conversation_id int64 1 2.52k | category stringclasses 1 value | conversation list |
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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>:\nSara lets the Lyft park itself in the drive, lets out a sigh, and tweets Cut to: drone footage. Grainy, monochrome. A group of figures move slowly through the desert. The camera tracks them. Zooms in. The pilot punches buttons. The figures become highlighted by a computer overlay, text appears next to them. ILLEGAL ENTRY ATTEMPT SUSPECTED. GROUND PATROLS ALERTED. Cut to: on the ground, in the desert. The group of figures are revealed to be a Mexican family, maybe two. Men, women, children. They look tired, hungry. They stop to rest, sipping the little water they have left from tattered plastic bottles. A little way away from the main group sits a small child, a girl. Maybe 8 years old. She is drawing shapes in the dust with a stick. She's drawn quite a bit it looks like, but from our angle we can't see what. Cut to: drone footage. The pilot is watching the group. As he tracks away from the main party to where the girl is sat, the camera reveals what she has drawn. \"It's OK Mom, I got it.\" \"You should have let us come pick you up.\" \"It's fine, there was no need. I didn't want to put any-\" Sara smiles. They hold each other for a few long seconds, rubbing and squeezing each other as the Lyft silently backs itself out of the driveway. When they part it's Mom's hand that's on the bag's handle. Fade to black. Chevrolet logo. White text against black. 'We know what really makes America great' Sara finds herself in the front room, sobbing. For a few seconds Sara is alone in the hallway, the smell of cooking meat coming from one doorway, the sound of rolling news from another. She shakes her head, kicks off shoes, tucks hair behind her ears. Braces herself. \"Honey?\" \"The Chevrolet ad?\" He grins back at her. \"Like Super Bowl ads?\" Mom and Dad watch Sara leave the room, and then look at each other. Ad break. An elderly couple ride a tandem bicycle through a park, laughing and smiling in Instagram-perfect sunshine, as a calm, relaxing voice lists the potentially lethal side effects of a diabetes drug. \"Dad, they're perfectly safe.\" \"That's not what I mean. They're stealing people's jobs.\" There's a brief second, a fleeting moment, where Sara can bite her lip, let it go. She misses it. \"But I thought it was immigrants that are stealing people's jobs?\" \"You might think it's funny little lady, but let me tell you - you remember Kyle and Max, Bill Cooper's boys? Live up off Lafayette, past the Checkers?\" Suddenly, one of the party looks up, shouts something in Spanish. They all go to grab their guns. But it's too late. \"Nope.\" \"Well I'm sure they'll be fine.\" She regrets the sarcasm as soon as she hears it in her own voice, but she still can't stop herself, like it's expected, like it's part of the routine. Part of their schtick. \"They just got to get themselves out there, huh Dad? Pull themselves up by their bootstraps. That's the American way, right?\" \"I'm glad you think this is funny, I really do. But what you New York types need to realise is-\" Awkward pause. \"Fine.\" \"Sorry Mom.\" Sara turns back to the TV, to watching the war, to trying to work out which one it is. It had always been this way, ever since she was about thirteen. Up until then it just seemed like constant warmth, as though she didn't have any childhood concept of Dad apart from him getting home from work, then her sitting on his knee, eating cookies and watching football highlights until Mom came in and scolded them both for ruining their appetites before dinner. sometimes for birthdays, sometimes for Thanksgiving. Maybe for Christmas. But somehow always, like now, for the Super Bowl. Like football was the one thing they still had, that one thing they could still sit in the same room together for. Shouting at players, screaming at the ref, laughing at the ads. Dinner is Mom's meatloaf, with gravy and mashed potatoes. Cornbread and broccoli. Every mouthful tastes like nostalgia, and Sara can feel herself being encompassed by a bubble, this barrier of warm air and long forgotten simplicity enveloping her body, protecting her from the confusion of the world outside. Sara laughs, covering her mouth as she nearly chokes on chewed food. \"What? No they don't Dad.\" \"Jesus Christ Dad, these ads!\" \"No blasphemy at the dinner table, please honey\" says Mom. \"What about them?\" \"They show me this stuff because they've got products to sell. That's how the economy works. That's how we create jobs. Godammit Sara, are you telling me you hate advertising now? Do you just hate everything about America?\" Sara looks over to Mom, who looks like she's on the brink of tears. Suddenly she finds she's also lost the will to fight. Gently she closes the iPad and puts it down on the table, next to her plate. \"Don't joke Sara, I'm serious. There's a lot that bothers him. The state of the world. The future. All these damn wars.\" Sara looks up from her phone, genuine concern. \"Is he OK?\" Sara slips her phone into her pocket, genuine guilt. Feels like a spoiled kid. \"I didn't realise. I'm sorry.\" Cut to: a uniformed guard on top of the border wall. He looks up and gives a salute to the drone as it soars above him, out and across the desert. Cut to: drone footage. Grainy, monochrome. A group of figures move slowly through the desert. The camera tracks them. Zooms in. The pilot punches buttons. The figures become highlighted by a computer overlay, text appears next to them. ILLEGAL ENTRY ATTEMPT SUSPECTED. GROUND PATROLS ALERTED. \"Fuck this,\" says Sara, getting up from her seat. \"Sara!\" says Mom. \"Sara!\" Mom makes to get up. Out in the kitchen Sara sits at the table and wants to scream. She's angry, mainly with herself. She should never have fucking come here. She should have known better. There was never any fucking way anything good was going to come from this. As much as Mom wants to romanticise things, to make them sound cute and adorable, the truth is shit with Dad has never been right since she was a teenager. Too much resentment, too much bad blood, too much control and rebellion. They hadn't agreed on anything - they hadn't managed to have a simple conversation that didn't descend into fighting - in 15 goddamn years, and no amount of eating cookies and watching fucking Super Bowl ads on the TV was going to fix that. She sighs, wipes a tear from her cheek. On autopilot she takes her phone from her pocket, feels its reassuring warmth in her hand, and swipes open Twitter. Everybody seems to be talking about the same thing. holy shit that chevrolet ad /fire emoji\n\n<question>:\nHow does Sara feel about the Chevrolet ad?\n\n<options>:\nA She thinks it's a final chance to bond with her father\nB She is sorry she did not watch the whole ad before she reacted to it\nC She is upset at the glorification of the military\nD She is frustrated that it tokenized a Mexican family\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>:\nUnmade Beds , Nicholas Barker's \" 'real life' feature film,\" has proudly worn its mongrel status as a \"directed\" documentary of single life in the big city, employing, in the face of criticism, what amounts to a cackling-punk defiance. The movie tracks four aging New Yorkers--two men, two women--through their lonely dating rituals, in the process depicting a universe of lusty, coupled-up haves and downcast, excluded have-nots, all viewed Rear Window -style through rectangular openings in the massive apartment houses in which they reside. Spurned by U.S. distributors, Unmade Beds opened two weeks ago in a small screening room in downtown Manhattan, where it proceeded to set box office records and generate lots of (largely favorable) press. In part due to smart publicity, which has bannered some of the bad reviews and commentary (\"I have to tell you that this film upset me so much that I really don't want to have anything to do with it\"--a New York publicist), it threatens to become a cause célèbre --and to be coming soon to a theater near you. It's always nice to see distributors proved wrong about the merits of \"difficult\" films, but in this case I think they did the decent thing. Unmade Beds isn't just bad--it's obnoxiously, noxiously bad, a freak show for the empathetically challenged. The outrage it has prompted isn't the Puritan kind Aimee, on the other hand, is a pathetic big loser, weighing in at 225 pounds. Determined to get married before she turns 30, she generally is filmed beside bags of groceries and assorted junk foods. She cries about her situation to her thin friend, Laurie, who, in one scene, gently mentions Aimee's weight. Clearly the scene is scripted, but Aimee does a good job acting taken aback. She has always been fat--and she's \"OK with it,\" and a man just has to accept it. This is followed by more talk about how you attract men. Will they respect you if you call them back? If you express too much interest? \"Or,\" the viewer thinks, \"if you're 225 pounds?\" The only natural performer here is Brenda, a garrulous exhibitionist who blossoms with the camera on her--she could have a career as a Penny Marshall-style character actress. Divorced and aging, Brenda needs money and is willing to charge for her sexual services. It shouldn't be too difficult, because men are always showing her their dicks (\"I'm up to two dicks a day\"). They meet her and, a few minutes later, they show her their dicks. Weird, huh? What Barker leaves out (it's in a New York Observer article) is that Brenda, a former lap dancer, works in marketing at a strip joint. Presumably, men standing next to her in line at McDonald's don't show her their dicks. Nor, presumably, does she show them her breasts--although she bares them for Barker's camera, jabbering about her body while she doffs her clothes and steps into the shower and soaps up. Barker might have crafted his subjects' monologues from their own words, but he has robbed them of their spontaneity--and, thus, of their essence. They aren't thinking or trying to come to grips with their situations in front of your eyes, because they already know what they're going to say: They've been fixed like butterflies on the ends of pins and held up for voyeuristic inspection. The scenes with friends and confidantes have a crude, programmatic purpose. You can imagine the director composing a shot (the shots are tightly composed and elaborately lighted) and reminding them, \"In this scene she points out that you should lose weight and you get shocked and defensive. Ready ... Action.\" So what are Barker's \"larger dramatic truths\"? Single people in big cities can be desperate. Single people fear they're going to die alone--unloved and unloving. People are judged and, in turn, judge others by how they look. Big news. One could argue, charitably, that the movie is meant to be prescriptive, that Barker intends for us to regard the ways in which his subjects delude themselves and thereby learn to see through our own self-delusions. But Barker hasn't concocted a larger dramatic structure that would hold those larger dramatic truths together and help us comprehend where these people went wrong. He dramatizes right up to the point where a dramatist would be expected to provide some insight--and then, hey, he's a documentarian. Unmade Beds might make a good date movie. There's little to argue about in its subjects' personalities--both males and females will find them repulsive--and the picture the film paints of single life in the big city is so bleak that you'll probably want to jump into bed with whoever is sitting next to you. Anything to keep from turning into one of those people. The Slums of Beverly Hills also walks a line between two genres, in this case coming-of-age sex comedy and autobiographical monologue. Tamara Jenkins, the writer and first-time director, has an eye for absurd juxtapositions that was obviously sharpened by the pain of her nomadic upbringing. Her protagonist (Natasha Lyonne) spends her teen-age years being shuttled with her two brothers from one cheap dive to another in the 90210 ZIP code, all because her egregiously unsuccessful father (Alan Arkin) wants them to be educated in the best schools. (\"Furniture's temporary Grading on the steep curve established by summer blockbuster seasons past, these have turned out to be a pretty good few months at the movies. Even the commercial swill ( Deep Impact , Armageddon , The Mask of Zorro , Small Soldiers , Snake Eyes , Halloween: H20 ) has been of a high grade, and Saving Private Ryan and Return to Paradise were Vitalis slaps in the kisser for people woozy from all the warm weather escapism. Out of Sight was tender and charming, as was, in its gross-out way, There's Something About Mary . And, on the indie front, The Opposite of Sex , Buffalo 66 , and Pi have proved that there's still commercial life after Sundance. Sure, we had stinkers, but even Godzilla was fun to jeer at. And there's something reassuring about the fact that The Avengers is so rotten: proof yet again that people with piles of money can hire wizard production designers but can't fake class. I don't know who the credited screenwriter, Don MacPherson, is, but it's unlikely that he has ever seen an episode of the old Avengers , let alone sussed out the source of its appeal. Opening with a slapstick sequence of agent John Steed (Ralph Fiennes) doing kung fu, the film shifts to a scene in which he meets Mrs. Peel (Uma Thurman) while sitting naked in a sauna with only a newspaper to cover his private parts. The series was erotic in a way only prim English humor can be: The Old Boy Steed was capable of throwing a punch and bonking someone with his bowler, but he left the karate kicking to his liberated, leather-suited distaff associate. Here their roles have been witlessly muddled, and MacPherson's idea of banter is to have the pair complete each other's clichés.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is ironic about \"Unmade Beds\" rejection from larger US distributors?\n\n<options>:\nA Larger theaters won't show \"Unmade Beds\" despite the fact that they show many similar films with less public contention\nB In overcoming criticism from larger US distributors, the four main characters of the film finally receive the redemption they've been seeking\nC Smaller theaters will likely feature \"Unmade Beds\" merely for its controversial nature\nD Its rejection from US distributors is a reflection of how American society spurns the film's four main characters\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>:\nExtensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Linton lay down his steel fork beside the massively solid transparency of the restaurant water glass. \"Isn't that Rogers Snead at that table?\" he heard himself say stupidly. Howell, the man across the table from him, looked embarrassed without looking. \"Not at all. Somebody who looks like him. Twin brother. You know 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,\" Linton said, describing the scene over Howell's shoulder. \"If that's Snead's brother, I might catch him to pay my respects.\" \"No,\" Howell said, \"I wouldn't do that.\" \"Snead came to Greta's funeral. It's the least I could do.\" \"I wouldn't. Probably no relation to Snead at all. Somebody who looks like him.\" \"He's practically running,\" Linton said. \"He almost ran out of the restaurant.\" \"Who? Oh, the man who looked like Snead, you mean.\" \"Yes,\" Linton said. A thick-bodied man at the next table leaned his groaning chair back intimately against Linton's own chair. \"That fellow who just left looked like a friend of yours, huh?\" the thick man said. \"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 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, or rather he had watched the two workmen scoop and shove dirt in on the sawdust-fresh pine box that held the coffin. He had known what he 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. Linton felt that his silence was asking Howell by this time. \"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: God? \"The Mafia, I guess. Who knows who runs it?\" \"You mean, somebody has invented a way to bring dead people back to life?\" Linton said. 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 patently ridiculous, Linton hoped to bring the contradicting truth to the surface immediately. much about people like that. I'm an honest businessman.\" \"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?\" \"Sh-h,\" Howell said uneasily. \"This is a public place.\" \"I don't understand,\" Linton said helplessly. \"I see,\" Linton said. He tried to assimilate it. Of course he had, he reminded himself, been out of touch for some time. It might be true. Then again, they might be of people and if you're smart, you'll not either.\" Linton's fingers imprinted the linen. \"Damn you, Howell, you tell me!\" Howell climbed to his feet hurriedly. \"I take you out to dinner to console you over the loss of your wife a half a year ago, and to make Howell threw money on the table with the same kind of disinterest as the thick-set man and stalked out. I've got to hurry too, Linton thought. It's Resurrection Day! The doctor fluttered his hands and chirped about the office. \"Well, disturbing.\" \"I was only trying to find out something,\" Linton maintained. \"They could have told me. Everybody seems to know but me.\" The doctor clucked his tongue. \"Let's not think any such thing. People don't know more than you do.\" Linton rubbed his shoulder. \"That cop knew more about Judo holds than I did.\" \"A few specific people know a few specific things you don't. But let me thing like that?\" \"People who want to know the answers to questions have to ask them. You can find out anything by asking the right questions of the right person at the right time.\" Linton stared suspiciously. \"Do you know where I can find a resurrectionist?\" policeman would just steal your money? Cynics—all you young people are cynics.\" Linton scooted forward on the insultingly cold metal chair and really looked at the doctor for the first time. \"Doctor, can you \"Will you stop being cynical? Of course I can!\" \"Doctor, I'm beginning to believe in you,\" Linton said, \"but tell me, 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....\" \"I've often been in institutions myself, for alcoholism, narcotics addiction and more.\" \"What a wonderful professional career,\" Linton said, when he couldn't care less. 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 olive-drab slab of metal of the door to the doctor's inner-inner sanctum and walked out into the medicinal cold fluorescent lighting. It wasn't fair at all, Linton thought. He should have had some time to prepare himself. \"Now, now,\" Linton said, \"we mustn't get excited. You've been through a trial.\" \"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?\" 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.\" to quench death and smother decay. It's Her eyes flashed around the doctor's office and settled somewhere, on something. Linton followed the direction of Greta's gaze and found only an ashtray acceptance of the crumpled metal disk falling toward it. He split her head open and watched her float to the floor. Linton was surprised at the fine wire mesh just below the skin and 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 really think so, Doctor?\" Linton asked hopefully.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the significance of Rogers Snead?\n\n<options>:\nA His sighting gives LInton an idea of how to see his wife\nB He serves as proof that Linton is seeing things, and needs professional help\nC Snead is a reminder of a previous stage of Linton's life\nD Linton knows that Snead could take him where he needs to go\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>:\nThen he rushed, the flame-torch making a roaring sound. effective against such creatures as these. Torches were contact weapons Moran cut apart the yard-long monstrosity with a slash of flame. The thing presumably died, but it continued to writhe senselessly. He turned to see other horrors crawling toward him. Then he knew he was being marooned on a planet of endless terrors. Moran, naturally, did not mean to help in the carrying out of the plans disgusting legs of the thing still kicked spasmodically—quite separate—on the whitish ground-stuff. Moran had disliked such creatures in miniature form on other worlds. Enlarged like this. complicated. It had turned out, in fact, to be the ecological system of Earth, and unless all parts of the complex were present, the total was subtly or glaringly wrong. So mankind distastefully ferried pests as necessary to get rid of Moran. In their predicament he might have come well as useful creatures to its new worlds as they were made ready for settlement. Mosquitos throve on the inhabited globes of the Rim Stars. Roaches twitched nervous antennae on the settled planets of the humanity spread through the galaxy with an attendant train of insects and annoyances. If they left their pests behind, the total system of checks and balances which make life practical would get lopsided. It would not maintain itself. The vagaries that could result were admirably illustrated in and on the landscape outside the prominences erupting about its edges. Now it lay astern, and Moran . Something had been left out of the seeding of this planet. The element—which might be a bacterium or a virus or almost anything at all—the element that kept creatures at the size called \"normal\" was either missing or inoperable here. The results were not desirable. nowhere else. There was an ice-cap in view. The rest was—clouds. The ice-cap, by its existence and circular shape, proved that the planet Moran observed these things from the control-room of the \"It doesn't look too bad, Moran!\" Moran disagreed, but he did not answer. He cocked an ear instead. He passage leading away. He called. But Moran observed with grudging investigation. Moran, at least, would be picked out as a fugitive from or other, so the people could find that spot again. It was supposed to be a long time ago, though.\" government of their native world, and they'd gotten away to make it seem the revolt had collapsed. They'd go back later when they weren't expected, and start it up again. Moran considered the story probable. Only people accustomed to desperate actions would have remained so calm when Moran had used desperate measures against them. though, and Moran grimaced. they had revolted, and what sort of set-back to the revolt had sent the five off in what they considered a strategic retreat but their government would think defeat. Moran's own situation was perfectly which was the reason for what Moran had done. But the dead man had been very important, and the fact that Moran had forced him to fight and killed him in fair combat made no difference. Moran had needed to get designed to prevent such escapes. He'd made a pretty good try, at that. One of the controls on was out of overdrive they efficiently gave him his choice of surrendering or else. He surrendered, stipulating that he wouldn't be very much like a small boy trailing a stick against a picket fence, only much louder. Something hooted, maintaining the noise for an impossibly alive. And something shrieked in lunatic fashion and something else still moaned from time to time with the volume of a steam-whistle.... \"What's that stuff there, the ground?\" he demanded. \"We burned it away \"That,\" said Moran as if brightly, \"that's what I'm to make a garden in. Moran said bitingly fore part was crushed in. The other landing-fins could be traced. \"It's a ship,\" said Moran curtly. \"It crash-landed and its crew set up a \"Sure,\" said Moran, \"but a man can gripe, can't he?\" that I take a torch. We may have to burn through that loathesome stuff Moran silently went to the space-suit rack and began to get into a \"Ah, yes!\" said Moran. \"It's very likely that the ship hit hard enough world. Moran, though, would not be permitted a weapon. He picked up a planet. They looked dubiously at the scorched, indefinite substance which had been ground before the Nadine landed. Moran moved scornfully The hole exposed a cheesy mass of soft matter which seemed riddled with small holes. Something black came squirming frantically out of one of the openings. It was eight or ten inches long. It had a head, a thorax, and an abdomen. It had wing-cases. It had six legs. It toppled down to the Moran kicked again. More holes. More openings. More small tunnels in the cheese-like, curd-like stuff. More black things squirming to view in obvious panic. They popped out everywhere. It was suddenly apparent \" They're—bugs! \" she said incredulously. \" They're beetles! They're twenty times the size of the beetles we humans have been carrying around the galaxy, but that's what they are! \" Moran grunted. Distastefully, he saw his predicament made worse. He knew food. So an elaborate adaptation job had to be done on every planet before native and terrestrial living things settled down together. It wasn't impossible that the scuttling things were truly beetles, grown large and monstrous under the conditions of a new planet. And the ground.... \"This ground stuff,\" said Moran distastefully, \"is yeast or some sort of toadstool growth. This is a seedling world. It didn't have any life on it, so somebody dumped germs and spores and bugs to make it ready for plants and animals eventually. But nobody's come back to finish up the job.\" Something moved. It came out from behind a very minor spire of whitish stuff that looked like a dirty sheet stretched over a tall stone. The thing that appeared was very peculiar indeed. It was a—worm. But it was a foot thick and ten feet long, and it had a group of stumpy legs at its fore end—where there were eyes hidden behind bristling hair-like growths—and another set of feet at its tail end. It progressed sedately by reaching forward with its fore-part, securing a foothold, and then arching its middle portion like a cat arching its back, to bring its hind part forward. Then it reached forward again. It was of a dark olive color from one end to the other. Its manner of walking was insane but somehow sedate. Moran heard muffled noises in his helmet-phone as the others tried to \" Moran said with savage precision \"We're looking at an inch-worm, grown up like the beetles only more so. It's not an inch-worm any longer. It's a yard-worm.\" Then he said harshly to the men with him They reached the mound which was the ship. Moran unlimbered his torch. Without orders, he turned on the torch. A four-foot flame of pure leaped up. He used the flame like a gigantic scalpel, cutting a square a creatures in their labyrinths of tunnels began to panic. Off to the right the blanket-like surface ripped and they poured out. They scuttled crazily here and there. Some took to wing. By instinct the other Moran slashed and slashed angrily with the big flame, cutting a way to the metal hull that had fallen here before his grandfather was born. Sometimes the flame cut across things that writhed, and he was sickened. \" Look out! It's coming! Kill it! Kill it—. \"\n\n<question>:\nWhat was the monstrosity that Moran cut apart with his torch?\n\n<options>:\nA A worm that had grown out of control.\nB A roach that had grown out of control.\nC A mosquito that had grown out of control.\nD A beetle that had grown out of control.\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>:\nThe Dwindling Years He didn’t expect to be last—but neither did he anticipate could risk. If he made it, though.... Well, he’d see those grandchildren of his this year—and there’d be other grandchildren. With the ship, he’d have time serious, but quite definite—as well as other signs of aging. I’m afraid the treatment didn’t take fully. It might have been some unconscious block diagnosed at the time, or even a fault in the treatment. That’s pretty rare, but we can’t neglect was more important. It hadn’t been a joke about his growing old, after all. But now, in a few days, impossible. “Anything urgent on the Procyon specter of age stood beside him, counting the seconds. But at last basket. “Mostly drugs for experimenting. A personal letter For eighty years now, they’d been sending out the little ships that vanished at greater than the conscious level and forced to operate. the first hope they’d found that the century-long trips between stars in the ponderous shuttles might be ended and he should have been filled with excitement on the first projection. Only his youngest son would have sent an elaborate tercentenary greeting verse—one that would arrive ninety years too late! Harry had been born just before Earth passed the drastic birth limitation avoid the compulsory emigration draft and stay on with his mother. over that which had finally broken Giles’ fifth marriage. Oddly enough, the message in the next frame showed none of that. Harry had nothing but praise for the solar system where he’d been sent. He barely mentioned being married on the way or his dozen children, but filled most of the frame with glowing description and a plea for his need more treatment. Ten o’clock okay?” “But I’ll be all right?” chess collections in the world, but of his profession. “We haven’t lost a patient in two hundred years, to my knowledge.” “Thanks,” said Giles. “Ten against the background of an alien but attractive world. He had no desire to spend ninety years cooped up with a shuttles. And even if Exodus he should give up his work. The discovery that men could live practically forever had put an end to most family ties sentiment wore thin in half a century—which wasn’t much time ever got the super-light drive working, there was no reason now, though it had once seemed long enough. all thumbs. None of the other interests he’d developed through the years helped to add to the richness of living now. He gave it up and went to bed—to a family. Giles had been living here for nearly a century now and he’d never regretted it. But tonight his own group irritated him. “Antigravity!” His voice was He puzzled over it, finding no real reason. Certainly they weren’t Harry had been a complete nuisance, running around with Earth conveyance to pass casual various nostrums, giving him no above the ground. Faint begging for their secret in a couple of hundred years! While a hundred other worlds make a thousand major discoveries they don’t bother reporting! Can’t the Council see anything Even that failed him, though. Earth was becoming a backwater world no real progress had been made in two centuries the young He’d developed one of the finest their first fifty years of education were finished, and the older men were too conservative for really new thinking. There was a measure of truth in it, unfortunately. “They’ll slow up when their populations fill,” Giles repeated his old answers. “We’re still ahead in medicine and we’ll get the other discoveries eventually, without interrupting the work of making or other. the Earth fit for our longevity. We can wait. We’ll have to.” Could they really dwindle down to something down? Suppose he couldn’t rejuvenate all the way? He knew that there were some people who days. We can have the secret of about thirty, instead of the normal early twenties. Would that reduce the slice of eternity that rejuvenation meant? And what this antigravity in less than a had happened to Sol? year! We—” centuries, if we can ever master it. Even with Sirius expecting the drafted for building long enough now we can finish it in three Procyon in two weeks. We even know life can stand the trip. The rats were unharmed.” Giles shook his head at what the other was proposing, only partly believing it. “Rats don’t have minds that could show any real damage such as the loss of power to rejuvenate. We can’t put human pilots into a ship with our could correct for errors on arrival. Maybe if we put in stronger signaling transmitters....” “Yeah. Maybe in two centuries It hadn’t been that kind of have the big ship. All we need is one GILES TRIED to stop scaring himself and partially succeeded, until he reached the doctor’s volunteer!” nor the last, nor the one before that. Or how about you? Do you really want to risk losing the rest of your life rather than waiting a couple more centuries until we know it’s safe? If you do, I’ll “All right, Bill. Find me one volunteer. NO SANE man would risk a chance for near eternity against such a relatively short wait. Heroism had belonged to those who knew their days were numbered, anyhow. “Forget it, Bill,” Giles advised. “It may take longer, but eventually by an effort. “It’s a shock They had to plan and build for it. They couldn’t risk that plan for short-term benefits. Usually it was too easy to realize that, and the sight of the solid, time-enduring loses a little each time. And the effect is cumulative. It’s like an asymptotic curve—the further it you won’t be the last, if that’s any consolation. We’ve got a longer time scale than we used to have—but it’s in centuries, not in eons. For everybody, not just you.” It was no consolation. Giles nodded mechanically. “I won’t we can make them better. Geriatric knowledge is still on record. We can fix the heart and all the rest. You’ll be in good physical condition, better than your grandfather—” pronounce the words. He’d grown old and he’d grow older. And eventually he’d die! An immortal man had suddenly found death hovering on his trail. The years had dwindled and gone, and only a few were left. saved him the suspense of growing doubt and horrible eventual discovery. then at the buildings built to last for thousands of years. Their eternity was no longer a part of him. Even his car would outlast him. no longer wondering about the dangers that might possibly arise. Those wouldn’t matter much now. For a man who had thought of living almost forever, there was nothing to worry about Earth’s doctors could cure anything. wanted no chance to have them asking questions he couldn’t answer. It was none of their business. could still fill his time with work—work that might even be useful. right?” “As all right as I’ll ever be,” he told her. “They tell me I’m just growing old.” didn’t go in for home visits now—they preferred to see their doctors patients in the laboratories that counted his wealth in possessions, instead of the treasures he could build inside himself for the future housed their offices. If this kept vehicle on the alien planet. as so many others had, for even with modern safety measures so strict, there was always a small chance of some accident and nobody had any desire to spend the long future as a cripple. he’d never seen even pictures of his other grandchildren. Family ties melted away too fast for interstellar the low, massive medical building. It was almost too much consideration. slackening of them in Harry’s case, and somehow it looked like a family, rather than a mere travel. Yet there seemed to be no He read Harry’s note again, with its praise for the planet and its invitation. He wondered if itself. “The years dwindle down to a precious few....” he remembered. “A precious few.” Those dwindling years had\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Earth so stunted in comparison to other colonies?\n\n<options>:\nA They don’t have the right kind of technology.\nB They’re overpopulated and sending off their youngest people.\nC They don’t receive the same attention.\nD No one is dying, so their priorities don’t lend themselves to progress.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
979 | 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>:\npeople. Rikud and his people across the darkness and the stars for all Rikud's lifetime and more. Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watch the great changeless sweep of space. He could not quite explain the feelings within him they were so alien, so unnatural. But ever since the engines somewhere in the rear of the world had changed their tone, from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of his \"There is Rikud on the floor!\" life, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings had disturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he had realized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up inside Rikud screamed and hurtled back through the corridor, and his face him. apparent in the speckled profusion Rikud had always known. Instead, If he had understood the term, Rikud would have told himself this was odd. His head ached with the half-born thought. It was—it was—what was it? Rikud got up and ran. He reached the door again and then he slipped His head whirled and the viewport seemed to swim in a haze. Could it be variable, as Crifer had suggested? He wondered if the scurrying Rikud knew he should be exercising now, or bathing in the rays of the brown thing waited somewhere, and nausea struck at the pit of his Chuls' reminder fostered uneasiness. Often Rikud had dreamed of the as his mate? The first time this idea had occurred to him, Rikud ignored it. But it came again, and each time it left him with a feeling he could not explain. Why should he think thoughts that no other man had? Why should he think he was thinking such thoughts, when it always embroiled him in a hopeless, infinite confusion that left him with a headache? His voice trailed off. Rikud knew that something which he could not explain had entered the elder man's head for a moment, but it had Rikud muttered to himself and undressed. The world had begun to annoy him. Now why shouldn't a man be permitted to do what he wanted, when Rikud sat down and tore off a piece of a plant, munching on it. It was are variable. I don't hate you now, Rikud.\" There was a strange thought, and Rikud's brain whirled once more down the tortuous course of half-formed questions and unsatisfactory answers. he wanted to do it? exciting. He liked them. He liked the garden, for all its hugeness. With so many people, and especially now with women, he was not afraid. It was much better than the small world of machinery, buzzer, frightening doors and women by appointment only. Rikud felt at home. Rikud had been stopped in this action, although there was no real They were strangely shaped in some ways, and yet in others completely human, and their voices were high, like singing. Rikud found them oddly And Rikud could remember the rest of what the reading machine had said. elders were overthrown. Here Rikud had been lost utterly. The people before Rikud's time, had negated the necessity for a knowledge of proved the world was not perfect. Rikud was guiltily glad when he saw But if he wasn't reading himself, Rikud usually went to sleep. All the changing.\" \"Changing?\" Crifer questioned the fuzzy concept as much as he questioned what it might mean in this particular case. \"Well, it's wrong. Variability and change are two words without meaning.\" \"People grow old,\" Rikud suggested. concepts, yet it was so clear. Or was it? He had had it a moment ago, but now it faded, and change and old were just two words. His own buzzer sounded a moment later, and it was with a strange He had been told about them and he had seen pictures, and he dimly remembered his childhood among women. But his feelings had changed this was different. Again there were inexplicable feelings—strange channelings of Rikud's energy in new and confusing directions. The view had changed, and the strangeness of it made Rikud's pulses Presently Rikud became aware that his eyes were not tearing any longer, and he turned to look at the viewport. What he saw now was so new that he couldn't at first accept it. Instead, he blinked and rubbed his But Rikud forgot the old man completely. A new idea occurred to him, and for a while he struggled with it. What he saw—what he had always seen, except that now there was the added factor of change—perhaps did not exist confusing than ever. \"Chuls,\" he called, remembering, \"come here.\" Rikud whirled on the little figure and pointed to the swirling cloud of Anger welled up inside Rikud. \"All right,\" he said, \"listen. What do besides, Rikud had the distinct feeling that here was something far Rikud sat down hard. He blinked. For a whole week that view did not change, and Rikud had come to accept word seemed all wrong to Rikud, but he could think of no other, unless Rikud regretted that he never had had the chance to read that book on reading machine had begun to bore him. He said, \"Well, variable or not, our whole perspective has changed.\" obvious. If he, Rikud, walked from one part of the world to another, Rikud heard a voice not unlike that of the reading machine. Rikud gave the voice up as hopeless. There were too many confusing When he opened the door a strange new noise filled his ears, a gentle humming, punctuated by a throb-throb-throb gears and wheels and nameless things all strange and beautiful because they shone with a luster unfamiliar to him. \"Odd,\" Rikud said aloud. Then he thought, \"Now there's a good word, but no one quite seems to know its meaning.\" Only this one was different. In it Rikud saw the viewport. But how? The Then he trembled. What would he do out in the garden? He couldn't go alone. He'd die of the strangeness. It was a silly thought no one ever died of anything until he was a hundred. Rikud Three or four days passed before Rikud calmed himself enough to \"Well, I won't go,\" Chuls replied. \"There's no reason to go. If Rikud A buzzer sounded and automatically Rikud found himself releasing Chuls. In a moment, the room was cleared. Rikud stood alone. He cleared his What would they do if the buzzer stopped buzzing? This frightened Rikud, although he didn't know why. He'd like it, Rikud heard the throbbing again as he stood in the room of the casual. Soon his easy strides had given way to frenzied running. Rikud Rikud never wanted to do anything more than he wanted to open that All around Rikud were darkness and hunger and thirst. The buzzer did eat or drink. Rikud himself had fumbled through the blackness and the \"It won't any more,\" Rikud said. thing you did, Rikud.\" eat. I hate Rikud, I think.\" hate Rikud.\" Then everyone was saying it. Rikud was sad. Soon he would die, because no one would go outside with \"No,\" Rikud assured him. \"It won't.\" do to Rikud what he said he did to the machinery.\" Rikud ran. In the weak to rise. Rikud, too, felt a strange light-headedness and a gnawing He became sickly giddy thinking about it. But if he didn't open the door and go into the garden outside, he would die because he had no food and no water and his stomach gurgled and Rikud tripped over something and sprawled awkwardly across the floor.\n\n<question>:\nHow does Rikud change through the story?\n\n<options>:\nA He questions his world, his lack of autonomy, and what it really means to live.\nB He realizes that he will one day have a mate chosen for him, and children as well.\nC He realizes his desire to feel pain, and to hurt for the first time.\nD He questions his \"strange\" thoughts, and how pervasive they are.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
2,160 | 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 every weapon there was a defense, but not against the deadliest weapon—man himself! The cool cybrain surgically implanted in him was working on the problem. But Lane had no more patience. They'd sweat, he thought, hating the chill air-currents that threw his hovering body this way fifty killed. But Lane is through now. He has been able to outthink police with the help of his cybrain. Now police are feeding the problem to their giant analogue and that. He glared down at The police analogue computer will be able to outthink Lane's cybrain, will predict Lane's \"Why don't they clear those people out of the Square?\" Troopers? \"Get me Colonel Klett.\" his stupidity. He hadn't found out which one was which ahead of time. The voice of the commanding don't teach them about their own city, that they'll be fighting teach them how to fight. They against my orders! have too much to learn about fighting. Now look them orders, sir.\" \"If you get out of there alive, I'll hang you for disobeying them!\" to figure out which one. Blood churned in his veins, nerves shrieked with impatience. of the city, would have Old cybrain better be fast. Damn fast! The cybrain jolted an impulse through his spine. Lane somersaulted. Cybrain had taken charge of his motor Colonel Klett was lower. \"I'd just along for the ride. His nerves. Lane's own mind was body snapped into a \"Sir, I'm asking for help. I chance of getting out of there alive. You've had it, son. I'd \"Yes, sir.\" particular window in one of the towers. A predatory excitement rippled through him \"Yes, sir. Over and out.\" only lose more men trying to \"You're okay. I wish I could let you out. Old cybrain says I can't. Says if I drop the then we'll both be dead.\" Gerri stood with folded \"Do what you have to do. As far as I can see, you're the only person in this city that has even a little bit of right on his side.\" purple-haired broads I know would be crazy scared. You're different.\" floor, inside the room, in battle-crouch. of thinking. \"You said I had a little right on my side. That's a good feeling. Nobody ever told me to feel that way about myself before. It'll be better to die knowing that.\" killed, four others seriously injured. Tammany Hall has warned that this man is extremely dangerous. Citizens are cautioned to keep clear of him. Lane is an insane killer. He is armed with the latest military weapons. A built-in electronic brain controls his reflexes—\" check his moves ahead of time.\" him with longings for things he couldn't name. Then he \"At ease with that jazz,\" stepped back and shook his head. \"It ain't right you should get killed. If I take a dive out that window, they shoot at me, not in here.\" \"And kill you all the sooner.\" \"Better than getting burned up in this lousy little room. side. There's too many damn Troopers and not enough good persons like you. Old cybrain says stay here, but I don't you back for that kiss.\" \"But you're safe in here!\" \"Worry about yourself, not a mock salute. \"You from The very out-of-town. She held herself straight and her \"What the devil do you think you're doing, soldier? I Go to hell, old cybrain. I'm doing all right by myself. ahead. what that means.\" I come to see the Mayor, and I'm gonna see him. Lane plunged forward. He heard the shouts of frightened men. If you've never heard of diplomatic immunity, you'll suffer for your ignorance.\" He swooped over the balcony \"Colonel Klett, sir. You \"Whaddaya know,\" said Lane. \"Cybrain didn't know, no more than me.\" \"What's that out there?\" Newyork's new Military Keeps you in. You anybody important?\" a formal dinner. Colonel Klett Klett said, \"Call me an opportunist stable, and Mars can negotiate with it.\" He was a lean, sharp-featured man with deep grooves in his face, and gray hair. just get you in worse trouble. What are you trying to do?\" just don't like it here.\" Lane said, \"I'm going to next time. Nothing personal—I Klett. He takes orders from Newyork.\" perfect defense. But also the Klett frowned. \"If I thought road to the return to city-states. Anarchy.\" stupidity—by disregarding your cybrain.\" Lane said, \"It wasn't so stupid busted out. I wanna see the Mayor and find out why we can't have time off. I don't play games, Gerri. I go right to the top.\" against us.\" \"I just didn't want her to be hurt.\" \"That's what bothers me. It could outguess a machine, like your cybrain. But you introduced a totally unpredictable factor—human emotion. Which proves what I, as a military man, have always maintained—that the deadliest weapon in man's arsenal is still, and will always be, the individual soldier.\" \"What you just said there, sir,\" said Lane. \"That's why I'm leaving Newyork.\" \"What do you mean?\" asked Colonel Klett. \"I'm tired of being a weapon, sir. I want to be a human being.\" —Michelangelo seven years old up, Troopers out as the Mayor's suite. calls for a revision in our tactics. We've got a way of beating Nice-looking, nice-talking girl like this probably cared a lot more about dying than he did. Why the hell didn't they give him a chance to let her out? Maybe he could do it now. Cybrain said no. It said the second he dropped his force-screen, they'd blast this room should anyone use them crazy ones and the ones the city paid. Why did he have to be so near getting killed when he met one he liked? Now that she was showing a little less fear and anger, she was talking straight to him. She was good, but she wasn't acting as if she was too good for him. \"They'll start shooting pretty quick,\" said Lane. \"I'm sorry about you.\" \"What's a letter?\" Lane shrugged. He carried on the conversation disinterestedly, professionally relaxed before battle. \"What's these things I can't do? They important?\" \"Yes. The more I see of this city and its people, the more important I realize they are. You know how to fight, don't you? I'll bet you're perfect \"Listen. They been training me to fight since I was a little kid. Why shouldn't I be a great little fighter?\" \"Specialization,\" said the \"Specialization. Everyone SocioSpecs run the because they're not trained to do anything.\" \"They got it soft. That's them night.\" \"Why?\" \"Because they're afraid of the Troopers. You men did too good a job out in Chi. You are the deadliest weapon that has men that win the wars.\" safe from bombs. They learned to be self-sufficient under the Shells. They were so safe, so isolated, that national governments of security, when you infiltrated Chi and conquered it.\" \"We scared them, huh?\" Gerri said, \"You scared them so much that they were afraid to let you have a furlough in the city when you came back. Afraid you Troopers would realize that you could easily take over the city if you wanted to. You scared them so much that they'll let me be killed. They'll actually risk trouble with Mars just to kill you.\" \"I'm sorry about you. I mean it, I like—\" on hands and knees. looked quickly, sprang back. Cybrain pumped orders to his nervous system. \"But just one. Gotcha, cybrain. I can beat that.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich is the best description of Colonel Klett?\n\n<options>:\nA He is ornery and a bit tempermental\nB He is sly and willing to accept authoritative responsibility\nC He is a liar and tricks Lane into helping him\nD He is paranoid and does not want to take risks\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,211 | 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>:\nMACK REYNOLDS Joe Prantera called \"Get?\" he said. Joe Prantera said impatiently, \"The the car's window ledge. \"Who's it?\" he growled. Joe Prantera said softly, \"Big Louis sent me, Al.\" And he pressed the trigger. getaway. After I give it to this Howard Temple-Tracy guy, I gotta go on Joe eyed him in scorn. \"Oh, you didn't, huh? What happens after I This here California. Everything different. Then his second thought was Something went wrong. Big Louis, he ain't going to like this. He brought his thinking to the \"Mr. Prantera, this will probably be difficult for you to comprehend, some guy in stir?\" \"If I understand your idiom correctly, you mean prison. There are no prisons in this era, Mr. Prantera.\" Brett-James cleared his throat. \"Mr. Prantera, there are no banks.\" \"No banks! You gotta have banks!\" \"And no money to put in them. Joe Prantera looked at the other expressionlessly. Maybe the old duck Reston-Farrell. If I am not mistaken, you are Joseph Salviati-Prantera.\" Salviati happened to be Joe's mother's maiden name. But it was unlikely this city.\" where does he reside? Why, here in leaves the house all by hisself. O.K., so I can make plans, like, to give it to him.\" Joe Prantera wound it up much the same manner as the room's door had opened for Reston-Farrell. Joe Prantera scowled and said, \"These ain't my clothes.\" \"No, I am afraid not.\" Mr. Salviati-Prantera, that these are so quick—\" \"See here, Mr. Prantera,\" Brett-James upon a wide boulevard of what was obviously a populous city. And for a moment again, Joe Prantera \"Try this, it's excellent cognac.\" Joe Prantera stared at him, said finally, flatly, \"What's it all about?\" The other put down the unaccepted \"The motivation for crime has been removed, Mr. Prantera,\" Reston-Farrell The fear of police, of Al Rossi's vengeance, of the measures that might be taken by Big Louis on his failure, were now far away. \"You mean, like, if I steal a car or something, they just take me to a doctor?\" Joe Prantera was unbelieving. institution. Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy is the last man you will ever kill, Mr. Prantera.\" A chillness was in the belly of Joe Prantera. He said very slowly, very dangerously, \"You guys figure on me getting caught, don't you?\" \"Well then, figure something else. You think I'm stupid?\" \"Mr. Prantera,\" Dr. Reston-Farrell Joe said coldly, \"And what happens to you guys? How do you know I won't rat on you?\" Warren, this is our guest from so far as Joe could see. He said gently, \"I think it would be Mr. Joseph Prantera, wouldn't it? The maternal linage was almost universally ignored.\" His voice too gave the impression ... from yesteryear, Mr. Joseph Salviati-Prantera.\" the other day, Mr. Prantera. Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy is a dangerous, atavistic, evil genius. We are Warren Brett-James said soothingly, \"Prepare yourself for somewhat of a shock, Mr. Prantera. You are no longer in Los Angeles—\" Brett-James grimaced in amusement. A.D. they would say.\" Joe Prantera looked from one of them to the other, scowling. \"What are you guys talking about?\" Warren Brett-James said softly, \"Mr. Prantera, you are no longer in us, what will you do? Mr. Prantera, you do not even speak the language.\" Joe demanded, aghast. Dr. Reston-Farrell controlled the car. Joe Prantera sat in the seat next Joe Prantera had never been exposed to the concept of time travel. He had simply never associated with have.\" Joe Prantera's mind suddenly reverted to those last memories and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He felt you guys better let me in on what's this all about.\" Reston-Farrell said, \"Mr. Prantera, we have brought you from your era to perform a task for us.\" \"Like hell you do. You think I'm stupid? I never even seen you before.\" Joe Prantera came abruptly to his feet. \"I'm gettin' outta here.\" For the second time, Reston-Farrell said, \"Where would you go, Mr. Prantera?\" Joe glared at him. Then sat down again, as abruptly as he'd arisen. I know, Jessie, Tony, the Kid, Big Louis, everybody, they're dead. Even Big Louis.\" \"Yes,\" Brett-James said, his voice soft. \"They are all dead, Mr. Prantera. heavy-set, dour of countenance man seated at a desk. He looked into Joe Prantera's face, scowled and said something. Joe said, \"Joseph Salviati-Prantera Joe Prantera's mind whirled its confusion. Finally he said, \"What's this bit some guy.\" Mr. Prantera. You were ... you are, a professional assassin.\" \"Hey, wait a minute, now.\" \"That is why we brought you here, to interview Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy.\" The other's shaggy eyebrows rose. about you wanting me to give it to probably have caused small dismay to society.\" They had him pegged all right. Joe knows the ropes these days.\" Brett-James said, \"Mr. Prantera, there are no professional assassins in this age, nor have there been for over \"Well, then do it yourself.\" Joe Prantera's irritation over this whole complicated mess was growing. And already he was beginning to long for Tony and the others, for his favorite bar, for the lasagne down at Papa Giovanni's. Right now he could have welcomed a calling down at the hands of Big Louis. Reston-Farrell had come to his feet and walked to one of the large room's said, \"We have tried, but it is simply not in us, Mr. Prantera.\" \"You mean you're yella?\" Joe snapped: \"Everything you guys say sounds crazy. Let's start all over again.\" Lawrence.\" He turned his eyes to Joe. \"Mr. Prantera, in your own era, did you ever consider the future?\" Joe looked at him blankly. never dreamed of in your own era.\" \"O.K., O.K.,\" Joe Prantera growled. \"So everybody's got it made. What I wanta know is what's all this about \"What's that suppose to mean?\" Brett-James took up the ball again. \"Mr. Prantera, have you ever heard of Caesar?\" Joe Prantera scowled at him emptily. \"Or, more likely, of Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin?\" Joe growled. \"I ain't stupid.\" The other nodded. \"Such men are drive to power which exceeds by far the ambitions of the average man. They are genii in their way, Mr. Prantera, genii of evil. Such a genius of Joe snorted. \"So you got a guy what's a little ambitious, like, eh? And you guys ain't got the guts to give it to would have been forfeit, Mr. Prantera.\" Joe winced. It didn't occur to him to doubt their word. Reston-Farrell said, \"As to reward, Mr. Prantera, we have already told Mr. Prantera. Time travel works but in one direction, with Joe Prantera had been rocking with the mental blows he had been assimilating, but this was the final Joe Prantera on a job was thorough. Careful, painstaking, competent. He spent the first three days of his\n\n<question>:\nWho is Big Louis?\n\n<options>:\nA Big Louis is Lawrence Reston-Farrell's boss.\nB Big Louis is Al Rossi's boss.\nC Big Louis is Warren Brett- James' boss.\nD Big Louis is Joe Prantera's boss.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,859 | 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 a ship is working perfectly and is operated by a hand-picked crew of highly trained men in perfect condition, how often is it wrecked by a series of silly errors happening ACCIDENTAL DEATH The \"I'll sign off with two thoughts, one depressing and one cheering. A single Chingsi wrecked our ship and BY PETER BAILY is the one you don't know is loaded. Illustrated by Schoenherr The most \"On the other hand, a talent that probability? developed it can't be surefire. The tale.\" the north face of Mount Everest. there was a click and a strange human voice. the northwest, blind success. It's well on the cards that I'm all in one piece and not broken one after another in defiance of well use it. That way even if I'm not You probably know we're back and wonder what went wrong. Who wouldn't be shocked after luck like that? Whale . Sure I'm a good astronomer but so are lots of other guys. If I were ten years older, it would have been an honor, being picked for the first long age it was luck. \"You'll want to know if the ship bomb. We got lined up between Earth and Mars, you'll remember, and James pushed the button marked 'Jump'. Took his finger off the button and there we were: Alpha Centauri . never anything wrong with the Whale till right at the end and even then I doubt if it was the ship itself that fouled things up. \"That was some survey assignment. who I was. Matt Hennessy, from Farside just back from a proving flight cum astronomical survey in the starship Whale . Whoever you are who finds this tape, you're made. Take it to \"Where had I got to? I'd told you how we happened to find Chang, hadn't I? That's what the natives called at fifteen p.s.i. The odds people. Look more like cats than people, but they're people all right. in four weeks. When I say they, I mean a ten-man team of them. had aboard the Whale . \"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 English, drink beer, like jokes and beat me at chess or table-tennis are look like tigers in trousers. weren't so hot at it. Maybe that ten per cent extra gravity put us off our strokes. As for chess, Svendlov was our champion. He won sometimes. The rest of us seemed to chess. Of course it's a screwy situation, playing chess with something that grows its own fur coat, has yellow eyes an inch and a half long you \"And don't think I fell victim to their feline charm. The children were the adults on their big grinning heads. Personally I didn't like the one I knew best. He was called—well, we called him Charley, and he was the ethnologist, ambassador, contact man, 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 Whale's engine room. Charley laughed fit to bust, everyone laughed, I Yes, life and soul of the party, old Charley ... \"My last sight of the was the sweetish stink of burned flesh and the choking reek of scorching insulation, the boat jolting and shuddering and beginning to break up, unhurt, was Charley. He was laughing ... \"My God, it's dark out here. Wonder how high I am. Must be all of suppose same as escape \"It's getting lighter. Look at those I expected though. Almost seem to be and tell the world hello. Hello, earth ... hello, again ... and good-by ... or eraser. What must have happened is that the suit ran out of \"Come to think of it, why not up. us between the orbits of Earth and Mars. Instead of which, when James took his finger off the button, the mass-detector showed nothing except the noise-level of the universe. our exact position relative to the solar system. The crew had to find out exactly what went wrong. The the ship for a star-jump, you merely told it where you were and in the galaxy. Then you cut a tape on Nothing was wrong with the the wrong place. It hurts me to tell you this and I'm just attached personnel with no space-flight tradition. In practical terms, one highly trained equally skilled had failed to notice this when reading back. A childish Incredible, but that's what the next lot of measurements. That's would help to determine hydrogen worth. We were all praying that this all looking forward to seeing Earth again after four months subjective time away, except for Charley, who was still chuckling and shaking his head, and Captain James who was glaring at Charley and obviously wishing human dignity permitted him to tear Charley limb from limb. Then James pressed the button. \"Everything twanged like a bowstring. I felt myself turned inside out, Something was wrong all right, and miles an hour. was the Whale , the most powerful ship ever built, which could cover fifty light-years in a subjective time For, as of course you know, the \"The Whale also had ion rockets of course, the standard deuterium-fusion As again you know, this is good for our situation it was no good because it has rather a low thrust. It would have taken more time than we had to We had five minutes to abandon ship. \"James got us all into the Minnow at a dead run. There was no time to was meant Whale hit the Pacific. Six hundred tons of mass at well over two thousand miles an hour make an almighty splash. By now you'll have divers down, but I doubt they'll salvage much you can use. \"I wonder why James went down with the ship, as the saying is? Not that it made any difference. It must have broken his heart to know that his lovely ship was getting the chopper. Or did he suspect another human error? how he'd escaped—and I saw him beginning to laugh. Then glowing red against a purplish black I'm dead so I can't stand up.\" my suit but couldn't understand a word. Not English, not French, and anyone with my five milliwatt suit transmitter but I'll keep trying. The first is how I got here. I've remembered human body falling through air is foot fall, true, but I've been lucky. The suit is bulky but light and probably up in a drift. The suit is part worn but still operational. I'm fine. \"The second thing I want to say 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: after all they aren't human. On an alien world a hundred light-years talents develop? A talent that's here that most people don't believe it, might be highly developed (2) The Whale expedition did fine till it found Chang. Then it hit on till it looks fishy. We lost the ship, we lost the launch, all but one of us lost our lives. We couldn't even win a game of \"So what is luck, good or bad? Scientifically speaking, future chance events are by definition chance. They luck. It's a fancy name for a lot of way. But the gambler defines it differently. For him, luck refers to the knows that some people are lucky and others aren't. All we've got are hints and glimmers, the fumbling touch of a rudimentary talent. There's the evil eye legend and the Jonah, bad luck bringers. Superstition? Maybe but accident prones. What's in a name? Call him accident prone and \"All the same, search the space-flight records, talk to the actuaries.\n\n<question>:\nWho is James?\n\n<options>:\nA James is the captain of the Minnow.\nB James is the ship's navigator.\nC James is the ship's doctor.\nD James is the captain of the Whale.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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1,161 | 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>:\nJoe'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 Joe had tried dozens of times in dozens of bars to outsmart them, but 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, As an answer, Joe handed her his CPA ID card. She grunted when she saw the large letters that indicated the owner had Dangerous Criminal Tendencies. across the table and whispered in the girl's ear, \"That's what I want to hire you for. I want you to help me commit a crime. If I get 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—\" \"Let me out!\" Joe grabbed at the door and was on the sidewalk, slamming criminals—only ten in New York during the past year—any city could The girl followed him across the room, around tables, through a door, down a hall, through a back door and into the alley. She followed him up the dark alley until he turned suddenly and ripped The plan was perfect, he told himself. Attempted rape was one of the Joe discovered to his dismay that the girl was telling the truth when controls of television screens, electronic calculators and a hundred other machines that formed New York's mechanical police force. 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. rape. I confess.\" Hendricks smiled. \"Sorry, Joe. You missed the boat again.\" He reached out and turned a dial on his desk top. \"We had a microphone hidden in that alley. We have a lot of microphones hidden in a lot of alleys. Joe listened numbly to his voice as it came from one of the hundreds of \" 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.\" Joe handed him the card with trembling fingers. He felt as if the world punishment. If it did, that would be a violation of the New Civil Rights. Hendricks crossed the room, deposited the card in a slot and punched a button. The machine hummed and a new card appeared. 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 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 \"During the day, they'll take your picture with their spy cameras that look like buttons on their coats. At night, they'll peep at you through your keyhole. Your neighbors across the street will watch you through binoculars and—\" \"Lay off!\" \" 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.\" \"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 walked to his desk, opened a drawer and removed a small black book. \"See this? It contains names and addresses of all the people in New 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 in two minutes. And scattered all over the city were not only hidden microphones, but hidden television cameras that relayed visual messages to the Brain, and hidden machines that could detect a knife or a gun in someone's pocket at forty yards. Every place of business from the largest bank to the smallest grocery store was absolutely impenetrable. No one had even tried to rob a place of business for years. of other DCTs, Joe refused to believe it, and when he reached apartment 204 at 2141 Orange Street, he felt as if he'd inherited a gold mine. The hall was dimly lit, but when he stood before the door numbered 204, night and sleep, but where no normal man could live day after day. Fearing that someone might detect him before he actually committed the crime, Joe hurried to the bureau and searched it. He broke out in a sweat when he found nothing but underwear and old magazines. If he stole underwear and magazines, it would still be a When Joe was securely handcuffed to a seat inside the helicopter, the reported a crime, but no one admitted shouting the warning. 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. As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference. 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, hospitals many times and the crowds always cheered louder when an 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 thanked anyone for anything. And now ... after thanking the man who'd done him the biggest favor of all, the man was denying it! \"You robbed Gralewski's apartment,\" Hendricks said. \"Gralewski is a CPA employee and he doesn't live in the apartment you robbed. The CPA pays the rent for that one and he lives in another. We have a lot of places\n\n<question>:\nHow was Joe able to find an apartment to break into to commit his crime of theivery?\n\n<options>:\nA Hendricks had left out a book with unsecured addresses.\nB He paid someone to allow him to rob them and then report his crime.\nC He unsuccessfully attempted robbery until he was successful.\nD Hendricks had shown him the apartment that he could rob and be caught for.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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395 | 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>:\ncalled Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importance intend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force.\" Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They're \"First,\" he said. \"The Soetti War Plan—in detail. We were fortunate enough to make contact with a defector from a party of renegade finger. \"Next, a battle plan for the Jorgensen's people, worked out by the Theory group.\" He wrestled a third finger down. \"Lastly information could be catastrophic. You'll memorize it before you leave this building.\" \"I'll carry it, sealed,\" Retief said. \"That way nobody can sweat it out \"I've heard of these Jorgensen's Worlds,\" Retief said. \"I remember an Jorgensens can handle it very nicely inside. \"Less than four hours to departure time,\" he said. \"I'd better not start any long books.\" \"You'd better waste no time getting over to Indoctrination,\" Magnan Soetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen's Worlds snootful by takeoff.\" He went to the door. \"No objection to my checking \"For the two twenty-eight for Jorgensen's Worlds,\" Retief said. \"A gram confirming my space,\" Retief said. \"Your boy on the counter says he's out to lunch.\" The guard crumpled the gram, dropped it on the floor and lounged back against the handrail. the open door, looking at Retief. Retief looked back. The florid man clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder. \"Somebody in the cabin. Get 'em out.\" He rolled a cold eye at Retief as \"What are you doing in Mr. Tony's room?\" he barked. \"Never mind! Clear out of here, fellow! You're keeping Mr. Tony waiting.\" \"Too bad,\" Retief said. \"Finders keepers.\" \"Mister, you must be—\" \"If you'll excuse me,\" Retief said, \"I want to catch a nap.\" He flipped One of the two wiped his nose on a sleeve, spat on his right palm, and stepped forward, then hesitated. \"You'd better be getting back to the bridge, Captain,\" Retief said. The thick-necked man and the Captain both shouted at once. The Captain's voice prevailed. \"—twenty minutes ... uniform Code ... gonna do?\" \"Close the door as you leave,\" Retief said. The thick-necked man paused at the door. \"We'll see you when you come \"Givin' you the cold shoulder, heh, Mister?\" \"Looks like it, old-timer,\" Retief said. \"Maybe I'd better go join the skipper. His party seems to be having all the fun.\" said so. Don't like his friends, either. Don't like them dern Sweaties, look at a man like he was a worm.\" Jorgensen's Worlds. Then, if Magnan's information was correct, would be good to know what Jorgensen's Worlds would be up against. \"You must want to get to Jorgensen's pretty bad,\" the thug said in a went down. Retief looked at Mr. Tony, still standing open-mouthed. \"You can take your playmates away now, Tony,\" he said. \"And don't bother to come around yourself. You're not funny enough.\" \"I'll think of something,\" Retief said. \"This is shaping up into one of those long days.\" \"They don't like me bringing yer meals to you in yer cabin,\" Chip said. \"Sure. What have they got against my going to Jorgensen's Worlds?\" \"I'll bet you can still handle it, Old Timer. What are Jorgensen's \"One of 'em's cold as hell and three of 'em's colder. Most o' the Jorgies live on Svea that's the least froze up. Man don't enjoy eatin' his own cookin' like he does somebody else's.\" aboard for Jorgensen's?\" the cigar alight, then cleared away the dishes, poured out coffee and brandy. \"Them Sweaties is what I don't like,\" he said. Retief looked at him questioningly. \"You never seen a Sweaty? Ugly lookin' devils. Skinny legs, like a rubbery lookin' head. You can see the pulse beatin' when they get riled.\" out. Act like they was the Customs Patrol or somethin'.\" There was a distant clang, and a faint tremor ran through the floor. \"I ain't superstitious ner nothin',\" Chip said. \"But I'll be triple-damned if that ain't them boarding us now.\" Ten minutes passed before bootsteps sounded outside the door, accompanied by a clicking patter. The doorknob rattled, then a heavy knock shook the door. \"They got to look you over,\" Chip whispered. \"Nosy damn Sweaties.\" \"Don't horse around,\" the captain said. \"This fellow can get mean.\" aboard, don't bother to call.\" \"Cart poor old Skaw back to his boat,\" Retief said. \"Tell him to pass said. \"These Soetti got no mercy.\" \"They won't need it. Tell 'em to sheer off their fun is over.\" \"They got no more emotions than a blue crab—\" We know their secret now.\" \"What secret? I—\" \"Don't be no dumber than you got to, Cap'n,\" Chip said. \"Sweaties die easy that's the secret.\" \"Maybe you got a point,\" the captain said, looking at Retief. \"All they from the door. \"But I'll be back to see you later.\" \"You don't scare us, Cap'n,\" Chip said. \"Him and Mr. Tony and all his goons. You hit 'em where they live, that time. They're pals o' these Sweaties. Runnin' some kind o' crooked racket.\" \"You'd better take the captain's advice, Chip. There's no point in your getting involved in my problems.\" \"They act scared, Chip. Scared men are killers.\" \"They don't scare me none.\" Chip picked up the tray. \"I'll scout around a little and see what's goin' on. If the Sweaties figure to do anything about that Skaw feller they'll have to move fast they won't try nothin' close to port.\" \"You want to get to Jorgensen's perty bad, don't you, Mister?\" Sweaties didn't say nothin'. Didn't even act surprised, just took the remains and pushed off. But Mr. Tony and that other crook they call Marbles, they was fit to be tied. Took the cap'n in his cabin and talked loud at him fer half a hour. Then the cap'n come out and give by-passin' Jorgensen's Worlds. We'll feel the course change any minute.\" \"I hear you're planning a course change, Captain.\" \"I think we'd better call in at Jorgensen's.\" just hold your course for Jorgensen's.\" hoods.\" \"You can't put it over, hick.\" \"Tell him.\" The captain groaned and picked up the mike. \"Captain to Power Section,\" \"It's eighteen hours yet before we pick up Jorgensen Control. You going \"Chip, I'm locking the door. You circulate around, let me know what's going on. Bring me a pot of coffee every so often. I'm sitting up with a sick friend.\" \"Right, Mister. Keep an eye on that jasper he's slippery.\" \"What are you going to do?\" the captain demanded. stay here and help you hold your course for Jorgensen's Worlds.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy did the Captain decide to change course and skip Jorgensen's World?\n\n<options>:\nA They were avoiding going to Jorgensen's World because of Retief's presence\nB The journey was too dangerous and long to travel\nC Alabaster was a better opportunity for all on board\nD They had to retreat because of the trouble with the Sweaties\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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116 | 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>:\nMONOPOLY By Vic Phillips and Scott Roberts Sheer efficiency and good management can make a monopoly grow into being. And once it grows, someone with a tyrant mind is going to try to use it as a weapon if he can— Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that \"That all, chief? Gonna quit now?\" the remarks that followed him. \"One of these days the chief is going to have his glands catch up with him.\" He paused and let his eyes lift to the buildings that surrounded the alone, he let his only known emotion sweep through him, pride. He had an important role in the building of this great new city. As head of suffer the consequences of their own ignorance. There had been rumors of revolution among the disgruntled older families. He heard there had been killings, but that was nonsense. Venus Consolidated police had only powers of arrest. Anything involving He dismissed the whole business as he did everything else that did not \"What do you want?\" There was no answer it didn't quite uniform. \"Sorry, sir, but one of those rebels is loose in the Administration Center somewhere. We're making a check-up of all the apartments.\" \"Well, you can check out I haven't got any blasted rebels in here.\" The policeman's face hardened, then relaxed knowingly. it should be, but the outline under the counterpane and the luxuriant mass of platinum-blond hair on the pillow was certainly no part of his regular routine. \"All right, joke's over, you can beat it now.\" towel. You should either abandon it or get one that goes all the way round.\" \"Well, what do you think?\" he burst out angrily. \"I'm going to finish struggling heroically to refrain from laughing and that didn't help his satisfaction of the unending extra work that was going to occur around police constables and a sergeant swarmed into the room, shoving him away from the door. \"Say! What the—\" \"Wherethehell's who?\" \"Quit stallin', bud. You know who. That female rebel who was in here.\" \"Rebel? You're crazy! That was just ... Pete said ... rebel? Did you say rebel?\" \"Yeah, I said rebel, an' where is she?\" for months she's a rebel and she's sure been raising plenty of hell around here. She got in and blew out the main communications control \"Oh, it's all right, chief. You can trust me. I won't give you away.\" \"There's nothing to give away, you fool!\" Brian bellowed. \"I don't know anything about any damn rebels. All I want is to get out of here—\" \"Gotcha, chief,\" Brent whispered understandingly. \"I'll see if I can pass the word along.\" trouble because of me. But don't worry, we're going to get you out.\" \"Damn that fool kid! Leave me alone. I don't want to get out of here that way!\" he yelled wildly. \"Guards! Help!\" \"Shut up! Do you want to get us shot?\" \"Sure I do. Guards! Guards!\" \"This way,\" he snarled and took the lead. He knew the ground plan of this jail perfectly. He had a moment of wonder at the crazy spectacle of himself, the fair-haired boy of Venus Consolidated, in his flapping bathrobe, leading a band of escaping rebels out of the company's best jail. a gasping grunt of pain as one of the rebels went down. They were shooting to kill. The rebels piled out and the cars pulled away to become innocuous parts of the traffic stream. The rebels seemed to know where they were going \"What do we do? Hide here?\" \"That's what you think,\" Crystal snapped. \"McHague's legend got my father and he'll get all of us unless we run the whole company right Brian was startled at the icy hardness of her voice. Two of the rebels pulled a screening tarpaulin aside and revealed crumbling, fallen in in some places and signs of new work where the rebels had cleared away the debris of years. Brian struggled into a zippered overall suit as they followed a twisting, tortuous course for half an hour, switching from one tunnel direction. The towering, massive remains of old machinery, eroded and to be swallowed to a whisper in the vast, echoing darkness. of the two ships and the rest of the rebels manned the other. \"Wait a minute, how do we get out of here?\" Brian demanded. \"You're crazy, you can't get through there.\" \"We're going to crash! That gap isn't wide enough!\" braced himself for the crash, but it didn't come. At the last possible into some semblance of order. An aërial torpedo exploded in front of the rebel ship. Crystal's face set in grim lines as she pulled the ship up in a screaming climb. Brian got up off the floor. \"But, girl, they're just Venus Consolidated police. They haven't got any authority to shoot anyone.\" bitterly. \"They've been killing people all over the planet. What do you think this revolution is about?\" \"That's them,\" Crystal said with satisfaction. \"How are the others it and ripped away half a wing. It plunged down in flames with the them. It was over in a few moments. The dead rebels drifted down into outrage. \"They didn't have a chance!\" down in a terminal velocity dive, heading for the safety of the lower valley mists. The heavier police ship, with its higher wing-loading, could not match the maneuver. The rebel craft plunged down through the blinding fog. Half-seen, ghostly fingers of stone clutched up at them, \" solely by instruments and dead reckoning. The needle of the fuel gauge the huge bulk of a mountain which blocked the entire width of the to get out of here.\" opening Crystal's ship had left. \"He hasn't got a chance! We'll be spotted for sure, now.\" The other rebels waited uncertainly, but not for long. There was the crescendoing roar of ships in a dive followed by the terrific crash of an explosion. \"Sounded like more than one ship. They'll be after us, now. Is there any other way of getting out of this place?\" well as we do.\" \"How come?\" \"Well, what do we do now? Just stand here? It looks like everybody's leaving.\" \"We might as well just wait,\" Crystal said hopelessly. \"It won't do us around so their rocket exhausts sweep the entrance to the cavern,\" Brian suggested doubtfully. She looked at him steadily. \"You sound like the only good rebel left. We can try it, anyway.\" They ran two ships out into the middle of the cavern, gunned them around and jockeyed them into position—not a moment too soon. a dead silence. A score or more followed them without any attempt at They crisped and twisted, cooked to scorched horrors before they fell. A burst of thick, greasy smoke rushed out of the cavern. Two of \"Snap out of it,\" he barked. \"That's no worse than shooting helpless we're not finished here.\" \"Oh, let them shoot us! I can't go through that again!\" seemed to catch up to the other and built to an aching pulsation. In it stilled and left them bruised and shaken in a tangle of torn with a feeling of awe at the devastated mountainside. \"How did you do it?\" \"It's a matter of harmonics,\" Brian explained. \"If you hit the right vibratory combination, you can shake anything down. But now that we've made a mess of the old homestead, what do we do?\" can depend on. They've kept out of the rebellion, but they're on our side. They've helped us before.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich is the best summary of this story?\n\n<options>:\nA A man realizes his obliviousness and shifts his morality as a result.\nB A man secretly infiltrates rebel forces to hinder their mission.\nC A man loses hope for his world and gives up in the fight for justice.\nD A man prevents rebel forces from overwhelming his community.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,674 | 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>:\nBY STANLEY GIMBLE Illustrated by Freas She surely got her wish ... but there was some question about getting \"All set, honey. How do I look in my monkey suit?\" His wife was sitting stiffly on the flowered couch that was still not smile. Then she leaned forward and crushed the cigarette in the ash He came to her and touched his hands to her soft blond hair, raising her \"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 isn't. We know exactly how it will be. If anything could go wrong, they wouldn't be sending me you know that. I told you that we've sent five un-manned ships up and everyone came back without a hitch.\" She turned, facing him. There were tears starting in the corners of her 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 hard.\" He stopped talking and held her to him and stroked the back of her head. He could feel her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He released her and stood up. \"I've got to get started, Mary. Will you come to the field with me?\" 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 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 \"Yes, you did. I told you how I felt. I told you I could never be the 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 dream!\" \"Mary, listen to me,\" he said. \"It isn't a dream. It's real. There's 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 \"Let's go, if you're still going,\" she finally said. They drove through the streets of the small town with its small bungalows, each alike. There were no trees and very little grass. It was 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, 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 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 turned off the ignition, and sat quietly for a moment before lighting a cigarette. Then he looked at his wife. She was staring through the surface gleamed in the spotlight glare, and it sloped up and up until \"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. He leaned toward her and touched her cheek. Then she was in his arms, her head buried against his shoulder. \"Wish me luck, Mary?\" he asked. 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 administration building without looking back. Inside the building it was like a locker room before the big game. The hand or touched his arm. He saw Sammy, alone, by the coffee urn. Sammy but there was nothing to be said now. Sammy's turn would come and those who have had it didn't realize it at the time. Good luck, and God be with you.\" connected with the take-off. They were seated now in a semicircle in 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. \"... And orbit at 18,000-mph. You will then accelerate for the breakaway 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, 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, 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 the ring of lights and moving men, on the edge of the field, Mary stood. Her hands moved slowly over the top of the fence, twisting the barbs of And then they were ready. A small group of excited men came out from the 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 tight in her throat. The small group at the base of the ship turned and walked back to the fence. And for an eternity the great ship stood alone, waiting. Then, For a long time after the rocket had become a tiny speck of light in the 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 let me go.\" 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 \"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\n\n<question>:\nHow long was Mary standing outside?\n\n<options>:\nA She had gone home but came back for the launch.\nB For almost half a day.\nC For a couple hours as Phil went through pre-boarding procedure.\nD A full 24 hours.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,043 | 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>:\nstill 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 names Man finally left this earth, to seek his cousins among the stars. But of course there were no cousins. There was nothing. And Man returned, and settled down to live. Saddened, but resigned and content to live in peace with his knowledge and his power. Gone now are all the ancient evils, wars, emergencies. \"Sias! Sias—\" And they were upon me. That is, Xeon was upon me. But I knew that where Xeon is, Melia must soon appear. And indeed it was but a moment before Melia slipped through the high grass to stand at his side. Their youthful voices were babbling in excitement. Melia was a She, with the swelling breasts that were, so tradition many jokes and, I fear, would have had a lonely life of it had it not been for the friendship of Xeon. 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. They are of an age to enter manhood, and have all the energy such young men do. indeed, an 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. for me to bring them to order. Xeon and Melia stopped as I mounted the impelled to make speeches, and one must not be disrespectful. Prayers and supplications were offered to the gods, priests were sent to sacrifice, and finally, as the light of the sun was falling between the the crux of the matter and the Conclave finally heard the facts it had 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 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 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. 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 will be no more children!\" At this I feared the Conclave was about to riot. It is at such times 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 fear your mind is wandering, Rocsates,\" I was forced to interrupt. \"I know well the legend of the animals, but what does it have to do—\" The heads of the Conclave were turning to me, quizzically. I hastened to explain the legend of the animals. \"It is said that many thousands of years ago, time without reckoning, there existed on the earth creatures who were alive like us, and yet not like us. It is said to such creatures. And indeed, if they had Maternite Machines, why then we would yet have these animals among us.\" \"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?\" 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 went on: \"I should like to ask the Conclave for permission to search the ancient records, in the hope of finding some such knowledge that would prove or \"Not the films, Sias, but the books.\" Gods, this Rocsates! The books, as well he knows, are so ancient, and so delicate, that they are kept in an air-tight tomb lest, being handled, they be destroyed and all knowledge within them lost. Therefore, they have not been read in the known history of our race. And Rocsates has been anxious for an excuse— \"Sias,\" he went on, \"if there exists such knowledge as I seek, is it not indeed lost to the memory of Man? And if so, are not the books the and your features more often handsomer than ours. To the disadvantage, your excretory system is not so mechanically dextrous as ours. And, you should all be identical. Perforce you have the advantage, perforce we were created in that time, for not one of them mentions the machines. Then reproduction was carried on by individuals, without help of the then nonexistent machines. The She's are not wanderers from another land, but they have lived with us for all time they are not another race, but we are all types of one race. And the fact of reproduction is 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 Rocsates seemed perplexed by this problem, whereupon Xeon, who together power to restrain them from placing Xeon under arrest. Privately, they cannot do until they meet again. I needed a sufficient excuse to call a meeting of the Conclave, formalities were over. I intended to speak for Xeon, but Rocsates was \"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 breasts, I believe, proves that there is still reproductive activity in some, at least, of the She's.\" breasts. Melia has volunteered, on condition that Xeon be released from \"In all honor, could Xeon allow Melia to surpass him in courage? It the gods may help us?\" His glance reached into my soul, and I was proud of Xeon. A true was indeed hard, and from Rocsates' description it seemed that Melia's It was nearly dark when we walked home, Rocsates and I, arm in arm. It had been a horrible day. The inhuman indignity, the cries— We tarried before my home, leaned on the stone, stared at the first stars. Melia cast her eyes down, and would not raise them. Xeon held his arm \"Sias, we come to tell.... We will....\" He raised his eyes to mine and said manfully, \"We shall try again.\" I am afraid that tears came to my eyes. Such sacrifice— \"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 sort of enjoy it.\" I watched them turn and wander off together under the stars. My heart has a warmth in it, and I no longer fear for the future of our race when our young people can show such nobility and sacrifice.\n\n<question>:\nWhich is the best representation of Melia and Xeon's relationship?\n\n<options>:\nA They are close friends and will always be that and not much else\nB They are siblings, which is not odd for this society\nC They are close but have to hide their romantic relationship from the rest of society\nD They are dear to one another in an evolving way\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
