. Three years later they were on the road to Moscow. Over a thousand miles lay behind, a dead man on every foot of those miles. Yet victory was near. The Russians had not yet used the H-bomb the threat of annihilation by the retaliation forces had been too great. He had done well in the war, and had been decorated many times for bravery in action. Now he felt the victory that seemed to be in the soldier needed to make him fight harder and live longer. \"Heavy bombers!\" The alarm had sounded, and the men had headed for their foxholes. But the planes had passed over, the sun glinting on their bellies, reflecting a blinding light. They were bound for bigger, more important targets. When the all-clear had sounded, the men clambered from their shelters. An icy wind swept the field, bringing with it clouds which covered the sun. A strange fear had gripped him then.... Across the Atlantic, over the pole, via Alaska, the great bombers flew. In cities, great and small, the air raid sirens sounded, high screaming noises which had jarred the people from sleep in time to die. The defending planes roared into the sky to intercept the on-rushing bombers. The horrendous battle split the universe. Many bombers fell, victims of fanatical suicide planes, or of missiles that streaked across the sky which none could escape. But too many bombers got through, dropping their deadly cargo upon the helpless cities. And not all the prayers or entreaties to any God had stopped their carnage. First there had been the red flashes that melted buildings into molten streams, and then the great triple-mushroom cloud filled with the poisonous gases that the wind swept away to other cities, where men had not died quickly and mercifully, but had rotted away, leaving shreds of putrid flesh behind to mark the places where they had crawled. The retaliatory forces had roared away to bomb the Russian cities. Few, if any, had returned. Too much blood and life were on their hands. Those who had remained alive had found a resting place on the crown of some distant mountain. Others had preferred the silent peaceful sea, where flesh stayed not long on bones, and only darting fishes and merciful beams of filtered light found their aluminum coffins. The war had ended. To no avail. Neither side had won. Most of the cities and the majority of the population of both countries had been destroyed. Even their governments had vanished, leaving a silent nothingness. The armies that remained were without leaders, without sources of supplies, save what they could forage and beg from an unfriendly people. They were alone now, a group of tired, battered men, for whom life held nothing. Their families had long since died, their bodies turned to dust, their spirits fled on the winds to a new world. Yet these remnants of an army must return—or at least try. Their exodus was just beginning. Somehow he had managed to hold together the few men left from his force. He had always nourished the hope that she might still be alive. And now that the war was over he had to return—had to know whether she was still waiting for him. They had started the long trek. Throughout Europe anarchy reigned. He and his men were alone. All they could do now was fight. Finally they reached the seaport city of Calais. With what few men he had left, he After months of storms and bad luck, they had been shipwrecked swimming and fishing, recovering his strength, inquiring about the United States. The Mexicans had spoken with fear of the land across the Rio Grande. All its great cities had been destroyed, and those that had been only partially destroyed were devoid of people. The land across the Rio Grande had become a land of shadows. The winds were poisoned, and the few people who might have survived, were crazed and maimed by the blasts. Few men had dared cross the Rio Grande into \"El Mundo gris de Noviembre\"—the November world. Those who had, had never returned. waded into the muddy waters and somehow landed on the American side. In the November world. It was rightly called. The deserts were long. All plant life had died, leaving to those once great fertile stretches, nothing but the sad, temporal beauty that comes with death. No people had he seen. Only the ruins of what had once been their cities. He had walked through them, and all that he had seen were the small mutant rodents, and all that he might have been dead leaves, but wasn't. empty, but there were cans of food and a rifle and many shells. He had started the long journey home. The farther north he went, the more life seemed to have survived. He had seen great herds of horses like his own, stampeding across the all would be well, and his long journey would be over. The images faded. Even memory slept in a flow of warm blood. Body and mind slept into the shadows of the dawn. the water he removed his clothes and stared at himself in the rippling mirror. His muscles were lean and hard, evenly placed throughout the lungs would burst was a torch that pierced his skin, seeming to melt his bones into a burning stream within his body. But day at last gave way to night, and the sun to the moon. The torch became a white pock-marked goddess, with Night paled into day day burned into night. of wood near the hearth, and replenished the fire. The wood caught quickly, sending up long tongues of flame, and forming a bright pool of light around her. monster. Large greasy scales covered its face and arms, and there was passed over him. It was no use. There was no strength. Only fear—a kind of fear he had never known. had lost its glow. What had once been living fire was now a dull glob of darkness. \"Nothing is forever!\" He thought he had shouted the words, but only a of strength left him. His shoulders slumped, his head dropped onto his\n\n<question>:\nWhat effect do the bombs have on the war?\n\n<options>:\nA They end the war but turn the world into a zombie landscape.\nB They end he war and restore peace and harmony, even though there are still some stragglers wandering home from the war.\nC They end the war, but turn it into a semi-apocalyptic landscape.\nD They end the war, but turn the world into tribal groups with strict borders.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
796 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIt was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from \"I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division,\" Magnan said testily. \"When I first came here, the Manpower Utilization But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketed Directorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. I fancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question the \"I assume you jest, Retief,\" Magnan said sadly. \"I should expect even you to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program may be the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into more \"I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land,\" Retief said, precedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy.\" \"Breaking and entering,\" Retief said. \"You may have something there. But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrial world of the poor but honest variety.\" \"Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,\" Magnan said. \"Our function is merely to bring them together. See be an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomatic restraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree.\" Arapoulous took one. \"Bacchus vines are an unusual crop,\" he said, puffing the cigar alight. \"Only mature every twelve years. In between, the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own. We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms. Apples the size of a melon—and sweet—\" \"Sounds very pleasant,\" Retief said. \"Where does the Libraries and Education Division come in?\" Arapoulous leaned forward. \"We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folks can't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all the land area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizable \"That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just the ordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing getting it in doesn't take long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting new places ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend a year's different. This is Wine Year.\" Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. \"Our wine crop is our big money crop,\" he said. \"We make enough to keep us going. But this year....\" \"The crop isn't panning out?\" \"Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm only twenty-eight I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem's not the crop.\" \"Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for the Commercial—\" We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed a But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men.\" \"That's too bad,\" Retief said. \"I'd say this one tastes more like roast beef and popcorn over a Riesling base.\" money from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to start exporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same when you're doing it for strangers.\" \"Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. But we need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you can First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyards covering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardens grass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wine to the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets on who can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright, and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall, for the best crews. \"Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostly for the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start to get loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns are born after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on his \"Never did,\" Retief said. \"You say most of the children are born after a vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time—\" is hard to beat....\" \"What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loan specialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands. you'd have thought I was trying to buy slaves.\" problems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business.\" \"Speaking of tractors,\" another man put in, \"we over at the Special Committee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations' General Economies have been trying for months to get a request for \"That's the trouble with peaceful worlds,\" the SCROUNGE committeeman peace-loving d'Land—comes to naught.\" He shook his head. \"What kind of university do they have on d'Land?\" asked Retief. \"We're sending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite an institution.\" \"University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college.\" \"Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College?\" \"Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax the facilities of the college.\" \"I wonder if the Bogans know that?\" \"The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwise trade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand students indeed!\" He snorted and walked away. \"I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know—\" he turned to Retief—\"not one of those kids is over eighteen.\" He hiccupped. \"Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you?\" \"Not this time,\" Retief said. He watched the students, still emerging from Customs. \"They seem to be all boys,\" he commented. \"No female students?\" \"Maybe later,\" Karsh said. \"You know, after we see how the first bunch is received.\" \"Why, the University at d'Land, of course.\" \"Would that be the Technical College?\" travelling so far to study—at Corps expense.\" \"Mr. Magnan never—\" \"For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leaves me with the question of two thousand young male students headed for a world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors. But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligation to Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage on It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with the production of such vintages.... \"One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,\" \"I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,\" of students.\" shirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. the other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for these irritating conferences.\" \"I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. How many this time?\" to provide transportation.\" \"Will there be any other students embarking this season?\" two thousand to Featherweight.\" \"Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,\" Retief said. \"Your people must be unusually interested in that region a dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot of bad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easy game.\"\n\n<question>:\nGiven d'Land's lack of a successful college, what can you best infer about the society there?\n\n<options>:\nA It is not an intellectual society.\nB It is a society that despises education.\nC It is a society lacking sufficient leadership to establish better education sources.\nD It is a society that has found it is more prosperous without high-level education.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
73 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe Blue Behemoth By LEIGH BRACKETT Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed Buckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's face unless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see his slanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing round toward us, pleased and kind of hungry. I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven to Shannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. I said, \"Bucky. Hold on, fella. I....\" he was a lousy bill-collecter and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannon settled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed. Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. \"What's eating you, Jig? I'm not going to hurt him.\" \"Shut up,\" I said. \"Look what he's got there. Money!\" stayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a start that it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan I like hungry cats at a mouse-hole.\" I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn't scenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding the curtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much larger than the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. cansin . The only other one on the Triangle belongs to Savitt Brothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude.\" She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may be a little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped she wouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-looking circus than even I could stand. Beamish looked impressed. \"A is a fascinating subject. The extreme rarity of the animal....\" We were getting off the subject. I said tactfully, \"We'd have to have at least a hundred U.C.'s.\" It was twice what we had any right to ask. I was prepared to dicker. We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky made It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport where Shannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Late as it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sitting around and smoking and looking very ugly. It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restless weeks we'd come in at the front door. The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and the green girl from Tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and Zurt the muscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkers Bucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn't around them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, and worse,\" he said. \"She's lonesome.\" \"That's tough,\" said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like an . There's only two of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say will make much difference. I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stuck some place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a little bird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cage with her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky head sunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything. mane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyes clear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked like old Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. looking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then he and everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I know her. I can do things with her. But this time....\" He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like a woman's talking about a sick child. \"This time,\" he said, \"I ain't sure.\" He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look at us. Bucky sobbed. \"You were right, Jig,\" he mumbled. \"Circus is no good. I know it. But it's all I got. I love it, Jig. Unnerstan' me? Like Gow there with Gertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love....\" Bucky was almost asleep on me. I started to slap him. And then the mist roars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it all I could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, \" Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking, Then I went out. II Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. His little brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of his latch and looked at my feet. \"And—uh—Jig, I....\" I said, \"Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all!\" and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around looking like a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovian strong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat had kittens. Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. It lived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes out of their pants. Circus people are funny that way. Shannon and I did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time. Anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. It our router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned. \"A blue one, Jig. A morgue if I ever saw one!\" I snarled, \"What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show!\" and went out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but they but her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn't \"The deep swamps are angry,\" she whispered. \"Something has been taken. could see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd. He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three or four tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. Bucky said, \"Jig—it's Sam Kapper.\" We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeled who crawled and whimpered in the mud. too broke, and we were pretty friendly. I hadn't seen him for three seasons. I remembered him as a bronzed, hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. I felt sick, looking down at him. Bucky started to help him up. Kapper was crying, and he jerked all over \"I got it hidden. They want to find out, but I won't tell 'em. It's wouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it....\" \" Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back.\" \"Where is it, Sam?\" \"Yeah,\" said Bucky. He looked as bad as I felt. \"Poor Sam.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy did the crew mind that the cave-cat had kittens?\n\n<options>:\nA They didn't perform well while they were small.\nB They were too dangerous to keep onboard\nC They had no food for more mouths to feed\nD One had only four legs\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,385 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nYou will, you know, so why quibble about it? At least, you always Thanks. You think you're crazy, of course, but you'll find out you aren't. It's just that things are a bit confused. And don't look at the hard on the eyes, trying to follow where the vanes go. You'll get used to it, of course, but it will take about thirty years. I felt the same way when he—that is, of course, I or we—came back to tell me about it, thirty years ago. Here, have one of these. You'll get to like them in a couple more Right now, you're shocked. It's a real wrench when a man meets himself but he—I—told me what I was going to do, so I might as well do the same. I probably couldn't help telling you the same thing in the same words, even if I tried—and I don't intend to a few buttons on a dash. You'll be puzzling over what I'll tell you, and you'll be getting used to the idea that you are the man who makes atomic power practical. Jerome Boell, just a plain engineer, the man you'll want to go along. I'll be tired of talking by then, and in a hurry to get going. So I I did—and you will—you get further and further from an answer. Anyhow, you sit there, watching nothing all around you, and no time, gravity field built in, or maybe the time that makes your watch run is responsible for gravity. In spite of Einstein, you have always had the anyway?\" I'd told you that, too, but you've forgotten. \"As near as I can guess, it's about 2150. He told me, just as I'm telling you, that it's an interstellar civilization.\" \"What about the time machine?\" you ask. It's obviously a service elevator and we're in a dim corridor, with nobody around. I grab your hand and shake it. \"You go that way. Don't worry about getting lost grab the motor, and get out. And good luck to you.\" You act as if you're dreaming, though you can't believe it's a dream. You nod at me and I move out into the main corridor. A second later, questions of a man, who points, and I turn and move off. You come out of the side corridor and go down a hall, away from the Why should they? You wouldn't care if you saw a man in a leopard-skin You get up your courage and go up to a boy selling something that might \"Downayer rien turn lefa the sign. Stoo bloss,\" he tells you. Around you, you hear some pretty normal English, but there are others using stuff as garbled as his. The educated and uneducated? I don't know. You go right until you find a big sign built into the rubbery surface of the walk: Miuzi:m *v Syens . There's an arrow pointing and you turn lower than they used to, apparently. Twenty floors up seems about the hesitate for a moment, then. You're beginning to think the whole affair is complete nonsense, and you should get back to the time machine and in his suit and the friendly grin on his face, he looks like any other guard. What's more, he speaks pretty clearly. Everyone says things in a sort of drawl, with softer vowels and slurred consonants, but it's rather pleasant. \"Thanks,\" you mutter, wondering what kind of civilization can produce guards as polite as that. \"I—I'm told I should investigate your Oh—congratulations on your pronunciation. Sounds just like some of our oldest tapes.\" You get away from him, finally, after some polite thanks. The building \"Souvenir,\" it announces in a well-modulated voice. \"This is a typical in size. You can have it made into a ring on the third floor during morning hours for one-tenth credit. If you have more than one child, press the red button for the number of stones you desire.\" You put it in your pocket, gulping a little, and get back to the corridor. You turn left and go past a big room in which models of final form. You study it, but it mentions casually the inventor, without giving his name. Either they don't know it, or they take it for granted that everyone does, which seems more probable. They call attention to the \"Nice,\" the guard says over your shoulder. \"It finally wore out one of as the great inventor made it. And it still operates as well as ever. Like to have me tell you about it?\" \"Not particularly,\" you begin, and then realize bad manners might be conspicuous here. While you're searching for an answer, the guard pulls You work down the line. It'd be foolish to take the early model if you if you'd stop drinking so much of that scotch and staring at the time machine out there now, you'd hear what I'm saying and know what will lot of what I say from now on, and have to find out for yourself. But maybe some of it helps. I've tried to remember how much I remembered, after he told me, but I can't be sure. So I'll keep on talking. I probably can't help it, anyhow. Pre-set, you might say. Well, you stagger down the corridor, looking out for the guard, but all seems clear. Then you hear his voice from the weapons room. You bend down and try to scurry past, but you know you're in full view. Nothing happens, though. a quick sigh of relief and start out onto the street. Then there's a yell behind you. You don't wait. You put one leg in front of the other and you begin racing down the walk, ducking past Something goes over your head and drops on the sidewalk just in front of your feet, with a sudden ringing sound. You don't wait to find out The cop nods. \"Oh, that explains it. Fine, I won't have to give you an appearance schedule. But you should have come to me.\" He reaches out and taps a pedestrian lightly on the shoulder. \"Sir, an emergency request. Would you help this gentleman?\" The pedestrian grins, looks at his watch, and nods. \"How far?\" You did notice the name of the building from which you came and you mutter it. The stranger nods again, reaches out and picks up the other Pedestrians begin to move aside, and you and the stranger jog down the street at a trot, with a nice clear path, while the cop stands beaming at you both. before you. And he is. He stands just inside the door of the building as you reach it. The stranger lifts an eyebrow and goes off at once when you nod this building. Just let us know when you're finished with the model and we'll pick it up.\" You swallow several sets of tonsils you had removed years before, and take the bundle of papers he hands you out of the little case. He pumps you for some more information, which you give him at random. It seems to satisfy your amiable guard friend. He finally smiles in satisfaction and heads back to the museum. in the direction of the time machine, bumping against boxes, staggering here and there, and trying to find the right place by sheer feel. Then a shred of dim light appears beside it and you finally decide on that. Suddenly, there's a confused yell from the direction of the elevator nerves settle back to normal. You notice a third set of buttons, with some pencil marks over them—\"Press these to return to yourself 30 And with the controls set at 120 volts, 60 cycles and 15 amperes, you get just that. You don't need the power company any more. And you feel a little happier when you realize that the luggage space wasn't kids from school are coming around to stare at the man who changed be anything but a democracy and a peaceful one—after some of the worst times in history for a few years. Your name eventually becomes as common as Ampere, or Faraday, or any other spelled without a capital\n\n<question>:\nWhat isn't something the guest expects the younger man to do?\n\n<options>:\nA steal something from a museum\nB take credit for an invention from the future\nC run the time machine\nD listen to his directions very carefully\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,613 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSEA LEGS at all. Maybe you could go with me to have dinner. It must be almost dinnertime now. You could sort of check me out on some....\" \"I'm afraid that would be quite impossible. You couldn't gain Rootless and footloose, a man in space can't help but dream of coming home. But something nobody should do is bet on the validity of a homesick dream! admittance to any office you need to visit tonight. Therefore, it is Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that \"You said that already, but you can have dinner with me. Just company.\" \"I'm afraid I don't understand.\" The Galactic hotel strove to preserve an archaic tone of hospitality. the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] \"Certainly you are not, Mr. Craig. But it is not possible for me....\" It advertised \"a night's lodgings\" and it possessed a bellboy. The can't get on without one.\" Craig hesitated before moving. \"Sure, they don't put in screens here. Wanted to, but the boss convinced 'em there aren't any Freedomites ever stay here.\" how long it would take him to shake his—sea legs, the psychologist there, looking like new, its space-blue unfaded and as wonderfully pliant as before. \"I'm a little anxious to get home, I suppose,\" said Craig defensively. \"By 'home' you mean Terra. But you've never been there, have you?\" conditions. Channels of the ear, for example. They play an important part in our awareness of balance. They operate on a simple gravity principle. Without gravity they act up for a time, then gradually lose function. Returning to gravity is rather frightening at first.\" \"Do you know what sailors of ancient times meant by 'sea legs?'\" asked Wyandotte. \"Men on a rolling ocean acclimated themselves to a rolling frightening thing to an old sailor—but let's begin our little job at for the scores of worlds he had visited during his eleven years in space. They were incredibly varied, even those that supported life. He had weathered difficult landings on worlds with rip-tide gravities, had felt the pull of the incredible star-tides imparted by twin and even unspoken warning he felt underlying all that the man said. \"Of course it has changed,\" Craig was protesting. \"Anyway, I never really knew very much about Terra. So what? I know it won't be as it was in tapezines either.\" \"Yet you are so completely sure you will want to live out your life there, that you are willing to give up space service for it.\" \"We've gone through this time and time again,\" Craig said wearily. \"I gave you my reasons for quitting space. We analyzed them. You agreed that you could not decide that for me and that my decision is logical. You tell me spacemen don't settle down on Terra. Yet you won't—or can't—tell me why. I've got a damned good job there—\" \"You may find that 'damned good jobs' become boring.\" \"So I'll transfer. I don't know what you're trying to get at, Captain, but you're not talking me out of going back. If the service needs men so badly, let them get somebody else. I've put in my time.\" begged to be allowed to withdraw their resignations. \"The twelfth day is the worst,\" a grizzled spaceman told Craig. \"That's when the best of 'em want out.\" Craig clenched the iron rung of his bed and struggled to bring the old man's face into focus. between waves of nausea. \"Haven't noticed much of anything.\" \"Well, it's keyed to give them some kind of signal.\" \"They tried that a few times—once when I was aboard. You wouldn't like it, kid. You wouldn't like it at all.\" \"How ... many times ... do they drop it?\" \"... pretty bad.\" \"He'll go into shock.\" \"... never make it the twelfth.\" \"We better yank him.\" single source of pull. They were now ready to become inhabitants of planets again, instead of free-falling ships. On the eighteenth day, automatic machinery freed them from their \"What will they do, exile him?\" \"Not to Chociante, if that's what you mean. They just jerked his space \"It's a good job. There's a future to it.\" \"Yeah.\" Why did he have to explain anything at all to the old space tramp? \"Once I get set up, I'll probably try to open my own business.\" \"And spend your weekends on Luna.\" land-lubber.\" Craig relaxed, realizing he had acted childishly. \"Used to think the The old man's face clouded for an instant. \"In the old days, they used to say us old-timers acted like clocks. They used to say we just ran down. Now they got some fancy psychology name for it.\" Craig regretted his question. He would have muttered some word of \"Maybe you've read some of the old sea stories, or more'n likely had 'em read to you. Sailors could go to sea until they just sort of dried up. The sea tanned their skins and stiffened their bones, but it never stiffened their hearts. When they got old, it just pulled them in. \"But space is different. Space is raw and new. It tugs at your guts. It sends the blood rushing through your veins. It's like loving. You don't become a part of space the way you do the old sea, though. It leaves you strictly alone. Except that it sucks you dry, takes all the soup out of you, leaves you brittle and old—old as a dehydrated piece of split leather. \" \" You got to watch the ones that don't. \" \" Yeah, you got to watch the ones that don't. Especially the old ones. \" \" \" \" Who knows? \" \" They'll dump him, won't they? \" \" After a tracer is sent through. But it won't do any good. \" \" He probably outlived everybody that ever knew him. \" \" It was the signal for relief in the passengers' quarters aft door.\" I won't bother you with. Anyway, I left her. Wanted to take her along with me, but she wouldn't go. Earth was a lot different then than it is now. They don't have to tell me I know. I saw it coming and so did Ethel. We talked about it and I knew I had to go. She wouldn't or couldn't go. Wanted me to stay, but I couldn't. I tried to send her some units once in a while. Don't know if she ever got them. Sometimes I forgot to send them at all. You know, you're way out across the Galaxy, while she's home. something big and new and green.... Hell, you remember. You know how to tell her. Her name is Ethel Brockman. I know she'll still use my name. Her address is or was East 71, North 101, Number 4. You can trace her easy if she moved. Women don't generally shove off and not leave a forwarding address. Not Ethel, at least. husband deserted her fifty years before? Some kind of story about one's duty to the Universe? No, the old man had not been in Intergalactic. He had been a tramp spaceman. Well, why to a companion at his right. screened me? What for?\" \"Hard to say,\" the other passenger said. \"You'll get used to this. They \"Thought you could give me some idea of conditions....\" \"Conditions?\" \"For instance, what part of the city I should live in. That is, what part is closest to where I'll work.\" \"I see,\" said the man noncommittally. It seemed to Craig that he was about to add something. He did not, however, but instead rose from his with unfolding the legs of a small instrument she was carrying. much the same way we would an extraterrestrial.\"\n\n<question>:\nThe first paragraph in the passage foreshadows which theme of \"Sea Legs\"?\n\n<options>:\nA Society tends to neglect those who have served\nB If you don't like it, you can always leave\nC The grass is always greener on the other side\nD People shouldn't count on places to stay the same\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
