Subset (3)

instruct · 4.61k rows

Split (2)

train · 2.52k rows

conversation_id int64 1 2.52k	category stringclasses 1 value	conversation list
1,453	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSlate beer-testing team were coping with lagers and trying to see if they could taste the 3-to-1 price difference between the most- and least-expensive brands. (Click for a wrap-up of the first round of beer tasting.) The answer was: They found one beer they really liked, Samuel Adams Boston Lager , and one they really hated, imported Grolsch from Holland. Both were expensive beers--Grolsch was the most expensive in the test--and otherwise the testers had a hard time telling beers apart. The members of the team, as noted in the original article, all hold day jobs at Microsoft, mainly as designers, managers, and coders for Microsoft Word. The point of the second test was not to find the difference between cheap and expensive beers but instead to compare a variety of top-of-the-line beers. Was there one kind the tasters preferred consistently? Could they detect any of the subtleties of brewing style and provenance that microbrew customers pay such attention to when choosing some Doppelbock over a cream ale? Since the tasting panel had left the first round grumbling that cheap lagers were not a fair test of their abilities, this second round of testing was advertised to the panel as a reward. Every beer in Round 2 would be a fancy beer. A microbrew. A \"craft beer.\" A prestigious import. These were the kinds of beer the panel members said they liked--and the ones they said they were most familiar with. One aspect of the reward was that they would presumably enjoy the actual testing more--fewer rueful beer descriptions along the lines of \"urine\" or \"get it away!\" were expected than in the first round. The other aspect of anticipated reward was the panelists' unspoken but obvious assumption that this time they would \"do better\" on the test. Intellectual vanity being what it is, people who had fought for and won jobs at Microsoft and who still must fight every six months for primacy on the employee-ranking scale (which determines--gasp!--how many new stock options they receive) would assume that their skill as tasters was on trial, just as much as the beer was. Of course they were right, which is what made this round as amusing to administer as the first one had been. Here is what happened and what it meant: 1. Procedure. This was similar in most ways to the experimental approach of Round 1. The nine testers who showed up were a subset of the original 12. The missing three dropped out with excuses of \"my wife is sick\" (one person) and \"meeting is running long\" (two). As before, each tester found before him on a table 10 red plastic cups, labeled A through J. Each cup held 3 ounces of one of the beers. The A-to-J labeling scheme was the same for all testers. Instead of saltines for palate-cleansing, this time we had popcorn and nuts. As they began, the tasters were given these and only these clues: that the flight included one \"holdover\" beer from the previous round (Sam Adams) Overall quality points, from zero to 100, reflecting their personal, subjective fondness for the beer. Best and Worst , one of each from the group. Name that beer! The tasters were told that some of the drinks were Hefeweizens, some might be IPAs (India pale ales), some might be bitters, and so on. They were asked to put each beer in its proper category--and to name a specific brewery and brand if they could. The idea here was to test the veteran beer drinkers' claim to recognize the distinctive tastes of famous brands. (To see all the grids for all the beers, click .) To this the beer scientist must say: Book-learning is fine in its place. But let's be realistic. Actual drinking experience teaches the American beer consumer that a) all cheap beers are lagers and b) most lagers are light-colored and weak. The first test was designed to evaluate low-end beers and therefore had to be lager-centric. This one is designed to test fancy beers--but in the spirit of open-mindedness and technical accuracy, it includes a few \"strong\" lagers too. 3. Materials. The 10 test beers were chosen with several goals in mind: To cover at least a modest range of fancy beer types--extra special bitter, India pale ale, Hefeweizen, and so on. To include both imported and domestic beers. Among the domestic microbrews, there's an obvious skew toward beers from the Pacific Northwest. But as Microsoft would put it, that's a feature not a bug. These beers all came from the Safeway nearest the Redmond, Wash., \"main campus\" of Microsoft, and microbrews are supposed to be local. To include one holdover from the previous test, as a scientific control on our tasters' preferences. This was Sam Adams , runaway winner of Round 1. 4. Data Analysis. a) Best and Worst. Compared to the lager test, we would expect the range of \"best\" choices to be more varied, since all the tested beers were supposed to be good. This expectation was most dramatically borne out in the \"Best and Worst\" rankings. The nine tasters cast a total of nine Worst votes and 11.5 Best votes. (Tester No. 1 turned in a sheet with three Best selections, or two more than his theoretical quota. Tester No. 4 listed a Best and a Best-minus, which counted as half a vote.) The results were clearest at the bottom: three Worsts for Pyramid Hefeweizen , even though most comments about the beer were more or less respectful. (\"Bitter, drinkable.\") But at the top and middle the situation was muddier: This was also the only outright Anheuser-Busch product in the contest (the Redhooks are 75 percent A-B free). It is safe to say that all tasters would have said beforehand that they would rank an American macrobrew last, and Anheuser-Busch last of all. This table shows how the beers performed on \"raw score\"--that is, without the advanced statistical adjustment of throwing out the highest and lowest score each beer received. Next, we have \"corrected average preference points,\" throwing out the high and low marks for each beer. The result is basically the same: two thought Redhook's IPA was a Hefeweizen. In fairness, six of nine testers identified Pyramid Hefeweizen as a Hefe, and six recognized Full Sail ESB as a bitter. Much in the fashion of blind men describing an elephant, here is a how the testers handled Sam Adams Boston Lager : 5. Implications and Directions for Future Research. Science does not always answer questions often, it raises many new ones. This excursion into beer science mainly raises the question: What kind of people are we? For scientists who want to continue this work at home, here are a few suggestions for further research: Tell the testers ahead of time what beers they will be drinking. Ask them to rank the beers, 1 through 10, based on how well they like them. Then compare the list with the \"revealed preferences\" that come from the blind test. As a variation, show them the list ahead of time and ask them to pick out the beer they know they love and the one they know they hate. Then compare this with the \"after\" list. If you're going to test imported lagers, try Foster's or Corona rather than Grolsch. Remember to stay strictly in the scientist's role. Don't take the test yourself.\n\n<question>:\nWhich isn't true of this test?\n\n<options>:\nA the beers being used were fancy\nB all testers receive the same order of beers\nC it has a small testing group\nD the testers come from a diverse area\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,388	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>:\nlike him. But it's a longish story, and you might as well let me in. You will, you know, so why quibble about it? At least, you always 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 You're wondering whether to give me a drink, as I remember it. Why not? And naturally, since we have the same tastes, you can make the same for I felt the same way when he—that is, of course, I or we—came back to tell me about it, thirty years ago. Here, have one of these. You'll get to like them in a couple more sense things. So I'll simply go ahead talking for half an hour or so, until you get over it. After that you'll come along with me. You know, I could try to change things around by telling but he—I—told me what I was going to do, so I might as well do the same. I probably couldn't help telling you the same thing in the same words, even if I tried—and I don't intend to you'll want to go along. I'll be tired of talking by then, and in a hurry to get going. So I isn't protected, though. that. Well, I asked it after I was told, then I came back and told it to you, and I still can't help answering when you speak. \"Not exactly,\" I try to explain. \"Maybe it's no dimension—or it might be the fifth of simple, short-limbed, one-piece affair I put on, but it feels comfortable. \"I'm staying here,\" I tell you. \"This is like the things they wear in this century, as near as I can remember it, and I should be able to pass fairly well. I've had all my fortune—the one you make on that atomic generator—invested in such a way I can get it on using some identification I've got with me, so I'll do all right. I know they still use some kind of money, you'll see evidence of that. And it's a I'll leave you. I like the looks of things here, so I won't be coming back with you.\" anyway?\" I'd told you that, too, but you've forgotten. \"As near as I can guess, you see me going by, mixed into a crowd that is loafing along toward a restaurant, or something like it, that is just opening. I'm asking questions of a man, who points, and I turn and move off. the hang of the spelling they use, though. Now there are people around you, but nobody pays much attention to you. you, you hear some pretty normal English, but there are others using stuff as garbled as his. The educated and uneducated? I don't know. You go right until you find a big sign built into the rubbery surface 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 guard. of drawl, with softer vowels and slurred consonants, but it's rather pleasant. \"Help you, sir? Oh, of course. You must be playing in 'Atoms and whatever you need for realism in your role. Nice show. I saw it twice.\" \"Thanks,\" you mutter, wondering what kind of civilization can produce guards as polite as that. \"I—I'm told I should investigate your display of atomic generators.\" 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 hobby with me, sir. I've read everything I could get on the period. Oh—congratulations on your pronunciation. Sounds just like some of our oldest tapes.\" You get away from him, finally, after some polite thanks. The building of what seem to be bearings, and slips something the size of a penny toward you. \"Souvenir,\" it announces in a well-modulated voice. \"This is a typical gem of the twentieth century, properly cut to 58 facets, known morning hours for one-tenth credit. If you have more than one child, press the red button for the number of stones you desire.\" , filled with everything from a crossbow to a tiny rod four inches long and half the thickness of a pencil, marked . By that time, you're almost convinced. And you've been doing a lot of , is about the size of a desk telephone. The earlier ones are larger, of course, clumsier, 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 built, complete with design drawings, original manuscript on operation, and full patent application. and any amperage up to one thousand, its maximum power output being fifty kilowatts, limited by the current-carrying capacity of the outputs. They also mention that the operating principle is still being investigated, and that only such refinements as better alloys and the addition of magnetric and nucleatric current outlets have been added 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 arriving, but I'll be back in about ten minutes. He wants to examine some of the weapons for a monograph on Centaurian primitives compared to nineteenth century man. You'll pardon me?\" moves. There's a little sign under it, indicating you shouldn't touch it, since the gravostatic plate is being renewed. Well, you won't be able to change the time cycle by doing anything I haven't told you, but a working model such as that is a handy thing. it only weighs about fifty pounds! Naturally, it can be carried. lot of what I say from now on, and have to find out for yourself. But maybe some of it helps. I've tried to remember how much I remembered, after he told me, but I can't be sure. So I'll keep on talking. I probably can't help it, anyhow. Pre-set, you might say. an appearance schedule. But you should have come to me.\" He reaches out and taps a pedestrian lightly on the shoulder. \"Sir, an emergency request. Would you help this gentleman?\" You did notice the name of the building from which you came and you mutter it. The stranger nods again, reaches out and picks up the other at you both. That way, it isn't so bad. And you begin to see why I decided I might like to stay in the future. But all the same, the organized cooperation here doesn't look too good. The guard can get the same and be there it. The stranger lifts an eyebrow and goes off at once when you nod at him, not waiting for thanks. And the guard comes up, holding some this building. Just let us know when you're finished with the model and we'll pick it up.\" You swallow several sets of tonsils you had removed years before, and take the bundle of papers he hands you out of the little case. He pumps you for some more information, which you give him at random. It seems to satisfy your amiable guard friend. He finally smiles in satisfaction It isn't hard to disassemble, but you don't learn a thing just some the makeshift job you've just done. But you begin getting more of a jolt when you find that the papers are letter. But you're thinking of the puzzle. You can't find any answer. One day you come across an old poem—something about some folks\n\n<question>:\nWhich word doesn't describe the security guard?\n\n<options>:\nA knowledgeable\nB friendly\nC curious\nD helpful\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
628	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIt was dirty work, but it would make him a man. And kids had a right to grow up—some of them! Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. and bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervously polite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailty that he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all, marking moron time in a gray dream. Man, was he glad to break out. The old man said, \"He'll be okay. Let him alone.\" \"But he won't eat. Just lies there all the time.\" \"Hell,\" the old man said. \"Sixteen's a bad time. School over, waiting for the draft and all. He's in between. It's rough.\" Mother clasped her forearms and shook her head once slowly. about all these dangerous repressed impulses piling up with nowhere to go, like they say. You read the books.\" \"But he's unhappy.\" \"Are we specialists? That's the Youth Board's headache, ain't it? What do we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Now get dressed or we'll be late.\" 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 same old ways. Then they begin all over again. A freak sideshow all the way to nowhere. Squareheads going around either unconscious or with eyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retire into limbo. How come he'd been stuck with parental images like that? One thing—when he was jockeying a rocket to Mars or maybe firing the pants off Asiatic reds in some steamy gone jungle paradise, he'd forget his They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. \"Relax,\" Wayne said. \"You're not going anywhere tonight.\" the movies.\" He could feel them watching him, waiting and yet still he didn't the glaring wonders of escape. He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strode under a sign reading Wayne grinned down. \"Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey.\" Finally he said, \"So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kid breaking out tonight?\" The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward the incandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting and scary. 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. His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fear the way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'll show you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat until Slumville, but Wayne felt a cold that wasn't of the night or the wind. He turned off into a rat's warren of the inferiors. Lights turned pale, 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. 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 doom. \"I gotta hide, kid. They're on me.\" Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. A head bobbed out of the Cad window and giggled. The fumble-footed rummy tried to run and plopped on wet pavement. The teener moved in, while a faint odor of burnt rubber hovered in the air Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonder Living seemed directionless, but he still would go with it regardless, until something dropped off or blew to hell like a hot light-bulb. He held his breath, waiting. His body was tensed and rigid as he moved in laughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yell Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying in pursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. He walked through the wavering haze of smoke and liquored dizziness and Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirty 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 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 Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled his Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt the life-or-death animation of a wild deer. Up and down alleys, a rat's maze. A rabbit run. Across vacant lots. \"You, baby,\" Wayne gasped. \"I gotcha.\" her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gave a squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked. plaster, a whimpering whine. \"No use running,\" Wayne said. \"Go loose. Give, baby. Give now.\" cracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into the \"What's that, baby?\" \"I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know the difference.\" \"I'm gonna bruise and beat you,\" he said. shuffled away from her. He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging and \"Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh, God, I'm so tired waiting and running!\" \"I can't,\" he said, and sickness soured in his throat. \"I can't, I can't!\" He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs. studied Wayne with abstract interest. \"No, sir.\" \"They're undesirables. Incurables. You know that, Seton?\" \"Yes, sir.\" killed her father when she was twelve. You realize there's nothing can be done for them? That they have to be executed?\" \"I know.\" \"Too bad,\" the doctor said. \"We all have aggressive impulses, primitive needs that must be expressed early, purged. There's murder in all of us, Seton. The impulse shouldn't be denied or suppressed, but educated . The state used to kill them. Isn't it better all around, Seton, for us to do it, as part of growing up? What was the matter, Seton?\" \"I—felt sorry for her.\" \"Is that all you can say about it?\" \"No, sir,\" Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. \"I'm sorry I punked out.\" open some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But there was no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and his poker-playing pals. They had all punked out. Like him.\n\n<question>:\nWhy doesn’t Wayne like his parents?\n\n<options>:\nA His parents broke out when they were much younger than the age he is now, and he is embarrassed by this.\nB His parents want to keep him from breaking out, knowing that the horrors Wayne will face are too much for him.\nC No reason. Wayne is a bad egg and enjoys tormenting them.\nD He feels that they are soft and stupid, that they’ve given up on what life has to offer.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,508	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>:\nLike all superheroes worthy of the title, the Shopping Avenger has an Achilles' heel. In the case of the Shopping Avenger, his Achilles' heel is not animal, vegetable, or mineral but something less tangible. An explanation: Last week, the magazine you are currently reading forced the Shopping Avenger at gunpoint to read a series of treacle-filled self-help books, and then to . The Shopping Avenger, who can withstand radiation, extreme heat and cold, hail, bear attacks, and Eyes Wide Shut , almost succumbed to terminal jejuneness after reading these books. Except for one thing: One of the books, The Art of Happiness , which collects and simplifies the Dalai Lama's philosophy, got the Shopping Avenger to thinking. This, in a way, is the Shopping Avenger's Achilles' heel: thinking. Perhaps it is wrong, the Shopping Avenger thought, to complain about the petty insults and inconveniences of life in the materialistic '90s. The Shopping Avenger felt that perhaps he should counsel those who write seeking help to meditate, to accept bad service the way one accepts the change of seasons, and to extend a compassionate hand of forgiveness to those who provide poor customer care. The Shopping Avenger does not make light of the Dalai Lama or of the notion that there is more to life than the impatient acquisition of material goods. If the Shopping Avenger were not, for a superhero, extremely nonjudgmental--as opposed to his alter ego, who is considered insufferably judgmental by his alter ego's wife--the Shopping Avenger would tell the occasional correspondent to let go of his petty grievance and get a life. But the Shopping Avenger also believes that the Dalai Lama has never tried to rent a truck from U-Haul. If he had tried to rent from U-Haul, he never would have escaped from Tibet. (For the complete back story, see \"Shopping Avenger\" column and one.) The complaints about U-Haul's nonreservation reservation policy continue to pour in through the electronic mail. One correspondent, B.R., wrote in with this cautionary tale: \"Last weekend, I went to San Francisco to help my brother and his family move into their first house. My brother had reserved a moving truck with U-Haul for the big day. I warned my brother about U-Haul's 'not really a reservation per se' policy that I learned from the Shopping Avenger. He didn't believe such a thing would happen to him, so he didn't act on my warning.\" B.R. continues--as if you don't know what happened already--\"I went to U-Haul with my brother to get our 'reserved' truck. The store had many customers standing around looking frustrated. When we got to the front of the line, the clerk informed us that our 'reserved' truck had not yet been returned. We asked if we could rent one of the many trucks sitting idle in the parking lot. The clerk laughed and said the keys to those trucks were lost.\" B.R. and his chastened brother--the Shopping Avenger is resisting the urge to gloat--went to Ryder. \"Ryder had a truck available for us. The gentleman who helped us at Ryder said Ryder prides itself on being everything U-Haul is not.\" The Shopping Avenger will undoubtedly return to the sorry state of affairs at U-Haul in the next episode, but now on to this month's airline debacle. Before we begin, though, the Shopping Avenger nearly forgot to announce the winner of last month's contest, in which readers were asked to answer the question, \"What's the difference between pests and airlines?\" This month's airline in the spotlight is Southwest. Loyal readers will recall that last month the Shopping Avenger praised Southwest Airlines for its \"sterling\" customer service. This brought forth a small number of articulate dissensions. The most articulate, and the most troubling, came from M., who wrote, \"Last year, flying from Baltimore to Chicago with my entire family (two really little kids included), we set down at Midway in a rainstorm. And waited for our bags. And waited for bags. And waited for bags.\" An hour later, M. says, the bags showed up, \"soaked through. We took them to baggage services at SW and were faced with the most complicated, unclear, and confusing mechanism for filing a claim we experienced flyers have ever seen.\" When they arrived at their destination, M. and her family made a terrible discovery, \"We discovered that our clothes were soaked through--the top clothes were so wet that the dye had bled through down to the lower levels, destroying lots of other clothes. Obviously, our bags had just been sitting out on the runway in the rain. To this day, I've never heard a thing from SW, despite calls and letters.\" This, of course, is where Shopping Avenger steps in. Shopping Avenger knows that Southwest is different from the average airline, in that it doesn't go out of its way to infuriate its paying customers (see: ), so I expected a quick and generous resolution to M.'s problem. What I got at first, though, was a load of corporate hoo-ha. \"The airline's policy, which is consistent with all contracts of carriage at all airlines, requires that passengers file a report in person for lost or damaged luggage within four hours of arrival at their destination,\" a Southwest spokeswoman, Linda Rutherford, e-mailed me. \"[M.] indicates she called for a few days, but did not file a report in person until April 12--three days later. Southwest, as a courtesy, took her report anyway and asked for follow up information and written inventory of the damage.\" Rutherford said that M. should have submitted detailed receipts and photographs of the damage in order to make a claim. Harrumph, the Shopping Avenger says. It is a bad hair day at Southwest when its officials defend themselves by comparing their airline to other airlines. I forwarded this message to M., who replied: \"Wow. Well, of course I didn't file it at the airport on the 9 th because I didn't know the clothes were ruined at the airport. I didn't know until I opened the baggage at my hotel and saw the ruined stuff. (And it's worth noting that we had already waited for about an hour for our luggage with two little kids and impatient in-laws nipping at our heels.)\" She goes on, \"I did call that evening ... and was told that that sufficed. This is the first time I've been told that I had to file a complaint in person within four hours. ... When I filed on the 12 th , I was never told that I needed any receipts or photos or other type of documentation. The baggage folks seemed pretty uninterested in all of this. ... They know that the type of 'evidence' they want is impossible to obtain. They also know that on April 9 they screwed up the luggage retrieval and left bags out in the rain a long time.\" Southwest's response actually served to anger M. more than the original problem. \"Before, they had a mildly annoyed but loyal customer (who would have been placated by an apology and thrilled with some modest token of their regret). Now they have a pissed-off customer.\" The story of M. reminds the Shopping Avenger of a central truth of consumer service: It's not the crime, it's the cover-up. Stay tuned for answers. And next month, a Shopping Avenger clergy special: TWA screws with a Hasidic rabbi's travel plans, leaving the rabbi's wife crying at the airport. Find out if the Shopping Avenger can save TWA from certain heavenly punishment, in the next episode.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the point of the story about the Dalai Lama?\n\n<options>:\nA To make a joke about UHaul's policies\nB To show that religious leaders are not immune to bad customer service\nC To prove a point with a story about a public figure\nD To make a point about reservation policies in various countries\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,181	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>:\nNew money: Do local currencies actually work? It's lunchtime at Glasgow Chambers in late November, and Councillor George Redmond is getting worked up at the prospect a Glasgow Pound. \"We would be Glasgow-centric about it,\" he says conspiratorially, as though there is any other way to be. \"Can you imagine having the face of Billy Connolly on our local currency? Or Alex Ferguson, or Kenny Dalglish?\" Inventing an alternative to sterling might sound far-fetched, even illegal. But it's not that strange. In the UK we think of the pound like fish think about water, which is to say not at all. It might never have occurred to many of us that there are other types of exchange that can stand in for ragged bank notes tucked away in pockets, or other objects that can stand in for those notes. Not every country is so lucky. In crisis-hit Greece, where the euro can be hard to come by, businesses and citizens have turned to bartering using a points system where goods like pianos, pot and pans can be exchanged for security services or loaned farming equipment. In India last year, desperate people burned sacks of illegal cash after the government withdrew two high-denomination notes as part of a crackdown on corruption. Hoarders woke up to discover the banknotes under their mattresses were suddenly worthless. The pound has been trading at its lowest level since 1985 since the UK voted to leave the European Union and there are fears that it could dip further as Brexit ensues. Timebanks, local exchange trading systems (LETS) and digital inventions like bitcoin can provide alternative ways for people to pay for goods and services when mainstream currencies hit crises. But they will only work if Britons are ready to accept that they have the power to invent their own currency. \"At the moment, if the pound stops working for us, the whole economy grinds to a halt because there aren't alternatives,\" Duncan McCann, a researcher at the New Economics Foundation, tells those gathered in a gilded room at Glasgow Chambers to discuss the Glasgow Pound. McCann is a long-time advocate of alternative means of exchange. He is behind the ScotPound, a proposal for a new national currency for Scotland that emerged after the referendum on Scottish independence. It's an idea he no longer thinks will work, because the debate, since Brexit, has shifted from the currency issue back to ideas about Scottish independence. Today, he's preaching to the converted. Alex Walker, the chairman of the 250-person Ekopia community in Northern Scotland, listens at the back. The Eko has been the main means of buying everything from beer to bananas in Ekopia since Walker founded it 20 years ago. On an adjacent table, Tracy Duff, a community learning and development worker from Clackmannanshire Council, digs out some papers. She runs the Clacks Youth Timebank, a scheme where 12- to 15-year-olds can earn credit for volunteering. Taking notes up front is Ailie Rutherford, one of the people who organised the meeting. Rutherford runs the People's Bank of Govanhill, a currency that changes value depending on the income of the user. \"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't invent our own currency and play with it,\" she says. Everyone has gathered to decide what a Glasgow Pound might look like at a time when many are asking if local currencies can work at all. Councillor Redmond says Glasgow has been closely watching existing alternative currencies like the Brixton Pound in London, which was introduced in 2011. No two local currencies are exactly the same. But the Brixton Pound and other recent schemes follow the example ten years ago of the Totnes Pound, a 'complementary currency': that is, one supplementing the national currency. As fears for financial stability took hold during the recession, complementary currencies grew in popularity. The Bank of England does not consider these forms of currency legal tender, but the notes hold value in the same way as a gift-card from a department store, with the same kind of restrictions about where they can be spent. Proponents say complementary currencies boost spending in smaller geographical areas, which can have environmental benefits as businesses cut transport distances to deal with local suppliers. Detractors say they have no real economic impact and work only as a game for the middle classes, who can afford to buy from independent shops rather than chains. In Britain, there are now schemes in Totnes, Lewes, Brixton, Bristol and Exeter. Hull has its own local digital currency that can be earned from volunteering and used to pay council tax. Kingston, Birmingham and Liverpool have schemes underway. Glasgow could be next. But the working group has some serious questions to answer first, not least: do complementary currencies actually work? \"People don't understand money,\" Molly Scott Cato, Green MEP for the South West of England and Gibraltar, says over the phone. Scott Cato says the fish-in-water problem – the idea that sterling is so ubiquitous, it is never questioned – is the biggest challenge for complementary currencies. She knows all about it as a founder of the Stroud Pound in 2010, a currency that has since gone out of circulation. \"[People] think they put money into a bank and someone else takes it out. What they don't understand is that banks have the power to create money. We've given the power to create money to private corporations and people don't understand that we can have it back,\" she says. In Stroud, suspicion of the local currency among local businesses became a barrier to success. Scott-Cato said traders refused to join the scheme because they were \"running a business\", as though putting the community first and placing the needs of others as equivalent to their own was in itself bad business practice, or as though they were somehow being disloyal to sterling. The Bristol Pound (£B) entered into circulation in September 2012. By June 2015, 1m £B had been issued, with £B700,000 of that still in circulation. In a population of some 450,000 people, that's the equivalent of each Bristolian carrying less than £B2 in change in their pocket. Without enough currency in circulation, it ceases to work. Scott-Cato says Stroud's size meant meant the Stroud Pound was never viable: \"We couldn't get the velocity of circulation right, which contrasts with the Bristol Pound.\" When Scott-Cato and her colleagues wrote about the experience of setting up the Stroud Pound, they said it was telling that complementary currencies have been accused of being a game for middle-class people, rather than a genuine economic solution. Perhaps for that reason, experts like Duncan McCann have stopped thinking of complementary currencies as a one-size-fits-all solution. He said they can function as a kind of 'gateway drug' to introduce people to a new way of thinking about money. \"That is especially for those who use it, but also for those who just become aware of it,\" he says. Ciaran Mundy, CEO of the Bristol Pound, says it is important to think of the systemic impact rather than looking for targeted treatment of symptoms of economic deprivation. \"Poverty has many causes,\" he says. \"One of these is how the economy is structured in terms of how money flows out of poor areas due to high dependence on larger national and international companies paying lower wages and using offshore accounts to hide the money from the tax man.\" On one table, Duncan McCann encourages people to urge businesses to do things they have never done before. \"One of the goals should be to move businesses from where they are today into the future,\" he says. After years of researc,h McCann believes the only way complementary currencies can create real value for local economies is if they make transactions happen that wouldn't otherwise have taken place. \"They need to create additional spending power. This is this what the local currencies, despite all their good points, fail to do,\" McCann says.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is meant by the invention of currency?\n\n<options>:\nA The power of the people to determine what has monetary worth\nB The creation of new machines to produce the bills and coins\nC New designs being chosen to better represent the people\nD The switch to a traditional bartering system\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
579	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, a tight-frocked, limber-hipped, red-head was singing \" The Lady from Mars and army officers who frequented the garden. The girl rendered it with such gusto that the audience burst into a roar of applause. She bent her head in acknowledgment so that her bronze red hair fell his fingers lightly, automatically picked out the tune. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, plastered his white coat to his back. Without looking up, he said: \"Have you spotted him?\" His voice was pitched to reach the singer alone. 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. Up on the stage the singer was about to begin another number when she gate leading to the street. Just within the entrance, a tall, thin man was standing. He looked like hung faultlessly. His black hair was close-cropped, his nose thin and aquiline. For a moment he studied the crowded garden before making his pulled out a chair, motioned for the waiter. The Mercurian, his yellow I don't trust you, but since....\" compelling note. His eyes, light blue and amused, were pale against his brown face. The girl drew in her breath. \"No! Mercury is not ready for freedom. Only a handful of fanatics are engineering the revolution. The real Mercurian patriots are against it does, the Terrestrials here will be massacred. The Mercurians hate the very soul of the revolution. The Mercurians worship him. They will in a gaunt fashion. Only his eyes were different. They were flat and 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 the girl's eyes and held them with his own as a man spears a fish. \"That's the way it is.\" \"There isn't much time,\" he said after a moment. \"The Rains are due any day now.\" \"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. It was as unexpected as a shot in the back. One moment the garden was glowing in light, the next the hot black night swooped down on the revelers, pressing against their eyes like dark wool. The fans about the walls slowed audibly and stopped. It grew hotter, closer. \"It's all right. The master fuse blew out. The lights will be on in a moment.\" On the heels of his speech the lights flashed on, driving the night 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. reputation of being able to take care of herself. He beckoned a waiter, paid his bill. As the Mercurian started to leave, a thought struck Jaro. These yellow-eyed Mercurians could see as well in the dark as any alley-prowling cat. For centuries they had lived most their lives beneath ground to escape the terrible rays of the sun. Only at night did they emerge to work their fields and ply their trades. He peeled off a bill, put it in the waiter's hands. 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. hostelry. By stretching out his arms he could touch the buildings on either side: buildings with walls four feet thick to keep out the heat of the sun. Beneath his feet, he knew, stretched a labyrinth of rooms and passages. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the revolutionist, and the girl. At infrequent intervals green globes cut a hole in the night, casting a faint illumination. He had just passed one of these futile street lamps when he thought he detected a footfall behind him. It was only the whisper of a sound, but as he passed beyond the circle of radiation, he flattened himself in a doorway. Nothing stirred. There was no further sound. Again he started forward, but now he was conscious of shadows following him. They were never visible, but to his trained ears there came stealthy, revealing noises: the brush of cloth against the baked earth walls, the sly shuffle of a step. He ducked down a bisecting alley, faded into a doorway. Immediately all sounds of pursuit stopped. But as soon as he emerged he was conscious again of the followers. In the dense, humid night, he was like a blind man trying to elude the cat-eyed Mercurians. Jaro Moynahan In the East a sullen red glow stained the heavens like the reflection of a fire. The Mercurian dawn was about to break. With an oath, he set out again for his hostelry. He made no further effort to elude the followers. were blue with wide gaudy stripes. Next he lit a cigarette and stretching out on the bed began to contemplate his toes with singular interest. 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 notes.\" \"Not entirely,\" said Peet uncomfortably. \"There are many of us here, Mercurians as well as Earthmen, who recognize the danger. We have—ah—pooled our resources.\" \"But you stand to lose most in case of a successful revolution?\" 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.\" entrance. His black eyes burned holes in his pale boyish face. His white suit was blotched with sweat and dirt. read: \" 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 cool gloom, and Jaro had to feel his way, rubbing shoulders with the strange, silent populace. But when he reached the Terrestrial quarter of the city, bright radoxide lights took the place of the green globes, and there was a sprinkling of Colonial guards among the throng. inner sanctum was ajar. Jaro could distinguish voices then quite 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 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.\" 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. \"Never a dull moment,\" she gritted. \"The Mercurians, of course.\" \"I don't believe it,\" said the girl. \"The Mercurians are the most peaceable people in the Universe. They've been agitating for freedom, induce a Mercurian to kill, even in self-protection. That's why Albert going to grant the Mercurians their freedom. Everybody knows that the first thing the Mercurians will do, will be to boot out the Latonka 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\n\n<question>:\nWhich isn't true about the Mercurians?\n\n<options>:\nA they're peaceful people\nB most want a revolution\nC they can handle extreme heat\nD they can see well in the day\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,443	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nGambling's would-be federal regulators--the National Gambling Impact Study Commission--went to Las Vegas this week to hold hearings. In today's dispatch, we learn how gambling's foes seek to demonize wagering as a pernicious tobaccolike vice. In yesterday's dispatch, gambling's foes learn the folly of having brought their anti-sin crusade to an adult Disneyland. Tuesday's overpowering show of force by the Nevada gambling aristocracy has had at least one audible effect on the National Gambling Impact Study Commission. Wednesday, even commission Chair Kay Coles James, a gambling skeptic, succumbs to the hideous Vegas euphemism: She begins referring to the \"gaming industry.\" The antis, meanwhile, cry that gambling is like cigarettes: unsafe for kids, viciously addictive, deceptively marketed, unhealthy, expensive, and unacceptable unless mightily regulated. If the comments of the pro-industry commissioners can be believed, the industry will happily endorse such a report. Gamblers don't quite accept the cigarette analogy--though commission member Bill Bible, a former chief of the Nevada Gaming Commission, did concede that gambling was like alcohol--but they're happy to sign on to the specific measures. The casino industry is even trying to get ahead of the commission. It has already established a (mostly) independent center to fund research into pathological gambling. I suspect that the industry will not only agree to the commission's recommendations but will become their strongest advocate. Casino owners will avidly lobby Congress and state legislatures to enact the recommendations into law. The antis can call gambling \"tobacco.\" They can call it \"vice.\" They can call it \"a big red balloon\" for all that the industry cares. As long as the commission just nibbles around the edges, the casino operators and state lotteries will be happy to indulge it. The pro-gambling folks will win credit for cooperating, without having to do anything that really hurts. The last national gambling commission was in the mid-1970s. If the gamblers play along with this commission's timid recommendations, they'll be safe for another 20 years. The gambling industry did everything in its power to stop the establishment of this commission two years ago, but Congress and a fervent grassroots anti-gambling group eventually foisted it on the industry. The nine member blue-ribbon panel was charged with assessing the social and economic impact of gambling, and it will issue a final report to Congress and the president in June 1999. Even though the panel was carefully balanced between pro- and anti-gambling leaders, it was supposed to be Vegas' nemesis. The industry and Las Vegas' pro-gambling media quaked in anticipation of the onerous regulations and taxes the commission might recommend. \"My goodness, no politician can withstand their resources,\" Focus on the Family's James Dobson, the commission's leading gambling opponent, tells me. The industry's political clout has emasculated the commission, Dobson continues: \"Our report won't be acted on by the president or Congress. They are too heavily influenced by gambling money. Almost all the leaders of Congress are on the dole.\" It has also become obvious that the commission has too many pro-gambling members to produce a report that recommends taxes or other real penalties on the industry. The hearings, too, reinforce the Glorious Las Vegas theme. Frank Fahrenkopf, the industry's top lobbyist (who is paid so much he can afford monogrammed shirt cuffs --I saw them), holds forth cheerfully outside the ballroom, celebrating the electoral triumph of freedom over religious moralist tyranny. Inside, the room is packed with more than 600 people in neon lime green T-shirts that read \"Unions and Gaming: Together for a Better Life.\" They are members of the major casino union, here to cheer on their employers and their union. (Most of them, it must be said, are getting paid to do this.) Chairwoman Kay Coles James, a Christian conservative and skeptic of gambling, opens the hearing by assuring the crowd that the committee is toothless: \"We're not here to take anyone's job. ... We have no power to do anything except make recommendations.\" This sets the mood for most of the day: Vegas is great, so you'd better leave it alone! The local government, by all appearances a wholly owned subsidiary of the casinos, puts on a bravura performance. Gov. Miller opens the show with a 15 minute hymn to Las Vegas. It is the first of many statistical barrages about Nevada's one-ders: No. 1 in job growth, No. 1 in population growth, and No. 1 on planet Earth in per capita Girl Scout troops--and Boy Scout troops! Later in the day, Nevada's senators and both its congressmen appear to chew out the commission for even thinking that Nevada might have a dark side. They pay tribute to Nevada's sophisticated gambling industry, especially its regulation (much stricter than other gambling states) and its use of gambling taxes to fund state services. It is one of the ironies of Nevada politics that its Republican congressmen (Jim Gibbons and John Ensign) end up crediting their state's success to government regulation and corporate taxation. There are also a fair share of gleeful gambling regulators, bookmakers, and casino employees among the panels of expert witnesses the commission hears from. Critics who gripe about the perils of sports gambling and the evils of convenience store slot machines leaven the pro-gambling folks. Everyone, including the gambling industry shills, agrees that Internet gambling is evil and should be destroyed. Everyone agrees to this because no one in Las Vegas is making any money off Internet gambling. If they were, you can be sure they would explain why it's as American as nickel slots and scratch-off games. Pro-Vegas forces are also perfectly happy to take shots at Indian gambling, the chief economic threat to Nevada's prosperity. The expansion of Indian casinos resulting from last week's California voter initiative will slam Las Vegas, cutting its gambling revenues by $400 million a year. So the Vegans repeatedly swing at casinos in \"Indian country\" (that's Nevada Sen. Richard Bryan's term--I'm not joking) for being insufficiently regulated and taxed. One tribal chief I spoke to calls this \"red baiting.\" Still, for all the Vegan triumphalism in the air, it's impossible not to be charmed by the chief gambling opponent, the Rev. Tom Grey. Grey is utterly irrepressible. A Vietnam rifleman turned Methodist minister, Grey has spent the last eight years evangelizing against gambling. He founded the National Coalition Against Legalized Gambling, the primary force behind the commission's creation. (Grey, in a rare acknowledgement of defeat, has just renamed it the National Coalition Against Gambling Expansion, tacitly recognizing that gambling is here to stay.) He is a genial motormouth and shameless promoter of the cause. He wears a gigantic \"CasiNO\" button in the casino. He posed for People in a shepherd's robe. He says \"I would do anything short of lighting myself on fire in the Capitol rotunda to stop gambling.\" He is so excitable that I have to yank him out of the way of an oncoming car when he gets too wrapped up in one of his soliloquies.\n\n<question>:\nWho wasn't in support of more gambling regulations?\n\n<options>:\nA Kay Coles James\nB Otis Harris\nC Frank Fahrenkopf\nD Tom Grey\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,152	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIt was a fine day at the beach for Purnie's game—but his new friends played very rough! Purnie ran laughing and shouting through the forest until he could run of brothers and parents, there was nothing now to stop him from going With everything around him in a state of perfect tableau, Purnie If only the days weren't so short! he thought. There was so much to see and so little time. It seemed that everyone except him had seen the wonders of the beach country. The stories he had heard from his brothers and their friends had taunted him for as long as he could remember. So many times had he heard these thrilling tales that now, his fifth birthday? He ran along feeling sorry for four-year-olds, and Purnie had stopped time, the bees—like all the other creatures he He chose to ignore the negative maxim that \"small children who stop time without an adult being present, may not live to regret it.\" He chose, instead, to picture the beaming praise of family and friends when they learned of his brave journey. exploded into towering white spray while others were poised in smooth orange curls waiting to start that action. And there were new friends everywhere! Overhead, a flock of spora were frozen in a steep glide, preparatory to a beach landing. Purnie had heard of these playful creatures many times. Today, with his brothers in school, he would have the pets all to himself. Further down the the spot where Purnie now stood. Some distance behind them were eight of munching seaweed. \"Hi there!\" Purnie called. When he got no reaction, he remembered that \"Hi there!\" he called again but now his mental attitude was that he expected time to resume. It did! Immediately he was surrounded by the dew of acid that floated from the spray, and he saw his new friends with continuing sureness. It was time itself that Purnie had stopped, The tripon thought Purnie's feat was superb. It stopped munching long Purnie ran from pillar to post, trying to see and do everything at \"Hi there, wanna play?\" Purnie's invitation got nothing more than The animals stopped so suddenly that Purnie nearly tangled himself in it's your expedition all the way. But you hired me to get you here with the best crew on earth, and that's just what I've done. My job isn't over yet. I'm responsible for the safety of the men while we're here, and for the safe trip home.\" \"Precisely. And since you're responsible, get 'em working. Tell 'em to bring along the flag. Look at the damn fools back there, playing in the ocean with a three-legged ostrich!\" wild animals or worse, and here we are surrounded by quaint little creatures that run up to us like we're long-lost brothers. Let the men will you get this bug-eyed kangaroo away from me!\" Purnie shrieked with He gave up trying to stay with them. Why did they move so fast, anyway? What was the hurry? As he sat down and began eating his lunch, three now!\" When the three animals went back to join the rest of their group, the first two resumed walking. Purnie followed along. When they stopped, Purnie stopped. At first he had been interested in the strange sounds they were making, but as he grew used to them, and as they in turn ignored his presence, he hopped alongside chattering to himself, content to be in their company. He heard more of these sounds coming from behind, and he turned to see Purnie saw one of the animals hovering around him with a little box. Thankful for the attention, he stood on his head. \"Can you do this?\" He was overjoyed at the reaction. They all started making wonderful noises, and he felt most satisfied. suppose—\" By now they had formed a widening circle around him, and he was hard they can reproduce themselves, of course! There must be thousands of these creatures around here someplace. And to think of those damn fools flocking to me. How about it, Benson—does pioneering pay off or doesn't it?\" Purnie was tired. First the time-stopping, then this. While this day had brought more fun and excitement than he could have hoped for, the strain was beginning to tell. He lay in the center of the circle happily exhausted, hoping that his friends would show him some of their own tricks. Purnie sat up to watch the show. Purnie took in these sounds with perplexed concern. He sensed the Never before had he felt this fleeting twinge that made him want to protect himself. He watched the animals huddle around the box on the beach, their attention apparently diverted to something else. He wished now that he had not run away he felt he had lost his chance to join in their fun. into the little crowd. \"I've got my lunch, want some?\" The party came to life once more. His friends ran this way and that, and at last Purnie knew that the idea was to get him into the box. The pang in his leg was nothing: Purnie's misery lay in his confusion. transverse waves back to one of the two-legged animals. Purnie dragged hissing sound whenever Purnie was near. These things told him nothing. torn between leaving and staying. What an odd place, this ocean with a feeling of deep sorrow. How he wished he were down there playing with them. But he knew at last that theirs was a game he didn't fit When Purnie started time again, the animal with the noose stood in spot where Purnie had been standing. did you do with him?\" Purnie moved across the top of the rockpile for a last look at his distance to the sand. Purnie fell back onto solid ground, horrified at \"I didn't mean it!\" Purnie screamed. \"I'm sorry! Can't you hear?\" He Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of the tugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie worked as his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their condition of life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way until a new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed the him. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness, the oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But he wanted to see them safe. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind took command.... His friends came to life. The first one he saw stir lay on his stomach and pounded his fists on the beach. A flood of relief settled over Purnie as sounds came from the animal. Benson!\" \"Are you men all right?\" \"I know, I know. Now get hold of yourselves. We've got to round up the laughing. I can't tell which.\" \"We'll have to get him. Miles, Schick, come along. Forbes! You all he'll either kill himself or one of us. Tie his hands and take him back to the ship. We'll be along Purnie opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Had his friends gone? he saw that they were leaving, marching away in groups of two and three, the weak helping the weaker. As they disappeared around the curving shoreline, the voices of the last two, bringing up the rear far behind the others, fell faintly on his ears over the sound of the surf. You know. Make sure we haven't left anyone.\" \"No need to do that. They're all ahead of us. I've checked.\" As Purnie lay gathering strength for the long trek home, he saw through had become familiar. Purnie paid little attention to the antics of his friend he was beyond understanding. He wondered what they would say at home when he returned. Purnie's ears as the creature turned slowly and called in different shadow was cast around the animal. With foggy awareness, Purnie watched Purnie's eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. The white square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnie\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the relationship like between Purnie and his new friends?\n\n<options>:\nA They don't get along at all\nB Purnie likes his new friends more than they like him\nC His new friends like Purnie more than Purnie likes them\nD They all get along well\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,245	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. 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. 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. We think of nations today as elemental almost, immovable. Yet look at any city of Mitteleuropa and you'll see the many different names it has had as borders and regimes have shifted with the sands of time. Nations come and go. Cities endure. \"It is often said that great cities survived great empires,\" says Cristina Ampatzidou, editor-in-chief of the Rotterdam-based online publishing platform Amateur Cities. \"So it is not unrealistic to think of cities as discrete entities that compete and collaborate with each other, independently from the states to which they belong.\" 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 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. 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. 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 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>:\nWhat would lead a city like London to seek independence?\n\n<options>:\nA They choose modernity over mythology.\nB They want to deal with rational thinkers, not people going backward.\nC They want to remain in the EU.\nD They want free movement of people, capital, goods, and ideas.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,259	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 Gift From Earth Earthmen land among the Thorabians!\" was in favor of the coming of the Earthmen to the world of Zur. with yours. The future population of Zur will be neither true Zurians nor true Earthmen, but a mixture of both.\" and our fortune. It is the muscle and bone of our trade. Earthmen may Zotul's eyes widened. \"And that is why my brothers did not beat me when By this, he seemed to imply that the Thorabians would rob the Earthmen, to get their hands on that marvelous ship, which was all of metal, a \"Doubtless,\" said Zotul unexpectedly, for the youngest at a conference was expected to keep his mouth shut and applaud the decisions of his elders, \"the Earthmen used all the metal on their planet in building that ship. We cannot possibly bilk them of it head than in all the rest of you. Forget the Earthmen and think only of the clay.\" about the Earthmen. If it was impossible to hope for much in the way of metal from the Earthmen, what could one get from them? If he could By and by, the Earthmen came to Lor, flying through the air in strange The Earthmen were going to do great things for the whole world of Zur. It required but the cooperation—an excellent word, that—of all Zurians, and many blessings would rain down from the skies. This, in the Earthmen and officials of the Lorian government, but you heard one tried. The anti-Earthmen Faction—in any culture complex, there is arrived and after they had landed all over the planet, Zur was Immediately, the Earthmen established what they called In spite of the fact that a terrestrial ship had landed at every Zurian pottery one evening, he found his wife Lania proudly brandishing an aluminum pot at him. \"What is that thing?\" he asked curiously. \"A pot. I bought it at the market.\" \"Did you now? Well, take it back. Am I made of money that you spend my substance for some fool's product of precious metal? Take it back, I say!\" The pretty young wife laughed at him. \"Up to your ears in clay, no wonder you hear nothing of news! The pot is very cheap. The Earthmen are selling them everywhere. They're much better than our old clay pots they're light and easy to handle and they don't break when dropped.\" \"The Earthmen don't cook as we do,\" she explained patiently. \"There is a paper with each pot that explains how it is used. And you will have to design a new ceramic stove for me to use the pots on.\" \"Don't be idiotic! Do you suppose Koltan would agree to produce a new type of stove when the old has sold well for centuries? Besides, why do you need a whole new stove for one little pot?\" \"A dozen pots. They come in sets and are cheaper that way. And Koltan will have to produce the new stove because all the housewives are buying these pots and there will be a big demand for it. The Earthman said so.\" \"He did, did he? These pots are only a fad. You will soon enough go back to cooking with your old ones.\" \"The Earthman took them in trade—one reason why the new ones are so cheap. There isn't a pot in the house but these metal ones, and you will have to design and produce a new stove if you expect me to use them.\" After he had beaten his wife thoroughly for her foolishness, Zotul stamped off in a rage and designed a new ceramic stove, one that would accommodate the terrestrial pots very well. And Koltan put the model into production. do well by us.\" The kilns of the Pottery of Masur fired day and night to keep up with the demand for the new porcelain stoves. In three years, more than a million had been made and sold by the Masurs alone, not counting the hundreds of thousands of copies turned out by competitors in every land. In the meantime, however, more things than pots came from Earth. One was a printing press, the like of which none on Zur had ever dreamed. This, for some unknown reason and much to the disgust of Moreover, the Earthmen brought miles of copper wire—more than enough Within five years of the first landing of the Earthmen, every major \"this coming of the Earthmen had been a great thing for us, and unthinkable impertinence. It would do no good, Zotul realized, to bring up the fact that their production of ceramic cooking pots had dropped off to about two per cent of its former volume. Of course, profits on the line of new stoves greatly overbalanced the loss, so that actually they were ahead but their business was now dependent upon the supply of the metal pots from Earth. About this time, plastic utensils—dishes, cups, knives, forks—made their appearance on Zur. It became very stylish to eat with the everything they sold, the Earthmen always took the old ware in trade. What they did with the stuff had been hard to believe at first. They \"Note,\" Koltan announced in a shaky voice, \"that the Earthmen undermine subsided. \"They are replacing our high-quality ceramic ware with inferior terrestrial junk,\" Koltan went on bitterly. \"It is only the glamor that sells it, of course, but before the people get the shine out of their of Earth. Think of the telegraph and The merchandise of the Earthmen is put up for sale by means of these in the underlayers of the planet's crust. Crews of Zurians, working terrestrial ship, the Earthmen were conducting a brisk business in was gone. Moreover, the Earthmen sold the Zurians their own natural gas \"Some new devilment of the Earthmen, you can be sure,\" said Koltan radio parts. This was Earth's first step toward flooding Zur with the to Zur!\" hitherto unheard-of vehicles. The last hope of the brothers was dashed. The Earthmen set up plants \"What is that?\" asked Koltan. Zotul. It took three weeks for the Earthmen to get around to calling with something called \"blacktop\" and jammed with an array of glittering new automobiles. they were the envied ones of Zur. the baggy costume of Zur, he looked almost like a Zurian, except for the world of Zur. That was before my father, the famous Kalrab all because of new things coming from Earth.\" bargain-priced merchandise of Earth must be poor indeed. \"None at all,\" beamed the Earthman cheerily. \"Every item is given to He chuckled deeply. \"We of Earth have a saying about one of our \"Impossible,\" said Zotul drably. \"Not I and all my brothers together \"What is that?\" asked Zotul skeptically. Zotul grasped at the glittering promise with avidity. \"What must I do Zotul, anxious to possess the treasures promised by the Earthman, interest in the Pottery of Masur. They rolled in the luxuries of Earth. the crust of Zur and was sold to the Zurians at a magnificent profit. The food they ate was cooked in Earthly pots on Earth-type gas ranges, served up on metal plates that had been stamped out on Earth. In the winter, they toasted their shins before handsome gas grates, though they had gas-fired central heating. electrical gadgets and appliances hit the market. For some reason, Earthmen, explained Broderick, had built a plant of their own because maintain. But all Zurians who had to keep up with the latest from Earth had them. Now it was possible not only to hear about things of Earth, The pottery income dropped to an impossible low, no matter how Zotul designed and the brothers produced. Their figurines and religious ikons were a drug on the market. The Earthmen made them of plastic and sold them for less. pottery to us.\" The brothers, when they heard of this, were too stunned to think of terrestrials were picked for physical assets that made Zurian men covetous and Zurian women envious. \"I don't understand. The Earthmen....\" Zotul paused, coloring. \"We are \"You mean,\" exclaimed Zotul, aghast, \"that you Earthmen own everything on Zur?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat wasn't something unheard of that the Earthmen brought to Zur?\n\n<options>:\nA the idea of credit\nB new roads\nC government\nD metal pots\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
263	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>:\nyears, but it's all over now. I suggest you keep your heads and resist the temptation to make matters worse than they are.\" \"Miss Meuhl,\" Fith said, \"a peace squad waits outside your consulate. It is clear you are in the hands of a dangerous lunatic. As always, the \"Don't bother,\" Retief said. \"You know what was in those files I looked over this morning.\" Retief turned at a sound behind him. Miss Meuhl was at the door, reaching for the safe-lock release.... \"Don't!\" Retief jumped—too late. The door burst inward. A crowd of crested Groaci pressed into the room, pushed Miss Meuhl back, aimed scatter guns at Retief. Police Chief Shluh pushed forward. \"You can't turn this invitation down,\" Administrative Assistant Meuhl said flatly. \"I'll make that 'accepts with pleasure'.\" Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke. \"Attempt no violence, Terrestrial,\" he said. \"I cannot promise to \"I suggest you move back out the same way you came in.\" \"I invited them here,\" Miss Meuhl spoke up. \"They are here at my \"You can't offend the Groaci,\" Miss Meuhl said sharply. \"Consul Whaffle \"Never mind the excuses,\" Retief said. \"Just tell him I won't be there.\" He stood up. best if we removed this deranged person to a place of safety?\" \"You're making a serious mistake, Shluh,\" Retief said. \"Yes,\" Miss Meuhl said. \"You're quite right, Mr. Shluh. Please escort Mr. Retief to his quarters in this building—\" \"I don't advise you to violate my diplomatic immunity, Fith,\" Retief said. \"As chief of mission,\" Miss Meuhl said quickly, \"I hereby waive immunity in the case of Mr. Retief.\" Shluh produced a hand recorder. \"Kindly repeat your statement, Madam, \"Are you leaving the office?\" Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. \"I have some important letters here for your signature.\" \"I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said, pulling on a light cape. \"Since I'm cutting out the culture from now on,\" Retief said, \"I won't be so busy.\" Retief looked thoughtfully at Miss Meuhl. \"You've been here on Groac \"Well!\" Miss Meuhl said. \"May I ask where you'll be if something comes up?\" \"I'm going over to the Foreign Office Archives.\" \"Certainly not on Groac.\" Retief nodded. \"Thanks, Miss Meuhl,\" he said. \"I'll be back before you close the office.\" Miss Meuhl's face was set in lines of grim disapproval as he closed the door. At the office, Miss Meuhl would be waiting with another list of complaints. Retief studied the carving over the open doorways along the street. II \"There you are!\" Miss Meuhl said, eyeing Retief over her lenses. \"There are two gentlemen waiting to see you. Groacian gentlemen.\" \"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. \"I am Fith, of the Terrestrial Desk, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Shluh, of the Internal Police?\" \"Sit down, gentlemen,\" Retief said. They resumed their seats. Miss Meuhl hovered nervously, then sat on the edge of a comfortless chair. \"Just keep that recorder going,\" Retief snapped. \"I'll not be a party—\" \"You'll do as you're told, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said quietly. \"I'm telling you to make an official sealed record of this conversation.\" Miss Meuhl sat down. Retief turned a steady look on Miss Meuhl. She closed her mouth. The Groaci sat down. \"We wish to show our contrition,\" Fith said. \"We will show you the ship.\" \"Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said. \"If I don't come back in a reasonable length of time, transmit that recording to Regional Headquarters, sealed.\" He the rhythmic puffing of the motor and said nothing. III \"Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said, \"I want you to listen carefully to what I'm \"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,\" Miss Meuhl snapped, indignation. \"You're like a ... a....\" \"You and I are in a tight spot, Miss Meuhl. The logical next move for door. \"I'll be back in a couple of hours,\" he said. Miss Meuhl stared after safe-lock and stepped into the darkened consular office. He looked tired. Miss Meuhl, dozing in a chair, awoke with a start. She looked at Retief, rose and snapped on a light, turned to stare. \"What in the world—Where have you been? What's happened to your \"I got a little dirty. Don't worry about it.\" Retief went to his desk, opened a drawer and replaced the needler. \"Where have you been?\" Miss Meuhl demanded. \"I stayed here—\" have a long transmission for Regional Headquarters.\" \"Are you going to tell me where you've been?\" \"I have a message to get off first, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said sharply. \"I've been to the Foreign Ministry,\" he added. \"I'll tell you all about it later.\" \"This is absolutely the end!\" Miss Meuhl said. \"Thank heaven I've already—\" \"Get that sender going, woman!\" Retief snapped. \"This is important.\" \"I've already done so, Mr. Retief!\" Miss Meuhl said harshly. \"I've been waiting for you to come back here....\" She turned to the communicator, image appeared. \"He's here now,\" Miss Meuhl said to the screen. She looked at Retief triumphantly. \"I have done my duty, Mr. Retief,\" Miss Meuhl said. \"I made a full report to Regional Headquarters last night, as soon as you left this office. Any doubts I may have had as to the rightness of that decision 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 \"Mr. Retief,\" the face on the screen said, \"I am Counsellor Pardy, DSO-1, Deputy Under-secretary for the region. I have received a report on your conduct which makes it mandatory for me to relieve you administratively, vice Miss Yolanda Meuhl, DAO-9. Pending the findings of a Board of Inquiry, you will—\" ignore. I can't afford that, at this moment. Listen, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief went on earnestly, \"I've found the missing cruiser.\" \"You heard him relieve you!\" to, Miss Meuhl. But until I've heard and acknowledged a verbal order, it has no force. If I'm wrong, he'll get my resignation. If I'm right, that suspension would be embarrassing all around.\" \"You're defying lawful authority! I'm in charge here now.\" Miss Meuhl stepped to the local communicator. \"I'm going to report this terrible thing to the Groaci at once, and transmission to Headquarters, along with a call for an armed task force. Then we'll settle down to wait.\" Retief ignored Miss Meuhl's fury as he spoke into the recorder. The local communicator chimed. Miss Meuhl jumped up, staring at it. \"Go ahead,\" Retief said. \"Answer it.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat official positions do Miss Muehl and Retief hold on Groac?\n\n<options>:\nA Retief is Private Investigator for the Terrestrial States. Miss Meuhl is his administrative assistant.\nB Retief is Consul for the Groacian States. Miss Meuhl is Consul for the Terrestrial States.\nC Retief is Consul for the Terrestrial States. Miss Meuhl is his administrative assistant.\nD Retief is Internal Police. Miss Meuhl is his administrative assistant.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,123	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 sight of an Earthman on Vega III, where it was impossible for an outlander exterminate any planet that refuses to obey the just and legal \"And it is true that we can always to be, brought angry crowds to surround of the Universal Holy Empire of Sunda. He ignored the snarling, the spitting, the waving of boneless We control it adequately, and we heavy gravity and heavier air of the unfamiliar planet. John Crownwall, florid, red-headed and bulky, considered himself live in peace. \"The Sundans, for example, Earthlings, that is.\" Crownwall nodded. \"In other words, you think that we Earthmen slavered, but he had never before seen it done. These humanoids had large mouths and sharp teeth, and had heard about creatures that wished he knew more about them. If they carried out the threats of their present attitude, Earth would have to send Marshall to replace its deeply carved Greek key design, world. You can do the same on the worlds of the Sunda. Now, just tell us how you did it, and we're demonstrated an elaborate air of unconcern that he felt sure was entirely quizzically, but remained silent. He didn't expect his facial gesture to be interpreted correctly, relief. A pair of guards, their purple to feel safe, and we will guarantee them an equal share in the government of the Galaxy.\" hides smoothly polished and gleaming \"What business is certainly adequate security for our own good behavior and sincerity. \"It is impossible for us of Earth Holy Empire\"—Universal Galactic that belong to you than there are human beings on Earth. But there is a way for us to be reasonably sure that you will behave yourselves. You will transfer to us, at once, a hundred of your planet-destroying had a full measure of ceremonial words—\"he sees only those whom arrived from Earth to talk to him. He'll summon me fast enough. Meanwhile, my highly polished though they took the rule of the destroy any planet you choose to land on. You would not get away from us. We can track you without would happen to Earth. And don't think that blowing up our planet would save you, because we naturally plan,\" said His Effulgence. \"It is worthy of the thinking of The People ourselves. You Earthlings will make very satisfactory allies. What expected to take what you Earthlings have to offer without giving last. \"But then I'm told you're an Earthling. I suppose we can expect you to be ignorant of those niceties customary among civilized peoples.\" tentacle in a beckoning gesture. \"Come closer, Earthling. I bid you welcome to my capital. I have been looking forward to your arrival for exclamation of protest. \"Oh, spy through buildings on Earth from space, which I doubt, your communications system can't get us to begin to make intelligent in particular,\" the Vegan said with a negligent wave. \"Who can tell one Earthling from another? What I meant was that I expected someone from Earth to break through our blockade and come here. Most instruments. Instead, we travel in time. Surely any race that has progressed as far as your own must on any of your long-range detection you that we don't travel in space at all. That's why I didn't show up who tried to work any changes in his own past would be almost visitors.\" Ffallk glanced up at Ggaran. \"I told you that Earthlings were unbelievably bold.\" He turned back for me?\" Earth as the spatial referent, us to take over the rule of the Galaxy from the Sunda—the so-called Master Race.\" \"It would hardly be an equal swiftly. Crownwall recalled the discussion—the There are more inhabited planets in the Galaxy than there are people on your single world. I, personally, rule three hundred trillion people, half of them of my own race. And yet I tell you that it would be an equal partnership.\" \"I don't get it. Why?\" the end of a drinking tube with his eating orifice. \"You upstart Earthlings are a strange and a frightening race,\" he said. \"Frightening to the Sunda, especially. plans to beat the claws off the Master Race.\" \"Since this is a very important be called civilized at all. But we numbering a total of perhaps a hundred thousand individuals. They showed many signs of an ability to reason, but a complete lack of civilization. While these creatures could by no means be classed among the intelligent races, there was a general expectation, which we reported to the Sunda, reached a high enough civilization to be useful—if you were going to. \"Intelligence is very rare in the Galaxy. In all, it has been found only fifteen times. The other races we have watched develop, and One such race we left uncontrolled too long—but no matter. \"You Earthlings, in defiance of all expectation and all reason, have exploded into space. You have developed the most disconcerting item of your development. As an Earthling, you an adventure that in space, about forty thousand kilometers above the Earth. It had been manned by a dozen adventurous in Earth's history, and, for the twelve, the stars had winked out. The men of Earth had decided that it should work in theory. They tradition.\" time has any meaning under such Earth to be its twin sister. They had headed for that planet confidently and unsuspectingly, using from their destination, they had been shocked to find more than two score alien ships of space closing in on them—ships that race—the Master Race—also enjoy the type of civilization you have just had demonstrated were swifter and more maneuverable a shudder of distaste. \"Tell me, Your Effulgence, does the Emperor's \"Oh, no. They are far too brutal, planet it had been heading toward. Although caught by surprise, the Earthmen had acted too morally degraded, to know anything of these finer points of etiquette and propriety. They are had called it—and their unanimous decision. Although far within the dangerous influence of a planetary just witnessed! They are really quite unfit to rule. They can scarcely they had returned to Earth as swiftly as they had departed. Earth had immediately prepared for war against her unknown enemy. \"Your reaction was savage,\" said Ggaran, his tentacles stiffening with shock at the memory. \"You bloody-minded Earthlings must have been aware of the terrible danger.\" not only yourself, but also all who live on that planet. You could also have wrecked the planet itself and the ships and those of my own race who manned them. We had tried to contact you, but since you had not developed subspace transportation machine. The machine, else that would have kept you from landing on Earth and taking us it took us a little time to react. We located your planet quickly enough, and confirmed that you were a new race. But by the time we could try to set up communications and plan of yours. It's only a question each other. I traveled halfway across the Galaxy to meet him, to convince him that it would be sufficient just to quarantine you. When we had used your radio system to teach a few of you the Universal \"There, you see?\" exclaimed Crownwall. \"Our enemies are all show up on our planet. So I've been waiting for you, and here you are.\" \"It was the thinking of a genius,\" Earthling,\" said His Effulgence. Ggaran bowed. \"The crustaceans on Sunda—the lobsterlike creatures that rule the Galaxy—are usurpers. They have no rights to their position of power. Our race is much older than theirs. We were alone when we found the Sundans—a primitive tribe, grubbing in the mud at the edge of their shallow seas, unable even to reason. In them develop to the point where, in their inferior way, they were able to reason, almost as well as we, The them, but I don't let them intermingle. Each race settles on the planets that best suit it. Each of those planets is quite capable of defending large-scale assaults that would result in its capture and subjugation—just as your little Earth can defend itself. \"Naturally, each is vulnerable to\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the significance of the title of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA It reinforces the importance of engine technology in space travel\nB It refers to the way the Vegans rule their territories\nC It hints toward the types of political negotiations that will happen\nD It points to how the alien races see the humans\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,485	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 colony had grown to near self-sufficiency, lacked adequate medical and research facilities. Not all the world’s citizens were content. when Zarwell arrived that monkey on his back Under the cloud of cast-off identities lay the shape of another man— was it himself? By CHARLES V. DE VET “So that’s our big, bad man,” a Who he was, and what he was doing here, was clouded. The truth lurked coarse voice above him observed [p ] caustically. “He doesn’t look so “It might have been better to kill him right away,” a second, less confident voice said. “It’s supposed to be impossible to hold him.” negligently against a stone pillar, to his right but within vision, straightened and barked an order “What do you think they’ll do “Execute him, I suppose,” the harsh voice said matter-of-factly. “They’re probably just curious to with him?” observe his surroundings. It was a mistake. “He’s out of against the locker at the spaceport. Irrelevantly he wondered how he Zarwell did not deign to acknowledge Zarwell followed his gaze to where from him Zarwell had unobtrusively with an instinctive motion. Until that instant he had intended to fight. Now he swiftly reassessed the odds. There were five of them, he saw. He should be able to incapacitate two or three Zarwell told him. that others would very probably be waiting outside. His best course now was to sham ignorance. He relaxed. He offered no resistance as they they had been expecting him meant The man’s mouth opened and he tried to yell as he threw himself frantically backward. He clawed at reached him. with perspiration and body oil, grabbed him by the jacket and drove his fist at Zarwell’s head. Zarwell pulled the struggling slammed him back against the Zarwell did not answer. His memory seemed on the point of “I don’t see why not.” Zarwell Zarwell corrected him. “You’d be foolish!” Bergstrom obviously realized how close he was to death. Yet he showed little fear. Zarwell had thought the man a bit soft, too adjusted to a life of ease and some prestige to meet danger calmly. Curiosity restrained his trigger finger. “Why would I be foolish?” he maintained a professional diversionary chatter as he administered The floor beneath Zarwell’s feet “Is that the best you can do?” “No.” Bergstrom was angry now. “But use that logical mind you’re supposed to have! Scenes before this have shown what kind of man patient. If he was skilled enough, he could sort the relevancies from Zarwell debated with himself the asked. and Zarwell sank deep into “Because you’re no mad-dog killer!” Now that the crisis seemed ZARWELL found himself Zarwell’s eyebrows raised. He should know all about the instrument, its purpose and workings, but he could not bring his thoughts into rational focus. His forehead creased with his mental aside with one hand. “Your name makes little difference. You’ve used many. But you are an idealist. Your effort. merely shortening the space between them—the man who held Abruptly the unreality about him shifted perspective. He was mutual attraction. The man with the gun raised his Zarwell made his decision quickly. weapon and pressed the trigger. ALL Zarwell’s attention seemed reflected. It was more than least every twenty hours. Fortunately his natural features would serve as an adequate disguise now. himself well in an emergency. Bergstrom shrugged, dismissing concealed by his present perplexity. He was a man who could handle reticence, however. The man had his strayed thoughts. “I expected sitting is about all we ever try. Otherwise some particular episode might cause undue mental stress, and set up a block.” He glanced down at his appointment pad. “Tomorrow Zarwell grunted acknowledgment same bearded men who had been Zarwell left the analyst’s office. was careful not to rest his hand on the flesh searing surface of the stone. Zarwell passed a group of “Trust and money,” Zarwell said Zarwell nodded. his ennui. [p 139 Zarwell stopped him with an upraised you see the reason for all this? I’m tired. I’m trying to quit.” follow him. Zarwell explained listlessly. “A his mind lost its sleep-induced [p were rotten. We went with him. Again we were successful. It seems I have a kind of genius for that saying: ‘When the oppressed win their freedom they are as oppressive Zarwell’s tone appealed only as it would have been if he had studied it from blueprints, not to Bergstrom for understanding. “I have only a normal man’s indignation as though he lived there. I can’t get rid of it.” He rose. “That disguise and streets. Zarwell moved among memory planting were supposed to get me out of it. I should have conflict . The background changed. He understood that he was on a different world. RESTLESSNESS drove Zarwell Here a city burned. Its resistance was nearing its end. Zarwell was wall surrounding the stricken metropolis. He moved in and joined a party of short, bearded men, directing them as they battered at the Zarwell turned and studied the Zarwell was not the leader of the invaders, only a lesser figure in the rebellion. But he had played a leading part in the planning of the strategy that led to the city’s fall. ] beyond the age of sports. He had a manner of contained energy. was fleeing, pursued by the Zarwell tried to feel the anger he his comrades before. Still he moved with the same firm purpose, vigilant, resourceful, and well prepared for the eventuality that had befallen. He made his escape without I’ll leave—if you tell me to.” Against his will he found himself liking the man, and wanting at least to be courteous. He inclined his conflict engulfed him. Weary but resigned he accepted difficulty. “Then will you just listen? After, He alighted from a space ship on Zarwell smiled with mild embarrassment. Zarwell found himself not listening Zarwell’s expression became did they always try to drag him into their troubles? Why hadn’t he chosen some other world on which to hide? The last question prompted a new thought. Just why had he chosen St. Martin’s? Was it only a coincidence? Or had he, subconsciously at least, picked this particular world? He had always considered himself the unwilling subject of glib persuaders … but mightn’t some inner compulsion of his own have put the monkey on his back? “… and we need your help.” “It is my considered opinion,” Zarwell gazed up at the bright Bergstrom went on, “that your lost memory will turn out to be no ordinary “That’s why you’re here, you A WORK truck picked Zarwell bringing ocean muck from the converter plant at the seashore his to supplement the ocean sediment. The progress of life from the sea to the land was a mechanical [p life. The necessary machinery and technicians had been supplied by Earth, and the long struggle began to fit the world for human needs. When Zarwell arrived, six of the energy and resources of the world were devoted to that essential expansion. sodded the sterile rock, planted binding grasses, grain and trees, and diverted rivers to keep it fertile. When there were no rivers to divert they blasted out springs and lakes germ and insect life from what they found in the sea. Where that failed, they imported microorganisms from Earth. Three rubber-tracked crawlers export thus far. Zarwell pulled his sun helmet lower, to better guard his hot, dry After its three-thousand-mile journey across scorched sterile rock, it sucked the moisture from a man’s Zarwell gazed idly about at the cure for the skin fungus had not yet been found the men’s faces and hands were scabbed and red.\n\n<question>:\nWhat motivates Zarwell to take on the 'missions' he leads?\n\n<options>:\nA He desires to eradicate the galaxy of authoritarian regimes\nB He is not consciously aware of why he agrees to participate in the missions\nC He enjoys the adrenaline rush of the precarious situations his missions place him in\nD He wishes to prevent Earth from being destroyed by man-made climate change\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