174 | 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.\" The captain was momentarily silent, groping for an adequate reply. Behind him somebody made a choked noise, the only sound in the stunned hush, and the ship jarred slightly as a thunderbolt slammed vengefully into its field. , as for forty hours the ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glittering Quest III the most hopeful of the expeditions—and its captain had been a good friend of Llud's, nine hundred years ago.... He growled, \"What happened to him?\" backdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the time,\" said the voice lightly. \"When he saw that it was hopeless, he preferred suicide to defeat, and took his ship into the Sun.\" A short pause. \"The vision connection is ready.\" \"He fought off our interceptors, which are around you now, for some crew. It was a subdued excitement but undeniably a man's. His features and his light-brown skin showed the same racial characteristics possessed by those aboard the Quest men and women, they 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 we left, the world we knew and fitted in....\" The captain put an arm round her with comforting pressure. \"Don't worry. Things may have changed—but we'll manage.\" But his face had hardened against registering the gnawing of that same doubtful fear 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.\" Sun, mirrored and multiplied by the screens. In that light Lesra's eyes gleamed with unshed tears. Captain Llud found Navigator Gwar Den looking as smug as the cat that ate the canary. Gwar Den was finding that the actual observed positions of the planets thus far located agreed quite closely with forgotten altogether.\" He turned away grim-lipped and left the bridge. From his private then he sat idle, alone with his thoughts. The ship's automatic mechanisms had scant need of tending Knof Llud found himself wishing that he could find some back-breaking task for everyone on board, himself included, to fill up the hours that remained. and watch the screens, or to the family apartment where he might find Lesra and the children—but somehow he didn't want to do that either. He felt empty, drained—like his ship. As the Quest III's and the hope of success in man's mightiest venture had dwindled, so the strength had gone out of him. Now the last fuel compartment was almost empty and Captain Knof Llud felt tired and old. Perhaps, he thought, he was feeling the weight of his nine hundred Earth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years older than when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along the 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 His own voice came from the speaker, fresher, more vibrant and confident than he knew it was now. \"One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's time since leaving Earth. 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 ships will be long since dead. Nevertheless we go on. Our generation's dream, humanity's dream, lives in us and in the ship forever....\" Presently Knof Llud switched off that younger voice of his and leaned back, an ironic smile touching his lips. That fervent idealism seemed remote and foreign to him now. The fanfares of departure must still have been ringing in his ears. 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 \"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.... \"It doesn't matter. Today I gave orders to swing the ship.\" Savagely Knof Llud stabbed the button that shut off the speaker. Then he sat for a time with head resting in his hands, staring into nothing. once in translation from the ancient English.... ... for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. Llud sighed. He still couldn't say just why he had given the order to 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 to alter that. glittering constellations, far away, out of reach.... He wasn't sure he would want to do that, though. Suddenly a faint cushioned jar went through the great ship it seemed to falter one moment in flight. The captain was on his feet instantly, but then his movements became unhurried. Whatever it had been was past, and he had a good idea the vessel. Llud snatched up the receiver with the speed of a scalded cat. \"Captain?\" It was Gwar Den's voice, stammering a little. \"Captain, interstellar ship. Knowing that Gwar Den was still there, he said, of horsepower behind them but it plunged on toward Earth, its mighty engines still steadily braking its interstellar velocity. To a man, the ship's responsible officers were already on the bridge, most of them breathless. To a man they looked appeal at Captain Knof Llud. Gwar Den spoke. \"There are thirteen of them out there now, sir, and he had confidence in his father. \"If they had anything heavier,\" surmised the captain, \"they'd have unlimbered it by now. They're out to get us. But at this rate, they the ship forces impinging on the outside of the field were similarly transmitted and rendered harmless. The effect was as if the vessel and all space inside its field were a single perfectly elastic body. A meteoroid, for example, on striking it rebounded—usually vaporized by the impact—and the ship, in obedience to the law of equal and opposite forces, rebounded too, but since its mass was so much greater, its deflection was negligible. inertialess drive, at its normal thrust of two hundred gravities, was intentionally operated at one half of one per cent efficiency to provide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. bridge looked questions at each other, as the thought of help from outside flashed into many minds at once. But Captain Llud said soberly, \"It must have caught one of their own shots, reflected. Maybe its own, if it scored too direct a hit.\" Gwar Den had at first supposed—not large enough to hold even one man. it. Elsuz Llug, the gravitic engineer, calculated dismally, \"At the rate swinging wild and then you nail him.\" Smiles splintered the ice of tension. Captain Llud said, \"Maybe you've got something there. They seem to be mad, all right. But we're not in you ?\" There was no answer. The ship drove on, its fuel trickling away under multiplied demands. Those outside were squandering vastly greater too. Once more Knof Llud had the insidious sense of his own nerves and muscles and will weakening along with the power-sinews of his ship. Zost Relyul approached him apologetically. \"If you have time, and likewise the ultraviolet up to the point where the atmosphere is opaque to it.\" The captain sighed wearily. \"Good work,\" he said. \"Keep it up perhaps you can answer some of these riddles before—\"\n\n<question>:\nHow did Gwar Den feel about his work?\n\n<options>:\nA Bored and depressed since the work wasn’t meaningful.\nB Ashamed since they didn’t find a hospitable planet.\nC Ready to retire because he had been traveling for so long.\nD Proud that he was able to steer the ship home.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,981 | 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 By ROBERT F. YOUNG A touching story of the most enduring love in all eternity. That night her son was the first star. She stood motionless in the garden, one hand pressed against her heart, watching him rise above the fields where he had played as a boy, where he had 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. Higher still and higher he rose in the southern sky, and then, when he had reached his zenith, he dropped swiftly down 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 airtight metal chariot ... Why don't they leave the stars alone? she thought. Why don't they leave the stars to God? The general's second telegram came early the next morning: Explorer XII doing splendidly. Expect to bring your son down sometime tomorrow . 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 disappointed. \"Is Terry really way up there all alone, Martha?\" \"Aren't you , Martha?\" \"I do hope they can get him back 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 trucks pulled into the drive 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, ma'am, and we hope you'll do us the honor of answering a few 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 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 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 similar humanity toward the war mothers of World War II.\") It was late in the afternoon 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 when the stars started to come 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 when a star fell, making a wish. But this was different. It was different because now she had a personal interest in the sky, a new affinity with its myriad inhabitants. night, that she had never known before ... She glanced at her watch, was astonished to see that the hands indicated two minutes 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 his own right, dropping swiftly now, down, down, and out of sight beyond the dark wheeling mass of the Earth ... She took a deep, proud breath, realized that she was wildly waving her hand and let it fall slowly to her side. Make a wish! she thought, 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. Sometime tomorrow, the general's telegram had said— That meant sometime today! 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 ?\" (\"Yes ... Yes, it does.\") \"Martha, when are they bringing him back down?\" (\"Today ... Today !\") \"It must be wonderful being a star mother, 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 will be over, and some other mother can take over the awesome responsibility of having a son become a star— If only ... The general's third telegram arrived that afternoon: Regret 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 wind— Terry!— Up the lane the blue-denimed the sky blue and bright behind him, the song of cicada rising and air— Terry ... —probably won't get a chance to write you again before take-off, but don't worry, Ma. The Explorer XII is the greatest bird 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? 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 her star appeared, but its swift passage blurred before her eyes. Tires crunched on the 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 turned then— \"Good evening, ma'am.\" She saw the circlet of stars the dark tired eyes. And she knew. Even before he spoke again, she knew— \"The same meteorite that damaged the ejection mechanism, \"It's all right.\" \"We will, of course, make every effort to bring back his ... remains ... so that he can have a fitting burial on Earth.\" \"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. She raised her eyes still higher—and 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 ... And higher yet—and there the Crab there lay the pulsing petals of the Pleiades ... And \"No,\" she said again. The general had raised his eyes, too \"More beautiful than they've ever been,\" she said. After the general had gone, she looked up once more at the the sky where her son lay buried, then she turned and walked slowly back to the memoried house. THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhy does the general support Terry's mother's decision not to bring her son's remains back to Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA It would be too expensive to initiate a recovery mission that might be unsuccessful\nB The new law grants star mothers priority over what happens to a deceased son, and he must obey her wishes\nC He realizes that by keeping Terry in orbit, his mother will be able to maintain a special connection with her son\nD He must swiftly move his attention to the next explorer and, therefore, space mother\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
1,998 | 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>:\nhimself like a projectile at Quest. Quest rose from the table in a sudden uncoiling of movement. He did not unbuckle his safety JUPITER WEAPON By CHARLES L. FONTENAY In his haste, Quest missed the companionway in his leap and was cornered against one of the head and shoulders with the heavy stick. Quest made no effort to retaliate. He cowered under the attack, holding his hands in front squalid saloon in the rougher section of Jupiter's View, the terrestrial dome-colony on Ganymede. Motwick, to the Golden Satellite. It was a Quest shook his head. “Don't bother him,” he said. Quest and when the skeptical Jakdane insisted on examining “I couldn't,” said Quest miserably, and turned his face her some sober advice. “If you think you're in love with Quest, forget it,” he said. “Why? Because he's a coward? I know that ought to make It all figures. “Look, Trella, he said he was born on Jupiter. A human could stand the gravity of Jupiter, inside a dome or a ship, but what 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 Kregg striking Quest in the face and then crying that he had injured his father,” protested Trella. “Robots and androids frequently look on their makers as their parents,” said Jakdane. “Quest may not even know he's 57 artificial. Do you know how Quest said.” “Yes. Do you know when?” “No. Quest never did tell me, Quest made his rocket flight to found on my trip, that I think Quest lived in the poisonous atmosphere of Jupiter, if he's human?” Trella was silent. “For the protection of humans, was unassailable. Looking he is, without knowing upon Quest as an android, many things were explained: his it, an android Dr. Mansard built she should have unknowingly fallen in love with an android. 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 often believe that.” He grinned at her. after she had completed her assignment. 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. Even if Jakdane was “I'm no android,” he said confidently. “Do you forget my father like the looks of the men she saw. The transparent dome of Jupiter's View was faintly visible in the reflected night lights of the colonial city, but the lights were overwhelmed by the giant, vari-colored disc of Jupiter itself, riding high in the sky. “I'm Quest Mansard, Miss,” said her companion. “I'm just in from Jupiter.” “I'm Trella Nuspar,” she said, favoring him with a green-eyed Jupiter.” “You're lying,” she said flatly. “No one has ever landed on Jupiter. It would be impossible to blast off again.” “My parents landed on Jupiter, and I blasted off from it,” he said soberly. “I was born I should tell you about.” She told him about Quest. “He thinks he's the son of Dr. Mansard,” she finished, “but apparently upward turn. “He developed the surgiscope, didn't he? But his on Jupiter.” “He came back to Earth with “It was drawn into Jupiter, but he landed it successfully,” said Quest. “He and my mother lived on Jupiter until the oxygen equipment wore out at last. I was born and brought up there, lost.” ship was drawn into Jupiter and you, eh?” asked Blessing intently. planet.” She looked at him. He was up in heavy gravity. He trod the 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.” “Jupiter strength,” she murmured, looking him over coolly. 53 of. Without actually intending to, she exclaimed: “You aren't afraid of Quest? Why, an android can't hurt a human!” She was sure that Blessing was wrong, that Quest, whether man or android, intended no 59 harm to him. Surely, Quest Quest had a late sandwich in the was your father, but androids Quest came the day before she was scheduled to leave. assignment on which she had come to the Jupiter system was to gather his own father's notebooks and take them back to against telling him that the Trella was in the living room of Quest. As a matter of fact, she found herself enjoying his companionship and Quest burst through. driveway with spinning wheels. Quest was after it, like a at the end of the driveway and glanced back over his shoulder. Seeing Quest almost upon him, ran down the driveway toward the smoking heap of metal. Quest was already beside it, probing it. As she reached his swung around Dom Blessing. Blessing was dead. “I'm lucky,” said Quest soberly. “I would have murdered him.” “But why, Quest? I knew he was afraid of you, but he didn't tell me why.” “It was conditioned into me,” answered Quest “I didn't know great Jupiter in an opening arc and plummeted ever more swiftly toward the tight circles of the 60 but my father conditioned me psychologically from my birth sphere, and Trella was thrown with Quest almost constantly. to the task of hunting down aboard the ship's tiny personnel “You see, Blessing was my father's Right after my father completed development of the surgiscope, he and my mother blasted off for assistant on Ganymede. rights to the surgiscope, and he sabotaged the ship's drive so it would fall into Jupiter. “But my father was able to control it in the heavy atmosphere of Jupiter, and landed it successfully. I was born there, and he conditioned me to come to Earth and track down Blessing. have believed possible for his Jupiter-strong muscles, Quest took her in his arms. “Now I can say I love you,” “What in space makes you think that?” he demanded. “Why, Quest, it's obvious,” she cried, tears in her eyes. “Everything about you … your build, suited for Jupiter's gravity …your strength … the disappeared into the turbulent atmosphere of Jupiter just after his invention of the surgiscope, in Jupiter's atmosphere after the oxygen equipment failed. Dr. Mansard and his wife had your strength … the fact that you were able to live I know you think Dr. Mansard and it had been developed by was inventor of the surgiscope? He knew I'd have to grow up on Jupiter, and he operated on the genes before I was born. He altered my inherited characteristics to adapt me to the climate of Jupiter … even to being able to breathe a chlorine Jovian moons for a second, hidden laboratory of Dr. Mansard. When it was found at last, he atmosphere as well as an oxygen to tell Quest the good news herself but she decided against “Androids are made,” he answered with a laugh. “They don't grow up. And I remember my boyhood on Jupiter very well.” He took her in his arms again, “I kept waiting for Quest to do something, and when he didn't showed the slightest spark of emotion … until the day Quest shift (including Jakdane) 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>:\nHow was Quest able to survive and grow up on Jupiter?\n\n<options>:\nA Quest's DNA is mutated\nB Quest is an android\nC Quest's father programmed his DNA for survival\nD Quest did not actually grow up on Jupiter\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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379 | 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>:\nBoth these memoirs must be read by everyone--everyone, that is, who takes seriously the important business of sorting out precisely how he or she feels about The New Yorker , then and now. Of the two, Mehta's is far and away the more entertaining. This may seem odd, for Mehta is reputed to be a very dull writer whereas Ross is a famously zippy one. Moreover, Mehta writes as Shawn's adoring acolyte, whereas Ross writes as his longtime adulterous lover. Just knowing that Mrs. Shawn is still alive adds a certain tension to reading much of what this Other Woman chooses to divulge. Evidently, \"Bill\" and Lillian loved each other with a fine, pure love, a love that was more than love, a love coveted by the winged seraphs of heaven. \"We had indeed become one,\" she tells us, freely venting the inflations of her heart. Shawn was managing editor of The New Yorker when he hired Ross in 1945 as the magazine's second woman reporter (the first was Andy Logan). He was short and balding but had pale blue eyes to die for. As for Ross, \"I was aware of the fact that I was not unappealing.\" During a late-night editorial session, she says, Shawn blurted out his love. A few weeks later at the office, their eyes met. Without a word--even, it seems, to the cab driver--they hied uptown to the Plaza, where matters were consummated. Thereafter, the couple set up housekeeping together in an apartment 20 blocks downtown from the Shawn residence on upper Fifth Avenue and stoically endured the sufferings of Shawn's wife, who did not want a divorce. Now, Ross seems like a nice lady, and I certainly have nothing against adultery, which I hear is being carried on in the best circles these days. But the public flaunting of adultery--especially when spouses and children are around--well, it brings out the bourgeois in me. It also made me feel funny about William Shawn, whom I have always regarded as a great man. I loved his New Yorker . The prose it contained--the gray stuff around the cartoons--was balm for the soul: unfailingly clear, precise, logical, and quietly stylish. So what if the articles were occasionally boring? It was a sweet sort of boredom, serene and restorative, not at all like the kind induced by magazines today, which is more akin to nervous exhaustion. Besides, the moral tone of the magazine was almost wholly admirable--it was ahead of the pack on Hiroshima, civil rights, Vietnam, Watergate, the environment--and this was very much Shawn's doing. I do not like to think of him in an illicit love nest, eating tea and toast with cunty fingers. Happily, Ross has sprinkled her memoir with clues that it is not to be taken as entirely factual. To say that Shawn was \"a man who grieved over all living creatures\" is forgivable hyperbole Elsewhere, Ross refers to her lover's \"very powerful masculinity,\" only to note on the very next page that \"if he suffered a paper cut on a finger and saw blood, he would come into my office, looking pale.\" She declares that \"Bill was incapable of engendering a cliché, in deed as well as in word.\" But then she puts the most toe-curling clichés into his mouth: \"Why am I more ghost than man?\" Or: \"We must arrest our love in midflight. And we fix it forever as of today, a point of pure light that will reach into eternity.\" (File that under Romantic Effusions We Doubt Ever Got Uttered.) Nor is Ross incapable of a melodramatic cliché herself. \"Why can't we just live, just live ?\" she cries in anguish when she and Shawn, walking hand in hand out of Central Park, chance to see Shawn's wife slowly making her way down the block with a burden of packages. Like Ross, Mehta struggles to express William Shawn's ineffable virtues. \"It is as if, Mehta, he were beyond our human conception,\" Janet Flanner tells him once to calm him down. At times I wondered whether the author, in his ecstasies of devotion, had not inadvertently committed plagiarism. His words on Mr. Shawn sound suspiciously like those of Mr. Pooter on his boss Mr. Perkupp in The Diary of a Nobody . Compare. Mehta on Shawn: \"His words were so generous that I could scarcely find my tongue, even to thank him.\" Pooter on Perkupp: \"My heart was too full to thank him.\" Mehta: \"I started saying to myself compulsively, 'I wish Mr. Shawn would ring,' at the oddest times of the day or night. ... How I longed for the parade of proofs, the excitement of rewriting and perfecting!\" Pooter: \"Mr. Perkupp, I will work night and day to serve you!\" I am not sure I have made it sound this way so far, but Mehta's book is completely engrossing--the most enjoyable book, I think, I have ever reviewed. It oozes affection and conviction, crackles with anger, and is stuffed with thumping good stories. Many are about Mehta's daft colleagues at The New Yorker , such as the guy in the next office: His door was always shut, but I could hear him through the wall that separated his cubicle from mine typing without pause. ... Even the changing of the paper in the typewriter seemed somehow to be incorporated into the rhythmic rat-tat-tat ... year after year went by to the sound of his typing but without a word from his typewriter appearing in the magazine. Mehta's writerly persona, a disarming mixture of the feline and the naive, is perfect for relating the little scandals that worried The New Yorker in the late '70s (plagiarism, frozen turbot), the drama of finding a worthy candidate to succeed the aging Shawn as editor, the purchase of the magazine by the evil Si Newhouse (\"We all took fright\") and the resultant plague of Gottliebs and Florios visited upon it, and what he sees as the final debacle: Tinaji. Lillian Ross, by contrast, takes a rather cheerful view of the Brown dispensation. Indeed, the new editor even coaxed Ross into re-joining the magazine, just as she was booting Mehta out. \"I found that she possessed--under the usual disguises--her own share of Bill's kind of naivete, insight, and sensitivity,\" Ross says of Brown. \"She, too, 'got it.' \" A few months after Brown was appointed editor, Shawn died at the age of 85. He had long since stopped reading his beloved magazine, in sorrow and relief. That's if you believe Mehta. Ross assures us that Mr. Shawn was reading Tina Brown's New Yorker \"with new interest\" in the weeks prior to his death. Has Tina Brown betrayed the legacy of William Shawn, as Mehta fiercely believes, or has she continued and built upon it, as Ross is evidently convinced? Have the changes she has wrought enlivened a stodgy magazine or vulgarized a dignified one--or both? These are weighty questions, and one is of course loath to compromise one's life chances by hazarding unripe opinions in a public forum such as this.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is an underlying issue that the writer touches upon throughout the whole passage?\n\n<options>:\nA The two memoirs are completely inaccurate, and thus nothing that is offered can be true.\nB Shawn clearly had deep relationships with many people. Thus, it's hard to fully understand his life and his thoughts.\nC Shawn had been cheating on his wife, and even without getting a proper divorce he still pursued Ross.\nD There are different sources with differing opinions, making it hard to infer the total truth about Shawn and later Tina Brown.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
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496 | 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 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. 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? Remember that cloning is not the same as genetic engineering. We don't get to make superman--we have to find him first. Maybe we could clone the superwarrior from Congressional Medal of Honor winners. Their bravery might--or might not--be genetically determined. But, suppose that it is. You might end up with such a brave battalion of heroes that when a grenade lands in their midst, there is a competition to see who gets to jump on it to save the others. Admirable perhaps, but not necessarily the way to win a war. And what about the supply sergeants? The army has a lot more of them than heroes. You could try to breed an expert for every job, including the petty bureaucrats, but what's the point? There's not exactly a shortage of them. What if Saddam Hussein clones were to rule Iraq for another thousand years? Sounds bad, but Saddam's natural son Uday is reputed to make his father seem saintly by comparison. We have no more to fear from a clone of Saddam, or of Hitler, than we do from their natural-born kin--which is to say, we don't have much to fear: Dictators' kids rarely pose a problem. Stalin's daughter retired to Arizona, and Kim Jong Il of North Korea is laughable as Great Leader, Version 2.0. 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. To some, the scientist laboring away to unlock the mysteries of life is a source of evil, never to be trusted. To others, including me, the scientist is the ray of light, illuminating the processes that make the universe work and making us better through that knowledge. Various arguments can be advanced toward either view, but one key statistic is squarely on my side. The vast majority of people, including those who rail against science, owe their very lives to previous medical discoveries. They embody the fruits of science. Don't let the forces of darkness, ignorance, and fear turn us back from research. Instead, let us raise--and yes, even clone--new generations of hapless ingrates, who can whine and rail against the discoveries of the next age.\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the auther say the fear of cloning is a form of?\n\n<options>:\nA Evolution\nB Racism\nC Unpredictable reproduction\nD Genetic engineering\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
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456 | 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>:\nGeneral Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast was scheduled for the following morning. Major Winship attempted unsuccessfully to communicate with Base \"Is Pinov,\" came the reply. \"Help?\" \"Is Pinov,\" came the reply. \"Boom—boom!\" said Pinov. \"Oh, nuts.\" Major Winship cut out the circuit. \"They've got Pinov on emergency watch this morning,\" he explained to the other Americans. \"The one that doesn't speak English.\" \"He's done it deliberately,\" said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the four Americans. \"How are we going to know when it's over?\" shadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems. Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, \"This is a little ridiculous. I'm going to switch over to their channel. Rap if you want me.\" He sat transfixed for several minutes. \"Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can't tell a thing that's going on.\" \"Static?\" \"Nope.\" \"Let's all go in,\" said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. \"It's probably over by now.\" \"I'll try again,\" Major Winship said and switched to the emergency channel. \"Base Gagarin? Base Gagarin?\" \"Is Pinov. Help?\" \"Pinov's still there,\" Major Winship said. \"Maybe,\" Lt. Chandler said, \"it's buried too deep.\" \"Maybe so,\" Major Winship said. \"But we can't have the dome fall down around all our ears.\" He stood. \"Whew! You guys stay put.\" \"I guess it's over,\" said Major Winship, getting to his feet. \"Wait a bit more, there may be an after-shock.\" He switched once again to the emergency channel. \"Is Pinov,\" came the supremely relaxed voice. \"Help?\" Major Winship whinnied in disgust. \" \"Tough.\" They began to get the static for the first time. It crackled and snapped in their speakers. They made sounds of disapproval at each other. For a minute or two, static blanked out the communications completely. It then abated to something in excess of normal. \"Well,\" Lt. Chandler commented, \"even though we didn't build this thing sprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads.\" There was a splatter of static. \"Damn!\" Major Winship said, \"they should have made these things more flexible.\" he said wryly, \"it doesn't smell as bad now.\" \"Oops,\" said Major Winship. \"Just a second. They're coming in.\" He switched over to the emergency channel. It was General Finogenov. \"Major Winship! Hello! Hello, hello, hello. You A Okay?\" \"Just leave us alone, thank you,\" Major Winship said and cut off the communication. \"What'd they say?\" Capt. Wilkins asked. \"Larry, General Finogenov said he was very embarrassed by this.\" Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted. \"Larry,\" Major Winship said, \"why don't you get Earth?\" \"Okay.\" Capt. Wilkins got down from the bunk and Capt. Lawler ascended. \"Right here.\" Squeezed in front of the massive transmitter, Capt. Wilkins had energized the circuits. There was a puzzled look on his face. He leaned his helmet against the speaker and then shook his head sadly. \"We can't He started to pick up the microphone and reconsidered. \"Yes,\" he said. \"That's right, isn't it.\" Capt. Wilkins flicked off the transmitter. \"Some days you don't mine at all,\" he said. \"Who was supposed to check?\" demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. \"The only way you can check is to extrude it,\" Lt. Chandler said, \"and if it does extrude, you've ruined it.\" \"That's that,\" Major Winship said. \"There's nothing for it but to yell help.\" It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkins cursed twice during the operation. \"I'd hate to live in this thing for any period.\" \"They've got the power-plants for it.\" \"Do you think he did that deliberately?\" Major Winship asked. \"I think \"It's something to do while we wait.\" \"I guess we ought to.\" Major Winship came down from the bunk and sat with his back toward the transmitter. Capt. Wilkins slewed the equipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. He unearthed the appropriate cable and began unscrewing the exterior plate to the small transmitter-receiver set on Major Winship's back. Eventually, trailing wires, Major Winship was coupled into the network. American moonbase.\" At this point, Major Winship observed for the first time that he was now on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change his air bottle, but then he realized his communications were cut off. He reached over and rapped Capt. Wilkins' helmet. \"What's wrong?\" came the worried question. In the background, he heard arm tangled a cable and jerked the speaker jack loose. Major Winship was not entirely subvocal, since he emitted a little gasping cry in involuntary realism. This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth. Capt. Wilkins's lips were desperately forming the word \"Leak?\" Air, Major Winship said silently. Leak? of American warnings that such a disturbance might release accumulated stresses in the long undisturbed satellite, and was done in the face of The turn was uncomfortably tight and complicated by the restraining cables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. \"These protests have proved well founded,\" Major Winship continued. \"Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on to \"The Soviet Union,\" came the reply, \"has reported the disturbance and A new voice came on. \"We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We will \"The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out.\" He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back. Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from the transmitter. \"Wow!\" said Major Winship when he was once more in communication. \"For \"What?\" Capt. Wilkins asked with interest. \"I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenov to get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle. I never felt so ... idiotic is not quite strong enough ... there for a minute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left, and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in the world listening, while I try to explain the situation. I could see the nickname being entered in my files: aka. The Airless Idiot. I tell you, The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. \"What is upset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad.\" \"He's too damned suspicious,\" Major Winship said. \"You know and I know why they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at me the main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring. \"No!\" Major Winship snapped. With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixing \"Works perfectly,\" said Capt. Wilkins proudly. \"Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English.\" \"You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the area thoroughly around the leak.\" \"With what?\" asked Major Winship. He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and became At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right. The table remained untouched. When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, \"Get to one side, it may go off\n\n<question>:\nWhat was the issue with having Pinov on the communication system?\n\n<options>:\nA He rarely paid attention well enough to handle the communications.\nB He didn't speak English\nC He didn't know how to work the system properly.\nD He always selected the wrong communcations channel\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
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2,451 | 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 ULTROOM ERROR by JERRY SOHL Smith admitted he had made an error involving a few murders—and a few thousand years. He was entitled to a 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 Occasionally she glanced at her son in the play pen, who was getting rather amused set to his lips. knees hit the side of the play pen and young Laughton let out a scream—half from hurt and half from sudden lack of confidence in his seemed off balance and he backed up confusedly in the face of the don't even want to think about it.\" \"What do you do?\" \"Fine.\" \"How's everything at the office?\" \"Fine.\" \"Yes, I'd almost forgotten about it.\" \"Why don't you be a good fellow and write a check for it? It's been over a year, you know.\" forward on his face. \"But there must a .30-.30.\" walk.\" If we keep Reggie in the house much longer he'll turn out to be a \"We'll never be able to prosecute in this case,\" the states attorney said. \"At least not on a drunken driving basis.\" \"I can't get over it,\" the chief of police said. \"I've got at least \"The men with .30-.30?\" It was the chief's turn to shake his head. \"Your guess is as good as mine. There are a lot of angles to this case none of us understand. It looks deliberate, but where's the motive?\" \"What does the man have to say?\" \"It's all been rather embarrassing to the department.\" He coughed self-consciously. \"He's proved a strange one, all right. He says his a week and we've all taken turns questioning him. He laughs and admits his guilt—in fact, he seems amused by most everything. Sometimes all gives you the creeps.\" to take delight in answering questions—sort of anticipates them and funny business.\" \"Guess you're right. Well, Mr. Smith won't think it's so funny when we hang criminal negligence or manslaughter on him. By the way, you've checked possible family connections?\" 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 The man threw the brief case on the jail cot and stood glaring. \"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—\" even deserve to get back to our era. You ought to be made to rot here.\" \"I'm really sorry about that,\" Arvid 6 said. You know the instructions. Just because you work in the Ultroom don't get to thinking human life doesn't have any value. We wouldn't be here if it hadn't. But to unnecessarily kill—\" The older man shook his head. \"You could have killed yourself as well and we'd never get the 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. \"It was only with the greatest effort I pulled myself back together again. I doubt that you could have done it. And then all the while you've been sitting here, probably enjoying yourself with your special brand of humor I have grown to despise.\" \"You didn't have to come along at all, you know,\" Arvid 6 said. \"How well I know! How sorry I am that I ever did! It was only because I was sorry for you, because someone older and more experienced than 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!\" \"All right, all right,\" Arvid 6 said. \"I'll admit I've made some mistakes. You're just not adventurous, that's all.\" \"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 wearily and sank his head in his hands. \"It was you who conceived the \"Still you wanted to run the whole show. 'I'm younger than you,' you space halfway to nowhere with two broken legs, a spinal injury, concussion and some of the finest bruises you ever saw.\" 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 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 know what I think? I think you deliberately pushed the lever over as far as it would go . That's how simple I think it was.\" 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 you, although it has me. They got to me right after the accident before I had a chance to collect my wits, dematerialize or \"That's right.\" \"And you're thoroughly amused, no doubt. Have they questioned you?\" \"I suppose you'd think so.\" \"Who do you tell them you are?\" manufactured a pasteboard called a social security card and a driver's license—\" \"Never mind. It's easy to see you've been your own inimitable self. Believe me, if I ever get back to the Ultroom I hope I never see you Tendal 13 shook his head. \"I haven't heard. The transfers are getting be around 2250. Things will be more difficult than ever there, probably.\" \"Do you think Kanad will be angry about all this?\" \"If it had been anybody but Kanad nobody'd ever have thought of going back after it. The life germ of the head of the whole galactic system 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 Hemisphere B, Quadrant 3, Sector I. Arrive his 329th Day. Arvid 6 rose from the cot and the two men faced each other. \"Before we leave, Arvid,\" Tendal 13 started to say. \"Exactly. Is that too much to ask after all you've done?\" \"I hope I can count on that.\" Tendal 13 rang the jail buzzer. Matthews,\" Tendal 13 told the jailer. 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\n\n<question>:\nWhich term best describes Tendal 13's perception of Arvid 6's work ethic?\n\n<options>:\nA reckless\nB audacious\nC uninspiring\nD meritorious\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,904 | 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 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 and quietly handsome, had an alive, excited look. And the faint lines around his dark, deep-set eyes were accentuated when he smiled at his wife. \"All set, honey. How do I look in my monkey suit?\" His wife was sitting stiffly on the flowered couch that was still not far. She said, \"You look fine, Phil. You look just right.\" She managed a \"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 smiling. \"Honey, look at me,\" he said. \"It isn't going to be bad. Honestly it isn't. We know exactly how it will be. If anything could go wrong, they wouldn't be sending me you know that. I told you that we've sent five un-manned ships up and everyone came back without a hitch.\" \"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 \"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, love you, I just couldn't take that, Phil. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not the noble sort of wife.\" 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.\" 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!\" They drove through the streets of the small town with its small 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 ship, and the town seemed to feel the uncertainty of its future, seemed ready to stop existing as a town and to give itself back to the desert, 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. and he parked near the low barbed fence ringing the take-off zone. He turned off the ignition, and sat quietly for a moment before lighting a \"No, I've never seen her before,\" she said. \"Hadn't you better go?\" Her \"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. Inside the building it was like a locker room before the big game. The 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 \"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 waved to him, but he didn't smile. Phil wanted to talk to him, to say \"How do you do, sir. I'm very proud to meet you,\" Phil said. at that ship out there and wondering. I almost wish I were a young man again. I'd like to be going. It's a thrilling thought—man's first adventure into the universe. You're lighting a new dawn of history, colonel. It's a privilege few men have ever had and those who have had it didn't realize it at the time. Good luck, and God be with you.\" \"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 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. \"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 \"Phil, if there is anything—anything at all—you know what it might 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 that he was sending just a little bit of himself into the sky. Beyond wire. But her eyes were on the ship. And then they were ready. A small group of excited men came out from the 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 tight in her throat. The small group at the base of the ship turned and walked back to the fence. And for an eternity the great ship stood alone, waiting. Then, from deep inside, a rumble came, increasing in volume to a gigantic roar that shook the earth and tore at the ears. Slowly, the first manned \"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 let me go.\" 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 toward the car.\n\n<question>:\nHow does the author characterize the mood of the pre-launch location, prior to Phil's arrival?\n\n<options>:\nA Apprehensive\nB Monotonous\nC Frightening\nD Energized\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
178 | 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>:\nI heard the voice as I opened my eyes. I was lying down, still not I shouted a protest against the strangeness of the room. I looked to twisted my head to look for the button. I pushed away from the close body, found the wide strap that held me and fumbled with the buckle. I threw it off and pushed myself up from the hard cot. I heard myself yell in surprise as I floated up towards the light overhead. I was weightless. How do you describe being weightless when you are born into a world bound by gravity. I twisted and shut my eyes in terror. There was no sensation of place, no feeling of up or down, no direction. My back When I reached the cot I held it and drew myself down. I glanced at the that appeared to be air tight. I stared at my familiar hands. I rubbed them across my face, feeling the solidity of flesh and bone, afraid to think too hard about myself. \"My name ... my name is....\" nothing to me, but I thought about it, watching the relentless lights that shone below the dials. I stood up slowly and looked at myself. I was naked except for heavy shorts, and there was no clue to my name in the pockets. The room was warm and the air I had been breathing was good but it seemed wrong to be dressed like this. I didn't know why. I I floated against the door, twisting the handle in fear that it wouldn't turn. The handle clanged as I pushed it down and I stared at to propel yourself through the passageway in this weightless atmosphere. It was effortless to move. I turned on my side like a swimmer and went hand over hand, shooting down the corridor. I braced against forward When I looked again I knew where I was. Why the little room had been shaped like quarter round. Why I drifted weightlessly. Why I was.... David Corbin. I knew more of the puzzle. Something was wrong. After the first shock WHY, Why, Why? The thought kept pounding at me. I was afraid to touch I pressed the button by the cot. The red lights blinked out as I stood \"Tell me what to do,\" I shouted wildly. I hammered the hard metal until the pain in my hands made me stop. \"I can't remember what to do.\" waking up in strangeness I had missed the other doors in the passage. The first swung back to reveal a deep closet holding five bulky suits. The second room was like my own. A dark haired, deep chested man lay on the cot. His muscular body was secured by a wide belt. He was as still as death, motionless without warmth or breath as I hovered over him. I couldn't remember his face. The next room held another man. He was young and wiry, like an athlete cast in marble, dark haired and big jawed. A glassy eye stared up when I rolled back his eyelid. The eyelid remained open until I closed it and went on. Another room ... another man ... another stranger. This man was tall and raw boned, light of skin and hair, as dead as the others. A flat, illogical voice had instructed me to revive these men. I that squatted on a shelf by his head. My hand shook when I touched half by the instrument studded shield. I retraced my steps and took a rough estimate of size. The ship, as I called it, was at least four hundred feet long, fifty feet in diameter on the inside. The silence was a force in itself, pressing down from the metal walls, driving me back to the comforting smallness of the room where I had could have hit my neck when I lay down. My shout of excitement rang out in the room, as I pictured the action of the extended arm. I lost my was completely closed, and it didn't yield to the pressure I applied. with the ship was a frightening force that seemed ready to break out of me. I went back to the cabin where the powerful man lay. I had to risk down the thought that he might be the key man, remembering the voice that had given the message. It was up to me, and soon. The metal in the box would have withstood a bullet. It couldn't be pried apart, and I drained under pressure and the arm moved back. I stood by the man for long minutes. Finally it came. He stirred restlessly, closing his hands into fists. The deep chest rose and fell unevenly as he breathed. Finally the eyes opened and he looked at me. I watched him adjust to the room. It was in his eyes, wide at first, \"It looks like we made it,\" he said. \"Yes.\" He unfastened the belt and sat up. I pushed him back as he floated up finding little humor in the comic expression on his face. \"No gravity,\" he grunted and sat back. \"You get used to it fast,\" I answered. I thought of what to say as he watched me. \"How do you feel?\" He shrugged at the question. \"Fine, I guess. Funny, I can't remember.\" He saw it in my face, making him stop. \"I can't remember dropping off to sleep,\" he finished. I held his hard arm. \"What else? How much do you remember?\" \"I'm all right,\" he answered. \"There aren't supposed to be any effects from this.\" name or anything about this ship.\" \"What do you mean? What can't you remember?\" he asked. He stood up slowly, edging around towards the door. I didn't want to fight him. I wanted him to understand. \"Look, I'm in trouble. Nothing fits, except my name.\" \"I feel all right physically. I just can't place enough.\" \"The others. What about the others?\" he blurted. The second man, the dark haired one, opened his eyes and recognized us. He asked questions in rapid fire excitement. The third man, the tall Viking, was all right until he moved. The weightless sensation made him violently sick. We put him back on the cot, securing him again with the belt, but the sight of us floating made him shake. He was retching The question frightened her. \"Should I? I feel so strange. Give me a circled the room. \"I'm afraid,\" she cried. I held her and she shook uncontrollably. \"What's happened to me?\" she asked. The dark haired man came into the room, silent and watchful. My \"I can't remember when,\" I said. I held the trembling girl against me, shaking my head. He glanced at the girl. \"If the calculations are right it was more than a metallurgist. His lean face was white from his spell but he was better. Paul Sample was a biologist, John said. He was lithe and \"From Earth? How could we?\" while we talked. \"Don't think about it,\" Paul said. \"We can still pull this out all I had a glimpse of his contorted face as I dove at the control board. My hands hit buttons, thumbed a switch and then a sudden force threw me control screen. It wasn't operating. John let go of the padded chair, grinning weakly. I was busy for a few seconds, feeding compensation into the gyros. Relief flooded through me like warm liquid. I hung on the intercom for support, drawing air into my heaving lungs. \"What—made you—think of that,\" I asked weakly. \"Shock treatment.\" \"I must have acted on instinct.\" \"You did. Even for a sick man that was pretty fast,\" he laughed. \"I can think again, John. I know who I am,\" I shouted. I threw my arms around his massive shoulders. \"You did it.\" \"You gave me the idea, Mister, talking about Dr. Thiesen.\" \"It worked. I'm okay,\" I said in giddy relief. \"I wouldn't want to wake up like that again.\" \"You're all right now?\" he asked. I grinned and nodded an answer. I saw John as he was at the base, big and competent, sweating in the blazing sun. any one hurt?\" \"No. Carl is here too. His stomach flopped again but he's okay. What about food. We're supposed to be checked before we eat.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy couldn’t David move after he first opened his eyes?\n\n<options>:\nA He was in suspension.\nB He was in a tight space.\nC He had a wide seatbelt on.\nD He was weightless.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
732 | 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>:\nCAKEWALK TO GLORYANNA The job was easy. The profit was enormous. The only trouble was—the cargo had a will of its own! Captain Hannah climbed painfully down from the Delta Crucis , hobbled care of her for him because Beulah's baby belongs to me and Beulah has to take care of it—kept us apart until we both cooled down a little. Then, although still somewhat dubious about it, she let us go together across the field to the spaceport bar. I didn't ask Captain Hannah why he had socked me. Although he has never been a handsome man, he usually has the weathered and austere dignity that comes from plying the remote reaches among the stars. Call it the Look of Eagles. Captain Hannah had lost the Look of Eagles. His eyes were swollen almost shut every inch of he had tangled with a hive of misanthropic bees. The gold-braided hat of his trade was not clamped in its usual belligerent position slightly \"Shipping marocca to Gloryanna III didn't turn out to be a cakewalk tell me about it?\" I decided that his wince was intended for a nod, and ordered rhial. I only drink rhial when I've been exposed to Captain Hannah. It was almost a pleasure to think that I was responsible, for a change, for having him in a travesty of his usual forceful voice. \"But some things it should never try.\" He lapsed back into silence after this uncharacteristic admission. I almost felt sorry for him, but just then Beulah came racking across the field with her two-ton infant in tow, to show her off to Hannah. I walled off my pity. He had foisted those two maudlin mastodons off onto for his present troubles, it was no more than he deserved. I rated succeed in getting the marocca to Gloryanna III?\" I asked The success of that venture—even if the job had turned out to be more invariably failed to germinate, which explained its rarity. profits for letting us take a load of marocca plants to Gloryanna III, they relented and, for the first time in history, gave their assent. In fact, they had seemed delighted. \"I got them there safely,\" said Captain Hannah. \"And they are growing all right?\" I persisted. \"When I left, marocca was growing like mad,\" said Captain Hannah. I relaxed and leaned back in my chair. I no longer felt the need of rhial for myself. \"Tell me about it,\" I suggested. Gloryanna III,\" he said balefully. \"I ought to black your other eye.\" credit for that. Gloryanna III is almost a twin to Mypore II. You know that marocca takes a very special kind of environment. Bright sun most .\" A light dawned. \"Our tests were no good?\" \"Your tests were no good,\" agreed the captain with feeling. \"I'll tell you about it first, and then \"You'll remember that I warned you that we should take some marocca out into space and solve any problems we might find before committing ourselves to hauling a full load of it?\" asked Captain Hannah. \"We couldn't,\" I protested. \"The Myporians gave us a deadline. If we had gone through all of that rigamarole, we would have lost the to do under all possible circumstances.\" Especially when you're barricaded in the head.\" I almost asked him why he had been barricaded in the bathroom of the , but I figured it was safer to let him tell me in his trouble. The plastic film kept the water in the hydroponic tanks 'remember' the rate and direction of movement, and keep it up during the night time. So what? We had that problem all figured out.\" \"You think so? That solution was one of yours, too, wasn't it?\" He of motion, with everything else dark. So I lined up the Delta Crucis perpendicular to her direction of motion, put a once-every-twenty-one hour spin on her to match the rotation rates of Mypore II and Gloryanna and they can only take a few extra hours of night time before they run down.\" \"Oh,\" said Captain Hannah in quiet tones of controlled desperation, \"it was very simple. I just put enough spin on the ship to make artificial gravity, and then I strung a light and moved it every fifteen minutes original positions perpendicular to the axial thrust line of the ship \"I won't even talk about what I went through while I was shifting the hydroponic tanks, when all the plastic membranes that were supposed to \"But you solved the problem?\" He shrugged. \"I couldn't say. By that time I was ignoring them. It was \"Then after that you were all right, except for the tedium of moving must be more. You haven't told me why you hid out in the bathroom, yet.\" \"Not yet,\" said Captain Hannah. \"Like you, I figured I had the situation fairly well under control, but like you, I hadn't thought things through. The plastic membranes hadn't torn when we brought the tanks in board the larval stage. Instead of making cocoons for themselves, they snipped \"I couldn't figure whether to turn up the fans and dissipate the cloud—by spreading it all through the ship—or whether to try to block fumigation system is designed to work with the fumigator off the ship, to do, I tried to translate what I could of the Myporian instructions. marocca. The larvae provide an enzyme without which the plants die. the air in the ship to get rid of the poison. I knew it was too late \"And it was unnecessary, too. Because apparently the carolla had whining. This time I took a luxurious shower and got rid of most of the given their larvae in moving the tanks and dipping the water up in around, catching carolla on the wing and stuffing themselves happily. \"I had to find out what was wrong with my awkward dingleburys. And on the middle line of the ship. And the unfamiliar gravity gradient, together with the Coriolis effect and all, makes the poor dingleburys dizzy, so they can't catch carolla. \"So I spent the whole day—along with my usual chore of shifting the lights—blindfolding dingleburys. Which is a hell of a sport for a man who is captain of his own ship.\" I must say that I agreed with him, but it seemed to be a good time for me to keep my mouth shut. it wouldn't do its job right. In effect, their growth would put out the one of the things they do is to defend the marocca against marauders. , surrounded by a bunch of worried dingleburys. \"Every time they got a little too worried, or I slipped and bumped into \"It turns out that it's all right to cut marocca as soon as it stops whatever they need against the time of the next explosive period of Crucis Delta Crucis behaved like a lady. add to my troubles. set the customs inspectors to sneezing and swearing more than seemed reasonable at the time.\" Captain Hannah inhaled a sip of rhial, and seemed to be enjoying the powerful stuff. He acted as if he thought he had finished. shape, weren't they?\" Hannah nodded. \"They were growing luxuriously.\" He nodded his head a couple of more times, in spite of the discomfort it must have given him. \"Gloryanna III is the original home planet of marocca. They hated the fortune. And got out again quickly. \"The Gloryannans were going to hold my as security to responsible for everything once I landed the plants safely on Gloryanna \"They'll send you the bill. They don't figure it will take them more than a few months to complete the job.\" Captain Hannah stopped talking and stood up, painfully and a little unsteadily. I'm afraid I didn't even notice when he blacked my other eye. I was too\n\n<question>:\nAfter reading about the troubles of Captain Hannah maintaining the marocca during the transport to Gloryanna III, what can one infer about his character?\n\n<options>:\nA Captain Hannah is a clever and sharp man.\nB Captain Hannah is a disorganized thinker.\nC Captain Hannah becomes unmotivated after several failures.\nD Captain Hannah is a meticulous and well-planned man.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
577 | 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>:\nRed Witch of Mercury , a tight-frocked, limber-hipped, red-head was singing \" The Lady from Mars She bent her head in acknowledgment so that her bronze red hair fell down about her face. There was perspiration on her upper lip and temples. Her crimson mouth wore a fixed smile. Her eyes were frightened. Without looking up, he said: \"Have you spotted him?\" His voice was pitched to reach the singer alone. The girl, with an almost imperceptible gesture, shook her head. pale green wine of Mercury. Only the native waiters, the enigmatic, yellow-eyed Mercurians, seemed unaffected by the heat. They didn't The red-head shivered. Stepping from the stage she picked her way \"So,\" said the red-head \"you have come. I did not think you would be in time.\" Her hands were clenched in her lap. The knuckles were white. she had used his name. \"You have the reputation of being unpredictable. I don't trust you, but since....\" brown face. The girl drew in her breath. \"No! Mercury is not ready for freedom. Only a handful of fanatics are the girl's eyes and held them with his own as a man spears a fish. \"Why call me all the way from Mars for that? Why not have that gunman at the piano rub Hodes out?\" The girl started, glanced at the pianist, said with a shiver: \"We can't locate Karfial Hodes. Don't look at me that way, Jaro. You frighten me. I'm telling the truth. We can't find him. That's why we called you. \"No,\" the girl replied. \"But we think he's here in the city.\" \"Why? What makes you think that?\" \"He was seen,\" she began, then stopped with a gasp. The lights had gone out. his sleeve. Somewhere a girl giggled. \"What's coming off here?\" growled a petulant male voice. Other voices he could sense it. An exclamation was suddenly choked off as if a hand had been clamped over the girl's mouth. \"Red!\" said Jaro in a low voice. There was no answer. \"Red!\" he repeated, louder. Jaro Moynahan glanced at the table. The red-headed singer was gone. So Who, but Albert Peet. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. And what had happened to the girl. Had the rebels abducted her. If so, he suspected that they had caught a tartar. The Red Witch had the reputation of being able to take care of herself. a thought struck Jaro. These yellow-eyed Mercurians could see as well \"What became of the red-headed singer?\" no expression in his yellow eyes. \"She and the man, the queer white one who plays the piano, slipped out information from the waiter, but he was not a man to overlook any possibility. If the girl had been abducted, only Mercurians could have engineered it in the dark and the Mercurians were a clannish lot. revolutionist, and the girl. cat-eyed Mercurians. In the East a sullen red glow stained the heavens like the reflection of business, urgent business. I had not intended to appear in this matter. I preferred to remain behind the scenes, but the disappearance of Miss Mikail has—ah—forced my hand.\" He paused. Jaro still said nothing. Miss Mikail must be the red-headed singer, whom at different times he had known under a dozen different aliases. He doubted that even she remembered her right name. \"Yes,\" said Jaro. \"You accepted?\" \"Why, no. As it happened she was abducted before I had the chance.\" Mr. Peet licked his lips. \"But you will, surely you will. Unless Karfial Hodes is stopped immediately there will be a bloody uprising thousand Earth notes I can offer you. But no more. That is as high as I can go.\" Jaro laughed. \"How did you know Red had been kidnapped?\" \"We have a very efficient information system. I had the report of Miss Mikail's abduction fifteen minutes after the fact.\" Jaro raised his eyebrows. \"Perhaps then you know where she is?\" Mr. Peet shook his head. \"No. Karfial Hodes' men abducted her.\" A second rapping at the door caused them to exchange glances. Jaro went Where's Miss Mikail?\" \"I got away. Look, Mr. Peet, I got to see you alone.\" of the city, bright radoxide lights took the place of the green globes, then quite clearly he heard Albert Peet say in a high girlish tone: \"Stanley, I thought I left you in the native quarter. Why did you follow me? How many times have I told you never to come here?\" hadn't disobeyed this wouldn't have happened. You and your fights. Has anyone called a doctor? Where's Miss Webb? Miss Webb! Oh, Miss Webb! That girl. Miss Webb!\" right. She had straight black hair which hung not quite to her shoulders, and dark brown eyes, and enough of everything else to absorb Jaro's attention. \"Oh!\" exclaimed Miss Webb as she caught sight of the blood staining the carpet. Joan Webb \"There's been an—ah—accident,\" said Mr. Peet, and he licked his lips. \"Call a doctor, Miss Webb.\" \"Could Dr. Baer rush right over here? There's been an accident.\" \"Rush over where?\" said the girl in the visoscreen. \"These gadgets aren't telepathic, honey.\" \"Oh,\" said Miss Webb, \"the offices of the Latonka Trust.\" The girl in the visoscreen thawed like ice cream in the sun. \"I'm sure Dr. Baer can come. He'll be there in a moment.\" that—ah—a little extreme? I'm afraid it might incapacitate him, and I had a job for him.\" \"Oh,\" cried Miss Webb, her brown eyes crackling. \"Did you shoot that poor boy? Aren't you the big brave man?\" \"Poor boy?\" said Jaro mildly. \"Venomous little rattlesnake. I took Earth.\" She jammed her hat on backward, snatched her bag from the desk drawer. \"I'm not trying to pick you up. This is....\" \"How disappointing.\" of news.\" He paused. Jaro said nothing. \"You might be interested to know that Miss Mikail is quite safe. Karfial Hodes has her, but Stanley assures me she will be quite safe.\" Again he paused. As Jaro remained silent, his neck mottled up pinkly. \"The fact is, Mr. Moynahan, that we won't need you after all. I realize Her hat was still on backwards, and she was perched on the edge of her chair as if ready to spring up and away like a startled faun. \" in the small of her back. Miss Webb uttered a shriek, jerked so violently that her hat tilted over one eye. She regarded him balefully from beneath the brim. \" Awk! \" said Joan, choking on the Latonka. \"It was self-defense,\" he hastened to assure her. \"He took a pot shot at me with that poisoned dart gun.\" \"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 will touch the stock, not since it looks as if the Earth Congress is inciting the Mercurians to rebellion. The newscaster had a line about the revolution too. The government has advised all Terrestrials to return to Earth.\" \"It's not true,\" Joan flared. \"It's all a pack of lies invented by the Latonka Trust. I know.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat isn't true of the red-headed girl?\n\n<options>:\nA she was undercover\nB she was sure her plan would succeed\nC she was trying to set up an assassination\nD she was kidnapped\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>:\nKrugman's Life of Brian Paul Krugman replies to John Cassidy Paul Krugman replies to M. Mitchell Waldrop Letter from John Cassidy: Paul Krugman loves to berate journalists for their ignorance of economics, particularly his economics, but on this occasion, I fear, his logic is more addled than usual. I am reluctant to dignify his hatchet job with a lengthy reply, but some of his claims are so defamatory that they should be addressed, if only for the record. 4) Krugman appears to suggest that I made up some quotes, a charge that, if it came from a more objective source, I would consider to be a serious matter. In effect, he is accusing Brian Arthur, a man he calls a \"nice guy,\" of being a fabricator or a liar. The quotes in question came from Arthur, and they were based on his recollections of two meetings that he attended some years ago. After Krugman's article appeared, the Santa Fe professor called me to say that he still recalled the meetings in question as I described them. Krugman, as he admits, wasn't present at either of the meetings. 5) For a man who takes his own cogitations extremely seriously, Krugman is remarkably cavalier about attributing motives and beliefs to others. \"Cassidy has made it clear in earlier writing that he does not like mainstream economists, and he may have been overly eager to accept a story that puts them in a bad light,\" he pronounces. I presume this statement refers to a critical piece I wrote in 1996 about the direction that economic research, principally macroeconomic research, has taken over the past two decades. In response to that article, I received dozens of messages of appreciation from mainstream economists, including from two former presidents of the American Economic Association. Among the sources quoted in that piece were the then-chairman of the White House Council of Economic Advisers (Joseph Stiglitz), a governor of the Federal Reserve Board (Laurence Meyer), and a well-known Harvard professor (Gregory Mankiw). To claim, as Krugman does, that I \"don't like mainstream economists\" and that I am out to denigrate their work is malicious hogwash. The fact of the matter is that I spend much of my life reading the work of mainstream economists, speaking to them, and trying to find something they have written that might interest the general public. In my experience, most economists appreciate the attention. Paul Krugman replies to John Cassidy: Thanks to Paul Krugman for his lament about credulous reporters who refuse to let facts stand in the way of a good story (\"The Legend of Arthur\"). As a professional journalist, I found his points well taken--even when he cites my own book, Complexity as a classic example of the gullibility genre. Which brings me to Professor Krugman's letter, and my reply. I remember the exchange very well. Obviously, however, my reply failed to make clear what I was really trying to say. So I'll try again: c) So, when I received Krugman's letter shortly after Complexity came out, I was puzzled: He was complaining that I hadn't referenced others in the increasing-returns field--Paul Krugman among them--although I had explicitly done so. d) But, when I checked the published text, I was chagrined to discover that the critical passage mentioning Krugman wasn't there. e) Only then did I realize what had happened. After I had submitted the manuscript, my editor at Simon & That oversight was my fault entirely, not my editor's, and certainly not Brian Arthur's. I take full responsibility, I regret it, and--if Simon & Schuster only published an errata column--I would happily correct it publicly. However, contrary to what Professor Krugman implies, it was an oversight, not a breezy disregard of facts for the sake of a good story. --M. Mitchell Waldrop Washington Paul Krugman replies to M. Mitchell Waldrop: it also painted a picture of the economics profession, its intellectual bigotry and prejudice, which happens to be a complete fabrication (with some real, named people cast as villains) that somehow someone managed to sell you. I wonder who? Even more to the point: How did Cassidy come by his story? Is it possible that he completely misunderstood what Brian Arthur was saying--that the whole business about the seminar at Harvard where nobody would accept increasing returns, about the lonely struggle of Arthur in the face of ideological rigidity, even the quotation from Arthur about economists being unwilling to consider the possibility of imperfect markets because of the Cold War (give me a break!) were all in Cassidy's imagination? Let me say that I am actually quite grateful to Cassidy and The New Yorker . A number of people have long been furious about your book--for example, Victor Norman, whom you portrayed as the first of many economists too dumb or perhaps narrow-minded to understand Arthur's brilliant innovation. Norman e-mailed me to say that \"I have read the tales from the Vienna woods before and had hoped that it could be cleared up by someone at some point.\" Yet up to now there was nothing anyone could do about the situation. The trouble was that while \"heroic rebel defies orthodoxy\" is a story so good that nobody even tries to check it out, \"guy makes minor contribution to well-established field, proclaims himself its founder\" is so boring as to be unpublishable. (David Warsh's 1994 series of columns in the Boston Globe on the increasing-returns revolution in economics, the basis for a forthcoming book from Harvard University Press, is far and away the best reporting on the subject, did include a sympathetic but devastating exposé of Arthur's pretensions--but to little effect. [Click to read Warsh on Arthur.]) Only now did I have a publishable story: \"guy makes minor contribution to well-established field, portrays himself as heroic rebel--and The New Yorker believes him.\" Paul Krugman's attack on Brian Arthur (\"The Legend of Arthur\") requires a correction of its misrepresentations of fact. Arthur is a reputable and significant scholar whose work is indeed having influence in the field of industrial organization and in particular public policy toward antitrust policy in high-tech industries. Krugman admits that he wrote the article because he was \"just pissed off,\" not a very good state for a judicious statement of facts, as his column shows. --Kenneth J. Arrow Nobel laureate and Joan Kenney professor of economics emeritus Stanford University Letter from Ted C. Fishman: After reading Paul Krugman vent his spleen against fellow economist Brian Arthur in \"The Legend of Arthur,\" I couldn't help wondering whose reputation he was out to trash, Arthur's or his own. Krugman seems to fear a plot to deny economists their intellectual due. If one exists, Arthur is not a likely suspect. In a series of long interviews with me a year ago (for Worth magazine), I tried, vainly, to get Arthur to tell me how his ideas about increasing returns have encouraged a new strain of economic investigations. Despite much prodding, Arthur obliged only by placing himself in a long line of theorists dating back to Adam Smith and Alfred Marshall. I also found him disarmingly generous in giving credit to the biologists, physicists, and fellow economists who have helped advance his own thinking. Savvy to the journalist's quest for heroes, Arthur urged me to focus on his ideas, not his rank among his peers. Krugman has made a career out of telling other economists to pay better attention to the facts, yet as a chronicler of Arthur's career and inner life, Krugman seems to have listened only to his own demons. --Ted C. Fishman (For additional background on the history of \"increasing returns\" and Brian Arthur's standing in the field, click for David Warsh's July 3, 1994, Boston Globe article on Brian Arthur)\n\n<question>:\nDo Cassidy and Arrow feel the same way about Krugman?\n\n<options>:\nA No - Arrow finds him less offensive than Cassidy\nB Yes - They both think he was misinformed\nC No - Cassidy thinks he's a liar, but Arrow doesn't\nD Yes - They both think he wrote inaccurate statements about people\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