879 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWhen he began his talk with \"You got your health, don't you?\" it touched those spots inside me. That was when I did it. Why couldn't what he said have been \"The best things in life are free, buddy\" or \"Every dog has his day, fellow\" or \"If at first you don't succeed, man\"? No, he had to use that one line. You wouldn't blame me. Being four or five, I didn't know any better, so I thought Dad made it others got money from home to buy the things they needed—razor blades, candy, sticks of tea. I got a letter from Mom or Dad every now and then before they were killed, saying they had sent money or that it was enclosed, but somehow I never got a dime of it. It was two or three years later that I skulked into Brother Partridge's Partridge didn't seem to notice me, but I knew that was an act. I knew eagle beak toward us. \"Brothers, this being Thanksgiving, I pray the good Lord that we all are truly thankful for all that we have received. Amen.\" Some skin-and-bones character I didn't know struggled out of his seat, amening. I could see he had a lot to be thankful for—somewhere he had \"Brothers,\" Partridge went on after enjoying the interruption with a beaming smile, \"you shall all be entitled to a bowl of turkey soup prepared by Sister Partridge, a generous supply of sweet rolls and , John Philip Sousa's grand old patriotic song.\" I had to laugh at all those bums clattering the chairs in front of me, scampering after water soup and stale bread. As soon as I got cleaned up, I was going to have dinner in a good restaurant, and I was going to order such expensive food and leave such a large tip for the waiter and send one to the chef that they were going to think I was rich, and some executive with some brokerage firm would see me and say to himself, \"Hmm, executive material. Just the type we need. I beg your pardon, sir—\" just like the razor-blade comic-strip ads in the old magazines that Frankie the Pig sells three for a quarter. I was marching. Man, was I ever marching, but the secret of it was I room into the kitchen. Even Partridge made his way down from the auctioneer's stand like a vulture with a busted wing and darted through his private door. them fast with the other two. Once I dropped a dime—not a penny, I would probably lose my hold on all the coins if I tried for that one. I had all the rest. It felt like about two dollars, or close to it. Then I found the bill. A neatly folded bill in the box. Somehow I knew I tried to read the numbers on the bill with my fingertips, but I couldn't. It had to be a one. Who drops anything but a one into a Skid Row collection box? But still there were tourists, slummers. They might leave a fifty or even a hundred. A hundred! I knew what the trouble was, of course. I was in a monkey trap. The monkey reaches through the hole for the bait, and when he gets it in his hot little fist, he can't get his hand out. He's too greedy to let go, so he stays there, caught as securely as if he were caged. I was a man, not a monkey. I knew why I couldn't get my hand out. But I couldn't lose that money, especially that century bill. Calm, I ordered While keeping a lookout for Partridge and somebody stepping out of the \"This,\" Brother Partridge said, \"is one of the most profound My head hinged until it lined my eyes up with Brother Partridge. The the preacher explained in wonderment. \"Cold turkey,\" he corrected. \"Are you scoffing at a miracle?\" \"People are always watching me, Brother,\" I said. \"So now they do it even when they aren't around. I should have known it would come to that.\" The pipe was suddenly a weight I wanted off me. I would try robbing \"I may be able to help you,\" Brother Partridge said, \"if you have faith Brother Partridge regarded me solemnly. \"There must be something Partridge prodded me with his bony fingers as if making sure I was out my hand. The bill stuck to the sweat on my fingers and slid out along with the digits. A one, I decided. I had got into trouble for a We took a couple of camp chairs and I told him the story of my life, or of that turkey soup. Then again I was glad I hadn't. Something always After some time Sister Partridge bustled in and snapped on the overhead \"Remarkable,\" Partridge finally said when I got so hoarse I had to take \"William, if you atone for this sin, perhaps the horde of locusts will lift from you.\" It wasn't much of a chance, but I was unused to having any at all. I shook off the dizziness of it. \"By the Lord Harry, Brother, I'm going to give it a try!\" I cried. \"I believe you,\" Partridge said, surprised at himself. lightly and a box with no top slid out of the slightly larger box. He reached in, fished out the bill and presented it to me. \"Perhaps this will help in your atonement,\" he said. I crumpled it into my pocket fast. Not meaning to sound ungrateful, I'm pretty sure he hadn't noticed it was a twenty. And then the bill seemed to lie there, heavy, a lead weight. It would have been different if I had managed to get it out of the box myself. You know how it is. Money you haven't earned doesn't seem real to you. Brother Partridge's money, I killed a man. \"Application?\" \"No,\" I said. \"I'm just helping out during Christmas.\" \"You're a scab, buddy,\" Long-legs said. \"Don't you read the papers?\" \"I don't like comic strips,\" I said. They sighed. I think they hated to do it, but I was bucking the system. and I squirmed away across the rubbish like a polite mouse. Brother Partridge about the accident, or murder, or whatever had Searching myself after I left Brother Partridge, I finally found a She sniffed and told me to follow her. I didn't rate a cart to my table, I guess, or else the bound papers weren't supposed to come out I heard my voice say, \"A pleasure. What about after work?\" I went to a dry-cleaner, not the cheapest place I knew, because I wouldn't be safe with the change from a twenty in that neighborhood. had sleep on Thanksgiving, bracing up for trying the lift at Brother Partridge's. Let's see, it was daylight outside again, so this was the day after Thanksgiving. But it had only been sixteen or twenty hours since I had slept. That was enough. I left the money on the counter for the hamburgers and coffee and the beer. There was $7.68 left. As I passed the counterman's friend on his stool, my voice said, \"I He turned slowly, his jaw moving further away from his brain. I winked. \"It was just a bet for me to say that to you. I won two bucks. Half of it is yours.\" I held out the bill to him. His paw closed over the money and punched me on the biceps. Too hard. He winked back. \"It's okay.\" I rubbed my shoulder, marching off fast, and I counted my money. With my luck, I might have given the counterman's friend the five instead of one of the singles. But I hadn't. I now had $6.68 left. \"I\n\n<question>:\nHow does the narrator respond to Brother Partridge's gift offering on Thanksgiving?\n\n<options>:\nA He believes the homeless people are stupid for falling for Brother Partridge's trick\nB He believes Brother Partridge wants something from him in return for the Thanksgiving offering\nC He believes Brother Partridge is attempting to poison him and the other homeless men\nD He believes the homeless people are ridiculous for charging so desperately after the offering\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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1,066 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nExtrone was smiling innocently. \"Good. I want you to do something for me.\" \"I ... I....\" Ri glanced nervously at Lin out of the tail of his eye. course you will,\" Extrone said genially. \"Get me a rope, Lin. A good, long, strong rope.\" \"What are you going to do?\" Ri asked, terrified. \"Eh?\" Extrone said. Extrone raised his eyebrows. \"You'll be safe,\" Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. \"I'll shoot the animal before it reaches you.\" Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. \"I'm Extrone shrugged. \"He what?\" Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. Ri breathed with a gurgling sound. \"He said he ought to kill you, sir. sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. I wouldn't....\" Extrone said, \"Which one is he?\" \"Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir.\" Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifle and said, \"Here comes Lin with the rope, I see.\" Ri was greenish. \"You ... you....\" Extrone turned to Lin. \"Tie one end around his waist.\" \"Wait,\" Ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. \"You don't want to use me, sir. Not after I told you.... Please, sir. If anything should happen to me.... Please, sir. Don't do it.\" \"Tie it,\" Extrone ordered. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. \"Let me hear you scream,\" Extrone said. \"You'll have to do better than that.\" Extrone inclined his head toward Ri screamed. \"See that you keep it up that way,\" Extrone said. \"That's the way I want you to sound.\" He turned toward Lin. \"We can climb this tree, I Lin moved to the left, out on the main branch, rested in a smaller crotch. Looking down, Extrone said, \"Scream!\" Then, to Lin, \"You feel the excitement? It's always in the air like this at a hunt.\" \"I feel it,\" Lin said. screams were shrill, echoing away, shiveringly. Lin sat quiet, hunched. Extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick, jerky movements. Lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Extrone's face. The sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed against Extrone laughed nervously. \"He must have heard.\" \"We're lucky to rouse one so fast,\" Lin said. Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. \"I like this. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything I only the killing,\" Lin echoed. \"You understand?\" Extrone said. \"How it is to wait, knowing in just a minute something is going to come out of the forest, and you're going to kill it?\" \"I know,\" Lin said. \"But it's not only the killing. It's the waiting, too.\" \"Hey!\" Extrone shouted. \"You, down there. There are two coming. Now let's hear you really scream!\" Lin spat toward the ground. \"People should hunt because they have to. For food. For safety.\" \"No,\" Extrone argued. \"People should hunt for the love of hunting.\" he was huddled against the tree, fearfully eying the forest across from the watering hole. Extrone began to tremble with excitement. \"Here they come!\" The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across his lap. \"What in hell do you want?\" Extrone asked. Its mate appeared beside it. Their tails thrashed against the scrubs behind them, rattling leaves. \"Shoot!\" Lin hissed. \"For God's sake, shoot!\" \"Wait,\" Extrone said. \"Let's see what they do.\" He had not moved the rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breath Extrone's face looked much too innocent. \"How did it get there, gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed?\" \"Look!\" Extrone cried excitedly. \"Here it comes!\" \"So?\" Extrone mocked. Still Extrone did not lift his blast rifle. He was laughing. Lin waited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. Ri began to scream again. \"Watch! Watch!\" Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. didn't you?\" \"Yes, sir. When we located it, sir.\" \"You'll destroy this one, too,\" Extrone said. \"Eh?\" Extrone said, turning, startled. \"Oh, you. Well?\" Extrone narrowed his eyes. \"I see by your eyes that you are \"Oh?\" Extrone questioned mildly. \"I wouldn't say that. I understand \"Of course you did,\" Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of his \"Yes,\" Extrone said, \"I imagine they are. It would have been a shame if Extrone bent forward. \" Know me and love me.\" you and love you, sir,\" Ri said. \"Get out!\" Extrone said. \"It's frightening,\" Ri said, \"to be that close to him.\" Mia nodded. Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in his \"Have you read that manual I gave you?\" Lin nodded. \"Yes.\" Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. \"Very Extrone laughed harshly. \"It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me?\" Lin's face remained impassive. \"I guess it seems that way. Sir.\" \"Damned few people would dare go as far as you do,\" Extrone said. \"But you're afraid of me, too, in your own way, aren't you?\" Lin shrugged. \"Maybe.\" Lin smiled, his eyes suddenly afire with the excitement of the hunt. Four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. Extrone walked Extrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. \"Damn,\" Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. \"It better be \"Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell bother \"I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting!\" Extrone Extrone squinted up at the sun Lin, returning to the column, threaded his way among reclining bearers. He stopped before Extrone and tossed his hair out of his eyes. Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. \"There were two, I think.\" \"Two?\" Extrone grinned, petting the rifle. \"You and I better go forward Extrone laughed. \"This is enough.\" He gestured with the rifle and stood up. \"I wish you had let me bring a gun along, sir,\" Lin said. off. They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming more alert with each additional foot. Finally, Lin stopped him with a Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. The farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. \"They're moving away,\" Lin said. \"Damn!\" Extrone said. \"Eh?\" Extrone said. \"Oh?\" \"Let's get back to the column.\" \"Extrone wants to see you,\" Lin said. Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy. \"What's he want to see ineffectual. He followed Lin beyond an outcropping of shale to where Extrone was seated, petting his rifle.\n\n<question>:\nHow does Lin feel about Extrone?\n\n<options>:\nA Mia is frightened of Extrone, but he doesn't think Extrone will kill him.\nB Lin hates Extrone and is planning on killing him at the first opportunity.\nC Lin thinks Extrone is the kind of ruler the system needs.\nD Lin is frightened that Extrone is going to kill him.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,431 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n1. Egg auctions will produce designer babies. Harris cites his experience as a horse breeder and asks, \"We bid for everything else in this society--why not eggs?\" Alarmists, agreeing that Harris \"can put you into your own designer baby by selling eggs,\" predict that his success will steer \"the future of human breeding\" toward \"genetic engineering.\" 2. Egg auctions will fail to produce designer babies. While fretting about what will happen if Harris succeeds, fertility experts simultaneously debunk that scenario. \"Not only is it ethically ludicrous, but the fact is, no kid's going to look like the model's picture,\" observes ethicist George Annas. The experts give four reasons. First, the child of an ugly man and a pretty woman is just as likely to be ugly as to be pretty. Second, everyone carries \"recessive\" genes, which are invisible in this generation but may become visible in the next. A model with a small nose can pass on genes for a big nose. Third, even if both parents are attractive, a child can combine their features unattractively. For example, a girl can inherit her mother's weak nose and her father's strong brow. 6. Beauty doesn't convey health. Harris casually asserts that beauty \"shows healthiness and longevity.\" On his site, he writes, \" 'Natural Selection' is choosing genes that are healthy and beautiful.\" Skeptics question this assumed equivalence, noting that traits men find attractive in women these days--thinness, for example--are often unhealthy. When asked on the Today show how much \"medical screening\" he has given his egg donors, Harris answered, \"None.\" 7. Beauty is less meaningful than intelligence. Harris says he's not the first person to market good genes. Others, he notes, have sold sperm and solicited eggs on the basis of the donor's intelligence. Harris' detractors reply that beauty is \"superficial\" and conveys a \"harmful preoccupation with exterior appearances over intelligence and content of character.\" This critique is usually offered by a blow-dried TV interviewer who, after thanking Harris for his time, urges viewers to stay tuned for the movie starlet who will join the program after a brief commercial break. 8. Beauty is less useful than intelligence. Harris advertises beauty not as an end but as a means to \"success,\" since people who are physically desirable get more attention, power, and favorable treatment. Having chided Harris for exalting social advantage over \"character,\" critics turn around and adopt his ruthless logic. While conceding that beauty is useful, they argue that intelligence is a better weapon in today's meritocratic information economy--and that although Harris claims his models are \"beautiful, healthy and intelligent,\" he offers no evidence of brains, such as IQ or SAT scores. London's Independent envisions \"Bimbo births.\" A fertility expert shrugs, \"If people want to spend $150,000 for the eggs of a gorgeous woman who has an IQ of 68, let them.\" 9. The auction exploits desperate buyers. Harris preaches pure capitalism, saying it's \"unfair to put a limit on a girl's ability to make money\" by auctioning her eggs. In turn, fertility clinic operators accuse Harris of \"taking advantage of couples trying to conceive\" and exploiting \"desperate people ... susceptible to the dreams he is trying to sell.\" USA Today laments, \"This is about human need. And human greed.\" 10. The auction exploits desperate sellers. By late Monday, Harris had only a handful of bids, and only one was verified as legitimate. On the other hand, 50 women had asked him to put their eggs up for auction. Gradually, the media concluded that the donors were the true victims. USA Today described the models as \"struggling actresses,\" reported that they were unaware of the health risks of donating eggs, and quoted one as saying, \"I'd rather do this than do Playboy or Penthouse .\" Harris' sole verified bidder told the paper that selling eggs was \"better than prostitution.\" Harris constantly refers to the donors as his \"girls\" and describes them like cattle--\"We have a legitimate bid of $42,000 on one of the girls.\" He gets a 20 percent commission on each winning bid, though he takes no responsibility for executing financial transactions or medical procedures. \"We have no control over the quality, safety or legality of the items advertised, the truth or accuracy of the listings, the ability of sellers to sell items or the ability of buyers to buy items,\" he stipulates. His role, he explains, is simply to \"find beautiful girls, take beautiful photographs of them, [and] put them up on the Web.\" To some critics, the mystery isn't, as Harris suggests, how women throughout history have exploited their sexual power over men, but how pimps like him have come away with the profit. 11. The auction exploits voyeurs. The Washington Post thinks Harris isn't targeting either buyers or sellers. He's not serious about selling eggs, says the Post . He's just using the sex appeal of his models and the intriguing perversity of a human egg auction to drum up publicity and attract Internet traffic to his site, from which he can sell advertising and subscriptions ($24.95 a month to view profiles of the models), hawk his forthcoming book ( Naked Power ), and direct prurient visitors to his various porn sites. A spokesman for fertility doctors suspects that ronsangels.com is really aimed at \"adolescent boys.\" 12. The Internet facilitates monstrous purchases. Technology watchdogs call the egg auction another chapter in the cultural slide marked by Jennycam (a Web site featuring live video of a young woman undressing and doing other normal activities in her apartment), the promised Webcast of a man and woman losing their virginity together (which turned out to be a hoax), and a human kidney auction that was conducted and aborted on eBay last month. \"Ever since the Internet, it seems to snowball more rapidly, this depersonalization of people and selling of eggs,\" one fertility expert complains to the New York Times . USA Today says the egg auction \"just might force an Internet-obsessed society to finally sit down and ask itself: Where is the Internet taking us?\" 16. The power of beauty should be transcended, not exploited. Harris preaches that the world rewards beauty because it's human nature to favor those who are pleasant to look at, and therefore the way to have successful children is to make sure they're attractive. The most ambitious response is to attack the whole \"prejudice\" in favor of beauty. \"The standards of beauty do vary with the culture. And they are social facts, not really genetics facts,\" says Hastings Center ethicist Bruce Jennings. Therefore, \"we should think about\" whether to \"accept the existing prejudices and then try to eugenically manipulate them\" or to transcend those prejudices. This critique challenges two precepts of Harris' worldview. First, while pretending to accept human nature as a given, he violates it by peddling strangers' eggs and encouraging the production of children who will probably never know their mothers. Family association, loyalty, and love are among the best parts of human nature. Slavish catering to physically attractive strangers is among the worst. If we're going to challenge human nature, the critics ask, why not start with the latter rather than the former? Second, Harris assumes that the perfection parents want in their children coincides with Darwinian perfection. \"Every organism is trying to evolve to its most perfect state,\" he writes. What he doesn't seem to understand is that human beings aren't quite like other animals, just as the rest of the world isn't exactly like the modeling and soft-porn industries of Southern California. Humans have evolved to a stage at which our ideas about virtue, perfection, and success have become more than material. At least, most of us have.\n\n<question>:\nWhich word would the author not use to describe Harris?\n\n<options>:\nA shallow\nB selfish\nC intelligent\nD motivated\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,113 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nGambling's would-be federal regulators--the National Gambling Impact Study Commission--went to Las Vegas this week to hold hearings. In today's dispatch, we learn how gambling's foes seek to demonize wagering as a pernicious tobaccolike vice. In yesterday's dispatch, gambling's foes learn the folly of having brought their anti-sin crusade to an adult Disneyland. Tuesday's overpowering show of force by the Nevada gambling aristocracy has had at least one audible effect on the National Gambling Impact Study Commission. Wednesday, even commission Chair Kay Coles James, a gambling skeptic, succumbs to the hideous Vegas euphemism: She begins referring to the \"gaming industry.\" The antis, meanwhile, cry that gambling is like cigarettes: unsafe for kids, viciously addictive, deceptively marketed, unhealthy, expensive, and unacceptable unless mightily regulated. Judging by today's hearings and by conversations with most of the commissioners, the tobacco model is winning. Today's panelists tell the commission that kids are starting to gamble too young and are getting addicted too easily, that compulsive gambling appears to be increasing as gambling spreads, that gambling marketing may be designed to addict customers, and that the industry exploits problem gamblers by allowing them to draw repeated credit card advances from ATMs on casino floors. The testimony clearly impresses the commissioners and seems especially to impress the three nonaligned commissioners who will be the swing votes on the June 1999 report. It is starting to become clear what that report will say. The commission won't (and can't) take any grand stand against gambling. Instead it will opt for small, targeted policies, concentrating on compulsive gambling. It will probably propose that casinos and state lotteries fund gambling-addiction research and that casinos take much stronger measures to bar problem gamblers from wagering. The commission may recommend that gaming taxes be used to underwrite treatment of pathological gamblers and that insurance companies be encouraged to cover gambling addiction. Similarly, the commission will try to reduce gamblers' access to cash by limiting the size of ATM advances and prodding casinos to remove the machines from their floors. The commission will also push the industry to do more to prevent kids from gambling. It will call for heavier regulation of Indian gambling and will probably try to ban or severely regulate Internet gambling, perhaps by forbidding gambling companies from running online casinos. It will rebuke state lotteries for their deceptive marketing and will try to force them to post odds and stop targeting the poor. In short, it will treat gambling as a tobaccolike vice. If the comments of the pro-industry commissioners can be believed, the industry will happily endorse such a report. Gamblers don't quite accept the cigarette analogy--though commission member Bill Bible, a former chief of the Nevada Gaming Commission, did concede that gambling was like alcohol--but they're happy to sign on to the specific measures. The casino industry is even trying to get ahead of the commission. It has already established a (mostly) independent center to fund research into pathological gambling. I suspect that the industry will not only agree to the commission's recommendations but will become their strongest advocate. Casino owners will avidly lobby Congress and state legislatures to enact the recommendations into law. The gambling industry did everything in its power to stop the establishment of this commission two years ago, but Congress and a fervent grassroots anti-gambling group eventually foisted it on the industry. The nine member blue-ribbon panel was charged with assessing the social and economic impact of gambling, and it will issue a final report to Congress and the president in June 1999. Even though the panel was carefully balanced between pro- and anti-gambling leaders, it was supposed to be Vegas' nemesis. The industry and Las Vegas' pro-gambling media quaked in anticipation of the onerous regulations and taxes the commission might recommend. \"My goodness, no politician can withstand their resources,\" Focus on the Family's James Dobson, the commission's leading gambling opponent, tells me. The industry's political clout has emasculated the commission, Dobson continues: \"Our report won't be acted on by the president or Congress. They are too heavily influenced by gambling money. Almost all the leaders of Congress are on the dole.\" It has also become obvious that the commission has too many pro-gambling members to produce a report that recommends taxes or other real penalties on the industry. So the commission's two day visit to Gomorrah has been transformed from a charged political event to a kind of victory lap for gaming. Nevada Gov. Bob Miller and the \"gaming visionaries\" have been planning for these hearings for months, hoping to use them to demonstrate the might and sanctity and goodness of the Nevada gambling industry. The hearings, too, reinforce the Glorious Las Vegas theme. Frank Fahrenkopf, the industry's top lobbyist (who is paid so much he can afford monogrammed shirt cuffs --I saw them), holds forth cheerfully outside the ballroom, celebrating the electoral triumph of freedom over religious moralist tyranny. Inside, the room is packed with more than 600 people in neon lime green T-shirts that read \"Unions and Gaming: Together for a Better Life.\" They are members of the major casino union, here to cheer on their employers and their union. (Most of them, it must be said, are getting paid to do this.) Later in the day, Nevada's senators and both its congressmen appear to chew out the commission for even thinking that Nevada might have a dark side. They pay tribute to Nevada's sophisticated gambling industry, especially its regulation (much stricter than other gambling states) and its use of gambling taxes to fund state services. It is one of the ironies of Nevada politics that its Republican congressmen (Jim Gibbons and John Ensign) end up crediting their state's success to government regulation and corporate taxation. There are also a fair share of gleeful gambling regulators, bookmakers, and casino employees among the panels of expert witnesses the commission hears from. Critics who gripe about the perils of sports gambling and the evils of convenience store slot machines leaven the pro-gambling folks. Everyone, including the gambling industry shills, agrees that Internet gambling is evil and should be destroyed. Everyone agrees to this because no one in Las Vegas is making any money off Internet gambling. If they were, you can be sure they would explain why it's as American as nickel slots and scratch-off games. Still, for all the Vegan triumphalism in the air, it's impossible not to be charmed by the chief gambling opponent, the Rev. Tom Grey. Grey is utterly irrepressible. A Vietnam rifleman turned Methodist minister, Grey has spent the last eight years evangelizing against gambling. He founded the National Coalition Against Legalized Gambling, the primary force behind the commission's creation. (Grey, in a rare acknowledgement of defeat, has just renamed it the National Coalition Against Gambling Expansion, tacitly recognizing that gambling is here to stay.) He is a genial motormouth and shameless promoter of the cause. He wears a gigantic \"CasiNO\" button in the casino. He posed for People in a shepherd's robe. He says \"I would do anything short of lighting myself on fire in the Capitol rotunda to stop gambling.\" He is so excitable that I have to yank him out of the way of an oncoming car when he gets too wrapped up in one of his soliloquies.\n\n<question>:\nWho on the commission is gambling's most fervent opponent?\n\n<options>:\nA Bill Bible\nB Terrence Lanni\nC Bob Miller\nD James Dobson\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
2,045 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\ncherished by we old. Across the gently undulating hills stood the magnificent Melopolis, encradling the Oracle of Delni. I do not, of course, believe in the gods per se still there is a grandeur in the very stones that transcends their human sculptors, and it is no wonder to me that many cling tenaciously, and ignorantly, to the old religion. Cling to the gods of old, who drew man upward from wherever he began. In whose names Man killed and plundered, while struggling up. In whose That is, Xeon was upon me. But I knew that where Xeon is, Melia must been for the friendship of Xeon. \"Oh my gods!\" Xeon shouted. \"I tell you it's gone! Will you—\" Melia interrupted him quietly. \"Xeon, will you lose all respect for often wonder why—but Xeon and Melia ran all the way down to the city. emergency. For a machine had failed! Not in the memory of the eldest among us has a machine failed. They were created so long ago, indeed, that the ignorant believe them to have been constructed by the gods themselves. And never, so far as I know, has one failed. Small wonder that the watcher had been negligent. Indeed, the watcher is more a tradition than a necessity. Besides, had he been sober, he would not have known what to do. For who knows the mysterious workings of the machines? for me to bring them to order. Xeon and Melia stopped as I mounted the Well, you know how these things are. At such a time, many men feel impelled to make speeches, and one must not be disrespectful. Prayers and supplications were offered to the gods, priests were sent to assembled to hear. By this time, unfortunately, many of the Conclave had departed for home and supper. Yet perhaps it is for the best, for those left were the most earnest and intelligent. \"I would not bore you,\" he said, \"with details of which only the gods are sure. Know, then, that once granted a few cells of Prelife, it is number of children each year to balance the number of us whom the gods claim. Such it has always been from time immemorial.\" A murmur of assent and approval of these virtuous words whispered around the Hall. Indeed, I might call it an emergency. For the M-Maternite Machine has actually failed.\" Cries of \"Treason\" sprang up, and I fear it might have gone hard for the priest had I not been able to insure order. \"That is not the worst,\" he cried, as if in defiance. \"All the Prelife will be no more children!\" At this I feared the Conclave was about to riot. It is at such times that I most revere the wisdom of the ancients, who decreed seventy years the minimum age for a member of the Conclave. They shouted and machines may produce more children for us? \"As I have said,\" he replied, \"give the machines but a bit of Prelife and they will produce more. But take away that least bit, and they are helpless.\" Such heresy could have brought a sad end to the priest had not the Conclave been so exhausted by the events of the day. We leaned back to think. and yet it came from somewhere.\" \"Riddles are not called for,\" I answered severely. \"Are not riddles often the beginning of knowledge?\" he asked, in that irritating dumber-than-thou attitude of his. \"Must there not, long ago, have been a source of Prelife: a source now forgotten? And may it not even now—should we discover it—be available to us? I am reminded of not doubt your word, Rocsates, for all know you are the wisest of men—if it were so, then, what of it?\" \"May it not be,\" Rocsates put in, \"that these animals had no machines to reproduce their kind? For surely the gods would not grant machines to such creatures. And indeed, if they had Maternite Machines, why then we would yet have these animals among us.\" Machine, and that at such a time both the animals and Men reproduced from within their own bodies?\" At this two members of the Conclave fell immediately into a faint, and I would gladly have joined them. I hoped that the youngsters, Xeon and Melia, had not heard, but as I turned they were listening most attentively to Rocsates, who, amid cries of \"Heresy\" and \"Treason\", went on: Therefore, they have not been read in the known history of our race. And Rocsates has been anxious for an excuse— and your features more often handsomer than ours. To the disadvantage, seems to have been so simple that there was once a problem of over-population.\" Order was lost among the Conclave as each man turned to speak to his neighbor, and for some time I could not restore order. I realized that something had to be done to save Rocsates before the outrage of the assembled overwhelmed him. \"It seems,\" I shouted, \"that there is a flaw in your logic.\" For if such there was, I was hopeful of dismissing the entire affair with no harm done. \"For if people reproduced too often, why then this reproduction must have been a pleasant thing to do otherwise they would not have done so to excess. And if it was a pleasant thing to do, where is the necessity for the machines, and why were they created?\" Rocsates seemed perplexed by this problem, whereupon Xeon, who together with Melia were at the Conclave without permission, shouted, \"Perhaps such a pleasure that the Conclave ruled it to be a sin? And therefore the machines were necessary!\" power to restrain them from placing Xeon under arrest. Privately, Now indeed I was sorely worried concerning Xeon, for he must languish whereupon I might argue for the lad. When I heard that Rocsates again desired audience, I immediately proclaimed a meeting of the Conclave a thin, rectangular object, but that is not what impressed me. His appearance—he looked as if he had not slept of late, nor eaten either. His eyes were sunken, and his features had doubled in age. He was bent formalities were over. I intended to speak for Xeon, but Rocsates was Life.' It seems to be some sort of a do-it-yourself pamphlet.\" He dropped the book on the table and rubbed his hands over his eyes. There was something in the man's behavior that commanded everyone's but it seems to mean....\" His words trailed off. He was obviously suppose,\" he said. \"You see, once upon a time there were birds and bees....\" When he finished the Conclave sat in horrified silence. His words, \"Shall not these organs which you mention have atrophied by now? With no use throughout all these generations, will they not have evolved into nothingness?\" \"I do not think so,\" Rocsates replied after a while. \"What to us is some, at least, of the She's.\" We sat shaking our heads, bowed under terrible reality. \"Then we must experiment,\" I said. \"But whom could we ask to submit to such horror?\" breasts. Melia has volunteered, on condition that Xeon be released from dungeon. Are there any objections?\" There were none, of course. Who would refuse a boon to one who would undergo such an ordeal for the City? \"In all honor, could Xeon allow Melia to surpass him in courage? It but Xeon stepped forward. \"My lords,\" he said, \"would not better results be obtained were we to conduct the experiment in the fields before the Oracle of Delni, that the gods may help us?\" His glance reached into my soul, and I was proud of Xeon. A true Melia cast her eyes down, and would not raise them. Xeon held his arm \"We beg one favor,\" Xeon went on. \"We are agreed that—Well, we should relief and gratitude must have showed, for Xeon took a deep breath and spoke again. \"We do not deserve praise, Sias,\" he said. \"The truth is, we ... we\n\n<question>:\nWhich is the most accurate description of why Xeon is in trouble?\n\n<options>:\nA He was not supposed to pursue a relationship with a woman\nB He was not supposed to point out any flaws in the current government structure\nC He publicly declared untrue things to be true\nD The suggestions he made were against the societal ideals\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,462 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"Of course,\" I said, and added absurdly, \"That's why I don't wash.\" only in Centurian humanoids, not Earth-norm human beings. Doc had this solemn human by the throat when I caught up with him. \"Tonight,\" Doc was saying in his old voice that was as crackled and Which are Nothing came out of my gabbling mouth. \" What is Doc's full name? \" I almost fell in, but at the last instant I caught myself and said, \"Sure,\" the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc's From the bed, Doc said a word. \"Son.\" \"He didn't use that,\" Andre said. So I was an Earthman, Doc's son. So my addiction to coffee was all in It was easier this night and that made me afraid. Doc's thin frame, my mind. That didn't change anything. They say sex is all in your mind. I didn't want to be cured. I wouldn't be. Doc was gone. That was all I wanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. in Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have been \"He's my father and very old, as you can see.\" I laughed inside at the absurd, easy lie. \"Old events seem recent to him.