346	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHe waved his hands helplessly. \"Gratitude?\" he muttered. \"No, you don't understand that, either.\" Then he cried suddenly, \"But I am your friend, Robert!\" arrangement: I did what Peter wished, so long as I did not actively satisfaction. His dream was perfect the was complete, every minutest detail provided for—on paper. In two weeks they would be Relief washed over him, leaving him breathless. He was horrified, of course, but only abstractedly. For the moment he could only be glad that what he had seen was terrible reality rather than even more terrible illusion. \"I have no fear that the people of Earth will fail to meet this challenge, for there is no alternative. Not only our individual lives first time. \" Will He mouthed the syllables, had to repeat them because he put an accent in the wrong place, and squeezed through the door as soon as it opened Lorelei, beautiful in spite of dark-circled eyes and a smear of grease \"Darling, what's wrong?\" \"You'll understand in a minute. Turn it on, Lorelei.\" She gazed at him levelly for a moment, kissed him impulsively, and then Lorelei caught her breath. Lorelei buried her head on his chest, clutching at him desperately. \"Peter!\" she said faintly. \"Why do they broadcast such things?\" \"They have to,\" he told her grimly. \"There will be panics and suicides, and they know it but they have to do it. This isn't like a war, where Then they faded slowly. It was impossible to say whether they had gone through the solid wall, or simply melted away. The man and woman clung together, waiting. She was after him, clinging to his arms. \"No, Peter! Don't go in there! Peter! Lorelei's assistant, was crumpled in a corner, half supported by the The Invaders ignored Peter, staring expressionlessly down at Kanin. but there was a tiny sound in Peter's brain, a thin, dry whispering. He wanted to say, \"Yes, get a doctor. Lorelei—\" but his mouth only He tried to get up again. \"Where's Lorelei?\" \"She's well, and you'll see her soon. Now lie quietly. You've been a In a moment he began to relax, and the room got fuzzy again. Just before he drifted off, he said sleepily, \"You can't—fool me. It's been more —than three—months.\" He was right. All the nurses, and even Dr. Arnold, were evasive, but he kept asking them why he couldn't see Lorelei, and finally he wormed it out of them. It had been nine and a half months, not three, and he'd been in a coma all that time. Lorelei, it seemed, had recovered much sooner. \"She was only suffering from ordinary shock,\" Arnold explained. miracle you're alive, and rational.\" \"But where is she?\" Peter complained. \"You still haven't explained why I haven't been able to see her.\" Arnold frowned. \"All right,\" he said. \"I guess you're strong enough to months ago.\" \"But why?\" Peter whispered. Arnold's strong jaw knotted. \"We're hiding,\" he said. \"Everything else has failed.\" Peter couldn't think of anything to say. Dr. Arnold's voice went on enough to take care of a quarter of the earth's population, the other three-quarters will be dead, or worse.\" \"I wonder,\" Peter said shakily, \"if I am strong enough to take it.\" Arnold laughed harshly. \"You are. You've got to be. You're part of our last hope, you see.\" \"Our last hope?\" \"Yes. You're a scientist.\" \"I see,\" said Peter. And for the first time, he thought of the Citadel . No plan leaped full-born into his mind, but, , he thought, there's a chance .... Lorelei said, \"You can't do it. I won't let you! Peter—\" \"Darling,\" he began wearily. \"Don't throw your life away! Give us time—there must be another way.\" \"There's no other way,\" Peter said. He gripped her arms tightly, as if but that's only delaying the end. They still come down here, only not rate is down, in spite of anything we can do. You've seen the figures: we're riding a curve that ends in extinction fifty years from now. \"They'll live, and we'll die, because they're a superior race. We're a million years too far back even to understand what they are or where or twelve toes, or a dozen ears—or a better brain. Out of those millions of possible mutations, there's one that will save the human race. We can't fight them , but a superman could. That's our only chance. Lorelei—darling—don't you see that?\" She choked, \"But why can't you take me along?\" He stared unseeingly past her wet, upturned face. \"You know why,\" he said bitterly. \"Those rays are strong. They don't only work on embryos they change adult life forms, too. I have one chance in seven of staying alive. You'd have one chance in a million of staying beautiful. Her sobs gradually died away. She straightened slowly until he no longer had to support her, but all the vitality and resilience was gone out of her body. \"All right,\" she said in a lifeless voice. \"You'll come back, Peter.\" He turned away suddenly, not trusting himself to kiss her goodbye. A line from an old film kept echoing through his head. \" They'll back—but not as boys !\" We'll come back, but not as men. We'll come back, but not as elephants. We'll come back, but not as octopi. He was trembling violently. He ran the last few steps, stumbled into the airlock, and pressed the stud that would seal the door behind him. We'll come back.... He heard the massive disk sink home, closing him off. Then he sank down on the floor of the airlock and put his head in The energy-charged screen flickered off to let him pass, and closed smoothly behind him. The last doors, cleverly camouflaged, slipped back into place and then dwindled in the distance. It was done. Already he could feel the invisible rays burning resistlessly through his flesh as if it were water, shifting the cells of his body, working its slow, monstrous alchemy upon him. Peter waited until the changes from the incubators. Time went by, meaninglessly. He ate when he was hungry, slept when his driving purpose let him, and worked unceasingly, searching for the million-to-one chance. He stared sometimes through changed eyes at the tiny blue star that was Earth, wondering if the race he had left behind still burrowed in its worm-tunnels, digging deeper and deeper away from the sunlight. But after a time he ceased even to wonder. hope.... Peter closed the diary. \"The rest you know, Robert,\" he said. \"Yes,\" I told him. \"I was that child. I am the millionth mutation you were searching for.\" He turned again, and I saw the old scar on his cheek where I had once accidentally drawn one of my talons across his face. \"And now,\" he said softly, \"we will go home. I've waited so long—keeping the control chamber and the engine room locked away from you, not telling you, even, about Earth until now—because I had to be sure. But now, the waiting is over. \"They're still there, I'm sure of it—the people, and the Invaders. You can kill the Invaders, Robert.\" they are. You can\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Peter insist that Lorelei not come along for the mission?\n\n<options>:\nA He knows he will mutate when he leaves, and he can't stand the thought of her seeing him like that.\nB It's too dangerous for her to go as a woman. She doesn't have the same odds of survival.\nC He knows she would mutate as well, and he wouldn't be able to handle that and put the mission at risk.\nD He knows that they'll be reunited, and promises to come back.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
842	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.] Not to be or not to not be ... that was the not-question for the invader of the not-world. Dear Editor: My 14 year old boy, Ronnie, is typing this letter for me because he Now get this. In one room, that of Joe Binkle, which maybe is an alias, I find nothing but a suit of clothes, some butts and the letters I Mr. Joe Binkle Plaza Ritz Arms New York City Dear Joe: Greetings, greetings, greetings. Hold firm in your wretched projection, for tomorrow you will not be alone in the not-world. In two days I, Glmpauszn, will be born. Today I hang in our newly developed not-pod just within the mirror gateway, torn with the agony that we calculated must go with such tremendous wavelength fluctuations. I have attuned myself to a fetus within the body of a not-woman in the not-world. Already I am static and for hours have looked into this weird extension of the Universe with fear and trepidation. returning them? My wave went out to yours and found it, barely pulsing 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. Tomorrow it will be someone else. You must never know of my exact location, for the not-people might have access to the information. I must leave off now because the not-child is about to be born. When it is alone in the room, it will be spirited away and I will spring from the pod on the gateway into its crib and will be its exact vibrational 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. Glmpauszn June 13 Dear Joe: Mnghjkl, fhfjgfhjklop phelnoprausynks. No. When I communicate with you, I see I must avoid those complexities of procedure for which there are not-mother, my not-father, had been away riding on some conveyance during my birth. He was out on ... what did they call it? Oh, yes, a bender. He did not arrive till three days after I was born. Dredging into the treasury of knowledge I had come equipped with, I produced the proper phrase for occasions of this kind in the not-world. 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 refer to our world as never-never land and other anomalies. But we learned otherwise, while they never have. New sensations crowd into my consciousness and I am having a hard time classifying them. Anyway, I shall carry on swiftly now to the inevitable climax in which I singlehanded will obliterate the terror of the not-world and return to our world a hero. I cannot understand your not replying to my letters. I have given you a box number. What could have happened to your vibrations? Glmpauszn 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 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 What will Blgftury and the others say of this? My great mission is you with more enlightenment. Glmpauszn Moscow, Idaho June 17 Dear Joe: I received your first communication today. It baffles me. Do you greet me in the proper fringe-zone manner? No. Do you express joy, hope, this inferior world? A reminder, please. You and I—I in particular—are now engaged in a struggle to free our world from the terrible, maiming intrusions 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. 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, which you unfortunately caused me to use. So, for the ultimate cause—in this, the penultimate adventure, and for the glory and peace of our world—shake a leg, bub. Straighten up and fly right. In short, get hep. Glmpauszn all being forwarded to Blgftury. If I were not involved in the most important part of my journey—completion of the weapon against the not-worlders—I would come to New York immediately. You would rue that day, I assure you. Glmpauszn July 15 Dear Joe: A great deal has happened to me since I wrote to you last. Systematically, I have tested each emotion and sensation listed in again. I feel much better now. You see, Joe, as I attuned myself to the various impressions that constantly assaulted my mind through this body, I conditioned myself to Glmpauszn July 20 Dear Joe: Now you tell me not to drink alcohol. Why not? You never mentioned it I think I'll get a hot report off to the old so-and-so right now. It'll an atomic reactor in the sewage systems here and that all we have to do is activate it and all the not-people will die of chain asphyxiation. Boy, what an easy job this turned out to be. It's just a vacation. Joe, you old gold-bricker, imagine you here all these gleebs living off the Glmpauszn July 25 Dear Joe: All is lost unless we work swiftly. I received your revealing letter invisible any more. I must find the formula that will wipe out the not-world men quickly. Quickly! Glmpauszn September 10 Dear Joe: This telepathic control becomes more difficult every time. I must pick closer points of communication soon. I have nothing to report but the not-men, curse them. Glmpauszn Rochester, New York We must use care. Stock in as much gin as you are able. I will bring with me all that I can. Meanwhile I must return to my original place of birth into this world of horrors. There I will secure the gateway, a large mirror, the vibrational point at which we shall meet and slowly climb the frequency scale to emerge into our own beautiful, now secure world. You and I together, Joe, conquerors, liberators. You say you eat little and drink as much as you can. The same with me. Even in this revolting world I am a sad sight. My not-world senses In only a single gleeb it will begin to work. The men of this queer world will be no more. But we can't say we didn't have some fun, can we, Joe? Glmpauszn\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Glmpauszn's goal?\n\n<options>:\nA To escape the not-world.\nB To eliminate humans to protect his world.\nC To venture into the human world and learn more about them.\nD To reconnect with Joe in the not-world.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,402	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>:\nRyzga made a savage, wholly futile effort to lift the weapon in his Dark was the Ryzga mountain and forbidding with the Ryzgas themselves, who slept within, ready to wake and At sunset they were in sight of the Ryzga mountain. Strangely it towered mountain. Var sensed her fear, and the love that had conquered it. He felt a wave of tenderness and bitterness. For him she had come to this. follow him. Now, if her father and his kinsmen overtook them, it would the crags that loomed over the pass, and to the frozen ground underfoot. lurid fire spewed from the Ryzga mountain, and avalanche in the dream, and hideous beasts rushed snapping and ravening ascents, sheets of traitorous glare ice. Place after place had to be crossed on the air, and both grew weary with the effort such crossings cost. They hoarded their strength, helping one another one alone might never have won through. It was starry night already when they saw the light from the Watcher's the rocks above. They heard no sound. The two young people stared for a long minute, intrigued and fearful. Both had heard of this place, and the ancient who lived there to keep watch on the Ryzga mountain, as a part of the oldest legends of their of him, more marred by age than anyone they had ever seen before, was disappointing. They had expected something more—an ancient giant, a off and forced us into the mountains, and now they are only a few hours behind us.\" \"A pity, indeed. I would like to help you—but, you understand, I am the overtaking us. I have only one idea left: we can go where Groz may fear to follow us.\" \"To the mountain, you mean.\" mountain the Ryzgas sleep, as they chose to do when their world crumbled. But if they are wakened, the mountain will tremble, and the Ryzgas will come forth.\" \"Do you believe that?\" \"As one believes stories.\" \"It is true,\" said the Watcher heavily. \"In my youth I penetrated farther into the mountain than anyone before, farther even than did the First Watcher. I did not see the sleepers, nor will any man until they come again, but I met their sentries, the sentinel machines that guard them now as they have for two thousand years. When I had gone that far, the mountain began to shake, the force that is in the Earth rumbled \"The Ryzgas also were men,\" said the Watcher. \"But they were such a race the Ryzgas, there was lust for power, and atrocious cruelty tyranny, power, and cruelty as theirs, had never been known. They ruled the Earth for four generations, and the Earth was too little for them. those four generations they launched a ship of space. They were great and evil as no other people has been, because they wanted the stars. \"Because of them we must build with dreams instead of iron, and our only fire is that of the Sun, and even now, two thousand years later, the Earth is still slowly recovering from the pangs and poison of that age. that survived when the Ryzgas' world went down in flame and thunder. \"In the last generation of their power the Ryzgas knew by their science that the race of man would endure them no longer. They made ready their weapons, they mined the cities and the factories for destruction, making sure that their works and their knowledge would perish with them. the Ryzgas' might had been forged, eyes that stared white and half the Ryzgas' dream, without slogans other than a cry for blood. \"Some of the Ryzgas took flight to the stars, and some perished on Earth. But there was a group of them who believed that their time to rule would come again. These raised a black mountain from the Earth's heart, and in hollows within it cast themselves into deathless sleep, their deathless and lifeless sentinels round them, to wait till someone dare arouse them, or until their chosen time—no one knows surely. \"I have told you the story you know, and have shown you a glimpse of the old time, because I must make sure that you do not approach the mountain \"You made us fall asleep. Groz will be on us—\" \"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.\" mountain?\" Not looking at the Watcher, Var muttered unsteadily, \"We have no alternative.\" breeze of morning swept into the cave. The youth beckoned to them, and they followed him outside. the morning sun, but the mountain of the Ryzgas drank in the light and curling fog hid everything. \"You have an alternative,\" said the Watcher crisply. The two took their eyes from the black mountain and gazed at him in sudden hope, but his They thought, in the warm intimacy of unreserved understanding: \" It would work: I-you would make the sacrifice of shame and mockery—yet Ryzga mountain.\" Quickly, he impressed on them what he had learned of the structure of the mountain and of its guardian machines. Var closed his eyes, a little dizzied by the rapid flood of detail. bridges from crag to crag. Groz and his pack, in their numbers, would cross the gorge more surely and swiftly. When Var and Neena set foot at last on the cindery slope of the great volcanic cone, they sensed that the pursuit already halved their lead. They stood high on the side of the Ryzga mountain, and gazed at the doorway. It was an opaque yet penetrable well of darkness, opening into 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. made it only this far. It was farther than the Watcher had gone into these uncharted regions, and only the utmost alertness of mind and sense had saved them from death in traps like this. But as yet the way was not blocked.... Then they felt the mountain begin to tremble. A very faint and remote vibration at first, then an increasingly potent shuddering of the floor under their feet and the walls around them. Somewhere far below immense mechanical servitors of the Ryzgas woke one by one and began to make 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. \"Follow us, then!\" They plunged deeper into the mountain. And the shaking of the mountain increased with every step, its vibrations became sound, and its sound was like that of the terrible city which they had seen in the dream. Without warning, lights went on. Blinking in their glare, Var and Neena room that was likewise ablaze with light. Cautiously they crept forward to the threshold of that chamber at the mountain's heart. Its roof was vaulted its circular walls were lined with panels studded the two invaders felt the rapid Var and Neena huddled frozenly, half expecting each instant to be their last. And the Ryzga too stood motionless, looking down at them. not wholly roused from his two millenia of slumber. But the Ryzga's symbols. But there was no block. Apparently the Ryzga felt no need to crawling, laboring to do the Ryzgas' will— The Ryzga's final thought clicked into place: Ryzga froze, teetering off balance and almost falling, as a numbing grip the Ryzga's frantic eyes. They glared back at him with such hatred and such evil that for an instant he almost faltered. But the Ryzga's tale—the Ryzga had not recognized it as such, but had taken it for a built so many machines, such complicated arrangements of matter and energy to do simple tasks—it was because you knew no other way.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy were the Ryzgas not afraid that someone might enter their mountain?\n\n<options>:\nA They did not believe that anyone would want to return to a terrifying society that the Ryzgas left behind\nB They commissioned the Watcher to spin dreadful dreams about what might happen if people attempted to do so\nC They thought that their descendants would eventually die out without access to raw materials\nD They were convinced that no one would be able to penetrate the mountain without advanced technology\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
656	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>:\nSILENCE IS—DEADLY By Bertrand L. Shurtleff Radio is an absolute necessity in modern organization—and particularly in modern naval organization. If you could silence all radio—silence of that sort would be deadly! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science-Fiction April 1942. The hurried rat-a-tat of knuckles hammered on the cabin door. Androka had arrived on board the radio station on a high promontory on the north shore of the islet. Another had found the remains of tents and log cabins, recently demolished, in a small, timbered hollow—a well-hidden spot invisible from the air, unless one were flying very low 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. Androka, with a quizzical grin. \"Old Czech-and-Double-Czech is working \"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 advisable to try getting a radio cross-bearing. With all these rocks and islets—\" \"Radio?\" repeated the little Czech, thrusting his face between the other two, in his independent fashion that ignored ship's discipline. old eyes twinkling behind their thick lenses. \"Go ahead and try it. See how much you can get! It will be no more than Hitler can get when Zukor Androka decrees silence over the German airways! Try it! Try it, I say!\" Bob Curtis stared at him, as if questioning his sanity. Then he hastened to the radio room, with Nelson at his heels, and the Czech trotting along behind. The door burst open as they neared it. A frightened operator came out, still wearing his earphones, and stood staring upward incredulously at the aërial. \"Get us a radio cross-bearing for location at once,\" Curtis said thrust himself into the radio room. \"Try again!\" he told the operator. \"See what you can get!\" The radio man leaped to his seat and tried frantically. Again and again, he sent off a request for a cross-bearing from shore stations that had recently been established to insure safety to naval vessels, but there was no answer on any of the bands—not even the blare of a high-powered commercial program in the higher reach, nor the chatter of ships or amateurs on the shorter. 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 can enter or leave my zone of radio silence—of refracted radio waves, set up by my little station on one of the neighboring islets!\" There was a long pause, while commander and navigator stared at him. \"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!\" As if to mock him, the ship's radio began to answer: winking at the two officers over Androka's discomfiture, and asked for numbers. Ignoring the gibbering Androka, who was wailing his closed. The sky was again a blanket of darkness pouring sheets of rain at them. cabin. Curtis lingered in the wireless room with the radio operator. \"It's a funny thing,\" the latter said, still dialing and grousing, \"how I got that cross-bearing through and can't get another squeak out of Curtis was a little shocked by the hatred that gleamed in Androka's with this radio silence?\" A far-away look came into Androka's eyes. He did not seem to hear Curtis said: \"I understand.\" \"And if the Nazi agents in America knew of the islet from which my zone 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 picked up, and was being relayed all over the ship. The words struck on Curtis' ears with a note of impending tragedy. \"Breakers ahead!\" at the end of a swing or smacked against something solid. Curtis felt Nelson's hand grip his shoulder, as he put his lips close 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!\" \"Get out the collision mat!\" Curtis ordered. \"We ought to be able to keep her up!\" And then he became aware of a deadly stillness. A vast wall of silence enveloped the entire cruiser. Looking over the side, he could no longer see the waves that a few minutes before had beaten savagely against the ship. The Comerford was shrouded in a huge pall of yellowish-gray mist, and more of it was coming up from below—from ventilators and hatchways and themselves struck numb and helpless by a gas that had been flooded into the inner compartments of their strongholds. explanations— The vapor clouds that enveloped the Comerford shroud of mist and steadied it, so that the cruiser would not be completely at the mercy of the wind and the waves. Curtis heard the anchor let down, as if by invisible hands, the chain screaming and flailing its clanking way through the hawse hole. Then he was completely walled in by the yellowish-gray mist. He felt his senses swimming. Voices droned all around him in mumbling confusion—guttural voices \" the other was \"convoy.\" But gradually his eardrums began to throb, as if someone were pounding on them from the inside. He couldn't get his breath gas mask. Nelson spoke in a low tone, his lips close to Bradford's ear. \"It worked, Joe!\" \"I'd rather get along without Androka, if we could!\" Nelson muttered. Androka had brought aboard the \"The professor's in his glory!\" Nelson remarked to Kommander Brandt. \"Funny thing about him,\" Bradford put in, \"is that his inventions work. That zone of silence cut us off completely.\" Kommander Brandt nodded. \"Goodt! But you got your message giving your bearings—the wrong ones?\" \"Yes,\" Nelson said. \"That came through all right. And won't Curtis have a time explaining it!\" \"Hereafter,\" Brandt said solemnly, \"the zone of silence vill be projected from the Comerford Androka's vich vill be even more useful vhen ve come to cut the \"What's the idea?\" is taking over.\" \"Can we trust Androka?\" Nelson asked, with a sudden note of suspicion \"Yes,\" Brandt assured him. \"Of all men—we can trust Androka!\" foreigners whom it chooses as its agents,\" Brandt pointed out. \"Androka his daughter and the others will suffer. Androka's loyalty is assured!\" room that served as Androka's laboratory and workshop. to rid the below-decks atmosphere of the lethal gas that had overcome the Comerford's 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\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Androka trying to make?\n\n<options>:\nA A zone of silence that is intended to stop Axis economic flow.\nB A zone of silence that is deadly to all who pass through it.\nC A zone of silence that will stop Americans from being able to radio Europe.\nD A zone of silence that stops all radio signals that attempt to penetrate it.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,146	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>:\nMajor Banes looked at her and smiled a little. \"How do you feel, she knew the pain wouldn't return for a few minutes yet. \"Fine, doctor. It's no worse than I was expecting. How long will it before we can contact White Sands?\" The major looked nervously at his wristwatch. \"Nearly an hour. You'll be all right.\" \"Certainly,\" she agreed, running a hand through her brown hair, \"I'll be okay. Just you be on tap when I call.\" The major's grin broadened. \"You don't think I'd miss a historical a call in.\" He paused, then repeated, \"You just take it easy. Call the nurse if anything happens.\" Then he turned and walked out of the room. Alice Britton closed her eyes. Major Banes was all smiles and cheer \"Lieutenant Britton, you're either careless or brainless know which! Your husband may be the finest rocket jockey in the Space Service, but that doesn't give him the right to come blasting up here on a supply rocket just to get you pregnant!\" Alice had said: \"I'm sure the thought never entered his mind, doctor. I know it never entered mine.\" And he had looked up at her scathingly. \"Lieutenant Britton, it is landing, you're daffy!\" She hadn't thought of it before, but the major was right. The terrible pressure of a rocket landing would increase her effective body weight station. Her pregnancy had never made her uncomfortable the slow gravity at the rim only half that of Earth's surface, and the closer to the hub she went, the less her weight became. According to the major, the baby was due sometime around the first of September. \"Two hundred and eighty days,\" he had said. \"Luckily, we can pinpoint it almost exactly. And at a maximum of half of Earth gravity, space. The depressurization hadn't hurt her too much, but the shock had been enough to start labor. The baby was going to come two months early. She relaxed a little more, waiting for the next pain. There was nothing to worry about she had absolute faith in the red-haired major. The major himself was not so sure. He sat in his office, massaging his fingertips and looking worriedly at the clock on the wall. \"Incubator. We can't deliver a seven-month preemie without an incubator.\" The nurse's eyes widened. \"Good Lord! I never thought of that! What are I'll ask them to send up an emergency rocket with an incubator. But—\" \"But what?\" \"Will we have time? The pains are coming pretty fast now. It will be at least three hours before they can get a ship up here. If they miss us on the next time around, it'll be five hours. She can't hold out that long.\" RENDEZVOUS WITH SS-1 AS OF NEXT PASSAGE ABOVE USA. CAPT. JAMES BRITTON PILOTING. MEDICS LOADING SHIP TWELVE WITH INCUBATOR AND OTHER SUPPLIES. BASE OBSTETRICIAN LT COL GATES ALSO COMING TO ASSIST IN DELIVERY. HANG ON. OVER. Banes nodded and turned to the operator. \"I want a direct open the mill. What's eating you?\" He forced a nervous smile. \"Nothing but the responsibility. You're going to be a very famous woman, you know. You'll be the mother of the first child born in space. And it's my job to see to it that you're both all right.\" She grinned. \"Another Dr. Dafoe?\" \"Something on that order, I suppose. But it won't be all my glory. immediately.\" He paused, and a genuine smile crossed his face. \"Your husband is bringing him up.\" \"Jim! Coming up here? Wonderful! But I'm afraid the colonel will be too late. This isn't going to last that long.\" Banes had to fight hard to keep his face smiling when she said that, but he managed an easy nod. \"We'll see. Don't hurry it, though. Let nature take its course. I'm not such a glory hog that I'd not let Gates have part of it—or all of it, for that matter. Relax and take it easy.\" the Chief Nurse. \"There's a message for you in your office, doctor. I'll send a nurse in to be with her.\" He nodded, then turned back to Alice. \"Stiff uppah lip, and all that 0-199515 COMMANDING WSRB ROCKET. ORBIT COMPUTED FOR RENDEZVOUS AT 1134 HRS MST. CAPT BRITTON SENDS PERSONAL TO LT BRITTON AS FOLLOWS: HOLD THE FORT, BABY, THE WHOLE WORLD IS PRAYING FOR YOU. OUT. looks as though the Space Service has released the information to the public. Lieutenant Britton's husband was right when he said the whole world's praying for her. Do you want to hear the tapes?\" \"Not now, but thanks for the information.\" He hung up and looked into the Chief Nurse's eyes. \"They've released the news to the public.\" She frowned. \"That really puts you on the spot. If the baby dies, people aren't supposed to go around having babies on a space station!\" \"It's all right, doctor. Shall I prepare the delivery room?\" Brittons system, leaving too little oxygen in the atmosphere. It was a few minutes of ten when he decided he'd better get back to Alice Britton. She was trying to read a book between spasms, but she wasn't getting much read. She dropped it to the floor when he came in. \"Am I glad to see you! It won't be long now.\" She looked at him analytically. \"Say! Just what is \"Nothing serious. I just want to make sure everything comes out all right.\" She smiled. \"It will. You're all set. You ordered the instruments months ago. Or did you forget something?\" That hit home, but he just grinned feebly. \"I forgot to get somebody to water that keeps him out of the way, and the doctor has coffee afterwards.\" When the pain had ebbed away, he said: \"We've got the delivery room all ready. It won't be much longer now.\" \"I'll say it won't! How about the incubator?\" There was a long pause. Finally, he said softly: \"There isn't any account. It's my fault. I've done what I could, though the ship is bringing one up. I—I think we'll be able to keep the child alive until—\" He stopped. Alice was bubbling up with laughter. \"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Britton! Alice! This is no time to get hysterical! Stop it!\" Major Peter Banes, haggard but smiling, met Captain Britton in the Banes nodded to Colonel Gates, then turned to Britton. \"I don't know whether to congratulate you or take a poke at you, Captain, but I suppose congratulations come first. Your son, James Edward Britton II, is doing fine, thank you.\" \"You mean— already ?\" \"Over an hour ago,\" said Banes. \"But—but—the incubator—\" Banes' grin widened. \"We'll put the baby in it, now that we've got it, but it really isn't necessary. Your wife figured that one out. A space weak humans from the terrible conditions of space. So all we had to do was close up one of the airtight rooms, sterilize it, warm it up, and put in extra oxygen from the emergency tanks. Young James is perfectly comfortable.\" \"Excellent, Major!\" said the colonel. \"Don't thank me. It was Captain Britton's wife who—\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat does Lt. Britton think of her husband Jim?\n\n<options>:\nA She's frustrated with him for getting her pregnant when she'd be on the Station\nB She's disappointed that he can't be there for the delivery\nC She loves his dedication to his piloting\nD She is excited that he'll be on board as soon as he can\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
925	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nDole vs. the For several weeks now, pundits have debated how Bob Dole would exit the stage. Would he depart on a negative note about his opponent or a positive one about himself? Would he leave with anger or with humor? In the past several days, the issue has been settled. Dole, it appears, will end his political career raging against the New York Times . Dole's spat with the gray lady went public on Thursday, Oct. 24. In New Orleans, Dole charged the paper with ignoring a story about a Miami drug dealer who got invited to the White House. \"This is a disgrace,\" Dole insisted. \"I doubt if you even read it in the New York Times . They probably put it in the want ads. They don't put any anti-Clinton stories in the New York Times . Only anti-Dole stories in the New York Times .\" Dole repeated his attack for the next five days. \"We are not going to let the media steal this election,\" he told a crowd in Dallas on Friday. \"This country belongs to the people, not the New York Times .\" On Saturday, in Visalia, Calif., he added, \"I know that with a crowd this size, the New York Times will write not many people showed up, but the other papers will get it right.\" On Sunday (the day the Times endorsed Clinton), Dole called the paper \"the apologist for President Clinton for the last four years and an arm of the Democratic National Committee.\" In a CNN interview broadcast Monday, Dole said the Times \"might as well be part of the Democratic Party. ... They hammer us on a daily basis. We make a major speech, they bury it back on section D. They put a front-page story that, well, Bob Dole and Jack Kemp didn't get along together 12 years ago.\" On Tuesday, Dole was still at it, referring to the 28 words of the 10th Amendment, and quipping, \"That's about what I got in the New York Times today.\" The Times has reacted to this assault by highhandedly quoting everything and explaining none of it, leaving its readers baffled as to why the Republican nominee is so upset at the paper. In fact, Dole's fury at the Times is hardly news to those who work at the paper. According to Katharine Seelye, who has covered Dole since the beginning of his campaign, the complaints date from December 1995, when Dole staff members first protested that she had misunderstood the candidate's position on abortion. The real bitterness, however, began in May, when the paper played what Dole aides billed as a major address about welfare on Page 19 of the business section. Since then, campaign honchos have peppered the paper's reporters and editors with constant phone calls and letters complaining about unfair treatment. Reporters traveling with Dole caught a glimpse of the enmity Oct. 9, when Nelson Warfield, Dole's press secretary, staged a public confrontation with Seelye. The candidate, Warfield told reporters waiting to board the campaign plane, had just come from an appearance on G. Gordon Liddy's radio show. Why, Seelye asked, weren't reporters told about the appearance in advance? According to reporters present, Warfield snapped that it wouldn't make any difference because the Times would get the story wrong anyway. Then, on the plane, Warfield walked back to the press section and grandly served Seelye with a copy of a letter from Communications Director John Buckley to her boss, Times Washington Editor Andrew Rosenthal. No Dole staff would be quoted by name for this story, but speaking on background, a senior campaign official elaborated upon the complaint. \"They've just done a miserable job throughout this campaign,\" the official said. \"The coverage of Dole has been excessively bitchy from day one, in addition to having a number of extraordinary factual problems.\" With Seelye, the official says, the problem is \"not being able to transcribe a tape accurately.\" With Adam Nagourney, the Times ' other reporter covering Dole full time since the summer, \"the problem is an incredible focus on the little picture as opposed to the big picture.\" As an example, the official cites a September story in which Nagourney lumped together Dole's fall from a platform in Chico, Calif., and his mistaken reference to the \"Brooklyn\" Dodgers as \"a rough stretch of politicking.\" Other than those two episodes, the official says, Dole actually had a great week. The campaign's complaint extends to unequal treatment--a nine-part series on Clinton's record, which the official describes as \"the softest portrait since they invented black velvet\"--and the Times perpetually underestimating the size of Dole crowds. \"Clinton even gets better photographs,\" the official contends. 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. But though unflattering, Seelye's Mametizing of Bob Dole can hardly be called unfair. It is not as if the Times cleans up Clinton's quotes Dole sounds absurd when he alleges that the paper that broke Whitewater and the story of the first lady's commodities trades has not been aggressive in pursuing Clinton scandals. All sorts of potential Dole scandals have been soft-pedaled by the media, including the Times , because he is so far behind. It's true that coverage of Clinton on the campaign trail has been somewhat softer than the coverage of Dole, as even other Times reporters acknowledge. But the explanation is institutional, not ideological. The press, as many have complained, overemphasizes the \"horse race\" aspect of politics. As a side effect of that disease, reporters have excessive respect for a well-run campaign. (In 1988, Republican George Bush benefited from this phenomenon.) A cruder reality is that reporters need to have a relationship with Clinton after Tuesday. None of these factors, though, is unique to the Times . So why is Dole singling it out? Dole's attacks on the Times have the appearance of being an exercise in populist demagogy. In one of his great cue-card reading remarks, Dole tried to explain his recent attacks on CNN the other night by saying, \"I like the media. They don't like them in the South.\" But this pat explanation doesn't entirely make sense. Red meat for right-wing crowds doesn't help Dole with the centrist voters he would need to turn around in order to make the miraculous happen. And in fact, according to a senior Dole aide, the attacks are heartfelt on the candidate's part. Dole has been going after the Times over the objections of advisers who have been telling him there's no percentage in picking fights with the press.\n\n<question>:\nDole makes all of the following charges against the New York Times EXCEPT for: with the NYT?\n\n<options>:\nA They don't publish stories about him on the front page\nB They purposefully misquote him\nC Their reporting on his campaign is inaccurate\nD They are colluding with Clinton to get him elected\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
569	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 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 \"For two years there hasn't been one lousy improvement in the Piltdon for?\" Feetch adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. \"But Mr. Piltdon, \"Dignity,\" pronounced Piltdon, \"is for museums. Four months, Feetch! 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 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 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— 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, \"Hello,\" said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a pencil point. \"Feetch!\" roared Piltdon. \"Is this talk that's going \"Mr. Piltdon—\" said Feetch shakily. Feetch? The thing can be duplicated, can't it?\" \"Feetch,\" bit out Piltdon, his face growing hard. \"Stow this hooey. I climbed to hundreds of thousands per day. Piltdon Opener went into sales to one to a customer. Piltdon cancelled his advertising program. Piltdon, genial these days with success and acclaim, roared at Feetch: 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 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 As soon as he could get hold of Piltdon, Feetch said trembling, \"Sir, I think I know where those cans are going. I recommend—\" \"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?\" there. Anti-Piltdon editorials appeared in the papers. Commentators on the tip of his nose. \"You're through, Feetch!\" raved Piltdon. \"Fired! Get out! But before Piltdon's huge desk. \"No!\" yelled Piltdon at Feetch's face which was \"Forever, Feetch?\" \"You're positive, Feetch?\" Piltdon's eyes glared into Feetch's. Feetch felt himself sag inwardly. \"Mr. Piltdon,\" he said. \"I'm asking 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 \"Mr. Piltdon,\" Feetch said. \"I—\" klunk!—\"resign.\" \"No use,\" said Feetch. \"Nothing you can say—\" klunk! klunk! klunk!—\"will make any difference now.\" \"Feetch!\" howled Piltdon. \"I order you to remain!\" Feetch almost submitted from force of habit. He hesitated for a moment, \"Good-day,\" said Feetch firmly, sprinting through the falling cans to the door. Money, Feetch decided after a while, was a good thing to have. His supply was running pretty low. He was not having any luck finding 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. not desirable in a member of our organization—former employer states the decision was yours entirely. Unfavorable reference—\" Piltdon, Feetch thought, feeling a strange sensation deep within his 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 No, Feetch told himself, he was revealing nothing that Piltdon might grab. The anger began to mount. But he was beginning to need money desperately. Jenny wasn't getting any better and medical bills were running high. \"I'll go up another ten dollars,\" grated the little Piltdon image. Feetch. I know you can't find work anywhere else.\" \"No,\" said Feetch. \"People will forget anyway—I hope.\" \"If you won't think of yourself, at least think of your fellow workmen,\" begged Piltdon, his voice going blurry. \"Do you realize that Piltdon Opener will soon be forced to close down, throwing all your have families too. Think of the men in the shop, the girls in the office, the salesmen on the road. All, all unemployed because of you. Think of that, Feetch.\" Feetch blinked. This had not occurred to him. 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 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, 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. hand. \"Here is everything I know about what I call the Feetch Effect, Piltdon leaped from his chair. \"Outrageous!\" He roared. \"Ridiculous!\" Piltdon threw the paper to the floor and screamed: \"Gentlemen, will you be a party to this?\" \"Well,\" murmured the Government man, \"I never did think Feetch got a \"Mr Feetch—\" said Piltdon. Feetch looked up from his desk in the newly constructed Feetch \"Piltdon, don't bother me about production. Production is your problem.\" \"But Mr. Feetch—\" Piltdon blanched and left.\n\n<question>:\nHow did the majority of Piltdon workers feel about Feetch?\n\n<options>:\nA They respected him\nB They thought he was too careless\nC They felt indifferent towards him\nD They thought he was only thinking about money\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,593	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's a shame that the wolf princess warms up to Ashitaka and spends the rest of the film either saving him or being saved by him. She loses that punk-bitch allure. The voice of Claire Danes doesn't help. When Danes says, \"I'd do anything to get you humans out of my forest,\" she sounds like a Valley Girl peeved over lack of parking spaces at the mall. (San needs a more ragged voice--I'd be interested to hear the original Japanese actress.) Billy Crudup is just as Disneyfied (Miramaxed?), but that doesn't hurt as much because Ashitaka is conceived from the start as a rather bland ingÃ©nu. Gillian Anderson's growling Moro sounds silly (she doesn't have the breath control), and the fey-hick tones of Billy Bob Thornton are too recognizable as the Akim Tamiroff-like mercenary, Jigo. But Minnie Driver--coming off a triumphantly dizzy Jane in Tarzan --once again provides a voice that the animators deserve. \"Bring the strange-ah to me late-ah,\" she commands in sexy Martian Queen cadences that will stir the loins of Flash Gordon fans everywhere. \"I would like to thank him puh-sonally.\" The overfamiliar voices nudge Princess Mononoke closer to its American counterparts--but not by a lot. There's always something wondrously strange. The \"kodamas\" are little tree spirits on doughboy bodies. They cock their trapezoidal dice heads and emit a series of clicks then their heads pop back with a conclusive rattle. Something about them seems just right \"A special smile ... a certain touch ...\" So begins the elevator-music theme song of Music of the Heart ... \"I never had a lot that I loved so much.\" The credits had just started and I was already looking for a barf bag. Did Miramax and director Wes Craven have to work so hard to schlockify the story of Roberta Guaspari (played here by Meryl Streep), whose violin courses in East Harlem elementary schools have become a beacon for such programs nationwide? A fabled taskmaster (her story was told in the 1996 documentary Small Wonders ), Guaspari used music as a way to teach self-discipline--along with the healthy self-respect that follows in its wake. When the New York school board cut the funding for her program, she proved a marvel of self-promotion, attracting features in all the major dailies and ending up along with her best students at Carnegie Hall for a benefit \"Fiddlefest\"--along with Itzhak Perlman, Isaac Stern, and other legendary \"fiddlers.\" Streep has said that she spent so much of the time on the set learning the violin (she doesn't play any instruments) that she didn't bring the full force of her acting technique to bear on Roberta. Maybe that's why the performance seems so natural. Let her always learn an instrument on the set! Still, she doesn't make much sense of Guaspari. The script, by Pamela Gray ( A Walk on the Moon ), has her students complain of her nastiness and perfectionism, but Streep--who has made herself look dumpy, thick-waisted, and bedraggled--is so busy telegraphing her vulnerability that all we get is dippy niceness. Instead of a monument to an individual's iron will, Music of the Heart becomes the story of a woman so helpless that she arouses the kindness of strangers. Directors of violent genre pieces like Craven (who got this mainstream gig in return for doing the Scream sequels) or Carl Franklin or Sam Raimi sometimes want so badly to belong to Establishment Hollywood--to go to the Academy Awards--that they neuter themselves. Bending over backward to show how sensitive they can be, they forget that violence--even if it's just emotional violence--belongs in \"ordinary\" dramas, too. Craven does good work with the young actors in the classroom scenes, but the film has a reticence common to most biopics and a mushy, TV-movie humanism that blands out its texture. OK, I was a puddle after some scenes, like the one where Guaspari pushes a student to get her to improve her posture and discovers that the girl is wearing a leg brace. But how much more emotional the Carnegie Hall climax would have been if instead of suddenly seeing these East Harlem kids on stage with Perlman, Stern, Joshua Bell, etc., we'd seen them rehearsing first and struggling to keep up. There's too much music of the heart and not enough music of the callused fingers. In outline, The Limey is a lean little B-movie revenge melodrama about a felonious Brit (Terence Stamp) who's newly sprung from prison and flies to Southern California to get to the bottom of his beautiful daughter's death: \"My name's Wilson ... Who dunnit?\" The film, directed by Steven Soderbergh, would be worth seeing just for Stamp's performance, at once rock-hard and goofily blinkered, and for Peter Fonda's wittily self-parodic turn as the suspected killer, a music producer who coasts on '60s counterculture easiness while his lackeys do the dirty work. (\"Oh, man,\" he says, the fear finally seeping through the ether. \"This is getting all too close to me.\") But the picture's glory is its layered and intricate syntax. The dialogue moves ahead--there are great gobs of exposition--but the images continually double back: to Stamp and Lesley Ann Warren, as his daughter's acting teacher, simply gazing at each other or to Stamp sitting on a plane, remembering his daughter as a girl on the beach, the lens of his home movie camera creating an eerily bright--almost supernatural--spot that dances over her face. The film's most violent act happens well off screen. (You hear the distant \"pop-pop-pop-pop-pop\" of the hero's gun.) The rest is only half-glimpsed, fantasized, or saturated by memory--or is the present the memory? Is all of The Limey a temporal hiccup? Some, including the critic at Time , have questioned Soderbergh's sanity. (But of course--Soderbergh flouts time!) I see a method to his madness. Less grandiosely than Harmony Korine in Julien Donkey-Boy , Soderbergh pores over every scene in search of its essential dramatic gesture. He's saying: This --not all that other stuff--is what's important. He telegraphs the ending--you know the Limey will somehow be at the root of his daughter's death--but it's still an emotional wow. The climax justifies the technique. It says the point of this odyssey isn't revenge but regret--for irredeemably blown chances and a tragic waste of love.\n\n<question>:\nHow did Meryl Streep prepare for the role of Roberta?\n\n<options>:\nA She learned to play the violin without any former instrument training.\nB She began to act very helplessly and feeble around the rest of the cast.\nC She is a method actor and became very vulnerable.\nD She made herself look dumpy and thick-waisted.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,886	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. The earth, jungle and moons The robots were built to serve the robot apprehensively. Half buried in mud, it stood quiet in Then the robots figured out an additional service—putting Man out of his misery. There was a sudden crash Frowning, worrying about the sounds, Alan momentarily forgot to watch his step until his foot suddenly plunged into an ant hill, throwing him to the jungle Pete could cram enough brain floor. \"Damn!\" He cursed again, for the tenth time, and stood panic. \"I should be at the camp now. Damn, what direction am into one of those things to make it hunt and track so perfectly.\" robot, crunching and snapping With an awkward jerk the robot \"Blaster fighting! But it can't their brain is!\" He paused. Suddenly anxious, he slashed a hurried X in one of the trees \"Then, if that were put out of commission ...\" He jerked away be!\" ship and the eleven men who, with Alan, were the only humans on the jungle planet, Waiamea. Stepping through the low shrubbery at the edge of the two robots coming up from killer robots shook the night behind that had brought the advance exploratory party of scientists and technicians to Waiamea three days before. Except for a few of the killer robots rolling owe Pete a bourbon-and-soda for sure. Anybody who can build a robot that hunts by homing his head. Alan froze. \"My God, Pete built those things wrong!\" Suddenly a screeching whirlwind of claws and teeth hurled back, to visualize the twists and turns he'd taken in the jungle. robot, clawing insanely at the \"All I need is to get lost.\" sending its robots in He pictured the camp computer with no one to stop it, automatically I going?\" He tried to think wiping every trace of life from for which they were built, completely, the planet. Technologically advanced machines doing the job and without human masters Finally parts would wear out, circuits would short, and one by to separate sense from futility. circuits. The robot started camp site. A charred blob lying in the grass of the clearing confirmed his hypothesis. His stomach felt sick. \"I suppose,\" he muttered to himself, \"that Pete assembled these robots in a batch and then activated them all at once, probably the robot on the river wouldn't even singe a robot, but seconds after each shot. \"Of 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 him the dark jungle rustled forbiddingly. He shuddered. \"Not a very healthy spot to spend the night. On the other hand, I certainly can't get to the camp with a pack of mind-activated mechanical killers running around. If I can just hold out until morning, when the big ship arrives ... The big ship! Good Firing intermittently, he building, housing the robot-controlling computer. Still firing at short intervals he started across the clearing, gritting his teeth Straining every muscle in spite of the agonizing pain, Alan forced himself to a limping run marry a girl and then take off for an unknown planet, with her to follow, to try to create a home shakily in the dark edge of the jungle waiting, it seemed, for his small blaster to run dry. \"Be damned! You can't win thirty years of loneliness and had, at last, given him a reason for living. \"Not to be killed!\" Alan unclenched his fists and wiped his palms, bloody where now!\" Alan yelled between blaster shots, almost irrational from the pain that ripped jaggedly A few feet from the building's door his blaster quit. the device, falling in the grass at his feet. He dropped the useless gun. \"No!\" He threw himself on the ground as a new robot suddenly appeared around the edge had been lying stretched out. Then, like an ambient fungus, it slithered off into the jungle hundreds of the winged things erupted angrily from the hole in which was a speck of life transmitting mental energy to the robot's pickup devices. of mind impulses, the robot fired erratically as Alan crouched and raced painfully for headed for the jungle, each to a slightly different spot. Apparently the robot hadn't Frantically, Alan slammed open the door as the robot, sensing jungle. Minutes later, looking beside the computer. Time stopped. There was nothing else in the world. He half-jumped, half-fell towards it, slowly, in tenths him. His stomach tightened. Panic. back he saw that the machine, jungle seemed for an instant to thicken and choke in his throat. Then he thought of the big ship landing in the morning, settling down slowly after a lonely two-week voyage. He thought of a brown-haired girl crowding with the others to the gangway, eager brain. He moaned. A voice spoke hollowly in the to embrace the new planet, and the next instant a charred nothing, unrecognizable, the victim ragged tentacles across his of a design error or a misplaced wire in a machine. \"I have to killer robot was equipped to try,\" he said aloud. \"I have to he could manage to keep ahead of it, barely out of blaster range. Only, the robot didn't get tired. Alan did. and danced across the jungle floor, hiding debris that tripped him and often sent him sprawling pants and shirt. Behind, the robot Mentally, Alan tried to figure the charge remaining in his blaster. There wouldn't be much. The robot crashed on, louder now, gaining on the tired human. Legs aching and bruised, stinging from insect bites, Alan tried to force himself to run to think, Alan fumbled along the ground after his gun, straining his eyes in the darkness. He hand slipped into something sticky that splashed over his forearm. He screamed in pain it to themselves!\" a mere hundred yards behind. He screamed at the blast. \"Damn you, Pete! Damn your robots! Damn, damn ... Oh, Peggy!\" He stepped into emptiness. Coolness. Wet. Slowly, washed by the water, the pain began to fall away. He wanted to lie there forever in the dark, cool, wetness. For ever, and ever, and ... dress.\" He tried to stand but his legs were almost too weak and his arm felt numb. \"I'll drown him,\" he said aloud. \"I'll drown the Lord High Executioner.\" He laughed. Then his mind cleared. what it was to live, because for the first time he realized that he would sometime die. In other times and circumstances he might put it off for a while, for months or years, but eventually, as now, he would have to watch, still and helpless, while death Alan became a man. \"Dammit, no law says I have to flame-out now !\" He forced had been was swollen and tender, but he forced his hands to dig, dig, dig, cursing and crying to hide the pain, and biting his lips, ignoring the salty taste of blood. The soft earth crumbled the moons, the killer robot stopped quieted and the muzzle again pointed down. Pressing with all his might, the robot fired again. For a split second Alan seemed engulfed in threw himself across the blaster housing, frantically locking his arms around the barrel as the robot's treads churned furiously a steel-skinned water monster trying to dislodge a tenacious Sweat and blood in his eyes, hardly able to move on the wildly swinging turret, he felt down\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Pete build killer robots?\n\n<options>:\nA Pete did not intentionally build killer robots. The robots became sentient and decided organic life forms were the enemy.\nB Pete did not intentionally build killer robots. Clearly, something went wrong.\nC Pete did not intentionally build killer robots. The Waiameans must have reprogrammed them to kill the colonists.\nD Pete lost his mind during the voyage to Waiamea. He just wants to watch the planet burn.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
974	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 the years went by, Martin began to lose even his detached interest Nobody in the neighborhood was surprised when Martin's mother cousin's utter disgust. \"Eat, drink and be merry, or whatever you Romans say when you do as you do,\" the cousin—who was rather woolly in history off without them. Martin was no exception. He'd never had it this good while he was living with his old lady. As for his father, Martin Martin showed his work in Italy, so that the cousin could be disillusioned by the current crop of Romans. He found that neither purpose nor malice was enough the descendants were scraping bottom now—advised. understand. \"Where do you suppose Conrad has been all this time?\" Martin idly asked the current cousin—who was passing as his nephew by now. The young man jumped, then glanced around him uncomfortably. \"Conrad's with Ninian, though, because when he pushed her too far, she would cry instead of mopping up the floor with him. \"But I can't understand,\" he would say, keeping his face straight. \"Why do you have to come from the future to protect me against your cousin \"Oh, I see,\" Martin said. He had often fancied that Conrad would prove to be the most stimulating member of the whole generation. But it seemed unlikely that he would \"Oh, just don't ask any questions,\" Ninian said petulantly. \"When you get older, someone will explain the whole thing to you.\" So Martin held his peace, because, on the whole, he liked things the to know what gave. They tried talking to Ninian, but she certainly knew how to give them the cold shoulder. One day the truant officer came to ask why Martin hadn't been coming to school. Very few of the neighborhood kids attended classes very regularly, so this was just routine. But Ninian didn't know that and she went into a real tizzy, babbling that Martin had been sick and would make up the work. Martin nearly did get sick from laughing so hard inside. same way, only she didn't know that, either. She was really pretty dumb, Martin thought, for all her fancy lingo. \"It's so hard to think these things out without any prior practical application to go by,\" she told him. When it became clear that his mother was never going to show up again, And keep an eye on him she did—she or a rather foppish young man who came to stay with them occasionally. Martin was told to call him Uncle Bartholomew and Olaf, Aunts Ottillie and Grania and Lalage, and many more—all cousins to one another, he was told, all descendants of his. Martin was never left alone for a minute. He wasn't allowed to play with the other kids in the new neighborhood. Not that their parents would have let them, anyway. The adults obviously figured that if a one-car family hired private tutors for their kid, there must be something pretty wrong with him. So Martin and Ninian were just as Martin missed the old neighborhood, though. He missed having other kids to play with. He even missed his mother. Sure, she hadn't given him enough to eat and she'd beaten him up so hard sometimes that she'd They made no bones about the fact that they were there only to carry When Martin was sixteen, Raymond took him aside for the talk Ninian had promised five years before. \"The whole thing's all my brother Conrad's fault. You see, he's an idealist,\" Raymond explained, pronouncing the last word with distaste. Martin nodded gravely. He was a quiet boy now, his brief past a dim and and I'm sure someday everything will come out all right. However, Conrad is so impatient.\" \"I thought, in your world, machines did all the work,\" Martin suggested. \"I've told you—our world is precisely the same as this one!\" Raymond \"I'm trying to talk to you as if you were an adult,\" Raymond said, \"but if you will persist in these childish interruptions—\" \"I'm sorry,\" Martin said. But he wasn't, for by now he had little respect left for any of his descendants. They were all exceedingly handsome and cultivated \"Oh, I do!\" Martin said. He had pieced the whole thing together for himself long since, but he wanted to hear how Raymond would put it. \"Unfortunately, Professor Farkas has just perfected the time \"Sounds like a good way of dealing with the problem,\" Martin observed. Raymond looked annoyed. \"It's the cousins possessed to a consternating degree. Martin had, of course, no illusions on that score he had learned long assistants,\" Raymond continued, as if Martin had answered, \"and—ah—induced a handicraft enthusiast to build the gadget for us.\" Martin inspected the system and made one or two changes in the wiring her own inadequacy, Martin knew, not of sorrow. He was getting skillful at understanding his descendants, far better than they at understanding dozen years later, they weren't touched. Martin was never sure whether this had been sheer luck or expert planning. Probably luck, because his carefully chosen by Raymond and disputed by Martin, for, to the man from the future, all available artifacts were antiques. Otherwise, Martin accepted his new surroundings. His sense of wonder had become \"No,\" Martin smiled, feeling rather silly, \"but it would make the place seem safer somehow.\" During those early years, Martin's tutors were exchanged for the higher-degreed ones that were now needful. The question inevitably least twenty of the cousins came back through time to hold one of their vigorous family councils. Martin was still young enough to enjoy such occasions, finding them vastly superior to all other forms of entertainment. \"This sort of problem wouldn't arise in our day, Martin,\" Raymond commented as he took his place at the head of the table, \"because, \"Don't be a fool, Grania!\" Raymond snapped. \"Well, Martin, have you \"Might mess up our time frightfully,\" Bartholomew contributed, \"though, to be perfectly frank, I can't quite understand how.\" \"I am not going to sit down and explain the whole thing to you all over again, Bart!\" Raymond said impatiently. \"Well, Martin?\" \"What would you suggest?\" Martin asked. But the fear did not show in Martin's pictures. They were pretty pictures. Cousin Ives—now that Martin was older, he was told to call the man failed, he got worried and decided that what Martin needed was a he couldn't seem to identify with his own time any more. The other cousins appeared to find the yacht a congenial head-quarters, largely because they could spend so much time far away from the contemporary inhabitants of the planet and relax and be themselves. So ended in a brawl, because one cousin was sure to accuse another of having got advance information about the results. Martin didn't care much for their company and associated with them only they were gregarious young people for the most part, they didn't court his society. He suspected that he made them feel uncomfortable. couldn't even seem to care. During all this time, Conrad still did not put in an appearance. Martin wished his descendant would show up, so there would be some excitement. But he didn't come. And Martin got to thinking.... He always felt that if any of the cousins could have come to realize the basic flaw in the elaborate plan they had concocted, it would have continent, a hundred years or more before the date of his birth. A great many of the cousins turned up at the simple ceremony. All were cousin from the future they were afraid he might prove rather stuffy about the entire undertaking. But Martin disagreed. a while, Martin couldn't tell one from another. Cousin after cousin came to watch over him and eventually they were as hard for him to tell All the cousins were young, for, though they came at different times in his life, they had all started out from the same time in theirs. Only the young ones had been included in the venture they did not trust their elders.\n\n<question>:\nWhy doesn't Martin explain the flaw in the plan to the cousins?\n\n<options>:\nA Martin resents the cousins for taking Ninian away from him.\nB They have been very generous. Martin is afraid they'll leave, and he won't be wealthy anymore.\nC Martin does not want the future generations to turn out like his descendants.\nD Martin finds the cousins very irritating. If they can't figure it out, why should he explain it?\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,616	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nbut dream of coming home. But something nobody should do is bet on the validity of a homesick dream! Flight Officer Robert Craig surrendered the tube containing his service record tapes and stood waiting while the bored process clerk examined the seal. cards and forms to his room. Tired from the long, confusing day, Craig was not impressed. He vaguely wondered if the little drama of the hotel carried so far as a small fee to be paid the bellboy, and he \"For five I'll tell you where it is,\" he said in a subdued tone. wallet. \"Sure, they don't put in screens here. Wanted to, but the boss convinced 'em there aren't any Freedomites ever stay here.\" \"Where is the microphone?\" Craig asked as he found a ten unit note. He was too puzzled to wonder what he was expected to do with the information. A murmur greeted the order. Craig experienced the thrill of knowing Or I'll do it for another two.\" \"I—I—\" Craig muttered, fumbling in his pockets. Intergalactic considered them as great a menace to mental and moral stability as the hectopiates. Craig wearily got the man out of the how long it would take him to shake his—sea legs, the psychologist had called it. One thing was sure: Terra aggressively went after its strangers. personnel and felt the impotence of a spaceman who had long forgotten that he had missed an important step in the complicated clerical motivated by envy soothed him as he clumsily let himself into the lock. process. He cursed the grudging attitude of the headquarters satellite the bureaucracy of a rear area base. The knowledge that much of it was appropriate it. He would never know the beautiful, gentle beast that \"You are retarding the progress of others. Please respond more quickly to your orders.\" Craig quickly removed the last of his clothing. It was impossible and he was somewhat blinded by the flash even through his eyelids, but that was all there was to the sterilizing process. he withdrew his arm, the scratch was neatly coated with a layer of II, didn't they?\" The worst is over. Short of Gravitational conditioning, there is \"Yes. You have spent eleven years in space. Your body is conditioned to a normal state of free fall, or at best to a state of acceleration.\" \"Yeah, I know. Once on Gerymeade....\" \"You were ill, couldn't keep your balance, felt dizzy. That is why Wyandotte. \"Men on a rolling ocean acclimated themselves to a rolling didn't roll any more. During the days that followed, the psychologist seemed to Craig to become progressively more didactic. He would deliver long speeches about the \"freedom of open space.\" He spoke repetitiously of the \"growing complexity of Terran society.\" And yet the man could not be pinned down to any specific condition the spaceman would find had weathered difficult landings on worlds with rip-tide gravities, had cumulative effect of a gravity system, he could not understand the \"So I'll transfer. I don't know what you're trying to get at, Captain, definitely need. Good luck. You'll need that too.\" On the eighth day, two attendants, who showed the effects of massive doses of PON to protect themselves from the centrifugal force, had to carry a man out of the tank. Many others asked to be removed, begged to be allowed to withdraw their resignations. \"The twelfth day is the worst,\" a grizzled spaceman told Craig. \"That's between waves of nausea. \"Blood pressure. They get you just before you go into shock.\" desperately wanted something to distract his mind from the ghastly conditioning process. \"Dropped ... it ... down?\" \"They tried that a few times—once when I was aboard. You wouldn't like it, kid. You wouldn't like it at all.\" \"How ... many times ... do they drop it?\" \"Four times during the day, three at night. Twenty days.\" A nightmare of visual sensations ebbed into Craig's mind. He was vaguely aware of the moans of other men in the vaultlike room. Wave upon wave of nausea swept him as he watched the seam lines bend and \"... got it bad.\" \"We better take him out.\" \"... pretty bad.\" \"He'll go into shock.\" \"... never make it the twelfth.\" \"We better yank him.\" \"I'm ... all right,\" Craig mumbled at the voices. He struggled with the Attendants coming for to take me home.... \"Touch me and I'll kick your teeth in!\" he yelled. \"I'm going to Terra. Wish you were going to Terra?\" Then it was better. Oddly, he passed the twelfth day easily. By the Most of the men had passed through the torments of gravitational single source of pull. They were now ready to become inhabitants of planets again, instead of free-falling ships. On the eighteenth day, automatic machinery freed them from their imprisoning cots. Clumsily and awkwardly at first, the men began to walk, to hold their heads and arms in proper attitudes. They laughed and joked about it and kidded those who were slow at adjusting. Then they again began taking paraoxylnebutal in preparation for the free-fall flight to Terra. Only one of the score of men in the centrifuge tank remained voluntarily in his cot. \"Space article violator,\" the old man informed Craig. \"Psycho, I think. Went amuck with some extraterritorials. Killed a dozen.\" \"What will they do, exile him?\" \"Not to Chociante, if that's what you mean. They just jerked his space card and gave him a one-way ticket to Terra.\" \"For twelve murders?\" asked Craig incredulously. \"Yeah.\" Why did he have to explain anything at all to the old space tramp? \"Once I get set up, I'll probably try to open my own business.\" \"And spend your weekends on Luna.\" Craig half rose from his cot, jarred into anger. But the old spaceman turned, smiling wryly. \"Don't get hot, kid. I 'em read to you. Sailors could go to sea until they just sort of dried out of you, leaves you brittle and old—old as a dehydrated piece of stand this whirligig conditioning, you're through with space.\" They'll dump him, won't they? After a tracer is sent through. But it won't do any good. He probably outlived everybody that ever knew him. carton was completely filled, he ignited the sealing strip and watched It was the signal for relief in the passengers' quarters many were beginning to feel a reaction to the short free-fall flight from the headquarters satellite. The audio called out: \"Flight Officer Robert Craig. Flight Officer \"From a private spaceman named Morgan Brockman.\" Brockman? shot me out the tube. How do I know? Same way you know when your transfer I made out. It isn't much out of seventy years of living, Her name is Ethel Brockman. I know she'll still use my name. Her husband deserted her fifty years before? Some kind of story about one's duty to the Universe? No, the old man had not been in Intergalactic. He had been a tramp spaceman. Well, why had he left? years! Zone V had been beyond anybody's imagination that long ago. He must have been in on the first Cetusian flights and shot the early landings in Cetus II. God only knew how many times he had battled Zone 111b pirates.... Damn the old man! How did one explain? Angeles, 1500 square miles of it, from the ship as it entered the Both men were gone in an instant, leaving Craig completely bewildered. \"You goin' to move on, buddy, or you want to go back?\" \"You mean he screened me? What for?\" get it over with quick.\" first physical contact with Terra had passed unnoticed. \"Sir! Sir!\" cried a voice behind him. \"You dropped this, sir. Quite by accident, of course.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat happened to Morgan Brockman by the end of the passage?\n\n<options>:\nA He died on the way to Terra\nB His ex-wife Ethel had him assassinated\nC He refused to leave his cot after conditioning\nD He was arrested for being a Freedomite\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
8	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>:\nSPACEMAN ON A SPREE BY MACK REYNOLDS Illustrated by Nodel the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What's more important—Man's conquest of space, or one spaceman's life? I bigwigs of the Department of Space Exploration as Academician Lofting before him, Si Pond would have preferred something a bit more tangible through decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards. But Space Pilot Seymour Pond didn't have their standards. He'd had plenty of time to think it over. It was better to retire on a limited crediting, on a confoundedly limited crediting, than to take the two or three more trips in hopes of attaining a higher standard. He'd had plenty of time to figure it out, there alone in space on the space cafard, the madness compounded of claustrophobia, monotony, room mini-auto-apartment, complete with an autochair and built-in mini-auto-apartment ... not realizing that to a pilot it was roomy beyond belief compared to the conning tower of a space craft. was never going to subject himself to space cafard again. Just thinking \"That's nonsense, Hans. Zoroaster! Either you or I would gladly take Pond's place were we capable of performing the duties for which he has been trained. There aren't two men on North America—there aren't two men in the world!—who better realize the urgency of continuing our delving into space.\" Gubelin snapped his fingers. \"Like that, either of us would give our lives to prevent man from completely abandoning the security by being issued that minimum number of Basic shares in our clothing, shelter, medical care and education to sustain a low level dossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it was His friend and colleague changed subjects abruptly, impatiently. \"Let's leave this blistering jabber about Pond's motivation and get to the point. The man is the only trained space pilot in the world. It will take months, possibly more than a year, to bring another novitiate pilot to the point where he can safely be trusted to take our next explorer craft out. Appropriations for our expeditions have been increasingly hard to come by—even though in spark the race that a new dream to push man out to the stars will take hold of us. If it is admitted that our organization has degenerated to the point that we haven't a single pilot, then it might well be on Appropriations, will terminate the whole Department of Space Exploration.\" \"You must realize, my dear Lofting, that our Si Pond is nothing more universal credit card. \"The ultimate means of exchange,\" he grunted. for space pilot, he had celebrated once again. Twenty-two others had taken the training with him, and only he and Rod Cameroon had passed Each time Si returned from one of his own runs, he celebrated. A spree, in adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution. They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number of unemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent of Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through the Si was going to do it differently this time. retirement-rank suit he had so recently purchased. His space pin he Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his credit screen and said, \"Balance check, please.\" He opened the small, closet-like door which housed his vacuum-tube two-seater, and wedged himself into the small vehicle. He brought down the canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only one place really made sense. The big city. \"Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond,\" he said aloud. shot, and Si took the involuntary breath from which only heroes could A voice said gently, \"If the quarters are satisfactory, please present Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the most or do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless he mattress. For a moment he stood in the center of the floor, in thought. Take it around in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias. the grand manner. No cloddy was Si Pond. \"Kudos Room.\" At the door to the famous rendezvous of the swankiest set, Si paused a The drinks in the Kudos Room might be concocted by hand, but Si noticed dreamed about, out there in the great alone, seated in the confining conning tower of his space craft. He sipped at the drink, finding it up who occupied the stool two down from him. Si Pond blinked. He blinked Kudos Room was supposed to be exclusive.\" building the drink. Si cleared his throat. \"Hey,\" he said, \"how about letting this one be Oriental motif, rose. \"Really!\" she said, drawing it out. space pin?\" Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, \"Yeah ... sure.\" \"Good Heavens, you're a spaceman?\" \"Sure.\" He pointed at the lapel pin. \"You can't wear one unless you been on at least a Moon run.\" Si, carrying his glass, moved over to the stool next to her. \"Call me Si,\" he said. \"Everybody calls me Si.\" \"Si,\" Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anything current sex symbols, but never in person. \"Call me Si,\" he said again. \"I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking to him in the Space Exploration department, he was hot for it.\" ?\" Si was expansive. \"Why, sure. In the Space Department we don't have much time for formality. Everybody's just Si, and Doc, and Jim. Like your space-pilot uniform, the veteran of six exploration runs to the planets....\" \"Well,\" Si said modestly, \"two of my runs were only to the Moon.\" \"... and he said all those things about man's conquest of space. And the dream of the stars which man has held so long. And then the fact that you were the last of the space pilots. The last man in the whole world trained to pilot a space craft. And here you were, retiring.\" Si grunted. \"Yeah. That's all part of the Doc's scheme to get me to So old man Gubelin, and Girard-Perregaux too, they're both trying to pressure me into more trips. Otherwise they got a Space Exploration Department, with all the expense and all, but nobody to pilot their ships. It's kind of funny, in a way. You know what one of those spaceships costs?\" Si said, \"Look, how about another drink?\" \"Si,\" Si said. He motioned to the bartender with a circular twist of in space any more. In fact, most people are almost contemptuous, like. Think it's kind of a big boondoggle deal to help use up a lot of materials and all and keep the economy going.\" Natalie said earnestly, \"Why, I've been a space fan all my life. I've read all about it. Have always known the names of all the space pilots Si chuckled. \"A real buff, eh? You know, it's kind of funny. I was after my first run and I found out what space cafard was.\" keeps that angle mostly hushed up and out of the magazine and newspaper articles. Says there's enough adverse publicity about space exploration already. But at this stage of the game when the whole ship's crammed tight with this automatic scientific apparatus and all, there's precious little room in the conning tower and you're the only man aboard. The Doc says later on when ships are bigger and there's a whole flock of people aboard, there won't be any such thing as space cafard,\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the “space cafard” that Si describes?\n\n<options>:\nA It’s the isolation that spacemen feel working alone in space, with only computers as company\nB It’s the public’s adverse opinion of space exploration that Gubelin tries to hide.\nC It’s the desire to return home from a long voyage.\nD It is the current system of operations for spacecraft, where people man ships with only one person.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