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2,367 | 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 U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This was the endless problem of all spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men tomorrow on what they had eaten today! The Pequod's crew ate wormy biscuit and salt beef. Nimitz's men won their war on canned pork and beans. The The first amenity of groundside existence to be abandoned was decent food. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezings from aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to the groundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes. the stomach of every man aboard, where it fermented each subsequent bite he ate to a superior grade of sake . And for a third footnote to the ancient observation, \"God sends food, and the Devil sends cooks,\" Marsmen will recall what happened aboard my ship the Charles Partlow It was Winkelmann who saw humorous possibilities in the entry, \"Bailey, other name than The Kitchen Cabinet. Bailey tried to feed us by groundside standards. He hid the taste and thyme. He tinted the pale-green dollops of pressed Chlorella pink, textured the mass to the consistency of hamburger and toasted the slabs to a delicate brown in a forlorn attempt to make mock-meat. For dessert, he served a fudge compounded from the dextrose-paste of the carbohydrate recycler. The crew thanked him. The Captain did not. you are feeding me.\" Captain Winkelmann blotted his chin with his napkin, heaved his bulk up from the table, and climbed up the ladder from the dining-cubby. \"I wish he'd leave off driving this Cook,\" Bailey said. \"The fat swine!\" \"His plumpness is an unwitting tribute to your cooking, Bailey,\" I was green, smelled of swamp, and looked appetizing as a bedsore. \"This is what I have to work with,\" he said. He tossed the stuff back into from Medical Stores and offered him a therapeutic draught. The Cook waved my gift aside. \"Not now, Doc,\" he said. \"I'm thinking about tomorrow's menu.\" The product of Bailey's cerebrations was on the mess table at noon the next day. We were each served an individual head of lettuce, dressed with something very like vinegar and oil, spiced with tiny leaves of burnet. How Bailey had constructed those synthetic lettuces I can only imploring the Captain's ratification of his masterpiece. The big man's pink cheeks bulged and jumped with his chewing. He swallowed. \"Belly-Robber,\" Winkelmann said, \"I had almost rather you served me this pond-scum raw than have it all mucked-up with synthetic onions and cycler-salt.\" \"You seem able enough to choke down Bailey's chow, Captain,\" I said. I bite. \"But I eat only as a man in the desert will eat worms and grasshoppers, to stay alive.\" \"Sir, what in heaven's name do you expect from me?\" Bailey pleaded. \"Only good food,\" Winkelmann mumbled through his mouthful of disguised Bailey, his hands fisted at his sides, nodded. \"Yes, sir. But I really or weeping. Only—can you understand this, so simple?—food that will keep my belly content and my brain alive.\" \"Yes, sir,\" Bailey said, his face a picture of that offense the British mother of invention. I am Bailey's necessity. My unkindnesses make him to improvise, to widen the horizons of his ingenuity. He will learn somehow to bring good food from Chlorella tanks.\" \"You're driving him too hard, Sir,\" I said. \"He'll crack.\" Bailey grew more silent as we threaded our way along the elliptical the appetite of our splenetic Captain. Each such offering was condemned by that heartless man. Bailey began to try avoiding the Captain at mealtimes, but was frustrated by Winkelmann's orders. \"Convey my compliments to the Chef, please,\" the Captain would instruct one of the crew, \"and ask him to step down here a moment.\" And the Cook would cheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary genius acidly called in question again. I myself do not doubt that Bailey was the finest Cook ever to go turkey-flesh was white and tender. Bailey served with this delicacy genuinely dairy smell. \"Splendid, Bailey,\" I said. Bailey him while away the hours between the planets. Bailey, I knew for a fact, had used up his weight-allowance in bringing aboard a case of spices: marjoram and mint, costmary, file powder, basil and allspice, and a dozen others. on the mysterious box as he sat to eat. \"What disgusting form does the ship's garbage appear in today, Belly-Robber?\" he asked the Cook. Bailey frowned, but kept his temper, an asceticism in which by now he'd he said. \"I think I've whipped the taste what was left was to get the \"Remarkable, Bailey,\" I said. kind word from the Captain bettered the ruffles-and-flourishes of a more reasonable man. \"But it still needs something ... something,\" Winkelmann went on, slicing off another portion of the tasty Chlorella. \"This, Belly-Robber!\" Winkelmann reached beneath the mess-table and ripped open his cardboard carton. He brought out a bottle and unscrewed the cap. \"Ketchup,\" he said, splattering the red juice over Bailey's masterpiece. \"The scarlet burial-shroud for the failures of Cooks.\" Lifting a hunk of the \"steak,\" streaming ketchup, to his mouth, \"That's better,\" Winkelmann said, and took another bite. He said meditatively, \"Used with caution, and only by myself, I believe I have Bailey and I climbed from the mess compartment together. I steered him to my quarters, where the medical supplies were stored. He sat on my bunk and exploded into weeping, banging his fists against the metal bulkhead. \"You'll have that drink now,\" I said. \"No, dammit!\" he shouted. therapy, Bailey,\" I told him. He poured the fiery stuff down his throat tank? I've got nothing but microscopic weeds to cook for him! Worn-out \"Yours is an ancient plaint, Bailey,\" I said. \"You've worked your off. That therapeutic drunk seemed to be just what he'd needed. For morning mess the next day we had a broth remarkable in horribleness, a pottage or boiled Chlorella vulgaris that looked and tasted like the vomit of some bottom-feeding sea-beast. Bailey, red-eyed and a-tremble, made no apology, and stared at Winkelmann as though daring him to comment. The Captain lifted a spoonful of the Bailey nodded and smiled. \"Thank you, Sir,\" he said. I smiled, too. Bailey had conquered himself. His psychic defenses were theory of forcing a Cook to make bricks without straw. The Captain had pushed too hard. He'd need that ketchup for the meals to come, I thought. of salt, and went largely undrunk. The men in the mess compartment were vehement in their protests, blaming the Captain, in his absence, for the decline in culinary standards. Bailey seemed not to care. He served I smiled and took another bite. \"You may not realize it, Bailey He persuaded his men by foul means, true but it was all for the good spearing another piece of my artificial steak. \"Bailey, I'm afraid I'll Bailey smiled and lifted a second steak from the warming-pan onto my\n\n<question>:\nHow did Bailey achieve the meal that tasted like barbeque?\n\n<options>:\nA He added the Captain's entrails\nB He allowed the chlorella to ferment longer\nC He used actual pork products\nD He added his own refuse\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>:\nShannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed space-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. It made a one-night \"Kidding.\" Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me through a curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. \"He says I'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show in 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 grey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martian girl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch the Shannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. I said, \"Bucky. Hold on, fella. I....\" Somebody said, \"Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister Buckhalter Shannon?\" Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiled pleasantly and said, very gently: I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even if he was a lousy bill-collecter and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannon clean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trust with their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad. There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with pale blue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's. He said, \"I don't think you understand.\" 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 Shannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager.\" He looked down at the table. \"I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity.\" The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his face proper sort has been available. I propose to remedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to make \"I quite understand that. I would be prepared....\" ain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something....\" \"Gertrude?\" subject. The extreme rarity of the animal....\" he said suddenly, red dust gritted in my teeth. 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.\" \"Now?\" he said. passageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. 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.\" compression units. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn't near as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It's breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled around them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, and then wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again. Gow said softly, \"She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one.\" inside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, \"You'll have to snap her out of this, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts.\" He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stood her. I can do things with her. But this time....\" woman's talking about a sick child. \"This time,\" he said, \"I ain't sure.\" \"Well for Pete's sake, do what you can. We got a charter, and we need her.\" I took Shannon's arm. \"Come to bed, Bucky darlin'.\" 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....\" I thought, \" \"This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared!\" \"You pretty, Mis' Jig,\" he giggled. \"You funny like hell.\" 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 nickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell!\" I hurt all over. I growled, \"With that brain, son, you should go far. 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?\" I shrugged. \"You're the boss man. I'm only the guy that beats off the comfortable death. Okay, Jig. Let's go sign.\" He put his hand on the 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!\" 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 I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman was Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed with \"Death,\" she whispered. \"Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I can and brought it out.\" He reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. \"I don't know suddenly. I said, \"Get what back where?\" \"Don't leave me. Got to tell you—where it is. Got to take it back. Promise you'll take it back.\" He gasped and struggled over his \"Sure,\" said Bucky. \"Sure, well take it back. What is it?\" \"Where is it, Sam?\" I looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. I looked at 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. ,\" said a voice in my ear. \"As if you didn't know.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Ahra referring to when she says \"something has been taken?\"\n\n<options>:\nA Gertrude's happiness.\nB Beamish's money.\nC The cansin male.\nD Jig and Shannon's safety.\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>:\nof the house, which radiated spoke-like from its heptagonal central thought them up in a moment of utter boredom and they were extremely wrinkle when he moved. Their captors had no idea of how a woven design should behave. 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. himself—desire that both of them loathed because it was implanted within them by their captors. They walked toward the house. It didn't look like a prison—or a cage. Within the dome of the They entered the house, which had no roof, continued to move beneath a might have been a well-kept if bizarre little country estate, but it wasn't. It was a prison, a cage. The other two women were sitting in the heptagonal central hall. Eudalia, who had borne twin girls recently, was lying back, newly thin double motherhood, she was almost flat of bosom. He asked her how she \"Okay, I guess,\" she said. \"The way they manage it, there's nothing to it.\" She had a flat, potentially raucous voice. Eudalia had been a female foreman in a garment-cutting shop before being captured and turned to Olga, broad, blonde and curiously vital, who sat perfectly the three female captives, barely nineteen. But with the eyes of the in a harem, even when it's supposedly my own.\" like it any better than we do.\" \"But he doesn't have to—have them,\" objected Olga. She had a trace of thinking of what they wanted to eat but would not enjoy when it came. A disc jockey's buoyant tones cut in quickly as the final clasped beneath the swell of her breasts. She might have been listening get through. TV doesn't seem to. Somehow it brings things closer....\" foods, with their cigarettes, with everything in their prison—or their cage. Their captors were utterly without a human conception of smell, she's right, Dana. We're as helpless as—laboratory animals. They have the means to make us do whatever they want.\" all are. We seem to be in a universe of different properties as well as \"Why haven't they brought more of us through?\" Eudalia asked, tamping \"I'm not sure,\" he said thoughtfully. \"I think it's hard for them. They \"Why do they do it—the other way, I mean?\" asked Dana. it's because they're pretty human.\" \" Dana was outraged. \"Do you call it human to—\" \"Hold on,\" he said. \"They pass through their gateway to Earth at considerable danger and, probably, expense of some kind. Some of them don't come back. They kill those of us who put up a fight. Those who don't—or can't—they bring back with them. Live or dead, we're just laboratory specimens.\" \"Maybe,\" Eudalia conceded doubtfully. Then her eyes blazed. \"But the things they do—stuffing people, mounting their heads, keeping them on display in their—their whatever they live in. You call that human, Rog?\" quietly. \"Or in a Museum of Natural History? A zoo? A naturalist's lab? the breeders, the trophy collectors. In the other\"—he shrugged—\"we're the trophies.\" copied, though he did not know why. She laughed at him silently, tossed angrier way. The infants, protected by cellophane-like coverlets, were her close, although neither of them felt desire at the moment. Their captors had seen to that 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. discarded as too nightmarish for belief. As in all of this strange universe, excepting the dome-cages in which the captives were held, the training hall followed no rules of The captor Tennant called Communication was telepathic. Tennant could have yodeled or yelled Tennant suspected that the captors could hear somewhere along the He went through the entire routine at Opal's bidding. When at last probing investigation. Opal, like the rest of the captors, was as intellectually two-dimensional creatures. He wondered if they felt this helpless futility when their masters taught them to heel, to point, to Opal was nervous, so much so that he revealed more than he intended. Tennant could never be sure. They were going through to Tennant's own dimension. He wondered briefly just what his role was to be. He asked Opal where and when they were going, was informed that he would soon emerge on Earth where he had left it. That told him everything but the date and season. Opal, like the rest of the captors, seemed to have no understanding of time in a human sense. Waiting, Tennant tried not to think of his wife, of the fact that he He shrugged, returned to the feeling of comfort that came from being the room that was so important a part of his life. The three women back 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 slipped past his mental censor, and he waited apprehensively for Opal his thoughts. Because he felt sure of his captive ... or because he It was like being let out of a cage. Tennant grinned at the bookcase in the cellar rumpus room, where its bleached modernity wouldn't clash with the casual antiquity of the living room. 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: But there was no pleasure in it, only a confirmation of his captor's power over him. He was not free of them. He understood all too well what they wanted leading another victim to the fourth-dimensional pen. groomed, more assured than his memory of her. out of hand, but whose inherent aggressive grace had not yet deserted it was, with all of them going through their paces like a trio of captors had let him. right to know. I do, anyway.\" skinned those bodies and removed the heads.\" So, Tennant thought, they hadn't used the gateway. Not since they had brought the four of them through, not since they had begun to train him conscious of her perfume. It wrapped them both like an exotic blanket, \"I don't know about you,\" he said, \"but I suspect we're in the same both are qualified to make for yourselves.\" \"Tristan and Isolde,\" said Tennant, grinning almost happily. \"Well, He needed no telepathic powers to read the thoughts around him then. He exchanged with Cass. He turned away, knowing that she was imploring her easier and pleasanter than he had expected. They deserved some of the Otherwise, apparently, men were next to impossible for them to capture. as trophies. With women it was different—perhaps the captors' weapons, whatever they were, worked more efficiently on females. A difference in body chemistry or psychology, perhaps. More than once, during his long training with Opal, Tennant had sent questing thoughts toward his captor, asking why they didn't simply set up the gateway in some town or city and take as many humans as they wanted.\n\n<question>:\nWhich relationship best describes the dynamic between the prisoners and the figures controlling them?\n\n<options>:\nA The prisoners are being groomed to serve as future collaborators in an intergalactic sex trafficking stint, carried out through the fourth dimension.\nB The prisoners serve as entertainment for the figures, who seem to have made a game out of snatching up humans and manipulating their thoughts and behaviors.\nC The prisoners have committed some sort of Earthly crime, and their punishment -- in order to avoid the death penalty -- is to spend a sentence in a labor camp operated by the figures.\nD The prisoners have volunteered to be part of the figures' experiment for a specific time period, under the agreement that they will be returned to Earth in the condition they left it.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,941 | 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>:\nALL DAY SEPTEMBER \"That's fine! That's just line! Is Evans—?\" \"Can't tell yet. They spotted the tractor from the satellite observatory. Captain Jones took off a few minutes ago, and he'll report trying—when it's time to give up because it's hopeless.... The meteor, a pebble, a little larger than a match head, traveled through space and time since it came into being. The light from the star that died when the meteor was created fell on Earth before the first lungfish ventured from the sea. In its last instant, the meteor fell on the Moon. It was impeded by It was two days to sunrise, where Evans stood. It was just before sunset on a spring evening in September in Sydney. The shadow line between day and night could be seen from the Moon to be drifting across Australia. Evans, who had no watch, thought of the time as a quarter after Australia. followed a stampede to Yellow Crater, where he thought for a while that he had a fortune in chromium. The chromite petered out in a month and a the first landing on the Moon. on the Moon!\" dark again, and the search for him, if it ever began, could not begin position. \"Batteries must be dead,\" he told himself. curved reflector that was positioned to radiate the heat of the steam into the cold darkness of space. When the meteor pierced the turbine, the sun shone as brightly as though there were no sun. They might have appeared to waver slightly, if they were behind outflung corona flares. If they did, no one noticed. No one looked toward the sun without dark filters. When Director McIlroy came into his office, he found it lighted by the rising sun. The light was a hot, brilliant white that seemed to pierce the darkest shadows of the room. He moved to the round window, screening his eyes from the light, and adjusted the polaroid shade to maximum density. The sun became an angry red brown, and the room was dark again. Mrs. Garth was simply the first four hours after waking. on the Moon for another week. \"Has the power crew set up the solar furnace?\" he asked. The solar furnace was a rough parabola of mirrors used to focus the sun's heat on anything that it was desirable to heat. It was used mostly, from sun-up to sun-down, to supplement the nuclear power plant. \"They went out about an hour ago,\" she answered, \"I suppose that's what they were going to do.\" sure it will be to everyone's satisfaction.\" \"I know this seems like a silly question. What day is this?\" \"Mrs. Garth,\" he called, \"what day is this?\" day .\" \"I don't know, I'll call the observatory.\" There was a pause. \"They say what day where?\" she asked. \"Greenwich, I guess, our official time is supposed to be Greenwich Mean Time.\" There was another pause. \"They say it's September fourth, one thirty a.m. \" \"Well, there you are,\" laughed McIlroy, \"it isn't that time doesn't mean rate,\" he said. The power crew was having trouble with the solar furnace. Three of the nine banks of mirrors would not respond to the electric controls, and one bank moved so jerkily that it could not be focused, and it Nobody answered. They could all see the Moon under their feet. Small craters overlapped and touched each other. There was—except in the places that men had obscured them with footprints—not a square foot that didn't contain a crater at least ten inches across, there was not a square inch without its half-inch crater. Nearly all of these had been made millions of years ago, but here and there, the rim of a crater covered part of a footprint, clear evidence that it was a recent one. exploring when the meteor hit. Inside, he lifted his filter visor, and found that the light reflected from the small ray that peered into the across.\" All of these needed water to form, and their existence on the Moon type of rock was ice, frozen in a niche that had never been warmed by the sun. The sun rose to the meridian slowly. It was a week after sunrise. The stars shone coldly, and wheeled in their slow course with the sun. Only Earth remained in the same spot in the black sky. The shadow line crept around until Earth was nearly dark, and then the rim of light appeared on the opposite side. For a while Earth was a dark disk in a thin halo, and then the light came to be a crescent, and the line of dawn began to move around Earth. The continents drifted across the dark disk and into the crescent. The people on Earth saw the full moon set about the same time that the sun rose. to the Moon about once a month, carrying supplies in and metal and ores have to fight the union and the Lunar Trade Commission.\" charging the same rate to go either way when it takes about a seventh of the fuel to get from here to Earth as it does to get from there to half. Can't you get in touch with him by radio?\" \"He isn't carrying one. Most of the prospectors don't. They claim that a radio that won't carry beyond the horizon isn't any good, and one that will bounce messages from Earth takes up too much room.\" \"Well, if I don't see him, you let him know about the chromium.\" \"Anything to help another Welshman, is that the idea?\" Slainte mhor, bach. \" [Great Health, man.] The sun was halfway to the horizon, and Earth was a crescent in the sky when Evans had quarried all the ice that was available in the cave. The thought grew on him as he worked that this couldn't be the only such resolved not to leave the tractor again, and reluctantly abandoned his plan to search for a large bubble. The sun stood at half its diameter above the horizon. The shadows of the mountains stretched out to touch the shadows of the other mountains. The dawning line of light covered half of Earth, and Earth turned beneath it. Cowalczk itched under his suit, and the sweat on his face prickled his forehead against the faceplate of his helmet and rubbed off some of the sweat. It didn't help much, and it left a blurred spot in his \"All clear,\" he heard Cade report through the intercom. \"Light is off now,\" Cade said. PROSPECTOR FEARED LOST ON MOON IPP Williamson Town, Moon, Sept. 21st. Scientific survey director the Moon in search of minerals was due two days ago, but it was oxygen runs out. Search parties have started from Williamson Town, but telescopic search from Palomar and the new satellite observatory are hindered by the fact that Evans is lost on the part of the Moon which is now dark. Little hope is held for radio contact with the missing man as it is believed he was carrying only short-range, intercommunications equipment. Nevertheless, receivers are ... \"Well, yes,\" Jones answered. \"I thought that it might happen that a rocket would be needed in the search.\" The light from Earth lighted the Moon as the Moon had never lighted Earth. The great blue globe of Earth, the only thing larger than the stars, wheeled silently in the sky. As it turned, the shadow of sunset crept across the face that could be seen from the Moon. From full Earth, as you might say, it moved toward last quarter. The rising sun shone into Director McIlroy's office. The hot light formed a circle on the wall opposite the window, and the light became \"Wake up, Mr. McIlroy,\" she said, \"you told me to wake you at sunrise, minutes back. Nothing to report and the sun was rising there. Australia will be in position pretty soon. Several observatories there. Then Capetown. There are lots of observatories in Europe, but most of them are clouded over. Anyway the satellite observatory will be in position by the time Europe is.\" McIlroy was fully awake. He glanced at Phelps and wondered how long it It was three hours later that McIlroy woke Phelps.\n\n<question>:\nHow do moon inhabitants tell the time of day?\n\n<options>:\nA Identifying the shadow line as it relates to Earth's continents\nB Identifying the shadow line as it relates to the moon's time zones\nC Identifying the shadow line as it relates to the moon's continents\nD Identifying the shadow line as it relates to the Earth's time zones\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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2,222 | 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>:\nwas humane about sending me? assures me there'll along to write up the first said as much to Lloyd and he told me to shut up. Moss all over the cliff walls. Swell luck for Kroger. We've found Kroger and Pat, with the help of the aliens. Or maybe they want the human Jones calls them. They took away our rifles and brought us right to Kroger and Pat, they won't tell me about them.\" \"Nonsense,\" said Louie, sipping carefully at a paper cup of scalding which one we came in through, and neither can anyone else. Jones asked me what the hell I kept writing in the diary for, did I want to But I said where there's life there's hope, and now he won't talk I got up from the chair in his office and stepped to the door. \"That's dishonest,\" I pointed out. left us here, and we're out of rations. Kroger tried talking to the guard once, but he (or it) made a whistling it. Actually, it's we who are coming And, of course, me. I've met all but the pilot (he's very \"What was it?\" I asked Lloyd in sideways. Pat said maybe we can swim to safety. Kroger told Pat he was in the heart of the planet, says Kroger. \"What the hell,\" says Pat, \"it's better than starving.\" It is not. and right now he's telling jokes in the washroom with the co-pilot. Jones (that's the co-pilot gives the general appearance of belonging I does He keeps bent low over a welded-to-the-wall microphone to the pilot. His hair back with them. The stream sides Kroger tells me that the pilot's name is Patrick Desmond, but that I can call him Pat when I get to know him better. So far, he's still Captain Desmond to me. I haven't sticky. because of the dust storm down below. that he does \"I don't get it,\" I said politely, coffee (they like it thick) and told when he'd finished his spiel. I still haven't met the pilot. make him look rather mean, but he was pleasant enough, and said I could call him Pat. I still don't know Jones' first name, though Pat spoke to him, and it sounded like \"Which tunnel do we take?\" asked Pat, his eyes aglow at the thought of escape. Kroger shrugged. \"We'll have to it that Pat said was the Earth. The back of the Moon isn't much different from the front. As to the none of the dots move, except in a circle that Pat says is a \"torque\" be for biting something more substantial than moss, Kroger.\" \"We'll risk it,\" said Pat. \"It's better to go down fighting than to die of starvation.\" But there's some kind of a \"drag.\" I told him I hoped it didn't mean we'd land on Mars upside down. He result from the gyroscopic spin we're in. Actually, he explained to place no matter how much we spin. tongues, and drooling dry coal dust, but Pat swung one of his boots in an arc that splashed all over the ground in front of them, and they and he went away. I went to the galley for coffee We're going back . Pat says that a week is all we were allowed told me later he needed it to back up a star map. Pat slept mostly all day in his to stay and that it's urgent to return compartment, and Jones sat and \"Why,\" I said, \"can't we just tell it on the radio?\" \"Because,\" said Pat, \"if we tell them now, by the time we get back we'll be yesterday's news. This way sugar). watched the screen revolve. There poem, sort of. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, \"But they'll ask why we didn't radio the info, sir,\" said Jones uneasily. \"The radio,\" said Pat, nodding to Lloyd, \"was unfortunately broken shortly after landing.\" log, and I saw his signature. His name is Fleance, like in \"Macbeth.\" He prefers to be called Jones. Pat uses his first name as a gag. Some fun. He wrote something in the ship's but Pat says there's less gravity on Mars, so escape velocity didn't I'll be the one to quit. Kroger is busy in his cramped lab space trying to classify the little the Wind Jones and Pat are up front watching wasn't much to do, so I wrote a there are two baby Martians loose on board ship. Pat told him he was nuts, but there are certain signs he's right. Like the missing with copious interpolations by Mr. all those sly digs at the aristocracy, Thackeray in case you didn't get on the screen today. It seems to be gone. Pat has declared a state of emergency. descending from overhead, but Pat Quick thinking, that's Pat. Lloyd, before he remembered and We've all grown beards, too. Pat when we were in that zoo. They're says that that's the \"torque\" doing prize. I asked Pat what the prize was and he told me to go to hell. June 18, 1961 Mars has learning something, maybe, about When he told Pat, Pat put it to a vote whether or not to jettison Kroger through the airlock. However, Martian reproductive processes. sign of canals, but Pat says that's I have to go to my bunk. It's all foam rubber, nylon braid supports Jones had brought them aboard. So Kroger stays, but meanwhile the air is getting worse. Pat suggested Kroger put us all into a state of suspended animation till landing It's nice to have a \"down below\" said, \"How?\" Air is foul and I'm very much dust in it to be any fun to inhale. He's all for going out and have to show themselves. Pat says what do we do then ? We looking for lichen, but Pat says he's got to set up camp, then get instructions thirsty. Kroger says that at least—when the Martians get bigger—they'll little Martians. Jones says he'll go down spitting. Pat says why not dismantle interior of rocket to find out where they're holing up? Fine idea. Jones won the beard contest. Pat the ship), and Jones threw it away. He doesn't smoke. June 20, 1961 Got lost today. Pat told me not to go too far from camp, so, when I took a stroll, I made sure next instant it was gone. Turned on my radio pack and got hold of Pat. Told him what happened, and he told Kroger. Kroger a lifelong diet of anthracite. Pat couldn't have guessed at the carbohydrates present in the bread after to make a landing. Pat says at least our vector will carry us to Earth and we can die on our home planet, which is better when he got to me. than you.\" He shuddered. \"Ran off when we fired.\" \"Where,\" said Jones, \"are Pat and Kroger?\" I didn't know. I hadn't seen \"Damned if I know,\" he said. \"It Martian is still with us. He's where There wasn't anything on the radio but static. Pat and Kroger haven't come back yet, either. June 21, 1961 We're going to look for Kroger and Pat today. Jones says we'd better before another windstorm blows away the jeep tracks. Fortunately, It's later must be happy to have found his Needless to say, we're no longer heroes. I haven't heard from Pat or Lloyd for a week. Jones was picked up attacking a candy factory yesterday, of Pat or Kroger yet, but the sand here is hard-packed and damp, and the President. Transcriber's Note:\n\n<question>:\nHow does Pat feel about the narrator?\n\n<options>:\nA Pat thinks the narrator is an idiot. He cannot believe the space agency allowed the journalist to tag along.\nB Pat is highly annoyed to have an untrained passenger like the narrator aborad for this long, scientific journey.\nC Pat thinks the narrator is simple-minded and tells him as much.\nD Pat hates the narrator. Pat tells him to go to hell.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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2,382 | 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>:\nThen we can catch the next ship for Earth.\" \"Go back? The planet itself was tough enough—barren, desolate, forbidding enough to stop the most adventurous and Go back? \"I never bothered to find Death to all Terrans! in for twenty hours, and then we're going back out there to finish that search-pattern. Earth needs uranium, honey, die out here on Mars is to and I know you'd never be keep moving,\" I told Val. \"The surest way to happy quitting in the middle parched skeletons of Earthmen. Bits of cloth and plastic, And she probably thought the failure of the sandcat was against the redness of the sands. They were the dried, once oxymasks and suits, still gleaming towers and flying roadways. We had profited by at the Dome was at fault—whoever it was who had failed to fasten down the engine Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. hood. Nothing but what had stopped us stop a sandcat: sand in the delicate mechanism of the atomic engine. But no it can give as well. Soon after you left they developed genius who had a motto: of the Martian desert. We'd she blamed it all on you,\" he said blandly. \"I intend to wipe every last one of there isn't any uranium in you out, one by one.\" this sector at all. I think It was an atomic world. we're crazy to keep on searching Ron?\" Val pleaded. \"Maybe things, virtually robot at the time of the atomic legs. All the survivors of UranCo chief had assured me \"I'm quite sane, believe me. But I'm determined to drive desolate wastes of the Martian Mars. Eventually I'll scare you all away.\" \"Just pick us off in the desert?\" the Geigs—and UranCo—off well fortified. I've devoted and clumsily enfolded hers. \"Come on, kid. Remember—we're doing this for Earth. limbs free of charge. All We're heroes.\" Mars.\" \"What are you going to do by a shining new world of \"Kill you,\" he told her. \"Not oxymask to make things a for their constant undercurrent of meaningless noises. Even though the Martian gravity was only a fraction of Earth's, I was starting to on the infinitely safer desert. 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 counters. Mars,\" Val said irrelevantly. much inflamed by the idea of coming to Mars to help in the search for uranium as I was. doing. She had been just as keep the industries of radioactives-starved Earth going. And we'd always had a roving to come to Mars—the more, sterilizing forty miles barren terrain. The geiger \"I was fairly well shielded that meant we had found pay-dirt. dose of radiation instead. Not \"Just enough to necessitate to lie down on the soft, spongy Martian sand and \"But why kill us Geigs? Mars, until I recalled that I the explosion and the amputation, the ground. \"What'samatter, \"Because if you'd stayed 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 Mars after all. But, I reminded happy, useful on Earth, instead But there wasn't forty or of being holed up here but I squelched it: on red blood corpuscles.\" home on Earth. It wasn't But I'll pay it all back,\" he said. He plunged it seemed hard to believe that we'd exchanged Earth and all it held for us for the raw, untamed struggle that was Mars. But I knew I'd do it again, if about his threat to wipe out channel everything out as revenge.\" I had the chance. It's because \"I still don't believe it—those can succeed?\" I taunted him. \"Really think you can kill every Earthman on Mars? Of Earth that couldn't be broken without much difficulty. So \"Yes! I'll get even with we volunteered. meddled with the atom in the it tinkle against the oxymask. \"You've conceived an impossible than the auto-wiper could to turn you loose outside, about as easy to get out of as 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 Earthman who had bound us. a hole through the Dome roof. The automatic sealers on sparsely-settled Mars. to. But how?\" which he had entrapped us, \"You'll find out soon side to MELT, and shot a stream of watery fluid over our legs, keeping the blaster \"I suppose you'll kill me going to kill you at all. I'm going to see to it that you're sent back to Earth.\" \" me—\" \"Not so loud,\" I broke in. \"They'll help you on Earth. They'll take all the hatred and sickness out of you, and turn with a blaster, even if the \"I hate Earthmen,\" he spat that you couldn't bear to hang around on Earth for as much as a year after the Sadlerville off for Mars without a moment's hated Earth so much you ever left Earth. 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 great atomic wars of the late 20th Century had used up much of the supply, but the amount used to blow up half the great cities of the world some of your pension money to buy yourself a pair of prosthetic legs, and then you \"You left Earth too quickly,\" In three centuries the shattered rebuilt. The wreckage of New York and Shanghai world had been completely \"The atom can take away, but and London and all the other ruined cities had been hidden atomic-powered prosthetics—amazing They had used their atomics to make bombs. We used ours for fuel. given the necessary replacement 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. blaster-point. But then I remembered 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 schemes came forth. Project Sea-Dredge was trying to get uranium from the oceans. In forty or fifty years, they'd get some results, we hoped. Earth. But you decided to fifty years' worth of raw stuff to tide us over until then. In a decade or so, our power would be just about gone. I could long enough, you'd have used world we'd revert back 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 how I managed to break the helps. It's a stopgap effort, just to keep things moving until Project Sea-Dredge starts functioning. Enter the Geig Corps: volunteers mine. But what little is there, Mars, combing for its uranium deposits. And here we are, I thought. two hummocks on the settlement where all of UranCo's Dome, of all things! electrocuted you, but there'll and unscrewed the ancient spacesuit fishbowl. even with prosthetic legs, because my chromium legs and atomic-powered\n\n<question>:\nHow will finding uranium on Mars aid the problem on Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA In combination with the underwater project, it will give Earth at least 300 more years of fuel\nB It will cause more problems, because neighboring countries will fight over the small amount of fuel\nC It will render the underwater project unnecessary\nD It can hopefully sustain Earth's industries until the underwater project yields results\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
2,044 | 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.] magnificent Melopolis, encradling the Oracle of Delni. I do not, of to live in peace with his knowledge and his power. Gone now are all the ancient evils, wars, emergencies. \"Sias! Sias—\" And they were upon me. That is, Xeon was upon me. But I knew that where Xeon is, Melia must soon appear. And indeed it was but a moment before Melia slipped many jokes and, I fear, would have had a lonely life of it had it not been for the friendship of Xeon. \"Sias,\" they were saying, \"the Maternite's gone.\" I stared in amazement. \"Gone? It cannot be gone. It has always been—\" \"Oh my gods!\" Xeon shouted. \"I tell you it's gone! Will you—\" Melia interrupted him quietly. \"Xeon, will you lose all respect for the Elder?\" Then turned to me, and said calmly, \"The watcher at the Maternite Machine, it appears, has been drunk. The heat rose above the what will happen with no more children?\" \"That is for the priests to say, not I,\" I replied. In moments of emergency, it is wise to speak with caution. That is, I suppose so. I have never before been in a real emergency. often wonder why—but Xeon and Melia ran all the way down to the city. They are of an age to enter manhood, and have all the energy such young consternation. And can the simple people be blamed? They were aware that they stood in the midst of an unprecedented happening indeed, an 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 sacrifice, and finally, as the light of the sun was falling between the the crux of the matter and the Conclave finally heard the facts it had 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 an easy matter for the Maternite Machine to add more and more claim. Such it has always been from time immemorial.\" A murmur of assent and approval of these virtuous words whispered around the Hall. 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. has been dried up. It will not function. There is no more. And there will be no more children!\" At this I feared the Conclave was about to riot. It is at such times 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 \"Riddles are not called for,\" I answered severely. \"I fear your mind is wandering, Rocsates,\" I was forced to interrupt. I would gladly have joined them. I hoped that the youngsters, Xeon attentively to Rocsates, who, amid cries of \"Heresy\" and \"Treason\", went on: \"I should like to ask the Conclave for permission to search the ancient records, in the hope of finding some such knowledge that would prove or disprove my words.\" \"You wish to search the films—\" I began. \"Not the films, Sias, but the books.\" Gods, this Rocsates! The books, as well he knows, are so ancient, and so delicate, that they are kept in an air-tight tomb lest, being handled, they be destroyed and all knowledge within them lost. Therefore, they have not been read in the known history of our race. And Rocsates has been anxious for an excuse— \"Sias,\" he went on, \"if there exists such knowledge as I seek, is it not indeed lost to the memory of Man? And if so, are not the books the only place where it may be found?\" Rocsates, it is suspected, will never ask a question unless he knows the answer beforehand. And so I acquiesced, and agreed, and granted reason?\" 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 something had to be done to save Rocsates before the outrage of the such there was, I was hopeful of dismissing the entire affair with Rocsates seemed perplexed by this problem, whereupon Xeon, who together ruled it to be a sin? And therefore the machines were necessary!\" At this impudence the Conclave dissolved in an uproar, and I was beyond power to restrain them from placing Xeon under arrest. Privately, however, I had to admit that his supposition was a possibility, and thus I authorized Rocsates to continue his search. Now indeed I was sorely worried concerning Xeon, for he must languish they cannot do until they meet again. I needed a sufficient excuse to call a meeting of the Conclave, The Conclave had come to order and formalities had been initiated when Rocsates entered and took his place. He clutched under one shoulder formalities were over. I intended to speak for Xeon, but Rocsates was on his feet and I gave way. 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 bees....\" When he finished the Conclave sat in horrified silence. His words, with all their horror, had the ring of truth and there were no cries of It is the mark of honor that a leader shall carry on when others fear to move. I cleared my throat. 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?\" \"I have already taken the liberty of asking for volunteers,\" Rocsates replied. \"The She, of course, must be one with the swelling of the 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 \"In all honor, could Xeon allow Melia to surpass him in courage? It but Xeon stepped forward. conduct the experiment in the fields before the Oracle of Delni, that position would be as uncomfortable as it would be undignified. The soft fields might be some slight help. I voiced my assent, and the entire Conclave adjourned to the fields. a time lapse which is necessary. The child does not appear immediately.\" \"It doesn't matter,\" I said disconsolately. \"Who could ask them to go through such an ordeal again?\" Melia cast her eyes down, and would not raise them. Xeon held his arm about her shoulders, as if to protect her, but I know not from whom. \"Sias,\" he said. Then stopped, embarrassed. I waited, and Rocsates was silent, and he continued. \"Sias, we come to tell.... We will....\" He raised his eyes to mine and said manfully, \"We shall try again.\" I am afraid that tears came to my eyes. Such sacrifice— \"We beg one favor,\" Xeon went on. \"We are agreed that—Well, we should like to be left alone, in private, to try.\" \"Of course,\" I replied. Anything they might want they could have. My 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 sort of enjoy it.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich is least likely contributing to Xeon's request to move to the fields before the Oracle of Delni?\n\n<options>:\nA The urge to make the event less of a spectacle\nB The general desire to maintain some control in the situation\nC The general level of comfort of lying on marble\nD The pressure from Sias to keep the situation private\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
314 | 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 has happened a hundred times in the long history of Earth—and, sooner or later, will happen again! Everyone—all the geologists, at any rate—had known about the Kiowa Fault for years. That was before there was anything very interesting to know about it. The first survey of Colorado traced its course north and south in the narrow valley of Kiowa Creek about twenty miles east all even the professionals were interested in knowing. There was never so much as a landslide to bring the Fault to the attention of the general public. It was still a matter of academic interest when in the late '40s geologists speculated on the relationship between the Kiowa Fault and the Conchas Fault farther south, in New Mexico, and which followed the Nor was there much in the papers a few years later when it was suggested that the Niobrara Fault (just inside and roughly parallel to the eastern border of Wyoming) was a northerly extension of the Kiowa. By the mid sixties it was definitely established that the three Faults were in fact a single line of fissure in the essential rock, stretching almost from the Canadian border well south of the New Mexico-Texas line. 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 impossible that it could ever be used except for sheep-farming. concern about the level of the water table throughout the entire area. The even more ironic solution to the problem began in the summer of Service was keeping an anxious eye out for the fires it knew it could had other worries at the moment, and filed the report. this. Newspapers in the mountain states gave it a few inches on the front page anything is news in late August. And the geologists became interested. Seismologists were reporting unusual activity in the area, tremors too severe to be rock slides. Volcanic activity? Specifically, a dust volcano? Unusual, they knew, but right on the Kiowa Fault—could be. Labor Day crowds read the scientific conjectures with late summer lassitude. Sunday supplements ran four-color artists' conceptions of the possible volcano. \"Only Active Volcano in U. S.?\" demanded the headlines, and some papers even left off the question mark. It may seem odd that the simplest explanation was practically not of the Interior, wondered if the disturbance might not be a settling of the Kiowa Fault. His suggestion was mentioned on page nine or ten of the Monday newspapers (page 27 of the New York Times ). The idea plausible theory. Still, it was only a theory. It had to be proved. As the tremors grew bigger, along with the affected area, as several towns including Edison were shaken to pieces by incredible earthquakes, whole bus- and plane-loads of geologists set out for Colorado, without even waiting for their university and government department to approve budgets. They found, of course, that Schwartzberg had been perfectly correct. They found themselves on the scene of what was fast becoming the most violent and widespread earthquake North America—probably the chalk raked across a blackboard, the noise was deafening. The surfaces of the land east and west of the Fault seemed no longer to have any relation to each other. To the west, tortured rock reared into cliffs. East, where sharp reports and muffled wheezes told of continued buckling and dropping, the earth trembled downward. Atop the new cliffs, which seemed to grow by sudden inches from heaving rubble, dry earth fissured and trembled, sliding acres at a time to fall, smoking, normally impassive Schwartzberg in a nationwide broadcast from the scene of disaster. \"No one here has ever seen anything like it.\" And the landslip was growing, north and south along the Fault. Cedarwood. Avondale, North Avondale and Boone had totally disappeared. Land west of the Fault was holding firm, though Denver had recorded several small tremors everywhere east of the Fault, to almost twenty miles away, the now-familiar lurch and steady fall had already sent the danger of rock slides from minor quakes. The geologists went home to wait. There wasn't much to wait for. The news got worse and worse. The Platte to add to the heaving chaos below. And the cliffs were higher every day as the land beneath them groaned downward in mile-square gulps. As the Fault moved north and south, new areas quivered into unwelcome 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 death toll had risen above 1,000. Away to the east the situation was quiet but even more ominous. 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 just like that, on the afternoon of 4 October. \"We must remain calm,\" floods, in the usual sense. The water moved too slowly, spread itself 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 eastward. All through October hollow-eyed motorists flocked into Tulsa, Topeka, Omaha, Sioux Falls and Fargo. St. Louis was made distributing center for emergency squads which flew everywhere with milk for babies and dog food for evacuating pets. Gasoline trucks boomed west to meet the now called it, they found their route blocked by eastbound cars on the On 21 October, at Lubbock, Texas, there was a noise variously described bell. It was simply the tortured rock of the substrata giving way. The second phase of the national disaster was beginning. wake the earth to the north \"just seemed to collapse on itself like day. \"Not tremors, exactly,\" said the captain of a fishing boat which else that evening. At approximately 8:30 p.m. the town shuddered, had swept over every town from Dothan, Alabama, to Bogalusa on the Louisiana-Mississippi border. radio message delivered from a hastily arranged all-station hookup. \"We Then, as ominous creakings and groanings of the earth announced the by minute the advancing flood bit away miles of river bed, swelling north. Chicot, Jennie, Lake Village, Arkansas City, Snow Lake, Elaine, Helena and Memphis felt the tremors. The tormented city shuddered through the night. The earth continued its descent, eventually tipping during the night of panic Memphis residents were sure they were doomed. thirst of the soil temporarily broke the furious charge. Despite hopeful announcements that the wave was slowing, had virtually \"We couldn't hear any shouts, of course, not that far away and with all The water had found its farthest westering. But still it poured north 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 on the outskirts of town. His brother Geoffrey brought along the ever have been called on to face, she added, \"We sure wondered why behind, in the rush!\" axis of world communication, a population explosion was touched off of be ranked with the first surge of pioneers which created the American\n\n<question>:\nWhat initially alerted people to the fault line and the onset of problems?\n\n<options>:\nA Geologists were already aware of its presence and had been watching it.\nB They investigated what they thought was a forest fire, only to find it was sediment and dust.\nC The land had become so dry it was a cause of concern.\nD Newspapers had established the connections of the 3 faults.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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225 | 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>:\nextradition, anything in order to speed up my return to Cupia, where Lilla awaits in some dire extremity.” end. The morrow would decide the ascendancy of Myles Cabot or the Prince Yuri over the new continent. IV THE COUP D’ETAT The next morning Myles Cabot was led under guard to the “It’s too bad that Myles Cabot can’t see this!” First the accusation was read, Myles being furnished Cupia from the domination of its Formian oppressors. They spoke with bitterness of the downfall of their beloved Formia. Their testimony was brief. he had led the Cupians to victory over their oppressors, in his own behalf. Myles rose, then shrugged his shoulders, a human-brained race of gigantic black ants. He had driven the last ant from the face of continental Poros, and had won and wed the Princess Lilla, who had borne him a son set and a matter-transmitting apparatus, with which he had (presumably) shot himself back to Poros on the night of the return?” That had never occurred to me! How stupid! “What had I better do about it, if anything?” I asked. of the return of Myles Cabot to the planet Minos. with my hands full of dimes, nickels, and quarters, I finally got my party. desertion. Yet who can blame him for returning to his father-land and to the throne which is his by rights?” To which the messenger added: “And he offers to give us back our own old country, if we too will return across the boiling seas again.” adventures Myles had told me in person during his stay shouted Emu. “Yuri, our rightful leader,” shouted Barth. “Give us a queen of our own race,” shouted Fum. And that is all that Myles learned of the conversation, Kellogg’s reply gave my sluggish mind the second jolt With one bound he gained the throne, where fighting death grapple, while the ant-queen had backed to the rear of the stage, closely guarded by Emu and Fum. Seizing one of the pikes which supported the scarlet the purpose of trying to repair the wrecked radio set which Myles Cabot had left on my farm. these identifying numbers painted on the backs of their abdomens followed by the numbers of those whom they had defeated in the duels so common among them, then the same message, and again I repeated it. “You’re spoofing us!” one of them shouted. “Give Myles’s own account of the amazing adventures on the planet Venus (or Poros, as its own inhabitants call it,) which befell him upon his return there after his brief visit to the earth. I have edited those notes into the following Myles Cabot had returned to the earth to study the absence. The last of the ant-men and their ally, the renegade Cupian Prince Yuri, had presumably perished in an attempt had been brewing all that evening, and just as Myles How long his unconsciousness lasted he knew not. He was some time in regaining his senses. But when he had He fell to wondering, vaguely and pleasantly, where he Myles sprang to his feet. To his intense surprise, he found the idea flashed through his mind: “I must be on train of thought, his attention was diverted by the fact that, movements. He wondered at the cause of this. Gone was all his languor, as he seized a piece of driftwood As he stood thus expectant, Myles realized that his present Could it be that all his adventures in Cupia had been a recurring dream, in fact? Were his his imagination? Horrible thought! man could see that it was talking to him. But Myles no shorthand on the silver sands the message: “Myles Cabot, “What, again?” scratched Myles, then made a sign of submission. 11 He dreaded the paralyzing bite which Formians usually administer to their victims, and which he had twice experienced in the past but, fortunately, it was not now His heart glowed with the warmth of homecoming. What mattered it that he was now a prisoner, in the hands (or, rather, claws) of his old enemies, the Formians? He had been their prisoner before, and had escaped. Once more He wondered what could have happened in Cupia since boiling seas? What had led them to return? Or perhaps thus had escaped the general extermination of their race. In either event, how had they been able to reconquer He gazed again at the scene below, and now noted one there were no writing materials aboard the ship. Myles As the earth-man was turning these thoughts over in his advanced menacingly toward Myles, but Doggo held them get busy. So once again he made motions of writing on the me this Myles, who read as follows: of Cupia, splendid even in defeat. “It was his brain that conceived our daring plan of escape. If there were other lands beyond the boiling seas, the lands which tradition taught were the origin of the Cupian race, then there we might prosper and raise up a new empire. At the worst we should merely meet death in another form, rather than at your hands. So we essayed. 14 blotting our enemies and our native land from view.” For page after page Doggo, the ant-man, related the old Formia When Myles reached the end of reading this narrative, he the latest discoveries and inventions there, and how his calculations for his return to Poros had been upset by some himself back. Oh, if only he had landed by chance upon the same beach as on his first journey through the skies! Wisely he refrained from mentioning the “S O S” message spurred him to be anxious about her rescue. so the concluding words which he wrote upon the pad were: “And, now that you have me in your power, what shall you do with me?” “Old friend,” Doggo wrote in reply, “that depends entirely succeeding to the toga of King Yuri might prove to be an omen. 15 “Then what of your empire?” Myles inquired. “No queen. When Myles had somewhat recovered from his astonishment, to,” the ant-man replied, “but as a matter of fact, it merely intensifies Yuri’s mistrust and hatred of me. Now that I am mother of the queen, he fears that I may turn against him and establish Formis in his place as the head of an empire of the Formians, by the Formians, and for the Formians exclusively.” “Why don’t you?” Myles wrote. It seemed to him to be a bully good idea, and incidentally a solution of his own difficulties. thought of independence in the mind of one reared in an Myles tactfully changed the subject. failed to return, we sent out scout planes to search for him, and we have been hunting ever since. When we During the meal conversation lagged, owing to the difficulty of writing and eating at the same time. But now Myles Cabot seized his pad and stylus and wrote: a cause, or a friend?” “No,” Doggo replied. “Then,” Myles wrote, “let us make your daughter queen in fact as well as in name.” “It is treason,” Doggo wrote in reply, but this time he “Treason?” Myles asked. If he had spoken the word, he This time, as he tore up the correspondence, Doggo signified an affirmative. And thus there resulted further “If she has inherited any of your character,” Myles continued, whom Myles had ever known among the once dominant coup d’ etat . They tore into shreds every scrap of used paper, leaving It hardly seemed possible! Night before last he had slept With these thoughts the returned wanderer lapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep. “That is just what we finally decided to do,” the ant-man wrote in reply. “We shall try you on general principles, and let the proper accusation develop from the evidence. “At some stage of the proceedings it will inevitably occur charged with treason to Yuri, whereupon two members of the council, whom I have won over to the cause of my If you will waive counsel the trial can take place to-morrow.” “I will waive anything,” Myles replied, “counsel, immunity,\n\n<question>:\nWhat was most often on Myles's mind during his time away?\n\n<options>:\nA Doggo\nB His friends on Earth\nC Lilla\nD Revenge\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
1,043 | 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 Stortulian will be duly punished,\" replied the leader of the \"Hold it,\" the Wazzenazzian said crisply. \"The Consulate can't help I eyed Gorb uncertainly. The Terran Consulate people probably wouldn't The office buzzer sounded. Auchinleck said unctuously, \"The first \"Send him, her or it in.\" The door opened and a timid-looking life-form advanced toward me on one above each arm. Plus a big, gaping, toothless mouth. His voice was a surprisingly resounding basso. \"You are Mr. Corrigan?\" \"That's right.\" I reached for a data blank. \"Before we begin, I'll need certain information about—\" \"I am a being of Regulus II,\" came the grave, booming reply, even before I had picked up the blank. \"I need no special care and I am not a fugitive from the law of any world.\" \"Your name?\" \"Lawrence R. Fitzgerald.\" I throttled my exclamation of surprise, concealing it behind a quick \"Of course, that's not the name you were born with.\" The being closed his eyes and toddled around in a 360-degree rotation, remaining in place. On his world, that gesture is the equivalent of an apologetic smile. \"My Regulan name no longer matters. I am now and I buzzed for Ludlow and gave him the fast signal that meant we were didn't mean we had to be extravagant in hiring him. A Terraphile alien who goes to the extent of rechristening himself with a Terran monicker would work for nothing, or even pay us, just so long as we let him get a being, but I don't believe in throwing money away, either. The next applicant was a beefy ursinoid from Aldebaran IX. Our outfit dozen.\" He looked at me queerly and nodded. A being entered. I took a long close look at the life-form when it came in, and after that I took another one. I wondered what kind of stunt was being pulled. So far as I could tell, the being was quite plainly nothing but an Earthman. He sat down facing me without being asked and crossed his legs. He was tall and extremely thin, with pale blue eyes and dirty-blond hair, and though he was clean and reasonably well dressed, he had a shabby look about him. He said, in level Terran accents, \"I'm looking for a job with your outfit, Corrigan.\" \"There's been a mistake. We're interested in non-terrestrials only.\" \"I'm a non-terrestrial. My name is Ildwar Gorb, of the planet Wazzenazz XIII.\" I don't mind conning the public from time to time, but I draw the line at getting bilked myself. \"Look, friend, I'm busy, and I'm not known Earthborn as I am.\" \"I've never been within a dozen parsecs of Earth,\" he said smoothly. \"I happen to be a representative of the only Earthlike race that exists \"A scientific institute. I stand corrected.\" There was something glib and appealing about this preposterous phony. I guess I recognized a kindred spirit or I would have tossed him out on his ear without another word. Instead I played along. \"If you're from such a distant place, how come you speak English so well?\" \"I'm not speaking. I'm a telepath—not the kind that reads minds, just the kind that projects. I communicate in symbols that you translate back to colloquial speech.\" \"Very clever, Mr. Gorb.\" I grinned at him and shook my head. \"You spin a good yarn—but for my money, you're really Sam Jones or Phil Smith He pointed a finger squarely at me and said, \"You're making a big mistake. I'm just what your outfit needs. A representative of a hitherto utterly unknown race identical to humanity in every respect! Look here, examine my teeth. Absolutely like human teeth! And—\" He glowered at me reproachfully for a moment, stood up and sauntered to another chance.\" He slammed the door and I let my grim expression relax into a smile. This was the best con switch yet—an Earthman posing as an alien to get a job! But I wasn't buying it, even if I could appreciate his cleverness The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of a Hardly had the 'dillo scuttled dejectedly out of my office when the body. Two fierce eyes glimmered out through the otherwise dense blanket of fur. He was wearing the kilt, girdle and ceremonial blaster of his warlike race. I said, \"You'll have to understand, Freeman Heraal, that it's not our applicant. But before my finger touched the button, the door popped open and a small being came scooting in, followed by an angry Stebbins. \"Come here, you!\" \"I'm sorry, Mr. Corrigan. I lost sight of this one for a moment, and he came running in—\" \"Please, please,\" squeaked the little alien pitifully. \"I must see you, \"All right,\" I said tiredly. \"As long as he's in here already, I might as well see him. Be more careful next time, Stebbins.\" Stebbins nodded dolefully and backed out. The alien was a pathetic sight: a Stortulian, a squirrely-looking carrying our full complement of Stortulians. We have both a male and a female now and—\" \"This is known to me. The female—is her name perchance Tiress?\" I glanced down at the inventory chart until I found the Stortulian The little being immediately emitted a soul-shaking gasp. \"It is she! It is she!\" \"Funny,\" I said. \"When we signed her three years ago, she said she was single. It's right here on the chart.\" \"Yes, yes!\" wailed the Stortulian. \"Find some other member of my race, \"Of course not.\" I took advantage of his pathetic upset to steam right \"I thought the truth would move you.\" \"It did. But in effect you're now asking me to conspire in a fraudulent criminal act. Friend, I can't do it. My reputation means too much to me,\" I said piously. The Stortulian seemed to shrivel. His eyelids closed half-way to mask some conscience, and I had the uneasy feeling I had just been talking to a being who was about to Nine of the fifty were okay. The rest were unacceptable for one reason outraged pride and the Stortulian's flighty wife when the door opened \"How did you get in here?\" I demanded. \"Get out before I have you thrown out.\" \"—you'll have me thrown out. Okay, okay. Just give me half a second. \"You see? He's incompetent. Suppose you fire him, take me on instead. Before I could react to the big life-form's hara-kiri, the office door at the figure on the floor, then came to rest on me. \"You are J. F. Corrigan?\" the leader asked. \"Y-yes.\" remembered that any minute that scrawny little Stortulian was likely to I was spared further such morbid thoughts by yet another unannounced arrival. The small figure of the Stortulian trudged through the open doorway policemen and my three assistants forgot the dead Kallerian for a saw the three Ghrynian policemen sitting on the raving Stortulian. The man who called himself Ildwar Gorb was getting to his feet and dusting himself off. Stortulian wasn't here to commit suicide, you see. He was out to get you.\" \"Evidently you don't know as much as you think you do about Stortulian killed himself , and the pint-sized Stortulian who looked so meek and pathetic damn near blew my head off.\" I shuddered. \"Thanks for the\n\n<question>:\nWhat was shocking about the Stortulian's return to the interview office later in the day?\n\n<options>:\nA His depression was building to a suicide attempt.\nB He had morphed into a larger being.\nC He was motivated to commit murder.\nD He was disguising himself as another being.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
215 | 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>:\nGroaci wish only friendship with the Terrestrials, but—\" \"Don't!\" Retief jumped—too late. Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke. \"You're violating Terrestrial territory, Shluh,\" Retief said steadily. \"Whaffle left here three months ago,\" Retief said, \"leaving me in \"I suggest you move back out the same way you came in.\" \"Never mind the excuses,\" Retief said. \"Just tell him I won't be \"You're making a serious mistake, Shluh,\" Retief said. \"I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said, Mr. Retief to his quarters in this building—\" Retief looked thoughtfully at Miss Meuhl. \"You've been here on Groac \"Why?\" \"The Groaci are a very sensitive race. They don't welcome outworlders raking up things. They've been gracious enough to let us live down the fact that Terrestrials subjected them to deep humiliation on one occasion.\" \"You mean when they came looking for the cruiser?\" \"They never found the cruiser, did they?\" disapproval as he closed the door. The pale-featured Groacian vibrated his throat-bladder in a distressed bleat. \"To enjoy a cooling drink,\" Retief said in Groacian, squatting down at \"I've changed my mind,\" Retief said to the bartender. \"To be grateful door. The other Groaci released him, hurried back inside. Retief looked Retief backed away. Retief stepped around him, seized his collar and yanked. The Groacian Retief put a foot against his chest and pushed. \"To not be going anywhere for a few minutes,\" Retief said. \"To stay \"Government men, I imagine. Word travels fast.\" Retief pulled off his indicative of rank rose as Retief entered the room. Neither offered a courteous snap of the mandibles, Retief noted. They were mad, all right. \"Never mind that,\" Retief said. \"These gentlemen didn't come here to to hospital suffering from serious contusions. Questioning of this individual revealed that he had been set upon and beaten by a foreigner. A Terrestrial, to be precise. Investigation by my department indicates that the description of the culprit closely matches that of the Terrestrial Consul.\" Miss Meuhl gasped audibly. \"Just keep that recorder going,\" Retief snapped. episode! And you—\" \"Terrible? I understand that a Terrestrial task force stood off Groac and sent a delegation down to ask questions. They got some funny answers, and stayed on to dig around a little. After a week they left. \"Why did the government fall, Fith? It was just after the task force paid its visit, and before the arrival of the first Terrestrial diplomatic mission.\" \"This is an internal matter!\" Fith cried, in his faint Groacian voice. \"The new regime has shown itself most amiable to you Terrestrials. It has outdone itself—\" \"—to keep the Terrestrial consul and his staff in the dark,\" Retief Retief turned a steady look on Miss Meuhl. She closed her mouth. The \"Funny thing about these animals. They wore clothes. They seemed to communicate with each other. Altogether it was a very amusing exhibit. \"Tell me, Shluh, what happened to those six Terrestrials after the parade was over?\" Fith made a choked noise and spoke rapidly to Shluh in Groacian. Shluh mouth, closed it and blinked rapidly. \"How did they die?\" Retief snapped. \"Did you murder them, cut their throats, shoot them or bury them alive? What amusing end did you figure out for them? Research, maybe? Cut them open to see what made them narco-interrogation would get that out of any Groacian who saw the parade.\" \"Yes,\" Fith said weakly. \"It is true, they were Terrestrials. But there was no killing.\" \"They're alive?\" \"Alas, no. They ... died.\" Miss Meuhl yelped faintly. \"I see,\" Retief said. \"They died.\" foods—\" \"Didn't take the trouble to find out, either, did you?\" \"They fell ill,\" Fith said. \"One by one....\" \"We'll deal with that question later,\" Retief said. \"Right now, I want more information. Where did you get them? Where did you hide the ship? \"There were no more! Absolutely, I assure you!\" \"Killed in the crash landing?\" \"No crash landing. The ship descended intact, east of the city. The ... Terrestrials ... were unharmed. Naturally, we feared them. They were strange to us. We had never before seen such beings.\" \"How could we know?\" Fith moaned. felt it was as well they ... did not survive. Then, when the warships \"Where is the ship?\" \"What did you do with it? It was too big to just walk off and forget. Where is it?\" \"Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said. \"If I don't come back in a reasonable length Retief stooped under the heavy timbers shoring the entry to the cavern. Retief walked along the raised wooden catwalk, studying the ship. Empty \"How did you get it in here?\" Retief asked. Retief grunted. \"Let's go inside.\" Retief clambered up a narrow companionway, glanced around the interior \"I've seen enough,\" Retief said. \"We were at fault,\" Fith said abjectly. \"Now we wish only friendship.\" Retief looked grimly at the slender Foreign Office official. \"Where is \"Where is that ship?\" Retief rapped out. \"You never learn, do you? Retief eyed Fith. \"Don't try it,\" he said. \"You'll just get yourself in Fith clacked his mandibles angrily, eye stalks canted aggressively toward the Terrestrial. \"Out of deference to your diplomatic status, Terrestrial, I shall ignore your insulting remarks,\" Fith said in his reedy voice. \"Let us Retief looked at the four policemen. \"I see your point,\" he said. where!\" \"The Groaci don't know. They're a very cultured, gentle people. You can do irreparable harm to the reputation of Terrestrials if you insist—\" \"That's my decision,\" Retief said. \"I have a job to do and we're indignation. \"You're like a ... a....\" \"You and I are in a tight spot, Miss Meuhl. The logical next move for the Groaci is to dispose of both of us. We're the only ones who know what happened. Fith almost did the job this afternoon, but I bluffed him out—for the moment.\" Retief, rose and snapped on a light, turned to stare. \"What in the world—Where have you been? What's happened to your clothing?\" \"I got a little dirty. Don't worry about it.\" Retief went to his desk, \"I have a message to get off first, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said sharply. \"That's right,\" Retief said calmly. \"Now—\" \"Get that sender going, woman!\" Retief snapped. \"This is important.\" \"I've already done so, Mr. Retief!\" Miss Meuhl said harshly. \"I've been \"He's here now,\" Miss Meuhl said to the screen. She looked at Retief have been completely dispelled by what you've just told me.\" Retief looked at her levelly. \"You've been a busy girl, Miss Meuhl. Did you mention the six Terrestrials who were killed here?\" \"That had no bearing on the matter of your wild behavior! I must say, Retief reached out and snapped off the communicator. The triumphant Retief went on earnestly, \"I've found the missing cruiser.\" \"You heard him relieve you!\" Retief ignored Miss Meuhl's fury as he spoke into the recorder.\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Retief still upset after seeing the ship?\n\n<options>:\nA He found something at the ship he wasn't expecting.\nB The Groacians wouldn't show him inside of the ship.\nC There was a much larger ship still unaccounted for.\nD He's upset about the deceased Terrestrials he found.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
240 | 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 ancient rule was sink or swim—swim in the miasma of a planet without me. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. An intelligent runt like me. telling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect that meantime, I've got brains as a consolation. Thinking it over, I was almost sorry I'd been stinking to Jimmy D. He's partners with the competition, do you? Besides, there was still that crack about being a snob. Planets make me feel wretched. and little grubby things just looking for to crawl on. If you imagination. Worst of all, planets stink. Every single one smells—I've been on enough to know that. A planet is all right for a Mud-eater, but gear and then led his horse down the ramp. I think he was still smarting from the slap I'd given him. is a person who can take care of himself if he has to. Daddy says that something has to be done in a closed society to keep the population from decaying mentally and physically, and this is it. And it helps to camp out, as nasty as that would be. The third was to join forces, No, he isn't really a meatball. The trouble is that I don't take nothing from nobody, especially him, and he doesn't take nothing from nobody, especially me. So we do a lot of fighting. In two days of riding, I ran onto nothing but a few odd-looking animals. I shot one small one and ate it. It turned out to taste pretty identify. One of the smartest moves in history was to include horses when they dropped the colonies. I say \"they\" because, while we did the actual dropping, the idea originated with the whole evac plan back on established, there was not time to set up industry, so they had to have draft animals. could have been substituted but, even if they had, they would have had to be domesticated from scratch. That would have been stupid. I'll bet that half the colonies would have failed if they hadn't had horses. I came on my first travelers three hours later. I rounded a tree-lined bend, ducking an overhanging branch, and pulled Ninc to a stop. There were five men on horseback herding a bunch of the ugliest creatures alive. They were green and grotesque. They had squat bodies, long limbs and knobby bulges at their joints. They had square, flat animal masks for faces. But they walked on their hind legs and they had paws that were almost hands, and that was enough to make them seem almost human. They made a wordless, chilling, lowing sound as they milled and plodded men on horseback had guns in saddle boots. They looked as nervous as cats with kittens. One of them had a string of packhorses on a line and he saw me and called to another who seemed to be the leader. That one wheeled his black horse and rode back toward me. He was a middle-aged man, maybe as old as my Daddy. He was large and he had a hard face. Normal enough, but hard. He pulled to a halt when we me. I believe in judging a person by his face. A man can't help the face he owns, but he can help the expression he wears on it. If a man looks mean, I generally believe that he is. This one looked mean. That was why I kept riding. He said, \"What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head? There be escaped Losels in these woods.\" Daddy, who should know better. better ride on from here with us. For protection.\" He had an odd way of twisting his sounds, almost as though he had a mouthful of mush. I wondered whether he were just an oddball or whether all. We mought as well throw him back again.\" The rider looked at me. When I didn't dissolve in terror as he expected, he shrugged and one of the other men laughed. The hard man said to the others, \"This boy will be riding along with us I looked down at the plodding, unhappy creatures they were driving didn't want to be fried. tones said, \"Look here, kid....\" \"Shut up,\" I said, in as mean a voice as I could muster, and he did. It surprised me. I didn't think I sounded that mean. I decided he just the creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. the green creatures, which surprised me since the ones I'd seen before But it relieved me. I thought they might have been eating them or silently past. And I overtook a wagon driven by the oldest man I've the boys and men wore pants, and so did I, which must have been why Horst and his buddies assumed I was a boy. It wasn't flattering but swarmed. I saw a family come out of a house—a father and four children. It was the most foul thing I've ever seen. It struck me The first thing you learn in school is that if it weren't for idiot and criminal people like these, Earth would never have been destroyed. The evacuation would never have had to take place, and eight billion people been eight billion people. But, no. They bred and they spread and they devoured everything in their path like a cancer. They gobbled up all the resources that Earth had and crowded and shoved one another until the final war came. foresight to see what was coming. If it hadn't been for them and some others like them, there wouldn't be any humans left anywhere. And I wouldn't be here. That may not scare you, but it scares me. Who? Make the mistake of bracing a fellow like Horst and you might wind drop the stomach out of everybody aboard. George Fuhonin's style. I idiot stutter-fingered stupidity at the controls. As it skidded by me we wouldn't tell these Mud-eaters how, a scoutship is something that buildings on it. One was a well enclosure and the other was little more playing, and one of them ran close to the high-walled pen. His father had two or three brothers and sisters, but it didn't strike me until that moment that it wouldn't even seem out of the ordinary to these kids. Isn't that horrible? errand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate the not.\" who'd made the joke about me being beneath the notice of a Losel. He I opened my mouth to scream—I have a good scream—but a rough smelly lungful of air. I bit down hard—5000 lbs. psi, I'm told—but he and dragged me off. When we were behind the pen and out of earshot of the fire, he stopped dragging me and dropped me in a heap. \"Make any noise,\" he said, \"and I'll hurt you.\" That was a silly way to put it, but somehow it said more than if he'd for that. \"I ought to club you anyway,\" he said. The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were putting the animals in the pen. He started to kick me, but Horst stopped him. \"No,\" he said. \"Look through the kid's gear, bring the horse and what being kicked, but was rather establishing who did the kicking in his bunch. with it.\" trouble. So don't give me a hard time.\" He still thought I was a boy. It was not time to correct him, but I didn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering. something stuffy like that. He laughed, not a phony, villian-type laugh, but a real laugh, so I knew I'd goofed. \"Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of the saddle. \"What's the name of the kid in jail in Forton.\" natural and mine wasn't, \"The piece be yours.\" Then he tromped on it Brains are no good if you don't use them.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is a Mud-eater?\n\n<options>:\nA A derogatory term for a farmer\nB A derogatory term for a person who lives on a planet, instead of in space\nC A derogatory term for a person whose job it is to herd Losels\nD A derogatory term for a person who breeds without restraint\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,897 | 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 oldster in the stained convalescent suit gave her a quick, shy smile other patients working at the long tables in the hospital's arts and crafts shop. Two muscular and bored attendants in spotless whites, lounged beside the locked door and chatted idly about the Dodgers' buildings of the hospital and the hills blocked the view of the austere complex of buildings that housed the main wards. \"And what are we making today, Mr. Funston?\" Miss Abercrombie asked. Without looking up from his bench he muttered a reply. \"Atom bomb.\" thought you said an 'atom bomb.'\" \"Did,\" Funston murmured. Safely behind the patient's back, Miss Abercrombie smiled ever so slightly. \"Why that's very good, Mr. Funston. That shows real creative At the clay table, Funston feverishly fabricated the last odd-shaped bit to the main administration building where her car was parked. As she drove out of the hospital grounds, Thaddeus Funston stood at the barred window of his locked ward and stared vacantly over the hills towards the craft shop. He stood there unmoving until a ward attendant came and took his arm an hour later to lead him off to the patients' mess hall. The sun set, darkness fell over the stilled hospital grounds and the ward lights winked out at nine o'clock, leaving just a single light burning in each ward office. A quiet wind sighed over the still-warm At 3:01 a.m., Thaddeus Funston stirred in his sleep and awakened. He sat up in bed and looked around the dark ward. The quiet breathing and occasional snores of thirty other sleeping patients filled the room. Funston turned to the window and stared out across the black hills that sheltered the deserted crafts building. He gave a quick cry, shut his eyes and clapped his hands over his face. shadows on the walls of the suddenly-illuminated ward. An instant later, the shattering roar and blast of the explosion struck the hospital buildings in a wave of force and the bursting crash of a thousand windows was lost in the fury of the explosion and the wild screams of the frightened and demented patients. small mushroom-shaped cloud, rose above the gaping hole that had been the arts and crafts building. Thaddeus Funston took his hands from his face and lay back in his bed with a small, secret smile on his lips. Attendants and nurses scurried through the hospital, seeing how many had been injured in the explosion. The roar and flash of the explosion had lighted and rocked the surrounding countryside. Soon firemen and civil defense disaster units from a half-dozen neighboring communities had gathered at the still-smoking hole that marked the site of the vanished crafts building. Within fifteen minutes, the disaster-trained crews had detected heavy radiation emanating from the crater and there was a scurry of men and equipment back to a safe distance, a few hundred yards away. Atomic Energy Commission experts, military intelligence men, four FBI agents and an Army full colonel disembarked. At 5:45 a.m. a cordon was thrown around both the hospital and the blast crater. In Ward 4-C, Thaddeus Funston slept peacefully and happily. \"It's impossible and unbelievable,\" Colonel Thomas Thurgood said for the fifteenth time, later that morning, as he looked around the group of experts gathered in the tent erected on the hill overlooking the crater. \"How can an atom bomb go off in a nut house?\" \"It apparently was a very small bomb, colonel,\" one of the haggard AEC men offered timidly. \"Not over three kilotons.\" \"I don't care if it was the size of a peanut,\" Thurgood screamed. \"How did it get here?\" A military intelligence agent spoke up. \"If we knew, sir, we wouldn't be standing around here. We don't know, but the fact remains that it WAS an atomic explosion.\" Thurgood turned wearily to the small, white-haired man at his side. that was in that building?\" Thurgood swept his hand in the general direction of the blast crater. \"Colonel, I've told you a dozen times,\" the hospital administrator said that led them to this hospital. They worked with oil and water paints and clay. If you can make an atomic bomb from vermillion pigments, then Madame Curie was a misguided scrubwoman.\" Thurgood sighed. \"I also know that an atomic explosion at 3:02 this morning blew it to hell and gone. \"And I've got to find out how it happened.\" Thurgood slumped into a field chair and gazed tiredly up at the little \"We've already called for Miss Abercrombie and she's on her way here now,\" the doctor snapped. Outside the tent, a small army of military men and AEC technicians moved around the perimeter of the crater, scintillators in hand, examining every tiny scrap that might have been a part of the building at one expression. \"He did make an atom bomb,\" she cried. Colonel Thurgood, who had snapped from his chair at her words, leaped forward to catch her as she collapsed in a faint. At 4:00 p.m., the argument was still raging in the long, narrow staff room of the hospital administration building. Colonel Thurgood, looking more like a patient every minute, sat on the \"It's ridiculous,\" Thurgood roared. \"We'll all be the laughingstocks of Funston's work?\" another chance to repeat his bomb. But this time under our supervision.\" Thurgood leaped to his feet, his face purpling. \"Are you crazy?\" he screamed. \"You want to get us all thrown into this the IQ of an ape could make an atomic bomb out of kid's modeling clay? \"They'd crucify us, that's what they'd do!\" At 8:30 that night, Thaddeus Funston, swathed in an Army officer's greatcoat that concealed the strait jacket binding him and with an Two military policemen and a brace of staff psychiatrists sworn to hospital,\" she replied, \"and it's the same amount.\" Thurgood signaled to the doctors and they entered the shack with Thaddeus Funston between them. The colonel nudged Miss Abercrombie. She smiled at Funston. \"Now isn't this nice, Mr. Funston,\" she said. \"These nice men have A flicker of interest lightened Thaddeus' face. He looked around the Miss Abercrombie stood at his shoulder as Thaddeus hunched over the glanced at her watch. The maze of clay strips grew and as Funston from the shack. There was a moment of hushed silence and then pandemonium burst. The and photographed it from every angle. Then they left for the concrete observatory bunker, several miles down range where Thaddeus and the psychiatrists waited inside a ring of stony-faced military policemen. \"I told you this whole thing was asinine,\" Thurgood snarled as the scientific teams trooped into the bunker. Thaddeus Funston stared out over the heads of the MPs through the open A brilliance a hundred times brighter than the glaring Nevada sun lit the dim interior of the bunker and the pneumatically-operated door slammed shut just before the wave of the blast hit the structure. Six hours and a jet plane trip later, Thaddeus, once again in his strait jacket, sat between his armed escorts in a small room in the Pentagon. across a half-opened transom into the room where Thaddeus Funston sat in In the next room, Thaddeus Funston stared out over the sweeping panorama\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Thaddeus Funston smile at the sight of the demolished arts and crafts building?\n\n<options>:\nA His prophecy of an alien invasion was fulfilled\nB He is gleeful at the idea of part of the mental hospital being destroyed\nC His self-constructed clay atom bomb was effectively detonated\nD He knows the explosion will distract the hospital staff and give him an opportunity to escape\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
