Subset (3)

instruct · 4.61k rows

Split (2)

train · 2.52k rows

conversation_id int64 1 2.52k	category stringclasses 1 value	conversation list
1,832	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nJUNIOR ACHIEVEMENT BY WILLIAM LEE ILLUSTRATED BY SCHOENHERR \"What would you think,\" I asked \"Why, Donald,\" she said, \"it could be quite interesting, if I understand what a junior achievement group is. What gave you the idea?\" \"It wasn't my idea, really,\" I admitted. \"Mr. McCormack called me to the office today, and told me that some of the children in the lower grades wanted to start one. They need adult guidance of course, and one of the group suggested my name.\" \"Is it good?\" I should explain, perhaps, that I new school is a fine one, and our academic standards are high. On the other hand, the fathers of most of my students work for the Commission and a constant awareness of the Commission and its work pervades the town. It is an uneasy privilege then, at least sometimes, to teach my old-fashioned brand of science to these children of a new age. \"That's very nice,\" said Marjorie. \"What does a junior achievement police are quite young men, but in uniform they still look ominous and I was relieved to see that they themselves. best classroom voice. \"What is all this?\" \"Are you Henderson?\" the larger policeman asked. \"Well, now,\" I demanded, in my bulb went off. A young lady grasped my arm. \"Oh, please, Mr. Henderson, come outside where it's quieter and tell me all about it.\" kids how to do it.\" Marjorie put back her head and laughed, and I was forced to join her, \"Of course not. I'd just tell the expenses.\" \"Gracious, you wouldn't have to \"Perhaps,\" I countered, \"somebody should tell me.\" she chortled, \"somebody phoned in an anonymous tip to the police—of course it was the same boy that did it—Tommy—Miller?—and so here we are. And we just saw a demonstration all those simply captivating mice.\" \"Mice?\" \"Yes, of course. Who would ever have thought you could breed mice with those cute furry tails?\" Mr. Miller, who had come home to the group members, Tommy Miller. \"O.K.,\" I said, \"let's relax. You don't need to treat me as a teacher, teacher when the final grades went in Tommy was jubilant. in any way I can. This is your meeting.\" Mr. McCormack had told me, and in some detail, about the youngsters I'd be dealing with. The three who charming little beasts, with tails as bushy as miniature squirrels. \"How many generations?\" I asked were sitting to my left were the ones bounds, but I must admit they were Doris. my enthusiasm for rodents within rather angular—all shoulders and elbows. Peter Cope, Jr. and Hilary Matlack were skinny kids, too. The three were of an age and were all tall for ten-year-olds. I had the impression during that first meeting that they looked rather alike, but this wasn't so. Their features were quite different. Perhaps from association, for they were close 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 was a big husky redhead of twelve, with a face full of freckles and an infectious laugh, and Tommy Miller, a few months younger, was just an average, extroverted, well adjusted youngster, noisy and restless, tee-shirted and butch-barbered. The group exchanged looks to see who would lead off, and Peter Cope seemed to be elected. \"Well, Mr. Henderson, a junior achievement group is a bunch of kids who get together to manufacture and a dozen—and at a dollar fifty each. Tommy's ideas of pricing rather frightened me, but he set the value of the mice at ten dollars a pair and got it without any arguments. The usual products, of course, with these junior achievement efforts, are sort of thing. Mr. McCormack had told me, though, that I might find these youngsters a bit more ambitious. \"The Miller boy and Mary McCready,\" he had said, \"have exceptionally high IQ's—around one forty or one fifty. The other three are hard to classify. They have some of the attributes of exceptional pupils, but much of the time they seem to have little interest in their studies. The Henderson, right? My name is McCord—Jeff McCord—and I work in the Patent Section at the Commission's junior achievement idea has sparked their imaginations. Maybe it'll be just what they need.\" shouldn't be done, but I know very little about such matters—.\" \"Exactly,\" he broke in, \"we guessed a different mold. Mary McCready He was scornful. \"No, they're formulations—you know, mixtures. That's cookbook chemistry. I mean a look pleased.\" \"I am,\" he replied, \"in a cautious legal sense, of course. Hilary and I be possible later on to carry out a safe synthesis of some sort. You're Dr. Matlack's son, aren't you? Been dipping into your father's library?\" \"Some,\" said Hilary, \"and I've got \"It has the purpose,\" I told her, \"of teaching the members something \"No,\" said Doris, \"these aren't laboratory mice. They're fancy ones. I got the first four pairs from a pet \"What is it?\" which are available for later educational he said, \"Henderson, Hilary and I are heading for my office. We can work there better than here, and \"I am indeed,\" I said, and a flash \"Well,\" Peter said, looking a little \"What did they do today, dear?\" of bread and ingredients for a variety of sandwiches. The parents had agreed to underwrite lunches at the for every member of the group to be a company officer. Of course a young boy who doesn't know any better, \"Why not? The kids can sail through their courses without thinking about them, and actually they may wind up a sales manager. won't put in more than a few hours a week during the school year.\" \"Even so, it's child labor, isn't it?\" Over the sandwiches, then, I suggested \"Child labor nothing. They're the employers. Jeff McCord and I will that they'd each do what came naturally. On the other hand, they be the only employees—just at first, \"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 to recall all of the ideas which had been propounded. Most of them were impractical, of course, for a group of children to attempt, but several of them appeared quite attractive. Tommy, for example, wanted to and I'm afraid I relapsed for a few minutes into the role of teacher and 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 does sound like a born salesman. Somehow I don't think you're going to have to call in Mr. Wells.\" I do feel just a little embarrassed then they saw me. \"Hello, Mr. Henderson,\" Mary said, and proffered the cord which was wound on a fishing reel. I played the know that flattening the lower edge of the hole would create instability?\" complacency in his voice. \"It didn't take long, but they sure made it out had to be called in to listen to the proposition. The account's in your name, Mr. Henderson, and you'll have to make out the checks. And they want you to stop in at the bank and the kite, and the youngsters embarking on a shopping trip for paper, glue and wood splints. There was no use would sell them the next week and Mary McCready, with a fine burst of confidence, asked him in all seriousness\n\n<question>:\nHow do the children feel about Mr. Henderson?\n\n<options>:\nA The children do not like Mr. Henderson.\nB The children feel Mr. Henderson is a bit chintzy.\nC The children feel Mr. Henderson is holding them back from their true potential.\nD The children like Mr. Henderson, but they know they are smarter than he is.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,366	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 any more.” “Maybe not, but we can pretend we think they do, can’t we?” Judy replied a little uncertainly. 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 road. Soon there were more evergreens and a hedge it can’t be as bad as it appears. There isn’t An Unsolved Mystery across it by the wind. exception.” see it over to the left. It looks like something out of valley below the big Roulsville dam was threatened road. “Who’s going to stop us? And who wants to by flood and you solved that—” won’t be enchanted. I told you—” now, I think you ought to let us know. Otherwise, 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 could have cost lives. I should have told Arthur.” acquired sudden wealth, or else he’s just working on the estate.” “Then you’ve been here lately? Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Lois. “We always used to go places solved. Maybe you were mistaken about a thing or two before the flood, but what about the haunted And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them. this house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some of them when I finish sorting Grandma’s things. They’re “Another haunted attic? How thrilling!” exclaimed she was a good judge of character, and she had taken Dick Hartwell for a quiet, refined boy who would “I don’t see what all this has to do with the fountain,” “Of course we are. That’s what we came for. I “You seem to think there’s danger in this expedition “I don’t know what to think. You’re the one who seems to know the answers, but you’re not telling. confessed now as she reviewed everything that had happened. She just couldn’t help resenting the fact that her parents left her every summer while they went off on a vacation by themselves. What did they think she would do? “in case we have to leave in a hurry. I don’t expect we’ll encounter any tigers, but we may be accused series you like. When they’re finished there are “I’m sure we will be,” announced Judy as two dark-coated figures strode down the road toward vacation much more than a schoolgirl who had too little to do. He and Judy’s mother usually went to the beach hotel where they had honeymooned. It was a precious memory. Every summer Dr. Bolton and his wife relived it. And every summer Judy went to stay with her grandmother Smeed, who scolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’t glad to have her. behind her glasses. “What do you propose to do with yourself this time?” much as to escape to a place where she could have a birthday. In another year she would have outgrown her childish resentment of her parents’ vacation or be grown up enough to ask them to let her have a vacation of her own. In another year she would be summering among the beautiful Thousand Islands and solving a mystery to be known as the . mansion was still ahead of her. On the lawn a fountain still caught and held rainbows like those she was to see on her honeymoon at Niagara Falls. But all that was in the future. If anyone had told the freckled-faced, pigtailed girl that she would one and to hear her say in her usual abrupt fashion, She and Lorraine had listened to this much of what Judy was telling them without interruption. And she went on to tell them how, the very next day, her grandparents had taken her to a fountain exactly like the one in the picture. It was in the center of a deep, circular pool with steps leading up to it. one. come true.” “You found plenty to cry about back at your grandmother’s house,” the mysterious voice had reminded are CHAPTER II longer. What did you wish?” First, she told her friends, she had to think of a as I got when the ripples vanished. I thought the “Every one of them,” Judy agreed, “even the one wanted. It was a sister near my own age. That seemed impossible at the time, but the future did or that he would become a G-man, and he didn’t “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it was “Let’s not talk about rose gardens in June. It’s a long way from June to December.” said, “but I think this one would be beautiful at any “And then what happened?” Lorraine urged her. have investigated it more thoroughly and learned the “It was nothing compared to the trouble caused by the Roulsville flood,” declared Judy. “After that believe I thought about it again until after we moved “I’ll leave it for Blackberry,” she decided. 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 “Maybe not, but I’m beginning to get the shivers,” care to explore the past?” The exploration began enthusiastically with Judy relating still more of what she remembered about any modern conveniences or anything.” the same winter, isn’t it?” wished neither of them would outlive the other. If monster coming between her and her handsome husband, is. It’s the very same one.” “But that’s the picture I’ve been searching for!” “I can’t be sure. But if it ever was enchanted, I’m “I think so,” Lois answered after studying a little more closely the picture they had found. “It looks like the fountain on the Brandt estate.” “The department store Brandts?” Judy questioned. “Then my grandparents must have driven old Fanny all the way to Farringdon.” Brandts own that stretch of woods just before you come into the city. You’ve passed it lots of times.” “Of course,” agreed Judy. She put the magazine “Why don’t we take it ourselves and find out?” CHAPTER III A Strange Encounter Lorraine was not too enthusiastic about the proposed trip to the Brandt estate. Finally she agreed to it under one condition. They were not to drive all the way to the house which, she said, was just over “You’ll remember it, won’t you?” Judy thought she would, but she wasn’t too sure. She and Lois both argued that it would be better to inquire at the house. Lois knew Helen Brandt slightly. “She’d be glad to show us around. This way it looks as if we’re planning a crime,” Lois said as they and said if they did find the fountain she thought about this one. He’s my Santa Claus, and it will soon “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, “and I’ve just about figured out how it happened. I didn’t think my grandparents knew the Brandts well enough to pay them a visit, though. We must have looked queer driving up to a beautiful estate in Grandpa’s old farm wagon. I do remember that Grandma had wagon, grandparents—all had disappeared.” “Before what?” questioned Judy. “Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything about it. You 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.” “The Brandt house is just over the top of this next hill,” Lois put in. “I know. You told me that. Now I know why I your latest mystery. You followed a trail or something.” There wasn’t time to explore it. Just then I heard them, but I didn’t ask where. If she made them for Mrs. Brandt they may still be there.” “I wouldn’t depend on it,” Lorraine said as they turned up the narrow road to the Brandt estate. “Watch out!” Judy suddenly exclaimed. “There’s another car coming.” playing hide and seek?”\n\n<question>:\nWhat is likely to happen next?\n\n<options>:\nA the girls will be arrested\nB the girls will get back in their car and drive to Judy's house\nC the girls will locate the fountain and make wishes\nD the girls will meet the people living in the Brandt estate\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,358	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 good. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Eckert, you have but to ask.\" the sweetish smell of sleeping gas. To sleep the trip away was better more complex ones, if you went into it deeper. The failure to achieve He could smell the bitter fragrance of tobacco smoke mingling with the gas. Eckert had lit a cigarette and was calmly blowing the smoke It was Eckert who had come into his office several days ago and told someday. And that was a lousy way to remember him. The clichés always come first. Your memory plays traitor and boils friendship down to the Eckert was just a dull, formless blur opposite him. His cigarette was Eckert had come into his office without saying a word and had watched making a simple pattern drifting past the glass. Eckert had fiddled He shouldn't get sentimental. But how the hell else should he remember Eckert and he had talked it out and gone over the records. Pendleton family for as far back as the genetic records went. He had been raised where he had achieved average grades and had given his instructors the and decided the system was worth diplomatic recognition of some kind, received something less than a thorough survey. natives said he had killed himself and showed the captain the little The natives were oh-so-friendly. So friendly that he had made sure the ceiling told how close they were to takeoff. His head was thick Eckert and he had been chosen to go to Tunpesh and investigate. The two Their information on Tunpesh was limited. They knew that it had no trading concessions or armed forces and that nobody from neighboring \"How come our anthropologist on Tunpesh didn't come across with more \"It's a nice day, isn't it, Ted?\" Eckert took a deep and pleasurable Warm breezes rustled through Eckert's graying hair and tugged gently inviting, and brilliantly colored birds whirled and fluttered in the foliage. suddenly, acutely aware that he and Templin would be stranded for six comfort. Like old dogs and octogenarians. his face. Eckert stole a side glance at him and for a fleeting moment \"It's rather hard to think of danger in a setting like this.\" Eckert nodded agreement. \"It wouldn't fit, would it? It would be like a famous singer suddenly doing a jazz number in an opera, or having the princess in a fairy tale turn out to be ugly.\" He gestured toward the It looked fairly primitive, Eckert thought, and yet it didn't have the earmarks, the characteristics of most primitive villages. It didn't Eckert stared at them for a moment, wondering what it was that seemed , Eckert thought, He couldn't be blamed for being jumpy, Eckert realized. This was his \"I'd be very careful what I did,\" Eckert said softly. \"I would hate to knees. When he got closer, Eckert became less sure of his age. He had seamed face and white hair aged him somewhat. Eckert still had the from Earth?\" The voice was husky and pleasant and the pronunciation was very clear. Eckert regarded him thoughtfully 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. and then offered his hand, somewhat shyly, Eckert thought, in the He was polite, Eckert thought. He didn't ask what they were there natives were a better judge of that than he and Templin. 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 Eckert opened one of the boxes they had brought along, and finely worked jewelry and a few mechanical contrivances that Eckert knew usually appealed to the primitive imagination. \"The incorruptible native.\" Templin laughed sarcastically. Eckert shrugged. \"That's one of the things you do out of habit, try and buy some of the natives so you'll have friends in case you need them.\" He stopped for a moment, thinking. \"Did you notice the context? \"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. \"They're probably just well brought-up kids,\" Eckert said sharply. 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 He was keyed up, jumpy, Eckert realized. He would probably be seeing seemed a cut above the usual primitive culture. If he ever retired some psychological chart was very close to Pendleton's. Pendleton's own feelings and emotions would almost exactly be duplicated in Templin's. power pack, Eckert saw grimly, probably leading to the buttons on his Eckert put down the chain he had been whittling and reached for his Their knowledge of a lot of things is a little more than empirical knowledge some native god. And they differ a lot in other respects. Their art and their music are advanced. Free art exists along with purely decorative art, and their techniques are finely developed.\" \"I'm glad you agree, then. Take a look at this.\" Templin threw a shiny Eckert hefted it in his palm. \"The most important thing is that they \"The obvious. They evidently have as much technology as they want, at \"The important thing,\" Eckert mused, \"is not if they have them, but if Eckert sighed and watched a fat bug waddle across a small patch of in a totally foreign culture, even if the natives were humanoid. It seemed likely to turn into a vendettist. It meant that Eckert would Eckert rolled up the thin, slatted blinds and stared out at the scenery. A hundred feet down the road, a native woman was going to \"Does it? I hadn't noticed.\" Eckert turned away from the blinds. His \"What have we accomplished so far? What have we found out?\" \"We've got six months,\" Eckert said quietly. \"Six months in which One of the hardest things to learn in a foreign culture, Eckert \" \" customs. A little anthropology—with refreshments. they passed around a small flagon of the hot, spiced native wine, but he noticed that nobody drank to excess. The old Greek ideal , Eckert thought, Eckert.\" Eckert took another sip of the wine and turned to the Tunpeshan on his certain aura of authority. \"I was wondering if my countryman Pendleton had offended your people in Eckert gnawed the dainty meat off a slender Eckert had a sudden clammy feeling which quickly passed away. What Eckert stared bleakly at his wine glass and tried to put the pieces of information together. They probably had a taboo about self-destruction A native fife trilled shrilly and a group of young men and women walked 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 dance. The sound of the fife softened and died and the slow monotonous beat of drums took its place. The beat slowly increased and so did the rhythm of the dancers. The small fires at the corners of the hut were allowed to dwindle and the center of the circle became filled with the motions of shadows intermixed with the swift, sure movements of glistening limbs. Eckert felt his eyebrows crawl upward. Apparently the dance was the Tunpeshan version of the rites de passage . He glanced across what Eckert translated as being roughly equivalent to \" obscene .\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat native experiences didn't Eckert experience towards the end of the text?\n\n<options>:\nA their music\nB their food\nC their religion\nD their dances\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,012	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 corner of the general office. The janitor foreman weighed fifty pounds less than the Burma gentleman, who was the salesman's customary opponent. So the climax of one tactic did not simply overturn the Milly snapped out of it. She giggled, suppressed a ladylike belch and returned to reality. Looking at the envelope, she said: \"Oh, I see. The flap popped open and an old-fashioned order blank fell out. poor woman has waited eighty years for her merchandise!\" vacuum cleaner. Dress for three-year-old girl.\" She turned to the her young life. \"Let's fill this order right now!\" \"The poor woman must be dead by now,\" he objected, secretly angry Milly was still deciphering the form. Now she let out a little squeal large parcel on her doorstep. She put her hands on her hips and stared pugnaciously at the bundle. \"The minute I write a letter to complain about you, you turn up!\" she Ann sighed and picked up her bundle. With a last look at the lovely spring afternoon and the quiet suburban landscape, she went into the house. Two-year-old Sally heard the box rattling. She waddled up on chubby legs and grabbed her mother's skirt. \"Want!\" she said decisively. \"Your dress ought to be here,\" Ann said. She found scissors in her sewing box, tossed a cushion onto the floor, sat on it, and began to open the parcel. The translucent cord was too tough for the scissors. Ann was about to \"There!\" Sally said. Ann repressed an irrational urge to slap her daughter. Instead, she tossed the wrappings aside and removed the lid from the carton. A slightly crushed thin cardboard box lay on top. Ann pulled out the dress and shook it into a freely hanging position. Then she groaned. It was green and she had ordered blue. It didn't remotely resemble the dress she had admired from the Hartshorne-Logan catalogue illustration. Moreover, the shoulders were lumpier than any small girl's dress should be. But Sally was delighted. \"Mine!\" she shrilled, grabbing for the dress. \"It's probably the wrong size, too,\" Ann said, pulling off Sally's dress to try it on. \"Let's find as many things to complain about as we can.\" The dress fitted precisely, except for the absurd shoulder bumps. Sally to look vacantly at the distant wall. \"We'll have to send it back,\" Ann said, \"and get the one we ordered.\" She tried to take it off, but the child squawked violently. Ann grabbed her daughter's arms, held them above her head and pulled at the dress. It seemed to be stuck somewhere. When Ann released the child's arms to loosen the dress, Sally squirmed away. She took one step forward, then began to float three inches above the ground. She landed just before she collided with the far wall. Sally looked scared until she saw her mother's face. Then she squealed in delight. Ann's legs were rubber. She was shaking her head and wobbling uncertainly toward her daughter when the door opened behind her. \"Les! I'm going crazy or something. Sally just—\" Sally crouched to jump at her father. Before she could leap, he grabbed her up bodily and hugged her. Then he saw the box. \"Your order's here? Good. What's this thing?\" He was looking at a small \"I don't know,\" Ann said. \"Les, listen. A minute ago, Sally—\" \"That's funny,\" Ann mused, her mind distracted from Sally for a moment. ordered for their son. Ann glanced at its glaringly lithographed cover Les stared at his wife and put the child onto the rug. Sally began to Ann was staring, too, but not at her daughter. \"Les! The hassock! It Ann's frazzled nerves carried a frantic order to her muscles. She shoulders of that dress. I'll tie a paperweight to Sally's dress and Ann immediately felt better. She put her hands behind her back, pulled pocket and didn't dare look back at her daughter's unsettling means of propulsion. A half-hour later, when the meal was almost ready, two things happened: Ann went to the door and turned the knob. The door didn't open. The Ann put her mouth close to the glass, shouting: \"Won't you come to the \"I just wanted to borrow some sugar,\" the woman cried from the porch. \"The children have some new toys,\" Ann improvised hastily. \"Sally is \"Excitement isn't good for me,\" Mrs. Burnett said testily. \"I've had a Ann went into the hall to order Les to disconnect the doorbell. She unpleasant were dripping from his fingers. The object looked remarkably like a human eyeball. It was human-size, complete with pupil, iris and rather bloodshot veins. \"Well, put it away,\" Ann told Bob sharply. \"It's slimy.\" \"Les, I think we've made poor Mrs. Burnett angry,\" Ann said. \"She's so Bob retrieved the flashlight and turned it off while Les glanced through an instruction booklet, frowning. \"This toy is too complicated for a ten-year-old boy,\" Les told his wife. \"I don't know why you ordered such a thing.\" He tossed the booklet into the empty box. and the towel. She began to yell at him for making such a mess, when Sally floated into the kitchen. The girl was wearing a nightgown. that dress herself. Where did she get that nightgown?\" Ann fingered the garment. She didn't recognize it as a nightgown. But in cut and fold, it was suspiciously like the dress that had arrived in the parcel. Her heart sank. She picked up the child, felt the hot forehead, and said: \"Les, I think it's the same dress. It must change color or something when it's time for a nap. It seems impossible, but—\" She shrugged mutely. \"And I think Sally's running a temperature. I'm going to put her to bed.\" She looked worriedly into the reddened eyes of the small girl, who put small wads of cotton into her ears, because she didn't like the closet where the manky sat. Sally was whining occasionally in her sleep. When daylight entered her room, Sally's nightgown had turned back into the new dress. But the little girl was too sick to get out of bed. The only good thing about the morning for Ann was the fact that the The mailman brought a letter from Hartshorne-Logan. Ann stared stupidly Ann crumpled the letter and threw it into the imitation fireplace, Just as she hung up the telephone, the doorbell rang. It rang with a normal buzz, then began to play soft music. Ann opened the door without child's temperature, \"but we can't get that dress off Sally.\" Sally had been mumbling half-deliriously. She made no effort to resist The doctor dropped the dress and looked in perplexity at the point where it touched Sally's skin. \"Don't bother trying,\" Ann said miserably. \"Just cut it off.\" of the cloth. Sally writhed and kicked, then collapsed in a faint. The The flesh starts to hemorrhage when I pull at the cloth. She'd bleed to Burnett at the door. Shrieks that sounded like \"Murder!\" came sharply shouted to the men. \"We've got a very sick child up here.\" \"I was afraid this would happen,\" Les said. \"The poor woman already has \"Why did you do it?\" Ann asked Bob, her anger suddenly slumping into \"Don't bother about the girls' clothing,\" Bob said, \"because it was\n\n<question>:\nWhat was Ann’s first complaint with the dress she ordered for Sally?\n\n<options>:\nA It was much to small for the child.\nB The shoulders were lumpier than a small girl’s dress should be.\nC It was the incorrect color.\nD It was much too large for the small child.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,180	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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. \"Bristol is seen as a quirky, individualistic kind of place,\" Clarke says. \"When we first produced the Bristol Pound note, people were really proud of it. It got through to people not just sat around coffee shops. I'm not sure a London Pound would work, because people identify with their local area in London rather than the city as a whole.\" 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.\" Nothing is tying Glasgow to existing models for complementary currencies. But during the first meeting about setting up the Glasgow Pound, the workshop shows just how hard it would be to invent a new system that works for everyone. 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 the purpose of the example of pianos in Greence?\n\n<options>:\nA To show that valuable things are appreciated everywhere\nB To show how paper currency is not the only way of paying for something\nC To show how much more expensive luxury goods can be\nD To show a move away from contemporary currency towards a more traditional approach\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,204	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"The biggest, most convincing liar wins. It's as simple as that. It doesn't matter how outlandish a whopper you tell. Unless, of course, they've made up their minds that you just naturally aren't as big a liar as they are. And it looks like that's just what they've done. It wouldn't make any difference to them them believe it.\" 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 a little. After all, the most convincing liar always wins in any transaction, so he gets more land, more food, more power. Yes, I think the biggest liar could go where he pleased without any interference.\" Zeckler was on his feet, his eyes suddenly bright with excitement. that they'd have to believe—a lie they simply couldn't help as bad as your gentle guards when it comes to bandying the truth around.\" He peered through the dim light at the gaunt face of the prisoner. Zeckler's face was dark with a week's beard, and his bloodshot eyes belied the cocky grin and say it.\" Zeckler looked sharply around the hushed room. \"You want to convict me,\" he said softly, \"in the worst sort of way. Isn't that right?\" decide that you really want to convict me.\" He paused, and glanced slyly at the judge. \"You don't think much of those who tell the truth, it seems. Well, put this statement in your All Earthmen are absolutely incapable of telling the truth. \" Puzzled frowns appeared on the jury's faces. One or two his jaw sagging. One of the jurymen let out a little squeak, and fainted dead away. It took, all in all, about ten seconds for the statement you live long enough to walk And then pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom. \"Really,\" said Harry Zeckler loftily, \"it was so obvious I'm in and pick them up, that is.\" to soak in. \"And take the chance of being overheard? Don't be silly. It had to come as a bombshell. I had to establish myself as a liar—the prize liar of them all, but I had to tell the sort of lie that they simply could not cope with. Something that would throw them into such utter confusion that they wouldn't convict me.\" He grinned impishly at Meyerhoff. \"The paradox You've committed a crime here—a major crime. The Altairians of Epimenides the Cretan. It really stopped them cold. They knew natives are out to get you. Personally, I think they're going to get you.\" Zeckler stood up shakily. \"You can't believe anything the natives say,\" he said uneasily. \"They're pathological liars. Why, you should see what they tried to sell me ! You've never seen such a pack of liars as these critters.\" He glanced up at Meyerhoff. \"They'll probably drop a little fine on me and let me go.\" lying they never have run up against a short-circuit like that. \"You've committed the most heinous crime these creatures can imagine, and they're going to get you for it if it's the last thing they do. I'm afraid, my friend, that your con-man days are \"A little fine of one Terran neck.\" Meyerhoff grinned nastily. lint fleck from his lapel, and looked up at Zeckler slyly. \"That—uh—jury trial. The Altairians weren't any too happy to oblige. They wanted to execute you outright. Thought a trial A choking sound came from Zeckler's throat. \" Arrest! \" con-men who could work new territories unfettered by the legal restrictions that soon closed down the more established planets. The first men in were the richest out, and with them. Altair I had been recognized at once by the Trading don't think you'll get off.\" Zeckler shrugged again. \"The simplest, tiredest, moldiest old racket that ever made a quick nickel. Remember the old Terran gag about the Brooklyn Bridge? The same thing. Only and that two out of five of them get thrown out of their mother's pouch before they're old enough to survive. Altairians here for the food their planet can supply, and their it's every man for himself, and the loser starves, and their course they're liars, with an economy like that. They've completely missed the concept of truth. Pathological? You bet they're pathological! Only a fool would tell the truth when his life depended on his being a better liar than the next guy! Lying is the time-honored tradition, with their entire legal system built around it.\" Zeckler snorted. \"But how could they Meyerhoff sighed. \"You've got twelve mad Altairians in your hang you, if they die trying. So you'd better get those stunted little wits of yours clicking—and if you try to implicate me Altairians attempted to push through the door at once. Zeckler Altairians filed in, in order of stature, stalking across the room in flowing black robes, pug-nosed faces glowering with self-importance. They descended upon the jury box, grunting and scrapping with each other for the first-row seats, and the judge court. \"We are reading the case of the people of Altair I,\" the judge's voice roared out, \"against one Harry Zeckler—\" he \"Conspiracy to overthrow the government of Altair I. Brutal with the accursed scum of Altair II in preparation a puppet on a string. \"Defendant found guilty on all counts,\" he said. \"Defendant is guilty! The court will pronounce sentence—\" \" Now wait a minute! The Altairian shrugged indifferently. \"Now—later—\" he \"But those lies . They're liars, the whole pack of them—\" He broke off as the prosecutor roared a name. The shaggy brute who took the stand was wearing a bright Altairian equivalent of a hungry grin at the prosecutor. Then \"Then tell this court what you have seen of the activities of this abominable wretch.\" of the seventh crossing of Altair II (may the Goddess cast face to face with the most desperate of criminal types, even These people have no regard for truth. It's stupid, to them, silly, a mark of low intelligence. The only thing in the world they have any respect for is a liar bigger and more skillful than they are.\" Zeckler jerked around abruptly as he heard his name bellowed the jury delivers the verdict?\" \"Do I have—\" Zeckler was across the room in a flash, his Altair from my homeland on Terra. I—I landed on Altair II, theirs, not mine. They have bribed your Goddess, flattered her One by one the natives nudged one another, and booed, and guffawed, until the rising tide of racket drowned out Zeckler's words. \"The defendant is obviously lying,\" roared the prosecutor over the pandemonium. \"Any fool knows that the Goddess dare to insult her, drag her name in the dirt.\" The hisses grew louder, more belligerent. Cries of \"Butcher him!\" and \"Scald his bowels!\" rose from the courtroom. The judge banged for silence, his eyes angry. \"Unless the defendant wishes to take up more of our precious time with these ridiculous lies, the jury—\" it. They just won't believe you, no matter how big a lie you tell.\" Zeckler sat in silence for a moment. \"This lying business,\" he said finally, \"exactly how does it work?\"\n\n<question>:\nHow do the Altairians treat the biggest liars?\n\n<options>:\nA The biggest liars are sent to Earth.\nB The biggest liars can do whatever they want and get away with it.\nC The biggest liars are thrown into a pit. There they are eaten by the Goddess.\nD The biggest liars are hanged.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
467	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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\"HORDE.\" He had blasted across trackless space to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on wait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was to time. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across the Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that had ground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigid desolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he was going stale. He had sat every day for eight hours in front of that shiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feebly he had punched a key two days ago and a $ sign had appeared. He hadn't For Mr. Terry, that hard-hitting writer of two-gun action, had never that very summer. Since that promise, he could not write a word. Visions of whooping red-skinned Apaches and be-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up out a fistful of short stories in the next two weeks to finance the great adventure—or the trip was off. So Lewis left the weathered old cottage in the early dawn and headed salable yarn.... \"Hey!\" he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside the road. \"What's the trouble?\" his head. Blackness flooded the brain of Lewis, and he knew no more. \"Do not question the word of your commander,\" growled Torp, swelling out his thick chest menacingly. \"It is for the good of our people that you disguise yourself as an Earthman.\" For ten hours or more the droning hum of the relay sucked Terry's brain dry of knowledge. The shock upon the nervous system of the Earthman proved too violent and his heart faltered after a time and stopped completely. Twice, with subtle drugs they restored pseudo-life to his body and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his tortured brain, but after the third suspension of life Thig removed his helmet. \"There is nothing more to learn,\" he informed his impassive comrades. dead man he knew, and confusion struck his well-trained brain. Men had no mates on Ortha, sex had been overthrown with all the other primitive impulses of barbarism so he was incapable of understanding the emotions that swept through his acquired memory. and three other editors asked for shorts soon.\" \"Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn,\" grunted Thig, and gasped. For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly had he acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciously away.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys!\" \"Uh huh,\" agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savages and gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely he and report that Earth was a planetary paradise. No other world, including Ortha, was so well-favored and rich. An expeditionary force to wipe the grotesque civilizations of Earth out of existence would, of course, be necessary before the first units of new Hordes could be landed. And there Thig balked. Why must they destroy these people, imperfect though their civilization might be, to make room for the Hordes? experienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue against the wits of other unpredictable human beings. There was no abrupt division of men and women into definite classes of endeavor. A laborer thought the same thoughts that a governor might think. Uncertainty of his judgment. He would go now to the space ship and urge them to blast off for Ortha. He sprang off the porch and strode away down the The children ran to him wanted to go along. He sent them away harshly Oddly enough, as he hurried away along the narrow path through the autumn woods, his mind busied itself with a new epic of the west that lived no longer. He mentally titled it: \"Rustlers' Riot\" and blocked in the outlines of his plot. One section of his brain was that of the careless author of gunslinging yarns, a section that seemed to be sapping the life from his own brain. He knew that the story would never be written, but he toyed with the idea. Ortha at once. \"I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and the complete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrations were permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine that three circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficient for the purposes of complete liquidation.\" \"But why,\" asked Thig slowly, \"could we not disarm all the natives and \"Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet. There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have long forgotten.\" broad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenly he knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the children stand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, an empty world—this planet was not for them. \"Turn back!\" he cried wildly. \"I must go back to Earth. There is a corruption that swiftly gave way to hardened blobs of dessicated matter. Horror for what he had done—that he had slain one of his own Horde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulled His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waited stupidly for the blow to fall, the end for Ellen and the kids and all the struggling races of Earth. He would never write another cowboy yarn—they would all be dead anyhow soon. Then a thunderclap exploded against his head and he dropped endlessly but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he now owed his life. A cool-headed robot of an Orthan would have efficiently used the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in his unconscious body. room. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodies why he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take cultures for his sudden madness. scuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalled out into a senseless whinny. served to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove. The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes of the Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant mad stare set him, too, to gibbering and shrieking. Then he stepped over yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. After He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log and read the last few nervously scrawled lines: Planet 72-P-3 unfit for colonization. Some pernicious disease that strikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existent there. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad and And there his writing ended abruptly. regret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his first existence. He thought of the dull greys and blacks of his planet, of the monotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heart thrilled to the memories of the starry nights and perfect exciting days he had spent on his three month trip over Earth. roundness of Earth flatten out, then take on the cup-like illusion that all planets had for an incoming ship. He reduced the drive of his rockets to a mere whisper, striving to control the impatience that crowded his mind. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first time despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outer space. creation, but Lewis Terry, writer of lurid gun-smoking tales of the West. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry and now, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would be A new plot was growing in the brain of Lewis Terry, a yarn about a He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that!\n\n<question>:\nWhat would happen if Lewis did not finish his short stories in the timeline he was given?\n\n<options>:\nA He would lose his typewriter\nB The trip with Ellen would be off.\nC Outlaws would be raiding his trailer home\nD He would be fired from his job\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
916	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWarrior Queens Elizabeth is a lurid paraphrase of the old Groucho Marx line about Doris Day: \"I knew the Virgin Queen before she was a virgin.\" As the movie tells it, she was a sylvan, redheaded princess (Cate Blanchett) given to gamboling with her fella (Joseph Fiennes) between periods of internment in the Tower of London on charges of conspiring to overthrow her half-sister, the heatedly Catholic Queen Mary (Kathy Burke). The daughter of the second wife of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, and therefore dubbed a bastard by the papists, the Protestant Elizabeth ascends the throne to find the air still thick with smoke from roasted heretics, a team of skulking Catholics plotting her assassination, and a council of advisers (lords, bishops, sundry old boys) who snigger openly at the prospect of taking orders from a woman. Only a strategic marriage to a Spaniard or a Frenchman will mollify all factions, her advisers insist, but the pickings prove dismal. (Her French suitor enjoys wearing dresses.) After skulls are smashed, throats slit, and bosoms skewered in the name of Christ, Elizabeth decides to: a) \"unsex\" herself and become a symbol--the Virgin Queen, married only to England and b) entertain dissenting opinions exclusively from those whose heads are affixed to spikes. You can't be both a queenly queen and a womanly woman, says the script (by Michael Hirst)--at least not in 1554. (The director, Shekhar Kapur, made the same point in his grim 1994 Indian epic The Bandit Queen , against a backdrop of scrubby plains along the Ganges.) Is this feminist take historically accurate? Probably, although the evidence suggests that Elizabeth had developed a head for stratagems earlier in life (her position had been precarious since the beheading of her mother) and came to the throne with few girlish illusions about How Things Work in a barbarous state. That said, the movie's approach makes for juicy melodrama. The tone of Elizabeth comes nearer to the nihilistic relish of Jacobeans such as John Ford and John Webster than to the more sorrowful horror of the Elizabethan dramatists Ben Jonson and William Shakespeare. It's even closer to a Jacobean drama of our own age: The Godfather (1972), which it emulates by cutting back-and-forth between queen and courtiers in prayer and the roundup and slaughter of Catholics on their privies, in bed with their mistresses, and so on. Their severed heads look on, wide-eyed, as Elizabeth directs her hair to be shorn--images of her girlhood flashing by as her locks rain down--and then walks weightily to her throne, now a chalk-faced gorgon. With all due respect to Blanchett, Bette Davis, and Glenda Jackson, my favorite Elizabeth I remains Miranda Richardson's capricious, baby-talking psychopath on the BBC comedy Blackadder II . (Casting about for a new lord high executioner, she mews to Rowan Atkinson, \"There are thousands of Catholics simply dying to have their heads sneaked off --and there's no one to organize it.\") But Blanchett comes in a close second, pulling off the transition from hapless young woman to coolly ruthless monarch with uncommon subtlety. Gradually expunging all empathy from her moist, pink eyes and permitting her visage to ossify, she gives this carnival of carnage an awe-inspiring center. A more subversive sort of queen is on display in Velvet Goldmine , Todd Haynes' musical fantasia on the early '70s era of \"glam\" or \"glitter\" rock. Here the monarch is a David Bowie-esque singer called Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) and his spidery, space-age alter ego, Maxwell Demon. The movie opens with a spaceship depositing an infant Oscar Wilde on the stoop of a Dublin townhouse. Then it skips ahead to track a jade pin (it signifies hedonistic liberation) from the custody of a young Wilde to a swishy fringe creature called Jack Fairy to the regal Slade, a bisexual superstar who carries the news to all the young dudes. After that, we're in an Orwellian 1984 that's presided over by a vaguely fascist president and by arena rockers who serve as propagandists for a repressively conformist state. Whatever happened to Brian Slade, the glitter kids, the visionary exhibitionists and gleeful poseurs? Borrowing its framework from Citizen Kane , the movie follows a reporter (Christian Bale) assigned to reconstruct Slade's life and solve the mystery of his whereabouts. Whatever you make of Velvet Goldmine (opinions have ranged from rapturous to casually dismissive), it's like no other musical ever made. It's determinedly swirling, discursive, elliptical. Now the story is told by an omniscient narrator, now a TV reporter, now a participant. Now it's flashing back, now forward. Every other line of dialogue is a cue for one of its dazzling numbers, largely covers of songs by Brian Eno, Bryan Ferry, and T. Rex. The narrative is a challenge to keep up with, but then, great artists often invent their own syntax. In the '80s, Haynes employed Barbie dolls to depict the rise and wasting away from anorexia of the singer Karen Carpenter. Lucky audiences who caught Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (it was shelved when Richard Carpenter served the producers with an order to cease and desist exhibition) began by laughing at this elaborately posed, soft-rock femme, only to discover by the climax that the cultural forces that were eating at her (and that kept her from eating) had grown heartbreakingly palpable. Poison (1991), Haynes' Genêt-inspired exploration of transgression, didn't overcome its own artiness. But Safe (1995), the story of a Reagan-era housewife (Julianne Moore) convinced that her environment is poisoning her, is an entrancing meditation on the power of culture to crush the individual. Despite its ironic detachment, the film draws you into its heroine's sickly state: Breathing oxygen from a canister inside a high-tech igloo, she dwindles to nearly nothing, the modern incarnation of the Incredible Shrinking Man. Anthony Hopkins plays the zillionaire communications baron whom Death enlists in the hope of understanding the human condition--an odd choice for a tour guide, since most people's condition doesn't involve personal helicopters, sprawling mansions on Long Island Sound, or Manhattan apartments that sport Olympic-size swimming pools. Four screenwriters, among them the great Bo Goldman ( Melvin and Howard , 1980 Shoot the Moon , 1982), labored on this moldy script, which features characters who ask questions that begin \"Am I to understand that ...?\" and a corporate villain who directs another character to \"wake up and smell the thorns.\" It apparently never occurred to even one of these overpaid scribes to eliminate Hopkins' rueful realization that he'd \"never write the great American novel\"--no kidding, given his flagrantly Welsh accent.\n\n<question>:\nWhat positive critique does the film reviewer offer for \"Elizabeth\"? juicy melodrama\n\n<options>:\nA It relies on juxtaposition-based cinematography that makes for a compelling theatrical performance\nB It takes necessary liberties with history's version of Elizabeth's reign to make her story more interesting to movie-goers\nC It takes the best aspects of both Jacobean and Shakespearean interpretations of Elizabeth I and combines them into one melodramatic depiction\nD It is the best interpretation of Elizabeth I's ascent to the throne and subsequent reign\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,042	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthat murderous little beast out of here! Or isn't murder against the local laws?\" \"The Stortulian will be duly punished,\" replied the leader of the Ghrynian cops calmly. \"But there is the matter of the dead Kallerian and the fine of—\" Getting specimens for the interstellar zoo and smell them with ease. My three staff men, Auchinleck, Stebbins and Ludlow, walked shieldwise 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. 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. Through the front window of the office, I could see our big gay tridim sign plastered to a facing wall: WANTED—EXTRATERRESTRIALS! We had saturated MacTavish IV with our promotional poop for a month preceding arrival. Stuff like this: Next came a bedraggled Sirian spider who was more interested in a 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 the successful proprietor of Corrigan's Institute, after some years as an impoverished carnival man in the Betelgeuse system. Back in 2903, the World Congress declared Terra off-bounds for non-terrestrial Before then, anyone could visit Earth. After the gate clanged down, a non-terrestrial could only get onto Sol III as a specimen in a advertise and they come flocking to us. Every alien wants to see Earth fifty of the reptilian natives of Ghryne, seven Sirian spiders, and no less than nineteen chlorine-breathing Procyonites wearing gas masks. It was also my sad duty to nix a Vegan who was negotiating through a Ghrynian agent. A Vegan would be a top-flight attraction, being some from Earth, stranded here and out of cash. You want a free trip back to This was the best con switch yet—an Earthman posing as an alien to get only one human race in the Galaxy—on Earth. I was going to need some reason. And, with it, plenty of trouble on my hands. The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of a because—\" \"You will hire me or trouble I will make!\" didn't move. He bellowed, \"I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me to Earth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible!\" I'm a man of principles, like all straightforward double-dealers, and the chance that, by picking a given member of a race, we're insulting all the others. I nudged the trouble-button on the side of my desk and Auchinleck and \"Please, please,\" squeaked the little alien pitifully. \"I must see you, \"It isn't his turn in line,\" Stebbins protested. \"There are at least fifty ahead of him.\" \"All right,\" I said tiredly. \"As long as he's in here already, I might as well see him. Be more careful next time, Stebbins.\" Stebbins nodded dolefully and backed out. The alien was a pathetic sight: a Stortulian, a squirrely-looking creature about three feet high. His fur, which should have been a lustrous black, was a dull gray, and his eyes were wet and sad. His \"Begging your most honored pardon most humbly, important sir. I am a being of Stortul XII, having sold my last few possessions to travel to Ghryne for the miserable purpose of obtaining an interview with yourself.\" I said, \"I'd better tell you right at the outset that we're already carrying our full complement of Stortulians. We have both a male and a female now and—\" \"This is known to me. The female—is her name perchance Tiress?\" I glanced down at the inventory chart until I found the Stortulian Earth!\" \"I must see her—her and this disgrace-bringing lover of hers. I must I must bring her back! My face was expressionless. \"You don't really intend to join our organization at all—you just want free passage to Earth?\" \"Yes, yes!\" wailed the Stortulian. \"Find some other member of my race, I might conceivably have done it. But no—you had to go unburden your undesirable alien back to its home world. But I wouldn't pull a low trick like that on our female Stortulian. I said, \"I'll ask her about coming home. But I won't ship her back against her will. And maybe she's happier where she is.\" The Stortulian seemed to shrivel. His eyelids closed half-way to mask his tears. He turned and shambled slowly to the door, walking like a living dishrag. In a bleak voice, he said, \"There is no hope then. All 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 outraged pride and the Stortulian's flighty wife when the door opened and the Earthman who called himself Ildwar Gorb of Wazzenazz XIII stepped in. threatened murder, and there's been a Stortulian in here who's about to commit suicide because of me. I have a conscience and it's troubling dragging helplessly along in his wake, hanging desperately to his belt. minutes ago.\" \"And therefore,\" said the third lizard, \"it is our duty to arrest this late life-form's request lies at the root of his sad demise?\" away. If I had to, I could pony up the hundred-grand fine, but it was going to put an awful dent in this year's take. And I shuddered when I remembered that any minute that scrawny little Stortulian was likely to come bursting in here to kill himself too. Was it a fine of $100,000 per suicide? At that rate, I could be out of business by nightfall. I was spared further such morbid thoughts by yet another unannounced arrival. The small figure of the Stortulian trudged through the open doorway and stationed itself limply near the threshold. The three Ghrynian policemen and my three assistants forgot the dead Kallerian for a resolved never to come here on a recruiting trip again—or, if I did come, to figure out some more effective way of screening myself against crackpots. In heart-rending tones, the Stortulian declared, \"Life is no longer worth living. My last hope is gone. There is only one thing left for me to do.\" I was quivering at the thought of another hundred thousand smackers going down the drain. \"Stop him, somebody! He's going to kill himself! He's—\" a smoking blaster lay on the floor, and I saw the three Ghrynian policemen sitting on the raving Stortulian. The man who called himself Ildwar Gorb was getting to his feet and dusting himself off. Stortulian wasn't here to commit suicide, you see. He was out to get you.\" I weaved dizzily toward my desk and dropped into my chair. A flying plaster was everywhere. The police were effectively cocooning the struggling little alien in an unbreakable tanglemesh. \"Evidently you don't know as much as you think you do about Stortulian psychology, Corrigan,\" Gorb said lightly. \"Suicide is completely abhorrent to them. When they're troubled, they kill the person who killed himself , and the pint-sized Stortulian who looked so meek and pathetic damn near blew my head off.\" I shuddered. \"Thanks for the\n\n<question>:\nWhy was the Stortulian so determined to make it to Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA He wanted to seek revenge on his wife.\nB He was desperate for money.\nC He wanted to find and bring back his wife.\nD He was fearful of his future with the other Stortulians.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,394	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 have ... or do ... or will. I don't know, verbs get all mixed up. We 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 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 what happened to me 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 try. I've gotten past that stage in worrying about all this. So let's begin when you get up in half an hour and come out with me. obvious it must be a time machine. You'll sense that, too. You've seen and you'll be getting used to the idea that you are the man who makes 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. You start to say something, but by then I'm pressing a black button, and everything outside will disappear. You look for your house, but turns over and pokes back at you. Doesn't hurt, and when you pull your arm back, you're still sound and uninjured. But it looks frightening and you don't try it again. Then you feel silly, because you'll remember that I said you'd ask the machine and I don't understand it.\" \"But....\" I let it go, and so do you. If you don't, it's a good way of going crazy. You'll see later why I couldn't have invented the machine. Of saving yourself the trouble, it got all tangled up. I figured out once pretty easygoing civilization, from what I could see. We'll go up and I'll leave you. I like the looks of things here, so I won't be coming back with you.\" I'd told you that, too, but you've forgotten. \"As near as I can guess, \"What about the time machine?\" you ask. nobody around. I grab your hand and shake it. \"You go that way. Don't worry about getting lost you never did, so you can't. Find the museum, grab the motor, and get out. And good luck to you.\" You act as if you're dreaming, though you can't believe it's a dream. You nod at me and I move out into the main corridor. A second later, questions of a man, who points, and I turn and move off. the hang of the spelling they use, though. Now there are people around you, but nobody pays much attention to you. Why should they? You wouldn't care if you saw a man in a leopard-skin suit you'd figure it was some part in a play and let it go. Well, people don't change much. You get up your courage and go up to a boy selling something that might be papers on tapes. \"Downayer rien turn lefa the sign. Stoo bloss,\" he tells you. Around you, you hear some pretty normal English, but there are others using stuff as garbled as his. The educated and uneducated? I don't know. hesitate for a moment, then. You're beginning to think the whole affair is complete nonsense, and you should get back to the time machine and 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. He beams at that. \"Of course.\" The gate is swung to behind you, but obviously he isn't locking it. In fact, there doesn't seem to be a 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 seems deserted and you wander up the stairs. There's a room on your 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 each side. \"Nice,\" the guard says over your shoulder. \"It finally wore out one of Like to have me tell you about it?\" \"Not particularly,\" you begin, and then realize bad manners might be conspicuous here. While you're searching for an answer, the guard pulls You work down the line. It'd be foolish to take the early model if you probably bolted down, too, but you try it tentatively and you find it moves. There's a little sign under it, indicating you shouldn't touch it, since the gravostatic plate is being renewed. after he told me, but I can't be sure. So I'll keep on talking. I probably can't help it, anyhow. Pre-set, you might say. Well, you stagger down the corridor, looking out for the guard, but all seems clear. Then you hear his voice from the weapons room. You bend down and try to scurry past, but you know you're in full view. Nothing happens, though. is closed. You reach it and it opens obligingly by itself. You breathe a quick sigh of relief and start out onto the street. Then there's a yell behind you. You don't wait. You put one leg in front of the other and you begin racing down the walk, ducking past people, who stare at you with expressions you haven't time to see. of your feet, with a sudden ringing sound. You don't wait to find out about that, either. Somebody reaches out a hand to catch you and you dart past. The street is pretty clear now and you jolt along, with your arms Out of nowhere, something in a blue uniform about six feet tall and on the beefy side appears—and the badge hasn't changed much. The cop catches your arm and you know you're not going to get away, so you stop. \"You can't exert yourself that hard in this heat, fellow,\" the cop says. \"There are laws against that, without a yellow sticker. Here, let out and taps a pedestrian lightly on the shoulder. \"Sir, an emergency The pedestrian grins, looks at his watch, and nods. \"How far?\" mutter it. The stranger nods again, reaches out and picks up the other Pedestrians begin to move aside, and you and the stranger jog down the here doesn't look too good. The guard can get the same and be there before you. And he is. He stands just inside the door of the building as you reach it. The stranger lifts an eyebrow and goes off at once when you nod dissimilar in other ways. He snaps it open and you get set to duck. \"You forgot the prints, monograph, and patent applications,\" he says. we'll pick it up.\" You swallow several sets of tonsils you had removed years before, and you for some more information, which you give him at random. It seems to satisfy your amiable guard friend. He finally smiles in satisfaction and heads back to the museum. You'll never know what the shouting was about—whether they finally doped out the fact that they'd been robbed, or whether they were trying to help you. You don't care which it is. The field springs up around you and the next button you touch—the one on the board that hasn't been used so far—sends you off into nothingness. There is no beam of light, you can't hear a thing, and you're safe. in time, somehow, and is back to its original youth—minus the kids from school are coming around to stare at the man who changed view—and telling your younger self all these things I'm telling you. without protest, and I want to find out just why those people up there came looking for you and shouting, before the time machine left. Let's go.\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the older man know the younger man will do?\n\n<options>:\nA exactly as he's been told\nB invent the next great invention\nC change the future\nD fight with him and try not to go\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
691	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 64-SQUARE MADHOUSE by FRITZ LEIBER The machine was not perfect. It could be tricked. It could make mistakes. And—it could learn! stories to be picked up at the first international grandmaster chess tournament in which an electronic computing machine was entered. Not that there weren't enough humans around, it was the interest that Overheard scraps of conversation in reasonably intelligible English were not particularly helpful. Samples: \"They say the Machine has been programmed to play nothing but pure Barcza System and Indian Defenses—and the Dragon Formation if anyone pushes the King Pawn.\" they'll gang up on the Machine at adjournments. What can one New Jersey computer do against four Russian grandmasters?\" \"I heard the Russians have been programmed—with hypnotic cramming and \"You have one great advantage,\" he told her. \"You know nothing whatsoever of chess—so you will be able to write about it understandably for your readers.\" He swallowed half his demitasse and smacked his lips. \"As for the Machine—you do \"Wait.\" He lifted a finger. \"I think I know what you're going to ask. You want to know why, if the Machine works at all, it doesn't work perfectly, so that it always wins and there is no contest. Right?\" Sandra grinned and nodded. Doc's ability to interpret her mind was as He removed his pince-nez, massaged the bridge of his nose and replaced them. \"If you had,\" he said, \"a billion computers all as fast as the Machine, it would take them all the time there ever will be in the universe just to play through all the possible games of chess, not to mention the time needed to classify those games into branching families of wins for White, wins for Black and draws, and the additional time required to trace out chains of key-moves leading always to wins. So the Machine can't play chess like God. What the Machine can do is examine all the likely lines of play for about eight moves ahead—that is, four moves \"Look ahead a little way and try to make a plan. You know, like getting out trumps in bridge or setting up a finesse.\" \"Exactly!\" Doc beamed at her approvingly. \"The Machine is genius, but who never makes a mistake. You see, you are finding human interest already, even in the Machine.\" Sandra nodded. \"Does a human chess player—a grandmaster, I mean—ever \"Most assuredly he does! In crucial situations, say where there's a chance of winning at once by trapping the enemy king, he examines many more moves ahead than that—thirty or forty even. The Machine is probably programmed to recognize such situations and do something of the same sort, though we can't be sure from the information World possibilities are so very nearly unlimited that even a grandmaster can only look a very few moves ahead and must rely on his judgment and experience and artistry. The equivalent of those in the Machine is the directions fed into it before it plays a game.\" \"You mean the programming?\" \"Indeed yes! The programming is the crux of the problem of the The WBM machine here in the hall operates about a million times as fast. Don't ask me how, I'm no physicist, but it depends on the new transistors and something they call hypervelocity, which in turn depends on keeping parts of the Machine at a temperature near absolute zero. However, the result is that the Machine can see eight moves ahead and is capable of being programmed much more craftily.\" \"A million times as fast as the first machine, you say, Doc? And yet it only sees twice as many moves ahead?\" Sandra objected. you remember that the Machine is errorlessly examining every one of thousands of variations. Flesh-and-blood chess masters have lost games by blunders they could have avoided by looking only one or two moves ahead. The Machine will make no such oversights. Once again, you see, you have the human factor, in this case working for the Machine.\" \"Tell your readers, Miss Grayling,\" he proclaimed, fiercely arching his eyebrows at her and actually slapping his chest, \"that I, Igor Jandorf, will defeat the Machine by the living force of my human personality! Already I have offered to play it an informal game blindfold—I, who have played 50 blindfold games simultaneously! Its owners refuse me. I have challenged it also to a few games of rapid-transit—an offer no true grandmaster would dare ignore. Again they refuse me. I predict that the Machine will play like a great oaf—at least against me . Repeat: I, Igor Jandorf, by the living force of my human personality, will defeat the Machine. Do you have that? You can remember it?\" clock off and turns his opponent's on. If a player uses too much time, he loses as surely as if he were checkmated. Now since the Machine will almost certainly be programmed to take an equal amount of time on successive moves, a rate of 15 moves an hour means it will have 4 it was typical Jandorf bravado to make a point of a blindfold challenge—just as if the Machine weren't playing blindfold itself. Or recompense. This tournament is an exception. And it takes a great deal of ego to play greatly.\" \"I suppose so. So World Business Machines is responsible for this tournament?\" \"Correct. Their advertising department is interested in the prestige. They want to score a point over their great rival.\" \"But if the Machine plays badly it will be a black eye for them,\" Sandra pointed out. machines—they were programmed by scientists. No, Simon Great is a psychologist who at one time was a leading contender for the world's programming of the Machine. As you know, I have had to fight the Players' Committee tooth and nail on all sorts of points about that and they have won most of them. I am not permitted to re-program the fast enough.\" \"That makes it very tough on you,\" Sandra put in. \"The Machine isn't allowed any weaknesses.\" if this whole thing were a big fake? What if Simon Great were really playing the Machine's moves? There would surely be some way for his a fraud. Great is completely out of practice for actual tournament play, though not for chess-thinking. The difference in style between style was often described as being machinelike....\" For a moment Doc's eyes became thoughtful. Then he smiled again. \"But no, the idea is impossible. Vanderhoef as Tournament Director has played two or three games with the Machine to assure himself that it operates legitimately and has grandmaster skill.\" \"Did the Machine beat him?\" Sandra asked. Doc shrugged. \"The scores weren't released. It was very hush-hush. But about your idea, Miss Grayling—did you ever read about Maelzel's famous chess-playing automaton of the 19th Century? That one too was supposed to work by machinery (cogs and gears, not electricity) but actually it had a man hidden inside it—your Edgar Poe exposed the my story I think the chess robot will break down while it is being demonstrated to a millionaire purchaser and the young inventor will have to win its game for it to cover up and swing the deal. Only the millionaire's daughter, who is really a kind who murdered his creator, crushing him like an iron grizzly bear when the man won a game from him. Tell me, Miss Grayling, do you find yourself imagining this Machine putting out angry tendrils to strangle its opponents, or beaming rays of death and hypnotism at them? I can that she wasn't a writer at all or even a reporter, she just used dime-a-dozen female attractiveness to rope a susceptible man (young, old, American, Russian) and pick his brain....\n\n<question>:\nWhich mode of exposition affects the story’s plot?\n\n<options>:\nA The story uses the Doc character to help paint a portrait of what Sandra cannot understand. Namely, the world of chess.\nB The story uses the chess player characters to help paint a portrait of what Sandra cannot understand. Namely, chess.\nC The story uses Doc to hide the presence of Dr. Krakatower, the Frenchman responsible for defeating the WBM machines.\nD The story uses the machine’s astonishing capabilities to distract from the true interest of the story: the human intellect’s ability to conquer computers.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