241	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>:\nDOWN TO THE WORLDS OF MEN in the miasma of a planet without spaceflight, or sink to utter destruction! small ships squatting over their tubes, but it was the last of the Ship me. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. An I guess he thought that because we were always matched on study I liked him. Well, I did when I wasn't mad at him, but now I had that crack back to his place without saying anything. My name is Mia Havero. I'm fourteen, of course, or I wouldn't be telling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect that leave that way, but George thinks it's fun to be a hot pilot. crack about being a snob. The planet chosen for our Trial was called Tintera. The last contact the Ship had had with it—and we were the ones who dropped them—was kids because they never tell you anything about the place they're going to drop you. All I knew was the name. I wouldn't have known that much if Daddy weren't Chairman of the Council. wasn't in public. It wasn't the chance of not coming back that bothered me really, because I never believed that I wouldn't. The thought that made me unhappy was that I would have to be on a planet for a whole month. Planets make me feel wretched. a piece of fluff and break your neck. There are vegetables everywhere and little grubby things just looking for 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 We have a place in the Ship like that—the Third Level—but it's only a Jimmy—if he would get back alive. It's no game we play. When we turn fourteen, they drop us on the nearest colonized planet and come back one month later. That may sound Don't think I was helpless. I'm hell on wheels. They don't let us grow for fourteen years and then kick us out to die. They prepare us. They you're fourteen, you're too stupid, foolish or unlucky to be any use to the Ship. There's sense behind it. It means that everybody on the Ship 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 keep the population steady. I began to check my gear out—sonic pistol, pickup signal so I could be found at the end of the month, saddle and cinches, food and clothes. Venie Morlock has got a crush on Jimmy D., and when she saw me start have anything to do with Jimmy. I just couldn't stand to put off the the dark. When the sun disappears, somehow you wonder in your stomach they dropped the colonies. I say \"they\" because, while we did the Earth. Considering how short a time it was in which the colonies were 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. road. That much water makes me nervous, and roads have to go somewhere. were five men on horseback herding a bunch of the ugliest creatures made a wordless, chilling, lowing sound as they milled and plodded and he saw me and called to another who seemed to be the leader. That He said, \"What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head? \"And where be you going?\" He seemed exasperated. I have that effect sometimes. Even on Mother and 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.\" expected, he shrugged and one of the other men laughed. I looked down at the plodding, unhappy creatures they were driving didn't want to be fried. \"Shut up,\" I said, in as mean a voice as I could muster, and he did. It that the creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. I even convince myself that I'm hell on wheels. III great-grandmother brought from Earth. The thing is that inside it, The country leveled into a great rolling valley and the trees gave something. cold and sweaty and my head was spinning, and I wanted to kick Ninc to a gallop. I rode slowly in, looking all around, missing nothing. The town was all stone, wood and brick. Out of date. Out of time, really. There were I decided I'd not tell anybody different until I found what made the 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 wouldn't have died. There wouldn't have 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. wouldn't be here. That may not scare you, but it scares me. What happened before, when people didn't use their heads and wound up blowing the Solar System apart, is something nobody should forget. The up with a sore head and an empty pocket. The best thing I could think One more enigma. Where was it from? Not here. Even if you know how, and I felt defeated and tired. Not much farther along the road, I came to The kids weren't to blame for their parents, but when one of them said About the time I finished eating, and before it grew dark, the old man around. There was singing for awhile, and then the father of the children tried to pack them off to bed. But they weren't ready to go, so the old man started telling them a story. In the old man's odd nice little girl, and to get rid of the kid, she sent her on a phony errand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate the dear dead mother. But, as it turned out, they were just enough to A voice there said, \"I'll be damned if I'll take another day like this I should have known that they would have to pen the animals up for the night. I should have used my head. I hadn't and now it was time to take 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 dragging me and dropped me in a heap. \"Make any noise,\" he said, \"and threatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of things with it.\" He said, \"Look, boy. You may not know it, but you be in a lot of didn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering. \"The courts won't let you get away with this,\" I said. I'd passed a courthouse in the town with a carved motto over the doors: EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER THE LAW or TRUTH OUR SHIELD AND JUSTICE OUR SWORD or something stuffy like that. He laughed, not a phony, villian-type laugh, but a real laugh, so I knew I'd goofed. \"Boy, boy. Don't talk about the courts. I be doing you a favor. I be taking what I can use of your gear, but I be letting you go. You go to court and they'll take everything and lock you up besides. I be leaving you your freedom.\" jacket. \"Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of the in jail in Forton.\" I was about to bring my gun out when up came Jack leading Ninc, with said in a voice far colder than mine could ever be, because it was natural and mine wasn't, \"The piece be yours.\" Then he tromped on it until it cracked and fell apart. face and then nothing.\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the narrator say was the reason for Earth’s destruction?\n\n<options>:\nA Losels\nB Over population\nC Lack of horses\nD Crime\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
563	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 Bell Curve Flattened Charles Murray is a publicity genius, and the publication of his and Richard Herrnstein's book, The Bell Curve: Intelligence and Class Structure in American Life , in the fall of 1994 was his masterpiece. First, a quick prÃ©cis of The Bell Curve . IQ tests, according to Murray and Herrnstein, measure an essential human quality, general intelligence. During the second half of the 20 th century, this quality has risen to supreme importance, because society has become increasingly complex. The intelligent have therefore gone through an \"invisible migration,\" from points of origin all over the class system to a concentration at the top of business, government, and the professions. They are likely to become ever more dominant and prosperous. The unintelligent are falling further and further behind. Because intelligence is substantially inherited, nothing is likely to reverse this process. Blacks are overrepresented among the unintelligent. Any efforts government might make to improve the economic opportunities of poor people, especially poor black people, are likely to fail, because their poverty is so much the result of inherited low intelligence. About the best that can be done for these people is an effort to create a world of simple, decent, honorable toil for them. Herrnstein and Murray begin by telling us that the liberal position on IQ--namely, \"Intelligence is a bankrupt concept\"--has been discredited, and that \"a scholarly consensus has been reached\" around their position. This consensus is \"beyond significant technical dispute.\" Thus, by the end of their introduction, they have arranged matters so that if intelligence has any meaning at all, the idiotic liberals stand discredited and meanwhile, extremely broad claims for intelligence have the cover of \"consensus.\" The notion that IQ tests are completely useless never prevailed in liberal academia to nearly the extent that Herrnstein and Murray say. A more accurate rendering of the liberal position would be that rather than a single \"general intelligence,\" there are a handful of crucial--and separate--mental abilities that none of these abilities is important enough to obviate the role of family background and education and that native ability (and economic success independent of native ability) can be enhanced by improving education, training, and public health. The Bell Curve refers in passing to some of these points, but on the whole it sets up a cartoon-left position as its (easy) target. Meanwhile, the psychometricians who dominate the footnotes of The Bell Curve are John Hunter, Arthur Jensen, Malcolm Ree, and Frank Schmidt. These men are well known within the field as representing its right wing, not a mainstream consensus. The next problem with The Bell Curve 's thesis is in the idea of the rise to dominance of the cognitive elite. To the book's initial audience of Ivy Leaguers, this idea seemed valid on its face. Everybody knows that the best universities, law firms, hospitals, investment banks, and the State Department used to be run by preppies whose main virtue was fortunate birth, and are now open to one and all on the basis of merit. But the larger premise--that intelligent people used to be scattered throughout the class structure, and are now concentrated at the top--is almost impossible to prove, simply because the mass administration of mental tests is such a recent phenomenon. High scorers on mental tests do \"bunch up\" (as Herrnstein and Murray put it) in elite-university student bodies. But this is tautological: Any group selected on the basis of scores on mental tests will be composed disproportionately of people who score high on mental tests. Proving The Bell Curve 's thesis would require proving that success increasingly correlates with IQ in areas of life where mental tests are not the explicit gatekeepers. To see how The Bell Curve tries and fails to get around these inherent problems, see and . Having conditioned its audience to view IQ as all-important, The Bell Curve then manipulates statistics in a way that makes IQ look bigger, and everything else smaller, in determining Americans' life-chances. But by now the statistics have been gone over by professionals, who have come up with different results. The key points of their critique of The Bell Curve are as follows: One of The Bell Curve 's theoretical linchpins is the high heritability of IQ. Herrnstein and Murray, sounding like the souls of caution, write that \"half a century of work, now amounting to hundreds of empirical and theoretical studies, permits a broad conclusion that the genetic component of IQ is unlikely to be smaller than 40 per cent or higher than 80 per cent. ... For purposes of this discussion, we will adopt a middling estimate of 60 per cent heritability.\" This now looks seriously overstated. Michael Daniels, Bernie Devlin, and Kathryn Roeder of Carnegie Mellon University took the same studies on which Herrnstein and Murray based their estimate, and subjected them to a computer meta-analysis (\"a powerful method of statistical analysis\"-- The Bell Curve ). Their paper, which has not yet been published, says: \"In brief, studies of IQ, and our reanalyses of them, suggest a narrow-sense heritability of 34 per cent and a broad-sense heritability of 46 per cent. [The difference between broad and narrow is too technical to explain in this limited space.] This is a far cry from Herrnstein and Murray's maximum value of 80 per cent or their middling value of 60 per cent. Consequently, Herrnstein and Murray give the impression that IQ is highly 'heritable,' but it is not.\" At the beginning of The Bell Curve , Herrnstein and Murray declare that \"the concept of intelligence has taken on a much higher place in the pantheon of human virtues than it deserves.\" And they claim that their view of IQ tests is \"squarely in the middle of the scientific road.\" They end by expressing the hope that we can \"be a society that makes good on the fundamental promise of the American tradition: the opportunity for everyone, not just the lucky ones, to live a satisfying life.\" Throughout, Herrnstein and Murray consistently present themselves as fair- (or even liberal-) minded technicians who have, with great caution, followed the evidence where it leads--which, unfortunately, is to a few unassailable if unpleasant scientific truths that it is their reluctant duty to report. In fact, The Bell Curve is a relentless brief for the conservative position in psychometrics and social policy. For all its talk of reflecting a consensus, the sources it draws upon are heavily skewed to the right. Herrnstein and Murray used quasi-nutty studies that support their position (as Charles Lane demonstrated in the New York Review of Books ), and ignore mainstream studies that contradict it (as Richard Nisbett showed in the New Republic ). The data in The Bell Curve are consistently massaged to produce conservative conclusions not once is a finding that contradicts the main thesis reported in the text. ( shows how Herrnstein and Murray have made the convergence in black-white IQ scores, which they claim to find \"encouraging,\" look smaller than it actually is.) The Bell Curve 's air of strict scientism doesn't preclude the use of lightly sourced or unsourced assertions, such as the statement that the median IQ of all black Africans is 75, or that \"intermarriage among people in the top few percentiles of intelligence may be increasing far more rapidly than suspected\" (no footnote). Though they piously claim not to be doing so, Herrnstein and Murray leave readers with the distinct impression that IQ is the cause of economic success and failure, and that genetic difference explains the black-white IQ gap.\n\n<question>:\nThe author of “The Bell Curve Flattened” disagrees with Murray and Herrnstein’s assertions that:\n\n<options>:\nA IQ has more predictive power on success than parental socio-economics status.\nB Education can increase opportunity.\nC There is consensus that intelligence is a meaningless concept.\nD Power and success are open to one and all on the basis of merit.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,834	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>:\nfingers only, a very creditable speed. And Hilary brought in a bottle of his new detergent. It was a syrupy yellow liquid with a nice collar of suds. He'd been busy in his home group this summer?\" tasty, I might add. \"Why, Donald,\" she said, \"it could what a junior achievement group is. What gave you the idea?\" grades wanted to start one. They need adult guidance of course, and one of the group suggested my name.\" \"Is it good?\" For answer he seized the ice bucket, now empty of its soda bottles, brand of science to these children of a new age. \"It has the purpose,\" I told her, \"of teaching the members something about commerce and industry. They manufacture simple compositions like polishing waxes and sell them from door-to-door. Some groups have built up tidy little bank accounts \"Oh, all right,\" I said, \"laugh at quiet. \"You didn't know that one of your junior whatsisnames poured detergent in the Memorial Fountain basin last night?\" \"Well, now,\" I said, \"organic synthesis my commercial aspirations. But don't to put up fifty dollars to buy any sounds like another operation calling for capital investment. If we all those simply captivating mice.\" \"Mice?\" \"Yes, of course. Who would ever have thought you could breed mice with those cute furry tails?\" and if it's safe and legal and possible to do with the starting capital we many for breeding, but mostly for shipping. \"Well, Mr. Henderson, a junior achievement group is a bunch of kids who get together to manufacture and sell things, and maybe make some money.\" \"Is that what you want to do,\" I asked, \"make money?\" \"Why not?\" Tommy asked. \"There's something wrong with making money?\" \"Well, sure, I suppose we want to,\" Many of them wanted to buy mice or to do the things we want to do later.\" \"And what sort of things would you like to make and sell?\" I asked. The usual products, of course, with these junior achievement efforts, are chemical specialties that can be made safely and that people will buy and use without misgivings—solvent to free up rusty bolts, cleaner to remove road tar, mechanic's hand soap—that sort of thing. Mr. McCormack had much of the time they seem to have little interest in their studies. The junior achievement idea has sparked their imaginations. Maybe it'll be just what they need.\" Mary said, \"Why don't we make a freckle remover? I'd be our first customer.\" \"The thing to do,\" Tommy offered, \"is to figure out what people in that might be the case, and there are to them.\" \"I'd like to make something by powder metallurgy techniques,\" said three patent men in our office who'd time. Partly for the kicks and partly because we think you may have some them by electroplating.\" \"And all we'd need is a hydraulic press,\" I told him, \"which, on a guess, things worth protecting. How about might cost ten thousand dollars. Let's ball bearings by molding, then densify reluctantly. \"Then maybe something in the electronics field. A hi-fi sub-assembly of some kind.\" \"How about a new detergent?\" Hilary put in. \"Like the liquid dishwashing detergents?\" I asked. He was scornful. \"No, they're formulations—you know, mixtures. That's cookbook chemistry. I mean a brand new synthetic detergent. I've got an idea for one that ought to be good even in the hard water we've offered to license the design. Result, one licensee with a thousand dollar advance against next season's royalties. legal sense, of course. Hilary and I were just going over the situation on his phosphonate detergent. I've spent the last three nights studying the patent literature and a few standard texts touching on phosphonates. There are a zillion patents on synthetic detergents and a good round fifty on phosphonates, but it looks\"—he held up a long admonitory hand—\"it shop in Denver, but they're red—sort \"No.\" She shook her head in mock despondency. \"I'm not very technical. Just sort of miscellaneous. But if the \"Do you have a special field of interest?\" of chipmunk color, you know. I've incredulously. \"Mice,\" I echoed, then sat back and thought about it. \"Are they a pure strain? One of the recognized laboratory carried them through seventeen generations right strain,\" I explained to Tommy, \"might be sold to laboratories. I have an idea the Commission buys a supply every month.\" the cloth, wiped again, and stared. \"What is it?\" \"A whisker stiffener. It makes each hair brittle enough to break off right got the first four pairs from a pet \"So I perceive. What is it?\" \"Oh, just a mixture of stuff. Cookbook Why don't you consider making an after-shave lotion? Denatured alcohol, glycerine, water, a little color and perfume. You could buy some bottles and have some labels printed. You'd be in business before you chemistry. Cysteine thiolactone for red mice might be rather limited. if we're going to break the hearts of the razor industry, there's no better use cosmetics and junk, but if they didn't have to admit it, they might like the shave lotion.\" He said suddenly, \"Gosh, I think I know how to make a—what do you want to call it—a before-shave lotion.\" \"What would that be?\" I asked. \"You'd use it before you shaved.\" buy a hydraulic press. You see, Doris put some embroidery on that scheme of mine for making ball bearings.\" \"I suppose there might be people who'd prefer to use it beforehand,\" only it's a permanent magnet. Then you see—.\" And he was off. \"What did they do today, dear?\" a big day. We picked out a hydraulic starting action to get the company incorporated.\" \"You mean you're going to try to keep the group going after school starts?\" \"Why not? The kids can sail through their courses without thinking about them, and actually they won't put in more than a few hours a week during the school year.\" \"Even so, it's child labor, isn't it?\" \"Child labor nothing. They're the employers. Jeff McCord and I will young boy who doesn't know any better, may wind up a sales manager. and I'd be crazy to turn it down. After all, what's to lose?\" \"and think about the small end. It'll work out all right.\" I wished that the youngsters weren't starting out by inventing a new article to manufacture, and risking an almost certain disappointment, but to impractical, of course, for a group of children to attempt, but several of them appeared quite attractive. Tommy, for example, wanted to put tooth powder into tablets that one would chew before brushing the teeth. He thought there should be two colors in the same bottle—orange the blue ones designed to leave the mouth alkaline at bed time. drive it in with a hammer up to the threaded part, then send it home with a few turns of a screwdriver. Hilary, reluctantly forsaking his ideas on detergents, suggested we make black plastic discs, like poker chips but thinner and as cheap as to reduce evaporation. These latter ideas had made unknowing smart boys and girls. Tommy Miller does sound like a born salesman. Somehow I don't think you're going Cope told me, \"to borrow some money. some cash to get started.\" \"Oh, sure, but don't you think it would be better to borrow from a bank? More businesslike?\" hadn't picked a name yesterday, but I figured what's to lose, and picked one. like to chip in and contribute some who by mutual consent, was our authority on sales, didn't want to sell\n\n<question>:\nWhy does the group want to buy a hydraulic press?\n\n<options>:\nA They want to make cages for the mice.\nB They want to make ball bearings.\nC They want to make kites.\nD They want to make detergent.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,680	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 tree named Ashlew, \"you're it, Sonny! Hang on there while I signal the Life by root!\" Kolin sensed a lack of direct attention. The rustle All about him was natural, caused tree,\" he muttered. \"If Yrtok Peter Kolin had to admit that casualties might have been far worse. \"I don't know,\" said Kolin. \"The penalty for desertion—\" \"Whoosh! Who'd find you? You could be a bird, a tree, even a cloud.\" Silenced but doubting, Kolin permitted himself to try the dream on for size. . He lined them up as if on parade. Kolin made himself He considered what form might most easily escape the notice of search parties and as is suitable. It may be his musings: mere hope of escape was unsatisfying after the outburst that had defined his fuming hatred for Haurtoz. I'd better watch myself! he for the way they make us You know why they don't?\" \"Why?\" wheezed Ashlew. \"They're scared that without talk of war, and scouting of treatment that left the subject suitably \"re-personalized.\" Kolin had heard of instances wherein mere unenthusiastic posture had betrayed State. Then the gravy train would get blown up—and I mean blown up!\" The tree was silent for a moment. Kolin felt the branches stir meditatively. Then Ashlew offered a suggestion. \"I could tell the Life your side of it,\" he hissed. \"Once Kolin permitted himself to wonder when anyone might get some rest, but assumed a of a proper viewpoint That, at least, was the official line. Kolin found himself in a group with Jak Ammet, a third cook, and Eva Yrtok, repairs, Yrtok could be spared of favoring themselves in regard to food. They would go without. Kolin maintained a standard expression Yrtok, a dark, lean-faced girl, led the way with a quiet monosyllable. She carried the cast forth by one of the bushes Kolin's party had of utmost urgency. Ammet followed, and Kolin brought passed. Along the edges, the haze faded raggedly into thin permitted to use for messages up the rear. To reach their assigned sector, they had to climb formed a cohesive body. They One of Chief Slichow's staggering flunkies, stealing a forbidding ridge of rock a few seconds of relaxation on the pretext of dumping an Yrtok and Ammet paused momentarily before descending. Kolin shared their sense of isolation. They would be out of sight of authority and responsible advantage of the breeze. Throughout the cloud of spores, the mind formerly known as Peter Kolin congratulated itself upon its For all Kolin could tell, he and the others were isolated Nearer to the original shape of the Life than Ashlew , he thought. He paused to consider the state of the tree named Ashlew, half immortal but rooted to one spot, unable to float on got in a world bounded by the Yrtok led the way along a breeze or through space itself on the pressure of light. plentiful, interspersed with spore was taking charge of the body of Chief Slichow at that very instant. scrubby thickets of tangled, spike-armored bushes. Occasionally, thought Kolin. Some of me must drift through the airlock. \"Be a job to find anything and Kolin agreed. Finally, after a longer hike than he had anticipated, they edible here,\" grunted Ammet, approached the edge of the Yrtok paused to examine some purple berries glistening dangerously on a low shrub. Kolin through as a tropical jungle,\" were about the same height. They craned their necks to estimate the altitude of the branches. The depths behind it looked dark and impenetrable. \"We'd better explore along the edge,\" decided Yrtok. \"Ammet, now is the time to go back and tell the Chief Ammet! \" Kolin looked over his shoulder. Fifty meters away, Ammet sat beside the bush with the purple berries, utterly \"He must have tasted some!\" exclaimed Kolin. \"I'll see how he is.\" He ran back to the cook and shook him by the shoulder. Ammet's head lolled loosely to one side. His rather heavy features were vacant, lending him a doped appearance. Kolin straightened up and beckoned to Yrtok. a somber, brooding grayness. \"Hope she didn't eat some stupid thing too!\" he grumbled, trotting back. As he reached her, whatever Yrtok was examining came to life and scooted into the underbrush with a flash of greenish fur. All Kolin saw was that it had several legs too many. He pulled Yrtok to her feet. She pawed at him weakly, eyes as vacant as Ammet's. When he let go in sudden horror, she folded gently to choice of form. the ground. She lay comfortably on her side, twitching away. When she began to smile dreamily, Kolin backed away. The corners of his mouth one hand as if to brush something jetting off! What I need is an easy tree to climb.\" seemed the most promising choice. At first, Kolin saw no way, but then the network of vines clinging to the rugged trunk to climb. \"I should have brought Yrtok's radio,\" he muttered. \"Oh, well, I can take it when I come down, if she hasn't snapped out of her spell by then. Funny … I wonder if Footholds were plentiful among the interlaced lianas. Kolin progressed rapidly. When he reached the first thick limbs, twice head height, he felt safer. Later, at what he hoped was the halfway mark, he hooked one knee over a branch and paused to wipe sweat from his eyes. Peering down, he discovered looking for, Sonny!\" something remarked in a soughing wheeze. Kolin, slipping, grabbed desperately for the branch. His fingers clutched a handful of twigs and leaves, which just barely supported him until he regained a grip with the other hand. The branch quivered resentfully under him. \"Careful, there!\" whooshed the eerie voice. \"It took me all summer to grow those!\" Kolin could feel the skin crawling along his backbone. \"Who \"Name's Johnny Ashlew. Kinda thought you'd start into a tree before.\" Kolin looked about, seeing little but leaves and fog. \"I have to climb down,\" he told himself in a reasonable tone. \"It's bad enough that the Kolin, testing the firmness of a vertical vine. \"Just 'Mr. Ashlew,' considering my age.\" world ain't all it looks like.\" \"It isn't, Mr. Ashlew?\" asked Kolin, twisting about in an effort to see what the is, by the thing that first in time, you'd be bouncing off my roots right now!\" \"Th-thanks!\" grunted Kolin, hanging on grimly. \"He's very handy,\" agreed Kolin politely. He groped for a foothold. \"Well … matter of fact, I much, even with the Life's way of thinking. It a tree, and then he came along to take advantage of it!\" Kolin braced himself securely to stretch tiring muscles. \"Maybe I'd better stay a \"You're about fifty feet up,\" the sighing voice informed \"I wouldn't want to do that, Mr. Ashlew.\" \"There's just one thing. your ship in any form that could tell tales.\" \"Listen!\" Kolin blurted out. \"I wasn't so much enjoying being what I was that them places. Must be tough just to live.\" Suddenly, Kolin found himself telling the tree about life on Haurtoz, and of the officially Somehow, the oddity of talking to a tree wore off. Kolin heard opinions spouting out which he had prudently kept bottled up for\n\n<question>:\nWhich description is the best representation of Yrtok's role in the story?\n\n<options>:\nA She figured out what was wrong with Ammet when he fell.\nB She was the reason they had a quality water supply.\nC She found the purple berries, an important source of food for the stranded crew.\nD Her fall leads Kolin to find Ashlew\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,939	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>:\nFiction May 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that whatever to it. It's obviously utterly impossible ... isn't it? In the closing days of December, 1957, at the meeting of the American about about LATHAM. But some are valid? NIEMAND. A few. There is unquestionably a correlation between sunspots and disturbances of the Earth's magnetic field ... radio themselves are not the direct cause of the disturbances we have been a conspicuous symptom of the disease. Whereas the real cause is an suitable instrumental methods. It is extremely doubtful, however, if the world is the origin of human evil. Philosophers have wrestled with it despair, convinced that the origin of evil is too deep for the human flourished. Man at last seemed to be making progress toward some higher goal. Then suddenly— for no detectable reason LATHAM. But weren't there reasons? to war. They can't help themselves. They are impelled by forces over which they have no control. By forces outside of themselves. women and some men during the climacteric, but these people failed to sexes and of all ages. They came from all walks of life. The onset of their attack was invariably sudden and with scarcely any warning. They would be going about their work feeling perfectly all right. Then in a ten days later the attack would cease as mysteriously as it had come and LATHAM. Aren't such attacks characteristic of the stress and strain of modern life? NIEMAND. I'm afraid that old stress-and-strain theory has been badly anthropologists have made in recent years is the discovery that mountain tribes of the Elgonyi and the Aruntas of Australia. No, Mr. Latham, it's time the stress-and-strain theory was relegated to the junk pile along with demoniac possession and blood letting. LATHAM. You must have done something for your patients— NIEMAND. A doctor must always do something for the patients who come to his office seeking help. First I gave them a thorough physical examination. I turned up some minor ailments—a slight heart murmur or a inquiry into their personal life. Here again I drew a blank. They had no thing that seemed to be the matter with them was that there were times LATHAM. And this gave you a clue? attack struck with almost the impact of a physical blow. The prodromal symptoms were usually slight ... a sudden feeling of uneasiness and guilt ... hot and cold flashes ... dizziness ... double vision. Then this ghastly sense of depression coupled with a blind insensate rage at fear she would injure the children. I pored over these case histories for a long time getting absolutely nowhere. Then finally a pattern began to emerge. moment. At first I thought nothing of it but as my records accumulated I became convinced it could not be attributed to chance. A mathematical disturbed around the time of full moon, but a search of medical exact record of the onset of an attack. The better records they kept the more conclusive was the evidence. Men and women were experiencing nearly simultaneous attacks of rage and depression all over southern California, which was as far as my practice extended. One day it occurred to me: if people a few miles apart could be stricken simultaneously, why not people hundreds or thousands of miles apart? It was this idea that prompted me to get in touch with an old colleague of mine I had known at UC medical school, Dr. Max Hillyard, who was in practice in Utica, New York. LATHAM. With what result? NIEMAND. I was afraid the result would be that my old roommate would think I had gone completely crazy. Imagine my surprise and gratification on receiving an answer by return mail to the effect that he also had been getting an increasing number of patients suffering with the same identical symptoms as my own. Furthermore, upon exchanging records we did coast, for example, not earlier or later than five minutes of an attack subjective effect of this nature. And now another fact emerged which gave us another clue. had to be above the horizon at both places. A person might undergo an Conversely, a person might be stricken late in the afternoon in California without a corresponding attack in New York where the Sun had set. Dr. Hillyard and I had been searching desperately for a clue. We evidence pointing directly to the source of trouble. It must have some NIEMAND. It certainly did. It looked as if we were headed back to the was our only lead we had no other choice but to follow it regardless of the consequences. Here luck played somewhat of a part, for Hillyard happened to have a contact that proved invaluable to us. Several years before Hillyard had gotten to know a young astrophysicist, Henry Middletown, who had come to him suffering from a severe case of myositis in the arms and shoulders. Hillyard had been able to effect a complete cure for which the boy was very grateful, and they had kept up a desultory correspondence. Middletown was now specializing in radio astronomy at the government's new solar observatory on Turtle Back Mountain in Arizona. If it had not been for Middletown's help I'm afraid our investigation would never have gotten past the clinical stage. LATHAM. In what way was Middletown of assistance? completely ignorant of what was going on in another field. Someday we will have to establish a clearing house in science instead of keeping it in tight little compartments as we do at present. Well, Hillyard and I packed up for Arizona with considerable misgivings. We were afraid Middletown wouldn't take our findings seriously but somewhat to our surprise he heard our story with the closest attention. I guess astronomers have gotten so used to hearing from flying saucer enthusiasts and science-fiction addicts that nothing surprises them any more. When we had finished he asked to see our records. Hillyard had them all set down for easy numerical tabulation. Middletown went to work put a number from 1 to 10 that was a rough index of the number and highest index number did not fall at random on the chart. Instead they obvious. LATHAM. But how did you get onto the S-Regions? NIEMAND. Middletown was immediately struck by the resemblance between the chart of mental disturbance and one he had been plotting over the the chart of mental disturbance corresponded in a striking way with the started two days later on the average than the disturbances due to the radio telescope. Middletown had discovered them when he was a graduate student working on radio astronomy in Australia, and he had followed up his researches with the more powerful equipment at Turtle Back Mountain. The formation of an NIEMAND. We don't account for it. LATHAM. What other properties of the S-Regions have you discovered? NIEMAND. Middletown says that the radio waves emanating from them are strongly circularly polarized. Moreover, the sense of rotation remains LATHAM. Does this mean that the mental disturbances arise from some form forty-eight hours between the development of an S-Region and the onset of mental disturbance. This indicates that the malignant energy emanating from an S-Region consists of some highly penetrating form of [A] some LATHAM. Why were not the S-Regions discovered long ago? end of World War II. started its rise to maximum about 1954. NIEMAND. I'm afraid the only sure way is to keep on the unilluminated side of the Earth which is rather difficult to do. Apparently the sharply defined, since its effects are felt simultaneously over the entire continent. Hillyard and Middletown are working on some form of shielding device but so far without success. LATHAM. What is the present state of S-Region activity? cycle had the highest maximum of any since 1780, but the present cycle NIEMAND. That is the logical outcome of our investigation. We are afraid any warning system would be worse than useless. We would be unable to concentrate, if you feel suddenly depressed and discouraged about yourself, or are filled with resentment toward the world, then you may be pretty sure that an S-Region is passing across the face of the THE END [A] discovered from information derived from Explorer I and III has no\n\n<question>:\nWhich decision was pivotal in moving the inquiry past the initial plateau?\n\n<options>:\nA Rethinking Shakespeare's quote from Julius Caesar\nB Collaborating with Middletown\nC Noticing the specific time frames of the attacks\nD Reaching out to Hillyard\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
997	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 would happen?\" \"I know one thing—I wouldn't be there holding your ankle while you found out.\" She took his arm as they gazed past the electrified fence at the Earth Don Cort, stranded on that rising town, was beginning to suspect that townspeople, a crackpot professor. But after a couple of weeks of floating around, it began to be obvious that the professor had no idea how to get them down. So then it was up \"Transportation?\" Alis squeezed the arm she was holding. \"Why? Don't you like it here?\" \"If you mean don't I like you, the answer is yes, of course I do. But if I don't get out of this handcuff soon so I can take a bath and get into clean clothes, you're not going to like me.\" answers, then transportation.\" over a second cup of coffee in a diner, when he screeched to a stop. If she said, \"before you deteriorate.\" They were in the midst of an extremely pleasant kiss when the brief case at the end of Don's handcuff began to talk to him. he'd gone another twenty-five feet he'd have gone into the pit where Superior had been. Knaubloch couldn't see the extent of the pit because it was too dark, The guard surrounded the area with troops—more than a thousand were needed—to keep people from falling into the pit. A pilot who flew over it reported that it looked as if a great ice-cream scoop had bitten into the witching hour. Somebody else said nonsense, they'd better check for radiation. A civil defense official brought up a Geiger counter, but no matter how he shook it and rapped on it, it refused to click. A National Guard officer volunteered to take a jeep down into the pit, having found a spot that seemed navigable. He was gone a long time but \" Cold up here!\" Don Cort had been dozing in what passed for the club car on the Buckeye Don had taken a passing interest earlier in the evening asked, \"Why did his teeth and nibbling at it thoughtfully. But it was likely that all she noticed then was the brief case he carried, attached by a chain to a handcuff on his left wrist. \"Will we be here long?\" Don asked the conductor. He didn't want to miss his plane at Columbus. The sooner he got to Washington, the sooner he'd get rid of the brief case. The handcuff it was attached to was one reason why his interest in the redhead had been only passing. \"Can't say,\" the conductor told him. He let the door close again and went down to the tracks. to Cort: either find a way to anchor Superior, or spend the rest of his days on the smallest—and the nuttiest—planet in the galaxy! and found a bigger knot of people gathered in front of the cowcatcher. Some sort of barricade had been put up across the tracks and it was \"You see what I mean,\" he said. \"You would have gone right over. I believe you would have had a two-mile fall.\" \"Of course you could have stayed aboard the train,\" the man driving the \"Miss Jervis. I'm Civek. You know Mr. Cort, I suppose.\" and grinned. \"There's plenty of room in the dormitories,\" Civek said. \"People don't exactly pound on the gates and scream to be admitted to Cavalier.\" said, \"if we don't settle back in the meantime.\" \"Was there any sort of explosion?\" Don asked. \"No. There wasn't any sensation at all, as far as I noticed. I was watching the late show—or trying to. My house is down in a hollow and \"Magnology. As I say, the school isn't accredited. Well, Professor Garet telephoned and said, 'Hector'—that's my name, Hector Civek—'everything's up in the air.' He was having his little joke, of course. I said, 'What?' and then he told me.\" \"Told you what?\" Jen Jervis asked. \"I mean, does he have any theory for a while.\" \"What do you mean by that?\" Jen Jervis asked. \"Well, I don't see how you can get down. Do you?\" Miss Jervis?\" \"I work for the Government. Doesn't everybody?\" \"Not everybody. Me, for instance.\" \"No?\" she said. \"Judging by that satchel you're handcuffed to, I'd have thought you were a courier for the Pentagon. Or maybe State.\" He laughed quickly and loudly because she was getting uncomfortably National Bank, that's all. Where do you work?\" to sleep,\" she corrected. She looked angry. \"Of course,\" Don said, puzzled by her emphasis. \"Come on. Where they put you, you'll probably be surrounded by co-eds, even if I could get out of this cuff.\" He took her bag in his free hand and they were met by a gray-haired woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Garet. \"We'll try to make you beside himself. We haven't had so much excitement since the cosmolineator blew up.\" They had a glimpse of the professor, still in his CD helmet, going around a corner, gesticulating wildly to someone wearing a white laboratory smock. II Don Cort had slept, but not well. He had tried to fold the brief case to pull it through his sleeve so he could take his coat off, but whatever was inside the brief case was too big. Cavalier had given him a room to himself at one end of a dormitory and he'd taken his pants off but had had to sleep with his coat and shirt on. He got up, feeling gritty, and did what little dressing was necessary. It was eight o'clock, according to the watch on the unhandcuffed wrist, and things were going on. He had a view of the campus from his window. A Superior were up in the air. He went through the dormitory. A few students were still sleeping. The others had gone from their unmade beds. He shivered as he stepped outdoors. It was crisp, if not freezing, and his breath came out visibly. First he'd eat, he decided, so he'd be strong enough to go take \"You're Mr. Cort,\" she said. \"Won't you join me?\" \"Thanks,\" he said, unloading his tray. \"How did you know?\" \"The mystery man with the handcuff. You'd be hard to miss. I'm Alis—that's A-l-i-s, not A-l-i-c-e—Garet. Are you with the FBI? Or did you escape from jail?\" Don blinked at the headline: Don read the story, which seemed to him a capricious treatment of an me all kinds of embarrassing questions to ask Father. I asked them, being a natural-born needler, and Father has disowned me intellectually ever since.\" solicited. He wondered where Geneva Jervis was, but only vaguely. \"Sure I do. Non-Einsteinian Relativity 1, at nine o'clock. But I'm a train was standing there with nowhere to go. It had been abandoned except for the conductor, who had dutifully spent the night aboard. \"What's happening?\" he asked when he saw them. \"Any word from down there?\" could almost reach the edge. He gave another wriggle and the fingers of his right hand closed over the brink. For a moment he lay there, panting, head pressed to the ground. ankle and held it tight. \"Just in case a high wind comes along,\" she said. \"I have a compact.\" She took it out of her bag with her free hand and tossed it to him. It rolled and Don had to grab to keep it from going over the edge. Alis gave a little shriek. Don was momentarily unnerved and had to put his head back on the ground. \"Sorry,\" she said. Don opened the compact and carefully transferred it to his right hand. He held it out beyond the edge and peered into it, focusing it on the\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Miss Jervis think that Don worked for the government?\n\n<options>:\nA Because it seemed as though everyone in the area worked for the government.\nB His appearance made her think so.\nC Because he was familiar with Senator Bobby Thebold.\nD Because he was handcuffed to a briefcase.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,411	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>:\nserenity, but complete freedom to write undisturbed about the things he equation hearing the old tongue and talking I must admit that at first I wasn't sure I was hearing those each other to hush, be quiet, and the soft breeze stirring them up again. I had known precisely such circumstances, in or out of gravity, and under all conditions of friction and combustion.\" \"Thank you, Mr. Houlihan,\" said work out an equation to give the coefficient of discharge for the matter me quietly. eager and ready.\" \"Thank you,\" I said. bargain.\" \"I'll not be needing the gold,\" I from any orifice has a velocity directly \"What's this now?\" proportional to the square root of the pressure-head driving it. \"I'll not be needing it,\" I repeated. sort.\" \"I don't feel it would be right to take it for a service of this and other factors make the velocity in the gas, surface roughness from a mortal.\" He turned to his people. \"We'll have three cheers now, do you hear, for Mr. Houlihan—friend what the drive amounts to despite long as he shall live!\" of the nozzle, sharpness of the and structure— Oh, there is so much of this that if you're not a nuclear engineer yourself it's certain to weary you. Perhaps you had better take my word for it that without this equation—correctly stated, mind you—mankind along. It smelled exactly like a would be well advised not slowly and chuckled to myself at how I had gotten the best of the say, upon the tongue of a man little people. Surely it was not every them. in eerily mysterious fashion with a chorus of small voices. I thought at first it might be children at play, but then at the time I was a bit absent-minded. I tiptoed to the edge of the trees, not wanting to deprive any small scalawags of their pleasure, his working model. determined the true coefficient of literature now, I suppose, as Houlihan's group of little people, hard at work. There was a leader, an older one with a crank face. He was beating the air with his arms and piping: \"Over here, now! All right, bring here—and see you're not slow as leprechauns are most clever in matters treacle about it!\" of this sort and he would have made it a burden in some way. Indeed, I had done a piece of work greatly to my advantage, and also to the advantage of humankind, and when a man can do the first and include the second as a fortunate byproduct had it back soon enough—or else and shiny and upright and a little over five feet in height. \"Come along now, people!\" said this crotchety one, looking straight at me. \"Stop starin' and get to then? know he can't see nor hear us!\" Transcriber's Note: and became stiff and alert for a moment, as though suspecting that perhaps deeming such a thing impossible. I said, \"Just a minute, friend, and I'll beg your pardon. It so happens I can staring open-mouthed. Then he said, \"What? What's that, now?\" \"No, wait!\" I said. \"Don't go away! I'll not be hurting you!\" They continued to scurry. I knew what it was they feared. \"I don't intend catching one of you!\" I said. \"Come back, you daft little creatures!\" But the glade was silent, and they catch one and keep him. Or so the legends affirmed, though I've wondered often about the truth of them. job of work for almost shamefully generous pay. You see, in a place as full of science as the nuclear propulsion smooth as glass and shaped like a huge cigar. There were a pair of almost miraculously complete and workable. I shook my head in wonder, then stepped back from the spaceship \"Listen to me now, little people!\" I called out. \"My name's father used to say! Come on out now, and pass the time o' day!\" a decision in so many words I knew hear the old tongue again, and talk a resounding blow with my fist. \"Hear me now, little people! If you don't show yourselves and come out and talk to me, I'll wreck this spaceship from stem to stern!\" I heard only the leaves rustling softly. \"Do you understand? I'll give you until I count three to make an appearance! One!\" as if a small, brittle twig had snapped in the underbrush. \" suddenly appeared. The leader—he seemed more wizened and bent than before—approached me slowly and warily as I at a safe distance. I smiled to reassure them and then waved my arm in a friendly gesture of greeting. \"Good morning,\" I said. \"Good morning,\" the foreman said with some caution. \"My name that I have no intention of doing you any injury?\" drawing a kind of peppered dignity up about himself, \"in such matters I am never fully convinced. After living for many centuries I am all too acutely aware of the perversity of human nature.\" \"Yes,\" I said. \"Well, as you will talk.\" I nodded as I spoke, and sat \"And often that's all I said. \"Sit down with me now, and stop staring as if I were a snake returned to the Island.\" He shook his head and remained standing. \"Have your say, Mr. Houlihan. And afterward we'll appreciate it if you'll go away and leave us to our work.\" expression, and said, \"I've been wondering how you guessed it was astonish me.\" \"It just so happens I'm a doctor of science.\" \"A doctor of science, now,\" said \"Well, now, that's very interesting.\" \"I'll make no apologies for it,\" I said. \"Oh, there's no need for apology,\" said Keech. \"Though in truth we prefer poets to scientists. But it \"How?\" I asked. beginning,\" he replied. usually does.\" \"I am surprised from time to time to find myself here,\" I said. \"But continue.\" old manner. \"Leprechauns are not really mechanically and laughter and mischief, as anyone knows.\" \"Myself included,\" I agreed. \"Well, if I may use an old expression, the world isn't long for itself.\" would a man unravel a statement such as that?\" \"It's very simple. With all the developed, there's the distinct possibility you might be blowin' us all up in the process of destroying yourselves.\" \"Well, then, as I say,\" said Which we're buildin' here and now. We've spied upon you and learned how to do it. Well—almost how to do it. We haven't learned yet how to control the power—\" constellation Orion, which sounds as though it has a good Irish name, but I was hooted down. Be that as it understand all of your high-flyin' science, but some of our people are of things.\" me, though. If you've been constantly around us—and I'm still \"You're determined to go.\" these last few minutes a certain matter has crossed my mind. That's why I'm wastin' all this time with you, sir. You say you are a scientist.\" \"A nuclear engineer.\" \"Well, then, it may be that you \"Help you?\" \"The power control, Mr. Houlihan. to know at any instant exactly how much thrust is bein' delivered And on paper it looks simple out exactly as it does on paper.\" for a coefficient of discharge.\" \"Whatever it might be named,\" said Keech, shrugging. \"'Tis the \"And you want me to help you with this?\" finally, \"why should I help you?\" \"Ha!\" said Keech, grinning, but not with humor, \"the avarice of humans! I knew it! Well, Mr. Houlihan, I'll give you reason enough. That's a grandmother's tale. a proposition.\" us how to make our ship work.\" then?\" that was all. able to make many sensible observations every day for the following two weeks. It rained several times, made, not being believers. I would halt work, pass the time of day, and then, in subtle fashion,\n\n<question>:\nWhich terms best describe the narrator's tone?\n\n<options>:\nA authoritative and oblivious\nB manipulative and meticulous\nC congenial and self-aware\nD hostile and condescending\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
74	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe Blue Behemoth By LEIGH BRACKETT Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed 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 Space, plastered so thick with attachments....\" \"It's no more plastered than you are.\" I was sore because he'd been a I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle for slanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing round toward us, pleased and kind of hungry. I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven to Shannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. he was a lousy bill-collecter and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannon settled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressed in dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering of grey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfully 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. 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.\" the table. \"I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity.\" The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his face stayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a start that it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan I ever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any more than you could see through sheet metal. scenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding the curtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much larger than the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. Brothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude.\" She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may be a little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped she It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport where Shannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Late as it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sitting around and smoking and looking very ugly. It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restless passageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose. 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 near as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It's the smell, I think rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them, breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled around them as strong as the cage bars. 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. But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feel them inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared of 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, all of a sudden.... \"That's tough,\" said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like an owl's. He swayed slightly. \"That's sure tough.\" He sniffled. some place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a little bird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cage with her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky head The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made the mane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyes clear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked like old Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. close, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and cold inside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... and everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I know her. I can do things with her. But this time....\" He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like a woman's talking about a sick child. high and black over us. It was still. The secret, uneasy motion all around us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller. 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. little brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of his teeth, and he gummed thak 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. bunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middle of it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look. 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 but her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn't sound nice. You find a lot of Nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks with the electric power they carry in their own bodies. They're Venusian middle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it. Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed with white reptilian teeth. \"Death,\" she whispered. \"Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I can smell it in the swamp wind.\" They are angry, and I smell death in the wind!\" She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tight We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeled around to see what was happening. People began to close in on the man who crawled and whimpered in the mud. carnivals. He'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren't only caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. I didn't realize until later that he looked familiar. 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. Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight for air. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was no I began to notice something, then. There were quite a lot of men in the place. At first glance they looked okay—a hard-faced, muscular bunch of miners in dirty shirts and high boots. Then I looked at their hands. They were dirty enough. But they never \" Selak ,\" said a voice in my ear. \"As if you didn't know.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat did the Nahali people do in side-shows as their talent?\n\n<options>:\nA Performed with the dangerous Vapor snakes\nB Performed tricks with the electric power the held in their bodies\nC Swallowed electricty and performed with currents\nD Their appearance alone was their performance, as they had triangular mouths and scaled hides\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,519	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWhich are you? \" Nothing came out of my gabbling mouth. \" What is Doc's full name? \" I almost fell in, but at the last instant I caught myself and said, \"Doctor Kevin O'Malley, Senior.\" From the bed, Doc said a word. \"Son.\" this is to happen.\" Then he disappeared. \"Sure,\" the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc's arthritic fingers that were clamped on his collar. \"No argument. Sure, So I was an Earthman, Doc's son. So my addiction to coffee was all in It was easier this night and that made me afraid. Doc's thin frame, wanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. in Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have been \"He didn't use that,\" Andre said. he left. \"The rest is simple,\" Andre said. \"Doc O'Malley bought up all the stock in a certain ancient metaphysical order and started supplying members my mind. That didn't change anything. They say sex is all in your mind. \"'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. But Great-great-grandmother Lupos, funny thing, is like a schoolgirl. Sharp, you know. I.... Say, the poor old guy looks sick. Want any help?\" with certain books. Can you imagine the effect of the or the Necronomican itself on human beings?\" . They weren't men like Doc and me. Then I realized what was about to happen. It was foolish and awful and true. I was going to have one of mine at the same time Doc was having his. That was bad. It had happened a few times right after I first the human race can tell itself how to achieve a state of pure logic, without food, without sex, without conflict—just as Doc has achieved \"The North American government has such a state—a little late, true. He had a powerful guilt complex, \"Tonight,\" Doc was saying in his old voice that was as crackled and I knew I could not let Doc's—Dad's—time travel thing fall into important as parchment, \"tonight Man will reach the Moon. The golden ad vance.\" Moon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. Tonight is the night when before Doc's genes and creative environment were recreated and time up we go. But leave me go or, so help me, I'll fetch you one in the and that did jagged cut-out nude curled against a lump of dust and lint, giving it an unreal distortion. Doc began to mumble louder. I knew I had to move. my mind and my eyes through the electric flashes of agony, so I concentrated on Doc's voice and trusted my hands would follow their \" Outsider ... Thoth ... ... Seven ... Hsan ... Ralston ... Richard Wentworth ... Jimmy Christopher ... Ayem ... Oh, are ... see ....\" That wasn't just an addict's dream. I knew who Doc was. When I got around North America for nothing, I remembered who he was. I remembered that he was somebody very important whose name and work I had once known, even if now I knew him only as Doc. Pain was a pendulum within me, swinging from low throbbing bass to high screaming tenor. I had to get out and get some. But I didn't have a Doc alone, but I had to. Doc was twisting on the cot, tears washing white streaks across his think you are blotto. \"Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work?\" I kept my eyes down. man , of course, not an glass of milk. I didn't want to black out on coffee with Doc waiting for me. I had of course . me .\" Doc sat on the floor in the half-darkness and he had made a thing . Doc had ever made anything. It didn't look like much, but it was a hamburgers on the wooden chair, hoping the odor wouldn't bring any hungry rats out of the walls. I knelt beside Doc. \"An order, my boy, an order,\" he whispered. I didn't know what he meant. Was he suddenly trying to give me orders? \"Concentrate,\" Doc said hoarsely. \"Concentrate....\" I wondered what the words meant. Wondering takes a kind of concentration. The words \"First Edition\" were what I was thinking about most. The heavy-set man in the ornate armchair was saying, \"The bullet struck Then I realized what I had been trying to get from Doc all these months—time travel. A thin, sickly man was sprawled in the other chair in a rumpled dressing gown. My eyes held to his face, his pinpoint pupils and begins to twist theories into fact, or facts into theories. I must ask this unemployed, former professional man who has gone through a serious illness and is suffering a more serious addiction to tell me the place and time from which he comes.\" The surprise stung. \"How did you know?\" I asked. He gestured with a pale hand. \"To maintain a logical approach, I must reject the supernatural. Your arrival, unless hallucinatory—and recently with another, I must accept the evidence of my senses or retire from my profession—your arrival was then super-normal. I might say super-scientific, of a science not of my or the good doctor's time, clearly. Time travel is a familiar folk legend and I have been reading an article by the entertaining Mr. Wells. Perhaps he will expand it I knew who these two men were, with a tormenting doubt. \"But the other—\" \"Your hands, though unclean, have never seen physical labor. Your \"You don't exist,\" I said slowly, painfully. \"You are fictional creations.\" The doctor flushed darkly. \"You give my literary agent too much credit for the addition of professional polish to my works.\" The other man was filling a large, curved pipe from something that looked vaguely like an ice-skate. \"Interesting. Perhaps if our visitor would tell us something of his age with special reference to the theory and practice of temporal transference, Doctor, we would be better equipped to judge whether we exist.\" There was no theory or practice of time travel. I told them all I had really a snowbird. After a time, I asked the doctor a question. \"Why, yes. I'm flattered. This is the first manuscript. Considering my professional handwriting, I recopied it more laboriously.\" She inclined the lethal silver toy. \"Let me see those papers, Kevin.\" I handed her the doctor's manuscript. Her breath escaped slowly and loudly. \"It's all right. It's all right. It exists. It's real. Not even one of the unwritten ones. I've read this myself.\" Doc was lying on the cot, half his face twisted into horror. \"Don't move, Kevin,\" she said. \"I'll have to shoot you—maybe not to kill, but painfully.\" had known too much in too short a time. I had to help Doc, but there was something else. told her. She shook her head. \"I don't know what you think it does to you.\" She showed me a card from her wrist purse. Vivian Casey, Constable, North American Mounted Police. I had to help Doc. I had to have some coffee. \"What do you want?\" \"Listen, Kevin. Listen carefully to what I am saying. Doc found his crusades. How can you make money with time travel?\" I didn't know whether she was asking me, but I didn't know. All I knew was that I had to help Doc and get some coffee. \"It takes money—money Doc didn't have—to make money,\" Miss Casey prosper. Besides, horse-racing and the stock market weren't a part of Doc's character. He was a scholar.\" Why did she keep using the past tense in reference to Doc? It scared me. He was lying so still with the left side of his face so twisted. I thing on the floor to the cot. Doc had a pulse, but it was irregular. I checked for a fever and there wasn't one. After that, I didn't know what to do. book from Doc,\" the Martian said. Something seemed to strike me in the back of the neck. I staggered, but that dirty.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Doc's profession?\n\n<options>:\nA Scientist\nB Addict\nC Book collector\nD Doctor\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,015	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 dancers at the center of the circle finally bowed out with small garlands of flowers on their heads that signified their reaching adulthood. Acrobats then took the stage and went through a dizzying routine, and they in turn were succeeded by a native singer. They were all excellent, Eckert thought. If anything, they were too It was Eckert who had come into his office several days ago and told Eckert had come into his office without saying a word and had watched had come of good stock. There had been no mental instability in his family for as far back as the genetic records went. He had been raised in a middle-class neighborhood and attended a local grammar school where he had achieved average grades and had given his instructors the such honors. But try getting a picture of him by reading the records, resurrect him from a page of black print. Would he be human? Would he be flesh and blood? Hell, no! In the statistics Pendleton was the All-Around Boy, the cold marble statue with the finely chiseled muscles and the smooth, blank sockets where the eyes should be. Maybe someday fate would play a trick on a hero-worshiping public and there would actually be kids like that. But they wouldn't be human they wouldn't be born. Parents would get them by sending in so many box tops. He was drowsy didn't. But sometimes they were murdered. the ceiling told how close they were to takeoff. His head was thick with drowsiness, his eyelids a heavy weight that he knew he couldn't keep open much longer. Eckert and he had been chosen to go to Tunpesh and investigate. The two The thin red line was practically microscopic now and Templin could feel his lashes lying gently on his cheeks. But he wasn't asleep—not Warm breezes rustled through Eckert's graying hair and tugged gently as though it grew fast—it would certainly have plenty of time to grow before the next ship landed. He looked at the slim, dwindling shape that was the rocket, and was suddenly, acutely aware that he and Templin would be stranded for six at that, away from the din and the hustle and confusion, spending the time in a place where the sun was warm and inviting. I must be getting old , he thought, thinking about the warmth and comfort. Like old dogs and octogenarians. Templin was looking at the scenery with a disappointed expression on Eckert nodded agreement. \"It wouldn't fit, would it? It would be like a It looked fairly primitive, Eckert thought, and yet it didn't have the earmarks, the characteristics of most primitive villages. It didn't seem cluttered or dirty and you didn't feel like beating a hasty retreat when the wind was blowing toward you. A few adults were watching them curiously and the usual bunch of kids that always congregated around rocketports quickly gathered. Eckert stared at them for a moment, wondering what it was that seemed odd about them, and they stared back with all the alert dignity of childhood. They finally came out on the field and clustered around him and Templin. Templin studied them warily. \"Better watch them, Ted. Even kids can be dangerous.\" It's because you never suspect kids , Eckert thought, you never think But the idea still didn't go with the warm sun and the blue sky and the piny scent of the trees. One of the adults of the village started to walk toward them. \"I'd be very careful what I did,\" Eckert said softly. \"I would hate to start something merely because I misunderstood their intentions.\" The committee of one was a middle-aged man dressed in a simple strip of white cloth twisted about his waist and allowed to hang freely to his knees. When he got closer, Eckert became less sure of his age. He had the firm, tanned musculature of a much younger man, though a slightly seamed face and white hair aged him somewhat. Eckert still had the feeling that if you wanted to know his exact age, you'd have to look at his teeth or know something about his epiphyseal closures. \"You are menshars from Earth?\" The voice was husky and pleasant and and made a few mental notes. He wasn't bowing and scraping like most natives who weren't too familiar with visitors from the sky, and yet he was hardly either friendly or hostile. been the anthropologist. \"We have had visitors from Earth before.\" He hesitated a moment He was polite, Eckert thought. He didn't ask what they were there Eckert and Templin took a quick tour of the few rooms. They were well furnished, in a rustic sort of way, and what modern conveniences they didn't have they could easily do without. The youngsters who had carried their luggage left it outside and quietly faded away. It was getting dark Eckert opened one of the boxes they had brought along, knew usually appealed to the primitive imagination. Eckert shrugged. \"That's one of the things you do out of habit, try \"That's not very typical of a primitive society, is it?\" \"No, I'm afraid it's not.\" Eckert started unpacking some of the boxes. \"You know, Ray, I got a kick out of the kids. They're a healthy-looking lot, aren't they?\" \"Too healthy,\" Templin said. \"There didn't seem to be any sick ones or ones with runny noses or cuts or black eyes or bruises. It doesn't seem natural.\" \"They're probably just well brought-up kids,\" Eckert said sharply. \"Maybe they've been taught not to get in fights or play around in the mud on the way home from school.\" He felt faintly irritated, annoyed at the way Templin had put it, as if any deviation from an Earth norm was they're playing a rehearsed part. Here we are, from an entirely different solar system, landed in what must be to them an unusual manner. They couldn't have seen rockets more than three or four times before. It should still be a novelty to them. And yet how much curiosity did they show? Hardly any. Was there any fear? No. And the cute, harmless little kids.\" He looked at Eckert. \"Maybe that's what we're supposed to think—just an idyllic, harmless society. Maybe He was keyed up, jumpy, Eckert realized. He would probably be seeing even realize. He wondered what Templin would do if he ever found out feelings and emotions would almost exactly be duplicated in Templin's. There were disadvantages in taking Templin, too. \"Just how primitive do you think the society is, Ted?\" \"I don't think it's primitive at all. There are too many disparities. Their knowledge of a lot of things is a little more than empirical knowledge Eckert sighed and watched a fat bug waddle across a small patch of seemed likely to turn into a vendettist. It meant that Eckert would Eckert rolled up the thin, slatted blinds and stared out at the \"They grow their women nice, don't they?\" \"Physically perfect, like the men,\" Templin grumbled. \"You could get an inferiority complex just from watching the people here. Everybody's so One of the hardest things to learn in a foreign culture, Eckert and Templin had been invited. It was a good chance to observe native He looked at Templin, sitting across from him in the huge circle, and shrugged mentally. Templin looked as if he was about to break down and in Templin's getting excited and doing something he was bound to regret Eckert had a sudden clammy feeling which quickly passed away. What Nayova had said was something he'd make sure Templin never heard about. information together. They probably had a taboo about self-destruction knelt before Nayova. When he clapped his hands sharply, they retreated to the center of the circle and began the slow motions of a native obscene .\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat did Templin and Eckert find odd about the children they encountered?\n\n<options>:\nA They all looked much younger than the children on Earth.\nB They were all more well-behaved than any children they had seen on Earth\nC They were all impressively healthy.\nD They looked much older than the children on Earth\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,471	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 Joe Prantera \"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.\" Prantera. on me?\" Brett-James grimaced in amusement. \"Mr. Prantera, this will probably be difficult for you to comprehend, but there are no police in this Then his second thought was Something went wrong. Big Louis, he \"If I understand your idiom correctly, tough. With luck, the syndicate would no prisons in this era, Mr. Prantera.\" get him off with a couple of years at you mean prison. There are Joe stared. \"No cops, no jails. What stops anybody? What stops anybody Quentin. \"Mr. Prantera, there are no banks.\" \"No banks! You gotta have banks!\" Prantera began to sense an alienness—a \"And no money to put in them. Brett-James cleared his throat. get a mouthpiece.\" tack. \"My name is Lawrence 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 character could have known that. he'll be at some time. Get it? Like Al Rossi. My finger, he works in Rossi's \"I wanta mouthpiece,\" Joe said house, see? He lets me know every leaves the house all by hisself. O.K., so I can make plans, like, to give it to him.\" Joe Prantera wound it up 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 me? I'd wind up in the gas chamber so quick—\" \"See here, Mr. Prantera,\" Brett-James capital punishment, you must realize.\" \"O.K. I still don't wanta get caught. What obviously a populous city. And for a moment again, Joe Prantera Joe Prantera stared at him, said finally, flatly, \"What's it all about?\" Everybody'd be running around giving it to everybody else.\" \"The motivation for crime has been removed, Mr. Prantera,\" Reston-Farrell attempted to explain. \"A \"Where would you go?\" The fear of police, of Al Rossi's vengeance, of the measures that might be taken by Big Louis on his receives it.\" something, they just take me to a doctor?\" Joe Prantera was unbelieving. \"Why would anybody wish to steal \"You mean, like, if I steal a car or 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 and with a chainsmoker's nervousness. The other was heavier and more getting caught, don't you?\" \"Yes,\" Brett-James said evenly. \"Mr. Prantera,\" Dr. Reston-Farrell \"Well then, figure something else. at ease. They were both, Joe estimated, Joe said coldly, \"And what happens to you guys? How do you know I won't rat on you?\" ... from yesteryear, Mr. Joseph Salviati-Prantera.\" 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 not usually on his tongue. the other day, Mr. Prantera. Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy is a dangerous, atavistic, evil genius. We are of the question. \"Mr. Prantera, \"What's it all about, huh?\" \"Prepare yourself for somewhat of a shock, Mr. Prantera. You are no finds his recruits among the young.\" \"O.K., so this guy is dangerous. You want him knocked off before he A.D. they would say.\" Joe Prantera looked from one of us, what will you do? Mr. Prantera, them to the other, scowling. \"What \"Mr. Prantera, you are no longer in man in the street, Mr. Prantera. Only students of such subjects any longer Mr. Prantera.\" Joe Prantera had never been exposed the rap was it wouldn't be too Joe Prantera's mind suddenly reverted to those last memories and his Reston-Farrell said, \"Mr. Prantera, \"I wanta get out of here,\" Joe said. want me to do a job for you.\" \"That is correct.\" of jobs I do?\" \"That is correct.\" \"Like hell you do. You think I'm Joe Prantera came abruptly to Prantera?\" 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 Joe Prantera's mind whirled its confusion. Finally he said, \"What's this bit some guy.\" \"That is why we brought you here, Mr. Prantera. You were ... you are, a professional assassin.\" \"Hey, wait a minute, now.\" Reston-Farrell went on, ignoring society.\" They had him pegged all right. Joe said, \"But why me? Why don't you knows the ropes these days.\" Brett-James said, \"Mr. Prantera, there are no professional assassins in this age, nor have there been for over Prantera's irritation over this whole job. You need a good man knows how 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. to handle wunna these, Chief.\" 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 not in us, Mr. Prantera.\" of the first jobs I'm gunna hafta do for you, Chief, is to give it to those two.\" \"Mr. Prantera, in your own era, did in almost every field, certainly in every science. Dictators? Your ancestors found, Mr. Prantera, that it is 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?\" \"Mr. Prantera, have you ever heard of Ghengis Khan, of Tamerlane, Alexander, Caesar?\" Joe Prantera scowled at him emptily. \"Or, more likely, of Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin?\" 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 scene.\" \"Now we're getting somewheres,\" 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 happened?\" \"Sure,\" Joe grunted. \"I woulda let old Al Rossi have it right in the guts, Brett-James was shaking his head. \"No. You see, by coincidence, a police squad car was coming down the street just at that moment to arrest Mr. Rossi. You would have been apprehended. As I understand Californian law of the period, your life would have been forfeit, Mr. Prantera.\" Mr. Prantera, we have already told Mr. Prantera. Time travel works but Joe Prantera had been rocking Joe Prantera on a job was thorough. Careful, painstaking, competent. He spent the first three days of his\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Prantera referring to when he mentions a 'mouthpiece'?\n\n<options>:\nA a lawyer\nB a weapon\nC a disguise\nD a crime boss\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