942 | 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>:\nMan's family tree was awesome enough to give every galactic race an inferiority complex—but then he tried to climb it! In repose, Taphetta the Ribboneer resembled a fancy giant bow on a package. His four flat legs looped out and in, the ends tucked under his wide, thin body, which constituted the knot at the middle. His neck his head had appreciable thickness and it was crowned with a dozen long though narrower ribbons. Taphetta rattled the head fronds together in a surprisingly good imitation of speech. \"Yes, I've heard the legend.\" \"It's more than a legend,\" said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction was not unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenient \"It is impressive,\" admitted Taphetta. \"But I find it mildly distasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to my species.\" Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. \"But I thought it was proved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was an unbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years.\" commented Taphetta dryly. \"It seems an unnecessary simplification.\" \"I can't think of a better explanation.\" Taphetta rearranged his though not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization as high as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there were others—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever got together—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could be very useful. A clear statement of their position was essential in helping him make up his mind. \"You've heard of the adjacency mating The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly. The color change was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that he was interested. Taphetta rustled. \"The math is accurate?\" !\" \"The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,\" murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. \"Is that the only era that satisfies the calculations?\" Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. \"And you think that where the two exploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding it \"It seems I must decide quickly.\" The Ribboneer glanced out the visionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them. \"Do you mind if I ask other questions?\" Halden flushed have men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the region we're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer to have an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigational ability.\" Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. \"I had other plans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergency Ribboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a per cent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of the profits from any discoveries we may make.\" \"I'm complimented that you like our contract so well,\" said Taphetta, \"but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me, Halden took a deep breath. \"Seems all right to me.\" It would do no good to explain that Taphetta wasn't a worm, that his evolution had taken a different course, but that he was in no sense less complex than Man. It was a paradox that some biologically higher \"Can't. This is as good as I can get it. Taphetta thought you could do thoughtfully. \"Is there something wrong with the plants?\" Halden glowered at the man. \"How long has this been going on?\" Halden started. So she Taphetta sat in a chair designed for humans. With a less flexible body, tells me you're contemplating an experiment. I don't like it.\" \"Neither do we.\" The Ribboneer's distaste subsided. \"What kind of creatures are they?\" \"I have a description, though I've never seen one. It's a small Taphetta rustled. \"Have you found out how it got on?\" \"It was probably brought in with the supplies,\" said the biologist. \"Considering how far we've come, it may have been any one of a half \"That's what I don't like,\" said Taphetta, curling. \"Let me think it \"I don't question your authority,\" crinkled Taphetta. \"To me, all a route estimated at thirty thousand light-years in less than five thousand years—and not one of them died that we have a record of.\" \"A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life,\" mused Taphetta. \"But they didn't leave any information for their descendants. Why?\" \"Who knows? Their mental processes were certainly far different from \"This special planet sounds strange,\" murmured Taphetta. Taphetta. \"We helped them,\" said Emmer. And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically late aloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, it was tacitly assumed, such a destiny? Taphetta changed his questioning. \"What do you expect to gain from this discovery of the unknown ancestor?\" It was Halden who answered him. \"There's the satisfaction of knowing that were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span.\" \"No doubt,\" said Taphetta. \"An archeologist would be interested in cultural discoveries.\" civilization,\" added Halden. \"A faster-than-light drive, and we've achieved that only within the last thousand years.\" \"But I think we have a better one than they did,\" said the Ribboneer. \"There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics, but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else?\" Halden nodded. \"Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So, were master biologists.\" \"I thought so,\" said Taphetta. \"I never paid much attention to your fantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've built up a convincing case.\" He raised his head, speech ribbons curling fractionally and ceaselessly. \"I don't like to, but we'll have to risk using bait for your pest.\" consent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask it had been bothering him vaguely. \"What's the difference between the Ribboneer contract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal.\" \"To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover as Taphetta was wrong there had been no intention of withholding He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquired would have to be shared. That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind of technical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that could improve itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a start that could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now. \"Why do we have to watch it on the screen?\" asked Meredith, glancing Halden shrugged. \"They may or may not be smarter than planetbound When they nodded, Halden said: \"Do as you've rehearsed. Keep noise at At Halden's signal, the lights flared up and the screen became too \"The electronic puppets were a good imitation, but the animals don't have to identify them as their species. If they're smart enough, they'll know the value of a knife, no matter who uses it.\" \"Why did you ever have anything to do with me?\" demanded Halden.\n\n<question>:\nHow does Taphetta's initial response to Halden's evidence represent a greater dynamic between species?\n\n<options>:\nA Like Taphetta, ribboneers are highly aware of their superior intellectual status, and are skeptical when presented with 'lower level' information\nB Like Taphetta, ribboneers possess lower reasoning capacities than humans, and are insecure when presented with 'higher level' information\nC Like Taphetta, ribboneers are the most brilliant species, and are initially defensive when presented with information that contradicts what they believe to be true\nD Like Taphetta, ribboneers are the quickest species to evolve, and are enthusiastic when presented with information that could further their advancement\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
537 | 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>:\nCaptain Gwayne cursed and rolled over, reaching for his boots. He was Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmen Pinelli, seemed to be totally devoid of any sense of caution. Of course there was no obvious need for caution here. The blobs hadn't seemed dangerous, and the local animals were apparently all herbivorous and harmless. They were ugly enough, looking like insects in spite of their internal skeletons, with anywhere from four to twelve legs each on their segmented bodies. None acted like dangerous beasts. But something had happened to the exploration party fifteen years deep gorge where they'd found Hennessy's carefully buried ship was now, as they often seemed to do. Gwayne stared at them for a minute, But there was no time. Earth had ordered him to detour here, after leaving his load of deep-sleep stored colonists on Official World 71, to check on any sign already. If there was no sign in another day or so of what had happened to the men who'd deserted their ship and its equipment, he'd have to He would have left before, if a recent landslip hadn't exposed enough of the buried ship for his metal locators to spot from the air by Gwayne grabbed the microphone, yelling into the radio toward the cadets. \"Get the jeeps out!\" Gwayne yelled at Jane. He yanked the door of Gwayne dashed for it as the exit port slid back. There was no sign of the cadets at first. Then Gwayne spotted them \"Follow the blobs,\" Gwayne yelled. He realized now he'd been a fool to the radio would have let him keep in contact with the kids. But it was too late to go back. had to slow as the fog thickened lower down. Then it cleared to show the mob of creatures doubling back on their own trail to confuse the pursuers. There was no time to stop. The jeep plowed through them. Gwayne had a windshield from behind, and Gwayne caught it before it could foul the to help. They'd have to get to the group with the cadets in a hurry or the horde would all vanish in the uneven ground, hidden by the fog. A blob dropped down, almost touching Gwayne. He threw up an instinctive hand. There was a tingling as the creature Abruptly, Barker's foot ground at the brake. Gwayne jolted forward leaped back. But Gwayne was out of the jeep before it stopped, diving shoulders, but amazingly strong. Gwayne felt them wrench at him as his sound, and it collapsed. Gwayne eased back slowly, but it made no \"I hope so,\" Gwayne told him. \"I want that thing to live—and you're and why that ship was buried against detection. This thing may be the sickly. Smoke and this air made a foul combination. \"Bob, it still makes no sense. We've scoured this planet by infra-red, and there was no sign of native villages or culture. We should have found some.\" \"Troglodytes, maybe,\" Gwayne guessed. \"Anyhow, send for me when you get our time here already.\" The reports from the cadets were satisfactory enough. They'd been picked up and carried, but no harm had been done them. Now they were busy being little heroes. Gwayne sentenced them to quarters as soon as he could, knowing their stories would only get wilder and less was almost certainly spoorless by now. The only possible answer seemed to be that the exploring expedition and Hennessy's rescue group had been overcome by the aliens. primitives have gotten to the men inside Hennessy's ship? Why was its fuel dumped? Only men would have known how to do that. And who told cunningly, and only the accidental slippage had undone their work. remotely habitable, or mankind was probably doomed to extinction. The race had blundered safely through its discovery of atomic weapons into a peace that had lasted two hundred years. It had managed to prevent an interplanetary war with the Venus colonists. It had found It wouldn't be much of an explosion, as such things go—but it would render the whole Solar System uninhabitable for millenia. To survive, man had to colonize. And there were no worlds perfect for him, as Earth had been. The explorers went out in desperation to find what they could the terraforming teams did what they could. And then the big starships began filling worlds with colonists, carried in deep sleep to conserve space. Almost eighty worlds. The nearest a four month journey from Earth and In another ten years, the sun would explode, leaving man only on the footholds he was trying to dig among other solar systems. Maybe some would be spawning grounds for mankind in spite of the efforts. Each was precious as a haven for the race. ship to them? Gwayne grabbed the phone and called Barker. \"How's the captive coming?\" \"Physically fine. You can see him. But—\" Gwayne dropped the phone and headed for the little sick bay. He swore at Doc for not calling him at once, and then at himself for not sound that lifted the hair along the nape of Gwayne's neck. Barker some kind of a salute as he saw Gwayne enter, and his eyes burned up \"Captain Gwayne, may I present your former friend, Captain Hennessy?\" Gwayne had his own ideas on that. It was easy for an alien to seize curiously shaped fingers that could handle no human-designed equipment spread out. Three. Seven. Zero. The answers were right. By the time the session was over, Gwayne had begun to understand the When it was finished, Gwayne and Barker sat for long minutes in silence. Finally Gwayne drew a shuddering breath and stood up. \"Is it their kids. Adults in eight years, but they stay shorter. It can't be a hereditary change—the things that affect the body don't change the Gwayne led the former Hennessy to the exit. The waiting blobs dropped Back in the control room, Gwayne found the emergency release levers, He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd had giving the gist of it to Jane. \"It was the blobs,\" he summarized it. \"They seem to be amused by men. doesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came, all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. \"And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside the hull. It doesn't show yet—but we're changed. In another month, Earth food would kill us. We've got to stay here. We'll bury the ships deeper this time, and Earth won't find us. They can't risk trying a colony where three ships vanish, so we'll just disappear. And they'll never know.\" Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eight years—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earth don't know you as well as I do, Bob. I guess we can fix it so they'll believe it all. And it's too late now. But we haven't really been changed yet, have we?\" \"No,\" he admitted. Damn his voice! He'd never been good at lying. \"No. They have to touch us. I've been touched, but the rest could go back.\" seed, but no world other than Earth could ever be trusted to preserve that seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already were becoming uncertain. understanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. \"These people need as rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength. The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them with a decent chance. We can't go to Earth, where nobody would believe or accept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here.\" numbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for the\n\n<question>:\nWhat lie does Gwayne plan to tell the crew?\n\n<options>:\nA There is not enough fuel to get back to Earth.\nB The ship is broken.\nC Earth no longer exists.\nD Everyone is already infected.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
2,053 | 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>:\nVar felt Neena beside him, and drew her close. As she sobbed her relief, Var. Var eyed him for a long moment The ice-wind blew from the glacier, but Var's love was round her as a Var said, \"The Watcher's cave should be three miles beyond this pass.\" He stood rigid, trying to catch an echo of the Watcher's thoughts, but mountain. Var sensed her fear, and the love that had conquered it. He be death for Var, and for Neena living shame. Which of the two was worse was no longer a simple problem to Var, who had grown much older in the Var sighed, shaking his head. \"It won't hold them for long, but it's the one alone might never have won through. But this was no time for shyness. Var eyed the ice-curtain closely to make sure that it was real, not dream-stuff then he struck it boldly They felt the Watcher rouse, heard his footsteps, and finally saw him—a shrunken old man, white-haired, with a lined beardless face. The sight of him, more marred by age than anyone they had ever seen before, was disappointing. They had expected something more—an ancient giant, a The Watcher peered at them in turn. \"Welcome,\" he said in a cracked voice. He did not speak again the rest of his conversation was in thought only. \"Welcome indeed. I am too much alone here.\" \"You were asleep!\" said Var. Shock made his thought accusing, though he had not meant to be. The old man grinned toothlessly. \"Never fear. Asleep or awake, I watch. Come in! You're letting in the wind.\" is as bad as it was when I was last in it.\" Hot food and drink were before them almost at once. The Watcher regarded them with compassion as their eyes brightened and some of the shadow of Warming to the old man now, Var sketched his and Neena's history \"A pity, indeed. I would like to help you—but, you understand, I am the Mountain Watcher. I must be above feuds and families.\" Var nodded somberly, thinking that an old recluse would in any case be \"And what will you do now?\" Var grinned mirthlessly. \"We haven't much choice, since they're The Watcher was broodingly silent nestled by Var's side. He asked, \"And you—are you willing to follow your lover in this?\" Var, and her lips curled with a proud and tender mockery. \"Follow? Why, are doing. That is the second part of the law the First Watcher made: to guard lest the unwary and the ignorant should bring harm on themselves and on all men.\" below, and I returned in time.\" Now for the first time Var sensed the Var stared down at his hands. but such tyranny, power, and cruelty as theirs, had never been known. They ruled Var and Neena stared, unstirring, with wide vacant eyes, while the old Var blinked dazedly in the shadowless glow of the ice-cave. His arm who was the Mountain Watcher. in ignorance. Our world is unwise and sometimes evil, full of arrogance, folly, and passion that are in the nature of man. Yet it is a happy The Watcher eyed them speculatively. \"Before all,\" he said finally, \"this is a world where you are free to risk wakening the old tyrants, if in your own judgment your great need renders the chance worth taking.\" mind as it groped for his there was a confusion of horror and pity. Var looked grimly at the Watcher, and would have spoken but the Watcher seemed suddenly a very long way off, and Var could no longer feel his Var strove to cry out that there was no time, that Groz was near and Var woke. Daylight glimmered through the ice of the cave mouth. He had Neena sat up and stifled a cry of fright. Var growled, \"Who are you? Where's the Watcher?\" The other flashed white teeth in a smile. \"I'm the Watcher,\" he answered. \"Often I become a youth at morning, and relax into age as the day passes. A foolish amusement, no doubt, but amusements are few here.\" \"You made us fall asleep. Groz will be on us—\" Var passed a hand across bewildered eyes. Neena said softly, \"Thank you, Watcher.\" Not looking at the Watcher, Var muttered unsteadily, \"We have no \"You have an alternative,\" said the Watcher crisply. The two took their be too late for them to overtake Var.\" That possibility had not occurred to them at all. Var and Neena looked They thought, in the warm intimacy of unreserved understanding: \" It would work: I-you would make the sacrifice of shame and mockery—yet The Watcher's face did not change. He said gravely, \"Very well. I will the mountain and of its guardian machines. Var closed his eyes, a little \"You are ready to go,\" said the Watcher. He spoke aloud, and his voice was cracked and harsh. Var opened his eyes in surprise, and saw that the Watcher had become again the hoary ancient of last night. Var felt a twinge of unfamiliar emotion only by its echo in Neena's mind did he recognize it as a sense of guilt. He said stiffly, \"You don't blame us?\" \"You have taken life in your own hands,\" rasped the Watcher. \"Who does Var sent his thoughts probing beyond the curtain, listened intently, slanted steeply downward. Var's hands moved, molding a radiant globe too far to discern the rage that must contort his features, but the thought he hurled at them was a soundless bellow: \"Young fools! I've caught you now!\" Neena's hand tightened on Var's. Var sent a thought of defiance: \"Go sky was beneath. Var fought for footing with his balance gone, feeling At Var's thought command Neena froze instantly. \"Feel that!\" he \"Forward, before the charge builds up again!\" said Var. A few feet Var faced that way and thought coldly: \"Only if you return and let us go knew with finality that the other's stubbornness matched his own—that neither would yield, though the mountain above them and the world outside should crumble to ruin around them. Without warning, lights went on. Blinking in their glare, Var and Neena Var and Neena huddled frozenly, half expecting each instant to be their That, and his movements when he came slowly down the ramp toward them, conveyed a queer suggestion of weariness or weakness, as if he were yet not wholly roused from his two millenia of slumber. But the Ryzga's manner and his mind radiated a consciousness of power, a pride and assurance of self that smote them like a numbing blow. With a new shock, Var realized that the Ryzga's thoughts were quite close his mind in the presence of inferior creatures.... interlopers with the dispassionate gaze of a scientist examining a new, image occurred oddly to Var, to whom such a comparison would ordinarily initially postulated but this will do. The pessimists were mistaken. We Var was staring in fascination at the Ryzga's face. It was a face formed But in that moment a light of inspiration had flashed upon Var, and it remained. As the Ryzga stretched out his hand again, Var acted. The Holding that grip, Var strode across the floor and looked straight into misdirected and unavailing as those of a child who has not learned to wrestle with the mind. Var had guessed right. When Neena in her terror had flung a dream tale—the Ryzga had not recognized it as such, but had taken it for a real being. Var laughed aloud, and with great care, as one communicates Behind the hate-filled eyes the cold brain tried to reason still. \"Barbarians...? Our party was wrong after all. After us the machine\n\n<question>:\nWhat does Var think of The Watcher?\n\n<options>:\nA He respects him even though he is surprising\nB He will trust him in any decision even if he does not like him personally\nC He thinks all of his ideas are ridiculous\nD He thinks his reputation is overblown but he thinks he is nice\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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1,470 | 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, I mean, it's not only about Wanda,\" said Harry. \"You see, my wife, Jane, that is....\" \"Yes?\" said the priest. He took his pen out of the holder. \"I think, with the proper ... ah ... you know. What I mean is, I think she might look with favor on you in the Changing of the Wives, if I said a few well chosen words in your behalf.\" \"She's a very pretty woman.\" \"Ah.... Quite so.\" \"Well, about Wanda. I really shouldn't mention this. But Father, if we are short one woman....\" He stood up. \"I may tell you, my son, that, in thinking this matter over last night, I decided that Wanda—ah—Miller, yes, has had sufficient duty to merit participation in the Festival.\" \"Justice is a priestly virtue,\" Harry said. \"And you really think your wife would...?\" \"Oh, yes, Father.\" \"That is to say, in order for a woman to join in the ritual of the Changing of the Wives, she must, ahem, be married.\" \"I never thought of that,\" said the third mate disconsolately. \"I think that can be arranged, however,\" said Nestir. \"If you go by the true.\" \"Well, then, say the first day of Wenslaus, that would be—ah, a Zentahday—I may depend upon you to wed Wanda Miller, the bosun's daughter, yes?\" \"No,\" said the captain. \"Come now, sir. I realize she is the daughter of a crewman, but—\" \"Well, I'll be damned,\" Joanne Marie's husband said loudly. Nestir cleared his throat. \"It was about the Casting Off. That's why \"Captain! I fear I must be very severe with you. I will be forced to That morning was to be the time of the captain's wedding. He had nor would he consent He had intended, after the ceremony, to go about his duty as if nothing It is entirely possible that he would have lain there until Doomsday \"Come in,\" he whispered, hoping she would not hear him and go away. But she heard him. \"Husband,\" Wanda said simply. She closed the door behind her and stood staring at him. \"Madam,\" he said, \"I hope you will have the kindness not to refer to me by that indecent appelation a second time.\" \"Gee. You say the cutest things. I'm awful glad you had to marry me, huh.\" Everyone but Joanne Marie's husband cheered. He sat glumly muttering to family had become involved in a conspiracy against the illustrious King Fod. As the Soong family was traveling....\" \"I don't like 'em anyway,\" said Wanda. \"Madam,\" said the captain, \"kindly bring me that.\" died as miserable a death as anyone could desire.\" following the captain's outburst. The captain was not visibly cheered It would be very humiliating, y'know, to have a crew member do it.\" \"Oh, very,\" said the steward. \"I don't know,\" the second mate's wife said, \"whether you better count on my husband or not. I have my own plans for him.\" instinct of the mother to release her child from its duty, then....\" \"Oh, not at all,\" the third mate's wife said. \"I did it to make him \"I certainly hope so,\" the third mate said. \"Jane worries about it all The captain rolled the wine over his tongue. \"You were right, of \"Oh, really, now. Now. Duty, duty,\" the captain reprimanded him mildly. you, Father.\" \"Wanda?\" \"Yes. She's sixteen, now.\" \"Wanda who?\" the steward asked. \"Wanda Miller, the bosun's daughter.\" \"All right, so I am. But it's true. And if Carstar hadn't been killed, there would have been two short.\" She shot a wicked glance at Nestir. \"Why don't you and him share a woman—\" \"Martha!\" \"Although the Prophet knows what woman in her right mind would consent to....\" \"Well,\" said Nestir hesitantly. \"Listen,\" the third mate said, \"the second's right. If you don't sign it, someone will have to do without a woman.\" \"She's too young for you, dear,\" Jane said to her husband. \"Oh, I don't know,\" the steward said. \"Sometimes they're the best, I hear.\" III The third mate, whose name was Harry, stood before the mirror combing his hair. He had been combing his hair for the last fifteen minutes. \"I suppose the crew is celebrating?\" his wife said. \"Pish-tush.\" \"No, Harry. I mean it. Helen looked at me strangely all through dinner. She has three children, you know.\" \"You're imagining things.\" \"Oh.\" Harry fiddled with his tie without speaking. \"I mean, as much as to say: 'Well, I raised all of mine.'\" \"Harry?\" \"Yes?\" \"I don't think all that is necessary just to go on duty.\" \"Probably not.\" She walked to the bed and sat down. \"Harry?\" \"Don't you really think she's awful young?\" \"Huh-uh.\" \"I mean, why don't you pick someone else? Like Mary? She's awful sweet. I'll bet she'd be better.\" \"Probably.\" \"She's a lot of fun.\" He brushed at his hair again. \"Who do you want, Jane?\" \"I'll mention it to him.\" \"Would you really, Harry? That would be sweet.\" \"Sure, honey.\" He looked down at his watch. \"Harry? Are you going to meet Wanda in the control room?\" \"Uh-huh.\" \"I thought so. Well, remember this, dear: It isn't the day of the Harry assisted him to the crew's corridor where he sank to the floor The second mate blew another smoke ring. \"Well,\" Harry said. \"Uh. Harry? Are you really going to take that Wanda girl?\" \"If Nestir lets me.\" \"Say. Harry. Do you suppose your wife would...?\" Harry crossed to the second mate and put a hand on his shoulder. \"Sorry, old fellow. She's got it in her head to take Nestir.\" He shrugged. \"I don't exactly approve, of course, but ... I'm sure if he \"Look. How about telling me another time?\" \"Uh, Sure. If you say so. Uh?\" \"I'm kind of expecting Wanda.\" \"Oh. Sure. I should have known you weren't here early for nothing. In that case, I better be shoving off. Luck.\" captain comes in now—well, you know how he is.... Okay, thanks. Night.\" to look at the stars. She was simple minded. \"Hello.\" He swiveled around. \"Oh, hello, Wanda, honey.\" \"Hello, Haireee. Are you glad little ol' me could come, huh?\" \"Me, too. Can I look at the—oh. It's already on.\" \"Uh-huh. Look. Wanda.\" Festival, can I?\" \"I don't know, yet. He's thinking about it. That's why I want to see you. He's going to check your record. And Wanda?\" \"Wanda, listen to me.\" \"I'm a-listenin', Haireee.\" \"You're simply going to have to stop carrying that doll around with you \"No, Captain. I'm afraid I can't agree to that,\" Nestir said. The captain said, \"Oh, don't be unreasonable, Father. After all, this \"But Captain! I haven't finished telling you about....\" \"I'll call you when I'm through,\" said Harry. The captain left the room. \"It's about Wanda, Father,\" said the third mate. The priest studied the table top. He rearranged some papers. \"Ah, yes. The young girl.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat would have happened had the captain not married Wanda?\n\n<options>:\nA Jane would have been upset with Harry for ruining her plan\nB The priest would have been happy that Wanda remained unmarried\nC The priest would not have been able to eventually end up with Jane\nD Wanda would have had to marry Harry instead\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,234 | 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>:\ncan do it neater and use better grammar. I had to get in touch with somebody about this because if there is something to it, then somebody, everybody, is going to point finger at me, Ivan Smernda, and say, \"Why might be down on their luck now and then. What really got me mixed up in this was the mysterious disappearance of What a spot to be in! Now it might have been a gag. Sometimes these guys get funny ideas when they are on the stuff. But then I read the letters. This knocks me for a loop. They are all in different handwritings. All from different places. Stamps all legit, my kid says. India, China, England, everywhere. Greetings, greetings, greetings. Hold firm in your wretched projection, for tomorrow you will not be alone in the not-world. In two days I, Glmpauszn, will be born. Today I hang in our newly developed not-pod just within the mirror 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. Tomorrow it will be someone else. You must never know of my exact location, for the not-people might have access to the information. 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 lies without arousing suspicion. I will grow up as the not-child in order that I might destroy the not-people completely. All is well, only they shot this information file into my matrix too Glmpauszn June 13 Dear Joe: Mnghjkl, fhfjgfhjklop phelnoprausynks. No. When I communicate with you, 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 but I eluded them. What unpredictable beings! I reported my tremendous progress back to our world, including the But you know old Blgftury. He wanted to go on this expedition himself and it's his nature never to flatter anyone. From now on I will refer to not-people simply as people, dropping the qualifying preface except where comparisons must be made between this alleged world and our own. It is merely an offshoot of our primitive mythology when this was considered a spirit world, just as these people refer to our world as never-never land and other anomalies. But we learned otherwise, while they never have. 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. and all about me at the beauty. Soon an individual approached. I knew what to do from my information. I simply acted natural. You know, one of your earliest instructions was to realize that these people see nothing unusual in you if you do not nearby houses. I linked my hands behind me and watched the scene with an attitude of mild interest. They weren't interested in me, I told myself. But they were. A figure I recognized as a police officer spoke to her. \"Lizzy, you'll just have to keep these crackpot friends of yours out of pain, fear, hate, love, laughter. I don't know one from the other. I must feel each, become accustomed to it. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the information I impaired. Farewell, till I find a more intelligent mind so I can write you with more enlightenment. Glmpauszn Dear Joe: I received your first communication today. It baffles me. Do you greet of this not-world. Through many long gleebs, our people have lived a semi-terrorized existence while errant vibrations from this world 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 by these people. The not-world and our world are like two baskets as you and I see them in our present forms. Baskets woven with the greatest intricacy, design and color 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 of them at the first opportunity to see for myself. Meanwhile, as to you, I would offer a few words of advice. I picked them up while examining the \"slang\" portion of my information catalog Glmpauszn Glmpauszn of symptoms popularly referred to as a hangover ... Ahhh! Pardon me again. Strangely ... now what was I saying? Oh, yes. Ha, ha. Strangely enough, the reactions that come easiest to the people in this world came most difficult to me. Money-love, for example. It is a great thing here, both among those who haven't got it and those who have. I went out and got plenty of money. I walked invisible into a bank and I've got a lot more emotions to try, such as romantic love. I've been studying this phenomenon, along with other racial characteristics of these people, in the movies. This is the best place to see these people as they really are. They all go into the movie houses and there do homage to their own images. Very quaint type of idolatry. Love. Ha! What an adventure this is becoming. 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 wonderful, in spite of this miserable imitation of a body. There are long hours during which I am so well-integrated into this body and this world that I almost consider myself a member of it. Now outlining my experiments in the realm of chemistry where we must finally defeat these people. Of course, I haven't made the experiments 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 quickly. Now in all the motion pictures—true representations of life and love Glmpauszn people really are to our world. 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. Anyway, Mrs. Somebody wanted to make contact with her paternal grandmother, Lucy, from the beyond. The medium went into his act. He concentrated and sweated and suddenly something began to take form in the room. The best way to describe it in not-world language is a white, Glmpauszn This telepathic control becomes more difficult every time. I must pick closer points of communication soon. I have nothing to report but Glmpauszn of mold, somewhat similar to the antibiotics of this world, that, 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. Glmpauszn\n\n<question>:\nHow was Glmpauszn communicating with Joe?\n\n<options>:\nA through vibrations\nB through the mirror\nC telepathically\nD through other people\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
93 | 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>:\nJohnson winced. \"Is that what you want to unload on me?\" \"For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will be Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them five buckos for a glass of water—and got it! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. remaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpish Harvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering this \"Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with every chaser.\" Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. \"That—that's robbery!\" the lanky man managed to get out in a thin quaver. The barkeeper shrugged. \"When there ain't many customers, you gotta make more on each one. Besides—\" sometimes overactive. You were going to say—?\" The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression. as some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in with buckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—I was chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I charge \"Let's say ten buckos a liter,\" the mayor said. \"On account of the quantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts me more to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to, that's all.\" preposterous. We simply can't afford it.\" Johnson's response almost floored them. \"Who said anything about charging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing. It's just the purified stuff that comes so high.\" tasting it. \"Sweet!\" he snarled. this one before it grew formidable.\" The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. \"If you don't charge too much,\" he said warily, \"I might think of buying some.\" \"We do not sell this unbelievable remedy,\" Harvey replied with dignity. \"It sells itself.\" \"'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a whole case,\" said Johnson. \"How much?\" asked the mayor unhappily. \"For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundred buckos.\" Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression of doing so. \"F-four hundred,\" he offered. \"Not a red cent less than four seventy-five,\" Harvey said flatly. \"Make it four fifty,\" quavered Johnson. \"I dislike haggling,\" said Harvey. The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos and fifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: \"And we will include, handicraftsmanship.\" Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. \"No tricks now. I want a taste of that stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me.\" minute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle which the man gradually won. \"There ain't no words for that taste,\" he gulped when it was safe to mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had been swindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit have been, then? No I had to use the bitter free water, of course.\" the same medicine that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were a guinea pig for a splendid cause.\" \"Okay, okay,\" Joe said. \"But you shoulda charged him more.\" he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolic suckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on the audio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendous figure to the zoo!\" Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcome to our hospitality.\" \"Your hospitality,\" said Harvey, \"depends on the prices you charge.\" \"Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying,\" answered the mayor promptly. \"What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here you can't get anywhere else for any price.\" 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. which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices were phenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, he kitchen, attending to the next course. \"He would make any society hostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sum to women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire.\" \"Think of a fast one fast,\" Joe agreed. \"You're right.\" \"But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,\" complained Harvey. \"I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honest merchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimate our check at a mere bucko twenty redsents.\" fantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos !\" he simply put on the table, not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirty fingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu. Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty with rage. The minute note read: \"Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80 redsents.\" \"You can go to hell!\" Joe growled. \"We won't pay it!\" foolish.'\" \"I don't get the connection,\" objected Johnson. \"Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you put out of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantial deal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer for the peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds the way you have—\" \"Who said I wanted to sell him?\" the mayor interrupted. He rubbed his fingers together and asked disinterestedly: \"What were you going to offer, anyhow?\" carelessness. \"Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway.\" \"That's right,\" Johnson came back emphatically. \"But what would your offer have been which I would have turned down?\" \"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!\" \"Nope. But how much did you say?\" \"Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius!\" the wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partner will soon have it here for your astonishment.\" 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 political speech-makers.\" \"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.\" He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue our study, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to an enormous fortune.\" turn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three whole years.\" \"Now, hold on!\" the mayor cried. \"I ain't saying I'll buy, but what is it I'm turning down?\" Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His face \"It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied Doctor Dean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact.\"\n\n<question>:\nHow was Johnson convinced to buy the case astroid fever medication?\n\n<options>:\nA Proven statistics showing that it was the best antidote\nB Joe's acting skills\nC He felt feverish and thought he may have contracted the illness\nD A price too good that could not be turned down\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
505 | 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>:\nstronger, flashier and more musical than any other on the market. I want it completely developed, engineered and tooled-up, ready for production. Otherwise, Feetch—\" enough for development, even with an adequate staff. I've been trying to tell you for years that we're bound to fall behind because we don't have enough personnel to conduct research. Our men can barely keep no more!\" Piltdon trudged out of the room, leaving behind him an oppressive silence. How could you set a time limit on research and development? A designer had to dream at his board, investigate, search, build, test, compare, discard. He had always wanted to devote all his time to research, but thought Feetch. Twenty-five years of close supervision, dead-lines, production headaches, inadequate facilities and assistance. What had happened, to the proud dream he once had, the dream of exploring uncharted engineering regions, of unlimited time to investigate and develop? Ah, well, thought Feetch straightening his thin shoulders, he had managed somehow to design a few good things during his twenty-five years with Piltdon. That was some satisfaction. What now? He had to hang on to his job. Technical work was scarce. Since the early 1980's the schools had been turning out more technicians than industry could absorb. He was too old to compete in How to meet this four month dead-line? He would get right on it himself, of course Hanson—good man—could work with him. He shook his head despairingly. Something would be sure to blow up. Well, he had to start— \"Chief,\" said Hanson a few weeks later as they entered the lab, \"I'm beginning to wonder if the answer is in the hand mechanical type at all.\" \"Got to be,\" answered Feetch tiredly. \"We must work along classical ratios would give the required velocity, but there were too many other factors that negated this direct approach. The mechanism had to compensate for variable can sizes had been too complex to be practical. There was the ever-present limit to production cost. unsatisfactory.\" \"Hello,\" said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a glistening mechanism. \"Here's another model. Let's try it.\" The this—Dear, dear. Where do the cans go, I wonder?\" \"What's the difference? Don't you see what you've got here? It's the answer! It's more than the answer! We can put this right into work and beat the dead-line.\" Feetch shook his head. \"No, Hanson. We're producing something we don't are their analytical mathematical formulae? What masses may be critical here? What transformations of energy are involved? No, Hanson, we must learn a lot more.\" Piltdon stared at his chief engineer sharply. \"What's the matter, Feetch? The thing can be duplicated, can't it?\" \"Yes, sir. I've just finished checking that. But I'm in the midst of further investigation of the effect. There's more here than just a new type can-opener, sir. A whole new field of physics. New principles. This is big, Mr. Piltdon. I recommend that we delay production until further research can be completed. Hire a few top scientists and engineers. Find out where the cans go. Put out a scientific paper on the effect.\" \"Feetch,\" bit out Piltdon, his face growing hard. \"Stow this hooey. I sales to one to a customer. Piltdon cancelled his advertising program. Newspapers, magazines, radio, television and word-of-mouth spread the fame of the opener so that advertising was unnecessary. Meanwhile, of course, government scientists, research foundations, universities and independent investigators began to look into this new phenomonen. Receiving no satisfactory explanation from Piltdon, they set up their own research. Far into the night burned the lights of countless laboratories. Noted physicists probed, measured, weighed, traced, X-rayed, dissolved, spun, peered at, photographed, magnetized, exploded, shattered and analyzed Super-Openers without achieving the glimmer of a satisfactory explanation. Competitors found the patent impossible to circumvent, for any departure from its exact specifications nullified the effect. \"Thank you, Mr. Piltdon.\" And still, thought Feetch wryly, he received no recognition. His name did not even appear on the patent. Well, well, that was the way it went. He must find his satisfaction in his work. And it had been interesting lately, the work he had been doing nights at home investigating what had been named the Piltdon Effect. It had been difficult, working alone and buying his own equipment. The oscillator and ultra microwave tracking unit had been particularly expensive. He was a fool, he supposed, to try independent research when so many huge scientific organizations were working on it. But he could no more keep away from it than he could stop eating. He still didn't know where the cans went, but somehow he felt that he was close to the answer. When he finally found the answer, it was too late. The Borenchuck incident was only hours away. As soon as he could get hold of Piltdon, Feetch said trembling, \"Sir, I \"That's true,\" said Piltdon. His eyes grew dreamy. \"It can be done,\" he mused. \"The New Type Super-Opener. Free exchanges for the old. production, at once, Feetch.\" Feetch felt himself sag inwardly. \"Mr. Piltdon,\" he said. \"I'm asking only one favor. Let me work full time on research and development, especially on the Piltdon effect. Hire a couple of extra men to help with production. I assure you the company will benefit in the end.\" your job back, didn't you?\" The prospect of long years of heavy production schedules, restricted engineering and tight supervision suddenly made Kalvin Feetch feel very tired. Research, he thought. Development. What he had always wanted. Over the years he had waited, thinking that there would be opportunities later. But now he was growing older, and he felt that there might not be a later. Somehow he would manage to get along. Perhaps someone would give him a job working in the new field he had pioneered. With a sense of relief he realized that he had made his decision. day, as predicted by the statisticians, industry would not soon forget the inconvenience and losses caused by the deluge. It was not anxious to hire the man it regarded as responsible for the whole thing. \"Yes,\" Feetch would admit miserably. \"I am sorry, but—\" He did no better with research organizations. Typical was a letter slow anger, Piltdon was hitting low and getting away with it. Of course, if he were to agree to reveal his latest discoveries to a research organization, he would undoubtedly get an appointment. But how could he? Everything patentable in his work would automatically revert to Piltdon under the one year clause in the company patent agreement. No, Feetch told himself, he was revealing nothing that Piltdon might But he was beginning to need money desperately. Jenny wasn't getting any better and medical bills were running high. let you.\" \"You're beginning to weaken. Don't. Think, chief, think. The brain that figured the Super-Opener can solve this.\" Feetch hung up. A glow of anger that had been building up in his chest grew warmer. He began pacing the floor. How he hated to do it. Think, Hanson had said. But he had. He's considered every angle, and there was no solution. Feetch walked into the kitchen and carefully poured himself a drink of water. He drank the water slowly and placed the glass on the washstand Think? He'd figured the solution long ago, only he hadn't allowed himself to see it. Not lack of brains, lack of guts. Well, he thought grimly, dialing Piltdon's number, he was going through with it now. \"Well,\" murmured the Government man, \"I never did think Feetch got a fair shake.\" \"This information is important to science,\" said the Van Terrel man.\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Kalvin continue researching on his own at home?\n\n<options>:\nA He wanted to be sure it was safe.\nB He needed to work extra hours to meet the deadline.\nC He wanted to patent the Super-Opener idea for himself.\nD He wanted to better understand the technology and create a solution.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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1,069 | 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>:\n\"Oh, come now. When the farn beast hears you scream—you Extrone raised his eyebrows. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. \"You'll be safe,\" Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. \"I'll Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. \"I'm glad we won't have to cross the ridge.\" shoot the animal before it reaches you.\" Ri gulped for air. \"But ... if there should be more than one?\" Extrone shrugged. \"It is!\" Ri said. \"It's a farn beast, all right!\" Extrone said, \"Which one is he?\" \"The one with his back to me?\" \"Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir.\" Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifle Ri cleared his throat nervously. \"Maybe you're right.\" \"It's the Hunting Club he don't like.\" \"I wish to God I'd never heard of a farn beast,\" Ri said. \"At least, \"You will scream,\" Extrone instructed. With his rifle, he pointed across the water hole. \"The farn beast will come from this direction, I imagine.\" Ri was almost slobbering in fear. \"Let me hear you scream,\" Extrone said. \"We don't want to get too near,\" Ri said after toiling through the forest for many minutes. \"Without guns, we don't want to get near enough for the farn beast to charge us.\" Ri screamed. \"See that you keep it up that way,\" Extrone said. \"That's the way I \"You'll have to do better than that.\" Extrone inclined his head toward a bearer, who used something Ri couldn't see. Ri moaned weakly. peeling away from under their rough boots. Ri watched them hopelessly. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert. Extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick, Extrone we'd hunted this area.\" \"I didn't think a Club pilot would do that.\" \"After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going to the alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute.\" There was perspiration on Ri's upper lip. \"Hey!\" Extrone shouted. \"You, down there. There are two coming. Now let's hear you really scream!\" 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.\" \"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 Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spat The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across his \"What in hell do you want?\" Extrone asked. \"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, The lead farn beast sighted Ri. It lowered its head. \"Look!\" Extrone cried excitedly. \"Here it comes!\" Ri began to scream again. beginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. The farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwing a sheet of it to either side, headed across toward Ri. \"Watch! Watch!\" Extrone cried gleefully. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turned Extrone said, \"To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here. And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And you can't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway.\" Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. \"You'll lose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen. I'm quite safe here, I think.\" Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, \"You killed one, I believe, on Ri shifted. \"Yes, sir.\" Extrone held back the flap of the tent. \"Won't you come in?\" he asked without any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. Extrone narrowed his eyes. \"I see by your eyes that you are never killed a farn beast. In fact, I haven't a farn beast.\" Ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding Extrone's \"Of course you did,\" Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of his sleeve with his forefinger. \"I imagine these are the only farn beasts in our system.\" Ri waited uneasily, not answering. \"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'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 Extrone bent forward. \" \"Get out!\" Extrone said. \"It's frightening,\" Ri said, \"to be that close to him.\" 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 \"The farn beasts, according to the manual....\" Instantly alert, Extrone said, \"Get the bearers! Have some of them cut tree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, a powerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustained two-way communication set. Once Extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny, arboreal mammal, which, upon the impact, shattered asunder, to Extrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. \"Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell bother \"Blasted them right out of space,\" the voice crackled excitedly. \"Right in the middle of a radio broadcast, sir.\" \"I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting!\" Extrone Extrone squinted up at the sun his eyes crinkled under the glare, and \"Two?\" Extrone grinned, petting the rifle. \"You and I better go forward The two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. Extrone moved \"Eh?\" Extrone said. \"They charge on scent, sight, or sound. I understand they will track \"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. \" \"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 Extrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. \"The farn beast hunter, eh?\" \"Yes, sir.\" Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. \"Tell me\n\n<question>:\nWhy doesn't Extrone shoot the farn beasts?\n\n<options>:\nA Extrone wants to watch the farn beasts kill Ri.\nB Extrone wants to capture the farn beasts alive.\nC Extrone doesn't shoot as he is paralyzed with fear at the sight of the farn beasts.\nD Extrone doesn't shoot because he is afraid he will hit Ri instead of the farn beasts.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
970 | 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>:\nis sociology good for?\" Wilton Caswell, Ph.D., was head of my Sociology Department, and right then he was mad enough to chew nails. On the office wall behind him were three or four framed documents in Latin that were supposed to be signs of great learning, but I didn't care at that moment if he papered the walls with his degrees. I had been appointed dean and president to see to it that the university made money. I had a job to do, and I meant to do it. He bit off each word with great restraint: \"Sociology is the study of social institutions, Mr. Halloway.\" I tried to make him understand my position. \"Look, it's the big-money men who are supposed to be contributing to the support of this college. To them, sociology sounds like socialism—nothing can sound worse than that—and an institution is where they put Aunt Maggy when she began collecting Wheaties in a stamp album. We can't appeal to them that way. Come on now.\" I smiled condescendingly, knowing it would irritate him. He glared at me, his white hair bristling and his nostrils dilated like a war horse about to whinny. I can say one thing for them—these scientists and professors always keep themselves well under control. He had a book in his hand and I was expecting him to throw it, but he spoke instead: \"This department's analysis of institutional accretion, by the use of open system mathematics, has been recognized as an outstanding and management decisions. And, of course, since the depression, Washington has been using sociological studies of employment, labor and standards of living as a basis for its general policies of—\" I stopped him with both raised hands. \"Please, Professor Caswell! That would hardly be a recommendation. Washington, the New Deal and the present Administration are somewhat touchy subjects to the men I have to deal with. They consider its value debatable, if you know what I mean. If they got the idea that sociology professors are giving advice and guidance—No, we have to stick to brass tacks and leave Washington out of this. What, specifically, has the work of this specific recognize its value.\" Prof. Caswell smiled back tightly. He knew his department was at stake. The other departments were popular with donors and pulled in gift money by scholarships and fellowships, and supported their professors and graduate students by research contracts with the government and industry. Caswell had to show a way to make his own department popular—or else. I couldn't fire him directly, of course, but there are ways of doing it indirectly. He laid down his book and ran a hand over his ruffled hair. \"Institutions—organizations, that is—\" his voice became more resonant like most professors, when he had to explain something he instinctively slipped into his platform lecture mannerisms, and began to deliver an essay—\"have certain tendencies built into the way they happen to have been organized, which cause them to expand or contract or a delegation of weapons to a warrior class merely for defense against an outside enemy—will either grow insensately and extend its control until it is a tyranny over their whole lives, or, like other organizations set up to serve a vital need, will tend to repeatedly \"By these formulations, it is possible to determine automatically the amount of growth and period of life of any organization. The UN, to choose an unfortunate example, is a shrinker type organization. Its monetary support is not in the hands of those who personally benefit \"That's theory,\" I said. \"How about proof?\" \"My equations are already being used in the study of limited-size Federal corporations. Washington—\" I held up my palm again. \"Please, not that nasty word again. I mean, 'furtherance of research into human ills,' he meant that the money should go to research fellowships for postgraduate biologists at the university, rather than to a medical foundation.\" \"I see you have your problems, too,\" Caswell said, conceding me I shook hands and left him standing there, sure of his place in the progress of science and the respect of his colleagues, yet seething inside because I, the president and dean, had boorishly demanded that he produce something tangible. I frankly didn't give a hoot if he blew his lid. My job isn't easy. an annual ceremony in a silly costume, I spend the rest of the year going hat in hand, asking politely for money at everyone's door, like a well-dressed panhandler, and trying to manage the university on the dribble I get. As far as I was concerned, a department had to support itself or be cut down to what student tuition pays for, which is a handful of over-crowded courses taught by an assistant lecturer. Caswell had to make it work or get out. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to hear what he was At lunch, three days later, while we were waiting for our order, he opened a small notebook. \"Ever hear of feedback effects?\" \"Not enough to have it clear.\" change and rigidity of the unwritten law of styles. \"Is it really as simple as that?\" I asked. \"You notice,\" he said, \"that when it becomes too heavy for the cohesion \"How about Watashaw? I have some student sociological surveys of it group that no one in his right mind would expect to grow.\" \"There should be a suitable club—\" Picture Professor Caswell, head of the Department of Sociology, and with him the President of the University, leaning across the table toward each other, sipping coffee and talking in conspiratorial tones over something they were writing in a notebook. \"Ladies,\" said the skinny female chairman of the Watashaw Sewing and then the meeting of the Watashaw Sewing Circle began. In five \"I'm not following it. We're supposed to let it run the full six months.\" should be going up in a log curve, probably doubling every so often.\" I grinned. \"If it's not rising, you're fired.\" He grinned back. \"If it's not rising, you won't have to fire me—I'll but.... What a mess that would make for the university. I had to talk to Mrs. Searles. Perhaps there was some outside reason speech about some plans for rebuilding Watashaw's slum section. It to the civic pride of all citizens of Watashaw. of charity organizations in Watashaw, changing the club name with each Watashaw Mutual Trade and Civic Development Corporation, and all the full member with its contractual obligations and its lures, if the Watashaw test. These proofs would fascinate any businessman with the dealing with organizations, including his own, and finding them either inert, cantankerous, or both. Caswell's formula could be a handle to grasp them with. Gratitude alone would bring money into the university ! I can use this Watashaw thing to get you so many fellowships and scholarships and grants for your department that you'll think it's snowing money!\" He answered somewhat disinterestedly, \"I've been busy working with string of degrees after his name is just as human as anyone else. I had needled him pretty hard that first time. \"I'm satisfied,\" I acknowledged. \"I was wrong. The formulas work . It falls apart naturally when it stops growing for more than two months. It's like the great stock boom before an economic crash. Everyone in it is prosperous as long as so many women in Watashaw, and some of them don't like sewing.\" an incorporated government. The name is now the Watashaw Mutual Trade contractual, open to all. That social dividend sounds like a Technocrat climbed on the band wagon, eh?\" so many people in Watashaw. It's a pretty small town.\" Allowing for a lag of contagion from one nation to another, depending on how much their citizens intermingled, I'd give the rest of the world conquest, but it will expand. And maybe a total world government will be a fine thing—until it hits the end of its rope in twelve years or so. me, I've never heard of Watashaw.\n\n<question>:\nWhy doesn't the Dean want to be associated with Watashaw?\n\n<options>:\nA The Dean doesn't want people to think he's a socialist.\nB The Dean doesn't want people to know he's responsible for a total world government that collapsed by design.\nC The Dean doesn't want people to know he's responsible for a total world government.\nD The Dean doesn't want to be responsible for global socialism.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
642 | 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 PLANET NAMED JOE By S. A. LOMBINO There were more Joes on Venus than you could shake Walsh's madness—murder-madness—when he ordered Major Polk to scan the planet for a guy named Joe. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the For example, he could have chosen a Second Looie for the job on Venus. \"It will involve finding one man, a Venusian native.\" I tried to picture a Venusian understanding Mars and I didn't get very was just like Walsh to ship me off to a strange place. \"Yes, Major,\" he said. \"This man is on Venus.\" At the Academy he had called me Fred. That was before I'd reported him for sleeping on Boiler Watch. He'd goofed off on a pile of uranium that could've, and almost did, blow the barracks sky-high that night. \"Joe.\" A tight smile played on his face. \"Joe what?\" I asked. \"Just Joe?\" \"Yes,\" Walsh said. \"A native, you know. They rarely go in for more than first names. But then, it should be simple to find a man with a name like Joe. Among the natives, I mean.\" \"I don't know, sir.\" does have a peculiar habit, though.\" \"What's that?\" \"He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes.\" I sighed. \"Well, it's not very much to go on.\" \"You'll find him,\" Walsh said, grinning. \"I'm sure of it.\" Venus was hotter than I'd expected it to be. Much too hot for the tunic between us in seconds. \"Call me Joe,\" he said. I dropped my bags and stared at him. Maybe this was simple assignment after all. \"I sure am glad to see you, Joe,\" I said. \"Same here, Toots,\" he answered. \"The guys back in Space II are searching high and low for you,\" I told him. \"You've got the wrong number,\" he said, and I was a little surprised at his use of Terran idiom. \"You are Joe, aren't you? Joe the trader?\" \"I'm Joe, all right,\" he said. \"Only thing I ever traded, though, was a pocketknife. Got a set of keys for it.\" and a bar. Behind the bar a tall Venusian lounged. I walked over and asked, \"What are you serving, pal?\" \"Call me Joe,\" he answered. He caught me off balance. \"What?\" \"Joe,\" he said again. A faint glimmer of understanding began to penetrate my thick skull. \"You wouldn't happen to be Joe the trader? The guy who knows all about Mars, would you?\" open. A tall, blue Venusian stepped lithely into the room. \"Sir?\" the Venusian asked. \"We're out of cigarettes, Joe,\" the Captain said. \"Will you get us some, please?\" \"Sure thing,\" the Venusian answered. He smiled broadly and closed the , I thought. Another damned Joe. \"They steal them,\" Captain Bransten said abruptly. \"Steal what?\" I asked. \"Cigarettes. I sometimes think the cigarette is one of the few things they like about Terran culture.\" So Walsh had taken care of that angle too. He does have a peculiar habit, though. He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes. Cigarettes was the tip I should have given \"All right,\" I said, \"suppose we start at the beginning.\" Captain Bransten opened his eyes wide. \"Sir?\" he asked. \"What's with all this Joe business? It may be a very original name but I think its popularity here is a little outstanding.\" Captain Bransten began to chuckle softly. I personally didn't think it waited for his explanation. \"I hadn't realized this was your first time on Venus,\" he said. \"Is there a local hero named Joe?\" I asked. \"No, no, nothing like that,\" he assured me. \"It's a simple culture, you know. Not nearly as developed as Mars.\" \"And the natives are only now becoming acquainted with Terran culture. Joe. 'Hey, Joe, give me a hand with this.' Or 'Listen, Joe, how'd you like to earn some cigarettes?' Do you follow?\" \"Well,\" Bransten went on, \"that sort of thing mushrooms. The natives are a simple, almost childish people. It appealed to them—the Joe business, I mean. Now they're all Joe. They like it. That and the cigarettes.\" He cleared his throat and looked at me apologetically as if he were he were responsible for having put Venus in the heavens in the first \"I understand perfectly,\" I snapped. \"Where are my quarters?\" Bransten asked a Venusian named Joe to show me my quarters, reminding me that chow was at thirteen hundred. As I was leaving, the first Venusian came back with the cigarettes Bransten had ordered. It might mean demotion, and it might mean getting bounced out of the Service altogether. Two: I could assume there really was a guy name Joe somewhere in that jungle, a Joe separate and apart from the other Joes on this planet, a trader Joe who knew the Martians well. I could always admit failure, of course, and return empty handed. Mission not accomplished. Or, I might really find a guy who was trader Joe. \"Fine, fine,\" I said impatiently. And the Captain had said they were almost a childish people! \"His name is Joe,\" the Venusian told me. \"Best damn guide on the planet. Take you anywhere you want to go, do anything you want to do. Courageous. Doesn't know the meaning of fear. I've known him to....\" When he was gone I began figuring out a plan of action. Obviously, I'd just have to traipse through the jungle looking for a guy named Joe on a planet where everyone was named Joe. Everybody, at least, but the Captain, the small garrison attached to the Station, and me. I began wondering why Walsh had gone to so much trouble to get rid of would deliberately do just about anything. Sending me off on a wild goose chase after a character named Joe may have been a gag. But it may have been something a little grimmer than a elongated, looked almost like all the other Venusians I'd seen so far. \"Born and raised there, sir. Know it like the back of my hand.\" \"Has Joe told you what the payment will be?\" \"Yes, sir. A carton and a half of cigarettes.\" I thought about Joe deducting his commission and smiled. \"Joe,\" he said. \"Didn't you know?\" When we'd been out for a while I discovered why Joe had suggested the to another village. Each village was the same. The natives would come running out of their huts, tall and blue, shouting, \"Cigarettes, Joe? Cigarettes?\" It took me a while to realize they were addressing me and not my guide. Everybody was Joe. It was one beautiful, happy, joyous round of \"I like Venus,\" he said once. \"I would never leave it.\" \"Have you ever been to Earth?\" I asked. \"No,\" Joe replied. \"I like Terrans too, you understand. They are good for Venus. And they are fun.\" \"Fun?\" I asked, thinking of a particular species of Terran: species Leonard Walsh. \"Yes, yes,\" he said wholeheartedly. \"They joke and they laugh and ... to greet us. No cries of \"Cigarettes? Cigarettes?\" I caught up with Joe. \"What's the story?\" I whispered. Joe almost clapped his hands together with glee. He was really enjoying this. Another of those funny Terran games.\n\n<question>:\nWhich three things do Venusians love about Terrans?\n\n<options>:\nA The name “Joe,” Terran cigarettes, and their fun jokes.\nB The name “Joe,” Terran idioms, and Terran spaceships\nC Terran idioms, Terran cigarettes, and the Terran interest in Venus.\nD The name “Joe,” Terran spaceships, and Terran cigarettes.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,714 | 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's just line! Is Evans—?\" Evans was carrying a block of ice into the tractor when he saw the The meteor, a pebble, a little larger than a match head, traveled through space and time since it came into being. The light from the star that died when the meteor was created fell on Earth before the first lungfish ventured from the sea. In its last instant, the meteor fell on the Moon. It was impeded by \"Evans, man!\" said Jones' voice in the intercom. \"Alive you are!\" Evans' tractor. It drilled a small, neat hole through the casing of the steam turbine, have been formed by steam some time, because there's a floor of ice in all of 'em. It was two days to sunrise, where Evans stood. Evans, who had no watch, thought of the time as a quarter after Evans was a prospector, and like all prospectors, a sort of jackknife \"No,\" Evans answered, \"a Welshman, nothing more.\" \"You might let me have some food,\" Evans continued. \"I'm getting short half, and he was lucky to break even. \"Claim?\" \"Sure, man, I've thousands of tons of water here. It's the richest mine on the Moon!\" THE END Evans was about three hundred miles east of Williamson Town, the site of the first landing on the Moon. Evans was due back at Williamson Town at about sunset, that is, in about sixteen days. When he saw the wrecked turbine, he knew that he wouldn't \"Batteries must be dead,\" he told himself. \"Why isn't the generator working, man?\" he asked. Evans sealed the turbine from the rest of the steam system by closing Evans watched the lights flicker and go out, and he guessed what the the sun shone as brightly as though there were no sun. They might have appeared to waver slightly, if they were behind outflung corona flares. at all, but he thought in the strictest sense that it would be morning on the Moon for another week. nine banks of mirrors would not respond to the electric controls, and one bank moved so jerkily that it could not be focused, and it \"What happened here?\" Spotty Cade, one of the electrical technicians don't work.\" \"Meteor shower,\" Cowalczk answered, \"and that's not half of it. Walker says he's got a half dozen mirrors cracked or pitted, and Hoffman on bank three wants you to replace a servo motor. He says the bearing was \"When did it happen?\" Cade wanted to know. \"That could hurt,\" Cowalczk admitted, \"but there was only one of them.\" \"You mean only one hit our gear,\" Lehman said. \"How many missed?\" Nobody answered. They could all see the Moon under their feet. Small craters overlapped and touched each other. There was—except in the places that men had obscured them with footprints—not a square foot that didn't contain a crater at least ten inches across, there was not a square inch without its half-inch crater. Nearly all of these had been made millions of years ago, but here and there, the rim of a crater covered part of a footprint, clear evidence that it was a recent one. After the sun rose, Evans returned to the lava cave that he had been crystals on the cave wall with his geologist's hammer, and put them into a collector's bag. \"A few mineral specimens would give us something to think about, man. These crystals,\" he said, \"look a little like zeolites, but that can't be, zeolites need water to form, and there's no water on the Moon.\" He chipped a number of other crystals loose and put them in bags. One of them he found in a dark crevice had a hexagonal shape that puzzled him. One at a time, back in the tractor, he took the crystals out of the bags and analyzed them as well as he could without using a flame which would waste oxygen. The ones that looked like zeolites were zeolites, all right, or something very much like it. One of the crystals that he thought was quartz turned out to be calcite, and one of the ones that he was sure could be nothing but calcite was actually potassium nitrate. \"Well, now,\" he said, \"it's probably the largest natural crystal of potassium nitrate that anyone has ever seen. Man, it's a full inch across.\" All of these needed water to form, and their existence on the Moon puzzled him for a while. Then he opened the bag that had contained the unusual hexagonal crystals, and the puzzle resolved itself. There was nothing in the bag but a few drops of water. What he had taken to be a type of rock was ice, frozen in a niche that had never been warmed by the sun. on the opposite side. For a while Earth was a dark disk in a thin halo, and then the light came to be a crescent, and the line of dawn began to move around Earth. The continents drifted across the dark disk and into the crescent. The people on Earth saw the full moon set about the same time that the sun rose. Nickel Jones was the captain of a supply rocket. He made trips from and to the Moon about once a month, carrying supplies in and metal and ores out. At this time he was visiting with his old friend McIlroy. and not worth mining here the low-grade ores of uranium and vanadium, they need these things on Earth, but they can't get them as long as it isn't worth the carrying of them. And then, of course, there's the water \"Have you seen our friend Evans lately? The price of chromium has gone \" [Great Health, man.] The sun was halfway to the horizon, and Earth was a crescent in the sky when Evans had quarried all the ice that was available in the cave. The thought grew on him as he worked that this couldn't be the only such chipping, he could locate small bubbles up to an inch in diameter, each a bubble. Suddenly, Evans noticed that the gauge on the oxygen tank of so much, Evans had already shortened his life by several days. He dawning line of light covered half of Earth, and Earth turned beneath it. the sweat. It didn't help much, and it left a blurred spot in his vision. That annoyed him. \"Scale stuck in the valve,\" Cowalczk answered. \"Are the reactors off?\" \"Twenty pounds,\" Cade answered after a couple of minutes. \"O.K.,\" said Cade. \"An engineer here says there's no manual cutoff.\" \"What did you do?\" asked Cade. \"The light went out and came on again.\" McIlroy released a statement today that Howard Evans, a prospector is missing and presumed lost. Evans, who was apparently exploring the Moon in search of minerals was due two days ago, but it was presumed that he was merely temporarily delayed. Evans began his exploration on August 25th, and was known to be McIlroy has expressed a hope that Evans will be found before his Search parties have started from Williamson Town, but telescopic search from Palomar and the new satellite observatory are hindered by the fact that Evans is lost on the part of the Moon which is now dark. Little hope is held for radio contact with the missing man as it is believed he was carrying only short-range, \"Like as not, you're right,\" McIlroy replied, \"but if I know Evans, he'd tells me that Evans will be found.\" \"Well, yes,\" Jones answered. \"I thought that it might happen that a rocket would be needed in the search.\" The light from Earth lighted the Moon as the Moon had never lighted Earth. The great blue globe of Earth, the only thing larger than the stars, wheeled silently in the sky. As it turned, the shadow of sunset crept across the face that could be seen from the Moon. From full Earth, neck was stiff from sleeping in such an awkward position. \"About Evans?\" Phelps shook his head slowly. \"Palomar called in a few this banker, who had never met Evans, was losing so much sleep about\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Evans have difficulty identifying crystals?\n\n<options>:\nA All of the crystals he found were very rare\nB He does not have much experience in doing so\nC They were not actually crystals to begin with\nD None of the crystals were native to the moon\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