334	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nshook with joyful ejaculations. \"She checks down to the last dimension,\" Bob chortled, working with slide-rule and logarithm tables. \"Now all we have to do is find out if neither Bob nor Queazy would have thought of sending an answering before this if he hadn't been lanky and tall while they were giants. Now that he and Queazy had found the asteroid, they were desperate to Bob Parker said, in astonishment, \"Hell! There's something screwy about Bob started so badly that the spectroscope's settings were jarred and know you've infringed the law. G'bye!\" She turned and disappeared. Bob awoke from his trance, shouted desperately, \"Hey! Wait! You! expression did not change. She put her hands on the bulging hips of her space-suit. \"Okay,\" she said. \"Now I understand the conditions. Now we both understand each other. G'bye again. I'm staying here and—\" she smiled sweetly \"—it may interest you to know that if I let you have the asteroid you'll save your business, but I'll meet a fate worse than death! So that's that.\" Bob recognized finality when he saw it. \"Come on, Queazy,\" he said fuming. \"Let this brat have her way. But if I ever run across her without a space-suit on I'm going to give her the licking of her life, right where it'll do the most good!\" Bob Parker's stomach caved in. A few hundred feet away, floating We got to back each other up.\" The girl nodded dumbly. Suddenly she seemed to be frightened. \"It's—it's very important that this—this asteroid stay right where it is,\" she said huskily. \"What—what will they do?\" Bob Parker didn't answer. The big ship had landed, and little blue There was no answer from Queazy. With sick eyes, Bob studied the that his oxygen needs were small. He closed his eyes, trying to fight against panic. He was glad he couldn't see any part of his body. He was probably scrawny. And he was hungry! \"I'll starve,\" he thought. \"Or suffocate to death first!\" The sudden rush of oxygen to his brain dizzied him. Then he was lying on a bunk, and gradually the world beyond his sick body focussed in his clearing eyes and he knew he was alive—and going to stay that way, for awhile anyway. \"Thanks, Queazy,\" he said huskily. Queazy was bending over him, his anxiety clearing away from his suddenly brightening face. \"Don't thank me,\" he whispered. \"We'd have both been goners if it hadn't been for her. The Saylor brothers left her paralyzed like us, and when she woke up she was on a slow orbit around her ship. She unstrapped her holster and threw it away from her and it gave scattered us far and wide.\" Queazy's broad, normally good-humored face twisted blackly. \"The so and so's didn't care if we lived or died.\" Bob saw the girl now, standing a little behind Queazy, looking down at him curiously, but unhappily. Her space-suit was off. She was wearing flower in her hair. Something in Bob's stomach caved in as his eyes widened on her. The girl said glumly, \"I guess you men won't much care for me when you find out who I am and what I've done. I'm Starre Lowenthal—Andrew S. Burnside's granddaughter!\" Bob came slowly to his feet, and matched Queazy's slowly growing anger. stubbornest old hoot-owl in this universe! He's always had his way, and when people stand in his way, that's just a challenge to him. He's been badgering me for years to marry Mac, and so has Mac—\" \"Who's Mac?\" Queazy demanded. \"My fiancé, I guess,\" she said helplessly. \"He's one of my granddad's protégés. Granddad's always financing some likely young man and giving him a start in life. Mac has become pretty famous for his Mercurian water-colors—he's an artist. Well, I couldn't hold out any longer. If you knew my grandfather, you'd know how absolutely and picked out an asteroid that was shaped so a wedding could take place on it. I took the measurements and the composition, then I told my grandfather I'd marry Mac if the wedding was in the back yard on top of an asteroid with those measurements and made of iron ore, tungsten, and so forth. He agreed so fast he scared me, and just to make sure \" Ouch! \" Bob groaned. Then he looked at Starre Lowenthal with determination. \"Miss, pardon me if I say that this deal you and your granddad cooked up is plain screwy! With us on the butt end. But I'm a few hundred thousand miles this side of Earth. And we can have a fling at getting the asteroid back!\" Her eyes sparkled. \"You mean—\" she cried. Then her attractive face \"That's right,\" Bob said grimly. \"We're in business. For us, it's a matter of survival. If the by-product of delivering the asteroid is your marriage—sorry! But until we do get the asteroid back, we three can work as a team if you're willing. We'll fight the other problem out at Bob. \"You're plain nuts,\" he complained. \"How do you propose to go Starre. \"He's always pulling me up short when I go off half-cocked. All I know is, that maybe we'll get a good idea as we go along. In the meantime, Starre—ahem—none of us has eaten in three weeks...?\" Starre got the idea. She smiled dazzlingly and vanished toward the galley. Bob Parker was in love with Starre Lowenthal. He knew that after five days out, as the ship hurled itself at breakneck speed toward Earth probably that distracting emotion was the real reason he couldn't attach any significance to Starre's dumbbell-shaped ship, which trailed astern, attached by a long cable. Starre apparently knew he was in love with her, too, for on the fifth day Bob was teaching her the mechanics of operating the hauler, and she gently lifted his hand from a finger-switch. \"Right,\" he said unsteadily. \"Anyway, Starre, as I was saying, this at—Oh, hell!\" Bob groaned, the serious glory of her eyes making him shake. He took her hand. \"Starre,\" he said desperately, \"I've got to tell you something—\" She jerked her hand away. \"No,\" she exclaimed in an almost frightened voice. \"You can't tell me. There's—there's Mac,\" she finished, faltering. \"The asteroid—\" \"You Her eyes filled with tears. \"I have to live up to the bargain.\" \"And ruin your whole life,\" he ground out. Suddenly, he turned back to How? \" Starre's blue eyes followed the long cable back to where it was for Bob brought the hauler's speed down to zero—and Starre Lowenthal's little ship, possessing its own inertia, kept on moving! The excited cry came from Starre. But Bob swore. The dumbbell ship Bob sweated, having only fractions of seconds in which to maneuver ticklish work completely to nullify the \"yo-yo's\" speed. Bob used again. All this had happened in such a short space of time that the Saylor brothers must have had only a bare realization of what was going on. Starre was chortling with glee. Queazy whispered, \"Attaboy, Bob! This you're alive,\" Bob snarled wrathfully. \"And you won't be unless you release the asteroid.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Starre hesitant to accept Bob's feelings?\n\n<options>:\nA She knows that the wedding has to happen, one way or another.\nB She doesn't feel the same way about Bob.\nC She feels trapped by her Grandfather's bargain.\nD She still cares about Mac, despite all that's happening.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
523	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nmoney operators all wore earmuffs—was for a job, was not at all the public picture of a banker. His suit of hound's-tooth checks, the scarlet vest peeping above the vee of his to Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formal fantastic novel of some sort, named The Hobbit . Reading this peculiar a new man, ears concealed behind scarlet earmuffs. In the car, coming gentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison stepped favored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed, her initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs, said. \"Testing,\" the male voice repeated. \"One, two, three three, two, one. Do you read me? Over.\" \"You make it sound so improper,\" Orison said. was bowing. And she saw with some gratification that he was not wearing earmuffs. \"My name,\" the stranger said, \"is Dink Gerding. I am President of this bank, and wish at this time to welcome you to our little family.\" reasonably astute sixth-grader couldn't do as well,\" Orison said. \"You'll be reading silently before long,\" Mr. Gerding said. He smiled, as though this explained everything. \"By the way, your official presence, was obviously as kookie as his bank. asked, as though following her train of thought. \"No, sir,\" she said. \"Though I've been associated with a rather large with calling me 'sir.' My name is Dink. It is ridiculous, but I'd enjoy \"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 still so young. \"We've hardly met,\" she said. stayed square. The crisp clicking of his steps, a military metronome, to the elevator. When the door slicked open Orison, staring after Dink, just head-and-neck. But not to her. To Dink Gerding. of the desk, \"and pounce ever so hard.\" She smiled. Opulent, Orison thought. Built like a burlesque queen. No, she thought, I don't like her. Can't. Wouldn't if I could. Never cared for cats. Auga Vingt. Auga, to my friends.\" \"Won't you sit down, Miss Vingt?\" \"Thanks,\" Orison said. \"Common courtesy,\" Miss Vingt explained. \"Also, darling, I'd like to draw your attention to one little point. Dink Gerding—you know, the shoulders and muscles and crewcut? Well, he's posted property. Should you throw your starveling charms at my Dink, you'd only get your little eyes scratched out. Word to the wise, n'est-ce pas ?\" \"So remember, Tiny, Dink Gerding is mine. You're all alone up here. displaying, Orison thought, a disgraceful amount of ungirdled rhumba motion. 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.\" Dink's elder brother. I understand you've met Dink already.\" even closer than Dink's. His mustache was gray-tipped, like a patch and his eyes, like Dink's, were cobalt blue. The normal. Mr. Kraft Gerding bowed—what continental manners these bankers Instead, Kraft Gerding smiled a smile as frosty as his mustache and said, \"I understand that my younger brother has been talking with you, Miss McCall. Quite proper, I know. But I must warn you against mixing shouted. \"You can take this crazy bank ... into bankruptcy, for all I care. I'm not going to perch up here, target for every uncaged idiot in finance, and listen to another word.\" \"Dearest lady, my humblest pardon,\" Kraft Gerding said, bowing again, charming asset the wise....\" \" N'est-ce pas? \" Orison said. \"Well, Buster, here's a word to the foolish. Get lost.\" Kraft Gerding bowed and flashed his gelid smile. \"Until we meet again?\" 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 from her wastebasket and smoothing it, no one would convert a major Midwestern bank into a lunatic asylum. How else, though, could the behavior of the Earmuffs be explained? Could madmen run a bank? Why not, she Dink ger-Dink d'summa. \" Orison scribbled down this intelligence in bemused Gregg before \"Oh. Hi, Miss McCall,\" the voice said. \"Guess I goofed. I'm in kinda clutch. This is Wanji. I got a kite for Mr. Dink Gerding. If you see sumo -wrestlers protested. \"Elder Compassion has no rank,\" Kraft Gerding said. \"Miss McCall, you must tell me what you were doing here, or I'll toss you to the spiders.\" \"Dink ... Dink!\" Orison shouted. \"I came to bring a message to Dink,\" Orison said. \"Let me go, you acromegalic apes!\" \"The message?\" Kraft Gerding demanded. \"Something about escudo green. Put me down!\" though struck by lightning, their arms thrown out before them, their faces abject against the floor. Kraft Gerding was slowly lowering himself to one knee. Dink had entered the spider-room. Without \"I....\" Dink brought his right fist up from hip-level, crashing it into Kraft's jaw. Kraft Gerding joined the Earmuffs on the floor. \"If you'd care to stand again, Elder Brother, you may attempt to recover your dignity without regard for the difference in our rank.\" Kraft struggled to one knee and remained kneeling, gazing up at Dink \" Kraft Gerding arose, stared for a moment at Dink and Orison, then, with the merest hint of a bow, led his two giant Earmuffs to the elevator. \"I wish you hadn't come up here, Orison,\" Dink said. \"Why did you do to Dink, keeping her eyes on the nearest spidertank. \"I had to see \"You're too curious, and Wanji is too careless,\" Dink said. \"Now, what \"Strange,\" Dink said. He walked over to the nearest tank and plucked She backed away from Dink Gerding and the minuscule creature he cupped the bowl of his hand. \"Pretty little fellow, isn't he?\" Dink asked. \"I'd be happier if you did,\" Dink said. Orison extended her hand as into a furnace. Dink brushed the \"He's like a baby crawdad,\" Orison said. \"A sort of crustacean,\" Dink agreed. \"We use them in a commercial \"That's still a secret,\" Dink said, smiling. \"I can't tell even you perched up on the rear four of his six microscopic legs, scratching against her high-school class-ring with his tiny chelae. \"They like gold,\" Dink explained, peering across her shoulder, comfortably close. \"They're attracted to it by a chemical tropism, as children are attracted to candy. Toss him back into his tank, Orison. We'd better get you down where you belong.\" \"That's the hymn of the Microfabridae,\" Dink said. \"They all sing Orison closed her eyes, leaning back into Dink's arms, listening to \"It's an ancient song,\" Dink said. \"The Microfabridae have been\n\n<question>:\nPeople around him describe Dink as a…\n\n<options>:\nA brute\nB ladies’ man\nC hard-working entrepreneur\nD nerd\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,347	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nOpen access (OA) literature is digital, online, free of charge, and free of most copyright and licensing restrictions. is a significant access barrier. Most works with price tags are individually affordable. But when a scholar needs to read or consult hundreds of works for one research project, or when a library must provide access for thousands of faculty and students working on tens of thousands of topics, and when the volume of new work grows explosively every year, price barriers become insurmountable. The resulting access gaps harm authors by limiting their audience and impact, harm readers by limiting what they can retrieve and read, and thereby harm research from both directions. OA removes price barriers. Removing price barriers means that readers are not limited by their own ability to pay, or by the budgets of the institutions where they may have library privileges. Removing permission barriers means that scholars are free to use or reuse literature for scholarly purposes. These purposes include reading and searching, but also redistributing, translating, text mining, migrating to new media, long-term archiving, and innumerable new forms of research, analysis, and processing we haven’t yet imagined. OA makes work more useful in both ways, by making it available to more people who can put it to use, and by freeing those people to use and reuse it. When we need to, we can be more specific about access vehicles and access barriers. In the jargon, OA delivered by journals is called gold OA , and OA delivered by repositories is called green OA is the suggestion I hear most often. While every kind of OA removes price barriers, there are many different permission barriers we could remove if we wanted to. If we remove price barriers alone, we provide . (Also see section 3.1 on green/gold and section 3.3 on gratis/libre.) OA was defined in three influential public statements: the Budapest Open Access Initiative (February 2002), the Bethesda Statement on Open Access Publishing (June 2003), and the Berlin Declaration on Open Access to Knowledge in the Sciences and Humanities (October 2003). I sometimes refer to their overlap or common ground as the BBB definition of OA. My definition here is the BBB definition reduced to its essential elements and refined with some post-BBB terminology (green, gold, gratis, libre) for speaking precisely about subspecies of OA. Here’s how the Budapest statement defined OA: Here’s how the Bethesda and Berlin statements put it: For a work to be OA, the copyright holder must consent in advance to let users “copy, use, distribute, transmit and display the work publicly and to make and distribute derivative works, in any digital medium for any responsible purpose, subject to proper attribution of authorship.” chapter 9 on the future.) We’d have less knowledge, less academic freedom, and less OA if researchers worked for royalties and made their research articles into commodities rather than gifts. It should be no surprise, then, that more and more funding agencies and universities are adopting strong OA policies. Their mission to advance research leads them directly to logic of OA: With a few exceptions, such as classified research, research that is worth funding or facilitating is worth sharing with everyone who can make use of it. (See chapter 4 on OA policies.) Newcomers to OA often assume that OA helps readers and hurts authors, and that the reader side of the scholarly soul must beg the author side to make the necessary sacrifice. But OA benefits authors as well as readers. Authors want access to readers at least as much as readers want access to authors. All authors want to cultivate a larger audience and greater impact. Authors who work for royalties have reason to compromise and settle for the smaller audience of paying customers. But authors who aren’t paid for their writing have no reason to compromise. OA gains nothing and loses potential allies by blurring these distinctions. This variety reminds us (to paraphrase Tim O’Reilly) that OA doesn’t threaten publishing 1.2 What OA Is Not We can dispel a cloud of objections and misunderstandings simply by pointing out a few things that OA is not. (Many of these points will be elaborated in later chapters.) OA isn’t an attempt to bypass peer review. OA is compatible with every kind of peer review, from the most conservative to the most innovative, and all the major public statements on OA insist on its importance. Because scholarly journals generally don’t pay peer-reviewing editors and referees, just as they don’t pay authors, all the participants in peer review can consent to OA without losing revenue. While OA to unrefereed preprints is useful and widespread, the OA movement isn’t limited to unrefereed preprints and, if anything, focuses on OA to peer-reviewed articles. (More in section 5.1 on peer review.) OA isn’t an attempt to reform, violate, or abolish copyright. It’s compatible with copyright law as it is. OA would benefit from the right kinds of copyright reforms, and many dedicated people are working on them. But it needn’t wait for reforms and hasn’t waited. OA literature avoids copyright problems in exactly the same way that conventional toll-access literature does. For older works, it takes advantage of the public domain, and for newer works, it rests on copyright-holder consent. (More in chapter 4 on policies and chapter 6 on copyright.) OA isn’t an attempt to deprive royalty-earning authors of income. The OA movement focuses on research articles precisely because they don’t pay royalties. In any case, inside and outside that focus, OA for copyrighted work depends on copyright-holder consent. Hence, royalty-earning authors have nothing to fear but persuasion that the benefits of OA might outweigh the risks to royalties. (More in section 5.3 on OA for books.) OA isn’t an attempt to reduce authors’ rights over their work. On the contrary, OA depends on author decisions and requires authors to exercise more rights or control over their work than they are allowed to exercise under traditional publishing contracts. One OA strategy is for authors to retain some of the rights they formerly gave publishers, including the right to authorize OA. Another OA strategy is for publishers to permit more uses than they formerly permitted, including permission for authors to make OA copies of their work. By contrast, traditional journal-publishing contracts demand that authors transfer all rights to publishers, and author rights or control cannot sink lower than that. (See chapters on policies and OA isn’t an attempt to reduce academic freedom. Academic authors remain free to submit their work to the journals or publishers of their choice. Policies requiring OA do so conditionally, for example, for researchers who choose to apply for a certain kind of grant. In addition, these policies generally build in exceptions, waiver options, or both. Since 2008 most university OA policies have been adopted by faculty deeply concerned to preserve and even enhance their prerogatives. (See chapter 4 on OA policies.) OA isn’t an attempt to relax rules against plagiarism. All the public definitions of OA support author attribution, even construed as a “restriction” on users. All the major open licenses require author attribution. Moreover, plagiarism is typically punished by the plagiarist’s institution rather than by courts, that is, by social norms rather than by law. Hence, even when attribution is not legally required, plagiarism is still a punishable offense and no OA policy anywhere interferes with those punishments. In any case, if making literature digital and online makes plagiarism easier to commit, then OA makes plagiarism easier to detect. Not all plagiarists are smart, but the smart ones will not steal from OA sources indexed in every search engine. In this sense, OA deters plagiarism. Finally, OA isn’t universal access. Even when we succeed at removing price and permission barriers, four other kinds of access barrier might remain in place:\n\n<question>:\nIn which chapter can we find more on OA policies?\n\n<options>:\nA Chapter 4\nB Chapter 5\nC Chapter 9\nD Chapter 2\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,257	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIn his foreword to the book, Lessig writes that you understand your subjects “by learning to see them in a certain way.” What is that certain way? I think I’m trying to get a mental image of a person, certain expressions, or what I think that person is about. I’m trying to capture what I think they look like, which is many times a minority of their typical expressions, or their typical stance. So, if I’m taking pictures of Larry [Lessig], I want to have his signature hand gestures, and not just random ones. I think I’m trying to capture pictures of people that help others see what they’re about. Some photographers will make someone look the way the photographer wants them to look, and not the way they appear, so they’ll pick the one picture out of 100 where the guy looks more egotistical than he really is. Some photographers are almost medical, and are going after a perfect portrait. I’m somewhere in between. It’s amazing how many people will upload snapshots of people where the pictures don’t look like them at all. To me, uploading a picture that is not an easily recognizable picture of that person defeats the point, which I’m working toward, to try to express who they are. On the other hand, professional photographers usually have a subject whom they don’t know personally, so they end up having to try to capture an image that they’ve created based on who they think the person is or how they want that person to appear. You know how sculptors often say that they’re someone’s soul from his or her image. There are a lot of things that make this hard. A lot of people are uncomfortable in front of a camera, or might make expressions that aren’t very natural for them. And if the person is nervous, it’s very difficult to try to see what it is that you’re trying to capture. A lot of what I’m doing is, I just start shooting photos. After half an hour of having their picture taken, people start to ignore you. Or I’ll take pictures when I’m talking to people about what they’re doing, so after a while they get distracted by the conversation and forget about the camera. That’s something that I’m not perfect at, but I’m getting better. I think good photographers are also able to disarm people through conversation, but still, it’s difficult to have a disarming conversation with somebody you don’t know, or to make them laugh. Many times people make a face for me that they wouldn’t make for a professional photographer. For instance, a board meeting picture, like the one with Eric Saltzman: that was during a very tense discussion. I’ve found that people are at their most animated at these kinds of meetings, and look the most alive when they are under a lot of pressure, and super- focused. But usually if an outsider is in the room, they won’t get into that. I mean, it would be difficult for a cameraman to be in a room where a board is having a heated debate. But those are the things that I’m trying to capture, because most people asked me to put the camera away after awhile [laughs] because it was distracting. We were having a very heated discussion and I was taking all of these pictures. But he credited me later because afterward those pictures turned out the best. articles to which I’ve contributed, when it comes to the picture, many of these people don’t have any free photos of themselves on the web, so while they are “notable” on Wikipedia, their images aren’t free of the copyright of the photographer, or the institution who hired the photographer to take the picture. Often, even the subject of the article can’t make an image available to the Wikimedia/Wikipedia community. This means that a lot of people who have a Net presence have a legally encumbered Net presence. People who are invited to conferences get asked all the time, “By the way, do you have a photo that we can use?” But they don’t. By making these pictures available under a Creative Commons pictures for something positive, rather than for something negative. The benefits greatly outweigh the risks. I think we spend way too much of our lives worrying about the risks, at the cost of a lot of the picture is sad. Besides Wikipedia, how do you imagine these photos being used? They can be used in textbooks and in mainstream media articles about the person. Now they can get a picture that represents the person, at least from my perspective. That said, I shouldn’t be the only person doing this. More people should do the same, and make the photographs available freely. For one, I feel that “free” CC licensed photos have a much higher chance of not disappearing. But I don’t know exactly how these photos are going to be used, so in a sense I’m curious. For example, recently I received the Harvard Berkman Center pamphlet. It was a report of what they’re doing, and they also had a bunch of my pictures in they’re not all pictures of people sitting at desks in the Berkman Center. There’s one more important thing: Creative Commons is great for movement outside of the United States is huge now. The CC China Photo exhibit was just amazing. There were some great images, and a lot of the photographers were professionals. This is beyond what anybody has done in the US. A lot of the progress that we’re making is international. and some of this software at a couple hundred dollars, it doesn’t really make sense, except for particularly fussy artists, to do wet-work anymore. If you’re a commercial photographer or a high-end amateur, you can do anything you used to do in the darkroom. I think it has really completely away from film, and I think this happened to a lot of photographers. It caused an explosion of content and an increase in the quality of content on sites like Flickr. It has allowed amateurs to create a business model with professionals. Interestingly, I think these new high-end amateurs are buying more photography books and photographs and are probably providing an increasing revenue stream for professional photographers. I think most amateurs, including myself, are paying homage to the professionals and not trying to “compete” with them. Despite the existence of social software, what is still important about meeting people face-to-face? For me, the right way to use a lot of the new social software is by making it easier to spend more physical time with the people you like best. Dopplr is a great example. When I visit a city, I will see all of the people who are in the city at the same time. When I went to London awhile ago, there were 47 people I knew in London, and a huge percentage of those people don’t live there. I would bet that more than half of the photos in this book are pictures of friends, and they’re not in their hometown. That’s the really interesting thing that is happening right now: it’s friends, than I’ve met in any other year. I know my travels were crazy, but I think that the online world has allowed me to do that. What’s great about photography is that it captures the moment that I was sharing with that person. It’s not just a connection on a social network online, which is really pretty binary. I can look at all these photos and remember exactly what we were doing, what we were eating, what we were drinking, what we were talking about, and to me that’s a much more rich experience. It’s the combination of social software and photography. For me, reality is “the present” plus what you remember from the past. I think this project is really sharing memories with people. Blog posts contribute as well, but to me photography is a really good way of doing that. When I look at the expressions, I remember the moment and get a sense of presence. is essential. My job is to keep that focus and maintain that balance. Also, CC needs to run smoothly as an organization and there is a lot of operational work that we all need to do. My photography is a way for me\n\n<question>:\nHow does the photographer capture their subjects in a certain way?\n\n<options>:\nA They photograph subjects who are feeling very nervous. It makes the images more lively.\nB They photograph subjects who are unaware the photographer is in the room. It's the only way to get truly natural-looking photos.\nC They continually shoot photos while conversing with their subjects. This distracts the subjects from the camera and results in a subject looking very natural.\nD They photograph people when they are in high-pressure situations. The subjects look super focused in the photos.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,029	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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\"Snead came to Greta's funeral. It's the least I could do.\" \"I wouldn't. Probably no relation to Snead at all. Somebody who looks like him.\" I suppose he might have been resurrected.\" \"Who by?\" Linton asked, thinking: God? \"The Mafia, I guess. Who knows who runs it?\" \"You mean, somebody has invented a way to bring dead people back to life?\" Linton said. some people had a system of making it appear that a person had died in order to gain some illegal advantage. But by saying something so patently ridiculous, Linton hoped to bring the contradicting truth to the surface immediately. \"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?\" \"Look, Frank, you can't legalize a thing like resurrection,\" Howell said with feigned patience. \"There are strong religious convictions to consider. The undertakers have a lobby. I've heard they got spies right in the White House, ready to assassinate if they have to. Death is their whole life. You got to realize that.\" \"That's not enough. Not nearly enough.\" \"Think of all the problems it would cause. Insurance, for one thing. Overpopulation. Birth control is a touchy subject. They'd have to take it up if everybody got resurrected when they died, wouldn't they?\" \"But what do they do about it? Against it?\" \"There are a lot of fakes and quacks in the resurrection business. When the cops find out about a place, they break in, smash all the equipment and arrest everybody in sight. That's about all they can do. The charges, if any, come under general vice classification.\" \"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 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 I've got to hurry too, Linton thought. It's Resurrection Day! \"Not really,\" Linton said modestly. \"Come, come,\" the doctor chided. \"You started riots in two places, attempted to bribe an officer. That's disturbing, Mr. Linton, very disturbing.\" \"I was only trying to find out something,\" Linton maintained. \"They could have told me. Everybody seems to know but me.\" The doctor clucked his tongue. \"Let's not think any such thing. People did.\" \"A few specific people know a few specific things you don't. But let me resurrectionist?\" \"I am a resurrectionist.\" \"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.\" really resurrect the dead?\" \"Will you stop being cynical? Of course I can!\" can you resurrect the could be years. Centuries. It's all mathematics, my boy. I need only one fragment of the body and my computers can compute what the rest of it was like and recreate it. It's infallible. Naturally there is a degree of risk involved.\" \"Infallible risk, yes,\" Linton murmured. \"Could you go to work right away?\" \"First, I must follow an ancient medical practice. I must bleed you.\" Linton grasped the situation immediately. \"You mean you want money. You realize I've just got out of an institution....\" \"I've often been in institutions myself, for alcoholism, narcotics addiction and more.\" care less. \"Oh, yes—yes, indeed. But I didn't come out broke.\" \"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.\" the corpse. The female corpse, eh?\" Resurrection Day! choirs. I hope that doesn't sound irreverent to you.\" The doctor stroked his oily palms together. \"Oh, but it does. She accepted the verdict. She pulled away and touched at her hair. It was the same hair, black as evil, contrasting with her inner purity. Of course it would be it hadn't changed even in the grave. He remembered the snaky tendrils of it growing out of the water-logged casket. Her fine black brows made Gothic arches. \"Yes? What about Johnny?\" \"It was a terrible accident right after—that is, about five months ago. He was killed.\" \"Traffic accident. Killed instantly.\" \"But Johnny was your friend, your best friend. Why didn't you have him resurrected the same way you did me?\" \"Darling, resurrection is a risky business and an expensive one. You have to pay premium prices for strawberries in February. I no longer have the money to pay for a resurrection of Johnny.\" photograph of a soul. It's monstrous. No one should do that. No one. But you're sure you haven't the money to do it?\" hilt. It won't pay any more until I'm buried, and then, of course, you can resurrect me.\" foaming acid baths, great whale-toothed disposals, barrels of chemicals 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.\" Her eyes flashed around the doctor's office and settled somewhere, on something. stand, looking vaguely like a fanatic's idol to a heathen religion on a Brain damage, he concluded nervously. Cell deterioration. money! He had resurrected a gold ring that had turned his knuckles green. No one must ever know. in some appalled form of satisfaction as it registered horror and acceptance of the crumpled metal disk falling toward it. institutional advertising. He knelt beside the body and poked into the bleeding, smoldering Yes, it seemed they had to automate and modify the bodies somewhat in resurrection. They couldn't chemically revive the old corpse like pouring water on a wilted geranium. Or— Did they use the old bodies at all? What were all those acid baths for if the bodies were used? Didn't the resurrectionists just destroy the old corpses and make androids, synthetic creatures, to take their place? But it didn't matter. Not a bit. finest detail, and he had thought she was his wife. It was what you thought was real that made it so, not the other way around. his hands out to something. The pain stung him to sleep—a pain in his neck like a needle that left a hole big enough for a camel to pass through and big enough for him to \"Do you really\n\n<question>:\nHow does this society view resurrection?\n\n<options>:\nA There are many people who pretend to do it but nobody who does\nB There is a big push to make it legal\nC It is looked down upon so nobody does it\nD It only happens for those with questionable morals and a lot of money\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
766	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWarrior of Two Worlds By MANLY WADE WELLMAN He was the man of two planets, drawn through the blackness of space to save a nation from ruthless invaders. He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. insistent but not cold, upon my naked skin. Closing my hands, I felt birth. One face of Dondromogon ever looks to the light and heat, and drawn roughly erect. The touch restored my senses, and I wrenched called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to back to a solid wall. My first glance showed me that my companions were creatures like myself—two-legged, fair-skinned men, shorter and slighter than I, but With such arms I had a faint sense of familiarity. \"Who are you, and where are you from?\" said one of the two, a broad-faced middle-aged fellow. \"Don't lie any more than you can help.\" \"There's a bigger reward for capture than for warning,\" objected his friend in turn, \"and whoever comes to take this man will claim studied me apprehensively. \"He's big, and looks strong, even without had first spoken. Then, to his comrade: \"No reward, then.\" \"I think there'll be a reward,\" was the rejoinder, and the second man's His thumb touched a button at the pommel of the hilt. The dull blade suddenly glowed like heated iron, and from it crackled and pulsed little rainbow rays. There was no time to think or plan or ponder. I moved in, with a its owner's unprotected face. The other had drawn a weapon of his own, a pistol-form arrangement. seemed plastic in form, but hardened so quickly upon contact with the dignity to her costume, and plainly she was someone of position, for both the men stiffened to attention. \"A spy,\" one ventured. \"He pushed in, claimed he was no enemy, then in richly-embossed armor platings sat there. He had a fringe of pale beard, and his eyes were bluer than the gentlewoman Doriza's. She made a gesture of salute, hand at shoulder height, and reported the matter. He nodded for her to fall back to a corner. \"Stranger,\" he said to me, \"can you think of no better tale to tell than you now offer?\" probably can tell what happened to put me in such a condition.\" received an order, and vanished again. In a few moments two other men came—one a heavily armed officer of rank, the other an elderly, bearded fellow in a voluminous robe that enfolded him in most dignified manner. This latter man opened wide his clear old eyes at sight of me. \"The stranger of the prophecy!\" he cried, in a voice that made us all jump. The officer rose from behind the table. \"Are you totally mad, Sporr? strength that you lose touch with the spiritual—\" He broke off, and wheeled on the attendant who had led him in. \"To my and bowed toward me. \"Surely you are Yandro, the Conquering Stranger,\" he said, intoning as if in formal prayer. \"Pardon these short-sighted ones—deign to save us from our enemies—\" to come with no memory of anything,\" supplied the officer. \"Score one snatched it, and turned to a brightly colored picture. He looked once, his beard gaped, and he dropped to his knees. \"Happy, happy the day,\" he jabbered, \"that I was spared to see our great champion come among us in the flesh, as was foretold of ancient time by the First Comers!\" prove it. The prophecy even sketches a thumb-print—\" And he held the It contained a full-page likeness, in color, of myself wrapped in a one side a thumb-print, or a drawing of one, in black. real man—\" \"That could be plastic surgery,\" rejoined the officer. \"Such things are artfully done by the Newcomers, and the red mantle he wears more easily assumed.\" because he was naked, and not for any treasonable masquerade. But the thumb-print—\" \"Oh, yes, the thumb-print,\" I repeated wearily. \"By all means, study my thumbs, if you'll first take these bonds off of me.\" \"Thumb-prints?\" I offered. Sporr had produced something else, a little vial of dark pigment. He carefully anointed one of my thumbs, and pressed it to the page. All worshipped.\" II They rose, but stood off respectfully. The officer spoke first. \"I am respect. \"Sporr is a mystic doctor, full of godly wisdom. Doriza, a junior officer and chief of the guard. And you—how could you know?—are sent by the First Comers to save us from our enemies.\" \"I have arranged for that,\" Sporr began, then fell silent, fingers combing his beard in embarrassment. and tasting of spice, and a tumbler of pink juice. I felt refreshed and satisfied, and thanked Sporr, who led me on to the next room. \"Behold!\" he said, with a dramatic gesture. \"Your garments, even as they have been preserved against your coming!\" serviceable. I studied their type, and my hands, if not my mind, seemed body for the first time—towered rather bluffly, with great breadth of chest and shoulder, and legs robust enough to carry such bulk. The face was square but haggard, as if from some toil or pain which was now All told, I looked like a proper person for physical labor, or even Sporr was waiting in the room where I had eaten. His eyes widened at sight of me, something like a grin of triumph flashed through his beard. Then he bowed, supple and humble, his palms together. \"It is indeed Yandro, our great chief,\" he mumbled. Then he turned and crossed the room. A sort of mouthpiece sprouted from the wall. that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all of Dondromogon's sunlit face is ever rising, and the cold air from you call the Newcomers dwell and fight,\" I reminded. \"Is it also windswept? Why can two people not join forces and face toil and nature were all men but two, and wore robes of black, plum-purple or red. At sight of me, they rose together, most respectfully. They looked at me, and I looked at them. My first thought was, that if these were people of authority and trust My mind flew back to the two scrubby, venial guardsmen who had first welcomed me to stuffy Rohbar, the commander to Sporr, spry and clever \" They all spoke the name in chorus, and bowed toward me. He was the greedy-faced man, short but plump, and very conscious of the dignified folds of his purple robe. One carefully-tended hand brushed back his ginger-brown hair, then toyed with a little moustache. return presaged of old by those who could see the future, and more recently by the death in battle of the Newcomer champion, called Barak.\" \"Barak!\" I repeated. \"I—I—\" And I paused. When I had to learn my own name, how could it be that I sensed memory of another's name? \"Weapons in his hands were the instruments of fate. His hands alone caused fear and ruin. But it pleased our fortune-bringing stars to encompass his destruction.\" He grinned, and licked his full lips. \"Now, even as they are without their battle-leader, so we have ours.\" \"You honor me,\" I told him. \"Yet I still know little. It seems that I am expected to aid and lead and save the people of this world called\n\n<question>:\nHow did the man's treatment change by most of the people after his thumbprints were taken?\n\n<options>:\nA He went from being treated as a criminal to being treated as one of the usual inhabitants of Dondromogon.\nB He went from being treated with suspicion to being revered.\nC He went from being treated as an invader to reluctantly worshipped as Yandro.\nD He went from being respected as a foreigner to being respected as a deity.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,472	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 gun is an interesting weapon it can be hired, of to adapt. There didn't seem to be any hurry. Once the deal was made, they left it up to him to make the decisions. They drove him around the town, course, and naturally doesn't care who hires it. Something Joe Prantera Prantera. a get.\" \"We hadn't thought of the matter being handled in that manner.\" Joe eyed him in scorn. \"Oh, you didn't, huh? What happens after I give it to this guy? I just sit around and wait for the cops to put the arm on me?\" Brett-James grimaced in amusement. \"Mr. Prantera, this will probably What happens if you gotta throw some guy in stir?\" \"If I understand your idiom correctly, you mean prison. There are no prisons in this era, Mr. Prantera.\" and collecting up all the bread?\" Brett-James cleared his throat. \"Mr. Prantera, there are no banks.\" Prantera began to sense an alienness—a \"And no money to put in them. We found it a rather antiquated let's get down to facts. Summa the things you guys say don't stick together stood. For one thing, there should have been some kind of police guard. The other said, \"Perhaps a bit of sat in the living room of the latter's apartment, sipping a sparkling wine which seemed to be the prevailing Wednesday night, eight o'clock, Al leaves the house all by hisself. O.K., so I can make plans, like, to give it clothes for you in the closet there.\" reasonably. \"You gotta have a finger.\" Brett-James said, \"Why not just go to Temple-Tracy's apartment and, ah, dispose of him?\" \"Jest walk in, eh? You think I'm Joe gingerly tried swinging his ... during what? He hadn't the vaguest idea of what had happened. He was dressed in a hospital-type \"Heat?\" much the same manner as the room's door had opened for Reston-Farrell. is attempting to recruit members to an organization he is forming. It would be quite simple for you to enter his establishment and dispose Joe Prantera scowled and said, largely potential followers. He weapons.\" Mr. Salviati-Prantera, that these are Joe was indignant. \"Just like that, building? Where's my get car parked? Where do I hide out? Where do I dump the heat?\" \"Dump the heat?\" eh?\" he said sarcastically. \"Then what some kind of pressure cooker and happens? How do I get out of the this was one of the fruitcakes. \"See here, Mr. Prantera,\" Brett-James of him. I assure you, he does not possess flatly, \"What's it all about?\" to sink in. \"You mean, like, no matter what they do? That's crazy. Everybody'd be running around giving The other put down the unaccepted room. We will be glad to explain to you if you will join us there.\" glass. \"We were afraid first realization would be a shock to you,\" That took a long, unbelieving moment receives it.\" \"You mean, like, if I steal a car or something, they just take me to a There was nothing else to do. Joe dressed, then followed him. In the adjoining room was a circular table that would have accommodated a dozen persons. Two were ever kill, Mr. Prantera.\" Prantera. He said very slowly, very met, was tall and drawn of face and with a chainsmoker's nervousness. The other was heavier and more \"Well then, figure something else. You think I'm stupid?\" \"Mr. Prantera,\" Dr. Reston-Farrell dangerously, \"You guys figure on me some kind of pressure cooker. But that didn't explain the view after you have accomplished your mission, we plan to turn ourselves Prantera, wouldn't it? The maternal over to the nearest institution of furniture, as though it had been molded to his order. Joe said, \"I think maybe I'll take are allowed to mature.\" \"Well if you got things so good, everybody's got it made, like, who'd of the question. \"Mr. Prantera, Joe didn't allow himself to think of its means of delivery. He took up the drink and bolted it. He put the glass down and said carefully, \"What's it all about, huh?\" Warren Brett-James said soothingly, \"Prepare yourself for somewhat of a shock, Mr. Prantera. You are no of thirteen. However, mental maturity and adjustment is often not fully Temple-Tracy is aware of this and finds his recruits among the young.\" \"O.K., so this guy is dangerous. You want him knocked off before he screws everything up. But the way things are, there's no way of making a get. So you'll have to get some other patsy. Not me.\" \"I am afraid you have no alternative,\" Joe Prantera looked from one of us, what will you do? Mr. Prantera, \"Mr. Prantera, you are no longer in man in the street, Mr. Prantera. Only Mr. Prantera.\" their limitations as a means of communication.\" \"You mean there's no place in the Joe Prantera had never been exposed to fit it, but that problem too had been solved. The others were nervous, obviously repelled by the very conception of what they had planned. Inwardly, Joe was amused. Now \"You mean, like, I been asleep all that time?\" out. He knew it wouldn't have taken much for them to cancel the Joe Prantera's mind suddenly reverted Reston-Farrell said, \"Mr. Prantera, to perform a task for us.\" Joe stared at him, and then at the want me to do a job for you.\" \"That is correct.\" Joe said, \"You guys know the kind \"He'll undoubtedly be intrigued.\" They pulled up before a large Joe Prantera came abruptly to Prantera?\" Joe glared at him. Then sat down again, as abruptly as he'd arisen. \"Let's start all over again. I got this straight, you brought me, some screwy way, all the way ... here. soft. \"They are all dead, Mr. Prantera. Prantera's face, scowled and said Joe Prantera's mind whirled its confusion. Mr. Prantera. You were ... you are, a professional assassin.\" \"Hey, wait a minute, now.\" say, about 1925 Old Calendar. What in the world are you doing with it?\" line you're in these days you needa \"Well, then do it yourself.\" Joe Prantera's irritation over this whole heavy around with wunna these. Otherwise, job. You need a good man knows how to handle wunna these, Chief.\" not in us, Mr. Prantera.\" of a fellow man.\" Joe snapped: \"Everything you guys say sounds crazy. Let's start all over again.\" Brett-James said, \"Let me do it, \"Mr. Prantera, in your own era, did that.\" \"Yes, like that,\" Brett-James nodded. The heavy-set man paused a moment. \"Yes, like that,\" he repeated. produce an abundance for all with a minimum of toil. Overnight, for all practical purposes, the whole world was industrialized, automated. The found, Mr. Prantera, that it is \"O.K., O.K.,\" Joe Prantera growled. \"So everybody's got it made. What I wanta know is what's all this about \"Mr. Prantera, have you ever heard of scene.\" \"Now we're getting somewheres,\" Joe snorted. \"So you got a guy what's Mr. Prantera, we have already told your present—\" \"Waita minute, now. You figure on 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 life in the year 2133 getting the feel\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Prantera referring to when he mentions a 'pressure cooker'?\n\n<options>:\nA a courtroom\nB an interrogation room\nC a mental asylum\nD a set-up\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
394	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nRetief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grew called Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importance intend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force.\" \"This is open aggression, Retief,\" he said, \"in case I haven't made Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They're 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 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 start any long books.\" Retief stood up. \"If I hurry, maybe I can catch the cartoon.\" Soetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen's Worlds snootful by takeoff.\" He went to the door. \"No objection to my checking Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on the \"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 \"Some ... ah ... VIP's required accommodation,\" he said. He hooked a finger inside the sequined collar. \"All tourist reservations were canceled. You'll have to try to get space on the Four-Planet Line ship next—\" \"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 with a scarred jawline and small eyes was slouching there in a rumpled gray uniform. He put out a hand as Retief started past him. \"Lessee your boarding pass,\" he muttered. \"You were wide open, ugly. I couldn't resist. Tell your boss I sneaked past while you were resting your eyes.\" He picked up his bag, stepped over the man and went up the gangway into the ship. A cabin boy in stained whites came along the corridor. \"Which way to cabin fifty-seven, son?\" Retief asked. The door was open. Inside, baggage was piled in the center of the floor. It was expensive looking baggage. Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder. \"Somebody in the cabin. Get 'em out.\" He rolled a cold eye at Retief as \"Too bad,\" Retief said. \"Finders keepers.\" \"We'll see about you, mister.\" The man turned and went out. Retief glanced at Retief and went out. The thick-necked man returned. 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 \"When you can spare the time from your other duties,\" Retief said, Retief put his cigar in an ashtray, and swung his feet off the bunk. possessions right on the deck.\" \"Deal me out,\" the bouncer said. \"He can stay put as long as he wants to. I signed on to move cargo. Let's go, Moe.\" \"You'd better be getting back to the bridge, Captain,\" Retief said. \"We're due to lift in twenty minutes.\" The thick-necked man and the Captain both shouted at once. The Captain's voice prevailed. \"Close the door as you leave,\" Retief said. Four waiters passed Retief's table without stopping. A fifth leaned against the wall nearby, a menu under his arm. At a table across the room, the Captain, now wearing a dress uniform and with his thin red hair neatly parted, sat with a table of male passengers. He talked loudly and laughed frequently, casting occasional glances Retief's way. \"Looks like it, old-timer,\" Retief said. \"Maybe I'd better go join the Retief ate slowly. Time always dragged on shipboard. Four days to Jorgensen's Worlds. Then, if Magnan's information was correct, would be good to know what Jorgensen's Worlds would be up against. Retief finished the steak, and the chef passed out the baked Alaska and coffee. Most of the other passengers had left the dining room. Mr. Tony and his retainers still sat at the Captain's table. As Retief watched, four men arose from the table and sauntered across \"You must want to get to Jorgensen's pretty bad,\" the thug said in a Retief heard the panel open beside him. \"Shut up,\" Mr. Tony said. \"Put it away, Hoany. We'll fix this bum later.\" \"Not on this vessel, you won't,\" the captain said shakily. \"I got my charter to consider.\" \"Ram your charter,\" Hoany said harshly. \"You won't be needing it long.\" the man on the floor. \"Get Marbles out of here. I ought to dump the slob.\" He turned and walked away. The captain signaled and two waiters came up. Retief watched as they carted the casualty from the dining room. The panel opened. \"Sure. What have they got against my going to Jorgensen's Worlds?\" \"Dunno. Hasn't been no tourists got in there fer six or eight months. I sure like a feller that can put it away. I was a big eater when I was yer age.\" \"I'll bet you can still handle it, Old Timer. What are Jorgensen's aboard for Jorgensen's?\" \"Derned if I know. In and out o' there like a grasshopper, ever few weeks. Don't never pick up no cargo. No tourists any more, like I says. Don't know what we even run in there for.\" \"Where are the passengers we have aboard headed?\" ain't got another one of them cigars, have you?\" \"Have one, Chip. I guess I was lucky to get space on this ship.\" \"Plenty o' space, Mister. We got a dozen empty cabins.\" Chip puffed the cigar alight, then cleared away the dishes, poured out coffee and brandy. There was a distant clang, and a faint tremor ran through the floor. \"I ain't superstitious ner nothin',\" Chip said. \"But I'll be triple-damned if that ain't them boarding us now.\" Ten minutes passed before bootsteps sounded outside the door, accompanied by a clicking patter. The doorknob rattled, then a heavy aboard, don't bother to call.\" \"Jesus, what did you do! They'll kill us!\" the captain gasped, staring at the figure flopping on the floor. \"Cart poor old Skaw back to his boat,\" Retief said. \"Tell him to pass Retief awoke at a tap on his door. The chef entered the room, locking the 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.\" \"I think we'd better call in at Jorgensen's.\" just hold your course for Jorgensen's.\" \"And one to go,\" Retief said. \"Tell him.\" \"It's eighteen hours yet before we pick up Jorgensen Control. You going Retief released the captain's wrist and turned to the door. he's slippery.\" \"What are you going to do?\" the captain demanded. Retief settled himself in a chair. stay here and help you hold your course for Jorgensen's Worlds.\" Retief took out the needler and put it on the desk before him.\n\n<question>:\nWhy did the guard tell Retief that the schedule for Jorgensen's World was filled up?\n\n<options>:\nA The gates were closing and he didn't want to take the time for the boarding session\nB The VIP accommodation requested no tourists\nC He was lazy and didn't want to do his job.\nD There were too many tourists on board already and the ship was full\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
313	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAntlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. \"What's the Baldric?\" I had asked. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. \"Will you believe me, sir,\" he said, \"when I tell you I've been out it didn't make sense. \"However, as you perhaps know, the only reason for colonial activities here at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix. It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'm not up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the red middle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases. Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their sounding apparatus, and the rush was on.\" \"What do you mean?\" Park leaned back. \"The rush to find more of the ore,\" he explained. \"What sort of trouble?\" Grannie Annie had demanded. And when Antlers party of four persons. In the lead was a little old lady in a black dress. Behind her strode a grizzled Earth man in a flop-brimmed hat, has been bewitched,\" he began slowly. \"We pay our men high wages and give them \"They walk out into the Baldric,\" he continued, \"and nothing can stop them. We tried following them, of course, but it was no go. As soon as perched upon it. They watched us with their mild eyes as we passed, but Baker dropped his cigarette and ground his heel on it savagely. \"Shaft Four, eh?\" he repeated. \"That's our principal mine. If the fever spreads there, I'm licked.\" \"There must be ways of stopping this,\" she said. \"Have you called in any physicians? Why don't you call an enforced vacation and send the men away until the plague has died down?\" threw off the switch. \"The entire crew of Shaft Four have gone out into the Baldric,\" he said slowly. There was a large map hanging on the wall back of Baker's desk. Baker looked up. \"That's right. We only began operations there a comparatively short time ago. Struck a rich vein of Acoustix that runs deep in. If that vein holds out, we'll double the output of level where a huge laboratory and experimental shop ran the length of the building. Grannie seized a light weight carry-case and began , and through glass doors I could see clerks busy with counting machines and report tapes. In another chamber the extremely light Acoustix ore was being packed into big cases and marked for shipment. At the far end a door to a small room stood open. Inside a young man was tilted back in Antlers Park flashed on the screen. Miss Flowers there?\" \"Miss Flowers left with Mr. Baker for Shaft Four,\" I said. \"There's trouble up there. Red spot fever.\" \"Fever, eh?\" repeated Park. \"That's a shame. Is there anything I can \"A little. But up until yesterday the fever's been confined to the other side of the Baldric. We had one partial case, but my chemists gave the chap an antitoxin that seems to have worked. Come to think of it, I might drive over to Shaft Four and give Jimmy Baker the formula. I haven't been out in the Baldric for years, but if you didn't have any trouble, I shouldn't either.\" well camp beside it.\" Moments later a rude circle of flagpole trees loomed ahead. Across the of the car and began making camp. Xartal remained in his seat. He was \"Don't you see,\" the lady continued. \"Everything that Xartal put on paper has been seen by one or more of these cockatoos. The cockatoos \"Sorry,\" the operator said. \"I've used too much power already. Have to give the generators a chance to build it up again.\" Nodding, I turned and motioned to Karn. We went back downstairs. \"That explains something at any rate,\" the old prospector said. \"But how about that Red spot fever?\" On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I opened it and found it contained the case histories of those men who had been received the first symptoms, not while working in the mines, but while sleeping or lounging in the barracks. Five minutes later Karn and I were striding down a white ramp that led to the nearest barracks. The building came into sight, a low part of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and as I seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work. All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-red rays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens to served a double purpose. It opened a shutter, and it rotated the lens slowly so that it played for a time on each of the sleeping men. I slid the metal button in my pocket and left the barracks at a run. controls was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice. getting sick of this blamed moon.\" It didn't make sense. In all the years I'd known Annabella C. Flowers, never yet had I seen her desert a case until she had woven the clues and facts to a logical conclusion. prim way next to Antlers Park. Park said: He waved his hand, and the car moved off. I watched it as it sped across the desert, and a growing suspicion began to form in my mind. Then, like a knife thrust, the truth struck me. \"Ezra!\" I yelled, swinging the car. \"That wasn't Grannie! That was one in his hand. There was a flash of purple flame, and a round hole appeared in our windscreen inches above Karn's head. speed, I raced alongside. The I. V. manager lifted his weapon frantically. But before he could use it a third time, Ezra Karn had whipped a lariat from his belt and sent it coiling across the intervening space. The thong yanked tight about the manager's throat. Park did the only themselves in a long flanking corridor in a northwesterly direction, as if to hide some secret that lay beyond. Twice I attempted to penetrate \"I see you've got Antlers Park. I'm glad of that. It saves me a lot of trouble.\" She took off her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve. \"Don't look so fuddled, Billy-boy. Come along, and I'll show you.\" had been removed, and mounted on the hood was a large bullet-like contrivance that looked not unlike a search lamp. A blinding shaft of vibratory scale and the only thing that will combat the infra-red rays that cause red spot fever. Those men won't stop walking until they've reached Shaft Four.\" Grannie Annie told her story during the long ride back to Shaft Four. We drove slowly, keeping the line of marching Larynx miners always ahead of us. Jimmy Baker had struck a new big lode of Acoustix, a lode which if worked successfully would see Larynx Incorporated . Antlers Park didn't want that. It was he or his agents who placed those lens buttons in the Larynx barracks. capable when its rays were concentrated of causing a fatal sickness. Then suddenly becoming fearful of Grannie's prying, Antlers Park strove to head her off before she reached Shaft Four. He did head her off and managed to lure her and Baker and Xartal into the Shaft barracks where they would be exposed to the rays from the lens button. But Grannie only pretended to contract the plague. Park then attempted to outwit Ezra Karn and me by returning in Jimmy Baker's kite car with a cockatoo image of Grannie.\n\n<question>:\nWhat main motivation did Antler Park have to leave the lens in the barracks?\n\n<options>:\nA He didn't fully understand the effects of the infra-red rays and wanted to see what it was capable of.\nB He knew the value of this spot for Acoustix, and wanted to run the Jimmy Baker out.\nC He was afraid of Grannie Annie discovering his plot and tried to get rid of her.\nD He had struck a large load of Acoustix and wanted to hide the evidence.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,918	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 the wonderful future ... and though he didn't want to ... nevertheless he did.... Betty mildly, \"You're late.\" \"Don't yell at me, I almost as though reciting, \"What I need is a vacation.\" \"Providence,\" Simon told her whilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle, \"Lost track,\" Arth said. \"You can come home with me.\" \"I'm not selfish,\" Betty said. \"All Betty bounced up with Olympic out the window, that the Germans were certainly the most modern, futuristic people in the world. But I \"You didn't have a hotel. What a stupidity. I'll be phased. Phased all the way down.\" got to get my bag. Oh, my head. \"Anything,\" Simon said. \"Only one exception.\" \"Excellent. Do you believe in time travel?\" Simon said nothing. Across the Where did we spend last night?\" seat, Betty cleared her throat. When Simon continued to say nothing she ventured, \"Time travel is impossible.\" \"Why?\" \"Why?\" Betty looked to her boss for assistance. definite answer. She said, \"Well, for one thing, paradox. Suppose you 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 Simon said, \"Let's get to the point, what you wanted to see me about.\" \"I want to hire you to hunt me up some time travelers,\" the old boy said. Betty was too far in now to maintain her proper role of silent secretary. \"Time travelers,\" she said, not very intelligently. The potential client sat more erect, and then remembered. \"I've \"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. So convinced am I of these possibilities that I am willing to gamble a portion of my fortune to investigate the presence in our era of such time travelers.\" Simon seemed incapable of carrying the ball this morning, so Betty 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 explanation, Betty, is that they can't afford to allow the space-time continuum track to be altered. If, say, a time traveler returned to a period of twenty-five years ago and shot Hitler, then all subsequent history would be changed. In that case, the time traveler himself might never be born. They have to tread mighty carefully.\" at the luggage checking station, but the attendant there evidently couldn't expect you to be so well informed on the subject, young man.\" again with the aspirin bottle. Mr. Oyster went on. \"I've been no use prolonging this. As I understand it, you're an elderly gentleman a cab to the airport, presented my return ticket, told them I wanted to leave on the first obtainable plane to New York. I'd spent two days at the with a considerable fortune and you nodded. Simon said, \"You want to hire me to find a time traveler and in some manner or other—any manner will do—exhort from him the secret of realize that thus far nobody has succeeded the future will have discovered. You're willing to pony up a part of this fortune of yours, if I can deliver a bona fide time traveler.\" \"Right!\" Betty had been looking from one on that project for at least a couple of hours. Not only wasn't the bag check in with Betty. it five—days before when I'd left. I'd lost track of the time. Betty and Simon waited. such a bang-up time they've been holding it every year since. The \"You've been acting sick all morning. 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 You went out that door about Betty said, \"What's the matter not half an hour ago, just before this marble-missing client came in.\" She added, irrelevantly, \"Time travelers yet.\" I tried just once more. \"Uh, when did you first see this Mr. Oyster?\" Oktoberfest . For one thing, a time traveler wouldn't be conspicuous. At a festival like this somebody with a strange accent, or who didn't know exactly how to wear his clothes correctly, or was off the ordinary in any of a dozen other ways, wouldn't be noticed. You could be a four-armed space traveler from Mars, and you still wouldn't be conspicuous at the . People would figure they had D.T.'s.\" \"But why would a time traveler want to go to a—\" Betty began. \"Why not! What better opportunity how long ago did I go out that door—on the way to the airport?\" ten minutes ago, were gone about three minutes, and then came back.\" back a few thousand years, the things you would wish to see would be a Roman Triumph, perhaps the Rites of Dionysus, or one of Alexander's orgies. You wouldn't want to wander to study a people than when they could go you've done it. Confound it. However, I suppose your time, even when event, both for the sake of actual interest and for protection against being Betty looked at him admiringly. wages,\" she said. \"I suppose that's you've been yearning about.\" \"I did,\" Simon groaned. \"Three times.\" Betty stared at him. \"You mean—\" Simon nodded, miserably. Simon fortune—\" \"Sorry,\" Simon said. \"Can't be true, you should have gone back again to Munich. If there was one time traveler, there might have been—\" \"I keep telling you,\" Simon said . Fifty thousand times. There were hundreds of them. 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 in his voice. \"A fifty thousand dollar bonus if you bring me a time traveler.\" \"Out of the question,\" Simon said. continuum track being altered. If something comes up that looks like you—all over again. They just can't allow anything to come back from the future and change the past.\" \"You mean,\" Betty was suddenly \"Just for laughs,\" Simon told the The future! Just think!\" Simon said wearily, \"There's just one thing you can bring back with you from the future, a hangover compounded of a gallon or so of Marzenbräu. I spent the time planning the fun I was going to have. again.\" THE END hours from Gander to Shannon and I spent that time dreaming up material Mr. Oyster. I was going to have to give him some kind of report for his money. Time travel yet! What a laugh! Between Shannon and Munich a It takes roughly seven and a half I could put into my reports to Transcriber's Note: attended annually. Where did five million people a population of less than a million, counting children. ponied up all the money for such expenditures? How could the average bag, told me they'd do what they could, and to report back in a few hours. I had another suspicious twinge. If five million people attended this Theresienwiese , the fair about five thousand persons and from six to ten thousands pack themselves risk a considerable portion of my tourists as could have been dreamed up, ranging from a seventy- or eighty-year-old couple in Bavarian A desperate waitress bearing six mugs of beer in each hand scurried past. They call them masses , by the done.\" way, not mugs. The bald-headed masses over to us and then hustled on. dollars bonus. If that story was A mass didn't seem to hang together very well. \"My pilgrimage,\" he told me. \"All my life I've been wanting to go back to an bitterly, \"I went back there three changed, they set you right back at the beginning and let things start—for\n\n<question>:\nWhat profession do Betty and Simon share?\n\n<options>:\nA Advertisers\nB Detectives\nC Department store clerks\nD Time travelers\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,958	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nin the artificially warmed city. They entered an elevator There they entered a cylindrical car, with rows of seats down the sides. Not greatly different hundred and fifty stories. Eric led Nada down a long, carpeted corridor to a wide glass door, which bore the words: COSMIC EXPRESS Eric now recognized as a prominent from Moscow to Rio de Janeiro.... Two hundred seventy dollars and eighty cents, Folded Hands ...\" \"... And Searching Mind.\" The Cosmic Express is of special earliest indication of a more general floated back: \"I'm going to see my lawyer! My precious Violet—\" \"And now what can I do for you, Eric?\" \"We want to go to Venus, if that ray of yours can put us there.\" \"To Venus? Impossible. My orders are to use the Express merely between the sixteen designated heart-breaking war with he sought and his goal was he knew that a story of his had the new world of science, and the expression of man's reaction By which I mean that it is the most interesting and stimulating Venus—I've been amusing myself, watching the life there, already. Terrible place. Savage. I \"This will keep out the rain—maybe—\" pajamas. He smiled fondly across to the other of the twin beds, where Nada, his pretty bride, lay quiet beneath light silk covers. With a groan, he stood up sides. Don't move.\" The little door had swung open again, and Eric led Nada through. They stepped into a little cell, completely surrounded with mirrors and vast prisms it. Eric helped Nada to a place on the crystal, lay down at her side. him was a wide, park-like space, green with emerald lawns, and bright with flowering plants. open window, staring out. Below stood before the great fell without. They lay in each other's arms, the body warmth With another yawn, Mr. Eric Nada and Eric felt themselves enveloped in fire. Sheets of white flame seemed to lap up about youth called. there was a sharp tingling sensation where they touched their faces. Eric sat up, found himself in a mud-puddle. Beside him was Nada, opening her eyes pleasure to the young novelist's All about rose a thick jungle, Palm-like, the gigantic trees were, or fern-like, flinging clouds of feathery green foliage high dark and gloomy—and very wet. against a somber sky of unbroken They stood up, triumphant. \"At last!\" Nada cried. \"We're free! Free of that hateful old civilization! We're back to Nature!\" \"Yes, we're on our feet now, Eric. You're just like one of the heroes in your books!\" \"You're the perfect companion, the vanishing hero of the ancient ranches. Or a man marooned with a lovely woman on a desert South Sea island. His heroes were invariably strong, fearless, resourceful fellows, seemingly not inconvenienced in the least by the inclement elements, a beautiful mate from the terrors of a desolate wilderness. Eric's novels, and watched the dramatization of them on the television screens. They thrilled at the simple, romantic lives his too—it's found native.\" Presently they set off through had taken all the best from the life of man. Eric had settled down to the artistic satisfaction of describing the sensuous delight of his young author's eyes were miles, and meet such a reception as this!\" Nada stopped. \"Eric,\" she resolved to forget that his next said, \"I'm tired. And I don't believe \"Probably you're right. This to kiss his wife, held her embraced for a long happy moment. an author. She wrote poems—\"back to nature stuff\"—simple lyrics of the sea, of sunsets, of bird songs, of bright flowers and the new planet adhering to their with Nature, and growing things. Men read her poems or something of the sort. This warm winds, of thrilling communion and called her a genius. Even flowers, and no one had time to bother about sunsets. \"Eric, darling,\" she said, \"isn't it terrible to be cooped up here \"Matches! Of course not! We're going back to Nature.\" in this little flat, away from the \"Eric, that reminds me that things we both love?\" \"I hope we get a fire pretty soon.\" the joys of conflict, instead of living under glass, like hot-house flowers.\" \"If we could only go somewhere—\" years ago. Pleasure resorts, sanatoriums, cities, factories.\" \"If only we lived on Venus! I was listening to a lecture on the television, last night. The Eric said hopefully. Venus is younger than the Earth, that it has not cooled so much. It has a thick, cloudy atmosphere, little. \"Buck up,\" Eric advised her. \"We're back to nature—where we've always wanted to be.\" With oddly comforting. Nada cried a the cloud layers of the planet, proved that Venus rotates in about the same period as Earth and it must be much like Earth was a million years ago.\" \"Eric, I wonder if we could go there! It would be so thrilling to begin life like the characters in Swarms of mosquito-like insects, dismal stormy night, a hoarse, bellowing roar, raucous, terrifying. Nada clung against Eric. \"What is it, dear?\" she chattered. glowing. He skipped across the floor, seized Nada, kissed her ecstatically. \"Splendid! Think of hunting in the virgin forest, and bringing the game home to you! \"Must be a reptile. Dinosaur, world seems to be in about the \"The Cosmic Express?\" \"A new invention. Just perfected The Cosmic Express.\" a few weeks ago, I understand. But I'm afraid there is no way.—Wait! life was not so bad, after all.\" \"I was just thinking of our rooms, nice and warm and bright, with hot foods coming up \"Eric?\" she called softly. \"Yes, dear.\" \"Don't you wish—we had change. The disintegration of the oceans. Thunderous crashes, as if they were demolishing forests. Eric and Nada clung to each other, in doubt whether to stay the new Cosmic Express, is simply or to fly through the storm. to convert the matter to be with pride. \"But the method, in atoms at the destination.\" \"But the amount of energy must be terrific—\" humans. Nada burst into tears. \"Oh, if only—if only—\" the Express Ray picks up an object and sets it down on the other side of the world. \"An analogy from television our operator drunk. I've no idea where he got the stuff. He muttered something about Venus. I consulted the auto-register, and found two more passengers registered are accurately reproduced at the other focus of the instrument—which might be in Venus! been set on Venus. I got men on the television at once, and we happened to find you. \"But the analogy of the lens is the better of the two. For no and found that it had looked up the duplicate beam coordinates, for it in any way. My wife and I will be perfectly satisfied to get back to our apartment.\" \"I don't wonder. You look like you've been through—I don't spouse, after they had washed off the grime of another planet. He spent the next twelve hours delivered his promised story to his publishers, a thrilling tale of a man marooned on Venus, with a beautiful girl. The hero made stone tools, erected a dwelling cares of the morning. She ran back to Eric, who was once more staring distastefully at his typewriter. \"Oh, darling! I'm thrilled to death about the Cosmic Express! If we could go to Venus, to a new life on a new world, and get away from all this hateful conventional The book was a huge success. society—\" Eric laughed, fumbled with a\n\n<question>:\nThe plot of Eric's newest book most likely reflects:\n\n<options>:\nA How Eric wishes he could have provided for Nada on their visit to Venus\nB How Nada resents Eric for not providing for her on their visit to Venus\nC How Eric has contorted his experience on Venus to seem more like his protagonist\nD How Nada would have envisioned her and Eric's visit to Venus\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,091	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\neBabe This week, soft-porn entrepreneur Ron Harris began auctioning the eggs of fashion models on the Internet. His site, ronsangels.com (named after the 1970s' babe show Charlie's Angels ), invites visitors to \"bid on eggs from beautiful, healthy and intelligent women.\" Like Dr. Richard Seed, who recently declared his intention to clone human beings, Harris has attracted the attention of the media and politicians who are \"looking into\" whether he can be stopped. Most people agree that Harris is a creep and that his site is an outrage. What they don't agree on is why. Here's what the critics have to say about the auction--and each other. 1. Egg auctions will produce designer babies. Harris cites his experience as a horse breeder and asks, \"We bid for everything else in this society--why not eggs?\" Alarmists, agreeing that Harris \"can put you into your own designer baby by selling eggs,\" predict that his success will steer \"the future of human breeding\" toward \"genetic engineering.\" 2. Egg auctions will fail to produce designer babies. While fretting about what will happen if Harris succeeds, fertility experts simultaneously debunk that scenario. \"Not only is it ethically ludicrous, but the fact is, no kid's going to look like the model's picture,\" observes ethicist George Annas. The experts give four reasons. First, the child of an ugly man and a pretty woman is just as likely to be ugly as to be pretty. Second, everyone carries \"recessive\" genes, which are invisible in this generation but may become visible in the next. A model with a small nose can pass on genes for a big nose. Third, even if both parents are attractive, a child can combine their features unattractively. For example, a girl can inherit her mother's weak nose and her father's strong brow. 3. Egg auctions will promote the survival of the fittest. Doomsayers predict that once \"beautiful eggs are available strictly to people who are willing to spend an ungodly sum for them,\" the rich will transform themselves into a \"super-race\" reminiscent of the Nazis. To this, Harris replies, \"It is not our intention to suggest that we make a super society of only beautiful people. This site simply mirrors our current society, in that beauty usually goes to the highest bidder.\" But this reply only fuels concern that gradually, society will separate into \"genetic haves and have nots.\" 4. Egg auctions will promote the survival of the unfittest. Harris writes that only men with \"substantial financial resources\" are fit to give his models' offspring \"a financially secure and stable life.\" But skeptics wonder whether women who sell their eggs to the highest bidder--and men who buy these eggs for the sole purpose of spawning good-looking children--may produce children just as dysfunctional as themselves. As Calgary Sun columnist Sydney Sharpe put it, \"Any woman ... who enters into this mephistophelian pact has a few screws loose. Maybe her kid will, too. Not to mention the buyers who sign her up.\" 5. Egg auctions will fail to promote the survival of the unfittest. Many models, if not most, have had cosmetic surgery. A model who is perfectly ruthless will conceal this fact when selling her eggs. (One of Harris' \"angels\" has already been caught lying about her age.) How does Harris know whether his models have had collagen injections and nose jobs? \"There's no way to know that. You can ask the girl and hope she tells you the truth,\" he says. Annas concludes that since there's \"no way to know how much of their beauty is a product of their genes, plastic surgery, a makeup artist, or exercise,\" only a \"naive\" person would buy their eggs on the basis of the photographs displayed on the site. \"You don't want to see the models,\" he points out. \"You want to see pictures of their parents.\" On this theory, children produced by the egg auction are likely to be the offspring of liars on one side and fools on the other. 10. The auction exploits desperate sellers. By late Monday, Harris had only a handful of bids, and only one was verified as legitimate. On the other hand, 50 women had asked him to put their eggs up for auction. Gradually, the media concluded that the donors were the true victims. USA Today described the models as \"struggling actresses,\" reported that they were unaware of the health risks of donating eggs, and quoted one as saying, \"I'd rather do this than do Playboy or Penthouse .\" Harris' sole verified bidder told the paper that selling eggs was \"better than prostitution.\" Harris constantly refers to the donors as his \"girls\" and describes them like cattle--\"We have a legitimate bid of $42,000 on one of the girls.\" He gets a 20 percent commission on each winning bid, though he takes no responsibility for executing financial transactions or medical procedures. \"We have no control over the quality, safety or legality of the items advertised, the truth or accuracy of the listings, the ability of sellers to sell items or the ability of buyers to buy items,\" he stipulates. His role, he explains, is simply to \"find beautiful girls, take beautiful photographs of them, [and] put them up on the Web.\" To some critics, the mystery isn't, as Harris suggests, how women throughout history have exploited their sexual power over men, but how pimps like him have come away with the profit. 11. The auction exploits voyeurs. The Washington Post thinks Harris isn't targeting either buyers or sellers. He's not serious about selling eggs, says the Post . He's just using the sex appeal of his models and the intriguing perversity of a human egg auction to drum up publicity and attract Internet traffic to his site, from which he can sell advertising and subscriptions ($24.95 a month to view profiles of the models), hawk his forthcoming book ( Naked Power ), and direct prurient visitors to his various porn sites. A spokesman for fertility doctors suspects that ronsangels.com is really aimed at \"adolescent boys.\" 13. The Internet cheats people of their monstrous purchases. The only thing worse than buying human eggs on the Internet, according to the critics, is not getting the eggs you paid for. \"When you have large transactions of this kind conducted over the Internet, there may be fraud,\" a computer crime expert warns USA Today . Lori Andrews, a reproductive technology lawyer, warns CNN viewers that \"there's very little that you can do to prove that these eggs actually came from the donors that were expected,\" and \"the Internet just adds ... a layer that it makes it even more difficult to scrutinize where the eggs are coming from.\" 14. Egg buyers will reap unintended consequences. Sophisticated skeptics point out that Harris' application of Darwin's theories to human professional success overlooks the interaction of genetics and human psychology. To begin with, if a child produced by Harris' auction fails to turn out as pretty as the buyer expected, the buyer may shun the child, or the child may grow to hate herself for disappointing her parents. (On the Today show, Harris said of this theory, \"That's a pretty cynical view of human nature.\") Second, if the child turns out pretty but doesn't want to be a beauty queen, her parents may force her in that direction anyway, thereby stifling her true talents and preventing her from becoming successful. Third, the child's good looks may attract too much attention of the wrong kind, eventually destroying her. Critics cite Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe as examples.\n\n<question>:\nWhat could a buyer do if they didn't get the eggs they paid for?\n\n<options>:\nA There is not much a buyer could do to verify the eggs came from the expected donors.\nB They could sue the egg donor.\nC They could sue Harris for everything he's worth.\nD They could pick out a new donor to receive eggs from.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