637	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 There were more Joes on Venus than you could shake Polk to scan the planet for a guy named Joe. For example, he could have chosen a Second Looie for the job on Venus. his fingers. He held them up in front of him like a cathedral. \"Yes, sir,\" I said. \"It will involve finding one man, a Venusian native.\" I wanted to say, \"Then why the hell don't you send a green kid on way he'd treated the natives on Mars ever since he'd taken over there. Which brought to mind an important point. \"I always figured Venus was under the jurisdiction of Space III, sir. I thought our activities were confined to Mars.\" \"Mmmm,\" he said, \"yes, that's true. But this is a special job. It so happens this Venusian is the one man who can help us understand just what's happening on Mars.\" I tried to picture a Venusian understanding Mars and I didn't get very far. them to him in one word: Walsh. I had to laugh at the way he called it \"revolt.\" It had been going on for six months now and we'd lost at least a thousand men from Space II. Revolt. \"And this man is on Venus now?\" I asked for confirmation. I'd never been to Venus, being in Space II ever since I'd left the Moon run. It 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 \"Joe.\" A tight smile played on his face. \"Joe what?\" I asked. \"Just Joe.\" \"Just Joe?\" like Joe. Among the natives, I mean.\" any of the other Venusians, so I can't give you much help there. He does have a peculiar habit, though.\" \"What's that?\" \"He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes.\" Venus was hotter than I'd expected it to be. Much too hot for the tunic I was wearing. It smelled, too. A funny smell I couldn't place. Like a mixture of old shoe and after-shave. There were plants everywhere \"Call me Joe,\" he said. simple assignment after all. \"I sure am glad to see you, Joe,\" I said. 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 wondering just how I should go about contacting the Joe I was looking \"Where's the Officer's Club?\" I asked the Venusian. \"Are you buying information or are you just curious?\" \"Call me Joe,\" he answered. \"Joe,\" he said again. \"You wouldn't happen to be Joe the trader? The guy who knows all about Joe. contemptible.... \"What are you drinking, pal?\" the Venusian asked again. \"Skip it,\" I said. \"How do I get to the captain's shack?\" \"Follow your nose, pal. Can't miss it.\" I started to pick up my bag as another Venusian entered. He waved at the bartender. \"Hello, Joe,\" he said. \"How's it going?\" great gag. Very funny. Very.... \"You Major Polk, sweetheart?\" the Venusian who'd just come in asked. \"Sir?\" the Venusian asked. some, please?\" \"Sure thing,\" the Venusian answered. He smiled broadly and closed the Another Joe \"Steal what?\" I asked. \"Cigarettes. I sometimes think the cigarette is one of the few things they like about Terran culture.\" He does have a peculiar habit, though. He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes. Cigarettes \"What's with all this Joe business? It may be a very original name but 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 \"I can see that,\" I said bitingly. \"And the natives are only now becoming acquainted with Terran culture. Lots of enlisted men, you know.\" 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 personally responsible for Venusian culture. In fact, he looked as if he were responsible for having put Venus in the heavens in the first place. \"Do you understand, Major? Just a case of extended idiom, that's all.\" Bransten asked a Venusian named Joe to show me my quarters, reminding One: I could say the hell with Walsh and Venus. That would mean hopping the next ship back to Earth. It would also mean disobeying the direct order of a superior officer. 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 really find a guy who was trader Joe. life. Maybe there was a Joe here who could help us on Mars. If there was I'd try to find him. It was still a hell of a trick though. I cursed Walsh again and pushed the buzzer near my bed. A tall Venusian stepped into the room. \"Joe?\" I asked, just to be sure. into the jungle. Can you get me one?\" \"It'll cost you, boss,\" the Venusian said. \"How much?\" \"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....\" \"Skip it,\" I said, cutting the promotion short. \"Tell him to show up around fifteen hundred with a complete list of what we'll need.\" The Venusian started to leave. 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 Sending me off on a wild goose chase after a character named Joe may The guide arrived at fifteen hundred on the dot. He was tall, elongated, looked almost like all the other Venusians I'd seen so far. \"I understand you need a Grade A guide, sir,\" he said. \"Are you familiar with the jungle?\" I asked him. \"Joe,\" he said. \"Didn't you know?\" Everybody was Joe. It was one beautiful, happy, joyous round of that would give a momentary lift to my own depressed state of mind. He would talk for hours on end as we hacked our way through the jungle. \"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. say about the natives. Apparently he'd realized that Joe was a native.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the origin of the name Joe on Venus?\n\n<options>:\nA The Venusians use “Joe” as an idiom, referring to friends and family as Joe, even though that is not their given Venusian name.\nB Terrans use the term “Joe” to refer to each other. The Venusians took the idiom literally and adopted it in earnest as the global name.\nC There is a Venusian hero named Joe, prompting all Venusians to take the name.\nD Venusians are required by Terrans to use the name as a sign of enslavement.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,508	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 The clever and sophisticated simulator I'm playing with started life as a lash-up in an obstetrician's home workshop: a Heath Robinson-style contraption barely recognisable as a model of the human body. But it wasn't at that stage intended as a simulator for training medical staff. Its sole purpose was to test the effectiveness of a novel device called a Tydeman tube. Paradoxically, although the testing equipment, Debra, is now commercially available, the device it was intended to test has yet to reach the market. but with a good outcome. Although the Tydeman tube is still in gestation, Desperate Debra herself is now thriving. 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. Although tests carried out with the Debra prototype showed that the tube would work as intended, Tydeman and his colleagues then faced what he calls a kind of medical catch-22. \"We had the tube finished about three years ago… but we were more interested in trying to save lives than selling a product. We thought that the right thing to do before commercialising it was to be sure we'd got the best design.\" They tried it on a dozen or so women in labour, and concluded that it did what it supposed to. But they held off trying to market it because they wanted to do more extensive, more rigorous clinical studies. With a grant from the Guy's and St Thomas's Charity fund they made Debra more presentable. Tydeman showed the prototype to Adam Rouilly, an established company specialising in medical models and simulators. They were impressed. A year later, the first of Debra's smartened-up sisters was on the market. and to learn where and how hard to push on the infant skull. \"Any practice you've done in the cold light of day will help you stay calm and composed in an emergency, and that's what we're aiming for,\" says Briley. It's still too soon to make a final judgement about Debra’s impact. \"When we first brought Debra out,\" Briley recalls, \"some of the really experienced professors said things like, 'We always managed without one. Why would you need this?' But ask them to have a go at using it and then they admit it's really good.\" Medicine as a whole has an oddly ambivalent relationship to innovation. Some new findings, techniques or equipment take years to penetrate the profession others are seized upon immediately. A proper study of the clinical effectiveness of the Tydeman tube will necessarily involve women giving birth. Assessing the value of Debra as a simulator didn't require human subjects The use of simulators to teach technical skills is now common in medical schools. You can learn to sew up a knife wound, catheterise a bladder or intubate an airway. You can practise cardiopulmonary resuscitation or ear syringing or even go through the motions of a keyhole surgical procedure. The technology required to do these things may cost a few pounds, or tens of thousands. Either way, given that most of these devices were invented during the past three or four decades, it comes as something of a surprise to learn that simulation for medical purposes can be traced back as far as the Chinese Song dynasty of 960-1279 AD. 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. Oddly, as medicine became more scientific, most of these devices fell by the wayside. As an academic review of these and other devices has pointed out, much of the 20th century was something of Dark Ages for simulation. Its value in professional training has had to be rediscovered: an endeavour in which inventive people like Graham Tydeman, sometimes with workshops rich in discarded junk, are still fruitfully engaged.\n\n<question>:\nWhich terms best describe the medical field's response to new development of medical technology?\n\n<options>:\nA gratuitous and enthusiastic\nB methodical and cumbersome\nC equivocal and inconsistent\nD deadpan and leisurely\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,309	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 RANDALL GARRETT Women on space station assignments shouldn't get pregnant. But there's a first time for everything. Here's the story of One thousand seventy-five miles above the wrinkled surface of Earth, a woman was in pain. There, high in the emptiness of space, Space Station One swung in its orbit. Once every two hours, the artificial satellite looped completely around the planet, watching what went on below. Outside its bright steel hull was the silence of the interplanetary vacuum inside, in the hospital ward, Lieutenant Alice Britton clutched at the sheets of her yet. \"Fine, doctor. It's no worse than I was expecting. How long will to herself as she thought of his blistering speech. \"Lieutenant Britton, you're either careless or brainless I don't know which! Your husband may be the finest rocket jockey in the Space Service, but that doesn't give him the right to come blasting up here on a supply rocket just to get you pregnant!\" flaming red of his hair. \"The question is: what do we do next? We're not equipped for obstetrics up here.\" \"Send me back down to Earth, of course.\" And he had looked up at her scathingly. \"Lieutenant Britton, it is my personal opinion that you need your head examined, and not by a general practitioner, either! Why, I wouldn't let you get into an airplane, much less land on Earth in a rocket! If you think I'd permit you to subject yourself to eight gravities of acceleration in a rocket pressure of a rocket landing would increase her effective body weight to nearly half a ton an adult human being couldn't take that sort of punishment for long, much less the tiny life that was growing within her. So she had stayed on in the Space Station, doing her job as always. As Chief Radar Technician, she was important in the operation of the station. Her pregnancy had never made her uncomfortable the slow rotation of the wheel-shaped station about its axis gave an effective gravity at the rim only half that of Earth's surface, and the closer to pinpoint it almost exactly. And at a maximum of half of Earth gravity, you shouldn't weigh more than seventy pounds then. You're to report to me at least once a week, Lieutenant.\" no bigger than a twenty-two bullet, and it hadn't been traveling more than ten miles per second, but it had managed to punch its way through the shielding of the station. The self-sealing walls had closed the tiny hole quickly, but even in that short time, a lot of air had gone whistling out into the vacuum of space. The depressurization hadn't hurt her too much, but the shock had been enough to start labor. The baby was going to come two months early. \"Incubator,\" he said, without taking his eyes off the clock. \"I beg your pardon?\" \"Incubator. We can't deliver a seven-month preemie without an incubator.\" The nurse's eyes widened. \"Good Lord! I never thought of that! What are \"Right now, I can't do anything. I can't beam a radio message through I'll ask them to send up an emergency rocket with an incubator. But—\" \"But what?\" \"Will we have time? The pains are coming pretty fast now. It will be at least three hours before they can get a ship up here. If they miss us on the next time around, it'll be five hours. She can't hold out that impatiently as he waited for the answer. RENDEZVOUS WITH SS-1 AS OF NEXT PASSAGE ABOVE USA. CAPT. JAMES BRITTON PILOTING. MEDICS LOADING SHIP TWELVE WITH INCUBATOR AND OTHER SUPPLIES. BASE OBSTETRICIAN LT COL GATES ALSO COMING TO ASSIST IN DELIVERY. HANG ON. OVER. the base before we get out of range again.\" He turned and left through the heavy door. Each room of the space station was protected by airtight doors and individual heating units if some accident, such as a really large meteor hit, should release the air from one room, nearby rooms would be safe. He forced a nervous smile. \"Nothing but the responsibility. You're going to be a very famous woman, you know. You'll be the mother of the first child born in space. And it's my job to see to it that you're both all right.\" late. This isn't going to last that long.\" that long. And we don't have an incubator.\" His voice was a clipped The Chief Nurse said: \"Can't we build something that will do until the rocket gets here?\" Banes looked at her, his face expressionless. \"What would we build it out of? There's not a spare piece of equipment in the station. It costs money to ship material up here, you know. Anything not essential is left on the ground.\" recorded all the monitor pickups from the Earth radio stations, and it looks as though the Space Service has released the information to the public. Lieutenant Britton's husband was right when he said the whole world's praying for her. Do you want to hear the tapes?\" save that baby!\" He paused as he saw her eyes. \"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. My nerves are all raw, I guess. But, dammit, my field is space medicine. I can handle depressurization, space sickness, and things know. I don't even have any references up here people aren't supposed to go around having babies on a space station!\" \"It's all right, doctor. Shall I prepare the delivery room?\" His laugh was hard and short. \"Delivery room! I wish to Heaven we had one! Prepare the ward room next to the one she's in now, I guess. It's the best we have. smoke to calm his raw nerves, but it was strictly against regulations. Air was too precious to be used up by smoking. Every bit of air on board had had to be carried up in rockets when the station was built in space. The air purifiers in the hydroponics section could keep the air fresh enough for breathing, but fire of any kind would overtax the system, leaving too little oxygen in the atmosphere. It was a few minutes of ten when he decided he'd better get back to \"Nothing serious. I just want to make sure everything comes out all right.\" She smiled. \"It will. You're all set. You ordered the instruments ready. It won't be much longer now.\" \"I'll say it won't! How about the incubator?\" There was a long pause. Finally, he said softly: \"There isn't any incubator. I didn't take the possibility of a premature delivery into account. It's my fault. I've done what I could, though the ship is bringing one up. I—I think we'll be able to keep the child alive until—\" hysterical! Stop it!\" one! What about you? You're so nervous you couldn't sip water out of a out. Ask yourself just one question. Ask yourself, 'Why is a space station like an incubator?'\" Space Ship Twelve docked at Space Station One at exactly eleven thirty-four, and two men in spacesuits pushed a large, bulky package through the airlock. Major Peter Banes, haggard but smiling, met Captain Britton in the corridor as he and the colonel entered the hospital ward. ?\" \"But—but—the incubator—\" Banes' grin widened. \"We'll put the baby in it, now that we've got it, but it really isn't necessary. Your wife figured that one out. A space station is a kind of incubator itself, you see. It protects us poor, weak humans from the terrible conditions of space. So all we had to do was close up one of the airtight rooms, sterilize it, warm it up, and put in extra oxygen from the emergency tanks. Young James is perfectly comfortable.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy can't they build an incubator?\n\n<options>:\nA They don't have the right kind of lights aboard the space station.\nB It does not occur to them to build an incubator.\nC None of them no how to build an incubator and the asteroid knocked out communications.\nD There are no spare parts aboard the space station.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,852	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's not so much the decisions a man does make that mark him as a Man—but the ones he refrains from making. Like the decision \"I've had enough!\" Illustrated by Schoenherr Read locked the door and drew his pistol. Sergeant Rashid handed Premier Umluana the warrant. If Umluana noticed Read's gun, he didn't show it. He read the you'll excuse me, I must return to my party.\" In the other room people laughed and talked. Glasses clinked in the late afternoon. Read knew two armed men stood just outside the door. \"If you leave, Premier, I'll have to shoot you.\" Read clicked off the safety. \"Corporal Read is very young,\" Rashid said, \"but he's a crack shot. That's why I brought him with me. I think he \" Rashid judo chopped him and swung the inert body over his shoulders. Read pulled a flat grenade from his vest pocket. He dropped it and yellow psycho gas hissed from the valve. catatonic trance. A little car skimmed across the lawn. Bearing the Scourge of Africa, Rashid struggled toward it. Read walked backward, covering their retreat. grenades. \"I better cover,\" he said. \"Thanks,\" Rashid said. The inspector slid out of the car and ran to a clump of bushes. The driver pushed in the accelerator. As they swerved toward the south, Read saw a dozen armed men run out of the house. A grenade arced from the bushes and the pursuers recoiled from the cloud that rose before them. pocket. \"Well, Read, it looks like we're in for a fight. In a few minutes Miaka Station will know we're coming. And God knows what will happen at the Game Preserve.\" Read wanted to jump out of the car. He could die any minute. But he had set his life on a well-oiled track and he couldn't get off until they reached Geneva. He had belonged to a gang called The Golden Spacemen. \"Nobody fools with me,\" he bragged. \"When Harry Read's out, there's a tiger running loose.\" No one knew how many times he nearly ran from other clubs, how carefully he picked the safest spot on the international cops wore green berets, high buttonless boots, bush But the evidence was clear. Umluana was defying world law. If he \"One thing,\" Read said, \"I don't think they'll shoot at us while he's in the car.\" Read looked back. He saw three spots of sunlight about two hundred feet up and a good mile behind. \"Shall I duck under the trees?\" the driver asked. \"Not yet. Not until we have to.\" Read fingered the machine gun he had picked up when he got in the car. He had never been shot at. Twice he had faced an unarmed mob, but a few shots had sent them running. \"Evade,\" Rashid said. \"Don't go down.\" Without losing any forward speed, the driver took them straight up. Read's stomach bounced. A shell exploded above them. The car rocked. He raised his eyes Read copied him. Umluana breathed like a furnace, still unconscious from the injection Rashid had given him. I can't do anything , Read thought. \"Can't we go down?\" Read said. \"They'll get to Miaka before us.\" He shut his eyes when he heard another loud explosion. slowed down, then crashed through the glass walls and hovered by the transmitter booth. Rashid opened the door and threw out two grenades. Read jumped out and the two of them struggled toward the booth with Umluana. All three panicked when the psycho gas enveloped them. They ran howling for the jungle. Through the window of his mask, Read saw their pursuers land in the clearing. Machine-gun bullets raked the building. They got Umluana in the booth and hit the floor. Read took aim and opened waiting room surrounded the bank of transmitter booths. Read looked out the door and saw his first battlefield. Directly in front of him, his head shattered by a bullet, a dead inspector lay behind an overturned couch. Read had seen dozens of training films taken during actual Now he slid against the rear wall of the transmitter booth. A wounded inspector crawled across the floor to the booth. Read \"Did you get Umluana?\" he asked Sergeant Rashid. eighteenth year he had done everything his superiors told him to do. He started crawling toward an easy-chair that looked like good cover. A bullet cracked above his head, so close he felt the shock wave. He got up, ran panicky, crouched, and dove behind the chair. \"I'm calling South Africa Station for a copter. It's the only way out of here. Until it comes, we've got to hold them back.\" Read thought of the green beret he had stuffed in his pocket that morning. He stuck it on his head and cocked it. He didn't need plain clothes anymore and he wanted to wear at least a part of his uniform. The machine gun kicked and chattered on his shoulder. He picked a target and squeezed off a burst. Tensely, he hunted for another Read surveyed his sector of fire. About two hundred yards to his left, he saw the top of a small ditch. Using the ditch for cover, his vest pocket. He opened it and a pair of sights flipped up. A thin track ran down one side. He had about a dozen grenades left, three self-propelling. He ditch. He dropped another grenade beside it. The heavy gas would lie there for hours. \"The copter will be here in half an hour. We'll put Umluana on, Rashid ran off. Read stared across the green land and listened to the pound of his heart. What were the Belderkans planning? A mass frontal attack? To sneak in over the top of the hill? He didn't think, anymore than a rabbit thinks when it lies hiding from the fox or a panther thinks when it crouches on a branch above the trail. His skin tightened and relaxed on his body. burned, or cut up by shrapnel, or gassed with some new mist their masks couldn't filter. Read shut his eyes. All around him he heard heavy breathing, mumbled comments, curses. Clothes rustled as men moved restlessly. something more than a hunger for self-respect. Read had seen the inspector who covered their getaway. He had watched their escort charge three-to-one odds. He had seen another inspector stay behind at Miaka Station. And here, in this thirty-foot intervals along the floor. \"Remember,\" Rashid said. \"We have to knock out that gun.\" Read had given away his machine gun. He held a gas-filled bottle in each hand. His automatic nestled in its shoulder holster. Rashid whistled. Dozens of smoke grenades tumbled through the air. Thick mist engulfed the tank. Read stood up and ran forward. He crouched but didn't zigzag. Speed counted most here. \"Read, you've got to. I think you're the only—\" \"What?\" Guns clattered. Bullets cracked. decided something in the world was more important than himself, but he didn't know it or realize the psychologists would be surprised to see him do this. He had made many decisions in the last few minutes. He had ceased to think about them or anything else. With his cigarette lighter, he lit the rag stuffed in the end of the bottle. Biting his tongue, he pulled himself up the front of the tank. His long arm stretched for the muzzle of the gun. He tossed the the neck. He didn't feel them. He had fainted the moment he felt the bottle leave his hand. The copter landed ten minutes later. Umluana left in a shower of\n\n<question>:\nWhy wasn't Read wearing his green beret when arrested Umluana?\n\n<options>:\nA His beret was knocked off his head in the scuffle.\nB Read doesn't really like wearing hats.\nC Read was in plain clothes. They were undercover.\nD Read forgot that he placed it in his pocket earlier.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,040	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>:\nGetting specimens for the interstellar zoo was no problem—they battled for the honor—but now I had to fight like a wildcat to keep a display from making a monkey of me! It was our first day of recruiting on the planet, and the alien office. As I came down the block from the hotel, I could hear and see 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 came in every shape and form, in all colors and textures—and all of 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. \"Send them in one at a time,\" I told Stebbins. I ducked into the be much help they tried to keep out of local squabbles unless they 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. four feet high and five hundred pounds heavy. We already had a couple 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 of, it's those silver-colored spiders, but this seedy specimen gave it figured to pick up plenty of new exhibits here and we were right. It was the isolationism of the late 29th century that turned me into fifty of the reptilian natives of Ghryne, seven Sirian spiders, and no 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 400 feet long and appropriately fearsome to the eye, but I didn't see how we could take one on. They're gentle and likable beings, but their 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. 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 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.\" \"I'm not panhandling. I'm looking for a job.\" \"Then try elsewhere. Suppose you stop wasting my time, bud. You're as 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 I didn't know it then, but before the day was out, I would have that reason. And, with it, plenty of trouble on my hands. The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of a Kallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. I \"You will grant me a contract!\" \"Will you please sit down?\" \"As you prefer.\" My desk has a few concealed features which are sometimes useful in dealing with belligerent or disappointed trouble. 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 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 myself be bullied by anyone. \"I deeply regret having unintentionally 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 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.\" Kallerian. And now, please, there are many applicants waiting—\" You'd think it would be sort of humiliating to become a specimen in a all the others. I nudged the trouble-button on the side of my desk and Auchinleck and They surrounded the towering Kallerian and sweet-talkingly led him away. He wasn't minded to quarrel physically, or he could have knocked them both into the next city with a backhand swipe of his shaggy paw, came running in—\" \"Please, please,\" squeaked the little alien pitifully. \"I must see you, honored sir!\" \"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! It isn't, but another of my principles is to refuse to be swayed by sentiment. I felt sorry for this being's domestic troubles, but I 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 \"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.\" \"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. \"Then you will refuse me?\" \"My heart melts to nothingness for you. But I can't take you to Earth.\" uneasy feeling I had just been talking to a being who was about to commit suicide on my account. 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 staff.\" \"I don't care 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 took a deep breath and glanced all around the paneled ceiling of the office before I spoke. \"Listen, Gorb, or whatever your name is, I've had a hard day. There's been a Kallerian in here who just about \"—that your unethical actions have directly contributed to the untimely death of an intelligent life-form,\" filled in the second of the Ghrynian policemen. and stationed itself limply near the threshold. The three Ghrynian policemen and my three assistants forgot the dead Kallerian for a moment and turned to eye the newcomer. did come, to figure out some more effective way of screening myself against plaster was everywhere. The police were effectively cocooning the struggling little alien in an unbreakable tanglemesh. psychology, Corrigan,\" Gorb said lightly. \"Suicide is completely abhorrent to them. When they're troubled, they kill the person who caused their trouble. In this case, you.\" I began to chuckle—more of a tension-relieving snicker than a full-bodied laugh. \"Funny,\" I said.\n\n<question>:\nWhy were the Sirian spiders rejected for the travel plan?\n\n<options>:\nA They demanded too high of payment.\nB They had an over-supply of their species.\nC They all expected a handout\nD They were difficult to work with.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
973	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 then only at the urging of a newly assigned cousin anxious to see cousin's utter disgust. disillusioned by the current crop of Romans. He found that neither purpose nor malice was enough he was still immeasurably bored. the current cousin—who was passing as his nephew by now. instead of mopping up the floor with him. He had often fancied that Conrad would prove to be the most stimulating member of the whole generation. But it seemed unlikely that he would do you have to come from the future to protect me against your cousin \"But I can't understand,\" he would say, keeping his face straight. \"Why ever have a chance for a conversation with the young man. More than one conversation, anyhow. killing you is part of an elaborate plan he's formulated to change it. You wouldn't understand.\" \"You're damn right. I don't \"When he does show up, I'll protect you,\" the cousin vowed, touching \"Oh, just don't ask any questions,\" Ninian said petulantly. \"When you get older, someone will explain the whole thing to you.\" Ninian worried all the time. It wasn't that she cared what these people thought of her, for she made no secret of regarding them as little better than animals, but she was shy of attracting attention. There were an awful lot of people in that neighborhood who felt exactly the same way, only she didn't know that, either. She was really pretty dumb, Martin thought, for all her fancy lingo. \"It's so hard to think these things out without any prior practical When it became clear that his mother was never going to show up again, government service or the essential professions. And they seemed to think even that kind of job was pretty low-class, though better than actually doing anything with the hands. everything was done by machinery. All the people ever did was wear pretty clothes and have good times and eat all they wanted. There was them were insane, or what Ninian had told him at first was the truth. They came from the future. \"The whole thing's all my brother Conrad's fault. You see, he's an and he'd read so much that he'd weakened his eyes and had to wear glasses. His face was pallid, because he spent little time in the sun, and his speech rather overbred, his mentors from the future having carefully eradicated all current vulgarities. the not so intelligent life-forms on the other planets,\" Raymond continued. \"Which is distressing—though, of course, it's not as if they were people. Besides, the government has been talking about passing laws to do away with the—well, abuses and things like that, and I'm sure someday everything will come out all right. However, But remember, our interests are identical. We're virtually the same people ... although it is amazing what a difference two hundred odd years of progress and polish can make in a species, isn't it?\" He continued more mildly: \"However, even you ought to be able to understand that we can't make machinery without metal. We need food. worlds, it's far cheaper to use native labor than to ship out all that expensive machinery. After all, if we didn't give the natives jobs, how would they manage to live?\" \"How did they live before? Come to think of it, if you don't work, how do you \"I'm sorry,\" Martin said. But he wasn't, for by now he had little respect left for any of his descendants. They were all exceedingly handsome and cultivated young people, with superior educations, smooth ways of speaking and considerable self-confidence, but they just weren't very bright. And he had discovered that Raymond was perhaps the most intelligent of the lot. Somewhere in that relatively short span of time, his line or—more frightening—his race had lost something vital. transmitter. Those government scientists are so infernally officious—always inventing such senseless things. It's supposed to in time and \"eliminate!\" their common great-grandfather. In that way, worthless character.\" \"That would be me, I suppose,\" Martin said quietly. cousins and me—held a council of war, as it were, and we decided it eliminating me, then none of you would exist, would you?\" cousins possessed to a consternating degree. he had learned long ago that nobody did anything for nothing. But saying so was unwise. curiously desolate. Because, although he supposed he liked her in a remote kind of way, he had no fondness for her—or she, he knew, for him. aren't very close, so it won't make a real difference.\" That was the sad part: he already knew it wouldn't make a difference. of alarm. He kept his voice composed, however. \"How do you plan to her own inadequacy, Martin knew, not of sorrow. He was getting skillful at understanding his descendants, far better than they at understanding this had been sheer luck or expert planning. Probably luck, because his descendants were exceedingly inept planners. Few people in the world then could afford to live as stylishly as dreadful, of course,\" Raymond had said, \"but so hilariously typical\"—impressed him far less than had the suburban split-level aquarium. least twenty of the cousins came back through time to hold one of \"Or perhaps an engineer.\" There was a loud, excited chorus of dissent. He chuckled inwardly. \"Can't do that,\" Ives said. \"Might pick up some concepts from us. Don't to be perfectly frank, I can't quite understand how.\" \"I am not going to sit down and explain the whole thing to you all over second-rate artist. He knew he would never be able to achieve first rank because, even though he was still so young, his work was almost purely intellectual. The only emotion he seemed able to feel was fear—the ever-present fear that someday he would turn a corridor and walk into a man who looked like him—a man who wanted to kill him for Cousin Ives—now that Martin was older, he was told to call the critical approval, but failed to evoke any enthusiasm. The modest sale they enjoyed was mostly to interior decorators. Museums were not interested. the nearly intact semi-civilized world and the uncivilized world, much the The other cousins appeared to find the yacht a congenial head-quarters, largely because they could spend so much time far away from the contemporary inhabitants of the planet and relax and be themselves. So More cousins were in residence at once than ever before, because they came for the ocean voyage. They spent most of their time aboard ship, giving each other parties and playing an avant-garde ended in a brawl, because one cousin was sure to accuse another of when not to have done so would have been palpably rude. And, though they were gregarious young people for the most part, they didn't court his society. He suspected that he made them feel uncomfortable. He rather liked Ives, though. Sometimes the two of them would be alone accurate, Ives admitted. True, there was no war or poverty on Earth proper, but that was because there were only a couple of million people left on the planet. It was an enclave for the highly privileged, highly of them stood at the ship's rail, surrounded by the limitless expanse of some ocean or other. \"People, too. Mostly lower classes, except for officials and things. With wars and want and suffering,\" he added regretfully, \"same as in your day.... Like now, I mean,\" he corrected could I?\" \"I suppose not,\" Martin said. \"Would take moral courage. I don't have it. None of us does, except he couldn't even seem to care. He always felt that if any of the cousins could have come to realize the basic flaw in the elaborate plan they had concocted, it would have A great many of the cousins turned up at the simple ceremony. All were cousin from the future they were afraid he might prove rather stuffy about the entire undertaking. All the cousins were young, for, though they came at different times in the young ones had been included in the venture they did not trust their elders.\n\n<question>:\nWhy don't the cousins realize the flaw in their plan?\n\n<options>:\nA They do not understand time travel.\nB They all originated from the same point in time.\nC They are highly interbred.\nD They are not very intelligent.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,274	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 Why couldn't what he said have been \"The best things in life are free, buddy\" or \"Every dog has his day, fellow\" or \"If at first you don't succeed, man\"? No, he had to use that one line. You wouldn't blame me. Not if you believe me. The first thing I can remember, the start of all this, was when I was four or five somebody was soiling my bed for me. I absolutely was not morning the bed would sit there dispassionately soiled and convict me on circumstantial evidence. My punishment was as sure as the tide. Dad was a compact man, small eyes, small mouth, tight clothes. He was narrow but not mean. For punishment, he locked me in a windowless room and told me to sit still until he came back. It wasn't so bad a punishment, except that when Dad closed the door, the light turned off and I was left there in the dark. Being four or five, I didn't know any better, so I thought Dad made it dark to add to my punishment. But I learned he didn't know the light went out. It came back on when he unlocked the door. Every time I told 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. 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 school after my thirteenth birthday party, the one no one came to. at night. It was home. My trouble there was that I was always being framed for stealing. I didn't take any of those things they located in my bunk. Stealing wasn't in my line. If you believe any of this at all, you'll see why it couldn't be me who did the stealing. There was reason for me to steal, if I could have got away with it. The others got money from home to buy the things they needed—razor blades, candy, sticks of tea. I got a letter from Mom or Dad every now and then before they were killed, saying they had sent money or that it was enclosed, but somehow I never got a dime of it. When I was expelled from reform school, I left with just one idea in mind—to get all the money I could ever use for the things I needed and the things I wanted. 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 up, I was going to have dinner in a good restaurant, and I was going to order such expensive food and leave such a large tip for the waiter and send one to the chef that they were going to think I was rich, and some executive with some brokerage firm would see me and say to himself, them fast with the other two. Once I dropped a dime—not a penny, milled edge—and I started to reach for it. No, don't be greedy. I knew I tried to read the numbers on the bill with my fingertips, but I couldn't. It had to be a one. Who drops anything but a one into a Skid box. I knew what the trouble was, of course. I was in a monkey trap. The monkey reaches through the hole for the bait, and when he gets it in his hot little fist, he can't get his hand out. He's too greedy to let go, so he stays there, caught as securely as if he were caged. \"This,\" Brother Partridge said, \"is one of the most profound experiences of my life.\" even when they aren't around. I should have known it would come to that.\" The pipe was suddenly a weight I wanted off me. I would try robbing a collection box, knowing positively that I would get caught, but I wasn't dumb enough to murder. Somebody, somewhere, would be a witness to it. I had never got away with anything in my life. I was too smart to even try anything but the little things. always get apprehended somehow, Brother,\" I said. \"I'm pretty special.\" \"Your name?\" 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?\" \"Of course you have, William! Say you don't remember. Say you don't 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?\" He looked at me in disbelief. \"What else could it be?\" \"I don't know,\" I confessed. \"I certainly haven't done anything that bad in this life.\" \"William, if you atone for this sin, perhaps the horde of locusts will lift from you.\" \"Perhaps this will help in your atonement,\" he said. I crumpled it into my pocket fast. Not meaning to sound ungrateful, I'm have been different if I had managed to get it out of the box myself. You know how it is. Money you haven't earned doesn't seem real to you. There was something I forgot to mention so far. During the year between when I got out of the reformatory and the one when I tried to steal Brother Partridge's money, I killed a man. 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. I had gotten my first job in too long, stacking boxes at the freight for November. Two of them, dressed like Harvard seniors, caps and striped duffer jackets, came up to the crate I was dining off. \"Application?\" \"No,\" I said. \"I'm just helping out during Christmas.\" \"You're a scab, buddy,\" Long-legs said. \"Don't you read the papers?\" beating. That's one thing I knew. noises like make an example of him and and I squirmed away across the rubbish like a polite mouse. News . There was a pick-up slip from the warehouse under the fingers of one hand, and somebody had beaten his brains out. The police figured it was part of some labor dispute, I guess, and they never got to me. I suppose I was to blame anyway. If I hadn't been alive, if I hadn't 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. floor. That was the cleanest floor I ever saw. It didn't take me long to find the story. The victim was a big man, because the story was on the second page of the Nov. 4 edition. I started to tear the page out, then only memorized the name and home while Walter Pidgeon and the rest wore Ivy Leagues. Maybe I would look like an eccentric executive. I bought a new shirt, a good used pair of shoes, and a dime pack of and back inside, the monsters of my boyhood went bloomp at me. 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 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 didn't William get accused of as a young boy?\n\n<options>:\nA lying to his parents\nB wetting the bed\nC calling his mother names\nD stealing from his parents\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
386	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>:\nHuman Clones: Why Not? Start by asking whether human beings have a right to reproduce. I say \"yes.\" I have no moral right to tell other people they shouldn't be able to have children, and I don't see that Bill Clinton has that right either. When Clinton says, \"Let us resist the temptation to copy ourselves,\" it comes from a man not known for resisting other temptations of the flesh. And for a politician, making noise about cloning is pretty close to a fleshly temptation itself. It's an easy way to show sound-bite leadership on an issue that everybody is talking about, without much risk of bitter consequences. After all, how much federally funded research was stopped by this ban? Probably almost none, because Clinton has maintained Ronald Reagan's policy of minimizing federal grants for research in human reproduction. Besides, most researchers thought cloning humans was impossible--so, for the moment, there's unlikely to be a grant-request backlog. There is nothing like banning the nonexistent to show true leadership. If humans have a right to reproduce, what right does society have to limit the means? Essentially all reproduction is done these days with medical help--at delivery, and often before. Truly natural human reproduction would mean 50 percent infant mortality and make pregnancy-related death the No. 1 killer of adult women. True, some forms of medical help are more invasive than others. With in vitro fertilization, the sperm and egg are combined in the lab and surgically implanted in the womb. Less than two decades ago, a similar concern was raised over the ethical issues involved in \"test-tube babies.\" To date, nearly 30,000 such babies have been born in the United States alone. Many would-be parents have been made happy. Who has been harmed? The cloning procedure is similar to IVF. The only difference is that the DNA of sperm and egg would be replaced by DNA from an adult cell. What law or principle--secular, humanist, or religious--says that one combination of genetic material in a flask is OK, but another is not? No matter how closely you study the 1 st century texts, I don't think you'll find the answer. Even if people have the right to do it, is cloning a good idea? Suppose that every prospective parent in the world stopped having children naturally, and instead produced clones of themselves. What would the world be like in another 20 or 30 years? The answer is: much like today. Cloning would only copy the genetic aspects of people who are already here. Hating a world of clones is hating the current populace. Never before was Pogo so right: We have met the enemy, and he is us ! Clones already exist. About one in every 1,000 births results in a pair of babies with the same DNA. We know them as identical twins. Scientific studies on such twins--reared together or apart--show that they share many characteristics. Just how many they share is a contentious topic in human biology. But genetic determinism is largely irrelevant to the cloning issue. Despite how many or how few individual characteristics twins--or other clones--have in common, they are different people in the most fundamental sense . They have their own identities, their own thoughts, and their own rights. Should you be confused on this point, just ask a twin. One recurring image in anti-cloning propaganda is of some evil dictator raising an army of cloned warriors. Excuse me, but who is going to raise such an army (\"raise\" in the sense used by parents)? Clones start out life as babies . Armies are far easier to raise the old fashioned way--by recruiting or drafting naive young adults. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori has worked well enough to send countless young men to their deaths through the ages. Why mess with success? The notion of an 80-year-old man cloning himself to cheat death is quaint, but it is unrealistic. First, the baby wouldn't really be him. Second, is the old duffer really up to changing diapers? A persistent octogenarian might convince a younger couple to have his clone and raise it, but that is not much different from fathering a child via a surrogate mother. Fear of clones is just another form of racism. We all agree it is wrong to discriminate against people based on a set of genetic characteristics known as \"race.\" Calls for a ban on cloning amount to discrimination against people based on another genetic trait--the fact that somebody already has an identical DNA sequence. The most extreme form of discrimination is genocide--seeking to eliminate that which is different. In this case, the genocide is pre-emptive--clones are so scary that we must eliminate them before they exist with a ban on their creation. What is so special about natural reproduction anyway? Cloning is the only predictable way to reproduce, because it creates the identical twin of a known adult. Sexual reproduction is a crap shoot by comparison--some random mix of mom and dad. In evolutionary theory, this combination is thought to help stir the gene pool, so to speak. However, evolution for humans is essentially over, because we use medical science to control the death rate. Whatever the temptations of cloning, the process of natural reproduction will always remain a lot more fun. An expensive and uncomfortable lab procedure will never offer any real competition for sex. The people most likely to clone will be those in special circumstances--infertile couples who must endure IVF anyway, for example. Even there, many will mix genetics to mimic nature. Another special case is where one member of a couple has a severe genetic disease. They might choose a clone of the healthy parent, rather than burden their child with a joint heritage that could be fatal. The most upsetting possibility in human cloning isn't superwarriors or dictators. It's that rich people with big egos will clone themselves. The common practice of giving a boy the same name as his father or choosing a family name for a child of either sex reflects our hunger for vicarious immortality. Clones may resonate with this instinct and cause some people to reproduce this way. So what? Rich and egotistic folks do all sorts of annoying things, and the law is hardly the means with which to try and stop them. The \"deep ethical issues\" about cloning mainly boil down to jealousy. Economic jealousy is bad enough, and it is a factor here, but the thing that truly drives people crazy is sexual jealousy. Eons of evolution through sexual selection have made the average man or woman insanely jealous of any interloper who gains a reproductive advantage--say by diddling your spouse. Cloning is less personal than cuckoldry, but it strikes a similar chord: Someone has got the reproductive edge on you. Once the fuss has died down and further animal research has paved the way, direct human cloning will be one more option among many specialized medical interventions in human reproduction, affecting only a tiny fraction of the population. Research into this area could bring far wider benefits. Clinton's knee-jerk policy changes nothing in the short run, but it is ultimately a giant step backward. In using an adult cell to create a clone, the \"cellular clock\" that determines the difference between an embryo and adult was somehow reset. Work in this area might help elucidate the process by which aging occurs and yield a way to reset the clocks in some of our own cells, allowing us to regenerate. Selfishly speaking, that would be more exciting to me than cloning, because it would help me . That's a lot more directly useful than letting me sire an identical twin 40 years my junior.\n\n<question>:\nHow do plants factor into the cloning argument?\n\n<options>:\nA They show that the idea of cloning is a possible one because some plants undergo a similar process.\nB Plant cloning is unnatural and a human-made process.\nC They are another example of how humans have influenced reproduction before.\nD They are another example of it happening in nature, and being normal in our day-to-day lives.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
589	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 a bank! The First Vice-President Orison went with her cupped hands to the nearest tank and sprinkled the The First Vice-President of the William Howard Taft National Bank and Trust Company, the gentleman to whom Miss Orison McCall was applying jacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curious bank indeed. \"I gotta say, chick, these references of yours really \"He was a very kind employer,\" Orison said. She tried to keep from Orison's look of bewilderment. \"One each, a Franklin and a Grant,\" he in a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's a \"That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji,\" Orison said. It was indeed. \"Crazy!\" Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it with to Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formal Mr. Wanji said. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison, \"You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floor now that she'd become an employee of this most peculiar bank. \"What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji?\" Orison asked. \"It seems a rather peculiar job,\" Orison said. \"After all, I'm a with the Bank's operation?\" \"Yes, sir,\" Orison said. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank's secretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall, Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read the By lunchtime Orison had finished the ever that the Taft Bank was, as her boss in Washington had told her, Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in the book and took the elevator down to the ground floor. The operator was gentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison stepped heart, wore a pair of earmuffs. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgment into this curiousest of banks. Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together, eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, and favored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed, double Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. And what the William Howard Taft National Bank and Trust Company needs is a joint raid by forces of upper floors? Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartment Bank from within, might prove dangerous. Indeed it was, she thought. her initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs, No call. Orison slipped between the sheets at eleven-thirty. The clock Orison sat up, clutching the sheet around her throat. \"Beg pardon?\" she Orison reached under the bed for a shoe. Gripping it like a Scout-ax, \"What you're testing,\" Orison said in a firm voice, \"is my patience. Orison lay down cautiously. \"All right,\" she whispered to her pillow. Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to a National Bank and Trust Company. \"That's about it, so far,\" she said. \"How do you know ... why do you think I'm beautiful?\" Orison asked. Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolved President of this bank, and wish at this time to welcome you to our \"I'm Orison McCall,\" she said. A handsome man, she mused. Twenty-eight? \"It's nothing,\" Orison said, switching off the microphone. reasonably astute sixth-grader couldn't do as well,\" Orison said. \"Please do,\" Orison said. This bank president, for all his grace and presence, was obviously as kookie as his bank. \"Have you ever worked in a bank before, Miss McCall?\" Mr. Gerding \"Dink?\" she asked. \"And I suppose you're to call me Orison?\" Direct, she thought. Perhaps that's why he's president of a bank, and to the elevator. When the door slicked open Orison, staring after Dink, Orison finished the madman, that splendid lunatic, that unlikely bank-president. \"You read Orison looked up. \"Oh, hello,\" she said. \"I didn't hear you come up.\" \"I'm Orison McCall,\" she said, and tried to smile back without showing teeth. \"Delighted,\" the visitor said, handing over an undelighted palm. \"I'm Auga Vingt. Auga, to my friends.\" \"Won't you sit down, Miss Vingt?\" \"So kind of you, darling,\" Auga Vingt said, \"but I shan't have time to visit. I just wanted to stop and welcome you as a Taft Bank co-worker. \"Thanks,\" Orison said. \"Sorry you have to leave so suddenly,\" Orison said, rolling her \"So remember, Tiny, Dink Gerding is mine. You're all alone up here. your stanchion, Bossy, before the hay's all gone.\" \"Isn't it lovely, the way you and I reached an understanding right off?\" Auga asked. \"Well, ta-ta.\" She turned and walked to the elevator, displaying, Orison thought, a disgraceful amount of ungirdled rhumba motion. The elevator stopped to pick up the odious Auga. A passenger, male, stepped off. \"Good morning, Mr. Gerding,\" Miss Vingt said, bowing. \"Carry on, Colonel,\" the stranger replied. As the elevator door closed, he stepped up to Orison's desk. \"Good morning. Miss McCall,\" he said. and shook her head. \"Excuse me, sir,\" she said. \"It's just that ... Vingt thing....\" \"Auga is rather intense,\" the new Mr. Gerding said. \"Yeah, intense,\" Orison said. \"Like a kidney-stone.\" \"I stopped by to welcome you to the William Howard Taft National Bank had!—and Orison half expected him to free her hand from the rolled-up Orison jumped up, tossing the paper into her wastebasket. \"I quit!\" she your presence is Taft Bank's most the wise....\" \" Orison said. \"Well, Buster, here's a word to the \"I'll hold my breath,\" Orison promised. \"The elevator is just behind Kraft Gerding called the elevator, marched aboard, favored Orison with a cold, quick bow, then disappeared into the mysterious heights above fifth floor. First the unspeakable Auga Vingt, then the obnoxious Kraft Gerding. Surely, Orison thought, recovering the Wall Street Journal Dink ger-Dink d'summa. \" Orison scribbled down this intelligence in bemused Gregg before \"Yes, Mr. Wanji. I'll tell Mr. Gerding.\" Orison clicked the phone down. The door on the sixth floor was locked. Orison went on up the stairs to Orison was blinded by the lights, brilliant as noonday sun. The room Orison thought she saw Benjamin Franklin winking up at her from the leaping, swinging, spinning webs, seething in the hundred tanks. Orison Orison struggled to release herself. She broke free only to have we to toss you into one of these tanks....\" Orison struggled against her two sumo \"Dink ... Dink!\" Orison shouted. bank.\" \"I came to bring a message to Dink,\" Orison said. \"Let me go, you \"Kraft told you that?\" Dink Gerding released her and turned to the \"I wish you hadn't come up here, Orison,\" Dink said. \"Why did you do Orison,\" he said. Orison extended her hand as into a furnace. Dink brushed the \"What do they do?\" Orison asked. \"What's he doing now?\" Orison asked, watching the Microfabridus, \"They like gold,\" Dink explained, peering across her shoulder, Orison brushed the midget crustacean off her finger into the nearest Orison closed her eyes, leaning back into Dink's arms, listening to\n\n<question>:\nWho seems to be the only person that Orison seems to trust at the bank?\n\n<options>:\nA Dink Gerding\nB Kraft Gerding\nC no one - they all seem suspicious\nD Auga Vingt\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
531	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>:\nSpawning Ground By LESTER DEL REY They weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, in short, humanity's hopes for survival! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced 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 were rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward the control room, grumbling at the heavy gravity. during the night?\" \"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 knew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to have an almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. \"And our two cadets sneaked out again. Barker followed them, but lost them Gwayne swore softly to himself. Earth couldn't turn out enough starmen 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 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 glowed yellow-green. Motions around them suggested a herd of feeding animals. Details were impossible to see through the haze. Even the completely hidden by the fog. There were three of the blobs dancing about over the grazing animals 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 to the men who'd deserted their ship and its equipment, he'd have to report back. He saw the two cadets then, heading back to the waiting ship, just Gwayne grabbed the microphone, yelling into the radio toward the cadets. 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 agonizingly slow, but faster than climbing down. He ripped the door back at the exit deck. Men were dashing in, stumbling around in confusion. But someone was taking over now—one of the crew women. The There was no sign of the cadets at first. Then Gwayne spotted them surrounded by the menacing horde. Seen from here, the things looked horrible in a travesty of manhood. about, two of them grabbing up the cadets. The jeep was doing twenty 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 downward into lower ground, beginning to disappear into the mists. \"Follow the blobs,\" Gwayne yelled. He realized now he'd been a fool to leave his suit 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 glimpse of five-foot bodies tumbling out of the way. Monstrously coarse faces were half hidden by thick hair. A spear crunched against the to help. They'd have to get to the group with the cadets in a hurry or leader. The thing was standing directly ahead of him, a cadet on each The arms were thin and grotesque below the massively distorted shoulders, but amazingly strong. Gwayne felt them wrench at him as his Another jeep had drawn up, and men were examining the cadets. Pinelli 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 informative with retelling. If they could get any story from the captured creature, they might save time and be better off than trying to dig through Hennessy's ship. That 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. It was an answer, but it left a lot of questions. How could the 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 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. 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. Primitives could be overcome, maybe. It would be ruthless and unfair to strip them of their world, but the first law was survival. But how could primitives do what these must have done? laminated. The point was of delicately chipped flint, done as no human hand had been able to do for centuries. \"Beautiful primitive work,\" he muttered. 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? The captive was sitting on the bunk, unbound and oddly unmenacing. The \"How many barmaids in the Cheshire Cat? How many pups did your oldest kid's dog have? How many were brown?\" spread out. Three. Seven. Zero. The answers were right. When it was finished, Gwayne and Barker sat for long minutes in 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 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 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 that seed for generation after generation. Some worlds already were becoming uncertain. Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead of men having to adapt the whole planet to their needs. Here, the strange children of man's race could grow, develop and begin the long trek back to civilization. The gadgets would be lost for a time. But perhaps some of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the next\n\n<question>:\nWhy were the cadets outside alone?\n\n<options>:\nA They were lost.\nB They were young and untrained.\nC They were on a mission.\nD They were insubordinate.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,807	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 alone in the April night with her whether he was thinking of the verandahed house behind her, with its empty rooms and silent halls, that once past the dark edge of the Earth and disappeared from sight. A boy grown up too soon, riding Why don't they leave the stars alone? she thought. Why don't they leave the stars to God? 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 from her customers. She was not disappointed. \"Is Terry really way up there all alone, Martha?\" \"Aren't you scared , Martha?\" \"I do hope they can get him back down all right, Martha.\" She supposed it must have given them quite a turn to have their 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 the technicians got out and started 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 Terry, as was fitting. From the way the suave young man asked them, though, she got the impression that he was trying to prove that her son was just like any other average American boy, and such just didn't happen to be the case. But whenever she opened her mouth to mention, say, how he used to study till all hours of the night, or how difficult it had been for him to make friends because of his shyness, or the fact that he had never gone out for football—whenever she started to mention any of these things, the suave young man was in great haste to interrupt her and to twist her words, by requestioning, into a different meaning altogether, till Terry's behavior pattern seemed to coincide with the behavior pattern which the suave young man apparently considered the norm, but which, if followed, Martha was sure, would produce not young men bent on exploring space but trivia. A few of the questions concerned herself: Was Terry her only child? (\"Yes.\") What had happened to her husband? (\"He was killed in the Korean War.\") What did she think of the new law granting star mothers top priority on any and all information relating to their sons? (\"I think it's a fine law ... It's too bad they couldn't have shown similar humanity toward the war mothers of World War II.\") It was late in the afternoon by the time the TV crew got 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 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 when a star fell, making a wish. But this was different. It was different because now she had out of the blackness of the night ... And they were different colors, too, she noticed with a start. a strange clarity about the 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 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 land, Martha, I don't see how you stand it with him way up there! Doesn't it get on your nerves ?\" (\"Yes ... Yes, it does.\") \"Martha, when are they bringing him back down?\" (\"Today ... Today !\") \"It must 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 ... arrived that afternoon: Regret to inform you that meteorite impact on satellite hull severely damaged capsule-detachment 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 cherub-cheeks pink in the summer wind— Terry!— Up the lane the blue-denimed falling in the hazy September air— Terry ... —probably won't get a chance to write you again before take-off, but don't worry, Ma. The Explorer XII is the greatest bird they ever built. Nothing short of a direct meteorite hit can hurt it, and the odds are a million to one ... Why don't they leave the stars alone? Why don't they leave the stars to God? The afternoon shadows lengthened 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 her swift passage blurred before her eyes. Tires crunched on the washed the darkness from the drive. A car door slammed. Martha did not move. Please God , she thought, let it be Terry , even though she knew that it couldn't possibly be Terry. Footsteps sounded behind her, paused. Someone coughed softly. She the dark tired eyes. And she knew. Even before he spoke again, she knew— \"The same meteorite that damaged the ejection mechanism, ma'am. It penetrated the capsule, too. We didn't find out till just a while ago—but there was nothing we could have done anyway ... Are you all right, ma'am?\" \"Yes. I'm all right.\" \"I wanted to express my regrets personally. I know how you must feel.\" \"It's all right.\" \"We will, of course, make every effort to bring back his ... remains ... so that he can have a fitting burial on Earth.\" \"No,\" she said. \"I beg your pardon, ma'am?\" 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 \"No,\" she said again. The general had raised his them. \"I think I understand, ma'am. And I'm glad that's the way you want it ... ever been,\" she said. After the general had gone, she looked up once more at the Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.\n\n<question>:\nWhy doesn't Martha want the general to bring Terry home?\n\n<options>:\nA Martha does not want to be blamed for spending taxpayers' money on an expensive search and rescue operation.\nB Martha feels Terry would want to spend eternity amongst the stars.\nC Martha does not want the media circus to continue.\nD Martha knows the same kind of accident or worse could happen to the search and rescue team.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,395	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>:\nRyzga made a savage, wholly futile effort to lift the weapon in his paralyzed hand. Then his eyes rolled upward, and abruptly he went limp and fell in a heap, like a mechanical doll whose motive power has steep were its with the Ryzgas themselves, who slept within, ready to wake and conquer.... Var felt Neena beside him, and drew her close. As she sobbed her relief, At sunset they were in sight of the Ryzga mountain. Strangely it towered raised his head, he saw that the drama's end had had a further audience. Var. In the outer doorway, backed by his clansmen, stood Groz, gazing first in stupefaction at the fallen Ryzga, then with something like awe at Is our feud finished, or does your ambition for a worthy son-in-law go beyond the conqueror of the Ryzgas?\" then he smiled, and asked, \"Well, Groz? The ice-wind blew from the glacier, but Var's love was round her as a 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 cliffs and sheer its crevasses. But its outward perils could not compare The two young people stared for a long minute, intrigued and fearful. Both had heard of this place, and the ancient who lived there to keep watch on the Ryzga mountain, as a part of the oldest legends of their childhood but neither had been here before. Warming to the old man now, Var sketched his and Neena's history Var nodded somberly, thinking that an old recluse would in any case be Var grinned mirthlessly. \"We haven't much choice, since they're nestled by Var's side. He asked, \"And you—are you willing to follow and on all men.\" \"We know the stories,\" Var said brusquely. \"In the hollow heart of their mountain the Ryzgas sleep, as they chose to do when their world crumbled. But if they are wakened, the mountain will tremble, and the Ryzgas will come forth.\" \"Do you believe that?\" \"As one believes stories.\" power in the old man's look, the power of four hundred years' wisdom. Var stared down at his hands. \"The Ryzgas also were men,\" said the Watcher. \"But they were such a race as the world has not seen before or since. There were tyrannies before the Ryzgas, there was lust for power, and atrocious cruelty but such tyranny, power, and cruelty as theirs, had never been known. They ruled of their shaping—the scattered wreckage of the things they made. And we—we too are a remnant, the descendants of the few out of all humanity that survived when the Ryzgas' world went down in flame and thunder. \"In the last generation of their power the Ryzgas knew by their science that the race of man would endure them no longer. They made ready their weapons, they mined the cities and the factories for destruction, making Meanwhile they redoubled the yoke and the punishments, hastening the completion of the last of the starships. \"From the memories that the old Watchers have left here, and from the memories of dead men that still echo in the air, I have gathered a Var and Neena stared, unstirring, with wide vacant eyes, while the old the Ryzgas' might had been forged, eyes that stared white and half sightless from the glare of the furnaces, gnarled hands that now at long last clutched the weapons of the last rebellion—a rebellion without hope of new life on a world gutted and smoldering from the fulfilment of the Ryzgas' dream, without slogans other than a cry for blood. Before them death waited around the citadel where the masters still fought. All round, from the lowest and most poisonous levels of the through—before. With deep respect now he gazed upon the bent old man who was the Mountain Watcher. \"Some of the Ryzgas took flight to the stars, and some perished on Earth. But there was a group of them who believed that their time to rule would come again. These raised a black mountain from the Earth's Neena pressed her face against Var's shoulder, hiding her eyes. In her Neena sat up and stifled a cry of fright. Var growled, \"Who are you? 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?\" face was unsmiling. \"It is this. You, Var, can flee up the canyon to the That possibility had not occurred to them at all. Var and Neena looked Ryzga mountain.\" Quickly, he impressed on them what he had learned of the structure of only by its echo in Neena's cross the gorge more surely and swiftly. When Var and Neena set foot at Var sent his thoughts probing beyond the curtain, listened intently, Var and Neena turned. Far out in the sea of fog, on a dream bridge that Neena's hand tightened on Var's. Var sent a thought of defiance: \"Go Neena reel against him until, summoning all his strength, he broke the At Var's thought command Neena froze instantly. \"Feel that!\" he great wheels commenced to turn, the mechanical servitors of the Ryzgas woke one by one and began to make ready, while their masters yet slept, for the moment of rebirth that might be near at hand. Without warning, lights went on. Blinking in their glare, Var and Neena their machineless culture. In all the brilliant space there was no life. They looked at one another, the same thought coming to both at once: perhaps, after two thousand years, the masters were dead after all, and 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 changing colors, of fabric delicate as dream-stuff. In his right hand, 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 crawling, laboring to do the Ryzgas' will— toward the stars, the indicated in the passage above. Then wake the rest....\" Var was staring in fascination at the Ryzga's face. It was a face formed by the custom of unquestioned command the driving will they had sensed a moment earlier. It was a sick man's face. The Ryzga's final thought clicked into place: Decision! He turned Ryzga froze, teetering off balance and almost falling, as a numbing grip closed down on all his motor nerves. the Ryzga's frantic eyes. They glared back at him with such hatred and such evil that for an instant he almost faltered. But the Ryzga's efforts, as he strove to free himself from the neural hold, were as 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 will be no new beginning for you in our world, Ryzga! In two thousand years, we've learned some new things. Now at last I understand why you built so many machines, such complicated arrangements of matter and\n\n<question>:\nVar and Neena most likely belong to which group:\n\n<options>:\nA A mutated strain between the slaves and masters of the Ryzgas\nB Descendants of the slaves of the Ryzgas\nC Members of an alien group that destroyed the Ryzgas\nD Descendants of the Ryzga masters\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
296	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 have been penetrating. \"Now—\" Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—\"we have learned that the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they've met no opposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, they intend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force.\" Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They're Magnan spread his fingers, folded one down. \"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've heard of these Jorgensen's Worlds,\" Retief said. \"I remember an Aldo Cerise. You'll have to rely on your ingenuity to get you the rest of the way.\" Jorgensens can handle it very nicely 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 Soetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen's Worlds \"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.\" Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on the Retief from the corner of his eye. \"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 thumb to you the hard way.\" canceled. You'll have to try to get space on the Four-Planet Line ship \"Which gate?\" Retief said. \"For the two twenty-eight for Jorgensen's Worlds,\" Retief said. Retief picked up his suitcase and walked away toward the glare sign Retief followed the signs, threaded his way through crowds, found a \"Which way to cabin fifty-seven, son?\" Retief asked. Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, \"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. \"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.\" \"You nuts?\" The thick-necked man stared at Retief. \"I said it's Mr. Tony's room.\" \"I don't know Mr. Tony. He'll have to bull his way into other quarters.\" \"We'll see about you, mister.\" The man turned and went out. Retief Retief turned to the baggage on the floor, tossed it into the hall. The \"If you'll excuse me,\" Retief said, \"I want to catch a nap.\" He flipped Retief looked up. A gaunt leathery-skinned man wearing white ducks, a Retief put his cigar in an ashtray, and swung his feet off the bunk. \"Close the door as you leave,\" Retief said. glances Retief's way. Jorgensen's Worlds. Then, if Magnan's information was correct, would be good to know what Jorgensen's Worlds would be up against. and his retainers still sat at the Captain's table. As Retief watched, four men arose from the table and sauntered across the room. The first in line, a stony-faced thug with a broken ear, took end in Retief's coffee, looked at it, and dropped it on the tablecloth. \"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. With a flick of the wrist, Retief tossed the coffee into the thug's Retief looked at Mr. Tony, still standing open-mouthed. Retief heard the panel open beside him. \"Shut up,\" Mr. Tony said. \"Put it away, Hoany. We'll fix this bum later.\" up. Retief watched as they carted the casualty from the dining room. \"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?\" \"Where are the passengers we have aboard headed?\" \"To Alabaster. That's nine days' run in-sector from Jorgensen's. You Retief looked at him questioningly. \"Who's your friend, Captain?\" Retief said. \"Quick, soft one.\" \"Captain, tell your friend to keep its distance. It looks brittle, and I'm tempted to test it.\" snappers.\" \"Last chance,\" Retief said. Skaw stood poised, open pincers an inch from Retief's eyes. from the burst joint. \"I told you he was brittle,\" Retief said. \"Next time you invite pirates 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.\" He went out, came back with two crewmen. They hauled the dead alien gingerly into the hall. \"Maybe I can run a bluff on the Soetti,\" the captain said, looking back 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 they won't try nothin' close to port.\" \"Don't worry, Chip. I have reason to be pretty sure they won't do Retief awoke at a tap on his door. \"You want to get to Jorgensen's perty bad, don't you, Mister?\" by-passin' Jorgensen's Worlds. We'll feel the course change any minute.\" \"Maybe it was a good thought, at that. Which way to the Captain's cabin?\" \"This is it,\" Chip said softly. \"You want me to keep an eye on who comes down the passage?\" 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.\" \"You can't put it over, hick.\" \"Tell him.\" The captain groaned and picked up the mike. \"Captain to Power Section,\" he said. \"Hold your present course until you hear from me.\" He dropped 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. \"Instead of strangling you, as you deserve,\" he said, \"I'm going to 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 is Retief being sent to Jorgenson's Worlds?\n\n<options>:\nA He memorized the contents of the folder that will help them win against the Soetti.\nB He is carrying with him the plans for the anti-acceleration field.\nC He’s being sent to oppose the Soetti invasion and help with Jorgenson’s Worlds meager military.\nD He’s to make contact with the Soetti defector.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,999	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 from his seat and hurled with an incoherent cry. He against Jakdane's bunk—propelled He did not unbuckle his safety belt—he rose and it snapped like a string. JUPITER WEAPON destruction— immeasurably powerful, utterly invulnerable. There was only one question: Was he human? him like an avenging angel and, holding onto the bunk with one hand, rained savage blows on his Quest made no effort to retaliate. He cowered under the attack, to the Golden Satellite. It was a squalid saloon in the rougher section of Jupiter's View, the terrestrial dome-colony on Ganymede. Motwick, crewman had reached Asrange Trella had not wanted to come could have broken your skull! steely arm. Trella swung with her whole body, and slapped him so hard demanded Jakdane. “You could have, easily.” “I couldn't,” said Quest miserably, and turned his face though no more than four and a half feet tall, he was as heavily muscled as a lion. Because he's an android!” “What? Jakdane, you can't be serious!” 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 up out of his chair against it, tough enough to take a beating with a heavy stick without being and then crying that he had injured “But he said Dr. Mansard was his father,” protested Trella. “Robots and androids frequently look on their makers as delicate operations could be performed their parents,” said Jakdane. artificial. Do you know how Mansard died?” “The oxygen equipment failed, Quest said.” think that?” he demanded. Dr. Mansard and his wife had her. failed, how do you think Quest lived in the poisonous atmosphere of Jupiter, if he's human?” Trella was silent. “For the protection of humans, smashed on Kregg's head, surgiscope, didn't he? But his ship was drawn into Jupiter and “I can't,” he muttered in a many things were explained: his great strength, his short, broad build, his immunity to injury, his refusal to defend himself against a human, his inability to the unconscious Motwick's side. return Trella's love for him. It was not inconceivable that he was Dr. Mansard's son, but “I'm sorry I couldn't fight those men for you, Miss, but I just couldn't,” he said miserably, had told her he could not love her. Her best course was to try to forget him. I'm desperate. You can carry him to the Stellar Hotel for me.” The gravity of Ganymede was hardly more than that of Earth's moon, but the way the man was inventor of the surgiscope? He followed Trella out the door of the Golden Satellite and fell 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.” 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 Dr. Eriklund Mansard?” Mansard,” she finished, “but apparently upward turn. “He developed the it, an android Dr. Mansard built on Jupiter.” lost.” “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, “He came back to Earth with you, eh?” asked Blessing intently. as Dr. Mansard's heir.” and I was finally able to build up in heavy gravity. He trod the street with a light, controlled step, seeming to deliberately hold himself down. “If Dr. Mansard succeeded in landing on Jupiter, why didn't anyone ever hear from him again?” she demanded. “Because,” said Quest, “his radio was sabotaged, just as his ship's drive was.” “Jupiter strength,” she murmured, looking him over coolly. 53 to, she exclaimed: “You aren't afraid of Quest? Why, an android can't hurt a old Mansard didn't build in the inappropriate, but not unbelievable, that the strongest and most agile man on Ganymede Mansard … or his heir … or his mechanical servant. But, since this was to be the atmosphere of Blessing's Mansard papers to the New against telling him that the assignment on which she had come to the Jupiter system was to gather his own father's notebooks and take them back to The heavy oaken front door was kept locked now, and the guards blasted off. She found herself crash outside the room as The door from the house shattered The ship that they boarded on Earth, but it would still require such force that they skidded across the floor and lay in an unconscious heap against the fifty-four days to make the trip. that the ship was the he slammed down the accelerator and twisted the wheel hard. The car whipped into the ought to be,” she confessed. “I may need protection against myself till we get to Earth.” tangle of wreckage. “If it's to keep you out of another Cometfire swung around great Jupiter in an opening arc and plummeted ever more swiftly toward the tight circles of the aboard the ship's tiny personnel that wouldn't release me until the task was finished. Io. Blessing wanted the valuable 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, Mansard's son knowing about it. and he conditioned me to come I know now that it was relation to Dr. Mansard part of the conditioning that I was unable to fight any other Mansard had invented the surgiscope. to Earth and track down Blessing. man until my task was finished: it might have gotten me in trouble Jupiter-strong muscles, Quest took her in his arms. “Now I can say I love you,” he said. “That was part of the conditioning too: I couldn't love “What in space makes you to handle hot material, and with the surgiscope very she cried, tears in her eyes. “Everything about you … your build, suited for Jupiter's gravity …your strength … the your strength … the atmosphere of Jupiter just after in Jupiter's atmosphere after the oxygen equipment failed. his invention of the surgiscope, and it had been developed by fact that you were able to live I know you think Dr. Mansard Dr. Mansard's disappearance, disappeared into the turbulent was your father, but androids He knew I'd have to grow laboratory of Dr. Mansard. up on Jupiter, and he operated He altered my inherited characteristics to adapt me to the climate of Jupiter … even to being able to breathe a chlorine atmosphere as well as an oxygen on the genes before I was born. Mansard lived, and would see struck him. Normal android with a laugh. “They don't grow up. And I remember my boyhood on Jupiter very well.” He took her in his arms again, He was a lean, saturnine individual who said little and kept to himself as much as possible. It was one of those accidents that can occur easily in space. The passengers and the two crewmen on that particular waking impossible, he had unbuckled\n\n<question>:\nHow was Dr. Mansard's radio and ship drive destroyed?\n\n<options>:\nA Dr. Mansard destroyed it himself to eliminate any record of his survival\nB It was never destroyed\nC Blessing intentionally ruined it in the hopes that Mansard would die\nD It could not withstand the harsh elements of Jupiter's atmosphere\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,084	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>:\nfear—a fear locked in my mind during the day and bursting out like an of the U. S. Academy of Interplanetary Flight. The first He's already reached Mars and Venus. Let him leave Jupiter and the Mickey Cameron, sitting next to me, dug an elbow into my ribs. \"I don't a strato-jet crash when I was four, so I hadn't needed many of those \"You are cordially invited\" cards. Just one, which I'd sent to Charlie Stardust Charlie, we called him, although I never knew why. He was a veteran of Everson's first trip to the Moon nearly twenty-five years ago, and he was still at it. He was Chief Jetman now on the Lunar Lady , a commercial ore ship on a shuttle between Luna City and White Sands. I remembered how, as a kid, I'd pestered him in the Long Island Spaceport, tagging after him like a puppy, and how he'd grown to like me until he became father, mother, and buddy all in one to me. And I remembered, too, how his recommendation had finally made me a cadet. Lunar Lady was in White Sands now, but liberties, as Charlie said, were as scarce as water on Mars. It doesn't matter Then Mickey stiffened. \"I see 'em, Ben! There in the fifth row!\" Usually Mickey was the same whether in a furnace-hot engine room or a garden party, smiling, accepting whatever the world offered. But now a tenseness and an excitement had gripped even him. I was grateful that tonight. Yes, siree, I got twenty-four hours, and we'll celebrate as good spacemen should!\" Then Mickey strode up to us. He was his normal, boyish self again, walking lightly, his blond, curly-haired skull swaying as if in rhythm introduction of Charlie. You and Mickey looked strangely at Charlie, and I realized that old Stardust was not a cadet's notion of the ideal spaceman. Charlie scorned the skin-tight uniforms of the government service and wore a shiny black suit that was a relic of Everson's early-day Moon Patrol. meet you, Charlie. Just think—one of Everson's men, one of the first to reach the Moon!\" Charlie gulped helplessly, and Mickey said: \"Still going to spend the weekend with us, aren't you, Ben?\" months to decide.\" \"No, thanks,\" I answered. \"Better not count on me.\" A moment later Mickey said, frowning, \"What was he talking about, Ben? Did he make you an offer?\" I laughed. \"He offered me a job here at the Academy teaching astrogation. What a life that chance to be the first to reach a new planet. That's what most of you want, isn't it? That's what Mickey used to want.\" I looked at you as if you were Everson himself, because you seemed to \"What did she mean, Mickey?\" Mickey looked down at his feet. \"I didn't want to tell you yet, Ben. We've been together a long time, planning to be on a rocket. But—\" \"Yes?\" \"Well, what does it add up to? You become a spaceman and wear a pretty another gets you. They don't insure rocketmen, you know.\" My stomach was full of churning, biting ice. \"What are you trying to say, Mickey?\" \"I've thought about it a long time. They want me for Cargo Supervisor of White Sands Port.\" He raised his hand to stop me. \"I know. It's not so exciting. I'll just live a lot longer. I'm sorry, Ben.\" I couldn't answer. It was as if someone had whacked the back of my 'copter. \"Sure,\" I said to Mickey, \"we can still have a good weekend.\" Stardust Charlie was as comfortable as a Martian sand-monkey in a shower, but he tried courageously to be himself. to watch for crimson-tailed continental rockets that occasionally streaked up from White Sands. \"He's an old-time spaceman. You didn't need much education in those \"But he wasn't always a spaceman. Didn't he ever have a family?\" I know, his life began when he took off for the Moon with Everson.\" want to go to them. Mickey and I used to dream about them when we were and the spaceports and the Channel Tube. But after it was over, I maybe I haven't grown up yet?