\" \"The rest is simple,\" Andre said. \"Doc O'Malley bought up all the stock \"'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. But I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse three if we didn't. Doc was liable to say something that might nova Sol, for all I knew. Martians approaching the corner were sensing at Doc and me. They were just cheap tourists slumming down on Skid Row. I hated tourists \"Exactly, Kevin, exactly. They have never existed any more than your Martians. They were aliens . They weren't men like Doc and me. Then I realized what was about to happen. It was foolish and awful and true. I was going to have one of mine at the same time Doc was having the human race can tell itself how to achieve a state of pure logic, without food, without sex, without conflict—just as Doc has achieved of ESP, telepathy, telekinesis, precognition. Through these books, back into time and created them. And that unconscious mind, deeper than I knew I could not let Doc's—Dad's—time travel thing fall into before Doc's genes and creative environment were recreated and time before I could move, what with holding up Doc. I let go of him. He didn't scare me, but Doc was beginning to mumble singing on the left, a wino praying on the right, and the door didn't have any lock on it. At last, Doc and I were alone. I laid Doc out on the gray-brown cot and put his forearm over his face gas tank to get rid of Doc's and my cooties. Lucky that I never needed jagged cut-out nude curled against a lump of dust and lint, giving it an unreal distortion. Doc began to mumble louder. concentrated on Doc's voice and trusted my hands would follow their ... Thoth ... Two boxes ... His voice rose to a meaningless wail that stretched into non-existence. That wasn't just an addict's dream. I knew who Doc was. When I got to thinking it was just a dream and that I was dragging this old man around North America for nothing, I remembered who he was. I remembered that he was somebody very important whose name and work I had once known, even if now I knew him only as Doc. Doc alone, but I had to. Doc was twisting on the cot, tears washing white streaks across his face. I shoved Doc's face up against my chest. I held onto him and let Necronomican itself on human beings?\" \"But they don't exist,\" I said wearily. Victorian detective friend. But the unconscious racial mind has reached , of course, not an alien like a Martian. Earthmen ran the whole Solar Federation, but I was just as good as an glass of milk. I didn't want to black out on coffee with Doc waiting \"That's the first time you've called me anything but 'ma'am',\" she said. \"I'm not an old-maid schoolteacher, you know.\" Last Name. Then there was something in her voice.... \"What do you think of this?\" Doc sat on the floor in the half-darkness and he had made a Doc had ever made anything. It didn't look like much, but it was a I knelt beside Doc. \"An order, my boy, an order,\" he whispered. \"Concentrate,\" Doc said hoarsely. \"Concentrate....\" The words \"First Edition\" were what I was thinking about most. The heavy-set man in the ornate armchair was saying, \"The bullet struck familiar with Earth history and I recognized the period immediately. Then I realized what I had been trying to get from Doc all these months—time travel. A thin, sickly man was sprawled in the other chair in a rumpled The heavier man was half choking, half laughing. \"I say—I say, I would illness and is suffering a more serious addiction to tell me the place and time from which he comes.\" The surprise stung. \"How did you know?\" I asked. say super-scientific, of a science not of my or the good doctor's time, clearly. Time travel is a familiar folk legend and I have been reading an article by the entertaining Mr. Wells. Perhaps he will expand it into one of his novels of scientific romance.\" I knew who these two men were, with a tormenting doubt. \"But the other—\" He was so smug and so sure, this snowbird. I hated him. Because I couldn't trust to my own senses as he did. \"You don't exist,\" I said slowly, painfully. \"You are fictional creations.\" The doctor flushed darkly. \"You give my literary agent too much credit would tell us something of his age with special reference to the theory and practice of temporal transference, Doctor, we would be better equipped to judge whether we exist.\" There was no theory or practice of time travel. I told them all I had ever heard theorized from Hindu yoga through Extra-sensory Perception to Relativity and the positron and negatron. Perception' have altered the past to make it as they suppose it to be. The great historical figures are made the larger than life-size that we know them. The great literary creations assume reality.\" I thought of Cleopatra and Helen of Troy and wondered if they would be the goddesses of love that people imagined or the scrawny, big-nosed After a time, I asked the doctor a question. Doc was lying on the cot, half his face twisted into horror. had known too much in too short a time. I had to help Doc, but there I had to help Doc. I had to have some coffee. \"What do you want?\" \"Listen, Kevin. Listen carefully to what I am saying. Doc found his crusades. How can you make money with time travel?\" I didn't know whether she was asking me, but I didn't know. All I knew was that I had to help Doc and get some coffee. \"It takes money—money Doc didn't have—to make money,\" Miss Casey prosper. Besides, horse-racing and the stock market weren't a part of Doc's character. He was a scholar.\" Why did she keep using the past tense in reference to Doc? It scared did not exist .\" should serve as a point of reference.\" I had always wondered how a thing like a Martian could talk. Sometimes I wondered if they really could. \"They always do,\" I told him. \"They ceased to exist—as human beings—shortly after they received a book from Doc,\" the Martian said. Something seemed to strike me in the back of the neck. I staggered, but\n\n<question>:\nWhy is it ironic that the narrator calls Doc his dad in the beginning?\n\n<options>:\nA Doc is actually his dad, he only thinks it's a lie\nB His own dad is just as violent, so it's a fair comparison\nC He only met the Doc a few days ago and they don't know each other well enough to be family\nD Doc and the narrator are not actually from the same planet, and can't be related\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,396 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"Pretty frightening?\" \"No, sir.... Well, in a way, sir.\" \"But Extrone was smiling innocently. \"Good. I want you to do something for Extrone asked, \"Is there a pass?\" Delicately, Extrone raised a hand to his beard. \"I'd hate to lose a day \"Eh?\" Extrone said. Extrone raised his eyebrows. Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. \"I'm Extrone shrugged. \"He what?\" Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. wouldn't....\" Extrone said, \"Which one is he?\" Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifle \"Tie it,\" Extrone ordered. \"Tie it,\" Extrone said inexorably. \"Hey, you!\" Extrone called. \"You will scream,\" Extrone instructed. With his rifle, he pointed \"Let me hear you scream,\" Extrone said. \"You'll have to do better than that.\" Extrone inclined his head toward it alone. Damn him.\" \"See that you keep it up that way,\" Extrone said. \"That's the way I Ri twisted his mouth into a sour frown. He wiped at his forehead. \"Hot. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert. Extrone chuckled. \"You were with me on Meizque?\" Extrone's head. He slapped at it, angry. The forest was quiet, Extrone laughed nervously. \"He must have heard.\" our fault Extrone found out.\" Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. \"I like this. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything I know.\" Extrone we'd hunted this area.\" that matters.\" \"After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going to \"It's not only \"You understand?\" Extrone said. \"How it is to wait, knowing in just a to kill it?\" didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking,\" Mia said. \"Hey!\" Extrone shouted. \"You, down there. There are two coming. Now \"There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too,\" Extrone said. \"I've always liked to hunt,\" Extrone said. \"More than anything else, I \"No,\" Extrone argued. \"People should hunt for the love of hunting.\" \"Killing?\" \"Hunting,\" Extrone repeated harshly. Extrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settled \"He's good bait,\" Extrone said. \"He's fat enough and he knows how to Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spat Extrone began to tremble with excitement. \"Here they come!\" The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across his \"What in hell do you want?\" Extrone asked. \"Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game?\" Extrone \"Wait,\" Extrone said. \"Let's see what they do.\" He had not moved Extrone's face looked much too innocent. \"How did it get there, \"Look!\" Extrone cried excitedly. \"Here it comes!\" \"So?\" Extrone mocked. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turned \"Watch! Watch!\" Extrone cried gleefully. Extrone toyed with his beard. \"About a year ago, gentlemen, there was \"You'll destroy this one, too,\" Extrone said. Extrone said, \"To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here. Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. \"You'll \"Get off,\" Extrone said quietly to the four officers. Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away, \"Eh?\" Extrone said, turning, startled. \"Oh, you. Well?\" Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, \"You killed one, I believe, on Extrone held back the flap of the tent. \"Won't you come in?\" he asked Extrone narrowed his eyes. \"I see by your eyes that you are \"Oh?\" Extrone questioned mildly. \"I wouldn't say that. I understand \"Of course you did,\" Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of his \"Yes,\" Extrone said, \"I imagine they are. It would have been a shame if Extrone pursed his lips. \"It wouldn't have been very considerate of you Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. \"If I had waited until it was \"Of course,\" Extrone said dryly. \"Like all of my subjects,\" he waved his hand in a broad gesture, \"the highest as well as the lowest slave, know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best.\" Extrone bent forward. \" \"Get out!\" Extrone said. influence. He couldn't just like that—\" \"He could say it was an accident.\" want to overthrow him!\" power when the people were in rebellion against military rule.\" Ri swallowed. \"We couldn't make the people believe that.\" \"No?\" Mia challenged. \"Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow? Extrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them from And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting the Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in his Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. \"Very information on our newly discovered fauna from an alien manual—and, of course, two businessmen.\" \"They have very long, sharp fangs, and, when enraged, are capable of tearing a man—\" \"An alien?\" Extrone corrected. Extrone laughed harshly. \"It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me?\" afraid of you.\" \"The farn beasts, according to the manual....\" \"You are very insistent on one subject.\" \"... It's the only thing I know anything about. The farn beast, as I \"All right,\" Extrone said, annoyed. \"I'll be careful.\" Instantly alert, Extrone said, \"Get the bearers! Have some of them cut Four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. Extrone walked Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, a Once Extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny, Extrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. \"Damn,\" Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. \"It better be \"Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell bother \"I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting!\" Extrone important.\" \"Yes, sir.\" Extrone squinted up at the sun Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Extrone laughed. \"This is enough.\" He gestured with the rifle and stood The two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. Extrone moved They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming more Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. \"Damn!\" Extrone said. fast, too.\" \"Eh?\" Extrone said. \"Wait,\" Extrone said, combing his beard. \"Wait a minute.\" \"Look,\" Extrone said. \"If that's the case, why do we bother tracking \"You don't seem to see what I mean,\" Extrone said. \" \"Extrone wants to see you,\" Lin said. Extrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. \"The farn beast hunter, eh?\" Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. \"Tell me what they look like,\" he said suddenly. \"Well, sir, they're ... uh....\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich doesn't describe Extrone?\n\n<options>:\nA excitable\nB generous\nC wealthy\nD powerful\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
874 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nShe said, \"I'd rather be dead. Maybe I am. Maybe we're all dead and this is Hell.\" He stood over her and looked down until she turned away her reddening \"Don't flatter yourself,\" she replied angrily. She sat up, pushed back her hair, got to her feet a trifle awkwardly because of the tight-fitting tubular gown. \"If I could do anything about it....\" \"But you can't,\" he told her. \"They're too clever.\" \"Is this crop rotation or did you send for me?\" she asked cynically. \"If you did, I wish you hadn't. You haven't asked about your son.\" \"I don't even want to think about him,\" said Tennant. \"Let's get on with it.\" He could sense the restless stirring of the woman within Dana, just as he could feel the stirring toward her within himself—desire that both of them loathed because it was implanted within them by their captors. They walked toward the house. double motherhood, she was almost flat of bosom. He asked her how she was feeling. \"Okay, I guess,\" she said. \"The way they manage it, there's nothing still, regarding him over the pregnant swell of her dirndl-clad waist. other two, especially Dana, upon him, he could not. \"I guess I wasn't cut out to be a Turk,\" he said. \"I don't feel at ease in a harem, even when it's supposedly my own.\" \"You're not doing so badly,\" Dana replied acidly. \"Lay off—he can't help it,\" said Eudalia unexpectedly. \"He doesn't like it any better than we do.\" \"But he doesn't have to—have them,\" objected Olga. She had a trace of Eudalia laid down her fork with a clatter and regarded Dana disapprovingly. \"Why take it out on Rog?\" she asked bluntly. \"He didn't ask to come here any more than we did. He's got a wife back home. Maybe you want him to fall in love with you? Maybe you're jealous because he doesn't? Well, maybe he can't! And maybe it wouldn't work, the way things are arranged here.\" her close, although neither of them felt desire at the moment. Their captors had seen to that \"And it's not yours,\" insisted Eudalia. \"Don't let them make you think it is.\" \"I'll try not to,\" he said and stopped, realizing the family party was over. He had felt the inner tug of command, said good-by to the women and returned to his smaller compound within its own barrier dome. Opal was nervous, so much so that he revealed more than he intended. Or perhaps that was his intent his role was to be. He had little time to speculate before Opal seemed to envelop him. that might have made Opal suspicious. He should be somewhat excited. He allowed himself to be, though he obscured the reasons. He was going to see his wife again ... and maybe he could trick his way into not returning. He shrugged, returned to the feeling of comfort that came from being back here, about to see Agatha again, hold her close in no more than a few minutes. And stay, his mind began to add eagerly, but he pushed the He took another deep, lung-filling drag on his cigarette, looked around the room that was so important a part of his life. The three women back there would be in a ghastly spot. He felt like a heel for wanting to leave them there, then knew that he would try somehow to get them out. Not, of course, anything that would endanger his remaining with Agatha the only way his captors would get him back would be as a taxidermist's specimen. He realized, shocked and scared, that his thoughts of escape had Agatha would complain, naturally, but his being back would make up for any amount of furniture shifting. He imagined her standing close to him, her lovely face lifted to be kissed, and his heart lurched like an adolescent's. This hunger was real, not implanted. Everything would be real ... his love for her, the food he ate, the things he touched, his house, his life.... Your wife and a man are approaching the house. The thought message from Opal crumbled his illusion of freedom. He sank down in a chair, trying to refuse to listen to the rest of the command: when it came, was more humiliating than a slap across a dog's snout. Opal had been too interested in the next lab specimen to bother about his thoughts—that was why he had been free to think of escape. . He'd had one too many and only wanted a little fun. Really, darling, you seem to think that a girl....\" groomed, more assured than his memory of her. \"I'm no stuffed-shirt and you know it.\" Cass' tone was peevish. \"But your idea of fun, Agatha, is pretty damn....\" It was his turn to freeze. Unbelieving, Tennant studied his successor. Cass Gordon—the man , the ex-halfback whose bulk was beginning to get Roger! he should have expected a triangle, but somehow he hadn't. And here it was, with all of them going through their paces like a trio of \"Sorry,\" said Tennant. \"I've had my troubles, too.\" Agatha was scared stiff—of him. Probably with reason. He looked again at Cass Gordon and found that he suddenly didn't care. She couldn't say it was loneliness. Women have waited longer than eighteen months. He would have if his captors had let him. you been, Rog?\" Gordon's tone was almost Agatha looked at him over the rim of hers. \"Tell us, Rog. We have a He was standing no more than four inches from this woman he had desired desperately for six years, and he no longer wanted her. He was acutely conscious of her perfume. It wrapped them both like an exotic blanket, and it repelled him. He studied the firm clear flesh of her cheek and chin, the arch of nostril, the carmine fullness of lower lip, the swell of bosom above low-cut gown. And he no longer wanted any of it or of her. Cass Gordon— It didn't have to be anybody at all. For it to be Cass Gordon was revolting. \"Rog,\" she said and her voice trembled, \"what are we going to do? What she wouldn't know what that meant. It would serve her right, but maybe there was another way. \"I don't know about you,\" he said, \"but I suspect we're in the same boat. I also have other interests.\" \"You louse!\" said Cass Gordon, arching rib cage and nostrils. \"If you try to make trouble for Agatha, I can promise....\" \" What can you promise?\" demanded Tennant. When Gordon's onset subsided in mumbles, he added, \"Actually, I don't think I'm capable of making more than a fraction of the trouble for either of you that you both are qualified to make for yourselves.\" He lit a cigarette, inhaled. \"Relax. I'm not planning revenge. After this evening, I plan to vanish for good. Of course, Agatha, that offers you a minor nuisance. You will have to wait six years to marry Cass—seven years if the maid who let me in tonight talks. That's the law, isn't it, Cass? You probably had it all figured out.\" that could do to us.\" \"Tristan and Isolde,\" said Tennant, grinning almost happily. \"Well, I've had my little say. Now I'm off again. Cass, would you give me a He needed no telepathic powers to read the thoughts around him then. He heard Agatha's quick intake of breath, saw the split-second look she exchanged with Cass. He turned away, knowing that she was imploring her lover to do something, anything\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Roger allude to Tristan and Isolde when confronting his wife and Cass Gordon?\n\n<options>:\nA He knows that Cass Gordon and his wife will both be transported to the fourth dimension.\nB He knows that his wife will ultimately choose him over Cass Gordon.\nC He knows that Cass Gordon and his wife will never get to be together.\nD He knows that his wife will ultimately choose Cass Gordon over him.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
2,373 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHow much is the impossible worth? Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] were they trying to pull on him? \"The man who isn't Snead is leaving,\" friend's dead.\" \"Oh, well, 'dead,'\" Howell replied. \"What do you say it like that for?\" Linton demanded angrily. \"The man's dead. Plain dead. He's not Sherlock Holmes or the Frankenstein Monster—there's no doubt or semantic leeway to the thing.\" sincerely felt to be a genuine affection for Greta. Even after they had let him out of the asylum as cured, he still secretly believed he had known a genuine affection for her. But it didn't seem he knew about death at all. \"I don't know, mind you,\" Howell said, puffing out tobacco smoke, \"but I suppose he might have been resurrected.\" \"Who by?\" Linton asked, thinking: \"You mean, somebody has invented a way to bring dead people back to He knew, of course, that Howell did not mean that. Howell meant that some people had a system of making it appear that a person had died in order to gain some illegal advantage. But by saying something so \"I don't understand,\" Linton said helplessly. \"Look, Frank, you can't legalize a thing like resurrection,\" Howell said with feigned patience. \"There are strong religious convictions to their whole life. You got to realize that.\" \"That's not enough. Not nearly enough.\" \"Think of all the problems it would cause. Insurance, for one thing. Overpopulation. Birth control is a touchy subject. They'd have to take it up if everybody got resurrected when they died, wouldn't they?\" \"But what do they do about it? Against it?\" \"There are a lot of fakes and quacks in the resurrection business. When the cops find out about a place, they break in, smash all the equipment and arrest everybody in sight. That's about all they can do. The charges, if any, come under general vice classification.\" the other day that said 'death' was our dirty word, not sex. You want to shock somebody, you tell him, 'You're going to be dead someday,' not anything sexual. You know how it is. The out of touch for some time. It might be true. Then again, they might be trying to trick him. They used to do that to see if he was really well. But the temptation was too strong. Howell looked away. \"Frank, I don't have anything to do with that kind of people and if you're smart, you'll not either.\" Linton's fingers imprinted the linen. \"Damn you, Howell, you tell me!\" you feel welcome back to the society of your fellows after being in the hospital for a nervous breakdown. I do all that, and for thanks, you yell at me and curse me. You kooks are all alike!\" Howell threw money on the table with the same kind of disinterest as I've got to hurry too, Linton thought. It's Resurrection Day! The doctor fluttered his hands and chirped about the office. \"Well, well, Mr. Linton, we understand you've been causing disturbances.\" disturbing.\" \"I was only trying to find out something,\" Linton maintained. \"They The doctor clucked his tongue. \"Let's not think any such thing. People don't know more than you do.\" resurrectionist?\" \"I am a resurrectionist.\" \"But the policeman brought me to you!\" cynics.\" Linton scooted forward on the insultingly cold metal chair and really looked at the doctor for the first time. \"Doctor, can you really resurrect the dead?\" \"Will you stop being cynical? Of course I can!\" \"Doctor, I'm beginning to believe in you,\" Linton said, \"but tell me, can you resurrect the long dead?\" \"Size has nothing to do with it.\" \"No, my wife has been dead a long time. Months.\" \"Months?\" The doctor snapped those weeks away with his fingers. \"It could be years. Centuries. It's all mathematics, my boy. I need only one fragment of the body and my computers can compute what the rest of it was like and recreate it. It's infallible. Naturally there is a degree of risk involved.\" \"Infallible risk, yes,\" Linton murmured. \"Could you go to work right \"First, I must follow an ancient medical practice. I must bleed you.\" realize I've just got out of an institution....\" \"I've often been in institutions myself, for alcoholism, narcotics addiction and more.\" care less. \"Oh, yes—yes, indeed. But I didn't come out broke.\" faltering bonds, and while I was away they sank to rock bottom.\" \"Then—\" \"When they hit rock bottom, they bounced up. If I hadn't found you, I would have been secure for the rest of my lonely, miserable life.\" \"All that's ended now,\" the doctor assured him. \"Now we must go dig up the corpse. The female corpse, eh?\" Resurrection Day! \"Doctor,\" Linton whispered, \"my mind is singing with battalions of choirs. I hope that doesn't sound irreverent to you.\" The doctor stroked his oily palms together. \"Oh, but it does. to obtain. The doctor had taken the body and Linton's fortune and fed them both into the maw of his calculators, and by means of the secret, smuggled formulae, Greta would be cybernetically reborn. \"It was a terrible accident right after—that is, about five months \"Traffic accident. Killed instantly.\" \"But Johnny was your friend, your best friend. Why didn't you have him resurrected the same way you did me?\" \"Darling, resurrection is a risky business and an expensive one. You have to pay premium prices for strawberries in February. I no longer have the money to pay for a resurrection of Johnny.\" Greta turned her back to him. \"It's just as well. You shouldn't bring back Johnny to this dream of life, give him a ghost of mind and the photograph of a soul. It's monstrous. No one should do that. No one. But you're sure you haven't the money to do it?\" hilt. It won't pay any more until I'm buried, and then, of course, you can resurrect me.\" to quench death and smother decay. It's perfect .\" with it over her head. Linton leaped aside and Greta hit the edge of the desk instead of him. Brain damage, he concluded nervously. Cell deterioration. Greta raised it again and he caught her wrists high over her head. She writhed against him provocatively. \"Frank, I'm sorry, dear, but I have to have that insurance money. It's hell!\" in some appalled form of satisfaction as it registered horror and acceptance of the crumpled metal disk falling toward it. wreckage. Yes, it seemed they had to automate and modify the bodies somewhat in resurrection. They couldn't chemically revive the old corpse like pouring water on a wilted geranium. Or— Did they use the old bodies at all? What were all those acid baths for if the bodies were used? Didn't the resurrectionists just destroy the old corpses and make androids, synthetic creatures, to take their place? But it didn't matter. Not a bit. She had thought she was his wife, sharing her viewpoint down to the He opened his eyes to the doctor's spotless, well-ordered office. The doctor looked down at him consolingly. \"You'll have to go back, Mr. Linton. But they'll cure you. You'll be cured of ever thinking your wife was brought back to life and that you killed her all over again.\" \"Do you\n\n<question>:\nWhich of the following risks are explicitly associated with bringing someone back to life?\n\n<options>:\nA They may desire to seek revenge on the person who killed them\nB They may not recognize the person who resurrected them\nC The person who received their insurance settlement will have to return it\nD They may suffer from cell deterioration\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
250 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCasey Ritter, the guy who never turned down a dare, breathed a prayer to the gods of idiots and spacemen, and headed in toward smuggling Kooleen crystals in from Mars, I knew I was in that corner, and sewed up tight. Sure, the crystals are deadly, but I was smuggling them legitimately, in a manner of speaking, for this doctor to experiment with. He wasn't also, I had promised not to rat on him before taking the job. Well, Casey Ritter may be a lot of things we won't mention, but he doesn't rat on his clients. So there I was, closeted with the ten members of the S.S. Customs Court, getting set to hear the gavel collapsed onto my chair. A crafty-eyed buzzard across the table leaned toward me. \"So this is the great Casey Ritter, daredevil of the Solar System!\" he sneered. \"Never loses a bet, never turns down a dare!\" now to think of it. The way that bunch of stuffed shirts in the S.S.C. made a gold-barred chimpanzee out of me has broken my spirit and turned me into an honest trader. Me, Casey Ritter, slickest slicker in the Solar System, led like a precious infant right where I'd flatly refused to go! In plain English, I underestimated the enemy. Feeling and after awhile I braced him. I was right. I'd met the shrimp before when I was wound up in an asteroid real estate racket. Pard Hoskins was his alias, and he had the tag of being a real slick operator. We swapped yarns for about a week when we met, and then I asked him what's his rap this trip. of contemptuously but those Bleachies are a rough lot when they're mad, and if Pard had really got near those emeralds, he should be nothing but a heap of cleaned bones by now. Either he was the world's jelly, trying to figure that steal. The next morning I got up burning with this fever for information, only to find that Pard had got himself By that time he really had me hooked. I'd of sworn he was leveling with me. But he wouldn't tell me how he'd worked the steal. Instead, he opened up on the trade he'd booked for the string. He said, \"When I chisel me way outa this squirrel cage, I'm gonna hit fer good old Jupe and sell 'em to Akroida. She's nuts about jools. What that old girl won't give me fer 'em—\" He whistled appreciatively, thinking about it. them emeralds.\" I went back to my cot that night, and this time instead of biting my nails, I bit myself. So I faced it. Casey Ritter lost his nerve, and was too late, after all. I could hardly wait for morning to come, so that I could pry more information out of Pard Hoskins. But I didn't see Pard for a few days. And then, a week later, a group Hoskins was in the bunch. He'd never get out of there, and he knew it. So did I. friendly as a bottle of strychnine. But for a lad headed for Jupiter that was good training, so I sneered right back at him, explained the caper, and we both paid a visit to Pard. In two days the deal was made and the caper set up. There were a few bits of info that Pard had to shell out, like where the emeralds were, and how to communicate with those scorpions, and how he'd made Akroida mad. slipped down onto the Red Desert of Mars and picked up the Killicut Emeralds from where Pard Hoskins had cached them and safe out in space again, we had pored over that string of green headlights practically \"These—\" he had proclaimed with a disdainful flourish, like a placer miner pointing to a batch of fool's gold—\"These jewels are as nothing, Ritter, compared with the value of the secret you are to buy with them. And be assured that if you're man enough to effect the trade—\" He paused, his long nose twitching cynically—\"IF you succeed, your snarled at him. \"Just you wait till I do, feller!\" I slipped the string of emeralds back into its little safe. \"Instead of sniping at me, why don't you get that brain busy and set our rendezvous?\" though, I nearly lost my grip on the handle. In fact, I'd have fainted dead away right there if Pard Hoskins hadn't been there already and then he examined me with it just like an old-time earl with one of those things they called monocles. Pard hadn't warned me about those Ritter. What's your label, chum?\" nuts. Then I got a glimmer through my paralyzed gray matter. \"Who named you that?\" He simpered. \"My dear friend, Pard Hoskins.\" I breathed again. How simple could I get? He'd already mistaken me for Pard, hadn't he? Then I remembered something else. \"How come you aren't alive but loved and cherished, thanks to Pard's inventiveness and to a kindly fate which had sent Pard's old pal my way. A great man, Pard Hoskins. How had he made friends with the brute in the first place? Pard was right again. These critters had brains. And my S.S.C. persecutor was right, too. That anti-grav secret was worth more than any string of rocks in the system, including the Killicut Emeralds. as solid as if on a floor. Which was fine for flying hopper-scorps, but what about Casey Ritter, who hadn't cultivated even a feather? \"Who from?\" asked Akroida. That conversation was telegraphed to me blow by blow by the actions of those hopper-scorps. I didn't need their particular brand of Morse Code at all. \"Who from?\" Attaboy cringed lower and blushed a purple all-over blush. \"Dear lady, it is from an interspace trader who possesses some truly remarkable jewels,\" he confessed coyly. Akroida toyed with the Halcyon Diamond and ignored the bait. \"His name?\" she demanded. And when he told her, with a bad stutter in his code, she reared up higher on her skinny elbow and glared in my direction. \"Casey Ritter? Never heard of him. Where's he from?\" Well, after all, she wasn't blind. He had to confess. \"I—uh—the\n\n<question>:\nWho is Pard Hoskins and what is his relationship to Casey Ritter?\n\n<options>:\nA Pard Hoskins is a daredevil like Casey Ritter. Casey met Pard during a Pluto related operation, and now the two have met again in jail. Pard has been to Jupiter’s Great Red Spot before, and so he teaches Casey how to trick its inhabitants into giving him emeralds.\nB Pard Hoskins is a smuggler/grifter like Casey Ritter. Casey met Pard during a gambling related operation, and now the two have met again in jail. Pard has been to Jupiter’s Great Red Spot before, and so he invites Casey to help him break out of jail so that they can go sell emeralds on Jupiter together.\nC Pard Hoskins is a smuggler/grifter like Casey Ritter. Casey met Pard during a real estate related operation, and now the two have met again in jail. Pard has been to Jupiter’s Great Red Spot before, and so he teaches Casey how to deal with its inhabitants and navigate safely.\nD Pard Hoskins is a smuggler/grifter like Casey Ritter. Casey met Pard during the Kooleen crystal operation, and now the two have met again in jail. Pard has been to Jupiter’s Great Red Spot before, and so he teaches Casey how to make sure it’s strange inhabitants don’t fall in love with him, as this could ruin the mission.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