771	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBy MANLY WADE WELLMAN He was the man of two planets, drawn through the blackness of space to save a nation from ruthless invaders. He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that Words formed themselves on my thick tongue, words that must have been spoken by so many reviving unfortunates through the ages: \"Where am I?\" And at once there was an answer: \" \" I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, \"How did I get here?\" I demanded of the speaker. \"It was ordered—by the Masters of the Worlds—that you should be brought from your own home planet, called Earth in the System of the yet again: \"Who am I?\" The voice had a note of triumph. \"You do not know that. It is as well, Dondromogon.\" need to think. The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from worlds away, for a specified purpose here on whatever windswept planet Dondromogon might be. \"Birth and beginning—destined leadership—\" Fantastic! And yet, for all I could say to the contrary, unvarnishedly \"It is a world the size of your native one,\" came words of information. birth. One face of Dondromogon ever looks to the light and heat, wherefore its metals run in glowing seas. The other face is ever away in cold darkness, with its air freezing into solid chunks. But because areas, between the hot and cold hemispheres, would be buffeted by mighty gales ... the voice was to be heard again: \"War is fought between the two strips of habitable ground. War, unceasing, bitter, with no quarter asked, given or expected. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. Now come invaders, to reap the benefits of discovery and toil.\" A pause. \"You find that thought unpleasant? You wish to right that wrong?\" of the .\" The voice became grand. \"Suffice it that you were destiny.\" called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid a curved stock to fit the palm of the hand, borne snugly in a holster. broad-faced middle-aged fellow. \"Don't lie any more than you can help.\" level: \"Why should I lie? Especially as I don't know who I am, or where I woke up out there in the dust storm, and I managed to come here for shelter.\" \"He's a Newcomer spy,\" quoth the other. \"Let's put him under arrest.\" \"There's a bigger reward for capture than for warning,\" objected his friend in turn, \"and whoever comes to take this man will claim 'capture.' I'll guard here, and you take him in, then we'll divide—\" weapons.\" had first spoken. Then, to his comrade: \"No reward, then.\" \"I think there'll be a reward,\" was the rejoinder, and the second man's its scabbard. \"If he's dead, we get pay for both warning and capture—\" heavily. Triumphant laughter came from both adversaries. Then: \"What's this?\" gold-worked fillet bound her tawny hair back from a rosy, bold-featured her regard. \"They wanted to kill me and be rewarded for a false story Beyond, it gave into several passages. She chose one of them and \"Stranger,\" he said to me, \"can you think of no better tale to tell than you now offer?\" isn't it called?—I'm no more than an hour old. Accident or shock probably can tell what happened to put me in such a condition.\" manner. \"The stranger of the prophecy!\" he cried, in a voice that made us all study,\" he commanded. \"On the shelf behind my desk, bring the great he said, intoning as if in formal prayer. \"Pardon these short-sighted ones—deign to save us from our enemies—\" generally does, you have committed a blasphemy.\" most respectful, \"he will appreciate, like a good military mind, my caution against possible impostors.\" Old Sporr almost crowed. \"You see? If he was a true imposter, he would come equipped with all plausible knowledge. As it is—\" \"As it is, he may remember that the Conquering Stranger is foretold \"I still say you will understand my caution,\" he addressed me, with prove it. The prophecy even sketches a thumb-print—\" And he held the It contained a full-page likeness, in color, of myself wrapped in a thumb-print—\" Rohbar, field commander of this defense position,\" he said with crisp know?—are sent by the First Comers to save us from our enemies.\" \"The Newcomers,\" supplemented Doriza. \"They have taken the \"Other Side\" of Dondromogon, and would take our side as well. We defend ourselves defeat and crush them utterly!\" quarters, your destiny, all await you.\" we must scrabble in the depths for life's necessities—chemicals to transmute into food, to weave into clothing, to weld into tools and The mention of food brought to me the thought that I was hungry. I said What—\" with the utmost gingerly respect. The food was a pungent and filling jelly, a little bundle of transparent leaves or scraps like cellophane of which Sporr spoke. garment, a long strip of soft, close-woven fabric that spiralled around the torso from hip to armpit, the end looping over the left shoulder and giving full play to the arms. A gold-worked fillet bound of chest and shoulder, and legs robust enough to carry such bulk. The \"I announce,\" he intoned into it. \"I announce, I, Sporr, the reader and kissing it. \"I serve Yandro,\" she vowed tremulously. \"Now and forever—and happy that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all Dondromogon.\" one tangled crossway after another. My questions she answered with a the dark side comes rushing under to fill the vacuum. Naturally, our strip of twilight country is never free of winds too high and fierce to fight. No crops can grow outside, no domestic animals flourish. We must pen ourselves away from the sky and soil, with stout walls and heavy life.\" which I now saw plainly to be synthetic. \"The other side, where those you call the Newcomers dwell and fight,\" I reminded. \"Is it also windswept? Why can two people not join forces and face toil and nature together? They should fight, not each other, but the elements.\" help, not even to conquer. They want to obliterate us. There is nothing to do—not for lifetimes—but to fight them back at the two poles.\" to Sporr, spry and clever \" \" Silence then, a silence which evidently I must break. I broke it: \"Friends, I am among you with no more memory or knowledge than an infant. I hear wonderful things, of which I seem to be the center. Are \"I am Gederr, senior of this Council,\" he purred. \"If Yandro permits, I will speak simply. Our hopes have been raised by Yandro's return—the return presaged of old by those who could see the future, and more recently by the death in battle of the Newcomer champion, called Barak.\" \"Barak was a brute—mighty, but a brute.\" Thus Gederr continued. encompass his destruction.\" He grinned, and licked his full lips. \"Now, even as they are without their battle-leader, so we have ours.\" am expected to aid and lead and save the people of this world called Dondromogon. But I must know them before I can help.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat statement best summarizes this article?\n\n<options>:\nA A man suffers memory loss and violence as he tries to rediscover himself on a new planet.\nB A man greedily assumes power on a new planet at the expense of learning who he previously was on planet Earth.\nC A man shockingly learns that he will be the savior of a distressed community on another planet.\nD A man vows to end a war on a new planet after being threatened to by the inhabitants.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
342	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthings 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 the shock had deranged his mind. His voice trembled when he said, \"But if I ask you to kill them, and not my people?\" \"To do so would be illogical.\" There was no sound in the room except for the small splashing the blood made as it dropped into the sticky pool on the floor. The great banks of machinery around the walls were silent. I knew that they would never come to life again. somehow, I did not like to see. It was disquieting, and so I hastened to the end that I knew was inevitable. eating or drinking. the the stern—all the children of his brain. Out there, away from the muffling, distorting, damnable blanket of atmosphere, away from Earth's inexorable gravitational pull, would be a laboratory such as man had never seen. The ship would be filled with the sounds of busy men and women, wresting secrets from the reluctant world had grown suddenly unreal. other part was going calmly, lucidly on, quite without his volition. It considered the possibility that he had gone temporarily insane, and decided that this was probable. There were flaring red headlines. 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 Then lines of type, and farther down: 50 CHILDREN DISAPPEAR FROM PARIS MATERNITY CENTER MOON SHIP DESTROYED IN TRANSIT NO COMMUNICATION FROM Pacifica, June 7—The World Police are mobilizing, for the first time in fifty years. The order was made public early this morning by \"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 \"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 . have treated us precisely as we, in less enlightened days, might 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 \"Darling, what's wrong?\" He said, \"Have you seen the news recently?\" there's trouble or not. What—\" papers away from in front of it. She turned the selector dial to \"News\" There were left only two blood-red, malignant monstrosities somehow defiling the air they floated in and below them, a pitiful huddle of joined, fused together into a single obscene, floundering mass of 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. 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 the noncombatants' morale has to be kept up. There aren't going to be any noncombatants, this time. Everybody in the world has to know about them, so that he can fight them—and then it may not be enough.\" The viewpoint of the teleo sender changed as the two red beings soared There was a thick, oppressive silence, full of small rustlings and other faint sounds that were no longer normal. Then, very near, a man screamed in a high, inhuman voice. The screamed dwindled into a throaty gurgle and died, leaving silence again. Peter's lips were cold with sweat. Tiny nerves in his face and arms The scream was welling up. He fought it down and listened. \" Wurnkomellilonasendiktolsasangkanmiamiamimami.... Opreniktoulestritifenrelngetnaktwiltoctpre. \" His voice was hoarse. \"Don't look! Don't—Go back!\" The horrible, mindless noise in his throat was almost beyond his power to repress. His insides writhed to thrust it out. the room. It was a scream to split eardrums a scream to wake the dead. Somebody said, \"Doctor!\" He wanted to say, \"Yes, get a doctor. Lorelei—\" but his mouth only \"Where am I?\" he said. He tried to turn his head, but a firm hand pressed him back into the sheets. \"You're in a hospital. Just lie quietly, please.\" sooner. \"She was only suffering from ordinary shock,\" Arnold explained. \"But why?\" Peter whispered. Arnold's strong jaw knotted. \"We're hiding,\" he said. \"Everything else has failed.\" areas, of course, but it doesn't matter. By the time we excavate 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.\" instead, there was compressed oxygen there, and concentrated food, enough to last a lifetime. 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.\" he could compel her to understand by the sheer pressure of his fingers. \"Darling, listen to me. We've tried everything. We've gone underground, 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 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 they came from. Besides them, we're apes. There's only one answer.\" \"Out there, in space, the cosmics change unshielded life. They 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. I couldn't stand that. I'd kill myself, and then humanity would die, too. You'd be their murderer.\" line from an old film kept echoing through his head. \" They'll The they are. You can understand them, and so you can conquer them.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is significant about the events being broadcasted?\n\n<options>:\nA Without the broadcast, there is no proof of what is happening. As Peter says, it's unbelievable otherwse.\nB Even though the imagery is horrific, it's important that the whole world is made aware. It's their only warning.\nC The images are horrific. It shows the brutality of the aliens.\nD The broadcasts will likely lead to mass panic and suicide, because of how grim the circumstances are.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,225	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe Dwindling Years NEARLY TWO hundred years of habit carried the forcing him to make this decision. And maybe it would do no good. Maybe the ship would fail. But thirty years was a number a man could risk. If he made it, though.... done celebrating the reunion. And there’d be other grandchildren. With the ship, he’d have time enough to look them up. Plenty of time! Thirty years was a long time, when he stopped to think of it. for breath and feeling his heart hammering in his chest. He’d been a fool to come to work, with much waving of charts. He resented every second of it. It was as if the almost forgotten specter of age stood beside him, at Research. For eighty years now, they’d been sending out the little ships that vanished at greater than the operate. the first hope they’d found that the century-long trips between stars in the ponderous shuttles might be ended and he should have been filled with excitement There had been impossible ship apparently had been picked up by accident when it almost collided with a Sirius-local ship. Scientists there had puzzled over it, reset it and sent it back. The taken even longer. Now they did it with dozens of the body taking less than a week after the treatment! shuttle. He fingered the microstrip inside while he drank another coffee, and finally pulled But with all the equipment, it could relax so easily.... removing the probes, but the fatigue on the operator’s face told him it had been a long and difficult job. He stretched experimentally, with the eternal unconscious expectation that he would spoiled him. He’d even tried to avoid the compulsory emigration draft and stay on with his mother. It had been the bitter quarrels again. But that, of course, was ridiculous. It took days for the mind to work on all the cells and to repair the damage of time. that. Harry had nothing but praise for the solar system where he’d been sent. He barely mentioned being married on the way or his dozen children, but filled world He’d developed one of the finest against the background of an alien but attractive world. He had no desire to spend ninety years cooped up with a bunch of callow young emigrants, shuttles. And even if Exodus ever got the super-light drive working, there was no reason he should give up his work. The discovery that men could live practically forever had put an end to most family ties sentiment wore thin in half a century—which wasn’t much time now, though it had once seemed long enough. Strange how the years seemed to get shorter as their number increased. There’d been a song once—something about the years dwindling down. He groped for the lines and couldn’t remember. Drat it! Now he’d probably lie awake most of the night again, there were endless questions that kept it on his mind. And even dining room and picked his way through the meal, listening to the conversation about him only when it was necessary because here for nearly a century now and he’d never regretted it. But tonight his own group irritated him. He puzzled over it, finding no real reason. Certainly they weren’t forcing themselves on him. He remembered once when he’d had that Harry had been a complete nuisance, running around with various nostrums, giving him no peace. Constant questions about how he felt, constant little looks Earth conveyance to pass casual inspection, but it floated wheellessly was enough like an old model the discussions after the dinner, but he’d heard them all before, except for one about the super-speed drive, and there he had no wish to talk until he could study the final report. He gave up at last and went to his own suite. What he needed was a good night’s sleep after a little relaxation. Even that failed him, though. begging for their secret in a couple of hundred years! While no real progress had been made in two centuries the young men were sent out as soon as Earth was becoming a backwater were finished, and the older men were too conservative for really the years helped to add to the richness of living now. He gave it up and went to bed—to have the fragment of that was no escaping it. Something about the years—or was it days—dwindling down to something interrupting the work of making the Earth fit for our longevity. Could they really dwindle down? Suppose he couldn’t rejuvenate or other. all the way? He knew We can wait. We’ll have to.” it about twenty years before the Procyon shuttle heard its signal. Pre-setting a course may take centuries, if we can ever master it. Even with Sirius expecting the missiles and ready to cooperate. I mean the big ship. We’ve had it drafted for building long enough now we can finish it in three months. We know the drive works. He looked no better the next morning when he finally dragged real damage such as the loss of power to rejuvenate. We can’t put human pilots into a ship with our drive until we’ve tested it more then shuddered. It hadn’t been that kind of have the big ship. All we need is one volunteer!” until he reached the doctor’s office. Then it was no longer necessary “All right, Bill. Find me one volunteer. Or how about you? Do you really want to risk losing the rest of your life rather than waiting a couple more centuries until we know it’s safe? If you do, I’ll order the big ship.” now. The machines were quiet—and all the doors were shut. Then the engineer shut his mouth slowly. The belligerence ran out NO SANE man would risk a chance for near eternity against such a relatively short those who knew their days were numbered, anyhow. we’ll find a way. With time enough, we’re bound to. And when we do, the ship will be ready.” hand came up to twist at the lock of hair over his forehead. Eternity! They had to plan and build for it. They couldn’t risk that plan for short-term benefits. Usually it was too easy to realize that, whether there were or not. talk, of course. How—how long?” Cobb spread his hands unhappily. “Thirty years, maybe. But old and he’d grow older. And eventually he’d die! An immortal man had suddenly found death hovering on his saved him the suspense of growing doubt and horrible eventual discovery. then at the buildings built to last for thousands of years. Their eternity was no longer a part of him. Even his car would outlast him. much now. For a man who had thought of living almost forever, thirty years was too short a time to count. and started to slow. Then he went on without stopping. He wanted no chance to have them asking questions he couldn’t answer. It was none of their business. and he drove on. What else was there for him? There, at least, he could still fill his time with work—work that might even be useful. In the future, men would hardly explain his taking a twenty-year shuttle trip for such a slim reason. It was no concern of was something. And he might keep busy enough to forget sometimes that the years were gone for him. Automatic habit carried him didn’t go in for home visits now—they preferred to see their he told her. “They tell me I’m just growing old.” on, he’d be missing the old days when he’d had a mansion and counted his wealth in possessions, instead of the treasures he could people still in the odd, wheelless loved being driven. Even after chauffeurs were a thing of the past, Harry had driven him vehicle on the alien planet. so strict, there was always a small chance of some accident and nobody had any desire to spend the long future as a cripple. ties melted away too fast for interstellar travel. Yet there seemed to be no like that, before he left. Or had he even been one of those while the years dwindled down— Then abruptly the line finished itself. “The years dwindle down to a precious few....” he remembered. “A precious few.” Those dwindling years had been precious once. He unexpectedly that was forbidden. The years seemed precious to the old man then.\n\n<question>:\nWhy couldn't they find a volunteer to man the big ship?\n\n<options>:\nA the ship wasn't going to be ready for a long time\nB there was no proof that it was safe for humans\nC the rats didn't survive, so people probably wouldn't\nD no one wanted to spend that much time on the ship\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,147	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>:\nHe jumped into a bramble bush and scratched out both his eyes. And when he saw what he had done, with all his might and main when he arrived at the Hoffman Center that morning. Dorffman looked as though he'd been running all night. There were dark pouches under his eyes his heavy unshaven face seemed to sag at every crease. Lessing sniffing out with a sigh. \"All right, Jack—what's wrong?\" \"This kid is driving me nuts,\" said Dorffman through clenched teeth. \"He's gone completely hay-wire. Nobody's been able to get near him for three weeks, and now at six o'clock this morning he decides he's leaving the Farm. I talk to him, I sweat him down, I do everything but tie him to the bed, and I waste my time. He's leaving the Farm. Period.\" \"So you bring him down here,\" said Lessing sourly. \"The worst place he could be, if something's really wrong.\" He looked across at the boy. the trail will get somebody to listen to him! There was nothing singular about the boy's appearance. He was thin, grey monitor-helmet concealed a shock of sandy hair. He sat with a mute appeal in his large grey eyes as Lessing flipped the reader-switch and blinked in alarm at the wildly thrashing pattern on the tape. The boy was terrorized. He was literally pulsating with fear. Lessing sat back slowly. \"Tell me about it, Tommy,\" he said gently. \"I don't want to go back to the Farm,\" said the boy. \"Why?\" \"I just don't. I hate it there.\" \"Are you frightened?\" The boy bit his lip and nodded slowly. \"Then what?\" Again the mute appeal in the boy's eyes. He groped for words, and none came. Finally he said, \"If I could only take this off—\" He fingered the grey plastic helmet. \"You think that Lessing shook his head. \"I don't think so, Tommy. You know what the monitor is for, don't you?\" \"It stops things from going out.\" \"That's right. And it stops things from going in. It's an insulator. You need it badly. It would hurt you a great deal if you took it off, away from the Farm.\" The boy fought back tears. \"But I don't want to go back there—\" The fear-pattern was alive again on the tape. \"I don't feel good there. I never want to go back.\" \"Well, we'll see. You can stay here for a while.\" Lessing nodded at much of that up there.\" \"I know, I know.\" Lessing chewed his lip. \"I don't like it. We'd better set up a battery on him and try to spot the trouble. And I'm afraid \"Get a pad, get a pencil! We've got work to do. And when we finish, I with unimaginable potential if it could only be unlocked, they had plunged eagerly into the search, and found themselves in a maddening bramble bush of contradictions and chaos. Nothing worked, and more they struggled, the thicker and more impenetrable the bramble bush became— through the afternoon sun. \"I just finished the prelims. He's not cooperating.\" Lessing ground his teeth. \"I should be running him now instead of Somewhere along the line as a child grows up, something happens. We don't know what. We do know that the child's psi-potential gradually withdraws deeper and deeper into his mind, burying itself farther and farther out of reach, just the way a tadpole's tail is absorbed deeper and deeper into the growing frog until there just isn't any tail any underground? What buries it so deeply that adult human beings can't get at it any more?\" hard grey plastic material, with a network of wiring buried in the substance, connected to a simple pocket-sized power source. \"The major problem,\" Lessing said, \"has been to shield the children in a large room. \"They're perfectly insulated from us,\" said Lessing. \"A variety of place them together—they drew each other like magnets. One of our workers spent two weeks trying to find out why the instruments weren't jaw. \"You think that it's adult psi-contact that drives the child's potential underground—that somehow adult contact acts like a damper, a sort of colossal candle-snuffer.\" \"That's what I think,\" said Lessing. \"How do you know those children didn't make you take off your monitor?\" Lessing blinked. \"Why should they?\" \"Maybe they enjoy the crash when the blocks fall down.\" Lessing and Dorffman rode back to the Hoffman Center in grim silence. At first Lessing pretended to work finally he snapped off the tape cut it off under him. Well, that's his worry, not yours.\" Dorffman's face was intense. \"Scientifically, you're on unshakeable ground. Every grounds aren't right at all, in this case.\" Dorffman snorted. \"Surely there's nothing wrong with theorizing—\" \"He wasn't objecting to the theory. He's afraid of what happens after the theory.\" \"So it seems. But why?\" \"He seems to, you mean. And therefore, anything he says about it .\" \"But why shouldn't he?\" \"Because a man can't fight for his life and reputation and still keep his objectivity,\" said Lessing. \"And what if he just happens to be helplessly. \"He's sick, Doctor. He's sicker than we ever imagined.\" \"What happened?\" \"Nothing exactly—happened. I don't quite know how to describe it.\" came in, but there was no flicker of recognition or pleasure on his pale face. The monitor helmet was still on his head. He just sat there, gripping a toy fire engine tightly in his hands. \"Tommy!\" Lessing reached out for the toy. The boy drew back in terror, clutching it to his chest. \"Go away,\" he choked. \"Go away, go away—\" When Lessing persisted the boy bent over swiftly and bit him hard on the hand. Tommy's eyes shifted haltingly to Lessing's face. He nodded. \"Go away.\" \"Why are you afraid, Tommy?\" \"I hurt. My head hurts. I hurt all over. Go away.\" \"Why do you hurt?\" \"I—can't get it—off,\" the boy said. The monitor , Lessing thought suddenly. Something had suddenly gone horribly wrong—could the boy really be sensing the source of the trouble? Lessing felt a cold knot gather in the pit of his stomach. He had felt it in his own mind, bursting from the child. Like a violent physical blow, the hate and fear and suspicion and cruelty buried and repressed in the adult mind, crushing suddenly into the raw receptors of the child's mind like a smothering fog—it was a fearful thing. A healthy youngster could survive it, even though the scar remained. But And yet an animal instinctively seeks its own protection . With trembling fingers Lessing reached out and opened the baffle-snap on the monitor. \"Take it off, Tommy,\" he whispered. The boy blinked in amazement, and pulled the grey helmet from his head. Lessing felt the familiar prickly feeling run down his scalp as the boy stared at him. He could feel deep in his own mind the cold chill of terror radiating from the boy. Then, suddenly, it began to fade. A sense of warmth—peace and security and comfort—swept in as the fear faded from the boy's face. The fire engine clattered to the floor. Dorffman stared at it angrily. \"It's obviously wrong,\" he grated. \"It doesn't fit. Dave, it doesn't agree with anything \"Of course,\" said Lessing. \"According to the theory. The theory says that adult psi-contact is deadly to the growing child. It smothers\n\n<question>:\nWhich of these is not true about the helmet the young boy wears?\n\n<options>:\nA It is entirely made of plastic\nB He chose to wear it because he knows it's good for him\nC It is for the protection of adults as much as the boy\nD It makes him feel trapped while wearing it\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
517	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBy EMMETT McDOWELL Death was Jaro Moynahan's stock in trade, and every planet had known his touch. But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the Planet Stories Summer 1945. On the stage of Mercury Sam's Garden , a tight-frocked, limber-hipped, red-head was singing \" The Lady from Mars .\" The song was a rollicking, ribald ditty, a favorite of the planters and miners, the space pilots and army officers who frequented the garden. The girl rendered it with The girl, with an almost imperceptible gesture, shook her head. The night was very hot but then it is always hot on Mercury, the newest, the wildest, the hottest of Earth's frontiers. Fans spaced about the garden's walls sluggishly stirred the night air, while the yellow-eyed Mercurians, seemed unaffected by the heat. They didn't 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, but they are afraid to protest. You've got to believe me. The revolution is scheduled to break during the Festival of the Rains. If it does, the Terrestrials here will be massacred. The Mercurians hate them. We haven't but a handful of troops.\" \"Why call me all the way from Mars for that? Why not have that gunman at the piano rub Hodes out?\" The girl started, glanced at the pianist, said with a shiver: \"We can't locate Karfial Hodes. Don't look at me that way, Jaro. You frighten me. I'm telling the truth. We can't find him. That's why we called you. You've got to find him, Jaro. He's stirring up all Mercury.\" \"Who's putting up the money?\" \"I can't tell you.\" \"Ah,\" said Jaro Moynahan \"so that's the way it is.\" \"That's the way it is.\" \"No,\" the girl replied. \"But we think he's here in the city.\" glowing in light, the next the hot black night swooped down on the \"Red!\" he repeated, louder. Unexpectedly, the deep, ringing voice of Mercury Sam boomed out from the stage. \"It's all right. The master fuse blew out. The lights will be on in a It made him think of cool green grapes beaded with dew. On the hot, teeming planet of Mercury it was as refreshing as a cold plunge. He wondered who was putting up the ten thousand Earth notes? Who stood to lose most in case of a revolution? The answer seemed obvious enough. was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. And what had happened to the girl. Had the rebels abducted her. If 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 possibility. If the girl had been abducted, only Mercurians could have and the Mercurians were a clannish lot. either side: buildings with walls four feet thick to keep out the heat of the sun. Beneath his feet, he knew, stretched a labyrinth of rooms and passages. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the when he thought he detected a footfall behind him. It was only the earth walls, the sly shuffle of a step. He ducked down a bisecting interest. He had, he supposed, killed rather a lot of men. He had fought in the deadly little wars of the Moons of Jupiter for years, then the Universal Debacle of 3368, after that the Martian Revolution as well as dozens of skirmishes between the Federated Venusian States. No, there The Mercurians, he knew, had been agitating for freedom for years. Why, at this time when the Earth Congress was about to grant them self-government, should they stage a revolution? \"Why, no. As it happened she was abducted before I had the chance.\" Mr. Peet licked his lips. \"But you will, surely you will. Unless Karfial Hodes is stopped immediately there will be a bloody uprising all over the planet during the Festival of the Rains. Earth doesn't realize the seriousness of the situation.\" \"Then I was right it is you who are putting up the ten thousand Earth here, Mercurians as well as Earthmen, who recognize the danger. We have—ah—pooled our resources.\" is—ah—lucrative.\" Jaro Moynahan lit a cigarette, sat down on the edge of the bed. \"Why gained control of the Latonka trade. Other Earthmen are in control of the mines and the northern plantations. Together you form perhaps the strongest combine the Universe has ever seen. You actually run Mercury, and you've squeezed out every possible penny. Every time self-government has come before the Earth Congress you've succeeded in \" Earth Congress suspends negotiations on Mercurian freedom pending investigation of rumored rebellion. Terrestrials advised to return to Earth. Karfial Hodes, Mercurian patriot, being sought. \" 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, step on you as I might a spider.\" \"Rush over where?\" said the girl in the visoscreen. \"These gadgets The girl in the visoscreen thawed like ice cream in the sun. \"I'm sure better of it, glanced around helplessly. Miss Webb's eyes grew round as marbles. \"I wouldn't touch one of those nasty little contraptions for all the Latonka on Mercury.\" \"Another morning like this and I take the first space liner back to Earth.\" She jammed her hat on backward, snatched her bag from the desk you whatever you believe your time is worth. Say five hundred Earth be on the next liner back to Earth.\" Warily he started down the passage toward the native quarter. At the \" Bang! \"Never a dull moment,\" she gritted. Still grinning, Jaro sat down. \"I'm Jaro Moynahan, Miss Webb. I think Albert Peet forgot to introduce us. There's some skullduggery going on here that I'm particularly anxious to get to the bottom of. I thought Jaro's order. \"All right,\" Jaro smiled, but his pale blue eyes probed the girl dangerous for you to know. Are you game, Miss Webb?\" \"Since we're going to be so chummy,\" she replied \"you might begin by calling me Joan. You make me feel downright ancient.\" I was offered ten thousand Earth notes to assassinate the leader of the revolution.\" \"What revolution? I'm going around in circles.\" \"The Mercurians, of course.\" \"I don't believe it,\" said the girl. \"The Mercurians are the most peaceable people in the Universe. They've been agitating for freedom, \"Score one,\" breathed Jaro, \"I begin to see light. Miss Webb—ah, Joan—I've a notion that we're going to be a great team. How do you happen to be Albert Peet's private secretary?\" is almost on the rocks. Their stock has been dropping like a meteor.\" Jaro Moynahan raised his oblique brows but did not interrupt. will touch the stock, not since it looks as if the Earth Congress is going to grant the Mercurians their freedom. Everybody knows that the first thing the Mercurians will do, will be to boot out the Latonka Trust.\" \"What about this Karfial Hodes?\" said Jaro. \"I've heard that he's inciting the Mercurians to rebellion. The newscaster had a line about the revolution too. The government has advised all Terrestrials to return to Earth.\" \"It's not true,\" Joan flared. \"It's all a pack of lies invented by the Latonka Trust. I know.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich planet was considered the new frontier?\n\n<options>:\nA Mars\nB Earth\nC Mercury\nD Jupiter\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
222	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nPlanet Stories Fall 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that exposed to his view. \"Why?\" he thought as he looked at her. \"Why did it have to happen like this?\" attacked in force. The streetlights were already on, making geometric patterns through the dusk of Central Park. Some of the billboards were shining, their relays activated by darkness-sensitized solenoids. A She would have given herself to any man— His thoughts beat a rapid crescendo, activating emotions, stimulating To any man, WHO HAPPENED TO BE THE LAST MAN ON EARTH! attacking his olfactory patch with the retching smell of decaying flesh. Charles ignored it. Even smells had lost their customary meanings. world was running well. No wonder we called it the 'Proud Era.' Life was fun, just a bowl of cherries, until....\" Two years ago the animals had started dying. Strangely enough the rats had gone first, to anybody's notice. Sales of poison dropped, scientific laboratories chained to a perpetual rodent-cycle began to complain bitterly. Then the lovers who hunted out and haunted the lonely lanes through the rumors from Mexico had it that no one had died from scorpion bite in several weeks. A month later the meat animals, the birds and the household pets the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals committed suicide. Within a year it was obvious to everyone that man was the only animal left on earth. The panic which had begun with the death of the animals was quieted somewhat by the fact that humans seemed immune to the pandemic. But the lakes full of dead fish caused a great stink and residents along the coasts began to move inland. Sales of perfumes and deodorants soared. Then just one year ago, the first human became infected with the strange malady. Within six months, half of the world's population was gone. Less than a month ago no more than a few thousand people remained \"I've got to find out,\" Charles told himself. He meant it, of course, but in a sense he was afraid—afraid that his trip to the Bureau might walked on down the bloody street. Before the plague the Bureau of Vital Statistics had been one of man's crowning achievements. Housed as it was in a huge metallic globe of a building, it contained computers which kept exact account of every human on earth. Compulsory registration and the classification of each individual by means of the discrete patterns of his brain waves had accomplished for man what no ordinary census could have. The machine knew who was alive, who was dead, and where everybody was. Once a year the Bureau issued The Index, an exact accounting of Earth's four billion inhabitants. Four billion names and addresses, compressed into microprint, a tremendous achievement even for the \"Proud Era.\" The average person had little necessity to do so since the Bureau information service would answer questions free of charge at any time. All children had to have a brain-wave recording made by the Bureau during the first month of their life. And again at the age of 10 each child returned to the Bureau for a recheck. It was for this latter recording that Charles had come to the Bureau some twenty-two years before and a friendly guard had let him peep briefly into the computer room. The impression of intense activity, of organized confusion, of mechanical wonder had remained with him the rest of his life. \"So different now,\" he thought, surveying the room. \"Now it's empty, so dexterity he switched the computer screens on and watched them glow to life. All around the world sensitive receiving stations pulsed to activity, sending out searching fingers, hunting for elusive patterns of neutral energy, mapping and tabulating the results. screens clustered around it. On these screens could be graphed the population of any and every part of the globe. An illuminated counter immediately above it would give the numerical strength of the area Charles activated the switches that would flash a schematic map of New York on the screen. \"There's bound to be somebody else left here. After all, there were at least twenty of us just a couple of days ago.\" And one of them, a beautiful woman, had invited him up to her apartment, not because she liked him, but because.... The main screen focused itself, the patterns shifting into a recognizable perceptual image. \"Why, it was just yesterday (or was it the day before?) that ten of us, at least, met here to check the figures. There were lots of us One. The Pacific area, Asia, Australia, Asia Minor, Russia and the Near East, Africa and then Europe. England! Why? Such a simple question, but in those three letters lay the essence of human nature. Why. The drive of curiosity. Stronger, in a way, than the so-called \"basic\" drives: hunger, thirst, sex, shelter, warmth, companionship, elimination. Certainly more decisive in the history of the race. Man began to think, to differentiate himself from the other animals, when he first asked the question: \"Why?\" But thinking about \"why\" didn't answer the question itself, Charles thought. He looked around him. He was sitting on a bench in Central free of bodies. \"You've got about ten minutes warning,\" he said to himself. \"I guess that most people wanted to die inside of something—inside of anything. Not out in the unprotected open.\" The silence was like a weight hanging around his neck. Not an insect noise, not the chirp of a bird, not the sound of a car nor the scream of a plane. Not even a breeze to whisper among the leaves, he thought. Civilization equals life equals noise. Silence equals.... Why. His mind kept returning to the question. Of all the people on earth, me. The last. Why me? Average, that's what he was. Height: 5'11\". Weight: 165. Age: 32. Status: Married, once upon a time. So simple to explain by the laws of chance. No need for any underlying assumptions about good and evil, no need for teleological arguments concerning cause and effect. Simply explain it by chance. Somebody had the gravel path as he walked along it. \"A hermit in the midst of a city of millions of—No, I forgot. There aren't any more people, are there?\" practice up for things like this. But it ought to be good, it ought to be proper. \"'In this now hallowed corner of the planet Earth—' No. That sounds too ... too....\" Make it simple, he thought. And he finally wrote: to wait. \"Maybe it's just a disease, and I'm immune. I was immune to smallpox. The vaccination never took. That's probably it.\" He smiled. Strange, but now he wanted very much to go on living, alone or not. There were things he could do, ways to keep occupied. He wouldn't mind it so much. But he wanted more and more desperately with each passing second to retain his foothold on the tenuous path of physical existence. The tantalizing thought of \"why\" puzzled its way back into his mind. But it seemed less pressing now that he had almost come to the conclusion that he would live for a long time. Later, in a few days opportunity for hunting down the answer. This seemed good to him, for now he thought he almost had the answer, if there were an answer. He to the restaurant. This was the way the plague began, but—His mind The large, invisible, ovular being that hung suspended over the Empire State Building rested from its exertion. Soon it was approached by another of its kind. \"I can feel the emptiness of it.\" \"It was very good. Where were you?\" \"On the next planet out. No beauty to it at all no system. How was yours?\" \"Beautiful,\" said the first. \"It went according to the strictest semantic relationship following the purest mathematical principles. They made it easy for me.\" \"What's that you have there?\" \"Oh, this?\" replied the first. \"It's a higher neural order compendium the Things here made up. It's what I used.\" \"You can't take it with you, you know. They don't allow souvenirs.\" metal (read the names: Whit, Whita, Whitacomb). It was not until the dusty morning sun stirred up the breezes that they\n\n<question>:\nWhy did the beings come to Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA it was the next planet for them to destroy\nB they wanted all of Earth's resources\nC they wanted to take over Earth\nD they were curious about Earth's creatures\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,045	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe man at the bar was exceptionally handsome, and he knew it. So did the light-haired girl at his side, and so did the nondescript man in Everyone in the room was aware of the big young man, and most of the humans present were resentful, for he handled himself consciously and arrogantly, as if his appearance alone were enough to make him superior accustomed to adulation herself, and next to Gabriel Lockard she was almost ordinary-looking. As for the extraterrestrials—it was a free bar—they were merely amused, since to them all men were pathetically and irredeemably hideous. short man standing next to the pair—young, as most men and women were in that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, though not death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plastic surgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. The drink he had been raising to his lips splashed all over his clothing ugly little man, but also a rather ridiculous one—or at least he felt was implied. And that, coming on top of Gabriel Lockard's spectacular appearance, handsome face. The man in the gray suit smiled. \"Who else in any world would stand up other man's incredibly handsome young face, noted the suggestion of bags under the eyes, the beginning of slackness at the lips, and were him, she assumed he was lying, but, as a matter of fact, just then he happened to have been telling the truth. Once the illuminators were extinguished in Gabriel Lockard's hotel suite, it seemed reasonably certain to the man in the gray suit, as he watched from the street, that his quarry would not go out again and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. on the ground when the car that had been following them landed, and a short fat man was puffing toward them through the mist. young man by the light of his minilume, almost as if she weren't there looking at her intently. His small eyes seemed to strip the make-up There were no public illuminators this far out—even in town the lights were dimming and not being replaced fast enough nor by the newer models. The town, the civilization, the planet all were old and which was, of course, absurd. She had an excellent memory for faces and casually, as a by-product of some larger scheme, and her appreciation held little gratitude. perhaps he was unaware that the fat man was not a desperate or despairing individual seeking one last chance, but what was known colloquially as a flying dutchman, a man, or woman, who went from one zarquil game to another, loving the thrill of the sport, if you implied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors so deliciously hinted at by the fax sheets under the generic term of \"crimes against nature.\" Actually the phrase was more appropriate to zarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonly applied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well as it had to be to make it profitable for the Vinzz to run it. Those odd creatures from Altair's seventh planet cared nothing for the welfare of the completely alien human beings all they wanted was to feather their own pockets with interstellar credits, so that they could return to Vinau and buy many terrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weapons could kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expired after a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, because trade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace between Vinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entrance of apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. it was down-right shabby, the dim olive light hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That was darkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely to patterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angular It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it?\" \"It does indeed,\" the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It was growing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protect them from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathable and it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The girl looked closely at him. \"You look different, but you the same man who pulled us out of that aircar crash, aren't you? And before that the man in the gray suit? And before that...?\" The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. \"Yes, I'm all of them.\" who go around changing their bodies like—like hats?\" Automatically she reached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-pale hair, for she was always conscious of her appearance if she had not been so before marriage, Gabriel would have taught her that. \"But why do you do it? Why! Do you like it? Or is it because of Gabriel?\" She was growing a little frantic there was menace here some animal who had lived and died light-years away—more closely about identify you now, even when you're ... wearing a new body there's something about you that doesn't change.\" from the crowd. Too bad he got married anyway,\" he added, his voice less impersonal, \"for your sake.\" She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, but she would not admit that to an outsider. Though this man was hardly an in the long run, be most beneficial for my face.\" \"Sorry,\" the Vinzz said impersonally, in English that was perfect except for the slight dampening of the sibilants, \"but I'm afraid you cannot play.\" \"Why not?\" The emaciated young man began to put on his clothes. game is really clean.\" \"In a town like this?\" \"That is the reason we can afford to be honest.\" The Vinzz' tendrils quivered in what the man had come to recognize as amusement through long, but necessarily superficial acquaintance with the Vinzz. His heavy robe of what looked like moss-green velvet, but might have been velvet-green moss, encrusted with oddly faceted alien jewels, swung with him. \"We do a lot of business here,\" he said unnecessarily, for the whole The young man smiled wryly. Just his luck to stumble on a sunny game. he changing because of Gabriel, he wondered, or was he using his own discoverment and identification simply as an excuse to cover the fact that none of the bodies that fell to his lot ever seemed to fit him? Was he activated solely by revenge or as much by the hope that in the to be asked or answered. All I can tell you is that it is in good health.\" \"Of course,\" the Vinzz said primly. His kind did have certain ultimate standards to which they adhered rigidly, and one of those was the kept them from tapping a vast source of potential players. There had also never been a recorded instance of humans and extraterrestrials exchanging identities, but whether that was the result of tabu or biological impossibility, no one could tell. It might merely be prudence on the Vinzz' part—if it had ever been proved that an alien life-form had \"desecrated\" a human body, Earthmen would clamor for war ... for on this planet humanity held its self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despite being unquestionably the stronger, were pragmatic pacifists. It had been undoubtedly some rabid member of the anti-alien groups active on Terra who had started the rumor that the planetary slogan of Vinau was, He looked at himself in the mirror and found he had a fine new body tall and strikingly handsome in a dark, coarse-featured way. Nothing to he recognized the face. Not that it the men depicted there. And he knew that this particular man, though , the new tenant thought, as he tried to adjust himself to the body. It, too, despite its obvious obviously hates the way he hates you? Only because he doesn't want to see his body spoiled.\" \"It is\n\n<question>:\nWhy did most of the men and women have a young appearance?\n\n<options>:\nA Because of science that could starve off decay.\nB Because of plastic surgery.\nC Because of the freeze in time.\nD Because of the allurement of the atmosphere.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,239	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 As you fly from the country now known as Germany to Britain, the coastal geography of northern European cities gently unfurls. You can see where the sea smacks into them, or where yawning estuaries unfold like funnels between green and brown city and choppy blue water. You can track the snaking rivers and canals that form unrepentant umbilical connections to the settlements set a little further inland. 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. The cities involved in the Hanseatic League are found along the Baltic and North Sea coasts, and slightly inland too. The League stretched from Novgorod in the east – in what is now Russia – to London in the west. Tallinn, Riga, Gdańsk, Visby, Berlin, Cologne, Antwerp, Stockholm, Bergen, Kiel, Rostock, Dinant, Bruges, Turku, Groningen, Hanover, Wroclaw, Kaliningrad: all were involved at different stages in the Hanse's history, which ran on into the 1500s. The League covered lands that today find themselves a part of the modern nations of Finland, Sweden, Poland, the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Norway, Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia. It was a huge – and hugely ambitious – undertaking in the days when communications consisted of ink and paper and the only viable method of travel was by ship. Wood, fur, wool, silver, herring, cod and salt were the main items traded. But what was also exchanged was knowledge. In some ways it was an exercise in what we today call 'soft diplomacy'. There was no maniacal ruler overseeing things – merchants met and talked. They raised armies and waged war against kings who threatened their businesses and their freedoms and their peace. There was a kind of proto-democracy at work. Professor Rainer Postel, of the Bundeswehr Universität (Germany's equivalent of Sandhurst military academy), has described the Hanse as \"a community of interests without power politics\". As David Abulafia, Professor of Mediterranean History at Cambridge points out, \"The lack of an elaborate superstructure was one of the things that made the Hanse work. Having said that, one should recognise that Lübeck in particular dominated the League for long periods.\" Lübeck was where the merchants most often met 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. So how about a new Hanseatic League? I ask Benjamin Barber, senior fellow at New York's Fordham University. \"I believe you will find there is a new Hanse,\" he says, \"that constituted itself about 10 or 11 years ago – including many of the original Hanseatic League cities.\" Barber is founder of the Global Parliament of Mayors, which he describes as a kind of Hanse of all cities, not just European ports, which will give cities a global urban voice and a common platform for action. The parliament convenes for its inaugural session in The Hague in September. Back in Britain, one of history's little oddities pops up on the east coast. Boston in Lincolnshire and King's Lynn in Norfolk were both forward-looking Hanseatic League towns that traded with far-flung ports and hosted foreign merchants. King's Lynn contains the only extantHanse House left in Britain (London's was knocked down to build Cannon Street Station in the 1800s). Yet in the EU referendum these two areas polled among the highest Leave votes of anywhere in the country. \"Things change,\" says LSE's Professor Tony Travers. \"[King's Lynn] used to be very highly connected, but the economy moved on and left those trading ports like it in a different situation.\" Take, for example, the pivot towards the New World, with which trade made more sense from the west-coast ports like Bristol and Liverpool. While these boomed between the 1600s and 1800s, the Hanseatic ports declined and then died out. \"One of the things that's interesting about the [referendum] decision is that it begs all sorts of questions about the future of the UK and its relationship with Europe 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. \"The Hanseatic League was not always accepted by local citizens,\" says Cristina Ampatzidou, \"because the privileges granted to the Hanse merchants were forcing local traders out of competition and many cities took steps to eliminate them. The reasons the countryside is turning to the right [globally] are not independent from cities turning increasingly into speculation machines for the profit of a happy few. It is basically these systemic contradictions that must be addressed before we resort to more isolationist ideas that would intensify the urban-rural political divide. The bottom line is not whether a contemporary Hanse-esque federation is possible, it probably is but whether it is actually desirable.\" This article was originally published on TheLong+Short. Read the original article.\n\n<question>:\nWhen did the Hanseatic League begin?\n\n<options>:\nA The 1200s\nB The 1500s\nC The 1400s\nD The 1300s\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
374	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nMarooned on a world within a world, aided by a slim girl and an old warrior, Patrolman Sisko Rolf was fighting his greatest Sisko Rolf's stocky body was a blur of motion as he cut the rocket their underground hideout by that water-runner we tried to capture. We can't escape, that's certain. They know these caverns better than.... We'll down some of them, though.\" Planet Patrol ship as he swung the deadly slimness of his rocket approaching outlaw flyers. Rolf swung the lax controls over hard as the bursts of fire revealed a Down plunged the battered ship, downward ever downward. Somehow Rolf split open like a rotten squash, and Rolf felt himself Much later Rolf groaned with the pain of bruised muscles and tried to least the air was thick enough to support life, and somewhere nearby the outlaws who smuggled their precious contraband water into the water-starved domes of North Mars lay hidden. The young patrolman unzippered his jacket pocket and felt for the Rolf capped the solar torch. No use wasting the captive energy ahead, headquarters where renegade Frogs, Venusians from the southern sunken marshes of Mars, and Earthmen from dusty North Mars, concealed their precious hoard of water from the thirsty colonists of North Mars. \"They may have found the sunken seas of Mars,\" thought Rolf as he moved alertly forward, \"water that would give the mining domes new life.\" His fists clenched dryly. \"Water that should be free!\" the other half. Toward this barrier the spinner bore him, and Rolf was it seemed to Rolf that he must be falling free through black dust, and he came to a stop. Deftly Rolf nested the rocks ahead. Rolf's slitted gray eyes narrowed yet more and his hand The voice had spoken in English! Rolf took a step forward eagerly and Rolf found himself staring, open-mouthed, at the sleek-limbed vision The girl laughed, a low liquid sound that made Rolf's heart pump She smiled again as Rolf's face slowly reddened. \"Do not be ashamed,\" Rolf threw up the mental block that was the inheritance from his \"Sorry,\" said the tall man as Rolf sprang easily from the ground to \"She one of them?\" Rolf's voice was low, but he saw Altha's lip twitch. \"Only we were not lost on the surface,\" explained Tanner, his booming voice much too powerful for his reedy body, \"Wayne Stark was searching for the lost seas of Mars. Traced them underground. Found them too.\" He Rolf followed the direction of the other's pale blue eyes. Overhead now lifted above the restless dark waters of a vast sea. Rolf realized with Rolf felt new strength pump into his tired bruised muscles. Here lay he could lead the scientists of North Mars to this treasure trove of water.... \"Mark!\" The girl's voice was tense. Rolf felt her arm tug at his sleeve the desert half of Lomihi. \"Enemies?\" he whispered to Mark Tanner hoarsely. \"Right.\" The older man was slipping the stout bowstring into its \"I must warn them.\" Altha's lips thinned and her brown-flecked eyes flamed. \"The outlaws may capture,\" warned Tanner. \"They have taken over the swiftly back along a rocky corridor in the face of the Barrier toward the ruins of ancient Aryk. Tanner shrugged his shoulders. \"What can I do? Altha has the blood of the Hairy People in her veins. She will warn them even though the outlaws have turned her people against her.\" Rolf watched the column of barbarically clad warriors file out upon the \"Right.\" Tanner's fingers bit into Rolf's arm. \"Pray that the wind does Rolf raised his expoder, red anger clouding his eyes as he saw these Rolf and Mark Tanner came to their feet. Rolf's expoder rattled briefly like a high-speed sewing machine as he Tanner smashed an elbow into Rolf's side. \"Retreat!\" he gasped. \"Now where?\" Rolf snapped another burst of expoder needles at the furry the heart of the Barrier. Rolf blasted another spurt of explosive shattered heart. An unseen furry shape sprang upon Rolf's shoulders Tanner's finger pointed. \"Altha!\" Rolf saw the graceful wings of the glider riding the thermals back toward the Barrier. \"She had warned the \"The weasel heads won't follow us here?\" asked Rolf. Rolf laughed. \"Like the pleasure globes of the wealthy on Earth.\" \"But,\" Rolf frowned thoughtfully, \"what keeps Lomihi from crashing into \"The island is the answer,\" said Tanner. \"Somehow it blocks the force of gravity—shields Lomihi from....\" He caught his breath suddenly. \"The outlaws!\" he cried. \"They're after Altha.\" Rolf caught a glimpse of a sleek rocket flyer diving upon Altha's frail the old man pushing another crudely constructed glider toward the outer section of the wall swung slowly inward. Rolf sprang to his side. The older man's eyes were hot. He jerked at Rolf's hands and then Rolf pushed up and outward with all the strength of his weary muscles. had taken shelter, noting as he did so that the rocket flyer had landed him grin. He drove directly toward the grounded ship. With this rocket flyer he could escape from Lomihi, return through the thirty-seven caverns to the upper world, and give to thirsty Mars the gift of limitless water again. A man stood on guard just outside the flyer's oval door. Rolf lined up comrades. But if the outlaw saw him Rolf knew that he would be the about. Rolf pressed the firing button Rolf snapped his weapon overhand at the Frog's hairless skull. The momentarily. In that instant Rolf launched himself from the open They went down, Rolf swinging his fist like a hammer. He felt the Frog go limp and he loosed a relieved whistle. Now with a rocket flyer and the guard's rifle expoder in his grasp the problem of escape from the inner caverns was solved. He would rescue the girl, stop at the Forbidden City for Mark Tanner, and blast off for the upper crust forty miles and more overhead. A green bulge showed around the polished fuselage and Rolf pressed his This sledge was hammering relentlessly as Rolf sensed his first Rolf heard voices from a distance and the answering triumphant bawling of his two captors. The moment had come. He turned the cap of the solar \"Fire!\" There was panic in the outlaw's voice. Rolf came to his knees not on the prisoners, and so the impact of Rolf's horizontally The outlaw was game. His fists slammed back at Rolf, and his knees jolted upward toward the patrolman's vulnerable middle. But Rolf Rolf swung, all the weight of his stocky body behind the blow, and the \"Everything bongo?\" Rolf wanted to know. Rolf grinned up at her. \"Need to?\" he asked. Then they were over the Barrier and Rolf saw the last of the beaten Nyd. He nosed the captured ship down toward the ruined plaza of the Forbidden City. Once Mark Tanner was aboard they would blast surfaceward with their thrilling news that all Mars could have water in plenty again. Rolf snorted. \"Shorty,\" he said disgustedly as they landed, but his arm\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Rolf's new plan when he spots the rocket?\n\n<options>:\nA Now that he knows the location of the water, he'll be able to return to grab it for himself.\nB He'll have a way out of the caverns at last, be able to escape.\nC He can escape the fighting and leave Tanner and the girl behind.\nD He'll be able to distribute water to Mar's colonies, and get out with Tanner and the girl.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,249	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 baby's mother – she's called Debra – remains impassive throughout these agonised fumblings. Her face reveals nothing of what she may be feeling. But then Debra has no feelings. Indeed she has no face…So you can stop worrying. Debra – Desperate Debra to use her full trade name – is a simulator designed to help doctors practise their skill at dealing with impacted foetuses: babies that get stuck trying to exit the womb by the normal route. She comprises the lower two thirds (ie from the mid-chest region downwards) of a life-sized but limbless female torso made of flesh-coloured silicone rubber. She comes with a vulva, a pre-cut incision in her abdomen and, most importantly, a uterus containing a foetal head that should, in the normal way of things, be free to emerge between her legs. But this fetus is going nowhere until an obstetrician – or in this case me – can successfully grasp and pull it out. So you can stop worrying. Debra – Desperate Debra to use her full trade name – is a simulator designed to help doctors practise their skill at dealing with impacted foetuses: babies that get stuck trying to exit the womb by the normal route. She comprises the lower two thirds (ie from the mid-chest region downwards) of a life-sized but limbless female torso made of flesh-coloured silicone rubber. She comes with a vulva, a pre-cut incision in her abdomen and, most importantly, a uterus containing a foetal head that should, in the normal way of things, be free to emerge between her legs. But this fetus is going nowhere until an obstetrician – or in this case me – can successfully grasp and pull it out. 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. The inventor of the tube and of Desperate Debra is Dr Graham Tydeman, a consultant in obstetrics and gynaecology at Victoria Hospital in Kirkcaldy, Fife. Only after he'd built Debra did he realise that she might serve a purpose beyond his original intention. His is a decade-long tale of inspired insights, thwarted aims and shifting purposes but with a good outcome. Although the Tydeman tube is still in gestation, Desperate Debra herself is now thriving. The team found some money to employ a product designer who used computer-aided design technology and 3D printing to make a prototype. \"We were at the point of getting one made in silicone,\" says Tydeman, \"when we realised that before we started experimenting on women we really ought to test it on a simulator.\" No such simulator existed – so he decided to make one himself. 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. In the meantime, back to Desperate Debra: so named, Tydeman says, not after any particular person but because the appellation is memorably alliterative. He put together the original Debra in a weekend. The skin was made out of a neoprene wetsuit fixed to a scaffolding formed from plastic tubing he'd found 20 years ago in skip outside a Glasgow pub the head was cast in silicone from a model he'd made in plasticine, and the rest comprised old springs and other bits of stuff lying around his workshop. \"It wasn't actually that difficult,\" Tydeman says. When originally conceived, remember, Debra was simply a means of testing the effectiveness of the tube. What she looked like was neither here nor there. It was only once Debra was reborn as a teaching aid that she needed sprucing up. Tydeman can remember the exact moment when the idea of her having a greater role dawned on him. \"I was on the sleeper train down from Scotland to London,\" he says. \"Debra was with me because the first Tydeman tube had become available at St Thomas's… It was about midnight, I'd had my free whisky and I suddenly thought, 'Blow me! Even if the tube doesn't work, Debra could be useful as a teaching aid'.\" The following morning, at St Thomas's, Tydeman asked a visiting professor of obstetrics to have a look at Debra and tell him what she thought. She put her hand into Debra's womb, grasped the foetal head and said it felt just like the real thing. \"Terribly flattering,\" Tydeman laughs. 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. In Debra as she is now, the precise extent and nature of her desperation can be fine-tuned according to need. The foetal head inside her uterus can be moved to mimic the various positions that an unborn baby may adopt. By tightening a spring inside Debra's body, it's also possible vary the degree of impaction from mild to so severe that the head is virtually impossible to extract. In this way she simulates the full range of difficulty that obstetricians are likely to encounter. At St Thomas's, midwives in training also get an opportunity to practise on Debra. The chances that midwives will find themselves having to do the actual extraction of an infant are slim but they're quite likely to be asked to help the obstetrician by pushing a stuck baby from below. Debra's anatomy allows them to practise this skill 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 Given the universality of childbirth it's no surprise that, then as now, the womb turns out to be the most simulated of our organs. For the benefit of 18th-century midwives and doctors-in-training, the Bologna surgeon Giovanni Antonio Galli devised a birthing simulator comprising a glass uterus supported by an artificial pelvis and containing a flexible foetus. Trainees had to deliver the baby while wearing a blindfold. Only the tutor could witness the fumbling of their hands. As the material for a convincing simulation, glass clearly has its drawbacks. But another 18th-century contraption used a pink cloth-covered mannequin comprising a female torso complete with genitalia, a set of implantable foetuses of various ages, and even – a real coup de théâtre\n\n<question>:\nWhat was Desperate Debra originally designed for?\n\n<options>:\nA She was originally designed for autopsy simulations.\nB She was originally designed to test the Tyedeman tube.\nC She was originally designed as a crash test dummy.\nD She was originally designed for practicing CPR.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,524	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 \"I don't see why we have to be here,\" a crewman said. \"He ain't liable to say anything.\" \"He shore better,\" the man in front of him said loudly. \"And with your permission, Father....\" \"Ah....\" .\" \"Here comes the priest. Now, be still.\" The man looked up. \"So he do an' I'll tell ya, hit shore is time he's a-gittin' hyere. I ain't got no all night fer ta sit.\" The crewman to his left bent over and whispered, \"I'll bet he's gonna tell us it's gonna be another postponement.\" \"Iffen he does, I'm jest a-gonna stand up an' yell right out that I \"I never thought of that,\" said the third mate disconsolately. \"I think that can be arranged, however,\" said Nestir. \"If you go by the mess hall on your way out, please tell the captain we can continue our discussion at his pleasure.\" IV \"Come now, sir. I realize she is the daughter of a crewman, but—\" \"Captain! I fear I must be very severe with you. I will be forced to your duty when it was plainly and properly called to your attention.\" \"Very well, Father,\" the captain said after several minutes. \"I will do it.\" That morning was to be the time of the captain's wedding. He had insisted that it be done in privacy. For the ceremony, he refused to it away from here with you and think about it, tonight, in the privacy of your cabins. crewmen came to me. He came to me, and he said: 'Father, I am weary of indignity of it came home to him even more poignantly than he had imagined it would. Without a word, he left the priest's stateroom and walked slowly, ponderously, with great dignity, to his own. blessed one of you—is weary of sailing. I know that as well as I know \"But because he came to me and said, 'Father, I am weary of sailing,' I went to the captain, and I said, 'Captain, the men are weary of sailing.' \"And then the captain said: 'All right, Father,' he said, 'I will set my own name, yes. the day for the Festival of the Casting Off!'