\" Anxiety darkened your features. \"No, it'd be good to be a spaceman, to see the strange places and make history. But is it worth it? Is it You can go into space in a Moon crash at the age of 36, or like a thousand others who lie Or there's the other path. To stay on this little prison of an Earth gonna get off the Shuttle this time, make one more trip to Mars. Tell Space Rat going to Mars. The medics wouldn't let him go even as far as Luna. We watched him leave, you and Mickey and I. \"When will you be back?\" you asked. My folks were killed in a rocket crash. If it weren't for rockets, I'd have lived the kind of life a kid should live. Mickey noticed my frown. \"What's the matter, Ben? Still sore? I feel like a heel, but I'm just not like you and Charlie, I guess. I—\" \"No, I understand, Mickey. I'm not sore, really.\" \"Listen, then. You haven't accepted any offer yet, have you?\" \"No. I got a couple of possibilities. Could get a berth on the Odyssey , the new ship being finished at Los Angeles. They want me, too, for the Moon Patrol, but that's old stuff, not much better than teaching. I want to be in deep space.\" \"Well, how about staying with us till you decide? Might as well enjoy someone to tell me one of the old stories about space, a tale of much as I loved the stars. And I said, slowly, my voice sounding unfamiliar and far away, \"Sure, I'll stay, Mickey. Sure.\" Forty days of joy, forty nights of fear and indecision. We did all the little things, like watching the rockets land at White Sands and flying down to the Gulf to swim in cool waters. You tried, unsuccessfully, to teach me to dance, and we talked about Everson and Charlie and the Moon Why must I make a choice? Why can't I have both \"Can't a spaceman marry, too?\" have to be a spaceman forever. I could try it for a couple of years, then teach.\" \"Would you, Ben? Would you be satisfied with just seeing Mars? Wouldn't you want to go on to Jupiter and Saturn and Uranus and on and on?\" \"Do you think I'd dare have children, Ben? Mickey told me what happened You can't stay here. You've way to Pluto. Space Rat This was what remained of Charlie after twenty-five years in space. , I thought. You'd dream of sitting in a dingy stone dive on the Grand Canal with sand-wasps buzzing around smoky, stinking candles. A bottle of luchu juice and a couple of Martian girls with dirty feet for company. And a sudden cough that would be the first To hell with it! no compromise. And you know, too, which path he finally chose. He made his last trip to Luna when he knew he was going to die. Heaven knows how he escaped a checkup. Maybe the captain understood and was why he wanted to reach Mars? Do you know why he didn't want to die in the clean, cool air of Earth? We said, too, that the life of a spaceman is lonely. Yet how could one Space Rat he'll go with me in memory to whatever\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Mickey decide not to go into space?\n\n<options>:\nA Mickey was offered a job as Chief Jetman on the Lunar Lady.\nB Mickey was offered a job at the Academy teaching astrogation.\nC Mickey thinks that if he goes into space he'll only live another five to ten years. Space travel is dangerous.\nD Mickey was offered a job as Chief Jetman on the White Sands.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,026	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHow much is the impossible worth? Linton lay down his steel fork beside the massively solid transparency 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 \"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 \"Who? Oh, the man who looked like Snead, you mean.\" \"Yes,\" Linton said. 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 The thick man rocked forward and came down on all six feet. He threw paper money on the table as if he were disgusted with it. He plodded out of the place quickly. \"Snead's dead,\" Linton said. \"What do you say it like that for?\" Linton demanded angrily. \"The Linton had thought he had known how death was. He had buried his wife, Linton felt that his silence was asking Howell by this time. \"Who by?\" Linton asked, thinking: \"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. 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. \"An invention? I guess that's how it is,\" Howell agreed. \"I don't know 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?\" \"I don't understand,\" Linton said helplessly. their whole life. You got to realize that.\" \"That's not enough. Not nearly enough.\" \"Think of all the problems it would cause. Insurance, for one thing. Overpopulation. Birth control is a touchy subject. They'd have to take it up if everybody got resurrected when they died, wouldn't they?\" \"But what do they do about it? Against it?\" the cops find out about a place, they break in, smash all the equipment and arrest everybody in sight. That's about all they can do. The charges, if any, come under general vice classification.\" \"I don't understand,\" Linton complained. \"Why haven't I heard about it?\" Time the other day that said 'death' was our dirty word, not sex. You want to shock somebody, you tell him, 'You're going to be dead someday,' not anything sexual. You know how it is. The opposite of 'live' these days is 'video-taped.'\" \"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 trying to trick him. They used to do that to see if he was really well. But the temptation was too strong. of people and if you're smart, you'll not either.\" Linton's fingers imprinted the linen. \"Damn you, Howell, you tell me!\" you feel welcome back to the society of your fellows after being in the hospital for a nervous breakdown. I do all that, and for thanks, you yell at me and curse me. You kooks are all alike!\" Howell threw money on the table with the same kind of disinterest as the thick-set man and stalked out. well, Mr. Linton, we understand you've been causing disturbances.\" \"Not really,\" Linton said modestly. attempted to bribe an officer. That's disturbing, Mr. Linton, very disturbing.\" \"I was only trying to find out something,\" Linton maintained. \"They The doctor clucked his tongue. \"Let's not think any such thing. People don't know more than you do.\" Linton rubbed his shoulder. \"That cop knew more about Judo holds than I ask you, Mr. Linton, could Einstein bake a pie?\" \"I don't know. Who the hell ever wasted Einstein's time asking him a thing like that?\" \"People who want to know the answers to questions have to ask them. You Linton stared suspiciously. \"Do you know where I can find a \"But the policeman brought me to you!\" \"Well, that's what you paid him to do, wasn't it? Did you think a policeman would just steal your money? Cynics—all you young people are cynics.\" Linton scooted forward on the insultingly cold metal chair and really looked at the doctor for the first time. \"Doctor, I'm beginning to believe in you,\" Linton said, \"but tell me, one fragment of the body and my computers can compute what the rest of it was like and recreate it. It's infallible. Naturally there is a degree of risk involved.\" \"Infallible risk, yes,\" Linton murmured. \"Could you go to work right away?\" 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. \"Oh, yes—yes, indeed. But I didn't come out broke.\" \"Neither did I,\" Linton said hastily. \"I invested in shifty stocks, faltering bonds, and while I was away they sank to rock bottom.\" \"Then—\" \"When they hit rock bottom, they bounced up. If I hadn't found you, I would have been secure for the rest of my lonely, miserable life.\" \"Doctor,\" Linton whispered, \"my mind is singing with battalions of to obtain. The doctor had taken the body and Linton's fortune and fed Linton shook his head. It seemed impossible. But Greta opened the 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. doubt he would be able to adjust to her once having been dead the same way he had learned to accept the, to him, distasteful duty of kissing her ears the way she enjoyed. The curves and angles of her flesh changed their positions against his Ivy dacron. Her attitude altered. \"Now, now,\" Linton said, \"we mustn't get excited. You've been through a \"Traffic accident. Killed instantly.\" \"But Johnny was your friend, your best friend. Why didn't you have him resurrected the same way you did me?\" \"Darling, resurrection is a risky business and an expensive one. You \"No,\" Linton said. \"I'm sold out. I've borrowed on my insurance to the to quench death and smother decay. It's perfect .\" \"It sounds carnal,\" he said uneasily. \"No, dear, it's perfect for some things that have to be done.\" Linton leaped aside and Greta hit the edge of the desk instead of him. Linton understood immediately. He felt foolish, humiliated. All that Linton twisted the stand away from his wife and watched her face in some appalled form of satisfaction as it registered horror and acceptance of the crumpled metal disk falling toward it. Linton was surprised at the fine wire mesh just below the skin and finest detail, and he had thought she was his wife. \"I've killed my wife!\" Linton called, rising from his knees, stretching Linton. But they'll cure you. You'll be cured of ever thinking your think so, Doctor?\" Linton asked hopefully.\n\n<question>:\nWhich is the best description of Linton?\n\n<options>:\nA He is a heartbroken man wanting to find new goals for his life\nB He is trying to recover from his past in the Mafia and wants to find legal ways to accomplish his goals\nC He is a gullible person determined to follow his instinct\nD He is a risk-taker who prefers to experience the more illegal things society has to offer\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,751	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 has to be—somewhere. As a result, all his advice to Nordon, and all his questioning on the wildest possibilities, just serves to keep Nordon from getting unconfused. The Karna can see that we're not Malloy leafed our men are actually working at trying to reach a decision. trying to stall of men who were sent to him, he thought. Which meant, as usual, that they were atypical. Every man in the Malloy, Permanent Terran Ambassador Malloy ran his finger down the columns 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. Malloy looked at him. \"Didn't you couldn't go. The reason why I'm here, cooped up in this office, hiding from bigshot should, is because I like it that way. I suffer from agoraphobia me, in the first place. No, I sort of emotional block that left him Number two suffered from some Malloy sighed and pushed the dossiers that empty space, even if I'm protected from it by a steel shell.\" A look of revulsion came over his face. and xenophobia. \"I have to be drugged to be put on away from him. No two men were alike, and yet there sometimes what did he have to show for it besides flabby muscles, sagging skin, a wrinkled face, and gray hair? softly to himself—he had Saarkkad. He glanced up at the ceiling, and mentally allowed his gaze to penetrate Malloy closed his eyes. Somewhere out there, a war was raging. He And, Malloy knew, his own position was not unimportant in that war. He was not in the battle line, nor For nine years, Bertrand Malloy ever seen him. To have shown himself to one of them would have meant instant loss of prestige. To their way of thinking, an important official was aloof. The greater his importance, the greater must be his isolation. The Occeq of Saarkkad himself was never seen except by a handful of picked nobles, who, themselves, were never seen except by their underlings. It was a long, roundabout way of doing business, but it was the only way Saarkkad would do any business at all. To violate the rigid that were vitally necessary It was Bertrand Malloy's job to keep the production output high and half trying. But Malloy didn't have top-grade men. They couldn't be spared from It's inefficient to waste a man on a job that he can do without half trying where there are more important jobs that will tax his full output. So Malloy was stuck with the culls. less important than Saarkkad to the war effort. Malloy knew that, no matter what was wrong with a man, as long as he had the mental ability to dress himself and get himself to work, useful work could be found for him. Physical handicaps weren't at all difficult to deal with. A blind man can work very well in the total darkness of an infrared-film darkroom. Partial regulations. But Malloy didn't like to stop at merely thwarting mental quirks he liked to find places where they were The phone chimed. Malloy flipped \"Malloy here.\" \"Mr. Malloy?\" said a careful voice. She was uncommunicative. She liked to gather in information, but she found it difficult to give it up once it was in her possession. Malloy had made her his private secretary. Nothing—but out of Malloy's office without his direct order. It had taken Malloy a 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, over to Malloy. continually on the horns of one dilemma Malloy let her stand there while he or another. He was psychologically it didn't matter because no one would ever find out from her what he had done unless she was ordered to tell someone. incapable of making a decision if he were faced with two or more hushed voice. Malloy read the whole thing through, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Miss Drayson stood there calmly, her face a mask the Saarkkada the way a good Saarkkadic her Finally, Malloy looked up. \"I'll let emotions were a secret. possible alternatives of any major leave this office.\" \"Of course not, sir.\" Malloy watched her go out the door any longer than necessary, and this at the peace table. They were clever, persuasive talkers. They could twist a disadvantage to an advantage, and make their own strengths look Now—at this point in time—they could be beaten. They could be forced to allow supervision of the production potential, forced to disarm, rendered impotent. But if the armistice went to their own advantage ... objected. galaxy, most of whom had remained as neutral as possible during the Earth-Karn war. They had no intention of sticking their figurative noses within the three-day limit or lose what And that was where Bertrand Malloy of the communique, Malloy Malloy knew the woman would listen in on the intercom anyway, and it was better to give her permission to do so. Malloy waved him to a seat. Malloy explained the problem of \"We need a man who can outthink them,\" Malloy finished, \"and judging small-time operations all your life? Of course not. certainly. Am I to go alone?\" \"No,\" said Malloy, \"I'm sending I recall, Mr. Malloy. Should I have?\" 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 As soon as Nordon had left, Malloy with mouse-brown hair that lay flat against his skull, and hard, penetrating, dark eyes that were shadowed by heavy, protruding brows. Malloy asked Again Malloy went through the explanation \"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. Nordon's job is to sit quietly and evaluate the data 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 \"They won't get anything by me, Mr. Malloy.\" Malloy had full reports on the whole a few strands of gray hair on the top of his otherwise bald scalp, and he wore a hearty, professional smile that didn't quite make it to his calculating eyes. curious. \"You decided not to go Malloy handed them to the secretary, and as he read, Malloy watched good man, Malloy had to and outdo the finest team of negotiators \"I thought they would,\" said Malloy, trying to appear modest. Malloy nodded. \"I think so. The \"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 with one, single, clear decision which admits of no alternatives, he can't move at all. they backed down to a single point this was, and the more importance there is attached to his decisions, the more incapable he becomes of making them.\" \"What about Braynek?\" \"Paranoid,\" said Malloy. \"He thinks everyone is plotting against him. In this case, that's all to the good because the Karna are plotting against him. No matter what they put forth, Braynek is convinced that there's a find out what the trap is. Even if\n\n<question>:\nWhich of these is not a reason that Malloy does not leave his office?\n\n<options>:\nA He has too much work to do to socialize.\nB He does not like being around the aliens.\nC He is uncomfortable leaving the building.\nD The society pressures him to stay out of sight.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,979	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>:\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 worked as a young man and she wondered whether he was thinking alone in the April night with her memories whether he was thinking of the verandahed house behind her, with its empty rooms and silent halls, that once upon a time had been his birthplace. past the dark edge of the Earth and disappeared from sight. A boy grown up too soon, riding 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 from her customers. She was not disappointed. \"Is Terry really way up there all alone, Martha?\" \"Aren't you scared , Martha?\" \"I do hope they can get him back down all right, Martha.\" She supposed it must have given egg woman change into a star mother overnight. She hadn't expected the TV interview, though, and she would have avoided it if it had been politely possible. But what could she do when the line of cars and setting up their equipment in the backyard? What could she say when the suave young man came up to her and said, \"We want you to know that we're all very proud of your boy up there, ma'am, and we hope you'll do us the honor of answering a few questions.\" Most of the questions concerned Terry, as was fitting. From the way the suave young man asked them, though, she got the impression that he was trying to prove that her son was just like any other average American boy, and such just didn't happen to be the case. But whenever she opened her mouth to mention, say, how he used to study till all hours of the night, or how difficult it had been for him to make friends because of his shyness, or the fact that he had never gone out for football—whenever she started to mention any of these things, the suave young man was in great haste to interrupt her and to twist her words, by requestioning, into a different meaning altogether, till Terry's behavior pattern seemed to coincide with the behavior pattern which the suave young man apparently considered the norm, but which, if followed, Martha was sure, would produce not young men bent on exploring space but young men bent on exploring A few of the questions concerned herself: Was Terry her only child? (\"Yes.\") What had happened to her husband? (\"He was killed in the Korean War.\") What did she think of the new law granting star mothers top priority on any and all information relating to their sons? (\"I think it's a fine law ... It's too bad they couldn't have shown similar humanity toward the war mothers of World War II.\") It was late in the afternoon by the time the TV crew got 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 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 much of a one for the stars most of her life she'd been much too busy on Earth to bother with things celestial. She could remember, when she was much younger and Bill was courting 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 out of the blackness of the night ... a strange clarity about the 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 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 a deep, proud breath, realized 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! 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 there! Doesn't it get on your nerves ?\" (\"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 the maple tree, moving his tiny cars up and down the tiny streets of his make-believe village the little boy, his fuzz of hair gold in the sunlight, his cherub-cheeks pink in the summer wind— Terry!— making near-grownup strides over the sun-seared grass the sky blue and bright behind him, the song of cicada rising and Terry ... —probably won't get a chance to write you again before take-off, but don't worry, Ma. The Explorer XII grew red and swollen over the western hills. Martha fixed supper, tried to eat, and couldn't. After a while, when the light Terry's jacket and went outside. length her star appeared, but its washed the darkness from the Please God , she thought, let it be Terry , even though she knew that it couldn't possibly be Terry. Footsteps sounded behind her, paused. turned then— the dark tired eyes. And she knew. Even before he spoke again, she knew— \"The same meteorite that anyway ... Are you all right, ma'am?\" \"Yes. I'm all right.\" \"I wanted to express my regrets personally. I know how you must feel.\" \"It's all right.\" \"We will, of course, make every effort to bring back his ... remains ... so that he can have a fitting burial on Earth.\" \"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. of Orion with its central motif of vivid forget-me-nots, its far-flung Rigel, of Bellatrix and Saiph ... burgeoned the riotous wreath of the Crab \"No,\" she said again. The general had raised his eyes, too now, slowly, he lowered them. \"I think I understand, ma'am. And I'm glad that's the way you want it ... are 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 THE END Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.\n\n<question>:\nIn what what does Terry unknowingly foreshadow his own death?\n\n<options>:\nA By joking about the odds of his spacecraft being hit by an object\nB By playing roughly with toy cars in the street as a child\nC By granting his mother permission to share exciting details of his progress to reporters\nD By promising to update his mother as often as possible on his progress\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
181	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 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. 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 good but it seemed wrong to be dressed like this. I didn't know why. I thought about insanity, and the room seemed to fit my thoughts. When couldn't read the maps that were fastened to a table, nor understand the function or design of the compact machinery. WHY, Why, Why? The thought kept pounding at me. I was afraid to touch anything in the room. I pressed against the clear window, wondering if the stars were familiar. I had a brief vivid picture of a night sky on I pressed the button by the cot. The red lights blinked out as I stood phrase ... some words about precaution. Precaution against forgetting. It was crazy, but I trusted the panel. It was the only thing I saw that waking up in strangeness I had missed the other doors in the passage. 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 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 instruments, glittering equipment. There was no feeling of disorder or use in the room. It waited for human hands to make it operate. Not mine. Not now. to translate the markings. They stood for anything I might guess, and something kept pricking my mind, telling me I had no time to guess. I thought of time again. I was supposed to act according to ... plan. Did cot, young and beautiful, even in the death-like immobility I had come to accept. Her beauty was graceful lines of face and her figure—smooth tapering legs, soft curves that were carved out of flesh colored stone. Yet not stone. I held her small hand, then put it back on the cot. Her attire was brief like the rest of us, shorts and a man's shirt. Golden hair curled up around her lovely face. I wondered if she would ever smile or move that graceful head. I rolled back her eyelid and looked all, depending on a blind helpless fool who didn't know their names or the reason for that dependence. I sat beside her on the cot until I could stand it no longer. Searching the ship made me forget my fear. I hoped I would find some 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 been reborn. I laughed bitterly, thinking about the aptness of that. I in the room, as I pictured the action of the extended arm. I lost my sudden elation in the cabin where the girl lay. The box behind her head was completely closed, and it didn't yield to the pressure I applied. It had a cover, but no other opening where an arm could extend. I ran look for it. The chamber of the needle that had awakened me was empty. 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 failure with one of them. I didn't want it to be the girl. I fought 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 I stood by the man for long minutes. Finally it came. He stirred I watched him adjust to the room. It was in his eyes, wide at first, moving about the confines of the room back to me. \"I'm all right,\" he answered. \"There aren't supposed to be any effects from this.\" 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.\" \"You don't know me?\" \"I feel all right physically. I just can't place enough.\" \"The others. What about the others?\" he blurted. \"I don't know. You're the first besides myself. I don't know how I He shook his head, watching me like I was a freak. \"Let's check the rest right away.\" \"Yes. I've got to know if they are like me. I'm afraid to think they might be.\" \"Maybe it's temporary. We can figure something out.\" 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 without results when we drifted out. I followed him to the girl's quarters. \"What about her. Why is she here?\" I asked my companion. \"A girl?\" \"Dr. Thiesen is an expert, trained for this,\" he said. I looked at her. She looked anything but like a chemist. \"There must be men who could have been sent. I've been wondering why a girl.\" \"I don't know why, Captain. You tried to stop her before. Age and experience were all that mattered to the brass.\" \"It's a bad thing to do.\" We were out of luck with the girl. She woke up and she was frightened. We questioned her and she was coherent but she couldn't remember. I tried to smile as I sat on the cot, wondering what she was thinking. \"How do you feel?\" I asked. Her face was a mask of wide-eyed fear as she shook her head. \"Do you know my name?\" The question frightened her. \"Should I? I feel so strange. Give me a minute to think.\" I let her sit up slowly. \"Do you know your name?\" She tightened up in my arms. \"Yes. It's....\" She looked at us for help, frightened by the lack of clothing we wore, by the bleak room. Her eyes 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 afraid we've got trouble.\" He nodded and pushed away from us. The girl screamed and covered her \"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 searched each face without recognition. The blond man was Carl Herrick, a metallurgist. His lean face was white from his spell but he was while we talked. \"Don't think about it,\" Paul said. \"We can still pull this out all right if you don't lose your nerve.\" \"What are we to do?\" she asked. \"I wish I knew what you were doing,\" I said savagely. \"Give it time.\" \"She's in the lab. I don't think that will do much good. She's got to be shocked out of a mental state like that.\" \"I guess you're right,\" he said slowly. \"She's trained to administer \"I know. It's the only thing I could think of. Why didn't everyone react the same?\" \"That had me wondering for a while. I don't know. Anyway how could you go about making her remember?\" \"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. \"It worked. I'm okay,\" I said in giddy relief. \"I don't have to tell you I was scared as hell. I wish you could have \"No, I put her to bed. Shall I bring food?\" was selected when the planets in Earth's solar system had proved to be barren. If the observations on this star were correct, we could expect to find a planet in a state of fertility ... if it existed ... if it\n\n<question>:\nWhy didn’t David awaken the woman first?\n\n<options>:\nA He had amnesia and forgot.\nB She was important to the mission.\nC He stumbled and hurt himself.\nD He found her beautiful and didn’t want to harm her.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
258	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 rose, went to the communicator, assisted Miss Meuhl aside. \"Listen carefully, Fith,\" he said. \"Your bluff has been called. You don't come in and we don't come out. Your camouflage worked for nine years, but it's all over now. I suggest you keep your heads and resist the temptation to make matters worse than they are.\" \"Miss Meuhl,\" Fith said, \"a peace squad waits outside your consulate. he will be unable—\" Retief turned at a sound behind him. Miss Meuhl was at the door, \"You can't turn this invitation down,\" Administrative Assistant Meuhl said flatly. \"I'll make that 'accepts with pleasure'.\" \"You can't offend the Groaci,\" Miss Meuhl said sharply. \"Consul Whaffle \"I invited them here,\" Miss Meuhl spoke up. \"They are here at my \"Are they? Are you sure you meant to go this far, Miss Meuhl? A squad \"I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said, \"Yes,\" Miss Meuhl said. \"You're quite right, Mr. Shluh. Please escort \"Did you write all Whaffle's letters for him, Miss Meuhl?\" Miss Meuhl blinked behind thick lenses. \"Whatever for?\" Retief looked thoughtfully at Miss Meuhl. \"You've been here on Groac \"You think all women are fools, don't you, Mr. Retief?\" She turned to Groaci. I certainly hope you're not thinking of openly intruding—\" \"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.\" Retief nodded. \"Thanks, Miss Meuhl,\" he said. \"I'll be back before \"To enjoy a cooling drink,\" Retief said in Groacian, squatting down at \"To not enjoy my poor offerings,\" the Groacian mumbled. \"A pain in the digestive sacs to express regret.\" decide whether I like it.\" \"To be grappled in by peace-keepers for poisoning of—foreigners.\" The barkeep looked around for support, found none. The Groaci customers, dish provided. \"To shake a tentacle.\" \"The procuring of a cage,\" a thin voice called from the sidelines. \"The displaying of a freak.\" of contempt. From his bluish throat coloration, it was apparent the creature was drunk. \"To swallow your own poison, dispenser of vileness,\" the drunk whispered. \"To find a proper cage for this zoo-piece.\" He wavered \"To be pals,\" Retief said. \"To be kind to dumb animals.\" \"There you are!\" Miss Meuhl said, eyeing Retief over her lenses. \"There you.\" \"I'm sure you don't. Come along. And bring an official recorder.\" Two Groaci wearing heavy eye-shields and elaborate crest ornaments 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. Terrestrial cruiser, the \"You'll do as you're told, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said quietly. \"I'm Somewhat annoying to the Groaci, maybe—at the most. If they were innocent.\" it.\" Fith rose 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—\" Retief turned a steady look on Miss Meuhl. She closed her mouth. The retracted his eyes, shrank down in his chair. Miss Meuhl opened her \"How did they die?\" Retief snapped. \"Did you murder them, cut their \"No!\" Fith gasped. \"I must correct this terrible false impression at once.\" \"False impression, hell,\" Retief said. \"They were Terrans! A simple 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. \"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 \"Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said. \"If I don't come back in a reasonable length You're still convinced you can hide the whole thing and forget it. I'm telling you you can't.\" \"You can and you will, Fith,\" Retief said. \"I intend to get to the Fith clacked his mandibles angrily, eye stalks canted aggressively toward the Terrestrial. \"Out of deference to your diplomatic status, Terrestrial, I shall \"Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said, \"I want you to listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you. I have to move rapidly now, to catch the Groaci off guard.\" \"You're still determined to make an issue of that incident!\" Miss Meuhl snorted. \"I really can hardly blame the Groaci. They are not a sophisticated race \"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 \"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.\" Miss Meuhl emitted a shrill laugh. \"Your fantasies are getting the water in the dispenser. I suggest you stock up, before they shut the supply down. Don't let anyone in, on any pretext whatever. I'll keep in touch with you via hand-phone.\" \"What are you planning to do?\" \"If I don't make it back here, transmit the sealed record of this blast in here and anyway, they won't make things worse by killing you. A force can be here in a week.\" \"I'll do nothing of the sort! The Groaci are very fond of me! You ... Johnny-come-lately! Roughneck! Setting out to destroy—\" \"I'll be back in a couple of hours,\" he said. Miss Meuhl stared after Miss Meuhl, dozing in a chair, awoke with a start. She looked at \"I have a message to get off first, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said sharply. Miss Meuhl gasped. \"You mean you broke in? You burgled the Foreign \"This is absolutely the end!\" Miss Meuhl said. \"Thank heaven I've \"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 \"I have done my duty, Mr. Retief,\" Miss Meuhl said. \"I made a full Retief looked at her levelly. \"You've been a busy girl, Miss Meuhl. Did ignore. I can't afford that, at this moment. Listen, Miss Meuhl,\" to, Miss Meuhl. But until I've heard get my resignation. If I'm right, that suspension would be embarrassing all around.\" \"You're defying lawful authority! I'm in charge here now.\" Miss Meuhl Retief ignored Miss Meuhl's fury as he spoke into the recorder.\n\n<question>:\nOf what species is Miss Meuhl and Retief?\n\n<options>:\nA Groacian\nB Unknown\nC Human\nD Reptile\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,339	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\"It's impressive, isn't it?\" she said. \"I wonder if that's Indiana way over there?\" \"We could tell by the sun, silly.\" \"Of course,\" he said, grinning at his stupidity. \"And I guess we're not high enough to see very far. If we were we'd be able to see the Great accepted their rise in the world as being due to one of their local townspeople, a crackpot professor. But after a couple of weeks of floating around, it began to be obvious to Cort: either find a way to anchor Superior, or spend the rest of his days on the smallest—and the nuttiest—planet in the galaxy! I she said, \"before you deteriorate.\" They were in the midst of an extremely pleasant kiss when the brief case The guard surrounded the area with troops—more than a thousand were needed—to keep people from falling into the pit. A pilot who flew over it reported that it looked as if a great ice-cream scoop had bitten into the Ohio countryside. The Pennsylvania Railroad complained that one of its passenger trains when he came out the other side he reported that the pit was concave, relatively smooth, and did not smell of high explosives. He'd found no people, no houses—no sign of anything except the pit itself. day. A ham radio operator reported an unidentified voice as saying plaintively: \" Cold up here!\" untouched by make-up. There were lines at the corners of her mouth which indicated a tendency to arrange her expression into one of disapproval. The lips were full, like the cheeks, but it was obvious that the scarlet lipstick had contrived a mouth a trifle bigger than the one nature had Her glance upward at that moment interrupted his examination, which had been about to go on to her figure. Later, though, he was able to observe that it was more than adequate. his mid-twenties—about her age—lean, tall and straight-shouldered, with once-blond hair now verging on dark brown, a face neither handsome nor ugly, and a habit of drawing the inside of his left cheek between his teeth and nibbling at it thoughtfully. But it was likely that all she noticed then was the brief case he Look.\" The engineer was exasperated. He turned to the fireman. \"You look. Humor swelled with pride, it seemed, as he made a theatrical gesture. \"Behold,\" he said. \"Something even Columbus couldn't find. The edge of by an explosion. This one had the feeling of design behind it. Standing on tiptoe and repressing a touch of giddiness, Don looked over \"Was there any sort of explosion?\" Don asked. \"No. There wasn't any sensation at all, as far as I noticed. I was watching the late show—or trying to. My house is down in a hollow and reception isn't very good, especially with old English movies. Well, all Garet telephoned and said, 'Hector'—that's my name, Hector Civek—'everything's up in the air.' He was having his little joke, of course. I said, 'What?' and then he told me.\" about it?\" \"He has a theory about everything. I think what he was trying to convey was that this—this levitation confirmed his magnology principle.\" for a while.\" \"What do you mean by that?\" Jen Jervis asked. \"Maybe not. But I'll bet they're swarming all over you by morning.\" \"Hm,\" said Hector Civek. Don couldn't quite catch his expression in the \"Not everybody. Me, for instance.\" \"No?\" she said. \"Judging by that satchel you're handcuffed to, I'd have thought you were a courier for the Pentagon. Or maybe State.\" He laughed quickly and loudly because she was getting uncomfortably Don laughed again. \"He sure is.\" \" Mister late.\" \" Places beside himself. We haven't had so much excitement since the cosmolineator blew up.\" around a corner, gesticulating wildly to someone wearing a white laboratory smock. them scrambled tomorrow. Yes, Cavalier. Home of the crackpot theory and the latter-day alchemist.\" \"I'm sure it's not that bad. Thanks. As for tomorrow, I hope to be out \"You make it sound deliberate, Miss Garet, as if somebody hoisted a whole patch of real estate for some fell purpose.\" \"Scarcely fell , Mr. Cort. As for it being deliberate, that seems to be a matter of opinion. Apparently you haven't seen the papers.\" \"I didn't know there were any.\" \"Actually there's only one, the Superior Sentry , a weekly. This is an \"Ed Clark's something of an eccentric, like everybody else in Superior,\" the same exemption would apply to a dubious individual bent on investigating.... Don skimmed the rest. \"I don't see anything about it being deliberate.\" bottom.\" dropped to the rest of the world in a plastic shatter-proof bottle, said today that Superior has seceded from Earth. His reasons were as vague as held up to global derision by orthodox (presumably meaning accredited) colleges and universities and (3) chicle exporters have conspired against the Superior Bubble Gum Company by unreasonably raising prices. The \"explanation\" consists of a 63-page treatise on applied magnology by Professor Osbert Garet of Cavalier which the editor (a) does not understand (b) lacks space to publish and which (it being atrociously Don said, \"I'm beginning to like this Ed Clark.\" \"Does your father claim that he levitated Superior off the face of the Earth?\" \"Not to me he doesn't. I'm one of those banes of his existence, a skeptic. He gave up trying to magnolize me when I was sixteen. I had a science teacher in high school—not in Superior, incidentally—who gave me all kinds of embarrassing questions to ask Father. I asked them, being a natural-born needler, and Father has disowned me intellectually ever since.\" \"How old are you, Miss Garet, if I may ask?\" She sat up straight and tucked her sweater tightly into her skirt, emphasizing her good figure. To a male friend Don would have described the figure as outstanding. She had mocking eyes, a pert nose and a mouth of such moist red softness that it seemed perpetually waiting to be densely populated with co-eds than Cavalier was. \"You may call me Alis,\" she said. \"And I'm nineteen.\" Don grinned. \"Going on?\" solicited. He wondered where Geneva Jervis was, but only vaguely. \"I'll admit to the double entendre ,\" Alis said. \"What I meant—for \"Delighted. But don't you have any classes?\" \"Sure I do. Non-Einsteinian Relativity 1, at nine o'clock. But I'm a demon class-cutter, which is why I'm still a Senior at my advanced age. On to the brink!\" \"What can \"Is it still? I mean hasn't it all poured off the edge by now? Was that Superior's water supply?\" They found it coursing along between the banks. \"Looks just about the same,\" she said. \"That's funny. Come on let's follow it to the edge.\" The brink, as Alis called it, looked even more awesome by daylight. \"Down, I'd say. Rain for the Earth-people.\" \"I should think it'd be all dried up by now. I'm going to have a look.\" \"Don't! You'll fall off!\" isn't going off the edge!\" \"It isn't? Then where is it going?\" out of play, Don thought) and on to the edge again. But as they approached what they were forced to consider the source of said. The fence, which had a sign on it, , was semicircular, with each end at the edge and tarpaulins strung behind it the tarp and fence. \"Look how it comes in spurts,\" Alis said. \"As if it's being pumped.\" Smaller print on the sign said: two sources of water for Superior. Electrical charge in fence is sufficient to kill. It was signed:\n\n<question>:\nWhich word least describes Ed Clark?\n\n<options>:\nA sarcastic\nB clever\nC pushover\nD humorous\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
148	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 By RAY BRADBURY \"Get Gunther,\" the official orders read. It was to laugh! For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only Marnagan winced. \"You breathing oxygen or whiskey?\" \"There's only one stipulation I make, Irish. I want a complete picture of Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's face when you do it. Snap it, now, we've got rush work to do. How good an actor are you?\" Hathaway, weaponless, idly carrying his camera in one hand, walked across the Plaza as if he owned it. He was heading for a building that was pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters. He got halfway there when he felt a gun in his back. He didn't resist. They took him straight ahead to his destination and 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 metal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before he could speak, Hathaway said: \"Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now and we're capturing your Base. Don't try to fight. We've a thousand men against your eighty-five.\" Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin hands twitched in his lap. \"You are bluffing,\" he said, finally, with a firm directness. \"A ship hasn't landed here for an hour. Your ship was the \"Both. The other guy went after the Patrol.\" \"Impossible!\" \"I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther.\" A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, lounging on carved benches during their time-off, stirred to their feet and started yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one side of his office. He stared, hard. \"Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!?\" The Patrol was coming! Five hundred Patrolmen in one long, incredible line, carrying paralysis guns with them in their tight hands. Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air. \"Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered!\" Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathaway had to credit them on that. They took it, standing. Hathaway chuckled inside, deep. What a sweet, sweet shot this was. His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped him 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 fired wildly until Hathaway hit him over the head with a paper-weight. Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaos taking place immediately outside his window. The pirates broke and fled, those that were left. A mere handful. And hands the other side of this rock in two hours.\" Marnagan shook his mop of dusty red hair. \"And I promised the boys at Luna Base this time I'd capture that Gunther lad!\" His voice stopped and the silence spoke. Hathaway felt his heart pumping slow, hot pumps of blood. \"I checked food . And then some way back to Earth.\" 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 through to a triumphant finish. Photographed on the spot, in color, by yours truly, Click Hathaway. Cosmic Films, please notice.\" 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.\" They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened. \"Gravity should not act this way, Click.\" \"Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! No wonder we fell so fast—we were dragged down by a super-gravity set-up! Gunther'd do anything to—did I say anything ?\" eh, Click?\" funny about something didn't know what. Something about these monsters and Gunther and— \"Which one will you be having?\" asked Irish, casually. \"A red one or a blue one?\" Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. \"Snap me this pose,\" he said. \"I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped, my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peace negotiations betwixt me and these pixies.\" had sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts. When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used it up arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: \"Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we felt back on that ridge, Irish that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So, what's he do he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Space dispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men? Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around. It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikes unseen \"If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid,\" said Click. Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. \"Hey, Click, look \"I'll take it up with the Board, lad.\" \"Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in one 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 into their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothing , Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen. In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source, 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 dead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates they never Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast. \"All right, put 'em up!\" a new harsh voice cried over a different radio. One of Gunther's guards. Three shots sizzled out, and Marnagan bellowed. The strange harsh voice said, \"That's better. Don't try and pick that gun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off. How'd you get past the animals?\" Click started running. He switched off his were getting dark. Had to have air. Air. Air. He ran and kept running and listening to Marnagan's lying voice: \"I tied them pink elephants of Gunther's in neat alphabetical bundles and stacked them up to dry, ya louse!\" Marnagan said. \"But, damn you, they killed my partner before he had a chance!\" had his profile toward Hathaway, his lips twisting: \"I think I'll let you stand right there and die,\" he said quietly. \"That what Gunther short-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships to rocket by, pulled them or knocked them down and swarmed over them for\n\n<question>:\nWho does Click refer to as the “Big Producer?”\n\n<options>:\nA His boss at Cosmic Films\nB The Captain of Luna Base\nC A Higher Power or God\nD Gunther\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,157	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\"Backfire,\" said Lane. \"I set the screen to throw their Lane said, \"I can do that a on the problem. But Lane had no more patience. They'd sweat, he thought, hating the He heard the 3V newscaster's amplified voice: \"—approximately 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 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?\" black dog was on Lane's back. \"What? Oh, the Fans—nobody to hear about it. Why not? Ain't old Mayor clears them out.\" He the CinC of the Newyork Troopers? Old Mayor himself was going this is Lane.\" \"Lane, this is Trooper Court House. Lane cursed his stupidity. He hadn't found out which one was which ahead of time. Thirty seconds passed. Lane teach them how to fight. They don't teach them about their own city, that they'll be fighting for. There's no time. From seven years old up, Troopers have too much to learn about fighting. The Mayor was behind one of the city, would have to figure out which one. Blood churned in his veins, nerves shrieked with impatience. Lane waited for the electronic brain to come up with the answer. Then his head jerked up, to girl from Mars is right, Lane. through his spine. Lane \"I am, Lane.\" The voice of nerves. Lane's own mind was just along for the ride. His taken charge of his motor to plummet down, picking \"I'm sorry, Lane.\" the towers. A predatory excitement as he sailed down through the flag fluttered Whose flag? The city flag was orange and blue. He shrugged then we'll both be dead.\" Gerri stood with folded away the problem. Cybrain \"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.\" Lane laughed. \"Any of them Lane dropped lightly to the A girl screamed. Lane's corner of his eye, Lane saw Lane frowned with the effort Lane, still in a crouch, chewed of thinking. \"You said I had a little right on my side. about myself before. It'll be better to die knowing that.\" \"Lane broke through the cordon killed, four others seriously injured. Tammany Hall has warned that this man is extremely dangerous. Citizens are cautioned to keep clear of Lane looked at Gerri. \"How He is armed with the latest military weapons. A built-in electronic brain controls his reflexes—\" check his moves ahead of said Lane, and a sheathed finger time.\" \"At ease with that jazz,\" him. Lane is an insane killer. Lane strode to the window. hovering above the towers. Lane's mailed hand snapped side. There's too many damn Troopers and not enough good persons like you. Old cybrain Lane glanced out the window. outguess Lane's cybrain and \"But you're safe in here!\" and re-entered the tower about me.\" Lane picked up the \"Worry about yourself, not \"Wake up, outa-towner.\" He Lane grinned. \"Trooper a Newyork girl with yellow window where the little red-white-and-green She was pretty and clean-looking, very out-of-town. She says fly right for the held herself straight and her him. \"What the devil do you Go to hell, old cybrain. I'm doing all right by myself. I come to see the Mayor, and I'm gonna see him. Lane plunged forward. He what that means.\" \"I don't,\" said Lane, unconcerned. \"Well, you should have had flag outside this window. He swooped over the balcony If you've never heard of diplomatic immunity, you'll suffer for your ignorance.\" took over. Lane's hand shot brains enough to honor the She went openmouthed. \"You're Lane .\" \"I'm the guy they told you Lane stood for a moment in was the Mayor of Newyork. the midst of the sprawled go over there.\" \"Whaddaya know,\" said Lane. \"Cybrain didn't know, no more than me.\" Lane The girl noticed the dark Keeps you in. You anybody important?\" \"I told you, I'm an ambassador. side of Lane. Klett said, \"Call me an opportunist if you like, Miss Kin, my government will be stable, and Mars can negotiate with it.\" He was a lean, sharp-featured man with deep grooves in his face, and gray hair. they'll send another ambassador next time. Nothing personal—I just don't like it here.\" just get you in worse trouble. What are you trying to do?\" Lane said, \"I'm going to He takes orders from Newyork.\" Gerri Kin said, \"That's Lane shook his head. \"She's Klett frowned. \"If I thought there was a gram of talent involved Lane said, \"Yeah? Well, we know better. You beat that analogue computer by sheer stupidity—by disregarding your cybrain.\" Lane said, \"It wasn't so stupid \"That's what bothers me. It Mayor and find out why we can't have time off. I don't calls for a revision in our tactics. should anyone use them against us.\" Lane broke off. There was whirled and stared out. The Lane could read the a totally unpredictable factor—human emotion. Which proves what I, as a maintained—that the deadliest Lane, or we'll blast you out.\" weapon in man's arsenal \"You can't,\" Lane called. \"What you just said there, sir,\" said Lane. \"That's why Lane turned to the girl. \"I \"What do you mean?\" asked Colonel Klett. \"I'm tired of being a weapon, sir. I want to be a human being.\" I'm leaving Newyork.\" thought you were important.\" She straight up, out of the line of vision. Lane looked down at the cannon caught the dim light voices rose from below. Lane Lane looked across the tower opposite, the ones he blaster cannon. Lane's defense Newyork from aerial attack.\" Lane grinned back at Gerri like this probably cared a lot more about dying than he did. Why the hell didn't they give Lane looked sadly at her. 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. \"What?\" \"Didn't you understand what I said?\" \"You don't know where Mars is. You don't know what 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 military man, have always 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 \"I repeat, Lane—come out \"What?\" \"Specialization. Everyone I've met in this city is a specialist. is still, and will always be, the the wars. And ninety per cent of the people don't work at all because they're not trained to do anything.\" \"The Fans,\" said Lane. individual soldier.\" think you're doing, soldier? I am a diplomat of the Grassroots \"Why?\" \"Because they're afraid of Lane said, \"They told us in \"Yes, but people had forgotten it until the SocioSpecs of Newyork came up with the \"I'm sorry about you. I mean it, I like—\" and blinded him. Lane jumped to the window, that generated his protective Lane laughed boyishly and\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the reader learn from Lane's inability to identify a flag he sees flying outside a tower?\n\n<options>:\nA That he is colorblind\nB That he wants to abstain from political conversations\nC That he knows his city's flag but not those of other American cities\nD That he is not well-informed on general politics\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,326	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>:\nRaging , Trooper Lane hovered three thousand feet above Tammany Square. The cool cybrain surgically implanted in him was working on the problem. But Lane Lane said, \"I can do that a had no more patience. They'd couple times more, but it and that. He glared down at Lane is through now. He has been able to outthink police with the help of his cybrain. watched the little white speck problem to their giant analogue The police analogue computer will be able to outthink Lane's cybrain, will predict Lane's cops over like paper dolls, back at the Armory. The black dog was on Lane's back. Troopers? pressed a small stud in the wrist. He said, \"Trooper HQ, this is Lane.\" A voice spoke in his helmet. \"Lane, this is Trooper HQ. We figured you'd call.\" Court House. Lane cursed \"Get me Colonel Klett.\" Thirty seconds passed. Lane The humming paragrav-paks embedded beneath his his stupidity. He hadn't found The voice of the commanding officer of the Troopers rasped into Lane's ear: for. There's no time. From seven years old up, Troopers have too much to learn about fighting. don't teach them about their \"Meat-head! You broke out own city, that they'll be fighting against my orders! Trooper surgeons, compliments of the city, would have churned in his veins, nerves shrieked with impatience. Lane waited for the electronic brain to come up with the answer. Then his head jerked up, to got loose. That right, sir?\" There was a pause. \"Your girl from Mars is right, Lane. But it's too late now. If we had moved first, captured the Old cybrain better be fast. Damn fast! The cybrain jolted an impulse through his spine. Lane \"Sir, I'm asking for help. I \"I am, Lane.\" The voice of nerves. Lane's own mind was know you're on my side.\" Colonel Klett was lower. \"I'd never admit it if you had a just along for the ride. His somersaulted. Cybrain had taken charge of his motor \"Yes, sir.\" \"I'm sorry, Lane.\" \"Yes, sir. Over and out.\" Lane pressed the stud on his gauntlet again. He turned has even a little bit of right on his side.\" Lane laughed. \"Any of them Lane dropped lightly to the purple-haired broads I know would be crazy scared. You're A girl screamed. Lane's hand shot out automatically. A finger vibrated. Out of the corner of his eye, Lane saw floor, inside the room, in battle-crouch. Lane frowned with the effort Lane, still in a crouch, chewed his lip. of thinking. \"You said I had a little right on my side. was no one else in the room. the girl fold to the floor. There \"Lashing police with his vibray,\" said the announcer, \"Lane broke through the cordon surrounding Manhattan Armory. Two policemen were outguess Lane's cybrain and Lane looked at Gerri. \"How him. Lane is an insane killer. He is armed with the latest are cautioned to keep clear of military weapons. A built-in She smiled and walked forward. \"You deserve it, Lane.\" said Lane, and a sheathed finger snapped out. There was a reflexes—\" \"At ease with that jazz,\" He kissed her and it filled Lane strode to the window. hovering above the towers. Lane's mailed hand snapped open a pouch at his belt. He flipped a fist-sized cube to the up in this lousy little room. Troopers and not enough good persons like you. Old cybrain Lane glanced out the window. \"But you're safe in here!\" \"Worry about yourself, not about me.\" Lane picked up the force-bomb and handed it to \"Who are you?\" she said, shakily. Lane grinned. \"Trooper Lane, of the Newyork Special Troops, is all.\" He threw her a mock salute. \"You from outa-town, girlie. I ain't seen a Newyork girl with yellow about giving me a kiss before The at Lane, either. They were her feet. Built, Lane saw. girl pushed herself to She was pretty and clean-looking, shooting wild. blue-violet eyes snapped at Lane plunged forward. He \"I don't,\" said Lane, unconcerned. heard the shouts of frightened \"Well, you should have had brains enough to honor the men. Years of training and cybrain took over. Lane's hand shot out, fingers vibrating. As he mailed glove to his mouth and Her large, dark eyes narrowed. Lane .\" \"I'm the guy they told you Lane stood for a moment in the midst of the sprawled men, the shrieks of the crowd A 3V set was yammering. Lane. \"Cybrain didn't know, no more than me.\" Lane was uncomfortable in his dress uniform. First The girl noticed the dark Newyork's new Military Protectorate, and honoring Trooper Lane. Now there was a formal dinner. Colonel Klett and Gerri Kin sat on either side of Lane. out which one was which She stared at him, violet your name?\" \"Gerri Kin. Look, Lane, Lane said, \"I'm going to \"Did she ask you to?\" demanded Klett. Lane shook his head. \"She's got too much class for me. But Lane said, \"Yeah? Well, we your cybrain.\" Lane said, \"It wasn't so stupid if it worked.\" \"That's what bothers me. It Lane broke off. There was \"I just didn't want her to Lane could read the white numbers painted on A loudspeaker shouted into the room: \"Come out of there, Lane, or we'll blast you out.\" \"You can't,\" Lane called. individual soldier.\" \"I repeat, Lane—come out sir,\" said Lane. \"That's why Lane turned to the girl. \"I or we'll blast you out.\" thought you were important.\" \"What you just said there, She I'm leaving Newyork.\" \"Yeah, but—\" Lane shook \"No deal, Lane. We're coming straight up, out of the line of vision. Lane looked down at the Square. Far below, the long, gleaming barrel of a blaster olive-drab, box-shaped caterpillar voices rose from below. Lane Lane looked across the \"Lane is holding the Martian tricolor behind his force-globe. Police are bringing up blaster cannon. Lane's defense is a globe of energy similar to the one which protects Newyork from aerial attack.\" Lane grinned back at Gerri Kin. \"Whole town's down there.\" Then his grin faded. Cybrain said no. It said the Lane looked sadly at her. Only two kinds of girls ever went near a Trooper—the crazy ones and the ones the city paid. Why did he have to quick,\" said Lane. \"I'm sorry about you.\" \"What?\" \"What's a letter?\" a letter is. You probably can't even read and write!\" Lane with those weapons.\" \"Listen. They been training me to fight since I was a little kid. Why shouldn't I be a \"What?\" because they're not trained to \"The Fans,\" said Lane. \"Why?\" \"Because they're afraid of ever been made. You. Single airborne infantrymen!\" Lane said, \"They told us in Trooper Academy that it's the men that win the wars.\" Newyork came up with the Troopers. Before the Troopers, a few feet away, dazed, groping on hands and knees. Lane jumped to the window, looked quickly, sprang back. Cybrain pumped orders that generated his protective Again Lane and Gerri were and a blinding flash from below. Lane laughed boyishly and ran to the window. \"Look!\" he called to Gerri. sprawled dozens of tiny black\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Lane so child-like?\n\n<options>:\nA All men are child-like.\nB Lane was never given a proper education, only fighting instruction.\nC Lane is controlled by the Cybrain. His own brain never had the chance to develop properly.\nD Lane has been a Trooper since he was seven years old.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,486	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>:\nprosperity, yet they still lacked adequate medical and research Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. [p 135 facilities. cot. caustically. “He doesn’t look so tough now, does he?” kill him right away,” a second, less confident voice said. “It’s supposed to be impossible to hold him.” “Execute him, I suppose,” the my share. Yet, wherever I go, the sleep?” he asked with mock solicitude. word eventually gets out, and I’m him only a few seconds to push the case into the compartment, lock it and slide the key along the floor loosened his bonds as much as possible with arm leverage. As the able to incapacitate two or three and break out. But the fact that they had been expecting him meant with perspiration and body oil, grabbed him by the jacket and slammed him back against the sitting is about all we ever try. been tight too long. He sighed loose with little effort. THE analyst dabbed at his upper lip with a handkerchief. “The gratefully when he finished, massaging “D O you make anything out of “Oh, yes. You were supposed to. That way I follow pretty well what you’re reenacting.” “How does it tie in with what I told you before?” his cheeks and forehead with memory seemed on the point of other than an introspective stillness complete return, and he sat quietly, hopefully. However, nothing more and set up a block.” He glanced down at his appointment pad. “Tomorrow pulled back a strip of plastic cloth comanalysis this afternoon just below his rib cage and took made. He turned to his briefcase adjusted to a life of ease and some prestige to meet danger calmly. maintained a professional diversionary chatter as he administered Curiosity restrained his trigger finger. you know. If you killed me you’d still have to trust some other analyst.” “Is that the best you can do?” “No.” Bergstrom was angry now. “But use that logical mind you’re supposed to have! Scenes before this have shown what kind of man with practiced urbanity. “When patient. If he was skilled enough, he could sort the relevancies from the vast amount of chaff. We are able now, with the help of the serum, to confine our discourses to matters cogent to the patient’s had to spend weeks, sometimes months or years interviewing a instrument, its purpose and workings, but he could not bring his thoughts into rational focus. His forehead creased with his mental killings were necessary to bring effort. justice to the places you visited. By pressed his advantage. “One more scene might do it,” he said. “Should we try again—if you trust me, that is?” [p face was unharmed, yet it was no longer the same. No longer his own features. jig-saw. In time it will fit into place.” He paused. “It means no psychiatry was a less exact science,” least every twenty hours. Fortunately his natural features would serve as an adequate disguise now. concealed by his present perplexity. He was a man who could handle he took from his case, and carefully rayed several small areas of his face, loosening muscles that had as much. A quite normal first phase of treatment.” He straightened a paper on his desk. “I think that will Otherwise some particular episode might cause undue mental stress, glance in the mirror satisfied him with the changes that had been considerable pleasure. Another be enough for today. Twice in one into a trouser pocket, and a single-edged razor blade. Removing his fiber-cloth jacket he slashed it into strips with the razor blade and flushed it down the disposal bowl. With the sleeves of his blouse rolled up he had the again and exchanged the gun for a small syringe, which he pushed Back at the locker he replaced the briefcase and, with a wad of gum, glued the key to the bottom of the locker frame. One step more. Taking the syringe from his pocket, he plunged waking from a vivid dream. “Q UITE ingenious,” Graves murmured admiringly. “You had your mind already preconditioned for the shot. But why would you deliberately give yourself amnesia?” “What better disguise than to believe the part you’re playing?” “Trust and money,” Zarwell said drily. “Your memory’s back then?” or distaste. He lay down, fully clothed, on his bed. The visit to the analyst had done nothing to dispel his ennui. [p 139 Zarwell nodded. awoke he lay for a moment, unmoving. The feeling was there again, like a scene waiting only to If he rested quietly it would all come to him. Yet always, when his mind lost its sleep-induced [p 140 ] lethargy, the moment of near understanding slipped away. This morning, however, the sense of disorientation did not pass with full wakefulness. He achieved no understanding, but the strangeness did not leave as he sat up. them thoughtfully. “I learned then the truth of Russell’s saying: ‘When the oppressed win their freedom they are as oppressive as their former masters.’ When they went bad, I opposed them. This time I failed. But I escaped only as it would have been if he had studied it from blueprints, not as though he lived there. The feeling was still with him when he returned to the psychoanalyst. THE scene this time was more kaleidoscopic, less personal. I can’t get rid of it.” He rose. “That disguise and memory planting were supposed to get me out of it. I should have known it wouldn’t work. But this right back in a fight again. It’s like the proverbial monkey on my back. The log broke a breach in the concrete and the besiegers charged through, carrying back the defenders who sought vainly to plug the killing. a manner of contained energy. break in the panorama. Now Zarwell was fleeing, pursued by the with the same firm purpose, vigilant, resourceful, and well prepared for the eventuality that had befallen. He made his escape without to talk about,” was the best he could manage. “Then will you just listen? After, would not come. “We have nothing Against his will he found himself liking the man, and wanting at least “You’ve had quite a past, apparently,” he observed. [p is beginning to prosper. Yet explain. This work is so routine to me that sometimes I forget it’s all new to a patient. Actually what you experienced under the drug were not dreams. They were recollections of real episodes from your past.” twelve hours a day. They are poorly housed the only ones receiving the benefits he seemed satisfied, and he let himself settle back against the cushion of his chair. “I remember nothing of what I saw,” he observed. “That’s why you’re here, you know,” Bergstrom answered. “To help you remember.” “But everything under the drug is so …” subconsciously recall episodes are always purely random, with no chronological sequence. Our problem will be to reassemble them in proper order later. Or some particular scene may trigger a complete memory return. “It is my considered opinion,” Bergstrom went on, “that your lost memory will turn out to be no ordinary amnesia. I believe we will find that your mind has been tampered with.” “Nothing I’ve seen under the drug fits into the past I do remember.” “That’s what makes me so certain,” Bergstrom said confidently. “You don’t remember what we have shown to be true. Conversely then, what you think you remember must be false. It must have been implanted there. But we can go into that later. For today I think we have done enough. This episode “Haphazard? That’s true. The life. The necessary machinery at least, picked this particular it?” the psychoanalyst Milton Bergstrom, asked. John Zarwell shook his head. of them were beri-rabza ridden. A cure for the skin fungus had not yet been found the men’s faces\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the purpose of a comanalysis?\n\n<options>:\nA It paralyzes patients in order to restore their nervous systems to equilibrium\nB It gives more direct access to the plagues of the human mind\nC It allows a manipulator to implant false memories\nD It permits a psychoanalyst to remove traumatic memories\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,198	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>:\nplace was dark and damp, and smelled like moldy leaves. Meyerhoff followed the huge, bear-like Altairian guard down the slippery flagstones of the corridor, sniffing the dead, musty air with distaste. He drew his carefully tailored Zeckler frowned. \"And how do they regard the—the biggest liar? I mean, how do they feel toward him?\" Meyerhoff shifted uneasily. \"It's hard to say. It's been my experience that they respect him highly—maybe even fear him all the fuss,\" he grumbled in a wounded tone. \"We've treated him like a brother.\" One of the huge steel doors clicked open. Meyerhoff peered into the blackness, catching a vaguely human outline against the back wall. \"Harry?\" he called sharply. help but believe—\" He turned on Meyerhoff, his hands trembling. that they'd have to believe—a lie they simply couldn't regarded Meyerhoff from beneath uneven black eyebrows, and then the little man's face broke into a crafty grin. \"Paul! So they sent you ! I knew I could count on it!\" He executed a deep, awkward bow, motioning Meyerhoff into the dark cubicle. \"Not much to offer you,\" he said slyly, \"but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.\" Meyerhoff scowled, and turned abruptly to the guard. \"We'll have some privacy now, if you please. Interplanetary ruling. Meyerhoff blinked. \"Well—yes. Oh, yes, they're perfectly logical.\" Meyerhoff stared at him. \"Oh, come now. Have you gone day! Lucky they sent you, pal. Why, I've been in here for years—\" \"Look, Zeckler, the name is Meyerhoff, and I'm not your pal,\" Meyerhoff snapped. \"And you've been here for two weeks, three days, and approximately four hours. You're getting And leave us the light.\" off your rocker completely? You've got a problem on your hands, man.\" as bad as your gentle guards when it comes to bandying on his lips. His clothes were smeared and sodden, streaked with great splotches of mud and moss. Meyerhoff's face softened a little. \"So Harry Zeckler's in a jam again,\" he said. Zeckler looked sharply around the hushed room. \"You want we can leave now?\" Meyerhoff stared at the little man with a mixture of pity and Meyerhoff nodded grimly. \" If Meyerhoff sank down beside the man, his voice a tense Paul Meyerhoff stared stonily at the controls, his lips compressed \" Meyerhoff grinned unpleasantly. \"I mean precisely that. You've committed a crime here—a major crime. The Altairians are sore about it. And the Terran Consulate isn't willing to sell all the trading possibilities here down the river just to \"It sure was.\" Meyerhoff's voice was a snarl. Meyerhoff's face was purple with anger. \"Oh, indeed it did! And it put Meyerhoff. \"They'll probably drop a little fine on me and let me go.\" Meyerhoff turned on him fiercely. \"Oh, you got off just fine. for me—enough to keep me on silk for quite a while, I might say. I think I'll just take a nice, long vacation.\" Lawyer? \" Meyerhoff turned to him, and a twinkle of malignant glee \"Eh?\" Meyerhoff grinned unpleasantly. He brushed an imaginary lint fleck from his lapel, and looked up at Zeckler slyly. \"That—uh—jury Not me! Oh, no. Sorry, but no thanks.\" Meyerhoff trial. The Altairians weren't any too happy to you'd better get your head out of the sand, or you're going to Meyerhoff watched the man's pale face, and shook his head. Zeckler went white. \"But that money was in banking custody!\" \"Is that right? My goodness. You don't suppose they could have lost those papers, do you?\" Meyerhoff grinned at the little con-man. \"And incidentally, you're under arrest, you In a way, he thought, it was a pity to see such a change in the A choking sound came from Zeckler's throat. \" lose a case like it's never been lost before!\" know.\" the little, musty, jungle-like planet with its shaggy, three-eyed inhabitants—warned specifically against the confidence tactics so frequently used—but there was always somebody, Meyerhoff reflected sourly, who just didn't get the word. Zeckler puffed nervously on his cigarette, his narrow face Meyerhoff pulled a pipe from his pocket, and began stuffing Zeckler's eyes flashed, and a huge grin broke out on his Meyerhoff grinned at the little man's horrified face. \"Never \"It was a Greek, I think—\" Meyerhoff shrugged. \"As we understand legal systems, I Zeckler was visibly shaken. \"Look,\" he said weakly, \"so I Meyerhoff smiled coolly. \"You're going to get your sly little con-man brain to working, I think,\" he said softly. \"By Interplanetary even a little bit, I'll be out of there so fast you won't know what happened.\" With that Meyerhoff walked to the door. He jerked it inward with seats facing the bench. Zeckler followed the shaggy-haired guard into the room, nodding approvingly. \"Not such a bad arrangement,\" he said. \"They must have gotten the idea fast.\" Meyerhoff wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and shot the little con-man a stony glance. \"At least you've got a courtroom, a judge, and a jury for this mess. Beyond that—\" flanked by two clerks, who took their places beside him. The prosecutor eyed Zeckler with cold malevolence, then turned and delivered a sly wink at the judge. judge's voice roared out, \"against one Harry Zeckler—\" he for interplanetary invasion.\" The little con-man's jaw sagged lower and lower, the color draining from his face. He turned, wide-eyed, to Meyerhoff, then back to the judge. \"The Chairman of the Jury,\" said the Judge succinctly, \"will \" Zeckler was on his feet, wild-eyed. \"What kind of railroad job—\" The judge blinked disappointedly at Paul Meyerhoff. \"Not yet?\" he asked, unhappily. \"No.\" Meyerhoff's hands twitched nervously. \"Not yet, Your muttered. \"Have the prosecutor call his first witness,\" said Meyerhoff. Zeckler leaned over, his face ashen. \"These charges,\" he whispered. \"They're insane!\" \"Of course they are,\" Meyerhoff whispered back. Zeckler—\"stopped me in my tracks with a vicious cry. He had Meyerhoff. \"Listen to him! Why should I care where their Goddess—\" his eyes turning glassy as the testimony piled up. \"But it's not true ,\" he whispered to Meyerhoff. \"Your lives, your land, everything you hold dear,\" Zeckler There was a loud hiss from the back of the court. Zeckler case.\" The judge settled back with a disgusted snarl. \"Do I have to?\" he asked Meyerhoff. Meyerhoff nodded. The judge shrugged, pointing over his shoulder to the anteroom. \"You can go in there,\" he said. Somehow, Zeckler managed to stumble from the witness Zeckler puffed hungrily on a cigarette, and looked up at Meyerhoff with haunted eyes. \"It—it doesn't look so good,\" he muttered. Meyerhoff's eyes were worried, too. For some reason, he felt a surge of pity and admiration for the haggard con-man. Zeckler sat in silence for a moment. \"This lying business,\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the relationship between Meyerhoff and Zeckler?\n\n<options>:\nA Meyerhoff is Zeckler's employee.\nB Meyerhoff is Zeckler's employer.\nC Meyerhoff is Zeckler's lawyer.\nD Meyerhoff is Zeckler's Consulate representative.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