2,002 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nQuest rose from the table in a sudden uncoiling of movement. He did not unbuckle his safety immeasurably powerful, utterly invulnerable. There was only one question: Was he human? In his haste, Quest missed the companionway in his leap and was cornered against one of the stick upraised. feared she was in Quest made no effort to retaliate. He cowered under the attack, holding his hands in front had insisted. A woman could not possibly make her way through these Quest shook his head. “Don't bother him,” he said. “I'm all right,” insisted Quest and when the skeptical Jakdane insisted on examining her some sober advice. “If you think you're in love with Quest, forget it,” he said. “Why? Because he's a coward? Because he's an android!” “What? Jakdane, you can't be serious!” human could stand the rocket acceleration necessary to break free of Jupiter? Here's a man strong enough to break a spaceship safety belt just by getting the dark man, faced with his The dark man was at her and then crying that he had injured his hand on the bar. “But he said Dr. Mansard was his father,” protested Trella. “Robots and androids frequently look on their makers as “Quest may not even know he's 57 artificial. Do you know how Mansard died?” “The oxygen equipment failed, Quest said.” Quest lived in the poisonous atmosphere of Jupiter, if he's human?” Trella was silent. “For the protection of humans, there are two psychological traits built into every robot At this juncture, the bartender man Quest to a T, Trella. There is no other explanation for him: Dom Blessing. Its success had bottleneck in his hand Jakdane was right, but his reasoning was unassailable. Looking upon Quest as an android, many things were explained: his great strength, his short, broad build, his immunity to injury, his refusal to defend himself against a human, his inability to return Trella's love for him. menacingly. that they were artificial. There were instances of android nursemaids who were virtually them. She was glad now that she had not told Quest of her mission to Ganymede. He thought he was Dr. Mansard's son, but an android had no legal right of inheritance from his owner. She would leave it to Dom Blessing to decide what to do about Quest. Thus she did not, as she had intended originally, speak to ached where the dark man had after she had completed her assignment. Even if Jakdane was wrong and Quest was human—as now seemed unlikely—Quest had told her he could not love her. Her best course was to try to forget him. Nor did Quest try to arrange with her for a later meeting. those men for you, Miss, but I “I'm Quest Mansard, Miss,” said her companion. “I'm just in from Jupiter.” favoring him with a green-eyed you can use, Mr. Blessing,” she I should tell you about.” She told him about Quest. “He thinks he's the son of Dr. Mansard,” she finished, “but apparently he is, without knowing it, an android Dr. Mansard built on Jupiter.” Dr. Eriklund Mansard?” you, eh?” asked Blessing intently. living as a man or to tell him he's an android and claim ownership as Dr. Mansard's heir.” Trella planned to spend a few days resting in her employer's accompanied him wherever he Dom Blessing at breakfast and step, seeming to deliberately hold himself down. “If Dr. Mansard succeeded in landing on Jupiter, why didn't anyone ever hear from him again?” she demanded. “Because,” said Quest, “his radio was sabotaged, just as his ship's drive was.” “A wealthy man must be careful,” said Blessing cheerfully. asked Blessing. “When we don't understand all “Why all the protection?” she we must be prepared for of. Without actually intending to, she exclaimed: “You aren't afraid of Quest? Why, an android can't hurt a human!” Blessing peered at her over his spectacles. “And what if he isn't an android, eh? And if he is—what if old Mansard didn't build in the prohibition against harming humans that's required by law? hadn't known about, hadn't even suspected. For some reason, Dom Blessing feared Dr. Eriklund Mansard … or his heir … or his mechanical servant. She was sure that Blessing was wrong, that Quest, whether man or android, intended no 59 harm to him. Surely, Quest would have said something of aspace, since he did not know of Trella's connection with Blessing. But, since this was to be the atmosphere of Blessing's Mansard papers to the New York laboratory. Quest came the day before she was scheduled to leave. against telling him that the assignment on which she had “The steel doors!” cried Blessing, Blessing, ahead of the rest, leaped into one of the cars and started the engine. being so strongly attracted to a it was wrenched from her hand as Blessing stepped on the accelerator probing it. As she reached his side, he lifted the torn body of Dom Blessing. Blessing was dead. “I'm lucky,” said Quest soberly. “But why, Quest? I knew he was afraid of you, but he didn't tell me why.” to the task of hunting down Dom Blessing and killing him. It was an unconscious drive in me that wouldn't release me until the task was finished. “You see, Blessing was my father's thought with a rush of sympathy, Io. Blessing wanted the valuable rights to the surgiscope, and he sabotaged the ship's drive so it would fall into Jupiter. Her employer had impressed upon Blessing could not object to Dr. Mansard's son knowing about it. All these things had happened before she was born, and she did not know what Dom Blessing's relation to Dr. Mansard had been, but it must have been and he conditioned me to come Mansard had invented the surgiscope. This was an instrument with to Earth and track down Blessing. a three-dimensional screen as its I know now that it was delicate operations could be performed at the cellular level. Dr. Mansard and his wife had disappeared into the turbulent atmosphere of Jupiter just after in Jupiter's atmosphere after the oxygen equipment failed. I know you think Dr. Mansard was your father, but androids which Blessing headed. Through all these years since Dr. Mansard's disappearance, 55 Blessing had been searching the Jovian moons for a second, hidden laboratory of Dr. Mansard. When it was found at last, he often believe that.” sent Trella, his most trusted “Do you forget my father there. Blessing would, of course, be happy to learn that a son of Dr. Mansard lived, and would see that he received his rightful share of the inheritance. Because herself but she decided against it. It was Blessing's privilege to do this his own way, and he might not appreciate her meddling. her that her mission was confidential, but surely Dom you to be a chaperon,” she said. “I kept waiting for Quest to do something, and when he didn't her wounded feelings with a sympathetic pleasantry, but he “But my father was able to other passengers, and never showed the slightest spark of emotion … until the day Quest squirted coffee on him. It was one of those accidents successfully. I was born there, crewmen on that particular waking were eating lunch on the center-deck. Quest picked up his bulb of coffee, but inadvertently pressed it before he got it to his\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Blessing's fear regarding Dr. Mansard?\n\n<options>:\nA Blessing is afraid that Dr. Mansard is not actually deceased and currently plotting against him\nB Blessing is afraid that Dr. Mansard will inform Quest that he is actually an android\nC Blessing is afraid that Dr. Mansard has set two assassins to come after him and the documentation he stole\nD Blessing is afraid that Dr. Mansard left out programming that would prevent Quest from hurting living creatures\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
119 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nTHE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Quest Quest III Quest I Quest III Quest Quest III's Quest lie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home the Quest III's the voyage's beginning eighty per cent of the fifteen-hundred-foot cylinder had been engines and fuel but as the immense stores were spent and the holds became radioactively safe, the crew had spread out from its original cramped quarters. Now the interstellar ship was little more than a hollow shell. Eyes lifted from the vision screens to interrogate Knof Llud have happened to Earth? After all, it's only been nine hundred years.\" \"That's just it,\" said Lesra shakily. \"Nine hundred years have gone by— within him. He let his arm fall. \"I'd better get up to the bridge. There's a new course to be set now—for Earth.\" his extrapolations from long unused charts of the Solar System. He had already set up on the calculator a course that would carry them to Earth. Llud nodded curt approval, remarking, \"Probably we'll be intercepted before we get that far.\" Quests returned successful, or if they returned at all. And we don't know what changes have taken place on Earth. It's possible—not likely, though—that something has happened to break civilization's continuity to the point where our expedition has been forgotten altogether.\" notify him as soon as Earth's surface features became clear then he sat idle, alone with his thoughts. Quest III's Earth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years older than when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along the time axis of a space ship approaching the speed of light. Weeks and months had passed for the Quest III in interstellar flight while years and decades had raced by on the home world. Bemusedly Llud got to his feet and stood surveying a cabinet with expedition, a segment of his life and of history. He might add that to the ship's official log and its collections of scientific data, as a report to whatever powers might be on Earth now—if such powers were still interested. confident than he knew it was now. \"One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's time since leaving Earth. \"Our hopes were dashed—and I think all of us, even remembering the Centaurus Expedition's failure, hoped more than we cared to admit. If Procyon had possessed a habitable planet, we could have returned after an absence of not much over twenty years Earth time. \"It is cheering to note that the crew seems only more resolute. We go on to Capella its spectrum, so like our own Sun's, beckons. If success comes there, a century will have passed before we can return to Earth friends, relatives, all the generation that launched the Quest \"We face the unpleasant realization that what was feared is probably true—that worlds such as the Sun's are a rare accident, and that we may complete our search without finding even one new Earth. \"It makes no difference, of course we cannot betray the plan.... This may be man's last chance of escaping his pitiful limitation to one world in all the Universe. Certainly the building of this ship and its two sisters, the immense expenditure of time and labor and energy stores that went into them, left Earth's economy drained and exhausted. Only once in a long age does mankind rise to such a selfless and transcendent effort—the effort of Egypt that built the pyramids, or the war efforts of the nations in the last great conflicts of the twentieth century. \"Looked at historically, such super-human outbursts of energy are the result of a population's outgrowing its room and resources, and Quests . Perhaps our effort will prove as futile as pyramid-building, less practical than orgies of slaughter to reduce pressure.... In any case, it would be impossible to transport very many people to other stars but Earth could at least go into its decline with the knowledge that its race went onward and upward, expanding limitlessly into the Universe.... Quest III Earth. Now we turn back along a curve that will take us past many more stars and stellar systems—but hope is small that any of those will prove a home for man, as have none of the thousands of stars examined there if anywhere must circle the planets we seek! But Omega Centauri is twenty thousand light years away.... \"Even so—by expending its remaining fuel freely, the Quest III could achieve a velocity that would take us there without dying of senility of aging too greatly. It would be a one-way journey—even if enough fuel remained, there would be little point in returning to Earth after more than forty thousand years. By then our civilization certainly, and perhaps the human race itself, would have perished from memory. \"That was why the planners limited our voyage, and those of the other Quests , to less than a thousand years Earth time. Even now, according to the sociodynamic predictions made then, our civilization—if the other expeditions failed also—will have reached a dangerously unstable phase, and before we can get back it may have collapsed completely from overpopulation. \"Why go back, then with the news of our failure? Why not forget about Earth and go on to Omega Centauri? What use is quixotic loyalty to a decree five thousand years old, whose makers are dead and which may be forgotten back there? \"Would the crew be willing? I don't know—some of them still show signs of homesickness, though they know with their minds that everything that was once 'home' has probably been swept away.... To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. turn back. The stars had claimed his heart—but he was still a part of Earth, and not even nine hundred years of space and time had been able Quest III's interstellar ship. Knowing that Gwar Den was still there, he said, \"Now—attacked by what?\" Quest III's Quest III but it plunged on toward Earth, its mighty engines still steadily braking its interstellar velocity. Quest III's Quest III wait for us. But why on Earth—\" \"That,\" said the captain grimly, \"is what we have to find out. Why—on Earth. At least, I suspect the answer's there.\" The Quest III Quest III's Quest III Quests might have encountered and been traced home by some unhuman race that was greedy and able to conquer. constant arrival of fresh attackers, while others raced away into space, presumably returning to base to replenish their ammunition. That argued a planned and prepared interception with virulent hatred behind it. Elsuz Llug, the gravitic engineer, calculated dismally, \"At the rate we're having to shed energy, the fuel will be gone in six or eight hours.\" \"We'll have reached Earth before then,\" Gwar Den said hopefully. \"If they don't bring out the heavy artillery first.\" \"We're under the psychological disadvantage,\" said the captain, \"of not audio carrier wave that shifted through a wide range of frequencies, repeating on each the same brief recorded message: \"Who are you? What do you want? We are the interstellar expedition Quest III Quest III his ship. Zost Relyul approached him apologetically. \"If you have time, Captain—I've got some data on Earth now.\" last. The two other interstellar expeditions that went out have already returned and been destroyed, as you will soon be—the sooner, if you continue toward Earth.\" from Earth, relayed by one of the midget ships—was not very smart it had already involuntarily told him a couple of things—that it was not Quest III's ponderous and unswerving progress toward Earth had somehow\n\n<question>:\nWhat were the two main goals of the Quest III ship in this story?\n\n<options>:\nA To survey galaxies for non-human life forms and return to Earth safely.\nB To scout for new worlds to live in and return to Earth safely.\nC To stay away from Earth for 900 years during a major world war and to return back safely.\nD To return safely to Earth and return with new raw materials for technological research.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,476 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthe group. The group thus had the appearance of a super-family and the males indulged and cared for all the children without reference to actual parenthood. \"Daddy, I've tried and tried and I just can't turn this old key tight My wife got out of the car and looked around at the workmen hurrying \"Well, Dad-dee, I can't!\" \"What?\" My wife looked at me appraisingly and shook her head. \"I thought you \"You can't turn this old key tightly enough.\" meant it. But you really ought to. It would be your first.\" My son asked, \"What happened to the animals?\" \"All right, wench. Sit on this chair.\" \"Well,\" he said to her, \"you can't say our pop isn't a man of decision.\" \"Turned them over to the university for further study,\" I lied. through the dark overhead, they chattered and laughed and sometimes \"Daddy?\" \"Yes?\" \"Mother says you are eccentric. Is that true?\" \"I'll speak to her about it.\" \"Don't you \"Do you understand the word?\" mother that I retaliate. I say My wife tried the door, too, but more subtly, as if casually touching the knob while calling. \"Lunch, dear.\" \"Come on, you old hermit. I have a buffet on the terrace.\" \"Our daughter says I'm eccentric. Wonder how the devil she found out.\" \"From me, of course.\" \"But you love me just the same.\" hamburgers. I gave the maid a pinch and said, \"Hello, baby.\" My wife looked at me with a puzzled smile. \"What on Earth's got into The maid beat it into the house. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth and said aloud, \"Yes, sir, the dangerous age. And, lady, I'm going to have fun.\" My wife sighed patiently. \"Thanks. Yours deserve the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, too.\" Our son reared the new palomino I had just bought him for his I laughed and picked up my plate and sat down in a chair. My wife I thought, \"By God, wouldn't he have a fit if he knew what I have back \"Because, dear, I said so.\" pool. The cool sound of the dive sent the girl scurrying for her suit. I looked at my wife. \"What's the idea?\" \"She's going to be a young woman soon.\" \"Is that any reason for wearing clothes? Look at him. He's a young man sooner than already.\" \"Oh, not that again! You were dangerous at any age.\" \"It's a joke,\" I assured her. \"I'm going to play a tremendous joke on on the walk in front of the movie just as Theda Bara's matinee let out. to stand around quietly and watch people encounter the surprise that you have prepared for them.\" She let go of my ear. \"Is that the kind of fun you're going to have?\" By four o'clock that afternoon, I was feeding them solid food and, with the spars closed, they were holding little cups and drinking water from them in a most humanlike way. They were active, curious, playful and decidedly amorous. Hello.\" The male watched me, grinning. He said, \"'Ello, 'ello.\" As I walked into the kitchen, giddy with this enormous joke, my wife Oh, wonderful! Good old Guy! Everybody's a success. It's great. It's wonderful. Success on success!\" The maid promptly left the kitchen for some other place. My wife just stared at me. \"Have you been drinking the lab alcohol?\" would laugh. Then someone authoritative would find a colony and observe them. He reluctantly admit the facts. Linguists would observe at close quarters \"Darling, are you listening to me?\" my wife asked with impatient \"You didn't hear a word. You just sit there and grin into space.\" She toward us. Guy set it gently on the landing square and we walked down to meet them. I helped Em out and hugged her. Guy jumped out, asking, \"Do you have your TV set on?\" \"No,\" I answered. \"Should I?\" \"It's almost time for the broadcast. I was afraid we would miss it.\" \"What broadcast?\" \"For heaven's sake, darling,\" my wife complained, \"I told you about contact today. Thinks he's Zeus.\" I asked our son to wheel a TV set out onto the terrace while I made martinis for our friends. Then we sat down and drank the cocktails and My wife gave me a look himself explaining that when he pressed the button before him, the a sort of little sigh. We watched the hatch slowly close. \"Darling, will you please—be— quiet \"Yeah, Dad. Can it, will you? You're always gagging around.\" be something! I began to feel a little ashamed of the way I had been acting and I reached out and slapped old Guy on the shoulder. For just a moment, I thought of telling him about my volplas. But only for a moment. The screen returned to a studio, where an announcer explained that the broadcasting scientific data for several months. But now, ladies and was silence. I heard my boy whisper, \"Uncle Guy, this is the biggest!\" My wife said, \"Em, I think I'll just faint.\" it's always been pictured. A mechanical voice cut in. The women were kissing him and hugging him. Everybody was yelling at once. down the accelerator. From now on, they could have babies in their own the opportunity to slip the oldest of the males and his two females out They were all three wide-eyed at the world and jabbered continuously. playful curiosity about the world had been abandoned momentarily and he was chasing one of the girls. As usual, she was anxious to be caught in a golden flash and crashed with a bounce to the grass. The two girls reached him before I did and stroked and fussed over him so that I could not get near. Suddenly he laughed with a shrill little whoop. After that, it was a carnival. I watched them affectionately and wondered about the advisability of leaving them out here. Well, it had to be done sometime. Nothing I could tell them about surviving would help them as much as a little actual surviving. I called the male over to me. are very few of you left. Since you have been staying at my place, you naturally have forgotten the ways of living outdoors.\" \"We can learn again. We want to stay here.\" His little face was so solemn and thoughtful that I reached out and stroked the fur on his head reassuringly. \"Chances are they won't stay long. Keep your eye on the tree in case they leave while you are climbing.\" wonderingly, stopping now and then to watch him. When they were own. The girl who had raised the birds from the tree volplaned back to us, yammering like a bluejay. It was a hero's welcome. He had to walk back, of course—he had no way to carry such a load in flight. The girls glided out to meet him. Their lavish affection held him up for a time, but eventually he strutted in like every human hunter. They were raptly curious about the bird. They poked at it, marveled at Later, I shared a small piece of the meat in their feast. They were gleeful and greasily amorous during the meal. When I had to leave, it was dark. I warned them to stand watches, keep the fire burning low and take to the tree above if anything approached. The male walked a little away with me when I left the fire. ready for it.\" \"We like it here. We will stay. Tomorrow you bring more of us?\" \"Yes. I will bring many more of you, if you promise to keep them all here in this woods until they're ready to leave.\" \"I promise.\" He looked up at the night sky and, in the firelight, I saw \"That's right.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy is it ironic that the narrator's wife is asking him to be quiet during the broadcast?\n\n<options>:\nA She has been giving him alcohol, which could have been adding to the talkativeness\nB She is talking more than he is, so the effort is misplaced\nC He is usually fairly quiet, and this is unusual behavior for him\nD He is being supportive of his friend for once and should be encouraged\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,908 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBREAKAWAY BY STANLEY GIMBLE Illustrated by Freas She surely got her wish ... but there was some question about getting what she wanted. Phil Conover pulled the zipper of his flight suit up the front of his long, thin body and came into the living room. His face, usually serious and quietly handsome, had an alive, excited look. And the faint lines wife. \"All set, honey. How do I look in my monkey suit?\" theirs completely. In her fingers she held a cigarette burned down too far. She said, \"You look fine, Phil. You look just right.\" She managed a smile. Then she leaned forward and crushed the cigarette in the ash tray on the maple coffee table and took another from the pack. \"Yes, I think so. Yes, I'm sure you did,\" she said, finishing the ritual but her voice broke, and she turned her head away. Phil sat She turned, facing him. There were tears starting in the corners of her wide, brown eyes, and she brushed them away with her hand. \"Phil, don't go. Please don't. They can send Sammy. Sammy doesn't have a wife. Can't he go? They'd understand, Phil. Please!\" She was holding his arms tightly with her hands, and the color had drained from her cheeks. \"Mary, you know I can't back out now. How could I? It's been three years. You know how much I've wanted to be the first man to go. Nothing would ever be right with me again if I didn't go. Please don't make it hard.\" He stopped talking and held her to him and stroked the back of \"I've got to get started, Mary. Will you come to the field with me?\" \"Yes, I'll come to say good-by.\" She paused and dropped her eyes. \"Phil, if you go, I won't be here when you get back—if you get back. I won't be here because I won't be the wife of a space pilot for the rest of my life. It isn't the kind of life I bargained for. No matter how much I love you, I just couldn't take that, Phil. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not the noble sort of wife.\" She finished and took another cigarette from the pack on the coffee lighter to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply. Phil stood watching her, the excitement completely gone from his eyes. \"I wish you had told me this a long time ago, Mary,\" Phil said. His wife of a space pilot. But I don't think I ever really believed it was possible—not until this morning when you said tonight was the take-off. It's so stupid to jeopardize everything we've got for a ridiculous \"Mary, listen to me,\" he said. \"It isn't a dream. It's real. There's nothing means anything more to me than you do—you know that. But no again. I'd be through.\" existed only because of the huge ship standing poised in the take-off zone five miles away in the desert. Its future as a town rested with the ready to stop existing as a town and to give itself back to the desert, if such was its destiny. Phil turned the car off the highway onto the rutted dirt road that led across the sand to the field where the ship waited. In the distance they take-off zone and swept along the top of the high wire fence stretching out of sight to right and left. At the gate they were stopped by the guard. He read Phil's pass, shined his flashlight in their faces, and \"Thanks, sergeant. I'll be seeing you next week,\" Phil said, and smiled. \"She's beautiful, Mary. You've never seen her before, have you?\" \"No, I've never seen her before,\" she said. \"Hadn't you better go?\" Her voice was strained and she held her hands closed tightly in her lap. \"Please go now, Phil,\" she said. He leaned toward her and touched her cheek. Then she was in his arms, \"Good-by, darling,\" she said. \"Wish me luck, Mary?\" he asked. \"Yes, good luck, Phil,\" she said. He opened the car door and got out. The noise of men and machines scurrying around the ship broke the spell of the rocket waiting silently for flight. \"Mary, I—\" he began, and then turned and strode toward the Phil had worn earlier. When he came into the room, the noise and bustle stopped. They turned as one man toward him, and General Small came up to him and took his hand. \"Hello, Phil. We were beginning to think you weren't coming. You all set, son?\" \"Yes, sir, I'm all set, I guess,\" Phil said. \"I'd like you to meet the Secretary of Defense, Phil. He's over here by hand or touched his arm. He saw Sammy, alone, by the coffee urn. Sammy waved to him, but he didn't smile. Phil wanted to talk to him, to say something \"How do you do, sir. I'm very proud to meet you,\" Phil said. adventure into the universe. You're lighting a new dawn of history, and those who have had it didn't realize it at the time. Good luck, and God be with you.\" were chairs set up for the scientists and Air Force officers directly connected with the take-off. They were seated now in a semicircle in front of a huge chart of the solar system. Phil took his seat, and the He kept thinking of Mary outside, alone by the fence. until—\" Phil asked a few questions about weather and solar conditions. And then the session was done. They rose and looked at each other, the same unanswered questions on each man's face. There were forced smiles and handshakes. They were ready now. \"Phil,\" the general said, and took him aside. \"Sir?\" \"Phil, you're ... you feel all right, don't you, son?\" \"Yes, sir. I feel fine. Why?\" \"Phil, I've spent nearly every day with you for three years. I know you better than I know myself in many ways. And I've studied the psychologist's reports on you carefully. Maybe it's just nervousness, Phil, but I think there's something wrong. Is there?\" \"No, sir. There's nothing wrong,\" Phil said, but his voice didn't carry conviction. He reached for a cigarette. \"Phil, if there is anything—anything at all—you know what it might mean. You've got to be in the best mental and physical condition of your life tonight. You know better than any man here what that means to our success. I think there is something more than just natural apprehension wrong with you. Want to tell me?\" Outside, the take-off zone crawled with men and machines at the base of the rocket. For ten hours, the final check-outs had been in progress and now the men were checking again, on their own time. The thing they had worked toward for six years was ready to happen, and each one felt administration building and moved forward. The check-out crews climbed into their machines and drove back outside the take-off zone. And, alone, one man climbed the steel ladder up the side of the rocket—ninety feet into the air. At the top he waved to the men on the ground and then disappeared through a small port. Mary waved to him. \"Good-by,\" she said to herself, but the words stuck heavens, she stood holding her face in her hands and crying softly to herself. And then she felt the touch of a hand on her arm. She turned. \"Phil! Oh, Phil.\" She held tightly to him and repeated his name over and over. \"They wouldn't let me go, Mary,\" he said finally. \"The general would not cheeks. \"Thank, God,\" she said. \"It doesn't matter, darling. The only thing that matters is you didn't go.\" \"You're right, Mary,\" he said. His voice was low—so low she could hardly hear him. \"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters now.\" He stood with THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhich of the following best serves as a metaphor for Phil and Mary's relationship, by the end of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA Mary's cigarette burned down too far\nB The new, government-built town\nC The barbed wire fence\nD The broken zipper on Phil's space suit\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,409 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAnd every mile the Sun got bigger and whiter and higher in the sky and hotter. Without our ultra-violet screens and glare filters we would have been blinded as it was our eyes ached constantly and the skin on our faces itched and tingled at the end of an eight-hour trek. “That’s right.” Baron’s eyes were wide with excitement, all trace of anger gone. “Great balls of fire, man— where have you been hiding? We’ve been trying to contact you for months!” two insulated suits with white bones gleaming through the fiberglass helmets. “It’s simple. We failed because it can’t be done. We couldn’t do it and neither can you. No human beings will ever cross the Brightside alive, not if they try for centuries.” It was the planet that whipped us, that and the Sun . They’ll whip you, too, if you try it.” conditions, without any charts—they couldn’t have made a hundred miles—but I didn’t know that then and it was a he told me about the Vulcan business, and how he’d been out to see Sanderson and the Twilight Lab on Mercury, and how he preferred a hot trek to a cold one any day of the year—and then he wanted to know what I’d been doing since I told him one-thirty-five. “That much!” he said. “Well, there can’t be much fat on you, at any rate. How do you take heat?” “You should know,” I said. “Venus was no icebox.” “No, I mean real heat.” Then I began to get it. “You’re planning a trip.” “That’s right. A hot trip.” He grinned at me. “Might be dangerous, too.” “What trip?” heat, just to have some joker come along, use your data and drum you out of the glory by crossing at perihelion forty-four days later? No, thanks. I want the Brightside without any nonsense a man can do that, he’s got Mercury. Until then, Mercury. I want Mercury—but I’ll need help getting it.” it. Nobody had, since Wyatt and Carpenter disappeared. Mercury turns on its axis in the same time that it wheels around the Sun, which means that the Brightside is always facing in. That makes the Brightside of Mercury at perihelion the hottest place in the Solar System, with one single exception: the surface of the Sun itself. just how Mercury as the closest chunk of rock to the Sun that could hold his observatory. He’d chosen a good location, too. On Mercury, the Brightside temperature hits 770° F. at perihelion and the Darkside runs pretty constant at -410° F. No permanent installation with a human crew could survive at either extreme. But with Mercury’s wobble, the twilight zone between Brightside and Darkside offers something closer to survival temperatures. Sanderson built the Lab up near the pole, where the zone is about five miles wide, so the temperature only varies 50 to 60 degrees with the libration. The Solar ’scope could take that much change and they’d get good clear observation of the Sun for about seventy out of the eighty-eight days it takes the planet about Mercury as well as the Sun when we camped at the Lab far out that the detail dissolved into blurs on blow-up. They showed the biggest ranges of peaks and craters and faults, and be active. Seismograph tracings suggest a lot of activity in that region, getting worse down toward the equator—not only volcanic, but sub-surface shifting.” Stone nodded. “Sanderson told me there was probably constant The Major shrugged. “Well, it’s treacherous, there’s no doubt of it. But the only way to avoid it is to travel over the volcanoes on the Brightside—even on the Darkside, though surface activity there was pretty much slowed down and localized. But there were problems of atmosphere on Brightside, as well. There was an atmosphere and a constant atmospheric flow from Brightside to Darkside. Not much—the lighter gases millennia ago—but there was CO 2 , and nitrogen, and traces of other heavier gases. There was also an abundance of sulfur vapor, as well as carbon disulfide and sulfur dioxide. The atmospheric tide moved toward the Darkside, where it condensed, carrying enough volcanic ash with it for Sanderson to estimate the depth and nature of the surface upheavals on one had an inner lining of a fiberglass modification, to avoid we had a half-inch dead-air space under positive pressure between the two layers. Warning thermocouples, of course—at 770 degrees, it wouldn’t take much time to fry us to cinders if the suits failed somewhere.” “How about the Bugs?” between us and a surface temperature where lead flowed like water and zinc was almost at melting point and the pools of sulfur in the shadows were boiling like oatmeal over a campfire.” could cross an average of seventy miles a day, we could hit Center exactly at perihelion, the point of Mercury’s closest approach to the Sun—which made Center the hottest part of the planet at the hottest it ever gets. The Sun was already huge and yellow over the horizon when we started, twice the size it appears on Earth. Every day surface would get hotter. But once we reached Center, the job was only half done—we would still have to travel another two thousand miles to the opposite twilight zone. Sanderson That was the plan, in outline. It was up to us to cross those seventy miles a day, no matter how hot it became, no matter what terrain we had to cross. Detours would be dangerous and sharply. “Charts! I’m talking about detail worry about the major topography. It’s the little faults you “All right,” he said slowly. “Now that we’ve got it straight, let’s go.” It was hot. If I forget everything else about that trek, I’ll never forget that huge yellow Sun glaring down, without a break, hotter and hotter with every mile. We knew that the Even at only 30 per cent Earth gravity they were a strain on the big tractor, until the ski-blades bit into the fluffy volcanic were in virgin territory and already the Sun was beginning to bite. We didn’t feel the heat so much those first days out. We saw it. The refrig units kept our skins at a nice comfortable seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit inside our suits, but our eyes watched that glaring Sun and the baked yellow rocks going past, and some nerve pathways got twisted up, somehow. We poured sweat as if we were in a superheated furnace. a light aluminum sun-shield and lay out in the dust and rocks. The sun-shield cut the temperature down sixty or seventy degrees, for whatever help that was. And then we ate from the taste, and off we’d go. We’d have murdered our grandmothers for one ice-cold bottle of beer. with black cliffs jutting up on either side the air was filled with a barely visible yellowish mist of sulfur and sulfurous gases. the challenge was so powerful you could almost feel it. No one had ever crossed this land before and escaped. Those who had could throw up to us, at the most difficult time possible. Yet we knew that even the land might have been conquered before, except for that Sun. We’d fought absolute cold before and won. We’d never fought heat like this and won. The only worse heat in the Solar System was the surface of the Sun itself. Brightside was worth trying for. We would get it or it would east. This range had shown no activity since the first landing on Mercury forty years before, but beyond it there were active cones. Yellow fumes rose from the craters constantly their sides were shrouded with heavy ash. We couldn’t detect a wind, but we knew there was a hot, sulfurous breeze sweeping in great continental tides across the face of the planet. Not enough for erosion, though. The craters rose up out of jagged gorges, huge towering spears of rock and dust—silicates and salts, pumice and limestone and granite\n\n<question>:\nWhat isn't an obstacle on Mercury?\n\n<options>:\nA zero gravity\nB rough terrain\nC volcanoes\nD extreme temperatures\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,671 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nShe surely got her wish ... but there was some question about getting what she wanted. Phil Conover pulled the zipper of his flight suit up the front of his long, thin body and came into the living room. His face, usually serious and quietly handsome, had an alive, excited look. And the faint lines His wife was sitting stiffly on the flowered couch that was still not theirs completely. In her fingers she held a cigarette burned down too far. She said, \"You look fine, Phil. You look just right.\" She managed a smile. Then she leaned forward and crushed the cigarette in the ash tray on the maple coffee table and took another from the pack. \"Yes, I think so. Yes, I'm sure you did,\" she said, finishing the ritual but her voice broke, and she turned her head away. Phil sat beside her and put his arm around her small shoulders. He had stopped smiling. She turned, facing him. There were tears starting in the corners of her wide, brown eyes, and she brushed them away with her hand. \"Phil, don't go. Please don't. They can send Sammy. Sammy doesn't have a wife. Can't he go? They'd understand, Phil. Please!\" She was holding his arms tightly with her hands, and the color had drained from her cheeks. \"Mary, you know I can't back out now. How could I? It's been three years. You know how much I've wanted to be the first man to go. Nothing would ever be right with me again if I didn't go. Please don't make it released her and stood up. \"I've got to get started, Mary. Will you come to the field with me?\" \"Yes, I'll come to say good-by.\" She paused and dropped her eyes. \"Phil, if you go, I won't be here when you get back—if you get back. I won't life. It isn't the kind of life I bargained for. No matter how much I love you, I just couldn't take that, Phil. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not the noble sort of wife.\" She finished and took another cigarette from the pack on the coffee table and put it to her lips. Her hand was trembling as she touched the lighter to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply. Phil stood watching her, the excitement completely gone from his eyes. \"I wish you had told me this a long time ago, Mary,\" Phil said. His voice was dry and low. \"I didn't know you felt this way about it.\" \"Yes, you did. I told you how I felt. I told you I could never be the possible—not until this morning when you said tonight was the take-off. It's so stupid to jeopardize everything we've got for a ridiculous dream!\" man ever had the chance to do what I'm going to do tonight—no man ever. If I backed out now for any reason, I'd never be able to look at the sky again. I'd be through.\" She looked at him without seeing him, and there was nothing at all in her eyes. ready to stop existing as a town and to give itself back to the desert, if such was its destiny. Phil turned the car off the highway onto the rutted dirt road that led take-off zone and swept along the top of the high wire fence stretching out of sight to right and left. At the gate they were stopped by the guard. He read Phil's pass, shined his flashlight in their faces, and then saluted. \"Good luck, colonel,\" he said, and shook Phil's hand. \"Thanks, sergeant. I'll be seeing you next week,\" Phil said, and smiled. They drove between the rows of wooden buildings that lined the field, and he parked near the low barbed fence ringing the take-off zone. He \"No, I've never seen her before,\" she said. \"Hadn't you better go?\" Her voice was strained and she held her hands closed tightly in her lap. \"Please go now, Phil,\" she said. He leaned toward her and touched her cheek. Then she was in his arms, her head buried against his shoulder. \"Good-by, darling,\" she said. \"Wish me luck, Mary?\" he asked. \"Yes, good luck, Phil,\" she said. He opened the car door and got out. The noise of men and machines scurrying around the ship broke the spell of the rocket waiting silently for flight. tension stood alone, and each man had the same happy, excited look that Phil had worn earlier. When he came into the room, the noise and bustle stopped. They turned as one man toward him, and General Small came up to him and took his hand. \"Hello, Phil. We were beginning to think you weren't coming. You all set, son?\" \"Yes, sir, I'm all set, I guess,\" Phil said. \"I'd like you to meet the Secretary of Defense, Phil. He's over here by As they crossed the room, familiar faces smiled, and each man shook his hand or touched his arm. He saw Sammy, alone, by the coffee urn. Sammy waved to him, but he didn't smile. Phil wanted to talk to him, to say something but there was nothing to be said now. Sammy's turn would come \"Thank you, sir. I'm aware of all you say. It frightens me a little.\" The general took Phil's arm and they walked to the briefing room. There were chairs set up for the scientists and Air Force officers directly connected with the take-off. They were seated now in a semicircle in front of a huge chart of the solar system. Phil took his seat, and the last minute briefing began. It was a routine he knew by heart. He had gone over and over it a thousand times, and he only half listened now. He kept thinking of Mary outside, alone by the fence. The voice of the briefing officer was a dull hum in his ears. to 24,900-mph for five minutes and then free-coast for 116 hours until—\" Phil asked a few questions about weather and solar conditions. And then the session was done. They rose and looked at each other, the same unanswered questions on each man's face. There were forced smiles and handshakes. They were ready now. \"Phil,\" the general said, and took him aside. \"Sir?\" \"Phil, you're ... you feel all right, don't you, son?\" \"Yes, sir. I feel fine. Why?\" \"Phil, I've spent nearly every day with you for three years. I know you better than I know myself in many ways. And I've studied the psychologist's reports on you carefully. Maybe it's just nervousness, Phil, but I think there's something wrong. Is there?\" \"No, sir. There's nothing wrong,\" Phil said, but his voice didn't carry conviction. He reached for a cigarette. \"Phil, if there is anything—anything at all—you know what it might mean. You've got to be in the best mental and physical condition of your life tonight. You know better than any man here what that means to our success. I think there is something more than just natural apprehension the rocket. For ten hours, the final check-outs had been in progress heavens, she stood holding her face in her hands and crying softly to herself. And then she felt the touch of a hand on her arm. She turned. \"Phil! Oh, Phil.\" She held tightly to him and repeated his name over and over. \"They wouldn't let me go, Mary,\" he said finally. \"The general would not She looked at him. His face was drawn tight, and there were tears on his cheeks. \"Thank, God,\" she said. \"It doesn't matter, darling. The only thing that matters is you didn't go.\" \"You're right, Mary,\" he said. His voice was low—so low she could hardly hear him. \"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters now.\" He stood with his hands at his sides, watching her. And then turned away and walked toward the car.\n\n<question>:\nWhat prompted the general to take Phil off of the mission?\n\n<options>:\nA Phil was too torn about his disagreement with his wife to be in the right headspace.\nB Phil had expressed concerns about the safety of the mission compared to the unmanned missions.\nC Phil's hands were shaking, so he could not safely operate the controls.\nD Phil was too nervous and was not thinking straight.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