\" \"Now, don't you think I don't know that. Every one of you—every can we have here on this ship?' You are thinking: 'What a fine thing—ah, what a good thing, that is—ah, how nice it would be to have the Casting Off at home, among friends.'\" off. \"Ah,\" he said. He returned to the bed and sat down. Fod. As the Soong family was traveling....\" \"I don't like 'em anyway,\" said Wanda. \"Madam,\" said the captain, \"kindly bring me that.\" think your decision will be, Father?\" the steward Casting Off date. After all, it's not only a question of how we go, but also a question of leaving only after having done our duty. And that's equally important.\" following the captain's outburst. \"You don't need to worry about your Casting Off, Captain. You can leave that to me. I assure you, I have in mind a most ingenious method.\" hope to be Cast Off by an officer. table toward the captain, \"Well?\" he asked. The captain rolled the wine over his tongue. \"You were right, of course.\" 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. uv old age.\" \"Nonsense,\" said the steward. \"We don't want anything of the sort. After all, someone has to orient the new crew.\" \"Quite right,\" said the captain. \"You ought to be proud.\" \"After all, one must have done some duty,\" the captain said. \"Would you really, Harry? That would be sweet.\" \"Sure, honey.\" He looked down at his watch. \"Harry? Are you going to meet Wanda in the control room?\" \"Uh-huh.\" \"I thought so. Well, remember this, dear: It isn't the day of the not,\" he said, comfortingly. He left her sitting on the bed and strolled down the officers' corridor, whistling. He made a mental note to have the bosun send some of the crew in \"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. \"Don't mind, do you?\" \"No ... Quiet tonight. Had to cut the motors an hour ago. Control up, you know. Look like hell on the record. Hope the captain don't find \"Yeah,\" said Harry, \"the captain's funny that way.\" doesn't want her, she'd be glad to hear your offer.\" \"Aw, that's all right,\" John said. \"Don't really matter. Say. By the way. Have I told you what I intend to do to the captain? I've got it all thought out. You know that saber I picked up on Queglat? Well....\" \"Look. How about telling me another time?\" \"Thanks. See you at breakfast.\" \"Right-o.\" After the second mate left, Harry walked over to the control panel. The jet lights were dead. He picked up the intercom and switched over the engine call bell. \"'Lo,\" he said into the microphone. \"This is the bridge.... Oh, hi, Barney. Harry.... Have you got a sober control technician down there yet...? Fine. We'll start the jets again. If the captain comes in now—well, you know how he is.... Okay, thanks. Night.\" He replaced the microphone. He reached over and threw the forward firing lever. The jet lights came on and the ship began to brake \"Them stars shore are purty.\" \"Wanda, listen to me.\" \"I'm a-listenin', Haireee.\" if you want to be an adult.\" In Nestir's cabin the next morning, the captain and the priest held a conference. \"No, Captain. I'm afraid I can't agree to that,\" Nestir said. The captain said, \"Oh, don't be unreasonable, Father. After all, this is a ship, y'know. And I am, after all, the captain.\" \"But Father! A crewman! In the officers' corridor! Think!\" expedient was adopted. It seems....\" \"You're perfectly correct, of course,\" the captain said. \"That's just what I wanted to see you about, Father,\" the crewman said. \"Now, in my city state of Ni, for the Festivals, we....\" \"Shut up,\" said the captain softly. \"Yes, sir.\" \"Now, as I was saying, Captain, when the methods used in....\" \"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.\" \"Quite all right, my son. That's what I'm here for. Come in as often as you like.\" The crewman closed the door after him. He had been gone only a moment, scarcely time for Nestir to get \"Oh? Good morning, Captain. I didn't know you were here.\" Then, to the priest: \"I'll come back later, Father.\" \"Nonsense,\" said the captain. \"Come in.\" \"Well, I had hoped to see the Father for a minute on ... private business.\" \"I have to be toddling along,\" said the captain. \"But Captain! I haven't finished telling you about....\" \"I'll just go down and get a cup of coffee,\" the captain said. \"I'll call you when I'm through,\" said Harry. The captain left the room. \"It's about Wanda, Father,\" said the third mate.\n\n<question>:\nWhat might John intend to do to the captain?\n\n<options>:\nA Tell him that he is tired of sailing.\nB Kill him with a saber.\nC Offer his help in the control room.\nD Ask him to steer the ship back to a city-state.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,350	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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. \"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. The founders of the Brixton Pound wanted to do something to stop 80p of every £1 spent locally from leaking out of the area into the pockets of corporations, at the expense of small local traders. So they printed a currency that would have the same value as the pound, but could only be traded in independent Brixton shops, where the shopkeeper would also have to spend it locally. This year the Brixton Pound got its own cashpoint, from where people can withdraw local banknotes bearing colourful images of local heroes, like David Bowie and secret Agent Violette Szabo, to spend in over 150 local shops. It can also be used by residents to pay council tax and by employers to pay wages. 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? 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. \"It is difficult to get into more disadvantaged areas,\" Stephen Clarke says. \"We have a ten-year life expectancy gap between different parts of the city. When you go to disadvantaged areas with the Bristol Pound hat on you realise there aren't independent shops there, there's an Aldi and Lidl and that's it.\" More than a third of children grow up in poverty in Glasgow. A Glasgow Pound might struggle to get poorer families to buy into a local currency that ties them to shopping at more expensive, independent shops, rather than getting deals at big supermarket chains. 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.\" Nothing is tying Glasgow to existing models for complementary currencies. But during the first meeting about setting up the Glasgow Pound, the workshop shows just how hard it would be to invent a new system that works for everyone. Each table is handed a wad of Post-it notes and a piece of white paper. A table leader asks everyone to write on the Post-its what they want the Glasgow Pound to achieve. Elbowing teacups out the way, people get to work. They scrawl a dizzying number of proposals, from keeping more wealth in the local area to empowering people who feel cut out of the national economy, or to moving towards land reform and saving the environment. Team leaders try to assemble these ideas in themes to report back to the room. 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.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is a working example of a complementary currency?\n\n<options>:\nA The Brixton Pound\nB The Eko Pound\nC The Liverpool Pound\nD The Glasgow Pound\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,370	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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? [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Howell, the man across the table from him, looked embarrassed without Linton said, describing the scene over Howell's shoulder. \"If that's \"No,\" Howell said, \"I wouldn't do that.\" The thick man rocked forward and came down on all six feet. He threw paper money on the table as if he were disgusted with it. He plodded out of the place quickly. Howell breathed in deeply and sucked back Linton's attention. \"Now \"Oh, well, 'dead,'\" Howell replied. \"You know how it is,\" Howell said. Linton felt that his silence was asking Howell by this time. \"I don't know, mind you,\" Howell said, puffing out tobacco smoke, \"but He knew, of course, that Howell did not mean that. Howell meant that 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?\" \"Look, Frank, you can't legalize a thing like resurrection,\" Howell their whole life. You got to realize that.\" \"That's not enough. Not nearly enough.\" \"Think of all the problems it would cause. Insurance, for one thing. Overpopulation. Birth control is a touchy subject. They'd have to take it up if everybody got resurrected when they died, wouldn't they?\" \"But what do they do about it? Against it?\" \"There are a lot of fakes and quacks in the resurrection business. When the cops find out about a place, they break in, smash all the equipment and arrest everybody in sight. That's about all they can do. The charges, if any, come under general vice classification.\" \"I don't understand,\" Linton complained. \"Why haven't I heard about it?\" an article in Time the other day that said 'death' was our dirty word, not sex. You want to shock somebody, you tell him, 'You're going \"Tell me, Howell, where could I find a resurrectionist?\" Howell looked away. \"Frank, I don't have anything to do with that kind Linton's fingers imprinted the linen. \"Damn you, Howell, you tell me!\" Howell climbed to his feet hurriedly. \"I take you out to dinner to hospital for a nervous breakdown. I do all that, and for thanks, you yell at me and curse me. You kooks are all alike!\" Howell threw money on the table with the same kind of disinterest as I've got to hurry too, Linton thought. It's Resurrection Day! \"Not really,\" Linton said modestly. \"Come, come,\" the doctor chided. \"You started riots in two places, attempted to bribe an officer. That's disturbing, Mr. Linton, very disturbing.\" \"I was only trying to find out something,\" Linton maintained. \"They resurrectionist?\" \"I am a resurrectionist.\" \"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.\" long dead?\" \"Size has nothing to do with it.\" \"No, my wife has been dead a long time. Months.\" \"Months?\" The doctor snapped those weeks away with his fingers. \"It could be years. Centuries. It's all mathematics, my boy. I need only one fragment of the body and my computers can compute what the rest of it was like and recreate it. It's infallible. Naturally there is a degree of risk involved.\" \"Infallible risk, yes,\" Linton murmured. \"Could you go to work right away?\" \"First, I must follow an ancient medical practice. I must bleed you.\" Linton grasped the situation immediately. \"You mean you want money. You realize I've just got out of an institution....\" \"I've often been in institutions myself, for alcoholism, narcotics addiction and more.\" \"What a wonderful professional career,\" Linton said, when he couldn't care less. \"Oh, yes—yes, indeed. But I didn't come out broke.\" \"Neither did I,\" Linton said hastily. \"I invested in shifty stocks, faltering bonds, and while I was away they sank to rock bottom.\" \"Then—\" \"When they hit rock bottom, they bounced up. If I hadn't found you, I would have been secure for the rest of my lonely, miserable life.\" \"All that's ended now,\" the doctor assured him. \"Now we must go dig up Resurrection Day! choirs. I hope that doesn't sound irreverent to you.\" The doctor stroked his oily palms together. \"Oh, but it does. Beautifully.\" The certificate to allow reburial in Virginia hadn't been impossible to obtain. The doctor had taken the body and Linton's fortune and fed them both into the maw of his calculators, and by means of the secret, smuggled formulae, Greta would be cybernetically reborn. It wasn't fair at all, Linton thought. He should have had some time to prepare himself. me—how was it being away \"It was a terrible accident right after—that is, about five months ago. He was killed.\" \"But Johnny was your friend, your best friend. Why didn't you have him resurrected the same way you did me?\" \"Darling, resurrection is a risky business and an expensive one. You have to pay premium prices for strawberries in February. I no longer have the money to pay for a resurrection of Johnny.\" Greta turned her back to him. \"It's just as well. You shouldn't bring photograph of a soul. It's monstrous. No one should do that. No one. But you're sure you haven't the money to do it?\" \"No,\" Linton said. \"I'm sold out. I've borrowed on my insurance to the hilt. It won't pay any more until I'm buried, and then, of course, you can resurrect me.\" foaming acid baths, great whale-toothed disposals, barrels of chemicals 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.\" Brain damage, he concluded nervously. Cell deterioration. Greta raised it again and he caught her wrists high over her head. She writhed against him provocatively. \"Frank, I'm sorry, dear, but I have to have that insurance money. It's hell!\" Linton understood immediately. He felt foolish, humiliated. All that money! He had resurrected a gold ring that had turned his knuckles green. No one must ever know. Linton twisted the stand away from his wife and watched her face wreckage. Yes, it seemed they had to automate and modify the bodies somewhat in resurrection. They couldn't chemically revive the old corpse like pouring water on a wilted geranium. Or— if the bodies were used? Didn't the resurrectionists just destroy the finest detail, and he had thought she was his wife. It was what you thought was real that made it so, not the other way around. The pain stung him to sleep—a pain in his neck like a needle that left a hole big enough for a camel to pass through and big enough for him to follow the camel in his turn. wife was brought back to life and that you killed her all over again.\" \"Do you really\n\n<question>:\nHowell offers all of the following reasons why resurrection is problematic EXCEPT:\n\n<options>:\nA It is illegal\nB It conflicts with many people's religious beliefs\nC It compromises the death industry\nD It is extremely costly\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,171	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 sometimes refer to their overlap or common ground as the BBB definition of OA. My definition here is the BBB definition reduced to its essential elements and refined with some post-BBB terminology (green, gold, gratis, libre) for speaking precisely about subspecies of OA. Here’s how the Budapest statement defined OA: There are many degrees and kinds of wider and easier access to [research] literature. By “open access” to this literature, we mean its free availability on the public internet, permitting any users to read, download, copy, distribute, print, search, or link to the full texts of these articles, crawl them for indexing, pass them as data to software, or use them for any other lawful purpose, without financial, legal, or technical barriers other than those inseparable from gaining access to the internet itself. The only constraint on reproduction and distribution, and the only role for copyright in this domain, should be to give authors control over the integrity of their work and the right to be properly acknowledged and cited. Note that all three legs of the BBB definition go beyond removing price barriers to removing permission barriers, or beyond gratis OA to libre OA. But at the same time, all three allow at least one limit on user freedom: an obligation to attribute the work to the author. The purpose of OA is to remove barriers to all legitimate scholarly uses for scholarly literature, but there’s no legitimate scholarly purpose in suppressing attribution to the texts we use. (That’s why my shorthand definition says that OA literature is free of “most” rather than “all” copyright and licensing restrictions.) A growing number of journal publishers have chosen business models allowing them to dispense with subscription revenue and offer OA. They have expenses but they also have revenue to cover their expenses. In fact, some OA publishers are for-profit and profitable. (See chapter 7 on economics.) Moreover, peer review is done by dedicated volunteers who don’t care how a journal pays its bills, or even whether the journal is in the red or the black. If all peer-reviewed journals converted to OA overnight, the authors, editors, and referees would have the same incentives to participate in peer review that they had the day before. They needn’t stop offering their services, needn’t lower their standards, and needn’t make sacrifices they weren’t already making. They volunteer their time not because of a journal’s choice of business model but because of its contribution to research. They could carry on with solvent or insolvent subscription publishers, with solvent or insolvent OA publishers, or even without publishers. The Budapest Open Access Initiative said in February 2002: “An old tradition and a new technology have converged to make possible an unprecedented public good. The old tradition is the willingness of scientists and scholars to publish the fruits of their research in scholarly journals without payment. . . . The new technology is the internet.” OA isn’t an attempt to bypass peer review. OA is compatible with every kind of peer review, from the most conservative to the most innovative, and all the major public statements on OA insist on its importance. Because scholarly journals generally don’t pay peer-reviewing editors and referees, just as they don’t pay authors, all the participants in peer review can consent to OA without losing revenue. While OA to unrefereed preprints is useful and widespread, the OA movement isn’t limited to unrefereed preprints and, if anything, focuses on OA to peer-reviewed articles. (More in section 5.1 on peer review.) OA isn’t an attempt to reform, violate, or abolish copyright. It’s compatible with copyright law as it is. OA would benefit from the right kinds of copyright reforms, and many dedicated people are working on them. But it needn’t wait for reforms and hasn’t waited. OA literature avoids copyright problems in exactly the same way that conventional toll-access literature does. For older works, it takes advantage of the public domain, and for newer works, it rests on copyright-holder consent. (More in chapter 4 on policies and chapter 6 on copyright.) OA isn’t an attempt to deprive royalty-earning authors of income. The OA movement focuses on research articles precisely because they don’t pay royalties. In any case, inside and outside that focus, OA for copyrighted work depends on copyright-holder consent. Hence, royalty-earning authors have nothing to fear but persuasion that the benefits of OA might outweigh the risks to royalties. (More in section 5.3 on OA for books.) , launched in London and Paris in 1665. The academic custom to write research articles for impact rather than money may be a lucky accident that could have been otherwise. Or it may be a wise adaptation that would eventually evolve in any culture with a serious research subculture. (The optimist in me wants to believe the latter, but the evolution of copyright law taunts that optimism.) This peculiar custom does more than insulate cutting-edge research from the market and free scholars to consent to OA without losing revenue. It also supports academic freedom and the kinds of serious inquiry that advance knowledge. It frees researchers to challenge conventional wisdom and defend unpopular ideas, which are essential to academic freedom. At the same time it frees them to microspecialize and defend ideas of immediate interest to just a handful people in the world, which are essential to pushing the frontiers of knowledge. gold OA , and OA delivered by repositories is called This custom doesn’t guarantee that truth-seeking won’t be derailed by profit-seeking, and it doesn’t guarantee that we’ll eventually fill the smallest gaps in our collaborative understanding of the world. It doesn’t even guarantee that scholars won’t sometimes play for the crowd and detour into fad thinking. But it removes a major distraction by allowing them, if they wish, to focus on what is likely to be true rather than what is likely to sell. It’s a payment structure we need for good research itself, not just for good access to research, and it’s the key to the legal and economic lock that would otherwise shackle steps toward OA. OA isn’t an attempt to punish or undermine conventional publishers. OA is an attempt to advance the interests of research, researchers, and research institutions. The goal is constructive, not destructive. If OA does eventually harm toll-access publishers, it will be in the way that personal computers harmed typewriter manufacturers. The harm was not the goal, but a side effect of developing something better. Moreover, OA doesn’t challenge publishers or publishing per se, just one business model for publishing, and it’s far easier for conventional publishers to adapt to OA than for typewriter manufacturers to adapt to computers. In fact, most toll-access publishers are already adapting, by allowing author-initiated OA, providing some OA themselves, or experimenting with OA. (See section 3.1 on green OA and chapter 8 on casualties.) . (Also see section 3.1 on green/gold and section 3.3 on gratis/libre.) OA was defined in three influential public statements: the Budapest Open Access Initiative (February 2002), the Bethesda Statement on Open Access Publishing (June 2003), and the Berlin Declaration on Open Access to Knowledge in the Sciences and Humanities (October 2003).\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the title BBB refer to?\n\n<options>:\nA The type of certification a journal needs to be an OA venue\nB The Bureau in charge of decisions about OA\nC The cities where most of the early meetings were held\nD An organization beting developed to gather public opinion about OA\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
71	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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'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! grey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martian girl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch the He said, \"I don't think you understand.\" back. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. I quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed. ever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any more than you could see through sheet metal. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said, Bucky got red around the ears. \"Just a minute,\" he murmured, and ignored him. He went on, quietly, toil and boredom....\" I said, \"Sure, sure. But what was your idea?\" He said, \"Boss, Gertrude's actin' up again.\" \"Gertrude be blowed,\" growled Bucky. \"Can't you see I'm busy?\" Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. \"I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrude fit me for a coffin. \"Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome, \"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 Venusian Brothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude.\" She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may be wouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-looking circus than even I could stand. . Well, well! The mystery surrounding the origin and species of the yelled. \"You want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away?\" !\" red dust gritted in my teeth. weeks we'd come in at the front door. \"Let's go see Gertrude.\" I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny going a dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started down Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn't breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled then wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again. A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell, ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall. It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the same time. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name I metallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gow But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feel 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 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 some place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a little bird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cage with her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky head sunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything. Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire. 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. Gow said softly, \"She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one.\" Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, \"Be reasonable, Gow! Nobody's ever seen a male cansin . 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.\" 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.\" I yelled, \"Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake!\" 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 \" I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. I sobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking, \"This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared!\" said, \"Where's Shannon? How is he?\" I hurt all over. I growled, \"With that brain, son, you should go far. I said, \"Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all!\" 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 I snarled, \"What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show!\" and While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude, screaming. 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. her jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red. \"The deep swamps are angry,\" she whispered. \"Something has been taken. They are angry, and I smell death in the wind!\" She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tight and cold. Bucky said, \"Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump.\" who crawled and whimpered in the mud. \" Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back.\" \"Where is it, Sam?\" made a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. \"Shut up,\" I ,\" said a voice in my ear. \"As if you didn't know.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Gertrude continuously screaming?\n\n<options>:\nA She was cramped in a much too small space.\nB She missed her family.\nC She was near starving.\nD She was desperate for a mate\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,049	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nalmost ordinary-looking. As for the extraterrestrials—it was a free bar—they were merely amused, since to them all men were pathetically and irredeemably hideous. in that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, though not death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plastic surgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. clothing the glass shattered at his feet. Now he was not only a rather go to jail because of him.\" The ugly man gave him a bewildered stare. Then, seeing the forces now ranged against him—including his own belated prudence—were too strong, he stumbled off. He hadn't really wanted to fight, only to smash back, and now it was too late for that. \"Is there a good zarquil game in town?\" teleview. A very ordinary face. \"Look, colleague, why don't you commit referring to an earlier and not amicable conversation they had held, and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. Fortunately the car was flying low, contrary to regulations, so that There were no public illuminators this far out—even in town the lights were dimming and not being replaced fast enough nor by the newer models. The town, the civilization, the planet all were old and beginning to slide downhill.... with deliberate insult. He might have saved her life, but only casually, as a by-product of some larger scheme, and her appreciation held little gratitude. driver to take him to the nearest zarquil game. The driver accepted the commission phlegmatically. Perhaps he was more hardened than the others had been perhaps he was unaware that the fat man was not a desperate extended and which was its sole shred of claim to moral justification. Perhaps—and this was the most likely hypothesis—he just didn't care. Zarquil was extremely illegal, of course—so much so that there were many legitimate citizens who weren't quite sure just what the word implied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors so deliciously hinted at by the fax sheets under the generic term of \"crimes against nature.\" Actually the phrase was more appropriate to zarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonly applied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well as nature—in which victim had to be considered as guilty as perpetrator otherwise the whole legal structure of society would collapse. Playing the game was fabulously expensive it had to be to make it slaves. For, on Vinau, bodies were of little account, and so to them zarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs. Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never been When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—as they had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond the law—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth court could give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose life spanned approximately two thousand terrestrial years. And capital punishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved the terrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weapons could kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expired after a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, because trade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace between Vinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entrance of apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. which the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted to conduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible. light hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That was the trouble in these smaller towns—you ran greater risks of getting involved in games where the players had not been carefully screened. The Vinoz games were usually clean, because that paid off better, but, when profits were lacking, the Vinzz were capable of sliding off into darkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely to have trouble in making ends meet, because everybody in the parish knew everybody else far too well. The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive in coming to such desolate, off-trail places—hoping that eventually The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright rays from the stranger's gun lancing out after him in flamboyant but futile patterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angular features, made no attempt to follow. Instead, he bent over to examine It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it?\" \"It does indeed,\" the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It was growing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protect them from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathable and it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. \"Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are people There was no change of expression on the man's gaunt face, and she wondered how much control he had over a body that, though second- or for a zarquil game. It would be one way of escaping Gabriel, but not, her body was much too good a one to risk so casually. something about you that doesn't change.\" \"Too bad he got married,\" the young man said. \"I could have followed him for an eternity and he would never have been able to pick me out from the crowd. Too bad he got married anyway,\" he added, his voice less impersonal, \"for your sake.\" She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, but I'll get it passed on before then. It'll be expensive—that's all. Bad landing for the guy who gets it, but then it was tough on me too, wasn't it?\" \"But how did you get into this ... pursuit?\" she asked again. \"And why are you doing it?\" People didn't have any traffic with Gabriel Lockard discoverment and identification simply as an excuse to cover the fact that none of the bodies that fell to his lot ever seemed to fit him? Was he activated solely by revenge or as much by the hope that in the standards to which they adhered rigidly, and one of those was the curious tabu against mixed games, strictly enforced even though it kept them from tapping a vast source of potential players. There had biological impossibility, no one could tell. been proved that an alien life-form had \"desecrated\" a human body, Earthmen would clamor for war ... for on this planet humanity held its self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despite being unquestionably the stronger, were pragmatic pacifists. It had been undoubtedly some rabid member of the anti-alien groups active on Terra who had started the rumor that the planetary slogan of Vinau was, \"Don't beat 'em cheat 'em.\" \"It would have to be something pretty nuclear for the other guy to take \"Why, that's three times the usual rate!\" \"The other will pay five times the usual rate.\" \"Oh, all right,\" the delicate young man gave in. It was a terrific risk he was agreeing to take, because, if the other was a criminal, he match the one he had lost, in his opinion, but there were probably many people who might find this one preferable. No identification in the pockets, but it wasn't necessary the men depicted there. And he knew that this particular man, though not an important criminal in any sense of the word, was one whom the police had been ordered to burn on sight. The abolishing of capital punishment could not abolish the necessity for self-defense, and the man in question was not one who would let himself be captured easily, nor whom the police intended to capture easily. This might be a lucky break for me after all , the new tenant thought, rude health, was not a very comfortable fit. I can do a lot with a hulk like this. And maybe I'm cleverer than the original owner maybe I'll be able to get away with it. once, and from then on, despite all his threats, she had refused to go with him again. But that once had been enough\n\n<question>:\nWhy was it unheard of to issue an effective prison sentence to the zarquil operators?\n\n<options>:\nA The operators were above the law\nB The operators were too difficult to contain in a prison\nC The operators lived significantly long lives\nD The laws were difficult to enforce and harder to uphold\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,438	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nwho knew chevrolet were so woke Sara lets the Lyft park itself in the drive, lets out a sigh, and tweets i can't believe they did that, so amazing Hang on, are they taking about the same ad? A little way away from the main group sits a small child, a girl. Maybe 8 years old. She is drawing shapes in the dust with a stick. She's drawn quite a bit it looks like, but from our angle we can't see what. Cut to: drone footage. The pilot is watching the group. As he tracks away from the main party to where the girl is sat, the camera reveals what she has drawn. Mom sighs, shoulders falling, looks at Sara directly. \"I'm sorry honey.\" She looks old, Sara thinks, watching a resigned tiredness flicker across her face in a way she'd not noticed before. Like she's exhausted by conflict, surrendered to it. \"Now, don't I get a hug?\" Sara smiles. They hold each other for a few long seconds, rubbing and squeezing each other as the Lyft silently backs itself out of the driveway. When they part it's Mom's hand that's on the bag's handle. For a few seconds Sara is alone in the hallway, the smell of cooking meat coming from one doorway, the sound of rolling news from another. She shakes her head, kicks off shoes, tucks hair behind her ears. Braces herself. Sara finds herself in the front room, sobbing. He's sat in the living room, reclining in the Lazy Boy. He doesn't hear her enter - her socked feet silent on the pile carpet floor, his attention lost in the screen that fills most of the wall. Fox News. She braces herself again. Dad pauses the TV, looks up at her. It looks like he's been crying too. \"Sara?\" \"Yeah. Fine. Y'know. Same as always.\" He smiles back at her, nods knowingly. Their first words in nearly a year. Fine. So far. She relaxes. Of course it is. How bad could it be? \"No, it is. It's my fault. I got myself into thinking we can never agree on anything, that we can never see eye to eye. That we've got nothing in common anymore.\" She lifts her head to look up at him. \"But I know that's wrong. That I shouldn't assume things about you. That there's still things that can bring us together.\" Mom and Dad watch Sara leave the room, and then look at each other. \"One of those driverless things?\" \"Yeah.\" Ad break. An elderly couple ride a tandem bicycle through a park, laughing and smiling in Instagram-perfect sunshine, as a calm, relaxing voice lists the potentially lethal side effects of a diabetes drug. Dad shakes his head. \"I don't know how you can use those things. I don't trust them.\" \"Dad, they're perfectly safe.\" There's a brief second, a fleeting moment, where Sara can bite her lip, let it go. She misses it. \"But I thought it was immigrants that are stealing people's jobs?\" \"No. I don't want to hear you two as much as disagreeing about anything today, unless it's about the game. And even then you'd better keep it civil. Otherwise you can both go hungry. Understand?\" Awkward pause. \"Fine.\" Sara turns back to the TV, to watching the war, to trying to work out which one it is. It had always been this way, ever since she was about thirteen. Up until then it just seemed like constant warmth, as though she didn't have any childhood concept of Dad apart from him getting home from work, then her sitting on his knee, eating cookies and watching football highlights until Mom came in and scolded them both for ruining their appetites before dinner. And then everything changed. Suddenly there was rap music and nose rings, sneaking out of the house to see her friends and not wanting to go to church. Suddenly he was no longer this lovable bear-man that ruffled her hair and gave her candy and explained defensive plays to her, but this huge obelisk of injustice that just wanted to crush her high school life into dust. It was constant warfare Dad is in the bathroom, and Sara has had enough of Fox and whichever war this is. She reaches over and grabs the remote from the arm of his chair, and tries to find something else to watch. The government had scrapped all the rules about how the internet worked, and for most people like her parents it had suddenly gotten a lot cheaper to get their TV through Facebook, so all she can find is Dinner is Mom's meatloaf, with gravy and mashed potatoes. Cornbread and broccoli. Every mouthful tastes like nostalgia, and Sara can feel herself being encompassed by a bubble, this barrier of warm air and long forgotten simplicity enveloping her body, protecting her from the confusion of the world outside. Sara laughs, covering her mouth as she nearly chokes on chewed food. \"What? No they don't Dad.\" \"Look it up?\" Sara shakes her head, not knowing where to even start. \"Dad, who is telling you this stuff?\" \"What about them?\" \"They show me this stuff because they've got products to sell. That's how the economy works. That's how we create jobs. Godammit Sara, are you telling me you hate Sara looks over to Mom, who looks like she's on the brink of tears. Suddenly she finds she's also lost the will to fight. Gently she closes the iPad and puts it down on the table, next to her plate. \"You should go easy on your father, you know. He's worried about a lot of things.\" \"Don't joke Sara, I'm serious. There's a lot that bothers him. The state of the world. The future. All these damn wars.\" \"He's worried about his health. I'm Sara looks up from her phone, genuine concern. \"Is he OK?\" \"Yeah, well you know your father. Doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to burden other people with his problems. Hates pity.\" She pauses, looks out the window into the yard. When she turns back to Sara her eyes are damp. \"This is why I was so excited about you coming back. Why he was so excited! I thought it'd take his mind of all this. He was so excited to see you. You know he loves watching the game with you, Sara.\" Sara slips her phone into her pocket, genuine guilt. Feels like a spoiled kid. \"I didn't realise. I'm sorry.\" \"Fuck this,\" says Sara, getting up from her seat. \"Sara!\" says Mom. \"Sara!\" Mom makes to get up. Out in the kitchen Sara sits at the table and wants to scream. She's angry, mainly with herself. She should never have fucking come here. She should have known better. There was never any fucking way anything good was going to come from this. As much as Mom wants to romanticise things, to make them sound cute and adorable, the truth is shit with Dad has never been right since she was a teenager. Too much resentment, too much bad blood, too much control and rebellion. They hadn't agreed on anything - they hadn't managed to have a simple conversation that didn't descend into fighting - in 15 goddamn years, and no amount of eating cookies and watching fucking Super Bowl ads on the TV was going to fix that. Everybody seems to be talking about the same thing. omg im crying holy shit that chevrolet ad /fire emoji\n\n<question>:\nDescribe Sara's attitude toward Fox:\n\n<options>:\nA disgusted\nB irked\nC confused\nD ambivalent\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,304	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 sand-thing was powerful, lonely and strange. No doubt it was a god—but who wasn't? Stinson lay still in the sand where he fell, gloating over the success \"I've changed my mind. You will be welcomed.\" \"Listen to that, will you?\" Stinson said angrily. \"Just listen! You of his arrival. coming here if the door was open.\" He touched the pencil-line scar behind his ear where the cylinder was set yourself up as a God for the webfoots. You get them eating out of \"No!\" Stinson shot back. \"You've owned this planet for a million years. You have brooded here alone since before my people discovered fire, and in all those ages you never learned self-control. I can't your hand. Then what do you do? You throw a fit. Yes, a fit! Like an when it pleases him.\" Stinson relaxed. He'd had his say. Sybtl trembled beside him. A small mammal, round, furry, hopped by, sniffing inquisitively. Sybtl said, \"Is the Sand God happy?\" She shook her head. \"No, he is not not like to be a God.\" \"Stinson,\" the Sand God said. \"You said I was adolescent. You are correct. Do you remember I told you how my people, the entire race, \"But you continued to develop after....\" \"No.\" Stinson tried to imagine it. At first there must have been a single voice crying into a monstrous emptiness, \"Mother, where are you? MOTHER! It stopped. It was about ten feet tall by three feet in diameter at the base. Then Stinson backed away again. It was changing. Now it became a sand blowing in the wind? A wind devil?\" unutterably total void of time—FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS! And a nine-year-old child brooding over an empty world. \"I don't understand why your development stopped,\" Stinson said. \"Nor do I. But perhaps ... well, I sense that I would continue, if you brought your people here. You have already taught me the value of Again Stinson felt the urge to run, or to use the cylinder to project himself somewhere else, but he said, \"No!\" very firmly to himself. He but it was composed only of grains of sand. There was no core, no The Sand God disappeared. Sybtl said \"Is the Sand God angry again?\" sand possibly have a nervous system? They saw him struggling. Two of the men came over and spoke to him in the musical language. \"My name is Stinson,\" he said, pointing to himself. \"I'm from the ceilinged cavern. \"SBTL!\" it said, \"ZBTL ... XBTL ... zbtl.\" The men instantly prostrated themselves before him. The one who had poked Stinson with the stick rose, and handed it to him. Still angered, Stinson grasped it firmly, with half a notion to break it over his head. As he did so, a flash of blue fire sprang from it. The man disappeared. A small cloud of dust settled slowly to the floor. Disintegrated! Stinson's face drained pale, and suddenly, unaccountably, he was ashamed because he had no clothes. \"I didn't mean to kill him!\" he cried. \"I was angry, and....\" Useless. They could not understand. For all he knew, they might think speaking, and pointed to himself. \"Me?\" \"Yes.\" \"I am Stinson, of the planet Earth.\" another by a mere thought and a tiny instrument, yet you have done so. You deserted me out in the desert.\" \"I deserted you?\" Stinson cried angrily, \"You tried to kill me!\" \"I was attempting communication. Why should I kill you?\" He was silent a moment, looking at the people in the cavern. \"Perhaps Stinson felt a mental shrug. \"It is of no importance. When they arrived on this planet I attempted to explain that I was not a God, but the primitive is not deeply buried in them. They soon resorted to emotion \"As for the webfoots,\" the wind devil, or Sand God, said, \"I will \"Destroy them?\" Stinson asked, incredulously, \"all these people? They have a right to live like any one else.\" the most basic structure of nature.\" The Sand God did not reply. The great bodiless, directionless voice was silent, and Stinson felt as if he had been taken from some high place When he looked back, the Sand God was gone. with hatred in their voices. He could not understand the words now. But he understood her. \"They'll kill me!\" she cried. Stinson pointed the disintegrating weapon at them and yelled. They dropped back. \"We'll have to get outside,\" he told her. \"This mob will soon get out of hand. Then the tube won't stop them. They will rush in. that we're in trouble together, we may as well introduce ourselves. My name is Stinson.\" \"I am Sybtl,\" she said. \"Syb-tl.\" He tried to imitate her musical pronunciation. \"A very nice Stinson's bare feet were numb from walking on ice. Christ, he thought, what am I doing here, anyway? He glanced down at Sybtl and remembered the Sand God. It was blood red now. It pulsed violently. The great \"What form of primitive stupidity are you practicing now? Leave, or they will kill you.\" Stinson shook his head. The Sand God pulsed more violently than before. Ice melted in a wide primitive logic long before it reached your level of development.\" \"Yes,\" Stinson said, \"and your race no longer exists.\" The Sand God became a sphere of blue flame. A wave of intense heat Sybtl shivered against his arm. \"The Sand God is angry,\" she said. \"My Kaatr got the tube-weapon. It was the only thing the Sand God didn't burn, that and the skirts. Then, when he had burned the ship, the Sand God went to the sixth planet and burned two of the largest cities, as a warning that no more of us must come here.\" Well, Stinson said to himself, that does it. We are better off on Earth. We can't fight a monster like him. Sybtl touched his arm. \"Why did the Sand God come? He did not speak.\" \"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. attack. \"They will not find us....\" A high-pitched keening burst suddenly around them. Stinson knew they \"The Sand God,\" Sybtl said. \"Sometimes he plays among the clouds. He angry?\" \"The Sand God isn't doing this,\" Stinson said. \"It's only a storm.\" She covered his lips with her fingers. \"Don't say that. He may hear you and be more angry.\" understand. The Sand God is terrible, even when he plays. See the Stinson had never been in a sand storm before, even on Earth. He could not breathe. He could not see. Bullets of sand stung his skin. Bullets of sand shot into his eyes. Clouds of sand howled around him. He fell, and the wind rolled him over and over in the sand like a tumbleweed. put the lightning to shame. It bore down on the cave swiftly, purposefully. Stinson prepared himself to leave. In spite of his desire to protect Sybtl, it was useless to get himself killed when he was powerless to help her. But at the last moment it veered off. \"Fiend!\" Stinson screamed the word, vaguely marvelling at his own fury. \"The Sand God is tired,\" Sybtl said. \"He is not angry now. I'm glad. \"Earthman,\" the Sand God said, as if he were about to make a statement. Stinson ignored him. He glanced down at Sybtl, who sensed that this was 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\n\n<question>:\nWhy is the Sand God causing a terrible storm?\n\n<options>:\nA He knows he can't control Stinson.\nB He is angry because Stinson figured out he is a child.\nC He is angry Stinson took Sybtl away from the webfoots.\nD He is angry because he doesn't understand Stinson.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,239	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nExtensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Not to be or not to not be ... that was the India, China, England, everywhere. My kid, he reads. He says it's no joke. He wants to call the cops or 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 with fear and trepidation. As soon as my stasis was achieved, I tried to contact you, but got Each time I will pick a city other than the one I am in at the time. of the fearsome not-folk and I will be their liberator. You failed in your task, but I will try to get you off with light punishment when we return again. I must leave off now because the not-child is about to be born. When it is alone in the room, it will be spirited away and I will spring from the pod on the gateway into its crib and will be its exact vibrational likeness. 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. Farewell till later. Glmpauszn As they arrived hourly, they found me heavier and heavier. Naturally, since I am growing. This is part of my instructions. My not-mother (Gezsltrysk!) then burst into tears. The doctors conferred, threw up their hands and left. I learned the following day that the opposite component of my not-mother, my not-father, had been away riding on some conveyance during my birth. He was out on ... what did they call it? Oh, yes, a speech. 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. are now part of my extended matrix. The sound I emitted sounded low-pitched, guttural and penetrating even to myself. It must have jarred on my not-father's ears, for he turned and ran shouting from the room. They apprehended him on the stairs and I heard him babble something about my being a monster and no child of his. My not-mother appeared at the doorway and instead of being pleased at the progress of my growth, she fell down heavily. She made a distinct on the floor. This brought the rest of them on the run, so I climbed out the window and retreated across a nearby field. A prolonged search was launched, but I eluded them. What unpredictable beings! I reported my tremendous progress back to our world, including the 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 Glmpauszn As I said before, floods of impressions are driving into my xzbyl ... The woman gesticulated and continued to scream. People hurried from nearby houses. I linked my hands behind me and watched the scene with an attitude of mild interest. They weren't interested in me, I told \"But—\" \"No more buck-bathing, Lizzy,\" the officer ordered. \"No more speeches in the Square. Not when it results in riots at five in the morning. Now where is your naked friend? I'm going to make an example of him.\" That was it—I had forgotten clothes. There is only one answer to this oversight on my part. My mind is confused by the barrage of impressions that assault it. I must retire now and get them all classified. Beauty, pain, fear, hate, love, laughter. I don't know one from the other. I must feel each, become accustomed to it. Glmpauszn are powerless even to provide yourself with the wherewithal to live in 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 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 cause—in this, the penultimate adventure, and for the glory and peace Glmpauszn Glmpauszn of symptoms popularly referred to as a hangover ... Ahhh! Pardon me again. Strangely ... now what was I saying? Oh, yes. Ha, ha. Strangely enough, the reactions that come easiest to the people in this world Glmpauszn the inevitable. Anyway, what the old xbyzrt doesn't know won't muss his impulses in a certain manner. As a result, the fate of secretion in the adrenals on the ends of the kidneys increases and an enlivening of the and tries to induce her to do something biological. She then refuses. This pleases both of them, for he wanted her to refuse. She, in turn, wanted him to want her, but also wanted to prevent him so that he would is activate it and all the not-people will die of chain asphyxiation. Boy, what an easy job this turned out to be. It's just a vacation. Joe, Glmpauszn July 25 Dear Joe: All is lost unless we work swiftly. I received your revealing letter the morning after having a terrible experience of my own. I drank a pattern of pain, anger, fear and amazement in his matrix. Me and the redhead. Then comes your letter today telling of the fate that befell you as a result of drinking alcohol. Our wrenchingly attuned faculties in these not-world bodies need the loathsome drug to escape from the reality of not-reality. It's true. I cannot do without it now. The day is only 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 September 10 Dear Joe: This telepathic control becomes more difficult every time. I must pick I had got my mechanism as close to perfect as possible when I realized that, in my befuddled condition, I had set off a reaction that inevitably would result in an explosion. I had to leave there immediately, but I could not create suspicion. The management was not aware of the nature of my activities. I moved swiftly. I could not afford time to bring my baggage. I \"But why, sir?\" he asked plaintively. I was baffled. What could I tell him? \"Don't you like the rooms?\" he persisted. \"Isn't the service good?\" \"It's the rooms,\" I told him. \"They're—they're—\" \"They're what?\" he wanted to know. \"They're not safe.\" \"Not safe? But that is ridiculous. This hotel is....\" At this point the blast came. My nerves were a wreck from the alcohol. \"See?\" I screamed. \"Not safe. I knew they were going to blow up!\" He stood paralyzed as I ran from the lobby. Oh, well, never say die. Another day, another hotel. I swear I'm even beginning to think like the not-men, curse them. Glmpauszn Rochester, New York September 25 Dear Joe: I have it! It is done! In spite of the alcohol, in spite of Blgftury's 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. with me all that I can. Meanwhile I must return to my original place of world will be no more. But we can't say we didn't have some fun, can Glmpauszn\n\n<question>:\nHow does Glmpauszn feel about leaving the world?\n\n<options>:\nA excited to leave\nB sad he can't stay\nC bittersweet\nD angry that they must go\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,965	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThis etext was produced from Amazing Stories march, with a good fraction of STORIES . feet. Rain was still falling from the dark heavens in a steady, which bore the words: a distinguished group of discoveries by stealing the cover of the COSMIC EXPRESS to imitate in style, mood and subject the magic of that late lamented master of fantasy. The imitation found great favor AMAZING STORIES . He followed his initial success with two short novels , The in AMAZING STORIES and The Alien Intelligence in SCIENCE WONDER STORIES , dear?\" these stories were close copies of A. Merritt, whose style and method Jack Williamson parlayed into When grim realism was the order of the day, he produced Crucible of Power and when they wanted extrapolated theory in present tense, he assumed the stylistically forecast a later trend to accept the background for writing, the surmise that this media would be a natural for angrily, face highly colored, clothing shimmering with artificial gems, waddled pompously \"My days were filled,\" he remembers, \"with monotonous rounds of what seemed an endless, drought and frost and dust-storms, poison-weeds and hail, for the sake of survival on the bright jackets, red and blue and AMAZING STORIES he sought and his goal was to be a science fiction writer. He was the escape green, that brought a thrill of of AMAZING STORIES pleasure to the young novelist's Since then, he has written millions of words of science fiction and has gone on record as follows: \"I feel that science-fiction is the folklore of the new world of science, and the expression of man's reaction to a technological environment. heart when he looked up from his By which I mean that it is the most interesting and stimulating form of literature today.\" set you down. But I can't be responsible for what happens afterward.\" \"Simple, primitive life is what we're looking for. And now what genuine! Walk in and lie down on the crystal block. Hands at your sides. Don't move.\" open again, and Eric led Nada cell, completely surrounded with mirrors and vast prisms and lenses and electron tubes. In the center was a slab of transparent stood before the great open window, staring out. Below him was a wide, park-like space, green with emerald lawns, and bright with flowering plants. Two hundred yards across it rose an immense pyramidal building—an artistic structure, gleaming with white marble and bright metal, striped with the verdure focused just at the surface of the crystal, from below,\" he said. \"It help support the gray, steel-ribbed glass roof above. Beyond, the park stretched away in illimitable vistas, broken with the graceful columned buildings that held up the great glass roof. of terraced roof-gardens, \"Gee! What is it? Elopement? inhaling deeply the fragrant air from the plants below—air kept, winter and summer, exactly at Nada and Eric felt themselves blankness. The next thing they knew, the garments stained with black mud. All about rose a thick jungle, dark and gloomy—and very wet. Palm-like, the gigantic trees were, or fern-like, flinging clouds of feathery green foliage high against a somber sky of unbroken gloom. He wrote \"thrilling action romances,\" as his enthusiastic publishers and television directors civilization! We're back to Nature!\" . They stood up, triumphant. \"At last!\" Nada cried. \"We're Eric. You're just like one of the a bloody rock in one hand and a beautiful girl in the other. Or a cowboy, \"hard-riding, hard-shooting,\" the vanishing hero of the ancient ranches. Or a man marooned with a lovely woman on a desert South Sea island. His heroes were invariably strong, fearless, resourceful fellows, the terrors of a desolate wilderness. And a hundred million read Eric's novels, and watched the dramatization of them on the television screens. They thrilled at the simple, romantic lives his heroes led, paid him handsome royalties, and subconsciously shared his opinion that civilization had taken all the best from the life of man. Eric had settled down to the artistic satisfaction of describing the sensuous delight of his nature had left them even a single fragment of quartz, to say nothing of a mass of pure vivacious, and—as her husband of a few months most justly thought—altogether beautiful in copper. resolved to forget that his next \"red-blooded action thriller\" was an author. She wrote poems—\"back to nature stuff\"—simple lyrics of the sea, of sunsets, of bird songs, of bright flowers and warm winds, of thrilling communion with Nature, and growing things. Men read her poems and called her a genius. Even the new planet adhering to their though the whole world had were extinct, there were no wild flowers, and no one had time to \"Matches! Of course not! We're going back to Nature.\" bother about sunsets. grown up into a city, the birds warm downpour. Dry wood seemed scarce as the proverbial ruined the world. If we could only have lived a thousand years ago, when life was simple and natural, when men hunted and killed their meat, instead of drinking synthetic stuff, when men still had the joys of conflict, instead of living under glass, like hot-house flowers.\" \"If we could only go somewhere—\" write about the West, Africa, South Sea Islands. But they were all filled up two hundred by a vast fallen tree-trunk. cities, factories.\" \"If only we lived on Venus! I was listening to a lecture on \"This will keep out the rain—maybe—\" that it has not cooled so much. It has a thick, cloudy atmosphere, and low, rainy forests. There's simple, elemental life there—like \"We're back to nature—where Earth had before civilization ruined it.\" Earth and it must be much like seemingly not inconvenienced in the least by the inclement elements, there! It would be so thrilling to begin life like the characters in your stories, to get away from this hateful civilization, and live natural lives. Maybe a rocket—\" The young author's eyes were Nada clung against Eric. world seems to be in about the same state as the Earth when they flourished there.... But By Ludwig Von der Valls, the German physicist.\" \"I've quit bothering about science. It has ruined nature, filled the world with silly, artificial people, doing silly, artificial things.\" \"But this is quite remarkable, both are simply etheric vibration, of different sorts.\" change. The disintegration of the oceans. Thunderous crashes, as if they were demolishing forests. Eric and Nada clung to each against which they had erected the flimsy shelter was rolled from the invisible monsters. The pitiful roof collapsed on the bedraggled humans. Nada burst into tears. \"Oh, if only—if only—\" \"The beam is focused, just like the light that passes through a camera lens. The photographic object and sets it down on the other side of the world. \"An analogy from television might help. You know that by means of the scanning disc, the picture is transformed into mere rapid fluctuations in the brightness of a beam of light. In a Eric helped Nada to a place dissolving layers of the thickness of a single atom, which are accurately reproduced at the other focus of the instrument—which might be in Venus! as in television. The object is built up of an infinite series of plane layers, at the focus of the ray, no matter where that may be. Such a thing would be impossible dissolves our substance, to be contemplation of each other's delivered his promised story to his publishers, a thrilling tale of At the end of the month he a man marooned on Venus, with life on a new world, and get away from all this hateful conventional\n\n<question>:\nWhat is ironic about Eric and Nada's desire to return to nature?\n\n<options>:\nA They can only do so using the most advanced modern technology\nB Once they experience the return to nature, they don't know how to survive\nC Their current residence is similar to what it would be like on Venus\nD Their vision of nature is unrealistic and based solely on images from fictional novels\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,017	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 menshar Eckert, you have but to ask.\" It would probably be a mistake to ask for a list of Pendleton's friends, but there was a way around that. \"I would like to meet any of your people who had dealings with Pendleton, either in business or socially. I will do everything not to inconvenience them in any way.\" because, at one time or another, they had had to. It was Eckert who had come into his office several days ago and told him that Don Pendleton had killed himself. Only Pendleton wasn't the type. He was the kind who have everything to live for, the kind you instinctively know will amount to something someday. And that was a lousy way to remember him. The clichés always of hail amid the brassy, golden sunlight. And then Eckert had told him that Pendleton had taken the short way out. He shouldn't get sentimental. But how the hell else should he remember Pendleton? Try to forget it and drink a toast to him at the next class reunion? And never, never be so crude as to speculate why Pendleton should have done it? If, of course, he had.... Eckert and he had talked it out and gone over the records. Pendleton the room was filled with the gas now. It would be only a matter of minutes before he would be asleep. Pendleton had been in his second year as attache on Tunpesh, a small planet with a G-type sun. The Service had stumbled across it recently and decided the system was worth diplomatic recognition of some kind, so Pendleton had been sent there. He had been the first attache to be sent and naturally he had gone alone. There was no need to send more. Tunpesh had been inspected and certified and approved. The natives were primitive and friendly. Or maybe the Service had slipped up, as it sometimes did, and Tunpesh had received something less than a thorough survey. And then an unscheduled freighter had put in for repairs, one of the very few ships that ever came by Tunpesh. The captain had tried to pay his respects to Pendleton. Only Pendleton wasn't there. The natives said he had killed himself and showed the captain the little flower-covered plot where they had buried him. Tunpesh had been Pendleton's second assignment. The natives were oh-so-friendly. So friendly that he had made sure that a certain box was on board, filled with shiny atomic rifles, keep open much longer. Eckert and he had been chosen to go to Tunpesh and investigate. The two of them, working together, should be able to find out why Pendleton had killed himself. Pendleton had been killed and who had killed him. That was it. \"How come our anthropologist on Tunpesh didn't come across with more information?\" A drowsy mumble from the other cot: \"He wasn't there long enough. He Warm breezes rustled through Eckert's graying hair and tugged gently Eckert nodded agreement. \"It wouldn't fit, would it? It would be like a Eckert stared at them for a moment, wondering what it was that seemed his tunic. He couldn't be blamed for being jumpy, Eckert realized. This was his first time out, his first mission like this. And, of course, Pendleton had been a pretty good friend of his. \"I'd be very careful what I did,\" Eckert said softly. \"I would hate to Eckert shrugged. \"That's one of the things you do out of habit, try \"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 potentially dangerous. that's what Pendleton thought, right to the very end.\" He was keyed up, jumpy, Eckert realized. He would probably be seeing things in every shadow and imagining danger to be lurking around every \"It hasn't been established yet that Pendleton was killed, Ray. Let's even realize. He wondered what Templin would do if he ever found out that the actual reason he had been chosen to go was that his own psychological chart was very close to Pendleton's. Pendleton's own power pack, Eckert saw grimly, probably leading to the buttons on his seemed likely to turn into a vendettist. It meant that Eckert would among the Tunpeshans, and he'd have to watch Templin to see that he didn't go off half-cocked and spoil everything. \"You're convinced that Pendleton was murdered, aren't you?\" Templin nodded. \"Sure.\" \"Why?\" \"The Tunpeshans know why we're here. We've dropped enough hints along those lines. But nobody has mentioned Pendleton nobody has volunteered any information about him. And he was an attache here for three years. Didn't anybody know him during that time? We've let slip a few discreet statements that we would like to talk to Pendleton's friends, yet nobody's come around. Apparently, in all the three years he was here, Pendleton didn't make any friends. And that's a little hard to believe. It's more likely that his friends have been silenced and any information about him is being withheld for a reason.\" \"They grow their women nice, don't they?\" \"Does it? I hadn't noticed.\" Eckert turned away from the blinds. His voice was crisp. \"I knew Don Pendleton quite well, too,\" he said. \"But it isn't blinding me to what I'm here for. We came to find out what happened to him, not to substantiate any preconceived notions. What future. I would hate to see our efforts spoiled because you've already made up your mind.\" \"You knew Pendleton,\" Templin repeated grimly. \"Do you think it was suicide?\" \"I don't think there's such a thing as a suicide type, when you come left. He was a tall, muscular man with sharp eyes, a firm chin and a certain aura of authority. \"I was wondering if my countryman Pendleton had offended your people in any way, Nayova.\" Now was as good a time as any to pump him for what he knew about Pendleton's death. \"So far as I know, menshar Pendleton offended no one. I do not know what duties he had to perform here, but he was a generous and courteous man.\" Eckert gnawed the dainty meat off a slender bone and tried to appear casual in his questioning. \"I am sure he was, Nayova. I am sure, too, that you were as kind to him Nayova seemed pleased. \"We tried to do as well for menshar Pendleton Eckert had a sudden clammy feeling which quickly passed away. What Nayova had said was something he'd make sure Templin never heard about. He wiped his mouth on a broad, flat leaf that had been provided and Pendleton had killed himself. We knew him quite well and we could not bring ourselves to Nayova's gaze slid away from him. \"Perhaps it was the will of the Great One,\" he said vaguely. He didn't seem anxious to talk about it. A native fife trilled shrilly and a group of young men and women walked into the room. The circle broke to let them through and they came and 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 dance. Pendleton did. It is ...\" and he used a native word that Eckert translated as being roughly equivalent to \" obscene .\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat was said by Nayova to make Eckert feel uneasy about Pendleton?\n\n<options>:\nA Eckert and Templin were staying in the same house that Pendleton had stayed in when he died\nB Nayova didn't like that Eckert and Templin arrived without notice.\nC Pendleton was rather rude to people and they didn't like his attitude about his accommodations.\nD Nayova didn't like that Pendleton had arrived without notice.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,080	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nfirst! Mickey Cameron, sitting next to me, dug an elbow into my ribs. \"I don't see 'em, Ben,\" he whispered. \"Where do you suppose they are?\" I blinked. \"Who?\" \"My folks.\" That was something I didn't have to worry about. My parents had died in a strato-jet crash when I was four, so I hadn't needed many of those \"You are cordially invited\" cards. Just one, which I'd sent to Charlie Taggart. 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. My gaze wandered over the faces, but I couldn't find Charlie's. It wasn't surprising. The It doesn't matter , I told myself. 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 But he wasn't the Charlie I'd seen a year ago. He'd become gaunt and \"I'm happy to meet you, Ben,\" you said. \"I've heard of no one else for the past year.\" 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 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?\" I shook my head. \"Charlie has only twenty-four hours liberty. We're planning to see the town tonight.\" \"Why don't you both come with us?\" you asked. \"Our folks have their own plane, so it would be no problem. And we've got a big guest room. Charlie, wouldn't you like a home-cooked meal before going back to the Charlie's answer was obscured by a sudden burst of coughing. I knew that he'd infinitely prefer to spend his liberty sampling Martian fizzes and Plutonian zombies. But this night seemed too sacred for Charlie's kind of celebration. a tall, willowy man, spectacled, looking the way an academy professor should look. \"Ben,\" he called, \"don't forget that offer. Remember you've got two months to decide.\" \"No, thanks,\" I answered. \"Better not count on me.\" A moment later Mickey said, frowning, \"What was he talking about, Ben? Mickey looked down at his feet. \"I didn't want to tell you yet, Ben. 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 knees with the blast of a jet. \"It doesn't change anything, Ben—right now, I mean. We can still have a good weekend.\" Charlie was muttering under his breath, smoldering like a bomb about to Stardust Charlie was as comfortable as a Martian sand-monkey in a shower, but he tried courageously to be himself. At the dinner table he stared glassily at nothing and grated, \"Only hit We gazed for a few seconds up into the dark sky, and then you said: \"Charlie is funny, isn't he? He's nice and I'm glad he's here, but he's sort of funny.\" spaceman then.\" \"But he wasn't always a spaceman. Didn't he ever have a family?\" I smiled and shook my head. \"If he had, he never mentioned it. Charlie doesn't like to be sentimental, at least not on the outside. As far as I know, his life began when he took off for the Moon with Everson.\" Charlie—a kind of human meteor streaking through space, eternally alone, never finding a home. Or there's the other path. To stay on this little prison of an Earth \"I'm sorry,\" you said. \"I didn't mean to make you sad, Ben.\" \"It's all right,\" I said, clenching my fists. \"You made sense—a lot of sense.\" The next morning Charlie said good-bye in our room. He rubbed his scarred face nervously as he cleared his throat with a series of thin, tight coughs. I scowled, not understanding. \"Why, Charlie? What for?\" Some of these days, I won't be so lucky.\" I tried to laugh. \"You're good for another twenty-five years, Charlie.\" I shook the thought away. If Charlie was sick, he wouldn't talk about 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. Charlie's hard face contorted itself into a gargoylish grin. \"Maybe a 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.\" \"Well, how about staying with us till you decide? Might as well enjoy Then you murmured, \"I—I want to marry you, Ben, but are you asking me \"Can't a spaceman marry, too?\" \"Yes, a spaceman can marry, but what would it be like? Don't you see, Ben? You'd be like Charlie. Gone for maybe two months, \"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 on the Cyclops You can't stay here. You've got to make a choice. open—and the big ship, it was rumored, was equipped to make it all the way to Pluto. You can take Dean Dawson's job and stay with Laura and have kids and a home and live to see what happens in this world sixty years from now. Charles Taggart was Charlie. Stardust Charlie. My heart thudded crazily against my chest. It couldn't be! Not Charlie! The audiogram had lied! Charles ...\" voice droned on. You ran to it, shut it off. \"I'm sorry, Ben, so terribly—\" Without answering, I walked into my room. I knew it was true now. I remembered Charlie's coughing, his gaunt features, his drugged gaze. Charlie's faded tin box. Then, finally, I fingered his meager possessions—a few wrinkled photos, some letters, a small black statue of a forgotten Martian god, a gold service medal from the Moon Patrol. This was what remained of Charlie after twenty-five years in space. Charlie sensed my indecision, that he left these things so that they could tell me what he could not express in words. Charlie was young once, his eyes full of dreams, and he faced the same Do you know why he had to drug himself to watch me graduate? So he could look at me, knowing that I would see the worlds he could never live to see. Charlie didn't leave just a few trinkets behind him. He Universe, where the ship was his house, the crew his father, mother, brothers, the planets his children. You say that the beauty of the other side of the mountain vanishes ? We said, too, that the life of a spaceman is lonely. Yet how could one be lonely when men like Charlie roam the spaceways? Charlie wanted me to himself that night after graduation. He wanted us to celebrate as spacemen should, for he knew that this would be his\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Ben's relationship with Charlie?\n\n<options>:\nA Chalie is Ben's uncle.\nB Charlie is Ben's favorite teacher at the Academy.\nC Charlie is Ben's grandfather.\nD Charlie is the only family Ben has.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