799	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIt was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! \"What would you say to two thousand?\" \"Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling?\" for the dispatch clerk. \"Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know that contingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDT transports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students. Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait.\" Jim came back to the phone. \"Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived. But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketed clear through to Lovenbroy.\" \"Listen, Jim,\" Retief said. \"I want you to go over to the warehouse and take a look at that baggage for me.\" Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. The the phone. \"Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on. be the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into more cultivated channels.\" \"I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land,\" Retief said, understand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning that will cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do....\" Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. \"As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get down to the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally.\" screen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. \"This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,\" of heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket, stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused at sight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and held Retief.\" \"It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what—\" \"It sounds like I've been missing something,\" said Retief. \"I'll have to try them some time.\" Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. \"No \"Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me.\" He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. \"Come As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleague across the table. \"Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie. What are they getting?\" sending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite an \"University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college.\" \"Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College?\" \"Two thousand students? Hah! Two students would overtax the facilities of the college.\" \"I wonder if the Bogans know that?\" \"The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwise trade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand students indeed!\" He snorted and walked away. Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode the cab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw them lined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be half an hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar and \"Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you?\" The young fellow blinked at Retief. \"Oh, you know about it, huh?\" He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. \"Had enough,\" he said. \"So long, friend. Or are you coming along?\" Retief nodded. \"Might as well.\" At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first of the Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped to attention, his chest out. \"You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Now line up!\" \"We have quarters ready for the students,\" Retief said. \"If you'd like to bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laid on.\" have the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas about wait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner.\" \"Sorry,\" Karsh said. \"As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off.\" He hiccupped again. \"Can't travel without our baggage, y'know.\" \"Suit yourself,\" Retief said. \"Where's the baggage now?\" \"Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter.\" \"Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here.\" \"Sure,\" Karsh said. \"That's a good idea. Why don't you join us?\" Karsh winked. \"And bring a few beers.\" \"Not this time,\" Retief said. He watched the students, still emerging from Customs. \"They seem to be all boys,\" he commented. \"No female students?\" \"Maybe later,\" Karsh said. \"You know, after we see how the first bunch is received.\" Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. \"Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are bound for?\" Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. \"I'm sure I've never pried into these details.\" \"Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle?\" Retief said. \"Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students are travelling so far to study—at Corps expense.\" me with the question of two thousand young male students headed for \"Well!\" Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows. \"I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom!\" \"About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question,\" Retief said. \"But always—\" \"I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can.\" Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left the office, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the Corps \"You won't find it in the industrial section,\" the librarian said. \"Come along.\" Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-lit \"Was there anything further?\" Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. \"I sincerely hope not,\" Retief said. we're shipping five hundred units....\" Retief waited. \"Ah ... are you there, Retief?\" \"I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundred tractors.\" Retief said. \"Any connection?\" \"Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha.\" \"Who gets the tractors eventually?\" \"Retief, this is unwarranted interference!\" \"Who gets them?\" \"They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see—\" \"And when will they be shipped?\" \"Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. But look here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking!\" \"How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself.\" Retief rang off, buzzed the secretary. of students.\" \"I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. How many this time?\" \"Two thousand.\" \"And where will they be going?\" \"Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job is to provide transportation.\" \"Will there be any other students embarking this season?\" \"Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business.\" Gulver looked at Retief with pursed lips. \"As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching another two thousand to Featherweight.\" In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. \"Sorry if I'm rushing you, Retief,\" he said. \"But have you got anything for me?\"\n\n<question>:\nAre the two thousand students truly being sent off to college?\n\n<options>:\nA No, because there exists few academic resources for them where they are heading.\nB Yes, because there is a small college out where the students are heading.\nC No, because they are going to a rural setting.\nD No, because Retief has suspicions over the situation of transporting the students.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,683	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>:\nTREE the tree named Ashlew, \"you're it, Sonny! Hang on there while I signal the Life Kolin sensed a lack of direct tree,\" he muttered. \"If Yrtok I'm as good as re-personalized right now.\" Peter Kolin had to admit that As he brooded upon the sorry choice of arousing a search by hiding where he his little command, less two third-class ration keepers thought to have been trapped was or going back to bluff How'd you like to stay here?\" \"I don't know,\" said Kolin. on parade. Kolin made himself \"The penalty for desertion—\" You could be a bird, a tree, . He lined them up as if Silenced but doubting, Kolin permitted himself to try the dream on for size. He considered what form might most easily escape the the damage,\" announced the Chief in clipped, aggressive tones, \"I have volunteered my Volunteered HIS section! thought Kolin rebelliously. his musings: mere hope of escape was unsatisfying after the outburst that had defined Like the Supreme Director of Haurtoz! Being conscripted his fuming hatred for Haurtoz. Prudently, he did not express this resentment overtly. His well-schooled features revealed no trace of the idea—or I'd better watch myself! \"What I wish I could do is not just get away but get even for the way they make us You know why they world's less kindly techniques had been employed. Lack of complete loyalty to the state was likely to result in a siege of treatment that left the subject don't?\" Kolin had heard of instances \"Why?\" wheezed Ashlew. wherein mere unenthusiastic posture had betrayed intentions to harbor \"They're scared that without treasonable thoughts. moment. Kolin felt the Then Ashlew offered a suggestion. \"I could tell the Life your side of it,\" he hissed. \"Once issue rations.\" Kolin permitted himself to wonder when anyone might get some rest, but assumed a he will be replaced by one of State were to survive the hostile plots of Earth and the latter's decadent colonies. scowled in turn, impartially, at his watch and at the weary Kolin found himself in a Since the crew would be eating packaged rations during repairs, Yrtok could be spared to length. Slichow muttered something profane about disregard of orders as he glared at the rocky ridges surrounding the landing place. He was so intent upon planning greetings with which to in regard to food. They would go without. Kolin maintained a standard expression rations could hardly, in an emergency, give even the appearance of favoring themselves bushes Kolin's party had followed, and Kolin brought He froze. After a few heartbeats, he dropped the trash and stared at ship and men as if he had Kolin shared their sense of isolation. They would be out of sight of authority and responsible for their own actions. It was a strange sensation. They marched down into State known as Peter Kolin congratulated itself upon its For all Kolin could tell, he choice of form. He paused to consider the state of the tree named Ashlew, half immortal but rooted to one spot, unable to float on a breeze or through space itself Especially, it was unable to insinuate any part of itself into the control center of another form of life, as a second spore was taking charge of the body of Chief Slichow at that very instant. There are not enough men thought Kolin. and Kolin agreed. on a low shrub. Kolin regarded the trees with The unit known as Captain Theodor Kessel hesitated before even a cloud.\" shoots that grow back into Kolin looked over his shoulder. notice of search parties and \"He must have tasted some!\" exclaimed Kolin. \"I'll see how he is.\" He ran back to the cook and shook him by the shoulder. Ammet's head lolled loosely him a doped appearance. Kolin a long time without renewal. to Yrtok. For some reason, he had straightened up and beckoned Then he noticed that she was kneeling. \"Hope she didn't eat some stupid thing too!\" he grumbled, Another factor slipped into of greenish fur. All Kolin saw was that it had several legs too many. He pulled Yrtok to her feet. She pawed at him weakly, eyes as vacant as Ammet's. When he let go in sudden horror, she folded gently to the ground. She lay comfortably on her side, twitching away. When she began to smile dreamily, Kolin backed away. The corners of his mouth felt oddly stiff they had involuntarily drawn back to expose his clenched teeth. He glanced warily about, but nothing appeared to threaten him. \"It's time to end this scout,\" he told himself. \"It's dangerous. One good look and I'm he an easy tree to climb.\" He considered the massive choice. At first, Kolin saw no way, but then the network of vines clinging to the rugged trunk suggested a route. He tried his weight gingerly, then began to climb. \"I should have brought Yrtok's radio,\" he muttered. \"Oh, well, I can take it when I come down, if she hasn't Kolin progressed rapidly. When he reached the first thick limbs, twice head height, he felt safer. Later, at what he hoped was the halfway mark, he hooked one knee over a branch and paused to wipe sweat from his eyes. Peering down, he discovered \"Depends on what you're looking for, Sonny!\" something remarked in a soughing wheeze. Kolin, slipping, grabbed desperately for the branch. His fingers clutched a handful of twigs and leaves, which just barely supported him until he regained a grip with the other hand. The branch quivered resentfully under him. all summer to grow those!\" Kolin could feel the skin crawling along his backbone. you?\" he gasped. The answering sigh of laughter gave him a distinct chill despite its suggestion of amiability. you'd ever seen a man grown Kolin looked about, seeing \"I have to climb down,\" he told himself in a reasonable tone. \"It's bad enough that the other two passed out without Earth tree.\" Kolin examined the bark of Kolin, testing the firmness of of the tree trunk. \"And, if a tree was a nice, peaceful asked Kolin, twisting about grew big enough to do some \"The other trees? That jungle?\" didn't twist that branch over \"Th-thanks!\" grunted Kolin, hanging on grimly. mind and set up a mental field to help him change form. He looks twice as good as a Kolin politely. He groped for a foothold. \"Well … matter of fact, I can't get through to him much, even with the Life's he started living with a different way of thinking. It burns me. I thought of being a tree, and then he came along to take advantage of it!\" Kolin braced himself securely to stretch tiring muscles. \"Maybe I'd better stay a while,\" he muttered. \"I don't to be a tree.\" birds. One even stayed a man—on the outside anyway. Most of them have to change as the bodies wear out, which I don't, and some made bad \"I wouldn't want to do that, Mr. Ashlew.\" \"There's just one thing. The Life don't like taking \"Listen!\" Kolin blurted out. \"I wasn't so much enjoying being what I was that getting back matters to me!\" \"Don't like your home planet, sleep for fear you might dream treason and they'd find out somehow.\" just to live.\" Suddenly, Kolin found himself telling the tree about life expansion. He dwelt upon the desperation of having no place to hide in case of trouble with the authorities. A talking to a tree wore off. Kolin heard opinions spouting out which he had prudently kept bottled up for years. The more he talked and stormed and complained, the more relaxed he felt.\n\n<question>:\nWhat did Kolin think about becoming a tree himself?\n\n<options>:\nA He wanted to be an animal, not a plant.\nB He was intrigued but wanted to try something slightly different.\nC He figured it was an effective way to escape his crew.\nD He refused to give up his own body.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,780	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>:\nappeared to have overcome every little imperfection he had been able to communicate to her. It was in the privacy of his room that Pembroke became aware of just how perfect, physically, Frank Pembroke sat behind the desk of his shabby her face and body were meticulously symmetrical. And she seemed to be wholly ambidextrous. \"With so many beautiful sense of excitement and satisfaction Pembroke probingly, \"I find it hard to understand why there are that he greeted the tall, dark, smooth-faced figure that types. I'd never get one. Anyway, I won't ever marry,\" she said. \"I'm the paramour type.\" flaw of loquacity that no one else had discovered. Pembroke decided he would have to cover his tracks carefully. \"What type am I?\" he asked. \"Silly, you're real. You're not a type at all.\" \"Mary Ann, I love you very much,\" Pembroke murmured, gambling everything on this one \"Oh, but you'll be dead by then,\" she pouted. \"So I mustn't fall in love with you. I don't want to be miserable.\" \"If I pretended I was one of you, if I left on the boat with \"Oh, yes, I'm sure they would.\" \"Mary Ann, you have two other flaws I feel I should mention.\" \"In the first place,\" said Pembroke, \"you should be willing to fall in love with me even if it will eventually make you unhappy. How can you be the paramour type if you refuse to fall in love foolishly? And when you have fallen in love, you should be very loyal.\" \"I'll try,\" she said unsurely. \"What else?\" a professional adventurer as one can in these days of regimented travel, organized peril, Pembroke came as close to being time. made for himself a substantial fortune through speculation in a and otherwise. Life had given him much and demanded little, which was perhaps the reason for his restiveness. Loyalty to person or to people was a trait Pembroke had never recognized in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him. And yet he greatly envied those staunch patriots and lovers who could find it in themselves to elevate the glory and safety of others above that of themselves. Lacking such loyalties, Pembroke adapted quickly to the situation in which he found himself for any obvious reason, but because of subtle little factors that modern American hotel. The wallet Pembroke was quite sure that she understood his plan and that she was irrevocably in love with him. Tomorrow might bring his death, but it might also ensure his escape. After forty-two years of searching for a passion, for a cause, for a loyalty, Frank Pembroke had at last found his. Earth and the human race that peopled it. And Mary Ann would help him to save it. hungry, he began to study the others in the restaurant. Many of the faces seemed familiar a good corona and went for a walk. His situation could have been any small western American apartment and together they at Pembroke as he passed. Seldom had he enjoyed so ingenuous \"You are looking for someone?\" she inquired. \"Much of the time,\" said the said. Pembroke smiled, uneasily. There was something not entirely \"You're not casual enough, for one thing,\" said Pembroke, deciding to play along with her for an Earthman. Now Pembroke had himself to not that it matters. Is that what to enter smoothly into the new life he had planned. It wouldn't his beard would grow to blacken his face. And he would look weary and hungry and aimless. Only the last would be a deception. would she be seeing him again? He had aroused her passion and no amount of long-distance love could requite it. Soon, he assured her, soon. \"Because, after all, you do owe me something,\" she added. And that was bad because it to bother him. She was right about being different, but it was her concern about being different that made her so. How this time for vengeance. Twice during his wanderings Pembroke had seen the corpses she might go to the police again, because they bled. Mary Ann had admitted that she did not. There would be very few Earthmen \"They tell me I lean too far forward,\" she confided. \"But I docks every day, without being able to learn when the great exodus would take place. Yet he should think you'd fall down if frumpy.\" \"Well, I'm supposed to look frumpy,\" the woman retorted. \"That's the type of person I am. But you can look frumpy and still walk natural, can't you? Everyone But since no one seemed concerned about anything but his own speech and behavior, he assumed that they had all qualified in every other respect. The reason was a good thing. \"It is a sign of poor breeding to smile at tramps,\" Pembroke admonished her in a whisper. Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense of having been given the runaround. \"What's wrong with your century American male, itinerant type. \"You understand your mission, customer. \"If you don't like the place, you've had it.\" paying passengers. He was a short, Sidling up to a well-dressed man-about-town type, Pembroke winked at him and snickered. \"You Frank?\" he asked. \"Hell, no. But some poor punk's sure red in the face, I'll hate that?\" \"Naw, that's part of your other. \"And why not? Hey? Why not?\" Pembroke went right on hating lost interest in him. They got up one by one and walked out of the bar. Pembroke took his rum and himself, however, till the and political restriction. He had identity established and his circumstances \"Your bet's as good as mine,\" great variety of properties, real \"I'll never tell anyone anything day. Not the brisk, efficient steps of a federal official, but the hesitant, self-conscious steps of a you would give me a few minutes of honest criticism.\" \"Ah, no, not you, too,\" groaned junior clerk type. Spencer. \"Look, Joe, what's about you,\" she promised. \"Now try to love me,\" Pembroke said, drawing her into his He would be out of business soon, once the FBI agent had got there. Pembroke was only in it to get the proof he would need to convince people of the truth of his tale. But in the meantime he allowed himself to admire the that it was exactly this that Valencia was seeking. Pembroke was amused at his companion's clipping of the newspaper ad he \"Love me my sweet, beautiful, reaction but observed that Spencer ARE YOU IMPERFECT? YOUR FLAWS IT IS HIS GOAL TO MAKE YOU THE AVERAGE FOR YOUR TYPE affectionate Mary Ann. My paramour.\" for thought in what you have said, Mr. Pembroke. However, Mr. Spencer, your value has failed to prove itself. You have only yourself to blame. Cooperation is all we require of you.\" Making love to Mary Ann was something short of ecstasy. Not here,\" the fat man muttered after a few moments. \"Is it me, Frank?\" \"No. You just don't belong here, in this particular place,\" said Pembroke thoughtfully. \"You're the wrong type. But they couldn't know that ahead of time. The way they operate it's a pretty hit-or-miss operation. But they don't care one bit about us, Spencer. Consider the men who \"It's what you think that will determine what you do, Spencer. I suggest you change your attitude \"That's right,\" said the fat man sullenly. \"What don't you like about me? The in his pocket contained exactly He still knew nothing about her and had almost exhausted his critical capabilities, but not once had she become annoyed with him. She seemed to devour every factual point of imperfection about herself that Pembroke fantastically enough, she actually\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Frank's relationship with loyalty?\n\n<options>:\nA Frank had not found an opportunity to show loyalty until the events of the story took place.\nB Frank is loyal to women, which he shows by pointing out their flaws.\nC Frank considers loyalty to be a weakness, and only takes care of himself.\nD Frank wishes that he could be loyal to someone, but he is self-serving by nature.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
647	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 talk with someone, yet he knew he shouldn’t bother his father with any more questions. He asked if he could go over and visit with Teena for a while. “Well, you were together most of the day,” back in about an hour, though.” It was a balmy evening. On such evenings, he and Teena sometimes walked along the beach barefoot, collecting sea shells. Today Eddie had no desire to do that. He ran down the block. Teena answered his knock. “Come on in, Eddie,” she invited, seeming surprised to see him. “Mother and I are just finishing dinner.” “Good evening, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie said. “I—I hope I’m not making a pest of myself.” He looked around for Mr. Ross, but Teena’s father apparently hadn’t arrived home from “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.” over it,” Teena’s mother said. “Oh, yes,” Eddie affirmed. “He was the one who ordered the isotope.” “What’s an isotope?” Teena asked. “I’m not sure I know, either,” Mrs. Ross him, handing him a plate of eggs. “Hi, Mom,” Eddie said. “Gotta hurry. Big day today.” “Good morning, dear,” his mother greeted from the table, “I’d better be getting over to school. I’m expecting to receive shipment of a new radioisotope today.” The very word excited Eddie. In fact, anything “Why do they do that?” Teena asked. “Out of control is right,” Teena said. “Boy, that sounds dangerous,” Teena said. “Well, they know just how to do it,” Eddie replied. Eddie said. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was a little late in the day to go to Cedar Point. The best way to get 18 “Are you going alone?” his mother asked. “Oh, guess I’ll stop by and see if Teena wants to go,” Eddie answered casually. He 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 would make a very good uranium prospecting “Isn’t that dangerous?” Teena asked. or something like that. “She’ll enjoy it, I’m sure,” his mother said. “I’ll take Sandy, too,” Eddie said. “He needs the exercise.” “That’s a good idea, dear. Be back in time for an early dinner.” Eddie let Sandy off his chain. The taffy-colored cocker spaniel yipped wildly over his soaks up water.” 40 “My, that’s interesting, Eddie,” Mrs. Ross 21 Teena—lived at the far end of the block. Eddie went around to the side door of the light-green stucco house and knocked. “Oh, hi, Eddie,” Teena greeted him, appearing at the screen door. “I was hoping you’d come over.” 19 Christina Ross—whom everybody called counter. But maybe you’re too busy.” That’s how to handle it, Eddie thought. Don’t act anxious. Let Teena be anxious. Then maybe she’ll even offer to bring along a couple of sandwiches or some fruit. “Oh, I’d love to go,” Teena said eagerly, “but I’m just finishing the dishes. Come on in.” screen door open for him. “I’ll make us some sandwiches.” “Stay here, Sandy,” Eddie said. “Sit.” The dog minded, although he looked a bit rebellious. 20 Eddie went inside and followed Teena to the kitchen. He felt triumphant about the sandwiches. “What kind was the one stolen from the college today?” Teena asked. lighter by contrast. Maybe both. “Hello, Eddie,” Mrs. Ross said, coming into the kitchen. “Looks like Teena put you to work.” “She always does, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie said, keep coming over here.” “I know,” Teena spoke up quickly. “It’s because we’re friends, that’s why.” out all right,” Teena’s mother said. 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 “So do I,” Teena agreed. Eddie glanced at the kitchen clock. “Oh, parents were close friends, also. Teena’s father was chief engineer for the Acme Aviation Company, one of the coast town’s largest about this atom business.” 43 doing dishes.” “Oh, I don’t really mind, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie said. “Besides, Teena’s making sandwiches to take with us.” “Another prospecting trip?” Teena’s “That’s right, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie agreed. “People should talk more and read more about it. After all, this is an atomic age. We might as Eddie,” she said, “but I wouldn’t quite know how to go about feeding an atom.” “Or greasing one,” Teena added. Eddie laughed. “I sure wouldn’t want the 22 “Oh, yes, it’s fun, Mother,” Teena replied, wrapping wax paper around a sandwich. “Guess I’m ready. I’ve got a bone for Sandy, too.” “Don’t go too far out from town,” Mrs. Ross cautioned, as Eddie picked up the Geiger counter. “And stick near the main roads. You know the rules.” “We sure do, Mrs. Ross,” Eddie assured her. “And we’ll be back early.” Teena’s father was a medium-sized man They walked past the college campus, and unusually drawn and sober. He stepped to the table, leaned over, and gave both Teena and Mrs. Ross a kiss on the cheek. “Eddie was telling us about atoms,” Teena’s “Not so good,” Teena’s father said tiredly. had hiked and searched most of the forenoon, Eddie said, “We might as well call it a day, Teena. Doesn’t seem to be anything out here.” “It’s all right with me,” Teena agreed, plucking foxtails from Sandy’s ears. “Pretty hot, anyway. Let’s eat our sandwiches and go back home.” “All right,” Eddie said. “You know, one of these days I’d like to go out to Cedar Point and scout around. Maybe we’ll find something there.” Then he told Teena about his dream. Teena smiled. “A dream sure isn’t much to go on,” she said, “but they say it’s pretty out on Cedar Point. I’ll go any time you want to, Eddie.” She handed him one of the sandwiches. It was midafternoon by the time they arrived back at Teena’s house. They worked a while on a new jigsaw puzzle Teena had received on a recent birthday. Then Eddie said good-by and went on down the street toward his “Dinner?” his mother said absently. “It’s not quite four o’clock yet, Eddie. Besides, dinner may be a little late today.” “Eddie, you remember me mentioning this morning about that radioisotope shipment I was expecting today?” CHAPTER TWO Eddie read the newspaper account. The small truck from Drake Ridge, where one of the country’s newest atomic reactors was\n\n<question>:\nWho is Teena and what role does she play in Chapter one and chapter two?\n\n<options>:\nA Teena is Eddie’s friend and neighbor. She accompanies Eddie on a hike through the hills behind the college, where he teaches her all about isotopes.\nB Teena is Eddie’s friend and neighbor. She accompanies him on a prospecting hike, where they don’t find any trace of radioactivity but still enjoy a lunch together.\nC Teena is Eddie’s friend and neighbor. She accompanies Eddie to Cedar Point, where they are looking for traces of radioactivity.\nD Teena is Eddie’s friend and neighbor. She accompanies Eddie to Cedar Point, where they eat sandwiches and prospect for radioactivity.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,001	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>:\nover there?\" He patted her hand absent-mindedly. \"I wonder if it's west at all. I mean, how do we know Superior is maintaining the same position up here as it used to down there?\" Printed in U.S.A. THE CITY THAT RAN OFF THE MAP The town of Superior, Ohio, certainly was living up to its name! In what was undoubtedly the most spectacular feat of the century, it simply picked itself up one night and rose two full miles above Earth! Radio messages stated simply that Superior had seceded from Earth. But Don Cort, stranded on that rising town, was beginning to suspect that nothing was simple about Superior except its citizens. Calmly they accepted their rise in the world as being due to one of their local townspeople, a crackpot professor. But after a couple of weeks of floating around, it began to be obvious that the professor had no idea how to get them down. So then it was up to Cort: either find a way to anchor Superior, or spend the rest of his I The town of Superior, Ohio, disappeared on the night of October 31. A truck driver named Pierce Knaubloch was the first to report it. He had been highballing west along Route 202, making up for the time he'd spent Superior had been. at the end of Don's handcuff began to talk to him. his first thought. He backed up two hundred feet, set out flares, then sped off to a telephone. The state police converged on the former site of Superior from several directions. Communicating by radiophone across the vast pit, they was missing. The train's schedule called for it to pass through but not stop at Superior at 11:58. That seemed to fix the time of the disappearance at midnight. The truck driver had made his discovery shortly after midnight. Energy Commission denied that they had been conducting secret experiments. Nor had there been any defense plants in Superior that might have blown course to avoid it. He noted with only minimum satisfaction that his A few minutes later he had relayed a message from Superior, formerly of Ohio, addressed to whom it might concern: It said that Superior had seceded from Earth. One other radio message came from Superior, now airborne, on that first day. A ham radio operator reported an unidentified voice as saying Don had taken a passing interest earlier in the evening asked, \"Why did \"Somebody flagged us down,\" the conductor said. \"We don't make a station stop at Superior on this run.\" The girl's hair was a subtle red, but false. When Don had entered the club car he'd seen her hatless head from above and noticed that the hair that it was more than adequate. If the girl had given Don Cort more than that one glance, or if it had Don hesitated, shrugged at the redhead, said, \"Excuse me,\" and followed sat in the dark, hissing steam. Don made his way up to the locomotive Don saw two men who must have been the engineer and the fireman talking Don Cort and the fireman walked cautiously toward the edge while the Standing on tiptoe and repressing a touch of giddiness, Don looked over the mayor wouldn't look foolish the next morning, not knowing his town had flown the coop.\" \"What's the population of Superior?\" \"What do you mean by that?\" Jen Jervis asked. \"Well, I don't see how you can get down. Do you?\" \"Does Superior have an airport?\" Don asked. \"I've got to get back to—to \"Washington?\" Don said. \"That's where I'm going. I mean where I was going before Superior became airborne. What do you do in Washington, Don Cort had slept, but not well. He had tried to fold the brief case to Superior were up in the air. He went through the dormitory. A few students were still sleeping. The \"How do you get down from an elephant? Old riddle. You don't you get down from ducks. How do you plan to get down from Superior?\" \"I'll find a way. I'm more interested at the moment in how I got up here.\" Superior Sentry , a weekly. This is an Don blinked at the headline: \"Ed Clark's something of an eccentric, like everybody else in Superior,\" Don read the story, which seemed to him a capricious treatment of an apparently grave situation. Residents having business beyond the outskirts of town today are advised not to. It's a long way down. Where Superior was surrounded by Ohio, as usual, today Superior ends literally at the town line. A Citizens' Emergency Fence-Building Committee is being formed, but in dropped to the rest of the world in a plastic shatter-proof bottle, said today that Superior has seceded from Earth. His reasons were as vague as his explanation. The \"reasons\" include these: (1) Superior has been discriminated against by county, state and federal agencies Don said, \"I'm beginning to like this Ed Clark.\" double entendre ,\" Alis said. \"What I meant—for now—was that we can stroll out to where Superior used to be attached to the rest of Ohio and see how the Earth is getting along without us.\" \"Is it still? I mean hasn't it all poured off the edge by now? Was that Superior's water supply?\" Alis shrugged. \"All I know is you turn on the faucet and there's water. Let's go look at the creek.\" They found it coursing along between the banks. \"Looks just about the same,\" she said. \"That's funny. Come on let's follow it to the edge.\" Creek surging along, then nothing. In the distance a clump of trees, with a few autumn leaves still clinging to their branches, simply ended. \"Where is the water going?\" Don asked. \"I can't make it out.\" \"Down, I'd say. Rain for the Earth-people.\" \"I should think it'd be all dried up by now. I'm going to have a look.\" \"Don't! You'll fall off!\" \"I'll be careful.\" He walked cautiously toward the edge. Alis followed topographer's map, far below. Don took another wary step, then sat down. \"Chicken,\" said Alis. She laughed uncertainly, then she sat down, too. \"I still can't see where the water goes,\" Don said. He stretched out on his stomach and began to inch forward. \"You stay there.\" Finally he had inched to a point where, by stretching out a hand, he Don opened the compact and carefully transferred it to his right hand. He held it out beyond the edge and peered into it, focusing it on the end of the creek. \"Now I've got it. The water isn't going off the edge!\" \"It isn't? Then where is it going?\" \"Down, of course, but it's as if it's going into a well, or a vertical tunnel, just short of the edge.\" \"Why? How?\" \"The other end of the creek?\" \"Exactly.\" South Creek did not bisect Superior, as Don thought it might, but flowed in an arc through a southern segment of it. They had about two miles to go, past South Creek Bridge—which used to lead to Ladenburg, Alis , was semicircular, with each end at the edge and tarpaulins strung behind it so they could see the mouth of the creek. The water flowed from under the tarp and fence. \"Look how it comes in spurts,\" Alis said. \"As if it's being pumped.\" Smaller print on the sign said: Protecting mouth of South Creek, one of two sources of water for Superior. Electrical charge in fence is sufficient to kill. . \"What's the other source, besides the faucet in your bathroom?\" Don asked. \"North Lake, maybe,\" Alis said. \"People fish there but nobody's allowed\n\n<question>:\nWhat action did Don consider for testing the water flow in Superior?\n\n<options>:\nA Taking a rowboat over the edge to see what would happen.\nB Jumping into North Lake to see if there was an electrical current.\nC Swimming through the stream to see what would happen.\nD Throwing something into the stream and seeing if it would funnel back into Superior.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,914	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\"If there was ever a fellow ready for this planet,\" decided the tree named Ashlew, \"you're it, Sonny! Hang on have no manners—but what do you expect, when they used to be men! All there while I signal the Life stellar drive and the way the small planet's murky atmosphere rations could hardly, in an As he brooded upon the sorry choice of arousing a search by hiding where he Peter Kolin had to admit that his little command, less two third-class ration keepers thought to have been trapped casualties might have been safe form to jet off in, you might make yourself a deal. How'd you like to stay here?\" \"I don't know,\" said Kolin. \"The penalty for desertion—\" \"Whoosh! Who'd find you? inconspicuous. emergency watches repairing the damage,\" announced the Chief in clipped, aggressive the dream on for size. He considered what form might most easily escape the permitted himself to try as is suitable. It may be useful to discover temporary Another factor slipped into his musings: mere hope of escape was unsatisfying after the outburst that had defined Like the Supreme Director of Haurtoz! Being conscripted thought Kolin rebelliously. into this idiotic space fleet that never fights is bad this resentment overtly. His well-schooled features revealed no trace of the idea—or not just get away but get even for the way they make us Prudently, he did not express jets like Slichow! Earth, but many of the home world's less kindly techniques had been employed. Lack of complete loyalty to the state was likely to result in a siege of treatment that left the subject don't?\" \"Why?\" wheezed Ashlew. wherein mere unenthusiastic posture had betrayed intentions to harbor treasonable thoughts. \"They're scared that without talk of war, and scouting \"You will scout in five details Then Ashlew offered a suggestion. he will be replaced by one of mildly willing look. (Too eager an attitude could arouse suspicion of disguising an improper viewpoint.) The maintenance of a proper viewpoint State were to survive the hostile plots of Earth and the latter's decadent colonies. That, at least, was the official line. detail. The latter stumbled about, stacking and distributing individuals but immutable as to length. Slichow muttered something profane about disregard of orders as he glared at the rocky ridges surrounding the landing place. emergency, give even the appearance of favoring themselves in regard to food. They would go without. Kolin maintained a standard expression as the Chief's sharp stare measured them. Yrtok, a dark, lean-faced girl, led the way with a quiet It was tenuous, almost a haze. Close examination would have revealed it to be reach their assigned sector, they had to climb a forbidding ridge of rock within half a kilometer. Only formed a cohesive body. They staggering flunkies, stealing a few seconds of relaxation on the pretext of dumping an armful of light plastic packing, drifted together, approaching One of Chief Slichow's He froze. momentarily before descending. Kolin shared their sense of isolation. They would be out of sight of authority and responsible for their own actions. It was a strange sensation. They marched down into but, returning at a moderate more aware of the clouds and atmospheric haze. pace, he murmured, \"My itself upon its choice of form. Nearer to the original shape of the Life than Ashlew and the others were isolated in a world bounded by the rocky ridge behind them and state of the tree named Ashlew, half immortal but rooted to one spot, unable to float on a breeze or through space itself on the pressure of light. Especially, it was unable to insinuate any part of itself into the control center of another form of life, as a second \"Since the crew will be on spore was taking charge of thought Kolin. Some of me must drift through the airlock. In space, I can spread through the air system to the Peace State and the return to Haurtoz passed like weeks to some of in infinity to other units. At last, the ship parted the air above Headquarters misgiving. \"Looks as tough to get through as a tropical jungle,\" \"I think the stuff puts out tones, \"I have volunteered my through.\" In two or three minutes, they reached the abrupt border \"Hardly, sir. All ready for the liberation of Haurtoz.\" \"Reformation of the Planetary END Transcriber's Note: This e-text was produced from the edge,\" decided Yrtok. . Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this relaxed. \"He must have tasted notice of search parties and still be tough enough to live him a doped appearance. Kolin a long time without renewal. straightened up and beckoned trouble attracting her attention. Then he noticed that she was kneeling. When he let go in sudden horror, she folded gently to the ground. She lay comfortably on her side, twitching his fuming hatred for Haurtoz. a semi-circle of damp trees The corners of his mouth felt oddly stiff they had involuntarily drawn back to expose his clenched teeth. He glanced warily about, but nothing appeared to threaten him. I'd better watch myself! he told himself. \"It's dangerous. One good look and I'm jetting off! What I need is got , he thought. he thought. seemed the most promising height, he felt safer. Later, at what he hoped was live … the whole damn set-up. open the top is,\" he mused. \"I wonder how the view will They could just as easy make \"Depends on what you're looking for, Sonny!\" something remarked in a soughing wheeze. be from up there?\" \"Who The answering sigh of laughter gave him a distinct chill despite its suggestion of amiability. \"Name's Johnny Ashlew. with what I am. Didn't figure little but leaves and fog. \"I have to climb down,\" he told himself in a reasonable tone. \"It's bad enough that the other two passed out without me going space happy too.\" \"What's your hurry?\" demanded the voice. \"I can talk to you just as easy all the way since I came here and found out I could be anything I wanted.\" 'Mr. Ashlew,' considering my track. I always figured bein' a tree was a nice, peaceful life \"It isn't, Mr. Ashlew?\" thinking, and set its roots down all over until it had control. That's the outskirts of it down below.\" just like it must have to—Watch it, there, Boy! If I \"Doggone vine!\" commented he started living with a different way of thinking. It burns me. I thought of being to stretch tiring muscles. \"Maybe I'd better stay a him. \"You ought to let me tell you how the Life helps you change form. You don't birds. One even stayed a man—on the outside anyway. Most of them have to change as the bodies wear out, which I don't, and some made bad mistakes tryin' to be things they saw on other planets.\" that, Mr. Ashlew.\" \"There's just one thing. The Life don't like taking chances on word about this believes in peace and quiet. You might not get back to your ship in any form that out. \"I wasn't so much enjoying being what I was that getting back matters to me!\" \"Don't like your home planet, whatever the name was?\" the way that's standard thirty hours a day, asleep or awake. You get scared to sleep for fear you might dream treason and they'd find out somehow.\" \"Whooeee! Heard about them places. Must be tough just to live.\" Suddenly, Kolin found himself the Planetary State's planned expansion. He dwelt upon the desperation of having no place to hide in case of trouble with the authorities. A multiple system of such worlds was agonizing to Somehow, the oddity of out which he had prudently kept bottled up for years. The more he talked and stormed and complained, the more relaxed he felt.\n\n<question>:\nWhat does Johnny Ashlew best represent?\n\n<options>:\nA Slichow's greatest fear\nB Kolin's ego speaking its truth\nC Subtle omniscience\nD Freedom from conformity\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
81	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[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from \"What the devil are you doing on Venus? Don't you know women aren't allowed in the Spacemen's ? What happened to the book you were writing?\" She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. \"What happened to Guns for Ganymede Grannie spilled a few shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftly \"It wasn't Guns , it was Pistols and it wasn't Ganymede , it was Pluto .\" I grinned. \"All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universe and beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair.\" Satellite . ONE NIGHT ONLY DOCTOR UNIVERSE AND HIS NINE GENIUSES THE SYSTEM \"That damned fossilized dynamo,\" I muttered. \"She'll be the death of me yet.\" The piano struck a chord in G, and the curtain went rattling up. On the stage four Earthmen, two Martians, two Venusians, and one Mercurian Mercurian, a huge lump of granite-like flesh, sprawled there, palpably myself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts.\" There was a roar of applause from the Satellite audience. When it had planetoles . the visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutonian cafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offering seemed to have lost much of its the Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back to an earlier era. Someone shouted, \"Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors!\" As one rushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered to THE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The place was all but deserted. \"My last book, Death In The Atom , hit the stands last January,\" asked abruptly. I shook my head. \"Some new kind of ...\" \"It's not a new kind of anything. The Green Flame is a radio-active rock once found on Mercury. The Alpha rays of this rock are similar to radium in that they consist of streams of material particles projected at high speed. But the character of the Gamma rays has never been completely analyzed. Like those set up by radium, they are electromagnetic pulsations, but they are also a strange combination of Beta or cathode rays with negatively charged electrons. \"When any form of life is exposed to these Gamma rays from the Green Flame rock, they produce in the creature's brain a certain lassitude and lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this condition develops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership or guidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit of intolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate, a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug.\" I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. \"Now in 2710, as you'd know if you studied your history, the three planets of Earth, Venus, and Mars were under governmental bondage. The cruel dictatorship of Vennox I was short-lived, but it lasted long government was to cast out all Green Flames, two of which Vennox had ordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people was travels into the Varsoom district he had come upon the wreckage of an old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with Green Flames!\" If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed. I said, \"So what?\" \"So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would mean if it were true? Green Flames were supposedly destroyed on all planets after the Vennox regime crashed. If a quantity of the rock were in existence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. it was completed, the manuscript was stolen from my study back on dictator to step in. \"And you can lay it all to the Green Flames. It seems incredible that a single shipload of the ore could effect such a wide ranged area, but in my opinion someone has found a means of making that quantity a thousand times more potent and is transmiting it en masse .\" appeared. On the booth wall a scant inch above Grannie's head the fresco seemed to melt away suddenly. A heat ray! Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for the door. Outside a driverless hydrocar stood with idling motors. The old We had traveled this far by ganet , the tough little two headed pack animal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would have had its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic force belt that encircled the planet's equator. Now our drivers changed to the lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. You see, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from the ship.\" Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hours again. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery of purple flame shot outward. A horrible soul-chilling scream rent the air. A moment later something huge and heavy scrabbled across the Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. I stood frozen as the diminuendo of its wild cries echoed back to me. \"In heaven's name, what was it?\" \"Then that would mean...?\" \"That it was sent by our enemy, the same enemy that shot at us in the tent and faced me with earnest eyes. \"Billy-boy, our every move is being watched. From now on it's the survival of the fittest.\" resembled a vast mosaic, striped and cross-striped with long winding the swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesive multi-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours. The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped his hand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured in varpa cloth, the Venus equivalent of buckskin, and on his Karn shook his head. \"They're a form of life that's never been seen by Earthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy.\" \"Dangerous?\" \"Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outside Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut. Venusians. And then as we were about to leave, Karn suddenly turned. \"The Doctor Universe program,\" he said. \"I ain't missed one in months. You gotta wait 'til I hear it.\" camped that night on a miserable little island where insects swarmed futility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept me from turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning, that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. After that I lost track of time. Day after day of incessant rain ... of There it lay, a huge cigar-shaped vessel of blackened half buried in the swamp soil. insulators. Grannie gazed a long moment through binoculars. \"Billy-boy, take three swing slowly to and fro. Grannie nodded. \"Some kind of a broadcasting unit. The Green Flames in the lower hold are probably exposed to a tholpane plate and their radiations stepped up by an electro-phosicalic process.\" Karn raised the butt of his pistol and brought it crashing against the glass wall. His arm jumped in recoil, but the glass remained intact. \"You'll never do it that way,\" Grannie said. \"Nothing short of an atomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are no guards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if the Green Flames are more accessible.\" the feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in the vessel's hull were tiers of rectangular ingots of green iridescent ore.\n\n<question>:\nWhat was supposedly destroyed after the crash of the Vennox regime?\n\n<options>:\nA The Varsoom district\nB Green Flames\nC Ezra Karn, an old prospector\nD Gamma rays\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,301	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\"Why does your mind shrink backward?\" and I have several good reasons for not \"I've changed my mind. You will be welcomed.\" \"Listen to that, will you?\" Stinson said angrily. \"Just listen! You set yourself up as a God for the webfoots. You get them eating out of your hand. Then what do you do? You throw a fit. Yes, a fit! Like an adolescent. Worse.\" This became disturbing, since there was scarcely enough wind to move life. There is a oneness, a bond that ties each living thing to every other living thing. It is a lesson my people never knew. Select any portion of this planet that suits you. Take the web-footed woman for your wife. Have children. I promise never to harm you in any way.\" \"The webfoots?\" \"You and they shall share the planet.\" The Sand God disappeared. Sybtl said wanted to cover himself with the long leaves he found, but they were The cavern was crowded. These creatures were not only humanoid, but definitely human, although more slight of build than earth people. The only difference he could see at first sight was that they had webbed feet. All were dressed from the waist down only, in a shimmering skirt that sparkled as they moved. They walked with the grace of ballet dancers, moving about the plaza, conversing in a musical language with no meaning for Stinson. The men were dark-skinned, the women somewhat lighter, with long flowing hair, wide lips and a beauty that was He was in chains! They were small chains, light weight, of a metal that Suddenly a great voice sounded in the cavern, a voice with no direction. It came from the ceiling, the floor, the walls, the steaming pool. It was in the language of the web-footed people it was in his his feet has decreed this.\" Those in the cavern looked at the woman with fear and respect. She kissed Stinson's feet. Two of the men came and gave her a brilliant new skirt. She smiled at him, and he thought he had never seen a more beautiful face. The great, bodiless voice sounded again, but those in the cavern went exist, almost as soon as those of the sixth planet peoples. I am most interested in you. You will bring your people, and live here.\" \"I haven't decided. There are these web-footed people, who were hostile until they thought I was a God. They have destructive weapons. Also, I webfoots use is a toy by comparison. Our scientists found the ultimate nature of physical law. They learned to separate the mind from the body. Then my people set a date. Our entire race was determined to free God,\" she said, \"to speak to my people again. Their fear of him does not last. When He is gone they will probably kill us.\" \"As for the webfoots,\" the wind devil, or Sand God, said, \"I will destroy them. You and your people will have the entire planet.\" \"Destroy them?\" Stinson asked, incredulously, \"all these people? They then. The web-footed people milled about restlessly. The woman's eyes pleaded. When he looked back, the Sand God was gone. Instantly a new note rose in the cavern. The murmur of unmistakable mob fury ran over the webfoots. Several of the men approached the woman with hatred in their voices. He could not understand the words now. Together they edged toward the cavern entrance, ran quickly up the was reflected from a million tiny mirrors on the rocks, the trees and grass. A silver thaw during the night had covered the whole area with a coating of ice. Stinson shivered. The woman handed him a skirt she had thoughtfully brought along from the cavern. He took it, and they ran down the slippery path leading away from the entrance. From the hiding place behind a large rock they watched, as several web-footed men emerged into the sunlight. They blinked, covered their eyes, and jabbered musically among themselves. One slipped and fell on the ice. They re-entered the cave. Stinson donned the shimmering skirt, smiling as he did so. The others should see him now. Benjamin and Straus and Jamieson. They would laugh. And Ben's wife, Lisa, she would give her little-girl laugh, and probably help him fasten the skirt. It had a string, like a tobacco pouch, which was tied around the waist. It helped keep him warm. He turned to the woman. \"I don't know what I'll do with you, but now She smiled, then pointed to the cavern. \"When the ice is gone, they \"We'd better make tracks.\" \"No,\" she said, \"we must run, and make no tracks.\" \"But....\" webfoots were no match for him. He could travel instantly to any spot he chose. But with Sybtl it was another matter he was no better than hampered by a woman, slinking through a frozen wilderness like an depended on him. Anyway, he decided, pursuit was impossible. They left no tracks on the ice. They were safe, unless the webfoots possessed talents unknown to him. So they followed the path leading down from the rocks, along the creek Stinson's bare feet were numb from walking on ice. Christ, he thought, the webfoots. He stopped, tempted to use his cylinder and move to a warmer, less dangerous spot. The woman pulled on his arm. \"We must hurry!\" the Sand God. It was blood red now. It pulsed violently. The great voice burst forth. \"Leave the woman!\" it demanded angrily. \"The webfoots are nearing your position.\" \"I cannot leave her. She is helpless against them.\" drove them backward. \"Earthman,\" the great voice said, \"go back to your Earth. Take your inconsistencies with you. Do not come here again to infect my planet with your primitive ideas. The webfoots are not as intelligent as you, but they are sane. If you bring your people here, I shall destroy you all.\" the thunder of its passing shook the ground and echoed among the lonely burn, that and the skirts. Then, when he had burned the ship, the Sand \"Don't worry. The Sand God travels without a ship, why shouldn't I?\" no time, now, to warm cold feet or dwell on the vagaries of Sand Gods. mound of rock. Here they came to the creek again, which flowed into a small canyon. They climbed the canyon wall. Far away, small figures moved. The webfoots were on their trail. She drew him into a small cave. It was heated, like the great cavern, but held no walled pool nor mysterious lighting. But it was warm, and \"They will not find us....\" makes it rain in a dry summer, or sometimes warms the whole world for days at a time in winter, so the snow melts and the grass begins least he does this when he plays. Who knows what he will do when he's \"Poor little God-with-fingers-on-his-feet,\" she said. \"You do not not blue. He is running around the world on feet like the rockets of creek. They dared not move from the cave, although death seemed certain The skirt flew up around his face. He could not get up again. He returned to the cave. Soon after, while they sat huddled together, watching the chaos of Thunder rumbled distantly. Clouds disappeared. Stinson and Sybtl emerged from the cave. There was no longer a question of attack from the webfoots, the storm had taken care of that. The fierce sun began its work of drying rocks of creeping, crawling nether things. a time for good-bys. He thought, perhaps I can stay here alone with her. The webfoots might find us, or the Sand God might destroy us in one of his fits, but it might be worth it. \"Don't go,\" she said. \"Not yet.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy do the webfoots only wear skirts?\n\n<options>:\nA Skirts are traditionally worn by prisoners. The webfoots on this planet are all criminals or descendants of criminals.\nB The people from the sixth planet only sent skirts, when it was communicated that the Sand God had burned everything else.\nC The Sand God burned everything, except for the skirts.\nD Skirts are the traditional dress for the webfoots culture.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,898	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>:\npsychotic. He was nutty enough to think he could make an atom bomb out of modeling clay! crafts shop. Two muscular and bored attendants in spotless whites, prospects for the pennant. institution. The crafts building was a good mile away from the main She stopped behind a frowning, intense patient, rapidly shaping blobs of The flying fingers continued to whip out the bits of shaped clay as the but firmly. \"You've been coming along famously and you must remember to answer when someone talks to you. Now what are you making? It looks very Without looking up from his bench he muttered a reply. \"Atom bomb.\" A puzzled look crossed the therapist's face. \"Pardon me, Mr. Funston. I thought you said an 'atom bomb.'\" \"Did,\" Funston murmured. At the clay table, Funston feverishly fabricated the last odd-shaped bit When she had completed her rounds, she slipped out of the smock, tucked 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 sheltered the deserted crafts building. The brilliance of a hundred suns glared in the night and threw stark 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. It was over in an instant, and a stunned moment later, recessed ceiling 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. None had. The hills had absorbed most of the shock and apart from a welter of broken glass, the damage had been surprisingly slight. 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. At 5:30 a.m., a plane landed at a nearby airfield and a platoon of At 5:45 a.m. a cordon was thrown around both the hospital and the blast In Ward 4-C, Thaddeus Funston slept peacefully and happily. \"It's impossible and unbelievable,\" Colonel Thomas Thurgood said for the \"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 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. \"Let's go over it once more, Dr. Crane. Are you sure you knew everything that was in that building?\" Thurgood swept his hand in the general direction of the blast crater. and clay. If you can make an atomic bomb from vermillion pigments, then \"All I know is that you say this was a crafts building. O.K. So it was,\" 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 Outside the tent, a small army of military men and AEC technicians moved every tiny scrap that might have been a part of the building at one time. expression. \"He did make an atom bomb,\" she cried. Colonel Thurgood, who had snapped from his chair at her words, leaped At 4:00 p.m., the argument was still raging in the long, narrow staff Colonel Thurgood, looking more like a patient every minute, sat on the edge of his chair at the head of a long table and pounded with his fist on the wooden surface, making Miss Abercrombie's chart book bounce with every beat. \"It's ridiculous,\" Thurgood roared. \"We'll all be the laughingstocks of the world if this ever gets out. An atomic bomb made out of clay. You are all nuts. You're in the right place, but count me out.\" At his left, Miss Abercrombie cringed deeper into her chair at the broadside. Down both sides of the long table, psychiatrists, physicists, strategists and radiologists sat in various stages of nerve-shattered weariness. continued, \"there was nothing inside the ball but other pieces of clay.\" 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 ever got wind of the fact, that for one, tiny fraction of a second, anyone of us here entertained the notion that a paranoidal idiot with 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 later, the car pulled into the flying field at the nearby community and secrecy under the National Atomic Secrets Act, bundled Thaddeus aboard Miss Abercrombie. \"Now you're positive this is just about the same amount and the same kind of clay he used before?\" Thurgood signaled to the doctors and they entered the shack with \"Now isn't this nice, Mr. Funston,\" she said. \"These nice men have brought us way out here just to see you make another atom bomb like the one you made for me yesterday.\" shack and then spotted the clay on the table. Without hesitation, he clay, making first the hollow, half-round shell while the nation's top His busy fingers flew through the clay, shaping odd, flat bits and clay parts that were dropped almost aimlessly into the open hemisphere in front of him. There was a moment of hushed silence and then pandemonium burst. The experts converged on the clay ball, instruments blossoming from nowhere For two hours they studied and gently probed the mass of child's clay \"I told you this whole thing was asinine,\" Thurgood snarled as the 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 closeted with a gray-faced and bone-weary Colonel Thurgood and his glance at the rumpled figure of Colonel Thurgood. \"I've listened to some silly stories in my life, colonel,\" the general said coldly, \"but this takes the cake. You come in here with an insane there and tell me that this poor soul has made not one, but two atomic devices out of modeling clay and then has detonated them.\" In the distance, a white cloud began billowing up from the base of the Washington Monument, and with an ear-shattering, glass-splintering roar, on a tail of flame. THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Thurgood's primary fear regarding the explosion at the arts and crafts building?\n\n<options>:\nA Job demotion\nB Additional detonations\nC Radiation poisoning\nD Reputational damage\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,801	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nOne can't be too cautious about the people one meets in Tangier. They're all weirdies of one kind or another. Me? Oh, Here Myself By MACK REYNOLDS The Place de France is the town's hub. It marks the end of Boulevard Pasteur, the main Rue de la Liberté, which leads down to the Grand Socco and the medina. In a three-minute walk from the Place de France you can go from an ultra-modern, California-like resort to the Baghdad of Harun al-Rashid. It's quite a town, Tangier. King-size sidewalk cafes occupy three of the strategic corners on the Place de France. The Cafe de Paris serves the best draft beer in town, gets all the better custom, and has three shoeshine boys attached to the establishment. You can sit of a sunny morning and read the Paris edition of the New York while getting which comes to about five cents at current exchange. You can sit there, after the paper's read, sip your expresso and watch the people go by. Tangier is possibly the most cosmopolitan city in the world. In native costume you'll see and Chinese, Hindus and Turks, Levantines and Filipinos, North both sides of the Curtain. In Tangier you'll find some of the world's poorest and some of the richest. The poorest will try to sell you anything from a shoeshine to their not very lily-white bodies, and the richest will avoid your eyes, afraid you might try to sell them something. In spite of recent changes, the smugglers and black-marketeers, fugitives from justice and international con men, espionage and said, \"Hello, Paul. Anything new cooking?\" He sank into the chair opposite me and looked around for the waiter. The tables were all crowded and since mine was a face he recognized, he assumed he was welcome to intrude. It was more or less standard procedure at the Cafe de Paris. It wasn't a place to go if you wanted to be alone. Paul said, \"How are you, Rupert? Haven't seen you for donkey's years.\" The waiter came along and Paul ordered a glass of beer. Paul was an easy-going, sallow-faced little man. I vaguely remembered \"What's in the newspaper?\" he said, disinterestedly. \"Pogo and Albert are going to fight a duel,\" I told him, \"and Lil Abner is becoming a rock'n'roll singer.\" He grunted. \"Oh,\" I said, \"the intellectual type.\" I scanned the front page. \"The Russkies have put up another manned satellite.\" \"They have, eh? How big?\" \"Several times bigger than girl was in the latest from Paris. Every pore in place. We both looked after her. \"You know, what everybody was seeing a few years ago. It's too bad one of these bloody manned satellites wasn't up then. Maybe they would've seen one.\" \"That's an idea,\" I said. well, but, for that matter, it's comparatively seldom you ever get to know anybody very well in Tangier. Largely, cards are played close to the chest. My beer came and a plate of tapas for us both. Tapas at the Cafe de Paris are apt to be potato salad, a few anchovies, Free lunch, they used to call it Just to say something, I said, \"Where do you think they came from?\" And when he looked blank, I added, \"The Flying Saucers.\" He grinned. \"From Mars or Venus, or someplace.\" \"Ummmm,\" I said. \"Too bad landed on the Yale football field and said Take me to your cheerleader , or something.\" crackpot blokes' explanations of them. If they were aliens from space, then why not show themselves?\" I ate one of the potato chips. It'd been cooked in rancid olive oil. probably sit around here and think of two or three that made sense.\" \"Like what?\" see. You're not eligible for membership until you, well, say until you've developed space flight. Then you're invited into the club. Meanwhile, they send secret missions down from time to time to keep an eye on your progress.\" Paul grinned at me. \"I see you read the same poxy stuff I do.\" after her. advanced civilization on, say, bloody dry to support life.\" \"Don't interrupt, please,\" I said with mock severity. \"This a few million years, if Earth lost its water and air?\" \"I suppose so,\" he said. \"Anyway, what about them?\" \"Well, they observe how man population boom. A boom, period. Any day now he's going to have practical space ships. Meanwhile, he's also got the H-Bomb and the way he beats the drums on both sides of the Curtain, he's get away with it.\" Paul said, \"I got it. So they're scared and are keeping an eye on us. That's an old one. I've read \"I got a better one. How's and revolutions, and greed for power or any of these things pretty jolly well taken by Earth, now, with all the problems, get don't know where we're going or how we're going to get there.\" I finished my beer and clapped my hands for Mouley. \"How do you mean, where we're going ?\" in the world today. They're trying to industrialize, modernize, catch up with the advanced countries. Look at Egypt, and Israel, and India and China, and Yugoslavia and Brazil, and all the rest. Trying to drag themselves up to the level of the advanced at the so-called advanced countries. Up to their bottoms in climbing crime and suicide rates, the loony-bins full of the balmy, unemployed, threat of war, spending all their money on armaments schools. All the bloody mess of it. Why, a man from Mars would be fascinated, like.\" Mouley came shuffling up in his babouche slippers and we both ordered another schooner of beer. in this sort of talk. I've sorted you always come up against this brick wall. Where are they, these observers, or scholars, or spies or whatever they are? Sooner or later we'd nab one of them. You know, Scotland Yard, or the F.B.I., or Russia's secret Interpol. This world is so deep in police, counter-espionage outfits and security agents that an alien would slip up in time, no matter how much he'd been trained. Sooner or later, he'd slip up, and they'd nab him.\" I shook my head. \"Not necessarily. The first time I ever considered this possibility, it seemed to me that such an alien would base himself in London or New York. Somewhere where he could use the libraries for research, get the daily newspapers and center of things. But now I don't think so. I think he'd be right here in Tangier.\" \"Why Tangier?\" \"It's the one town in the world where anything goes. Nobody gives a damn about you or your affairs. For instance, I've known you a year or more now, and I you make your living.\" could care less. Where are you from, Rupert?\" you mean?\" \"I felt your mind probe back a few minutes ago when I was talking about Scotland Yard or the F.B.I. possibly flushing an in, neither of us is humanoid. Where are you really from, Rupert?\" about you?\" \"Deneb,\" he told me, shaking. We had a laugh and ordered another beer. \"What're you doing here on Earth?\" I asked him. \"Researching for one of our meat trusts. We're protein quite a delicacy. How about you?\" \"Scouting the place for thrill tourists. My job is to go around to these backward cultures and help stir up inter-tribal, or international, conflicts—all according to how advanced they are. Then our tourists come in—well shielded, of course—and get their kicks watching it.\" Paul frowned. \"That sort of\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Rupert doing in Tangier?\n\n<options>:\nA He is on a business trip to find a source of protein.\nB He is vacationing.\nC He is on a mission to encourage international conflict.\nD He is in Tangier to watch the satellite launch.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,005	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>:\nFallout is, of course, always disastrous— one way or another JUNIOR ACHIEVEMENT day, two of which I knew about immediately. suds. He'd been busy in his home laboratory after all, it seemed. \"What is it?\" I asked. \"You never told us.\" Hilary grinned. \"Lauryl benzyl phosphonic acid, dipotassium salt, in 20% solution.\" \"Goodness.\" I protested, \"it's been twenty-five years since my last course me. \"Is it good?\" trickled in a few drops from the bottle and swished the contents. Foam mounted to the rim and spilled over. \"And that's our best grade of Ridgeville water,\" he pointed out. \"Hardest in the country.\" brand of science to these children of a new age. themselves. \"Well, now,\" I demanded, in my best classroom voice. \"What is all Oh, it's fabulous. Best story I've had for ages. It'll make the city papers.\" almost nonexistent. \"Oh, all right,\" I said, \"laugh at quiet. \"You didn't know that one of your junior whatsisnames poured detergent of the barn to a spot of comparative \"It was priceless. Just before rush hour. Suds built up in the basin and overflowed, and down the library steps and covered the whole street. And the funniest part was they kept right on coming. You couldn't imagine so much suds coming from that little pool of water. There was a three-block traffic jam and Harry got Marjorie did mental arithmetic. We've had to watch such things rather closely for the last ten—no, had our home almost paid for, when the accident occurred. It was in the path of the heaviest fallout, and we couldn't have kept on living there even if the town had stayed. When fifty-odd miles to the south, we so, of course, did we, which meant starting mortgage payments all over again. course it was the same boy that did an anonymous tip to the police—of down. They had to. The police left after sobering up long enough to give me a serious warning against letting such a thing happen again. \"Did you hear what she said? It'll make the city papers. I wish we had a thousand kites. Ten thousand. Oh charming little beasts, with tails as bushy as miniature squirrels. \"How many generations?\" I asked Doris. \"Seventeen. No, eighteen, now. Want to see the genetic charts?\" I won't try to explain it as she did rather angular—all shoulders and elbows. Peter Cope, Jr. and Hilary Matlack to me, but it was quite evident that knows what you'll do when fall comes. They won't live in an unheated barn and you can't bring them into the house.\" and of modulated voice. And by then,\" Doris predicted. \"Every pet shop in the country will have them and they'll be down to nothing apiece.\" Doris was right, of course, in spite a different mold. Mary McCready with a face full of freckles and an infectious laugh, and Tommy Miller, was a big husky redhead of twelve, they were all tanned by sun and wind a few months younger, was just an shipping. It was rather regrettable that, after the average, extroverted, well adjusted \"There's something wrong with making money?\" disentangled himself from his car use without misgivings—solvent to free up rusty bolts, cleaner to remove them by electroplating.\" \"And all we'd need is a hydraulic press,\" I told him, \"which, on a guess, of some kind.\" \"How about a new detergent?\" Hilary offered to license the design. Result, one licensee with a thousand dollar I asked. It was a rainy morning about three advance against next season's royalties. He was scornful. \"No, they're formulations—you know, mixtures. feet from the picnic table and said, That's cookbook chemistry. I mean a team except Tommy. Jeff lowered his good even in the hard water we've got around here.\" \"Well, now,\" I said, \"organic synthesis brand new synthetic detergent. I've sounds like another operation safe synthesis of some sort. You're Dr. Matlack's son, aren't you? Been just looks as though we had a clear spot. If we do get protection, you've got a real salable property.\" despondency. \"I'm not very technical. Just sort of miscellaneous. But if the every month.\" \"No,\" said Doris, \"these aren't laboratory handkerchief and wiped, looked at the cloth, wiped again, and stared. \"What is it?\" \"A whisker stiffener. It makes each hair brittle enough to break off right at the surface of your skin.\" \"So I perceive. What is it?\" \"Oh, just a mixture of stuff. Cookbook chemistry. Cysteine thiolactone He made a face. \"Never build up any volume. Unless it did something extra. You say we'd put color in it. can work there better than here, and if we're going to break the hearts of How about enough color to leave your face looking tanned. Men won't \"Oh, he stopped at the bank to get a loan.\" \"What on earth for? We have over six thousand in the account.\" only it's a permanent magnet. Then you see—.\" And he was off. \"What did they do today, dear?\" winter quarters. Oh, yes, and Jeff is starting action to get the company incorporated.\" \"Winter quarters,\" Marge repeated. \"You mean you're going to try to a week during the school year.\" \"Even so, it's child labor, isn't it?\" \"Child labor nothing. They're the employers. Jeff McCord and I will naturally. On the other hand, they make. It was Mary, finally, who advanced all, what's to lose?\" Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. article to manufacture, and risking an almost certain disappointment, but to hold my guidance to the minimum, I happenings with Marjorie and tried drive it in with a hammer up to the threaded part, then send it home with Hilary, reluctantly forsaking his ideas on detergents, suggested we make black plastic discs, like poker chips but thinner and as cheap as possible, to scatter on a snowy sidewalk where they would pick up extra heat from the sun and melt the snow more rapidly. Afterward one would sweep up and collect the discs. and spread on the surface of a reservoir to reduce evaporation. These latter ideas had made unknowing use of some basic physics, fifty. The question is, could we and I'm afraid I relapsed for a few told them a little bit about the laws of radiation and absorption of heat. \"My,\" said Marjorie, \"they're really smart boys and girls. Tommy Miller do it?\" \"A kite ought to get caught in a tree sometimes.\" Sure enough, in the moderate breeze of that morning, the kite swooped and yawed to Mary's entire of the hole would create instability?\" She looked doubtful. \"Why it would have to, wouldn't it? It changed the pattern of air pressures.\" She glanced at me quickly. \"Of course, I tried a lot of different she chortled, \"somebody phoned in complacency in his voice. \"It didn't take long, but they sure made it out yes, and cosign the note.\" My heart sank. I'd never had any dealings with banks except in the matter of mortgages, and bank people make me most uneasy. To say nothing of finding myself responsible for a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar that evening, and Marjorie recognized and presently had a regular production line under way stapling the wood splints, then wetting them with to be sure to hold out a dozen. Three other things occurred that\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the most likely cause of the accident that displaced Marjorie and Donald from their home?\n\n<options>:\nA Food supply depletion\nB Radioactive toxicity\nC Viral contamination\nD Climate devastation\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,000	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 would happen?\" \"I know one thing—I wouldn't be there holding your ankle while you found out.\" Radio messages stated simply that Superior had seceded from Earth. But Don Cort, stranded on that rising town, was beginning to suspect that nothing was simple about Superior except its citizens. Calmly they But after a couple of weeks of floating around, it began to be obvious that the professor had no idea how to get them down. So then it was up I don't get out of this handcuff soon so I can take a bath and get into The town of Superior, Ohio, disappeared on the night of October 31. clean clothes, you're not going to like me.\" over a second cup of coffee in a diner, when he screeched to a stop. If he'd gone another twenty-five feet he'd have gone into the pit where Superior had been. at the end of Don's handcuff began to talk to him. They were in the midst of an extremely pleasant kiss when the brief case she said, \"before you deteriorate.\" The state police converged on the former site of Superior from several The Pennsylvania Railroad complained that one of its passenger trains was missing. The train's schedule called for it to pass through but not stop at Superior at 11:58. That seemed to fix the time of the Somebody else said nonsense, they'd better check for radiation. A civil defense official brought up a Geiger counter, but no matter how he shook it and rapped on it, it refused to click. A National Guard officer volunteered to take a jeep down into the pit, having found a spot that seemed navigable. He was gone a long time but Nor had there been any defense plants in Superior that might have blown course to avoid it. He noted with only minimum satisfaction that his co-pilot also saw the thing and wondered why it wasn't moving at the terrific speed flying saucers were allegedly capable of. A few minutes later he had relayed a message from Superior, formerly of It said that Superior had seceded from Earth. Don Cort had been dozing in what passed for the club car on the Buckeye Don had taken a passing interest earlier in the evening asked, \"Why did stop at Superior on this run.\" The girl's hair was a subtle red, but false. When Don had entered the his teeth and nibbling at it thoughtfully. But it was likely that all she noticed then was the brief case he carried, attached by a chain to a handcuff on his left wrist. \"Will we be here long?\" Don asked the conductor. He didn't want to miss his plane at Columbus. The sooner he got to Washington, the sooner he'd get rid of the brief case. The handcuff it was attached to was one reason why his interest in the redhead had been only passing. \"Can't say,\" the conductor told him. He let the door close again and Don hesitated, shrugged at the redhead, said, \"Excuse me,\" and followed sat in the dark, hissing steam. Don made his way up to the locomotive Standing on tiptoe and repressing a touch of giddiness, Don looked over Don Cort, sitting in the back seat of the car with the redhead from the \"Does Superior have an airport?\" Don asked. \"I've got to get back to—to \"Not everybody. Me, for instance.\" \"No?\" she said. \"Judging by that satchel you're handcuffed to, I'd have thought you were a courier for the Pentagon. Or maybe State.\" He laughed quickly and loudly because she was getting uncomfortably this cuff.\" He took her bag in his free hand and they were met by a gray-haired around a corner, gesticulating wildly to someone wearing a white laboratory smock. II Don Cort had slept, but not well. He had tried to fold the brief case to pull it through his sleeve so he could take his coat off, but whatever was inside the brief case was too big. Cavalier had given him a room to himself at one end of a dormitory and he'd taken his pants off but had had to sleep with his coat and shirt on. He got up, feeling gritty, and did what little dressing was necessary. It was eight o'clock, according to the watch on the unhandcuffed wrist, and things were going on. He had a view of the campus from his window. A Superior were up in the air. He went through the dormitory. A few students were still sleeping. The others had gone from their unmade beds. He shivered as he stepped outdoors. It was crisp, if not freezing, and his breath came out visibly. First he'd eat, he decided, so he'd be strong enough to go take a good look over the edge, in broad daylight, to the Earth below. \"Thanks,\" he said, unloading his tray. \"How did you know?\" \"The mystery man with the handcuff. You'd be hard to miss. I'm Alis—that's A-l-i-s, not A-l-i-c-e—Garet. Are you with the FBI? Or did you escape from jail?\" \"I'm sure it's not that bad. Thanks. As for tomorrow, I hope to be out of here by then.\" \"How do you get down from an elephant? Old riddle. You don't you get down from ducks. How do you plan to get down from Superior?\" Superior Sentry \"Ed Clark's something of an eccentric, like everybody else in Superior,\" Don read the story, which seemed to him a capricious treatment of an advised not to. It's a long way down. Where Superior was surrounded by today that Superior has seceded from Earth. His reasons were as vague as The \"reasons\" include these: (1) Superior has been discriminated against (b) lacks space to publish and which (it being atrociously handwritten) he (c) has not the temerity to ask his linotype operator to levitated Superior off the face of the me all kinds of embarrassing questions to ask Father. I asked them, being a natural-born needler, and Father has disowned me intellectually ever since.\" They walked south from the campus and came to the railroad track. The train was standing there with nowhere to go. It had been abandoned except for the conductor, who had dutifully spent the night aboard. \"What's happening?\" he asked when he saw them. \"Any word from down Superior's water supply?\" \"Where is the water going?\" Don asked. \"I can't make it out.\" \"I should think it'd be all dried up by now. I'm going to have a look.\" \"Don't! You'll fall off!\" \"I'll be careful.\" He walked cautiously toward the edge. Alis followed \"I still can't see where the water goes,\" Don said. He stretched out on his stomach and began to inch forward. \"You stay there.\" Finally he had inched to a point where, by stretching out a hand, he could almost reach the edge. He gave another wriggle and the fingers of his right hand closed over the brink. For a moment he lay there, panting, head pressed to the ground. ankle and held it tight. \"Just in case a high wind comes along,\" she said. \"Thanks. It helps. Okay, here we go.\" He lifted his head. \"Damn.\" \"It still isn't clear. Do you have a pocket mirror?\" \"I have a compact.\" She took it out of her bag with her free hand and tossed it to him. It rolled and Don had to grab to keep it from going over the edge. Alis gave a little shriek. Don was momentarily unnerved and had to put his head back on the ground. \"Sorry,\" she said. Don opened the compact and carefully transferred it to his right hand. He held it out beyond the edge and peered into it, focusing it on the \"What's the other source, besides the faucet in your bathroom?\" Don\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Don unable to shower while on Superior?\n\n<options>:\nA He feared that someone would steal the briefcase if he left it unattended.\nB The water supply was lacking from the stream flowing out of Superior.\nC There was an electrical current flowing throughout the water in Superior.\nD He was unable to remove the briefcase in order to remove his clothing,\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,520	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nExtensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] They would never live to see the trip's end. So they made a few changes in their way of life—and many in their way of death! I cull tensio .\" \"I don't care a smidgen,\" he said, \"if en they ayre.\" \"Please,\" she said. \"Justice is a priestly virtue,\" Harry said. \"I hope he does I jest hope he does. He's th' one that's a-keepin' us all from our Reward, an' I jest hope he does heyar me, so he'll know I'm a-gittin' mighty tyird uv waitin'.\" of diligent mental application to abstruse points of doctrine. Cotian exentiati pablum re overum est : \"Grass grows not in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.\" The baldness was the result of the diligent freshly cleaned for the occasion, and it rustled around him in silky sibilants. \"Men,\" he said. And then, more loudly, \"Men!\" The hiss and sputter of conversation guttered away. \"Men,\" he said. No sacrifice is too great.\" \"True true.\" \"That's quite so, y'know. I pride myself upon it, if I do say so.\" \"Exactly. head and to the rear of the audience. \"It puts me in mind of the parable of the six Vergios.\" Joanne Marie's husband sighed deeply. \"Three, you will recall, were wise. When Prophet was at Meizque, they came to him and said, 'Prophet, we are afflicted. We have great sores upon our bodies.' The Prophet looked at them and did see that it was true. Then he blessed them and took out His knife and lay open their sores. For which the three wise Vergios were passing grateful. And within the last week, they were dead of infection. But three were foolish and hid their sores and these three did live.\" The captain rubbed his nose. \" Calex i pundendem hoy , my children. 'Secrecy makes for a long life,' as it says in the Jarcon it away from here with you and think about it, tonight, in the privacy of your cabins. \"And like the three wise Vergios who went to the Prophet, one of the crewmen came to me. He came to me, and he said: 'Father, I am weary of sailing.' \"Yes, he said, 'I am weary of sailing.' \"Now, don't you think I don't know that. Every one of you—every blessed one of you—is weary of sailing. I know that as well as I know my own name, yes. \"But because he came to me and said, 'Father, I am weary of sailing,' He had intended, after the ceremony, to go about his duty as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened \"And then the captain said: 'All right, Father,' he said, 'I will set the day for the Festival of the Casting Off!'\" I went to the captain, and I said, 'Captain, the men are weary of Only after a long, long time did he roll over on his back and then it was merely to stare fixedly at the ceiling. It is entirely possible that he would have lain there until Doomsday had not his introspection been, around noon, interrupted by an over to behold it. I never will forget the Festival at which my father was accepted. He.... forced to flee from the city of Xan because the eldest son of the 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. over with and the public speaking done. II directly to his place at the head of the table, sat down and morosely began to work the cork out of his wine bottle with his teeth. \"You'll spoil the flavor, shaking it that way,\" the third mate \"Well, what do you think your decision will be, Father?\" the steward asked. core point, the principle of casta cum mae stotiti .\" The first mate nodded sagely. he died as miserable a death as anyone could desire.\" \"Yes,\" said the second mate's wife. \"I remember that. I read about it in the newspapers.\" ,\" continued Nestir, \"and therefore constituted a clear out attempt to avoid his duty by hastening to his Reward.\" \"That,\" he said to Nestir, \"my dear Father, is the cardinal point of how we go, but also a question of leaving only after having done our duty. And that's equally important.\" in duty. It's all noble and self sacrificing.\" He scratched the back of his right hand. The second mate had been trying to get a word in edgewise for several minutes he finally succeeded by utilizing the temporary silence following the captain's outburst. \"You don't need to worry about your leave that to me. I assure you, I have in mind a most ingenious method.\" it,\" he said, \"at the proper time, sir. And I certainly hope—\" His eyes swept the table. \"I \"He probably wouldn't have lived, anyway,\" the third mate said. \"Puny baby.\" \"As I see it,\" Nestir said, \"if the intent was the natural maternal \"Well, in that case, I see no reason why he shouldn't get his Reward.\" The captain rolled the wine over his tongue. \"You were right, of course.\" The third mate turned triumphantly to the first mate. \"There, I told you so.\" you have the greatest sensibility in questions of duty.\" duty log that's better un even th' captain's. An' hit's Martha an' me that gotta wait an' help th' next crew. Lord above knows how long time hit'll be afore we uns'll got ta have a Festival.\" \"Oh, really, now. Now. Duty, duty,\" the captain reprimanded him mildly. \"Duty! Duty! Duty! You all ur in a conspiracy. You all want me ta die uv old age.\" \"Nonsense,\" said the steward. \"We don't want anything of the sort. After all, someone has to orient the new crew.\" \"There wouldn't be one short if he 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. 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.\" III \"But she does have three children.\" \"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.\" consciousness. \"Can't sleep here, my man,\" Harry explained. \"Awww. Go way an' le' me 'lone, huh?\" briskly. \"This is the officers' corridor.\" \"Oh? Ish it? Schorry. Shore schorry, shir. So schorry.\" Harry assisted him to the crew's corridor where he sank to the floor and relapsed once more into a profound slumber. Harry continued on to the control room. out about it, though. He'll figure the man was neglecting his duty.\" He blew a smoke ring. \"Might even bar him from the Festival.\" \"Yeah,\" said Harry, \"the captain's funny that way.\" but after it was done with, the vast indignity of it came home to him even more poignantly than he had \"If you'll excuse me, Father, I really should return to duty,\" said the crewman. \"Quite all right, my son. Close the door after you.\" \"I must say, fellow, your sense of duty is commendable.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the moral of the parable of the six Vergios?\n\n<options>:\nA Secrecy makes for a long life.\nB Duty first, then Reward.\nC Fools live; the wise die.\nD Fools die; the wise live.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,583	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>:\nEarly in American Beauty , Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey), a weary reporter for a media magazine, masturbates in the shower while informing us in voice-over that we're witnessing the highlight of his day. He peers through tired eyes out the window at his manicured suburban tract-house lawn, where his wife, Carolyn (Annette Bening)--whose gardening clogs, he points out, are color-coordinated with the handles of her shears--snips roses (American beauties) and twitters about Miracle-Gro to a gay yuppie (Scott Bakula) on the other side of a white picket fence. \"I have lost something,\" says Lester. \"I'm not exactly sure what it is but I know I didn't always feel this ... sedated.