762 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nalways acted as if he had some secret, something to hide. together—conversations which they would end abruptly when anyone else The hurried Comerford had all regained consciousness and were drying out in front of the big driftwood bonfires in the cove. area that they had been put ashore without food or extra clothing or equipment of any kind, and that no boats had been left for them. whose mind had been turned by the horror that had come to his country under the domination of the Nazi gestapo over his pale eyes his thin face a mass of tense lines his big hands navigating officer—dependable, accurate, conscientious. Nevertheless, his taut face, restless, searching eyes, and eternally nervous manner trotting along behind. The door burst open as they neared it. A frightened operator came out, still wearing his earphones, and stood staring upward incredulously at the aërial. me about five minutes ago. I was taking the weather report when the set conked. I was trying to see if something's wrong.\" \"Dead!\" Androka muttered, with a bitter laugh. \"Yet not dead, gentlemen! The set is uninjured. The waves are what have been upset. I by radio at once! If you're not talking nonsense, call off your dogs till we learn just where we are!\" Androka held out his palms helplessly. \"I can do nothing. I have given orders to my assistant that he must keep two hours of radio silence! I Commander and navigator had both scribbled verifications of the numbers. Ignoring the gibbering Androka, who was wailing his disappointment that messages had penetrated his veil of silence, they raced for the chart room. They went on through the night. The starlit gap in the clouds had closed. The sky was again a blanket of darkness pouring sheets of rain at them. \"It's a funny thing,\" the latter said, still dialing and grousing, \"how I got that cross-bearing through and can't get another squeak out of He lingered over the apparatus, checking and rechecking. Tubes lighted wires were alive to the touch and set him to shaking his head at the found the little inventor pacing up and down, shaking his fists in the air pausing every now and then to run his bony fingers through his tangled mop of gray hair, or to claw nervously at his beard. knew what I am doing, all of them would be better dead. You understand—better dead?\" Curtis said: \"I understand.\" on his slicker as he went. The shout from the watch forward had been picked up, and was being relayed all over the ship. The words struck on Curtis' ears with a note of impending tragedy. I'm afraid we're gored!\" \"Get out the collision mat!\" Curtis ordered. \"We ought to be able to keep her up!\" And then he became aware of a deadly stillness. A vast wall of silence enveloped the entire cruiser. Looking over the side, he could no longer see the waves that a few minutes before had beaten savagely against the The Comerford was shrouded in a huge pall of yellowish-gray mist, and more of it was coming up from below—from ventilators and hatchways and skylights—as if the whole ship were flooded with some evil vapor. the Maginot Line, and of other forts in Holland and Belgium that had fallen before the early Nazi blitzkrieg, when their defenders found themselves struck numb and helpless by a gas that had been flooded into the inner compartments of their strongholds. There were those who said it was the work of sappers who had tunneled under the foundations, while others laid the induction of the gas to Fifth Column traitors. There were a hundred more or less plausible explanations— The vapor clouds that enveloped the were becoming thicker. All about the deck lay the forms of unconscious seamen, suddenly stricken helpless. And then Curtis saw other forms flitting about the deck—forms that looked like creatures from another world, but he recognized them for what they were—men wearing gas masks. Nelson was nowhere in sight. The steersman lay in a limp heap beside the swinging wheel. Then a gas-masked figure appeared through the shroud of mist and steadied it, so that the cruiser would not be screaming and flailing its clanking way through the hawse hole. Then he was completely walled in by the yellowish-gray mist. He felt his senses swimming. Voices droned all around him in mumbling confusion—guttural voices that ebbed and flowed in a tide of excited talk. He caught a word of began to throb, as if someone were pounding on them from the inside. He couldn't get his breath a cloud seemed to be mounting within him until it swept over his brain— He felt something strike the side of his head, and realized that he had fallen in a heap on the bridge. And after that, he wasn't conscious of anything— into the sandbar at the entrance of the inlet. From her bridge, Navigating Officer Nelson watched the gas-masked figures moving about the decks, descending companionways—like goblins from an ancient fairy tale or a modern horror story. Nelson looked like \"Yeah!\" Bradford agreed. \"It worked—fine!\" The limp bodies of the lowered accommodation ladder and transferred into waiting lifeboats. Nelson swore under his breath. \"Reckon it'll take a couple of hours before the ship's rid of that damn gas!\" Bradford shook his head in disagreement. \"The old geezer claims he's got a neutralizing chemical in one of them tanks of his that'll clear everything up inside half an hour.\" \"I'd rather get along without Androka, if we could!\" Nelson muttered. \"It was a crackpot who invented the gas we used to break up the Maginot Line,\" Bradford reminded him. \"It saved a lot of lives for the World War. My mother committed suicide when she learned that we were penniless. My father—\" He paused and cleared his throat. \" for a career in the United States navy—and no one suspected me. No \"Sometimes,\" Bradford put in, \"I think Curtis suspected you.\" here secretly, a few at a time, during the past six weeks!\" while the efficient stretcher-bearers worked industriously to remove the limp bodies of the unconscious crew and row them ashore. with strange-looking radio equipment, and more gas tanks like those Androka had brought aboard the out of her convoy.\" \"The \"What's the idea?\" misfires, if there is the slightest suspicion of treachery on his part, that portholes were being opened, and men were spraying chemical around to rid the below-decks atmosphere of the lethal gas that had overcome the Comerford's found himself lying in wet sand, on a beach, somewhere, with the rain—now a light, driving mist—beating on his face. He was chilled his limbs were stiff and numb. His nose and throat felt parched inside, as if a wave of searing heat had scorched them. According to his last calculations, the Comerford a minute, like a child learning to walk. at the heartfelt concern in his friendly brown eyes. The young ensign was red-headed, impetuous, thoroughly genuine in his emotions. off the sandbar and put to sea!\" The words struck Curtis with the numbing shock of a blow on some nerve center. For the first time, he realized fully the tragedy that had swept down on him. He had lost his ship—one of the United States navy's fastest and newest small light cruisers—under circumstances which smelled strongly of treachery and sabotage. As he thought back, he realized that he might have prevented the loss, if he had been more alert, more suspicious. For it was clear to him now that the had been deliberately steered to this place\n\n<question>:\nWhy are many of the main characters so suspicious of each other?\n\n<options>:\nA Because many of the characters are making ignorant mistakes.\nB Because many of the characters have reason from prior experiences to not trust each other.\nC Because many of characters are of different nationalities in the midst of a World War.\nD Because many of the characters are in a state of confusion and fear after the gas incident.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
2,415 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nEvery writer must seek his own Flowery Kingdom in imagination's wide demesne, and if that search can begin and end on Earth his problem has been greatly simplified. In post-war Japan Walt Sheldon has found not only serenity, but complete freedom to write undisturbed about the things he treasures most. A one-time Air Force officer, he has turned to fantasy in that the small people with their by ... Walt Sheldon The tiny spaceship had been built for a journey to a star. But its small, mischievous pilots had a rendezvous with destiny—on Earth. I must admit that at first I wasn't sure I was hearing those noises. It was in a park near the nuclear propulsion center—a cool, quick eyes and clever fingers could \"you will not be forgotten by the leprechauns. If we ever meet again, upon another world perchance, you'll find our friendship always eager and ready.\" it came from the rocket about putting the first moon rocket become convinced they could of ours, which were still in the undeveloped and so keep my part of the bargain.\" \"I'll not be needing the gold,\" I said. never \"What's this now?\" \"I'll not be needing it,\" I repeated. \"I don't feel it would be right to take it for a service of this I see I shall have to explain this, of nuclear explosion—which is what the drive amounts to despite the fact that it is simply water in which nuclear salts have been previously to weary you. Perhaps you had better take my word for it that without this equation—correctly stated, mind you—mankind would be well advised not to make a first trip to the moon. And all this talk of coefficients and equations sits strangely, you might had given them the wrong equation, of course. They would never get their spaceship to work now, and later, if they tried to spy out the right information I would take special But I am, after all, a scientist. If I the advantage of being able to see them. As for our own rocket ship, it should be well on its way by next St. Patrick's Day. For I had indeed I would hardly have found myself engaged in vital research at the do without Keech's pot of gold, though it would have been pleasant to be truly rich for a change. There was no sense in cheating him out of the gold to boot, for leprechauns are most clever in matters of this sort and he would have had it back soon enough—or else made it a burden in some way. Indeed, I had done a piece of work greatly to my advantage, and also to the advantage of humankind, and when a man can do the first and include the second as a fortunate byproduct it is a most happy accident. For if I had shown the little people how to make a spaceship they They were building something in would have left our world. And this world, as long as it lasts—what be seen here in America. I had \"Come along now, people!\" said this crotchety one, looking straight at me. \"Stop starin' and get to never seen them so busy, either. would it be in that event? I ask you more likely to blow ourselves to Kingdom know he can't see nor hear us!\" foreman of the leprechauns—if Oh, it was good to hear the rich for your lives!\" And they all began running, in behind the trees and bushes, and a sloping embankment nearby. \"No, wait!\" I said. \"Don't go away! I'll not be hurting you!\" They continued to scurry. I knew what it was they feared. \"I don't intend catching one of you!\" I said. \"Come back, you daft little creatures!\" But the glade was silent, and they had all disappeared. They thought I wanted their crock of gold, of course. I'd be entitled to it if I could catch one and keep him. Or so the legends affirmed, though I've wondered often about the truth of them. But I was after no gold. I only wanted tongue. I was lonely here in America, even if I had latched on to a fine job of work for almost shamefully generous pay. You see, in a place as full of science as the nuclear propulsion course it was a spaceship, or a and workable. I shook my head in wonder, then stepped back from the spaceship and looked about the glade. I knew blueprint stage. I knew that if I could just once hear the old tongue again, and talk about the old things, I might be able gold is delivered to your rooms tonight, spaceship, and this time I struck it and talk to me, I'll wreck this spaceship returned to the Island.\" He shook his head and remained it if you'll go away and leave us to our work.\" and glanced at the spaceship. group of little people be building a spaceship here in America—out in this lonely place?\" a spaceship. I was surprised enough a spaceship at first glance! Well, I spaceship when I see one?\" I said. \"Invited by the American government to work on the first moon rocket here at the nuclear propulsion \"How?\" I asked. my pouch. \"Well, now,\" he said, \"first of all you're no doubt surprised to find us here in America.\" \"I am surprised from time to \"We had to come here,\" said Keech, \"to learn how to make a spaceship.\" \"A spaceship, now,\" I said, unconsciously \"Leprechauns are not really mechanically knows.\" \"Myself included,\" I agreed. \"Then why do you need a spaceship?\" \"Well, if I may use an old expression, we've had a feelin' lately that we're not long for this world. Or let me put it this way. We feel the world isn't long for itself.\" \"It's very simple. With all the super weapons you mortals have developed, there's the distinct possibility you might be blowin' us all up in the process of destroying yourselves.\" \"There \"Well, then, as I say,\" said Keech, \"the little people have decided to leave the planet in a spaceship. Which we're buildin' here and now. We've spied upon you and learned how to do it. Well—almost how to do it. We haven't learned yet how to control the power—\" \"Hold on, now,\" I said. \"Leaving the planet, you say. And where would you be going?\" \"There's another committee make the ship, and proceed with its construction. Naturally, we didn't understand all of your high-flyin' science, but some of our people are pretty clever at gettin' up replicas thought it was by the Russians. There's one thing which puzzles \"It may be we never crossed your path. It may be you can only see us when you're thinkin' of us, and of What's important is for us to get our first ship to workin' properly and then we'll be on our way.\" \"Well, then, it may be that you can help us—now that you know need it right now, if we're to make our ship move.\" \"And you want me to help you with this?\" humans! I knew it! Well, Mr. Houlihan, I'll give you reason enough. The pot o' gold, Mr. Houlihan!\" Nor is it actually in an earthen crock. But there's gold, all right, enough to make you rich for the rest of your life. And I'll make you a proposition.\" \"Go ahead.\" \"We'll not be needin' gold where we're goin'. It's yours if you show us how to make our ship work.\" \"Well, now, that's quite an here—and see you're not slow as ship's drive and see what we can see.\" was out we had half the spaceship \"Over here, now! All right, bring those electrical connections over but Keech and his people made a was comfortable enough. Every once in a while someone from the town or the center itself would pass by, and stop to watch me. But of course they wouldn't see the leprechauns or anything the leprechauns had made, not being believers.\n\n<question>:\nWhat motivated the leprechauns to build a spaceship?\n\n<options>:\nA They desire to seek and add more riches to their already expansive collection\nB They believe that humans' obsession with technology will make the world inhabitable\nC They fear that their race will soon become extinct due to population decline\nD They wish to transport their riches to another location where humans will never steal it\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,925 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAhead of him, in serried array, with lances erect and pennons flying, was the forward part of the column. Far ahead, he knew, were the Knights . Behind the standard-bearer, his great war horse moving with a steady, measured pace, his coronet of gold on his steel helm gleaming in the glaring desert sun, the lions of England on his firm-held shield, was the King himself. Further behind, the Knights Hospitallers protected the rear, guarding face us in open battle.\" \"Is it fear, or are they merely gathering their forces?\" \"Both,\" said Sir Gaeton flatly. \"They fear us, else they would not dally to amass so fearsome a force. If, as our informers tell us, there are uncounted Turks to the fore, and if, as we are aware, our rear is being dogged by the Bedouin and the black horsemen of Egypt, it would seem that Saladin has at hand more than enough to overcome us, were they all truly Christian knights.\" hills. \"The sun is yet low, and already the heat is unbearable.\" Sir Robert heard his own laugh echo hollowly within his helmet. \"Perhaps 'twere better to be mad when the assault comes. Madmen fight better than men of cooler blood.\" He knew that the others were baking inside their Burgundy against King Richard—\" He gave a short, barking laugh. \"I fear no man,\" he went on, \"but if I had to fear one, it would be Richard of England.\" Sir Robert's voice came like a sword: steely, flat, cold, and sharp. \"My lord the King spoke in haste. He has reason to be bitter against Philip of France, as do we all. Philip has deserted the field. He has returned to France in haste, leaving the rest of us to fight the Saracen for the Holy Land leaving only the contingent of his vassal the Duke of Burgundy \"Richard of England has never been on the best of terms with Philip Augustus,\" said Sir Gaeton. \"No, and with good cause. But he allowed his anger against Philip to color his judgment when he spoke harshly against the Duke of Burgundy. The Duke is no coward, and Richard Plantagenet well knows it. As I said, he spoke in haste.\" \"And you intervened,\" said Sir Gaeton. \"It was my duty.\" Sir Robert's voice was stubborn. \"Could we have permitted a quarrel to develop between the two finest knights and warleaders in Christendom at this crucial point? The desertion of Philip of France has cost us dearly. Could we permit the desertion of Burgundy, too?\" Sir Robert felt his jaw set firmly. \"My king knows I am loyal.\" Sir Gaeton said nothing more, but there was a look in his eyes that showed that he felt that Richard of England might even doubt the loyalty of Sir Robert de Bouain. the sword against armor, like the sound of a thousand hammers against a thousand anvils. \"Stand fast! Stand fast! Hold them off!\" It was the voice of King Sir Robert felt his horse move, as though it were urging him on toward the battle, but his hand held to the reins, keeping the great charger in check. The King had said \"Stand fast!\" and this was no time to disobey the orders of Richard. were taking the brunt of the charge. They fought like madmen, but they the King: \"My lord, we are pressed on by the enemy and in danger of eternal infamy. We are losing our horses, one after the other!\" \"Good Master,\" said Richard, \"it is you who must sustain their attack. in the flank we cannot afford to amass a rearward charge. To do so the aid of the Hospitallers, we will expose the column to a flank attack.\" It was Sir Gaeton. \"My lord the King,\" Sir Robert heard his voice say, \"is right in all but one thing. If we allow the Egyptians to take us from the rear, there will be no need for Saladin and his Turks to come down on our flank. And the Hospitallers cannot hold for long at this rate. A charge at full gallop would break the Egyptian line and give the Hospitallers breathing you, sir knight! Live or die, I follow! Strike and strike hard!\" \"Forward then!\" Sir Robert heard himself shouting. \"Forward for St. George and for England!\" \"St. George and England!\" the Gascon echoed. Two great war horses began to move ponderously forward toward the battle The Egyptians tried to dodge, as they saw, too late, the approach of the Christian knights. Sir Robert felt the shock against himself and his horse as the steel tip of the long ash lance struck the Saracen horseman in the chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sir Gaeton, too, had scored. saber, taking advantage of Sir Robert's sagging lance. There was nothing else to do but drop the lance and draw his heavy sweeping arc, and the Egyptian's horse rode on with the rider's headless body. Behind him, Sir Robert heard further cries of \"St. George and England!\" Beauvais, who carried a great warhammer in order that he might not break Church Law by shedding blood. Sir Robert's own sword rose and fell, cutting and hacking at the enemy. He himself felt a dreamlike detachment, as though he were watching the battle rather than participating in it. onslaught. And then, quite suddenly, there seemed to be no foeman to swing at. Breathing heavily, Sir Robert sheathed his broadsword. Beside him, Sir Gaeton did the same, saying: \"It will be a few minutes before they can regroup, sir knight. We may have routed them completely.\" \"Aye. But King Richard will not approve of my breaking ranks and disobeying orders. I may win the battle and lose my head in the end.\" \"No, but you can always light another later,\" said the Gascon knight. King Richard, on seeing his army moving suddenly toward the harassed rear, had realized the danger and had charged through the Hospitallers to get into the thick of the fray. Now the Turks were charging down from the hills, hitting—not the flank as he had expected, but the rear! Saladin had expected him to hold fast! Sir Robert and Sir Gaeton spurred their chargers toward the flapping banner of England. The fierce warrior-king of England, his mighty sword in hand, was cutting down Turks as though they were grain-stalks, but still the boiling down out of the hills, their glittering scimitars swinging. Sir Robert lost all track of time. There was nothing to do but keep his own great broadsword moving, swinging like some gigantic metronome as he hacked down the Moslem foes. sparkling blade with power and force. On his steel helm gleamed a golden coronet! Richard! And the great king, in spite of his prowess was outnumbered heavily and would, within seconds, be cut down by the Saracen horde! Without hesitation, Sir Robert plunged his horse toward the surrounded monarch, his great blade cutting a path before him. He saw Richard go down, falling from the saddle of his charger, but by that time his own sword was cutting into the screaming Saracens and they had no time to attempt any further mischief to the King. They had their hands full with Sir Robert de Bouain. He did not know how long he fought there, holding his charger motionless over the inert body of the fallen king, hewing down the screaming enemy, but presently he heard the familiar cry of \"For St. George and for England\" behind him. The Norman and English troops were charging in, bringing with them the banner of England! The Turks began to fall back. Within seconds, the Christian knights were boiling around the embattled pair, forcing the Turks into retreat. And for the second time, Sir Robert found himself with no one to fight. And then a voice was saying: \"You have done well this day, sir knight.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the purpose of the battle scene from the story?\n\n<options>:\nA To accurately depict a significant battle from the Crusades\nB To associate tobacco products with masculinity, brotherhood, and pride\nC To illustrate the powerful bonds of allegiance among soldiers on the battlefield\nD To reveal how the King Phillip's cowardice initiated the downfall of one of the world's greatest armies\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,203 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nin each 'copter, stone-faced, staring grimly alert at the prison below. They were ready for the breakout. was one of the many talents bred here! I its inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scent And her name, he saw, was Sue-Ann Bradley, Detainee No. WFA-656R. He frowned at the rap sheet, trying to figure out what got a girl like her into a place like this. And, what was more important, why she from the Jug's going to start a fight like you never saw and we'll be couldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. He was partly right. He would be right in the middle of it—for every man, woman and child in the city-state would be right in the middle of it. There was no place anywhere that would be spared. guard, Sodaro, growled warningly: \"Watch it, auntie!\" That : \"Detainees will be permitted to speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings.\" And O'Leary was a man who lived by the book. She burst out: \"I never got a chance! That old witch Mathias never told But the declassed cons of the Jug were the dregs of every class was the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm in and once they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. The to do. Cap'n, you know what's funny about this? This Bradley is—\" attractive and young—not beyond hope, surely. Maybe she had got off to a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in the disciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear and looked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting for him to judge their cases. He said patiently: \"Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out your and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when the other one asked her to move along.\" He added virtuously: \"The guard warned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure.\" Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: \"I O'Leary stopped her. \"That's enough! Three days in Block O!\" It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. He had managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omitted to say \"sir\" every time she spoke to him, but he couldn't keep it up forever and he certainly couldn't overlook hysteria. And hysteria was clearly the next step for her. business? He checked out of the cell blocks and walked across the yard, wondering about her. She'd had every advantage—decent Civil Service parents, a good education, everything a girl could wish for. If anything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, and look what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is no exception, but with the difference that his is the one species that creates its own environment in which to specialize. From the moment that clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weapons made by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by the ceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame. Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. From the born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolved to the point of smaller contact and less communication between the specializations, until now they could understand each other on only the most basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degree of civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregation of each specialization—social and genetic measures to make them breed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man, would be good at no specialization. And the basis of this specialization society was: \"The aptitude groups are the true races of mankind.\" Putting it into law was only the legal enforcement of a demonstrable fact. right that he should be proud of it. He was civil-service born and bred, and naturally he was proud and content to but they had a—well, a sort of natural, relaxed joy of living. O'Leary was a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with a touch of envy how No responsibilities. No worries. Just an easy, slow routine of work and loaf, work and loaf. Of course, he wouldn't really want that kind of life, because he was He nodded to the mechanic inmate who was, theoretically, in charge of the prison jeep. Lazy, sure. Undependable, certainly. But he kept the certainly would never risk coming back to the Jug by trying to pass as Civil Service or anything else. He knew his place. So why didn't this girl, this Sue-Ann Bradley, know hers? II its own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. And like any other community, it had its leading citizens ... two of them. Their names were Sauer and Flock. Sue-Ann Bradley heard them before she reached the Greensleeves. She was in a detachment of three unfortunates like herself, convoyed by an irritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floor guard. The outside guard looked impassively back—after all, he was on The outside guard shrugged. \"Let them in,\" the inside guard told him. \"The others are riled up attention. The outside guard pulled the switch that turned on the the time—only when the cell doors had to be opened or a prisoner's restraining garment removed. Sue-Ann walked bravely forward through the opened gate—and fell flat passed them by and she was fighting off an almost uncontrollable urge to retch. five-footer with the build of a water moccasin—and the sad, stupid The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned off \"Uh-uh.\" The outside guard shook his head. grinned at the guard, all but his water-moccasin eyes. \"Don't you know !\" yelled the inside guard. human , she told herself miserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards the satisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedly that resentment and anger were natural and right. They were perfectly normal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion against the vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was good that system— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself to because noise hides noise. But then she hadn't been a prisoner very long. the Jug, but privately he was a fussy old man trying to hold onto the But today she put a woman named Bradley on report. Why? Because she told Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. Now job is just as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick to our own jobs. We don't want to try to pass Because five minutes before, he was in his cell, with the rest of the He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him, Bradley was a little slow getting off the edge of the steel-slat proudly ignored him as he slogged deliberately away on his rounds. He didn't have to untie her and practically stand over her while she attended to various personal matters, as he did with the male prisoners. It was not much to be grateful for, but Sue-Ann Bradley was grateful. At least she didn't have to live quite like a fig—like an underprivileged clerk, she told herself, conscience-stricken. Across the hall, the guard was saying irritably: \"What the hell's nineteen million persons that lived within a few dozen miles of the Jug. but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. trouble in the wipe quarters. The Jug! The governor himself had called\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Bradley in the Jug?\n\n<options>:\nA she didn't understand the people she was supposed to be working with\nB she wanted to be part of the Civil Service group instead of the laborer group\nC she caused a fight in the lunch room\nD she believed people should be able to choose their path in life\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