315	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nGalaxy Magazine August 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that It has happened a hundred times in the long history of Earth—and, sooner or later, will happen again! Everyone—all the geologists, at any rate—had known about the Kiowa Fault for years. That was before there was anything very interesting to know about it. The first survey of Colorado traced its course north 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 geologists speculated on the relationship between the Kiowa Fault and Nor was there much in the papers a few years later when it was By the mid sixties it was definitely established that the three Faults were in fact a single line of fissure in the essential rock, stretching impossible that it could ever be used except for sheep-farming. concern about the level of the water table throughout the entire area. Service was keeping an anxious eye out for the fires it knew it could expect. Dense smoke was reported rising above a virtually uninhabited The report was—no fire at all. The rising cloud was not smoke, but air. Rock slides, they guessed certainly no fire. The Forestry Service going dry, too, apparently from underground disturbances. Not even in Newspapers in the mountain states gave it a few inches on the front page anything is news in late August. And the geologists became interested. Seismologists were reporting unusual activity in the area, tremors too severe to be rock slides. Volcanic activity? Specifically, a dust volcano? Unusual, they knew, but right on the Kiowa Fault—could Labor Day crowds read the scientific conjectures with late summer lassitude. Sunday supplements ran four-color artists' conceptions of the possible volcano. \"Only Active Volcano in U. S.?\" demanded the headlines, and some papers even left off the question mark. It may seem odd that the simplest explanation was practically not mentioned. Only Joseph Schwartzberg, head geographer of the Department of the Interior, wondered if the disturbance might not be a settling of the Kiowa Fault. His suggestion was mentioned on page nine or ten was not nearly so exciting as a volcano, even a lava-less one, and you couldn't draw a very dramatic picture of it. To excuse the other geologists, it must be said that the Kiowa Fault some place in between. The dust volcano was on the face of it a more plausible theory. Still, it was only a theory. It had to be proved. As the tremors grew plane-loads of geologists set out for Colorado, without even waiting for their university and government department to approve budgets. They found, of course, that Schwartzberg had been perfectly correct. They found themselves on the scene of what was fast becoming the most violent and widespread earthquake North America—probably the terms, land east of the Fault was settling, and at a precipitous rate. of the land east and west of the Fault seemed no longer to have any East, where sharp reports and muffled wheezes told of continued buckling and dropping, the earth trembled downward. Atop the new cliffs, which seemed to grow by sudden inches from heaving rubble, dry earth fissured and trembled, sliding acres at a time to fall, smoking, rolled about like pebbles as they shivered and cracked into pebbles themselves. \"It looks like sand dancing in a child's sieve,\" said the normally impassive Schwartzberg in a nationwide broadcast from the scene of disaster. \"No one here has ever seen anything like it.\" And the landslip was growing, north and south along the Fault. \"Get out while you can,\" Schwartzberg urged the population of the affected area. \"When it's over you can come back and pick up the pieces.\" But the band of scientists who had rallied to his leadership privately wondered if there would be any pieces. backing north into the deepening trough. At the rate things were going, Land west of the Fault was holding firm, though Denver had recorded miles away, the now-familiar lurch and steady fall had already sent several thousand Coloradans scurrying for safety. All mountain climbing was prohibited on the Eastern Slope because of the danger of rock slides from minor quakes. The geologists went home to wait. There wasn't much to wait for. The news got worse and worse. The Platte to add to the heaving chaos below. And the cliffs were higher every day As the Fault moved north and south, new areas quivered into unwelcome Virtually all east-west land communication was suspended and the President declared a national emergency. subsidence of the land was noticeable well into Kansas and Nebraska. On the actual scene of the disaster (or the surface in hot geysers and explosions of steam. churning land. Abandoning its bed, the river spread uncertainly across cliffs which rose in rending line, ever taller as the land continued to floods, in the usual sense. The water moved too slowly, spread itself Perhaps the North Platte disaster had been more than anyone could take. to be officially admitted that there was an exodus of epic proportion. demand for gas, but once inside the \"zone of terror,\" as the newspapers State troops were called out, but moving two million people was not to On 21 October, at Lubbock, Texas, there was a noise variously described as a hollow roar, a shriek and a deep musical vibration like a church bell. It was simply the tortured rock of the substrata giving way. The The noise traveled due east at better than 85 miles per hour. In its wake the earth to the north \"just seemed to collapse on itself like day. \"Not tremors, exactly,\" said the captain of a fishing boat which was somehow to ride out the coming flood, \"but like as if the land wanted to be somewhere else.\" \"We must keep panic from our minds,\" said the Governor of Alabama in a radio message delivered from a hastily arranged all-station hookup. \"We Then, as ominous creakings and groanings of the earth announced the by minute the advancing flood bit away miles of river bed, swelling north. Chicot, Jennie, Lake Village, Arkansas City, Snow Lake, Elaine, Helena and Memphis felt the tremors. The tormented city shuddered through the night. The earth continued its descent, eventually tipping 2-1/2 degrees down to the west. The \"Memphis Tilt\" is today one of forming, overtopping the wave's leading edge as towns, hills and the thirst of the soil temporarily broke the furious charge. Despite hopeful announcements that the wave was slowing, had virtually land was still sinking, and the floods were constantly replenished from the Gulf. Schwartzberg and his geologists advised the utmost haste in the water broke furiously on the newly exposed rock. It was the most because of the spray.\" 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 Mrs. Creeth when she afterwards appeared on a popular television ever have been called on to face, she added, \"We sure wondered why typical. The world could only watch aghast as the water raced north under the shadow of the cliffs which occasionally crumbled, roaring, just ahead of the advancing waters. Some found safety in the peaks of almost the entirety Who today could imagine the United States without the majestic water's edge? Or incredible Colorado, where the morning skier is the The political situation has long been a thorny problem. Only tattered none of them wanted to surrender its autonomy. The tiny fringe of population decided to retain political integrity. This has resulted considered to have a continuing political existence. So, though there But this is by now no more than a petty annoyance, to raise a smile axis of world communication, a population explosion was touched off of be ranked with the first surge of pioneers which created the American\n\n<question>:\nWhat reason did the newspaper have to focus on the possible active volcano theory and not the opinion of the geographer?\n\n<options>:\nA There wasn't enough evidence to disprove the active volcano theory.\nB There wasn't enough evidence to write about the fault line theory.\nC Simply that the idea of an active volcano was much more interesting to the public.\nD Joseph Schwartzberg was the only geologist saying otherwise.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,555	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 Time To Keelhaul U-Haul! Like 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. But then the Shopping Avenger sat down, and the feeling passed. 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.) 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 has still not received a call from U-Haul spokeswoman Johna Burke explaining why U-Haul refuses to provide trucks to people who reserve trucks, but the Shopping Avenger is pleased to note that several correspondents have written in over the past month saying that, based on what they have read in this column, they will be taking their business to Ryder or Budget or elsewhere. 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?\" The winner is one Tom Morgan, who wrote, \"You can hire someone to kill pests.\" Tom is the winner of a year's supply of Turtle Wax, and he will receive his prize just as soon as the Shopping Avenger figures out how much Turtle Wax actually constitutes a year's supply. The new contest question: How much Turtle Wax comprises a year's supply of Turtle Wax? 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.\" 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. 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.)\" Things do look bad for Southwest, don't they? The Shopping Avenger sent M.'s response to Rutherford, who e-mailed back saying she thought the Shopping Avenger was asking for \"policy information.\" The Shopping Avenger e-mailed back again, stressing to Rutherford that the Great Court of Consumer Justice would, if this case were brought to trial, undoubtedly find for the plaintiff (the Shopping Avenger serves as prosecutor, judge, and jury in the Great Court of Consumer Justice--defendants are represented by the president of U-Haul), and that Southwest was precipitously close to feeling the sword of retribution at its neck. Stay tuned, shoppers, to hear whether Southwest makes good it promise to compensate M. and apologize to her for her troubles. 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. Take the case of K., who found himself waiting in vain for Circuit City to repair his television. Televisions break, even 1-year-old televisions, as is the case with K's. But Circuit City, where he bought the television, gave him a terrible runaround. The Shopping Avenger dispatched his sidekick, Tad the Deputy Avenger, to get to the bottom of K.'s story. This is what he found: K. grew concerned, Tad the Deputy Avenger reports, after his television had been in the Circuit City shop for a week. When he called, he was told to \"check back next week.\" When he asked if someone from the store could call him with more information, he was refused. Weeks went by. When K. told one Circuit City employee that he really would like to get his television back, the employee, K. says, asked him, \"Don't you have another television in your house?\" Mistakes happen, but not, Tad the Deputy Avenger found out, at Circuit City. The case, K. was told by a Circuit City official, was \"handled perfectly.\" Another official, Morgan Stewart in public relations, assured Deputy Avenger Tad that \"We got to be a big and successful company by treating customers better than the other guy.\" The Shopping Avenger and his loyal sidekick would like to hear from other Circuit City customers: Does Circuit City, in fact, treat its customers better than the other guy? 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. Got a consumer score you want settled? Send e-mail to shoppingavenger@slate.com.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the Shopping Avenger susceptible not to withstand?\n\n<options>:\nA Life-threatening weather.\nB Radiation.\nC Bear attacks.\nD Critical self-reflection.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,245	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>:\nintercom began feeding out a long sheet of paper the new answer from the Brain. It reached a certain length, then was automatically sheared off within the intercom, and the sheet fell gently to the desktop. in the ad agency where he worked. So when the Chief of World Security told him that he had been selected as the answer to the Solar System's greatest mystery, Jery assumed that it was because of his mental agility. But when he got to Mars to find out why fifteen boys had vanished from a spaceship in mid-space, he found out that even his quick mind needed Oddly enough, it worked out, and he now does nothing else. He says, \"I'd like to say I do this for fulfillment, or for cash, or because it's my destiny however, the real reason (same as that expressed by Jean Kerr) is that this kind of stay-at-home self-employment lets me the time they spoke to me, but in that miniscule interval I managed to retrace quite a bit of my lifetime up till that moment, seeking vainly for some reason why they'd be standing there, so terribly and So I managed a weak smile toward the duo, and tried not to sweat too profusely. \"... Yes,\" I said, some terrified portion of my mind waiting masochistically for them to draw their collapsers and reduce me to a heap of hot protons. \"Come with us,\" said his companion. I stared at him, then glanced to nod. He shook his white-maned head, slowly. \"I don't believe it.\" \"But I am, sir,\" I insisted doggedly. \"I'd rather not discuss that, sir, if you don't mind.\" \"Do you mind if I do mind?\" \"Oh ... Oh, well if you put it like that. It's girls, sir. They block my mind. Ruin my work.\" \"I don't get you.\" I sat back, feeling much better. \"That's right, sir.\" Then Baxter frowned again. \"But what's this about girls?\" \"They—they block my thinking, sir, that's all. Why, take that example is.... You have been chosen for an extremely important mission.\" I couldn't have been more surprised had he announced my incipient maternity, but I was able to ask, \"Me? For Pete's sake, why, sir?\" be. Otherwise, why was I sent for?\" \"Believe me, I wish I knew,\" he sighed. \"You were chosen, from all the inhabitants of this planet, and all the inhabitants of the Earth Colonies, by the Brain.\" \"You mean that International Cybernetics picked me for a mission? That's crazy, if you'll pardon me, sir.\" Baxter shrugged, and his genial smile was a bit tightly stretched. \"When the current emergency arose and all our usual methods failed, we had to submit the problem to the Brain.\" \"And,\" I said, beginning to be fascinated by his bewildered manner, \"what came out?\" \"Yes, but read me the part where it says why I was picked,\" I said, a little exasperated. to make. IC had none to make. Damn it all to hell!\" He brought a meaty fist down on the desktop. \"No one has an explanation! All we know is that the Brain always picks the right man.\" I let this sink in, then asked, \"What made you ask for a man in the first place, sir? I've always understood that your own staff represented some of the finest minds—\" \"Hold it, son. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. We asked for no man. ceiling, then continued. \"You've heard, of course, of the Space Scouts?\" I nodded. \"Like the old-time Boy Scouts, only with rocket-names for their various troops in place of the old animal names.\" \"And you recall the recent government-sponsored trip they had? To Mars all. \"Inter-nation harmony! Good will! If these mere boys can get together and travel the voids of space, then so can everyone else! Why Where was I?\" \"You were telling about how this gesture, the WG sending these kids off for an extraterrestrial romp, will cement relations between those nations who have remained hostile despite the unification of all governments on Earth. Personally, I think it was a pretty good idea, myself. Everybody likes kids. Take this jam we were trying to push. what happened to the Space Scouts last week?\" Space Scouts have vanished.\" I came up in the chair, ramrod-straight. \"Their mothers—they've been getting letters and—\" men are doing the work. Handpicked crews, day and night, have been sending those letters to the trusting mothers. It's been ghastly, Delvin. Hard on the men, terribly hard. Undotted \"And your men haven't found out anything?\" I marvelled. Baxter shook his head. \"And you finally had to resort to the Brain, and it gave you my name, but no reason for it?\" Baxter cupped his slightly jowled cheeks in his hands and propped his form of an electronic brain, and even works on the same principle—can tell you that two and two make four. But can it tell you why? \"Well, no, but—\" \"That, in a nutshell is our problem. We coded and fed to the Brain every shred of information at our disposal the ages of the children, \"Then I'm to be sent to Mars?\" I said, nervously. \"They disappeared from a spaceship? While in space?\" spaceport. Even so, they'd shuttled it into a hangar, safe from the I started back for Interplanetary Security, and my second—and I hoped, last—interview with Chief Baxter. I had a slight inkling why the Brain had chosen me because, in the affair of the missing Space Scouts, my malevolent with the pilot. And I'm ordinarily on the shy side, as a matter of fact.\" \"It's the Amnesty that does it,\" he said, gesturing toward the disc. It lay on his desk, now, along with the collapser. I felt, with the new information I'd garnered, that my work was done, and that the new data fed into the Brain would produce some other results, not involving me. I looked at the Amnesty, then nodded. \"Kind of gets you, after awhile. To know that you are the most influential person in creation is to automatically act the part. A shame, in a way.\" \"The hell it is!\" Baxter snapped. \"Good grief, man, why'd you think the Amnesty was created in the first place?\" I sat up straight and scratched the back of my head. \"Now you mention course, was a person who could simply have all authority, in order to save the sometimes disastrous delays. So we came up with the Amnesty.\" committee or bureau or any other faction to do the picking. Hell, that would have put us right back where we'd been before. No, we left it up to the Brain. We'd find ourselves in a tight situation, and the Brain after being fed the data, would come up with either a solution, or a name.\" I stared at him. \"Then, when I was here before, I was here solely to receive the Amnesty, is that it?\" Baxter nodded. \"The Brain just picks the men. Then we tell the men the situation, hand over the Amnesty, and pray.\" I had a sudden thought. \"Say, what happens if two men are selected by the Brain? Who has authority over whom?\" Baxter grimaced and shivered. \"Don't even think such a thing! Even your mentioning such a contingency gives me a small migraine. It'd be late to go back to work. I'd done a lot in one day, I reasoned. Well, the thing was out of my hands. Baxter had the information I'd come up with, and it had been coded and fed to the Brain. As soon as the solution came through, I could be on my way back to the world of hard and soft sell. whatever about the disappearance of the Space Scouts until this office\n\n<question>:\nWhy were the Space Scouts sent on their mission?\n\n<options>:\nA to research the environment on Mars\nB to symbolize peace and harmony amongst the nations\nC to show that anyone can travel in outer space\nD because the Brain told them to do so\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,143	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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\"Racially, there should be a chance,\" she said. \"Actually, Kelburn and I would be infertile.\" She got up and came to him. She nuzzled against him and his reaction was purely reflexive. His hand swung out and he could feel the flesh give when his knuckles struck it. blood and pain.\" She pushed her nose back into place and waggled it to make sure. She ages before space travel— and yet each planetary race can interbreed He scowled miserably at her. Her face was almost plain and the bandage, lot more!\" \"It is impressive,\" admitted Taphetta. \"But I find it mildly distasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to my species.\" \"That's because you're unique,\" said Halden. \"Outside of your own much, though. You're just right.\" He sat down on the bed. Again there was only one way of knowing what Emmer would do—and she knew. She had no concept of love outside of the physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—what advantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that, nothing mattered, and for the sake of alloying the lower with the higher, she was as cruel to herself as she was to him. And yet he Emmer's side. Meredith, linguist, is on the other side of the middle. wanted her. you in spite of everything. But you'll have to watch out whose children \"I do think I love you,\" she said. \"And if love's enough, I may marry I have.\" She wriggled into his arms. The racial disparity was great and she had provoked him, but it was not a corresponding span of fertility. Emmer just misses being able to breed with my kind, but there's a fair chance that I'd be fertile with Meredith and a similar though lesser chance that her fertility may Besides what? She had a beautiful body that could bear superior children—and they might be his. extend to Kelburn.\" completely her fault. Besides.... toward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no, through —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward and \"Something had to distribute one species so widely and it's not the result of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races are involved, and only the human race.\" about himself.\" It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerous others—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever got together—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could be very useful. A clear statement of their position was essential in \"Vaguely. Most people have if they've been around men.\" \"We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory is that humans who can mate with each other were once physically close. We've got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetary \"To the best of our knowledge,\" said Kelburn. \"And whereas there are humans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always mate with those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago satisfies the calculations?\" \"Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get something 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 the fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher or lower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. And there was the matter of training invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he still respect. The Ribboneer shifted his attention. \"Aside from the sudden illness of feel that attraction to her? your pilot, why did you ask for me?\" \"Try Emmer,\" he suggested tiredly. \"He'll find you irresistible, and he's even more savage than I am.\" \"Is he?\" She smiled enigmatically. \"Maybe, in a biological sense. Too exception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it's \"I'm complimented that you like our contract so well,\" said Taphetta, for me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me.\" He rubbed his eyes off Meredith, though, since he was a notch or so above her in the mating scale, he shouldn't have been so interested. But his planet had Disdainfully, Meredith adjusted a skirt that, a few inches shorter, And beyond her, toward the far end, is Kelburn, mathematician. There's \"Then change it to suit him. He's in charge of the ship and knows more \"More than a man?\" Firmon leered at Meredith and, when she failed \"I'll come along and help,\" said Meredith, untwining her legs and that the crew was calling her that! \"Pests on the ship? It's filthy! My people would never tolerate it!\" humans—late or early and male or female—look remarkably alike. If you are an archeologist, that's enough for me.\" He paused and flicked his they visited so many of that type, yet different from it because they never stayed. They were pretty special people themselves, big and long-lived, and maybe they couldn't survive on any planet they found. for non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actually aggressive, but their total number was great and they held themselves aloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, it contract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal.\" \"To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover as much as you think you will. The difference is this: My terms don't would have to be shared. That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind of \"Why do we have to watch it on the screen?\" asked Meredith, glancing and the small one tried to flee. In a few jumps, the big one caught up and mauled the other unmercifully. \"It was realistic enough,\" said Meredith as the crewmen shut off their \"Did we? I didn't notice.\" Meredith leaned back. \"Were the puppets \"Very good. I never thought of that,\" said Meredith, coming closer. \"I that, in relation to her, he was not 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.\" Here we go again, he thought drearily, sliding his arm around her. To her, I'm merely a passionate savage. They went to his cabin. She sat down, smiling. Was she pretty? Maybe. For her own race, she long and well shaped and her face was somewhat bland and featureless, except for a thin, straight, short nose. It was her eyes that made the difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visual development, her eyes were larger and she could see an extra color on the violet end of the spectrum. She settled back and looked at him. \"It might be fun living with you on The conflict was not new nor confined to them. In one form or another, it governed personal relations between races that were united against non-humans, but held sharp distinctions themselves. \"I haven't asked you to marry me,\" he said bluntly. \"Because you're afraid I'd refuse.\" permanent union. \"Why did you ever have anything to do with me?\" demanded Halden. \"Love,\" she said gloomily. \"Physical attraction. But I can't let it lead me astray.\" \"Why not make a play for Kelburn? If you're going to be scientific like him and he wouldn't marry me.\" \"He wouldn't, but he'd give you children if you were humble enough. There's a fifty per cent chance you might conceive.\"\n\n<question>:\nHow do you think Meredith feels about the rest of the crew?\n\n<options>:\nA She has a close bond of respect and (platonic) love for the rest of the members\nB She respects and loves one person the most\nC She's become friends with them slowly over time and appreciates them all\nD She respects one person the most and loves another person the most\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
588	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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\"He was a very kind employer,\" Orison said. She tried to keep from staring at the most remarkable item of Mr. Wanji's costume, a pair of \"Yes, sir,\" Orison said. She was wondering if she'd be issued earmuffs, \"What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji?\" Orison asked. Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read the By lunchtime Orison had finished the Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in the gentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison stepped eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, and favored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed, lonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book, In a gloomy mood, Orison McCall showered and dressed for bed. Eleven o'clock. Washington should be calling soon, inquiring after the results 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, Orison lay down cautiously. \"All right,\" she whispered to her pillow. establish our rendezvous here at eleven-fifteen, Central Standard Time, Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to a Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolved , Orison was interrupted by the click of a pair of leather heels. The gentleman whose heels had just slammed together was bowing. And she saw with some gratification that he was not \"I'm Orison McCall,\" she said. A handsome man, she mused. Twenty-eight? \"Reading papers and fairy-tales into this microphone is nothing any reasonably astute sixth-grader couldn't do as well,\" Orison said. \"You'll be reading silently before long,\" Mr. Gerding said. He smiled, 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?\" \"That's the drill,\" he said. \"One more question, Orison. Dinner this still so young. \"We've hardly met,\" she said. \"But we're on a first-name basis already,\" he pointed out. \"Dance?\" \"I'd love to,\" Orison said, half expecting an orchestra to march, not their earmuffs) and bowed, the earmuffed operator bowing with them. Small bows, true just head-and-neck. But not to her. To Dink Gerding. Orison finished the Orison looked up. \"Oh, hello,\" she said. \"I didn't hear you come up.\" of the desk, \"and pounce ever so hard.\" She smiled. Opulent, Orison thought. Built like a burlesque queen. No, she thought, I don't like 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 \"Thanks,\" Orison said. \"Common courtesy,\" Miss Vingt explained. \"Also, darling, I'd like to draw your attention to one little point. Dink Gerding—you know, the into a club and standing. \"Darling.\" \"So remember, Tiny, Dink Gerding is mine. You're all alone up here. You could get broken nails, fall down the elevator shaft, all sorts of \"You make it very clear,\" Orison said. \"Now you'd best hurry back to your stanchion, Bossy, before the hay's all gone.\" \"Isn't it lovely, the way you and I reached an understanding right motion. The elevator stopped to pick up the odious Auga. A passenger, male, stepped off. \"Good morning, Mr. Gerding,\" Miss Vingt said, bowing. \"What is this?\" Orison demanded. \"Visiting-day at the zoo?\" She paused 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.\" Dink's elder brother. I understand you've met Dink already.\" \"Yes, sir,\" Orison said. The hair of this new Mr. Gerding was cropped even closer than Dink's. His mustache was gray-tipped, like a patch of frosted furze but the ears were in evidence, and seemed normal. Mr. Kraft Gerding bowed—what continental manners these bankers had!—and Orison half expected him to free her hand from the rolled-up paper she still clutched and plant a kiss on it. Instead, Kraft Gerding smiled a smile as frosty as his mustache and said, \"I understand that my younger brother has been talking with you, Miss McCall. Quite proper, I know. But I must warn you against mixing Orison jumped up, tossing the paper into her wastebasket. \"I quit!\" she care. I'm not going to perch up here, target for every uncaged idiot in finance, and listen to another word.\" \"Dearest lady, my humblest pardon,\" Kraft Gerding said, bowing again, a bit lower. \"Your work is splendid \" Orison said. \"Well, Buster, here's a word to the foolish. Get lost.\" Kraft Gerding bowed and flashed his gelid smile. \"Until we meet again?\" \"I'll hold my breath,\" Orison promised. \"The elevator is just behind you. Push a button, will you? And Kraft Gerding called the elevator, marched aboard, favored Orison with fifth floor. First the unspeakable Auga Vingt, then the obnoxious Kraft Gerding. Surely, Orison thought, recovering the finished early enough, she might get a chance to prowl those Off-Limits upper floors. Orison scribbled down this intelligence in bemused Gregg before \"Yes, Mr. Wanji. I'll tell Mr. Gerding.\" Orison clicked the phone down. What now, Mata Hari? she asked herself. What was the curious language Mr. Wanji had used? She'd have to report the message to Washington by The door on the sixth floor was locked. Orison went on up the stairs to the landing was cellar-dark. Orison closed her eyes for a moment. There Orison was blinded by the lights, brilliant as noonday sun. The room Orison thought she saw Benjamin Franklin winking up at her from the Orison struggled to release herself. She broke free only to have Gerding. \"It seems that our Pandora doesn't care for spiders,\" he said. \"Really, Miss McCall, our little pets are quite harmless. Were \"Dink ... Dink!\" Orison shouted. \"I came to bring a message to Dink,\" Orison said. \"Let me go, you around Orison. Kraft Gerding arose, stared for a moment at Dink and Orison, then, with the merest hint of a bow, led his two giant Earmuffs to the elevator. \"I wish you hadn't come up here, Orison,\" Dink said. \"Why did you do Orison,\" he said. She backed away from Dink Gerding and the minuscule creature he cupped eaters. They literally couldn't harm a fly. Look at it, Orison.\" He \"I'd rather not,\" she protested. \"I'd be happier if you did,\" Dink said. 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>:\nWould Orison be able to go out until midnight?\n\n<options>:\nA No - she needed to be in her bed before then\nB No - she works too early in the morning to be out so late\nC Yes - she has no curfew\nD Yes - Mr. Gerding will probably take her dancing far later\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,974	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>:\nOne can't be too cautious about the people one meets in Tangier. They're all weirdies of one kind or another. Here Myself By MACK REYNOLDS The three of the strategic best draft beer in town, gets all the better custom, and has three shoeshine boys attached to the while getting your shoes done up like mirrors which comes to about five cents cosmopolitan city in the world. In native costume you'll see Berber and Rif, Arab and Blue Man, and occasionally a Senegalese from further south. In European dress you'll see Japs and Chinese, Hindus and Turks, Levantines and Filipinos, North Americans and South Americans, and, of course, even Europeans—from both sides of the Curtain. 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 As a result of them the permanent population includes smugglers and black-marketeers, fugitives from justice and international con men, espionage and counter-espionage agents, homosexuals, nymphomaniacs, alcoholics, drug addicts, displaced persons, ex-royalty, and subversives of every flavor. Local law limits the activities of few of these. and said, \"Hello, Paul. Paul said, \"How are you, Rupert? Haven't seen you for Paul ordered a glass of beer. Paul was an easy-going, sallow-faced somebody saying he was from Liverpool and in exports. \"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.\" \"The Russkies have put up another manned satellite.\" \"They have, eh? How big?\" \"Several times bigger than Paul said, \"What ever happened to those poxy flying saucers?\" \"What flying saucers?\" A French girl went by with a poodle so finely clipped as to look 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.\" way. I didn't know Paul very well, but, for that matter, it's comparatively seldom you ever get to know anybody very well in Tangier. Largely, cards are played close to the chest. My beer came and a plate of tapas for us both. Tapas at the Cafe de Paris are apt to be Free lunch, they used to call it \"Where do you think they came from?\" And when he looked blank, I added, \"The Flying Saucers.\" He grinned. \"From Mars or none of them ever crashed, or landed on the Yale football field and said Take me to your cheerleader , or something.\" Paul yawned and said, \"That was always the trouble with those crackpot blokes' explanations of them. If they were aliens from space, then why not show themselves?\" I ate one of the potato chips. think of two or three that made Paul was mildly interested. flight. Then you're invited into the club. Meanwhile, they send secret missions down from time to time to keep an eye on your progress.\" Paul grinned at me. \"I see you in a neatly tailored gray jellaba, European style high-heeled shoes, and a pinkish silk veil so transparent that you provocative, dark eyes can be over a veil. We both looked after her. I said, \"Or, here's another one. Suppose you have a very \"Don't interrupt, please,\" I said with mock severity. \"This is a very old civilization and as water and air, it withdrew underground. so forth, husbands its water and air. Isn't that what we'd do, in its water and air?\" \"I suppose so,\" he said. \"Anyway, what about them?\" \"Well, they observe how man is going through a scientific Any day now he's going to have practical space ships. Meanwhile, he's also got the H-Bomb and both sides of the Curtain, he's not against using it, if he could 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 that a dozen times, dished up different.\" I shifted my shoulders. \"Well, it's one possibility.\" \"I got a better one. How's this. There's this alien life form that's way ahead of us. Their civilization is so old that they early days. They've gone beyond things like wars and depressions and revolutions, and greed for power or any of these things giving us a bad time here on Earth. They're all like scholars, get it? And some of them are pretty jolly well taken by Earth, especially the way we are right ?\" \"Well, take half the countries 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 countries, and all using different methods of doing it. But look at the so-called advanced countries. Up to their bottoms in problems. Juvenile delinquents, climbing crime and suicide rates, the loony-bins full of the balmy, unemployed, threat of war, spending all their money on armaments instead of things like schools. All the bloody mess of it. Why, a man from Mars would be fascinated, like.\" both ordered another schooner of beer. Paul said seriously, \"You 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 police, or the French Sûreté, or 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 \"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 haven't the slightest idea of how you make your living.\" \"That's right,\" Paul admitted. ask a man where's he's from. He can be British, a White Russian, a Basque or a Sikh and nobody could care less. Where are you from, Rupert?\" \"No, you're not,\" he grinned. I was taken aback. \"What do 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 alien. Telepathy is a sense not trained by the humanoids. If they had it, your job—and mine—would be considerably more difficult. Let's face it, in spite of these human bodies we're disguised in, neither of us is humanoid. Where are you really from, Rupert?\" \"What're you doing here on Earth?\" I asked him. \"Researching for one of our meat trusts. We're protein eaters. Humanoid flesh is considered 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 practice could spoil an awful lot of good meat.\" THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhat do Paul and Rupert share in common?\n\n<options>:\nA They are both aliens\nB They are both lonely\nC They are both have disdain for Tangier\nD They are both espionage agents\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
201	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 sewed up tight. Sure, the crystals are deadly, but I was smuggling them legitimately, in a manner of speaking, for this doctor to experiment with. He wasn't going to sell them for dope. But—and this was the 'but' that was likely to deprive the System of my activities—even experimenting with them was illegal even if it needed to be done also, I had promised not to rat on him before taking the job. I didn't get it at first. I'd argued with 'em, but inside I'd been all set for the sentence, and even sort of reconciled to it. I could even dried-up straw, joined his fingertips carefully, cleared his scrawny throat, and told me what for. caper: Had it been just a trap to lead me straight to this? I hadn't been able to figure how they'd cracked my setup.... At the thought my larynx froze up tight. This was worse than I'd thought. Government men trapping me and then beaming at me. And a full pardon. And a reward. Oh, no! I told myself, it wasn't possible. Not when I already had more counts against me than a cur has fleas. Not unless it was a straight suicide mission! Crude, but it was all I could squeeze out. I squeezed out more when I saw those pictures, though. Those the great Casey Ritter, daredevil of the Solar System!\" he sneered. \"Never loses a bet, never turns down a dare!\" I shuddered. \"You're telling that one! And besides, a man's got to draw They were really stumped. They hadn't expected me to take this attitude at all. No doubt they had it figured that I'd gratefully throw myself won't reach in and nip off an arm or leg while he's got his back turned. How stupid could they get? chummily and snapped a salute at the guard. It makes me grind my molars now to think of it. The way that bunch of stuffed shirts in the S.S.C. made a gold-barred chimpanzee out of me has broken my spirit and made a pass at the Killicut Emeralds, that's all, and got nabbed.\" eggs, an even dozen of 'em and flawless, I'm a-shoutin', not a flaw!\" His eyes watered at the memory, yearning like a hound-dog's over a fresh scent. mad, and if Pard had really got near those emeralds, he should be nothing but a heap of cleaned bones by now. Either he was the world's champion liar or its bravest son, and either way I took my hat off to him. He looked loftily past me. \"Sorry. Gotta keep that a secret. Likewise where I cached 'em.\" My jaw must've been hanging down a foot, because I'd just been playing along with him, not really believing him, and now all of a sudden I me. I chewed my fingernails down to the quick by the time he got out a week later. By that time he really had me hooked. I'd of sworn he was leveling with me. But he wouldn't tell me how he'd worked the steal. Instead, he opened up on the trade he'd booked for the string. He said, \"When I chisel me way outa this squirrel cage, I'm gonna hit fer good old Jupe and sell 'em to Akroida. She's nuts about jools. What that old girl won't give me fer 'em—\" He whistled appreciatively, thinking about it. He looked at me as if I hadn't yet got out from under the rock where he was sure I'd been born. \"Don't you know nothin', butterhead?\" From him I took it. I even waited patiently till the master spoke again. The memory still makes me fry. so I brought her a hundred pounds of the stuff, an' she went fer that almost like it was diamonds, too. Did I rate around there fer awhile!\" He sighed regretfully. \"But then I went and made her mad, an' I'm kinda persona non grata there right now. By the time I gnaw outa this here cheese trap, though, I figger she'll be all cooled off and ready fer nails, I bit myself. So I faced it. Casey Ritter lost his nerve, and For three more days I worked down my knuckles, my nails being gone, while I sat around all hunched up, wondering feverishly if Pard would make a deal about those emeralds. Then I broke down and sent out a letter to the S.S.C. The Big Sneer of the conference table promptly dropped in on me, that was good training, so I sneered right back at him, explained the caper, and we both paid a visit to Pard. In two days the deal was made and the caper set up. There were a few bits of info that Pard had to an audience with the old rip.\" He shook his head slowly. \"The kid that took me in was colorblind, so I didn't have no warning at all. I found out that them scorpions can't stand yeller. It just plain hadn't helped me, they'd of done it, too. And Akroida claimed I done it a-purpose to upset her.\" Then he winked at me. \"But then I got off in a corner and cooked up though. She wouldn't give me another audience. It's in the stuff they cleaned outa me room: a poiple bottle with a bright green stopper.\" He ruminated a few minutes. \"Tell you what, chump. Make them shell out slobbering. But the Big Sneer of the S.S.C., the fellow that had got me into this caper, was right there to take the joy out of it all and to remind me that this was public service, strictly. \"These—\" he had proclaimed with a disdainful flourish, like a placer miner pointing to a batch of fool's gold—\"These jewels are as nothing, them. And be assured that if you're man enough to effect the trade—\" He paused, his long nose twitching cynically—\"IF you succeed, your reward will be triple what you could get for them in any market. Added to which, IF you succeed, you will be a free man.\" That twitch of the nose riled me no little. \"I ain't failed yet!\" I snarled at him. \"Just you wait till I do, feller!\" I slipped the string of emeralds back into its little safe. \"Instead of sniping at me, why poor sinner's map was made of shell, and he wasn't responsible for its expression. I tapped back very politely that he must be mistaking me for someone that there might be such a thing as being too popular in Scorpdom, but I thrust this sneak-thief idea back into limbo. Taking advantage of his condition, I boldly tapped out, \"How's about I tried to back off from him a bit, but the ship stopped me. \"I'm Casey I breathed again. How simple could I get? He'd already mistaken me for Pard, hadn't he? Then I remembered something else. \"How come you aren't mandibles and other embellishments calculated to interest my hosts. Whether it interested them or not, it was plenty uncomfortable for me. eyeballs felt paralyzed. Pard was right again. These critters had brains. And my S.S.C. persecutor was right, too. That anti-grav secret was worth more than any string of rocks in the system, including the Killicut Emeralds. what about Casey Ritter, who hadn't cultivated even a feather? of all that space dropping away, I clutched at his shell and nearly dropped the arsenic. But he didn't have any brakes I could grab, so he ducked his head and fearfully waited.\n\n<question>:\nWhy didn't Casey want to take the deal?\n\n<options>:\nA He'd never make a deal with the S.S.C.\nB He wanted to retire from smuggling\nC He didn't think he'd live through it.\nD They didn't offer him enough money\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,490	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nwould soon have a moderate prosperity, yet they still lacked adequate medical and research facilities. By CHARLES V. DE VET monkey on his back Under the cloud of cast-off identities when Zarwell arrived that hard cot, with his eyes closed, down a long, glass-walled corridor. Bright sunlight cot. caustically. “He doesn’t look so tough now, does he?” “It might have been better to “What do you think they’ll do with him?” “Execute him, I suppose,” the harsh voice said matter-of-factly. “They’re probably just curious to Zarwell opened his eyes a slit to down, two steps at a stride. With no break in pace he veered into an down at Zarwell. “Have a good sleep?” he asked with mock solicitude. Zarwell did not deign to acknowledge Zarwell followed his gaze to where streets. Zarwell moved among up to the side of Zarwell’s cot. them, seldom taking part in the with an instinctive motion. Until that instant he had intended to fight. Now he swiftly large square teeth. “How able to incapacitate two or three and break out. But the fact that Zarwell told him. they had been expecting him meant about giving me a sample?” the cot—and Zarwell’s left hand now was to sham ignorance. He relaxed. He offered no resistance as they reached him. ruffian, copper-brown face damp with perspiration and body oil, be waiting outside. His best course and a hard flat object crashed against the side of 144 ] nonchalance. “The next couple should do it.” Zarwell did not answer. His memory seemed on the point of other than an introspective stillness comanalysis this afternoon “I don’t see why not.” Zarwell he showed little fear. Zarwell had adjusted to a life of ease and some maintained a professional diversionary chatter as he administered “Why would I be foolish?” he asked. “Your Meninger oath of inviolable The floor beneath Zarwell’s feet assumed abruptly the near transfluent consistency of a damp sponge. It rose in a foot-high wave prestige to meet danger calmly. and rolled gently toward the far with practiced urbanity. “When “But use that logical mind you’re supposed to have! Scenes before you are. Just because this last happened patient. If he was skilled enough, he could sort the relevancies from the vast amount of chaff. We are here on St. Martin’s makes Zarwell debated with himself the serum, to confine our discourses to trouble.” The floor continued its transmutation, and Zarwell sank deep into “Because you’re no mad-dog killer!” Now that the crisis seemed ZARWELL found himself Zarwell’s eyebrows raised. A weapon beautiful in its efficient simplicity. but he could not bring his thoughts into rational focus. His forehead creased with his mental effort. Abruptly the unreality about The other “himself” drifted Zarwell made his decision quickly. twitch, expand and contract. The face was unharmed, yet it was no longer the same. No longer his own features. “No,” Zarwell answered. least every twenty hours. a hard granite core, only partially concealed by his present perplexity. reticence, however. The man had as much. A quite normal first phase of treatment.” He straightened a paper on his desk. “I think that will be enough for today. Twice in one 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 Zarwell left the analyst’s office. heat, squat and austere as giant tree trunks, pock-marked and Flats, on the way to his apartment. uncomfortable in the day’s heat, waking from a vivid dream. “Q UITE ingenious,” Graves murmured admiringly. “You had your mind already preconditioned and the lowing of imported cattle shipped to the country. All St. Martin’s has a distinctive smell, as of an arid dried-out Zarwell passed a group of “Trust and money,” Zarwell said Zarwell nodded. or distaste. He lay down, fully clothed, on his bed. The visit to the his ennui. [p 139 Zarwell stopped him with an upraised The next morning when Zarwell awoke he lay for a moment, unmoving. you see the reason for all this? I’m tired. I’m trying to quit.” analyst had done nothing to dispel Zarwell explained listlessly. “A his mind lost its sleep-induced lethargy, the moment of near understanding slipped away. This morning, however, the sense full wakefulness. He achieved no 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. his body moving with mechanical also. “I’m not a professional do-gooder.” have only a normal man’s indignation at injustice. And now I’ve done my share. Yet, wherever I go, the word eventually gets out, and I’m right back in a fight again. It’s like the proverbial monkey on my back. 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 individual clashes, yet a moving force in the conflict . back in! You and your Vernon Johnson can do your own revolting. I’m through!” known it wouldn’t work. But this was nearing its end. Zarwell was party of short, bearded men, directing them as they battered at the many-wheeled truck. The log broke a breach in the concrete and the besiegers charged through, carrying back the defenders who sought vainly to plug the gap. Soon there would be rioting Zarwell turned and studied the in the streets again, plundering and with the same firm purpose, vigilant, resourceful, and well prepared for the eventuality that had befallen. is beginning to prosper. Yet Zarwell smiled with mild embarrassment. “At least in my dreams.” “Dreams?” Bergstrom’s eyes haven’t had an election now in the last twenty-three years. St. Martin’s the only ones receiving the benefits are the rulers. The citizens work twelve hours a day. They are poorly housed not dreams. They were recollections , poorly fed, poorly clothed. They …” Zarwell’s expression became as Johnson’s voice went on. The Zarwell found himself not listening of his chair. “I remember nothing new thought. Just why had he chosen St. Martin’s? Was it only a subconsciously is so …” “Haphazard? That’s true. The recall episodes are always purely random, with no chronological sequence. Our problem will be to reassemble them in proper order subject of glib persuaders … but trigger a complete memory return. “It is my considered opinion,” Zarwell gazed up at the bright mightn’t some inner compulsion of amnesia. I believe we will find that your mind has been tampered his own have put the monkey on his later. Or some particular scene may “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 until next week end,” Zarwell reminded “You’re a yellow-livered bastard,” sediment. The progress of life from the sea to the land was a mechanical [p ] process of this growing world. at least, picked this particular months before, the vitalized area 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 they imported microorganisms from Earth. Three rubber-tracked crawlers picked their way down from the mountains until they joined the road passing the belt. They were After its three-thousand-mile journey across scorched sterile rock, it sucked the moisture from a man’s body, bringing a membrane-shrinking Zarwell gazed idly about at the\n\n<question>:\nWhich term best describes the sequencing of Zarwell's dreams under comanalysis?\n\n<options>:\nA arbitrary\nB prophetic\nC misleading\nD regressive\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
912	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nNo movie in the last decade has succeeded in psyching out critics and audiences as fully as the powerful, rambling war epic The Thin Red Line , Terrence Malick's return to cinema after 20 years. I've sat through it twice and am still trying to sort out my responses, which run from awe to mockery and back. Like Saving Private Ryan , the picture wallops you in the gut with brilliant, splattery battle montages and Goyaesque images of hell on earth. But Malick, a certified intellectual and the Pynchonesque figure who directed Badlands and Days of Heaven in the 1970s and then disappeared, is in a different philosophical universe from Steven Spielberg. Post-carnage, his sundry characters philosophize about their experiences in drowsy, runic voice-overs that come at you like slow bean balls: \"Why does nature vie with itself? ... Is there an avenging power in nature, not one power but two?\" Or \"This great evil: Where's it come from? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who's doin' this? Who's killin' us, robbin' us of life and light?\" First you get walloped with viscera, then you get beaned by blather. He tells the story solemnly, in three parts, with a big-deal cast (Sean Penn, Nick Nolte, John Cusack) and a few other major stars (John Travolta, Woody Harrelson, George Clooney) dropping by for cameos. After an Edenic prelude, in which a boyishly idealistic absent without leave soldier, Pvt. Witt (Jim Caviezel), swims with native youths to the accompaniment of a heavenly children's choir, the first part sees the arrival of the Allied forces on the island, introduces the principal characters (none of whom amounts to a genuine protagonist), and lays out the movie's geographical and philosophical terrain. The centerpiece--the fighting--goes on for over an hour and features the most frantic and harrowing sequences, chiefly the company's initially unsuccessful frontal assault on a Japanese hilltop bunker. The coda lasts nearly 40 minutes and is mostly talk and cleanup, the rhythms growing more relaxed until a final, incongruous spasm of violence--whereupon the surviving soldiers pack their gear and motor off to another South Pacific battle. In the final shot, a twisted tree grows on the waterline of the beach, the cycle of life beginning anew. Whether or not these pearllike epiphanies are strung is another matter. Malick throws out his overarching theme--is nature two-sided, at war with itself?--in the first few minutes but, for all his startling juxtapositions, he never dramatizes it with anything approaching the clarity of, say, Brian De Palma's Casualties of War (1989). Besides the dialogue between Welsh and Witt, The Thin Red Line 's other organizing story involves a wrenching tug of war between Nolte's ambition-crazed Tall and Capt. Staros (Elias Koteas), who refuses an order to send his men on what will surely be a suicidal--and futile--assault on a bunker. But matters of cause and effect don't really interest Malick. Individual acts of conscience can and do save lives, and heroism can win a war or a battle, he acknowledges. But Staros is ultimately sent packing, and Malick never bothers to trace the effect of his action on the Guadalcanal operation. In fact, the entire battle seems to take place in a crazed void. Tall quotes Homer's \"rosy-fingered dawn\" and orders a meaningless bombardment to \"buck the men up--it'll look like the Japs are catching hell.\" Soldiers shoot at hazy figures, unsure whether they're Japanese or American. Men collide, blow themselves in half with their own mishandled grenades, stab themselves frantically with morphine needles, shove cigarettes up their noses to keep the stench of the dying and the dead at bay. A tiny bird, mortally wounded, flutters in the grass. John Travolta's empty nightclub impersonation of Bill Clinton in Primary Colors (1998) had one positive result: It gave him a jump-start on Jan Schlichtmann, the reckless personal injury lawyer at the center of A Civil Action . Travolta's Schlichtmann is much more redolent of Clinton: slick and selfish and corrupt in lots of ways but basically on the side of the angels, too proud and arrogant to change tactics when all is certainly lost. Schlichtmann pursued--and more or less blew--a civil liability case against the corporate giants Beatrice and W.R. Grace over the allegedly carcinogenic water supply of Woburn, Mass. Boston writer Jonathan Harr, in the book the movie is based on, went beyond the poison in the Woburn wells to evoke (stopping just short of libel) the poison of the civil courts, where platoons of overpaid corporate lawyers can drive opponents with pockets less deep and psyches less stable into bankruptcy and hysteria. Director Steven Zaillian's version doesn't capture the mounting rage that one experiences while reading Harr's book, or even the juicy legal machinations that Francis Ford Coppola giddily manipulated in his underrated adaptation of John Grisham's The Rainmaker (1997). But A Civil Action is a sturdy piece of work, an old-fashioned conversion narrative with some high-tech zip. Schlichtmann doesn't take this \"orphan\" case--brought by the parents of several children who died of leukemia--because he wants to do good but because he figures that Grace and Beatrice will fork over huge sums of money to keep the parents from testifying publicly about their children's last days. He might succeed, too, if it weren't for Jerome Facher (Robert Duvall), the Beatrice lawyer who knows how to keep Schlichtmann shadowboxing while his small firm's financial resources dwindle to nothing. Zaillian is at his most assured when he cuts back and forth between Facher's Harvard Law School lectures on what not to do in court and Schlichtmann's fumbling prosecution. The sequence has the extra dimension of good journalism: It dramatizes and comments simultaneously. Plus, it gives Duvall a splendid platform for impish understatement. (Duvall has become more fun to watch than just about anyone in movies.) Elsewhere, Zaillian takes a more surface approach, sticking to legal minutiae and rarely digging for the deeper evil. As in his Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993), the outcome of every scene is predictable, but how Zaillian gets from beat to beat is surprisingly fresh. He also gets sterling bit performances from Sydney Pollack as the spookily sanguine Grace CEO, William H. Macy as Schlichtmann's rabbity accountant, and Kathleen Quinlan as the mother of one of the victims. Quinlan knows that when you're playing a woman who has lost a child you don't need to emote--you reveal the emotion by trying not to emote. To the families involved in the Woburn tragedy, the real climax of this story isn't the downbeat ending of the book or the sleight of hand, \"let's call the Environmental Protection Agency,\" upbeat ending of the movie. The climax is the publication of a book that takes the plaintiffs' side and that remains on the best-seller list in hardcover and paperback for years. The climax is the movie starring John Travolta. Beatrice and Grace made out OK legally, but some of us will never use their products again without thinking about Travolta losing his shirt in the name of those wasted-away little kids.\n\n<question>:\nAccording to the film reviewer, what prevents Schlichtmann from winning the case in \"A Civil Action\"?\n\n<options>:\nA Facher is more qualified while Schlichtmann fumbles the testimony\nB Facher keeps Schlichtmann preoccupied with distractions\nC Schlichtmann betrays the confidence of his clients\nD Schlichtmann relies too heavily on a piece of evidence that is never allowed to be presented in court\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
560	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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. Virtually all ambitious trade hardcover books are preceded by an edition of 100 to 200 flimsy \"galley proofs.\" These are sent out to people who might generate buzz for the book: blurbists, bookers for television talk shows, editors, and--most important--book critics. There is an ethos of letting the chips fall where they may about the sending out of galleys: Now the book will begin to receive uncontrolled reaction. (For example, back in 1991, Murray somehow got hold of the galleys of my own last book, and wrote me heatedly denying that he was working on a book about black genetic intellectual inferiority, as I had asserted. I left the passage in, but softened it.) The Bell Curve was not circulated in galleys before publication. The effect was, first, to increase the allure of the book (There must be something really hot in there!), and second, to ensure that no one inclined to be skeptical would be able to weigh in at the moment of publication. The people who had galley proofs were handpicked by Murray and his publisher. The ordinary routine of neutral reviewers having a month or two to go over the book with care did not occur. Another handpicked group was flown to Washington at the expense of the American Enterprise Institute and given a weekend-long personal briefing on the book's contents by Murray himself (Herrnstein had died very recently), just before publication. The result was what you'd expect: The first wave of publicity was either credulous or angry, but short on evidence, because nobody had had time to digest and evaluate the book carefully. The Bell Curve isn't a typical work of trade nonfiction. It is gotten up as a work of original scholarly research. Most works containing fresh regression analysis and historical argument from primary sources would be published in academic quarterlies that send manuscripts out for elaborate, lengthy evaluation before deciding whether to publish them. Herrnstein and Murray didn't do this, so it wasn't until a full year or more after The Bell Curve was published that the leading experts on its subject had a chance to go through the underlying data with care. Therefore, as time went on, the knowledgeability of the Bell Curve discussion grew, but the attention paid to that discussion inevitably shrank. The debate on publication day was conducted in the mass media by people with no independent ability to assess the book. Over the next few months, intellectuals took some pretty good shots at it in smaller publications like the New Republic and the New York Review of Books . It wasn't until late 1995 that the most damaging criticism of The Bell Curve began to appear, in tiny academic journals. What follows is a brief summary of that last body of work. The Bell Curve , it turns out, is full of mistakes ranging from sloppy reasoning to mis-citations of sources to outright mathematical errors. Unsurprisingly, all the mistakes are in the direction of supporting the authors' thesis. 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. 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: Herrnstein and Murray begin their discussion of the National Longitudinal Study of Youth data by announcing that they aren't going to analyze the effect of education, because education is too much a result of IQ. It's not an independent variable. (Of course, according to their theory, socioeconomic status is also a result of IQ, but somehow, that doesn't stop them.) Therefore, what you'd most want to know from a policy standpoint--how much education can increase opportunity--isn't dealt with in the book, except in two obscure footnotes. Both would seem to support the liberal, pro-education position that Herrnstein and Murray say is futile. One footnote shows education increasing IQ year by year. The other shows a higher correlation between college degree and family income than between IQ and family income. The chapter of The Bell Curve on policies that might be able to overcome the fate of a low IQ focuses mainly on whether early-childhood programs like Head Start (most of which aren't run with raising IQ as their primary goal) can raise IQ significantly over the long term, and sorrowfully concludes that they can't. What the book doesn't discuss is whether public schools--by far the biggest government social program--can raise IQ, or earnings after you control for IQ. As James Heckman of the University of Chicago wrote in the Journal of Political Economy , \" Evidence of a genetic component to skills has no bearing on the efficacy of any social policy. ... The relevant issue is the cost effectiveness of the intervention.\" (As an example of where the kind of analysis Herrnstein and Murray didn't do can lead, a new study by Jay Girotto and Paul Peterson of Harvard shows that students who raise their grades and take harder courses can increase their IQ scores by an average of eight points during the first three years of high school.) In the most famous passage in The Republic , Plato describes an underground cave where people are held prisoner in chains, unable to see anything but the shadows cast by figures passing outside\n\n<question>:\nHow long did it take for damaging criticism of the book to come out?\n\n<options>:\nA There has never been criticism leveled at the book.\nB Five years\nC Six months\nD A full year\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,225	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\non Mars By JACK SHARKEY Somebody had to get the human angle on this trip ... but what along to write up the first trip to Mars. He was always getting me things like that—appearances said as much to Lloyd and he told We've found Kroger and Pat, with the help of the aliens. Or maybe I should call them the Martians. Either way, it's better than what Jones calls them. human slant on things.\" they want the easily. When we came upon them (a group of maybe ten, huddling behind a boulder in ambush), he stream, and picked us all up and took us into a hole in the cliff wall. The hole went on practically forever, asked me what the hell I kept writing in the diary for, did I want to make it a gift to Martian archeologists? But I said where there's life there's hope, and now he won't talk the lichen I'd seen, but he just said a short and unscientific word and went to sleep. There's a Martian guarding the entrance to our cave. I don't know what they intend to do with us. left us here, and we're out of rations. Kroger tried talking to the guard once, but he (or it) made a whistling kind of sound and flashed a be, or else). There are five of us on board. A pilot, co-pilot, navigator and biochemist. And, of course, me. I've met all but the pilot (he's very to the far edge of the water and looking at us and whistling at each other. A little Martian came near the edge of the water and a larger Martian whistled like crazy and busy today), and they seem friendly enough. Dwight Kroger, the biochemist, dragged it away. \"Water must be dangerous to is rather old to take the \"rigors of the journey,\" as he puts it, but the sending a green scientist who could stand the trip or an accomplished man who would probably not survive, crazy, that the little island we're on here underground is bordered by a Jones (that's the co-pilot I didn't quite catch his first name) is scarlet-faced, barrel-chested and gives the general appearance of belonging of scales. The Martian whistled furiously and went away. When the The navigator's name is Lloyd Streeter, but I haven't seen his face island before he made the far side. Sure is a swift current. and then calling numbers over a microphone to the pilot. His hair is red and curly, and he looks as pen on the maps, and now I'm busy.\" Kroger tells me that the pilot's name is Patrick Desmond, but that I can call him Pat when I get to The Martians are made of sugar. Later, same day Captain Desmond to me. I haven't the vaguest idea what he looks like. He was already on board when I must be like Terran (Earth-type) metabolism, only with no pancreas to make insulin. They store their said that the Martian metabolism their bodies isolated carbon from something (he thought it might be the moss) and combined it with water) to make sugar, a common carbohydrate. Like plants, on Earth, he said. Except, instead of using special cells on leaves to form carbohydrates as Earth plants do in photosynthesis (Kroger spelled that word for me), they used the first name) has been up with the pilot all day. He passed my room on the way to the galley (the screen, and they still need it for steering or something. I still haven't met the pilot. October 3, 1960 Well, I've met the pilot. He is kind of squat, with a vulturish neck and close-set jet-black eyes that spoke to him, and it sounded like Flants. That can't be right. Also, I am one of the first five Jones got the rifles out of the stream (the Martians had probably thought they were beyond recovery Kroger. He said there was a good chance of lichen on Mars, and I what on Mars?\" and tell what we've learned about Mars (we know there are Martians, and they're made of sugar). \"Why,\" I said, \"can't we just tell it on the radio?\" \"Because,\" said Pat, \"if we tell He wrote something in the ship's log, and I saw his signature. His name is Fleance, like in \"Macbeth.\" Lloyd wants to play chess again. Jones and Pat are up front watching . Kroger says there are two baby Martians loose on board ship. Pat told him he was nuts, but there are certain turned scarlet, suggested we radio Earth for instructions. We can't. Here we are, somewhere in a void headed for Earth, with enough air and water left for maybe three days—if the Martians don't take Martian reproductive processes. When he told Pat, Pat put it to a vote whether or not to jettison Kroger had only studied them, and Jones had brought them aboard. So Kroger stays, but meanwhile Jones says he'll go down spitting. the carbon in the AFAR system. We'll have to try it, I guess. The Martians disappeared. One minute it was standing there, tall and silvery, the Kroger says the Martians must be intelligent, otherwise they couldn't have guessed at the carbohydrates next instant it was gone. Turned on my radio pack and means so are the Martians. seemed to be, even when it wasn't in view, and meantime they'd come out after me in the jeep, following my footprints. Started walking back, and the disappeared, but I kept going. Finally saw the real ship, and Lloyd and Jones waving their arms at me. The air is too thin to carry sound well. All at once, something gleamed shooting at me with their rifles. That's when I heard the noise behind around, but finally Jones and Lloyd Worse and worse . Lloyd caught one of the Martians in the came running over, and I got up enough nerve to look. There was themselves, spaced considerably farther apart. Pat says at least our vector will carry us to Earth and we can die on our home planet, which is better had a tail. It was two heads taller than you.\" He shuddered. \"Ran off than perishing in space. Earth in sight . The other Martian is still with us. He's where \"Where,\" said Jones, \"are Pat and government had a choice between a while, and they veered off from my trail and followed another, very Lloyd had taken a shot at the scaly toward the ship. There wasn't anything on the radio but static. appearance is. And Jones says, \"Who knows what's 'menacing' in an alien?\" We're going to look for Kroger and Pat today. Jones says we'd better you know the rest of the story, about how that destroyer spotted us and got us and my diary aboard, and towed the rocket to San Francisco. News of the \"captured Martian\" leaked out, and we all became nine-day wonders jeep, but no Kroger or Pat. Lots of those big tracks nearby. We're taking the jeep to follow the aliens' tracks. There's some moss around here, on reddish brown rocks that on a Martian. So last week we found out, when those red-scaled things began clambering fast river that goes into the planet. The point is, bullets won't stop these things, and wherever a crystal falls, a new Martian springs up in a few weeks. It looks like the five of us have abetted an invasion from Mars. Needless to say, we're no longer heroes. Going down was Jones' idea, Lloyd for a week. Jones was picked here is hard-packed and damp, and there are normal-size footprints mingled with the alien ones, sharp and clear. The aliens seem to have six or seven toes. It varies from print to print. And they're barefoot,\n\n<question>:\nWhy do Lloyd and Jones shoot at the narrator?\n\n<options>:\nA After almost 9 months trapped on the ship together, the entire crew wanted to kill the narrator.\nB Lloyd and Jones were hallucinating and thought the narrator was an enemy combatant.\nC Lloyd and Jones were trying to scare the narrator.\nD There was an alien lifeform following the narrator.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
465	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beach Thig was shorter than the average Earthman—although on Ortha he was well above the average in height—but his body was thick and were regular, perhaps a trifle oversize, and his hair and eyes were a curiously matching blend of reddish brown. Oddest of all, he wore no garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support his The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of a leafy shrub. A creature was approaching. Its squat body was covered Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing's metal at the reflection of himself! intervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clamped across the mouth and neck of the stranger.... Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that had ground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigid be-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up out of his subconscious. Yet he had a fistful of short stories in the next two weeks to finance the great adventure—or the trip was off. So Lewis left the weathered old cottage in the early dawn and headed for his tubby old boat at the landing in an attempt to work out a salable yarn.... \"Hey!\" he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside the stranger had wound around him and two hamlike hands shut off his speech and his wind. He fought futilely against trained muscles. The hand clamping his throat relaxed for a moment and hacked along the side of his head. Blackness flooded the brain of Lewis, and he knew no more. \"He resembles Thig,\" announced Kam. \"But for the strange covering he wears he might be Thig.\" \"Thig will be this creature!\" announced Torp. \"With a psychic relay we will transfer the Earthman's memories and meager store of knowledge to the brain of Thig! He can then go out and scout this world without \"You are the commander,\" said Thig. \"But I wish this beast did not wear \"Do not question the word of your commander,\" growled Torp, swelling out his thick chest menacingly. \"It is for the good of our people that you disguise yourself as an Earthman.\" \"For the good of the Horde,\" Thig intoned almost piously as he lifted Terry's body and headed for the laboratory. cultured and brought to life in the laboratories of their Horde, they lacking in their early training and later life. They were trained one another by the intricacies of the psychic relay, put upon their heads. For ten hours or more the droning hum of the relay sucked Terry's brain completely. Twice, with subtle drugs they restored pseudo-life to his body and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his tortured that episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in his so he was incapable of understanding the emotions that swept through his acquired memory. and three other editors asked for shorts soon.\" \"Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn,\" grunted Thig, and gasped. For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly had he acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciously adopting the thinking and mannerism of the other. All the better this way, he realized—more natural. \"Sorry I was late,\" he said, digging into his pocket for the He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung, unbelieving, to his arm. \"Why, Lew,\" she gasped, \"they're worth a fortune! We can buy that new away.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys!\" \"Uh huh,\" agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savages and gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely he hoped that the west had reformed. landed. And there Thig balked. Why must they destroy these people, Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of the for reasons that he had never known existed. He had learned the heady glory of thinking for himself and making his own decisions. He had experienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue against who nestled trustingly against his tense man's body and slept—the son of Ellen and the man he had destroyed. Thig groaned. He was a weakling to let sentimentality so get the better wanted to go along. He sent them away harshly He dared not say anything, for his voice would have broken and she hand to show that he had heard, and blindly hurried toward the Sound. Oddly enough, as he hurried away along the narrow path through the \"You have done well,\" announced Torp when Thig had completed his report for the purposes of complete liquidation.\" \"But why,\" asked Thig slowly, \"could we not disarm all the natives and a race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our own race of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the way \"Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam,\" ordered Torp shortly. \"His case. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniac Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thick fought against that lone arm of Thig. weapon tilted upward until it reached the level of Thig's waist. Thig about full upon its owner's thick torso. Thig's fingers pressed down Before Thig's eyes half of his comrade's body sloughed away into foul Horde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulled narrowed icy eyes of his commander. his skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killed Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of his but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he now Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the control why he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take cultures of his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsible for his sudden madness. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black length watching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bitten lips. The clawing marks of nails, fingernails, furrowed his face and chest. He was a madman! The deadly attack of Thig now the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had all served to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove. The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes of the Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant mad victory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thought sobered him yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. After all, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinking Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for the He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first time despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outer He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slight differences in his appearance from an Earthman's, and his fingers heaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde's creation, but Lewis Terry, writer of lurid gun-smoking tales of the West. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry and now, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would be The bulge of Earth was flattening out now and he could see the outlines He had seen those other worlds. Perhaps some day he would write about them.... He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that!\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Thig informed that he should be camouflaged as a human?\n\n<options>:\nA So that he could scout out the surroundings without suspicions\nB So that he could learn the inner thoughts of humans.\nC So that no one would know that Lewis was taken.\nD So that he could impersonate Lewis and fool his family.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