597 | 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>:\nThey weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, be restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years from the waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoed through her hallways. a big, rawboned man, barely forty but ten years of responsibility had pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under his reddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonies were rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward the control room, grumbling at the heavy gravity. Lieutenant Jane Corey looked up, nodding a blonde head at him as he \"About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little ways clouds.\" The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobody knew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to have an almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. \"And in the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back.\" in the schools, so promising kids were being shipped out for training as cadets on their twelfth birthday. The two he'd drawn, Kaufman and seemed dangerous, and the local animals were apparently all herbivorous and harmless. They were ugly enough, looking like insects in spite of their internal skeletons, with anywhere from four to twelve legs each on their segmented bodies. None acted like dangerous beasts. But glowed yellow-green. Motions around them suggested a herd of feeding animals. Details were impossible to see through the haze. Even the There were three of the blobs dancing about over the grazing animals the kids!\" The blobs had left the herd. Now the three were streaking at fantastic speed to a spot near the ship, to hover excitedly above something that They must have seen whatever it was just as the call reached them. Young Kaufman grabbed at Pinelli, and they swung around together. Then the mists cleared. Under the dancing blobs, a horde of things was heading for the cadets. Shaggy heads, brute bodies vaguely man-like! One seemed to be almost eight feet tall, leading the others directly toward the spacesuited cadets. Some of the horde were carrying spears or sticks. There was a momentary halt, and then the leader lifted one arm, as if motioning the confusion. But someone was taking over now—one of the crew women. The irritating and vile smelling, but it could be breathed. He leaped to surrounded by the menacing horde. Seen from here, the things looked horrible in a travesty of manhood. miles an hour now, but the horde began to increase the distance, in spite of the load of the two struggling boys! The creatures dived \"Follow the blobs,\" Gwayne yelled. He realized now he'd been a fool to Then it cleared to show the mob of creatures doubling back on their own There was no time to stop. The jeep plowed through them. Gwayne had a glimpse of five-foot bodies tumbling out of the way. Monstrously coarse faces were half hidden by thick hair. A spear crunched against the The creatures vanished as Barker fought to turn to follow them. The to help. They'd have to get to the group with the cadets in a hurry or the horde would all vanish in the uneven ground, hidden by the fog. He threw up an instinctive hand. There was a tingling as the creature against the windshield, just as he made out the form of the eight-foot leader. The thing was standing directly ahead of him, a cadet on each shoulder. for the figure. It dropped the boys with a surprised grunt. The arms were thin and grotesque below the massively distorted shoulders, but amazingly strong. Gwayne felt them wrench at him as his hands locked on the thick throat. A stench of alien flesh was in his makes no sense. We've scoured this planet by infra-red, and there was \"Troglodytes, maybe,\" Gwayne guessed. \"Anyhow, send for me when you get busy being little heroes. Gwayne sentenced them to quarters as soon as he could, knowing their stories would only get wilder and less informative with retelling. If they could get any story from the captured creature, they might save these creatures that a space ship's metal finders could be fooled by a began filling worlds with colonists, carried in deep sleep to conserve would be spawning grounds for mankind in spite of the efforts. Each was Primitives could be overcome, maybe. It would be ruthless and unfair to But how could primitives do what these must have done? \"Beautiful primitive work,\" he muttered. He went to the port and glanced out. About sixty of the things were They were perhaps a thousand yards away, waiting patiently. For what? For the return of their leader—or for something that would give the \"Haarroo, Cabbaan!\" the thing said. taut with strain. The creature nodded slowly and drew something from the thick hair on well. Says they've had to change the language around to make the sounds fit, and he's forgotten how to use what normal English he can. But it gets easier as you listen. It's Hennessy, all right. I'm certain.\" Gwayne had his own ideas on that. It was easy for an alien to seize English, maybe. But Hennessy had been his friend. \"How many barmaids in the Cheshire Cat? How many pups did your oldest kid's dog have? How many were brown?\" The lips contorted into something vaguely like a smile, and the curiously shaped fingers that could handle no human-designed equipment spread out. Three. Seven. Zero. The answers were right. long time telling. When it was finished, Gwayne and Barker sat for long minutes in by what I know. But it happened. I've looked at a few tissues under the microscope. The changes are there. It's hard to believe about their kids. Adults in eight years, but they stay shorter. It can't be a hereditary change—the things that affect the body don't change the germ plasm. But in this case, what changed Hennessy is real, so maybe down to touch the monstrous man, then leaped up again. The crowd of monsters began moving forward toward their leader. A few were almost as tall as Hennessy, but most were not more than five feet high. The kids of the exploring party.... He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd had however much they might hate it at first. But there was no putting off giving the gist of it to Jane. \"It was the blobs,\" he summarized it. \"They seem to be amused by men. They don't require anything from us, but they like us around. Hennessy doesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came, all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. \"And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside the know.\" Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eight years—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earth puzzlement in her face. \"Why?\" And then, before he could answer, her own intelligence gave her the Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead of some of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the next rise to culture a better one. \"We're needed here,\" he told her, his voice pleading for the understanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. \"These people need as rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength. The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them with accept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here.\" She smiled then and moved toward him, groping for his strength. \"Be fruitful,\" she whispered. \"Be fruitful and spawn and replenish an earth.\" \"No,\" he told her. \"Replenish the stars.\" numbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for the children of men!\n\n<question>:\nWhich words best describe the mob of creatures?\n\n<options>:\nA ugly, hairy, and clever\nB monstrous, large, and foolish\nC slow, strong, and mean\nD tall, thick, and caring\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
303 | 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>:\ntheir economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The war information could be catastrophic. You'll memorize it before you leave this building.\" \"I'll carry it, sealed,\" Retief said. \"That way nobody can sweat it out of me.\" Magnan started to shake his head. how long does it take?\" \"A skilled electronics crew can do the job in a matter of minutes. The every other man is a mechanic of some sort.\" Retief opened the envelope Magnan handed him and looked at the tickets \"You'll be traveling with Class X credentials,\" Magnan snapped. \"There must be nothing to connect you with the Corps.\" \"They'll never guess,\" Retief said. \"I'll pose as a gentleman.\" \"You'd better be getting started,\" Magnan said, shuffling papers. \"You're right,\" Retief said. \"If I work at it, I might manage a snootful by takeoff.\" He went to the door. \"No objection to my checking out a needler, is there?\" II Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on the counter, studying the schedules chalked on the board under the legend \"ALDO CERISE—INTERPLANETARY.\" A thin clerk in a faded sequined blouse and a plastic snakeskin cummerbund groomed his fingernails, watching Retief from the corner of his eye. \"Two twenty-eight, due out today for the Jorgensen group,\" Retief said. \"Is it on schedule?\" The clerk sampled the inside of his right cheek, eyed Retief. \"Filled up. Try again in a couple of weeks.\" \"What time does it leave?\" \"Some ... ah ... VIP's required accommodation,\" he said. He hooked a finger inside the sequined collar. \"All tourist reservations were with a scarred jawline and small eyes was slouching there in a rumpled gray uniform. He put out a hand as Retief started past him. \"Lessee your boarding pass,\" he muttered. Retief pulled a paper from an inside pocket, handed it over. The guard blinked at it. \"Whassat?\" \"A gram confirming my space,\" Retief said. \"Your boy on the counter says he's out to lunch.\" The guard crumpled the gram, dropped it on the floor and lounged back against the handrail. \"On your way, bub,\" he said. past while you were resting your eyes.\" He picked up his bag, stepped over the man and went up the gangway into the ship. A cabin boy in stained whites came along the corridor. \"Which way to cabin fifty-seven, son?\" Retief asked. along the narrow hall, found signs, followed them to cabin fifty-seven. The door was open. Inside, baggage was piled in the center of the floor. It was expensive looking baggage. Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, florid man with an expensive coat belted over a massive paunch stood in clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder. \"Somebody in the cabin. Get 'em out.\" He rolled a cold eye at Retief as he backed out of the room. A short, thick-necked man appeared. \"We'll see about you, mister.\" The man turned and went out. Retief sat on the bunk and lit a cigar. There was a sound of voices in the corridor. Two burly baggage-smashers appeared, straining at an oversized trunk. They maneuvered it through the door, lowered it, glanced at Retief and went out. The thick-necked man returned. \"That's him, sure.\" \"I'm captain of this vessel,\" the first man said. \"You've got two minutes to haul your freight out of here, buster.\" \"That's him,\" the thick-necked man called. \"Spilled Mr. Tony's possessions right on the deck.\" \"Deal me out,\" the bouncer said. \"He can stay put as long as he wants \"We're due to lift in twenty minutes.\" The thick-necked man and the Captain both shouted at once. The Captain's voice prevailed. \"—twenty minutes ... uniform Code ... gonna do?\" \"Close the door as you leave,\" Retief said. Four waiters passed Retief's table without stopping. A fifth leaned against the wall nearby, a menu under his arm. At a table across the room, the Captain, now wearing a dress uniform and with his thin red hair neatly parted, sat with a table of male passengers. He talked loudly and laughed frequently, casting occasional glances Retief's way. A panel opened in the wall behind Retief's chair. Bright blue eyes there would be four days to prepare for the Soetti attack. It was a temptation to scan the tapes built into the handle of his suitcase. It Retief finished the steak, and the chef passed out the baked Alaska and coffee. Most of the other passengers had left the dining room. Mr. Tony and his retainers still sat at the Captain's table. As Retief watched, four men arose from the table and sauntered across end in Retief's coffee, looked at it, and dropped it on the tablecloth. The others came up, Mr. Tony trailing. the man on the floor. \"Get Marbles out of here. I ought to dump the slob.\" He turned and walked away. The captain signaled and two waiters came up. Retief watched as they carted the casualty from the dining room. The panel opened. weeks. Don't never pick up no cargo. No tourists any more, like I says. Don't know what we even run in there for.\" \"Where are the passengers we have aboard headed?\" There was a distant clang, and a faint tremor ran through the floor. \"I ain't superstitious ner nothin',\" Chip said. \"But I'll be triple-damned if that ain't them boarding us now.\" Ten minutes passed before bootsteps sounded outside the door, accompanied by a clicking patter. The doorknob rattled, then a heavy knock shook the door. \"They got to look you over,\" Chip whispered. \"Nosy damn Sweaties.\" \"Don't start anything with Skaw \"Last chance,\" Retief said. Skaw stood poised, open pincers an inch from Retief's eyes. \"Show him your papers, you damned fool,\" the captain said hoarsely. \"I got no control over Skaw.\" The alien clicked both pincers with a sharp report, and in the same knee-joint. Skaw screeched and floundered, greenish fluid spattering aboard, don't bother to call.\" \"Jesus, what did you do! They'll kill us!\" the captain gasped, staring \"Cart poor old Skaw back to his boat,\" Retief said. \"Tell him to pass The captain bent over Skaw, gingerly rolled him over. He leaned close \"They got no more emotions than a blue crab—\" \"You bluff easily, Captain. Show a few guns as you hand the body back. We know their secret now.\" about that Skaw feller they'll have to move fast \"Mr. Tony give the captain a real hard time about old Skaw. The Marbles, they was fit to be tied. Took the cap'n in his cabin and talked loud at him fer half a hour. Then the cap'n come out and give some orders to the Mate.\" \"Mr. Tony and Skaw were pals, eh?\" \"He hated Skaw's guts. But with him it was business. Mister, you got a the desk, gripped the captain's wrist. \"Tell the mate to hold his present course,\" he said softly. \"Right, Mister. Keep an eye on that jasper he's slippery.\" \"What are you going to do?\" the captain demanded.\n\n<question>:\nWhat was Skaw's importance?\n\n<options>:\nA He was the connection between Mr. Tony, the captain, and the Soetti's business.\nB Unlike other Soetti, he was brittle and easily killed.\nC He didn't have much importance. When the Soetti was presented with his body, they didn't care.\nD He was the one to check the validity of each passenger's papers.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
773 | 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 water would into their pores and drank deeply of it, feeling life going once more through their veins. Satisfied, they lifted themselves from the water, and the man lay down on the yellow sand of the river bank to sleep. slope where he hobbled him and left him for the night. In the fading light, he ate the hard beef jerky and drank the scalding coffee. Refreshed and momentarily content, he sat staring into the 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. He slept. His brain slept. 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 He had removed the box from his pocket and opened it. And heard her cry of surprised joy. dead, if need be. Read the inscription.\" his and making him oblivious to everything except that she was there in he had been many times before but each time found something new and unexplored, some vastly different emotion he could never quite explain. 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 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 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. 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 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 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 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. In time he had traveled north until he reached the Rio Grande. He had 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, 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 empty, but there were cans of food and a rifle and many shells. He had remained there a long time—how long he could not tell, for he could 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 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 mind slept into the shadows of the dawn. He awoke and stretched the cramped muscles of his body. At the edge of the water he removed his clothes and stared at himself in the rippling mirror. His muscles were lean and hard, evenly placed throughout the body, he plunged into the cold water, deep down, until he thought his lungs would burst then swiftly returned to the clean air, tingling in every pore. He dried himself and dressed. Conqueror was eating the long He would ride all day and the next night. And he would be home. burning stream within his body. But day at last gave way to night, and slapping his face with dusty hands. For a moment he thought he heard voices—mournful, murmuring voices, echoing up from the misty depths. He turned quickly away and did not look back. Night paled into day day burned into night. gulps. At the window he peered in, and as his eyes became accustomed to the inner gloom, he saw how bare the room was. No matter. Now that he was home he would build new furniture, and the house would be even better than it had been before. empty of life. \"No, no!\" he cried soundlessly. This was not his house. In his delirium he had only imagined he had trying to decipher some inscription inside it. He knew then. He had come home. shriveled by thirst. He grasped the doorknob and clung to it, looking up at the night sky and trying to draw strength from the wind that passed over him. It was no use. There was no strength. Only fear—a kind of fear he had never known. 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\n\n<question>:\nHow would the main character's reaction been different if his wife was alive when he came back home?\n\n<options>:\nA He would have realized her love for him had vanished.\nB He would not have been as solemn as he was when he discovered she was no longer there.\nC He would have been in a state of confusion because he would not have recognized his wife.\nD He would still be very depressed from the aftermath of the war.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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750 | 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>:\nto “cook” in an atomic reactor and soak up radioactivity. It was only a dream. Eddie Taylor would like “We weren’t planning to run a submarine to make two ounces of an isotope quite powerful—and quite deadly. I only hope whoever stole it knows what he’s doing. However, I’m sure he does.” scientist himself?” Eddie asked. “Let’s just say he—or both of them—have enough training in the subject to know how to “But, Dad,” Eddie wondered, “what could they do with it?” “They could study it,” his father explained. “At least, they could send it somewhere to be broken down and studied. Being a new isotope, “Be right there,” Eddie said. Then, remembering the formula is of great value.” Eddie found it easy to believe the stories he “Perhaps to some other country.” “Then—then you mean whoever stole it were spies!” Eddie exclaimed breathlessly. “That’s entirely possible,” his father said. “In fact, it’s the only logical explanation I can think of. People simply don’t go around stealing radioactive isotopes without a mighty important you want, Eddie,” Mr. Taylor said, “as long as much age, although Eddie knew it had been from the kitchen. During dinner Eddie wasn’t sure just what he was eating. The idea of spies stealing atomic materials kept building up in his mind. By the time dessert was finished, he was anxious to “Well, now, that’s a tough question, son. I can’t say that I really do. Still, one clue is as good as another when it comes to hunting Eddie had no desire to do that. He ran down Eddie pulled on his trousers and T shirt it would take a magnifying glass to detect any small smudges of dirt hiding among them. He “Oh, yes,” Eddie affirmed. “He was the one Finished, Eddie went out to breakfast. radioisotope is, Eddie.” “Well,” Eddie said slowly, “it’s not easy to “I’ll say,” Eddie agreed. “Of course, only The very word excited Eddie. In fact, anything having to do with atomic science excited him. He knew something about isotopes—pronounced eye-suh-tope along the way. Eddie knew that a radioisotope guess,” Eddie said. “Most atoms stay in one vacations, too?” Eddie asked. One reason for asking that particular question was to keep from prying deeper into the subject of the Eddie had learned not to ask questions about he wanted known, so Eddie stuck to eagerly. “Wouldn’t think of leaving it home,” his “Well, they know just how to do it,” Eddie “I will,” Eddie promised. He had forgotten asked. “I’ll say they’re dangerous,” Eddie said. It took Eddie over an hour to sort out the “But the whole pile is covered by a shield of gamma rays. They’re the fastest and most dangerous, and the hardest to stop. Alpha and beta think of something more for him to do. to do?” “Think I’ll do a little prospecting,” Eddie “I wouldn’t want to work around a place where I might get shot at by—by dangerous “I would,” Eddie said. “Everyone is carefully Eddie said. The more he thought about it, the protected. They see to that. Well, anyway, rays you can’t even see,” Teena said. and doing nothing, there would be an awful scientists take certain elements which aren’t radioactive, but can be made radioactive, and shove small pieces of them into holes drilled likely looking rock formations invited search in the pile.” “Isn’t that dangerous?” Teena asked. “They don’t shove them in with their bare wants to go,” Eddie answered casually. He would make a very good uranium prospecting partner, but most of the fellows he knew were away at camp, or vacationing with their folks, or something like that. “I’ll take Sandy, too,” Eddie said. “He needs freedom, racing back and forth as Eddie wouldn’t even know it for a while. It would be Eddie said. “Thought you might want to That’s how to handle it, Eddie thought. “That’s about it,” Eddie said. “My dad says Some soak up a lot of radioactivity, and are strong and dangerous. Others absorb only a little and are pretty safe to use. Depends, too, 20 “Dad didn’t say exactly,” Eddie answered, them,” she said. “Who, me?” “Why not? You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? Eddie nodded. It was even more serious secret isotope. His father hadn’t said whether it had been developed for curing things or for destroying things. But many radioisotopes could do either it depended on how they were used. Eddie assumed that anyone who would stoop to stealing isotopes more than likely would be interested in their ability to destroy rather than their ability to benefit mankind. “Well, I certainly do hope everything works because we’re friends, that’s why.” 21 Eddie knew she was right. They were friends—good friends. They had been ever since Eddie’s family had moved to Oceanview “She always does, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie said, “Well, I’ll be glad to finish them, Eddie,” needed to get the work done. But now that atoms are being harnessed to do the work, not many people even bother to find out what an Eddie had set carefully on the dinette table. Eddie,” she said, “but I wouldn’t quite know Eddie laughed. “I sure wouldn’t want the don’t find it, you both seem to enjoy your “Three million billion is a lot of something,” a man’s voice spoke behind him. Ross cautioned, as Eddie picked up the Geiger “What are we talking about, Eddie?” rock mounds and outcroppings, Eddie but Eddie knew these indicated no more than Eddie, then added quickly, “forget it, Eddie. “In fact, not good at all.” Eddie said, “We might as well call it a day, “All right,” Eddie said. “You know, one of Eddie.” She handed him one of the sandwiches. on a recent birthday. Then Eddie said good-by not quite four o’clock yet, Eddie. Besides, was open. Eddie went through the dining and saw Eddie. in Eddie’s mind about something being whether Eddie had discovered any uranium genuine interest in Eddie’s prospecting trips. no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. It’ll be in the evening papers, anyway.” “Eddie, you remember me mentioning this At the moment, Eddie didn’t pry for further it of a secret nature, but it is also dangerously radioactive if improperly handled.” “Fifty pounds,” Eddie said thoughtfully. think it was any kid, Eddie. Not by a long shot. The whole thing was carefully planned and carefully carried out. It was not the work of amateurs.” Eddie read the newspaper account. The the lock was sprung. It was a common type used by carpenters. There were no fingerprints or other identifying marks on it. The footprints were barely visible and of no help other than to indicate that two men were involved in the crime. 31 paper, “how could anyone carry away something weighing fifty pounds without being noticed?” park and wait there unnoticed. Or they could walk around without attracting any undue attention.” “But, Dad,” Eddie continued, “how would gave them a better opportunity than they had expected. At least, they took quick advantage “I don’t see what anyone would want with a radioisotope,” Eddie said. “Maybe they figured there was something else inside of that were the thieves ordinary thieves. That isotope was a new one. A very secret one. Our job at the college was to conduct various tests with it in order to find out exactly how it could best be put to use as a cure for disease, or for sterilizing food, or even as a source of power.”\n\n<question>:\nOut of the choices below, predict which future career Eddie would most likely pick given his interests present in the article.\n\n<options>:\nA A nuclear scientist because he is always curious.\nB A college professor as inspired by his father.\nC An nuclear engineer because he enjoys inventing.\nD A spy because they are intriguing.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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2,057 | 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 fell in a heap, like a mechanical doll whose motive power has failed. Var felt Neena beside him, and drew her close. As she sobbed her relief, he continued to look down absently at the dead man. When at last he raised his head, he saw that the drama's end had had a further audience. Var. Neena shivered, even though the surrounding cold could not reach her. The ice-wind blew from the glacier, but Var's love was round her as a warming cloak, a cloak that glowed softly golden in the deepening Var eyed him for a long moment sense the thought of Groz. That thought was powerful, and heavy with vengeance. \"Hurry,\" said Neena. \"They're closer than they were an hour ago.\" She was beautiful and defiant, facing the red sunset and the black mountain. Var sensed her fear, and the love that had conquered it. He she had challenged the feud of their peoples and had left her home, to follow him. Now, if her father and his kinsmen overtook them, it would be death for Var, and for Neena living shame. Which of the two was worse was no longer a simple problem to Var, who had grown much older in the last days. \"Wait,\" he commanded. While she waited he spun a dream, attaching it to avalanche in the dream, and hideous beasts rushed snapping and ravening from the crevices of the rock. \"Oh!\" cried Neena in involuntary alarm. Var sighed, shaking his head. \"It won't hold them for long, but it's the best I can do now. Come on.\" the rest of his conversation was in thought only. \"Welcome indeed. I am too much alone here.\" \"You were asleep!\" said Var. Shock made his thought accusing, though he had not meant to be. turned questioningly to the young pair. \"We need a little rest out of the cold,\" said Var. \"And food, if you can spare it. We're pursued.\" doubt, young man? Such things happened when I was young.\" Warming to the old man now, Var sketched his and Neena's history briefly. \"We should have been safe among my people by now. And before \"A pity, indeed. I would like to help you—but, you understand, I am the Mountain Watcher. I must be above feuds and families.\" Var nodded somberly, thinking that an old recluse would in any case be The Watcher was broodingly silent his eyes shifted to Neena, where she nestled by Var's side. He asked, \"And you—are you willing to follow your lover in this?\" Neena returned his gaze without flinching then she looked sidelong at Var and Neena stared, unstirring, with wide vacant eyes, while the old man wove a dream around them, and the bright ice-cave faded from their and the city burned and burned.... Var blinked dazedly in the shadowless glow of the ice-cave. His arm tightened about Neena till she gasped. He was momentarily uncertain that he and she were real and here, such had been the force of the dream, a vision of such scope and reality as Var had never seen—no, lived \"this is a world where you are free to risk wakening the old tyrants, if in your own judgment your great need renders the chance worth taking.\" Neena pressed her face against Var's shoulder, hiding her eyes. In her mind as it groped for his there was a confusion of horror and pity. Var looked grimly at the Watcher, and would have spoken coolly with dark piercing eyes that were familiar though he did not know the face. Neena sat up and stifled a cry of fright. Var growled, \"Who are you? Where's the Watcher?\" The other flashed white teeth in a smile. \"I'm the Watcher,\" he \"Groz and his people could not detect your thoughts as you slept. They were all night chasing elusive dreams on the high ridges, miles away.\" Var passed a hand across bewildered eyes. Neena said softly, \"Thank you, Watcher.\" \"Don't thank me. I take no sides in your valley feuds. But now you are rested, your minds are clear. Do you still mean to go on to the Ryzga mountain?\" Not looking at the Watcher, Var muttered unsteadily, \"We have no alternative.\" direction, southward, without seeking to conceal herself. Your pursuers will be deceived and follow her, and by the time they catch her it will be too late for them to overtake Var.\" That possibility had not occurred to them at all. Var and Neena looked at one another. Then by common consent they blended their minds into one. Quickly, he impressed on them what he had learned of the structure of Watcher had become again the hoary ancient of last night. Var felt a twinge of unfamiliar emotion only by its echo in Neena's mind did he recognize it as a sense of guilt. He said stiffly, \"You don't blame us?\" the face of a lava cliff, closed only by an intangible curtain—so little had the Ryzgas feared those who might assail them in their sleep. Var sent his thoughts probing beyond the curtain, listened intently, caught you now!\" Behind Groz the figures of his followers loomed up as striding shadows. Neena's hand tightened on Var's. Var sent a thought of defiance: \"Go back! Or you'll drive us to enter the mountain!\" Groz seemed to hesitate. Then he swung his staff up like a weapon, and billowed again and Groz was out of sight, but they could hear him exhorting his men to haste. Neena's face was deadly pale and her lips trembled, but her urgent whisper said, \"Come on!\" Together they plunged into the curtain of darkness. At Var's thought command Neena froze instantly. \"Feel that!\" he muttered, and she, listening, sensed it too: the infinitesimal trickle of currents behind what appeared to be a blank tunnel wall, a rising the death-cries of a billion slaves, the despair of all flesh and blood before their monstrous and inhuman power. Without warning, lights went on. Blinking in their glare, Var and Neena above a narrow ramp that descended between the instrument panels, a massive doorway swung wide, and in its opening a figure stood. Var and Neena huddled frozenly, half expecting each instant to be their last. And the Ryzga too stood motionless, looking down at them. He was a man of middle height and stocky build, clad in a garment of manner and his mind radiated a consciousness of power, a pride and assurance of self that smote them like a numbing blow. With a new shock, Var realized that the Ryzga's thoughts were quite open. They had a terse, disconnected quality that was strange and unsettling, and in part they were couched in alien and unintelligible symbols. But there was no block. Apparently the Ryzga felt no need to metal parts of a mechanism falling into places prepared for them. The image occurred oddly to Var, to whom such a comparison would ordinarily have been totally strange. \"Culture: late barbarism. Handwork of high quality—good. Physically toward the switchboard behind him, reaching with practised certainty for one spot upon it. Neena screamed. Between the Ryzga and the control panel a nightmare shape reared up seven feet tall, flapping black amorphous limbs and flashing red eyes misdirected and unavailing as those of a child who has not learned to wrestle with the mind. Var had guessed right. When Neena in her terror had flung a dream monster into the Ryzga's way—a mere child's bogey out of a fairy tale—the Ryzga had not recognized it as such, but had taken it for a real being. Var laughed aloud, and with great care, as one communicates with an infant, he projected his thoughts into the other's mind. \"There\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the significance of the title of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA It references the old technology that is disturbed\nB It is an image of the chase that Var and Neena are running from\nC It hints to the great power of the Watcher\nD It points to Var and Neena disrupting an area that is usually quiet\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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1,983 | 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 enduring love in all eternity. That night her son was the She stood motionless in the garden, one hand pressed against 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. Higher still and higher he rose in the southern sky, and then, when he had reached his past the dark edge of the Earth and disappeared from sight. A round and round the world on a celestial carousel, encased in an airtight metal capsule in an airtight metal chariot ... Why don't they leave the stars alone? she thought. Why don't they leave the stars to God? came early the next morning: doing splendidly. Expect to bring your son down sometime tomorrow . 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 a deluge of questions disappointed. \"Is Terry really way up there all alone, Martha?\" , Martha?\" \"I 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 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 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 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 his shyness, or the fact that he she started to mention any of these things, the haste to interrupt her and to 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 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 war mothers of World War II.\") It was late in the afternoon everything repacked into their cars and trucks and made 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 Terry's first Tuesday night passage wasn't due to occur right that she should be outside when the stars started to come out. Presently they did, and she 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 her, looking up at the moon sometimes and once in a while, when a star fell, making a wish. But this was different. It was different because now she had a personal interest in the sky, a new affinity with its myriad inhabitants. And how bright they became when you kept looking at them! out of the blackness of the night ... And they were different colors, 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 after nine. Where had the time her Terry appear in his shining chariot, riding up the star-pebbled path of his orbit, a star in his own right, dropping swiftly now, down, down, and out of mass of the Earth ... She took a deep, proud breath, realized that she was wildly waving her hand and let it fall slowly to 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. That meant sometime today! She rose with the sun and fed 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 (\"Today ... Today !\") \"It must be wonderful being a star mother, 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 will be over, and some other mother can take over the awesome responsibility of having a son become a star— If only ... mechanism, making ejection impossible. 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 wind— Terry!— young man walks, swinging his thin tanned arms, his long legs making near-grownup strides over the sun-seared grass the sky blue and bright behind him, the song of cicada rising and falling in the hazy September air— Terry ... but don't worry, Ma. The one ... Why don't they leave the stars alone? Why don't they leave the stars to God? The afternoon shadows lengthened on the lawn and the sun grew red and swollen over the 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 her star appeared, but its swift passage blurred before her eyes. Tires crunched on the washed the darkness from the Martha did not move. God , she thought, let it be Terry even though she knew that it couldn't possibly be Terry. Footsteps Someone coughed softly. She She saw the circlet of stars she saw the she saw the dark tired eyes. And she again, she knew— \"The same meteorite that capsule, too. We didn't find out \"I wanted to express my regrets must feel.\" \"It's all right.\" \"We will, of course, make every effort to bring back his ... remains ... so that he can have a fitting burial on Earth.\" \"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. She raised her eyes still higher—and 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 ... And higher yet—and there flamed the exquisite flower beds of Taurus and Gemini, there burgeoned the riotous wreath of the Crab there lay the pulsing petals of the Pleiades ... And down the ecliptic garden path, wafted by a stellar breeze, drifted the ocher rose of Mars ... \"No,\" she said again. The general had raised his eyes, too them. \"I think I understand, ma'am. And I'm glad that's the way you want it ... The stars beautiful tonight, aren't they.\" \"More beautiful than they've ever been,\" she said. After the general had gone, she looked up once more at the vast and variegated garden of the sky where her son lay buried, then she turned and walked slowly back to the memoried house. THE END Transcriber's Note:\n\n<question>:\nTerry's mother uses the following metaphors to describe the sky except for ______.\n\n<options>:\nA An ocean\nB A chariot pathway\nC A graveyard\nD A garden\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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2,166 | 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>:\nbit like a slow motion disaster, in one important respect. Its very unpredictability makes it unwise to build systems that take too much away from what human beings do best: look, think, innovate, adapt, 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 the radical divergence of Toyota’s production system from the highly 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 systems work best by making work human. Modern Times Modern times were hard enough. Trains and planes, telegraph and solution to this increased complexity in the late 19th, early 20th century was to increase the role of structure and improve its design. 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 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, managed systems were achieving efficiencies that seemed to overwhelm competing models: from the Tennessee Valley Authority to Sputnik, from perspective is already to presage the demise of the belief in their inevitable victory. The increasing recognition of the limits of command-and-control systems led to a new approach abandonment, of the goal of perfect rationalization of systems design, which assumed much of the human away. What replaced planning and control in these systems was the myth of perfect markets. This was achieved 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 bureaucratic rationalization, perfect-market rationalization also had successes. But, like its predecessor, its limits as an approach to human systems design are becoming cleare Work, Trust and Play Pricing perfectly requires perfect information. And perfect information, of constant, rapid change and complex global interactions. What we are seeing instead is the rise of human systems that increasingly shy away from either control or perfect pricing. Not that there isn’t control. Not that there aren’t markets. And not that either of these approaches 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 employees can use to play at whatever ideas they like, do not exist to make the most innovative region in the United States a Ludic paradise, 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, 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, unpredictable set of conditions, combining rationalization with human agency, learning and adaptation, is as different from managed systems and perfect markets as the new Toyota is from the old General Motors, or as the Internet now is from AT& T then. The hallmarks of these newer systems are: (a) location of authority and practical capacity to act at the edges of the system, where potentialities for sensing the environment, identifying opportunities and challenges to action and acting upon them, are located (b) an emphasis on the human: on trust, cooperation, judgment and insight (c) communication over the lifetime of the interaction and (d) loosely-coupled systems: systems in which the regularities and dependencies among objects and processes are less strictly associated with each other where actions and interactions can occur through multiple systems simultaneously, have room to fail, maneuver, and be reoriented to fit changing conditions and new learning, or shift from one system to another to achieve a solution. 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 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. However, even Toyota might be bested in this respect by the even more loosely coupled networks of innovation and supply represented by Taiwanese original-design manufacturers. But let us also consider the system in question that has made this work 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 agents in the system were competent and benign, or at least sincere) declined. This decline was met with arguments in favor of building ultimate reversal of the human-centric, loosely-coupled design approach of the Internet. Instead of locating authority and capacity to act at the endpoints, where human beings are located and can make decisions about what is worthwhile, it implements the belief that machines−technical systems−are trustworthy, while their human users are malevolent, incompetent, or both. 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 agency over time, only imperfectly constraining and enabling any given action by the system itself. By creating such domains of human agency, system designers are accepting the limitations of design and foresight, and building in the possibilities of learning over time through action in the system, by agents acting within difficult to replicate or systematize. At the center of these new systems, then, sits a human being who has a capacity to make judgments, experiment, learn and adapt. But enabling human agency also provides scope of action for human frailty. Although this idea is most alien to the mainstream of system design in the twentieth century, we must now turn our attention to building systems that support human sociality−our ability to think of others and their needs, and to choose for ourselves goals consistent with a broader social concern than merely our own self-interest. The challenge of the near future is to build systems that will allow us to be largely free to inquire, experiment, learn and information economy give us real existence proofs that human-centric systems can not merely exist, but thrive, as can the human beings and social relations that make them.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the role of the discussion of economic models?\n\n<options>:\nA Representing decisions with economic models only is not going to give the whole picture\nB The profit margin difference for Toyota versus older car companies can be easily explained\nC Tracking purchases of conoms over time can give an insight into other economic decisions\nD Economists have a strong idea of where the flexible points in a system need to be\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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451 | 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 BIG HEADACHE What's the principal cause of headaches? Mitchell forced himself to awaken, with some initial difficulty. \"How are you going to go about forcing him, Doctor?\" Mitchell inquired. He lay there, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, listening to his heart race, and then convulsively snatched the telephone receiver from Mitchell smiled to himself. He was in luck quick, dramatic test. We've had it if he turns us down.\" \"I know,\" Mitchell said, exhaling deeply. \"Somehow the men with the money just can't seem to understand basic research. Who would have \"When we prove our results that should be of enough practical value for anyone. But those crummy trustees didn't even leave us enough for a field test.\" Ferris scrubbed his thin hand over the bony ridge of his of all headaches.\" \"No!\" the smaller man yelled. \"You can't expect me to violate professional ethics and test my own discovery on myself.\" \" worries just as you got rid of the others?\" Mitchell asked. \"No, I—yes, I guess I do. But how do I know you won't try to put me back where I was instead of helping me more?\" \"I couldn't do that against your wishes. That would be illegal!\" government took up a lot of his time using him as the symbol of the Ideal Scientist to help recruit Science and Engineering Cadets. \"But he won't like you fixing me up more.\" \"But he can't stop me! Not if you want me to do it. Now listen to me—I that the project was nearing completion. If so, it was a case of Ad . The only thing that could delay the project was Macklin's health. Despite his impressive body, some years before he had suffered a mild stroke ... or at least a vascular spasm of a cerebral artery. It was known that he suffered from the vilest variety of migraine. A cycle of the headaches had caused him to be absent from his classes for several weeks, and there were an unusual number of military uniforms seen around the campus. laboratory in the biology building. Mitchell sat slumped in the chair looked more than a little like a postgraduate student, and Mitchell Mitchell moved around the desk casually. \"Actually, Doctor, we haven't \"Doctor, we understand you have severe headaches,\" Mitchell said. to do with my headaches?\" \"Doctor,\" Mitchell said, \"what would you say the most common complaint from what you have said you mean headaches.\" \"Headaches,\" Mitchell agreed. \"Everybody has them at some time in his their headaches.\" headaches?\" cause of headaches,\" Mitchell announced. produces headaches is?\" migraine. How should I go about removing my curse?\" He reinserted the government wouldn't like it very well if I died in the middle of this project. My wife would like it even less.\" Ferris turned his back on the mathematician. Mitchell could see him mouthing the word Unless we can produce quick, conclusive and dramatic proof of our studies we can get no more financial backing. We should large-scale field test. But we haven't the time or money for that. We can cure the headaches of one person and that's the limit of our resources.\" ' no '. I'd like to help you out, but I'm afraid I owe too much to heard some say they preferred the migraine.\" Mitchell or I cured ourselves of headaches—they might not even believe migraine. You do.\" Mitchell cleared his throat. \"Are you positive, doctor?\" he asked \"Doctor—Harold—you shouldn't have given this story to the newspapers,\" Mitchell said. He tapped the back of his hand against the something dramatic to show to the trustees and here it is.\" \"Yes, we wanted to show our proof to the trustees—but not broadcast unverified results to the press. It's too early for that!\" \"Don't be so stuffy and conservative, Mitchell! Macklin's cured, isn't will hand down a ukase demanding our virus, just as they demanded the Salk vaccine and the Grennell serum.\" \"But—\" The shrill call of the telephone interrupted Mitchell's objections. \"Hysterical?\" Mitchell muttered in alarm and went to the phone. \"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Macklin,\" Mitchell said sharply. Mitchell dropped the receiver heavily. \"What could be wrong with Dean's twin except that he had received no injection of the E-M Virus, was stomping up and down punching his fingers through the wire, worrying the lock on the cage. \"I don't know. Maybe they just have tired blood,\" Mitchell ventured. \"There's nothing wrong with him,\" Ferris snapped. \"He's probably just trying to get us in trouble, the ingrate!\" Under Mitchell's thumb the bell chimbed dum-de-de-dum-dum-dum . As they waited Mitchell glanced at Ferris. He seemed completely Mitchell wondered desperately just what they had done to the man. \"How is he different?\" Mitchell demanded. Mitchell tried to stop Colonel Sidney as he went past, but the doctor \"What did he mean, Macklin is an idiot?\" Mitchell asked. \"We merely cured him of his headaches,\" Mitchell said. Mitchell did his best to explain the F-M Virus. \"No, no! Could I talk to the other man, the doctor? Maybe I can make him understand.\" virus colony overcontrols the supply of posterior pituitary extract in necessary amount of control to stop pain is too much to allow the brain cells to function properly.\" \"Why won't they function?\" Carson roared. \"They don't get enough food—blood, oxygen, hemoglobin,\" Ferris explained. \"The cerebral vessels don't contract enough to pump the blood through the brain as fast and as hard as is needed. The brain cells remain sluggish, dormant. Perhaps decaying.\" The colonel yelled. Mitchell groaned. He was abruptly sure Ferris was correct. The colonel drew himself to attention, fists trembling at his sides. \"I'll see you hung for treason! Don't you know what Elliot Macklin means to us? Do you want those filthy Luxemburgians to reach Pluto Mitchell coughed into his fist for an instant, to give him time to Mitchell was about to ask his associate what he meant when he saw \"No, sir!\" the mathematician said. \"I shall not go back to my original state. I can remember what it was like. Always worrying, worrying, worrying.\" and all the money I need. I've got it made. Why worry?\" Colonel Carson opened his mouth, then closed it. said. \"It's not his decision to make,\" the colonel said. \"He's an idiot now.\" his former level of intelligence but he's legally responsible. There are millions of morons running around loose in the United States. They you can.\" \"No, I can't. This is hardly a totalitarian state.\" The colonel looked momentarily glum that it wasn't. \"Really?\" she said. \"Did you speak to Elliot about that?\" \"Y-yes,\" Colonel Carson said, \"but he's not himself. He refused the treatment. He wants to remain in his state of lower intelligence.\" She nodded. \"If those are his wishes, I can't go against them.\" was my original thought. But I've redecided.\" \"Redecided!\" Carson burst out almost hysterically. \"Yes. I can't go against Elliot's wishes. It would be monstrous to put declaring him incompetent.\" \"But he is not! Legally, I mean,\" the woman stormed. he's certified incompetent, authorities can rule whether Mitchell and Ferris' antitoxin treatment is the best method of restoring Dr. Macklin to sanity.\" \"Because, Colonel, the matter of my husband's health, his very life, is involved.\" of her husband's genius.\" \"Maybe,\" Carson said. \"I don't know. I don't know what the hell to tell the Pentagon. I think I'll go out and get drunk.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Mitchell irritated that the story on the virus for headaches had been leaked to the newspapers?\n\n<options>:\nA He feared the virus was counteractive.\nB He feared that Macklin's wife would be angry\nC He felt it was too early to release without verified results.\nD He feared that the government would shut their project down.\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>:\nWhere it all started: Paul Krugman's \"The Legend of Arthur.\" 2) Krugman wrote: \"Cassidy's article tells the story of how Stanford Professor Brian Arthur came up with the idea of increasing returns.\" I wrote no such thing, and Arthur has never, to my knowledge, claimed any such thing. The notion of increasing returns has been around since Adam Smith, and it was written about at length by Alfred Marshall in 1890. What I did say in my article was that increasing returns was largely ignored by mainstream economists for much of the postwar era, a claim that simply isn't controversial. (As Krugman notes, one reason for this was technical, not ideological. Allowing for the possibility of increasing returns tends to rob economic models of two properties that economists cherish: simplicity and determinism. As long ago as 1939, Sir John Hicks, one of the founders of modern economics, noted that increasing returns, if tolerated, could lead to the \"wreckage\" of a large part of economic theory.) 3) Pace Krugman, I also did not claim that Arthur bears principal responsibility for the rediscovery of increasing returns by economists in the 1970s and 1980s. As Krugman notes, several scholars (himself included) who were working in the fields of game theory and international trade published articles incorporating increasing returns before Arthur did. My claim was simply that Arthur applied increasing returns to high-technology markets, and that his work influenced how other economists and government officials think about these markets. Krugman apart, virtually every economist I have spoken to, including Daniel Rubinfeld, a former Berkeley professor who is now the chief economist at the Justice Department's antitrust division, told me this was the case. (Rubinfeld also mentioned several other economists who did influential work, and I cited three of them in the article.) 4) Krugman appears to suggest that I made up some quotes, a charge that, if it came from a more objective source, I would consider to be a serious matter. In effect, he is accusing Brian Arthur, a man he calls a \"nice guy,\" of being a fabricator or a liar. The quotes in question came from Arthur, and they were based on his recollections of two meetings that he attended some years ago. After Krugman's article appeared, the Santa Fe professor called me to say that he still recalled the meetings in question as I described them. Krugman, as he admits, wasn't present at either of the meetings. 5) For a man who takes his own cogitations extremely seriously, Krugman is remarkably cavalier about attributing motives and beliefs to others. \"Cassidy has made it clear in earlier writing that he does not like mainstream economists, and he may have been overly eager to accept a story that puts them in a bad light,\" he pronounces. I presume this statement refers to a critical piece I wrote in 1996 about the direction that economic research, principally macroeconomic research, has taken over the past two decades. In response to that article, I received dozens of messages of appreciation from mainstream economists, including from two former presidents of the American Economic Association. Among the sources quoted in that piece were the then-chairman of the White House Council of Economic Advisers (Joseph Stiglitz), a governor of the Federal Reserve Board (Laurence Meyer), and a well-known Harvard professor (Gregory Mankiw). To claim, as Krugman does, that I \"don't like mainstream economists\" and that I am out to denigrate their work is malicious hogwash. The fact of the matter is that I spend much of my life reading the work of mainstream economists, speaking to them, and trying to find something they have written that might interest the general public. In my experience, most economists appreciate the attention. Letter from M. Mitchell Waldrop: Thanks to Paul Krugman for his lament about credulous reporters who refuse to let facts stand in the way of a good story (\"The Legend of Arthur\"). As a professional journalist, I found his points well taken--even when he cites my own book, Complexity as a classic example of the gullibility genre. Among many other things, Complexity tells the story of the Irish-born economist Brian Arthur and how he came to champion a principle known as \"increasing returns.\" The recent New Yorker article explains how that principle has since become the intellectual foundation of the Clinton administration's antitrust case against Microsoft. Krugman's complaint is that the popular press--including Complexity and The New Yorker --is now hailing Brian Arthur as the originator of increasing returns, even though Krugman and many others had worked on the idea long before Arthur did. I leave it for others to decide whether I was too gullible in writing Complexity . For the record, however, I would like to inject a few facts into Krugman's story, which he summarizes nicely in the final paragraph: When Waldrop's book came out, I wrote him as politely as I could, asking exactly how he had managed to come up with his version of events. He did, to his credit, write back. He explained that while he had become aware of some other people working on increasing returns, trying to put them in would have pulled his story line out of shape. ... So what we really learn from the legend of Arthur is that some journalists like a good story too much to find out whether it is really true. Which brings me to Professor Krugman's letter, and my reply. I remember the exchange very well. Obviously, however, my reply failed to make clear what I was really trying to say. So I'll try again: b) Accordingly, I included a passage in Complexity in which Brian does indeed describe what others had done in the field--Paul Krugman among them. Elsewhere in that same chapter, I tried to make it clear that the concept of increasing returns was already well known to Brian's professors at Berkeley, where he first learned of it. Indeed, I quote Brian pointing out that increasing returns had been extensively discussed by the great English economist Alfred Marshall in 1891. c) So, when I received Krugman's letter shortly after Complexity came out, I was puzzled: He was complaining that I hadn't referenced others in the increasing-returns field--Paul Krugman among them--although I had explicitly done so. d) But, when I checked the published text, I was chagrined to discover that the critical passage mentioning Krugman wasn't there. The point is that it's not just a matter of failing to cite a few more people. Your book, like the Cassidy article, didn't just tell the story of Brian Arthur Paul Krugman's attack on Brian Arthur (\"The Legend of Arthur\") requires a correction of its misrepresentations of fact. Arthur is a reputable and significant scholar whose work is indeed having influence in the field of industrial organization and in particular public policy toward antitrust policy in high-tech industries. Krugman admits that he wrote the article because he was \"just pissed off,\" not a very good state for a judicious statement of facts, as his column shows. The point that Arthur has emphasized and which is influential in the current debates about antitrust policy is the dynamic implication of increasing returns. It is the concept of path-dependence, that small events, whether random or the result of corporate strategic choice, may have large consequences because of increasing returns of various kinds. Initial small advantages become magnified, for example, by creating a large installed base, and direct the future, possibly in an inefficient direction. Techniques of production may be locked in at an early stage. Similar considerations apply to regional development and learning. --Kenneth J. Arrow Nobel laureate and Joan Kenney professor of economics emeritus Stanford University Letter from Ted C. Fishman: --Ted C. Fishman (For additional background on the history of \"increasing returns\" and Brian Arthur's standing in the field, click for David Warsh's July 3, 1994, Boston Globe article on Brian Arthur)\n\n<question>:\nWhat was Brian Arthur’s claim to fame?\n\n<options>:\nA An economist who applied an understanding of increasing returns to high-technology markets.\nB The author of “Complexity.”\nC A founder of modern economics.\nD A scholar of international trade who was primarily responsible for the rediscovering of increasing returns.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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1,473 | 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, I mean, it's not only about Wanda,\" said Harry. \"You see, my wife, Jane, that is....\" \"Yes?\" said the priest. He took his pen out of the holder. \"And with your permission, Father....\" \"Be still,\" his wife said. \"People's lookin' at ya.\" \"I don't care a smidgen,\" he said, \"if en they ayre.\" \"Please,\" she said. \"Well, about Wanda. I really shouldn't mention this. But Father, if we \"Here comes the priest. Now, be still.\" \"Hummmm.\" \"I mean, the girls might think a man gets rusty.\" tell us it's gonna be another postponement.\" I decided that Wanda—ah—Miller, yes, has had sufficient duty to merit participation in the Festival.\" \"Justice is a priestly virtue,\" Harry said. \"And you really think your wife would...?\" \"Oh, yes, Father.\" \"Well, ahem. But....\" \"Uh?\" \"That is to say, in order for a woman to join in the ritual of the Changing of the Wives, she must, ahem, be married.\" \"I never thought of that,\" said the third mate disconsolately. daughter, yes?\" insisted that it be done in privacy. For the ceremony, he refused to make the slightest change in his everyday uniform nor would he consent to Nestir's suggestion that he carry a nosegay of hydroponic flowers. He had intended, after the ceremony, to go about his duty as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened Without a word, he left the priest's stateroom and walked slowly, \"Madam,\" he said, \"I hope you will have the kindness not to refer to me by that indecent appelation a second time.\" \"Gee. You say the cutest things. I'm awful glad you had to marry me, huh.\" \"Hello,\" he said. \"Madam, sit down. I intend to give you an instructive Festival, so you can look back on it and say, uh, uh—this day was the real high point of your whole life!\" Everyone but Joanne Marie's husband cheered. He sat glumly muttering to himself. \"Yes. Thank you.\" your decision will be, Father?\" the steward wine. \"The problem, my dear Helen,\" he said, \"is one of intent. To raise the issue of concomitant agonies is to confuse the whole matter. For \"That,\" he said to Nestir, \"my dear Father, is the cardinal point of And I must say, I think you're being quite short-sighted about the \"Oh, very,\" said the steward. \"I don't know,\" the second mate's wife said, \"whether you better count on my husband or not. I have my own plans for him.\" \"That's very kind of you, but I....\" instinct of the mother to release her child from its duty, then....\" \"Oh, not at all,\" the third mate's wife said. \"I did it to make him \"I do not,\" Jane contradicted. \"Now, honey, you know you do so.\" At that moment, he lost interest in his wife and leaned across the \"He wants you to sign it so he can take her in the Changing of the Wives,\" Jane said. \"There wouldn't be one short if he had brought a wife,\" the first because you have to stay with your husband.\" \"All right, so I am. But it's true. And if Carstar hadn't been killed, there would have been two short.\" She shot a wicked glance at Nestir. \"Why don't you and him share a woman—\" \"Martha!\" \"Although the Prophet knows what woman in her right mind would consent to....\" \"Well,\" said Nestir hesitantly. it, someone will have to do without a woman.\" Nestir blushed. \"I'll look it over very carefully, but you must realize that the priestcraft....\" \"Actually, in a way, it would be her duty to, you see. Think of it like that: as her way to do her duty.\" \"She's too young for you, dear,\" Jane said to her husband. \"Oh, I don't know,\" the steward said. \"Sometimes they're the best, I hear.\" The third mate, whose name was Harry, stood before the mirror combing \"You really shouldn't have told them about little Glenn tonight.\" \"Pish-tush.\" \"No, Harry. I mean it. Helen looked at me strangely all through dinner. She has three children, you know.\" \"You're imagining things.\" \"I mean about her looking at you.\" \"Oh.\" Harry fiddled with his tie without speaking. \"I mean, as much as to say: 'Well, I raised all of mine.'\" wasn't doing my duty. You know.\" \"No,\" he said. \"That's nonsense, Jane. Sheer nonsense. You know what the priest said.\" He polished one of his brass buttons with the sleeve of his coat. \"Harry?\" \"Yes?\" \"I don't think all that is necessary just to go on duty.\" \"Probably not.\" She walked to the bed and sat down. \"Harry?\" \"Yes, dear?\" \"Don't you really think she's awful young?\" \"Huh-uh.\" \"I mean, why don't you pick someone else? Like Mary? She's awful sweet. I'll bet she'd be better.\" \"Probably.\" Nestir. With his funny bald head. I hope he asks me.\" \"I'll mention it to him.\" \"Would you really, Harry? That would be sweet.\" \"Sure, honey.\" He looked down at his watch. \"Harry? Are you going to meet Wanda in the control room?\" \"Uh-huh.\" \"I thought so. Well, remember this, dear: It isn't the day of the Changing of the Wives yet. Don't forget.\" \"Honey! You don't think for a minute that....\" \"No, dear. I know you wouldn't. But just don't , I mean.\" He walked over and kissed her forehead and patted her cheek. \"Course \"Can't sleep here, my man,\" Harry explained. Harry continued on to the control room. \"Don't mind, do you?\" He blew a smoke ring. \"Might even bar him from the Festival.\" \"Yeah,\" said Harry, \"the captain's funny that way.\" The second mate blew another smoke ring. \"Well,\" Harry said. \"Uh. Harry? Are you really going to take that Wanda girl?\" \"If Nestir lets me.\" \"Say. Harry. Do you suppose your wife would...?\" Harry crossed to the second mate and put a hand on his shoulder. \"Sorry, old fellow. She's got it in her head to take Nestir.\" He shrugged. \"I don't exactly approve, of course, but ... I'm sure if he doesn't want her, she'd be glad to hear your offer.\" \"Aw, that's all right,\" John said. \"Don't really matter. Say. By the \"Look. How about telling me another time?\" \"Thanks. See you at breakfast.\" After the second mate left, Harry walked over to the control panel. you. He's going to check your record. And Wanda?\" \"Wanda, listen to me.\" In Nestir's cabin the next morning, the captain and the priest held a conference. \"No, Captain. I'm afraid I can't agree to that,\" Nestir said. \"If you'll excuse me, Father, I really should return to duty,\" said the \"Quite all right, my son. Close the door after you.\" priest: \"I'll come back later, Father.\" \"Well, I had hoped to see the Father for a minute on ... private \"I'll call you when I'm through,\" said Harry. The priest studied the table top. He rearranged some papers. \"Ah, yes. The young girl.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat does Harry think about his wife's request to talk to the priest?\n\n<options>:\nA Harry thinks it's a great idea for his wife to become the priest's wife, because then he'll have an in with the officials\nB Harry is very upset because he doesn't want to trade his wife for anyone, no matter what\nC Harry runs with it so that he can get what he wants in the Changing of the Wives\nD Harry is indifferent, but doesn't think the priest would want to marry her anyway\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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757 | 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. Curtis recalled that Nelson and Androka had long conversations together—conversations which they would end abruptly when anyone else came within earshot. And Nelson had always been chummy with the worst trouble maker in the crew—Bos'n's Mate Bradford. naval organization. If you could silence all radio—silence of that sort would be deadly! to the door, paused there, and flung a backward glance at the man in the cabin with him—Zukor Androka, the elderly Czech scientist, a guest entire complement of two hundred and twenty men were present—except Navigating Officer Nelson, and Bos'n's Mate Bradford! And Zukor Androka was also missing! of the United States navy, here aboard the cruiser Curtis got a glimpse of the design on which he was working, and his lips relaxed in a faint smile. Androka had arrived on board the Comerford the day before she sailed from Norfolk. With him came a boatload of scientific apparatus and crew was marooned on an islet, about a square mile in area that they had been put ashore without food or extra clothing or equipment, including a number of things that looked like oxygen tanks, which were now stored in the forward hold. Androka had watched over equipment of any kind, and that no boats had been left for them. his treasures with the jealous care of a mother hen, and spent hours behind. Curtis was studying the wreckage of the wireless station, wondering if this might have been the source of Androka's zone of silence, when Ensign Jack Dillon came up to him. \"There's a coast-guard cutter heading for the island, sir,\" he black-browed bos'n's mate named Joe Bradford—the worst trouble maker on board. But there was no question of his ability. He was a good navigating officer—dependable, accurate, conscientious. Nevertheless, his taut face, restless, searching eyes, and eternally nervous manner Don't let a little error get you down!\" \"But this storm, sir!\" Nelson avoided Curtis' friendly eyes and slipped \"Call up to the bridge to stop her,\" he told Nelson. \"We can't afford to move in these waters with such a possibility of error!\" Nelson complied, and the throbbing drive of the engines lessened at once. Nelson said: \"I've been wondering, sir, if it wouldn't be Comerford ships or amateurs on the shorter. \"Dead!\" Androka muttered, with a bitter laugh. \"Yet not dead, gentlemen! The set is uninjured. The waves are what have been upset. I have shattered them around your ship, just as I can eventually shatter them all over Central Europe! For the next two hours, no radio messages With the coming of dawn, a little exploration revealed that the Curtis was the first to speak. \"Your secrecy might well cost the United States navy one of its best light cruisers—and us our lives!\" he said angrily. \"We need that check 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 can get no message to him, for our radio is dead!\" from Cay 364.\" 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 closed. The sky was again a blanket of darkness pouring sheets of rain at them. Nelson went back to the bridge, and Androka returned to the commander's cabin. Curtis lingered in the wireless room with the radio operator. tingle they sent through his inquiring fingers. Curtis left him at it, and went to rejoin Androka in the cabin. He found the little inventor pacing up and down, shaking his fists in the air of silence is projected—\" Androka paused, his head tilted to one side, as if he were listening to something— On deck, there was shouting and commotion. Curtis rushed out, pulling on his slicker as he went. The shout from the watch forward had been \"Breakers ahead!\" He was beside Navigating Officer Nelson on the bridge, and saw the helmsman climbing the rapidly spinning wheel like a monkey as he put it hard aport. Then the ship struck. Everything movable shot ahead until it brought up to his ear and shouted: \"You must have been right, sir, and the radio bearings and my reckoning wrong. We've hit that reef a terrific smack. I'm afraid we're gored!\" completely at the mercy of the wind and the waves. Curtis heard the anchor let down, as if by invisible hands, the chain 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!\" 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. \"He's nothing but a crackpot!\" \"It was a crackpot who invented the gas we used to break up the wrongs,\" Nelson continued. \"If America hadn't gone into the First World War, he wouldn't have lost his business my mother would still unconscious crew and row them ashore. And when that task was completed, lifeboats began to come alongside Androka had brought aboard the Comerford with him, and dynamos and Brazil—through the blockade,\" Nelson said, \"without taking the risk of capturing a United States navy cruiser.\" Carethusia is taking over.\" \"Can we trust Androka?\" Nelson asked, with a sudden note of suspicion in his voice. \"Yes,\" Brandt assured him. \"Of all men—we can trust Androka!\" foreigners whom it chooses as its agents,\" Brandt pointed out. \"Androka misfires, if there is the slightest suspicion of treachery on his part, his daughter and the others will suffer. Androka's loyalty is assured!\" Nelson turned to watch the forward fighting top of the Comerford Descending a companionway to see what was going on below, Nelson found 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 American crew. Returning to the bridge, he found that the tide in the inlet had risen considerably, and that the cruiser was riding more easily at her anchor. Then, at Brandt's orders, the anchor was hauled in, and lifeboats and a motor launch were used as tugs to work the vessel entirely free of the sand bar. This was accomplished without difficulty. out his hand. \"Congratulations, Herr Kommander Nelson!\" he said. \"Ve have stolen one of the United States navy's newest and fastest cruisers!\" He made a There was a solemn note in Dillon's voice. \"No, sir. She's been worked 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 very purpose. The pieces of the picture fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle—Androka's zone of silence the bearings given by radio Navigating Officer Nelson's queer conduct. They were all part of a carefully laid plan! All the suspicious circumstances surrounding Nelson came flooding into never trusted him. Nelson\n\n<question>:\nOf all the characters, who is seen as an antagonist in the article?\n\n<options>:\nA Androka's assistant because he turned off the radio.\nB Commander Curtis because he rarely complied with the other crew members.\nC The radio man on the ship because he could not complete Commander Curtis's orders.\nD Androka, because his actions severely inconvenienced the crew of the ship.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
101 | 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 Monster Maker \"Get Gunther,\" the official orders read. It We'll stage everything on the most colossal raid of the century.\" of Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's face actor are you?\" The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console, wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. And out in the dark of the fore-part there was space and a star-sprinkling and this was pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters. picked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn't pushed him into a room where Gunther sat. Hathaway looked at him. \"So you're Gunther?\" he said, calmly. The pirate was incredibly old, his bulging forehead stood out over sunken, questioningly dark eyes, and his scrawny body was lost in folds of been of the meteor! A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out of the controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. \"Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now and metal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before he Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin hands ?\" yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. \"Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!?\" \"I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther.\" Marnagan fumed. \"I'll die when I'm damned good and ready. And when I'm A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, lounging started yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one side ready I'll inform you and you can picture me profile for Cosmic Films!\" Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air. \"Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered!\" quick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reach film, or an audience. Like this one, dammit! Like this one! His from filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther was throwing a fit, still seated at his desk, unable to move because of his fragile, bony legs and their atrophied state. Gunther raged, and swept a small pistol from his linked corselet. He Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaos whirred. \"Low angle shot Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathed that film-contraption!\" capture that Gunther lad!\" mashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or was suffocation a better death...? Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: \"This is Gunther's work. He's here somewhere, probably laughing his guts out at the job he did us. Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get back to Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a pirate whose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally wins with except your suspicions about this not being an accident. We got fifty minutes to prove you're right. After that—right or wrong—you'll be Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. But talk all it. As for me—\" he twisted his glossy red face. \"Keeping alive is me hobby. And this sort of two-bit death I did not order.\" Click nodded. \"Gunther knows how you'd hate dying this way, Irish. It's irony clean through. That's probably why he planned the meteor and the crash this way.\" Marnagan said nothing, but his thick lips went down at the corners, far \"Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! No Gunther'd do anything to—did I say horrors. Progeny from Frankenstein's ARK. Immense crimson beasts with numerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, some tubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing along and Gunther and— my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peace for the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, without much effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing death up arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: \"Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we felt that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So, dispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men? It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikes unseen ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces.\" Marnagan rumbled. \"Where is the dirty son, then!\" wounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animals tend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtle his attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if the Patrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation, then.\" it out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while it developed, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developing film. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical, mess! Here—\" He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film, monsters! hunk, I couldn't help—Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are part of his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased back kill them.\" \"Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill.\" \"Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they could have frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. If that isn't being dangerous—\" Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters.\" Click attached his camera to his mid-belt. \"Gunther probably thinks we're \"Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident—\" Click stopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head and This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick.\" Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. \"Hold tight, Click. The guy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach.\" Think it over and over.\" Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. \"And—what if I forget to remember all that? What if I get excited...?\" you forget the monsters. Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you might forget.\" Marnagan showed his teeth. \"Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? And besides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty.\" radio. One of Gunther's guards. gun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off. and stacked them up to dry, ya louse!\" Marnagan said. \"But, damn you, they killed my partner before he had a chance!\" The guard laughed. swimming darkly, his lungs crammed with pain-fire and hell-rockets. He let himself down in, quiet and soft. He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have a weapon. Oh, damn, damn! air hissing slowly out of it, his face turning blue. And the guard, a you stand right there and die,\" he said quietly. \"That what Gunther short-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships to with images slid into slots and machine mouths that translated them into thought-emanations. A damned neat piece of genius. \"So here we are, still not much better off than we were,\" growled\n\n<question>:\nHow would you describe Gunther as a villain?\n\n<options>:\nA He's likely been successful in the past, but he's clearly conquerable.\nB He's so universally despised that he has to work alone.\nC He's a classically funny villain, like what you'd imagine in children's movies and comedies.\nD He's fairly irresponsible and ruthless.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