2,141 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nShe smiled back she knew the pain wouldn't return for a few minutes \"Certainly,\" she agreed, running a hand through her brown hair, \"I'll be okay. Just you be on tap when I call.\" The major's grin broadened. \"You don't think I'd miss a historical event like this, do you? You take it easy. We're over Eastern Europe a call in.\" He paused, then repeated, \"You just take it easy. Call the nurse if anything happens.\" Then he turned and walked out of the room. now, but he hadn't been that way five months ago. She chuckled softly to herself as she thought of his blistering speech. \"Lieutenant Britton, you're either careless or brainless I don't Service, but that doesn't give him the right to come blasting up here on a supply rocket just to get you pregnant!\" Alice had said: \"I'm sure the thought never entered his mind, doctor. I know it never entered mine.\" suppressed anger. \"I didn't know,\" she had said stolidly. \"You know my medical record.\" And he had looked up at her scathingly. \"Lieutenant Britton, it is She hadn't thought of it before, but the major was right. The terrible pressure of a rocket landing would increase her effective body weight to nearly half a ton an adult human being couldn't take that sort of punishment for long, much less the tiny life that was growing within her. me at least once a week, Lieutenant.\" As the words went through her mind, another spasm of pain hit her, and she clenched her fists tightly on the sheets again. It went away, and no bigger than a twenty-two bullet, and it hadn't been traveling more than ten miles per second, but it had managed to punch its way through space. The depressurization hadn't hurt her too much, but the shock had been She relaxed a little more, waiting for the next pain. There was nothing to worry about speculatively. \"Something wrong, doctor?\" \"Incubator,\" he said, without taking his eyes off the clock. \"I beg your pardon?\" \"Incubator. We can't deliver a seven-month preemie without an incubator.\" The nurse's eyes widened. \"Good Lord! I never thought of that! What are you going to do?\" to the Earth. But as soon as we get within radio range of White Sands, I'll ask them to send up an emergency rocket with an incubator. But—\" \"But what?\" \"Will we have time? The pains are coming pretty fast now. It will be at if some accident, such as a really large meteor hit, should release the air from one room, nearby rooms would be safe. time, she said: \"I'm doing fine, but you look as if you'd been through the mill. What's eating you?\" He forced a nervous smile. \"Nothing but the responsibility. You're late. This isn't going to last that long.\" Banes had to fight hard to keep his face smiling when she said that, but he managed an easy nod. \"We'll see. Don't hurry it, though. Let nature take its course. I'm not such a glory hog that I'd not let Gates have part of it—or all of it, for that matter. Relax and take it easy.\" He went on talking, trying to keep the conversation light, but his eyes kept wandering to his wristwatch, timing Alice's pain intervals. They were coming too close together to suit him. I'll send a nurse in to be with her.\" He nodded, then turned back to Alice. \"Stiff uppah lip, and all that sort of rot,\" he said in a phony British accent. \"Oh, raw ther his left hand. \"Two hours. It isn't soon enough. She'll never hold out that long. And we don't have an incubator.\" His voice was a clipped monotone, timed with the rhythmic slamming of his fist. The Chief Nurse said: \"Can't we build something that will do until the rocket gets here?\" money to ship material up here, you know. Anything not essential is left on the ground.\" She frowned. \"That really puts you on the spot. If the baby dies, they'll blame you.\" Banes slammed his fist to the desk. \"Do you think I give a tinker's dam about that? I'm interested in saving a life, not in worrying about what people may think!\" \"Yes, sir. I just thought—\" \"Well, think about something useful! Think about how we're going to My nerves are all raw, I guess. But, dammit, my field is space medicine. I can handle depressurization, space sickness, and things like that, but I don't know anything about babies! I know what I read in medical school, and I watched a delivery once, but that's all I know. I don't even have any references up here people aren't supposed to go around having babies on a space station!\" \"It's all right, doctor. Shall I prepare the delivery room?\" His laugh was hard and short. \"Delivery room! I wish to Heaven we had one! Prepare the ward room next to the one she's in now, I guess. It's the best we have. The nurse left quietly. She knew Banes wasn't really angry at the Brittons it was simply his way of letting off steam to ease the tension within him. The slow, monotonous rotation of the second hand on the wall clock seemed to drag time grudgingly along with it. Banes wished he could smoke to calm his raw nerves, but it was strictly against regulations. Air was too precious to be used up by smoking. Every bit of air on board had had to be carried up in rockets when the station was built than I do!\" Again he tried to force a smile, but it didn't come off too well. \"Nothing serious. I just want to make sure everything comes out all right.\" She smiled. \"It will. You're all set. You ordered the instruments months ago. Or did you forget something?\" That hit home, but he just grinned feebly. \"I forgot to get somebody to boil water.\" \"Whatever for?\" \"Coffee, of course. Didn't you know that? Papa always heats up the water When the pain had ebbed away, he said: \"We've got the delivery room all ready. It won't be much longer now.\" \"I'll say it won't! How about the incubator?\" There was a long pause. Finally, he said softly: \"There isn't any incubator. I didn't take the possibility of a premature delivery into account. It's my fault. I've done what I could, though the ship is bringing one up. I—I think we'll be able to keep the child alive until—\" He stopped. Alice was bubbling up with laughter. \"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Britton! Alice! This is no time to get hysterical! Stop it!\" Her laughter slowed to a chuckle. \" Me get hysterical! That's a good one! What about you? You're so nervous you couldn't sip water out of a bathtub without spilling it!\" He blinked. \"What do you mean?\" Another pain came, and he had to wait until it was over before he got out. Ask yourself just one question. Ask yourself, 'Why is a space station like an incubator?'\" Major Peter Banes, haggard but smiling, met Captain Britton in the \"You mean— already ?\" \"But—but—the incubator—\" Banes' grin widened. \"We'll put the baby in it, now that we've got it, but it really isn't necessary. Your wife figured that one out. A space station is a kind of incubator itself, you see. It protects us poor, weak humans from the terrible conditions of space. So all we had to do was close up one of the airtight rooms, sterilize it, warm it up, and \"Don't thank me. It was Captain Britton's wife who—\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the role of the British accent?\n\n<options>:\nA To comfort Lt. Britton when she is going into labor\nB To show Major Banes reverting to his natural accent when stressed\nC To call out the Brittons who Major Banes is angry with\nD To make a joke to relieve some stress\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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1,746 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nACCIDENTAL DEATH BY PETER BAILY The most dangerous of weapons is the one you don't know is loaded. Illustrated by Schoenherr one after another in defiance of probability? and is operated by a hand-picked crew of highly trained men in perfect condition, how often is it wrecked planetful of them do? \"On the other hand, a talent that manipulates chance events is bound to be chancy. No matter how highly developed it can't be surefire. The precipice it fingered and wrenched flashed at the furrow's end on a thing of metal and plastics, an artifact thrown down in the dead wilderness. Transcriber's Note: Astounding Science Fiction broken or a clockwork toy running down. When the movements stopped, sound began. Thin, scratchy, inaudible there was a click and a strange but still cocky, there leaked from the by a series of silly errors happening human voice. out. I'm fine where I am. I'll just lie here for a while and relax, and get well use it. That way even if I'm not and wonder what went wrong. \"I suppose I'm in a state of shock. Who wouldn't be shocked after luck like that? \"I've always been lucky, I guess. \"You'll want to know if the ship Alpha Centauri doubt if it was the ship itself that fouled things up. \"That was some survey assignment. \"I'm shocked all right. I never said astronomical survey in the starship \"Where had I got to? I'd told you at fifteen p.s.i. The odds against finding Chang on a six-sun technical—haven't got space travel for instance. They're good astronomers, their way, they're a highly civilized people. Look more like cats than people, but they're people all right. If you doubt it, chew these facts over. in four weeks. When I say they, I . \"Three, they've a great sense of humor. Ran rather to silly practical jokes, but still. Can't say I care for that hot-foot and belly-laugh stuff myself, but tastes differ. \"Four, the ten-man language team also learned chess and table tennis. \"But why go on? People who talk English, drink beer, like jokes and beat me at chess or table-tennis are people for my money, even if they look like tigers in trousers. \"It was funny the way they won all the time at table tennis. They certainly weren't so hot at it. Maybe off our strokes. As for chess, Svendlov was our champion. He won sometimes. The rest of us seemed to lose whichever Chingsi we played. There again it wasn't so much that they were good. How could they be, in the time? It was more that we all seemed to make silly mistakes when we played them and that's fatal in chess. Of course it's a screwy situation, playing chess with something that grows its own fur coat, has yellow you have kept your mind on the game? \"And don't think I fell victim to their feline charm. The children were pets, but you didn't feel like patting the adults on their big grinning heads. Personally I didn't like the one I knew best. He was called—well, we or whatever you like to call him, who came back with us. Why I disliked him was because he was always trying to get the edge on you. All the time he had to be top. Great sense of humor, of course. I nearly broke my neck on that butter-slide he fixed up in the metal alleyway to the engine room. Charley laughed even laughed myself though doing it hurt me more than the tumble had. Yes, life and soul of the party, old Charley ... was a cabin full of dead and dying men, the sweetish stink of burned flesh and the choking reek of scorching insulation, the boat jolting and shuddering \"My God, it's dark out here. Wonder how high I am. Must be all of \"That's better. Why didn't I close \"It's getting lighter. Look at those peaks down there! Like great knives. I don't seem to be falling as fast as and tell the world hello. Hello, earth is that the suit ran out of \"Come to think of it, why not longer and get properly rested up before I try anything big like standing up. \"I was telling about the return and Mars. Instead of which, when except the noise-level of the universe. solar system. The crew had to find out exactly what went wrong. The physicists had to make mystic passes in front of meters and mutter about residual folds in stress-free space. translated into the somewhat abstruse Nothing was wrong with the computer. Nothing was wrong with the engines. We'd hit the right button and we'd gone to the place we'd aimed for. All we'd done was aim for the wrong place. It hurts me to tell with no space-flight tradition. In practical terms, one highly trained crew member had punched a wrong pattern of holes on the tape. Another equally skilled had failed to notice this when reading back. A childish error, highly improbable thus squaring the improbability. were cross-checked about five times. I got sick so I climbed into a spacesuit and went outside and took some was still chuckling and shaking his \"Everything twanged like a bowstring. Whale , the most powerful \"The interplanetary flight because you can high exhaust velocity. But in it has rather a low thrust. It would at a dead run. There was no time to take anything at all except the clothes asteroids. In addition to the ion drive thanked God for that when Cazamian with the ship, as the saying is? Not Or did he suspect another human error? the cabin was filling with fumes. I how he'd escaped—and I earth fifty miles below. I shut my I don't see how any of us could have survived. I think we're all dead. \"I'll have to get up and crack this I'm dead so I can't stand up.\" There was silence for a while except for the vicious howl of the wind. \"Hello there. I'm in the bleakest jumps. Terminal velocity for a human body falling through air is Falling fifty miles is no worse than foot fall, true, but I've been lucky. The suit is bulky but light and probably \"The second thing I want to say is about the Chingsi, and here it is: watch out for them. Those jokers are dangerous. I'm not telling how because I've got a scientific reputation to watch. You'll have to figure it out for yourselves. Here are the clues: (1) The Chingsi talk and laugh but after all they aren't human. On an alien world a hundred light-years away, why shouldn't alien so uncertain and rudimentary here that most people don't believe it, might be highly developed the ship, we lost the launch, all but one of us lost our lives. We couldn't even win a game of ping-pong. \"So what is luck, good or bad? Scientifically speaking, future chance events are by definition chance. They can turn out favorable or not. When occurred unfavorably, you've got bad luck. It's a fancy name for a lot of chance results that didn't go your way. But the gambler defines it differently. For him, luck refers to the future, and you've got bad luck when future chance events won't go your way. Scientific investigations into this have been inconclusive, but everyone knows that some people are lucky and others aren't. All we've got are hints a rudimentary talent. There's the evil eye legend and the Jonah, bad luck bringers. Superstition? Maybe but ask the insurance companies about accident prones. What's in a name? Call a man unlucky and you're superstitious. Call him accident prone and that's sound business sense. I've said enough. \"All the same, search the space-flight\n\n<question>:\nWhy does the narrator say that the aliens' jokes are dangerous?\n\n<options>:\nA The wrong kind of joke could end in catastrophe\nB It hurts the scientists' reputations to be beat at games like chess\nC Their practical jokes tend to meddle with spaceship parts\nD They like to play with weapons and people tend to die\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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1,605 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nExtensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] They were such cute synthetic creatures, it was impossible not to love them. Of course, and miserable. not even from Bermuda.\" \" Intelligent \"I thought they were all registered,\" Anne said. \"They are. I told her she had the wrong neutroid, but she got mad. Went \"A small child is an imbecile. Would you kill a small child?\" \"You're taking intelligence as the only criterion of humanity,\" he protested hopelessly, knowing that a logical defense was useless against sentimentality. \"Baby—\" If Delmont's falsification had been widespread, he might have to turn several of the thirty-five over to central lab for dissection and ultimate destruction. That would bring the murderous wrath of their owners down upon him. He began to understand why bio-inspectors were frequently shifted from one territory to another. things about the She sipped her coffee and appeared to be listening, so he went on. \"And what can I do? You know how the Federation handles employment. They looked over my aptitude tests and sent me to Bio-Administration. If I don't want to follow my aptitudes, the only choice is common DUMB BLONDES AND GOLDFISH MUTANTS FOR THE CHILDLESS BUY A BUNDLE OF JOY because I liked babies. And because I have a B.S. in biology and an delicately cut from cold marble. She was a small woman, slender and never got farther than \"mamma,\" \"pappa,\" and \"cookie.\" Anthropos was afraid to make the quasi-humans too intelligent, lest sentimentalists proclaim them really human. suburban street wound among the pastel plasticoid cottages that were set approximately two to an acre on the lightly wooded land. With its population legally fixed at three hundred million, most of the country had become one big suburb, dotted with community centers and lined of their own, could get quite attached to a cat-Q-5. The felines were emotionally safer than the quasi-human chimp-K series called \"neutroids.\" When a pet neutroid died, a family was broken with grief but most couples could endure the death of a cat-Q or a dog-F. Class-C couples were allowed two lesser units or one neutroid. His grin faded as he wondered which Anne would choose. The Norrises were class-C—defective heredity. Subject: Deviant Neutroid. You will immediately begin a systematic and thorough survey of all birth dates during July 2234. This is in connection with the Delmont Negligency Case. Seize all animals in this category, impound, and run proper sections of normalcy tests. Watch for mental and glandular one animal is found. Be thorough. If allowed to reach age-set or adulthood, such a deviant could be the slightest abnormality in the normalcy tests. Forward to central lab. Return standard units to their owners. Accomplish entire survey getting absent-minded, because I forgot she was class C until I got there.\" He hesitated. \"The baby turned out to be a neutroid. It's dying. Eighteenth order virus.\" \"So?\" \"Well, she's—uh—rather a peculiar humans. Of course, no hospital would play along with her fantasy and take a neutroid, especially since she couldn't pay for its treatment.\" \"I still don't see—\" even though they look exactly alike, the new one won't recognize her. It'll be spooky.\" There was a long pause, followed by a sigh. \"I'll try it anyway. Can I entered his territory, and they were about equally divided among five After lunch, he called each of the retail dealers, read them the serial numbers, and asked them to check the sales records for names and addresses of individual buyers. By three o'clock, he had the entire list filled out, and the task began to look easier. All that remained And that liking what he had to do. Anne came to stand beside him and examine the scratches. The robot operator, which had on tape the working habits of each Wylo \"Honeymoon's on again, huh?\" she whispered against his neck. \"Come on,\" he grunted. \"Let's unload some neutroids, before I forget all about work.\" They went out to the kennels together. The cages were inside a for the fragile neuter humanoid creatures, and another for the lesser mutants, such as cat-Qs, dog-Fs, dwarf bears, and foot-high lambs that as they leaped about their compartments with monkey grace. Their human appearance was broken by only two distinct features: short beaverlike tails decorated with fluffy curls of fur, and an erect thatch of scalp-hair that grew up into a bright candleflame. Otherwise, they appeared completely human, with baby-pink skin, quick little smiles, and cherubic faces. They were sexually neuter and never grew beyond a predetermined age-set which varied for each series. Age-sets were available from one to ten years human equivalent. Once a neutroid reached its age-set, it remained at the set's child-development level until death. \"They must be getting to know you pretty well,\" Anne said, glancing around at the cages. \" Apple cores! \" He turned to face his wife. \"How did apples get in there?\" She reddened. \"I felt sorry for them, eating that goo from the paused, wondering how he could tell her the truth. He blundered on: \"They get to love whoever feeds them.\" \"I can't see—\" gene structure with sub-atomic particles. It's tricky business. He flashes a huge enlargement of the ovum on the electron microscope screen—large enough so he can see the individual protein molecules. He has an artificial gene pattern to compare it with. It's like shooting sub-atomic billiards. He's got to fire alpha-particles into the gene structure and displace certain links by just the right amount. And Anyway, he reported one success the next day. It was faked. The ovum had a couple of flaws—something wrong in the central nervous system's determinants, and in the glandular makeup. Not a standard neutroid ovum. He passed it on to the incubators to get a credit, knowing it wouldn't be caught until after birth.\" \"So it would develop sexuality. A neutroid would be born a female if they didn't give it suppressive doses of male hormone prenatally. That keeps ovaries from developing and it comes out neuter. But inspection. They'd dispose of her without even bothering to examine for the other defects. And he could blame the sexuality on an equipment malfunction. He thought it was pretty smart. Trouble was they didn't catch the female. She went on through look female.\" \"How did they find out about it now?\" potential murderer. All She looked up and shook her head. \"It belongs to somebody else. If it fixes a libido attachment on you, you're actually robbing its owner. They can't love many people at once.\" \"I know what I'm saying. We're class-C on account of heart-trouble in to have a baby.\" \"You know what they'd do to us?\" \"If they catch us, yes—compulsory divorce, sterilization. But they was obvious. Society manufactured them because killing them was permissible. Human babies could not be disposed of when the market became glutted. The neutroids offered solace to childless women, kept them satisfied with a restricted birth rate. And why a restricted birth rate? Because by keeping the population at five billions, the Federation could insure a decent living standard for everybody. he created nothing. He thought that he had created—with his medical science and his end to wars—a longer life for the individual. But he found that he had only taken the lives of the unborn and added them to the years of the aged. Man now had a life expectancy of eighty, except\n\n<question>:\nHow are citizens organized into different classes in society?\n\n<options>:\nA Through random assignment at birth\nB According to their socioeconomic status\nC After a lengthy interview with Anthropos upon reaching a specific age-set\nD By an analysis of their genes and heredity\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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1,694 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n... After a Few Words ... Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This is a science-fiction story. History is a science the other part is, as all Americans know, the most fictional field we have today. He settled himself comfortably in his seat, and carefully put the helmet he could see nothing. Then his hand moved up and, with a flick of the wrist, lifted the visor. Ahead of him, in serried array, with lances erect and pennons flying, Jerusalem and the host of Poitou. saddle. To his right, he could see the brilliant red-and-gold banner of the lion-hearted Richard of England— gules, in pale three lions passant guardant or . Behind the standard-bearer, his great war horse moving with a steady, measured pace, his coronet of gold on his steel helm gleaming in the glaring desert sun, the lions of England on his firm-held shield, was the King himself. Further behind, the Knights Hospitallers protected the rear, guarding his saddle, his visor up, his blue eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. Sir Robert's lips formed a smile. \"They are not far off, Sir Gaeton. They have been following us. As we march parallel to the seacoast, so \"Like the jackals they are,\" said Sir Gaeton. \"They assail us from the rear, and they set up traps in our path ahead. Our spies tell us that the Turks lie ahead of us in countless numbers. And yet, they fear to face us in open battle.\" \"Is it fear, or are they merely gathering their forces?\" \"Both,\" said Sir Gaeton flatly. \"They fear us, else they would not dally to amass so fearsome a force. If, as our informers tell us, there are uncounted Turks to the fore, and if, as we are aware, our rear is being dogged by the Bedouin and the black horsemen of Egypt, it would seem that Saladin has at hand more than enough to overcome us, were they all truly Christian knights.\" stop us. They will attack before we reach Jerusalem, fear not.\" \"We of Gascony fear no heathen Musselman,\" Sir Gaeton growled. \"It's this Hellish heat that is driving me mad.\" He pointed toward the eastern Sir Robert heard his own laugh echo hollowly within his helmet. \"Perhaps 'twere better to be mad when the assault comes. Madmen fight better than men of cooler blood.\" He knew that the others were baking inside their heavy armor, although he himself was not too uncomfortable. Sir Gaeton looked at him with a smile that held both irony and respect. \"In truth, sir knight, it is apparent that you fear neither men nor heat. Nor is your own blood too cool. True, I ride with your Normans and your English and your King Richard of the Lion's Heart, but I am a to remain with us.\" showed that he felt that Richard of England might even doubt the loyalty of Sir Robert de Bouain. him. mingled with the sounds of horses in agony and anger. the sword against armor, like the sound of a thousand hammers against a thousand anvils. \"Stand fast! Stand fast! Hold them off!\" It was the voice of King Richard, sounding like a clarion over the din of battle. which hardly moved in the still desert air, now that the column had stopped moving. voice fading as he rode on up the column toward the knights of Poitou the King: \"My lord, we are pressed on by the enemy and in danger of eternal infamy. We are losing our horses, one after the other!\" \"Good Master,\" said Richard, \"it is you who must sustain their attack. No one can be everywhere at once.\" in the flank one thing. If we allow the Egyptians to take us from the rear, there will be no need for Saladin and his Turks to come down on our flank. And the Hospitallers cannot hold for long at this rate. A charge at full you, sir knight! Live or die, I follow! Strike and strike hard!\" George and for England!\" \"St. George and England!\" the Gascon echoed. Two great war horses began to move ponderously forward toward the battle lines, gaining momentum as they went. Moving in unison, the two knights, Christian knights. Sir Robert felt the shock against himself and his horse as the steel tip sweeping arc, and the Egyptian's horse rode on with the rider's headless body. Behind him, Sir Robert heard further cries of \"St. George and England!\" battle rather than participating in it. But he could see that the Moslems were falling back before the Christian onslaught. disobeying orders. I may win the battle and lose my head in the end.\" \"This is no time to worry about the future,\" said the Gascon. \"Rest for a moment and relax, that you may be the stronger later. Here—have an Old Kings .\" He had a pack of cigarettes in his gauntleted hand, which he profferred slightly farther than the others. Sir Robert's hand reached out and took that one. \"Thanks. When the going gets rough, I really enjoy an Old Kings .\" He put one end of the cigarette in his mouth and lit the other from the lighter in Sir Gaeton's hand. \"Yes, sir,\" said Sir Gaeton, after lighting his own cigarette, \" Old Kings are the greatest. They give a man real, deep-down smoking pleasure.\" \"There's no doubt about it, Old Kings are a man's cigarette.\" Sir Robert could feel the soothing smoke in his lungs as he inhaled deeply. \"That's great. When I want a cigarette, I don't want just any cigarette.\" \"Nor I,\" agreed the Gascon. \" Old Kings is the only real cigarette when you're doing a real man's work.\" \"That's for sure.\" Sir Robert watched a smoke ring expand in the air. There was a sudden clash of arms off to their left. Sir Robert dropped his cigarette to the ground. \"The trouble is that doing a real he-man's work doesn't always allow you to enjoy the fine, rich tobaccos of Old Kings right down to the very end.\" banner of England. red-and-gold banner of Richard? He caught a glimpse of the fluttering banner far to the rear and started to fall back. monarch, his great blade cutting a path before him. over the inert body of the fallen king, hewing down the screaming enemy, but presently he heard the familiar cry of \"For St. George and for England\" behind him. The Norman and English troops were charging in, bringing with them the banner of England! biting viciously into the foe. And then a voice was saying: \"You have done well this day, sir knight. Richard Plantagenet will not forget.\" \"My lord king, be assured that I would never forget my loyalty to my sovereign and liege lord. My sword and my life are yours whenever you call.\" King Richard's gauntleted hand grasped his own. \"If it please God, I shall never ask your life. An earldom awaits you when we return to And then the king mounted his horse and was running full gallop after helmet had projected into his eyes, the studio seemed strangely cavelike. \"How'd you like it, Bob?\" asked one of the two producers of the show. Robert Bowen nodded briskly and patted the televike helmet. \"It was O.K.,\" he said. \"Good show. A little talky at the beginning, and it needs a better fade-out, but the action scenes were fine. The sponsor ought to like it—for a while, at least.\" \"What do you mean, 'for a while'?\" Robert Bowen sighed. \"If this thing goes on the air the way it is, he'll lose sales.\" \"Why? Commercial not good enough?\" \" Too good! Man, I've smoked Old Kings , and, believe me, the real thing never tasted as good as that cigarette did in the commercial!\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the significance of the story's title?\n\n<options>:\nA It points to the high ratio of battle over diplomacy in the story\nB It shows that the king is a man of few words\nC We shows that this is part of a newscast recording\nD It hints at sponsorship being relevant\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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2,059 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nblood,\" old Dunbar told the space-wrecked, desperate men. But Dunbar's eyes were old and uncertain. How could they how they would die—not knowing within maybe thousands of light years where they were, or where they were going. After the wreck, the four of them had floated a while, floated and drifted together, four men in bulbous pressure suits like small individual rockets, held together by an awful pressing need for each Dunbar, the oldest of the four, an old space-buster with a face Suddenly, Old Dunbar had known where they were. Suddenly, Dunbar knew where they were going. They could talk to one another through the etheric transmitters inside Four men, thought Russell, held together by an invisible string of Dunbar was as crazy as a Jovian juke-bird. How long ago that had been, Russell didn't know. All Russell knew was recognizable pattern. But Dunbar knew. And Russell was looking at Dunbar's suit up ahead, watching it more and more intently, thinking about how Dunbar looked inside that suit—and hating Dunbar more and more for claiming he knew when he didn't, for his drooling optimism—because he was taking them on into deeper darkness and calling their destination Paradise. Russell wanted to laugh, but the last time he'd given way to this repeat. Sometimes Russell thought of other things besides his growing hatred thought then of what Dunbar would say to such a thought, how Dunbar Dunbar had a big answer for every little thing. for Dunbar. Hell no—Dunbar had to start talking about a place they find, if they would just follow old Dunbar. That's what all four of We all look alike out here in these big rocket pressure suits, Russell now, Russell thought—if it weren't for old crazy Dunbar. the wrong direction. No reason for knowing. Just a hunch. And Russell don't you?\" \"Sure,\" someone said. \"We're about in the middle of those four suns aren't we, Dunbar?\" Russell said. \"That's right, boys!\" yelled old Dunbar in that sickeningly optimistic old middle.\" \"You're still sure it's the sun up ahead ... that's the only one with life on it, Dunbar ... the only one we can live on?\" Russell asked. \"That's right! That's right,\" Dunbar yelled. \"That's the only one—and Dunbar?\" Russell asked. Keep the old duck talking like this and maybe \"Yeah,\" said Alvar. \"You still say that, Dunbar?\" worlds but ashes ... just ashes and iron and dried blood, dried a million years or more.\" Russell said tightly. \"It'll take us a long time won't it? If it's got spend hoping and getting there—there won't be nothing but ashes and cracked clay?\" Russell said. said that one had a red rim, Dunbar, and I wanted to believe it. So Old Dunbar laughed. The sound brought blood hotly to Russell's face. knowing all the time the old man was crazy, that he was leading them wrong. I'd break away, go it alone to the right sun, Russell thought—but I'd never make it alone. A little while out here alone and I'd be nuttier than old Dunbar will ever be, even if he keeps on getting nuttier all was to get rid of Dunbar. Russell said. \"Lost people ... lost ... who knows how long,\" Dunbar said, as the four of them hurtled along. \"You never know where you'll find people on a world somewhere nobody's ever named or knows about. Places where Russell suddenly shouted. \"Keep quiet, Dunbar. Shut up will you?\" Johnson said. \"Dunbar—how long'll it take us?\" \"Six months to a year, I'd say,\" Dunbar yelled happily. \"That is—of Russell screamed at Dunbar, then quieted down. He whispered. \"Six crazy as hell, Dunbar. Crazy ... crazy! Nobody could stand it. We'll \"We'll make it, boys. Trust ole' Dunbar. What's a year when we know \"Now quiet down, Russ,\" Dunbar said in a kind of dreadful crooning whisper. \"You calm down now. You younger fellows—you don't look at things the way we used to. Thing is, we got to go straight. People trapped like this liable to start meandering. Liable to start losing the old will-power.\" someone says to go right, and someone else says to go in another direction. And then someone says maybe they'd better go back the old way. An' pretty soon something breaks, or the food runs out, and \"Shut up!\" Johnson yelled. Dunbar laughed. \"Boys, boys, don't get panicky. Keep your heads. Just stick to old Dunbar and he'll see you through. I'm always lucky. Only Dunbar. If he'd aimed right, Russell knew the fire-bullet should have pierced Dunbar's back. Now the fire was gone, extinguished Dunbar's last faint cry from inside his suit still rang in Russell's Johnson both called Dunbar's name a few times. There was no answer. \"I did it for the three of us,\" Russell said. \"It was either him or us. \" Shhhh right?\" Sometime later, Johnson said, \"We got to decide now. Let's forget the old man. Let's forget him and all that's gone and let's start now and decide what to do.\" him because we didn't have the strength to make up our own minds. Why does a crazy man's laugh sound so good when you're desperate and don't know what to do?\" \"I always had a feeling we were going wrong,\" Johnson said. \"Anyway, Russell said, \"I've had a hunch all along that maybe the old man was You're both wrong.\" He could see himself going it alone. Going crazy because he was alone. He'd have broken away, gone his own direction, long ago but for that fear. \"How can we tell which of us is right?\" Alvar said. \"It's like \"The one to the right,\" said Johnson. \"We been going away from the right one all the time,\" said Alvar. \"We got to stay together,\" said Russell. \"Nobody could spend a year out here ... alone....\" \"Ah ... in another month or so we'd be lousy company anyway,\" Alvar said. \"Maybe a guy could get to the point where he'd sleep most of the together any more.\" \"That's it,\" said Alvar. \"There's three suns that look like they might be right seeing as how we all agree the old man was wrong. But we believe there is one we can live by, because we all seem to agree that the old man might have been right about that. If we stick together, the chance is three to one against us. But if each of us makes for one can come and help the other two....\" \"No ... God no....\" Russell whispered over and over. \"None of us can Johnson started to laugh. Russell was yelling wildly at them, and above his own yelling he could hear Johnson's rising laughter. \"Every old Dunbar? Even less than to us, I guess. He's dead and he won't he would share with no one. Not even crazy old Dunbar. Russell felt the release, felt the sudden inexplicable isolation and aloneness even before Alvar and Johnson used their life-guns and shot out of sight, Johnson toward the left and Alvar back toward that other red-rimmed sun behind them. And old Dunbar shooting right on ahead. And all three of them \"Maybe he was just a very lucky old man. Yes ... a man who attains such an age was usually lucky. Or at least that is what they say about \"Maybe he knew the way here. Maybe he was here before—sometime.\" The other shook his head. \"I don't think so. They say some humans from to his stature, and he will rest here among the brave. \"Let the women dance and the music play for this old man. Let the\n\n<question>:\nWhich best describes the relationship between Russell and Dunbar?