725	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nS.I. \"Si\" Newhouse Jr. and his younger brother, Donald, control Advance Publications, one of America's largest privately held companies. (Estimate of their combined wealth: $13 billion.) Donald tends to Advance's hugely profitable newspaper, radio, and TV holdings. Si runs the less profitable but more glamorous properties. These are the 15 Condé Nast magazines, including (in descending order of fabulousness) Vogue , Vanity Fair , GQ , Condé Nast Traveler , House &amp Garden , Allure , Details , Self , Mademoiselle , and Glamour and Random House. You've forgotten to return the video your kids watched yesterday, so you have a messenger take it back to Blockbuster. Si spends $20 you save a $1.50 late fee. Then there's lunch. The magazines account for more than a quarter of daytime revenues at the Four Seasons and the Royalton. A modest lunch for two at the Royalton (no fancy wine or anything) might cost $80. But Si's generosity extends to even assistants and sub-sub-editors, dining on sushi at their desks. If you spend $10 or less on lunch, and claim you were working, Si pays. At Vogue and Vanity Fair , almost everyone has a \"working lunch\" every day . An editor at Allure says that \"working lunches\" there are limited to 10 a month. None of the 39 past and present Newhouse employees I spoke to for this story would talk on the record, for . And the nature of the subject makes it hard to separate apocrypha from the truth. Did Condé Nast pay, as sources insist it did, hundreds of thousands of dollars in back taxes on behalf of an editor who didn't bother to file tax forms? Did an editor really expense $20,000 in a weeklong trip to Paris? The people who pay the bills are not talking. But every example of excess cited here was told to me by at least one source (and usually more than one) in a position to know. Need a facial? Treat yourself and bill it to Si. This is what is called \"scouting.\" It is also a great way to get free haircuts. To be fair, Si doesn't pay for all such treats. There is also a much-honored tradition of accepting tribute from companies that Condé Nast magazines cover. One magazine exec reportedly got so much loot last Christmas--Cuban cigars, \"crates of wine,\" designer suits (\"It was like a Spanish galleon\")--that he needed three cars to cart it home. At yuletide, even midlevel fashion-mag writers and editors are inundated with \"cashmere sweaters, Versace pillows, coats ...\" recalls one ex- Vogue staffer wistfully. At the top of the masthead, the perks are perkier. His Si-ness (their joke, not mine) does not expect his editors in chief to actually live on their million-dollar salaries. He also gives them clothing allowances (up to $50,000 a year). He buys them cars of their choice and hires chauffeurs to drive them. He offers them low- or no-interest home loans. GQ editor Art Cooper reportedly received two $1-million loans, one for a Manhattan apartment, the other for a Connecticut farm. Tina Brown and her husband, Harold Evans, former president of Random House, reportedly just took a $2-million boost to buy a $3.7-million Manhattan house. Si's favorite courtiers lead lives of jaw-dropping privilege. When she was editor of British Vogue , Wintour commuted between London and New York--on the Concorde. Another Si confidant decided his office didn't feel right, so he hired one of the grandmasters of feng shui to rearrange it. Some editors prepare for trips by Federal Expressing their luggage to their destination. Why? \"So you don't have to carry your bags. No one would be caught dead carrying a bag.\" Some Condé Nast parties are so ridiculous that even other Condé Nasties make fun of them. This week's New Yorker , for example, mocks a recent Vogue party in honor of food writer Jeffrey Steingarten. According to The New Yorker , Wintour so detested the carpet at Le Cirque 2000 that she ordered the florist to cover it with autumn leaves (handpicked, of course). The apogee of party absurdity is Vanity Fair 's sponsorship of an annual London dinner for the Serpentine Museum in Hyde Park. As one observer puts it, \"Vanity Fair , an American magazine, pays more than $100,000 to a British art museum solely so that it can sponsor a dinner where Graydon Carter gets to sit next to Princess Diana.\" The princess was the museum's patron. Actually, paying $100,000 for face time with Princess Di may not have been a foolish investment for a magazine so dependent on peddling her image. And Condé Nast's excess has other plausible justifications as well. Some top editors may earn their perks. Vogue and GQ make millions, according to industry analysts. Vanity Fair is enjoying banner years, and while it probably hasn't made back the millions Newhouse lost in starting it up, it is certainly in the black. The New Yorker loses money--how much may even surpass perks as a topic of Newhouse gossip and speculation. On the other hand, The New Yorker is the most talked-about magazine in America, and Tina Brown is the most talked-about editor. That is worth something. Public media companies such as Time Warner (or, for that matter, Microsoft) can entice and hold journalists with stock options. Advance is private, so Newhouse uses other golden handcuffs. He runs a lifestyle prison. Top editors stay because they could never afford to live in a house as nice as the one Si's interest-free loan bought them, or to host parties as nice as the ones Si's party planners throw for them. Condé Nast's magazines are all about glamour, wealth, prestige. To uphold that image, magazine editors need to circulate at the top of New York society. But the top of New York society consists of people who make far more money than magazine editors do--investment bankers, corporate chieftains, and fashion designers. Million-dollar salaries aren't enough to mix as equals with the Trumps and Karans. Si's perks are equalizers. And they say it's not as good as it used to be. In 1992, according to Thomas Maier's biography of Newhouse, the editor of Self held a birthday party for Si Newhouse's dog . (Owners ate caviar dogs drank Evian.) The lowliest assistants used to take car services home. But new Condé Nast CEO Steve Florio has restricted cars and catering. Editors who used to fly the Concorde now fly first-class those who used to fly first-class now fly business. Expense accounts are scrutinized. Even so, today's Condé Nast is economical only by Condé Nast standards. The belt is tighter, but it's still hand-tooled, hand-tanned, and fashioned from the finest Italian leather.\n\n<question>:\nWhose dog was thrown a birthday party? What is the article doing with this detail?\n\n<options>:\nA Thomas Maier’s dog. The article uses this to demonstrate how Condé Nast has become a successful in group.\nB S.I. Newhouse Jr.’s dog. The article uses this to demonstrate the absurd expenditure of the Condé Nast magazines.\nC S.I. Newhouse Jr.’s dog. The article uses this to demonstrate that the absurd expenditure of the Condé Nast has a kind side\nD Thomas Maier’s dog. The article uses this to demonstrate the absurd expenditure of the Condé Nast magazines.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,371	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"The Stortulian will be duly punished,\" replied the leader of the \"I can get you out of this cheap.\" \" the contract. Otherwise, nothing.\" Gorb shrugged. \"What have I to lose?\" I throttled my exclamation of surprise, concealing it behind a quick The little Regulan was as good as hired. Only the formalities remained. would work for nothing, or even pay us, just so long as we let him get to Earth. My conscience won't let me really exploit has all the ursinoids it needs or is likely to need in the next few decades, and so I got rid of him in a couple of minutes. He was followed by a roly-poly blue-skinned humanoid from Donovan's Planet, 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. a good yarn—but for my money, you're really Sam Jones or Phil Smith from Earth, stranded here and out of cash. You want a free trip back to \"All I ask is a contract, Corrigan. It isn't much. I'll be a big attraction. I'll—\" \" it over. Maybe you'll regret your hastiness. I'll be back to give you another chance.\" He slammed the door and I let my grim expression relax into a smile. This was the best con switch yet—an Earthman posing as an alien to get a job! Hardly had the 'dillo scuttled dejectedly out of my office when the because—\" For three years, I have waited for a chance to avenge this insult to the noble Clan Gursdrinn!\" avenge , I readied myself to ensnarl the Kallerian in a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but he didn't move. He bellowed, \"I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me to Earth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible!\" I'm a man of principles, like all straightforward double-dealers, and one of the most important of those principles is that I never let myself be bullied by anyone. \"I deeply regret having unintentionally insulted your clan, Freeman Heraal. Will you accept my apologies?\" 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.\" \"You will rue! I will take drastic measures!\" \"Threats will get you nowhere, Freeman Heraal. I give you my word I'll get in touch with you as soon as our organization has room for another \"Please, please,\" squeaked the little alien pitifully. \"I must see you, honored sir!\" The alien was a pathetic sight: a Stortulian, a squirrely-looking \"Begging your most honored pardon most humbly, important sir. I am a being of Stortul XII, having sold my last few possessions to travel to Ghryne for the miserable purpose of obtaining an interview with yourself.\" carrying our full complement of Stortulians. We have both a male and a I glanced down at the inventory chart until I found the Stortulian The little being immediately emitted a soul-shaking gasp. \"It is she! It is she!\" \"I'm afraid we don't have room for any more—\" \"You are not in full understanding of my plight. The female Tiress, she is—was—my own Fire-sent spouse, my comfort and my warmth, my life and my love.\" \"Funny,\" I said. \"When we signed her three years ago, she said she was single. It's right here on the chart.\" \"She lied! She left my burrow because she longed to see the splendors of Earth. And I am alone, bound by our sacred customs never to remarry, languishing in sadness and pining for her return. You must take me to Earth!\" \"But—\" \"I must see her—her and this disgrace-bringing lover of hers. I must reason with her. Earthman, can't you see I must appeal to her inner flame? I must bring her back! \" My face was expressionless. \"You don't really intend to join our organization at all—you just want free passage to Earth?\" \"Yes, yes!\" wailed the Stortulian. \"Find some other member of my race, if you must! Let me have my wife again, Earthman! Is your heart a dead lump of stone?\" 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. \"Of course not.\" I took advantage of his pathetic upset to steam right \"Then you will refuse me?\" \"My heart melts to nothingness for you. But I can't take you to Earth.\" \"Perhaps you will send my wife to me here?\" There's a clause in every contract that allows me to jettison an unwanted specimen. All I have to do is declare it no longer of undesirable alien back to its home world. But I wouldn't pull a low trick like that on our female Stortulian. I said, \"I'll ask her about coming home. But I won't ship her back against her will. And maybe she's happier where she is.\" The Stortulian seemed to shrivel. His eyelids closed half-way to mask his tears. He turned and shambled slowly to the door, walking like a living dishrag. In a bleak voice, he said, \"There is no hope then. All is lost. I will never see my soulmate again. Good day, Earthman.\" He spoke in a drab monotone that almost, but not quite, had me weeping. I watched him shuffle out. I do have some or another, and they took the bad news quietly enough. The haul for the I had just about begun to forget about the incidents of the Kallerian's outraged pride and the Stortulian's flighty wife when the door opened and the Earthman who called himself Ildwar Gorb of Wazzenazz XIII stepped in. \"How did \"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 threatened murder, and there's been a Stortulian in here who's about death of a life-form! Suffer, Earthborn ape! Suffer!\" this late life-form's request lies at the root of his sad demise?\" \"Well, no, but—\" remembered that any minute that scrawny little Stortulian was likely to I was spared further such morbid thoughts by yet another unannounced arrival. The small figure of the Stortulian trudged through the open doorway In heart-rending tones, the Stortulian declared, \"Life is no longer worth living. My last hope is gone. There is only one thing left for me to do.\" going down the drain. \"Stop him, somebody! He's going to kill himself! He's—\" saw the three Ghrynian policemen sitting on the raving Stortulian. The He helped me up. \"Sorry to have had to tackle you, Corrigan. But that Stortulian wasn't here to commit suicide, you see. He was out to get \"Evidently you don't know as much as you think you do about Stortulian \"What is?\" asked the self-styled Wazzenazzian. \"These aliens. Big blustery Heraal came in with murder in his eye and , and the pint-sized Stortulian who looked so meek and\n\n<question>:\nWhy was the Stortulian so upset?\n\n<options>:\nA he really needed the job because he was out of money\nB he was too proud to go back home without what he wanted\nC he knew his wife wanted to come back but couldn't\nD he'd never see his wife again without this man's help\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,959	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nTranscriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories was first published in Amazing Stories November 1930. Extensive typographical errors have been corrected without note. A Classic Reprint from AMAZING STORIES, November, 1930 Copyright 1931, by Experimenter Publications Inc. By JACK WILLIAMSON . They were uncovering new talent at such a great rate, (Harl Vincent, David H. Keller, E. E. Smith, Philip Francis Nowlan, Fletcher Pratt and Miles J. barely managed to become one of a distinguished group of discoveries which bore the words: by stealing the cover of the As they approached, a lean A disciple of A. Merritt, he attempted to imitate in style, mood and subject the magic of that late lamented master of fantasy. The imitation found great favor from the readership and almost instantly Jack Williamson became an important name on the . He followed his initial success with two short novels , The Gernsback publication. Both of these stories were close copies of A. Merritt, whose style and method Jack Williamson parlayed into popularity for eight years. Yet the strange thing about it was that Jack Williamson was one of the most versatile science fiction authors ever to sit down at the typewriter. When the vogue for science-fantasy altered to super science, he created the One Against the Legion. When grim realism was the order of the day, he produced Crucible of Power and when they disguise of Will Stewart and popularized the concept of contra is of special interest because it was written during Williamson's A. Merritt \"kick,\" when he was writing little else but, and it gave the earliest indication of a more general capability. The lightness of the handling is especially modern, barely avoiding the farcical by the validity of the notion that granted, regardless of the quantity of wonders, and proceed with the story. With only a few thousand in existence at the time of the writing, the surmise that this media would be a natural for westerns was particularly astute. clothing shimmering with artificial gems, waddled pompously Jack Williamson was born in His father was a cattle man, but for young Jack, the ranch was anything but glamorous. \"My days were filled,\" he remembers, \"with monotonous rounds of what seemed an endless, heart-breaking war with drought and frost and dust-storms, poison-weeds and hail, for the sake of survival on the AMAZING STORIES was the escape he sought and his goal was to be a science fiction writer. He labored to this end and the first he knew that a story of his had been accepted was when he \"For old time's sake, and for this—\" The boy seemed dazed at sight . Since then, he has written millions of words of science fiction and has gone on record as follows: \"I feel that science-fiction is the folklore of the new world of science, and the expression of man's reaction By which I mean that it is the most interesting and stimulating form of literature today.\" Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding tumbled out of the lay quiet beneath light silk covers. With a groan, he stood up and began a series of fantastic room, its walls covered with bookcases and also with scientific appliances that would have been strange to the man of four or five centuries before, when the Age of Aviation was beginning. intricate mass of machinery below it. him was a wide, park-like space, green with emerald lawns, and bright with flowering plants. Two hundred yards across it rose an immense pyramidal building—an artistic structure, gleaming with white marble and bright metal, striped with the verdure the park stretched away in illimitable vistas, broken with the graceful columned buildings that held up the great glass roof. With a distasteful grimace, he seated himself before a broad, paper-littered desk, sat a few minutes leaning back, with his hands clasped behind his head. At last he straightened reluctantly, slid a small typewriter out of its drawer, and began pecking at it impatiently. For Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding was an author. There was a whole shelf of his books on the wall, in bright jackets, red and blue and green, that brought a thrill of pleasure to the young novelist's heart when he looked up from his clattering machine. He wrote \"thrilling action romances,\" as his enthusiastic publishers and television directors said, \"of ages past, when men of feathery green foliage high against a somber sky of unbroken gloom. He was impartial as to the source of his thrills—provided they were distant enough from modern civilization. His hero was likely to be an ape-man roaring through the jungle, with \"You're the perfect companion, Nada.... But now we must be practical. We must marooned with a lovely woman on a desert South Sea island. His heroes were invariably strong, fearless, resourceful fellows, who could handle a club on savage animals he had seen in the television. the terrors of a desolate wilderness. And a hundred million read Eric's novels, and watched the dramatization of them on the television screens. They thrilled at the simple, romantic lives his heroes led, paid him handsome royalties, and subconsciously shared his opinion that civilization had taken all the best from the life of man. Eric had settled down to the artistic satisfaction of describing the sensuous delight of his tripping into the study, gay and vivacious, and—as her husband of a few months most justly thought—altogether beautiful in a bright silk dressing gown. Recklessly, he slammed the resolved to forget that his next \"red-blooded action thriller\" was due in the publisher's office at the idea is better.\" an author. She wrote poems—\"back to nature stuff\"—simple lyrics of the sea, of sunsets, of bird songs, of bright flowers and warm winds, of thrilling communion with Nature, and growing things. Men read her poems and called her a genius. Even seemed scarce as the proverbial hen's teeth. though the whole world had were extinct, there were no wild flowers, and no one had time to bother about sunsets. grown up into a city, the birds the dark heavens in a steady, warm downpour. Dry wood when life was simple and natural, when men hunted and killed their meat, instead of drinking synthetic his own. They turned their attention to looking for banana trees, and coconut palms, but write about the West, Africa, South Sea Islands. But they branches to make a sloping shelter by a vast fallen tree-trunk. \"This will keep out the rain—maybe—\" and low, rainy forests. There's simple, elemental life there—like Earth had before civilization seemingly not inconvenienced in the least by the inclement elements, The young author's eyes were glowing. He skipped across the or something of the sort. This \"A new invention. Just perfected a few weeks ago, I understand. \"Don't you think—it might have been better— You know the old \"I've quit bothering about science. It has ruined nature, filled the world with silly, artificial By Ludwig Von der Valls, the German physicist.\" life was not so bad, after all.\" against which they had erected the flimsy shelter was rolled carry more energy than long back, evidently by a chance blow \"An analogy from television built up of an infinite series of plane layers, at the focus of the Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding, noted author of primitive life and love, ate a hearty meal with his pretty spouse, after they had washed little side table. They sat down opposite each other, and ate, getting as much satisfaction from At the end of the month he delivered his promised story to his publishers, a thrilling tale of contemplation of each other's they have scattered about the world. But I know his weak point—\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich statement best describes Williamson's writing style?\n\n<options>:\nA It reflects his disdain for humankind's obsession with technological advancement\nB More authors have parlayed his method and style than any other science fiction author\nC It evolved to be flexible despite how it initially imitated the style of a singular author\nD It contains myriad farcical and parodic literary elements, which was uncommon during his time\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
694	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nbeside them. It was an older, clumsier model than the kind he had seen but the reason there were none was that the check-sightings prepared to swear that nothing like this antique had been aboard. they all have come from his own ship. He was then out of long habit confirmed the And louder, blaring, then fading to normal volume as the AVC circuits \"Wait!\" Hatcher ordered sharply. He was watching the new specimen and a troublesome thought had occurred to him. The new one was female and seemed to be in pain cause to be afraid. These specimens, obtained with so much difficulty, needed so badly, were his responsibility. He knew the issues involved death. He said, musing: \"This new one, I cannot communicate with her, but I get—almost—a whisper, now and then. The first one, the male, nothing. But this female is perhaps not quite mute.\" \"Then shall we abandon him and work with her, forgetting the first one?\" Hatcher hesitated. \"No,\" he said at last. \"The male is responding well. Remember that when last this experiment was done every subject died he !\" is alive at least. But I am wondering. We can't quite communicate with A space-ax? Or the old-fashioned child's rocking-chair, the the objects were more or less familiar. Even the child's chair—why, he'd had one more or less like that himself, long before he was old enough to go to school. But what were they doing here? ventilators, he thought Of course, the thing might not be operating. antibiotic—and with the prayerful emotions of a starving, shipwrecked, may contain food. excited. His members, disposed about the room where he had sent them on various errands, quivered and shook a little yet they were the calmest \"Paranormal powers,\" muttered Hatcher's second in command, and the others mumbled agreement. Hatcher ordered silence, studying the specimen from Earth. After a long moment he turned his senses from the Earthman. \"Incredible—but it's true enough,\" he said. \"I'd better report. Watch him,\" he added, but that was surely unnecessary. Their job was to and even more, not one of them could have looked away to save his life from the spectacle of a creature as odd and, from their point of view, hideously alien as which he worked, toward the place where the supervising council of all The supervising council rocked with excitement. \"You're sure?\" demanded one of the councilmen. \"Well ... not much, sir. He suddenly panicked. We don't know why but we thought we'd better pull back and let him recover for a while.\" The council conferred among itself for a moment, Hatcher waiting. It was not really a waste of time for him with the organs he had left in \"Stop fidgeting,\" commanded the council leader abruptly. \"Hatcher, you he would have gestured if he had brought members with him to gesture with. \"We've done everything we dare. We've made the place homey for him—\" actually, what he said was more like, —\"and tried to guess his needs and we're frightening him half to death. We can't were intelligent.\" \"Yes, sir. But not in our way.\" \"But in way, and you must learn that way. I know.\" One lobster-claw shaped member drifted close to the councillor's body and raised itself in an admonitory gesture. \"You want time. But we don't have time, Hatcher. Yours is not the only probe team working. The Central Masses team has just turned in a most alarming report.\" \"Have they secured a subject?\" Hatcher demanded jealously. The councillor paused. \"Worse than that, Hatcher. I am afraid their subjects have secured one of them. One of them is missing.\" There was a moment's silence. Frozen, Hatcher could only wait. The again, each council member poised over his locus-point, his members drifting about him. Finally the councillor said, \"I speak for all of us, I think. If the Old Ones have seized one of our probers our time margin is considerably narrowed. Indeed, we may not have any time at all. You must do everything you can to establish communication with your subject.\" \"—is no greater,\" said the councillor, \"than the danger to every one of us if we do not find allies now .\" Hatcher returned to his laboratory gloomily. It was just like the council to put the screws on they had a reputation for demanding results at any cost—even at the cost of communication. Not even Hatcher had quite got over the revolting his team and discovered that there were no immediate emergencies, so he of kelp it closed, and his body was supplied with nourishment for another day. He returned quickly to the room. His second in command was busy, but one of the other team workers council. Hatcher passed the question off. He considered telling his staff about the disappearance of the Central Masses team member, but decided against it. He had not been told it was secret. On the other hand, he had not been told it was not. Something of this importance was not lightly to be gossiped about. For endless generations the threat of the Old Ones had hung over his race, those queer, almost mythical beings from the Central Masses of the galaxy. One brush with them, in ages past, had almost destroyed Hatcher's people. Only by running and hiding, bearing one of their planets with them and abandoning it—with its population—as a decoy, had they arrived at all. Now they had detected mapping parties of the Old Ones dangerously near the spiral arm of the galaxy in which their planet was located, they had begun the Probe Teams to find some way of combating them, or of fleeing again. But it seemed that the Probe Teams themselves might be betraying their existence to their enemies— The call was urgent he knew his assistant well. Obviously something was about to happen. He took the moment to call his members back to him for feeding they dodged back to their niches on his skin, fitted themselves into their vestigial slots, poured back their wastes into his own circulation and ingested what they needed from the meal he had just taken.... \"Now!\" cried the assistant. \"Look!\" Hatcher studied him frostily his patience was not, after all, endless. \"No matter,\" he said at last. \"Bring the other one in.\" And then, in a completely different mood, \"We may need him badly. We may be in the process of killing our first one now.\" \"Killing him, Hatcher?\" Hatcher rose and shook himself, his mindless members floating away like puppies dislodged from suck. \"Council's orders,\" he said. \"We've got to himself. \"God bless,\" he said, almost beside himself with joy. Whatever that But it seemed to take them so long.... Abruptly his face went white. Took them so long! He cast back in his mind, questing for a fact, unable to face its implications. When was not even then—and it took computers, sensing their data through don't know how long I've been gone, since I was unconscious for a time. However, if the transmission lag is a reliable indication—\" he swallowed and went on—\"I'd estimate I am something more than five and it would be hours before he could have a reply. Therefore he had to than the cooling coils could suck it out and hurl it away, it was the refrigerating equipment that broke down. for that matter, had the suit been designed to operate in a corrosive medium. All in all it was time for him to do something. been brought here never mind how. Never mind what he would, or could, do next all those questions could recede into the background of his it might not keep the gas and heat out, but it would retard them. evidences of use: shelves, boxy contraptions that might have been\n\n<question>:\nWhy is the supervising council worried about the Old Ones?\n\n<options>:\nA The Old Ones have captured one of their probers.\nB The Old Ones are not happy with the kind of science Hatcher is conducting.\nC The Old Ones need Hatcher’s data on the human specimen.\nD The Old Ones must be given a human tribute soon.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
574	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 Can-Opener!\" roared Mr. Piltdon. \"Look at our competitors. The International rips apart cans in three and three-tenths seconds. Universal does it in four.\" \"But Mr. Piltdon—\" can-opener lines. Departures, such as the thermal or motor-driven types, would be too expensive for mass production.\" Three new models and a group of cans were waiting for them on the bench. They began testing, Hanson operating the openers and Feetch but who has heard of Feetch? Well,\"—Feetch blew his nose—\"how do we \"Hello,\" said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a he turned the handle, and stopped abruptly, staring down open-mouthed. A cylinder of close-packed beans rested on the bench under the opener. The can itself had disappeared. \"Chief,\" said Hanson. \"Chief.\" \"Spinach, I think,\" said Feetch. \"Where did the can go, do you suppose?\" The spinach can disappeared. Likewise several corn cans, sweet potato cans and corned-beef hash cans, leaving their contents intact. It was rather disconcerting. \"Dear, dear,\" said Feetch, regarding the piles of food on the bench. departures from the norm might achieve unconventional performance, but this—Dear, dear. Where do the cans go, I wonder?\" \"What's the difference? Don't you see what you've got here? It's the understand. What forces have we uncovered here? Where do the cans go? What makes them disappear? Are we dealing with a kinetic or a kinematic effect? What motions can we plot in the area of disappearance and what room and slapped Feetch heartily on the back, causing him to break a Feetch? The thing can be duplicated, can't it?\" engineers. Find out where the cans go. Put out a scientific paper on the effect.\" \"Feetch,\" bit out Piltdon, his face growing hard. \"Stow this hooey. I don't give a damn where the cans go. May I remind you that under our nights at home investigating what had been named the Piltdon Effect. so many huge scientific organizations were working on it. But he could no more keep away from it than he could stop eating. He still didn't know where the cans went, but somehow he felt that he was close to the answer. When he finally found the answer, it was too late. The Borenchuck incident was only hours away. As soon as he could get hold of Piltdon, Feetch said trembling, \"Sir, I think I know where those cans are going. I recommend—\" \"Are you still worrying about that?\" Piltdon roared jovially. \"Leave Feetch?\" That night, at six-ten p.m., the Borenchuck family of Selby, South Dakota, sat down to their evening meal. Just as they started in on the soup, a rain of empty tin cans clattered down, splashed into the soup, raised a welt on the forehead of Borenchuck senior, settled down to a gentle, steady klunk! klunk! klunk! and inexorably began to pile up on the dining-room floor. They seemed to materialize from a plane just below the ceiling. The police called the fire department and the fire department stared helplessly and recommended the sanitation department. The incident made headlines in the local papers. The next day other local papers in widely scattered locations reported similar incidents. The following day, cans began falling on Chicago. St. Louis was next, and then over the entire nation the cans began to rain down. They fell outdoors and indoors, usually materializing at heights that were not dangerous. The deluge followed no pattern. Sometimes it would slacken, sometimes it would stop, sometimes begin heavily again. It fell in homes, on the streets, in theatres, trains, ships, universities and dog-food factories. No place was immune. People took to wearing hats indoors and out, and the sale of helmets boomed. All activity was seriously curtailed. A state of national emergency was declared. Government investigators went to work and soon confirmed what was generally suspected: these were the same cans that had been opened by the Piltdon Super-Opener. Statisticians and mathematicians calculated the mean rate of can precipitation and estimated that if all the cans opened by Piltdon openers were to come back, the deluge should be over in fifteen point twenty-nine days. bodily injury. Lawsuits were filed against him. He barricaded himself in the plant, surrounded by bodyguards. Livid with fury and apprehension, he screamed at Feetch, \"This is your doing, you vandal! I'm a ruined man!\" A falling can caught him neatly on the tip of his nose. \"But sir,\" trembled Feetch, dodging three spaghetti cans, \"I tried to warn you.\" \"You're through, Feetch!\" raved Piltdon. \"Fired! Get out! But before the Super-Opener. Now, get out!\" \"Yes, sir,\" said Feetch paling. \"Then you don't want to hear about my discovery of a way to prevent the cans from coming back?\" Klunk! A barrage of cans hit the floor, and both men took refuge under Piltdon's huge desk. \"No!\" yelled Piltdon at Feetch's face which was inches away. \"No, I——What did you say?\" \"A small design improvement sir, and the cans would disappear forever.\" Klunk! \"Forever, Feetch?\" \"Feetch!\" howled Piltdon. \"I order you to remain!\" Feetch almost submitted from force of habit. He hesitated for a moment, then turned abruptly. \"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 another job. Although the cans had stopped falling on the fifteenth day, as predicted by the statisticians, industry would not soon forget the inconvenience and losses caused by the deluge. It was not anxious Feetch. I know you can't find work anywhere else.\" \"Thanks to you. Mr. Piltdon, I wouldn't work for you if—\" A barrage of rocks crashed against the heavy steel screening of the window. \"What's going on!\" yelled Piltdon. \"Oh, I see. People throwing rocks at your house again? Oh, I know all about that, Feetch. I know that you're probably the most unpopular man alive to-day. I know about the rocks, the tomatoes, the rotten eggs, the sneaking out at night, Feetch blinked. This had not occurred to him. Feetch sat, thinking it over. Was it right to let all these people lose Feetch hung up. A glow of anger that had been building up in his chest Feetch walked into the kitchen and carefully poured himself a drink of hand. \"Here is everything I know about what I call the Feetch Effect, 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 in inverse proportion to the cube root of the tolerance between the involute teeth caused an instantaneous disruption of what I call the Alpha multi-dimensional screen. The can, being metallic, dropped through, leaving its non-metallic contents behind. The disruption was indicated, Alpha space seems to be thickly inhabited. These inhabitants, the nature of whom I have not yet ascertained, obviously resented the intrusion of the cans, developed a method of disrupting the screen from their side, and hurled the cans back at us. \"However, I have established the existence of other spaces up to Mu Feetch looked up from his desk in the newly constructed Feetch \"But Mr. Feetch—\" \"Get out,\" said Feetch.\n\n<question>:\nWhy were people throwing things at Feetch's house?\n\n<options>:\nA They were jealous of Feetch's invention\nB They thought the falling cans were all his fault\nC Piltdon told them to\nD Cans were still falling on people\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,776	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSpencer opened his mouth to appeared to have overcome every little imperfection he had been Frank Pembroke in downtown Los Angeles and waited for his first customer. He she seemed to be wholly ambidextrous. \"With so many beautiful had been in business for a week was amused at his companion's with an amiable smile. \"I see my advertisement has interested you. Please stand in that corner for just a moment.\" \"Why not have a couple of your own?\" he asked. she said. \"I'm the paramour type.\" It was obvious that the liquor them.\" had been having some effect. types. I'd never get one. Anyway, I won't ever marry,\" would be before his next client had discovered. Pembroke decided he would have to cover his it at the amazed customer, he fired four .22 caliber longs into the narrow chest. Then he made gambling everything on this one throw. \"When you go to Earth I'll miss you terribly.\" \"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 you, they'd let me go to Earth last thing he heard for some time. and political restriction. He had made for himself a substantial fortune through speculation in a recognized in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him. And yet he greatly envied those 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 peopled it. And Mary Ann would help him to save it. of the passengers. However, shooting out on the desert which surrounded the city. Valencia told him that there were no living them. After his meal, he bought a good corona and went for a he made no attempt to speak to going out anyway. He picked up Mary Ann at her He said that he planned to go walk. His situation could have went to a sporting goods store. As he guessed there was a goodly hunt and only a single target selection of firearms, despite the fact that there was nothing to \"You are looking for someone?\" Ann took turns firing at the paper targets they had purchased. At and report that Pembroke had attacked her and that she had shot him. If necessary, she would conduct the authorities to the place for that. shooting, but would be unable to locate the spot where she had buried the body. Why had she \"Tell me what's wrong with where they had been target life he had planned. It wouldn't be so comfortable as the previous clothes against buildings and fences as he walked. He had already blacken his face. And he would look weary and hungry and aimless. Only the last would be a deception. walked through several small specialty shops. He tried to get the woman off his mind, but the me something,\" she added. to bother him. She was And that was bad because it sounded as if she had been giving right about being different, but this time for vengeance. Twice during his wanderings Pembroke had seen the corpses of Earthmen being carted out of it would be simple enough to locate him if he were reported as being on the loose. There was sold, leaning against a post in the hot sun, hat pulled down over his forehead. Then he noticed that people all about him were talking excitedly. They were discussing one of the—strangers?\" \"And if I were?\" a ship. It was leaving that afternoon. Anyone who could pass the interview would should think you'd fall down if you didn't.\" \"Don't try to go so fast and you won't fall down,\" suggested be sent to Earth. since no one he had talked to in the city had ever heard of doubt be discovered and exterminated. But since no one seemed concerned about anything but his own speech and behavior, he assumed that they had all qualified to apply a corrective to any of the Pacificos' aberrant mannerisms or articulation. This was He headed for the nearest service station and asked for a \"It is a sign of poor breeding to smile at tramps,\" Pembroke admonished her in a whisper. \"Walk on ahead.\" \"Pardon me, there's a customer,\" after servicing the automobile. \"Say, I've just figured out who you are,\" the youngster told him. give me a little help on my lingo. Also, you gas up the car first, then try to sell 'em the oil—right?\" \"Right,\" said Pembroke wearily. \"Which situation's 'at?\" \"Buses? Airlines?\" The kid shook his head. \"That we ain't got.\" surrogate for a mid-twentieth century American male, itinerant type. walking away to wait on another customer. \"If you don't like the place, you've had it.\" Sidling up to a well-dressed down. Why'n'sha try holdin' 'em straight?\" \"You Frank?\" he asked. \"I thought it made me look man-about-town type, Pembroke winked at him and snickered. drawled, jabbing her intimately with a fat elbow, \"and raising a ruckus. They never do pass the interview. Don't know why they even make 'em.\" you'll qualify.\" \"Hell, no. But some poor punk's sure red in the face, I'll bet,\" the man-about-town said her out fresh and ignorant as the day she was assembled. Don't know why they keep making 'em, as I say. But I guess there's a call for that type up there on around this here city. 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 C'mon, kids—how 'bout another round?\" \"Okay if I join you?\" \"Sure,\" said the fat man. \"Wonder what the hell got into on a piece of wreckage, and had been picked all they want from us.\" \"Mister, you've been doing some thinkin', I can see,\" said identity established and his circumstances again solvent, he was headed for Los Angeles to begin his save-Earth campaign. lay sprawled one atop the other in the corner. His watch said self-conscious steps of a junior clerk type. \"Are you Dr. Von Schubert?\" position to point out our faults as you see them.\" \"Well, so what?\" demanded pistol solved his problem Spencer. \"I've got more important things to do than to worry effectively. Pembroke tossed his third victim onto the pile, then opened a can of lager, quaffing problem—\" The four shots from Pembroke's 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 protest, but saw with amazement that it was exactly this that his tale. But in the meantime he allowed himself to admire the clipping of the newspaper ad he had run in all the Los Angeles papers for the past week. The little ad that had saved mankind from God-knew-what insidious menace. It read: Valencia was seeking. Pembroke IT IS HIS GOAL TO MAKE YOU THE AVERAGE FOR YOUR TYPE YOUR FLAWS This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. Frank?\" pretty hit-or-miss operation. But they don't care one bit about us, Spencer. Consider the men who went down with the ship. That was just part of the game.\" \"What the hell are you sayin'?\" the three babes? Ah, come on.\" \"It's what you think that will determine what you do, Spencer. I suggest you change your attitude play along with them for a few days till the picture becomes bad, Mac,\" said the cop. Pembroke heard the shots as he saw them carrying the body into the street. How many others, he wondered, had gone out on their backs during their first day in Puerto Pacifico? be self-conscious about it.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Frank shoot his new client at the beginning of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA He wanted to collect the body as evidence of an impending attack.\nB The man who walked into his office was dangerous and Frank needed to protect himself.\nC He wanted to hurt the people who caused the Elena Mia to sink.\nD He had put out an ad for people who wanted to get shot to escape life as it is.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
369	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nQUEST OF THIG to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on Earth emotions that were more deadly than weapons. Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beach Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that had shiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feebly \"He resembles Thig,\" announced Kam. \"But for the strange covering he wears he might be Thig.\" \"Thig will be this creature!\" announced Torp. \"With a psychic relay we will transfer the Earthman's memories and meager store of knowledge to the brain of Thig! He can then go out and scout this world without arousing suspicion. While he is gone, I will take Kam and explore the two inner planets.\" these clumsy sheathing upon his body. On Ortha we do not hamper the use of our limbs so.\" \"Do not question the word of your commander,\" growled Torp, swelling out his thick chest menacingly. \"It is for the good of our people that \"For the good of the Horde,\" Thig intoned almost piously as he lifted Terry's body and headed for the laboratory. body and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his tortured brain, but after the third suspension of life Thig removed his helmet. \"There is nothing more to learn,\" he informed his impassive comrades. that episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in his \"Sorry I was late,\" he said, digging into his pocket for the Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of the of Ellen and the man he had destroyed. Thig groaned. He was a weakling to let sentimentality so get the better of his judgment. He would go now to the space ship and urge them to blast off for Ortha. He sprang off the porch and strode away down the \"You have done well,\" announced Torp when Thig had completed his report \"I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and the complete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrations \"Only the good of the Horde matters!\" shouted Torp angrily. \"Shall a race of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the way of a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. The There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have long forgotten.\" \"Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam,\" ordered Torp shortly. \"His words are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to this world. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha.\" squat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instruments broad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenly he knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the children of the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing must empty world—this planet was not for them. \"Turn back!\" he cried wildly. \"I must go back to Earth. There is a woman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not need this planet.\" Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from its case. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniac of the finest members of the Horde. Kam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before it could be uttered. Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harness and dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his and for long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadly struggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other hand fought against that lone arm of Thig. The scales swung in favor of Kam. Slowly the flaring snout of his suddenly released his grip and dragged his enemy toward him. A sudden reversal of pressure on Kam's gun hand sent the weapon swivelling about full upon its owner's thick torso. Thig's fingers pressed down Before Thig's eyes half of his comrade's body sloughed away into foul corruption that swiftly gave way to hardened blobs of dessicated matter. Horror for what he had done—that he had slain one of his own Horde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulled for the moment. Painfully slow, he turned his body around toward the His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waited stupidly for the blow to fall, the end for Ellen and the kids and all was in the corner of the laboratory, a crumpled blood-smeared heap of bruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked upon his skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killed him with those savage blows upon the head. Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of his ancestors at times but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he now unconscious body. Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the control room. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodies through the refuse lock. Already the body of Kam was gone. He wondered why he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take cultures of his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsible for his sudden madness. In a moment he was on his knees crawling across the plates of the deck toward the door. Halfway across the floor he collapsed on his face, the metal of the gun making a harsh clang. He heard the feet of Torp scuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalled full into the glaring vacant orbs of his commander. Torp leaned there The deadly attack of Thig his own violent avenging of Kam's death, and now the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had all served to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove. The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes of the Orthan. the skeleton-thing that had been Torp, using the new strength that victory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thought sobered him yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. After all, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinking of while he battled Kam, a selfish desire to protect them all. He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log and read the last few nervously scrawled lines: strikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existent there. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad and destroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended. Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. path she would return safely to Ortha with that mute warning of danger on 72-P-3. The body of Torp would help to confirm his final message. Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one of regret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his first existence. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first time he had sent a space ship whipping down toward the hills and valleys below. And there was a sickness within him when he fully realized that, a brief prayer in his heart to a God whose presence he now felt very deeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memories were hot, bitter pains. now, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would be a knife twisting in his heart but for her sake he must endure it. Her\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Thig leave a note at Torp's desk?\n\n<options>:\nA He wants to make sure no one comes to invade Earth, and have reason to fear doing so.\nB He wants to warn the other Orthans about the potential dangers of Earth.\nC He wants someone to understand what had happened.\nD He feels badly about killing Kam and Torp, and wants to leave a final message on their behalf.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
791	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nits contents when he was through But his attention was diverted by a gleam from one of the benches. Metallic parts lay heaped in a pile. He poked at them with a stiff-fingered gauntlet IV Hatcher's second in command said: \"He has got through the first survival test. In fact, he broke his way out! What next?\" \"Wait!\" Hatcher ordered sharply. He was watching the new specimen and a troublesome thought had occurred to him. The new one was female and seemed to be in pain but it was not the pain that disturbed Hatcher, it was something far more immediate to his interests. \"I know,\" Hatcher said, \"but watch. Do you see? He is going straight toward her.\" Hatcher, who was not human, did not possess truly human emotions but he did feel amazement when he was amazed, and fear when there was cause to be afraid. These specimens, obtained with so much difficulty, this damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out to Hatcher knew that this was not a freak show, but a matter of life and exasperation: \"If I could only see !\" hurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud in He tripped and fell against something that was soft, slimy and, like Hatcher hesitated. \"No,\" he said at last. \"The male is responding well. , an explosion, himself knocked out, brought here in a suit ... well, it was an explanation with more holes than fabric, like a fisherman's net, but at least it was rational. How to explain a set of Gibbon's . He could, of course, be dead. All this could be the fantasies of a II Someone else could. Someone was watching Herrell McCray, with the clinical fascination of a biochemist observing the wigglings of paramecia in a new antibiotic—and with the prayerful emotions of a starving, shipwrecked, sailor, watching the inward bobbing drift of a wave-born cask that may contain food. Suppose you call him \"Hatcher\" (and suppose you call it a \"him.\") Hatcher was not exactly male, because his race had no true males it did have females and he was certainly not that. Hatcher did not in they might have got along very well. Hatcher, like McCray, was an Hatcher a number of sports which defy human Physically they were nothing alike. Hatcher was a three-foot, Hatcher's principal task at this moment was to run the \"probe team\" others mumbled agreement. Hatcher ordered silence, studying the specimen from Earth. After a long moment he turned his senses from the Earthman. \"Incredible—but it's true enough,\" he said. \"I'd better report. Watch him,\" he added, but that was surely unnecessary. Their job was to watch McCray, and they would do their job and even more, not one of them could have looked away to save his life from the spectacle of a creature as odd and, from their point of view, hideously alien as Hatcher hurried through the halls of the great buried structure in Hatcher identified himself and gave a quick, concise report: \"The subject recovered consciousness a short time ago and began to inspect his enclosure. His method of doing so was to put his own undisturbed. However, he then reverted to physical-contact, manipulating certain appurtenances of an artificial skin we had provided for him. in his breathing passage. \"Simultaneously, the object he was holding, attached to the artificial about communicating with him, Hatcher? Any progress?\" was not really a waste of time for him with the organs he had left in Still, Hatcher fretted. He wanted to get back. \"Stop fidgeting,\" commanded the council leader abruptly. \"Hatcher, you \"But, sir....\" Hatcher swung closer, his thick skin quivering slightly with. \"We've done everything we dare. We've made the place homey for him—\" actually, what he said was more like, biophysical nuances of his enclosure —\"and tried to guess his needs and we're frightening him half to death. We can't go faster. This forces—heat, light, kinetic energy—for his life. His chemistry is not ours, his processes of thought are not ours, his entire organism is closer to the inanimate rocks of a sea-bottom than to ourselves.\" \"Understood, Hatcher. In your first report you stated these creatures \"Have they secured a subject?\" Hatcher demanded jealously. There was a moment's silence. Frozen, Hatcher could only wait. The \"But the danger to the specimen—\" Hatcher protested automatically. Hatcher returned to his laboratory gloomily. they had a reputation for demanding results at any cost—even at the cost of destroying the only thing you had that would make results possible. Hatcher did not like the idea of endangering the Earthman. It cannot it was not pity or sympathy that caused him to regret the dangers in moving too fast toward communication. Not even Hatcher had quite got over the revolting Hatcher did not want him destroyed. It had been difficult enough Hatcher checked through the members that he had left with the rest of his team and discovered that there were no immediate emergencies, so he took time to eat. In Hatcher's race this was accomplished in ways not entirely pleasant to Earthmen. A slit in the lower hemisphere of his body opened, like a purse, emitting a thin, pussy, fetid fluid which Hatcher caught and poured into a disposal trough at the side of the eating room. He then stuffed the slit with pulpy vegetation the texture of kelp it closed, and his body was supplied with nourishment for another day. He returned quickly to the room. reported—nothing new—and asked about Hatcher's appearance before the council. Hatcher passed the question off. He considered telling his existence to their enemies— \"Hatcher!\" second in command, very excited. \"What is it?\" Hatcher demanded. Hatcher was patient was about to happen. He took the moment to call his members back to him for feeding they dodged back to their niches on his skin, fitted themselves into their vestigial slots, poured back their wastes into his own circulation and ingested what they needed from the meal he had just taken.... \"Now!\" cried the assistant. \"Look!\" At what passed among Hatcher's people for a viewing console an image but it showed what it was meant to show. Hatcher was startled. \"Another one! And—is it a different species? Or Hatcher studied him frostily And then, in a completely different mood, \"We may need him badly. We may be in the process of killing our first one now.\" \"Killing him, Hatcher?\" Hatcher rose and shook himself, his mindless members floating away like puppies dislodged from suck. \"Council's orders,\" he said. \"We've got to but it was ripping his lungs out. He flushed the interior of the suit out with a reckless disregard for the wastage of his air reserve, holding his breath as much as he could, daring only shallow gasps that made him retch and gag. After a long never mind how. Never mind what he would, or could, do next all those questions could recede into the background of his mind while he swung the ax and battered his way out of this poisoned oven. but flaking out in chips that left a white powdery residue. At this rate, he thought grimly, he would be an hour getting through or shapeless huge intelligent amoebae, and felt the skin prickle at the back of his neck. He tapped half-heartedly at one of the closed cupboards, and was not surprised when it proved as refractory as the door. Undoubtedly he could batter it open, but it was not likely that much would be left of\n\n<question>:\nWhat was the author's purpose on including a section about Hatcher's feedings?\n\n<options>:\nA To give insight on Hatcher's personality.\nB To show that McCray will have to feed like Hatcher if he does not return to Jodrell Bank because there is no human food where he is.\nC To further elaborate how different Hatcher and his kind are from a human.\nD To show how grotesque his feeding process is.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
809	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThis is what Fiss means by the \"irony\" in his title: that true freedom of speech for all requires suppressing the speech of some. This is not, technically, an irony. It is a paradox. An irony would be the observation that an attempt to increase freedom for all often entails, despite our best efforts, a decrease in freedom for a few. If Fiss had addressed the subject of free speech in this spirit, as an irony, he would undoubtedly have had some interesting things to say, for he is a learned and temperate writer. But he has, instead, chosen to address the issue as an advocate for specific groups he regards as politically disadvantaged--women, gays, victims of racial-hate speech, the poor (or, at least, the not-rich), and people who are critical of market capitalism--and to design a constitutional theory that will enable those groups to enlist the state in efforts either to suppress speech they dislike or to subsidize speech they do like, without running afoul of the First Amendment. Embarked on this task, the most learned and temperate writer in the world would have a hard time avoiding tendentiousness. Fiss does not avoid it. The Irony of Free Speech is a discussion of several speech issues: campaign-finance laws, state funding for the arts, pornography, speech codes, and equal time. These discussions are not doctrinaire, but their general inclination is to favor state intervention, on political grounds, in each of those areas--that is, to favor restrictions on campaign spending, greater regulation of pornography, and so on. Fiss' analyses of specific cases are presented against a lightly sketched historical argument. Light though the sketching is, the historical argument is almost the most objectionable thing about the book, since it involves a distortion of the history of First Amendment law that is fairly plain even to someone who is not a professor at Yale Law School. The argument is that \"the liberalism of the nineteenth century was defined by the claims of individual liberty and resulted in an unequivocal demand for liberal government, [while] the liberalism of today embraces the value of equality as well as liberty.\" The constitutional law of free speech, says Fiss, was shaped by the earlier type of liberalism--he calls it \"libertarian\"--which regarded free speech as a right of individual self-expression it is now used to foil efforts to regulate speech in the name of the newer liberal value, equality. Contemporary liberals, inheriting both these traditions, find themselves in a bind. They want, let's say, black students to be free from harassment at institutions where they are, racially, in a minority, since liberals worry that black students cannot be \"equal\" if they feel intimidated. But those same liberals get upset at the thought of outlawing hate speech, since that would mean infringing upon the right of individuals to express themselves. Fiss' suggestion--this is the chief theoretical proposal of his book--is that liberals should stop thinking about this as a conflict between liberty and equality and start thinking about it as a conflict between two kinds of liberty: social vs. individual. The First Amendment, he says, was intended to foster (in William Brennan's words) \"uninhibited, robust, and wide-open\" debate in society as a whole speech that inhibits or monopolizes that debate should therefore fall outside the protection of the law. We can maximize the total freedom of speech by silencing people who prevent others from speaking--when they utter racial epithets, represent women in degrading ways, use their wealth to dominate the press and the political process, or block the funding of unorthodox art. The historical part of this analysis rests on a canard, which is the assertion that the constitutional law of free speech emerged from 19 th -century classical laissez-faire liberalism. It did not. It emerged at the time of World War I, and the principal figures in its creation--Learned Hand, Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., and Louis Brandeis--were not classical liberals they displayed a libertarian attitude toward economic rights, tending to throw out legislation aimed at regulating industry and protecting workers on the grounds that people had a constitutional right to enter into contracts and to use their own property as they saw fit. Holmes, Brandeis, and their disciples consistently supported state intervention in economic affairs--the passage of health and safety regulations, the protection of unions, the imposition of taxes, and so on. The post-New Deal liberals whom Fiss associates with the value of equality are their heirs. The heirs of the19 th -century classical liberals are Jack Kemp and Newt Gingrich. Fiss' two \"liberalisms\" are, in fact, almost entirely different political philosophies. Hand, Holmes, and Brandeis based their First Amendment opinions not on some putative right to individual self-expression (an idea Holmes referred to as \"the right of the donkey to drool\") but on a democratic need for full and open political debate. First Amendment law since their time has performed its balancing acts on precisely that social value--the very value Fiss now proposes we need to insert into First Amendment jurisprudence. We don't need to insert it, because it was there from the start. Why does Fiss portray the history of First Amendment jurisprudence in this perverted way? Because he wants to line up his own free-speech argument within the conventional academic view that our problems are mostly the consequences of an antiquated and discreditable ideology of liberal individualism, and that they can mostly be solved by adopting a social-constructionist, or communitarian, or \"intersubjective\" view of human nature instead. The merits of liberal individualism vs. communitarianism can await another occasion to be debated. For since the law governing the freedom of speech does not emerge out of libertarianism, the matter does not boil down to replacing an obsolete belief in \"self-expression\" with a more up-to-date belief in \"robust debate,\" as Fiss would like to think it does. What it boils down to is whether we need to replace the Hand-Holmes-Brandeis way of maximizing the benefits of free speech in a democratic society, which tries to push the state as far out of the picture as possible, with a different way, which tries to get the state farther into the picture. Still, that discussion, like his discussions of the other issues, rests on a claim long associated with the left--the claim, in a phrase, that the minority is really the majority. In the case of speech, Fiss appears to believe that the reason the American public is less enlightened than he would wish it to be concerning matters such as feminism, the rights of homosexuals, and regulation of industry is that people are denied access to the opinions and information that would enlighten them. The public is denied this access because the state, in thrall to the ideology of individualism, refuses either to interfere with speech bullies--such as pornographers--who \"silence\" women, or to subsidize the speech of the unorthodox, such as Robert Mapplethorpe. Fiss' analysis of the Mapplethorpe case offers a good example of the perils of his interventionist approach. Arts policy is, unquestionably, a mess. The solution usually proposed is divorce: Either get the state out of the business altogether or invent some ironclad process for distributing the money using strictly artistic criteria. Fiss rejects both solutions he wants the criteria to be political. He thinks the NEA should subsidize art that will enhance the \"robustness\" of the debate and should therefore prefer unorthodox art--though only, of course, if it represents a viewpoint the endowment considers, by virtue of social need and a prior history of exclusion, worthy of its megaphone. (No Nazi art, in other words.)\n\n<question>:\nWhich statement about details within the article is NOT true.\n\n<options>:\nA Fiss would support a minority movement before a movement from people in a \"majority\" social group.\nB Despite his bitterness towards contemporary liberals, Fiss' ideologies are uniquely liberal in themselves.\nC Nearly all Americans today would agree with Fiss' rationale.\nD Fiss believes that inequality is a major contemporary issue.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,754	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthere isn't a trap, the Karna can't satisfy Braynek, because he's convinced that there has As a result, all his advice to Nordon, and all his questioning on the wildest possibilities, just serves In his office apartment, on the top floor of the The Karna can see that we're not Malloy leafed casually through the dossiers of the four new men who had been assigned But what the Karna don't see is that in Occeq City, Bertrand Saarkkad IV to work under Bertrand Malloy, Permanent Terran Ambassador to His Utter Munificence, the Occeq of Saarkkad. Take this first one, for instance. Malloy ran his finger down the columns of complex symbolism that showed the complete psychological go, Mr. Ambassador?\" Malloy looked at him. \"Didn't you on his guard against imaginary plots me, in the first place. No, I couldn't go. The reason why I'm here, cooped up in this office, hiding from the Saarkkada the way a good Saarkkadic and persecutions. know? I wondered why you appointed trusted no one, and was perpetually bigshot should, is because I Malloy sighed and pushed the dossiers away from him. No two men were alike, and yet there sometimes that empty space, even if I'm protected from it by a steel shell.\" A look of revulsion came over his face. correlated with the Saarkkadic softly to himself—he had Saarkkad. whole galaxies without filling its insatiable void. Malloy closed his eyes. Somewhere out there, a war was raging. He didn't even like to think of that, but of the alien Karna in the most important war that Mankind had yet fought. And, Malloy knew, his own position was not unimportant in that war. He was not in the battle line, nor with the Saarkkadic government. The Saarkkada themselves were humanoid and for nine years, no Saarkkada had 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 social setup of Saarkkad would mean Saarkkadic laboratories produced that were vitally necessary to Earth's war, and which could be duplicated nowhere else in the Saarkkada weren't difficult to get could have handled them without half trying. But Malloy didn't have top-grade men. They couldn't be spared from work that required their total capacity. where there are more important jobs that will tax his full output. So Malloy was stuck with the culls. Not the worst ones, of course there were places in the galaxy that were 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 Physical handicaps weren't at all difficult to deal with. A blind man can work very well in the total darkness his own on Saarkkad unless was impossible, in view of the sterilization regulations. But Malloy didn't like to stop at merely thwarting mental quirks he liked to find places where they were useful . The phone chimed. Malloy flipped it on with a practiced hand. \"Malloy here.\" \"Mr. Malloy?\" said a careful voice. \"A special communication for you has been teletyped in from Earth. Shall I found it difficult to give it up once it was in her possession. Malloy had made her his private secretary. Nothing—but nothing —got out of Malloy's office without his direct order. It had taken Malloy a 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, a rather handsome woman in her middle someone might at any instant snatch it from her before she could turn it over to Malloy. She laid them carefully on the let you know immediately, sir,\" she said. \"Will there be anything else?\" Malloy let her stand there while he picked up the communique. She wanted to know what his reaction was it didn't matter because no one would ever find out from her what he had done unless she was ordered to tell someone. hushed voice. Malloy read the whole thing through, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Miss Drayson stood her emotions were a secret. Finally, Malloy looked up. \"I'll let you know as soon as I reach a decision, \"Of course not, sir.\" Malloy watched her go out the door without actually seeing her. The war was over—at least for a while. He The Karna, slowly being beaten clever, persuasive talkers. They could twist a disadvantage to an advantage, and make their own strengths look their own advantage ... Already, they had taken the offensive in the matter of the peace talks. Saarkkad V, the next planet out from the Saarkkad sun, a chilly world inhabited The Karna considered this to be government to get a vessel to Saarkkad Saarkkad sun was just as far from Karna played their cards right, their might be a vital point in the negotiations. And that was where Bertrand Malloy I do?\" he said softly. On the second day after the arrival of the communique, Malloy Malloy knew the woman would listen in on the intercom anyway, and it was better to give her permission to was graying at the temples, and his handsome face looked cool and efficient. Malloy waved him to a seat. Nordon nodded slowly. \"Yes, sir.\" Malloy explained the problem of the Karna peace talks. \"We need a man who can outthink them,\" Malloy finished, \"and judging for Saarkkad V.\" Nordon nodded again. \"Yes, sir certainly. Am I to go alone?\" \"No,\" said Malloy, \"I'm sending an assistant with you—a man named Kylen Braynek. Ever heard of him?\" Nordon shook his head. \"Not that I recall, Mr. Malloy. Should I have?\" \"Not necessarily. He's a pretty shrewd operator, though. He knows a capable of spotting a trap a mile away. You'll be in charge, of course, but I want you to pay special attention to much time, but it's the Karna who are against his skull, and hard, penetrating, dark eyes that were shadowed by heavy, protruding brows. Malloy asked him to sit down. Again Malloy went through the explanation of the peace conference. \"Naturally, they'll be trying to trick you every step of the way,\" Malloy went on. \"They're shrewd and underhanded Nordon know immediately.\" \"They won't get anything by me, Mr. Malloy.\" By the time the ship from Earth Malloy had full reports on the whole parley, as relayed to him through the ship that had taken Nordon and Braynek to Saarkkad V. didn't quite make it to his calculating eyes. He took Malloy's hand and shook Malloy handed them to the secretary, and as he read, Malloy watched good man, Malloy had to admit, but he didn't know all the ins and outs of the Diplomatic Corps. and outdo the finest team of negotiators the Karna could send.\" \"I thought they would,\" said Malloy, trying to appear modest. The secretary's eyes narrowed. doing here with ... ah ... sick men. Is this one of your ... ah ... successes?\" Malloy nodded. \"I think so. The Karna put us in a dilemma, so I threw a dilemma right back at them.\" The Secretary nodded slowly. \"What about Braynek?\" \"Paranoid,\" said Malloy. \"He thinks everyone is plotting against him. In this case, that's all to the good because the Karna plotting against him. No matter what they put forth, Braynek is convinced that there's a trap in it somewhere, and he digs to find out what the trap is. Even if\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the role of the Saarkkadic people in this story?\n\n<options>:\nA The other races are vying for attention from them for support in the war\nB They are overseeing the peace talks.\nC They produce some materials important to the Terrans.\nD They provide a place for Malloy to hide from his own people.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,027	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 JIM HARMON How much is the impossible worth? [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Linton lay down his steel fork beside the massively solid transparency know how it is. Snead's dead, don't you remember?\" Linton remembered. Howell had to know that he would remember. What were they trying to pull on him? \"The man who isn't Snead is leaving,\" Linton said, describing the scene over Howell's shoulder. \"If that's \"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 \"Couldn't have been him, though,\" Linton answered automatically. \"My Howell breathed in deeply and sucked back Linton's attention. \"Now you've probably got old Snead into trouble.\" \"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, or rather he had watched the two workmen scoop and shove dirt in on let him out of the asylum as cured, he still secretly believed he had known a genuine affection for her. But it didn't seem he knew about death at all. Linton felt that his silence was asking Howell by this time. \"Who by?\" Linton asked, thinking: life?\" Linton said. 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. \"That's not enough. Not nearly enough.\" \"I don't understand,\" Linton complained. \"Why haven't I heard about it?\" word, not sex. You want to shock somebody, you tell him, 'You're going to be dead someday,' not anything sexual. You know how it is. The 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!\" yell at me and curse me. You kooks are all alike!\" The doctor fluttered his hands and chirped about the office. \"Well, 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.\" 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 can find out anything by asking the right questions of the right person at the right time.\" Linton stared suspiciously. \"Do you know where I can find a \"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, can you really resurrect the dead?\" \"Will you stop being cynical? Of course I can!\" \"Doctor, I'm beginning to believe in you,\" Linton said, \"but tell me, \"Months?\" The doctor snapped those weeks away with his fingers. \"It could be years. Centuries. It's all mathematics, my boy. I need only one fragment of the body and my computers can compute what the rest of it was like and recreate it. It's infallible. Naturally there is a degree of risk involved.\" \"Infallible risk, yes,\" Linton murmured. \"Could you go to work right away?\" \"First, I must follow an ancient medical practice. I must bleed you.\" Linton grasped the situation immediately. \"You mean you want money. You \"What a wonderful professional career,\" Linton said, when he couldn't \"All that's ended now,\" the doctor assured him. \"Now we must go dig up \"Doctor,\" Linton whispered, \"my mind is singing with battalions of The doctor stroked his oily palms together. \"Oh, but it does. to obtain. The doctor had taken the body and Linton's fortune and fed them both into the maw of his calculators, and by means of the secret, smuggled formulae, Greta would be cybernetically reborn. Linton shook his head. It seemed impossible. But Greta opened the olive-drab slab of metal of the door to the doctor's inner-inner 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. \"Yes,\" he said, his heart lurching for her sad ignorance. \"But tell ?\" 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 She accepted the verdict. She pulled away and touched at her hair. It was the same hair, black as evil, contrasting with her inner purity. Of course it would be Johnny....\" Her fine black brows made Gothic arches. \"Yes? What about Johnny?\" \"No,\" Linton said. \"I'm sold out. I've borrowed on my insurance to the foaming acid baths, great whale-toothed disposals, barrels of chemicals 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.\" Her eyes flashed around the doctor's office and settled somewhere, on Linton followed the direction of Greta's gaze and found only an ashtray Linton leaped aside and Greta hit the edge of the desk instead of him. Linton understood immediately. He felt foolish, humiliated. All that money! He had resurrected a gold ring that had turned his knuckles green. No one must ever know. Linton twisted the stand away from his wife and watched her face Linton was surprised at the fine wire mesh just below the skin and pouring water on a wilted geranium. Or— old corpses and make androids, synthetic creatures, to take their place? But it didn't matter. Not a bit. She had thought she was his wife, sharing her viewpoint down to the finest detail, and he had thought she was his wife. It was what you thought was real that made it so, not the other way around. \"I've killed my wife!\" Linton called, rising from his knees, stretching He opened his eyes to the doctor's spotless, well-ordered office. The doctor looked down at him consolingly. \"You'll have to go back, Mr. Linton. But they'll cure you. You'll be cured of ever thinking your think so, Doctor?\" Linton asked hopefully.\n\n<question>:\nWhich of these best describes the doctor that Linton meets at the end?\n\n<options>:\nA Generous in that he is willing to help Linton with this problem that involves illegal work on his part\nB Greedy in that he manipulates vulnerable people to take money from them\nC Love-stricken, wanting to help people in similar situations\nD Cunning in his cutting-edge technology he is developing\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