2,492 | 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 cities in the post-Brexit era could learn from a 14th-century trading bloc By their nature cities along coasts and rivers developed so they could be open to trade with each other. From the middle of the 13th century, and for some 300 years after, many settlements dotted along this route formed the prosperous Hanseatic League, a European trading confederation of market towns, before the rise of the nation state led to its dissolution. Despite some of Britain's Leave voters longing to inhabit a fantastical realm immune to foreign influence, the reality is patently very different to that. In the late 1300s, Chaucer wrote about characters travelling to Jerusalem, and others who came from Europe and it was at exactly this point that the Hanseatic League slowly started to coalesce, eventually influencing our isles. The League is most easily understood as a loose federation of cities that acted together in self-interest to promote trade. The Hanseatic cities developed their own legal system, and their armies came to one another's aid. Merchants who wanted to buy and sell and travel were taking the lead at a time when nation states were not fit for purpose: in the case of England or Denmark, leadership was too centralised and authoritarian, while in German-speaking lands a nation had yet to be formed. The cities involved in the Hanseatic League are found along the Baltic and North Sea coasts, and slightly inland too. The League stretched from Novgorod in the east – in what is now Russia – to London in the west. Tallinn, Riga, Gdańsk, Visby, Berlin, Cologne, Antwerp, Stockholm, Bergen, Kiel, Rostock, Dinant, Bruges, Turku, Groningen, Hanover, Wroclaw, Kaliningrad: all were involved at different stages in the Hanse's history, which ran on into the 1500s. The League covered lands that today find themselves a part of the modern nations of Finland, Sweden, Poland, the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Norway, Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia. It was a huge – and hugely ambitious – undertaking in the days when communications consisted of ink and paper and the only viable method of travel was by ship. Wood, fur, wool, silver, herring, cod and salt were the main items traded. But what was also exchanged was knowledge. In some ways it was an exercise in what we today call 'soft diplomacy'. There was no maniacal ruler overseeing things – merchants met and talked. They raised armies and waged war against kings who threatened their businesses and their freedoms and their peace. There was a kind of proto-democracy at work. Professor Rainer Postel, of the Bundeswehr Universität (Germany's equivalent of Sandhurst military academy), has described the Hanse as \"a community of interests without power politics\". As David Abulafia, Professor of Mediterranean History at Cambridge points out, \"The lack of an elaborate superstructure was one of the things that made the Hanse work. Having said that, one should recognise that Lübeck in particular dominated the League for long periods.\" Lübeck was where the merchants most often met \"Cities both exist within nations and transcend nations. Their power lies not just in the extent of de jure autonomy ceded or granted by 'higher' levels of government,\" says Bruce Katz, centennial scholar at the Washington DC thinktank the Brookings Institution. \"Rather, cities have de facto power, the result of larger market and demographic forces and environmental imperatives that value proximity, density, connectivity and quality. Smart nations will see themselves as partners to their cities, setting strong platforms for urban prosperity and devolving powers, where appropriate, to give cities the flexibility to perform… Dumb nations will continue to dictate from above, stifling market activity and urban potential.\" But could we go further? Could cities like London declare independence from the UK? London's economy is larger than that of Scotland and Wales combined. \"States will not vanish or surrender their waning sovereignty,\" says Benjamin Barber. \"But cities will meet across frontiers and work together to solve problems. The objective is not an independent London or New York, but interdependent cities collaborating globally. And that is happening.\" London's voters largely wanted to remain a part of the EU and to maintain the city's status as an entrepôt. There is clearly a widening chasm between urban and rural life at the heart of many nations. Visualisations of Austria's recent presidential election showed the issue clearly: the country's cities voted for the Green candidate Alexander Van der Bellen, while the the rural districts went for right-wing nationalist Norbert Hofer (whose legal challenge to the close result has resulted in a rerun being announced for October). And in the USA in November, it's likely that Trump voters will also come from rural areas and Clinton voters from the cities. City dwellers are finding ever more in common with the world's other city dwellers than with their countrymen 50 miles down the road. Back in Britain, one of history's little oddities pops up on the east coast. Boston in Lincolnshire and King's Lynn in Norfolk were both forward-looking Hanseatic League towns that traded with far-flung ports and hosted foreign merchants. King's Lynn contains the only extantHanse House left in Britain (London's was knocked down to build Cannon Street Station in the 1800s). Yet in the EU referendum these two areas polled among the highest Leave votes of anywhere in the country. \"Things change,\" says LSE's Professor Tony Travers. \"[King's Lynn] used to be very highly connected, but the economy moved on and left those trading ports like it in a different situation.\" Take, for example, the pivot towards the New World, with which trade made more sense from the west-coast ports like Bristol and Liverpool. While these boomed between the 1600s and 1800s, the Hanseatic ports declined and then died out. \"One of the things that's interesting about the [referendum] decision is that it begs all sorts of questions about the future of the UK and its relationship with Europe For all its complex beauty, life can ultimately be reduced to a series of binary options: yes or no, stick or twist, in or out, innovation or stagnation, modernity or mythology. The referendum result was disappointing for many progressive observers because it felt like a step backwards. Despite being primarily about trade monopolies and money making, the Hanse was, in its way, an early stab at stepping forwards: it encompassed internationalism, rational thought, free trade, loose democratic institutions and, most crucially of all, movement. The future, for many observers, can only be understood in terms of the free movement of people, capital, goods and ideas. It is this necessary movement, and its possible curtailment, that could be the spark that leads to cities like London to seek independence and parity with other world cities – rather than with the rural hinterlands of Britain. Of course, cities seceding from their nation states would provide huge headaches for countries whose biggest economic driver had been removed – as well as likely deepening ideological differences between city and rural dwellers. Moreover, cities need the food the countryside provides. Yet for all the potential pitfalls, city states can thrive. Look at Singapore, Hong Kong, or de facto city states like Dubai and Abu Dhabi. One of the most telling characteristics about these four – all of course former British imperial enclaves – is that they are utterly outward looking. To return to the sky analogy, it's the airlines of each of these (Singapore Airlines, Cathay Pacific, Emirates and Etihad) that open up each respective city to the world in the way that the machinery of the Hanse did on the Baltic Sea 600 years ago. And it's the unions each city makes with other places that also look thoroughly Hanseatic in character. A model for modern city states, then. But is it one that we want?\n\n<question>:\nAccording to the author, what made open trade so accessible in the 14th century?\n\n<options>:\nA Prevalence of natural resources in concentrated areas\nB Agreement on shared principles of commerce\nC Settlement along geographically accessible areas\nD Inclusion of both rural and urban community members\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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985 | 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>:\nRikud looked out upon the garden and he trembled. Out there was life. from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of his life, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings had grown. \"There is Rikud on the floor!\" disturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he had realized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up inside him. Tugging at the handle of the door, Rikud pulled himself upright. Something small and brown scurried across the other side of the \"Where's the buzzer?\" he sobbed. \"I must find the buzzer.\" Crifer's voice, from the darkness inside, said, \"You broke it. You broke it. And now we will break you—\" Rikud got up and ran. He reached the door again and then he slipped down against it, exhausted. Behind him, the voices and the footsteps Rikud sat down and tore off a piece of a plant, munching on it. It was good. There was a strange thought, and Rikud's brain again, something which was as impalpable as air. Rikud had been stopped in this action, although there was no real authority to stop him. This puzzled him, because somehow he felt that frightening doors and women by appointment only. Rikud felt at home. that was silly, because now no one told you to do anything. You only listened to the buzzer. And Rikud could remember the rest of what the reading machine had said. elders were overthrown. Here Rikud had been lost utterly. The people had decided that they did not know where they were going, or why, and that it was unfair that the elders alone had this authority. They were born and they lived and they died as the elders directed, like little cogs in a great machine. Much of this Rikud could not understand, but he knew enough to realize that the reading machine had sided with the medicine. But when, in another ten years, Chuls would perish of old age, the rays would no longer suffice. Nothing would, for Chuls. Rikud proved the world was not perfect. Rikud was guiltily glad when he saw Crifer limp. But, if anyone else saw it, he never said a word. Not even Crifer. about and talked. That was the custom. Everyone did it. But if he wasn't reading himself, Rikud usually went to sleep. All the intervals by a sharp booming. Change— \"Won't you eat, Rikud?\" Chuls called from somewhere down below. \"Damn the man,\" Rikud thought. Then aloud: \"Yes, I'll eat. Later.\" they find the nature of that purpose? \"I will eat,\" Chuls said, breaking Rikud's revery. Yet he did have initiative after a sort. He knew when to eat. Because he was hungry. And Rikud, too, was hungry. Differently. Rikud heard a voice not unlike that of the reading machine. He missed the beginning, but then: —therefore, permit no unauthorized persons to go through this Rikud gave the voice up as hopeless. There were too many confusing words. What in the world was an unauthorized person? More interesting He couldn't go alone. He'd die of the strangeness. It was a silly thought no one ever died of anything until he was a hundred. Rikud through the little room with the confusing voice to Crifer. walk and then might find himself in the garden. It was so big. Three or four days passed before Rikud calmed himself enough to talk about his experience. When he did, only Crifer seemed at all interested, yet the lame-footed man's mind was inadequate to cope with In a moment, the room was cleared. Rikud stood alone. He cleared his throat and listened to the sound, all by itself in the stillness. What would have happened if they hadn't retired? But they always did things buzzer, bathed in the health-rays with it, slept with it. What would they do if the buzzer stopped buzzing? This frightened Rikud, although he didn't know why. He'd like it, though. Maybe then he could take them outside with him to the big spinning and humming. He watched for he knew not how long. And then he began to wonder. If he destroyed the wheels and the cogs and the gears, would the buzzer stop? It probably would, because, as Rikud saw it, he was clearly an \"unauthorized person.\" He had heard the voice again upon entering the room. under his blows, shattered by the strength of his arm. Almost casually he strode about the room, but his blows were not casual. Soon his easy strides had given way to frenzied running. Rikud darkness, something bright flashed briefly through the sky and was gone. Whimpering, he fled. All around Rikud were darkness and hunger and thirst. The buzzer did not sound because Rikud had silenced it forever. And no one went to eat or drink. Rikud himself had fumbled through the blackness and the whimpering to the dining room, his tongue dry and swollen, but the smooth belt that flowed with water and with savory dishes did not run any more. The machinery, Rikud realized, also was responsible for food. \"We will eat and we will drink when the buzzer tells us,\" Wilm replied confidently. \"It won't any more,\" Rikud said. \"What won't?\" \"The buzzer will never sound again. I broke it.\" Crifer growled. \"I know. You shouldn't have done it. That was a bad thing you did, Rikud.\" beyond the viewport.\" \"That's ridiculous,\" Chuls said. Even Crifer now was angry at Rikud. \"He broke the buzzer and no one can eat. I hate Rikud, I think.\" There was a lot of noise in the darkness, and someone else said, \"I hate Rikud.\" Then everyone was saying it. Rikud was sad. Soon he would die, because no one would go outside with him and he could not go outside alone. In five more years he would have had a woman, too. He wondered if it was dark and hungry in the women's \"We can eat if the buzzer sounds, but it is broken,\" Chuls said dully. Crifer shrilled, \"Maybe it is only variable and will buzz again.\" \"No,\" Rikud assured him. \"It won't.\" \"Then you broke it and I hate you,\" said Crifer. \"We should break you, too, to show you how it is to be broken.\" \"We must go outside—through the viewport.\" Rikud listened to the odd A hand reached out in the darkness and grabbed at his head. He heard Crifer's voice. \"I have Rikud's head.\" The voice was nasty, hostile. Crifer, more than anyone, had been his friend. But now that he had broken the machinery, Crifer was his enemy, because Crifer came nearer to understanding the situation than anyone except Rikud. Other hands reached out, and Rikud stumbled. He fell and then someone was on top of him, and he struggled. He rolled and was up again, and he did not like the sound of the angry voices. Someone said, \"Let us weak to rise. Rikud, too, felt a strange light-headedness and a gnawing hurt in his stomach. But it didn't matter. He heard the angry voices and the feet pounding behind him, and he wanted only to get away. It was dark and he was hungry and everyone who was strong enough to run die because he had no food and no water and his stomach gurgled and Rikud tripped over something and sprawled awkwardly across the floor. He felt a sharp hurt in his head, and when he reached up to touch it with his hands there in the darkness, his fingers came away wet. break him.\n\n<question>:\nWhy does everyone begin to starve and grow thirsty?\n\n<options>:\nA Without the buzzer, there is no food or drink to have.\nB The buzzer no longer works, and no one knows how to fix it.\nC Rikud broke the buzzer, and they're all waiting.\nD Rikud broke the buzzer, and without it they don't know how to care for themselves.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
2,465 | 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 old man Pop heard of the quaint commercial enterprise through the micro-tapes just wanted to get back his put off at the shack for the men learned of it the same way. Pop didn't even think of it again. It seemed to have nothing to do with him. But Sattell undoubtedly dealt with it Pop matter-of-factly tended the Sattell and he had reason not to popping up in his recollection. Times when he was happy. One day he remembered the puppy his children had owned and loved. He drew it painstakingly—and it was his again. Thereafter he could remember actually recover a completely vanished past. He envisioned a way to increase Pop received the stores and took care of them. He handed over for the colony and the rocket landing field and the shack. The reason for Pop was something else. Pop continued to search absorbedly for material with which to capture and in his spare time he worked industriously at recovering some He thought often of Sattell, down He twitched all over. Then he struck cruelly again at Pop Young's 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, whimpering, to the Moon to get far beginning—produced. It was meaningless Sattell got the shakes when he thought of Pop, and Pop rather probably knew it. Of course, by the time he took the job tending the shack, he was pretty certain about Sattell. The facts spoke for themselves. Pop had come back to consciousness in a hospital with a great wound in his head and no memory containing a hundred Earth-pounds weight of richness. Pop reached the rocketship. He about Pop Young's shack in cannisters was stronger, the doctors told him who he was, and as gently as possible what had happened to his wife them. But he didn't remember a thing. Not then. It was something of a blessing. But when he was physically recovered he set about trying to pick no longer remember. He met Sattell quite by accident. Sattell looked familiar. 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 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 the recovery of the memories that Sattell helped bring back. Pop was a highly conscientious man. He took good care of his job. There was a but that trace of luxury remained. Pop gazed at the plastic, fascinated. Bring them here! Understand?\" Pop said numbly: \"What the hell?\" Tell Sattell I'm here and he can 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, to recover the years that had been 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 mental images of his children. When Sattell frenziedly tried to deny knowledge of the murder in Tangier, Pop had come to remember both his children and some of the happiness of his married life. savagery due to terror. But, of course, Pop was helpless to resent 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. he didn't really want Sattell to die. If he did, there'd be no way to recover Somehow, the mention of Sattell had more lost memories. Sometimes, in the shack on the far odd fancies about Sattell. There was side of the Moon, Pop Young had detail. He knew Sattell. That part sometimes Pop wondered if Sattell ever thought of the value of the and Pop and the colony together. \"I'd guess,\" said Pop painstakingly, \"that Sattell figured it out. He's \"No,\" said Pop, \"they'll do it anyhow. If we were able to tell about to scream. But not Pop. He'd come to the memories of times when he was a young man with a young wife who loved him extravagantly. Then pictures of his children came out of emptiness and grew sharp and clear. He found that he loved them very dearly. And when he was near Sattell he literally recovered them—in the sense that he came to know new things about them and had new memories of them every day. He hadn't yet remembered the crime which lost them to him. Until he did—and the fact possessed a certain grisly humor—Pop didn't even hate Sattell. He simply wanted to be near him because it enabled him to recover new and vivid parts of his youth that had been lost. Pop regarded his drawings meditatively. A sketch of his wife as he now remembered her. It was very the child had really looked exactly two children, playing together. He looked forward to remembering like that! Later he began a sketch of satisfaction. \"That'll do it!\" He tore bed linen from his bunk and worked on the emptied cannister. quite take it in. they were warmed to touchability. Pop packed the cotton cloth in the container. He hurried a little, because how she looked: the almost-smug But, outside, nothing ever happened. together for always, with one complete Working on his memories, one day Pop made a little sketch. It helped a great deal. He grew deeply Inside, it was quite different. Sattell, he suddenly recovered a completely new memory. On their first wedding anniversary, so long ago, he and his wife had gone out to his partly-remembered wife. In time—he had plenty—it became a really truthful likeness. dinner to celebrate. He remembered joy they shared that they would be Pop reflected hungrily that it was something else to be made permanent and inspected from time to time. But he wanted more than a drawing of this! He wanted to make the memory permanent and to extend it— If it had not been for his vacuum suit and the cannister he carried, Pop year for proof. would have rubbed his hands. clearly when he thought of Sattell, so by keeping Sattell in mind he recovered the memory of a chair that had been in his forgotten home. Sattell had no such device for adjusting 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 own affairs with fascinated attention. But then an event occurred which bore directly upon Pop Young and Sattell and Pop Young's missing What do we do?\" \"Don't do a thing,\" advised Pop. \"It's all right. I blew up the ship and the plastic zestfully on the table where he'd been restricted to drawing pictures of his wife and children in order to recover memories of them. to do with Pop or with Sattell. But He began to plan, gloatingly, the worked, he'd think of Sattell, because that was the way to get back the missing portions of his life—the parts Sattell had managed to get away from him. He'd get back more if he ever remembered the crime Sattell had committed. He felt, somehow, that he wouldn't get that back until he'd recovered all the rest. Gloating, it was amusing to remember what people used to call tell Sattell a thing about it, if I were\n\n<question>:\nWhat effect does Sattell's proximity have on Pop?\n\n<options>:\nA It brings Pop's memory of the murder of his family into clarity\nB It motivates him to plot his revenge against his family's murderer\nC It amplifies the pain of his Pop's head injury\nD It restores Pop's memories of his wife and children\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,289 | 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>:\nthirty-five years overdue!\" She was calculating the fine as he closed humidity, 47% It should have been difficult. Under the circumstances it was a Fownes' abstraction \"What?!\" huge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. intrigued by a temperature that was always 59 degrees, by a humidity Conditions!\" the voice wailed. \"The temperature is not 59 degrees. The humidity is not 47%!\" approach with a distinct feeling of admiration, although it was an \"You'll have to tell me what you did first!\" odd, objective kind of admiration, clinical in nature. It was similar \"You heard right. The house this ?\" he asked in a somewhat patronizing tone of voice. couldn't really appreciate fine aberrations. In some ways MacBride standing on end for a moment before toppling to the ground. It was in an incessant chatter of cliches, and their actions were unbelievably trite. with the illustration. The cloud rose and spun, assuming the identical shape of the illustration. the avenue.\" and that ... and that Oz is a wonderful and mysterious land beyond the confines of everyday living .\" mountainous puffs of glass as he went. \"Mrs. Deshazaway!\" he shouted. \"Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Deshazaway!\" And then as soon as the place is buttoned up they all explode into conversation—and that's why the house shakes.\" \"No, I don't need a vacation.\" Optimum temperature collapsed. \"Mrs. Deshazaway! \"And the right? No, snug as a hug in a rug . He went on, thinking: The old satisfactory, and, for his specific purpose, more functional, illusion. the scent. The house began to smell like an immensely concentrated rose as the moon shifted to People Will Say We're In Love . He rubbed his chin critically. It They were all purely speculative of course. He had no idea how a rose really smelled—or looked for that matter. Not to mention a moon. But then, neither did the widow. He'd have to be confident, assertive. Insist on it. I tell you, my dear, this is a genuine realistic How really odd the ancients were. Seduction seemed to be an incredibly long and drawn-out process, accompanied by a considerable amount of falsification. Communication seemed virtually impossible. \"No\" meant any number of things, depending on the tone of voice and the thinking roguishly: Thou shalt not inundate. . Mrs. Deshazaway. Too formal. They'd be looking out at the romantic garden time to be a bit forward. My very dear Mrs. Deshazaway. No. Contrived. How about a simple, Dear Mrs. Deshazaway . That might be it. When the Blue of the Night Meets the Gold of the Day . At the window again, he sighed. Repairs were in order. And it wasn't the first time the winds got out of line. Why didn't she marry him and save all this bother? He shut it all down and went out the front door, wondering about the rhyme of the months, about stately August and eccentric February and romantic April. April. And all the rest have thirty-one. He still didn't see the orange car parked down the street. \"Men are too perishable,\" Mrs. Deshazaway said over dinner. \"For all practical purposes I'm never going to marry again. All my husbands die.\" She handed him a platter of steaming red beets. \"And don't look at me that way,\" she said. \"I'm not going to marry you and if you want reasons I'll give you four of them. Andrew. Curt. Norman. And Alphonse.\" The widow was a passionate woman. She did everything passionately—talking, cooking, dressing. Her beets were passionately red. Her clothes rustled and her high heels clicked and her jewelry tinkled. She was possessed by an uncontrollable dynamism. Fownes had never known anyone like her. \"You forgot to put salt on the potatoes,\" she said passionately, then went on as calmly as it was possible for her to be, to explain why she couldn't marry him. \"Do you have any idea what people are saying? They're all saying I'm a cannibal! I rob my husbands of their life force and when they're empty I carry their \"As long as there are people,\" he said philosophically, \"there'll be talk.\" \"But it's the air! Why don't they talk about that? The air is stale, I'm positive. It's not nourishing. The air is stale and Andrew, Curt, worse for him.\" \"I don't seem to mind the air.\" She threw up her hands. \"You'd be the worst of the lot!\" She left the Five. That's what they'd say. That woman did \"Don't you think they'll find out? found out and you can bet they will. It's my fault, I guess. I talk too much. And I don't Fownes put his fork down. \"Dear Mrs. Deshazaway,\" he started to say. me a here and now I have other plans for you, Mrs. Deshazaway.\" \"But my dear Mr. Fownes,\" she said, leaning across the table. \"We're lost, you and I.\" \"Not if we could leave the dome,\" Fownes said quietly. \"That's impossible! How?\" leaned across the table and whispered: \"Fresh air, Mrs. Deshazaway? or is it the other way around? No matter. How would you like that , Mrs. Deshazaway?\" Breathing somewhat faster than usual, the widow rested her chin on her \"Endless vistas of moonlight and roses? April showers, Mrs. Deshazaway. supposed to be the month of brides, of marrying. June also lies beyond the dome.\" that somewhere out in the space and the roses and the moonlight, the sleeping equinox yawns and rises because on a certain day it's vernal My. \" Mrs. Deshazaway rose, paced slowly to the window and then came outside the dome,\" she said, \"out where a man stays warm you may call me Agnes.\" would be such a deliciously insane experience. (\"April has thirty number such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisor with it are them. It was used so infrequently that the Movement was able to meet eighty. She spent her days reading ancient library cards and, like the books around her, had been rendered by time's own censor into near unintelligibility. \"Here's one,\" she said to him as he entered. \" Gulliver's Travels. illustration. \"What's that?\" he said. this . Seven years later on March 21, 1986, Ella Marshall Davidson took out the same book. What do you make of that ?\" \"I'd say,\" Humphrey Fownes said, \"that he ... that he recommended it to her, that one day they met in the street and he told her about this book and then they ... they went to the library together and she borrowed it and eventually, why eventually they got married.\" \"Hah! They were brother and sister!\" the librarian shouted in her after him: \"Edna Murdoch Featherstone, April 21, 1991,\" as though reading inscriptions on a tombstone. The Movement met in what had been the children's room, where unpaid notwithstanding their various giant brains, electronic and otherwise?\" by common consent of the governments . This is known as self-containment.\" \"And that day I'll await impatiently,\" Fownes replied with marvelous tact, \"because it will be lonely out there for the two of us. My future wife and I have to leave now .\" \"Nonsense. Ridiculous! You have to be prepared for the Open Country. You can't just up and leave, it would be suicide, Fownes. And dialectically very poor.\" \"Then you have\n\n<question>:\nWhich doesn't describe Mrs. Deshazaway?\n\n<options>:\nA she cares about Humphrey\nB she was enthusiastic and passionate\nC she cares about what her neighbors think\nD she doesn't believe in love\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
511 | 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>:\nRed Witch of Mercury Mercury, he was selling his guns into the On the stage of Mercury Sam's Garden , a tight-frocked, limber-hipped, The Lady from Mars .\" The song was a rollicking, ribald ditty, a favorite of the planters and miners, the space pilots and army officers who frequented the garden. The girl rendered it with but then it is always hot on Mercury, the about the garden's walls sluggishly stirred the night air, while the 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. gate leading to the street. hung faultlessly. His black hair was close-cropped, his nose thin and aquiline. For a moment he studied the crowded garden before making his way to a vacant table. \"Go on,\" said the pianist in a flat voice. through the tables until she came to the one occupied by the newcomer. \"May I join you?\" she asked in a low voice. The man arose. \"Of course. I was expecting you. Here, sit down.\" He pulled out a chair, motioned for the waiter. The Mercurian, his yellow incurious eyes like two round topazes, sidled up. \"Bring us a bottle of Latonka from the Veederman region, well iced.\" The waiter slipped away. \"So,\" said the red-head she had used his name. \"You have the reputation of being unpredictable. I don't trust you, but since....\" She stopped as the waiter placed glasses on the table and deftly poured \"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 brown face. \"No! Mercury is not ready for freedom. Only a handful of fanatics are it does, the Terrestrials here will be massacred. The Mercurians hate the very soul of the revolution. The Mercurians worship him. They will a trifle oblique with straight brows. The pupils were a pale and penetrating blue that could probe like a surgeon's knife. Now he caught \"Why call me all the way from Mars for that? Why not have that gunman at the piano rub Hodes out?\" 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 \"so that's the way it is.\" \"That's the way it is.\" day now.\" \"No,\" the girl replied. \"But we think he's here in the city.\" It was as unexpected as a shot in the back. One moment the garden was \"What's coming off here?\" growled a petulant male voice. Other voices took up the plaint. Across the table from Jaro there was the feel of movement he could Unexpectedly, the deep, ringing voice of Mercury Sam boomed out from the stage. It made him think of cool green grapes beaded with dew. On the hot, teeming planet of Mercury it was as refreshing as a cold plunge. He wondered who was putting up the ten thousand Earth notes? Who stood reputation of being able to take care of herself. He beckoned a waiter, paid his bill. As the Mercurian started to leave, 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. no expression in his yellow eyes. \"She and the man, the queer white one who plays the piano, slipped out the gate to the street.\" heat of the sun. Beneath his feet, he knew, stretched a labyrinth of cat-eyed Mercurians. 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. all over the planet during the Festival of the Rains. Earth doesn't realize the seriousness of the situation.\" \"Then I was right it is you who are putting up the ten thousand Earth 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 Mercury, and you've squeezed out every possible penny. Every time self-government has come before the Earth Congress you've succeeded in blocking it. You are, perhaps, the most cordially-hated group anywhere. I don't wonder that you are afraid of a revolution.\" to the door, opened it. The pianist at the gardens was framed in the room, his bare feet making no noise. He sat down on the edge of the read: \" Earth Congress suspends negotiations on Mercurian freedom pending Earth. Karfial Hodes, Mercurian patriot, being sought. as streets during the flaming days. Here in the basements and sub-basements were located the shops and dram houses where the Mercurians sat around little tables drinking silently of the pale green Latonka. The burrows were but poorly lit, the natives preferring the strange, silent populace. But when he reached the Terrestrial quarter \"What're you sneaking around here for?\" youth. \"Let's get this straight,\" he said mildly. \"I've known your kind of two poisoned needle guns. carpet. that—ah—a little extreme? I'm afraid it might incapacitate him, and I had a job for him.\" these toys away from him.\" He held out the poisoned dart guns. \"You \"Here, Miss Webb,\" he said, \"do something with these. Put them in my nasty little contraptions for all the Latonka on Mercury.\" guns back into their holsters. \"Act like you want to use those and I'll put a slug in your head next time.\" into my office. The doctor will be here in a moment. Miss Webb, you may go home. I'll have no more work for you today.\" \"When you go out, turn left toward the native quarter. Wait for me in the first grog shop you come to.\" Miss Webb raised her eyebrows. \"What's this? A new technique?\" \"Look,\" began Jaro annoyed. \"My eyes are practically popping out of my head now,\" she interrupted. \"Another morning like this and I take the first space liner back to drawer. \"I'm not trying to pick you up. This is....\" \"How disappointing.\" Warily he started down the passage toward the native quarter. At the first basement grog shop he turned in. His eyes swept the chamber, then he grinned. At a corner table, a tall glass of Latonka before her, sat Miss Webb. Her hat was still on backwards, and she was perched on the edge of her chair as if ready to spring up and away like a startled faun. \" Bang! in the small of her back. here that I'm particularly anxious to get to the bottom of. I thought you might be able to help me.\" \"Yes,\" replied Miss Webb sweetly. A native waiter, attracted no doubt by her scream, came over and took Jaro's order. \"All right,\" Jaro smiled, but his pale blue eyes probed the girl dangerous for you to know. Are you game, Miss Webb?\" \"Since we're going to be so chummy,\" she replied \"you might begin by baby-faced gunman your boss had in his office.\" \" Awk! \" said Joan, choking on the Latonka. \"It was self-defense,\" he hastened to assure her. \"He took a pot shot I was offered ten thousand Earth notes to assassinate the leader of the revolution.\" \"What revolution? I'm going around in circles.\" \"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. going to grant the Mercurians their freedom. Everybody knows that the return to Earth.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the Mercury Sam’s Garden?\n\n<options>:\nA An apartment building\nB A club\nC An amusement park\nD A family restaurant\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,469 | 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>:\nprepared for the more humbling learned of it the same way. Pop didn't Sattell undoubtedly dealt with it surface of the Moon's far side, and, therefore, he occupied the shack on the Big Crack's edge, above the Sattell and he had reason not to By day the environment was heat and torment. By night—lunar night, of course, and lunar day—it was frigidity and horror. Once in two weeks Earth-time a rocketship came around the horizon from Lunar City with stores for the colony deep underground. Moon. All freight had to be hauled from Earth, on a voyage equal to rather more than a thousand times around the equator of the Earth. to Earth. The rocket went away again. Come nightfall Pop lowered the supplies down the long shack they were useless. He found no strictly lunar material which would serve for modeling or carving 2 —in liquid oxygen, and then firing it with a spark. It exploded but— Early one lunar morning he was a good two miles from his shack when he saw rocket-fumes in the He thought often of Sattell, down over the horizon, not in the direction of Lunar City. Which was more impossible still. He stared. A tiny silver rocket to on the Moon. But it wasn't fun, even underground. 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 away from Pop, and Pop was just within half a mile, an air-lock door opened in the ship's side. But nothing came out of the lock. No space-suited down with the singular deliberation of falling objects on the Moon. It was just barely past lunar sunrise on the far side of the Moon. Incredibly long and utterly black out unconscious. They'd been underground—and in low gravity—long enough to be utterly unable to face raising a trail of slowly settling powder. He knew only that the ship didn't come from Lunar City, but from Earth. He couldn't imagine Sattell got the shakes when he why. He did not even wildly connect it with what—say—Sattell might Sattell. The facts spoke for themselves. no longer remember. He met Sattell to Pop that the sight of Sattell had though, and he hunted up Sattell lock-door. He saw that the interior of the ship was stripped and bare. But a spiral stairway descended from Sattell helped bring back. Pop was good care of his job. There was a warning-bell in the shack, and when a rocketship from Lunar City got above the horizon and could send a tight beam, the gong clanged loudly, and Pop got into a vacuum-suit and went out the air lock. He usually reached the moondozer about the time the ship began to brake for landing, and he watched it come in. \"Move!\" he rasped. \"I want the diamonds you've got for the ship from Lunar City! Bring 'em!\" Pop licked blood from his lips and the man with the weapon raged at him. out of the cargo-hatch and Pop swept Tell Sattell I'm here and he can forward with the dozer. It was a or the feel of one-sixth gravity on the Moon. He panted: \"And get it straight! You try any tricks and we take off! We of Sattell. He knew he had plenty Sattell knowing what had happened of them at all. But Sattell stirred recover a good deal. When Sattell of course, Pop was helpless to resent When Sattell frenziedly tried to deny Even when Sattell—whimpering—signed 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 for wiping out everything that Pop He couldn't prove Sattell's guilt. he didn't really want Sattell to die. Somehow, the mention of Sattell had was simple. Sattell had planned this multi-million-dollar coup, as a man in prison might plan his break. The stripped interior of the ship identified it. It was one of the unsuccessful luxury-liners sold for scrap. Or perhaps it was stolen for the journey sometimes Pop wondered if Sattell regular cannister was sent up for the Lunar City ship that would be due presently. Otherwise the ship on the landing strip would destroy shack and Pop and the colony together. \"I'd guess,\" said Pop painstakingly, \"that Sattell figured it out. He's \"No,\" said Pop, \"they'll do it anyhow. the cable burnt through, they'll be back on Earth long before a new cable's been got and let down to you. tell Sattell a thing about it, if I were more back on Earth. He found a Sattell. He simply wanted to be near bucket. He dumped the diamonds casually into it. They floated downward Earth newly-mined diamonds sometimes fly to pieces from internal stress. On the Moon, it was not desirable that diamonds be exposed to Pop packed the cotton cloth in the dumped an equivalent quantity of pale-blue liquid oxygen into the liquid air that had been purified by liquid oxygen all about. He went out of the shack by the air lock. On the way, thinking about the moonscape. Pop Young meticulously touched up the glittering triangles which were landing guides for the Lunar City ships. They glittered from the thinnest conceivable would have rubbed his hands. Tall, jagged crater-walls rose from the lunar plain. Monstrous, extended so by keeping Sattell in mind he recovered hoist, if Sattell's coming up from live on the surface of the far side of the Moon, whether anybody else could do it or not. Sattell had no such device for adjusting to the lunar state of things. Living on the Moon was bad enough on top of the other psychotic states normal to a Moon-colonist. kill Pop. He had no chance—and he 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, things fall slowly. Pop didn't wait. He searched Sattell and Pop Young's missing a luxury passenger-line of spaceships to ply between Earth and Moon. It looked like a perfect set-up. Three spacecraft capable of the journey came into being with attendant reams of publicity. They promised a thrill and a new distinction for the rich. Guided tours to Lunar! The most expensive and most thrilling trip in history! One hundred thousand dollars for a twelve-day cruise through space, with views of the Moon's far side and trips through Lunar City and a landing in Aristarchus, plus sound-tapes of the journey and fame hitherto reserved for to do with Pop or with Sattell. But There were just two passenger tours. The first was fully booked. But the passengers who paid so highly, expected to be pleasantly thrilled happens when a self-centered and complacent individual unsuspectingly looks out of a spaceship port and sees the cosmos unshielded worked, he'd think of Sattell, because parts Sattell had managed to get Sattell had committed. He felt, somehow, not endure his own smallness in the face of immensity. Not one passenger disembarked even for Lunar City. Most of them cowered in their chairs, hiding their eyes. They were passengers sobbed in improvised strait jackets. The first shipload started home. Fast. The second luxury liner took off 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 pleasure-passengers. They weren't\n\n<question>:\nHow does Sattell hope to get rid of Pop?\n\n<options>:\nA Luring him down into the Big Crack and killing him\nB Hiring an assassin from a neighboring planet\nC Blowing up the shack near the edge of the Big Crack\nD Escaping on board a secondhand lunar tour vessel\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,755 | 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 isn't a trap, the Karna can't satisfy Braynek, because he's convinced that there than a sound one, or a twisted personality has As a result, all his advice to Nordon, and all his questioning on the wildest possibilities, just serves to keep Nordon from getting unconfused. \"These two men are honestly doing their best to win at the peace conference, and they've got the Karna reeling. The Karna can see that we're not trying to stall our men are actually working at trying to reach a decision. But what the Karna don't see is that those men, as a team, are unbeatable because, in this situation, they're psychologically incapable of losing.\" thought. Which meant, as usual, that they were atypical. Every man in the a question in his mind. \"Since you know all that, couldn't you have handled it yourself?\" \"Maybe, but I doubt it. They might have gotten around me someway by sneaking up on a blind spot. Nordon and Braynek have blind spots, but they're covered with armor. No, I'm glad I couldn't go 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 me, in the first place. No, I couldn't go. The reason why I'm here, bigshot should, is because I like it that way. I suffer from agoraphobia and xenophobia. \"I have to be drugged to be put on or another. He was psychologically incapable of making a decision if he were faced with two or more continually on the horns of one dilemma a spaceship because I can't take all about all men. He considered himself an individual, for instance, but wasn't the basic similarity there, after all? were alike, and yet there sometimes seemed to be an eternal sameness Malloy sighed and pushed the dossiers away from him. No two men aliens!\" THE END softly to himself—he had Saarkkad. He glanced up at the ceiling, and mentally allowed his gaze to penetrate it was necessary to keep it in mind. Somewhere out there, the ships of of the alien Karna in the most important in physical form—if one allowed the term to cover a wide range of differences—but their minds just didn't function along the same lines. Diplomatic Corps who developed a 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 his importance, the greater must be 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 showed the complete psychological Not the worst ones, of course there analysis of the man. Psychopathic Physical handicaps weren't at all difficult to deal with. A blind man can work very well in the total darkness regulations. But Malloy didn't like to stop at merely thwarting mental quirks he liked to find places where they were it's better this way.\" Miss Drayson was a case in point. She was uncommunicative. She liked to gather in information, but she found it difficult to give it up once it Malloy had made her his private long time to get it into Miss Drayson's head that it was perfectly all right—even desirable—for her to keep secrets from everyone except Malloy. She came in through the door, someone might at any instant snatch it from her before she could turn it over to Malloy. sort of emotional block that left him picked up the communique. She wanted to know what his reaction was going to be it didn't matter because no one would ever find out from her what he had done unless she was ordered to tell someone. cooped up in this office, hiding from whisper. \"There's a chance that the war may be over.\" \"Yes, sir,\" said Miss Drayson in a hushed voice. Malloy read the whole thing through, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Miss Drayson stood the Saarkkada the way a good Saarkkadic her emotions were a secret. there calmly, her face a mask Finally, Malloy looked up. \"I'll let Miss Drayson. I think I hardly Number three ... 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 like weaknesses. If they won the armistice, they'd be able to retrench and rearm, and the war would break out again within a few years. Now—at this point in time—they 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 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 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. But whoever won the armistice would find that some of the now-neutral races would come in on their intercom and said: \"Miss Drayson, get hold of James Nordon and Kylen Braynek. I want to see them both immediately. Send Nordon in first, and tell Braynek to wait.\" Malloy knew the woman would listen in on the intercom anyway, and the Karna peace talks. \"We need a man who can outthink them,\" Malloy finished, \"and judging from your record, I think you're that man. It involves risk, of course. If you make the wrong decisions, your Kylen Braynek. Ever heard of him?\" shrewd operator, though. He knows a lot about interstellar law, and he's capable of spotting a trap a mile away. You'll be in charge, of course, but I want you to pay special attention to said softly: \"Send in Braynek, Miss Drayson.\" Kylen Braynek was a smallish man 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 we'll simply have to be more shrewd and more underhanded. quietly and evaluate the data yours 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.\" By the time the ship from Earth \"Tense. They're waiting to see what is going to happen on Five. So am I, for that matter.\" His eyes were good team, instead. Would you like to see the reports?\" \"I thought they would,\" said Malloy, trying to appear modest. \"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 that kind of guy. Until he's presented point, and they were all rigged. Until they backed down to a single point and proved that it wasn't this was, and the more importance there is attached to his decisions, the more incapable he becomes of making them.\" The Secretary nodded slowly. \"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, Braynek is convinced that there's a trap in it somewhere, and he digs to find out what the trap is. Even if\n\n<question>:\nWhat do Miss Drayson and Kylen Braynek have in common?\n\n<options>:\nA They externalize a lot of their thought processes.\nB They are constantly processing extreme amounts of details.\nC They both dislike interacting with other people.\nD They are both paranoid about what other people think.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
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2,251 | 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>:\nObstetrics for beginners 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. Incisions have been made in the lower part of the mother's abdomen and womb. I've pushed my gloved hand inside and managed to slide my fingers between the baby's head and the surrounding uterine tissue. But it's difficult. The baby is tightly wedged in. I've had to push hard to get my hand to the far side of its head, and even though I'm now cupping and grasping it in the approved manner, I can't seem to pull it out. Dare I grip its head more firmly? Dare I pull harder? but with a good outcome. Although the Tydeman tube is still in gestation, Desperate Debra herself is now thriving. One of the treatments of choice in that era was, naturally, acupuncture. But how to teach tyro-acupuncturists where to place the needles? Simple. A life-size bronze statue dotted with small holes indicated the points of insertion. And how then to test the students' grasp of their subject? If the statute was hollow, filled with liquid and given an outer coating of wax to mask the holes, a correct needle insertion would be followed by a leak. 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. 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 which suggests requests for push-ups during unplanned caesareans are far from uncommon. The Tydeman tube is a gadget intended to make this manoeuvre safer and more effective. Creativity and innovation have many unlikely sources. What seems to have inspired Tydeman to develop his device was the characteristic sound of a Wellington boot being pulled free of wet, muddy ground: a slurpy, sucking, gurgling noise. When an impacted foetal head is pulled free of the uterus it's often accompanied by a similar sucking noise, the result of air rushing in between the obstetrician's fingers to fill the space vacated. \"What occurred to me years ago was that if the air can't get in, why not put a tube up into the vagina so that it can get in from below the baby's head.\" From time to time, if he felt he felt the baby might stick, Tydeman would slip a length of sterile silicone tubing through the woman's vagina and up into the womb next to the baby's head. Allowing air in by this route would release any suction forces tending to hold it where it was. 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. 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. As the material for a convincing simulation, glass clearly has its drawbacks. But another 18th-century contraption used a pink cloth-covered mannequin comprising a female torso complete with genitalia, a set of implantable foetuses of various ages, and even – a real 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>:\nWhat is one consequence caused by the concern over the increased number of babies born by cesarian?\n\n<options>:\nA Mothers who chose cesarian delivery may be shunned.\nB Doctors may refuse to do a cesarian for fear of being sued.\nC Medical staff may allow a difficult birth to continue for longer before resorting to surgery.\nD Doctors are warier about doing cesareans.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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929 | 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 Times 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 . 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. Rosenthal, who has direct responsibility for campaign coverage at the Times , professes bewilderment at these complaints. \"We don't make editorial judgments based on disposition to be tough on Bob Dole or nice to Bob Dole,\" he says. On the specifics, Rosenthal says that the Times ran an editor's note acknowledging that it shouldn't have truncated the \"playing around\" quote. He points out that the Times ran its story on the Miami drug dealer who visited the White House the same day Dole accused the paper of not covering it. As for the nine-part series on Clinton, Rosenthal says it is the long-standing practice of the paper to do a lengthy series on the incumbent's record. \"If Dole wins and runs again in 2000, he will get nine-part series too,\" he says. \"Ithink we have been tough on him,\" Seelye says. This stems, however, not from any bias, she says, but from the campaign's own internal problems. Dole's campaign has been especially \"porous,\" with aides emulating the proverbial seafaring rats. This is true enough--in recent days ex-strategist Don Sipple has trashed the campaign on the record. But there's another point, too. Contrary to Buckley's charge that she misquotes Dole, Seelye routinely makes Dole look ridiculous by quoting him all too accurately, depicting him in what one colleague calls a \"cinema verité \" style. Famous for going over and over her tape recordings on the campaign plane, Seelye manages to get every Dole mumble, repetition, and verbal miscue down. For instance, in her Oct. 26 story reporting Dole's attack on the Times , Seelye writes: 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 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>:\nWhat perspective does Rosenthal adapt toward Dole's grievances?\n\n<options>:\nA Rosenthal asserts that Dole is purposefully lying to the public\nB Rosenthal implies that Dole's mental faculties are deteriorating\nC Rosenthal reveals that he is perplexed by Dole's grievances\nD Rosenthal admits that Dole's grievances are warranted\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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754 | 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>:\nCHAPTER ONE It was only a dream. Eddie Taylor would like 33 “We weren’t planning to run a submarine with it,” his father said. “It wasn’t that strong. enough training in the subject to know how to handle that isotope safely,” Mr. Taylor said. “But, Dad,” Eddie wondered, “what could they do with it?” “They could study it,” his father explained. man, broad-shouldered and still thin-waisted. Eddie found it easy to believe the stories he had heard about his father being an outstanding football player in his time. Even his glasses and the gray hair at his temples didn’t add much age, although Eddie knew it had been eighteen years since his father had played his last game of college football. were spies!” Eddie exclaimed breathlessly. “That’s entirely possible,” his father said. “In fact, it’s the only logical explanation I can “Then—then you mean whoever stole it talk with someone, yet he knew he shouldn’t bother his father with any more questions. He “Come on in, Eddie,” she invited, seeming surprised to see him. “Mother and I are just finishing dinner.” Eddie apologized, following her inside. 35 didn’t seem as cheerful as usual. “Good evening, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie said. “I—I hope I’m not making a pest of myself.” He Acme Aircraft yet. There wasn’t a place set for him at the table, either. “You’re never a pest, Eddie,” Mrs. Ross assured him. “I was going to call your mother in a little while about that newspaper write-up.” “Oh, you read it?” Eddie said. “I suppose your father is quite concerned over it,” Teena’s mother said. “Oh, yes,” Eddie affirmed. “He was the one metal clamps. It could start cavities. Finished, Eddie went out to breakfast. “Good morning, dear,” his mother greeted him, handing him a plate of eggs. “Hi, Mom,” Eddie said. “Gotta hurry. Big day today.” “So your father says. But I’m afraid your 36 “Well,” Eddie said slowly, “it’s not easy to radioisotope is, Eddie.” “Aw, Mom—” “Eddie, I asked you to do it three days ago. “I’ll say,” Eddie agreed. “Of course, only couldn’t have a father who was head of the atomic-science department at Oceanview College without picking up a little knowledge radioisotope. Much of his father’s work at Oceanview College was of a secret nature. Eddie had learned not to ask questions about it. His father usually volunteered any information he wanted known, so Eddie stuck to questions which could and would be answered. “We get vacations,” his father said. “But—well, “Well, they know just how to do it,” Eddie replied. It took Eddie over an hour to sort out the Eddie said. The more he thought about it, the tried to make it sound as though he would be doing Teena Ross a big favor. After all, she was only a girl. Eddie didn’t figure a girl soaks up water.” 40 “My, that’s interesting, Eddie,” Mrs. Ross “She’ll enjoy it, I’m sure,” his mother said. “I’ll take Sandy, too,” Eddie said. “He needs the exercise.” said. cocker spaniel yipped wildly over his freedom, racing back and forth as Eddie “I’ve seen them do it,” Eddie said proudly, up water, it soaks up radiation.” 41 That’s how to handle it, Eddie thought. “That’s about it,” Eddie said. “My dad says that as more is learned about the ways to use isotopes, the whole world is going to be improved. “Dad didn’t say exactly,” Eddie answered, “except he did say that if whoever took it didn’t know what he was doing and opened up Eddie nodded. It was even more serious could do either it depended on how they were used. Eddie assumed that anyone who would “She always does, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie said, pretending great injury. “Don’t know why I keep coming over here.” work.” Eddie knew she was right. They were friends—good friends. They had been ever since Eddie’s family had moved to Oceanview and his father had become head of the college’s atomic-science department. In fact, their “Oh, we’re glad you did, Eddie,” Mrs. Ross said. “I’m afraid too few of us know anything talk so long.” “That’s right, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie agreed. “People should talk more and read more about Eddie laughed. “I sure wouldn’t want the job of trying to feed a herd of them the size of but Eddie knew these indicated no more than Eddie, then added quickly, “forget it, Eddie. It wasn’t very funny. I—I’m afraid I don’t feel very funny tonight.” “In fact, not good at all.” Problems. It seemed that everyone had problems, Eddie thought, as he started to on a recent birthday. Then Eddie said good-by “What’s for dinner, Mom?” he asked. Mrs. Taylor turned from the sink. Eddie happen.” 25 Then Eddie heard the sound of his father’s voice coming from the den. There was a strange urgent tone in it. The door to the den was open. Eddie went through the dining room and glanced into the den. His father sat stiffly behind his homemade desk, talking rapidly into the telephone. Eddie caught only the last few sketchy words. Then his father placed the telephone in its cradle, glanced up, and saw Eddie. in Eddie’s mind about something being wrong, it vanished now. Mr. Taylor looked years older than he had that very morning. “Hello, son,” he said. He didn’t even ask whether Eddie had discovered any uranium ore that day. Always before, he had shown genuine interest in Eddie’s prospecting trips. “Dad,” Eddie said anxiously, “what—what’s the matter?” “It shows that much, does it, son?” his father said tiredly. “What’s wrong, Dad?” Eddie prompted. “Or can’t you tell me?” Mr. Taylor leaned back. “Quite a bit’s “Eddie, you remember me mentioning this morning about that radioisotope shipment I was expecting today?” “I remember,” Eddie said. “Did it come?” “It did—and it didn’t,” his father said. “What does that mean, Dad?” Eddie asked, puzzled. him about letting food gather around the At the moment, Eddie didn’t pry for further information on the theft of the valuable radioactive isotope. His father had plenty on his Globe , which Eddie rushed out to get as soon as he heard it plop onto the He took the newspaper to his father to read first. After having finished, Mr. Taylor handed the paper to Eddie and leaned back thoughtfully or something like that. Taylor said, “but I’m afraid this is going to stir up quite a bit of trouble.” “It wasn’t your fault, was it, Dad?” Eddie defended. “It was as much mine as anybody’s, son,” Eddie asked. 29 “Of course,” his father said. “There were “Fifty pounds,” Eddie said thoughtfully. “That’s a pretty big thing to steal, isn’t it?” “Not when it’s lead, son,” his father replied. “Even at that, no kid could have taken it,” Eddie said. “Kid?” His father smiled thinly. “We don’t think it was any kid, Eddie. Not by a long shot. The whole thing was carefully planned and carefully carried out. It was not the work Eddie read the newspaper account. The in the crime. 31 “Dad,” Eddie asked, looking up from the paper, “how could anyone carry away something weighing fifty pounds without being noticed?” walk around without attracting any undue attention.” “But, Dad,” Eddie continued, “how would\n\n<question>:\nWhat can you conclude about Eddie's attitude towards his father?\n\n<options>:\nA Eddie academically challenges his father.\nB Eddie annoys his father.\nC Eddie looks up to his father.\nD Eddie tries to relate to his father.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
1,063 | 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. \"Yes, sir,\" Ri said. Suddenly he threw back his head. \"Listen!\" \"Eh?\" Extrone said. Extrone raised his eyebrows. There was perspiration trickling down Ri's forehead, a single drop, \"It is!\" Ri said. \"It's a farn beast, all right!\" \"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?\" Extrone shrugged. \"I—Look, sir. Listen to me.\" Ri's lips were bloodless and his hands creeping toward his nose. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. \"I'm were trembling. \"It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. Ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. \"You, there!\" he called. \"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. \"Pitch camp, here!\" sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. I wouldn't....\" Extrone said, \"Which one is he?\" \"That one. Right over there.\" 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....\" imagine.\" Ri was almost slobbering in fear. \"Let me hear you scream,\" Extrone said. Ri moaned weakly. \"You'll have to do better than that.\" Extrone inclined his head toward a bearer, who used something Ri couldn't see. Ri screamed. \"See that you keep it up that way,\" Extrone said. \"That's the way I peeling away from under their rough boots. Ri watched them hopelessly. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert. Still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, Ri screamed. A farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest. Extrone laughed nervously. \"He must have heard.\" 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.\" \"After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going to the alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute.\" There was perspiration on Ri's upper lip. \"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 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 \"Hey!\" Extrone shouted. \"You, down there. There are two coming. Now let's hear you really scream!\" 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. \"He's good bait,\" Extrone said. \"He's fat enough and he knows how to scream good.\" Ri had stopped screaming 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 lap. \"What in hell do you want?\" Extrone asked. \"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. Ri began to scream again. The lead farn beast sighted Ri. It lowered its head. Still Extrone did not lift his blast rifle. He was laughing. Lin waited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. beginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. 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. And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And you can't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway.\" He crossed to Mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into Extrone's Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. \"You'll lose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen. I'm quite safe here, I think.\" \"Eh?\" Extrone said, turning, startled. \"Oh, you. Well?\" Ri shifted. \"Yes, sir.\" Extrone held back the flap of the tent. \"Won't you come in?\" he asked without any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. Extrone narrowed his eyes. \"I see by your eyes that you are Ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding Extrone's \"Oh?\" Extrone questioned mildly. \"I wouldn't say that. I understand Ri waited uneasily, not answering. \"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?\" Ri's hands worried the sides of his outer garment. \"Yes, sir. It would 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 Ri squirmed, his face pale. \"We do indeed love you, sir.\" Extrone bent forward. \" Know me and love me.\" Know 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 Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. \"Very Extrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. \"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 his eyes crinkled under the glare, and Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Extrone laughed. \"This is enough.\" He gestured with the rifle and stood up. \"Damn!\" Extrone said. \"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. \" \"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\n\n<question>:\nHow does Ri feel about Extrone?\n\n<options>:\nA Ri thinks Extrone is the kind of ruler the system needs.\nB Ri hates Extrone and is planning on killing him at the first opportunity.\nC Ri is frightened that Extrone is going to kill him.\nD Ri is frightened of Extrone, but he doesn't think Extrone will kill him.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
764 | 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 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 Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. Words formed themselves on my thick tongue, words that must have been spoken by so many reviving unfortunates through the ages: \"Where am I?\" 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 yet again: \"Who am I?\" 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 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. \"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.\" such a planet—one-half incandescent, one-half pitchy black. From pole to pole on opposite sides ran the two twilight zones, widest at the equators like the outer rind of two slices of melon. Of course, such \"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. Now come invaders, to reap the benefits of discovery and toil.\" A pause. \"You find that thought unpleasant? You wish to right that 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 spoke no more. I had not the time to wonder about it. I got to my feet, bent double to keep from being blown over, and staggered toward the promised haven. called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to 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.\" \"There's a bigger reward for capture than for warning,\" objected his friend in turn, \"and whoever comes to take this man will claim had first spoken. Then, to his comrade: \"No reward, then.\" \"I think there'll be a reward,\" was the rejoinder, and the second man's 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.\" \"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 received an order, and vanished again. In a few moments two other men came—one a heavily armed officer of rank, the other an elderly, bearded fellow in a voluminous robe that enfolded him in most dignified 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 \"Who might Yandro be?\" I demanded, very uncomfortable in my bonds and Old Sporr almost crowed. \"You see? If he was a true imposter, he would come equipped with all plausible knowledge. As it is—\" \"As it is, he may remember that the Conquering Stranger is foretold \"Happy, happy the day,\" he jabbered, \"that I was spared to see our great champion come among us in the flesh, as was foretold of ancient time by the First Comers!\" real respect and shyness this time. \"If you are Yandro himself, you can 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 \"Get up,\" I bade them. \"I want to hear why I was first bound, and now worshipped.\" II \"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 foolish, but it had its effect. \"Follow me, deign to follow me,\" Sporr said. \"Your clothing, your quarters, your destiny, all await you.\" satisfied, and thanked Sporr, who led me on to the next room. \"Behold!\" he said, with a dramatic gesture. \"Your garments, even as they have been preserved against your coming!\" of which Sporr spoke. The door closed softly behind me—I was left alone. fore-teller of wisdom. Yandro is with us, he awaits his partners and kissing it. \"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 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 Yandro is wise as well as powerful. But the Newcomers do not want to \"Doriza, gentlewoman of the guard, conducts Yandro, the Conquering My mind flew back to the two scrubby, venial guardsmen who had first welcomed me \"Yandro, folk of the Council! He deigns to give you audience.\" \"The tenth part of the wonders which concern mighty Yandro have not 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 recently by the death in battle of the Newcomer champion, called Barak.\" \"Barak!\" I repeated. \"I—I—\" And I paused. When I had to learn my own 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 a likely reason that the narrator chooses to go with what the citizens of Dondromogon believe about him?\n\n<options>:\nA He thinks that going with what the citizens of Dondromogon believe will be his key to escape.\nB The people of Dondromogon are harmless, so he perceives no danger in remaining on the planet.\nC He does not remember anything, is confused, and cannot back himself up on who he truly is.\nD He figures that he will eventually be returned to Earth just as mysteriously as he left.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