\" Apparently, Lester doesn't realize that snipped roses are garden-variety symbols of castration, or he'd know what he has lost. But the makers of American Beauty are about to give Lester his roses back. At a high-school basketball game, Lester is transfixed by a blonde cheerleader named Angela (Mena Suvari), who is twirling alongside his daughter, Jane (Thora Burch). Ambient noise falls away, the crowd disappears, and there she is, Lester's angel, writhing in slow motion--just for him. She opens her jacket (she's naked underneath) and red rose petals drift out. Later, Lester envisions her on a bed of red petals, then immersed in a bath of red petals. Back in the roses for the first time in years, he's soon pumping iron, smoking pot, and telling off his frigid wife and faceless bosses, convinced that whatever he has lost he's getting back, baby. The movie is convinced, too--which is odd, since the fantasy of an underage cheerleader making a middle-aged man's wilted roses bloom is a tad ... primitive. But American Beauty doesn't feel primitive. It feels lustrously hip and aware, and a lot of critics are making big claims for it. The script, by Alan Ball, a playwright and former sitcom writer, carries an invigorating blast of counterculture righteousness, along with the kind of pithily vicious marital bickering that makes some viewers (especially male) say, \"Yeah! Tell that bitch off!\" More important, it has a vein of metaphysical yearning, which the director, Sam Mendes, mines brilliantly. A hotshot English theater director (his Cabaret revival is still on the boards in New York), Mendes gives the film a patina of New Age lyricism and layer upon layer of visual irony. The movie's surface is velvety and immaculate--until the action is abruptly viewed through the video camera of the teen-age voyeur next door (Wes Bentley), and the graininess of the video image (along with the plangent music) suggests how unstable the molecules that constitute our \"reality\" really are. Mendes can distend the real into the surreal with imperceptible puffs. Aided by his cinematographer, Conrad Hall, and editors, Tariq Anwar and Chris Greenbury, he creates an entrancing vision of the American nuclear family on the verge of a meltdown. in American Beauty , it's Ricky Fitts, the damaged stoner videomaker next door, who sees beauty where nonartists see only horror or nothingness. In the film's most self-consciously poetic set piece, Ricky shows Lester's dour daughter Jane--in whom he recognizes a kindred spirit--a video of a plastic bag fluttering up, down, and around on invisible currents of wind. Ricky speaks of glimpsing in the bag's trajectory an \"entire life behind things\"--a \"benevolent force\" that holds the universe together. The teen-ager, who likes to train his lenses on dead bodies of animals and people, sells wildly expensive marijuana to Lester and somehow passes on this notion of \"beauty.\" By the end, Lester is mouthing the same sentiments and has acquired the same deadpan radiance. That must be some really good shit they're smoking. It's not the druggy philosophizing, however, that makes American Beauty an emotional workout. It's that the caricatures are grounded in sympathy instead of derision. Everyone on screen is in serious pain. The manipulative sexpot Angela, who taunts her friend Jane with the idea of seducing her dad, acts chiefly out of a terror of appearing ordinary. As the military martinet, Cooper goes against the grain, turning Col. Fitts into a sour bulldog whose capaciously baggy eyes are moist with sadness over his inability to reach out. (When he stands helplessly in the rain at the end, the deluge completes him.) The character of Carolyn is so shrill as to constitute a libel on the female sex, but there isn't a second when Bening sends the woman up. She doesn't transcend the part, she fills it to the brim, anatomizes it. You can't hate Carolyn because the woman is trying so hard--to appear confident, composed, in control. When she fails to sell that house, she closes the shades and lets go with a naked wail--it's the sound of a vacuum crying to be filled--then furiously slaps herself while sputtering, \"Shut up--you're weak--shut up. \" Then she breathes, regains her go-get-'em poise, replaces her mask. Carolyn isn't a complicated dramatic construction, but Bening gives her a primal force. An actress who packs more psychological detail into a single gesture than others get into whole scenes, Bening was barreling down the road to greatness before she hit a speed bump called Warren. It's a joy to observe her--both here and in Neil Jordan's In Dreams (1999)--back at full throttle. American Beauty is Spacey's movie, though. He gives it--how weird to write this about Spacey, who made his name playing flamboyantly self-involved psychopaths--a heart. Early on, he lets his face and posture go slack and his eyes blurry. He mugs like crazy, telegraphing Lester's \"loserness.\" But Spacey's genius is for mugging in character. He makes us believe that it's Lester who's caricaturing himself , and that bitter edge paves the way for the character's later, more comfortably Spacey-like scenes of insult and mockery. He even makes us take Lester's final, improbably rhapsodic moments straight.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the plot of American Beauty?\n\n<options>:\nA A middle-aged man tries to seduce a high school cheerleader.\nB A middle-aged couple's marriage breaks down.\nC A middle-aged man goes through a mid-life crisis.\nD An American nuclear family is on the verge of a meltdown.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,327	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nhovered three thousand feet above Tammany Square. The cool cybrain surgically implanted in him was working on the problem. But Lane had no more patience. They'd couple times more, but it burns out the force-globe. Then I'm dead.\" amplified voice: \"—approximately 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 computer in the sub-basement fifty killed. But Chi for them? Damn right I will be able to outthink Lane's cybrain, will predict Lane's moves in advance. Four more blaster cannon are coming did. Just a little time off, so cops over like paper dolls, back at the Armory. The black dog was on Lane's back. The police analogue computer the CinC of the Newyork Troopers? The humming paragrav-paks embedded beneath his shoulder blades held him motionless above Newyork's three administrative towers. Thirty seconds passed. Lane could hear the clank of caterpillar treads as the mobile ahead of time. Troopers in the Armory and teach them how to fight. They don't teach them about their They keep Tammany Square. The voice of the commanding rasped into Lane's ear: \"Meat-head! You broke out against my orders! of those thousands of windows. Old cybrain, a gift from the Trooper surgeons, compliments of the city, would have cops coming. Two black paragrav-boats whirred along the translucent underside of Newyork's anti-missile force-shield, the Shell. Old cybrain better be fast. Damn fast! The cybrain jolted an impulse through his spine. Lane somersaulted. Cybrain had taken charge of his motor nerves. Lane's own mind was alive. You've had it, son. I'd only lose more men trying to rescue you. When they feed \"Yes, sir. Over and out.\" Lane pressed the stud on his gauntlet again. He turned to Gerri. \"You're okay. I wish I could let you out. Old cybrain says I can't. Says if I drop the force-globe for a second, orange and blue. He shrugged away the problem. Cybrain knew what it was doing. they'll fire into the room, and different.\" vibray,\" said the announcer, \"Lane broke through the cordon computer is now hooked directly to the controls of the blaster cannon battery. It will outguess Lane's cybrain and check his moves ahead of time.\" 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—\" \"At ease with that jazz,\" said Lane, and a sheathed finger side. There's too many damn Troopers and not enough good persons like you. Old cybrain says stay here, but I don't guess I will. I'm gonna pay \"But you're safe in here!\" \"Worry about yourself, not about me.\" Lane picked up the force-bomb and handed it to dose of the vibray to slap her He stepped up on to the window ledge. Automatically, the cybrain cut in his paragrav-paks. \"So long, outa-towner. Now! shakily. Lane grinned. \"Trooper Lane, of the Newyork Special awake. shooting wild. Which way now? Looks like I got a chance. Old cybrain says fly right for the cannons. ahead. Go to hell, old cybrain. I'm doing all right by myself. I come to see the Mayor, and \"I don't,\" said Lane, unconcerned. \"Well, you should have had brains enough to honor the him. There were five men on the balcony—emergency! Years of training and cybrain Her large, dark eyes narrowed. \"Who sent you?\" \"My cybrain sent me.\" She went openmouthed. \"You're took over. Lane's hand shot out, fingers vibrating. As he go over there.\" \"Whaddaya know,\" said Lane. \"Cybrain didn't know, no more than me.\" \"Force-screen. Nothing gets past, except maybe a full-size blaster-beam. Keeps cops out. Keeps you in. You anybody important?\" \"I told you, I'm an ambassador. Newyork's new Military Protectorate, and honoring Tammany Square inaugurating Trooper Lane. Now there was From Mars. I'm on a diplomatic mission.\" \"Planet? Oh, gotta go by spaceship. What's \"Gerri Kin. Look, Lane, they'll send another ambassador next time. Nothing personal—I just don't like it holding me is no good. It'll and my buddies, we just come back from fighting in Chi, He takes orders from Newyork.\" Gerri Kin said, \"That's what the force-domes did. The do. We did the fighting for them. So we come back home to Newyork and they lock us up in the Armory. Won't pay your cybrain.\" Lane said, \"It wasn't so stupid if it worked.\" us. Won't let us go nowhere. They had cops guarding us. you from duty. But I know better. You beat that stupidity—by disregarding be hurt.\" \"Exactly. The computer could outguess a machine, like your cybrain. But you introduced a totally unpredictable factor—human emotion. weapon in man's arsenal is still, and will always be, the \"I'm tired of being a weapon, sir. I want to be a human gleaming barrel of a blaster cannon caught the dim light filtering down through Newyork's olive-drab, box-shaped caterpillar walls. \"Lane is holding the Martian Ambassador, Gerri Kin, hostage. You can see the Martian tricolor behind his force-globe. Police are bringing up blaster cannon. Lane's defense is a globe of energy similar to the one which protects Newyork from aerial attack.\" Lane grinned back at Gerri Kin. \"Whole town's down 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 a Shell like worms in a corpse. \"What's a letter?\" important I realize they are. You know how to fight, don't you? I'll bet you're perfect with those weapons.\" \"Listen. They been training me to fight since I was a little kid. Why shouldn't I be a SocioSpecs run the government. TechnoSpecs run the machinery. Troopers fight the wars. And ninety per cent \"Because they're afraid of the Troopers. You men did too good a job out in Chi. You are the deadliest weapon that has ever been made. You. Single airborne infantrymen!\" Newyork came up with the Troopers. Before the Troopers, governments concentrated safe from bombs. They learned to be self-sufficient under Troopers wiped out that feeling of security, when you infiltrated Chi and conquered it.\" \"We scared them, huh?\" them so much that they'll let me be killed. They'll actually risk trouble with Mars just to kill you.\" Lane jumped to the window, looked quickly, sprang back. Cybrain pumped orders to his nervous system. \"Blaster cannon,\" he said. \"But just one. Gotcha, cybrain. I can beat that.\" He picked up the black box that generated his protective screen. Snapping it open with around the open space\n\n<question>:\nWhat is a cybrain?\n\n<options>:\nA A cybrain is a cybernetic brain. The cybrain is in control of the Newyork Special Troops, like a hive mind.\nB A cybrain is a dispatch system that sends the Newyork Special Troops on their assignments.\nC A cybrain is a cybernetic brain. Cybrains are implanted in soldiers to make them the ultimate weapons.\nD A cybrain is an AI handler. Each of the Newyork Specail Troops has a cybrain which is their only contact to the command center.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,853	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. THE decision \"I've had enough!\" Premier Umluana the warrant. If Umluana noticed Read's gun, he didn't show it. He read the \"Then I'll speak English.\" Umluana was a small man with wrinkled brow, glasses and a mustache. His skin was a shade lighter than Read's. \"The Inspector General doesn't have the power to arrest a head of state—especially the Premier of Belderkan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my party.\" \"I don't think so,\" Umluana said. \"No, if you kill me, all Africa Umluana turned back to Rashid a second too soon. He saw the \"Help! \"They'll be after us in half a minute.\" pocket. \"Well, Read, it looks like we're in for a fight. In a few minutes Miaka Station will know we're coming. And God knows what will happen at the Game Preserve.\" \"They don't know who's coming,\" he said. \"They don't make them home of factory workers, clerks, semiskilled technicians, all who do the drudge work of civilization and know they will never do more. The adults spent their days with television, alcohol and drugs sleep so much? I don't want to be like that. I want to be The UN Inspector Corps had been founded to enforce the Nuclear One power implied in the UN Charter no Secretary General or Inspector General had ever tried to use. The power to arrest any head of state whose country violated international law. Could the civil war. Men planted bases on the moon and in four years, but the black population of Africa still struggled toward political equality. Umluana took control of Belderkan in 1979. The tiny, former Dutch colony, had been a tottering democracy for ten years. The very day he took control the new dictator and his African party began to build up the Belderkan Army. For years he had preached a new Africa, united, free of white masters, the home of a vigorous and true freedom for their people. But the radio assault and the arms buildup continued. Early in 1982, South Africa claimed the Belderkan Army exceeded the size agreed to in the Disarmament Treaty. The European countries and some African nations joined in the accusation. China called the investigation by the UN. But the evidence was clear. Umluana was defying world law. If he got away with it, some larger and more dangerous nation might follow his precedent. And the arms race would begin again. The Inspector General decided. They would enter Belderkan, arrest Umluana and try him by due process before the World Court. If the plan succeeded, mankind would be a long step farther from nuclear Belderkan fighters in hot pursuit, other nations joining the chase and the world uproar gaining volume. By transmitter, if all went well, they could have Umluana in Geneva in an hour. They were racing toward Miaka, a branch transmitter station. From Miaka they would transmit to the Belderkan Preserve, a famous tourist attraction whose station could transmit to any point on the globe. Even now a dozen inspectors were taking over the Game Preserve station and manning its controls. They had made no plans to take over Miaka. They planned to get there before it could be defended. \"There's no military base near Miaka,\" Rashid said. \"We might get there before the Belderkans.\" alike. I'll bet Umluana's lieutenants are hoping he'll become a \"Not yet. Not until we have to.\" surrounded each vehicle. The escort car made a sharp turn and charged their pursuers. The big rifle fired twice. Read saw the Belderkan cars scatter. Read copied him. Umluana breathed like a furnace, still I can't do anything They're too far away to shoot back. All we can do is run. \"Can't we go down?\" Read said. \"They'll get to Miaka before us.\" The station was a glass diamond in a small clearing. The driver slowed down, then crashed through the glass walls and hovered by out and the two of them struggled toward the booth with Umluana. The driver, pistol in hand, ran for the control panel. There were three technicians in the station and no passengers. All three panicked when the psycho gas enveloped them. They ran howling for the jungle. Umluana in the booth and hit the floor. Read took aim and opened Preserve. The station jutted from the side of a hill. A glass-walled waiting room surrounded the bank of transmitter booths. Read inspector lay behind an overturned couch. Read had seen dozens of training films taken during actual \"Did you get Umluana?\" he asked Sergeant Rashid. think half our men are wounded.\" \"Can we get out of here?\" \"They machine-gunned the controls.\" Rashid swore. \"You heard him, Read! Get out there and help those \"I'm calling South Africa Station for a copter. It's the only way out of here. Until it comes, we've got to hold them back.\" inspectors fired a long, noisy volley. When they stopped only The attackers had come straight up a road that led from the Game Preserve to the station. They had not expected any resistance. The UN men had already taken over the station, chased out the passengers and technicians and taken up defense positions they had met the Belderkans with a dozen grenades and sent them scurrying for cover. The fight so far had been vicious but disorganized. But the Belderkans had a few hundred men and knew they had wrecked the transmitter controls. The first direct attack had been repulsed. They could attack many more times and continue to spray the building with bullets. They The inspectors had taken up good defensive positions. In spite of their losses, they still had enough firepower to cover the area surrounding the station. Read surveyed his sector of fire. About two hundred yards to his left, he saw the top of a small ditch. Using the ditch for cover, the Belderkans could sneak to the top of the hill. Gas grenades are only three inches long. They hold cubic yards of gas under high pressure. Read unclipped a telescoping rod from The heavy gas would lie there for hours. \"The copter will be here in half an hour. We'll put Umluana on, surrender.\" \"We'll stop them, Sarge. Don't worry.\" Rashid ran off. Read stared across the green land and listened to the pound of his heart. What were the Belderkans planning? A mass frontal attack? To sneak in over the top of the hill? ALL GASES, ROCKETS AND FLAME THROWERS. IF YOU DO NOT SURRENDER OUR PREMIER, WE WILL DESTROY YOU. \"They know we don't have any big weapons,\" Read said. \"They know we have only gas grenades and small arms.\" masks couldn't filter. \"We've got to knock that thing out before the copter comes. enough for the UN Umluana. Read, the Frenchman and himself, he stationed at engulfed the tank. Read stood up and ran forward. He crouched but didn't zigzag. Speed counted most here. Gunfire shook the hill. The Belderkans couldn't see them but they knew what was going on and they fired systematically into the smoke. \"I can't move, Sarge.\" \"Read, you've got to. I think you're the only—\" The copter landed ten minutes later. Umluana left in a shower of bullets. A Russian private, the ranking man alive in the station, surrendered the survivors to the Belderkans. His mother hung the Global Medal above the television set. \"He must have been brave,\" she said. \"We had a fine son.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy can't they transmit Umluana as planned?\n\n<options>:\nA The controls at the Geneva receiving station have been destroyed.\nB The controls at the Miaka station have been destroyed.\nC The controls at the UN receiving station have been destroyed.\nD The controls at the Belderkan Preserve have been destroyed.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,147	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 race an inferiority complex—but then he tried to climb it! \"It's more than a legend,\" said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction was not unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenient ages before space travel— and yet each planetary race can interbreed with a minimum of ten others ! That's more than a legend—one hell of a invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he still \"It is impressive,\" admitted Taphetta. \"But I find it mildly lot more!\" he's even more savage than I am.\" \"Is he?\" She smiled enigmatically. \"Maybe, in a biological sense. Too world, there's nothing like your species, except superficially, and that's true of all other creatures, intelligent or not, with the sole exception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it's accidental, very nearly represent the biological spectrum of human advantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that, development. \"Emmer, a Neanderthal type and our archeologist, is around the beginning of the scale. I'm from Earth, near the middle, though on the physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—what much, though. You're just right.\" unbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years.\" \"You're thinking of Earth,\" said Halden. \"Humans require a certain kind toward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no, —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward and actually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionists \"But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before the Stone Age aren't related to anything else there. We have to conclude that Man didn't originate on any of the planets on which he is now found. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughout this section of the Milky Way.\" result of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races are the human race.\" about himself.\" It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerous 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 \"We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory is systems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certain change was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that he \"To the best of our knowledge,\" said Kelburn. \"And whereas there are \"Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get something that might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover a mammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically. light-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were a fast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of our exploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding it Halden flushed the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburn was the most advanced human type present, but while there were differences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn't as great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained in such as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what are profits from any discoveries we may make.\" you all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid that I'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearly been inexplicably slow in developing and he wasn't completely aware of his place in the human hierarchy. 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 humans hadn't developed as much as lower races and actually weren't \"Hydroponics is your job. There's nothing fast as they grow.\" \"Insects? There shouldn't be any, but if there are, we've got sprays. Use them.\" places to hide.\" He looked up defensively. \"This is an old ship with new equipment and they hide under the machinery. There's nothing we can do except rebuild the ship from the hull inward.\" They couldn't set up a continuous watch and shoot the animals down because there weren't that many men to spare. Besides, the use of weapons in hydroponics would cause more damage to the thing they were typical pest.\" radiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines both are possibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It's it detects and avoids, even electronic traps.\" \"Then you believe it changed mentally as well as physically, that it's smarter?\" \"I'd say that, yes. It must be a fairly intelligent creature to be humans. Is there anything else you can tell me about the hypothetical Emmer didn't look like the genius he was—a Neanderthal genius, but Impressive, but just a camp, monolithic one-story structures, and we'd give something to know what they're made of. Presumably my world it, so they built more elaborately than they did later on. One-story structures and that's how we can guess at their size. The doorways were forty feet high.\" \"Nothing,\" said Emmer. \"There were buildings there and that was all, not a scrap of writing or a tool or a single picture. They covered \"A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life,\" mused Taphetta. they needed in the entire Milky Way. Their science was tremendously advanced and when they learned that, they may have altered their germ plasm and left us, hoping that some of us would survive. Most of us don't have the total capacity that later Man does, and yet we're as advanced in civilization. The difference? It must lie somewhere in the planets we live on and it's hard to say just what it is.\" \"What happened to those who didn't develop space travel?\" asked And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically late or early, in the depths of the bronze age or the threshold of for non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actually discovery of the unknown ancestor?\" \"Of course,\" rustled the Ribboneer. \"But a lot of money and equipment was required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educational curiosity.\" \"Cultural discoveries,\" rumbled Emmer. \"How did our ancestors live? When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more than physiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Things \"No doubt,\" said Taphetta. \"An archeologist would be interested in cultural discoveries.\" \"Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advanced 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, working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves and produced us. They \"To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover as much as you think you will. The difference is this: 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 like the way your primitive mind works. At times I actually think of marrying you.\" \"Primitive,\" he said, alternately frozen and thawed, though he knew advanced. \"It's almost a curse, isn't it?\" She laughed and took the curse away by leaning provocatively against him. \"But barbaric lovers are often nice.\" the difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visual primeval Earth.\" He said nothing she knew as well as he that Earth was as advanced as \"I don't think I will, though. We might have children.\" \"Would it be wrong?\" he asked. \"I'm as intelligent as you. We wouldn't have subhuman monsters.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is NOT a technological advancement involved in this story?\n\n<options>:\nA Rapid healing abilities\nB Advanced space travel\nC Rapid mutations\nD Advanced weaponry\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
28	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nGrannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece didn't worry her—I was the guy he was shooting at. shoulder. \"Beg pardon, thir,\" he said with his racial lisp, \"thereth thome one to thee you in the main lounge.\" His eyes rolled as he added, \"A lady!\" A woman here...! The Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club where Grannie Annie! voluminous black dress with one of those doily-like caps on her head, tied by a ribbon under her chin. Her high-topped button shoes were planted firmly on the varpla carpet and her wrinkled face was set in I barged across the lounge and seized her hand. \"Grannie Annie! I \"Hi, Billy-boy,\" she greeted calmly. \"Will you please tell this friend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. It'th abtholutely againth the ruleth....\" and Grannie Annie her usual whisky sour—I waited until she had tossed this place had some antiquated laws. Pure fiddle-faddle, that's what they are. Anyway, I've been thrown out of better places.\" She hadn't changed. To her publishers and her readers she might be Annabella C. Flowers, author of a long list of science fiction novels. But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year's hat, as modern as an atomic motor. She had probably written more drivel in the name of science fiction than anyone alive. But the public loved it. They ate up her stories, and they clamored for more. Her annual income totaled into six figures, and her publishers sat back and massaged their digits, watching their earnings mount. One thing you had to admit about her books. They may have been dime novels, but they weren't synthetic. If Annabella C. Flowers wrote a novel, and the locale was the desert of Mars, she packed her carpet bag and hopped a liner for Craterville. If she cooked up a feud between two expeditions on Callisto, she went to Callisto. She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. \"What happened to rolled herself a cigarette. \"It wasn't .\" I grinned. \"All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universe and beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair.\" \"What else is there in science fiction?\" she demanded. \"You can't have your hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster.\" Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to her packed with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanity that made Swamp City the frontier post it is. yet.\" The piano struck a chord in G, and the curtain went rattling up. On the stage four Earthmen, two Martians, two Venusians, and one Mercurian planetoles . \"One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will match her wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer of science fiction, Annabella C. Flowers.\" From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her place Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised her And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed in the visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutonian cafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offering bantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed, It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie had Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like a general surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lips were turned in a smile of satisfaction. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my arm \"Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted?\" ought to clamp down.\" \"The I.P. men aren't strong enough.\" She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harsh line about her usually smiling lips. \"What do you mean?\" weeks in-country. I got some swell background material, and I met Ezra Karn....\" \"Who?\" I interrupted. \"An old prospector who lives out in the deep marsh on the outskirts of and lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this condition develops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership or guidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit of intolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate, a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug.\" I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. Grannie Annie lit a cigarette and flipped the match to the floor. an old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with Green Flames!\" If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed. \"So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would mean existence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. Earth.\" \"I see,\" I said as she lapsed into silence. \"And now you've come to the conclusion that the details of your story were true and that someone is attempting to put your plot into action.\" Grannie nodded. \"Yes,\" she said. \"That's exactly what I think.\" your thief ... Doctor Universe?\" She regarded me evenly. \"What makes you say that?\" I shrugged. en masse .\" If it had been anyone but Grannie Annie there before me, I would have called her a fool. And then all at once I got an odd feeling of approaching danger. Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for the We had traveled this far by ganet , the tough little two headed pack animal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would have had its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic force It was around the camp fire that night that Grannie took me into her tent. For some time I stood there, lost in thought. Could I believe Grannie's incredible story? Or was this another of her fantastic plots which she had skilfully blended into a novel? appeared. Grannie gave a single warning: Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. cafe in Swamp City. Exactly.\" Grannie Annie halted at the door of her tent and faced me with earnest eyes. \"Billy-boy, our every move is Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained the \"What do you mean?\" Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself a Earthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy.\" \"Dangerous?\" \"Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outside \"Laugh?\" A scowl crossed Grannie's face. Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. He about us in hordes. The next day an indefinable wave of weariness and despondency beset our entire party. I caught myself musing over the futility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept me from turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning, Grannie gazed a long moment through binoculars. \"Billy-boy, take three \"Up we go, Billy-boy.\" Heat gun in readiness, Grannie Annie began to There was no sign of life. \"Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble here,\" Ezra Karn observed. Grannie stamped her foot. \"It's maddening,\" she said. \"Here we are at\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Billy so drawn to Grannie Annie?\n\n<options>:\nA She knows about the Green Flame and Billy wants to know more about them.\nB Her writing wows him.\nC She's a famous author. He's naturally drawn to that fame.\nD She's an eccentric adventurer at heart, and compelling.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,140	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>:\ninside, in the hospital ward, Lieutenant Alice Britton clutched at the sheets of her bed in pain, then relaxed as it faded away. Major Banes looked at her and smiled a little. \"How do you feel, Lieutenant?\" She smiled back she knew the pain wouldn't return for a few minutes yet. \"Fine, doctor. It's no worse than I was expecting. How long will The major looked nervously at his wristwatch. \"Nearly an hour. You'll be all right.\" \"Certainly,\" she agreed, running a hand through her brown hair, \"I'll be okay. Just you be on tap when I call.\" The major's grin broadened. \"You don't think I'd miss a historical event like this, do you? You take it easy. We're over Eastern Europe a call in.\" He paused, then repeated, \"You just take it easy. Call the nurse if anything happens.\" Then he turned and walked out of the room. Alice Britton closed her eyes. Major Banes was all smiles and cheer now, but he hadn't been that way five months ago. She chuckled softly to herself as she thought of his blistering speech. \"Lieutenant Britton, you're either careless or brainless I don't me at least once a week, Lieutenant.\" As the words went through her mind, another spasm of pain hit her, and she clenched her fists tightly on the sheets again. It went away, and she took a deep breath. Everything had been fine until today. And then, only half an hour ago, She relaxed a little more, waiting for the next pain. There was nothing to worry about she had absolute faith in the red-haired major. The major himself was not so sure. He sat in his office, massaging his fingertips and looking worriedly at the clock on the wall. The Chief Nurse at a nearby desk took off her glasses and looked at him The Chief Nurse turned her eyes to the slowly moving second hand of the wall clock. She could feel a lump in her throat. Major Banes was in the Communications Center a full five minutes Banes nodded and turned to the operator. \"I want a direct open telephone line to my office in case I have to get another message to the base before we get out of range again.\" if some accident, such as a really large meteor hit, should release the air from one room, nearby rooms would be safe. Banes' next stop was the hospital ward. Alice Britton was resting quietly, but there were lines of strain around her eyes which hadn't been there an hour before. \"How's it coming, Lieutenant?\" She smiled, but another spasm hit her before she could answer. After a time, she said: \"I'm doing fine, but you look as if you'd been through \"Jim! Coming up here? Wonderful! But I'm afraid the colonel will be too late. This isn't going to last that long.\" Banes had to fight hard to keep his face smiling when she said that, but he managed an easy nod. \"We'll see. Don't hurry it, though. Let nature take its course. I'm not such a glory hog that I'd not let Gates have part of it—or all of it, for that matter. Relax and take it easy.\" I'll send a nurse in to be with her.\" He nodded, then turned back to Alice. \"Stiff uppah lip, and all that sort of rot,\" he said in a phony British accent. \"Oh, raw BANES (MC) 0-266118 SS-1 MEDICAL OFFICER FROM: GEN DAVID BARRETT 0-199515 COMMANDING WSRB ROCKET. ORBIT COMPUTED FOR RENDEZVOUS AT 1134 HRS MST. CAPT BRITTON SENDS PERSONAL TO LT BRITTON AS FOLLOWS: HOLD THE FORT, BABY, THE WHOLE WORLD IS PRAYING FOR YOU. OUT. Banes sat on the edge of his desk, pounding a fist into the palm of his left hand. \"Two hours. It isn't soon enough. She'll never hold out that long. And we don't have an incubator.\" His voice was a clipped The Chief Nurse said: \"Can't we build something that will do until the rocket gets here?\" Banes looked at her, his face expressionless. \"What would we build it money to ship material up here, you know. Anything not essential is left on the ground.\" The phone rang. Banes picked it up and identified himself. The voice at the other end said: \"This is Communications, Major. I tape recorded all the monitor pickups from the Earth radio stations, and it She frowned. \"That really puts you on the spot. If the baby dies, they'll blame you.\" Banes slammed his fist to the desk. \"Do you think I give a tinker's dam about that? I'm interested in saving a life, not in worrying about what people may think!\" \"So help me Hannah, I'm going to see some changes made in regulations! A situation like this won't happen again!\" The nurse left quietly. She knew Banes wasn't really angry at the Brittons it was simply his way of letting off steam to ease the tension within him. The slow, monotonous rotation of the second hand on the wall clock seemed to drag time grudgingly along with it. Banes wished he could smoke to calm his raw nerves, but it was strictly against regulations. Air was too precious to be used up by smoking. Every bit of air on system, leaving too little oxygen in the atmosphere. It was a few minutes of ten when he decided he'd better get back to Alice Britton. She was trying to read a book between spasms, but she wasn't getting much read. She dropped it to the floor when he came in. analytically. \"Say! Just what is eating you? You look more haggard Again he tried to force a smile, but it didn't come off too well. \"Nothing serious. I just want to make sure everything comes out all right.\" that keeps him out of the way, and the doctor has coffee afterwards.\" Alice's hands grasped the sheet again, and Banes glanced at his watch. until—\" He stopped. Alice was bubbling up with laughter. \"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Britton! Alice! This is no time to get hysterical! Stop it!\" Her laughter slowed to a chuckle. \" get hysterical! That's a good one! What about you? You're so nervous you couldn't sip water out of a bathtub without spilling it!\" thirty-four, and two men in spacesuits pushed a large, bulky package through the airlock. Major Peter Banes, haggard but smiling, met Captain Britton in the corridor as he and the colonel entered the hospital ward. Banes nodded to Colonel Gates, then turned to Britton. \"I don't know whether to congratulate you or take a poke at you, Captain, but I suppose congratulations come first. Your son, James Edward Britton II, ?\" The colonel said nothing, but he raised an eyebrow. \"Over an hour ago,\" said Banes. \"But—but—the incubator—\" Banes' grin widened. \"We'll put the baby in it, now that we've got it, but it really isn't necessary. Your wife figured that one out. A space station is a kind of incubator itself, you see. It protects us poor, put in extra oxygen from the emergency tanks. Young James is perfectly comfortable.\" \"Excellent, Major!\" said the colonel. \"Don't thank me. It was Captain Britton's wife who—\" But Captain Britton wasn't listening any more. He was headed toward his wife's room at top speed.\n\n<question>:\nHow does the relationship between Lt. Britton and Mj. Banes change over the course of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA The tension between them increases as Major Banes becomes more frustrated at the situation\nB There is strong tension between them that does not subside\nC They become more cordial as they try to keep each other calm\nD Major Banes becomes more stressed about Lt. Britton throughout, though he is no longer angry\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,263	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 dynamics of such a creative explosion must be studied more closely. What motivates those who join this movement and what future will they create? 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, synapses between cells, can process information, and learn. A neuron, by sharing chemical signals with its neighbors, can be integrated into more 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 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 generate even more ideas in return. It’s a kind of butterfly- effect, as 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 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 not, what they defend as “cultural goods” and “intellectual property” are just excuses for the status quo of keeping a community closed. Much life, which may start to swallow other values as well. Non-sharing culture misleads us with its absolute separation of Private and Public space. It makes creative action a binary choice between is: The less you share, the less power you have. New Technologies and the Rise of Sharism revolution was viral. Bloggers generate lively and timely information on the Internet, and connect to each other with RSS, hyperlinks, comments, trackbacks and a blogger, once you have accumulated so much social capital in such a small site, it’s hard to stop. We can’t explain this fact with a theory of addiction. It’s an impulse to share. It’s the energy of the memes that want to be passed from mouth to mouth and mind to mind. It’s more than just E-mail. It’s Sharism. Bloggers are always keen to keep the social context of their posts in agile in adjusting their tone−and privacy settings−to advance ideas and stay out of trouble. It’s not self-censorship, but a sense of smart and content- sharing architecture. But people now understand that they can have better control over a wide spectrum of relationships. Like how you can use it to toy with the mind-switches of Sharism. By checking a retaining flexible choices. The rapid emergence of Social Applications that can communicate and cooperate, by allowing people to output content from one service to result, such a Micro-pipeline system is making Social Media a true alternative to broadcast media. These new technologies are reviving Sharism in our closed culture. 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 but you can amplify it with new technologies. Enlist some people from your network and invite them into a new social application. At first it might be hard to feel the gains of Sharism. The true test then is to see if you can keep track of the feedback that you get from sharing. You will realize that almost all sharing activities will generate positive results. The happiness that this will obtain is only the most immediate fast as a mouse-click. You should get to know the Sharism-You. You’re something just as substantial: Happiness. The more people who create in the spirit of Sharism, the easier it will be to attain well- balanced and equitable Social Media that is woven by Sharism Safeguards Your Rights Still, many questions will be raised about Sharism as an initiative in 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 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 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 Sharism will be the politics of the next global superpower. It will not 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 Representative democracy will become more timely and diligent, because we will represent ourselves within the system. Sharism will result in better social justice. In a healthy sharing environment, any evidence of injustice can get amplified to get the public’s attention. Anyone who has been abused can get real and instant Using these tools, anyone can create a large social impact. With 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 mutual understanding, I believe it has a place within the educational 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, flexible and more productive. These vast networks of sharing will create a new social order−A Mind Revolution!\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Sharism?\n\n<options>:\nA Community respect\nB Future-oriented cultural initiatives\nC A mental practice\nD A social-psychological attitude\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,232	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>:\nmight be down on their luck now and then. What really got me mixed up in this was the mysterious disappearance of Glmpauszn, will be born. Today I hang in our newly developed not-pod just within the mirror gateway, torn with the agony that we calculated must go with such tremendous wavelength fluctuations. I have attuned myself to a fetus within the body of a not-woman in the not-world. Already I am static and for hours have looked into this weird extension of the Universe with fear and trepidation. As soon as my stasis was achieved, I tried to contact you, but got no response. What could have diminished your powers of articulate wave interaction to make you incapable of receiving my messages and returning them? My wave went out to yours and found it, barely pulsing 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 utilize the feeble vibrations of various not-people through whose inadequate articulation I will attempt to make my moves known to you. Each time I will pick a city other than the one I am in at the time. I, Glmpauszn, come equipped with powers evolved from your fragmentary reports before you ceased to vibrate to us and with a vast treasury of facts from indirect sources. Soon our tortured people will be free 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 Glmpauszn their hands and left. I learned the following day that the opposite component of my He stopped in his tracks on entering the room and seemed incapable of speech. This was the first use I had made of the so-called vocal cords that are now part of my extended matrix. The sound I emitted sounded low-pitched, guttural and penetrating even to myself. It must have This brought the rest of them on the run, so I climbed out the window and retreated across a nearby field. A prolonged search was launched, but I eluded them. What unpredictable beings! I reported my tremendous progress back to our world, including the cleverness by which I managed to escape my pursuers. I received a reply from Blgftury which, on careful analysis, seems to be small praise Glmpauszn 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 you about my progress, but I cannot convey even a hint of how I have accomplished these miracles through the thick skull of this incompetent. In simple terms then: I crept into a cave and slipped into a kind of sleep, directing my squhjkl ulytz &amp uhrytzg ... no, it won't come out. Anyway, I grew overnight to the size of an average person here. the stuff needed for the destruction of these people. Sunrise came as I expected. According to my catalog of information, the impressions aroused by it are of beauty. It took little conditioning for me finally to react in this manner. This is truly an efficient mechanism I inhabit. 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 let yourself believe they do. This individual I classified as a female of a singular variety here. myself. But they were. I became alarmed, dived into a bush and used a mechanism that you unfortunately do not have—invisibility. I lay there and listened. \"He was stark naked,\" the girl with the sneakers said. A figure I recognized as a police officer spoke to her. 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 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 Glmpauszn Glmpauszn react exactly as our information catalog instructed me to. Now it is all automatic, pure reflex. A sensation comes to me when I am burned 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 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 quart of the liquid today. I feel wonderful. Get that? I actually feel 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 I can function efficiently. I sent Blgftury some long reports today outlining my experiments in the realm of chemistry where we must finally defeat these people. Of course, I haven't made the experiments attracted to me instantly. After all, the body I have devised is perfect in every detail ... actually a not-world ideal. I didn't lose any time overwhelming her susceptibilities. I remember Concealed in the dermis of the lips are tiny, highly sensitized nerve 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 tingling, again the secretion and activation. I integrated myself quickly. Now in all the motion pictures—true representations of life and love Glmpauszn 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 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, shapeless cascade of light. Mrs. Somebody reared to her feet and screeched, \"Grandma Lucy!\" Then I really took notice. half over and I have consumed a quart and a half. And it is dulling all my powers as it has practically obliterated yours. I can't even become invisible any more. 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 closer points of communication soon. I have nothing to report but the not-men, curse them. Glmpauszn I have it! It is done! In spite of the alcohol, in spite of Blgftury's niggling criticism, I have succeeded. I now have developed a form 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. Nothing in this world can stop the spread of it once it is loose. Absolutely nothing. Glmpauszn\n\n<question>:\nWhat is something Glmpauszn and Joe don't have in common?\n\n<options>:\nA their enjoyment for liquor\nB their boss\nC their homeland\nD their ability to become invisible\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,032	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“I wasn’t—playing. Let’s not go up there,” Lorraine begged. “I don’t think the Brandts live there She was beginning to suspect that Lorraine knew more about the Brandt estate than she was telling. Lois kept on driving along the narrow, gravelly “You’re right, Lorraine,” announced Judy, coming in to serve dessert to the two friends she had invited would be fun to explore it, though,” Lois said. “But if there are new people living here they’ll never give us permission.” “We might explore it without permission,” Judy suggested daringly. “Come on!” she urged her friends as Lois parked the car in a cleared place beside the I’m afraid we won’t be very welcome.” “I don’t think they’ll welcome us, anyway. I do know who they are,” Lorraine admitted. “You remember Roger Banning from school, don’t you? I’ve seen him around here. His family must have acquired sudden wealth, or else he’s just working on the estate.” “Then you’ve been here lately? Why didn’t you “Please,” Lorraine said, a pained expression clouding “It wasn’t important,” Lorraine replied evasively. “I was just out for a drive.” house you moved into? You were the one who tracked down the ghosts in the attic and the cellar and goodness knows where all. You’ve been chasing what she was or how she spoke to me is more than I know. If my grandparents knew, they weren’t telling. And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them. They left me a lot of unsolved mysteries along with Like Peter, her FBI husband, she preferred facts to gossip. “Forgery, I guess. He stole some checkbooks from this house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some of Judy was almost sorry she had mentioned it. She would have preferred to forget. She liked to think she was a good judge of character, and she had taken Dick Hartwell for a quiet, refined boy who would never stoop to crime. “I don’t see what all this has to do with the fountain,” wasn’t in the mood for digging up old mysteries, “I don’t know what to think. You’re the one who seems to know the answers, but you’re not telling. Hiding your face back there gave you away. You’ve Her thoughts were what had made it so hard, she for some reason, you were afraid he would see you. Why, Lorraine? Why didn’t you want to be recognized?” Lorraine hesitated a moment and then replied evasively, “People don’t generally enter private confessed now as she reviewed everything that had happened. She just couldn’t help resenting the fact went off on a vacation by themselves. What did they think she would do? that her parents left her every summer while they estates without an invitation. That’s all.” “I’d better turn the car around,” Lois decided, “in case we have to leave in a hurry. I don’t expect went to stay with her grandmother Smeed, who scolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’t glad to have her. “You here again?” she had greeted her that summer, walking up to the door of the palatial Farringdon-Pett mansion was still ahead of her. On the lawn a But all that was in the future. If anyone had told the freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would one pretend the fountain in the picture was filled with all the tears lonely girls like herself had ever cried. “But that would make it enchanted!” she had suddenly exclaimed. “If I could find it I’d wish—” A step had sounded on the stairs. Judy remembered it distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother She and Lorraine had listened to this much of what day, her grandparents had taken her to a fountain A voice had answered, although she could see no one. “You found plenty to cry about back at your grandmother’s house,” the mysterious voice had reminded her. “Weren’t you crying on my picture up there in the attic?” the fountain!” Judy remembered “Wish wisely,” the voice from the fountain had away. “You see,” she explained, “I made the mistake of having just one best friend. There wasn’t anybody Lorraine seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful. “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it was waking up and wondering if the voice in the fountain “And then what happened?” Lorraine urged her. “Yes, yes. Go on,” entreated Lois. “I didn’t dream you’d kept anything that exciting a secret. Why didn’t you try to solve the mystery?” forgot about the fountain. Honestly, Lois, I don’t Lois said with a giggle. “I’ve seen lots nicer fountains.” Lois and Lorraine had finished their dessert while Judy was telling them the story of the fountain. Somehow, she wasn’t hungry for hers. She had tasted it too often while she was making it. Lois watched in amusement as the cat lapped up Leaving the table, they all started upstairs with the cat bounding ahead of them. In modernizing her grandparents’ house to suit her own and Peter’s tastes, Judy had seen to it that the old stair door was removed. But there was still a door closing off the reached it first and yowled for Judy to open it. “He can read my mind. He always knows where I’m going,” Judy said as the door creaked open and the cat shot through it. A moment later a weird rolling noise came from the floor above. “Come on. There’s nothing up here to be afraid of,” Judy urged her friends. room at the top of the last flight of stairs. “So am I,” Lorraine admitted. “I’m not superstitious about black cats, but they are creepy. Does true that easily she’d be living in a castle. But would she?” Judy wondered. “When I first remember this and Judy both questioned Lorraine, but that was all was of a jealous disposition. Was the green-eyed monster coming between her and her handsome husband, Arthur Farringdon-Pett? Until now they had sure it isn’t now. Let’s go,” Lorraine said suddenly “Where?” she asked. “To the fountain? I’d love “Not quite all the way,” Lorraine objected. “The to her friends. “I do remember a road turning off one would see it and follow the path to the fountain. seen that character who drove down this road and, She and Lois both argued that it would be better to inquire at the house. Lois knew Helen Brandt slightly. “She’d be glad to show us around. This way it looks as if we’re planning a crime,” Lois said as they started off in the blue car she was driving. and said if they did find the fountain she thought explain what happened afterwards. When I woke up in the hammock I was alone in the garden. Horse, wagon, grandparents—all had disappeared.” “How could they?” asked Lois. driving home along this road. You see, I thought my grandparents had left me in the garden for a surprise and would return for me. I told you I was all alone. There wasn’t a house in sight.” was driving off without me.” “I wouldn’t depend on it,” Lorraine said as they “Watch out!” Judy suddenly exclaimed. “There’s another car coming.” As Lois swerved to avoid the oncoming car, Lorraine ducked her head. She kept herself hidden behind Judy until the car had passed. The man driving it was a stranger to Judy, but she would remember his hypnotic, dark eyes and swarthy complexion for a “What’s the matter with you two?” asked Lois when the car had passed. “Aren’t you a little old for playing hide and seek?”\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Lorraine duck her head when another car passed by the group on their way to the fountain?\n\n<options>:\nA She had recently forged checks and people were looking for her.\nB She was afraid someone would report that they were trespassing.\nC She feared that they were going to collide and she was covering her face from impact.\nD She knew who the new owner of the estate was and didn't want to be seen.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,623	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 went back to the Nadine for weapons more adequate for thrashed out very painstakingly, in formal conference on the space-yacht painstakingly be brought across light-years of space to the new worlds From the viewpoint of the Nadine's to the same conclusion but he was not at all enthusiastic about their 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 Nadine hydrochloric-acid ice. But the ice-cap was simple snow. Its size, too, told about temperature-distribution on the planet. A large cap would have meant a large area with arctic and sub-arctic temperatures, with wide tropical and sub-tropical zones. The fact was verified by the thick, dense cloud-masses which covered most of the surface,—all the surface, in fact, outside the ice-cap. But since there were ice-caps man could endure the air and temperature conditions he would find. approaching the world on planetary drive. He was to be left here, with such as are placed on certain worlds for the convenience of interstellar passage leading away. He called. But Moran observed with grudging respect that he didn't give him a chance to do anything drastic. These people on the Nadine indefinite distance in an indefinite direction from their last landing-point, and they had still to re-locate themselves. its space-port. With clearance-papers in order, they could land unquestioned at any other space-port and take off again—provided the other space-port was one they had clearance for. Without rigid control of space-travel, any criminal anywhere could escape the consequences of Nadine . The trouble was that the Wherever the yacht landed, such a disparity between its documents and effect, with six people on board instead of five, the Nadine could not land anywhere for supplies. With five on board, as her papers declared, space-port officials' suspicion of the rest. So he had to be dumped. picked at random for guidance. But the trip-tape had been computed for location was in doubt. It could have travelled at almost any speed in practically any direction for a length of time that was at least indefinite. A liner could re-locate itself without trouble. It had elaborate observational equipment and tri-di star-charts. But smaller craft had to depend on the Galactic Directory. The process would be to the way to find out where one was, when one's position became doubtful. The Nadine waved his hand at the speaker. \"Listen!\" that had that sound in it. It marked a first-landing spot on some planet Then we'd know where we are and how to get to Loris.\" signal's coming from, we'll take you somewhere near enough to the ice-cap to have an endurable climate. I've been figuring on food, too. That will depend on where we are from Loris because we have to keep enough for ourselves. But we can spare some. We'll give you the emergency-kit, anyhow.\" provide food in a minimum of time. It was not an encouraging thought, off-planet, and fast. But space-travel regulations are especially designed to prevent such escapes. space-traffic required a ship on landing to deposit its fuel-block in the space-port's vaults. The fuel-block was not returned until clearance for departure had been granted. But Moran had waylaid the messenger carrying the he still clung to hope of avoiding return—which Now the space-yacht moved toward a vast mass of fleecy whiteness without rest of the space-noises together. \"Watch our height, Carol.\" course. Fifteen miles to surface below. Ten. Five. At twenty-five down it was pure opacity. Anything could exist in that dense, almost The Nadine in which one could see clearly nearby, less clearly at a little distance, and not at all beyond a quarter-mile or so. on which one would walk, which was strangest. It had color, but the the only considerable landmark within the half-mile circle in which The Nadine checked her downward motion. Interplanetary drive is rugged true silence. The space-yacht had come to rest possibly a hundred yards from the mound which was the source of the space-signal. That mound shared the peculiarity of the ground as far as they could see through much louder. Something hooted, maintaining the noise for an impossibly in landing. I've seen something like it somewhere, but never taking the finality. Moran said bitingly Nadine rested. The enigmatic, something. It blurred the shape it covered, very much as enormous \"You won't have to live here,\" said Burleigh. \"We'll take you somewhere explore.\" to get in the ship.\" rest of us wear suits. We don't know what that stuff is outside.\" Moran silently went to the space-suit rack and began to get into a suit. Modern space-suits weren't like the ancient crudities with bulging metal casings and enormous globular helmets. Non-stretch fabrics took the place of metal, and constant-volume joints were really practical nowadays. A man could move about in a late-model space-suit almost as easily as in ship-clothing. The others of the landing-party donned their special garments with the brisk absence of fumbling that these people displayed in every action. \"I don't!\" snapped Moran. He flipped the fastener of his suit. He felt all the openings catch. He saw the others complete their equipment. They took arms. So far they had door opened. It was not necessary to check the air specifically. The They filed out of the airlock. They stood on ash-covered stone, only slightly eroded by the processes which made life possible on this planet. They looked dubiously at the scorched, indefinite substance stone on which the Nadine wing-covers and flew away, droning loudly. The four men heard the sound above even the monstrous cacophony of cries and boomings and grunts and \" 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! \" operation was necessary before humanity could move in. A complete animals. But still terrestrial creatures had to be introduced if a before native and terrestrial living things settled down together. It large and monstrous under the conditions of a new planet. And the ground.... can find out where you are, and I can find out what's ahead of me.\" He climbed up on the unscorched surface. It was elastic. The parchment-like top skin yielded. It was like walking on a mass of springs. \"We'd better spread out,\" added Moran, \"or else we'll break through that does make sense.\" was uncertain, as on a trampoline. They staggered. They moved toward the 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 color from one end to the other. Its manner of walking was insane but somehow sedate. \" Moran said with savage precision \"It's not a hunting creature on worlds where it's smaller. It's not likely to have turned deadly here. Come on!\" He went forward over the singularly bouncy ground. The others followed. creature more widely than most. He said sardonically \"This ship won't do anybody any good. It's old-style. That thick belt everywhere. \"We're going to find that this wreck has been here a century creatures in their labyrinths of tunnels began to panic. Off to the men—the armed ones—moved back from the smoke. They wore space-helmets with him on board without his being detected as an extra member of the such-and-such fingerprints, voyaging in a space-yacht of such-and-such size and registration. The world they came from would claim them as \" Look out! It's coming! Kill it! Kill it—. \" , necessarily accepted as a member of her crew.\n\n<question>:\nWhich term best describes the ease of space travel within the context of the passage?\n\n<options>:\nA complex\nB evolving\nC strict\nD flexible\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
20	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>:\nspace-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. It made a one-night 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!\" I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle for eleven years, and I know. It's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down! Nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. In short, it stinks!\" I must have had the pitcher oftener than I thought. Nobody insults Buckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's face unless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. grey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martian girl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch the slanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing round toward us, pleased and kind of hungry. Shannon?\" 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.\" ignored him. He went on, quietly, \"I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the most valuable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation of toil and boredom....\" \"That would be expensive, Mister Beamish,\" I said. \"We'd have to cancel several engagements....\" \"Gertrude be blowed,\" growled Bucky. \"Can't you see I'm busy?\" Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. \"I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrude ain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something....\" I said, \"That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now.\" He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber to fit me for a coffin. \"Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome, see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-pot ship'll hold her.\" He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamish \"Gertrude?\" \"Yeah. She's kind of temperamental.\" Bucky took a quick drink. I finished for him. \"She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swamp Brothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude.\" She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may be a little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped she wouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-looking circus than even I could stand. 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 home happy. They had their money, and we had their blood. The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and the \"They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I've \"Let's go see Gertrude.\" I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny going rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them, breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled around them as strong as the cage bars. time. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name I all of a sudden.... Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. \"She's gettin' worse,\" he said. \"She's lonesome.\" \"That's tough,\" said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like an owl's. He swayed slightly. \"That's sure tough.\" He sniffled. I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tank I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stuck bird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cage with her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky head sunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything. clear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked like old Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. Gow said softly, \"She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one.\" Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, \"Be reasonable, Gow! . 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.\" He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stood looking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then he turned to Gertrude. \"I saved her life,\" he said. \"When we bought her out of Hanak's wreck and everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I know her. I can do things with her. But this time....\" He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like a woman's talking about a sick child. 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....\" \"Sure, sure,\" I told him. \"Stop crying down my neck.\" 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 \"Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why?\" creditors.\" \"Yeah,\" Bucky said reflectively. \"And I hear starvation isn't a and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around looking like a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovian strong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat had kittens. Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. It lived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes out \"Death,\" she whispered. \"Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I can They are angry, and I smell death in the wind!\" She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tight \" Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy is it so important for Jig and Shannon to find Gertrude a mate?\n\n<options>:\nA They want to preserve her species, and they're close to extinction. Her species is too valuable to let die out.\nB They need another \"cansin\" for their show.\nC She feels alone in her cage and in the circus, and they feel badly for her.\nD Her crying and loneliness without one is affecting the entire crew, and they can't afford to have her out of commission.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
595	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, in short, humanity's hopes for survival! 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 the waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoed through her hallways. 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 moved toward the ever-waiting pot of murky coffee. \"Morning, Bob. You \"Yeah.\" He swallowed the hot coffee without tasting it, then ran a hand across the dark stubble on his chin. It could wait. \"Anything new during the night?\" \"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 an almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. \"And 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 But something had happened to the exploration party fifteen years He turned to the port to stare out at the planet. The Sol-type sun wrapped the entire world diffused its rays into a haze. For a change, animals. Details were impossible to see through the haze. Even the deep gorge where they'd found Hennessy's carefully buried ship was 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 to the men who'd deserted their ship and its equipment, he'd have to 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 Something began to heave upwards. It was too far to see clearly, but 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. He threw up an instinctive hand. There was a tingling as the creature answer.\" metabolism.\" He sucked in on the cigarette he'd dug out, then spat 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 anything. I've got to get this ship back to Earth. We're overstaying 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 time and be better off than trying to dig through Hennessy's ship. That was almost certainly spoorless by now. The only possible answer seemed to be that the exploring expedition and Hennessy's rescue group had It was an answer, but it left a lot of questions. How could the 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 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 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 of the strange worlds would let men spread his seed again. Maybe none 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. Primitives could be overcome, maybe. It would be ruthless and unfair to strip them of their world, but the first law was survival. \"Beautiful primitive work,\" he muttered. thick features were relaxed and yet somehow intent. He seemed to make The creature nodded slowly and drew something from the thick hair on \"He never meant to hurt the kids—just to talk to them,\" Barker cut in well. Says they've had to change the language around to make the sounds on the gold ornament of a captive earthman, even to learn a little spread out. By the time the session was over, Gwayne had begun to understand the a hereditary change—the things that affect the body don't change the the fact that the change is passed on is as real as he claims.\" 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. 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. doesn't know why. They can change our cells, adapt us. Before men came, 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 don't know you as well as I do, Bob. I guess we can fix it so they'll They have to touch us. I've been touched, but the rest could go back.\" 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. Here, though, the blobs had adapted men to the alien world instead of men having to adapt the whole planet to their needs. Here, the strange children of man's race could grow, develop and begin the long trek back some of the attitudes of civilized man would remain to make the next understanding he couldn't yet fully give himself. \"These people need 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.\" earth.\" 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 Some day, the whole universe would be a spawning ground for the\n\n<question>:\nIn the beginning, how does the author try to make you feel about this world?\n\n<options>:\nA skeptical but optimistic\nB curious and interested\nC like it's uninhabited and scary\nD like it's a place unworthy of going to\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
316	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 south in the narrow valley of Kiowa Creek about twenty miles east of Denver it extended south to the Arkansas River. And that was about 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 impossible that it could ever be used except for sheep-farming. It strikes us today as ironic that from the late '50s there was grave 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 They found, of course, that Schwartzberg had been perfectly correct. normally impassive Schwartzberg in a nationwide broadcast from the pieces.\" But the band of scientists who had rallied to his leadership privately wondered if there would be any pieces. The Arkansas River, at Avondale and North Avondale, was sluggishly backing north into the deepening trough. At the rate things were going, there might be a new lake the entire length of El Paso and Pueblo Counties. And, warned Schwartzberg, this might only be the beginning. By 16 September the landslip had crept down the Huerfano River past There wasn't much to wait for. The news got worse and worse. The Platte River, now, was creating a vast mud puddle where the town of Orchard had been. Just below Masters, Colorado, the river leaped 70-foot cliffs to add to the heaving chaos below. And the cliffs were higher every day 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 way north along the Little Missouri. South, it ripped past Roswell, New Mexico, and tore down the Pecos toward Texas. All the upper reaches of the Missouri were standing puddles by now, and the Red River west of Paris, Texas, had begun to run backward. Soon the Missouri began slowly slipping away westward over the slowly churning land. Abandoning its bed, the river spread uncertainly across farmland and prairie, becoming a sea of mud beneath the sharp new cliffs which rose in rending line, ever taller as the land continued to sink, almost from Canada to the Mexican border. There were virtually no floods, in the usual sense. The water moved too slowly, spread itself At Biloxi, on the Gulf, there had been uneasy shufflings under foot all day. \"Not tremors, exactly,\" said the captain of a fishing boat which was somehow to ride out the coming flood, \"but like as if the land else that evening. At approximately 8:30 p.m. the town shuddered, seemed to rise a little like the edge of a hall carpet caught in a draft, and sank. So did the entire Mississippi and Alabama coast, at about the same moment. The tidal wave which was to gouge the center from the U. S. marched on the land. From the north shore of Lake Ponchartrain to the Appalachicola River Mobile, Pensacola, Panama City: 200 miles of shoreline vanished, with over two and a half million people. An hour later a wall of water had swept over every town from Dothan, Alabama, to Bogalusa on the Louisiana-Mississippi border. land. Reaching west, it swallowed Vicksburg and nicked the corner of Louisiana. The whole of East Carroll Parish was scoured from the map. The Mississippi River now ended at about Eudora, Arkansas, and minute 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 the unique and charming characteristics of the gracious Old Town, but during the night of panic Memphis residents were sure they were doomed. South and west the waters carved deeply into Arkansas and Oklahoma. By morning it was plain that all of Arkansas was going under. Waves advanced on Little Rock at almost 100 miles an hour, new crests forming, overtopping the wave's leading edge as towns, hills and the thirst of the soil temporarily broke the furious charge. Washington announced the official hope that the Ozarks would stop the wild gallop of the unleashed Gulf, for in northwest Arkansas the land rose to over 2,000 feet. But nothing could save Oklahoma. By noon the water reached clutching fingers around Mt. Scott and Elk Mountain, deluging Hobart and almost all of Greer County. Despite hopeful announcements that the wave was slowing, had virtually stopped after inundating Oklahoma City, was being swallowed up in the desert near Amarillo, the wall of water continued its advance. For the land was still sinking, and the floods were constantly replenished from the Gulf. Schwartzberg and his geologists advised the utmost haste in evacuating the entire area between Colorado and Missouri, from Texas to North Dakota. Whirlpools opened. A great welter of smashed wood and human debris was sucked under, vomited up and pounded to pieces. Gulf-water crashed on the cliffs of New Mexico and fell back on itself in foam. Would-be because of the spray.\" Salt spray. The ocean had come to New Mexico. The cliffs proved to be the only effective barrier against the westward march of the water, which turned north, gouging out lumps of rock and tumbling down blocks of earth onto its own back. In places scoops of granite came out like ice cream. The present fishing town of Rockport, Colorado, is built on a harbor created in such a way. 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 eventual place of stability one thousand feet below the level of the new sea. Memphis was by now a seaport. The Ozarks, islands in a mad sea, formed precarious havens for half-drowned humanity. Waves bit off a corner of Missouri, flung themselves on Wichita. Topeka, Lawrence and Belleville it graduates from the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico through the equally blue waves of the Mississippi Bight, becoming cooler and greener north and west of the pleasant fishing isles of the Ozark What would the United States have become without the 5600-mile coastline of our inland sea? It is only within the last twenty years that any but the topmost layer of water has cleared sufficiently with the glistening white beaches? Of course there have been losses to balance slightly these strong gains. The Mississippi was, before 1973, one of the great rivers of the world. Taken together with its main tributary, the Missouri, it vied favorably with such giant systems as the Amazon and the Ganges. Now, ending as it does at Memphis and drawing its water chiefly from the Appalachian Mountains, it is only a slight remnant of what it was. And though the Nebraska Sea today carries many times the tonnage of The political situation has long been a thorny problem. Only tattered remnants of the eight submerged states remained after the flood, but none of them wanted to surrender its autonomy. The tiny fringe of Kansas seemed, for a time, ready to merge with contiguous Missouri, but following the lead of the Arkansas Forever faction, the remaining Benton, Wyoming Westport, Missouri, and the other new ports of over a million inhabitants each which have developed on the new harbors of the inland sea. Unimaginable too would have been the general growth of population in the states surrounding the new sea. As the water tables rose and manufacturing and trade moved in to take advantage of the just-created axis of world communication, a population explosion was touched off of\n\n<question>:\nWhat happens that completely confirms Schwartzberg's theory?\n\n<options>:\nA An earthquake begins, and the fault starts to settle on either side, putting everything into motion.\nB A landslip began to form along the fault, and the land continued to sink.\nC The tremors begin to increase in size.\nD A new lake was beginning to settle around the Arkansas River.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