726	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCaptain Hannah climbed painfully down from the , hobbled across the spaceport to where Beulah and I were waiting to greet him among the stars. Call it the Look of Eagles. Captain Hannah had lost every inch of him that showed was a red mass of welts piled on more welts, as though never try.\" He lapsed back into silence after this uncharacteristic admission. I almost felt sorry for him, but just then Beulah came racking across for his present troubles, it was no more than he deserved. I rated winning for once. anxiously, after the elephants had been admired and sent back home. The success of that venture—even if the job had turned out to be more \"I got them there safely,\" said Captain Hannah. enough tolerance to cause no trouble in the trip in Delta Crucis .\" A ourselves to hauling a full load of it?\" asked Captain Hannah. \"We couldn't,\" I protested. \"The Myporians gave us a deadline. If we had gone through all of that rigamarole, we would have lost the Especially when you're barricaded in the head.\" I almost asked him why he had been barricaded in the bathroom of the 'remember' the rate and direction of movement, and keep it up during the night time. So what? We had that problem all figured out.\" \"You think so? That solution was one of yours, too, wasn't it?\" He gazed moodily at his beaker of rhial. \"I must admit it sounded good to me, too. In Limbo, moving at multiple light-speeds, the whole light source, and then dimmed until we had ten and one-half hours of darkness. \"Of course, it didn't work.\" \"For Heaven's sake, why not?\" \"So what did you do?\" I asked, when that had sunk in. \"If the stem doesn't keep winding, the plants die and they can only take a few extra hours of night time before they run down.\" \"Oh,\" said Captain Hannah in quiet tones of controlled desperation, \"it gravity, and then I strung a light and moved it every fifteen minutes for ten and one-half hours, until I had gone halfway around the room. Then I could turn the light off and rest for ten and one-half hours. The plants liked it fine. \"I won't even talk about what I went through while I was shifting the hydroponic tanks, when all the plastic membranes that were supposed to keep the water in place started to break.\" \"I'd like to know,\" I said sincerely. He stared at me in silence for a moment. \"Well, it filled the cabin one of them. You could drown—I almost did. Several times. \"I got a fire pump—an empty one. You know the kind a wide cylinder \"Did it work?\" I asked eagerly. \"Eventually. Then I stopped to think of what to do with the water. It was full of minerals and manure and such, and I didn't want to that or suicide. I had begun to get the feeling that they were stalking me. So I drew a blank.\" \"Then after that you were all right, except for the tedium of moving \"Not yet,\" said Captain Hannah. \"Like you, I figured I had the stage. I guess they were more like butterflies than mosquitoes in their habits. And now they were mature. \"There were thousands and thousands of them, and each one of them made a tiny, maddening whine as it flew.\" reach died so fast that you could watch their leaves curl up and drop off. \"I couldn't figure whether to turn up the fans and dissipate the because it's poisonous to humans too. \"I finally blocked the vents and the door edges in the head, after that had made their way into the head with me, and started to change the air in the ship to get rid of the poison. I knew it was too late before I started, and for once I was right. a breeding ground for midges, but the midges didn't seem to want to cooperate. Whatever I tried to do, they came back to me. I was the only thing they seemed to love. I didn't dare bathe, or scratch, or even wriggle, for fear of killing more of them. And they kept on itching. It was just about unbearable, but I bore it for three interminable days while the midges died one by one. It was heartbreaking—at least, it was to me. \"And it was unnecessary, too. Because apparently the carolla had already laid their eggs, or whatever it is that they do, before I had fumigated them. After my useless days of agony, a new batch blundered around aimlessly. \"I lit out for the head again, to keep away from that intolerable whining. This time I took a luxurious shower and got rid of most of the midges that came through the door with me. I felt almost comfortable, in fact, until I resumed my efforts to catch up on my reading. of their life cycle as the carolla. Apparently the shaking up I had given their larvae in moving the tanks and dipping the water up in buckets and all that had inhibited them in completing their cycle the first time around. the adult dinglebury will eat only the adult carolla, and it has to fill itself full to bursting before it will reproduce. If I had the translation done correctly, they were supposed to dart gracefully around, catching carolla on the wing and stuffing themselves happily. that anyway, because it was almost 'daylight', and time for me to start shifting the lights again. dizzy, so they can't catch carolla. \"And if you think I figured all that out about dingleburys getting dizzy at the time, in that madhouse of a ship, then you're crazy. What \"I didn't dare to get rid of the things without checking my book, of course, so it was back to the head for me. 'Night' had come again—and carolla left to join me outside. \"I showered and swatted and started to read. I got as far as where it said that the dingleburys continued to be of importance, and then I'm afraid I fell asleep. \"I got up with the sun the next morning. Hell, I had to, considering That was the first of my welts, and it put me back in the head in about two seconds. \"And what's more, I found that I couldn't kill the damn things. Not if other to the point where they curled up and died, and I had to do it gently , surrounded by a bunch of worried dingleburys. \"Every time they got a little too worried, or I slipped and bumped into computer was completely clogged. I could use the auxiliary, on the bridge, if I could get to it, but it's a poor substitute. For another translated very carefully—it required an 'organic processor'. \"So I had to eat pounds of that horrible tasting stuff every day, and process it the hard way. \"I didn't even have time to scratch my bites. I must have lost weight away—if they ever do—but I have improved a lot already. \"For a while I must have been out of my head. I got so caught up in the rhythm of the thing that I didn't even notice when we slipped out Crucis down safely. Even as shaky as I was, developed fully. They were popping and spreading fine dust-like spores all over the ship, those last few hours before I landed. \"By that time, though, an occasional sneezing fit and watering eyes didn't bother me any. I was far beyond the point where hay fever could add to my troubles. reasonable at the time.\" Captain Hannah inhaled a sip of rhial, and seemed to be enjoying the powerful stuff. He acted as if he thought he had finished. Hannah nodded. \"They were growing luxuriously.\" He nodded his head a couple of more times, in spite of the discomfort it must have given him. III, they let me go. \"They'll send you the bill. They don't figure it will take them more than a few months to complete the job.\" Captain Hannah stopped talking and stood up, painfully and a little busy reaching for the rhial. END\n\n<question>:\nWhat word best describes Captain Hannah's physical description at the beginning of the article?\n\n<options>:\nA Sick\nB Grotesque\nC Feverish\nD Exhausted\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,963	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 sides. Not greatly different and repulsion through a tube exhausted of air, at a speed that would have made an old The . They were uncovering new talent at such a great rate, hundred and fifty stories. Eric Fletcher Pratt and Miles J. Breuer), that Jack Williamson barely managed to become one of which bore the words: a distinguished group of discoveries warm downpour. Dry wood As they approached, a lean The Metal Man. A disciple of A. Merritt, he attempted to imitate in style, mood man, carrying a black bag, darted The imitation found great favor from the readership and almost late lamented master of fantasy. and subject the magic of that dramatization of them on the . He followed his initial success with two short novels and The Alien Intelligence The thin man in black, whom Eric now recognized as a prominent French heart-specialist, was dear?\" these stories were close copies of A. Merritt, whose style and method Yet the strange thing about it was that Jack Williamson was one of the most versatile science fiction authors ever to sit down television screens. They thrilled dollars and eighty cents, please.... Your turn next. Remember this is just an experimental memorable super lock-picker Giles Habilula as the major attraction in a rousing trio of space One Against the \"Why, hello, Eric, old man!\" with second. The youth turned toward \"With \"None of your impertinence, sir! I want my dog.\" \"Ah, a dog. Must have jumped and—\" \"Young man, if any harm trees, and coconut palms, but granted, regardless of the quantity the story. With only a few thousand The His father was a cattle man, but for young Jack, the \"with monotonous rounds of what seemed an endless, heart-breaking war with Eric?\" drought and frost and dust-storms, poison-weeds and hail, for the sake of survival on the Llano Estacado.\" of AMAZING STORIES was the escape he sought and his goal was to be a science fiction writer. He labored to this end and the first he knew that a story of his had Eric held up the silver flask. of he has written millions of words of science fiction and has gone on record as follows: \"I feel that to a technological environment. is dangerous. I've got a sort of most interesting and stimulating form of literature today.\" television attachment, for focusing pajamas. He smiled fondly across for what happens afterward.\" \"Simple, primitive life is what we're looking for. And now what do I owe you—\" open again, and Eric led Nada that would have been strange to the man of four or and also with scientific appliances five centuries before, when the Eric helped Nada to a place of a high island in the jungle. I say—how're you coming back? heroes in your books!\" With another yawn, Mr. Eric Nada and Eric felt themselves the ancient ranches. Or a man seated himself before a broad, The the vanishing hero of their faces. Eric sat up, found roaring through the jungle, with was an author. There was a whole pleasure to the young novelist's He wrote \"thrilling action romances,\" as his enthusiastic publishers were men. Red-blooded heroes responding vigorously to the stirring passions of primordial life!\" He was impartial as to the source of his thrills—provided not parasites on the machines.\" \"It's wonderful to have a fine, hero was likely to be an ape-man strong man like you to trust in, a bloody rock in one hand and a beautiful girl in the other. Or a cowboy, \"hard-riding, hard-shooting,\" they were distant enough from modern civilization. His Eric. You're just like one of the \"You're the perfect companion, His heroes were invariably strong, fearless, resourceful fellows, who could handle a club on equal terms with a cave-man, or call science to aid them in defending a beautiful mate from the terrors of a desolate wilderness. Nada.... But now we Eric's novels, and watched the must be practical. We must We need flint for tools, and at the simple, romantic lives his to strike sparks to make a fire heroes led, paid him handsome shared his opinion that civilization had taken all the best from the life of man. Eric had settled down to the royalties, and subconsciously the sensuous delight of his hero in the roasted marrow-bones of a dead mammoth, when the pretty woman in the other marooned with a lovely woman tripping into the study, gay and vivacious, and—as her husband of a few months most justly thought—altogether beautiful in \"A darned shame,\" Eric grumbled, savage animals he had seen in nature had left them even resolved to forget that his next \"red-blooded action thriller\" was say nothing of a mass of pure tools, sharpened in the fire.\" \"Probably you're right. This soil seemed to be of alluvial origin. Shouldn't be surprised if the television. \"We'll find a nice dry cave, sticks together, can't you?\" \"It can be done, I'm sure. I've never tried it, myself. We need on a desert South Sea island. They resumed the weary And a hundred million read with Nature, and growing things. Men read her poems and called her a genius. Even seemed scarce as the proverbial hen's teeth. though the whole world had grown up into a city, the birds \"Matches! Of course not! \"Eric, darling,\" she said, \"isn't We're going back to Nature.\" \"I hope we get a fire pretty things we both love?\" \"Yes, dear. Civilization has ruined the world. If we could only I'm hungry.\" when life was simple and natural, his own. They turned their attention when men hunted and killed their He confessed to a few pangs of \"If dry wood were gold dust, we couldn't buy a hot dog.\" meat, instead of drinking synthetic slain with a broken branch had contrary ideas about the matter. At last, from sheer weariness, South Sea Islands. But they stuff, when men still had the joys of conflict, instead of With and it must be much like seemingly not inconvenienced in begin life like the characters in your stories, to get away from this hateful civilization, and live natural lives. Maybe a rocket—\" Nada clung against Eric. The artistic satisfaction of describing world seems to be in about the \"Eric,\" a thin voice trembled. \"Don't you think—it might have been better— You know the old \"I've quit bothering about science. It has ruined nature, filled the world with silly, artificial the German physicist.\" \"Eric?\" she called softly. both are simply sorts.\" . And Millikan's of electricity are united to form a single fragment of quartz, to weren't a scientist.\" He glowed Eric and Nada clung to each with pride. \"But the method, in if they were demolishing forests. ones. The Express Ray is an humans. Nada burst into tears. \"Oh, if only—if only—\" more penetrating.\" far higher than that of more powerful and overcame them. A few as this!\" on the plate—just the same as I can't see how he picture is transformed into mere dissolving layers of the \"But the analogy of the lens is the better of the two. For no receiving instrument is required, Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding, noted author of primitive life and love, ate a hearty meal with his pretty spouse, after they had washed opposite each other, and ate, getting as much satisfaction from contemplation of each other's delivered his promised story to his publishers, a thrilling tale of faces as from the excellent food. a beautiful girl. The hero made stone tools, erected a dwelling for himself and his mate, hunted food for her, defended her from the mammoth saurian monsters cares of the morning. The book was a huge success. world. But I know his weak point—\" Eric laughed, fumbled with a \"Old friendship, plus this, minutes later Mr. Eric\n\n<question>:\nHow does Eric compare to the protagonists of his novels?\n\n<options>:\nA He shares neither a passion nor aptitude for survival\nB He shares an aptitude for survival, but not a passion\nC He shares a passion and aptitude for survival\nD He shares a passion for survival, but not an aptitude\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,351	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nNot 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. The founders of the Brixton Pound wanted to do something to stop 80p of every £1 spent locally from leaking out of the area into the pockets of corporations, at the expense of small local traders. So they printed a currency that would have the same value as the pound, but could only be traded in independent Brixton shops, where the shopkeeper would also have to spend it locally. This year the Brixton Pound got its own cashpoint, from where people can withdraw local banknotes bearing colourful images of local heroes, like David Bowie and secret Agent Violette Szabo, to spend in over 150 local shops. It can also be used by residents to pay council tax and by employers to pay wages. 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. 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. 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. 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. Every time a Brixton Pound transaction is made, 1.5 per cent goes into a Brixton Fund. This is used to give micro-grants of between a few hundred and £2000 to local projects and community groups. \"We aim to target projects that aren't large enough to apply for more formal grant funding,\" says Lucy Çava, project manager at the Brixton Pound. \"We see this as part of community building – linking the Brixton Pound user with community groups, so both groups become more visible to each other through the currency and fund. This is particularly important in Brixton because of the gentrification debates which are very salient round there,\" Çava says. Meanwhile, the people behind the Bristol Pound are readying a mutual credit network called Bristol Prospects. Through this network, businesses in Bristol can exchange credit in the form of loans that are neutralised within the network, helping one another to grow without relying on the high rates of commercial lenders. Once operational, loans offered through the Prospects network will have negative interest, so that businesses are encouraged to pass credit on as quickly as possible. \"That's the plan,\" says Clarke, \"because it's rather like a hot potato: people will want to pass it on.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich complementary currency didn't work out?\n\n<options>:\nA The Stroud Pound\nB The Totnes Pound\nC The Liverpool Pound\nD The Brixton Pound\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
483	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThis was not the explanation Shawn was expecting, Gill tells us. \"Discs of bright red begin to burn in his cheeks.\" Was Shawn blushing out of prudishness, as we are meant to infer? This was, after all, a man renowned for his retiring propriety, a man who sedulously barred anything smacking of the salacious--from lingerie ads to four-letter words--from the magazine he stewarded from 1952 until 1987, five years before his death. But after reading these two new memoirs about Shawn, I wonder. \"He longed for the earthiest and wildest kinds of sexual adventures,\" Lillian Ross discloses in hers, adding that he lusted after Hannah Arendt, Evonne Goolagong, and Madonna. As for Ved Mehta, he reports that Shawn's favorite thing to watch on television was \"people dancing uninhibitedly\" ( Soul Train , one guesses). I suspect Shawn did not blush at the \"cunty fingers\" remark out of prudery. He blushed because it had hit too close to home. Both these memoirs must be read by everyone--everyone, that is, who takes seriously the important business of sorting out precisely how he or she feels about The New Yorker , then and now. Of the two, Mehta's is far and away the more entertaining. This may seem odd, for Mehta is reputed to be a very dull writer whereas Ross is a famously zippy one. Moreover, Mehta writes as Shawn's adoring acolyte, whereas Ross writes as his longtime adulterous lover. Just knowing that Mrs. Shawn is still alive adds a certain tension to reading much of what this Other Woman chooses to divulge. Evidently, \"Bill\" and Lillian loved each other with a fine, pure love, a love that was more than love, a love coveted by the winged seraphs of heaven. \"We had indeed become one,\" she tells us, freely venting the inflations of her heart. Shawn was managing editor of The New Yorker when he hired Ross in 1945 as the magazine's second woman reporter (the first was Andy Logan). He was short and balding but had pale blue eyes to die for. As for Ross, \"I was aware of the fact that I was not unappealing.\" During a late-night editorial session, she says, Shawn blurted out his love. A few weeks later at the office, their eyes met. Without a word--even, it seems, to the cab driver--they hied uptown to the Plaza, where matters were consummated. Thereafter, the couple set up housekeeping together in an apartment 20 blocks downtown from the Shawn residence on upper Fifth Avenue and stoically endured the sufferings of Shawn's wife, who did not want a divorce. Now, Ross seems like a nice lady, and I certainly have nothing against adultery, which I hear is being carried on in the best circles these days. But the public flaunting of adultery--especially when spouses and children are around--well, it brings out the bourgeois in me. It also made me feel funny about William Shawn, whom I have always regarded as a great man. I loved his New Yorker . The prose it contained--the gray stuff around the cartoons--was balm for the soul: unfailingly clear, precise, logical, and quietly stylish. So what if the articles were occasionally boring? It was a sweet sort of boredom, serene and restorative, not at all like the kind induced by magazines today, which is more akin to nervous exhaustion. Besides, the moral tone of the magazine was almost wholly admirable--it was ahead of the pack on Hiroshima, civil rights, Vietnam, Watergate, the environment--and this was very much Shawn's doing. I do not like to think of him in an illicit love nest, eating tea and toast with cunty fingers. Happily, Ross has sprinkled her memoir with clues that it is not to be taken as entirely factual. To say that Shawn was \"a man who grieved over all living creatures\" is forgivable hyperbole but later to add that he \"mourned\" for Si Newhouse when Newhouse unceremoniously fired him in 1987 (a couple of years after buying the magazine)--well, that's a bit much. Even Jesus had his limits. Elsewhere, Ross refers to her lover's \"very powerful masculinity,\" only to note on the very next page that \"if he suffered a paper cut on a finger and saw blood, he would come into my office, looking pale.\" She declares that \"Bill was incapable of engendering a cliché, in deed as well as in word.\" But then she puts the most toe-curling clichés into his mouth: \"Why am I more ghost than man?\" Or: \"We must arrest our love in midflight. And we fix it forever as of today, a point of pure light that will reach into eternity.\" (File that under Romantic Effusions We Doubt Ever Got Uttered.) Nor is Ross incapable of a melodramatic cliché herself. \"Why can't we just live, just live ?\" she cries in anguish when she and Shawn, walking hand in hand out of Central Park, chance to see Shawn's wife slowly making her way down the block with a burden of packages. Like Ross, Mehta struggles to express William Shawn's ineffable virtues. \"It is as if, Mehta, he were beyond our human conception,\" Janet Flanner tells him once to calm him down. At times I wondered whether the author, in his ecstasies of devotion, had not inadvertently committed plagiarism. His words on Mr. Shawn sound suspiciously like those of Mr. Pooter on his boss Mr. Perkupp in The Diary of a Nobody . Compare. Mehta on Shawn: \"His words were so generous that I could scarcely find my tongue, even to thank him.\" Pooter on Perkupp: \"My heart was too full to thank him.\" Mehta: \"I started saying to myself compulsively, 'I wish Mr. Shawn would ring,' at the oddest times of the day or night. ... How I longed for the parade of proofs, the excitement of rewriting and perfecting!\" Pooter: \"Mr. Perkupp, I will work night and day to serve you!\" I am not sure I have made it sound this way so far, but Mehta's book is completely engrossing--the most enjoyable book, I think, I have ever reviewed. It oozes affection and conviction, crackles with anger, and is stuffed with thumping good stories. Many are about Mehta's daft colleagues at The New Yorker , such as the guy in the next office: His door was always shut, but I could hear him through the wall that separated his cubicle from mine typing without pause. ... Even the changing of the paper in the typewriter seemed somehow to be incorporated into the rhythmic rat-tat-tat ... year after year went by to the sound of his typing but without a word from his typewriter appearing in the magazine. Lillian Ross, by contrast, takes a rather cheerful view of the Brown dispensation. Indeed, the new editor even coaxed Ross into re-joining the magazine, just as she was booting Mehta out. \"I found that she possessed--under the usual disguises--her own share of Bill's kind of naivete, insight, and sensitivity,\" Ross says of Brown. \"She, too, 'got it.' \" A few months after Brown was appointed editor, Shawn died at the age of 85. He had long since stopped reading his beloved magazine, in sorrow and relief. That's if you believe Mehta. Ross assures us that Mr. Shawn was reading Tina Brown's New Yorker \"with new interest\" in the weeks prior to his death.\n\n<question>:\nWho received the worste abuse of all who are mentioned?\n\n<options>:\nA Ross\nB Gill\nC Mehta\nD Shawn\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
306	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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, that waspish science-fiction writer, was in a jam again. What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, Interstellar Voice three days ago, Earth time, and now as the immense disc of Jupiter flamed across the sky, entered the outer limits of the Baldric. Grannie Annie strode in the lead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place in this desert as the trees. Flagpole trees. They rose straight up like enormous cat-tails, with only a melon-shaped protuberance at the top to show they were a form of vegetation. Everything else was blanketed by the sand and the powerful wind that blew from all quarters. As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. \"This is the Baldric all right. If my calculations are right, we've hit it at its narrowest spot.\" Ezra Karn took a greasy pipe from his lips and spat. \"It looks like the , and other works of science fiction. Blood-and-thunder as these books are, however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background. \"Glad to meet you,\" he said cordially. \"I've just been trying to persuade Miss Flowers not to attempt a trip into the Baldric.\" \"What's the Baldric?\" I had asked. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. \"Will you believe me, sir,\" he said, \"when I tell you I've been out here at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix. It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'm not up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the red planet has developed with a supersonic method of vocal communication. middle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases. Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their sounding apparatus, and the rush was on.\" . Chap by the name of Jimmy Baker runs that. However, the point is, between the properties of these two companies stretches a band or belt which has become known as the Baldric. \"There are two principal forms of life in the Baldric flagpole trees and a species of ornithoid resembling cockatoos. So far no one has crossed the Baldric without trouble.\" \"What sort of trouble?\" Grannie Annie had demanded. And when Antlers saw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. We leave in an hour.\" So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelers on foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment and supplies. they suddenly faded like a negative exposed to light and disappeared. \"What do you make of it?\" I said in a hushed voice. Grannie shook her head. \"Might be a form of mass hypnosis superinduced by some chemical radiations,\" she replied. \"Whatever it is, we'd better watch our step. There's no telling what might lie ahead.\" We walked after that with taut nerves and watchful eyes, but we saw no repetition of the \"mirage.\" The wind continued to blow ceaselessly, and the sand seemed to grow more and more powdery. For some time I had fixed my gaze on a dot in the sky which I supposed excellent living conditions with a vacation on Callisto every year. Up until a short time ago most of them were in excellent health and spirits. Then the Red Spot Fever got them.\" \"Red Spot Fever?\" Grannie looked at him curiously. Jimmy Baker nodded. \"The first symptoms are a tendency to garrulousness on the part of the patient. Then they disappear.\" He paused to make an adjustment of the windlass. \"They walk out into the Baldric,\" he continued, \"and nothing can stop them. We tried following them, of course, but it was no go. As soon as they realize they're being followed, they stop. But the moment our eyes man's face formed in the vision plate. Baker listened, said \"Okay\" and threw off the switch. \"The entire crew of Shaft Four have gone out into the Baldric,\" he said slowly. There was a large map hanging on the wall back of Baker's desk. Grannie Annie walked across to it and began to study its markings. \"Shaft Four is at the outer edge of the Baldric at a point where that corridor is at its widest,\" she said. He flicked a stud, and the entire wall above the panel underwent a slow change of colors. Those colors whirled kaleidescopically, then coalesced into a three-dimensional scene. trouble up there. Red spot fever.\" \"Fever, eh?\" repeated Park. \"That's a shame. Is there anything I can do?\" \"Tell me,\" I said, \"has your company had any trouble with this plague?\" \"A little. But up until yesterday the fever's been confined to the other side of the Baldric. We had one partial case, but my chemists gave the chap an antitoxin that seems to have worked. Come to think of it, I might drive over to Shaft Four and give Jimmy Baker the formula. I haven't been out in the Baldric for years, but if you didn't have any trouble, I shouldn't either.\" We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he rang off. In exactly Then once more I was directly behind my friends, listening in on their conversation. The view through the windscreen showed an irregular array of copying speech, they also have the ability to recreate a mental image of what they have seen. In other words their brains form a powerful photographic impression of the object. That impression is then transmitted simultaneously in telepathic wavelengths to common foci. That eyrie might be likened to a cinema screen, receiving brain vibrations from a hundred different sources that blend into the light field to form what are apparently three-dimensional images.\" birds reconstruct images from the actual person. Why use drawings?\" \"Probably because the drawings are exaggerated in certain details and made a greater impression on their brains,\" Grannie replied. \"That explains something at any rate,\" the old prospector said. \"But how about that Red spot fever?\" On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I opened part of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and as I seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work. All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-red rays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens to concentrate and amplify the power of those rays. The internal clockwork something screwy here.\" Ten minutes later in another kite car we were driving at a fast clip through the powdery sands of the Baldric. And before long we saw another car approaching. shattered our windscreen. The wind shifted and blew from another quarter. The box kite soared, but the triangular kite faltered. Taking advantage of Park's loss of had been removed, and mounted on the hood was a large bullet-like contrivance that looked not unlike a search lamp. A blinding shaft of bluish radiance spewed from its open end. Playing it back and forth \"Ultra violet,\" Grannie Annie explained. \"The opposite end of the vibratory scale and the only thing that will combat the infra-red rays that cause red spot fever. Those men won't stop walking until they've reached Shaft Four.\" Grannie Annie told her story during the long ride back to Shaft Four. For he knew that just as Jupiter's great spot was responsible for a climate and atmosphere suitable for an Earthman on this Eighth Moon, so also was that spot a deadly power in itself, capable when its rays were concentrated of causing a fatal sickness. Then suddenly becoming fearful of Grannie's prying, Antlers Park strove He did head her off and managed to lure her and Baker and Xartal into the Shaft barracks where they would be exposed to the rays from the lens button. But Grannie only pretended to contract the plague.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is true about the Red Spot Fever?\n\n<options>:\nA It is contagious, and it is affecting nearly every worker.\nB There is no known cure for it.\nC It makes people vanish into thin air.\nD Infra-red rays influence people, and they end up lost in the Baldric.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,055	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 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 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 you'll want to go along. I'll be tired of talking by then, and in a hurry to get going. So I cut off your questions, and get you inside. I snap on a green button, and everything seems to cut off around us. You can see a sort of isn't protected, though. You start to say something, but by then I'm pressing a black button, turns over and pokes back at you. Doesn't hurt, and when you pull your arm back, you're still sound and uninjured. But it looks frightening and you don't try it again. 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. But there is only a single picture of a dull-looking metal sphere, with passengers moving up a ramp, and the office is closed. You begin to get you'd figure it was some part in a play and let it go. Well, people don't change much. You get up your courage and go up to a boy selling something that might be papers on tapes. \"Where can I find the Museum of Science?\" \"Downayer rien turn lefa the sign. Stoo bloss,\" he tells you. Around you, you hear some pretty normal English, but there are others using stuff as garbled as his. The educated and uneducated? I don't know. You go right until you find a big sign built into the rubbery surface of the walk: Miuzi:m v Syens . There's an arrow pointing and you turn left. Ahead of you, two blocks on, you can see a pink building, with faint aqua trimming, bigger than most of the others. They are building hesitate for a moment, then. You're beginning to think the whole affair is complete nonsense, and you should get back to the time machine and 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. guards as polite as that. \"I—I'm told I should investigate your display of atomic generators.\" He beams at that. \"Of course.\" The gate is swung to behind you, but 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 technically as a Jaegger diamond, and approximately twenty carats in size. You can have it made into a ring on the third floor during morning hours for one-tenth credit. If you have more than one child, press the red button for the number of stones you desire.\" You put it in your pocket, gulping a little, and get back to the , filled with everything from a crossbow to a tiny rod four inches long and half the thickness of a pencil, marked Fynal Hand Arm . Beyond is the end of the corridor, and a big place that bears a sign, Mad:lz v Atamic Pau:r Sorsez , is about the size of a desk telephone. The earlier ones are larger, of course, clumsier, but with variations, probably depending on the power output. A big sign You study it, but it mentions casually the inventor, without giving his name. Either they don't know it, or they take it for granted that everyone does, which seems more probable. They call attention to the fact that they have the original model of the first atomic generator 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 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 something out of his pocket and stares at it. \"Fine, fine. The mayor of Altasecarba—Centaurian, you know—is arriving, but I'll be back in about ten minutes. He wants to examine moves. There's a little sign under it, indicating you shouldn't touch it, since the gravostatic plate is being renewed. seems clear. Then you hear his voice from the weapons room. You bend down and try to scurry past, but you know you're in full view. Nothing happens, though. of your feet, with a sudden ringing sound. You don't wait to find out about that, either. Somebody reaches out a hand to catch you and you dart past. seeming to come out of the sockets, and that atomic generator getting heavier at every step. Out of nowhere, something in a blue uniform about six feet tall and on the beefy side appears—and the badge hasn't changed much. The cop catches your arm and you know you're not going to get away, so you stop. \"You can't exert yourself that hard in this heat, fellow,\" the cop says. \"There are laws against that, without a yellow sticker. Here, let me grab you a taxi.\" Reaction sets in a bit and your knees begin to buckle, but you shake \"I—I left my money home,\" you begin. The cop nods. \"Oh, that explains it. Fine, I won't have to give you an appearance schedule. But you should have come to me.\" He reaches out and taps a pedestrian lightly on the shoulder. \"Sir, an emergency request. Would you help this gentleman?\" The pedestrian grins, looks at his watch, and nods. \"How far?\" You did notice the name of the building from which you came and you mutter it. The stranger nods again, reaches out and picks up the other side of the generator, blowing a little whistle the cop hands him. Pedestrians begin to move aside, and you and the stranger jog down the street at a trot, with a nice clear path, while the cop stands beaming at you both. And he is. He stands just inside the door of the building as you reach it. The stranger lifts an eyebrow and goes off at once when you nod at him, not waiting for thanks. And the guard comes up, holding some dinkus in his hand, about the size of a big folding camera and not too dissimilar in other ways. He snaps it open and you get set to duck. 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 down beside it, and climb into the cockpit, sweating and mumbling. You reach forward toward the green button and hesitate. There's a red one beside it and you finally decide on that. Suddenly, there's a confused yell from the direction of the elevator and a beam of light strikes against your eyes, with a shout punctuating it. Your finger touches the red button. You'll never know what the shouting was about—whether they finally doped out the fact that they'd been robbed, or whether they were trying to help you. You don't care which it is. The field springs up around you and the next button you touch—the one on the board that hasn't been used so far—sends you off into nothingness. There is no beam of Before long, your riches from the generator are piling in. Little kids from school are coming around to stare at the man who changed history and made atomic power so common that no nation could hope to came looking for you and shouting, before the time machine left.\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Jerome stopped by the police while running?\n\n<options>:\nA He had been stealing\nB The cop had just saw the futuristic version of him.\nC There are laws again st exerting yourself in heat\nD He was presenting him with a yellow sticker.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,003	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nfound out.\" as it used to down there?\" \"We could tell by the sun, silly.\" \"Of course,\" he said, grinning at his stupidity. \"And I guess we're not Lakes—or Lake Erie, anyway.\" They were musing about the geography when a plane came out of a Don Cort, stranded on that rising town, was beginning to suspect that \"Transportation?\" Alis squeezed the arm she was holding. \"Why? Don't you \"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.\" over a second cup of coffee in a diner, when he screeched to a stop. If at the end of Don's handcuff began to talk to him. sped off to a telephone. was missing. The train's schedule called for it to pass through but not disappearance at midnight. The truck driver had made his discovery shortly after midnight. had been over the state. Washington said no. The Pentagon and the Atomic Energy Commission denied that they had been conducting secret experiments. up. The town's biggest factory made kitchen sinks and the next biggest made bubble gum. A United Airlines pilot found Superior early on the morning of November \" 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 \"Somebody flagged us down,\" the conductor said. \"We don't make a station \"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 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 \"Well, let's hurry up. We haven't got all night.\" Standing on tiptoe and repressing a touch of giddiness, Don looked over Don looked at the fireman, who had an unbelieving expression on his \"Overnight,\" Geneva Jervis said. \"If what Mr. Cort and the fireman say is true. I haven't seen the edge myself.\" 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 reception isn't very good, especially with old English movies. Well, all course. I said, 'What?' and then he told me.\" \"What's that?\" Don asked. the mayor wouldn't look foolish the next morning, not knowing his town \"Maybe not. But I'll bet they're swarming all over you by morning.\" Don laughed again. \"He sure is.\" Cort!\" she said, annoyed. \"You know as well as I do that \" Places 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 Don Cort had slept, but not well. He had tried to fold the brief case to had to sleep with his coat and shirt on. He got up, feeling gritty, and It was eight o'clock, according to the watch on the unhandcuffed wrist, students going to breakfast, he supposed, and the others were faculty members. The air was very clear and the long morning shadows distinct. 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. The mess hall, or whatever they called it, was cafeteria style and he got in line with a tray for juice, eggs and coffee. He saw no one he \"You're Mr. Cort,\" she said. \"Won't you join me?\" \"Thanks,\" he said, unloading his tray. \"How did you know?\" Alis—that's A-l-i-s, not A-l-i-c-e—Garet. Are you with the FBI? Or did \"Nut factory? You mean Cavalier?\" Don struggled to manipulate knife and fork without knocking things off the table with his clinging brief case. \"Here, let me cut your eggs for you,\" Alis said. \"You'd better order 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 \"How do you get down from an elephant? Old riddle. You don't extra. Ed Clark must have been up all night getting it out.\" She opened Don blinked at the headline: Alis said. Don read the story, which seemed to him a capricious treatment of an investigating.... Don skimmed the rest. \"I don't see anything about it being deliberate.\" Alis had been creaming and sugaring Don's coffee. She pushed it across handwritten) he (c) has not the temerity to ask his linotype operator to Don said, \"I'm beginning to like this Ed Clark.\" \"You may call me Alis,\" she said. \"And I'm nineteen.\" Don grinned. \"Going on?\" \"Don's the name I've had for twenty-six years. Please use it.\" \"Gladly. And now, Don, unless you want another cup of coffee, I'll go morning a blonde was apparently making an advance that hadn't been ,\" Alis said. \"What I meant—for \"Sure I do. Non-Einsteinian Relativity 1, at nine o'clock. But I'm a except for the conductor, who had dutifully spent the night aboard. \"Not that I know of,\" Don said. He introduced him to Alis Garet. \"What \"You can go over to Cavalier and have breakfast,\" Alis said. \"Nobody's going to steal your old train.\" The conductor reckoned as how he might just do that, and did. \"You know,\" Don said, \"I was half-asleep last night but before the train \"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. 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 a spell of dizziness to pass. The Earth was spread out like a topographer's map, far below. Don took another wary step, then sat down. \"Chicken,\" said Alis. She laughed uncertainly, then she sat down, too. \"I still can't see where the water goes,\" Don said. He stretched out on his stomach and began to inch forward. \"You stay there.\" \"What?\" 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 going off the edge!\" \"It isn't? Then where is it going?\" \"Why? How?\" \"What's the other source, besides the faucet in your bathroom?\" Don\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Alis tell Don that he should order his eggs scrambled for breakfast the next morning?\n\n<options>:\nA It was difficult for him to cut them with the briefcase handcuffed to himself.\nB They were better cooked that way in the cafeteria.\nC Because there were more available scrambled.\nD Because they were not cooked in water when they were scrambled.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,215	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthey were husband and wife. It could readily be Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] All she wanted was a mate and she had the gumption to go out and hunt one down. But that meant poaching in a strictly forbidden territory! were, she realized, for kids. and that was the direction of Haron Gorka's place. wrapped up in the romantic fallacy of her day that she sought a prince remained in view for a full second, searing a bright orange path across the night sky. impatiently told her to go out and get dates. he had to miss his college reunion. That's all he has to hide. A stuffy Victorian prude and even less of a man than the others.\" She shut off the shower, brushed her teeth, gargled, patted herself dry with a towel, and jumped into bed, careful to lock the door of her bedroom. She dared not let the widow Penshaws know that she slept in the widow Penshaws would object to a girl sleeping in the nude, even if the nearest neighbor was three hundred yards away. off the night table. ornithology wanted a young chick correspondent interested in the same subject . Or, that is, him . as though he would have reason indeed. He only wanted the best because he was the best. Like calls to like. The name—Haron Gorka: its oddness was somehow beautiful to Matilda. Haron Gorka—the nationality could be anything. And that was it. He had with a merest wary trickle of water, tiptoed back into her bedroom, about the house without her mother knowing about it, and that even asked him where she could find Haron Gorka. \"I said, where can I find Haron Gorka?\" \"It's not a that it's a he. Where can I find him? Where does he live? What's the quickest way to get there?\" The stereotype pushed up his glasses and looked at her squarely. \"Now take it easy, ma'am. First place, I don't know any Haron Gorka—\" Matilda did, only they didn't know any Haron Gorka, either. It turned early. If she could not find Haron Gorka, that was one thing hair, suspicious eyes, and a broom-stick figure.... On the other hand—why not? Why couldn't the librarian help her? Why hadn't she thought of it before? Certainly a man as well-educated as Haron Gorka would be an avid reader, and unless he had a permanent residence here in Cedar Palls, one couldn't expect that he'd have his you in the afternoon. I never did trust this Mr. Gorka....\" \"You know him? You know Haron Gorka?\" \"I mean anyone would like to correspond with Haron Gorka. Or to know him well. To be considered his friend. Haron Gorka....\" \"Um, where can I find Mr. Gorka?\" \"What about the other five women?\" \"They convinced me that I ought to give them his address.\" \"If I can't enjoy an association with Haron Gorka directly, I still of you will tell me about Haron Gorka, sparing no details. You each Haron Gorka lived in what could have been an agrarian estate, except his dwelling. That was it, of course: the conspicuous show of wealth or only one with the idea to visit Haron Gorka in person. With half a she wouldn't be needed As it turned out, she wasn't. Not only that, she was welcomed with open that she really might have liked. Instead, someone she could only regard as a menial met her, and when he asked had she come in response to the advertisement, she nodded eagerly. He told her that was fine and he ushered her straight into a room which evidently was to be her living quarters. It contained a small \"You want any food or drink,\" the servant told her, \"and you just press \"What about Mr. Gorka?\" A little doubtful now, Matilda thanked him and watched him leave. He closed the door softly behind his retreating feet, but Matilda's ears she wasn't going to be girlishly timid about it. Besides, it was not her fault if, in his unconcern, Haron Gorka had unwittingly hired a neurotic servant. going on outside she could hear nothing. In that case, she would pretend that there was nothing outside the little room, and presently she lay down on the bed to take a nap. This didn't last long, however: she had a nightmare in which Haron Gorka appeared as a giant with two salivary glands were working overtime, and she ate her meal. The fact extremely palatable made her forget all about Haron Gorka's neurotic servant. The feeling did not last long. Standing over her was Haron Gorka's servant, and he said, \"Mr. Gorka will see you now.\" She told the servant so. Haron Gorka. You are here and he is ready to see you and that is all She followed him out of the little room and across what should have realized that each of them probably had a cubicle of a room like her Haron Gorka. Well, then, she must see to it that she impressed him Haron Gorka. It was not that he was homely and unimpressive it was just that he was so \"In response to your ad. How do you do, Mr. Gorka?\" assuming that he would like informality. She could only wait and see than she did. He waited, however, as if wondering what to say, and Matilda, accustomed to social chatter, gave him a gambit. \"I must admit I was surprised when I got exactly what I wanted for dinner,\" she told him brightly. \"Eh? What say? Oh, yes, naturally. A combination of telepathy and teleportation. The synthetic cookery is attuned to your mind when you press the buzzer, and the strength of your psychic impulses determines how closely the meal will adjust to your desires. The fact that the you have a high psi-quotient, or that you were very hungry.\" \"Yes,\" said Matilda vaguely. Perhaps it might be better, after all, if Haron Gorka were to talk to her as he saw fit. \"Ready?\" \"Uh—ready.\" \"Well, what, Mr. Gorka?\" were near death. I owe my life to the mimicry of a flaak from Capella that Haron Gorka was mouthing gibberish. But on the other hand she Haron Gorka turned his back. Haron Gorka's guests to depart. Then Haron Gorka had severed that relationship, too, and now he was all alone. were, of course, two alternatives. Either Haron Gorka was an eccentric who enjoyed this sort of outlandish tomfoolery, or else he was plainly insane. She could still picture him ranting on aimlessly to no one in particular about places which had no existence outside of his mind, his voice high-pitched and eager. in detail. She did this first because it was a promise, and second because she knew it would make her feel better. \"So,\" she finished, \"Haron Gorka is either extremely eccentric or \"What do you mean?\" \"Did he leave a message for his wife?\" \"Why, yes. Yes, he did. But how did you know? Oh, I suppose he told the five.\" \"No. He didn't. But you were the last and I thought he would give you a Matilda didn't understand. She didn't understand at all, but she told the little librarian what the message was. \"He wanted her to return,\" she said. The librarian nodded, a happy smile on her lips. \"You wouldn't believe \"I am Mrs. Gorka.\" loses his temper, he tries to convince me that any number of females of the particular planet would be more than thrilled if they were given If you marry, choose a home-body. I've had the experience and you've\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Mr. Gorka let these women stay in his house?\n\n<options>:\nA he wanted to find a suitable wife\nB he wanted to find a woman that would enjoy listening to him speak\nC he planned to capture these women and keep them\nD he wanted to use telepathy on them\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,393	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 day accepted by the young, cherished by we old. Across the gently undulating hills stood the magnificent Melopolis, encradling the Oracle of Delni. I do not, of course, believe in the gods per se still there is a grandeur in the very stones that transcends their human sculptors, and it is no wonder to me that many cling tenaciously, and ignorantly, to the old religion. Cling to the gods of old, who drew man upward from wherever he began. In whose names Man killed and plundered, while struggling up. In whose returned, and settled down to live. Saddened, but resigned and content to live in peace with his knowledge and his power. Gone now are all the ancient evils, wars, emergencies. seldom seen today. Indeed, Melia was on this account made the butt of many jokes and, I fear, would have had a lonely life of it had it not been for the friendship of Xeon. in Maternite. All the Prelife is gone.\" \"All of it?\" I asked. \"There is nothing left,\" Melia insisted. \"Can more be made? And if not, what will happen with no more children?\" \"That is for the priests to say, not I,\" I replied. In moments of that they stood in the midst of an unprecedented happening Not in the memory of the eldest among us has a machine failed. They were created so long ago, indeed, that the ignorant believe them to have been constructed by the gods themselves. And never, so far as I know, has one failed. Small wonder that the watcher had been Besides, had he been sober, he would not have known what to do. For who knows the mysterious workings of the machines? themselves on the floor as I took my place by the great table. had departed for home and supper. Yet perhaps it is for the best, for those left were the most earnest and intelligent. \"I would not bore you,\" he said, \"with details of which only the gods are sure. Know, then, that once granted a few cells of Prelife, it is an easy matter for the Maternite Machine to add more and more A murmur of assent and approval of these virtuous words whispered \"That is not the worst,\" he cried, as if in defiance. \"All the Prelife has been dried up. It will not function. There is no more. And there will be no more children!\" At this I feared the Conclave was about to riot. It is at such times that I most revere the wisdom of the ancients, who decreed seventy \"Is there no way, then, to produce more Prelife in order that the machines may produce more children for us? \"As I have said,\" he replied, \"give the machines but a bit of Prelife and they will produce more. But take away that least bit, and they are helpless.\" Such heresy could have brought a sad end to the priest had not the Conclave been so exhausted by the events of the day. We leaned back to think. and yet it came from somewhere.\" \"Riddles are not called for,\" I answered severely. \"Are not riddles often the beginning of knowledge?\" he asked, in that irritating dumber-than-thou attitude of his. \"Must there not, long ago, have been a source of Prelife: a source now forgotten? And may it not even now—should we discover it—be available to us? I am reminded of the story of the animals of old—\" \"I fear your mind is wandering, Rocsates,\" I was forced to interrupt. \"I know well the legend of the animals, but what does it have to do—\" The heads of the Conclave were turning to me, quizzically. I \"If it be so,\" I said, quieting the hub-bub that followed, \"and I would not doubt your word, Rocsates, for all know you are the wisest of men—if it were so, then, what of it?\" \"May it not be,\" Rocsates put in, \"that these animals had no machines to reproduce their kind? For surely the gods would not grant machines to such creatures. And indeed, if they had Maternite Machines, why then we would yet have these animals among us.\" \"I should like to ask the Conclave for permission to search the ancient records, in the hope of finding some such knowledge that would prove or disprove my words.\" \"You wish to search the films—\" I began. \"Not the films, Sias, but the books.\" Gods, this Rocsates! The books, as well he knows, are so ancient, and so delicate, that they are kept in an air-tight tomb lest, being handled, they be destroyed and all knowledge within them lost. Therefore, they have not been read in the known history of our race. And Rocsates has been anxious for an excuse— \"Sias,\" he went on, \"if there exists such knowledge as I seek, is it not indeed lost to the memory of Man? And if so, are not the books the only place where it may be found?\" Rocsates, it is suspected, will never ask a question unless he knows may say, why should this not be so? There is, indeed, no reason why we \"Rocsates,\" I interrupted. \"All this is fascinating, of course. But if you could be quick—\" \"Of course,\" he replied. \"In the course of my reading I have read many books, and while they are all vague on the subject, this I have discovered: \"That there was indeed a time before the machines, in fact the books were created in that time, for not one of them mentions the machines. land, but they have lived with us for all time somehow intimately related to the physical distinctions of the She's!\" assembled overwhelmed him. \"It seems,\" I shouted, \"that there is a flaw in your logic.\" For if such there was, I was hopeful of dismissing the entire affair with no harm done. \"For if people reproduced too often, why then this reproduction must have been a pleasant thing to do otherwise they would not have done so to excess. And if it was a pleasant thing to do, where is the necessity for the machines, and why were they created?\" such a pleasure that the Conclave ruled it to be a sin? And therefore the machines were necessary!\" in the dungeon until the Conclave is satisfied to release him, and this I needed a sufficient excuse to call a meeting of the Conclave, to be held the next day at dawn, and so that night slept well. \"I have indeed discovered the secret of reproduction,\" he began. \"After many searchings, I came upon this—\" and he held forth the object he had carried in. \"It is a book. It is entitled, 'Living a Normal Sex Life.' It seems to be some sort of a do-it-yourself pamphlet.\" He dropped the book on the table and rubbed his hands over his eyes. suppose,\" he said. \"You see, once upon a time there were birds and bees....\" When he finished the Conclave sat in horrified silence. His words, with all their horror, had the ring of truth and there were no cries of 'Heresy'. There was only stunned disbelief and the beginnings of nausea. \"Shall not these organs which you mention have atrophied by now? With no use throughout all these generations, will they not have evolved into nothingness?\" \"I do not think so,\" Rocsates replied after a while. \"What to us is There were none, of course. Who would refuse a boon to one who would \"They seemed finally to accomplish all the book described,\" I muttered. \"It doesn't matter,\" I said disconsolately. \"Who could ask them to go through such an ordeal again?\" about her shoulders, as if to protect her, but I know not from whom. \"Of course,\" I replied. Anything they might want they could have. My I watched them turn and wander off together under the stars. My heart has a warmth in it, and I no longer fear for the future of our race when our young people can show such nobility and sacrifice.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is ironic about keeping their books stored away in an airtight compartment?\n\n<options>:\nA There is nothing in the books that can help Melopolis repair the Maternite or save its population\nB The books were already designed with technology that would keep them intact forever\nC There is little use in preserving something if the meaning is lost upon those preserving it\nD The books contain antiquated knowledge that will only set Melopolis back further\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
359	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 enemy was friendly enough. \"I can see it,\" he said. \"It's getting redder. It's ... it's ... melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's falling over to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is getting red, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh.\" General Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast was Gagarin. \"Will you please request the general to keep us informed on \"Is Pinov,\" came the reply. \"Help?\" ,\" said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. \"Count down. emergency watch this morning,\" he explained to the other Americans. Americans. \"How are we going to know when it's over?\" for several minutes. \"Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can't \"Let's all go in,\" said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. \"It's \"Is Pinov. Help?\" \"Tell him, 'Help',\" said Capt. Wilkins, \"so he'll get somebody we can \"The shot probably went off an hour ago.\" \"The static level hasn't gone up much, if at all.\" \"Maybe,\" Lt. Chandler said, \"it's buried too deep.\" \"Maybe so,\" Major Winship said. \"But we can't have the dome fall down \"Is Pinov,\" came the supremely relaxed voice. \"Help?\" Americans: \"Our comrades seem unconcerned.\" He peeled back a marker and let it fall. Air currents whisked it away and plastered it against a riveted seam of the dome. It pulsed as though it were breathing and then it ruptured. Major Winship moved quickly to cut out the emergency air supply which on your right side, midway up. I'll try to sheet it.\" He moved for the plastic sheeting. \"We've lost about three feet of calk out here,\" Capt. Lawler said. \"I can see more ripping loose. You're losing pressure fast at this rate.\" Major Winship pressed the sheeting over the leak. \"How's that?\" \"Not yet.\" \"I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It's sprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads.\" \"This is Major Winship.\" \"Oh! Excellent, very good. Any damage, Major?\" \"Little leak. You?\" \"Came through without damage.\" General Finogenov paused a moment. When no comment was forthcoming, he continued: \"Perhaps we built a bit more repeatedly assuring you there was no danger of a quake—and then to \"Just leave us alone, thank you,\" Major Winship said and cut off the \"I'll be damned surprised,\" Major Winship said, \"if they got any seismic data out of that shot.... Well, to hell with them, let's get this leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound?\" \"Larry, where's the inventory?\" \"Les has got it.\" \"Skip, help look.\" wall. He traced the leak with a metallic finger. \"How does this stuff work?\" Capt. Lawler asked. They huddled over the instruction sheet. \"Let's see. Squeeze the tube until the diaphragm at the nozzle ruptures. Extrude paste into seam. Allow to harden one hour before service.\" Major Winship said dryly, \"Never mind. I notice it hardens on contact \"How do they possibly think—?\" \"Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference,\" Lt. Chandler said. \"Some air must already have leaked into this one. It's hard as a rock. A gorilla couldn't extrude it.\" \"Who was supposed to check?\" demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. \"The only way you can check is to extrude it,\" Lt. Chandler said, \"and if it does extrude, you've ruined it.\" help.\" \"So do I, Larry. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Unless something else goes wrong.\" \"As long as they'll loan us the calking compound,\" Capt. Wilkins said. \"Yeah, yeah,\" Major Winship said. cursed twice during the operation. \"I'd hate to live in this thing for any period.\" \"I think these suits are one thing we've got over the Russians,\" Major Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. \"What brought this on?\" After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, \"To hell with the Russian American moonbase.\" \"Is everything all right?\" Soviet Union fired an underground atomic device for the being inserted. Another tap indicated it was seated. Major Winship flicked the appropriate chest button and nodded in appreciation. \"However,\" he continued, \"we did experience a minor leak in the dome, which is presently being repaired.\" \"The Soviet Union,\" came the reply, \"has reported the disturbance and A new voice came on. \"We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We will be able to deliver replacements in about ten days.\" \"I will forward a coded report on the occurrence,\" Major Winship said. \"Let us hear from you again in ... about three hours. Is the leak repaired?\" \"The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out.\" He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back. Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from the \"I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenov to get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle. that was rough.\" III Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. It occupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. It was a fifty-five gallon drum. ?\" asked Major Winship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight. \"That,\" said Capt. Lawler, \"is the calking compound.\" \"You're kidding,\" said Capt. Wilkins. \"I am not kidding.\" of calking compound. Those people are insane.\" \"The question is,\" Capt. Lawler said, \"'How are we going to mix it?' It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly.\" back the drum out.\" Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid of Capt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it over to Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkins carried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. It rested uneasily on the uneven surface. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum between the main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring. \"With my reefer out,\" said Major Winship, \"I'm the one it's rough on.\" He shook perspiration out of his eyes. \"They should figure a way to get a mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you've forgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes.\" \"It's the salt.\" \"Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them?\" \"No!\" Major Winship snapped. With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixing attachment. \"I feel crowded,\" he said. \"Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English.\" \"You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the area thoroughly around the leak.\" \"With what?\" asked Major Winship. \"Sandpaper, I guess.\" plastic.\" \"Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak,\" Major Winship said. harder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy do the Americans need to ask the Russians for help?\n\n<options>:\nA They don't understand the instructions for the compound.\nB They need help fixing the leak. They don't know how to use the calking compound.\nC They need more manpower to help fix the rest of the dome.\nD They need more calking compound to fix the leak. All of what they had has already hardened.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