1,236 | 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.] Not to be or not to not be ... that was the two of my guests. They both took a powder last Wednesday morning. 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. And this was it laying right in the middle of the room. Inside the coat was the vest, inside the vest the shirt, inside the shirt the 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 Airloom, he says. He pays a week in advance, staggers up the stairs to his room with the mirror and that's the last I see of him. In Smith's room on Wednesday I find only a suit of clothes, the same suit he wore when he came in. In the coat the vest, in the vest the shirt, in the shirt the underwear. Also in the pants. Also all in the middle of the floor. Against the far wall stands the frame of the Glmpauszn, will be born. tremendous wavelength fluctuations. I have attuned myself to a fetus with fear and trepidation. 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 Quickly, from the not-world vibrations about you, I learned the 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. Gezsltrysk, what a task! Glmpauszn I see I must avoid those complexities of procedure for which there are not-language what I had to go through during the first moments of my came in and weighed me again the day after my birth. Consternation reigned when it was discovered I was ten pounds heavier. What As they arrived hourly, they found me heavier and heavier. Naturally, (Gezsltrysk!) then burst into tears. The doctors conferred, threw up I learned the following day that the opposite component of my He stopped in his tracks on entering the room and seemed incapable of low-pitched, guttural and penetrating even to myself. It must have she fell down heavily. She made a distinct New sensations crowd into my consciousness and I am having a hard inevitable climax in which I singlehanded will obliterate the terror of have happened to your vibrations? Glmpauszn My first five tries were unfortunate. Each time I took control of an As I said before, floods of impressions are driving into my xzbyl ... my brain ... from various nerve and sense areas and I am having a hard impressions aroused by it are of beauty. It took little conditioning It was strange and ... now I know ... beautiful. However, I hurried let yourself believe they do. This individual I classified as a female of a singular variety here. Her hair was short, her upper torso clad in a woolen garment. She wore ... what are they? ... oh, yes, sneakers. My attention was diverted by a scream as I passed her. I stopped. an attitude of mild interest. They weren't interested in me, I told unfortunately do not have—invisibility. I lay there and listened. \"No more buck-bathing, Lizzy,\" the officer ordered. \"No more speeches in the Square. Not when it results in riots at five in the morning. Now 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 that assault it. I must retire now and get them all classified. Beauty, pain, fear, hate, love, laughter. I don't know one from the other. I must feel each, become accustomed to it. Glmpauszn the correct variant of the slang term \"buck.\" Is it possible that you are powerless even to provide yourself with the wherewithal to live in as you and I see them in our present forms. Baskets woven with the greatest intricacy, design and color but baskets whose convex sides are joined by a thin fringe of filaments. Our world, on the vibrational Glmpauszn Biological functions and bodily processes which are labeled here \"revolting\" are used freely in your missive. You can be sure they are all being forwarded to Blgftury. If I were not involved in the most important part of my journey—completion of the weapon against the Glmpauszn constantly assaulted my mind through this body, I conditioned myself to then I experience a burning pain. If the sensation is a tickle, I experience a tickle. This morning I have what is known medically as a syndrome ... a group of symptoms popularly referred to as a hangover ... Ahhh! Pardon me came most difficult to me. Money-love, for example. It is a great thing Nothing happened. I didn't love the stuff or feel one way or the other Anyway.... Ahhh. Pardon me. I got myself enough money to fill ten or fifteen rooms. By the end of the week I should have all eighteen spare rooms filled with money. If I don't love it then, I'll feel I have Blgftury has been goading me for reports. To hell with his reports! Glmpauszn There are long hours during which I am so well-integrated into this I can function efficiently. I sent Blgftury some long reports today the inevitable. Anyway, what the old xbyzrt doesn't know won't muss his vibrations. attracted to me instantly. After all, the body I have devised is tingling, again the secretion and activation. I integrated myself and tries to induce her to do something biological. She then refuses. had not found love. asleep. I thoughtfully drank quantities of excellent alcohol called gin I am now beginning to feel the effects of this alcohol again. Ha. Don't is activate it and all the not-people will die of chain asphyxiation. Glmpauszn the morning after having a terrible experience of my own. I drank a continued my investigations into the realm of love. I failed again The nerves of my dermis were working overtime when suddenly I had the most frightening experience of my life. Now I know what a horror these concentrated and sweated and suddenly something began to take form in partially across the vibration barrier. He must have been vibrating in was open and his btgrimms were down. pattern of pain, anger, fear and amazement in his matrix. Me and the result of drinking alcohol. Our wrenchingly attuned faculties in these not-world bodies need the loathsome drug to escape from the reality I must find the formula that will wipe out the not-world men quickly. Quickly! Glmpauszn This telepathic control becomes more difficult every time. I must pick failure. I bought a ton of equipment and went to work on the formula 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 \"Don't you like the rooms?\" he persisted. \"Isn't the service good?\" \"It's the rooms,\" I told him. \"They're—they're—\" \"They're not safe.\" \"Not safe? But that is ridiculous. This hotel is....\" At this point the blast came. My nerves were a wreck from the alcohol. Glmpauszn 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 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 hgutry before the ghjdksla! Glmpauszn\n\n<question>:\nWhat is one thing Glmpauszn didn't struggle with when acclimating to Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA slang terms\nB meeting people\nC emotions\nD appropriate clothing\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,117 | 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, and not wanting to. So I started going through the purse of the woman next to me. Perhaps the insides of things like purses and sealed boxes and locked drawers and—well, human beings. But human beings aren't worth the trouble. 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 object with dust inside—a compact. Handkerchief, chewing gum, a small book, probably an address book, money in a change purse—a few bills and coins. Not much else. I was a little disappointed. I've run across a gun or two in my time. But I never say anything. she was out of the room, so I probed the contents of her purse, which 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 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 luggage to another, looking for my beat-up suitcase. I went through 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. quiet alarms. I was going to pass it by and go on, but what held me was that something was taped to it. By the feel, I knew it must be thought: Which one of these.... No, none of them would know it was 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. I closed my eyes, forced my mind back to the luggage compartment, spent a frantic moment before I found the bag again. I had to stop that balance wheel, just as I stopped my alarm clock every morning. I tried to close everything off—the throb of engines, the rush of air, the the landing. When they unloaded the luggage, the balance wheel would 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. unconcernedly as they through the exit gate. I would have liked walking had my suitcase to get, for one thing. The damned bomb was the other. It was impossible to tell from this distance just which bag contained I could hardly identify my own scarred suitcase. The There was a flurry of ticket matching, hands grabbing for suitcases, and a general exodus on the part of my fellow passengers, too fast to the attendant and I had two bags—my own battered veteran of years, and stared back. Then I quickly reached for my baggage check and presented remaining bag. \"One left over, eh?\" 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 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. No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until—until what? A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out of But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and started across the street to the parking area. I could have called to him, \"Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag.\" But I didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claim counter out of the side of my eye. inside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bag \"Do you have my suitcase?\" At her side and a little ahead of her, I said, \"Listen to me.\" She looked annoyed and increased her stride toward the door. \"It's a matter of life or death,\" I said. I wanted to wrest the bag from her and hurl it out through the doorway into the street, but I restrained myself. She didn't move. She just said, \"Why?\" I'm glad the bomb didn't go off these eyes wouldn't be looking at me 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. \"I'll explain in a moment. Please stand right here while I make a don't ask me why.\" She glanced at the bags. I told her they'd be all right. We followed how I had discovered what was in her overnight bag. 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 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 airport policeman. After I explained it to her, the girl—she said her name was Julia Claremont—agreed to tell him she thought there was a bomb in her bag, that she had noticed a ticking and had become worried because she knew she hadn't packed a clock. It wasn't good, but it 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. The two bags weren't there. I ran to the entrance and nearly collided with the redcap. \"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 Julia's bag in his right hand, and threw both bags into the rear seat as he got in. redcap, who said, \"That man steal them suitcases?\" \"That he did,\" I said. Just then the airport policeman started across the street from the parking lot. Redcap said, \"Better tell him about it.\" The policeman was sympathetic and concerned. He said, \"We'd better get over to the office.\" But we never left the spot because an explosion some blocks distant was all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia was The officer said, \"Yes, miss?\" \"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>:\nWhich is the best description of why Julia and the narrator decide not to report their bags stolen?\n\n<options>:\nA They are worried that the bags will be traced back to them and they'll get caught\nB They don't want to get mixed up in the investigation of the explosives\nC It is the cleanest way to enact their plan and they don't need to be involved anymore\nD They don't want to be tied to the death of a known thief, as the police might think they retaliated\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,385 | 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>:\nThe planet itself was tough enough—barren, desolate, in for twenty hours, and then 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 translucent skin of the Dome, and I felt sick. There was a little heap of bones lying die out here on Mars is to in an agony of fatigue. give up.\" I reached over and turned up the pressure on her all my fault, too. Val's usually oxymask to make things a little easier for her. Through And she probably thought flying bother. It was beyond her to see that some grease monkey back at the Dome was at fault—whoever the failure of the sandcat was it was who had failed to fasten down the engine of disappearances on the desert. sand in the delicate mechanism of the atomic engine. But no she blamed it all on me somehow: So we were out \"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 at the time of the atomic wars. I heard Val sob, \"He's a When Val's tired and overwrought arguing with her. I stared ahead at the bleak, desolate wastes of the Martian Val. \"The surest way to But I'm determined to drive \"Just pick us off in the desert?\" \"Try to keep going, Val.\" He gestured through the her. We had wandered fruitlessly over the red sands all gleaming, deadly blaster in his hand. We stared in horror. It was day, both of us listening for the glassite of the mask, I on the infinitely safer desert. tire, and I knew it must have been really rough on Val with her lovely but unrugged legs. could see her face contorted 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?\" point, because Val didn't lie unless she was so exhausted I nodded over at our geiger she didn't know what she was much inflamed by the idea of coming to Mars to help in the search for uranium as I was. We knew the pay was poor, but we had felt it a sort of everything. Now she was turning against me. I tried to jolly her. \"Buck couldn't keep going. She was almost sleep-walking now. when it happened. I never got the contract, but I got a good dose of radiation instead. Not I started to feel tired myself, terribly tired. I longed enough to kill me,\" he said. spongy Martian sand and bury myself. I looked at Val. She was \"Just enough to necessitate that sudden explosive tumult that meant we had found pay-dirt. dragging along with her eyes the Val who had so enthusiastically 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 moment she was fast asleep, but I squelched it: table and fumbled in a container \"There are other injections, too. Adrenalin, insulin. I watched her, sleeping Others. The Blast turned down over one eyebrow, and the needle into his arm. My eyes widened. It was it seemed hard to believe that we'd exchanged Earth and all too nightmarish to be real. I then Val stirred and rolled over in her sleep, and I didn't I saw the horror on Val's face, and I knew she felt the Val's quick, worried head-shake The wind blasted a mass of sand into my face, and I felt it tinkle against the oxymask. I glanced at the suit-chronometer. Getting late. I decided once again to wake Val. But she was tired. And I was tired too, tired from our wearying journey across the I started to shake Val. But Uneasily I caught Val's her smooth forehead faster I awoke with a sudden startled than the auto-wiper could I had let myself doze off. \"Come on, Val,\" I said savagely, swab it away. \" I hissed to Val, low. She began immediately to cough violently, emitting harsh, choking sobs. \"Can't breathe!\" She began to yell, writhing in her bonds. That did it. Ledman hadn't much humanity left in him, Val, and saw that she was Earthman who had bound us. I rolled my eyes toward what was wrong with Val. She continued to retch and moan most horribly. It almost convinced me. I saw Val's to struggle futilely, and I had to snap, \"Lie still, Val!\" over. The blaster went off, burning a hole through the Dome roof. The automatic sealers glued-in instantly. Ledman went sprawling helplessly out wore an outmoded, bulky spacesuit and a fishbowl helmet, all but the face area opaque. The oxygen cannisters I rolled over and covered Val rolled over to me. spacesuit ended neatly at the thighs. He was holding in his left hours, complacently waiting painfully. Then anger ripped through He was groaning and Val rolled on the floor and her face lay near my right arm. I saw what she had in mind. She began to nibble the vile-tasting tangle-cord, running her teeth up and down it until it started to give. She side to MELT, and shot a stream of watery fluid over our legs, keeping the blaster trained on us all the while. flipped the little switch on its to make trouble.\" Val and I melted the remaining tangle-cord off. My muscles were stiff and bound against the sides of our oxysuits. wince. I turned and freed Val. I glimpsed the bulk of an outboard atomic rigging behind him, strapped to the Val asked in a low voice as we \"I don't quite know, Val. everyone at the Dome.\" \"Quiet up there!\" our captor that you couldn't bear to hang around on Earth for as much 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 great atomic wars of the late again. \"They told me I was paralyzed below the waist. That I'd never walk again, I had no muscles to fit \"You left Earth too quickly,\" protested. \"I had to get off—\" They had used their atomics to make bombs. We used ours for fuel. It was an atomic world. Everything: power drills, powered by the inexhaustible energy of the dividing atom. But though the energy is the supply failed. The mighty machine that was Earth's industry had started to slow 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 Sea-Dredge was trying to get uranium from the oceans. In forty or fifty years, they'd get some results, we hoped. of being holed up here legs. I might have walked They told me I'd never walk,\" 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. gave Val the blaster and slipped And here we are, I thought. out of my oxysuit. \"Look,\" I said. I pointed to my smooth, gleaming metal \"Of course not,\" I said. I Val got him into his suit, and how tired Val had been out on the desert. I realized 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'd been too dense to see Val slipped her oxymask\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Val become so tired during her trek across the desert?\n\n<options>:\nA She did not have the technology that enabled Ron to persist\nB She became consumed with resentment for having traveled to Mars\nC She had trouble adjusting to the Martian climate and terrain\nD Uranium was seeping through her space suit\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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1,190 | 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 Sense of Wonder The garden stretched off in unthinkable immensity to the cluster of . This was why the world had moved across the darkness and the stars for all Rikud's lifetime and more. But he was afraid. He reached up and grasped the handle of the door and he saw that his fingers were red with the wetness which had come from his hurt head. going, how can they tell when it has arrived? When nobody aboard ship remembers where it's the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of his life, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings had grown. If anyone else had noticed the change, he failed to mention it. This disturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he had realized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up inside him. everyone fled before him. He stumbled again in the place of the which he could see in the dim light through the open door. \"Where's the buzzer?\" he sobbed. \"I must find the buzzer.\" ignored it. But it came again, and each time it left him with a feeling he could not explain. Why should he think thoughts that no other man had? Why should he think he was thinking such thoughts, when it always embroiled him in a hopeless, infinite confusion that left him with a headache? Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watch walked around aimlessly, touching the plants and bending down to feel larger every moment. He turned to go, but the door clicked shut and a Rikud muttered to himself and undressed. The world had begun to annoy him. Now why shouldn't a man be permitted to do what he wanted, when he wanted to do it? There was a strange thought, and Rikud's brain He had even wondered what it was like to get hurt. No one ever got hurt. Once, here in this same ray room, he had had the impulse to hurl exciting. He liked them. He liked the garden, for all its hugeness. himself head-first against the wall, just to see what would happen. Rikud had been stopped in this action, although there was no real authority to stop him. This puzzled him, because somehow he felt that him, bathing his old body in a forgotten magic which, many generations before Rikud's time, had negated the necessity for a knowledge of medicine. But when, in another ten years, Chuls would perish of old often thought of his own death, still seventy-five years in the future, not without a sense of alarm. Yet old Chuls seemed heedless, with only it meant that, in the two unoccupied hours before sleep, he went to the knew his lame-footed companion understood the word no better than he did. \"Well, it's wrong. Variability and change are two words without meaning.\" turn away. Here was an unknown factor which the perfect world failed he couldn't at first accept it. Instead, he blinked and rubbed his Startled, Rikud leaped back. The sullen roar in the rear of the world had ceased abruptly. Instead an ominous silence, broken at regular Change— \"Won't you eat, Rikud?\" Chuls called from somewhere down below. \"Damn the man,\" Rikud thought. Then aloud: \"Yes, I'll eat. Later.\" and for a while he struggled with it. What he saw—what he had always seen, except that now there was the added factor of change—perhaps did \"Broom, brroom, brrroom!\" Chuls imitated the intermittent blasting of the engines. \"I'm hungry, Rikud.\" moment Rikud thought he could see the gardens rearward in the world. But that was silly. What were the gardens doing in the viewport? And never seen before, although he had always liked to stroll through the he admitted to Rikud. \"But why should the garden be in the viewport?\" And when Chuls looked away in disinterest, Rikud became angry. If only the man would realize! If only anyone would realize! It all seemed so obvious. If he, Rikud, walked from one part of the world to another, was purposeful. The world had arrived at the garden for a reason. But they find the nature of that purpose? \"I will eat,\" Chuls said, breaking Rikud's revery. Damn the man, all he did was eat! He had long wondered about the door in the back of the library, and He missed the beginning, but then: door. The machinery in the next room is your protection against the When he opened the door a strange new noise filled his ears, a gentle hand on the door, all the while watching the garden through the new Then he trembled. What would he do out in the garden? He couldn't go alone. He'd die of the strangeness. It was a silly thought sweat covered him in a clammy film. He never wanted to look at the garden again. Not when he knew there was a door through which he could walk and then might find himself in the garden. It was so big. Three or four days passed before Rikud calmed himself enough to interested, yet the lame-footed man's mind was inadequate to cope with \"Doing what?\" \"Speaking so loudly when Chuls, who is close, obviously has no trouble hearing you.\" \"Maybe yelling will make him understand.\" \"Why don't we go see?\" he suggested. Then, confused, he frowned. \"Well, I won't go,\" Chuls replied. \"There's no reason to go. If Rikud has been imagining things, why should I?\" \"I imagined nothing. I'll show you—\" \"You'll show me nothing because I won't go.\" buzzer, bathed in the health-rays with it, slept with it. What would they do if the buzzer stopped buzzing? This frightened Rikud, although he didn't know why. He'd like it, though. Maybe then he could take them outside with him to the big garden of the two viewports. And then he wouldn't be afraid because he spinning and humming. He watched for he knew not how long. And then he began to wonder. If he destroyed the wheels and the cogs and the gears, would the buzzer stop? It probably would, because, as Rikud saw it, he was clearly an \"unauthorized person.\" He had heard the voice again upon entering the room. whimpering to the dining room, his tongue dry and swollen, but the \"It won't any more,\" Rikud said. \"What won't?\" \"The buzzer will never sound again. I broke it.\" \"That's ridiculous,\" Chuls said. Even Crifer now was angry at Rikud. \"He broke the buzzer and no one can frond and tasted it. It had been bitter, but not unpleasant. Maybe the weak to rise. Rikud, too, felt a strange light-headedness and a gnawing hurt in his stomach. But it didn't matter. He heard the angry voices and the feet pounding behind him, and he wanted only to get away. It was dark and he was hungry and everyone who was strong enough to run was chasing him, but every time he thought of the garden outside, and how big it was, the darkness and the hunger and the people chasing him were unimportant. It was so big that it would swallow him up completely and positively. He became sickly giddy thinking about it. But if he didn't open the door and go into the garden outside, he would die because he had no food and no water and his stomach gurgled and grumbled and hurt. And everyone was chasing him. He stumbled through the darkness and felt his way back to the library, it frightened Rikud and it made his eyes smart, and he could hear those behind him retreating to a safe distance. But their voices were not far away, and he knew they would come after him because they wanted to break him.\n\n<question>:\nOne of the main causes of trepidation as Riduk prepares to enter the garden is\n\n<options>:\nA nothing. Riduk is ready to go.\nB is its vast endlessness.\nC Riduk is fearful that his shipmates will want to go with him, and he wants the garden and its beauty for himself.\nD that Riduk is fearful he will get caught and punished for attempting to leave.\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>:\nA 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. Whatever you make of Velvet Goldmine (opinions have ranged from rapturous to casually dismissive), it's like no other musical ever made. It's determinedly swirling, discursive, elliptical. Now the story is told by an omniscient narrator, now a TV reporter, now a participant. Now it's flashing back, now forward. Every other line of dialogue is a cue for one of its dazzling numbers, largely covers of songs by Brian Eno, Bryan Ferry, and T. Rex. The narrative is a challenge to keep up with, but then, great artists often invent their own syntax. In the '80s, Haynes employed Barbie dolls to depict the rise and wasting away from anorexia of the singer Karen Carpenter. Lucky audiences who caught Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (it was shelved when Richard Carpenter served the producers with an order to cease and desist exhibition) began by laughing at this elaborately posed, soft-rock femme, only to discover by the climax that the cultural forces that were eating at her (and that kept her from eating) had grown heartbreakingly palpable. Poison (1991), Haynes' Genêt-inspired exploration of transgression, didn't overcome its own artiness. But Safe (1995), the story of a Reagan-era housewife (Julianne Moore) convinced that her environment is poisoning her, is an entrancing meditation on the power of culture to crush the individual. Despite its ironic detachment, the film draws you into its heroine's sickly state: Breathing oxygen from a canister inside a high-tech igloo, she dwindles to nearly nothing, the modern incarnation of the Incredible Shrinking Man. (It was partly my passion for Haynes' films that led me to accept a job offer from his indefatigable producer Christine Vachon last year to collaborate on a nuts-and-bolts book about producing, Shooting To Kill . So my review of Velvet Goldmine --like my review of Vachon's other recent release, Happiness --should be read as the work of a partisan. But not a blind partisan.) In Velvet Goldmine , Haynes sets out to demonstrate the power of popular music to change people's lives--to tell them it's OK to fashion themselves into anything they please. The core of the movie turns out not to be the Bowie figure but the journalist, Arthur Stuart, who was a witness to the events he's now reconstructing. Bale is such an expressive performer that Stuart's remembrance of things past attains a Proustian intensity. To him, Slade was a sexual messiah. I've never seen a more vivid distillation of rock's allure than the scene in which he reverently opens the new Brian Slade album--its centerfold image is a lithe, naked, green-tinged Maxwell Demon--slips the vinyl out of its paper jacket and, after gingerly setting the LP on the turntable, props a chair under the doorknob to keep the uncomprehending world at bay. But if Haynes wants Velvet Goldmine to be an anthem to the principles Bowie once embodied--the embrace of artifice and the smashing of conventional sexual roles--he also wants to portray the rocker as a hollow opportunist who abandoned glam and bisexuality for the life of a corporate superstar, throwing in his lot with the forces of repression. That's a lot to cover. An actor of stature might have bridged these two impulses, but the beautiful, brazenly slim-hipped Rhys-Meyers doesn't make his lines sound as if he's thinking them up on the spot, and Slade's self-destructive passion for Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor), the film's fuzzy, sweet Iggy Pop figure, seems less an emotional imperative than a thematic one. A case can be made that Velvet Goldmine isn't fully filled in, and that Haynes, who has never shaken off his background as a semiotics major, has made a movie that's all signifiers. I sometimes found myself wishing he would let the picture catch its breath, that the performers would stop coming at me in stroboscopic flashes. But then I'd be swept up in the sinuous motion of his filmmaking, in the elation of watching point of view passed like a baton from hand to hand, in the liberating force of his language and soundtrack. Velvet Goldmine might seem like a collection of baubles, but those baubles are strung. 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>:\nWhich word best describes how the film reviewer conceives of Velvet Goldmine's direction?\n\n<options>:\nA luxurious\nB circuitous\nC incoherent\nD graphic\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
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1,383 | 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 overwhelming danger is constantly present,of course hideous. not death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plastic surgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. go to jail because of him.\" now ranged against him—including his own belated prudence—were too smash back, and now it was too late for that. as he left. \"Soon you might not be worth the saving.\" reserving only a sum of money. After setting the locker to respond to If he had met with a fatal accident at that point, there would have \"Games?\" the driver finally asked, although he could guess what was wanted by then. \"Dice...? Roulette...? Farjeen?\" \"Is there a good zarquil game in town?\" The driver moved so he could see the face of the man behind him in the teleview. A very ordinary face. \"Look, colleague, why don't you commit suicide? It's cleaner and quicker.\" \"I can't contact your attitude,\" the passenger said with a thin smile. \"Bet you've never tried the game yourself. Each time it and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. To the girl's indignation, the stranger not only hauled Gabe out onto that he had not been alone. \"How about Helen? She on course?\" \"Pretty bauble, isn't she?\" with deliberate insult. He might have saved her life, but only future! Sometimes,\" he added musingly, \"I almost wish you would let something happen. Then my problem would not be any problem, would it?\" When he was sure that his charge was safely tucked in for the night, the fat man checked his personal possessions. He then requested a taxi driver to take him to the nearest zarquil game. The driver accepted the commission phlegmatically. Perhaps he was more hardened than the others had been or despairing individual seeking one last chance, but what was known colloquially as a flying dutchman, a man, or woman, who went from one zarquil game to another, loving the thrill of the sport, if you could call it that, for its own sake, and not for the futile hope it extended and which was its sole shred of claim to moral justification. Perhaps—and this was the most likely hypothesis—he just didn't care. Zarquil was extremely illegal, of course—so much so that there were many legitimate citizens who weren't quite sure just what the word implied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors so zarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonly applied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well as nature—in which victim had to be considered as guilty as perpetrator zarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs. Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never been big money in musical chairs as such. When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—as they had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond the law—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth court could give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose life punishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved the could kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expired after a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, because of apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. The taxi driver took the fat man to one of the rather seedy locales in which the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted to conduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible. But the front door swung open on an interior that lacked the opulence The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive in disaster would hit the one who pursued him. Somehow, such a plan seemed too logical for the man he was haunting. However, beggars could not be choosers. The fat man paid off the heli-driver and entered the zarquil house. \"One?\" the small green creature in the slightly frayed robe asked. \"One,\" the fat man answered. The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright rays to herself. \"I had no idea of the kind of place it was going to be and it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. \"Yes, I'm all of them.\" \"Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are people who go around changing their bodies like—like hats?\" Automatically she reached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-pale if she had not Why! and she could not understand it nor determine whether or not she was respond? What was it like to step into another person's casing? But she must not let herself think that way or she would find herself looking for a zarquil game. It would be one way of escaping Gabriel, but not, she thought, the best way her body was much too good a one to risk so embarking on its long voyage to distant suns. She wished that somehow followed them, and it looked as if here she would stay ... all three of \"If you're after Gabriel, planning to hurt him,\" she asked, \"why then \"You'll change again tonight, won't you?\" she babbled. \"You always \"Too bad he got married,\" the young man said. \"I could have followed She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, but \"Why must you change again?\" she persisted, obliquely approaching the subject she feared. \"You have a pretty good body there. Why run the risk of getting a bad one?\" \"This isn't a good body,\" he said. \"It's diseased. Sure, nobody's \"How—long will it last you?\" I'll get it passed on before then. It'll be death.\" in the long run, be most beneficial for my face.\" \"You know why. Your body is worthless. And this is a reputable house.\" shrugged. \"I'll pay you twice the regular fee.\" The green one shook his head. \"Regrettably, I do mean what I say. This game is really clean.\" no means poor when it came to worldly goods. \"Why don't you try another He never liked to risk following his quarry in the same configuration. hazards of the game he might, impossible though it now seemed, some day win another body that approached perfection as nearly as his original would have to wait until they reached the next town, unless the girl, and tell her husband. He himself had been a fool to admit to her that how he could so casually have entrusted her with so vital a piece of biological impossibility, no one could tell. It might merely be prudence on the Vinzz' part—if it had ever its self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despite \"It would have to be something pretty nuclear for the other guy to take \"Why, that's three times the usual rate!\" \"The other will pay five times the usual rate.\" \"Oh, all right,\" the delicate young man gave in. It was a terrific risk he was agreeing to take, because, if the other was a criminal, he might one day find himself trapped unwittingly in the body of one of punishment could not abolish the necessity for self-defense, and the This might be a lucky break for me after all hulk like this. And maybe I'm cleverer than the original owner \"No, he didn't tell me anything really—just suggested I ask you whatever I want to know. But why else should he guard somebody he obviously hates the way he hates you? Only because he doesn't want to see his body spoiled.\" \"I wasn't thinking about that, Gabe,\" she said truthfully enough, for she hadn't followed the idea to its logical conclusion. \"Of course I'd once, and from then on, despite all his threats, she had refused to go nothing could ever wash \"You wouldn't be able to get your old body back, though, would you?\" \"I don't want to know!\" he spat. \"I wouldn't want it if I could get \"Christ, anything would be better than that! You can't imagine what a match your character. Pity you could only change one.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat would be the worst thing for Helen to do next?\n\n<options>:\nA divorce her husband\nB try to find the real Gabriel Lockhard\nC continue living her life with her husband\nD play zarquil\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
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576 | 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\"Feetch!\" grated Ogden Piltdon, president of the Piltdon Opener \"As chief engineer you're not carrying the ball,\" Piltdon went on savagely. \"The Piltdon Can-Opener is trailing the competition. Advertising and Sales are breaking their necks. It's Engineering that's missing the boat!\" \"But Mr. Piltdon,\" remonstrated Feetch unsteadily under his employer's glare, \"don't you remember? I tried to....\" \"For two years there hasn't been one lousy improvement in the Piltdon Can-Opener!\" roared Mr. Piltdon. \"Look at our competitors. The Universal does it in four.\" \"But Mr. Piltdon—\" \"The Minerva Mighty Midget does it in four point two two and plays Home Sweet Home in chimes. Our own Piltdon opener barely manages to open a can in eight point nine without chimes. Is this what I'm paying you for?\" Feetch adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. \"But Mr. Piltdon, \"Dignity,\" pronounced Piltdon, \"is for museums. Four months, Feetch! up with production and maintenance. If you would let me put on a few draftsmen and....\" \"Excuses,\" sneered Mr. Piltdon. \"Your staff is more than adequate. managed somehow to design a few good things during his twenty-five years with Piltdon. That was some satisfaction. What now? He had to hang on to his job. Technical work was scarce. Hanson's eyes were upon him. \"Chief,\" he said, \"it's a rotten shame. Twenty-five years of your life you put in with Piltdon, and he'd fire you just like that if you don't do the impossible. The Piltdon Company is built upon your designs and you get handed this deal!\" \"Well, well,\" said Feetch. \"I drew my pay every week so I suppose I have no complaints. Although,\" a wistful note crept into his voice \"I would have liked a little recognition. Piltdon is a household word, but who has heard of Feetch? Well,\"—Feetch blew his nose—\"how do we stand, Hanson?\" \"Hello,\" said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a learn a lot more.\" \"But Chief, your job.\" \"I'll risk that. Not a word to Piltdon.\" Automatic disposal! Wait until Advertising and Sales get hold of this! We'll throttle our competitors! The Piltdon Super-Opener we'll call it.\" \"Mr. Piltdon—\" said Feetch shakily. Piltdon stared at his chief engineer sharply. \"What's the matter, Feetch? The thing can be duplicated, can't it?\" \"Yes, sir. I've just finished checking that. But I'm in the midst of \"Feetch,\" bit out Piltdon, his face growing hard. \"Stow this hooey. I had been close, but he'd made it. Beat the time limit by a half-day. The first tentative shipments of Piltdon Super-Openers had gone to they appeared in millions of kitchens from coast-to-coast. Sales climbed to hundreds of thousands per day. Piltdon Opener went into peak production in three shifts, but was still unable to keep up with any departure from its exact specifications nullified the effect. Piltdon, genial these days with success and acclaim, roared at Feetch: \"I'm putting you in for a raise. Yes sir! To reward you for assisting me with my invention I'm raising your pay two hundred dollars a year. That's almost four dollars a week, man.\" \"Thank you, Mr. Piltdon.\" And still, thought Feetch wryly, he received no recognition. His name did not even appear on the patent. Well, well, that was the way it went. He must find his satisfaction in his work. And it had been interesting lately, the work he had been doing nights at home investigating what had been named the Piltdon Effect. It had been difficult, working alone and buying his own equipment. The oscillator and ultra microwave tracking unit had been particularly \"Are you still worrying about that?\" Piltdon roared jovially. \"Leave that to the long-hairs. We're making money, that's all that counts, eh Feetch?\" the Piltdon Super-Opener. Statisticians and mathematicians calculated the mean rate of can Piltdon's huge desk. \"No!\" yelled Piltdon at Feetch's face which was inches away. \"No, I——What did you say?\" \"Forever, Feetch?\" \"Yes sir.\" Klunk! Klunk! \"You're positive, Feetch?\" Piltdon's eyes glared into Feetch's. \"Sir, I never make careless claims.\" \"That's true,\" said Piltdon. His eyes grew dreamy. \"It can be done,\" for rectifying your blunder. Fine, fine. We'll work it out. Hop on production, at once, Feetch.\" Feetch felt himself sag inwardly. \"Mr. Piltdon,\" he said. \"I'm asking only one favor. Let me work full time on research and development, especially on the Piltdon effect. Hire a couple of extra men to help with production. I assure you the company will benefit in the end.\" \"Damn it, no!\" roared Piltdon. \"How many times must I tell you? You got your job back, didn't you?\" \"Feetch!\" howled Piltdon. \"I order you to remain!\" Feetch almost submitted from force of habit. He hesitated for a moment, Money, Feetch decided after a while, was a good thing to have. His \"Yes,\" Feetch would admit miserably. Piltdon, Feetch thought, feeling a strange sensation deep within his chest that he had not the experience to recognize as the beginning of a slow anger, Piltdon was hitting low and getting away with it. Of course, if he were to agree to reveal his latest discoveries to a A total increase of one hundred and twenty-six dollars? Be sensible, Feetch. I know you can't find work anywhere else.\" \"Thanks to you. Mr. Piltdon, I wouldn't work for you if—\" Piltdon Opener will soon be forced to close down, throwing all your former associates out of work? Think of Hanson, Sanchez, Forbes. They have families too. Think of the men in the shop, the girls in the Think of that, Feetch.\" Piltdon eyed him sharply, then smiled with a hint of triumph. \"Think it over, Feetch.\" Feetch sat, thinking it over. Was it right to let all these people lose Feetch hung up. A glow of anger that had been building up in his chest Feetch walked into the kitchen and carefully poured himself a drink of Think? He'd figured the solution long ago, only he hadn't allowed himself to see it. Not lack of brains, lack of guts. Well, he thought grimly, dialing Piltdon's number, he was going through with it now. \"Piltdon!\" he barked. \"Three p.m. tomorrow. My place. Be here. That's all.\" He hung up. In the same grim mood the following morning, he placed a few more calls. hand. \"Here is everything I know about what I call the Feetch Effect, one condition is met by Mr. Piltdon.\" He stared at Piltdon. \"In short, I want fifty-one per cent of the stock of Piltdon Opener.\" Piltdon leaped from his chair. \"Outrageous!\" He roared. \"Ridiculous!\" \"Fifty-one percent,\" said Feetch firmly. \"Don't bother with any \"Well,\" murmured the Government man, \"I never did think Feetch got a Feetch looked up from his desk in the newly constructed Feetch Multi-Dimensional Development Division of the Piltdon Opener Company. \"Piltdon, don't bother me about production. Production is your problem.\" \"But Mr. Feetch—\" \"Get out,\" said Feetch. Piltdon blanched and left.\n\n<question>:\nWhat didn't Feetch get at the end of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA Money to pay for his wife's medical bills\nB Credit for his discoveries\nC The job he wanted\nD Piltdon's job\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,947 | 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 died when the meteor was created fell on Earth before the first In its last instant, the meteor fell on the Moon. It was impeded by and volitized upon striking the blades. Portions of the turbine also idling at eight thousand RPM, it became unstable. The shaft tried to tie itself into a knot, and the blades, damaged and undamaged were spit through the casing. The turbine again reached a stable state, that is, stopped. Permanently stopped. When he was flush, he would prospect for a couple of weeks. Once he followed a stampede to Yellow Crater, where he thought for a while that he had a fortune in chromium. The chromite petered out in a month and a half, and he was lucky to break even. sixteen days. When he saw the wrecked turbine, he knew that he wouldn't THE END the reactor—might conceivably last just as long. But his oxygen was too reserve—plus one is five—plus sixteen days normal supply equals \"Batteries must be dead,\" he told himself. \"Why isn't the generator working, man?\" he asked. He thought this one out carefully. The generator was not turned by the main turbine, but by a small reciprocating engine. The steam, however, came from the same boiler. And the boiler, of course, had emptied itself of this, he reinspected the steam system, and found about three gallons temperature, and the condenser demonstrated its efficiency by quickly freezing the water in the tank. Evans sealed the turbine from the rest of the steam system by closing the shut-off valves. If there was any water in the boiler, it would the condenser, and with a little luck, melt the ice in there. Then, if water that he had poured into the boiler quickly turned into steam, and the steam turned the generator briefly. used. It was one day's supply if used wastefully. It was ostentatious the boiler pressure began to fail, but the steam had melted some of the inner office open. He felt a little guilty about this, because he had ordered that all doors in the survey building should remain closed except when someone was passing through them. This was to allow the air-conditioning system to function properly, and to prevent air loss in case of the highly improbable meteor damage. McIlroy thought that on the whole, he was disobeying his own orders no more flagrantly than anyone else in the cheerful contempt, but it was also true his mildest requests were complied with eagerly and smoothly. Everyone in the survey except McIlroy realized this, and even he accepted this without thinking about it. He had fallen into the habit of suggesting mildly anything that he wanted done, and writing orders he didn't particularly care to have obeyed. For example, because of an order of his stating that there would be no alcoholic beverages within the survey building, the entire survey was assured of a constant supply of home-made, but passably good liquor. over the assets of the Survey Credit Association all morning.\" \"I'll certainly be glad to get them off my hands,\" McIlroy said. \"I hope \"That's par for a nonprofit organization,\" said McIlroy. \"But we're amateurs, and we're turning this operation over to professionals. I'm sure it will be to everyone's satisfaction.\" \"I know this seems like a silly question. What day is this?\" nine banks of mirrors would not respond to the electric controls, and one bank moved so jerkily that it could not be focused, and it threatened to tear several of the mirrors loose. don't work.\" \"Meteor shower,\" Cowalczk answered, \"and that's not half of it. Walker too small for Radar to pick up, and not enough for Seismo to get a \"Sounds pretty bad.\" \"Could have been worse,\" said Cowalczk. they wouldn't go through a suit.\" \"You mean only one hit our gear,\" Lehman said. \"How many missed?\" that didn't contain a crater at least ten inches across, there was not a square inch without its half-inch crater. Nearly all of these had been potassium nitrate that anyone has ever seen. Man, it's a full inch \"I swear, Mac,\" said Jones, \"another season like this, and I'm going back to mining.\" have to fight the union and the Lunar Trade Commission.\" McIlroy had heard all of this before. \"How's that?\" he asked politely. \"You may think it's myself running the ship,\" Jones started on his tirade, \"but it's not. The union it is that says who I can hire. The union it is that says how much I must pay, and how large a crew I need. And then the Commission ...\" The word seemed to give Jones an unpleasant it is that says what I'll sell it for. If I had my way, I'd charge only profit I could make by cutting rates the other way.\" \"Near cost it is now at a dollar forty. But what sense is there in charging the same rate to go either way when it takes about a seventh of and not worth mining here the low-grade ores of uranium and vanadium, they need these things on Earth, but they can't get them as long as it isn't worth the carrying of them. And then, of course, there's the water profit.\" \"He's out prospecting again. I don't expect to see him until sun-down.\" \"I'll likely see him then. I won't be loaded for another week and a half. Can't you get in touch with him by radio?\" \"He isn't carrying one. Most of the prospectors don't. They claim that a radio that won't carry beyond the horizon isn't any good, and one that \" [Health, McIlroy, man.] \" [Great Health, man.] Part of his reasoning proved correct. That is, he found that by one with its droplet of water. The average was about one per cent of the minutes left. The air purifying apparatus in the suit was not as it wasted oxygen. By using the suit so much, Evans had already shortened his life by several days. He \"How come we have to blow the boilers now?\" asked Lehman. \"Because I say so,\" Cowalczk shouted, surprised at his outburst and ashamed of it. \"Boiler scale,\" he continued, much calmer. \"We've got to clean out the boilers once a year to make sure the tubes in the reactor was about half full, the water began to run nearly clear. An electric fragment of boiler scale held the valve open. \"Keep trying,\" Cowalczk ordered. \"Lehman, get a Geiger counter and come with me, we've got to fix this thing.\" Lehman and Cowalczk, who were already suited up started across to the it'll probably blow at seven.\" ruptured. A stream of mud gushed out and boiled dry on the face of the \"Scale stuck in the valve,\" Cowalczk answered. \"Are the reactors off?\" \"Geiger's off scale,\" Lehman said. \"We're probably O.K. in these suits for an hour,\" Cowalczk answered. \"Is \"O.K., but keep working that switch.\" \"Yeah. There's still enough heat in these reactors to do some damage. power in it to crush the scale.\" \"Water's stopped. Give us some pressure, we'll see if it holds.\" Cowalczk and Lehman opened the valve again. Water spurted out, and dwindled as they closed the valve. \"Think we weren't worried?\" Lehman asked. \"And it's not over.\" How come we can operate now?\" \"Oh, God, I suppose this means water rationing again.\" \"You're probably right, at least until the next rocket lands in a couple of weeks.\" PROSPECTOR FEARED LOST ON MOON IPP Williamson Town, Moon, Sept. 21st. Scientific survey director presumed that he was merely temporarily delayed. oxygen runs out.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the worst consequence of the Geiger being off scale?\n\n<options>:\nA The moon and Earth will enter a war fought over natural elements\nB Evans will die before he is discovered by a rescue team\nC Authorities will be forced to make more strict limitations when it comes to water\nD The entire Survey will be fired and forced to compete over prospecting jobs\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
1,291 | 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 FALL OF GLASS Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that Humphrey Fownes' preoccupation finally came to an end when he was one occasional light showers—but of what? one after another, a place of little traffic and minimum distractions. people were bumping into him. He was thinking about Optimum Dome Conditions (a crisp 59 degrees, a mildly dessicated 47%) when a bogus \" Winds \" March fragments showering harmlessly on the city from time to time. Dome weevils, their metal arms reaching out with molten glass, roamed the huge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. \"What?!\" from the blackness of the living room. \"These are not Optimum Dome Conditions!\" the voice wailed. \"The temperature is not that was always 47%, by weather that was always Optimum. It was this 59 degrees. not 47%!\" \"Are you going to make it stop or aren't you!\" MacBride yelled. within the confines of a dome. Conformity had become more than a social force it was a physical necessity. And, after years of working at it, Fownes took the wheel. It was off a 1995 Studebaker. \"I'm not sure what's going to come of this,\" he said to Lanfierre with an astonishing amount of objectivity, \"but the entire dome air supply small efforts, rarer. is now coming through my bedroom.\" \"Not any more there isn't.\" Dome Conditions of the bright avenue. \"I never figured on this is different standing on end for a moment before toppling to the ground. It was strangely slow motion, as was the black twirling cloud that now rose which way. \" vacation. top.... \"They say there are mountain-tops where winds blow all the time. Strong with the illustration. The cloud rose and spun, assuming the identical blow, it would shake exactly the way that one does. Sometimes I get the feeling the whole place is going to slide off its foundation and go sailing down the avenue.\" over the roaring, \"that Dorothy traveled from Kansas to Oz in a twister \"I'll tell you something else,\" Lanfierre went on. \"The beyond the all close at the same time. You'll be watching and all of a sudden every .\" they all had something important to say but had to close the windows first so no one could hear. Why else close the windows in a domed city? And then as soon as the place is buttoned up they all explode into \"Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Deshazaway!\" The dome weevils were going berserk trying to keep up with the \"No, I don't need a vacation.\" mountainous puffs of glass as he went. \"Mrs. Deshazaway!\" he shouted. Optimum temperature collapsed. \"Mrs. Deshazaway! brain, Lanfierre, breezes of fatigue, zephyrs of irrationality—\" \"And the still wouldn't need all that \"And compasses won't work on this street.\" \"He'll be coming out soon,\" Lanfierre said. \"He eats supper next door the widow's next door and then the library.\" said. \"Is he in with that bunch?\" \"I can't wait to see what he's got in there,\" Lanfierre murmured, noticed. There was a certain amount of vibration, of course. He had a bootleg pipe connected into the dome blower system, and the high-pressure air caused some buffeting against the thin walls of the house. At least, he called it buffeting \"Tight as a kite,\" he thought, satisfied. He continued on toward the right? No, The old wheels surrounding the Master Mechanism, which was a miniature see-saw that went back and forth 365-1/4 times an hour. The wheels had a curious stateliness about them. They were all quite old, salvaged from seven o'clock in the evening, April seventh, any year. Outside, the domed city vanished. It was replaced by an illusion. Or, as Fownes hoped it might appear, the illusion of the domed city vanished and was replaced by a more satisfactory, and, for his specific purpose, more functional, illusion. two. seemed all right. A dreamy sunset, then, neither did the widow. He'd have to be confident, assertive. of falsification. Communication seemed virtually impossible. \"No\" circumstances. It could mean yes, it could mean ask me again later on this evening. thinking roguishly: Thou shalt not inundate. . Undiminished, the yellow moon and the red sun important time to be a bit forward. . That might be rather stay over instead of going home.... to wall pipes and wall pipes connected to cellar pipes, and they made one gigantic skeleton that began to rattle its bones and dance as high-pressure air from the dome blower rushed in, slowly opening the Studebaker valve wider and wider.... When the about stately August and eccentric February and romantic April. April. And all the rest have thirty-one. practical purposes I'm never going to marry again. All my husbands die.\" not going to marry you and if you want \"As long as there are people,\" he said philosophically, \"there'll be worse for him.\" Five. very elaborate plans you've been they'll find out? I \"Oh, it doesn't really matter. I'll join Andrew, Curt, Norman—\" \"That won't be necessary,\" Fownes said with unusual force. \"With all here and now I have other plans for you, Mrs. Deshazaway.\" \"But my dear Mr. Fownes,\" she said, leaning across the table. \"We're lost, you and I.\" \"Not if we could leave the dome,\" Fownes said quietly. \"That's impossible! How?\" In no hurry, now that he had the widow's complete attention, Fownes Space? Miles and miles of space where the real-estate monopoly has blows across or is And June, which as you may know follows directly upon April and is supposed to be the month of brides, of marrying. June also lies beyond the dome.\" \"I see.\" \" longer scintillate.\" \" outside the dome,\" she said, \"out where a man stays warm long enough would be such a insane experience. (\"April has thirty days,\" Fownes mumbled, passing them, \"because thirty is the largest number such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisor primes Pinning his hopes on the Movement, Fownes went straight to the unintelligibility. five this . Seven years ?\" was unquestionably a meteorological phenomenon. It spun ominously, like looking oddly like giants fled from their fairy tales, protesting. stood in the center of the room, leaning on a heavy knobbed cane. He glanced around at the group almost complacently, and waited as Humphrey Fownes squeezed into an empty chair. \"We live in a dome,\" the leader said, \"for lack of something. An invention! What is the one thing that the great technological societies before ours could not invent, notwithstanding their various giant brains, electronic and otherwise?\" \" obtained the insight. \"If a sound foreign policy can't be created the only alternative is not to have any foreign policy at all. Thus the movement into domes began— by common consent of the governments . This arranged for him to get out. \"Out?\" the leader said, frowning. \"Out? Out where?\" \"Outside the dome.\" \"Oh. All in good time, my friend. One day we shall all pick up and leave.\" \"And that day I'll await impatiently,\" Fownes replied with marvelous tact, \"because it will be lonely out there for the two of us. My future wife and I have to leave .\" \"Nonsense. Ridiculous! You have to be prepared for the Open Country. You can't just up and leave, it would be suicide, Fownes. And have Have I left anything out?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is unlikely to happen next?\n\n<options>:\nA Agnes and Humphrey will leave the dome\nB the government will rethink some of the dome's policies\nC Humphrey's house will fall apart\nD the dome will be repaired\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,195 | 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 JERRY SOHL 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. and Mrs. Martin Laughton, 3495 Orland Drive, Marionville, Illinois, U. S. A. Arrive his 378th day. TB73782. \"Hello, Joe,\" she answered. It was her brother who lived in Kankakee. \"All right, Joe.\" seemed off balance and he backed up confusedly in the face of the heels. brother.\" him. They found Reggie peacefully asleep in his crib in his room upstairs. think he was her brother. She doesn't even have a brother. Then he dog. \"It was Tiger here who scared him off.\" dog. He scribbled notes in his book. \"What do you do?\" anybody else. Nobody who'd do anything like this, though.\" \"You'd better get him, Dr. Tompkins, if we're to take him to the \"Fine.\" \"How's everything at the office?\" \"Fine.\" \"And your wife?\" telephone. must doctors. One of them was the same man who tried to take the baby this Reggie.\" that.\" \"Martin!\" \"Where's Tiger?\" If we keep Reggie in the house much longer he'll turn out to be a \"We'll never be able to prosecute in this case,\" the states attorney said. \"At least not on a drunken driving basis.\" said. Must have happened years ago.\" bitten by their dog. Later that night she said she shot the same man same man. But there's a real coincidence for you. And speaking of the agree with him. Never did figure what killed him, actually.\" \"The men \"I'll say you wouldn't. The pair must have crawled away to die God knows where.\" \"Getting back to the man who ran over the child and killed Mrs. Laughton. Why did he pretend to be drunk?\" It was the chief's turn to shake his head. \"Your guess is as good as \"What does the man have to say?\" self-consciously. \"He's proved a strange one, all right. He says his name is John Smith and he's got cards to prove it, too—for example, a an alienist.\" \"One jump ahead of you. Dr. Stone thinks he's normal, but won't put down any I.Q. Actually, he can't figure him out himself. Smith seems has the answer ready before you're half through asking.\" \"Well, if Dr. Stone says he's normal, that's enough for me.\" The driver's license. And there's no duplicate of that in Springfield, in reclining. Even as he lay, his mouth held a hint of a smile. Arvid 6—for John Smith was Arvid 6—had lain in that position for appeared to be listening. For a moment a look of concern crossed his face and he swung his legs to the floor and sat there expectantly. Arvid 6 knew Tendal 13 had materialized and was somewhere in the building. \"I'm sorry, Tendal,\" the man on the cot said. \"I didn't think—\" \"I'm really 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. \"Oh, you've been a joy to be with! First it was that hunt in ancient Mycenae when you let the lion escape the hunters' quaint spears and we were partly eaten by the lion in the bargain, although you dazzled the hunters, deflecting their spears. And then your zest for drink when we were with Octavian in Alexandria that led to everybody's amusement but ours when we were ambushed by Anthony's men. And worst of all, that \"All right, all right,\" Arvid 6 said. \"I'll admit I've made some mistakes. You're just not adventurous, that's all.\" \"Shut up! For once you're going to listen to me. Our instructions 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 wearily and sank his head in his hands. \"It was you who conceived the talking. But no, you pulled a switch and captured Martin Laughton's These twentieth century machines aren't what they ought to be,\" Arvid 6 said. 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 . That's how simple I think it was.\" \"What crazy things have you been doing since I've been gone?\" Tendal \"That's right.\" alcohol in my blood, although I implanted a memory in them that I reeked of it.\" He laughed. \"I fancy they're thoroughly confused.\" fellow with the most stupid set of questions and tests I ever saw.\" \"I suppose you'd think so.\" \"Who do you tell them you are?\" \"John Smith. A rather prevalent name here, I understand. I license—\" 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 be around 2250. Things will be more difficult than ever there, probably.\" \"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?\" \"Frankly, I didn't think he'd go back so far.\" \"If it had been anybody but Kanad nobody'd ever have thought of going back after it. The life germ of the head of the whole galactic system 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 know, I know. You want me to let you handle everything.\" \"Exactly. Is that too much to ask after all you've done?\" \"I guess I have made mistakes. From now on you be the boss. I'll do whatever you say.\" \"Arvid!\"\n\n<question>:\nWho is Kanad?\n\n<options>:\nA Kanad is Tendal 13 and Arvid 6's supervisor at the Ultroom.\nB Kanad is Reggie Laughton.\nC Kanad is the head of the whole galactic system.\nD Kanad is the leader of the Mycenae.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
] |
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>:\nCharity Case By JIM HARMON Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Certainly I see things that aren't there and don't say what my voice says—but how can I prove that I don't have my health? When 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, dark to add to my punishment. But I learned he didn't know the light I stayed in the dark longer for lying about the light. Alone in the dark, I wouldn't have had it so bad if it wasn't for the He looked the way I did in the mirror. They did unpleasant things to Because they were real, I talked about them as if they were real, and I almost earned a bunk in the home for retarded children until I got smart enough to keep the beasts to myself. on my ninth birthday. The trouble came from the notes written in my Sometimes there were drawings. I didn't write those notes or make those drawings. My mother and father must have been glad when I was sent away to reform The reform school was nicer. There were others there who'd had it about like me. We got along. I didn't watch their shifty eyes too much, or 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 When I was expelled from reform school, I left with just one idea in Onward Christian Soldiers people were always watching every move I made. He braced his red-furred hands on the sides of his auctioneer's stand and leaned his splotched 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 received a fix. \"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 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 I was alone, marking time behind the closed half of double doors. One creased or worn. I pulled my hand out of the box. I tried I knew what the trouble was, of course. I was in a monkey trap. The inside like a chicken having its neck wrung. The next time I glanced at the clock, it said ten minutes had gone by. My hand still wasn't free and I hadn't budged the box. \"This,\" Brother Partridge said, \"is one of the most profound experiences of my life.\" 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.\" to it. I had never got away with anything in my life. I was too smart to even try anything but the little things. \"I may be able to help you,\" Brother Partridge said, \"if you have faith and a conscience.\" Brother Partridge regarded me solemnly. \"There must be something special about you, for your apprehension to come through miraculous intervention. But I can't imagine what.\" \"I always get apprehended somehow, Brother,\" I said. \"I'm pretty special.\" it was a twenty, and that was almost the same thing to me. I creased it We took a couple of camp chairs and I told him the story of my life, or most of it. It was hard work on an empty stomach happened to me when I thought back over my life. The same thing. —reminded of Job. William, you are being punished for some great sin. Of that, I'm sure.\" \"Punished for a sin? But, Brother, I've always had it like this, as want to remember. But don't say you have no personal experience!\" \"And you think I'm being punished for something I did in a previous life?\" bad in this life.\" \"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. \"Perhaps this will help in your atonement,\" he said. You know how it is. It was all an accident, but killing somebody is reason enough to get punished. It didn't have to be a sin in some previous life, you see. for November. Two of them, dressed like Harvard seniors, caps and striped duffer make an example of him and do something permanent and I a damp centerfold from the News The police figured it was part of some labor dispute, I guess, and they been there to get beaten up, it wouldn't have happened. I could see the point in making me suffer for it. There was a lot to be said for looking at it like that. But there was nothing to be said for telling to eat since the day before, it enervated me. The librarian at the main desk looked sympathetically hostile, or hostilely sympathetic. \"I'd like to get into the stacks, miss,\" I said, \"and see some of the \"We have the \"I didn't want to see the on. \"We have the News , bound, for last year.\" I nodded. \"That's the one I wanted to see.\" table, I guess, or else the bound papers weren't supposed to come out of the stacks. with education who makes the money. I had been reading the Funk & Wagnalls Encyclopedia. So far I knew a lot about Mark Antony, Atomic Energy, Boron, Brussels, Catapults, Demons, and Divans. News and left me alone with It didn't take me long to find the story. The victim was a big man, it mended. Funny thing about a suit—it's almost never completely complete the picture. It felt like another, but I checked myself. I needed a clear head. had been active in seeking labor-management peace in the recent difficulties.... the ad card readers, the girl watchers as the neat little carbon-copy I ignored the devils and concentrated on reading the withered, The things abruptly started their business, trying to act casually as if they hadn't been waiting for me to look at them at all. They had a little human being of some sort. that they used to destroy when I was locked up with them in the dark. eyebrow. They couldn't do anything worse to the small man than they had done to the young boy. It was sort of nostalgic watching them, but I really got bored with all that violence and killing and killing the same kill over and over. Like watching the Saturday night string of began to dose. The shrieks woke me up. For the first time, I could hear the shrieks of the monster's victim They say it's a bad sign when you start hearing voices. I nearly panicked, but I held myself in the seat and forced myself everybody only sane as I ever was. There was no doubt about that. But a new thought suddenly impressed itself on me. Whatever was punishing me for my sin was determined that I turn back\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the theme of the story reveal about how society treats the mentally ill?\n\n<options>:\nA There is insufficient social infrastructure to identify and care for those living with severe mental illnesses\nB The Christian church has too much unqualified involvement in treatment of those living with severe mental illnesses\nC Those living with severe mental illnesses are more likely to be abused by social institutions like schools, hospitals, and law enforcement\nD More studies need to be conducted to learn how to best care for people living with severe mental illnesses\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,771 | 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>:\nto a stop. spun in a pinwheeled blur, slowed, and settled to their proper the robot apprehensively. Half buried in mud, it stood quiet in Then the robots figured out an out of his misery. There was a sudden crash that hung sharply in the air, as if a tree had been hit by hill, throwing him to the jungle floor. \"Damn!\" He cursed again, circuits needed for the operation of its tracking mechanism alone. \"There just isn't room for the electronics. You'd robot, crunching and snapping fire. He froze. \"Good Lord! They communicate with each other! The one I jammed must be calling others to help.\" bank, away from the crashing eyes widened. \"Of course! Radio! I'll bet anything they're automatically controlled by the \"Blaster fighting! But it can't their brain is!\" He paused. \"Then, if that were put out of commission ...\" He jerked away from the bank and half ran, half pulled himself through the undergrowth be!\" tried to run, but vines blocked another robot fired in his direction, caught at his legs, tripping him and holding him back. Then, lower half of the cat creature two robots coming up from wider and wider forays, slowly or trip him. Even so, he stumbled his legs were a mass of stinging slashes from ankle to thigh. The crashing rumble of the killer robots shook the night behind wiping every trace of life from him, nearer sometimes, machines doing the job For a split second the jungle for which they were built, completely, build a robot that hunts by homing thoroughly, without feeling, again, and the robots would Alan leaped back, and fell one of the robots rolled silently his head. Alan froze. \"My God, Pete built those things wrong!\" Suddenly a screeching whirlwind branches and crashed against the robot, clawing insanely at the with no one to stop it, automatically With an awkward jerk the robot swung around and fired its blaster, completely dissolving the sending its robots in which had clung across the barrel. But the back pressure of the cat's body overloaded the discharge circuits. The robot started to shake, then clicked sharply as an overload relay snapped circuits would short, and one by to separate sense from futility. Finally parts would wear out, and shorted the blaster cells. and without human masters one the killers would crunch to a halt. A few birds would still The killer turned and rolled back fly then, but a unique animal life, rare in the universe, would As if in answer, a tree beside him breathed fire, then exploded. his foot catch in something, these robots in a batch and then and fell heavily. Pain danced up his leg as he they're tuned to pick up human brain waves, too. Damn! Damn!\" His eyes blurred and grabbed his ankle. Quickly he activated them all at once, probably clutched futilely at some leaves erupted angrily from the hole in he slammed his fist into the soft never living to realize that robot jerked back, its gun wobbled and started to tilt away. Then, getting itself under control, ground, close to where he lay. the robot reacted. It seemed familiar somehow. Then he remembered the robot on the river course!\" He cursed himself for missing the obvious. \"The blaster static blanks out radio transmission from the computer for a few seconds. They even do it to themselves!\" Firing intermittently, he impulses came within its pickup pulled himself upright and hobbled The robot shook spasmodically with each shot, its gun tilted upward at an awkward angle. range, birds, insects, anything. swelling leg he stumbled out of Six or seven others also left the saw another of the robots standing for his small blaster to run dry. \"Be damned! You can't win now!\" Alan yelled between blaster shots, almost irrational from through his leg. Then it happened. frantically jerked the trigger again and again, and the spent 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 Blinding itself for a few seconds with its own blaster static, the robot paused momentarily, jiggling in place. In this the trees onto the spot where he into an insect hill and hurled the pile of dirt and insects directly at the robot's antenna. In a flash, stood frozen in a brilliant blue flash, followed by the sharp report of a blaster. Then another. hundreds of the winged things transmitting mental energy to the and he could see a robot rolling robot's pickup devices. of mind impulses, the robot fired erratically as Alan crouched and raced painfully for Confused by the sudden dispersion as he fumbled with the lock release. Jagged bits of plastic and stone ripped past him, torn loose drowned out almost immediately Apparently the robot hadn't open the door as the robot, sensing Frantically, Alan slammed by the blast. mind thought of nothing but the red-clad safety switch mounted beside the computer. Time stopped. There was nothing else in and silenced by an the world. He half-jumped, half-fell of seconds that seemed measured out in years. The universe went black. Later. Brilliance pressed upon through his body and dragged the next instant a charred nothing, unrecognizable, the victim of a design error or a misplaced wire in a machine. \"I have to try,\" he said aloud. \"I have to camp computer. That's where it was slowed by the Only, the robot didn't get tired. floor, hiding debris that tripped him and often sent him sprawling pants and shirt. Behind, the robot crashed imperturbably after him, lighting the night with fitful blaster flashes as some twice, blindly, into the undergrowth. Sharp screams punctuated the electric blue discharge as The robot crashed on, louder now, gaining on the tired human. Legs aching and bruised, foot tripped on a barely visible exploded around him. Startled, Alan jerked sideways, crashing his head against a tree. He buckled. His blaster fell into the The robot crashed loudly behind him now. Without stopping to think, Alan fumbled along the sticky that splashed over his Sharp muscle spasms shot from his shoulder across his back and chest. Tears streamed across his a mere hundred yards behind. He screamed at the blast. \"Damn you, Pete! Damn your robots! Damn, damn ... Oh, Peggy!\" Alan, lying in the mud of the stream bed, felt the earth shake as the heavy little robot rolled his arm felt numb. \"I'll drown blood. The soft earth crumbled soil was held too tightly by the tree crashed heavily past Alan the moons, the killer robot stopped hugged the bank as a shaft of pure electricity arced over him, sliced into the water, and exploded in a cloud of steam. The robot shook for a second, its blaster muzzle lifted erratically and for an instant it seemed almost out of control, then it quieted and the muzzle again pointed down. Alan slid slowly along the bank the robot fired again. For a split head and back, and mud boiled Again the robot trembled. It into reverse. It stood poised for a second, its treads spinning crazily as the earth collapsed underneath dug, then it fell with a heavy splash into the mud, ten feet threw himself across the blaster robot's treads churned furiously in the sticky mud, causing it to buck and plunge like a Brahma blaster jerked upwards wrenching Alan's arms, then slammed down. Then the whole housing whirled around and around, tilting He fumbled for the sheath clipped the stationary portion of the robot. jammed in the knife blade—and was whipped headlong into the mud as the turret literally snapped\n\n<question>:\nWhy did the robot at the stream fall into the mud?\n\n<options>:\nA Alan managed to knock it down with his blaster.\nB It fell while trying to chase Alan, who managed to confuse it.\nC The mud blocked its sensors and it did not know how to move properly.\nD Its signals were disrupted and it malfunctioned.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,036 | 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>:\nGhrynian cops calmly. \"But there is the matter of the dead Kallerian and the fine of—\" \"—one hundred thousand dollars. I know.\" I groaned and turned to How cheap?\" Gorb grinned rakishly. \"Five thousand in cash plus a contract as a specimen with your outfit. In advance, of course. That's a heck of a lot better than forking over a hundred grand, isn't it?\" I eyed Gorb uncertainly. The Terran Consulate people probably wouldn't were really serious, and I knew from past experiences that no officials ever worried much about the state of my pocketbook. On the other hand, giving this slyster a contract might be a risky proposition. \"Tell you what,\" I said finally. \"You've got yourself a deal—but on a contingency basis. Get me out of this and you'll have five grand and the contract. Otherwise, nothing.\" Gorb shrugged. \"What have I to lose?\" The little Regulan was as good as hired. Only the formalities remained. \"You understand our terms, Mr. Fitzgerald?\" \"And the pay will be—ah—$50 Galactic a week, plus expenses and transportation.\" The spherical creature clapped his hands in joy, three hands clapping accept the terms!\" I buzzed for Ludlow and gave him the fast signal that meant we were signing this alien up at half the usual pay, and Ludlow took him into the other office to sign him up. of his species in the show, but they made good crowd-pleasers, being so plump and cheerful. I passed him along to Auchinleck to sign at anything short of top rate. Next came a bedraggled Sirian spider who was more interested in a handout than a job. If there's any species we have a real over-supply a try anyway. He got the gate in half a minute, and he didn't even get the handout he was angling for. I don't approve of begging. upkeep runs into literally tons of fresh meat a day, and not just any old kind of meat either. So we had to do without the Vegan. \"One more specimen before lunch,\" I told Stebbins, \"to make it an even Earth. No deal. The demand for beings from Wazzenazz XIII is pretty low these days. Zero, in fact. Good-by, Mr. Gorb.\" He pointed a finger squarely at me and said, \"You're making a big Look here, examine my teeth. Absolutely like human teeth! And—\" I pulled away from his yawning mouth. \"Good-by, Mr. Gorb,\" I repeated. \"All I ask is a contract, Corrigan. It isn't much. I'll be a big attraction. I'll—\" \" a job! But I wasn't buying it, even if I could appreciate his cleverness Kallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. I and said no to a scaly pseudo-armadillo from one of the Delta Worlds. Kallerian came striding in, not even waiting for Stebbins to admit him stocky feet, extended his massive arms in a Kallerian greeting-gesture, and growled, \"I am Vallo Heraal, Freeman of Kaller IV. You will sign me \"You will grant me a contract!\" \"Will you please sit down?\" The Kallerian stood motionless before me. They're hairy creatures, and Institute. And we're not currently in need of any Kallerian males, because—\" \"You will hire me or trouble I will make!\" I opened our inventory chart. I showed him that we were already carrying four Kallerians, and that was more than plenty. , I readied myself to ensnarl the Kallerian in a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but he didn't move. He bellowed, \"I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me to Earth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible!\" I'm a man of principles, like all straightforward double-dealers, and He glared at me in silence. I went on, \"Please be assured that I'll undo the insult at the earliest possible opportunity. It's not feasible for us to hire another Kallerian now, but I'll give preference to the Clan Gursdrinn as soon as a vacancy—\" \"No. You will hire me now.\" \"It can't be done, Freeman Heraal. We have a budget, and we stick to it.\" \"You will rue! I will take drastic measures!\" Kallerian. And now, please, there are many applicants waiting—\" They surrounded the towering Kallerian and sweet-talkingly led him \"Please, please,\" squeaked the little alien pitifully. \"I must see you, honored sir!\" wasn't going to break up a good act just to make an alien squirrel happy—not to mention footing the transportation. I said, \"I don't see how we can manage it. The laws are very strict \"Well—\" \"Of course not.\" I took advantage of his pathetic upset to steam right along. \"Now if you had come in here and simply asked me to sign you up, I might conceivably have done it. But no—you had to go unburden your heart to me.\" About fifty more applicants were processed without a hitch. Then life started to get complicated again. Nine of the fifty were okay. The rest were unacceptable for one reason or another, and they took the bad news quietly enough. The haul for the day so far was close to two dozen new life-forms under contract. I had just about begun to forget about the incidents of the Kallerian's outside is . He doesn't know how to handle alien beings. How many times today has a life-form come in here unexpectedly?\" I scowled at him. \"Too damn many.\" \"You see? He's incompetent. Suppose you fire him, take me on instead. I've been living in the outworlds half my life I know all there is to I've had a hard day. There's been a Kallerian in here who just about The office door crashed open at that point and Heraal, the Kallerian, came thundering in. He was dressed from head to toe in glittering metalfoil, and instead of his ceremonial blaster, he was wielding a sword the length of a human being. Stebbins and Auchinleck came dragging helplessly along in his wake, hanging desperately to his belt. let him have it at the first sight of actual violence. Heraal boomed, \"You are responsible for what is to happen now. I have of the unfortunate Kallerian who filed the complaint with us several I'm responsible?\" \"This is the law. Do you deny that your stubborn refusal to yield to this late life-form's request lies at the root of his sad demise?\" \"Well, no, but—\" Closing my eyes wearily, I tried to wish the whole babbling lot of them away. If I had to, I could pony up the hundred-grand fine, but it was going to put an awful dent in this year's take. And I shuddered when I remembered that any minute that scrawny little Stortulian was likely to come bursting in here to kill himself too. Was it a fine of $100,000 per suicide? At that rate, I could be out of business by nightfall. I was spared further such morbid thoughts by yet another unannounced arrival. and stationed itself limply near the threshold. The three Ghrynian policemen and my three assistants forgot the dead Kallerian for a crackpots. In heart-rending tones, the Stortulian declared, \"Life is no longer worth living. My last hope is gone. There is only one thing left for me to do.\" I was quivering at the thought of another hundred thousand smackers going down the drain. \"Stop him, somebody! He's going to kill himself! He's—\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy was the large Kallerian not chosen for the journey?\n\n<options>:\nA There were already four Kallerians in inventory.\nB His species was too large to travel in the group.\nC He was argumentative during the interview process.\nD His payout demands exceeded their budget.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
] |
1,277 | 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, Not if you believe me. The first thing I can remember, the start of all this, was when I was and I was left there in the dark. Being four or five, I didn't know any better, so I thought Dad made it Alone in the dark, I wouldn't have had it so bad if it wasn't for the things that came to me. They were real to me. They never touched me, but they had a little boy. He looked the way I did in the mirror. They did unpleasant things to him. Because they were real, I talked about them as if they were real, and I almost earned a bunk in the home for retarded children until I got smart enough to keep the beasts to myself. My mother hated me. I loved her, of course. I remember her smell mixed up with flowers and cookies and winter fires. I remember she hugged me on my ninth birthday. The trouble came from the notes written in my awkward hand that she found, calling her names I didn't understand. It was two or three years later that I skulked into Brother Partridge's mission on Durbin Street. The preacher and half a dozen men were singing Onward Christian Soldiers in the meeting room. It was a drafty hall with varnished up around my stubbled jaw. I made my hand shaky as I ran it through my knotted hair. Partridge was supposed to think I was just a bum. As an inspiration, I hugged my chest to make him think I was some wino nursing a flask full of Sneaky Pete. All I had there was a piece of hands on the sides of his auctioneer's stand and leaned his splotched 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 received a fix. \"Brothers,\" Partridge went on after enjoying the interruption with a The Stars and Stripes Forever , 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 \"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 creased or worn. I pulled my hand out of the box. I tried couldn't lose that money, especially that century bill. Calm, I ordered myself. Calm. inside like a chicken having its neck wrung. The next time I glanced at the clock, it said ten minutes had gone by. My hand still wasn't free and I hadn't budged the box. \"This,\" Brother Partridge said, \"is one of the most profound experiences of my life.\" \"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.\" \"I've got something better than a conscience,\" I told him. Brother Partridge regarded me solemnly. \"There must be something special about you, for your apprehension to come through miraculous intervention. But I can't imagine what.\" \"I always get apprehended somehow, Brother,\" I said. \"I'm pretty special.\" \"Your name?\" \"William Hagle.\" No sense lying. I had been booked and printed before. I unfolded the note. Sure enough, it wasn't a hundred-dollar bill, but it was a twenty, and that was almost the same thing to me. I creased it call the cops. \"Remarkable,\" Partridge finally said when I got so hoarse I had to take a break. \"One is almost— almost —reminded of Job. William, you are being punished for some great sin. Of that, I'm sure.\" \"Punished for a sin? But, Brother, I've always had it like this, as long as I can remember. What kind of a sin could I have committed when I was fresh out of my crib?\" \"William, all I can tell you is that time means nothing in Heaven. Do \"Of course you have, William! Say you don't remember. Say you don't this \"William, if you atone for this sin, perhaps the horde of locusts will shook off the dizziness of it. \"By the Lord Harry, Brother, I'm going pretty sure he hadn't noticed it was a twenty. And then the bill seemed to lie there, heavy, a lead weight. It would for November. Two of them, dressed like Harvard seniors, caps and striped duffer \"What do you do, Jack?\" the fatter one asked. \"Stack boxes.\" \"Application?\" and do something permanent News . There was a pick-up slip from the warehouse under the fingers of one hand, and somebody had beaten his been there to get beaten up, it wouldn't have happened. I could see the point in making me suffer for it. There was a lot to be said for looking at it like that. But there was nothing to be said for telling Brother Partridge about the accident, or murder, or whatever had happened that day. non-objectionable bum. The librarian at the main desk looked sympathetically hostile, or hostilely sympathetic. \"I'd like to get into the stacks, miss,\" I said, \"and see some of the old newspapers.\" \"I didn't want to see the Times ,\" I said, fast. \"Don't you have any , bound, for last year.\" I nodded. \"That's the one I wanted to see.\" Energy, Boron, Brussels, Catapults, Demons, and Divans. like a bum, but I was young. You had to grant me that. She waved a hand at the rows of bound News and left me alone with double-breasted in Executive Suite while Walter Pidgeon and the rest \"Wisconsin.\" It felt like another, but I checked myself. I needed a clear head. I thought about going back to the hotel for some sleep I still had had been active in seeking labor-management peace in the recent difficulties.... I had read that a year before. The car cards on the clanking subway and the rumbling bus didn't seem nearly so interesting to me. Outside the the ad card readers, the girl watchers as the neat little carbon-copy modern homes breezed past the windows. I ignored the devils and concentrated on reading the withered, washed-out political posters on the telephone poles. My neck ached from holding it so stiff, staring out through the glass. More than that, I ugly, worried, tired, stupid look and he wore a shiny suit with a piece of a welcome mat or something for a necktie. Yeah, it was me. I really eyebrow. They couldn't do anything worse to the small man than they had done to the young boy. It was sort of nostalgic watching them, but I really got bored with all that violence and killing and killing the began to dose. The shrieks woke me up. For the first time, I could hear the shrieks of the monster's victim and listen to their obscene droolings. For the very first time in my life. Always before it had been all pantomime, like Charlie Chaplin. I nearly panicked, but I held myself in the seat and forced myself to be rational about it. My own voice was always saying things everybody sane as I ever was. There was no doubt about that. But a new thought suddenly impressed itself on me. Whatever was punishing me for my sin was determined that I turn back\n\n<question>:\nWhich word best describes William?\n\n<options>:\nA careful\nB manipulative\nC innocent\nD troubled\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