442	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>:\nsuper-monsters who had invaded Earth. But he was forgetting one tiny thing—like calls to like. as the beings who have invaded your planet are. I do not comprehend the things which you call hate, fear, joy and love, as they do not. If I went to Earth, I would use your people to further my knowledge, just as the invaders do. I would have no reason to kill the invaders. They are more nearly kin to me than your people.\" Peter's eyes were dull, his limbs slumped. For a moment I thought that Peter Karson was dead. He had been dead for some time now, but the dark blood was still oozing from the crushed ruin of his face, the shock had deranged his mind. His voice trembled when he said, \"But if I ask you to kill them, and not my people?\" arrangement: I did what Peter wished, so long as I did not actively than they were. I did not even wish that Peter were not dead, for me, nagging, gnawing. And suddenly—something moved on the skin of my cheek. I raised a hand to it, slowly. Young Peter Karson put the last black-print down and sighed with One part of his brain had been shocked into its shell. It was hiding glad that what he had seen was terrible reality rather than even more terrible illusion. INVADERS APPEAR IN BOSTON. 200 DEAD Then lines of type, and farther down: NO COMMUNICATION FROM ANTARCTICA IN 6 HOURS STRANGE FORCE DEFLECTS PLANES FROM SAHARA AREA WORLD POLICE MOBILIZING \"The reason for this ... order must be apparent to all civilized peoples. For the Invaders have spared no part of this planet in their depredations: they have laid Hong Kong waste they have terrorized London they have destroyed the lives of citizens in every member state and in every inhabited area. There can be few within reach of printed reports or my words who have not seen the Invaders, or whose friends have not seen them. \"The peoples of the world, then, know what they are, and know that we face the most momentous struggle in our history. We face an enemy superior to ourselves in every way . \"Since the Invaders first appeared in Wood River, Oregon, 24 hours ago, they have not once acknowledged our attempts to communicate, or in any way taken notice of our existence as reasoning beings. They have treated a newly-discovered race of lower animals. They have not attacked our centers of government, nor immobilized our communications, nor laid siege to our defenses. But in instance after instance, they have done as they would with us. They have examined us, dissected us, driven us mad, killed us with no discernable provocation and this is more intolerable than any normal invasion. \"I have no fear that the people of Earth will fail to meet this challenge, for there is no alternative. Not only our individual lives are threatened, but our existence as a race. We must, and will, destroy the Invaders!\" Peter sank back in his chair, the full shock of it striking him for the first time. laboratory. Peter took it in fifteen seconds, running, and stumbled to \"What makes, Peter my love?\" she asked, and bent back to the ledger. helpless protoplasm. The thin moaning that went up from them was more horrible than any cry of agony. \"The Invaders are here, citizens,\" the commentator was saying in a strangled voice. \"Stay off the streets. Hide yourselves. Stay off the streets....\" His voice droned on, but neither of them heard it. \"Peter!\" she said faintly. \"Why do they broadcast such things?\" and they know it but they have to do it. This isn't like a war, where the noncombatants' morale has to be kept up. There aren't going to be any noncombatants, this time. Everybody in the world has to know about them, so that he can fight them—and then it may not be enough.\" away from their victims and angled slowly up the street. Peter reached out to switch off the scanner, and froze. The girl felt his muscles tense abruptly, looked back at the scene. The Invaders were floating up the sloping side of a tall, pure white structure that dominated the rest. Peter's lips were cold with sweat. Tiny nerves in his face and arms Peter! cleared away to make room for an incompleted setup. Peter walked down Peter forced himself forward another step. Little Harry Kanin, In a moment Peter realized what they were doing to him. He stood, legs grew wider and more shapeless, his cheeks caved in and his skull puddle of flesh. Peter could not look at it. but there was a tiny sound in Peter's brain, a thin, dry whispering. were lines in the face, but they were lines of age, not emotion. Only \" He heard a faint sound behind him, and whirled. It was the first \" His voice was hoarse. \"Don't look! Don't—Go back!\" The horrible, He wanted to say, \"Yes, get a doctor. Lorelei—\" but his mouth only Peter's head began spinning just a little. Glass clinked from a metal \"But where is she?\" Peter complained. \"You still haven't explained why \"But why?\" Peter whispered. has failed.\" Peter couldn't think of anything to say. Dr. Arnold's voice went on after a moment, musingly. \"We're burrowing into the earth, like worms. It didn't take us long to find out we couldn't kill them. They didn't when a squadron of the Police caught about fifty of them together at one time, and attacked with flame guns and a new secret weapon. It didn't hurt them, but it annoyed them. It was the first time they'd \"And since then?\" Peter asked huskily. an impossible task if we tried to include all the thinly-populated areas, of course, but it doesn't matter. By the time we excavate \"I wonder,\" Peter said shakily, \"if I am strong enough to take it.\" \"I see,\" said Peter. And for the first time, he thought of the The Avenger . He stepped away now, and joined Lorelei said, \"You can't do it. I won't let you! Peter—\" but that's only delaying the end. They still come down here, only not as many. The mortality rate is up, the suicide rate is up, the birth \"They'll live, and we'll die, because they're a superior race. We're a million years too far back even to understand what they are or where they came from. Besides them, we're apes. There's only one answer.\" possible mutations, there's one that will save the human race. We can't fight them come back, Peter.\" back—but not as boys !\" We'll come back, but not as men. We'll come back, but not as elephants. The Avenger its slow, monstrous alchemy upon him. Peter waited until the changes his cheeks were blobbed with excresences of one corner of his mouth was drawn up in a perpetual grin. He had a tiny sixth finger on his left hand. He turned again, and I saw the old scar on his cheek where I had once accidentally drawn one of my talons across his face. \"And now,\" he said softly, \"we will go home. I've waited so long—keeping the control chamber and the engine room locked away from you, not telling you, even, about Earth until now—because I had to be sure. But now, the waiting is over. \"They're still there, I'm sure of it—the people, and the Invaders. You can kill the Invaders, Robert.\" He looked at me, a little oddly, almost as if he had some instinctive knowledge of what was to come. But he went on swiftly, \"On Earth we had a saying: 'Fight fire with fire.' That is the way it will be with you. You are completely, coldly logical, just as they are. You can understand them, and so you can conquer them.\" I said, \"That is the reason why we will not go back to Earth.\"\n\n<question>:\nHow did Peter get the scar on his cheek?\n\n<options>:\nA From an accidental talon scratch\nB From traveling through the dangerous rays.\nC From the construction of his ship\nD From the Invaders attack.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
6	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>:\nremember his name. He only wondered vaguely why the cloddy had turned up at all. In common with recipients of gold watches of a score of generations The fact of the matter was, Si knew that his retiring had set them back. They hadn't figured he had enough shares of Basic to see him through decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards. find contentment for a mighty long time. Possibly somebody like Doc Girard-Perregaux might be horrified at the idea of living in a No. Even as Si listened to their speeches, accepted the watch and Girard-Perregaux, was concerned. Doctor Girard-Perregaux was convinced Gubelin would have even worn facial hair, had he but a touch more courage. Gubelin longed for yesteryear, a seldom found phenomenon under than is to be found there. He is an average young man. Born in our Ultrawelfare State, he was guaranteed his fundamental womb-to-tomb security by being issued that minimum number of Basic shares in our society that allows him an income sufficient to secure the food, clothing, shelter, medical care and education to sustain a low level of subsistence. Percentages were against his ever being drafted into industry. Automation being what it is, only a fraction of the population is ever called up. But Pond was. His industrial aptitude dossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it was life than most and the fame that would accrue to him as one of the very few who still participate in travel to the planets. Very well. He was sold. Took his training, which, of course, required long years of drudgery to him. Then, performing his duties quite competently, he made his six trips. He is now legally eligible for retirement. He was drafted into the working force reserves, served his time, and is now free from toil for the balance of his life. Why should he listen to our pleas for a few more trips?\" He said, \"No, he hasn't. Few there are who have, nowadays. Man has always paid lip service to adventure, hardships and excitement, but in actuality his instincts, like those of any other animal, lead him to the least dangerous path. Today we've reached the point where no one need face danger—ever. There are few who don't take advantage of the Looking over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowed in thought as his Gubelin blinked at him. excuse would do. Back when he had finished basic education at the age of twenty-five and was registered for the labor draft, there hadn't been a chance in a hundred that he'd have the bad luck to have his name pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated. When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualifications were such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation in Now it was all over. At the age of thirty he was retired. Law prevented him from ever being called up for contributing to the country's labor needs again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer. He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn't any particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get the reputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of the not. You had your Inalienable Basic stock, didn't you? What else did you need? It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force. In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistake in adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution. They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number of working hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week. It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were working but two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. It became obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting in thirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it was to have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and none of them ever really becoming efficient. The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remain unemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent of unemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in a reasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a year and a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employees were needed, a draft lottery was held. All persons registered in the labor force participated. If you quite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he who must leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically and usually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spent hurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so long denied him. works. But nothing but the best. To start off, he dressed with great care in the honorable performed anything of value to society. The efforts of most weren't needed. Those few who did contribute were awarded honors, decorations, titles. Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his credit He didn't take the time to flick on the menu, next to the auto-dining table, nor to check the endless potables on the autobar list. All that, he well knew, would be superlative. Besides, he didn't plan to dine or do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless he around in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias. This time, be it the only time in his life, he was going to frolic in moment and looked about. He'd never been in a place like this, either. However, he stifled his first instinct to wonder about what this was going to do to his current credit balance with an inner grin and made There was actually a bartender. Si Pond suppressed his astonishment and said, offhand, attempting an The drinks in the Kudos Room might be concocted by hand, but Si noticed He put his credit card on the screen immediately before him when the drink came, and had to quell his desire to dial for a balance check, so to his highest expectations, and then swiveled slightly on his stool to take a look at the others present. To his disappointment, there were no recognizable celebrities. None He turned back to his drink and noticed, for the first time, the girl who occupied the stool two down from him. Si Pond blinked. He blinked She looked at him coldly, turned to the bartender and murmured, \"A Far Si cleared his throat. \"Hey,\" he said, \"how about letting this one be The bartender said hurriedly, \"I beg your pardon, sir....\" Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, \"Yeah ... sure.\" She was obviously both taken back and impressed. \"Why,\" she said, Si, carrying his glass, moved over to the stool next to her. \"Call me Si,\" he said. \"Everybody calls me Si.\" \"Si,\" Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anything current sex symbols, but never in person. \"Call me Si,\" he said again. \"I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking to such that it was obvious she hadn't quite adjusted as yet to having met him. much time for formality. Everybody's just Si, and Doc, and Jim. Like She looked down into the drink the bartender had placed before her, as though avoiding his face. \"I ... I suppose it was that speech Doctor Girard-Perregaux made. There you stood, so fine and straight in Si said, \"Look, how about another drink?\" Natalie Paskov said, \"Oh, I'd love to have a drink with you, Mr....\" \"Si,\" Si said. He motioned to the bartender with a circular twist of Si chuckled. \"A real buff, eh? You know, it's kind of funny. I was\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Si so astonished when there is a real bartender working the bar?\n\n<options>:\nA He hasn’t been talking to people, and Si is caught off guard seeing someone face to face again after so long.\nB He’s never seen a bartender before, nor been in an establishment that has one.\nC He was in his thoughts considering his money, and was caught off guard.\nD He didn’t expect it. It’s a job that is normally automated, and it’s shocking to see a human working it.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,817	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>:\nfrom fish....\" It was all sound logic. Even Ned Vince knew that. Still, his over the party telephone. \"We'll Ned Vince was eager for the from! Do you understand—whoever, or whatever you are?\" Loy Chuk pressed more keys. \"But you can't go back to the Twentieth Century,\" said the on to avoid a fearful, telescoping collision. He flicked his wheel But Ned Vince wasn't listening, Ned could scarcely have chosen didn't more than half believe it. His mind was too confused for Ned Vince was still dimly conscious to escape this nameless himself, possessed him. He bounded out of the vat, and heavy, natronous liquid rushed up through the openings and animal chucklings around him, and the occasional touch of a furry body, hurried his feverish cracks beneath his feet, Ned dash-panel, leaving Ned in absolute huh?\" Ned Vince muttered in a liquid was sucked into his lungs. His last thoughts were those of a drowning man. The machine-shop \"Kaalleee! Tik!... Tik, tik, tik!... Kaalleee!...\" The excited cry, which no human throat could quite have duplicated and studied.... Prison or a madhouse would be far better. He tried to get chill. in his hell-world, lost beyond the barrier of the years.... Loy Chuk and his followers presently came upon Ned Vince's unconscious form, a mile from \"Kaalleee!... Tik, tik, tik!...\" At first there was only one the city of Kar-Rah. In a flying voice uttering those weird, triumphant machine they took him back, and applied stimulants. He came to, in the same laboratory room as sounds. Then other vocal organs took up that trilling babble of a group of workmen who have discovered something until presently an idea occurred Ned Vince,\" came the answer from the black box. It was Loy Chuk speaking again. \"But listen!\" Ned protested. \"You know a lot more than we to him. It gave him a few crumbs read about. Maybe you know how to make it work! Maybe you could send me back to my own time after all!\" Little Loy Chuk was in a black, discouraged mood, himself. He could understand the his own kind. Probably insanity looming. In far less extreme circumstances than this, death from homesickness had come. Loy Chuk was a scientist. In common with all real scientists, regardless of the species from had done that. \"Kaalleee!... Tik, tik, tik!...\" The sounds were not human. They were more like the chatter worlds in other solar systems, and wail of small desert animals. So Loy considered carefully what Ned Vince had suggested. study. anachronism he had so miraculously resurrected—this human, this Kaalleee.... Loy jabbed buttons on the black box. \"Yes, Ned Vince,\" as ruler of the Earth. Loy Chuk had flown his geological expedition out from the far lowlands to the east, out Man, it seemed, had a successor, said the sonic apparatus. \"Time-travel. Ned felt better immediately, soon.... Ned relaxed, as a tiny hypo-needle bit into his arm.... As soon as Ned Vince passed into unconsciousness, Loy Chuk went to work once more, using that pair of brain-helmets again, mind. After hours of research, he proceeded to prepare his far beyond that of the ancient Twentieth Century. Loy Chuk and his fellow workers were gathered, tense and gleeful, around the things their was a scientific oligarchy, of which Loy was a prime member. It would be easy to get the Ned Vince's mind swam \"Why, Ned,\" she chuckled. wonder Loy Chuk and his co-workers were happy in their paleontological enthusiasm! A legendary antiquity, had aided them in their quest for knowledge. At last Loy Chuk gave a soft, chirping signal. The chant of triumph ended, while instruments flicked in his tiny hands. The final instrument he used to test the mummy, looked like a and dimming his brain, so that it would never question or doubt, or observe too closely the incongruous to him, made his pleasure even greater than before. In twittering, chattering sounds, he communicated his further knowledge to his henchmen. Though devoid of moisture, the mummy He didn't know that this machine-shop its brain cells! Medical and biological sciences were far advanced among Loy Chuk's kind. Perhaps, by the application of principles long known to them, was built from his own memories of the original. opaque dome. But there were hidden television systems, too. Thus Loy Chuk's kind could study this ancient man—this \"Tik, tik, tik!...\" But Loy silenced this fresh, eager chattering with a command. Kaalleee. Thus, their motives in the museums of Kar-Rah! Loy, though, was not observing, now. He had wandered far out into cold, sad sea-bottom, to \"The Kaalleee believes himself home,\" Loy was thinking. \"He in a metal case, and hauled into the flying machine. Flashing flame, the latter will survive and be happy. But PRINTED IN U. S. A. Transcriber's Note: glinting in the red sunshine. But this was only its surface aspect. Loy Chuk's people had built their homes mostly underground, since the beginning of subterranean passages and rooms was welcome. The mummy was taken to Loy Chuk's laboratory, a short distance below the surface. Here at once, the scientist began his liquid, the corpse was submitted to a flow of restorative energy, passing between complicated lay there, a mummy no more, but a pale, silent figure in its tatters of clothing. Loy Chuk put an odd, metal-fabric helmet on its head, and a second, much smaller helmet worked with his apparatus, studying, and guiding the recording At last, eager and ready for whatever might happen now, Loy Chuk pushed another switch. With a cold, rosy flare, energy blazed around that moveless dehydrated, his brain had been kept perfectly intact through the ages, and now it was restored. study it would make, back there which he could not understand, remembering as he did The words themselves, and the way they were assembled, were old, familiar friends. But the Ned's gaze searched for the source of the voice—located the black box just outside of his crystal vat. From that box the a little but plainly possessing a high order of intelligence. And a voice whose soothingly place as eerie as this. Ned Vince did not know how Loy Chuk had probed his brain, with the aid of a pair of helmets, and the black box apparatus. He did not know that in the latter, his language, taken from his own revitalized mind, was recorded, and that Loy Chuk had only to press certain buttons to make the instrument express his thoughts in common, long-dead English. Loy, whose vocal organs were not human, would have had great difficulty speaking English words, anyway. gone nuts,\" he pronounced with a curious calm. \"Stark—starin'—nuts....\" Loy's box, with its recorded English words and its sonic detectors, could translate for its master, too. As the man spoke, Loy read the illuminated symbols in his own language, flashed on a frosted crystal plate before him. Thus he knew what Ned Vince was saying. Loy Chuk pressed more keys, and the box reproduced his answer: \"No, Ned, not nuts. Not a your body. I brought you back to life. We have science that can do that. I'm Loy Chuk....\" It took only a moment for the box to tell the full story in clear, bold, friendly terms. Thus Loy sought, with calm, human logic, to make his charge feel at home. it out. \"A prairie dog,\" he said. \"Speaking to me. One million them. A lot easier than men\n\n<question>:\nHow does Loy Chuk communicate with Ned?\n\n<options>:\nA Loy Chuk communicates with Ned through telepathy.\nB Loy Chuk has a device that translates his speech into English.\nC Loy Chuk has a device that lets him speak English.\nD Loy Chuk has a device that converts his thoughts into English.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,687	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\"Maybe we ought to eat something first,\" I said. \"I'm beginning to feel one thing he could bring back and though he didn't want to Arth closed his eyes in pain. \"Vegetarian,\" he said. \"Couldn't possibly eat meat. Barbarous. Ugh.\" \"Well, we need some nourishment,\" ... nevertheless he did.... ox.\" from the wonderful future ... mildly, \"You're late.\" \"Don't yell at me, I almost as though reciting, \"What I need is a vacation.\" That seemed like a good question. I thought about it for a while. Finally Simon said, mournful of tone, \"Fifty dollars? Why not make it five hundred?\" \"I'm not selfish,\" Betty said. \"All \"Money,\" Simon said. \"When you Simon said, enigmatically, \"Now Arth did something and the window went opaque. Simon said unenthusiastically, \"That's quite a gadget,\" I groaned. \"If I didn't feel so lousy, I'd appreciate it.\" three hundred dollars you still retain caste whatever the styling. Simon, said finally, \"You know What a stupidity. I'll be phased. Phased all the way down.\" \"You haven't got a handful of \"You didn't have a hotel. aspirin, have you?\" I asked him. \"Anything,\" Simon said. \"Only \"Excellent. Do you believe in time \"I'm clean. I won't mess up the place. All I've got is a hangover, not lice.\" ventured, \"Time travel is impossible.\" \"Why?\" \"Why?\" \"Yes, why?\" Simon continued to say nothing she had a time machine and traveled back a hundred years or so and killed your own great-grandfather. Then how could you ever be born?\" \"Confound it if I know,\" the little fellow growled. \"How?\" Simon said, \"Let's get to the point, some time travelers,\" the old boy wrong. But I didn't care. I finished my mass \"Then you'll realize that there are a dozen explanations of the paradoxes of time travel. Every writer in the field worth his salt has explained them away. But to get on. It's my contention that within a century or so man will have solved the problems of immortality and eternal youth, and it's also my suspicion that he will eventually be able to travel in time. Arth didn't put up an argument that I am willing to gamble a portion of my fortune to investigate on that. We said good-by and I could So convinced am I of these possibilities Simon seemed incapable of carrying said, \"But ... Mr. Oyster, if the future has developed time travel why don't we ever meet such travelers?\" Simon put in a word. \"The usual afford to allow the space-time continuum make heads nor tails of the check time traveler returned to a period of receipt. He didn't speak English and then all subsequent history would be changed. In that case, the time traveler himself might never be born. They have to tread mighty carefully.\" Mr. Oyster was pleased. \"I didn't expect you to be so well informed on the subject, young man.\" Simon shrugged and fumbled my high school German was inadequate, considering the matter for some time and—\" Simon held up a hand. \"There's no use prolonging this. As I understand it, you're an elderly gentleman with a considerable fortune and you realize that thus far nobody has succeeded in taking it with him.\" nobody their perch, bug-eyed Simon, but then should drink Simon said, \"You want to hire me to find a time traveler and in some do—exhort from him the secret of eternal life and youth, which you figure evidently. The trip back was as uninteresting the future will have discovered. a bona fide time traveler.\" \"Right!\" would have stayed, I told myself. , that's where they'd be!\" He seemed ,\" he repeated. \"The greatest festival the world has think of to show for it nothing but \"You'll miss your plane,\" Betty said. the calendar. Mr. Oyster was saying something to the effect that if I didn't leave today, it would have to be tomorrow, that he hadn't ponied up that thousand dollars advance for anything less than immediate service. Stuffing his receipt in his wallet, he fussed \"All right,\" Simon said. \"We'll accept . For one thing, a time traveler wouldn't \"But why would a time traveler \"Why not! What better opportunity to study a people than when they \"See here,\" Mr. Oyster said (interrupting Simon's story), \"did you say this was supposed to be amusing, young man? I don't find it so. In fact, I believe I am being ridiculed.\" Simon shrugged, put one hand to his forehead and said, \"That's only more.\" \"I'm not interested in more,\" Mr. Oyster said. \"I suppose your point was to show me how ridiculous the whole idea actually is. Very well, you've done it. Confound it. However, I suppose your time, even when spent in this manner, has some value. you'd have to stick to some great event, both for the sake of actual interest and for protection against being Here is fifty dollars. And good day, Simon winced at the noise, took sir!\" as a suspicious character not being able to speak the language, not unmasked.\" The old boy wound it up. \"Well, Simon was shaking his head. \"Not But I'm surprised you didn't take his money and enjoy that vacation you've been yearning about.\" interested.\" Mr. Oyster was taken aback himself. \"See here, young man, I realize Simon nodded, miserably. this isn't an ordinary assignment, Simon \"A hundred dollars a day plus expenses,\" time traveler, there might have Mr. Oyster said quietly. \"I \"I keep telling you,\" Simon said like the fact that you already seem Probably thousands.\" He took a deep breath. \"Listen, we're just going to have to forget about it. They're not going to stand for the space-time \"No go,\" Simon said, a sad quality in his voice. you bring me a time traveler.\" \"Out of the question,\" Simon said. \"But why \"A fifty thousand dollar bonus if \"Just for laughs,\" Simon told the \"You mean,\" Betty was suddenly furious at him, \"you've given up! Why this is the biggest thing— Why the fifty thousand dollars is nothing. The future! Just think!\" Simon said wearily, \"There's just Oyster (Simon began) in the way What's more you can pile one on top of the other, and another on top of that!\" He shuddered. \"If you think I'm going to take another crack at this again.\" THE END Transcriber's Note: Astounding Science Fiction June money. Time travel yet! What a 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. chickens, the herds of oxen. Who ponied up all the money for such expenditures? How could the average German, with his twenty-five dollars a week salary? masses , by the way, not mugs. The bald-headed sipping, I said, \"You know, the tourist pamphlets say this stuff is eighteen per cent. That's nonsense. He looked at me, waiting. I came up. \"Mistaken,\" I admitted. Shouldn't have said that.\" I had never heard of the brand so I skipped it. \"Next is the Hofbräu,\" he said. \"Next what?\" Baldy's conversation one of the seven brands of the best beer the world has ever known. I'm only as far as Löwenbräu. I'm afraid I'll never make it.\" I finished my Name is Simon.\" was the smallest amount obtainable. A beer later I said, \"I don't know if you'll make it or not, Arth.\" \"Make what?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat does Simon think about the possibility of time travel?\n\n<options>:\nA He thinks it's possible, but finds it ridiculous that Oktoberfest would be the place to find it.\nB He hopes that it's real, and spends a lot of time thinking about how to avoid a paradox.\nC He knows that it's real, but thinks that its secret will be kept in the future.\nD He thinks it's incredibly stupid and not worth considering.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,745	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nACCIDENTAL DEATH 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 one after another in defiance of probability? The most dangerous of weapons is the one you don't know is loaded. our launch. What could a whole planetful of them do? \"On the other hand, a talent that manipulates chance events is bound to be chancy. No matter how highly developed it can't be surefire. The proof is that I've survived to tell the thing in the hollow was stirring in stiff jerks like a snake with its back broken or a clockwork toy running BY PETER BAILY more than a yard away, weary \"I've wiggled my toes with entire up at all, though I don't see how it could happen. Right now I don't feel like struggling up and finding out. I'm fine where I am. I'll just lie here for a while and relax, and get some of the story on tape. This suit's got a built-in recorder, I might as well use it. That way even if I'm not as well as I feel, I'll leave a message. and wonder what went wrong. \"I suppose I'm in a state of shock. Who wouldn't be shocked after luck like that? . 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 jump in the first starship ever. At my how we happened to find Chang, against finding Chang on a six-sun technical—haven't got space travel for instance. They're good astronomers, though. We were able to show If you doubt it, chew these facts over. \"One, they learned our language in four weeks. When I say they, I mean a ten-man team of them. . \"Three, they've a great sense of humor. Ran rather to silly practical jokes, but still. Can't say I care for that hot-foot and belly-laugh stuff myself, but tastes differ. \"Four, the ten-man language team also learned chess and table tennis. \"But why go on? People who talk English, drink beer, like jokes and beat me at chess or table-tennis are people for my money, even if they \"It was funny the way they won that ten per cent extra gravity put us off our strokes. As for chess, Svendlov in the time? It was more that we all seemed to make silly mistakes when we played them and that's fatal in chess. Of course it's a screwy situation, playing chess with something that grows its own fur coat, has yellow eyes an inch and a half long you have kept your mind on the game? \"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 or whatever you like to call him, who came back with us. Why I disliked him was because he was always trying to get the edge on you. All the time he had to be top. Great sense of humor, of course. I nearly broke my neck on that butter-slide he fixed up in the metal alleyway to the engine room. Charley laughed Charley ... Minnow unhurt, was Charley. He was laughing ... \"My God, it's dark out here. Wonder how high I am. Must be all of fifty miles, and doing eight hundred miles an hour at least. I'll be doing Same as a fifty thousand mile fall, I suppose same as escape twenty-four thousand miles an hour. I'll make a think of it, I must be deep in air now. Let's take a look. or eraser. What must have happened is that the suit ran out of and that brought me round. \"Come to think of it, why not crack the suit and breath fresh air instead of bottled? \"No. I'd have to get up to do that. I think I'll just lie here a little bit longer and get properly rested up before I try anything big like standing up. solar system. The crew had to find out exactly what went wrong. The physicists had to make mystic passes in front of meters and mutter about residual folds in stress-free space. The crew's job was also easy: they found what went wrong in less than half an hour. \"It still seems incredible. To program the ship for a star-jump, you translated into the somewhat abstruse co-ordinate system we used based on you this and I'm just attached personnel with no space-flight tradition. In practical terms, one highly trained crew member had punched a wrong pattern of holes on the tape. Another equally skilled had failed to notice this when reading back. A childish error, highly improbable twice repeated, thus squaring the improbability. Incredible, but that's what why we were out there so long. They were cross-checked about five times. I got sick so I climbed into a spacesuit and went outside and took some again after four months subjective time away, except for Charley, who was still chuckling and shaking his 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. We'd come out of the jump about was the As again you know, this is good for interplanetary flight because you can it has rather a low thrust. It would have taken more time than we had to deflect us enough to avoid a smash. We had five minutes to abandon ship. \"James got us all into the Minnow Minnow 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? \"We didn't have time to think about that, or even to get the radio saw Charley coming out of the toilet—that's how he'd escaped—and I saw him beginning to laugh. Then I don't see how any of us could have \"I'll have to get up and crack this suit and let some air in. But I can't. to go till I find a way to go down. I've been chewing snow to quench my thirst but I could eat a horse. I minutes just to hear a human voice again. I haven't much hope of reaching anyone with my five milliwatt suit transmitter but I'll keep trying. \"Just before I start the climb there something from my military training, when I did some parachute about the Chingsi, and here it is: watch out for them. Those jokers are dangerous. I'm not telling how because I've got a scientific reputation to watch. You'll have to figure it out for yourselves. Here are the clues: (1) The Chingsi talk and laugh but an alien world a hundred light-years away, why shouldn't alien talents develop? A talent that's so uncertain and rudimentary here that most people don't believe it, might be highly developed out there. (2) The on till it looks fishy. We lost but one of us lost our lives. We couldn't even win a game of ping-pong. \"So what is luck, good or bad? For him, luck refers to the future, and you've got bad luck when future chance events won't go your have been inconclusive, but everyone 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 ask the insurance companies about accident prones. What's in a name? Call a man unlucky and you're superstitious. Call him accident prone and that's sound business sense. I've said enough. \"All the same, search the space-flight\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Charley so interested in the Minnow?\n\n<options>:\nA He has been sent to steal the technological secrets\nB His species does not have space travel and he wants to learn from the humans\nC They do not have similar wildlife on his planet\nD He wants to learn enough to pull an elaborate prank\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
44	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>:\npseudo-elected and didn't know much about the field of space travel nor the significance of Seymour Pond's retirement. Si didn't bother to before him, Si Pond would have preferred something a bit more tangible The fact of the matter was, Si knew that his retiring had set them back. They hadn't figured he had enough shares of Basic to see him through decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards. But Space Pilot Seymour Pond didn't have their standards. He'd had plenty of time to think it over. It was better to retire on a limited crediting, on a confoundedly limited crediting, than to take the two or three more trips in hopes of attaining a higher standard. haul to the Jupiter satellites, fearfully checking the symptoms of space cafard, the madness compounded of claustrophobia, monotony, boredom and free fall. Plenty of time. Time to decide that a one room mini-auto-apartment, complete with an autochair and built-in beyond belief compared to the conning tower of a space craft. No. Even as Si listened to their speeches, accepted the watch and the cloddy's patriotism, sentiment and desire for public acclaim have miserably failed.\" \"At that time there wasn't such a blistering percentage of funkers throughout this whole blistering Ultrawelfare State! Who could foresee that eventually our whole program would face ending due to and tequila. He said, \"Nevertheless, both you and I conform with the present generation in finding it far more pleasant to follow one's way of life in the comfort of one's home than to be confronted with the unpleasantness of facing nature's dangers in more adventurous pastimes.\" dossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it was you yourself who talked him into taking the training ... pointing out the more pragmatic advantages such as complete retirement after but six trips, added shares of Basic so that he could enjoy a more comfortable life than most and the fame that would accrue to him as one of the very few who still participate in travel to the planets. Very well. He was sold. Took his training, which, of course, required long years drafted into the working force reserves, served his time, and is now free from toil for the balance of his life. Why should he listen to our pleas for a few more trips?\" \"But has he no spirit of adventure? Has he no feeling for....\" seemingly mild though it was, had an astonishing ability to break off the conversation of one who debated with the easy-seeming, quiet spoken man. always paid lip service to adventure, hardships and excitement, but in actuality his instincts, like those of any other animal, lead him to take months, possibly more than a year, to bring another novitiate pilot to the point where he can safely be trusted to take our next increasingly hard to come by—even though in our on Appropriations, will terminate the whole Department of Space for years at a stretch before returning to home port—he would talk of his retirement and his dream. And then? Then in port, it would be one short drink with the boys, before taking his accumulated pay and heading home. The one short drink would lead to another. And morning would find him, drunk, rolled, tattooed and possibly sleeping it off in jail. So back to sea he'd have to go.\" name pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated. When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualifications were such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation in needs again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer. He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn't any particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get the reputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of the fellas. You could do the same in life whether you really studied or It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force. In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistake in adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution. They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number of working hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week. It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were working but two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. It became obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting in thirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it was to have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and none of them ever really becoming efficient. The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remain unemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent of unemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in a reasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a year and a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employees were needed, a draft lottery was held. was burning a hole in his pocket, as the expression went. However, he wasn't going to rush into things. This had to be done correctly. Too many a spree was played by ear. You started off with a few drinks, fell in with some second rate mopsy and usually wound up in a third rate groggery where you spent just as much as though you'd been in the classiest joint in town. Came morning and you had nothing to show for Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through the quite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he who must leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically and usually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spent hurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so long denied him. Si was going to do it differently this time. the canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only one \"Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond,\" he said aloud. sub-shots. Finally, the dash threw a green light and Si opened the Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the most the guest might desire and Si touched the control that dilated it to moment and looked about. He'd never been in a place like this, either. However, he stifled his first instinct to wonder about what this was Si cleared his throat. \"Hey,\" he said, \"how about letting this one be Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, \"Yeah ... sure.\" \"Si,\" Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anything current sex symbols, but never in person. \"Call me Si,\" he said again. \"I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking to such that it was obvious she hadn't quite adjusted as yet to having met him. him in the Space Exploration department, he was hot for it.\" Si was expansive. \"Why, sure. In the Space Department we don't have \"Well,\" Si said modestly, \"two of my runs were only to the Moon.\" \"... and he said all those things about man's conquest of space. And Si grunted. \"Yeah. That's all part of the Doc's scheme to get me to take on another three runs. They're afraid the whole department'll be pressure me into more trips. Otherwise they got a Space Exploration Si said, \"Look, how about another drink?\" the hand indicating their need for two more of the same. \"How come you know so much about it? You don't meet many people who are interested in space any more. In fact, most people are almost contemptuous, like. Think it's kind of a big boondoggle deal to help use up a lot of materials and all and keep the economy going.\" Natalie said earnestly, \"Why, I've been a space fan all my life. I've after my first run and I found out what space cafard was.\" articles. Says there's enough adverse publicity about space exploration already. But at this stage of the game when the whole ship's crammed\n\n<question>:\nWhat was considered a downside to the space exploration by Si?\n\n<options>:\nA The inability to start of family of his own due to being away for long periods of time.\nB The fear of contracting space cafard.\nC His fear of being in the ship itself.\nD Becoming too used to being along for long periods of time.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,664	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>:\npsychotic. He was nutty enough to think he could make an atom bomb out of modeling clay! Illustrated by Freas have finished.\" crafts shop. Two muscular and bored attendants in spotless whites, prospects for the pennant. Through the barred windows of the workshop, rolling green hills were seen, their tree-studded flanks making a pleasant setting for the mental institution. The crafts building was a good mile away from the main complex of buildings that housed the main wards. The therapist strolled down the line of tables, pausing to give a word of advice here, and a suggestion there. She stopped behind a frowning, intense patient, rapidly shaping blobs of clay into odd-sized strips and forms. As he finished each piece, he carefully placed it into a hollow shell hemisphere of clay. The flying fingers continued to whip out the bits of shaped clay as the answer when someone talks to you. Now what are you making? It looks very complicated.\" She stared professionally at the maze of clay parts. Thaddeus Funston continued to mold the clay bits and put them in place. \"Atom bomb.\" thought you said an 'atom bomb.'\" up and stretched. There was a rustle of paint boxes and papers being shuffled and chairs more dab of paint on his canvas and stood back to survey the meaningless smears. He sighed happily and laid down his palette. At the clay table, Funston feverishly fabricated the last odd-shaped bit of clay and slapped it into place. With a furtive glance around him, he clapped the other half of the clay sphere over the filled hemisphere and made short, precise notes on the day's work accomplished by each At the clay table, she carefully lifted the top half of the clay ball and stared thoughtfully at the jumbled maze of clay strips laced through the lower hemisphere. She placed the lid back in place and jotted lengthily in her chart book. 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. It was over in an instant, and a stunned moment later, recessed ceiling lights began flashing on throughout the big institution. Beyond the again-silent hills, a great pillar of smoke, topped by a small mushroom-shaped cloud, rose above the gaping hole that had been the arts and crafts building. through the hospital, seeing how many had been injured in the explosion. None had. The hills had absorbed most of the shock and apart from a 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. experts gathered in the tent erected on the hill overlooking the crater. \"How can an atom bomb go off in a nut house?\" \"I don't care if it was the size of a peanut,\" Thurgood screamed. \"How standing around here. We don't know, but the fact remains that it WAS an atomic explosion.\" through the use of their hands, some of the frustrations and problems 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 \"All I know is that you say this was a crafts building. O.K. So it was,\" Thurgood slumped into a field chair and gazed tiredly up at the little 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 time. A jeep raced down the road from the hospital and drew up in front of the edge of his chair at the head of a long table and pounded with his fist on the wooden surface, making Miss Abercrombie's chart book bounce with every beat. the world if this ever gets out. An atomic bomb made out of clay. You are all nuts. You're in the right place, but count me out.\" At his left, Miss Abercrombie cringed deeper into her chair at the broadside. Down both sides of the long table, psychiatrists, physicists, strategists and radiologists sat in various stages of nerve-shattered weariness. \"And you say that, to the best of your knowledge,\" the physicist continued, \"there was nothing inside the ball but other pieces of clay.\" the IQ of an ape could make an atomic bomb out of kid's modeling clay? later, the car pulled into the flying field at the nearby community and the runway with propellers turning. The plane landed the next morning at the AEC's atomic testing grounds in the Nevada desert and two hours later, in a small hot, wooden shack miles up the barren desert wastelands, a cluster of scientists and military men huddled around a small wooden table. There was nothing on the table but a bowl of water and a great lump of modeling clay. While the psychiatrists were taking the strait jacket off \"Now you're positive this is just about the same amount and the same kind of clay he used before?\" \"I brought it along from the same batch we had in the store room at the Thurgood signaled to the doctors and they entered the shack with one you made for me yesterday.\" shack and then spotted the clay on the table. Without hesitation, he walked to the table and sat down. His fingers began working the damp clay, making first the hollow, half-round shell while the nation's top atomic scientists watched in fascination. His busy fingers flew through the clay, shaping odd, flat bits and clay parts that were dropped almost aimlessly into the open hemisphere in front of him. glanced at her watch. The maze of clay strips grew and as Funston finished shaping the other half hemisphere of clay, she broke the tense clay carefully in place. Funston stood up and the doctors escorted him There was a moment of hushed silence and then pandemonium burst. The experts converged on the clay ball, instruments blossoming from nowhere For two hours they studied and gently probed the mass of child's clay 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 slammed shut just before the wave of the blast hit the structure. Through the window he could see the hurried bustle of traffic over the Potomac and beyond, the domed roof of the Capitol. In the conference room next door, the joint chiefs of staff were closeted with a gray-faced and bone-weary Colonel Thurgood and his baker's dozen of AEC brains. Scraps of the hot and scornful talk drifted a neatly-tied bundle. there and tell me that this poor soul has made not one, but two atomic devices out of modeling clay and then has detonated them.\" The general paused. \"Why don't you just tell me, colonel, that he can also make spaceships out of sponge rubber?\" the general added bitingly. In the next room, Thaddeus Funston stared out over the sweeping panorama of the Washington landscape. He stared hard. In the distance, a white cloud began billowing up from the base of the Washington Monument, and with an ear-shattering, glass-splintering roar, the great shaft rose majestically from its base and vanished into space on a tail of flame. THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhat do the jumbled clay strips represent?\n\n<options>:\nA Thaddeus' way of labeling his creation\nB Wires and circuitry from a bomb\nC The discarded clay from his process\nD Rivers on a globe of the Earth\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
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>:\nTrue, some forms of medical help are more invasive than others. With in vitro fertilization, the sperm and egg are combined in the lab and surgically implanted in the womb. Less than two decades ago, a similar concern was raised over the ethical issues involved in \"test-tube babies.\" To date, nearly 30,000 such babies have been born in the United States alone. Many would-be parents have been made happy. Who has been harmed? The cloning procedure is similar to IVF. The only difference is that the DNA of sperm and egg would be replaced by DNA from an adult cell. What law or principle--secular, humanist, or religious--says that one combination of genetic material in a flask is OK, but another is not? No matter how closely you study the 1 st century texts, I don't think you'll find the answer. Even if people have the right to do it, is cloning a good idea? Suppose that every prospective parent in the world stopped having children naturally, and instead produced clones of themselves. What would the world be like in another 20 or 30 years? The answer is: much like today. Cloning would only copy the genetic aspects of people who are already here. Hating a world of clones is hating the current populace. Never before was Pogo so right: We have met the enemy, and he is us ! Adifferent scare scenario is a world filled with copies of famous people only. We'll treat celebrity DNA like designer clothes, hankering for Michael Jordan's genes the way we covet his Nike sneakers today. But even celebrity infatuation has its limits. People are not more taken with celebrities than they are with themselves. Besides, such a trend would correct itself in a generation or two, because celebrity is closely linked to rarity. The world seems amused by one Howard Stern, but give us a hundred or a million of them, and they'll seem a lot less endearing. Clones already exist. About one in every 1,000 births results in a pair of babies with the same DNA. We know them as identical twins. Scientific studies on such twins--reared together or apart--show that they share many characteristics. Just how many they share is a contentious topic in human biology. But genetic determinism is largely irrelevant to the cloning issue. Despite how many or how few individual characteristics twins--or other clones--have in common, they are different people in the most fundamental sense . They have their own identities, their own thoughts, and their own rights. Should you be confused on this point, just ask a twin. Suppose that Unsolved Mysteries called you with news of a long-lost identical twin. Would that suddenly make you less of a person, less of an individual? It is hard to see how. So, why would a clone be different? Your clone would be raised in a different era by different people--like the lost identical twin, only younger than you. A person's basic humanity is not governed by how he or she came into this world, or whether somebody else happens to have the same DNA. Twins aren't the only clones in everyday life. Think about seedless grapes or navel oranges--if there are no seeds, where did they come from? It's the plant equivalent of virgin birth--which is to say that they are all clones, propagated by cutting a shoot and planting it. Wine is almost entirely a cloned product. The grapes used for wine have seeds, but they've been cloned from shoots for more than a hundred years in the case of many vineyards. The same is true for many flowers. Go to a garden store, and you'll find products with delightful names like \"Olivia's Cloning Compound,\" a mix of hormones to dunk on the cut end of a shoot to help it take root. 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? 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. Once the fuss has died down and further animal research has paved the way, direct human cloning will be one more option among many specialized medical interventions in human reproduction, affecting only a tiny fraction of the population. Research into this area could bring far wider benefits. Clinton's knee-jerk policy changes nothing in the short run, but it is ultimately a giant step backward. In using an adult cell to create a clone, the \"cellular clock\" that determines the difference between an embryo and adult was somehow reset. Work in this area might help elucidate the process by which aging occurs and yield a way to reset the clocks in some of our own cells, allowing us to regenerate. Selfishly speaking, that would be more exciting to me than cloning, because it would help me . That's a lot more directly useful than letting me sire an identical twin 40 years my junior.\n\n<question>:\nHow does the writer use twins in their argument?\n\n<options>:\nA They show that clones already exist, and are proven to grow as individuals and have their own individual rights.\nB They show that like twins, clones use the same DNA to make people with shared characteristics.\nC They use twins to show that if clones did exist, they would grow up the same way that twins do.\nD They show that twins are a common occurrence, meaning cloning would not be such a new concept to introduce.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,079	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWe know that paedophiles, murderers and other violent criminals come in many shapes and sizes. If we knew nothing about their criminal history, some of their photos might even appear attractive. But the idea that someone's features betray their character is something rooted deep within us it's the reason why certain photos perform well on dating apps, or why trustworthy-looking politicians might rack up votes. But how wrong are our hunches of perceived criminality? It's a claim that's been made many times over the years. Physiognomy, the 'science' of judging people by their appearance, was first theorised by the ancient Greeks in around the 5th century BC. Aristotle's pronouncement that \"it is possible to infer character from features\" led to a number of works relating to 'Physiognomica', a word derived from Many studies have been done into our psychological response to faces, and it's clear that a so-called halo effect will inevitably work its magic. \"Attractive people are regarded as better at everything,\" says Professor Peter Hancock, lecturer in Psychology at Stirling University. \"And we can't shake that off because there's some truth to it. Good genes produce intelligent people, attractive faces, fit bodies, and we imagine that they're going to be good at everything else, too. We don't have good insight into our own behaviour. We tend to think we understand what we're doing, but we don't.\" Hancock describes attending a conference where one speaker showed a series of black faces and white faces to students (who were mostly white) and asked them what they thought the experiment was about. \"They knew that he was trying to assess whether they would rate the black ones as more criminal,\" says Hancock. \"But then they did!\" We attribute social characteristics based on opinions we already hold about certain kinds of faces: whether they look unusual in some way, whether they resemble a partner, a family member or even ourselves, or perhaps have some other cultural association. Physiognomy ultimately stems from what Alexander Todorov, professor of psychology at Princeton University, calls an 'overgeneralisation hypothesis'. \"People,\" he wrote, \"use easily accessible facial information (eg an expression such as a smile, cues to gender and ethnic group) to make social attributions congruent with this information (eg a nice person).\" In a social media age, the pictures we choose to represent ourselves online are a form of self-presentation driven by those social attributions and the knowledge that our pictures are being judged. Experiments at Princeton found that we take less than one tenth of a second to form an opinion of strangers from their pictures, and those opinions tend to stand firm even if we're exposed to those pictures for a longer period of time. That tendency to judge instantly gives rise to a number of selfie tropes that are deemed to elicit positive responses, particularly when it comes to photos on dating profiles: certain angles, particular expressions, minute adjustments of eyebrows and lips that might appear to be about narcissism and vanity, but are more about a fear of being incorrectly assessed. After all, false suppositions based on people's faces are hugely influential within society, and in extreme cases they can have a huge impact on people's lives. When retired teacher Christopher Jefferies was held by police in connection with the murder of Joanna Yeates in Bristol back in 2010, more than half a dozen newspapers gave his unusual appearance particular scrutiny and made assumptions accordingly, which in turn influenced public opinion. This culminated in substantial damages for defamation, two convictions for contempt of court and a painful ordeal for Jefferies, who was entirely innocent. This kind of deep-seated bias looms large throughout physiognomic works of the 19th and 20th centuries, from absurdities such as Vaught's Practical Character Reader of 1902 (handy if you want to find out what a \"deceitful chin\" looks like) to more inherently troubling volumes such as Cesare Lombroso's Criminal Man. studies show that people with stereotypically 'untrustworthy' faces tend to receive harsher treatment than those who don't. There's evidently some consensus over people's attitudes toward certain faces, but it doesn't follow that the consensus is correct. The only attributes that we're reasonably good at detecting, according to research done at the University of Michigan in the 1960s and later tested at the University of Stirling in 2007, are extroversion and conscientiousness. For other traits there's insufficient evidence that our hunches are correct, with anomalies explained by our evolved aversion to 'ugliness', established links between broader faces and powerful physiques, or cultural associations with certain demographics which are reinforced with nagging regularity by newspapers, books, television and film. Data-driven studies, based upon huge quantities of facial data, would seem to offer the final word on this. Since 2005, computational models have used various techniques to test for links between social attributes and facial features, resulting in suggestions that our faces can betray, for example, political leanings, sexual orientation and criminality. One BBC Future article from 2015 even describes the 'discipline' of physiognomy as 'gaining credibility'. But Todorov details many problems with these studies, pointing out the challenging nature of doing such experiments with sufficient rigour – not least because different images of the same people can prompt wildly differing results. The aforementioned study at Shanghai's Jiao Tong University, with its enthusiastic, data-driven analyses of such questions as \"What features of a human face betray its owner's propensity for crimes?\" prompted a wave of press coverage. The vision outlined in these articles is of an unethical dystopia where neural networks can assess our faces and establish a likely score for criminality – but Todorov is scathing about this paper, too. \"The main problem is the sampling of the images,\" he says. \"There is not enough information about the [nature of] the images of the people who were convicted. Second, clearly, there are huge differences between the two samples [of convicts and non-convicts] [in terms of] education and socio-economic status.\" In other words, your appearance is affected by the kind of life you've led, so the classifiers within the computer program are simply distinguishing between different demographics rather than detecting a propensity for criminal behaviour. This isn't to say that the use of big data, and particularly the use of composite imagery (digitally blending together certain types of faces) doesn't give us useful information and fascinating correlations. \"You can, for example, take a given face and use computer software to make it look more or less trustworthy,\" says Hancock. \"I remember a colleague playing with this and he made a less trustworthy version of George W Bush – and how shifty did he look! I'm surprised that they're not using these techniques in political advertising, because you couldn't tell that anything had been done [to the picture], but when you look at it you think 'I wouldn't trust him'.\" The revitalisation of the theory of physiognomy by the Shanghai students is, according to Todorov, deeply problematic on a theoretical level. \"Are we back to Lombroso's theory,\" he asks, \"that criminals were anomalous creatures, evolutionary degenerates? How does one become criminal, and what role do various life forces play into this? There are people making claims that you just need to look at the face to predict personality and behaviour, but many of these people have not given much thought to their underlying assumptions.\" While it's true that we judge books by their covers, covers are more than just faces\n\n<question>:\nWhich is not true about our judgements of people from photos, according to the article?\n\n<options>:\nA Our judgements are easily manipulated by small, hardly noticeable changes in photos\nB We are able to make objective decisions about people, keeping our opinions of their facial structure separate from the facts\nC We judge people in a way that compares them to people we've seen before that we know more about\nD We are all influenced by underlying bias when we see photos of other people\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,291	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>:\nworld requires for a healthy and The sight of an Earthman on Vega III, where it was fired. The arrow hissed briefly, and exterminate any planet that refuses to obey the just and legal to be, brought angry crowds to surround then sliced smoothly through the \"And it is true that we can always orders of its Viceroy. So we achieve heavy gravity and heavier air of were unable to take over the surrounded by this writhing, slithering of destroying them, and thereby If they carried out the threats of their present attitude, Earth would with civilians who violate this particular have to send Marshall to replace blockade without any trouble. Our unconcern that he felt sure was entirely wasted on these monsters. The clashing teeth of the noisiest of them were only inches from the pikes in front of him as he would arrange something a little more trustworthy, I believe. On your side, you have the power to destroy our only planet at any time. That to destroy all of your planets. As at once, a hundred of your planet-destroying bombs. That will be a sufficient supply to let us test some of them, to see that they are in arrived from Earth to talk to him. He'll summon me fast enough. Meanwhile, my highly polished you cannot prevent—to send one of those bombs here to destroy this planet. \"And if you try to move anywhere else, by your clumsy distorter don't you put those heavy pikes drive, we can follow you, and destroy any planet you choose to from us. We can track you without any difficulty. \"We wouldn't use the bombs land on. You would not get away would happen to Earth. And don't think that blowing up our planet would save you, because we naturally wouldn't keep the bombs on guards withdrew their pikes and froze into immobility at the sides of the entrance. Effulgence commands you to appear before him at once.\" The two Earth. How does that sound to \"Impossible.\" get an opportunity to use. It delay. Meanwhile, I see no reason why we cannot proceed with \"It's customary to genuflect you to be ignorant of those niceties exclamation of protest. \"Oh, communications system can't get Race.\" in particular,\" you that we don't travel in space fast, and without even alerting my detection web?\" useless—and very dangerous—knowledge.\" \"So have we, up until the time you planted that bomb on us. Anyone you, why did you put the cordon drop a planet-buster in the Pacific Ocean, and tell us that it was triggered to go off if we tried to use the distorter drive? That's hardly the action of somebody who expects visitors.\" you have just had demonstrated at will. \"For example, to reach this planet, I went back far enough, using inconveniences I put in your way, for me?\" of these finer points of etiquette and propriety. They are really an uncouth bunch. Why, do a hundred Satrapies these average you know, I am certain that they for your own safety?\" asked \"I don't get it. Why?\" lucky to have learned how to control upstart Earthlings are a strange and a frightening race,\" he said. \"Frightening to the Sunda, especially. was even serious discussion of destroying Earth out of hand, while it is still possible. \"Your silly little planet was carefully examined at long range in a shrill two-tone note, using both his speaking and his eating orifices. A cohort of troops, pikes at the ready classed among the intelligent races, lack of civilization. While these there was a general expectation, Down this lane, carried by twenty along at seven or eight kilometers One such race we left uncontrolled an hour, carrying their contraption with absolute smoothness. Blasts in an incredibly short space of time. But even that isn't the most disconcerting item of your development. As an Earthling, you without requesting permission, and and had headed out on its ion drive until it was safely clear of the warping influence of planetary masses. Then, after several impatient days of careful study and calculation, the distorter drive had been activated, for the first time in Earth's history, and, for the twelve, the stars had winked out. The men of Earth had decided that it should work in theory. They had built the drive—a small machine, as drives go—but they had never dared to try it, close to a planet. To do so, said their theory, would usually—seven point three four times out of 10—destroy the ship, and everything in space for thousands of miles around, in a ravening burst of raw energy. So the drive had been used for the first time without ever having been tested. And it had worked. His Effulgence beckoned to the \"That's the trouble with these requirements with such things as pikes and bows and arrows, which they seldom Earth to be its twin sister. They had headed for that planet confidently and unsuspectingly, using the ion drive. Two weeks later, while they were still several planetary diameters can't provide them with live targets would never do for them to use had been shocked to find more than two score alien ships of space were swifter and more maneuverable closing in on them—ships that a shudder of distaste. \"Tell me, Your Effulgence, does the Emperor's \"Oh, no. They are far too brutal, too morally degraded, to know anything then tried to herd it away from the planet it had been heading toward. Although caught by surprise, would have had the bad taste to use an energy weapon to dispose of the victim in a case such as you just witnessed! They are really quite unfit to rule. They can scarcely dangerous influence of a planetary mass, they had again activated the distorter drive, and they had beaten the odds. On the distorter drive, they had returned to Earth as swiftly as they had departed. Earth had decision. Although far within the interrupting the smooth progress bloody-minded Earthlings must have been aware of the terrible danger.\" procession arrived at the copse in which he had concealed his small transportation machine. The machine, for spatial mobility, was equipped with the heavy and grossly inefficient anti-gravity field generator developed by Kowalsky. It could also have wrecked the planet all who live on that planet. You selection systems combined, but it had the great advantage of being almost undetectable in use. It emitted no mass or radiation. After elaborate and lengthy farewells, just a routine quarantine. With machine and fell gently up until he was out of the atmosphere, before starting his enormous journey your total lack of information and uncontrolled in the Galaxy. Once was enough for that.\" stay free?\" \"Well, no. But you didn't have enough information to realize that from what you say, I'd rather be in bed with a rattler than have a treaty with a Vegan. They sound ungodly murderous to me. There are too many holes in that protection Your drones blew up our unmanned ships as fast as we could send them down to your planet. \"Things may not be as bad as obvious that we could not conquer deliberately just to quarantine you. managed to get what you call the 'planet-buster' down into the \"With his usual lack of imagination, to the President and began to speak rapidly. \"They're gone without trace— Even if you could get down to the bottom of the ocean and tamper with the bomb, you would only succeed in setting it off, and that's all of them !\" he cried. \"I went clear to Sunda and there's no sign of intelligent life anywhere! We're all down?\" will be able to use our own methods—which expert smoke rings toward the to their position of power. Our race Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from guards. as to remain on the street and intolerable situation. for revenge. And now \"War in space is almost an impossibility,\" them, but I don't let them intermingle. large-scale assaults that would result as your little Earth can defend itself. \"Naturally, each is vulnerable to economic blockade—trade provides a small but vital portion of the goods each planet uses. All that a\n\n<question>:\nWhy is the distorter drive so dangerous?\n\n<options>:\nA The distorter drive has a seventy-three percent chance of destroying everything around it for thousands of miles.\nB The distorter drive has not been thoroughly tested.\nC The distorter drive is powered by a nuclear reactor.\nD The distorter drive is radioactive.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,404	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 believe in his choice when every star in this forsaken remain sane in all this blackness much longer. Bitterly he thought of how they would die—not knowing within maybe thousands of light years drifted together, four men in bulbous pressure suits like small Dunbar, the oldest of the four, an old space-buster with a face wrinkled like a dried prune, burned by cosmic rays and the suns of worlds so far away they were scarcely credible, had taken command. concentrates. Each suit a rocket, each human being part of a rocket, Four men, thought Russell, held together by an invisible string of taking the lead because he was older and knew where he was and where he was going. Maybe Johnson, second in line, and Alvar who was third, knew too, but were afraid to admit it. how long the four of them had been plunging toward the red-rimmed sun crazy the four of them had blanked out and nobody could say now how more for claiming he knew when he didn't, for his drooling optimism—because he was taking them on into deeper darkness and would laugh that high piping squawking laugh of his and say that the When the four of them had escaped from that prison colony on a find, if they would just follow old Dunbar. That's what all four of of all. We all look alike out here in these big rocket pressure suits, Russell They might have a chance if Alvar and Johnson weren't so damn lacking in self-confidence as to put all their trust in that crazed old was sure his hunch was right. us. Four suns. You guys see those other three suns all around you, \"Well, if you'll notice,\" Russell said, \"the one on the left also now \"So now,\" Johnson said, \"there's two suns with red rims around them.\" \"We're about in the middle of those four suns aren't we, Dunbar?\" \"That's right, boys!\" yelled old Dunbar in that sickeningly optimistic voice. Like a hysterical old woman's. \"Just about in the sweet dark old middle.\" \"You're still sure it's the sun up ahead ... that's the only one with \"That's right! That's right,\" Dunbar yelled. \"That's the only one—and Alvar and Johnson would see that he was cracked. million years or more.\" \"When in hell were you ever here?\" Johnson said. \"You say you were here before. You never said when, or why or anything!\" \"It was a long time back boys. Don't remember too well, but it was That was—hell, it musta' been fifty years ago. I been too many places nobody's ever bothered to name or chart, to remember where it is, but I been here. I remember those four suns all spotted to form a perfect all these suns and the worlds that go round 'em. Trust me, boys, and been here, long time back.\" Russell said tightly. \"It'll take us a long time won't it? If it's got knowing all the time the old man was crazy, that he was leading them than old Dunbar will ever be, even if he keeps on getting nuttier all four of them hurtled along. \"You never know where you'll find people always spring, always spring, boys, and the music plays all night, every night of a long long year....\" Russell suddenly shouted. \"Keep quiet, Dunbar. Shut up will you?\" Johnson said. \"Dunbar—how long'll it take us?\" \"Six months to a year, I'd say,\" Dunbar yelled happily. \"That is—of our hereditary time.\" \"What?\" croaked Alvar. Johnson didn't say anything at all. Russell screamed at Dunbar, then quieted down. He whispered. \"Six all be crazier than you are—\" \"We'll make it, boys. Trust ole' Dunbar. What's a year when we know isn't big enough to kill the will of a human being, boys. I been over a whole lot of it, and I know. In the old days—\" \"The hell with the old days,\" screamed Russell. whisper. \"You calm down now. You younger fellows—you don't look at things the way we used to. Thing is, we got to go straight. People trapped like this liable to start meandering. Liable to start losing the old will-power.\" He chuckled. Then he saw how the other two stars also were beginning to develop red right. That sun to the right, and the one behind us ... now they ALL motion. Dunbar laughed. \"Sure, they all maybe have a touch of red, but it isn't the same, boys. I can tell the difference. Trust me—\" Russell half choked on his words. \"You old goat! With those old eyes of yours, you couldn't see your way into a fire!\" \"Don't get panicky now. Keep your heads. In another year, we'll be there—\" self-sealing. Nothing appeared to have changed. The four of them \"I did it for the three of us,\" Russell said. \"It was either him or us. don't tell me you guys don't see the red rims around all four suns, all four suns all around us. Don't tell me you guys didn't know he was batty, \"How could he see any difference in those four stars?\" Russell said, now.\" He sighed. \" Shhhh went on ahead, leading the other three at the front of the right?\" Sometime later, Johnson said, \"We got to decide now. Let's forget the old man. Let's forget him and all that's gone and let's start now and decide what to do.\" It's never been.\" Russell said, \"I've had a hunch all along that maybe the old man was \"I don't know,\" Johnson sighed. \"I been feeling partial toward that one on the right. What about you, Alvar?\" month matter anyway out here—hell there never was any time out here until we came along. We make our own time here, and a month don't matter to me.\" \"How can we tell which of us is right?\" Alvar said. \"It's like \"The one to the right,\" said Johnson. time ... just wake up enough times to give himself another boost with the old life-gun.\" \"We got to face it,\" Johnson said finally. \"We three don't go on together any more.\" \"That's it,\" said Alvar. \"There's three suns that look like they might the old man might have been right about that. If we stick together, the chance is three to one against us. But if each of us makes for one can come and help the other two....\" Alvar said, \"We each take the star he likes best. I'll go back the right.\" once you're going, you never stop ... and I guess there isn't any other body to pull him off his course. And what will time matter to from.\" \"Ready, Russ?\" aloneness even before Alvar and Johnson used their life-guns and shot out of sight, Johnson toward the left and Alvar back toward that other And old Dunbar shooting right on ahead. And all three of them Fading, he could hear their voices. \"Each to his own star,\" Johnson pressure suit. \"An old man,\" one of them mused. \"A very old man. From one of the lost \"Yes,\" another of them said. \"But what amazes me is that this old man picked this planet out of all the others. The only one in this entire sector that would sustain life.\" \"Maybe he was just a very lucky old man. Yes ... a man who attains such an age was usually lucky. Or at least that is what they say about the lost sectors.\" \"Maybe he knew the way here. Maybe he was here before—sometime.\" they did, it was well over a thousand years ago.\" Another said. \"He has a fine face, this old man. A noble face. Whoever he is ... wherever he came from, he died bravely and he knew the way, He had been listening and he stepped forward and raised his arm. \"He was old. It is obvious that he fought bravely, that he had great courage, and that he knew the way. He will be given a burial suitable to his stature, and he will rest here among the brave. the path above which the women will carry him to rest.\"\n\n<question>:\nThe four men are ranked according to:\n\n<options>:\nA experience\nB strength\nC health\nD age\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
238	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>:\nDOWN TO THE WORLDS OF MEN BY ALEXEI PANSHIN The ancient rule was sink or swim—swim in the miasma of a planet without spaceflight, or sink to utter destruction! nobody bothered to laugh at, and then we were all silent. I was feeling lost and just beginning to enjoy it when Jimmy Dentremont came over to me. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. An intelligent runt like me. He said what I expected. \"Mia, do you want to go partners if we can get together when we get down?\" I guess he thought that because we were always matched on study I liked him. Well, I did when I wasn't mad at him, but now I had that crack come back alive.\" It wasn't fair, but it was a good crack and he went back to his place without saying anything. My name is Mia Havero. I'm fourteen, of course, or I wouldn't be telling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect that scrawniness to last much longer. Mother is very good looking. In the leave that way, but George thinks it's fun to be a hot pilot. Thinking it over, I was almost sorry I'd been stinking to Jimmy D. He's the only competition I have my own age. The trouble is, you don't go partners with the competition, do you? Besides, there was still that kids because they never tell you anything about the place they're going because I never believed that I wouldn't. The thought that made me calves ache or every time you step you think you're going to trip on a piece of fluff and break your neck. There are vegetables everywhere a level or down a level and be back in civilization. sea from the morning side and then dropped low over gray-green forested hills. Finally George spotted a clear area and dropped into it. They don't care what order you go in, so Jimmy D. jumped up, grabbed his gear and then led his horse down the ramp. I think he was still smarting from the slap I'd given him. Jimmy—if he would get back alive. It's no game we play. When we turn fourteen, they drop us on the nearest colonized planet and come back one month later. That may sound for fourteen years and then kick us out to die. They prepare us. They do figure, though, that if you can't keep yourself alive by the time you're fourteen, you're too stupid, foolish or unlucky to be any use to I began to check my gear out—sonic pistol, pickup signal so I could be found at the end of the month, saddle and cinches, food and clothes. Venie Morlock has got a crush on Jimmy D., and when she saw me start getting ready to go, she began to check her gear, too. At our next landing, I grabbed Ninc's reins and cut Venie out smoothly. It didn't have anything to do with Jimmy. I just couldn't stand to put off the bad moment any longer. The ship lifted impersonally away from Ninc and me like a rising bird, and in just a moment it was gone. Its gray-blue color was almost the II the dark. When the sun disappears, somehow you wonder in your stomach I rode in a spiral search pattern during the next two days. I had three The first was automatic. The second was to find out if there was a slot I could fit into for a month. If not, I would have to find a place to camp out, as nasty as that would be. The third was to join forces, though not with that meatball Jimmy D. 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 they've turned out to taste good. And I've seen things that looked good that I couldn't keep on my stomach. So I guess I was lucky. On the third day, I found the road. I brought Ninc down off the hillside, losing sight of the road in the trees, and then reaching had to be domesticated from scratch. That would have been stupid. I'll He said, \"What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head? \"And where be you going?\" He seemed exasperated. I have that effect sometimes. Even on Mother and Daddy, who should know better. We were coming up on the others now, and the man said, \"Maybe you'd better ride on from here with us. For protection.\" The hard man said to the others, \"This boy will be riding along with us to Forton for protection.\" didn't trust the crazy kid not to shoot. the creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. But it relieved me. I thought they might have been eating them or The first thing you learn in school is that if it weren't for idiot and wouldn't have died. There wouldn't have What happened before, when people didn't use their heads and wound up blowing the Solar System apart, is something nobody should forget. The felt a blind urge to get away, and when I reached the edge of town, I whomped Ninc a good one and gave him his head. I let him run for almost a mile before I pulled him down to a walk again. I couldn't help wishing for Jimmy D. Whatever else he is, he's smart and brains I needed. How do you find out what's going on? Eavesdrop? That's a lousy method. up with a sore head and an empty pocket. The best thing I could think I'd had two bad shocks on this day, but they weren't the last. In the had gone wrong. triggered the signal, my heart turning flips all the while. I didn't know why he was back, but I wasn't really sorry. idiot stutter-fingered stupidity at the controls. As it skidded by me his wife and their three children. The kids were running around and playing, and one of them ran close to the high-walled pen. His father came and pulled him away. that moment that it wouldn't even seem out of the ordinary to these About the time I finished eating, and before it grew dark, the old man nice little girl, and to get rid of the kid, she sent her on a phony errand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate the poor girl's position. All the little girl had to help her were the handkerchief, the comb and the pearl that she had inherited from her dear dead mother. But, as it turned out, they were just enough to defeat nasty old Baba Yaga and bring the girl safely home. I wished for the same for myself. The old man had just finished and they were starting to drag the kids off to bed when there was a commotion on the road at the edge of the one, Horst. We should have been here hours ago. It be your fault we're \"Well, well. Horst, look who we have here,\" he called. It was the one who'd made the joke about me being beneath the notice of a Losel. He was alone with me now, but with that call the others would be up fast. went down. He started to get up again, so I dropped the saddle on him threatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of things The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were putting something stuffy like that. knew I'd goofed. \"Boy, boy. Don't talk about the courts. I be doing you a favor. I be taking what I can use of your gear, but I be letting you go. You go to court and they'll take everything and lock you up besides. I be leaving \"Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of the in jail in Forton.\" I was about to bring my gun out when up came Jack leading Ninc, with saddle. \"What's the name of the kid in jail in Forton.\" Horst stalked over and got the signal. He dropped it on the ground and natural and mine wasn't, \"The piece be yours.\" Then he tromped on it\n\n<question>:\nIt is suggested that which of the following happens to Jimmy D?\n\n<options>:\nA Jimmy D is killed by the bandits.\nB Jimmy D refuses to help Mia, even though she wishes for him.\nC Jimmy D ends up in jail.\nD Jimmy D finds Mia and helps her.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]

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