\n\n<options>:\nA They have similar goals but do not necessarily work well together\nB They both have respect for each other but are sick of each other's company\nC Neither of them likes the other, in a way that hinders group dynamics\nD The appreciate each other's insight when looking for solutions but don't like to talk about personal details\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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2,169 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCOMPLEXITY AND HUMANITY We have all seen the images. Volunteers pitching in. People working day and night coming up with the most ingenious, improvised solutions to everything from food and shelter to communications and security. Working together others have planned, means that there are many more moving parts that application of knowledge to the creation of new knowledge, innovation to unpredictability makes it unwise to build systems that take too much discuss, learn, and repeat. That is why we have seen many more systems take on a loose, human centric model in the last decade and a half: from structured model put in place by Henry Ford, to the Internet’s radical departure from the AT& T system that preceded it, and on to the way Wikipedia constructs human knowledge on the fly, incrementally, in ways that would have been seen, until recently, as too chaotic ever to work (and are still seen so be many). But it is time we acknowledge that systems work best by making work human. solution to this increased complexity in the late 19th, early 20th century was to increase the role of structure and improve its design. During the first two-thirds of the twentieth century, this type of rationalization took the form of ever-more complex managed systems, with crisp specification of roles, lines of authority, communication and control. In business, this rationalization was typified by Fredrick Taylor’s Scientific Management, later embodied in Henry Ford’s assembly line. The ambition of these approaches was to specify everything that needed doing in minute detail, to enforce it through monitoring and rewards, and later to build it into the very technology of work−the assembly line. The idea was to eliminate human error and variability in the face of change by removing thinking to the system, and thus neutralizing the and the administrative state. Nowhere was this done more brutally than in the totalitarian states of mid-century. But the impulse to build fully-specified systems, designed by experts, monitored and controlled so as to limit human greed and error and to manage uncertainty, was basic and widespread. It underlay the development of the enormously successful state bureaucracies that responded to the Great Depression with the New Deal. It took shape in the Marshall Plan to pull Europe out of the material abyss into which it had been plunged by World War II, systems too, we saw in mid-century marvels like the AT& managed systems were achieving efficiencies that seemed to overwhelm Watson’s IBM to General Motors. Yet, to list these paragons from today’s led to a new approach but it turned out to be a retrenchment, not an abandonment, of the goal of perfect rationalization of systems design, which assumed much of the human away. What replaced planning and control through a hyper-simplification of human nature, wedded to mathematical modeling of what hyper-simplified selfish rational actors, looking only to their own interests, would do under diverse conditions. This approach was widespread and influential successes. But, like its predecessor, its limits as an approach to human systems design are becoming cleare seeing instead is the rise of human systems that increasingly shy away to coordinating human action will disappear. But these managed systems are becoming increasingly interlaced with looser structures, which invite and enable more engaged human action by drawing on intrinsic motivations and social relations. Dress codes and a culture of play in the workplace in Silicon Valley, like the one day per week that Google employees can use to play at whatever ideas they like, do not exist to gratifying employees at the expense of productivity, but rather to engage the human and social in the pursuit of what is, in the long term, the only core business competency−innovation. Wikipedia has eclipsed all the commercial encyclopedias except Britannica not by issuing a large IPO and hiring the smartest guys in the room, but by building an open and inviting system that lets people learn together and pursue their passion for knowledge, and each other’s company. The set of human systems necessary for action in this complex, agency, learning and adaptation, is as different from managed systems systems are: (a) location of authority and practical capacity to act at (b) an emphasis on the human: on trust, cooperation, judgment and insight (c) communication over the lifetime and (d) loosely-coupled systems: systems in which maneuver, and be reoriented to fit changing conditions and new learning, or shift from one system to another to achieve a solution. of scientific management was to offer a single, integrated system where could be isolated and controlled. Fordism took that ambition and embedded the managerial knowledge in the technological platform of the assembly line, guided by a multitude of rigid task specifications and routines. Toyota Production System, by comparison, has a substantially smaller number of roles that are also more loosely defined, with a reliance on small teams where each team member can perform all tasks, and who are encouraged to experiment, improve, fail, adapt, but above all communicate. The system is built on trust and a cooperative dynamic. The enterprise functions through a managerial control system, but also through social cooperation mechanisms built around teamwork and trust. loosely coupled networks of innovation and supply represented by But let us also consider the system in question that has made this work possible, the Internet, and compare it to the design principles of the excluded competitors). This generated profit, but any substantial technical innovations required the approval of management and a re-engineering of the entire network. The Internet, on the other hand, was designed to be as general as possible. The network hardware merely delivers packets of data using standardized addressing information. The hard processing work−manipulating a humanly-meaningful communication (a letter or a song, a video or a software package) and breaking it up into a stream of packets−was to be done by its edge devices, in this case computers owned by users. This system allowed the breathtaking rate of innovation that we have seen, while also creating certain These vulnerabilities have led some to argue that a new system to manage originally designed for people who could more-or-less trust each other, agents in the system were competent and benign, or at least sincere) declined. This decline was met with arguments in favor of building security into the technical system, both at its core, in the network company, or the employer. This is thought to be the most completely effective means of preventing copyright infringement or system failure, and preserving corporate security (these are the main reasons offered for implementing such systems). Trusted computing in this form is the ultimate reversal of the human-centric, loosely-coupled design approach of the Internet. Instead of locating authority and capacity to act at malevolent, incompetent, or both. Reintroducing the Human Taylorism, the Bell system and trusted computing are all efforts to remove human agency from action and replace it with well-designed, tightly-bound systems. That is, the specifications and regularities of the system are such that they control or direct action and learning over time. Human agency, learning, communication and adaptation are minimized in managed systems, if not eliminated, and the knowledge in the system comes from the outside, from the designer, in the initial design over time, and through observation of the system’s performance by someone standing outside its constraints−a manager or systems designer. By contrast, loosely-coupled systems affirmatively eschew this level of control, and build in room for human agency, experimentation, failure, communication, learning and adaptation. Loose-coupling is central to the new systems. It is a feature of system design that leaves room for human in the system, by agents acting within difficult to replicate or systematize. At the center of these new turn our attention to building systems that support human sociality−our communicate, that will encourage us to cooperate, and that will avoid the worst of what human beings are capable of, and elicit what is best. Free software, Wikipedia, Creative Commons and the thousands of emerging human practices of productive social cooperation in the networked information economy give us real existence proofs that human-centric systems can not merely exist, but thrive, as can the human beings and\n\n<question>:\nWhich of the following would the author consider the most useful system to add to a company's structure?\n\n<options>:\nA A system that further specified job titles so that workers have a clearer sense of their responsibilities\nB A system that increases communication across parts of a company\nC A system that gives employees opportunities to pursue college degrees when they're off the clock\nD A system that gives everyone detailed lists of tasks so that they can use their brainpower on side projects\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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19 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBucky Shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. He \"Kidding.\" Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me through Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see his Shannon?\" Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiled \"Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel?\" I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even if he was a lousy bill-collecter There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with pale Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. \"What's eating you, Jig? I'm not going to hurt him.\" \"Shut up,\" I said. \"Look what he's got there. Money!\" The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. \"Yes,\" he said. Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. \"Delighted. I'm than you could see through sheet metal. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said, \"Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, looking like hungry cats at a mouse-hole.\" The little guy nodded. \"Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. Simon Beamish. I wish to—ah—charter your circus.\" I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn't say anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a fresh pitcher of thil on the table. Then I cleared my throat. \"What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish?\" Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. \"I have independent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lighten the burden of life for those less fortunate....\" started to get up. I kicked him under the table. \"Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish.\" He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamish ignored him. He went on, quietly, remedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to make a tour of several settlements along the Tehara Belt.\" Bucky had relaxed. His grey-green eyes began to gleam. He started to speak, and I kicked him again. \"That would be expensive, Mister Beamish,\" I said. \"We'd have to cancel several engagements....\" He looked at me. I was lying, and he knew it. But he said, The curtains were yanked back suddenly. Beamish shut up. Bucky and I see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-pot ship'll hold her.\" He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamish \"Yeah. She's kind of temperamental.\" Bucky took a quick drink. I finished for him. \"She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swamp Venusian cansin Beamish looked impressed. \"A Beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. For a fraction of a second I thought I saw something back of his round blue eyes, and my stomach jumped like it was shot. Beamish smiled sweetly. \"I'm not much of a bargainer. One hundred Universal Credits will be agreeable to me.\" He dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeled \"By way of a retainer, gentleman. My attorney and I will call on you in the morning with a contract and itinerary. Good night.\" We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky made grab for the money, but I beat him to it. \"Scram,\" I said. \"There are guys waiting for this. Big guys with clubs. Here.\" I gave him a small-denomination slip I'd been holding out. \"We Shannon has a good vocabulary. He used it. When he got his breath back he said suddenly, \"Beamish is pulling some kind of a game.\" \"Yeah.\" \"It may be crooked.\" Shannon looked at me, kind of funny. He looked at the bulge in my tunic Bucky Shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance to the roped-off space around the main lock. He was pretty steady on his feet. He waved and said, \"Hiya, boys.\" muscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkers and joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in the Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose. \"They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I've rewarded them.\" I said, \"Sure,\" rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed. \"Let's go see Gertrude.\" Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, and Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. \"She's gettin' \"That's tough,\" said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like an Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, \"Be reasonable, Gow! Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, \"You'll have to snap her out of her.\" I took Shannon's arm. \"Come to bed, Bucky darlin'.\" He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him and said, \"Where's Shannon? How is he?\" \"Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow come Bucky Shannon opened the door. He looked white and grim, and there was a big burn across his neck. He said: \"Beamish is here with his lawyer.\" I picked up my shirt. \"Right with you.\" Kanza went out, still giggling. Bucky closed the door. Nobody saw anything, of course?\" Bucky shook his head. \"Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why?\" \"Beamish. He realizes he's been gypped.\" \"One hundred U.C.'s,\" said Bucky softly, \"for a few lousy swampedge mining camps. It stinks, Jig. You think we should back out?\" bunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middle of it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look. I saw Beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, and our router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned. Bucky said, \"Jig—it's Sam Kapper.\" Bucky said gently, \"Okay, Sam. Relax. What's the trouble?\" . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back.\" \"Where is it, Sam?\" I reached across Bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. Beamish was standing there. Beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. Kapper made a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. Beamish never changed expression. He didn't move while Bucky felt Kapper's pulse. Bucky didn't need to say anything. We knew. \"Heart?\" said Beamish finally. Beamish with his round dead baby face. I climbed over Shannon and pushed Beamish suddenly down into his lap. \"Keep this guy here till I get back,\" I said. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. \"Shut up,\" I told him. \"We got a contract.\" I yanked the curtains shut and walked\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Shannon reach for his gun when Beamish introduces himself?\n\n<options>:\nA The sound of the chair being pulled back sets him on high alert.\nB He sees that Beamish has something in his hands.\nC Shannon is prone to suspicion after being hunted down by people they owe money to, and thinks Beamish is one of them.\nD Beamish tells them he's there to collect money from them.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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26 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nGrannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Grannie Annie! I barged across the lounge and seized her hand. \"Grannie Annie! I friend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. It'th abtholutely againth the ruleth....\" and Grannie Annie her usual whisky sour—I waited until she had tossed But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year's in the name of science fiction than anyone alive. But the public loved it. They ate up her stories, and they clamored for She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. \"What happened to rolled herself a cigarette. \"It wasn't Guns .\" I grinned. \"All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universe and beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair.\" \"What else is there in science fiction?\" she demanded. \"You can't have your hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster.\" Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to her \"That damned fossilized dynamo,\" I muttered. \"She'll be the death of me yet.\" These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For every question missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her place It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie had brought me here. And then I began to notice things. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my arm she began. \"When it was finished I had planned to take a six months' vacation, but those fool publishers of mine insisted I do a sequel. Well, I'd used Mars and Pluto and Ganymede as settings for novels, so Varsoom country. To make a long story short, I got him talking about his adventures, and he told me plenty.\" The old woman paused. \"Did you ever hear of the Green Flames?\" she asked abruptly. I shook my head. \"Some new kind of ...\" \"It's not a new kind of anything. The Green Flame is a radio-active rock once found on Mercury. The Alpha \"When any form of life is exposed to these Gamma rays from the Green Flame rock, they produce in the creature's brain a certain lassitude and lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this condition develops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership or guidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit of intolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate, a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug.\" I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. enough to endanger all civilized life. \"The archives tell us that one of the first acts of the overthrowing government was to cast out all Green Flames, two of which Vennox had ordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people was immediate. Representative government, individual enterprise, freedom followed.\" Grannie Annie lit a cigarette and flipped the match to the floor. travels into the Varsoom district he had come upon the wreckage of an old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with Green Flames!\" If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed. I said, \"So what?\" \"So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would mean if it were true? Green Flames were supposedly destroyed on all planets after the Vennox regime crashed. If a quantity of the rock were in existence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. \"Of course, I regarded Karn's story as a wild dream, but it made corking good story material. I wrote it into a novel, and a week after it was completed, the manuscript was stolen from my study back on Earth.\" \"I see,\" I said as she lapsed into silence. \"And now you've come to the conclusion that the details of your story were true and that someone is representation be abolished on Jupiter. The time is ripe for a military dictator to step in. \"And you can lay it all to the Green Flames. It seems incredible that a single shipload of the ore could effect such a wide ranged area, but in my opinion someone has found a means of making that quantity a thousand times more potent and is transmiting it en masse If it had been anyone but Grannie Annie there before me, I would Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for the It was around the camp fire that night that Grannie took me into her confidence for the first time since we had left Swamp City. \"We're heading directly for Varsoom country,\" she said. \"If we find Ezra Karn so much the better. If we don't, we follow his directions to the lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. You see, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from the ship.\" Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hours tent. For some time I stood there, lost in thought. Could I believe Grannie's incredible story? Or was this another of her fantastic plots which she had skilfully blended into a novel? Abruptly I stiffened. The familiar drone of the marsh was gone. In its appeared. Grannie gave a single warning: The thing in the darkness turned like a cam on a rod and drove at us again. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery of purple flame shot outward. A horrible soul-chilling scream rent the air. A moment later something huge and heavy scrabbled across the ground and shot aloft. Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. hand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured in a matter of seconds. The place was a two room affair, small but comfortable. The latest type of visi set in one corner showed that Karn was not isolated from Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained the object of our trip, the prospector became thoughtful. \"Green Flames, eh?\" he repeated slowly. \"Well yes, I suppose I could find that space ship again. That is, if I wanted to.\" \"What do you mean?\" Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself a Karn shook his head. \"They're a form of life that's never been seen by Earthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy.\" \"Laugh?\" A scowl crossed Grannie's face. Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. He futility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept me from turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning, that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. \"Up we go, Billy-boy.\" Heat gun in readiness, Grannie Annie began to looked, we could see liquid pulse in glass tubes, indicator needles swing slowly to and fro. Grannie nodded. \"Some kind of a broadcasting unit. The Green Flames in the lower hold are probably exposed to a tholpane atomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are no guards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if the Green Flames are more accessible.\" In the lower hold disappointment again confronted us. Visible in the feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in the Grannie stamped her foot. \"It's maddening,\" she said. \"Here we are at\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Grannie Annie so concerned about the Green Flame’s whereabouts?\n\n<options>:\nA She wants to finish writing her story about them and needs to see them again.\nB She believes that Doctor Universe is using to for his show to manipulate people.\nC The current political climate is restless, and if used Green Flames could lead to a disaster.\nD She wants it for herself and to continue researching the effects of Green Flame.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,736 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"We're from the UN Inspector Corps,\" Sergeant Rashid said. \"I'm \"I don't think so,\" Umluana said. \"No, if you kill me, all Africa \"Help! Kidnap. \" Two types of recruits are accepted by the UN Inspector Corps: limits of life's possibilities. He had belonged to a gang called The Golden Spacemen. \"Nobody sleep so much? I don't want to be like that. I want to be something proud.\" He joined the UN Inspector Corps at eighteen, in 1978. The international cops wore green berets, high buttonless boots, bush jackets. They were very special men. \"I don't want that,\" Read said. \"What do you mean, you don't want that?\" \"You could join the American Army,\" his mother said. \"That's as good as a trade school. If you have to be a soldier.\" \"I want to be a UN man. I've already enlisted. I'm in! What do you care what I do?\" The UN Inspector Corps had been founded to enforce the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty of 1966. Through the years it had acquired other jobs. UN men no longer went unarmed. Trained to use small arms and gas weapons, they guarded certain borders, bodyguarded diplomats and UN officials, even put down riots that threatened international peace. As the UN evolved into a strong world government, the UN Inspector Corps steadily acquired new powers. Read went through six months training on Madagascar. job many people considered important. He took his turn guarding the still disputed borders of Korea. He I'm lazy and I like excitement.\" One power implied in the UN Charter no Secretary General or Inspector General had ever tried to use. The power to arrest any head of state whose country violated international law. Could the World Court try and imprison a politician who had conspired to attack another nation? For years Africa had been called \"The South America of the Old World.\" Revolution followed revolution. Colonies became democracies. Democracies became dictatorships or dissolved in civil war. Men planted bases on the moon and in four years, 1978-82, ringed the world with matter transmitters but the black to build up the Belderkan Army. For years he had preached a new Africa, united, free of white masters, the home of a vigorous and perfect Negro society. His critics called him a hypocritical racist, an opportunist using the desires of the African people to build himself an empire. He began a propaganda war against neighboring South Africa, promising the liberation of that strife-torn land. Most Negro leaders, having just won representation in the South African they could use their first small voice in the government to win true freedom for their people. But the radio assault and the arms buildup continued. Early in 1982, South Africa claimed the Belderkan Army exceeded the size agreed to in the Disarmament Treaty. The European countries and some African nations joined in the accusation. China called the uproar a vicious slur on a new African nation. The United States and Russia, trying not to get entangled, asked for more investigation by the UN. But the evidence was clear. Umluana was defying world law. If he got away with it, some larger and more dangerous nation might follow his precedent. And the arms race would begin again. Umluana and try him by due process before the World Court. If the plan succeeded, mankind would be a long step farther from nuclear war. Read didn't know much about the complicated political reasons for passengers scanned the sky. A plane would have been a faster way to get out of the country. But then they would have spent hours flying over Africa, with Belderkan fighters in hot pursuit, other nations joining the chase and the world uproar gaining volume. By transmitter, if all tourist attraction whose station could transmit to any point on the globe. Even now a dozen inspectors were taking over the Game Preserve station and manning its controls. They had made no plans to take over Miaka. They planned to get there before it could be defended. \"There's no military base near Miaka,\" Rashid said. \"We might get history from Cambridge but only the Corp gave him work that satisfied his conscience. He hated war. It was that simple. surrounded each vehicle. The escort car made a sharp turn and charged their pursuers. The shoot back. All we can do is run. The sky was clear and blue. The jungle was a noisy bazaar of There were three technicians in the station and no passengers. All three panicked when the psycho gas enveloped them. They ran howling for the jungle. fire on the largest car. \"Now, I can shoot back,\" he said. \"Now we'll see what they do.\" The station jutted from the side of a hill. A glass-walled waiting room surrounded the bank of transmitter booths. Read looked out the door and saw his first battlefield. Directly in front of him, his head shattered by a bullet, a dead battles or after atomic attacks. He had laughed when other recruits complained. \"That's the way this world is. You people with the weak stomachs better get used to it.\" He heard the screams of the wounded, the crack of rifles and machine guns, all the terrifying noise of war. But since his eighteenth year he had done everything his superiors told him to do. do a good job here, he wasn't the man he claimed to be. This might be the only real test he would ever face. light automatic rifles. Half of them wore gas masks. \"Shoot the masks,\" he yelled. \"Aim for the masks.\" The UN men had already taken over the station, chased out the they had met the Belderkans with a dozen grenades and sent them they had wrecked the transmitter controls. The first direct attack had been repulsed. They could attack many more times and continue to spray the building with bullets. They range. Sighting carefully, not breathing, muscles relaxed, the rod rock steady, he fired and lobbed the little grenade into the with gasoline.\" \"We'll stop them, Sarge. Don't worry.\" Rashid ran off. Read stared across the green land and listened to the pound of his heart. What were the Belderkans planning? A mass frontal attack? To sneak in over the top of the hill? He didn't think, anymore than a rabbit thinks when it lies hiding from the fox or a panther thinks when it crouches on a branch squat, angular monster until its stubby gun pointed at the station. It stopped less than two hundred yards away. ATTENTION UN SOLDIERS. ATTENTION UN SOLDIERS. YOU MAY THINK US SAVAGES BUT WE HAVE MODERN WEAPONS. WE HAVE ATOMIC WARHEADS, ALL GASES, ROCKETS AND FLAME THROWERS. IF \"They know we don't have any big weapons,\" Read said. \"They know we have only gas grenades and small arms.\" A few feet away, sprawled behind a barricade of tables, lay a man in advanced shock. His deadly white skin shone like ivory. They wouldn't even look like that. One nuclear shell from that gun and enough for the UN they only rejected men whose loyalties might conflict with their duties. But an assault on the tank required something more than a hunger for self-respect. All UN inspectors. All part of his life. \"Who else did you expect?\" \"Nobody. Anybody else?\" knew what was going on and they fired systematically into the smoke. \"I'm a UN man,\" he mumbled. \"You people up there know what a UN about that. He didn't think about Sergeant Rashid, about the complicated politics of Africa, about crowded market streets. He had to kill the tank. That was all he thought about. He had decided something in the world was more important than himself, but he didn't know it or realize the psychologists would be\n\n<question>:\nWhat is special about this particular UN mission?\n\n<options>:\nA It was the first political mission with Americans on the team.\nB It was the first high-profile mission in Africa.\nC It was the first attempt at using a specific power.\nD It was the first mission specifically oriented at avoiding nuclear war.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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2,431 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAI: what's the worst that could happen? Stephen Cave: Thinking about the impact of AI is not something that any one discipline owns or does in any very systematic way. So if academia is going to rise to the challenge and provide thought leadership on this hugely important issue, then we’re going to need to do it by breaking down current disciplinary boundaries and bringing people with very different expertise together. That means bringing together the technologists and the experts at developing these algorithms together with social scientists, philosophers, legal scholars and so forth. I think there are many areas of science where more interdisciplinary engagement would be valuable. Biotech’s another example. In that sense AI isn’t unique, but I think because thinking about AI is still in very early stages, we have an opportunity to shape the way in which we think about it, and build that community. Climate change suffers from the problem that the costs are not incurred in any direct way by the industrialists who own the technology and are profiting from it. With AI, that has been the case so far although not on the same scale. There has been disruption but so far, compared to industrialisation, the impact has been fairly small. That will probably change. AI companies, and in particular the big tech companies, are very concerned that this won't go like climate change, but rather it will go like GMOs: that people will have a gut reaction to this technology as soon as the first great swathe of job losses take hold. People speculate that 50m jobs could be lost in the US if trucking is automated, which is conceivable within 10 years. You could imagine a populist US government therefore simply banning driverless cars. So I think there is anxiety in the tech industry that there could be a serious reaction against this technology at any point. And so my impression is that there is a feeling within these companies that these ethical and social implications need to be taken very seriously, now. And that a broad buy-in by society into some kind of vision of the future in which this technology plays a role is required, if a dangerous – or to them dangerous – counteraction is to be avoided. My personal experience working with these tech companies is that they are concerned for their businesses and genuinely want to do the right thing. Of course there are intellectual challenges and there is money to be made, but equally they are people who don't think when they get up in the morning that they're going to put people out of jobs or bring about the downfall of humanity. As the industry matures it's developing a sense of responsibility. So I think we've got a real opportunity, despite the general climate, and in some ways because of it. There's a great opportunity to bring industry on board to make sure the technology is developed in the right way. One of the dominant narratives around not only AI but technology and automation more generally is that we, as humans, are at the mercy of technological progress. If you try and push against this idea you can be labelled as being anti-progress and stuck in the past. But we do have a lot more control than we give ourselves credit for. For example, routineness and susceptibility to automation are not inevitable features of occupations, job design is hugely important. How do we design jobs? How do we create jobs that allow people to do the kind of work they want to do? There can be a bit of a conflict between being impacted by what's happening and having some sort of control over what we want to happen. Certainly, we encounter technological determinism a lot. And it's understandable. For us as individuals, of course it does feel like it always is happening and we just have to cope. No one individual can do much about it, other than adapt. But that's different when we consider ourselves at a level of a society, as a polis [city state], or as an international community. I think we can shape the way in which technology develops. We have various tools. In any given country, we have regulations. There's a possibility of international regulation. Technology is emerging from a certain legal, political, normative, cultural, and social framework. It's coming from a certain place. And it is shaped by all of those things. And I think the more we understand a technology's relationship with those things, and the more we then consciously try to shape those things, the more we are going to influence the technology. So, for example, developing a culture of responsible innovation. For example, a kind of Hippocratic oath for AI developers. These things are within the realms of what is feasible, and I think will help to shape the future. One of the problems with intervention, generally, is that we cannot control the course of events. We can attempt to, but we don't know how things are going to evolve. The reality is, societies are much too complex for us to be able to shape them in any very specific way, as plenty of ideologies and political movements have found to their cost. There are often unforeseen consequences that can derail a project. And until now, people have been fairly shy about describing them as intelligent. Or rather, in the history of AIs, we think solving a particular problem would require intelligence. Then we solve it. And then that's no longer intelligence, because we've solved it. Chess is a good example. Where do you think this AI-human conflict, or concept of a conflict, comes from? Do you think that's just a reflection of historical conversations we've had about automation, or do you think it is a deeper fear? I do think it comes both from some biases that might well be innate, such as anthropomorphism, or our human tendency to ascribe agency to other objects, particularly moving ones, is well-established and probably has sound evolutionary roots. If it moves, it's probably wise to start asking yourself questions like, \"What is it? What might it want? Where might it be going? Might it be hungry? Do I look like food to it?\" I think it makes sense, it's natural for us to think in terms of agency. And when we do, it's natural for us to project our own ways of being and acting. And we, as primates, are profoundly co-operative. But at the same time, we're competitive and murderous. We have a strong sense of in-group versus out-group, which is responsible for both a great deal of cooperation, within the in-group, but also terrible crimes. Murder, rape, pillage, genocide I think one worry that we haven't talked about is that we've become extremely dependent upon this technology. And that we essentially become deskilled. There's an extent to which the history of civilisation is the history of the domestication of the human species sort of by ourselves, and also by our technology, to some extent. And AI certainly allows for that to reach a whole new level. Just think about GPs with diagnostic tools. Even now, my GP consults the computer fairly regularly. But as diagnostic tools get better, what are they going to be doing other than just typing something into the computer and reading out what comes back? At which point, you might as well do away with the GP. But then, who does know about medicine? And so we do need to worry about deskilling and about becoming dependent. And it is entirely possible that you can imagine a society in which we're all sort of prosperous, in a sense. Our basic bodily needs are provided for, perhaps, in a way, to an extent that we've never before even dreamed of. Unprecedented in human history. It's just one example, but the idea that we can live much more resource-efficiently, because we are living more intelligently through using these tools. And therefore can undo some of the damage of the last Industrial Revolution. That's my main utopian hope, I guess.\n\n<question>:\nCave suggests all of the following ways for preventing a loss of control over AI EXCEPT:\n\n<options>:\nA developing an automatic shutdown option for AI that goes awry\nB maintaining a system of accountable design\nC engaging in interdisciplinary conversations\nD anticipating problems that may arise from technology\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