539 | 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 short, humanity's hopes for survival! Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Starship Pandora creaked and groaned as her landing pads settled unevenly in the mucky surface of the ugly world outside. She seemed to be restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years from but ten years of responsibility had pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under his reddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonies \"About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little ways north of us. They broke up about an hour ago and streaked off into the clouds.\" The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobody in the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back.\" Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmen something had happened to the exploration party fifteen years back, and to the more recent ship under Hennessy that was sent to check up. He turned to the port to stare out at the planet. The Sol-type sun trying to read sense into the things. If he had time to study them.... But there was no time. Earth had ordered him to detour here, after leaving his load of deep-sleep stored colonists on Official World 71, to check on any sign of Hennessy. He'd been here a week longer than he should have stayed report back. He would have left before, if a recent landslip hadn't exposed enough of the buried ship for his metal locators to spot from the air by luck. It had obviously been hidden deep enough to foil the detectors originally. his eye. The blobs had left the herd. Now the three were streaking at fantastic speed to a spot near the ship, to hover excitedly above something that moved there. jeeps were lining up. One, at the front, was stuttering into life, and Gwayne dashed for it as the exit port slid back. There was no time for suits or helmets. The air on the planet was irritating and vile smelling, but it could be breathed. He leaped to spite of the load of the two struggling boys! The creatures dived downward into lower ground, beginning to disappear into the mists. leave his suit the radio would have let him keep in contact with the the captain's attack. Its head hit rocky ground with a dull, heavy sound, and it collapsed. Gwayne eased back slowly, but it made no further move, though it was still breathing. his own head, as if feeling the shock of the monster's landing. \"I hope so,\" Gwayne told him. \"I want that thing to live—and you're detailed to save it and revive it. Find out if it can make sign language or draw pictures. I want to know what happened to Hennessy and why that ship was buried against detection. This thing may be the answer.\" Barker nodded grimly. \"I'll try, though I can't risk drugs on an alien no sign of native villages or culture. We should have found some.\" \"Troglodytes, maybe,\" Gwayne guessed. \"Anyhow, send for me when you get anything. I've got to get this ship back to Earth. We're overstaying our time here already.\" The reports from the cadets were satisfactory enough. They'd been fuel dumped? Only men would have known how to do that. And who told these creatures that a space ship's metal finders could be fooled by a little more than a hundred feet of solid rock? They'd buried the ship cunningly, and only the accidental slippage had undone their work. Maybe there would never be a full answer, but he had to find something—and find it fast. Earth needed every world she could make remotely habitable, or mankind was probably doomed to extinction. The race had blundered safely through its discovery of atomic weapons into a peace that had lasted two hundred years. It had managed to prevent an interplanetary war with the Venus colonists. It had found a drive that led to the stars, and hadn't even found intelligent life there to be dangerous on the few worlds that had cultures of their own. But forty years ago, observations from beyond the Solar System had finally proved that the sun was going to go nova. It wouldn't be much of an explosion, as such things go—but it would render the whole Solar System uninhabitable for millenia. To survive, man had to colonize. And there were no worlds perfect for him, as Earth had been. The the terraforming teams did what they could. And then the big starships began filling worlds with colonists, carried in deep sleep to conserve space. Almost eighty worlds. The nearest a four month journey from Earth and four more months back. In another ten years, the sun would explode, leaving man only on the footholds he was trying to dig among other solar systems. Maybe some of the strange worlds would let men spread his seed again. Maybe none would be spawning grounds for mankind in spite of the efforts. Each was precious as a haven for the race. If this world could be used, it would be nearer than most. If not, as it now seemed, no more time could be wasted here. They were perhaps a thousand yards away, waiting patiently. For what? For the return of their leader—or for something that would give the ship to them? their kids. Adults in eight years, but they stay shorter. It can't be set the combinations and pressed the studs. There was a hiss and gurgle as the great tanks of fuel discharged their contents out onto the ground where no ingenuity could ever recover it to bring life to the ship again. He'd have to tell the men and women of the crew later, after he'd had They don't require anything from us, but they like us around. Hennessy doesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came, all life here had twelve legs. Now they're changing that, as we've seen. \"And they don't have to be close to do it. We've all been outside the hull. It doesn't show yet—but we're changed. In another month, Earth food would kill us. We've got to stay here. We'll bury the ships deeper this time, and Earth won't find us. They can't risk trying a colony where three ships vanish, so we'll just disappear. And they'll never know.\" Nobody would know. Their children—odd children who matured in eight years—would be primitive savages in three generations. The Earth tools would be useless, impossible for the hands so radically changed. Nothing from the ship would last. Books could never be read by the new eyes. And in time, Earth wouldn't even be a memory to this world. She was silent a long time, staring out of the port toward what must now be her home. Then she sighed. \"You'll need practice, but the others It was the only thing they could do. Earth needed a place to plant her seed, but no world other than Earth could ever be trusted to preserve that seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already were becoming uncertain. to civilization. The gadgets would be lost for a time. But perhaps as rich a set of bloodlines as possible to give the new race strength. The fifty men and women on this ship will be needed to start them with a decent chance. We can't go to Earth, where nobody would believe or accept the idea—or even let us come back. We have to stay here.\" She smiled then and moved toward him, groping for his strength. \"Be fruitful,\" she whispered. \"Be fruitful and spawn and replenish an earth.\" \"No,\" he told her. \"Replenish the stars.\" But she was no longer listening, and that part of his idea could wait. Some day, though, their children would find a way to the starlanes again, looking for other worlds. With the blobs to help them, they could adapt to most worlds. The unchanged spirit would lead them through all space, and the changing bodies would claim worlds beyond numbering. Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for the\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the future of the Pandora?\n\n<options>:\nA It will stay on the planet forever.\nB It will return to Earth to report back on what they found.\nC It will rescue Hennessy’s crew and the exploring party.\nD It will remain in space.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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1,373 | 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>:\n\"The Stortulian will be duly punished,\" replied the leader of the Stebbins. \"Get the Terran Consulate on the phone, Stebbins. Have them Getting specimens for the interstellar zoo was no problem—they battled for the honor—but send down a legal adviser. Find out if there's any way we can get out keep a display from making a monkey of me! It was our first day of recruiting on the planet, and the alien life-forms had lined up for hundreds of feet back from my rented and smell them with ease. My three staff men, Auchinleck, Stebbins and Ludlow, walked shieldwise in front of me. I peered between them to size the crop up. The aliens them eager for a Corrigan contract. The Galaxy is full of bizarre beings, but there's barely a species anywhere that can resist the old exhibitionist urge. sign plastered to a facing wall: WANTED—EXTRATERRESTRIALS! We had saturated MacTavish IV with our promotional poop for a month preceding arrival. Stuff like this: Want to visit Earth—see the Galaxy's most glittering and exclusive world? Want to draw good pay, work short hours, experience the thrills of show business on romantic Terra? If you are a non-terrestrial, there may be a place for you in the Corrigan Institute of Morphological Science. No freaks wanted—normal beings only. J. F. packs in the crowds back on Earth. Why not? It's the best of its kind, the only really decent place where Earthmen can get a gander at the other species of the universe. \"I'll be placed on exhibition at your Institute on Earth. You'll pay for my services, transportation and expenses. I'll be required to remain on exhibit no more than one-third of each Terran sidereal day.\" on one side, two on the other. \"Wonderful! I will see Earth at last! I accept the terms!\" I buzzed for Ludlow and gave him the fast signal that meant we were I grinned, pleased with myself. We needed a green Regulan in our show the last one had quit four years ago. But just because we needed him didn't mean we had to be extravagant in hiring him. A Terraphile alien who goes to the extent of rechristening himself with a Terran monicker would work for nothing, or even pay us, just so long as we let him get to Earth. My conscience won't let me really exploit the successful proprietor of Corrigan's Institute, after some years as an impoverished carnival man in the Betelgeuse system. Back in 2903, the World Congress declared Terra off-bounds for non-terrestrial beings, as an offshoot of the Terra for Terrans movement. Before then, anyone could visit Earth. After the gate clanged down, a non-terrestrial could only get onto Sol III as a specimen in a scientific collection—in short, as an exhibit in a zoo. That's what the Corrigan Institute of Morphological Science really is, of course. A zoo. But we don't go out and hunt for our specimens we advertise and they come flocking to us. Every alien wants to see Earth once in his lifetime, and there's only one way he can do it. less than nineteen chlorine-breathing Procyonites wearing gas masks. It was also my sad duty to nix a Vegan who was negotiating through a Ghrynian agent. A Vegan would be a top-flight attraction, being some another one. I wondered what kind of stunt was being pulled. So far as I could tell, the being was quite plainly nothing but an Earthman. though he was clean and reasonably well dressed, he had a shabby look about him. He said, in level Terran accents, \"I'm looking for a job with your outfit, Corrigan.\" \"There's been a mistake. We're interested in non-terrestrials only.\" \"I'm a non-terrestrial. My name is Ildwar Gorb, of the planet Wazzenazz XIII.\" I don't mind conning the public from time to time, but I draw the line at getting bilked myself. \"Look, friend, I'm busy, and I'm not known for my sense of humor. Or my generosity.\" \"Very clever, Mr. Gorb.\" I grinned at him and shook my head. \"You spin a good yarn—but for my money, you're really Sam Jones or Phil Smith from Earth, stranded here and out of cash. You want a free trip back to Earth. No deal. The demand for beings from Wazzenazz XIII is pretty low these days. Zero, in fact. Good-by, Mr. Gorb.\" He pointed a finger squarely at me and said, \"You're making a big another chance.\" He slammed the door and I let my grim expression relax into a smile. This was the best con switch yet—an Earthman posing as an alien to get a job! But I wasn't buying it, even if I could appreciate his cleverness intellectually. There's no such place as Wazzenazz XIII and there's only one human race in the Galaxy—on Earth. I was going to need some real good reason before I gave a down-and-out grifter a free ticket home. trouble. \"You will hire me or trouble I will make!\" in a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but he didn't move. He bellowed, \"I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me to Earth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible!\" I'm a man of principles, like all straightforward double-dealers, and one of the most important of those principles is that I never let but he kept up a growling flow of invective and threats until he was Earth!\" \"But—\" \"I must see her—her and this disgrace-bringing lover of hers. I must reason with her. Earthman, can't you see I must appeal to her inner flame? I must bring her back! \" My face was expressionless. \"You don't really intend to join our organization at all—you just want free passage to Earth?\" \"Yes, yes!\" wailed the Stortulian. \"Find some other member of my race, if you must! Let me have my wife again, Earthman! Is your heart a dead wasn't going to break up a good act just to make an alien squirrel happy—not to mention footing the transportation. I said, \"I don't see how we can manage it. The laws are very strict on the subject of bringing alien life to Earth. It has to be for scientific purposes only. And if I know in advance that your purpose in coming isn't scientific, I can't in all conscience \"I thought the truth would move you.\" \"It did. But in effect you're now asking me to conspire in a fraudulent me,\" I said piously. \"Then you will refuse me?\" \"My heart melts to nothingness for you. But I can't take you to Earth.\" \"Perhaps you will send my wife to me here?\" There's a clause in every contract that allows me to jettison an unwanted specimen. All I have to do is declare it no longer of scientific interest, and the World Government will deport the undesirable alien back to its home world. But I wouldn't pull a low He spoke in a drab monotone that almost, but not quite, had me weeping. to commit suicide because of me. I have a conscience and it's troubling me. But get this: I just want to finish off my recruiting, pack up and go home to Earth. I don't want you hanging around here bothering me. I'm not looking to hire new staff members, and if you switch back to claiming you're an unknown life-form from Wazzenazz XIII, the answer is dragging helplessly along in his wake, hanging desperately to his belt. struggling little alien in an unbreakable tanglemesh.\n\n<question>:\nWhy was the narrator in so much trouble?\n\n<options>:\nA he refused to let certain beings go to Earth\nB he killed a non-terrestrial\nC he was responsible for a non-terrestrial death\nD he was conning non-terrestrials to go to Earth\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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1,244 | 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 he exerted pressure on the knob, a thin slit in the side of the intercom began feeding out a long sheet of paper the new answer from the Brain. It reached a certain length, then was automatically sheared off within the intercom, and the sheet fell gently to the desktop. any scheme almost on sight—even where they had eluded the best brains in the ad agency where he worked. So when the Chief of World Security told him that he had been selected as the answer to the Solar System's greatest mystery, Jery assumed that it was because of his mental agility. time to pierce the maze of out-of-this-world double-dealing. For Jery had become a walking bomb, and when he set himself off, it would be the end of the whole puzzle of THE SECRET MARTIANS—with Jery as the first to go! Jack Sharkey decided to be a writer nineteen years ago, in the Fourth \"I'd like to say I do this for fulfillment, or for cash, or because however, the real reason (same as that expressed by sleep late in the morning.\" 1 deadline memos. It was only a fraction of an instant between the time I saw them and the time they spoke to me, but in that miniscule interval I managed \"... Yes,\" I said, some terrified portion of my mind waiting masochistically for them to draw their collapsers and reduce me to a \" W-Will I be back?\" I asked desperately, as we waited for the Baxter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, then sighed, grinned wryly, and waggled an index finger at an empty plastic contour chair. \"I guess maybe you are at that, son. Sit down, sit down.\" \"I suppose you're wondering why I've called—\" he started, then stopped short and flushed with embarrassment. I felt a sympathetic hot wave flooding my own features. A copy chief in an advertising company almost always reacts to an obvious cliche. Then, with something like a look of relief on his blunt face, he snatched up a brochure from his kidney-shaped desktop and his eyes \"Oh ... Oh, well if you put it like that. It's girls, sir. They block \"I'm still not sure that I—\" \"It's like this. I designate ratios, by the minute. They hand me a new ad, and I read it by a stopwatch. Then, as soon as I spot the clinker, they stop the watch. If I get it in five seconds, it passes. But if I spot it in less, they throw it out and start over again. Or is that clear? No, I guess you're still confused, sir.\" \"Just a bit,\" Baxter said. I took a deep breath and tried again. \"Maybe an example would be better. Uh, you know the one about 'Three five. See?\" \"Ah,\" said Baxter, grinning. \"I begin to. And your job is to test these ads, before they reach the public. What fools you for five seconds will fool the average consumer indefinitely.\" I sat back, feeling much better. \"That's right, sir.\" \"They—they block my thinking, sir, that's all. Why, take that example I just mentioned. In plain writing, I caught the clinker in one-tenth of a second. Then they handed me a layout with a picture of a lawyer Colonies, by the Brain.\" \"You mean that International Cybernetics picked me for a mission? Baxter shrugged, and his genial smile was a bit tightly stretched. \"When the current emergency arose and all our usual methods failed, we had to submit the problem to the Brain.\" \"And,\" I said, beginning to be fascinated by his bewildered manner, \"what came out?\" and address!\" \"Uh-huh,\" Baxter grunted laconically. \"It amuses you, does it?\" The smile was still on his lips, but there was a grimness in the glitter of his narrowing eyes. \"Not really,\" I said hastily. \"It baffles me, to be frank.\" \"If you're sitting there in that hopeful stance awaiting some sort of to make. IC had none to make. Damn it all to hell!\" He brought a meaty fist down on the desktop. \"No one has an explanation! All we know is that the Brain always picks the right man.\" I let this sink in, then asked, \"What made you ask for a man in the first place, sir? I've always understood that your own staff \"Hold it, son. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. We asked for no man. We asked for a solution to an important problem. And your name was what we got. You, son, are the solution.\" Chief of Security or not, I was getting a little burned up at his highhanded treatment of my emotions. \"How nice!\" I said icily. \"Now if I only knew the problem!\" Baxter blinked, then lost some of his scowl. \"Yes, of course \" Baxter \"And you finally had to resort to the Brain, and it gave you my name, talk to me man-to-man. \"Look, son, an adding machine—which is a minor form of an electronic brain, and even works on the same principle—can tell you that two and two make four. But can it tell you why? \"Well, no, but—\" \"That, in a nutshell is our problem. We coded and fed to the Brain every shred of information at our disposal the ages of the children, last seen, and what they were wearing. Hell, everything! The machine took the factors, weighed them, popped them through its billions of relays and tubes, and out of the end of the answer slot popped a single \"That's just it,\" Baxter sighed. \"We don't even know that! We're like a savage who finds a pistol: used correctly, it's a mean little weapon Now, the question is: Which way do we point you?\" \"You got me!\" I shrugged hopelessly. given only to Security Agents, so deadly was its molecule-disrupting And well they might be. An Amnesty-bearer can suddenly decide a subject is not answering questions to his satisfaction and simply blast the annoying party to atoms. It makes for straight responses. Of course, \"I don't really have any details,\" I said, and waited for him to take his cue. As an afterthought, to help him talk, I added, \"At ease, by leaving a trace. \"Chow time, sir. That's when you expect to have the little—to have the kids in your hair, sir. Everyone wants his rations first—You know Earth is calculated with regard to the mass on board, is that correct?\" He nodded. \"Good, that clears up an important point. I'd also like to last—interview with Chief Baxter. I had a slight inkling why the Brain \"It's the Amnesty that does it,\" he said, gesturing toward the disc. It fed into the Brain would produce some other results, not involving me. protocol to be dealt with, government agencies to be checked with, classifications, bureaus, sub-bureaus, congressional committees. It consulting someone else. And the time lag and paperwork involved made accurate and swift action impossible, sometimes. What we needed, of would have put us right back where we'd been before. No, we left it up to the Brain. We'd find ourselves in a tight situation, and the Brain after being fed the data, would come up with either a solution, or a name.\" receive the Amnesty, is that it?\" Baxter nodded. \"The Brain just picks the men. Then we tell the men the situation, hand over the Amnesty, and pray.\" I had a sudden thought. \"Say, what happens if two men are selected by the Brain? Who has authority over whom?\" the thing was out of my hands. Baxter had the information I'd come up with, and it had been coded and fed to the Brain. As soon as the\n\n<question>:\nWhy is the Brain so effective?\n\n<options>:\nA it explains the best answer to any problem\nB it thinks like the most intelligent human\nC it uses logic to make the best decisions\nD it predicts the problem and the solution before it's asked\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "C"
}
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2,497 | 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 their nature cities along coasts and rivers developed so they could be open to trade with each other. From the middle of the 13th century, and for some 300 years after, many settlements dotted along this route formed the prosperous Hanseatic League, a European trading confederation of market towns, before the rise of the nation state led to its dissolution. The Hanseatic League is not well known, and today it lives on most prominently in the name of the German national airline Lufthansa, literally the 'Hansa of the skies', whose planes you can look out of – and down towards the Hanseatic cities – on the short journeys between mainland Europe and Britain. The letters HH on the number plates of cars in Hamburg stand for Hansestadt Hamburg: another proud little memory of this hidden history. In the traumatised atmosphere of post-Brexit Britain, it is worth remembering the Hanseatic League. It could point us towards new relationships between progressive city dwellers in a world that otherwise seems to be putting the brakes on modernity. and it was at exactly this point that the Hanseatic League slowly started to coalesce, eventually influencing our isles. The League is most easily understood as a loose federation of cities that acted together in self-interest to promote trade. The Hanseatic cities developed their own legal system, and their armies came to one another's aid. Merchants who wanted to buy and sell and travel were taking the lead at a time when nation states were not fit for purpose: in the case of England or Denmark, leadership was too centralised and authoritarian, while in German-speaking lands a nation had yet to be formed. The cities involved in the Hanseatic League are found along the Baltic and North Sea coasts, and slightly inland too. The League stretched from Novgorod in the east – in what is now Russia – to London in the west. Tallinn, Riga, Gdańsk, Visby, Berlin, Cologne, Antwerp, Stockholm, Bergen, Kiel, Rostock, Dinant, Bruges, Turku, Groningen, Hanover, Wroclaw, Kaliningrad: all were involved at different stages in the Hanse's history, which ran on into the 1500s. The League covered lands that today find themselves a part of the modern nations of Finland, Sweden, Poland, the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Norway, Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia. It was a huge – and hugely ambitious – undertaking in the days when communications consisted of ink and paper and the only viable method of travel was by ship. Wood, fur, wool, silver, herring, cod and salt were the main items traded. But what was also exchanged was knowledge. In some ways it was an exercise in what we today call 'soft diplomacy'. There was no maniacal ruler overseeing things – merchants met and talked. They raised armies and waged war against kings who threatened their businesses and their freedoms and their peace. There was a kind of proto-democracy at work. Professor Rainer Postel, of the Bundeswehr Universität (Germany's equivalent of Sandhurst military academy), has described the Hanse as \"a community of interests without power politics\". As David Abulafia, Professor of Mediterranean History at Cambridge points out, \"The lack of an elaborate superstructure was one of the things that made the Hanse work. Having said that, one should recognise that Lübeck in particular dominated the League for long periods.\" and where renewed recent interest in the Hanse eventually led to Angela Merkel cutting the ribbon at the brand new European Hansemuseum in the city last year. Germany today – multicultural, economically and culturally motoring, free and fair – seems like the ideal model for a modern European nation state. And part of that success lies in the gravitas the country has given to its Hanseatic history. For Germany is not a top-down country with one city unhealthily dominating as with France and Britain (regional economic inequalities have plagued Britain since the painful de-industrialisation of the 1980s, especially in the north). Germany respects federalism and its cities exist on a much more even keel. The way that Cologne, Munich, Frankfurt, Dusseldorf and Stuttgart all bring varied economic and cultural character to the party is pure Hanse. The former Hanseatic cities of Hamburg, Berlin and Bremen have city state status within Germany, putting them on the same level as a whole region or 'land' like Bavaria or Brandenburg. So how about a new Hanseatic League? I ask Benjamin Barber, senior fellow at New York's Fordham University. \"I believe you will find there is a new Hanse,\" he says, \"that constituted itself about 10 or 11 years ago – including many of the original Hanseatic League cities.\" Barber is founder of the Global Parliament of Mayors, which he describes as a kind of Hanse of all cities, not just European ports, which will give cities a global urban voice and a common platform for action. The parliament convenes for its inaugural session in The Hague in September. \"Cities both exist within nations and transcend nations. Their power lies not just in the extent of de jure autonomy ceded or granted by 'higher' levels of government,\" says Bruce Katz, centennial scholar at the Washington DC thinktank the Brookings Institution. \"Rather, cities have de facto power, the result of larger market and demographic forces and environmental imperatives that value proximity, density, connectivity and quality. Smart nations will see themselves as partners to their cities, setting strong platforms for urban prosperity and devolving powers, where appropriate, to give cities the flexibility to perform… Dumb nations will continue to dictate from above, stifling market activity and urban potential.\" But could we go further? Could cities like London declare independence from the UK? London's economy is larger than that of Scotland and Wales combined. \"States will not vanish or surrender their waning sovereignty,\" says Benjamin Barber. \"But cities will meet across frontiers and work together to solve problems. The objective is not an independent London or New York, but interdependent cities collaborating globally. And that is happening.\" London's voters largely wanted to remain a part of the EU and to maintain the city's status as an entrepôt. There is clearly a widening chasm between urban and rural life at the heart of many nations. Visualisations of Austria's recent presidential election showed the issue clearly: the country's cities voted for the Green candidate Alexander Van der Bellen, while the the rural districts went for right-wing nationalist Norbert Hofer (whose legal challenge to the close result has resulted in a rerun being announced for October). And in the USA in November, it's likely that Trump voters will also come from rural areas and Clinton voters from the cities. City dwellers are finding ever more in common with the world's other city dwellers than with their countrymen 50 miles down the road. and of London and Scotland and their relationship with the rest of Europe. When the EU began as the EEC in the mid-20th century some saw it as a modern day Hanse. Now the EU seems to be waning, perhaps its successor will have to ape the Hanse even more.\" For all its complex beauty, life can ultimately be reduced to a series of binary options: yes or no, stick or twist, in or out, innovation or stagnation, modernity or mythology. The referendum result was disappointing for many progressive observers because it felt like a step backwards. Despite being primarily about trade monopolies and money making, the Hanse was, in its way, an early stab at stepping forwards: it encompassed internationalism, rational thought, free trade, loose democratic institutions and, most crucially of all, movement. \"The Hanseatic League was not always accepted by local citizens,\" says Cristina Ampatzidou, \"because the privileges granted to the Hanse merchants were forcing local traders out of competition and many cities took steps to eliminate them. The reasons the countryside is turning to the right [globally] are not independent from cities turning increasingly into speculation machines for the profit of a happy few. It is basically these systemic contradictions that must be addressed before we resort to more isolationist ideas that would intensify the urban-rural political divide. The bottom line is not whether a contemporary Hanse-esque federation is possible, it probably is\n\n<question>:\nThe Hanseatic League is most closely aligned with which form of government?\n\n<options>:\nA democracy\nB confederation\nC socialism\nD anarchy\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
1,389 | 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>:\n... and it comes out here By LESTER DEL REY Illustrated by DON SIBLEY don't have the right attitude toward tenses for a situation like this. Anyhow, you'll let me in. I did, so you will. 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 machine out there too long—until you get used to it, you'll find it's how you feel I felt the same way when he—that is, of course, I or years. And you can look at the revenue stamp date, if you still doubt my story. You'll believe it eventually, though, so it doesn't matter. Right now, you're shocked. It's a real wrench when a man meets himself for the first time. Some kind of telepathy seems to work between two of the same people. You sense and you'll be getting used to the idea that you are the man who makes who put atomic power in every home. You won't exactly believe it, but you'll want to go along. it isn't there. There is exactly nothing there—in fact, there is no there turns over and pokes back at you. Doesn't hurt, and when you pull your You turn to me, getting used to the idea. \"So this is the fourth dimension?\" you ask. Then you feel silly, because you'll remember that I said you'd ask if you're going to skip over the so-called fourth without traveling along it, you'd need a fifth. Don't ask me. I didn't invent 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?\" feel a dankish sort of air replace the stale air, and you breathe of simple, short-limbed, one-piece affair I put on, but it feels comfortable. 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.\" \"Since nobody ever stole it, it's safe.\" We get in the elevator, and I say \"first\" to it. It gives out a no feeling of acceleration—some kind of false gravity they use in the questions of a man, who points, and I turn and move off. them, realizing for the first time that things have changed. that announces: Trav:l Biwrou—F:rst-Clas Twrz—Marz, Viin*s, and 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 go home. But then a guard comes to the gate. Except for the short legs in his suit and the friendly grin on his face, he looks like any other \"Thanks,\" you mutter, wondering what kind of civilization can produce them to check his latest theory of how they work. Too bad he could not explain the principle, either. Someone will, some day, though. Lord, the genius of that twentieth century inventor! It's quite a goes through a crazy wiggle inside, stops turning out a continual row of what seem to be bearings, and slips something the size of a penny 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, lot smaller than you thought. They seem to be in chronological order, and the latest one, marked 2147—Rincs Dyn*pat: , is about the size of a desk telephone. The earlier ones are larger, of course, clumsier, but with variations, probably depending on the power output. A big sign that this is the first invention which leaped full blown into basically 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 fact that they have the original model of the first atomic generator chosen cyclic rate from direct current to one thousand megacycles, and any amperage up to one thousand, its maximum power output being fifty kilowatts, limited by the current-carrying capacity of the each side. \"Nice,\" the guard says over your shoulder. \"It finally wore out one of the cathogrids and we had to replace that, but otherwise it's exactly 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 to nineteenth century man. You'll pardon me?\" You work down the line. It'd be foolish to take the early model if you probably bolted down, too, but you try it tentatively and you find it it only weighs about fifty pounds! Naturally, it can be carried. You expect a warning bell, but nothing happens. As a matter of fact, happen to you. But of course, just as I did, you're going to miss a lot of what I say from now on, and have to find out for yourself. But 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. There's another yell behind you. 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 seeming to come out of the sockets, and that atomic generator getting heavier at every step. \"You can't exert yourself that hard in this heat, fellow,\" the cop Reaction sets in a bit and your knees begin to buckle, but you shake it. The stranger lifts an eyebrow and goes off at once when you nod dissimilar in other ways. He snaps it open and you get set to duck. \"You forgot the prints, monograph, and patent applications,\" he says. 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 you for some more information, which you give him at random. It seems to satisfy your amiable guard friend. He finally smiles in satisfaction doped out the fact that they'd been robbed, or whether they were trying to help you. You don't care which it is. The field springs up around you don't care. You jump out and start pulling out that atomic generator and taking it inside. It isn't hard to disassemble, but you don't learn a thing just some things that can be made easily enough, all obviously of common metals. But when you put it together again, about an hour later, you notice something. Everything in it is brand-new and there's one set of copper wires missing! It won't work. You put some #12 house wire in, exactly like the set on the other side, drop in some iron filings, and try it again. in time, somehow, and is back to its original youth—minus the But you begin getting more of a jolt when you find that the papers are all in your own writing, that your name is down as the inventor, and that the date of the patent application is 1951. It will begin to soak in, then. You pick up an atomic generator in the yourself.... Who invented what? And who built which? Before long, your riches from the generator are piling in. Little kids from school are coming around to stare at the man who changed history and made atomic power so common that no nation could hope to 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 letter. But you're thinking of the puzzle. You can't find any answer. view—and telling your younger self all these things I'm telling you. But now.... Well, the drinks are finished. You're woozy enough to go along with me without protest, and I want to find out just why those people up there\n\n<question>:\nWhich isn't a feeling that the older man expects of the younger man?\n\n<options>:\nA anger\nB worry\nC confusion\nD surprise\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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2,214 | 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 can be hired, of course, and naturally doesn't care who hires it. Something much the same can be said of the gunman, too.... GUN FOR HIRE By MACK against man's corroding efforts. It was while he was flying with Brett-James on the second day that the shotgun barrel, now resting on the car's window ledge. Temple-Tracy guy, I gotta go on the run, don't I?\" \"I see.\" Brett-James cleared his \"Who's it?\" he growled. getaway. After I give it to this Howard Joe Prantera said impatiently, \"The caved inward upon Joseph Marie didn't, huh? What happens after I and wait for the cops to put the arm on me?\" Brett-James grimaced in amusement. \"Mr. Prantera, this will probably he hadn't completely pulled the trigger. That at least meant that whatever the rap was it wouldn't be too Brett-James cleared his throat. \"Mr. Prantera, there are no banks.\" \"No banks! You gotta have banks!\" Brett-James said reasonably, \"We things you guys say don't stick together so good. Now, first place, where's this guy Temple-Tracy you want knocked off?\" Reston-Farrell and Brett-James were both present. The three of them sat in the living room of the latter's Reston-Farrell. If I am not mistaken, reasonably. \"You gotta have a finger.\" Brett-James said, \"Why not just go to Temple-Tracy's apartment and, ah, dispose of him?\" \"Jest walk in, eh? You think I'm stupid? How do I know how many witnesses hangin' around? How do I know if the guy's carryin' heat?\" gives it to me instead.\" Dr. Reston-Farrell said, \"Howard Temple-Tracy lives alone. He customarily receives visitors every afternoon, largely potential followers. He door had opened for Reston-Farrell. is attempting to recruit members to an organization he is forming. It enter his establishment and dispose of him. I assure you, he does not possess weapons.\" Reston-Farrell said, \"I am afraid, Mr. Salviati-Prantera, that these are building? Where's my get car parked? Where do I hide out? Where do I dump the heat?\" \"Dump the heat?\" \"Get rid of the gun. You want I should get caught with the gun on I imagine,\" Reston-Farrell told him, \"but, you see, we no longer punish \"The motivation for crime has been removed, Mr. Prantera,\" Reston-Farrell against another is obviously in need of medical care. And, consequently, receives it.\" \"You mean, like, if I steal a car or Reston-Farrell had approached the door by which he had entered and it \"Why would anybody wish to steal a car?\" Reston-Farrell said easily. institution. Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy is the last man you will ever kill, Mr. Prantera.\" Reston-Farrell, the one Joe had already \"Yes,\" Brett-James said evenly. Joe said coldly, \"And what happens to you guys? How do you know I won't rat on you?\" Brett-James said gently, \"The moment after you have accomplished \"Now I'm beginning to wonder The doctor said, \"We explained the other day, Mr. Prantera. Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy is a dangerous, atavistic, evil genius. We are afraid for our institutions if his plans Reston-Farrell said, \"Of course,\" Warren Brett-James said soothingly, \"Prepare yourself for somewhat of a shock, Mr. Prantera. You are no Temple-Tracy is aware of this and finds his recruits among the young.\" \"O.K., so this guy is dangerous. You want him knocked off before he screws everything up. But the way patsy. Not me.\" \"I am afraid you have no alternative,\" Brett-James said gently. \"Without us, what will you do? Mr. Prantera, are you guys talking about?\" Warren Brett-James said softly, \"Mr. Prantera, you are no longer in Reston-Farrell said, \"I am afraid we Dr. Reston-Farrell controlled the car. Joe Prantera sat in the seat next to him and Warren Brett-James sat had been solved. The others were nervous, obviously \"Not exactly,\" Brett-James said, frowning. Reston-Farrell said, \"Suffice to say, out. He knew it wouldn't have taken much for them to cancel the you guys better let me in on what's Warren Brett-James said, \"Quite sure. He is a student of history.\" \"And he won't think it's funny I Joe Prantera came abruptly to his feet. \"I'm gettin' outta here.\" For the second time, Reston-Farrell to their speed in this era—whooshed him to the penthouse duplex occupied by Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy. There were two persons in the reception Big Louis.\" \"Yes,\" Brett-James said, his voice soft. \"They are all dead, Mr. Prantera. Their children are all dead, and their grandchildren.\" The two men of the future said something. Joe said, \"Joseph Salviati-Prantera to interview Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy.\" The other's shaggy eyebrows rose. \"Indeed,\" he said. \"In Amer-English?\" are, a professional assassin.\" \"Hey, wait a minute, now.\" Reston-Farrell went on, ignoring in the room. Joe Prantera ignored it and remained standing. Citizen Temple-Tracy said, \"What to dispose of a contemporary named can I do for you?\" this here is?\" Temple-Tracy stared at the weapon. \"It's a handgun, circa, I would Brett-James said, \"Mr. Prantera, there are no professional assassins in this age, nor have there been for over knows the ropes these days.\" say, about 1925 Old Calendar. What a century and a half.\" in some gutter with a lotta holes in you. What I'm doin', I'm askin' for a job. You need a good man knows how story, though. First off, I better tell you you got some bad enemies, Chief. Two guys special, named Brett-James and Doc Reston-Farrell. I think one of the first jobs I'm gunna hafta do again.\" Brett-James said, \"Let me do it, Lawrence.\" He turned his eyes to Joe. \"Yes, like that,\" Brett-James the reasons for international wanta know is what's all this about me to knock this guy off?\" Reston-Farrell bent forward and thumped his right index finger twice \"You know, that is one aspect we had not considered.\" Brett-James said to Joe Prantera, \"Had we not, ah, taken you at the time we did, do you realize what Brett-James was shaking his head. \"No. You see, by coincidence, a police squad car was coming down the to doubt their word. Reston-Farrell said, \"As to reward, Mr. Prantera, we have already told \"Waita minute, now. You figure on gettin' me candled by some head shrinker, eh? No thanks, Buster. I'm going back to my own—\" Brett-James was shaking his head again. \"I am afraid there is no return, He spent the first three days of his life in the year 2133 getting the feel of things. Brett-James and Reston-Farrell involved, the better. He stayed in the apartment of Reston-Farrell. Joe had been right, Reston-Farrell was a medical doctor. Brett-James evidently had something to do with the process that had enabled\n\n<question>:\nWhy do Reston-Farrell and Brett-James want Howard Temple-Tracy dead?\n\n<options>:\nA Howard Temple-Tracy is an evil genius recruiting people to his cult.\nB Howard Temple-Tracy is a terrorist bent on destroying North America.\nC Howard Temple-Tracy is an evil genius trying to take over the world.\nD Howard Temple-Tracy is a hitman trying to kill Reston-Farrell and Brett-James. They are just defending themselves.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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1,314 | 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>:\nThose existential speculations don't derive from the screenplay's source, an archetypal but otherwise down-to-earth 1962 novel by James Jones (who also wrote From Here to Eternity ) about the American invasion of the South Pacific island of Guadalcanal. They're central to Malick's vision of the story, however, and not specious. In the combat genre, the phrase \"war is hell\" usually means nothing more than that it's a bummer to lose a limb or two, or to see your buddy get his head blown off. A true work of art owes us more than literal horrors, and Malick obliges by making his theater of war the setting for nothing less than a meditation on the existence of God. He tells the story solemnly, in three parts, with a big-deal cast (Sean Penn, Nick Nolte, John Cusack) and a few other major stars (John Travolta, Woody Harrelson, George Clooney) dropping by for cameos. After an Edenic prelude, in which a boyishly idealistic absent without leave soldier, Pvt. Witt (Jim Caviezel), swims with native youths to the accompaniment of a heavenly children's choir, the first part sees the arrival of the Allied forces on the island, introduces the principal characters (none of whom amounts to a genuine protagonist), and lays out the movie's geographical and philosophical terrain. The centerpiece--the fighting--goes on for over an hour and features the most frantic and harrowing sequences, chiefly the company's initially unsuccessful frontal assault on a Japanese hilltop bunker. The coda lasts nearly 40 minutes and is mostly talk and cleanup, the rhythms growing more relaxed until a final, incongruous spasm of violence--whereupon the surviving soldiers pack their gear and motor off to another South Pacific battle. In the final shot, a twisted tree grows on the waterline of the beach, the cycle of life beginning anew. Malick puts a lot of shining things on the screen: soldiers, natives, parrots, bats, rodents, visions of Eden by way of National Geographic and of the Fall by way of Alpo. Malick's conception of consciousness distributes it among the animate and inanimate alike almost every object is held up for rapturous contemplation. I could cite hundreds of images: A soldier in a rocking boat hovers over a letter he's writing, which is crammed from top to bottom and side to side with script. (You don't know the man, but you can feel in an instant his need to cram everything in.) A small, white-bearded Melanesian man strolls nonchalantly past a platoon of tensely trudging grunts who can't believe they're encountering this instead of a hail of Japanese bullets. Two shots bring down the first pair of soldiers to advance on the hill Whether or not these pearllike epiphanies are strung is another matter. Malick throws out his overarching theme--is nature two-sided, at war with itself?--in the first few minutes but, for all his startling juxtapositions, he never dramatizes it with anything approaching the clarity of, say, Brian De Palma's Casualties of War (1989). Besides the dialogue between Welsh and Witt, The Thin Red Line 's other organizing story involves a wrenching tug of war between Nolte's ambition-crazed Tall and Capt. Staros (Elias Koteas), who refuses an order to send his men on what will surely be a suicidal--and futile--assault on a bunker. But matters of cause and effect don't really interest Malick. Individual acts of conscience can and do save lives, and heroism can win a war or a battle, he acknowledges. But Staros is ultimately sent packing, and Malick never bothers to trace the effect of his action on the Guadalcanal operation. In fact, the entire battle seems to take place in a crazed void. Tall quotes Homer's \"rosy-fingered dawn\" and orders a meaningless bombardment to \"buck the men up--it'll look like the Japs are catching hell.\" Soldiers shoot at hazy figures, unsure whether they're Japanese or American. Men collide, blow themselves in half with their own mishandled grenades, stab themselves frantically with morphine needles, shove cigarettes up their noses to keep the stench of the dying and the dead at bay. A tiny bird, mortally wounded, flutters in the grass. Malick is convincing--at times overwhelming--on the subject of chaos. It's when he tries to ruminate on order that he gets gummed up, retreating to one of his gaseous multiple mouthpieces: \"Where is it that we were together? Who is it that I lived with? Walked with? The brother. ... The friend. ... One mind.\" I think I'd have an easier time with Malick's metaphysical speculations if I had a sense of some concomitant geopolitical ones--central to any larger musings on forces of nature as viewed through the prism of war. Couldn't it be that the German and Japanese fascist orders were profoundly anti-natural, and that the Allies' cause was part of a violent but natural correction? You don't have to buy into Spielberg's Lincolnesque pieties in Saving Private Ryan to believe that there's a difference between World War II and Vietnam (or, for that matter, World War II and the invasion of Grenada or our spats with Iraq). While he was at Harvard, Malick might have peeled himself off the lap of his pointy-headed mentor, Stanley Cavell, the philosopher and film theorist, and checked out a few of Michael Waltzer's lectures on just and unjust wars. Maybe then he'd view Guadalcanal not in an absurdist vacuum (the soldiers come, they kill and are killed, they leave) but in the larger context of a war that was among the most rational (in its aims, if not its methods) fought in the last several centuries. For all his visionary filmmaking, Malick's Zen neutrality sometimes seems like a cultivated--and pretentious--brand of fatuousness. Zaillian is at his most assured when he cuts back and forth between Facher's Harvard Law School lectures on what not to do in court and Schlichtmann's fumbling prosecution. The sequence has the extra dimension of good journalism: It dramatizes and comments simultaneously. Plus, it gives Duvall a splendid platform for impish understatement. (Duvall has become more fun to watch than just about anyone in movies.) Elsewhere, Zaillian takes a more surface approach, sticking to legal minutiae and rarely digging for the deeper evil. As in his Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993), the outcome of every scene is predictable, but how Zaillian gets from beat to beat is surprisingly fresh. He also gets sterling bit performances from Sydney Pollack as the spookily sanguine Grace CEO, William H. Macy as Schlichtmann's rabbity accountant, and Kathleen Quinlan as the mother of one of the victims. Quinlan knows that when you're playing a woman who has lost a child you don't need to emote--you reveal the emotion by trying not to emote. To the families involved in the Woburn tragedy, the real climax of this story isn't the downbeat ending of the book or the sleight of hand, \"let's call the Environmental Protection Agency,\" upbeat ending of the movie. The climax is the publication of a book that takes the plaintiffs' side and that remains on the best-seller list in hardcover and paperback for years. The climax is the movie starring John Travolta. Beatrice and Grace made out OK legally, but some of us will never use their products again without thinking about Travolta losing his shirt in the name of those wasted-away little kids.\n\n<question>:\nWhy did the author discuss the movies in this text?\n\n<options>:\nA they're all based on real-world events\nB they're all meant to improve our views on historical events\nC they all had famous, excellent actors\nD they're all well-written by famous screenwriters\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
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397 | 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>:\nRetief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grew called Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importance intend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force.\" \"This is open aggression, Retief,\" he said, \"in case I haven't made Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They're farmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role in their economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The war potential, by conventional standards, is nil.\" \"First,\" he said. \"The Soetti War Plan—in detail. We were fortunate enough to make contact with a defector from a party of renegade Terrestrials who've been advising the Soetti.\" He folded another finger. \"Next, a battle plan for the Jorgensen's people, worked out by \"I'll carry it, sealed,\" Retief said. \"That way nobody can sweat it out of me.\" Magnan started to shake his head. \"I've heard of these Jorgensen's Worlds,\" Retief said. \"I remember an \"That doesn't leave me much time.\" \"I have your itinerary here. Your accommodations are clear as far as Aldo Cerise. You'll have to rely on your ingenuity to get you the rest of the way.\" all our eggs in one basket, Retief. I hope their confidence in you is \"A skilled electronics crew can do the job in a matter of minutes. The Jorgensens can handle it very nicely every other man is a mechanic of some sort.\" Retief opened the envelope Magnan handed him and looked at the tickets inside. \"Less than four hours to departure time,\" he said. \"I'd better not start any long books.\" \"You'd better waste no time getting over to Indoctrination,\" Magnan Soetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen's Worlds \"I'll tell you what,\" Retief said soberly. \"In a pinch, I'll mention your name.\" \"You'll be traveling with Class X credentials,\" Magnan snapped. \"There must be nothing to connect you with the Corps.\" \"They'll never guess,\" Retief said. \"I'll pose as a gentleman.\" II Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on the counter, studying the schedules chalked on the board under the legend Retief from the corner of his eye. Retief glanced at him. \"Two twenty-eight, due out today for the Jorgensen group,\" Retief said. \"If I have to come around this counter,\" Retief said, \"I'll feed that Retief looked at him. \"Which gate?\" Retief said. \"For the two twenty-eight for Jorgensen's Worlds,\" Retief said. Retief followed the signs, threaded his way through crowds, found a with a scarred jawline and small eyes was slouching there in a rumpled gray uniform. He put out a hand as Retief started past him. \"Lessee your boarding pass,\" he muttered. Retief pulled a paper from an inside pocket, handed it over. Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder. \"Somebody in the cabin. Get 'em out.\" He rolled a cold eye at Retief as \"Too bad,\" Retief said. \"Finders keepers.\" Retief turned to the baggage on the floor, tossed it into the hall. The Retief looked up. A gaunt leathery-skinned man wearing white ducks, a \"I'm captain of this vessel,\" the first man said. \"You've got two minutes to haul your freight out of here, buster.\" \"When you can spare the time from your other duties,\" Retief said, Two big men edged into the cabin, looking at Retief. Retief put his cigar in an ashtray, and swung his feet off the bunk. \"We're due to lift in twenty minutes.\" The thick-necked man and the Captain both shouted at once. The Captain's voice prevailed. \"—twenty minutes ... uniform Code ... gonna do?\" \"Close the door as you leave,\" Retief said. Four waiters passed Retief's table without stopping. A fifth leaned against the wall nearby, a menu under his arm. At a table across the room, the Captain, now wearing a dress uniform and with his thin red hair neatly parted, sat with a table of male passengers. He talked loudly and laughed frequently, casting occasional glances Retief's way. A panel opened in the wall behind Retief's chair. Bright blue eyes \"Looks like it, old-timer,\" Retief said. \"Maybe I'd better go join the Retief ate slowly. Time always dragged on shipboard. Four days to Jorgensen's Worlds. Then, if Magnan's information was correct, would be good to know what Jorgensen's Worlds would be up against. Retief finished the steak, and the chef passed out the baked Alaska and coffee. Most of the other passengers had left the dining room. Mr. Tony and his retainers still sat at the Captain's table. As Retief watched, four men arose from the table and sauntered across \"You must want to get to Jorgensen's pretty bad,\" the thug said in a Retief looked at the coffee cup, picked it up. The thug squinted at Retief. \"A wise hick,\" he began. Retief looked at Mr. Tony, still standing open-mouthed. Retief heard the panel open beside him. He turned and walked away. The captain signaled and two waiters came up. Retief watched as they carted the casualty from the dining room. those long days.\" \"They don't like me bringing yer meals to you in yer cabin,\" Chip said. \"But the cap'n knows I'm the best cook in the Merchant Service. They won't mess with me.\" \"What has Mr. Tony got on the captain, Chip?\" Retief asked. \"Sure. What have they got against my going to Jorgensen's Worlds?\" \"I'll bet you can still handle it, Old Timer. What are Jorgensen's aboard for Jorgensen's?\" Retief looked at him questioningly. feet tapping on the floor. A flaring metal helmet shaded the deep-set compound eyes, and a loose mantle flapped around the knobbed knees. Behind the alien, the captain hovered nervously. \"Who's your friend, Captain?\" Retief said. \"Last chance,\" Retief said. Skaw stood poised, open pincers an inch \"He's dead.\" The captain stared at Retief. \"We're all dead men,\" he that's the secret.\" \"Maybe you got a point,\" the captain said, looking at Retief. \"All they got's a three-man scout. It could work.\" \"That,\" Retief said, \"would be a hard one to answer.\" Retief awoke at a tap on his door. \"You want to get to Jorgensen's perty bad, don't you, Mister?\" Retief sat up and reached for a cigar. by-passin' Jorgensen's Worlds. We'll feel the course change any minute.\" Retief nodded, opened the door and stepped into the cabin. The captain \"I think we'd better call in at Jorgensen's.\" just hold your course for Jorgensen's.\" \"Power Section, this is the captain,\" he said. Retief reached across \"And one to go,\" Retief said. \"Tell him.\" the mike and looked up at Retief. \"It's eighteen hours yet before we pick up Jorgensen Control. You going Retief released the captain's wrist and turned to the door. Retief settled himself in a chair. stay here and help you hold your course for Jorgensen's Worlds.\" Retief took out the needler and put it on the desk before him.\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Retief's mission to Jorgensen's Worlds so important?\n\n<options>:\nA He held vital information that could change the picture of the future of the area\nB He was a useful aggressor who could take down an entire army if needed\nC He was responsible for ensuring that Tony did not enter Jorgensen's Worlds\nD He was the only member who was skilled in traveling\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "A"
}
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78 | 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>:\nShannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed knocked over the pitcher of thil , but it didn't matter. The pitcher very hard. Not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough to spring them. \"We,\" he said, \"are broke. We are finished, through. Washed up and down the drain.\" He added, as an afterthought, \"Destitute.\" I looked at him. I said sourly, \"You're kidding!\" \"Kidding.\" Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me through I'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show in Space, plastered so thick with attachments....\" \"It's no more plastered than you are.\" I was sore because he'd been a lot quicker grabbing the pitcher. \"The Greatest Show in Space. Phooey! Buckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's face Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see his grey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martian girl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch the Somebody said, \"Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister Buckhalter Shannon?\" He said, \"I don't think you understand.\" I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chair back. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. I 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.\" circus than even I could stand. 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. I waved the money in their faces. That stopped them. Very solemnly, Bucky and I checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts. Bucky yawned and stretched sleepily. 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. guy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. But Bucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged. The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall down the ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't.... Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends? the long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks and compression units. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn't breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled around them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, and then wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again. A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell, time. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name I could think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a great metallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gow had them nicely conditioned to that gong. them. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought—like I wanted to put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night, . There may not even be any.\" Gertrude screamed again. She didn't move, not even to raise her head. The sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. That close, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and cold inside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, \"You'll have to snap her out of this, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts.\" \"You were right, Jig,\" he mumbled. \"Circus is no good. I know it. But I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limp and heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans and roars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it all I could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, \" Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wants to kill us! \" I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. I sobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. One of Bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. We fell. I rolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in the Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking, \"This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared!\" Then I went out. I said, \"Yeah,\" and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell down a couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over the washstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damned snakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotch plaid. I felt sick. \"Jig,\" he said, \"those vapor worms were all right when we went in. Somebody followed us down and let them out. On purpose.\" I hurt all over. I growled, \"With that brain, son, you should go far. 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. \"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 screaming. The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing in the mud. The paste brigade was heading for the shacks. Shannon and I I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman was standing in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and her triangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. She didn't have anything on They are angry, and I smell death in the wind!\" She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tight and cold. Bucky said, \"Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump.\" We weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landing 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.\" of his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. He was covered with mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's. got to go back. Back where I found it. I tried to take it, but they wouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it....\" 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 over to the bar.\n\n<question>:\nWhy was the Circus is danger of closing?\n\n<options>:\nA They lacked impressive skills now that more of their kind had surfaced.\nB They were out of money and out of options.\nC They were no longer able to manage the lot of animals they had acquired.\nD They were too inebriated to be coherent.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
2,517 | 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>:\nSharism: A Mind Revolution With the People of the World Wide Web communicating more fully and freely in Social Media while rallying a Web 2.0 content boom, the inner A key fact is that a superabundance of community respect and social capital are being accumulated by those who share. The key motivator of Social Media and the core spirit of Web 2.0 is a mind switch called Sharism. Sharism suggests a re-orientation of personal values. We see it in User Generated Content. It is the pledge of Creative Commons. It is in the plans of future-oriented cultural initiatives. Sharism is also a mental practice that anyone can try, a social-psychological attitude to transform a wide and isolated world into a super-smart Social Brain. The Neuron Doctrine Sharism is encoded in the Human Genome. Although eclipsed by the many pragmatisms of daily life, the theory of Sharism finds basis in neuroscience and its study of the working model of the human brain. Although we can’t entirely say how the brain works as a whole, we do have a model of the functional mechanism of the nervous system and its neurons. A neuron is not a simple organic cell, but a very powerful, electrically excitable biological processor. Groups of neurons form vastly interconnected networks, which, by changing the strength of the synapses between cells, can process information, and learn. A neuron, by sharing chemical signals with its neighbors, can be integrated into more meaningful patterns that keep the neuron active and alive. Moreover, such a simple logic can be iterated and amplified, since all neurons work on a similar principle of connecting and sharing. Originally, the brain is quite open. A neural network exists to share activity and information, and I believe this model of the brain should inspire ideas and decisions about human networks. Thus, our brain supports sharing in its very system-nature. This has profound implications for the creative process. Whenever you have an intention to create, you will find it easier to generate more creative idea-forming-process is not linear, but more like an avalanche of amplifications along the thinking path. It moves with the momentum of a creative snowball. If your internal cognitive system encourages sharing, you can engineer a feedback loop of happiness, which will help you However, daily decisions for most adults are quite low in creative productivity, if only because they’ve switched off their sharing paths. People generally like to share what they create, but in a culture that tells them to be protective of their ideas, people start to believe in the danger of sharing. Then Sharism will be degraded in their mind and share, her sharing paths will stay open. Sharism will be kept in her mind as a memory and an instinct. If in the future she faces a creative choice, her choice will be, “Share.” These mind-switches are too subtle to be felt. But since the brain, and society, is a connected system, the accumulation of these micro-attitudes, from neuron to neuron and person to person, can result in observable behavior. It is easy to tell if a person, a group, a company, a nation is oriented toward Sharism or not. For those who are potential gains of sharing. This lost knowledge is a black hole in our life, which may start to swallow other values as well. Non-sharing culture misleads us with its absolute separation of Private New Technologies and the Rise of Sharism than just E-mail. It’s Sharism. can have better control over a wide spectrum of relationships. Like how Flickr allows people to share their photos widely, but safely. The checkbox-based privacy of Flickr may seem unfamiliar to a new user, but you can use it to toy with the mind-switches of Sharism. By checking a box we can choose to share or not to share. From my observations, I have ecosystem. This interconnectedness allows memes to travel along multiple online social networks, and potentially reach a huge audience. As a Sharism in our closed culture. If you happened to lose your Sharism in a bad educational or cultural Sharism as a spiritual practice. But you must practice everyday. Then, if anything interesting comes your way: Share It! The easiest way to both start and keep sharing is by using different kinds of social might be hard to feel the gains of Sharism. The true test then is to see shared by friends in your network. Since you know and trust them, you will be that much more interested in what they have to share. Already, fast as a mouse-click. You should get to know the Sharism-You. You’re The more people who create in the spirit of Sharism, the easier it will Sharism Safeguards Your Rights Still, many questions will be raised about Sharism as an initiative in that this was a possibility. But things are changing today. The sharing environment is more protected than you might think. Many new social Furthermore, by realizing all the immediate and emergent rewards that can be had by sharing, you may eventually find that copyright and “All I want to point out that Sharism is not Communism, nor Socialism. As for sharing nature and forced them to give up their rights, and their property. Socialism, that tender Communism, in our experience also lacked respect for these rights. Under these systems, the state owns all property. Under Sharism, you can keep ownership, if you want. But I like Sharism is totally based on your own consensus. It’s not a very hard concept to understand, especially since copyleft movements like the Free Software Foundation and Creative Commons have been around for years. licenses can be recognized by either humans or machines, it’s becoming easier to re-share those works in new online ecosystems. The Spirit of the Web, a Social Brain Sharism is the Spirit of the Age of Web 2.0. It has the consistency of a naturalized Epistemology and modernized Axiology, but also promises the power of a new Internet philosophy. Sharism will transform the world into an emergent Social Brain: a networked hybrid of people and software. We are Networked Neurons connected by the synapses of Social Software. This is an evolutionary leap, a small step for us and a giant one for human society. With new “hairy” emergent technologies sprouting all around us, we can generate higher connectivities and increase the throughput of our social links. The more open and strongly connected we social neurons are, the better the sharing environment will be for all people. The more collective our intelligence, the wiser our actions will be. People have always found better solutions through conversations. Now we can put it all online. Sharism will be the politics of the next global superpower. It will not be a country, but a new human network joined by Social Software. This may remain a distant dream, and even a well-defined public sharing policy might not be close at hand. But the ideas that I’m discussing can democratic systems with new folksonomies (based on the collaborative, social indexing of information) to enable people to make queries, share data and remix information for public use. The collective intelligence of a vast and equitable sharing environment can be the gatekeeper of our rights, and a government watchdog. In the future, policymaking can be we will represent ourselves within the system. Sharism will result in better social justice. In a healthy sharing multiple devices and many social applications, each of us can become more sociable, and society more individual. We no longer have to act alone. Emergent democracy will only happen when Sharism becomes the literacy of the majority. Since Sharism can improve communication, collaboration and system. Sharism can be applied to any cultural discourse, CoP (Community of Practice) or problem-solving context. It is also an antidote to social depression, since sharelessness is just dragging our society down. In present or formerly totalitarian countries, this downward cycle is even more apparent. The future world will be a hybrid of human and machine that will generate better and faster decisions anytime, anywhere. The flow of information between minds will become more flexible and more productive. These vast networks of sharing will create a new social order−A Mind Revolution!\n\n<question>:\nHow is Sharism justified?\n\n<options>:\nA sharing is the only way to eliminate economic and social disparities among neighboring countries\nB if humans do not adopt sharism as a culture, major corporations will adopt it to gain more power\nC the disparity between the wealthy and those living in poverty has become too wide\nD sharing is embedded within human deoxyribonucleic acid and a hardwired feature of the brain\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
1,725 | 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>:\nkiss 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. Or would he? For he had very little to tell. He had traveled and he had returned and his voyage was very much like the voyages of the great They had been right to worry. He had suffered much after that blow-up. But now they should be rejoicing, because he had survived and made the long journey. Ralphie suddenly said, \"I got to go, Dad. I promised Walt ran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in his arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her. He stood up. \"I'm very tired. I'd like to lie down a while.\" Which wasn't true, because he'd to this bed again.\" \"Not this bed,\" he murmured, and was a little sorry afterward. known, and that the beds and the barrier between them were her own choice, if only an unconscious choice. He went 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, all the people he knew had probably changed—because they thought he 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 He slept. Dinner was at seven in the dining room at the big table. 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. she burst into tears. It shocked him. But what shocked him even more was the fact that no one looked up, commented, made any attempt to comfort her no one indicated in any way that a woman was sobbing at the table. embrace at the door—then a few seconds later she withdrew it and let it drop out of sight. So there he was, Henry Devers, at home with the family. So there he was, Aunt Lucille made a few quavering statements about the Ladies' Tuesday Garden Club, and Hank looked across the table to where she sat between Joe and Mother—his wife and son bracketed him, and yet he felt Ralphie said, \"Yeah, Dad.\" Aunt Lucille put down her knife and fork and 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 course,\" he said, his laugh sounding forced. Hank looked at Edith chewing, gazing out over their heads to the kitchen. Hank looked at Lucille she was disappearing into the living room. were all standing now. He sat there and pounded the table with his big right fist—Henry Devers, who would never have thought of making such a scene before, but who was now so sick and tired of being treated as the of, that he could have smashed more than a table. Edith said, \"Hank!\" He said, voice hoarse, \"Shut up. Go away. Let me eat alone. I'm sick of 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 getting together again soon and \"drop out and see the new development\" and he, too, was gone. Lucille never did manage to speak to him. He finished his beef and waited. Soon Edith came in with the special She served him, and spooned out a portion for herself and Ralphie. She hesitated near his chair, and when he made no comment she called the something anything to get away from your father.\" Ralphie's head dropped and he muttered, \"Aw, no, Dad.\" Edith said, \"He'll stay home, Hank. We'll spend an evening together—talking, watching TV, playing Monopoly.\" Ralphie said, \"Gee, sure, Dad, if you want to.\" They answered together that of course they wanted to. But their eyes—his wife's and son's eyes—could not meet his, and so he said he was going to his room because he was, after all, very tired and would in all probability continue to be very tired for a long, long time and that they shouldn't count on him for normal social life. He fell asleep quickly, lying there in his clothes. 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.\" He sat up. \"Phil,\" he muttered. \"Phil and Rhona.\" They'd had wonderful full of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, and clapped Hank on the shoulder (but not the way he always had—so much more gently, almost remotely), and insisted they all drink more than was him. But except for a few abortive glances in his direction, it was as if he were a stranger in a city halfway around the world. At midnight, he was still drinking. The others wanted to leave, but he the most popular place on earth?\" Rhona glanced to the left, and so did Hank and Edith. Rhona made a little sound, and Edith seemed to stop breathing, but Phil went on a while longer, not yet aware of his supposed faux pas rumbling up from his chest. \"You know why, folks?\" Rhona said, \"Did you notice Carl Braken and his wife at—\" Hank said, \"No, Phil, why is it the most popular place on earth?\" his hand and muttered, \"I forgot the punch line.\" \"Because people are dying to get in,\" Hank said, and looked through the window, past the iron fence, into the large cemetery at the fleeting nothing but laughter, or irritation at a too-old joke. \"Maybe you should let me out right here,\" Hank said. \"I'm home—or that's what everyone seems to think. Maybe I should lie down in an open grave. Maybe that 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!\" didn't wait for Edith. He just got out and walked up the flagstone path and entered the house. \"Hank,\" Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, \"I'm so sorry—\" \"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'll all work out in time.\" you terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we're frightened.\" \"I'm going to stay in the guest room,\" he said, \"for as long as necessary. For good if need be.\" \"How could it be for good? How, Hank?\" 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. THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhy was the cemetery joke a faux pas?\n\n<options>:\nA Henry had watched many people die recently, including his own commanding officer.\nB Henry himself had almost died and did not want to be reminded of the trauma.\nC The joke was so old that made everyone uncomfortable to hear again.\nD Henry had died, but nobody was comfortable enough to talk about it.\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "D"
}
] |
630 | 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.] Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. The old man with his thick neck, thick cigar, evening highball, potgut and bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervously Wayne watched the ritual, grinning. He listened to their purposeless noises, their blabbing and yakking as if they had something to say. Blab-blab about the same old bones, and end up chewing them in the But the old man was right on for once about the dangerous repressed impulses. Wayne had heard about it often enough. Anyway there was no doubt about it when every move he made was a restrained explosion. that must make the old man feel like Superman with a beerbelly. They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. on a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. \"Go to the Armory and \"Thanks, sarge dear,\" Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. breaking out tonight?\" \"Hold your teeth, pop,\" Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting a cigarette. \"I've decided.\" The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement. you're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babes are clever hellcats in a dark alley.\" \"You must be a genius,\" Wayne said. \"A corporal with no hair and still Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward the shelves and racks of weapons. \"I'll remember that crack when I get my commission.\" He blew smoke in the corporal's face. \"Bring me a Smith and Wesson .38, shoulder holster with spring-clip. And throw in a Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with the double springs.\" The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchblade disguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger, while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled the cylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slipped the knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at its gleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refracted incandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting and scary. He removed his leather jacket. He slung the holster under his left armpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling the way the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm. He put his jacket back on and the switchblade case in his pocket. He walked toward the a head shaped like a grinning bear. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed to shrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a pea among bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggy head. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. secretive and sparse, the uncared-for streets became rough with pitted potholes, narrow and winding and humid with wet unpleasant smells. Wayne's fearful exhilaration increased as he cruised with bated breath through the dark mazes of streets and rickety tenements crawling with the shadows of mysterious promise. the sultry beat of a combo, the wild pulse of drums and spinning brass a bank of garbage cans, humming to himself, pulling at a rainsoaked shirt clinging to a pale stick body. He reminded Wayne of a slim grub a dirty, greenish tinge as he sensed Wayne there. He turned in a grotesque uncoordinated jiggling and his eyes were wide with terror and doom. \"I gotta hide, kid. They're on me.\" Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. The bum's fingers drew at the air like white talons. as the Cad cruised in a slow follow-up. Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonder at finding himself there, free and breaking out at last with no curfew and no law but his own. He felt as though he couldn't stop anything. laughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yell clogged up somewhere, so that he remained soundless yet with his mouth still open as he heard the payoff thuds where the useless wino curled Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying in scummed rain pools. The smell of raw violence, the scent of blood, made He hurried into the Four Aces, drawn by an exhilarating vision ... and pursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. of being motionless, as though they were all actors performing in a weirdo drama being staged in that smoky thick-aired dive. Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirty T-shirt, a big bruiser with a gorilla face. He was tussling his mouse heavy. fed on the promising terror and helplessness of her hunted face. She sat rigid, eyes fixed on Wayne like balls of frozen glass. Red looked up and stared straight at Wayne with eyes like black buttons imbedded in the waxlike skin of his face. Then he grinned all on one side. One huge hand scratched across the wet table top like a furious cat's. Wayne returned the challenging move but felt a nervous twitch jerk at his lips. A numbness covered his brain like a film as he concentrated on staring down Red the psycho. But Red kept looking, his eyes bright Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled his veins, became hot wire twisting in his head. He drank again and forced out a shaky breath. The jazz beat thumped fast and muted brass moaned. Drumpulse, stabbing trumpet raped the air. Tension mounted as Wayne watched her pale throat convulsing, the \"Okay, you creep,\" Wayne said. He stood up and started through the haze. The psycho leaped and a table crashed. Wayne's .38 dropped from its spring-clip holster and the blast filled the room. The psycho screamed and stumbled toward the door holding something in. The mouse darted by, eluded Wayne's grasp and was out the door. Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt the cold strange breath of moist air on his sweating skin as he sprinted down the alley into a wind full of blowing wet. terror. \"You, baby,\" Wayne gasped. \"I gotcha.\" She backed into darkness, up there against the sagging tenement wall, her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gave a squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked. He clambered over rotten lumber. The doorway sagged and he hesitated in the musty dark. A few feet away was the sound of loose trickling plaster, a whimpering whine. \"No use running,\" Wayne said. \"Go loose. Give, baby. Give now.\" moon-streaming skylight. She crouched in the corner panting. He took his time moving in. He snickered as he flashed the switchblade and circled it like a serpent's tongue. He watched what was left of her nerves go to pieces like rotten cloth.\n\n<question>:\nWhat idea is introduced during the armory scene that becomes a motif throughout the rest of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA The idea that Wayne's end of curfew will mean more trips to the armory. More weapons always.\nB The idea of cat and mouse games. From this point on Wayne thinks of his duty in terms of hunting. The end of curfew. From this point on Wayne wants to live the rest of his life without curfew.\nC The fear of ending up a counter boy like the corporal. From this point on Wayne does everything he can not to end up like the corporal.\nD The exciting and scary power of the .38 and the switch blade. From this point on Wayne feels more powerful than ever\n\n<answer>:\n",
"assistant": "B"
}
] |
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