57 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthe universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given one chance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. The O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the old this ship why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In a hundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Rielly in pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But one room. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it. By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probably Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailed naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turned resetting the control.\" \"You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities?\" \"That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you!\" Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Rielly O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted that Burner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's, would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now. Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant. have overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like the \"Oh?\" Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about. one of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of 'em. \"Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, when With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. \"Hey, how \"Hah? What?\" Callahan blinked like waking from a trance Callahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. \"Look! I was Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowaway lovely neck and his own forever. O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had not opened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surely his dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't she have brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his old head. \"Berta!\" \"Oh, I'm Trillium,\" she assured Callahan sweetly. \"But Grandmamma's name is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred and twenty-five years ago.\" \"Hah? What?\" Callahan blinked like his brain had been taken apart and pirate, couldn't you hide her somewheres better than that? Shut up, you don't have to explain to me, but God help the whole universe if we don't flimflam the Old Woman!\" With which ominous remark, rendered in a zesty devil-may-care manner, however, Callahan threw himself into O'Rielly's shower. O'Rielly stood looking thoughtfully at lovely, womanly, exquisite Trillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as a spiral nebula. \"My locker!\" he crowed with inspiration and yanked open the doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the cap and coverall uniform of a baggage boy. Trillium explained. \"I knew the burner room would be warm.\" Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through this ship. O'Rielly chortled as he tucked her under his bunk. \"Now don't you worry about another thing!\" \"Oh, I'm not,\" she assured him happily. \"Everything is going just the O'Rielly's shower opened and Callahan, glowing like a young bucko, She was fit to put frost on a hydrogen burner. \"Mr. Callahan, I asked Wasn't too bad a fib. The more O'Rielly thought of Trillium, the more freeze O'Rielly's brain, then she gave Callahan the look. \"I sent you \"Stay at attention!\" Old Woman sniffed the air near Callahan's face, The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than two steps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possibly blowing her gaskets completely, O'Rielly simply stepped in, shut the door, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansed of person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and His onto her own words. \"Facilities of the Captain's quarters are more satisfactory.\" happy forever. A fine loud \"thump,\" however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back and yanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. \"Of all the sappy hiding places!\" Callahan yelped, in surprise of \"Trillium?\" His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of the sabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. \"Trillium!\" at that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth at O'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. \"All right, come along!\" looked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness and Old Woman sighed through her teeth. \"Venus woman aboard this ship. Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries.\" The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by a blizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. \"Trillium! My as he roared, \"You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium, \"Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged,\" His volcano. \"The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil.... Berta? Impossible!\" Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button that could launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for a \"Take your finger off that trigger, boy!\" a heavenly voice similar to Trillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. \"Berta! What are you doing here? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature!\" \"Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet into another Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so!\" \"Take him away, girls,\" Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse was yanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. \"Unhand me, you fool creatures! Guards! Guards!\" \"Save your breath,\" Berta advised him. \"And while you're in the cooler, Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden. away from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked away over Dimmy's credentials.\" \"The Ambassadorial Suite, too,\" Madame President of Earth said graciously. \"Anything else now, Berta?\" Dimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan. Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through his \"Oh, well,\" O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyond did Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?\" O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trillium\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Callahan think Trillium was Berta when he first spotted her?\n\n<options>:\nA Because Berta was Trillium's Grandmamma and she resembled her from a hundred and twenty-five years ago.\nB Because she introduced herself as so and led him to believe that was who she was.\nC Because all the Venus women have the same enchanting appearance.\nD Because only Berta was able to enter the ship.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
2,069 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nsend the intruder on his way. Keech and the little people just stood by and grinned all the while. the entire problem all but whipped. It is not difficult to understand why. equation The tiny spaceship had been built for a journey to a star. But its small, mischievous pilots had a rendezvous with destiny—on Earth. of the old things every day, and truly that went far to take the clutter out of my mind. I was no longer so lonely that I couldn't think properly. and under all conditions of friction and combustion.\" work out an equation to give the in combustion. You may call it it came from the rocket \"you will not be forgotten by the leprechauns. If we ever meet again, upon another world perchance, blueprint stage. although I had hoped to get right from any orifice has a velocity directly \"What's this now?\" root of the pressure-head driving it. \"I don't feel it would be right to take it for a service of this sort.\" and other factors make the velocity of nuclear explosion—which is what the drive amounts to despite the fact that it is simply water in now, do you hear, for Mr. Houlihan—friend of the little people as long as he shall live!\" And they cheered. And little tears which nuclear salts have been previously edge, the velocity of approach to the to weary you. word for it that without this equation—correctly stated, mind you—mankind would be well advised not slowly and chuckled to myself at how I had gotten the best of the little people. Surely it was not every mortal who could accomplish that. I had given them the wrong equation, of course. They would never get their spaceship to work now, and first it might be children at play, but then at the time I was a bit absent-minded. I tiptoed to the edge of the trees, not wanting to deprive any small scalawags of their pleasure, I saw? Not children, but a group of little people, hard at work. There was a leader, an older one with a crank face. He was beating the air with his arms and piping: There was no sense in cheating him out of the gold to boot, for leprechauns are most clever in matters of this sort and he would have had it back soon enough—or else made it a burden in some way. Indeed, I had done a piece of work greatly to my advantage, and also to the advantage of humankind, and when a man can do the first and include the second as a fortunate byproduct it is a most happy accident. For if I had shown the little people how to make a spaceship they would have left our world. And become convinced they could never \"Come along now, people!\" said this crotchety one, looking straight Come without the little people here for us to believe in every now and then? at me. \"Stop starin' and get to work! You'll not be needin' to mind that man standin' there! You and became stiff and alert for a moment, as though suspecting that perhaps \"Ohhh!\" he said and put his palms to his cheekbones. \"Saints be with us! He's a believer! Run everybody—run for your lives!\" And they all began running, in as many directions as there were little souls. They began to scurry behind the trees and bushes, and a sloping embankment nearby. \"No, wait!\" I said. \"Don't go away! I'll not be hurting you!\" They continued to scurry. I knew what it was they feared. \"I don't intend catching one of you!\" I said. \"Come back, you daft little creatures!\" But the glade was silent, and they had all disappeared. They thought I wanted their crock of gold, of course. I'd be entitled to it if I could catch one and keep him. Or so the legends affirmed, though I've wondered often about the truth of them. full of science as the nuclear propulsion course it was a spaceship, or a me apprehensively. I lifted my head to them. \"Listen to me now, little people!\" I called out. \"My name's against a blank wall. Simply because I was so lonely that my mind had become clogged. spaceship, and this time I struck it \"Hear me now, little people! If you don't show yourselves and come out and talk to me, I'll wreck this spaceship from stem to stern!\" \"Do you understand? I'll give you until I count three to make an appearance! One!\" \"Two!\" \" Three! \" And with that the little people suddenly appeared. The leader—he seemed more wizened and bent than before—approached that I have no intention of doing you any injury?\" drawing a kind of peppered dignity up about himself, \"in such matters I am never fully convinced. After living for many centuries I am all too acutely aware of the perversity of human nature.\" \"Yes,\" I said. \"Well, as you will quickly see, all I want to do is \"And often that's all he wants,\" returned to the Island.\" He shook his head and remained it if you'll go away and leave us to our work.\" and glanced at the spaceship. intently staring at me. I took out my pipe. \"Why,\" I asked, \"would a group of little people be building a spaceship here in America—out in a spaceship. I was surprised enough the little people. It happens every so often, though not as frequently as it did a century ago. But knowing a spaceship at first glance! Well, I spaceship when I see one?\" I said. \"How?\" I asked. to find us here in America.\" \"But continue.\" spaceship.\" \"A spaceship, now,\" I said, unconsciously adopting some of the old manner. \"Leprechauns are not really mechanically inclined,\" said Keech. \"Their major passions are music and laughter and mischief, as anyone knows.\" \"Myself included,\" I agreed. \"Then why do you need a spaceship?\" \"Well, if I may use an old expression, that we're not long for this world. Or let me put it this way. We feel the world isn't long for itself.\" such as that?\" up in the process of destroying yourselves.\" \"There \"Well, then, as I say,\" said Keech, \"the little people have decided to leave the planet in a spaceship. Which we're buildin' here and now. We've spied upon you and learned how to do it. Well—almost how to do it. We haven't learned the planet, you say. And where I was inclined to suggest the constellation Orion, which sounds make the ship, and proceed with its thought it was by the Russians. There's one thing which puzzles me, though. If you've been constantly these last few minutes a certain matter has crossed my mind. That's why I'm wastin' all this time with As I understand it, 'tis necessary how much thrust is bein' delivered out exactly as it does on paper.\" \"You're referring to the necessity \"Whatever it might be named,\" said Keech, shrugging. \"'Tis the our ship move.\" \"Well, now, Keech,\" I said finally, \"why should I help you?\" \"Ha!\" said Keech, grinning, but not with humor, \"the avarice of humans! I knew it! Well, Mr. Houlihan, I'll give you reason enough. The pot o' gold, Mr. Houlihan!\" \"The one at the end of the rainbow?\" \"It's not at the end of the rainbow. us how to make our ship work.\" then?\" was out we had half the spaceship apart, and were deep in argument about the whole project. treacle about it!\" but Keech and his people made a canopy of boughs and leaves and I or the center itself would pass by, and stop to watch me. But of course they wouldn't see the leprechauns or anything the leprechauns had made, not being believers. I would halt work, pass the time of day, and then, in subtle fashion,\n\n<question>:\nWhich of these is the best description of why the narrator strikes the spaceship?\n\n<options>:\nA He is convinced there's nothing there and his hand will pass right through\nB He wants to test what it's made out of to see if it would make a good model for his own project\nC He wants to show he means business and call to their attention\nD He is upset that the people ran away and wants to harm something they care about\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
2,453 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"The biggest, most convincing liar wins. It's as simple as Zeckler frowned. \"And how do they regard the—the biggest Zeckler was on his feet, his eyes suddenly bright with excitement. \"Wait a minute,\" he said tensely. \"To tell them a lie that they'd have to believe—a lie they simply couldn't Meyerhoff blinked. \"Well—yes. Oh, yes, they're perfectly logical.\" Zeckler's eyes flashed, and a huge grin broke out on his day! Lucky they sent you, pal. Why, I've been in here for years—\" \"Look, Zeckler, the name is Meyerhoff, and I'm not your pal,\" Meyerhoff snapped. \"And you've been here for two and the judge banged the gavel for silence. As soon as Zeckler had taken his seat on the witness stand, the judge turned to gaunt face of the prisoner. Zeckler's face was dark with a week's beard, and his bloodshot eyes belied the cocky grin as bad as your gentle guards when it comes to bandying a little. \"So Harry Zeckler's in a jam again,\" he said. and say it.\" Zeckler looked sharply around the hushed room. \"You want to convict me,\" he said softly, \"in the worst sort of way. Isn't that right?\" that?\" Zeckler's eyes widened. \"What do you mean, fool? So I spend a couple of weeks in this pneumonia trap. The deal was to get you.\" Zeckler stood up shakily. \"You can't believe anything the natives say,\" he said uneasily. \"They're pathological liars. Why, you should see what they tried to sell \"Well, it made me out a liar in a class they couldn't approach, didn't it?\" Meyerhoff's face was purple with anger. \"Oh, indeed it did! Meyerhoff. \"They'll probably drop a little fine on me and let me go.\" Zeckler's grin broadened, and he leaned back luxuriously. \"Ah, well. After all, the Trading Alliance was your \"Eh?\" Meyerhoff grinned unpleasantly. He brushed an imaginary lint fleck from his lapel, and looked up at Zeckler slyly. \"That—uh—jury trial. The Altairians weren't any too happy to Zeckler went white. \"But that money was in banking custody!\" \"Is that right? My goodness. You don't suppose they could have lost those papers, do you?\" Meyerhoff grinned at the little con-man. \"And incidentally, you're under arrest, you know.\" A choking sound came from Zeckler's throat. \" Arrest! \" \"Oh, yes. Didn't I tell you? Conspiring to undermine the rosy-cheeked, dapper, cocksure little man who had talked his way glibly in and out of more jams than Meyerhoff could count. Trading brought scalpers trial.\" Zeckler spluttered. \"There's no evidence—you've got nothing on me! What kind of a frame are you trying to pull?\" \"A so frequently used—but there was always somebody, Meyerhoff reflected sourly, who just didn't get the word. Zeckler puffed nervously on his cigarette, his narrow face a study in troubled concentration. \"But I didn't do Lying is the time-honored tradition, with their entire legal system built around it.\" Zeckler snorted. \"But how could they possibly have a legal Zeckler was visibly shaken. \"Look,\" he said weakly, \"so I wasn't so smart. What am I going to do? I mean, are you going to sit quietly by and let them butcher me? How could Meyerhoff smiled coolly. \"You're going to get your sly little arrangement,\" he said. \"They must have gotten the idea fast.\" flanked by two clerks, who took their places beside him. The prosecutor eyed Zeckler with cold malevolence, then turned and delivered a sly wink at the judge. In a moment the room was a hubbub as it filled with the court. \"We are reading the case of the people of Altair I,\" the judge's voice roared out, \"against one Harry Zeckler—\" he hereby accused of the following crimes,\" the judge bellowed. \"Conspiracy to overthrow the government of Altair I. Brutal murder of seventeen law-abiding citizens of the village of and bribery—\" The judge pounded the bench for order—\"Espionage with the accursed scum of Altair II in preparation Now wait a minute! \" Zeckler was on his feet, wild-eyed. \"What kind of railroad job—\" The judge blinked disappointedly at Paul Meyerhoff. \"Not muttered. \"Have the prosecutor call his first witness,\" said Meyerhoff. Zeckler leaned over, his face ashen. \"These charges,\" he whispered. \"They're insane!\" \"Of course they are,\" Meyerhoff whispered back. Zeckler's face, another on the prosecutor, and closing the third as if in meditation. \"I think it happened on the fourth night Zeckler—\"stopped me in my tracks with a vicious cry. He had a weapon I'd never seen before, and before I could find my voice he forced me back against the wall. I could see by the cruel glint in his eyes that there was no warmth, no sympathy in his heart, that I was—\" \"Objection!\" Zeckler squealed plaintively, jumping to his feet. \"This witness can't even remember what night he's talking about!\" his bundle of notes. \"Overruled,\" he said abruptly. \"Continue, please.\" The witness glowered at Zeckler. \"As I was saying before this loutish interruption,\" he muttered, \"I could see that I was face to face with the most desperate of criminal types, even Meyerhoff. \"Listen to him! Why should I care where their weapon which ate great, gaping holes in the sides of buildings. A third witness took the stand, continuing the drone as the room grew hotter and muggier. Zeckler grew paler and paler, his eyes turning glassy as the testimony piled up. \"But it's not low intelligence. The only thing in the world they have any respect for is a liar bigger and more skillful than they are.\" Zeckler jerked around abruptly as he heard his name bellowed out. \"Does the defendant have anything to say before the jury delivers the verdict?\" \"Do I have—\" Zeckler was across the room in a flash, his \"Your lives, your land, everything you hold dear,\" Zeckler true. But in every instance, I was working with heart and soul, risking my life, for the welfare of your beautiful planet.\" There was a loud hiss from the back of the court. Zeckler and lied to her, coerced her all-powerful goodness to their own evil interests, preparing for the day when they could persuade Somebody in the middle of the court burst out laughing. One by one the natives nudged one another, and booed, and guffawed, until the rising tide of racket drowned out Zeckler's words. \"The defendant is obviously lying,\" roared the prosecutor Zeckler grew paler. \"But—perhaps they were very clever—\" \"And how could they flatter her, when she knows, beyond Somehow, Zeckler managed to stumble from the witness stand, amid riotous boos and hisses, and tottered into the anteroom. Zeckler puffed hungrily on a cigarette, and looked up at Meyerhoff with haunted eyes. \"It—it doesn't look so good,\" he muttered. tell.\" Zeckler sat in silence for a moment. \"This lying business,\" he said finally, \"exactly how does it work?\"\n\n<question>:\nRelationship between Harry Zeckler and Paul Meyeroff?\n\n<options>:\nA Meyeroff is Zeckler's legal representation\nB Meyeroff is an official sent to extradite Zeckler\nC Zeckler is a con man for Meyeroff\nD Zeckler abetted in a crime that Meyeroff perpetrated\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,515 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWhich are you? important as parchment, \"tonight Man will reach the Moon. The golden Moon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. Tonight is the night when \" What is Doc's full name? \" \"Doctor Kevin O'Malley, Senior.\" From the bed, Doc said a word. \"Son.\" Then he disappeared. search of what. \"He didn't use that,\" Andre said. itself on human beings?\" \"Exactly, Kevin, exactly. They have never existed any more than your Victorian detective friend. But the unconscious racial mind has reached \"The North American government has to have this secret, Kevin,\" the girl said. \"You can't let it fall into the hands of the Martians.\" \"Fifteen cents a bed,\" he said mechanically. Andre did not deny that he wanted it to fall into his hands. The tubercular clerk looked up from the gaudy comics sections of one of \"Fifteen cents a bed,\" he played it back for me. those little tabloids that have the funnies a week in advance. Miss Casey did her duty and tried to stop me with a judo hold, but I since we ain't full up. In ad don't think her heart was in it, because I reversed and broke it. I kicked the thing weren't now. Miss Casey leaned against my dirty chest and cried into it. I didn't mind her touching me. \"I'm glad,\" she said. Andre flowed out of the doorway with a sigh. Of relief? I would never know. I supposed I had destroyed direction or love, but I would never know for sure. I thought I could kick the habit—perhaps with Miss Casey's help—but I wasn't really confident. scare me. I had to get him alone. \"Where's the room?\" I asked. \" Outsider ... ... Oh, are ... I listened to him for a moment, then tested and tasted the craving that upper half of her legs. The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized it wasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that. \"Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work?\" I kept my eyes down. perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. \"Do you want it for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?\" I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realized that anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hate tourists. \"Just coffee, ma'am.\" She was younger than I was, so I didn't have to call her that. \"A little more for food, if you could spare it.\" I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much. \"I'll buy you a dinner,\" she said carefully, \"provided I can go with you and see for myself that you actually eat it.\" I felt my face flushing red. \"You wouldn't want to be seen with a bum like me, ma'am.\" \"I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat.\" I was a caffeine addict. them—not enough, never enough, but better than nothing. \"Now what do you want to eat?\" the woman asked. I didn't look at her. She didn't know. She thought I was a human—an Earth human. I was a , of course, not an alien hour for the rest of my life. glass of milk. I didn't want to black out on coffee with Doc waiting for me. \"Could I have a few to take with me, miss?\" I pleaded. She smiled. I caught that out of the edge of my vision, but mostly I just felt it. \"It's Miss Casey—Vivian Casey,\" she corrected. She was a schoolteacher, all right. No other girl would introduce herself as Miss Last Name. Then there was something in her voice.... \"What's your name?\" she said to me. I choked a little on a bite of stale bun. I . Everybody has a name, and I knew if I went off somewhere quiet and thought about it, mine would come to me. Meanwhile, I would tell the girl that my name was ... Kevin O'Malley. Abruptly I realized that that was my name. \"Kevin,\" I told her. \"John Kevin.\" \"Mister Kevin,\" she said, her words dancing with bright absurdity like waterhose mist on a summer afternoon, \"I wonder if you could help me \"Happy to, miss,\" I mumbled. She pushed a white rectangle in front of me on the painted maroon bar. \"What do you think of this?\" : Please send me FREE of obligation, in sealed wrapper, \"The Scarlet Book\" revealing to me how I may gain Secret Mastery of the Universe. Name : ........................ The world disoriented itself and I was on the floor of the somber diner and Miss Vivian Casey was out of sight and scent. \"She didn't,\" he stammered. \"Why do you think I was trying to get that bill out of your hand?\" this unemployed, former professional man who has gone through a serious illness and is suffering a more serious addiction to tell me the place and time from which he comes.\" The surprise stung. \"How did you know?\" I asked. He gestured with a pale hand. \"To maintain a logical approach, I must then would you let yourself fall into such an underfed and unsanitary the goddesses of love that people imagined or the scrawny, big-nosed redhead and fading old woman of scholarship. Then I noticed the detective's hand that had been resting idly on a round brass weight of in sunlight and stepped toward it.... ... into the effective range of Miss Casey's tiny gun. She inclined the lethal silver toy. \"Let me see those papers, Kevin.\" I handed her the doctor's manuscript. Her breath escaped slowly and loudly. \"It's all right. It's all right. this myself.\" Doc was lying on the cot, half his face twisted into horror. \"Don't move, Kevin,\" she said. \"I'll have to shoot you—maybe not to kill, but painfully.\" I watched her face flash blue, red, blue and knew she meant it. But I \"I just want a drink of coffee from that container on the chair,\" I told her. She shook her head. \"I don't know what you think it does to you.\" It was getting hard for me to think. \"Who are you?\" I had to help Doc. I had to have some coffee. \"What do you want?\" secret and he wanted to make money with it. He was an idealist—he had his crusades. How can you make money with time travel?\" I didn't know whether she was asking me, but I didn't know. All I knew was that I had to help Doc and get some coffee. \"It takes money—money Doc didn't have—to make money,\" Miss Casey said, \"even if you know what horse will come in and what stock will prosper. Besides, horse-racing and the stock market weren't a part of unreasonably happy. I tore the gun away from her by the short barrel, not letting my filthy hands touch her scrubbed pink ones. I pointed the gun generally at her and backed around the I wondered if they really could. \"You won't need the gun,\" Andre said conversationally. \"I'll keep it, thanks. What do you want?\" \"I'll begin as Miss Casey did—by telling you things. Hundreds of \"Use one of those sneaky Martian weapons again,\" I warned him, \"and I'll kill the girl.\" Martians were supposed to be against the destruction of any life-form, I had read someplace. I doubted it, but it was worth a try. \"Kevin,\" Andre said, \"why don't you take a bath?\" The Martian weapon staggered me again. I tried to say something. I tried to explain that I was so dirty that I could never get clean no matter how often I bathed. No words formed. \"But, Kevin,\" Andre said, \"you aren't that dirty.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Miss Casey's motivation to feed the narrator?\n\n<options>:\nA She is a good school teacher trying to help the needy.\nB She is police officer investigating stock market fraud.\nC She wants to give him a secret note.\nD She is after Kevin's secret.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,749 | quality | [
{
"human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAs a result, all his advice to in Occeq City, Bertrand casually through the dossiers of the four new men who had been assigned to him. They were typical of the kind of men who were sent to him, he thought. Which meant, as usual, that because, in this situation, they're psychologically incapable of losing.\" those men, as a team, are unbeatable Saarkkad IV to work under Bertrand a question in his mind. \"Since you know all that, couldn't you have handled it yourself?\" Malloy, Permanent Terran Ambassador to His Utter Munificence, the they were atypical. Every man in the showed the complete psychological analysis of the man. Psychopathic paranoia. The man wasn't technically insane he could be as lucid as the next man most of the time. But he was morbidly suspicious that every man's hand was turned against him. He trusted no one, and was perpetually on his guard against imaginary plots and persecutions. Number two suffered from some cooped up in this office, hiding from bigshot should, is because I incapable of making a decision if he were faced with two or more like it that way. I suffer from agoraphobia and xenophobia. possible alternatives of any major \"I have to be drugged to be put on were alike, and yet there sometimes seemed to be an eternal sameness about all men. He considered himself an individual, for instance, but wasn't the basic similarity there, after all? He was—how old? He glanced at aliens!\" look of revulsion came over his face. \"And I can't stand what did he have to show for it besides flabby muscles, sagging skin, a wrinkled face, and gray hair? Well, he had an excellent record in years, but still beautiful and alive in his recollections. And—he grinned that meant keeping on good terms with the Saarkkadic government. The Saarkkada themselves were humanoid in physical form—if one allowed the term to cover a wide range Diplomatic Corps who developed a For nine years, Bertrand Malloy ever seen him. To have shown himself to one of them would have meant instant loss of prestige. To their way of thinking, an important official was aloof. The greater twitch or a quirk was shipped to his isolation. The Occeq of Saarkkad himself was never seen except by a handful of picked nobles, who, themselves, were never seen except by their underlings. It was a long, roundabout his importance, the greater must be way of doing business, but it was the It was Bertrand Malloy's job to along with. A staff of top-grade men could have handled them without half trying. But Malloy didn't have top-grade men. They couldn't be spared from work that required their total capacity. \"Maybe, but I doubt it. They might It's inefficient to waste a man on a job that he can do without half trying that will tax his full output. So Malloy was stuck with the culls. have gotten around me someway by Not the worst ones, of course what was wrong with a man, as long as he had the mental ability to dress himself and get himself to work, useful work could be found for him. Physical handicaps weren't at all sneaking up on a blind spot. Nordon for in one way or another. The mental disabilities were harder to deal with, but not totally impossible. regulations. But Malloy didn't like to stop at merely thwarting mental quirks he liked to find places where they were \"Mr. Malloy?\" said a careful voice. bring it in?\" \"Bring it in, Miss Drayson.\" Miss Drayson was a case in point. She was uncommunicative. She liked to gather in information, but she out of Malloy's office without his She came in through the door, picked up the communique. She wanted to know what his reaction was going to be it didn't matter because He read the first paragraph, and his eyes widened involuntarily. \"Armistice,\" he said in a low through, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Miss Drayson stood there calmly, her face a mask a reputation for losing wars and winning at the peace table. They were clever, persuasive talkers. They could twist a disadvantage to an advantage, and make their own strengths look a spaceship because I can't take all again within a few years. Now—at this point in time—they could be beaten. They could be forced to allow supervision of the production potential, forced to disarm, rendered Already, they had taken the offensive in the matter of the peace talks. the Saarkkad sun, a chilly world inhabited only by low-intelligence animals. The Karna considered this to be fully neutral territory, and Earth V. Earth had been caught unprepared for an armistice. They objected. The Karna pointed out that the planet which was allied with Earth, and that it was unfair for Earth to take so much time in preparing for an armistice. Why hadn't Earth been prepared? Did they intend to fight to the utter destruction of Karn? It wouldn't have been a problem at all if Earth and Karn had fostered the only two intelligent races in the galaxy. The sort of grandstanding the Karna were putting on had to be played to an audience. But there were other intelligent races throughout the galaxy, most of whom had remained as neutral as possible during the Earth-Karn war. They had no intention of sticking their figurative noses into a battle between the two most powerful races in the galaxy. would find that some of the now-neutral races would come in on their side if war broke out again. If the And that was where Bertrand Malloy do so. James Nordon was tall, broad-shouldered, handsome face looked cool and efficient. Malloy waved him to a seat. \"We need a man who can outthink them,\" Malloy finished, \"and judging from your record, I think you're that you make the wrong decisions, your name will be mud back on Earth. But I don't think there's much chance of Nordon shook his head. \"Not that I recall, Mr. Malloy. Should I have?\" \"Not necessarily. He's a pretty lot about interstellar law, and he's capable of spotting a trap a mile away. Miss Drayson.\" Kylen Braynek was a smallish man with mouse-brown hair that lay flat against his skull, and hard, penetrating, dark eyes that were shadowed by heavy, protruding brows. Malloy asked him to sit down. of the peace conference. \"Naturally, they'll be trying to trick you every step of the way,\" Malloy went on. \"They're shrewd and underhanded them. Don't antagonize them, but don't baby them, either. If you see \"They won't get anything by me, Mr. Malloy.\" been going on for four days. Bertrand of his otherwise bald scalp, and he wore a hearty, professional smile that didn't quite make it to his calculating eyes. on Earth?\" \"Tense. They're waiting to see good team, instead. Would you like to see the reports?\" admit, but he didn't know all the ins and outs of the Diplomatic Corps. When Blendwell looked up from and outdo the finest team of negotiators the Karna could send.\" \"I thought they would,\" said Malloy, trying to appear modest. The secretary's eyes narrowed. threw a dilemma right back at them.\" \"How do you mean?\" for him, one way or the other. He's that kind of guy. Until he's presented they backed down to a single point and proved that it wasn't rigged, Nordon couldn't possibly make up his this was, and the more importance there is attached to his decisions, the more incapable he becomes of making them.\" \"What about Braynek?\" \"Paranoid,\" said Malloy. \"He thinks everyone is plotting against him. In this case, that's all to the good because the Karna are plotting against him. No matter what they put forth,\n\n<question>:\nWhat would've happened if Bertrand had tried to introduce himself to the aliens in his building?\n\n<options>:\nA They would have punished him for revealing himself to the public.\nB He would've made some more friends and felt less isolated.\nC He would likely have lost some respect.\nD They would have laughed at him for his human/Terran social tendencies.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
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