661	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nfire— the scene with a ghostly radiance. The men of the Comerford had all regained consciousness and were drying out in front of the big Comerford's entire Comerford . The wizened face of the older man was molded in intent lines of complement of two hundred and twenty men were present—except Comerford's crew was marooned on an islet, about a square mile in area Comerford the day before she sailed from Norfolk. With him came a boatload of scientific apparatus and whose mind had been turned by the horror that had come to his country under the domination of the Nazi if this might have been the source of Androka's zone of silence, when like a stinging wet lash. Overhead, the sky was a storm-racked mass of clouds, broken in one spot by a tiny patch of starlit blue. fumbling at the neck of his slicker. Rain was coursing down his white cheeks, streaking them with glistening furrows. The fellow was a headache to Curtis. He was overfriendly with a black-browed bos'n's mate named Joe Bradford—the worst trouble maker his taut face, restless, searching eyes, and eternally nervous manner oilskins, blinking his eyes against the yellow light. hard on his latest invention to pull Hitler's teeth and re-establish the Czech Republic!\" Comerford ever since the navy department had sent the scientist on board the cruiser to carry on his \"As if by providence, sir, there's a clear patch. I'm wondering—\" His underlined heavily. \"Here's what I make it,\" the commander told his navigating officer. \"Bet you're not off appreciably.\" \"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!\" Comerford . Station 297 calling U. S. Cruiser Comerford —\" \"U. S. Cruiser Comerford calling Station 297!\" the operator intoned, winking at the two officers over Androka's discomfiture, and asked for Cruiser Comerford !\" Curtis sighed with relief. He saw that Nelson was staring fiercely Comerford calling Station 364. U. S. Cruiser Comerford calling Station 364—\" Comerford . Bearings north west by three west. Bearings north west by three west, U. S. Cruiser Comerford from Cay 364.\" Commander and navigator had both scribbled verifications of the They went on through the night. The starlit gap in the clouds had tangled mop of gray hair, or to claw nervously at his beard. are other inventions to supplement this one. Put them together, and they will defeat the Nazi hordes which have ravaged my country!\" Curtis was a little shocked by the hatred that gleamed in Androka's eyes, under their bushy brows. There was something of the wild animal I'm afraid we're gored!\" \"Get out the collision mat!\" Curtis ordered. \"We ought to be able to keep her up!\" enveloped the entire cruiser. Looking over the side, he could no longer Comerford was shrouded in a huge pall of yellowish-gray mist, and more of it was coming up from below—from ventilators and hatchways and skylights—as if the whole ship were flooded with some evil vapor. fallen before the early Nazi blitzkrieg, when their defenders found themselves struck numb and helpless by a gas that had been flooded into The vapor clouds that enveloped the Comerford were becoming thicker. All about the deck lay the forms of unconscious seamen, suddenly stricken helpless. And then Curtis saw other forms flitting about the deck—forms that looked like creatures from another world, but he recognized them for what they were—men wearing gas masks. Nelson was nowhere in sight. The steersman lay in a limp heap beside the swinging wheel. Then a gas-masked figure appeared through the shroud of mist and steadied it, so that the cruiser would not be was completely walled in by the yellowish-gray mist. He felt his senses Two words, in particular, registered clearly on his mind. One was a cloud seemed to be mounting within him until The rain had abated to a foggy drizzle. The wash of the surf swung the Comerford in a lazy, rolling motion, as she lay with her bow nosing into the sandbar at the entrance of the inlet. From her bridge, Navigating Officer Nelson watched the gas-masked figures moving about the decks, descending companionways—like goblins from an ancient fairy tale or a modern horror story. Nelson looked like a goblin himself, with his face covered by a respirator. At his side, stood his fellow conspirator Bos'n's Mate Joe Bradford, also wearing a gas mask. Comerford's crew were being carried to the lowered accommodation ladder and transferred into waiting lifeboats. before the ship's rid of that damn gas!\" Bradford shook his head in disagreement. \"The old geezer claims he's got a neutralizing chemical in one of them tanks of his that'll clear Maginot Line,\" Bradford reminded him. \"It saved a lot of lives for the Fuehrer —lives that'd have been lost if the forts had to be taken by our storm troopers!\" Nelson grunted and turned away. A short, thick-set figure in the uniform of a German naval commander had ascended the accommodation World War, he wouldn't have lost his business my mother would still be living. When he joined the Nazi party, the way became clear to use Comerford ?\" Brandt nodded his square head. \"We have a full crew—two hundred Comerford's unconscious crew and row them ashore. with strange-looking radio equipment, and more gas tanks like those Androka had brought aboard the Comerford with him, and dynamos and batteries that looked like something out of a scientific nightmare. Comerford and ve have another invention of Androka's vich vill be even more useful vhen ve come to cut the out of her convoy.\" \"The Carethusia \"What's the idea?\" \"Her cargo,\" Brandt explained. \"It iss more precious than rubies. It includes a large shipment of boarts.\" barrels of lard oil for machine-tool lubrication. Our agents have been watching the convoys closely for weeks for just such a cargo as the Carethusia is taking over.\" \"The gestapo takes care of Czechs and Poles and Frenchmen and other misfires, if there is the slightest suspicion of treachery on his part, Comerford . The masked German seamen were installing some sort of apparatus up there—a strange-looking object that looked something like an that portholes were being opened, and men were spraying chemical around to rid the below-decks atmosphere of the lethal gas that had overcome the Comerford's American crew. Returning to the bridge, he found that the tide in the inlet had risen out his hand. \"Congratulations, Herr Kommander Nelson!\" he said. \"Ve have stolen one of the United States navy's newest and fastest cruisers!\" He made a gesture as if raising a beer stein to drink a toast. \" Prosit! Stars were twinkling in a patch of black-blue sky, and broken mountains as if a wave of searing heat had scorched them. According to his last calculations, the Comerford had been cruising off the Maine coast. This probably was one of the islets of that All around him in the nearly total darkness, he could make out the dim \"A bit of a headache from the gas, but that's all. Any orders, sir?\" which smelled strongly of treachery and sabotage. Comerford had been deliberately steered to this place puzzle—Androka's zone of silence\n\n<question>:\nThe yellow-gray mist indicates which of the following?\n\n<options>:\nA A direct result of the zone of silence\nB Curtis will be killed.\nC The Holland blitzkrieg was a travesty\nD Nazis are on The Comerford.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,907	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. BREAKAWAY long, thin body and came into the living room. His face, usually serious wife. smiling. \"Honey, look at me,\" he said. \"It isn't going to be bad. Honestly it isn't. We know exactly how it will be. If anything could go wrong, they wouldn't be sending me you know that. I told you that we've sent five un-manned ships up and everyone came back without a hitch.\" She turned, facing him. There were tears starting in the corners of her wide, brown eyes, and she brushed them away with her hand. \"Phil, don't go. Please don't. They can send Sammy. Sammy doesn't have a wife. Can't he go? They'd understand, Phil. Please!\" She was holding his arms tightly with her hands, and the color had drained from her cheeks. \"Mary, you know I can't back out now. How could I? It's been three years. You know how much I've wanted to be the first man to go. Nothing would ever be right with me again if I didn't go. Please don't make it \"I've got to get started, Mary. Will you come to the field with me?\" be here because I won't be the wife of a space pilot for the rest of my life. It isn't the kind of life I bargained for. No matter how much I love you, I just couldn't take that, Phil. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not \"I wish you had told me this a long time ago, Mary,\" Phil said. His voice was dry and low. \"I didn't know you felt this way about it.\" \"Yes, you did. I told you how I felt. I told you I could never be the wife of a space pilot. But I don't think I ever really believed it was possible—not until this morning when you said tonight was the take-off. It's so stupid to jeopardize everything we've got for a ridiculous dream!\" man ever had the chance to do what I'm going to do tonight—no man ever. If I backed out now for any reason, I'd never be able to look at the sky again. I'd be through.\" existed only because of the huge ship standing poised in the take-off zone five miles away in the desert. Its future as a town rested with the ship, and the town seemed to feel the uncertainty of its future, seemed ready to stop existing as a town and to give itself back to the desert, if such was its destiny. guard. He read Phil's pass, shined his flashlight in their faces, and \"Thanks, sergeant. I'll be seeing you next week,\" Phil said, and smiled. cigarette. Then he looked at his wife. She was staring through the windshield at the rocket two hundred yards away. Its smooth polished \"Wish me luck, Mary?\" he asked. The noise of men and machines scurrying around the ship broke the spell of the rocket waiting silently for flight. \"Mary, I—\" he began, and then turned and strode toward the tension stood alone, and each man had the same happy, excited look that Phil had worn earlier. When he came into the room, the noise and bustle stopped. They turned as one man toward him, and General Small came up to set, son?\" \"Yes, sir, I'm all set, I guess,\" Phil said. \"I'd like you to meet the Secretary of Defense, Phil. He's over here by the radar.\" As they crossed the room, familiar faces smiled, and each man shook his hand or touched his arm. He saw Sammy, alone, by the coffee urn. Sammy \"Mr. Secretary,\" the general said, \"this is Colonel Conover. He'll be the first man in history to see the other side of the Moon. Colonel—the Secretary of Defense.\" \"On the contrary, colonel. I'm very proud to meet you. I've been looking at that ship out there and wondering. I almost wish I were a young man again. I'd like to be going. It's a thrilling thought—man's first colonel. It's a privilege few men have ever had and those who have had it didn't realize it at the time. Good luck, and God be with you.\" \"Thank you, sir. I'm aware of all you say. It frightens me a little.\" The general took Phil's arm and they walked to the briefing room. There were chairs set up for the scientists and Air Force officers directly front of a huge chart of the solar system. Phil took his seat, and the last minute briefing began. It was a routine he knew by heart. He had gone over and over it a thousand times, and he only half listened now. He kept thinking of Mary outside, alone by the fence. The voice of the briefing officer was a dull hum in his ears. \"... And orbit at 18,000-mph. You will then accelerate for the breakaway to 24,900-mph for five minutes and then free-coast for 116 hours until—\" Phil asked a few questions about weather and solar conditions. And then the session was done. They rose and looked at each other, the same unanswered questions on each man's face. There were forced smiles and handshakes. They were ready now. \"Phil,\" the general said, and took him aside. \"Sir?\" \"Phil, you're ... you feel all right, don't you, son?\" \"Yes, sir. I feel fine. Why?\" \"Phil, I've spent nearly every day with you for three years. I know you better than I know myself in many ways. And I've studied the psychologist's reports on you carefully. Maybe it's just nervousness, Phil, but I think there's something wrong. Is there?\" \"No, sir. There's nothing wrong,\" Phil said, but his voice didn't carry conviction. He reached for a cigarette. \"Phil, if there is anything—anything at all—you know what it might mean. You've got to be in the best mental and physical condition of your life tonight. You know better than any man here what that means to our success. I think there is something more than just natural apprehension wrong with you. Want to tell me?\" Outside, the take-off zone crawled with men and machines at the base of the rocket. For ten hours, the final check-outs had been in progress and now the men were checking again, on their own time. The thing they had worked toward for six years was ready to happen, and each one felt that he was sending just a little bit of himself into the sky. Beyond Her hands moved slowly over the top of the fence, twisting the barbs of wire. But her eyes were on the ship. And then they were ready. A small group of excited men came out from the administration building and moved forward. The check-out crews climbed into their machines and drove back outside the take-off zone. And, alone, one man climbed the steel ladder up the side of the rocket—ninety feet into the air. At the top he waved to the men on the ground and then disappeared through a small port. tight in her throat. The small group at the base of the ship turned and walked back to the fence. And for an eternity the great ship stood alone, waiting. Then, from deep inside, a rumble came, increasing in volume to a gigantic roar that shook the earth and tore at the ears. Slowly, the first manned \"Phil! Oh, Phil.\" She held tightly to him and repeated his name over and over. \"They wouldn't let me go, Mary,\" he said finally. \"The general would not let me go.\" She looked at him. His face was drawn tight, and there were tears on his cheeks. \"Thank, God,\" she said. \"It doesn't matter, darling. The only thing that matters is you didn't go.\" \"You're right, Mary,\" he said. His voice was low—so low she could hardly hear him. \"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters now.\" He stood with his hands at his sides, watching her. And then turned away and walked\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the general's primary concern regarding the leader of the mission?\n\n<options>:\nA Exceptional leadership skills\nB Strongest intellectual quotient\nC Peak body and brain function\nD Unwavering belief in the mission\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,480	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\non Mars it's sandless (shower-wise) near trip to Mars. He was always getting there'll be scientific reports on the I should call them the Martians. trip, but the public doesn't want them they want the human slant easily. When we came upon them (a group of maybe ten, huddling they won't tell me about behind a boulder in ambush), he carefully at a paper cup of scalding coffee. \"It'll be just like the The hole went on practically forever, They'll identify but it didn't get dark. Kroger tells me that there are phosphorescent bacteria living in the mold on with you.\" public going along vicariously. make it a gift to Martian archeologists? There's a Martian guarding the entrance to our cave. I don't know Mars. And I kept a diary. This is what they intend to do with us. Feed us, I hope. So far, they've just They picked the launching left us here, and we're out of rations. we're aimed toward where Mars on all four sides by running water, we're on it. Martians keep coming to the far edge of the water and looking at us and whistling at each other. A little Martian came near busy today), and they seem friendly Martian whistled like crazy and is rather old to take the \"rigors of the journey,\" as he puts it, but the government had a choice between sending a green scientist who could stand the trip or an accomplished man who would probably not survive, enough. the edge of the water and a larger \"What the hell,\" says Pat, \"it's better than starving.\" It is not. I'm hungry . So is everybody down. A Martian threw a stone at of scales. The Martian whistled for some reason or other) table, scratching away with a ballpoint studied them in the uncertain light, then tasted them and grinned. The Martians are made of sugar. know him better. So far, he's still Captain Desmond to me. I haven't said that the Martian metabolism must be like Terran (Earth-type) outside the gyroscopic spin they put on the of their watched them more closely and seen that they have long rubbery tubes for tongues, and that they now and then suck up water from the stream while they're watching us, being careful not to get their lips (all sugar, of course) wet. He guesses that their \"blood\" must be almost pure water, and that it washes away (from the inside, of course) the sugar they need for their bodies isolated carbon from something (he thought it might be Like plants, on Earth, he said. Except, instead of using special as Earth plants do in photosynthesis shape of the scales like prisms, to isolate the \"I don't get it,\" I said politely, when he'd finished his spiel. \"Simple,\" he said, as though he were addressing me by name. \"They have a twofold reason to fear water. One: by complete solvency in that medium, they lose all energy and die. Two: even partial sprinkling alters the shape of the scales, and they are unable to use sunpower steering or something. spoke to him, and it sounded like Flants. That can't be right. Also, I am one of the first five men in the history of the world to see the opposite side of the Moon, with a bluish blurred crescent beyond those teeth of theirs. They must be for biting something more substantial \"We'll risk it,\" said Pat. \"It's better to go down fighting than to die of starvation.\" The Martians we'd land on Mars upside down. He just stared at me. I can't say I was too impressed what they use those in the movies. There's just no awesomeness to it, no sense of depth or immensity. It's as impressive as a and surprised a lot of them chewing gritty hunks of anthracite out piece of velvet with salt sprinkled teeth for. We passed through one of the walls. They came running at these fast players who don't stop and think out their moves. And so on it. stream (the Martians had probably misunderstood and said, \"A good chance of liking what on Mars?\" about Mars (we know there are Martians, and they're made of sugar). \"Why,\" I said, \"can't we just tell With Martian rime, Venusian slime, we may be lucky and get a parade.\" \"Maybe even money,\" said Kroger, whose mind wasn't always it may prove to be environmentally accurate, but that I should stick to on science. \"But they'll ask why we didn't radio the info, sir,\" said Jones uneasily. I showed it to Kroger. He says but Pat says there's less gravity on Mars, so escape velocity didn't always meant to read and never had the time. So now I know all much new. I brought some books with me on the trip, books that I'd Pride and Prejudice , War and Peace be the one to quit. Kroger is busy in his cramped lab space trying to classify the little moss he was able to gather, and Jones and Pat are up front watching . They didn't take as long as I thought they would, except for Vanity Fair . It must have been a riot when it first came out. I mean, there are two baby Martians loose all those sly digs at the aristocracy, signs he's right. Like the missing charcoal in the air-filtration-and-reclaiming (AFAR) system. And the water gauges are going down. to go. I saw Mars in sideways. turned scarlet, suggested we radio Earth for instructions. We can't. void headed for Earth, with enough days—if the Martians don't take Kroger is thrilled that he is Mars has Martian reproductive processes. learning something, maybe, about When he told Pat, Pat put it to a it was decided that responsibility was pretty well divided. Kroger had only studied them, and Jones had brought them aboard. and I'm very thirsty. Kroger says that at least—when the Martians get bigger—they'll have to show themselves. Pat says what do we do then can't afford the water we need to melt them down. Besides, the melted crystals might says it's the dust. The sand underfoot all little Martians. turn into The Martians means so are the Martians. Kroger says the Martians must be intelligent, otherwise they couldn't have guessed at the carbohydrates present in the bread after try and walk toward where the ship acid. He says this'll produce carbon. I certainly hope so. well. All at once, something gleamed in their hands, and they started those Martians. caught one of the Martians in the featureless because the sand's loose having another Martian still on themselves, spaced considerably farther apart. Earth in sight Martian is still with us. He's where toward the ship. the camp, but a few rifle shots send the oceans. The rocket is tighter when they're startled. Their attitudes aren't menacing, but their appearance is. And Jones says, We all agreed to try it. Not that we thought it had a good chance of working, but none of us had a better \"Who knows what's 'menacing' in an alien?\" them away. They hop like kangaroos idea. the \"captured Martian\" leaked out, in the water, and wonders the jeep to follow the aliens' that would do. There are on a Martian. to be an earthquake-type split in solid rock, with the sand sifting to explain to me about salinity osmosis and hydrostatic pressure and crystalline life, but in no time at all seems to extend to our left and falls, a new Martian springs up right as far as we can look. inside of the crevice, but the Sun's from Mars. decided we're in a canal). No sign print to print. And they're barefoot, too, or else they have the damnedest-looking shoes in creation. The constant shower of sand\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the Martians' orientation toward water?\n\n<options>:\nA They fear it due to its ability to disintegrate their bodies\nB They utilize it to grow an army within their population\nC They desire it to fuel their underground Martian ecosystem\nD They are both curious and reluctant to understand its potential\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,611	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthings got tough, but could still satisfy a woman's craving to mother to love them in the parlor and kill them in the kennel. It was only a speak of the night's mass-disposal. Norris smiled mechanically. \"I learned my lesson yesterday. If they bare their fangs, I get out without another word. Funny thing \"What happened?\" and miserable. \"Honeymoon's over, huh?\" She said nothing, but shrugged faintly. \"I won't have to kill many. Besides, they're only animals.\" \" Intelligent animals!\" \"Intelligent as a human imbecile, maybe.\" \"Nothing to worry about, is it Terry?\" O'Reilley's pet shop—right place, wrong number. I just don't get it.\" protested hopelessly, knowing that a logical defense was useless against sentimentality. \"Baby—\" that were to be had without the threat of a warrant. The screams and pleas and tears of the owners left him gloomily despising himself. ultimate destruction. That would bring the murderous wrath of their owners down upon him. He began to understand why bio-inspectors were frequently shifted from one territory to another. They looked over my aptitude tests and sent me to Bio-Administration. If I don't want to follow my aptitudes, the only choice is common labor. That's the Norris frowned at the sign and wandered inside. The place was warm unclaimed units is the smallest part of it. Honey, before the evolvotron, before Anthropos went into the mutant-animal business, people used to elect dogcatchers. Think of it that way—I'm just a , which Norris recognized as the theme song of a never got farther than \"mamma,\" \"pappa,\" and \"cookie.\" Anthropos was afraid to make the quasi-humans too intelligent, lest sentimentalists proclaim them really human. suburban street wound among the pastel plasticoid cottages that were set approximately two to an acre on the lightly wooded land. With its population legally fixed at three hundred million, most of the country had become one big suburb, dotted with community centers and lined He climbed in the kennel-truck and drove east toward the highway. The gone. The little manager wore an elfin professional smile, and his bald head bobbled in a welcoming nod. the intersection, and Norris feared that the animal might be lost. onto a porch and began wailing through the screen, \"Mama no run ray! but most couples could endure the death of a cat-Q or a dog-F. Class-C The wrinkled face twitched with frustrated anger. O'Reilley shuffled \"Where you going?\" Norris called. animals whose serial numbers fall in the Bermuda-K-99 series for the slightest abnormality in the normalcy tests. Forward to central lab. Return standard units to their owners. Accomplish entire survey project within seven days. hundred square miles. Its replacement-quota of new neutroids was around three hundred animals a month. He tried to estimate how many of July's do it in a week? And there were only eleven empty neutroid cages in his \"unclaimed\" inventory—awaiting destruction. He wadded the memo in his pocket, then nosed the truck onto the highway Anthropos, Inc. They should be able to give him a list of all July's with the retailers to whom the animals had been sold. A week's deadline \"So?\" \"Well, she's—uh—rather a peculiar \"Please, Norris! This is urgent. That woman will lose her mind completely if—\" \"All right, I'll call my wife and tell her to open the pound for you. But he saw it as a quick way to get rid of an animal that might later angry. When he finished talking, she said, \"All right, Terry,\" and hung house in Wylo City. Only thirty-five of July's Bermuda-K-99s had begin his rounds. The robot operator, which had on tape the working habits of each Wylo pound inspection—\" Yates bellowed lusty laughter into the phone. \"It's not funny. I've got to get those neutroids. It's in connection up the animals in the morning?\" Norris gave him the names and addresses of the three unwilling mothers. twelve. They're in the truck.\" sprawling concrete barn, which was divided into three large rooms—one with a conveyor belt leading from it to a crematory-incinerator. dancing about their cages. Their bodies thwacked against the wire mesh as they leaped about their compartments with monkey grace. Their human appearance was broken by only two distinct features: short beaverlike tails decorated with fluffy curls of fur, and an erect smiles, and cherubic faces. They were sexually neuter and never grew beyond a predetermined age-set which varied for each series. Age-sets were available from one to ten years human equivalent. Once a neutroid until death. Norris was wearing a slight frown as he inspected the room. \"They've \"That's not the point. There's a reason for the mechanical feeders.\" He paused, wondering how he could tell her the truth. He blundered on: \"They get to love whoever feeds them.\" Anne folded her arms and stared at him. \"Planning to dispose of any soon?\" she asked acidly. \"Honeymoon's off again, eh?\" He began unloading the truck, pulling the frightened and squirming \"What's the Delmont case, Terry?\" Anne asked while he worked. egg-multiplier, mounting them in his machine, and bombarding the he's got to be quick about it before the ovum dies from an overdose of single success. They threatened to fire him. I guess he got hysterical. they all look female.\" \"How did they find out about it now?\" the back of the kennel-truck. He grinned at his wife. \"This little keep in the house. It won't cost us anything.\" both our families. Well, I don't care, Terry. I'm not going to waste a \"If they catch us, yes—compulsory divorce, sterilization. But they won't catch us. I'll have it at home, Terry. Not even a doctor. We'll Norris climbed slowly down from the truck and wandered on into the \"... we were unable to get shots of the body,\" the announcer was Norris frowned with bewilderment as the scene shifted to a two-story A growling drawl came from the audio. \"This's Chief Miler speaking, \"When the doctor assured her that there was no other baby, she fired, has no baby \"Lot of unpleasant emotions tangled up in it,\" he admitted. \"I know. Well, supper's been keeping hot for two hours. Shall we eat?\" They went to bed at midnight, but it was after one when he became One at a time, he awoke twenty-three of the older doll-things and The conveyor would automatically carry them on to the incinerator. He hurriedly quit the kennels and went to sit on the back steps. His padded quietly back to the bedroom. He lay awake until dawn, knowing until he—and the whole world—completely lost sanity. And then kennel-truck, meaning to get the rest of the Bermuda-K-99s so that he depart with morning. Why should he have to kill the things? The answer them satisfied with a restricted birth rate. And why a restricted birth rate? Because by keeping the population at five billions, the science and his end to wars—a longer life for the individual. But he found that he had only taken the lives of the unborn and added them to the years of the aged. Man now had a life expectancy of eighty, except that he had damn little chance of being born to enjoy it. A neutroid filled the cradle in his stead. A neutroid that never ate as much, or grew up to be unemployed. A neutroid could be killed if\n\n<question>:\nWhich terms best describe the tone of the passage in which Terry incinerates 23 of his long-term barn residents?\n\n<options>:\nA Excited and reinvigorated\nB Relieved and composed\nC Hopeless and unsettled\nD Unphased and unapologetic\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,576	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nbut they killed. Blast-rifles did not. And Harper needed to pull himself together again, too. Also, neither Moran nor any of the others wanted to He turned to see other horrors crawling toward him. Then he knew he was being marooned on a planet of endless terrors. Moran, naturally, did not mean to help in the carrying out of the plans which would mean his destruction one way or another. The plans were Moran cut apart the yard-long monstrosity with a slash of flame. The thing presumably died, but it continued to writhe senselessly. , with Moran present and allowed to take part in the discussion. From the viewpoint of the Nadine's ship's company, it was simply necessary to get rid of Moran. In their predicament he might have come to the same conclusion but he was not at all enthusiastic about their thrashed out very painstakingly, in formal conference on the space-yacht Nadine decision. He would die of it. The checks and balances which make life practical would get lopsided. It would not maintain itself. The vagaries that could result were admirably man could endure the air and temperature conditions he would find. Moran observed these things from the control-room of the Nadine's watched out the same ports as the planet seemed to approach. Burleigh said encouragingly \"It doesn't look too bad, Moran!\" Moran disagreed, but he did not answer. He cocked an ear instead. He heard something. It was a thin, wabbling, keening whine. No natural radiation sounds like that. Moran nodded toward the all-band speaker. \"Do you hear what I do?\" he asked sardonically. go back to the still un-entered wreck while the skinny, somehow disgusting legs of the thing still kicked spasmodically—quite 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 separate—on the whitish ground-stuff. Moran had disliked such creatures Nadine from him, but they were matter-of-fact about it. They didn't seem to resent what he'd tried to do, or that he'd brought them an covering five persons aboard—four men and a girl Carol. Moran made six. Wherever the yacht landed, such a disparity between its documents and its crew would spark an investigation. A lengthy, incredibly minute investigation. Moran, at least, would be picked out as a fugitive from could not land anywhere for supplies. With five on board, as her papers declared, she could. And Moran was the extra man whose presence would rouse space-port officials' suspicion of the rest. So he had to be dumped. be a long time ago, though.\" \"It's weak,\" observed Burleigh. \"We'll try answering it.\" Moran stirred, and he knew that every one of the others was conscious of the movement. But they didn't watch him suspiciously. They were alert by long habit. Burleigh said they'd been Underground people, fighting the the revolt had collapsed. They'd go back later when they weren't expected, and start it up again. Moran considered the story probable. Only people accustomed to desperate actions would have remained so calm when Moran had used desperate measures against them. possibly habitable planet, the especially developed seed-strains would provide food in a minimum of time. It was not an encouraging thought, though, and Moran grimaced. She hadn't said anything about being sorry that he had to be marooned. Maybe she was, but rebels learn to be practical or they don't live long. Moran wondered, momentarily, what sort of world they came from and why they had revolted, and what sort of set-back to the revolt had sent the five off in what they considered a strategic retreat but their government would think defeat. Moran's own situation was perfectly clear. He'd killed a man on Coryus III. His victim would not be mourned by anybody, and somebody formerly in very great danger would now be safe, which was the reason for what Moran had done. But the dead man had been very important, and the fact that Moran had forced him to fight and killed him in fair combat made no difference. Moran had needed to get Nadine's Nadine's surrendering or else. He surrendered, stipulating that he wouldn't be landed back on Coryus he still clung to hope of avoiding return—which Nadine's alive. And something shrieked in lunatic fashion and something else still moaned from time to time with the volume of a steam-whistle.... \"This sounds and looks like a nice place to live,\" said Moran with fine irony. Burleigh did not answer. He turned down the outside sound. finality. Moran said bitingly \"It's a ship,\" said Moran curtly. \"It crash-landed and its crew set up a as I'm expected to live until they died as I'm expected to die.\" Burleigh said angrily \"You'd do what we are doing if you were in our shoes!\" \"Sure,\" said Moran, \"but a man can gripe, can't he?\" \"You won't have to live here,\" said Burleigh. \"We'll take you somewhere something in it of use to you, too. You'd better come along when we explore.\" \"Aye, aye, sir,\" said Moran with irony. \"Very kind of you, sir. You'll go armed, sir?\" Burleigh growled \"Right,\" growled Burleigh again. \"Brawn and Carol, you'll keep ship. The 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 special garments with the brisk absence of fumbling that these people displayed in every action. \"If there's a lifeboat left,\" said Carol suddenly, \"Moran might be able to do something with it.\" \"Ah, yes!\" said Moran. \"It's very likely that the ship hit hard enough to kill everybody aboard, but not smash the boats!\" \"Somebody survived the crash,\" said Burleigh, \"because they set up a beacon. I wouldn't count on a boat, Moran.\" \"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 seen no moving thing outside, but arms were simple sanity on an unknown world. Moran, though, would not be permitted a weapon. He picked up a which had been ground before the Nadine landed. Moran moved scornfully \" Moran grunted. Distastefully, he saw his predicament made worse. He knew what had happened here. He could begin to guess at other things to be discovered. It had not been practical for men to move onto new planets \"We'd better spread out,\" added Moran, \"or else we'll break through that skin and be floundering in this mess.\" \"I'm giving the orders, Moran!\" said Burleigh shortly. \"But what you say does make sense.\" He and the others joined Moran on the yielding surface. Their footing was uncertain, as on a trampoline. They staggered. They moved toward the Nadine's somehow sedate. Moran heard muffled noises in his helmet-phone as the others tried to speak. Carol's voice came anxiously \" \" Moran said with savage precision crew. His fate would then be sealed. But they also would be A ship that came in to port with two few on board would be investigated as thoroughly as one that had too many. Perhaps more thoroughly. So if Harper were killed, Moran would be needed to take his place. He'd go on from here in the Nadine\n\n<question>:\nHow does Moran feel about the crew of the Nadine?\n\n<options>:\nA Moran is not impressed with the skills of the crew. He plans to kill one of them, then they'll be forced to take him, so they arrive at their destination with the correct number.\nB Moran wants to kill them.\nC Moran is very angry that they would leave him in this horrible place. It's inhuman.\nD Moran respects their decision. He is not happy, but he would do the same were he in their position.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,912	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 TALKATIVE TREE Dang vines! Beats all how some plants Kolin sensed a lack of direct attention. The rustle obscure star, the undetermined stellar drive and the way the small planet's murky atmosphere defied precision scanners—the \"Don't know what got into snapped out of it and heard, I'm as good as re-personalized right now.\" Peter Kolin had to admit that As he brooded upon the search by hiding where he sorry choice of arousing a sour feelings for the space third-class ration keepers The Life has been thinkin' of learning about other worlds. If you can think of a thought to have been trapped his little command, less two on parade. Kolin made himself \"Whoosh! Who'd find you? Silenced but doubting, Kolin permitted himself to try the dream on for size. He considered what form might most easily escape the notice of search parties and still be tough enough to live useful to discover temporary foods.\" his musings: mere hope of escape thought Kolin rebelliously. Volunteered HIS section! into this idiotic space fleet that never fights is bad of Haurtoz! Being conscripted Another factor slipped into Prudently, he did not express was unsatisfying after \"What I wish I could do is not just get away but get even for the way they make us live … the whole damn set-up. They could just as easy make of any other idea. The Earth, but many of the home world's less kindly techniques had been employed. Lack of \"They're scared that without complete loyalty to the state was likely to result in a siege of treatment that left the subject Kolin had heard of instances have to live and who's running things in the Planetary State. Then the gravy train wherein mere unenthusiastic posture had betrayed intentions to harbor moment. Kolin felt the to think about the way they \"I could tell the Life your side of it,\" he hissed. \"Once issue rations.\" Kolin permitted himself to in with us, you can always wonder when anyone might mildly willing look. (Too eager an attitude could arouse viewpoint.) The maintenance of a proper viewpoint was a necessity if the Planetary State were to survive the hostile plots of Earth and the latter's decadent colonies. stewards of his headquarters Kolin found himself in a detail. The latter stumbled about, stacking and distributing powdered foods storekeeper. Since the crew would be eating packaged rations during repairs, Yrtok could be spared rations. The line of crewmen released something profane about disregard to command a scout detail. small packets of emergency rations could hardly, in an emergency, give even the appearance of favoring themselves in regard to food. They would go without. Kolin maintained a standard expression that he failed to notice It was tenuous, almost a haze. Close examination would have revealed it to be made up of myriads of tiny girl, led the way with a quiet followed, and Kolin brought reach their assigned formed a cohesive body. They drifted together, approaching One of Chief Slichow's staggering flunkies, stealing a few seconds of relaxation on the pretext of dumping an armful of light plastic packing, wandered into the haze. 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. known as Peter Kolin congratulated itself upon its For all Kolin could tell, he 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 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 plentiful, interspersed with scrubby thickets of tangled, form of life, as a second thought Kolin. Some of me must drift through the airlock. In space, I can spread through the air system to the and Kolin agreed. edible here,\" grunted Ammet, Finally, after a longer hike on a low shrub. Kolin misgiving. \"Looks as tough to get \"Maybe we can find a way monster, but the top was hidden END Transcriber's Note: \"We'd better explore along the edge,\" decided Yrtok. . Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this This e-text was produced from Kolin looked over his shoulder. sat beside the bush with the purple berries, utterly relaxed. \"He must have tasted some!\" exclaimed Kolin. \"I'll see how he is.\" him a doped appearance. Kolin a long time without renewal. trouble attracting her attention. Then he noticed that she was kneeling. \"Hope she didn't eat some stupid thing too!\" he grumbled, a semi-circle of damp trees dreamily, Kolin backed away. he told himself. \"It's dangerous. He considered the massive At first, Kolin saw no way, clinging to the rugged trunk to climb. snapped out of her spell by Kolin progressed rapidly. When he reached the first height, he felt safer. open the top is,\" he mused. peace with the Earth colonies. Kolin, slipping, grabbed Kolin could feel the skin laughter gave him a distinct chill despite its suggestion of suitably \"re-personalized.\" with talk of war, and scouting what Kolin looked about, seeing for Earth fleets that never told himself in a reasonable tone. \"It's bad enough that the come, people would have time the voice. \"I can talk to you just as easy all the way Kolin examined the bark of Haurtoz.\" \"Where's that? Oh, never mind—some little planet. I don't bother with them all, since I came here and found Kolin, testing the firmness of a tree was a nice, peaceful life and when I remembered asked Kolin, twisting about \"Nope. Most everything here is run by the Life—that , the planet looked pretty empty to me, just like it must have to—Watch of the galaxy. You should Kolin politely. He groped for a foothold. much, even with the Life's mental field helping. Guess he started living with a different way of thinking. It burns me. I thought of being 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 him. \"You ought to let me tell you how the Life -uh! Some of the boys that landed with me wanted to get around and see things. Lots changed to animals or the outside anyway. Most of them have to change as the bodies wear out, which they saw on other planets.\" \"I wouldn't want to do that, Mr. Ashlew.\" \"There's just one thing. The Life don't like taking chances on word about this place gettin' around. It sorta believes in peace and quiet. You might not get back to \"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, third cook, and Eva Yrtok, temporarily from repair have to think and even look 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 telling the tree about life on Haurtoz, and of the officially announced threats to desperation of having no place to hide in case of trouble with the authorities. A multiple system of such worlds was agonizing to imagine. Somehow, the oddity of talking to a tree wore off. Kolin heard opinions spouting out which he had prudently kept bottled up for more relaxed he felt.\n\n<question>:\nWhat component of being the first to venture out into the unknown, dangerous planet is slightly exciting to Kolin and his peers? (being out of authority's watch)\n\n<options>:\nA Escaping the authoritarian rule of Haurtoz\nB Experiencing a break from constant supervision\nC Sabotaging Chief Steward Slichow's plans\nD Consuming real food without having to share it\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,358	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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. 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. 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. The founders of the Brixton Pound wanted to do something to stop 80p of every £1 spent locally from leaking out of the area into the pockets of corporations, at the expense of small local traders. So they printed a currency that would have the same value as the pound, but could only be traded in independent Brixton shops, where the shopkeeper would also have to spend it locally. This year the Brixton Pound got its own cashpoint, from where people can withdraw local banknotes bearing colourful images of local heroes, like David Bowie and secret Agent Violette Szabo, to spend in over 150 local shops. It can also be used by residents to pay council tax and by employers to pay wages. 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? 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. 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.\" Technology might also have a solution. Peter Ferry, a commercial director, travels to Glasgow to tell those working on the Glasgow Pound that that his company Wallet has come up with a way to use the blockchain, the technology behind bitcoin, to make it easier for people to use multiple types of currency. \"There might be many currencies around the country that people want to use. We need to make it simple for them to do that and also to make it simple to earn these currencies in many ways,\" he says. \"Bristol is seen as a quirky, individualistic kind of place,\" Clarke says. \"When we first produced the Bristol Pound note, people were really proud of it. It got through to people not just sat around coffee shops. I'm not sure a London Pound would work, because people identify with their local area in London rather than the city as a whole.\" \"It is difficult to get into more disadvantaged areas,\" Stephen Clarke says. \"We have a ten-year life expectancy gap between different parts of the city. When you go to disadvantaged areas with the Bristol Pound hat on you realise there aren't independent shops there, there's an Aldi and Lidl and that's it.\" More than a third of children grow up in poverty in Glasgow. A Glasgow Pound might struggle to get poorer families to buy into a local currency that ties them to shopping at more expensive, independent shops, rather than getting deals at big supermarket chains. 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.\" Nothing is tying Glasgow to existing models for complementary currencies. But during the first meeting about setting up the Glasgow Pound, the workshop shows just how hard it would be to invent a new system that works for everyone. Each table is handed a wad of Post-it notes and a piece of white paper. A table leader asks everyone to write on the Post-its what they want the Glasgow Pound to achieve. Elbowing teacups out the way, people get to work. They scrawl a dizzying number of proposals, from keeping more wealth in the local area to empowering people who feel cut out of the national economy, or to moving towards land reform and saving the environment. Team leaders try to assemble these ideas in themes to report back to the room.\n\n<question>:\nWho would look great on a Glasgow Pound?\n\n<options>:\nA Karen Gillian\nB Billy Connolly\nC Gerard Butler\nD Sean Connery\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
54	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 LU KELLA From Venus to Earth, and all the way between, it was a hell of a world for men ... and Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly particularly. inquired what was in charge of Burner Four. Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailed mouse of Venus could have stowed away. His first flight, and O'Rielly saw himself washed out, busted to sweeper on the blast-off stands of where no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as a breath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male character in his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layover when he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads who to shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwig myself here.\" Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's shower door. \"Venus dames,\" O'Rielly said dreamily, \"don't boss anything, do they?\" family—everything. \"Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild cats with knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venus dames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small to pick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus ones back where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot on Earth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with an electron microscope. \"Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funny notions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in an atom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys. deal. \"No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guys stay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leave Venus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caught around a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everything at bargain basement prices.\" \"Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight,\" O'Rielly said, still dreamily. \"But not a peek of any Venus dame.\" \"Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within ten foot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn't you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you could put your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't high on vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do we feed the Old Woman?\" erect the instant the Old Woman appeared. Behind her stood a colorfully robed specimen of Venus man. Handsome as the devil himself. Fit to snap lesser men in two with his highly bejeweled hands. Fuzzy beards trailed women—merely chanced to arise whilst we was scientifically analyzing ever told any Venus man what to do. The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than two steps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possibly Woman, a prime symbol of her gender's superiority, whipped a razor edge onto her own words. \"Facilities of the Captain's quarters are more satisfactory.\" drowned himself if he could. \"There are rewards,\" the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness of outer space, \"for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and for her leaving her planet.\" of Venus and this thing can mean war!\" Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk. Panels on opposite walls lit up. \"Presidents of Earth and Venus, please,\" the Old Woman stated evenly. \"Interplanetary emergency.\" Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonally \"Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious war efforts.\" Old Woman sighed through her teeth. \"Venus woman aboard this ship. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. \"The facts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody.\" The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features, that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. \"Trillium! My own granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly,\" Mr. President roared at his Earth out of the universe. \"My grandchild was kidnapped by men under your official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?\" \"No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bring our cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will only stop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on your nobody on Venus dies from the things any more.\" \"But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war they haven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatal attraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men home doing useful work!\" Venus manhood laying down the law. \"That's the way things have been on Venus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can't change it!\" \"I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during these conversations,\" Madame President said crisply. \"Earth is terminating all trade agreements with Venus as of this instant.\" \"What?\" Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. \"It's not legal! \"Were.\" Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded onto the panel too. \"From now on I'm doing the deciding.\" \"Nonsense! You're only my wife!\" \"And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women.\" \"Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet into another Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so!\" \"Take him away, girls,\" Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse was Earthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets, Venus women had our own men in our power.\" \"Those crewmen there,\" Grandmamma President said, \"seem to be proof enough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth's tranquility.\" Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden. \"Hmmmm, yes,\" Madame President of Earth observed. \"Reactions agree perfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have been conducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. Madame President of Venus, congratulations on your victory! \"Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted to receive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliest convenience.\" best.\" The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium dragged \"You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago,\" O'Rielly said in sudden thought. \"If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, why did Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?\" \"Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time,\" Callahan mumbled, like to himself, \"they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep, guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live. Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be one much longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselves but didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizing to take over Venus, I guess.\" O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trillium before her revolution. \"All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leave Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy were the Venus women transfixed by the Earthmen?\n\n<options>:\nA They felt abandoned by their own men who had obsessions with war and little time for them.\nB The Earthmen were much more attractive and had real facial hair.\nC The women of Venus liked to break the rules.\nD Venus was solely occupied by women, leaving them no other option.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,282	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Certainly I see things that aren't there and don't say what my voice says—but how touched those spots inside me. That was when I did it. Why couldn't what he said have been \"The best things in life are free, Not if you believe me. The first thing I can remember, the start of all this, was when I was four or five somebody was soiling my bed for me. I absolutely was not and I was left there in the dark. Being four or five, I didn't know any better, so I thought Dad made it him about the light as soon as I could talk again, but he said I was lying. One day, to prove me a liar, he opened and closed the door a few times from outside. The light winked off and on, off and on, always shining inside, and the light stayed on, no matter how hard he slammed the door. I stayed in the dark longer for lying about the light. 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 My mother and father must have been glad when I was sent away to reform at night. It was home. There was reason for me to steal, if I could have got away with it. The before they were killed, saying they had sent money or that it was When I was expelled from reform school, I left with just one idea in It was two or three years later that I skulked into Brother Partridge's Partridge didn't seem to notice me, but I knew that was an act. I knew eagle beak toward us. \"Brothers, this being Thanksgiving, I pray the amening. I could see he had a lot to be thankful for—somewhere he had \"Brothers,\" Partridge went on after enjoying the interruption with a prepared by Sister Partridge, a generous supply of sweet rolls and send one to the chef that they were going to think I was rich, and some room into the kitchen. Even Partridge made his way down from the While keeping a lookout for Partridge and somebody stepping out of the The next time I glanced at the clock, it said ten minutes had gone by. My hand still wasn't free and I hadn't budged the box. \"This,\" Brother Partridge said, \"is one of the most profound experiences of my life.\" My head hinged until it lined my eyes up with Brother Partridge. The the preacher explained in wonderment. I nodded. \"Swimming right in there with the dead duck.\" \"Cold turkey,\" he corrected. \"Are you scoffing at a miracle?\" \"People are always watching me, Brother,\" I said. \"So now they do it even when they aren't around. I should have known it would come to that.\" wasn't dumb enough to murder. Somebody, somewhere, would be a witness \"I may be able to help you,\" Brother Partridge said, \"if you have faith \"I've got something better than a conscience,\" I told him. Brother Partridge regarded me solemnly. \"There must be something intervention. But I can't imagine what.\" \"Your name?\" \"William Hagle.\" No sense lying. I had been booked and printed before. Partridge prodded me with his bony fingers as if making sure I was As long as it stalled off the cops, I'd talk to Partridge. of that turkey soup. Then again I was glad I hadn't. Something always After some time Sister Partridge bustled in and snapped on the overhead lights and I kept talking. The brother still hadn't used the phone to call the cops. \"Remarkable,\" Partridge finally said when I got so hoarse I had to take a break. \"One is almost— almost —reminded of Job. William, you are being punished for some great sin. Of that, I'm sure.\" \"Punished for a sin? But, Brother, I've always had it like this, as long as I can remember. What kind of a sin could I have committed when I was fresh out of my crib?\" \"William, all I can tell you is that time means nothing in Heaven. Do you deny the transmigration of souls?\" \"Well,\" I said, \"I've had no personal experience—\" \"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 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.\" It wasn't much of a chance, but I was unused to having any at all. I shook off the dizziness of it. \"By the Lord Harry, Brother, I'm going to give it a try!\" I cried. \"I believe you,\" Partridge said, surprised at himself. \"Perhaps this will help in your atonement,\" he said. Brother Partridge's money, I killed a man. It was all an accident, but killing somebody is reason enough to get \"No,\" I said. \"I'm just helping out during Christmas.\" noises like make an example of him and do something permanent and I squirmed away across the rubbish like a polite mouse. It felt as if I connected, but I was so numb, I wasn't sure until I unscrewed my eyes. I suppose I was to blame anyway. If I hadn't been alive, if I hadn't the point in making me suffer for it. There was a lot to be said for Brother Partridge about the accident, or murder, or whatever had Searching myself after I left Brother Partridge, I finally found a The downstairs washroom was where I went first. There was nobody there but an old guy talking urgently to a kid with thick glasses, and somebody building a fix in one of the booths. I could see charred matches dropping down on the floor next to his tennis shoes, and even a few grains of white stuff. But he managed to hold still enough to keep from spilling more from the spoon. on. \"We have the News of the stacks. The cases of books, row after row, smelled good. Like old leather and good pipe tobacco. I had been here before. In this world, it's the man I heard my voice say, \"A pleasure. What about after work?\" I didn't say it, but I was used to my voice independently saying and left me alone with while Walter Pidgeon and the rest Partridge's. Let's see, it was daylight outside again, so this was the \"I still think you're yellow,\" my voice said. It was my voice, but it didn't come from me. There were no words, no feeling of words in my throat. It just came out of the air the way it eyebrow. They couldn't do anything worse to the small man than they began to dose. The shrieks woke me up. For the first time, I could hear the shrieks of the monster's victim and listen to their obscene droolings. For the very first time in my life. Always before it had been all pantomime, like Charlie Chaplin. Now I heard the sounds of it all. They say it's a bad sign when you start hearing voices. I nearly panicked, but I held myself in the seat and forced myself to be rational about it. My own voice was always saying things everybody could hear but which I didn't say. It wasn't any worse to be the only one who could hear other things I never said. I was as sane as I ever was. There was no doubt about that. But a new thought suddenly impressed itself on me. Whatever was punishing me for my sin was determined that I turn back\n\n<question>:\nDid Partridge's attempt to help William atone for his sins help?\n\n<options>:\nA yes - everything that happened to William after that was positive\nB yes - William will improve his life because of the help\nC no - William spent it all immediately\nD no - William is still hearing, seeing, and saying things\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,669	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nShe surely got her wish ... but there was some question about getting what she wanted. Phil Conover pulled the zipper of his flight suit up the front of his His wife was sitting stiffly on the flowered couch that was still not theirs completely. In her fingers she held a cigarette burned down too far. She said, \"You look fine, Phil. You look just right.\" She managed a smile. Then she leaned forward and crushed the cigarette in the ash tray on the maple coffee table and took another from the pack. girl I know. Did I ever tell you that?\" \"Yes, I think so. Yes, I'm sure you did,\" she said, finishing the ritual but her voice broke, and she turned her head away. Phil sat beside her and put his arm around her small shoulders. He had stopped smiling. \"Honey, look at me,\" he said. \"It isn't going to be bad. Honestly it isn't. We know exactly how it will be. If anything could go wrong, they wouldn't be sending me un-manned ships up and everyone came back without a hitch.\" She turned, facing him. There were tears starting in the corners of her wide, brown eyes, and she brushed them away with her hand. \"Phil, don't go. Please don't. They can send Sammy. Sammy doesn't have a wife. Can't he go? They'd understand, Phil. Please!\" She was holding his arms tightly with her hands, and the color had drained from her cheeks. \"Mary, you know I can't back out now. How could I? It's been three years. You know how much I've wanted to be the first man to go. Nothing would ever be right with me again if I didn't go. Please don't make it hard.\" He stopped talking and held her to him and stroked the back of her head. He could feel her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He released her and stood up. \"I've got to get started, Mary. Will you come to the field with me?\" \"Yes, I'll come to say good-by.\" She paused and dropped her eyes. \"Phil, if you go, I won't be here when you get back—if you get back. I won't be here because I won't be the wife of a space pilot for the rest of my life. It isn't the kind of life I bargained for. No matter how much I love you, I just couldn't take that, Phil. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not the noble sort of wife.\" She finished and took another cigarette from the pack on the coffee table and put it to her lips. Her hand was trembling as she touched the lighter to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply. Phil stood watching her, the excitement completely gone from his eyes. \"I wish you had told me this a long time ago, Mary,\" Phil said. His voice was dry and low. \"I didn't know you felt this way about it.\" \"Yes, you did. I told you how I felt. I told you I could never be the wife of a space pilot. But I don't think I ever really believed it was possible—not until this morning when you said tonight was the take-off. It's so stupid to jeopardize everything we've got for a ridiculous dream!\" He sat down on the edge of the couch and took her hands between his. \"Mary, listen to me,\" he said. \"It isn't a dream. It's real. There's nothing means anything more to me than you do—you know that. But no man ever had the chance to do what I'm going to do tonight—no man ever. If I backed out now for any reason, I'd never be able to look at the sky again. I'd be through.\" She looked at him without seeing him, and there was nothing at all in her eyes. \"Let's go, if you're still going,\" she finally said. They drove through the streets of the small town with its small bungalows, each alike. There were no trees and very little grass. It was ship, and the town seemed to feel the uncertainty of its future, seemed ready to stop existing as a town and to give itself back to the desert, if such was its destiny. Phil turned the car off the highway onto the rutted dirt road that led the eye lost the tip against the stars. \"She's beautiful, Mary. You've never seen her before, have you?\" \"No, I've never seen her before,\" she said. \"Hadn't you better go?\" Her voice was strained and she held her hands closed tightly in her lap. \"Please go now, Phil,\" she said. He leaned toward her and touched her cheek. Then she was in his arms, her head buried against his shoulder. \"Good-by, darling,\" she said. \"Wish me luck, Mary?\" he asked. \"Yes, good luck, Phil,\" she said. He opened the car door and got out. The noise of men and machines scurrying around the ship broke the spell of the rocket waiting silently for flight. \"Mary, I—\" he began, and then turned and strode toward the administration building without looking back. Inside the building it was like a locker room before the big game. The Phil had worn earlier. When he came into the room, the noise and bustle \"Hello, Phil. We were beginning to think you weren't coming. You all \"I'd like you to meet the Secretary of Defense, Phil. He's over here by something but there was nothing to be said now. Sammy's turn would come later. it didn't realize it at the time. Good luck, and God be with you.\" \"Thank you, sir. I'm aware of all you say. It frightens me a little.\" last minute briefing began. It was a routine he knew by heart. He had gone over and over it a thousand times, and he only half listened now. He kept thinking of Mary outside, alone by the fence. The voice of the briefing officer was a dull hum in his ears. Phil asked a few questions about weather and solar conditions. And then the session was done. They rose and looked at each other, the same unanswered questions on each man's face. There were forced smiles and handshakes. They were ready now. \"Phil,\" the general said, and took him aside. \"Phil, you're ... you feel all right, don't you, son?\" Phil, but I think there's something wrong. Is there?\" \"Phil, if there is anything—anything at all—you know what it might the rocket. For ten hours, the final check-outs had been in progress the ring of lights and moving men, on the edge of the field, Mary stood. Her hands moved slowly over the top of the fence, twisting the barbs of wire. But her eyes were on the ship. rocket—ninety feet into the air. At the top he waved to the men on the Mary waved to him. \"Good-by,\" she said to herself, but the words stuck tight in her throat. The small group at the base of the ship turned and walked back to the fence. And for an eternity the great ship stood alone, waiting. Then, rocket to the Moon lifted up and up to the sky. For a long time after the rocket had become a tiny speck of light in the heavens, she stood holding her face in her hands and crying softly to herself. And then she felt the touch of a hand on her arm. She turned. \"Phil! Oh, Phil.\" She held tightly to him and repeated his name over and over. \"They wouldn't let me go, Mary,\" he said finally. \"The general would not let me go.\" She looked at him. His face was drawn tight, and there were tears on his cheeks. \"Thank, God,\" she said. \"It doesn't matter, darling. The only thing that matters is you didn't go.\" \"You're right, Mary,\" he said. His voice was low—so low she could hardly hear him. \"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters now.\" He stood with his hands at his sides, watching her. And then turned away and walked toward the car. THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Mary ask Phil to go to the rocket as soon as they can see it?\n\n<options>:\nA She was not allowed to stay there, as a civilian, so she had to leave.\nB She did not want him to be late for his very important mission.\nC She needed to drop them off so she could leave.\nD She did not want to prolong the painful goodbye.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
15	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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.] Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to it required a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they found had refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself, bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he had extraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. He he had only ordinary perception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , the machine insisted. assumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it ever from the thoughtful creature?\" \"No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reason that thought is in one spot only. If we find no others then we will go down boldly and visit this.\" but the woman smiled, proving that she was human. \"The woman is named Hawwah,\" said the man. \"The sheep is named sheep, the lion is named lion, the horse is named horse and the hoolock is named hoolock.\" \"I understand. It is possible that this could go on and on. How is it \"Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people?\" \"You are not anything till I name you. But I will name you and then you can be. You are named Captain. He is named Priest. He is named Engineer. He is named Flunky.\" \"But are we not people?\" persisted Captain Stark. \"No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there be other people?\" \"And the damnest thing about it,\" muttered Langweilig, \"is, how are you going to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling.\" \"Pick from the trees,\" said Ha-Adamah, \"and then it may be that you will want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which does animals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, though they offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though they wanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you. \"If there are only two people here,\" said Casper Craig, \"then it may be haven't yet tried the—\" and he stopped. \"If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think,\" said Gilbert, \"then it will be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream or \"I won't be the first to eat one. You eat.\" \"Ask him first. You ask him.\" \"Ha-Adamah, is it allowed to eat the apples?\" \"Well, the analogy breaks down there,\" said Stark. \"I was almost beginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what. \"I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact same proposition to maintain here as on Earth?\" And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: \"No, no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one!\" \"I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is too incredible.\" \"It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here?\" \"I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from the beginning.\" \"And do you think that you will ever die?\" \"To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property of fallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine.\" \"Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taught that it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek it vainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing and even death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taught that on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost.\" \"Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man?\" Then Stark cut in once more: \"There must be some one question you could ask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced.\" \"Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how about a game of checkers?\" \"I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice of colors and first move.\" \"No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect.\" never played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam, and have a go at it.\" \"What is there, Adam?\" asked Captain Stark. \"The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has long been cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But we are taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if we persevere, it will come by him.\" They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their time there. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when they left. And they talked of it as they took off. \"A crowd would laugh if told of it,\" said Stark, \"but not many would laugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullible man, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure world and that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds. are garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness that we have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyone disturbed that happiness.\" \"I too am convinced,\" said Steiner. \"It is Paradise itself, where the lion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed. It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the part of the serpent, and intrude and spoil.\" \"I am probably the most skeptical man in the world,\" said Casper Craig the tycoon, \"but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it. names were \"Snake-Oil Sam,\" spoke to his underlings: \"It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'll \"I think you'd better write me some new lines,\" said Adam. \"I feel like a goof saying those same ones to each bunch.\" change Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to the pomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becoming better researched, and they insist on authenticity. \"This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in human nature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks will whoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and mar it. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that is strong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison what is unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage of the rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner. \"We will have to have another lion,\" said Eve. \"Bowser is getting old, and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to have a big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb.\" \"I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of the crackpot settlers will bring a new lion.\" Briton. \"Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort?\" \"It's as phony as a seven-credit note!\" \"You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced by our senses? Why do you doubt?\" \"It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds. Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible, zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot through with anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers.\" \"What?\" \"If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game of checkers with anyone. Yet there was an unusual mind there somewhere it\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Adam refuse to play checkers?\n\n<options>:\nA He does not want to humiliate the priest by beating him.\nB The priest is too eager to go up against him, and he doesn't want to disappoint.\nC He has no reason to play. He is omniscient and would win without contest.\nD He is scared of losing and giving away his true identity.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,575	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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. Moran cut apart the yard-long monstrosity with a slash of flame. The thing presumably died, but it continued to writhe senselessly. He turned to see other horrors crawling toward him. Then he knew he Moran, naturally, did not mean to help in the carrying out of the plans which would mean his destruction one way or another. The plans were thrashed out very painstakingly, in formal conference on the space-yacht , with Moran present and allowed to take part in the discussion. Nadine's ship's company, it was simply necessary to get rid of Moran. In their predicament he might have come to the same conclusion but he was not at all enthusiastic about their four-man crew watched out the same ports as the planet seemed to approach. Burleigh said encouragingly \"It doesn't look too bad, Moran!\" Moran disagreed, but he did not answer. He cocked an ear instead. He Burleigh listened. A distinctly artificial signal came out of the skippers who need to check their courses on extremely long runs. This was something else. Burleigh said: Wherever the yacht landed, such a disparity between its documents and its crew would spark an investigation. A lengthy, incredibly minute investigation. Moran, at least, would be picked out as a fugitive from Moran did not know. They might be sent back where they came from. In effect, with six people on board instead of five, the could not land anywhere for supplies. With five on board, as her papers declared, she could. And Moran was the extra man whose presence would rouse space-port officials' suspicion of the rest. So he had to be dumped. Nadine needed to make a planet-fall for this. The rest of the ship's company came into the control-room. Burleigh be a long time ago, though.\" \"It's weak,\" observed Burleigh. \"We'll try answering it.\" Moran stirred, and he knew that every one of the others was conscious of the movement. But they didn't watch him suspiciously. They were alert by long habit. Burleigh said they'd been Underground people, fighting the expected, and start it up again. Moran considered the story probable. Only people accustomed to desperate actions would have remained so calm when Moran had used desperate measures against them. Burleigh picked up the transmitter-microphone. Burleigh said \"Well?\" Burleigh nodded. The \"I think,\" said Carol, to Moran, \"that if it's too tropical where this provide food in a minimum of time. It was not an encouraging thought, though, and Moran grimaced. they had revolted, and what sort of set-back to the revolt had sent the five off in what they considered a strategic retreat but their government would think defeat. Moran's own situation was perfectly clear. He'd killed a man on Coryus III. His victim would not be mourned by anybody, and somebody formerly in very great danger would now be safe, which was the reason for what Moran had done. But the dead man had been very important, and the fact that Moran had forced him to fight and killed him in fair combat made no difference. Moran had needed to get 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 dogged the door shut, and threaded in the first trip-tape to come to hand. He punched the take-off button and only seconds later the overdrive. Then the yacht—and Moran—was away. But his present companions got the drive dismantled two days later and once the yacht \"This sounds and looks like a nice place to live,\" said Moran with fine irony. Burleigh did not answer. He turned down the outside sound. Moran said bitingly leaden skies. It was attached to a large cylindrical object of which the fore part was crushed in. The other landing-fins could be traced. \"It's a ship,\" said Moran curtly. \"It crash-landed and its crew set up a signal to call for help. None came, or they'd have turned the beacon off. Maybe they got the lifeboats to work and got away. Maybe they lived Burleigh said angrily \"You'd do what we are doing if you were in our shoes!\" \"Sure,\" said Moran, \"but a man can gripe, can't he?\" \"Aye, aye, sir,\" said Moran with irony. \"Very kind of you, sir. You'll go armed, sir?\" Burleigh growled \"Naturally!\" \"Then since I can't be trusted with a weapon,\" said Moran, \"I suggest to get in the ship.\" \"Right,\" growled Burleigh again. \"Brawn and Carol, you'll keep ship. The 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 displayed in every action. \"If there's a lifeboat left,\" said Carol suddenly, \"Moran might be able to do something with it.\" \"Ah, yes!\" said Moran. \"It's very likely that the ship hit hard enough to kill everybody aboard, but not smash the boats!\" \"Somebody survived the crash,\" said Burleigh, \"because they set up a beacon. I wouldn't count on a boat, Moran.\" \"I don't!\" snapped Moran. He flipped the fastener of his suit. He felt all the openings catch. He landed. Moran moved scornfully \" Moran grunted. Distastefully, he saw his predicament made worse. He knew what had happened here. He could begin to guess at other things to be Burleigh grunted a somehow surprised assent. But it wasn't surprising remained actively unpleasant to think of being marooned on it. \"Suppose we go look at the ship?\" said Moran unpleasantly. \"Maybe you 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 \"We'd better spread out,\" added Moran, \"or else we'll break through that skin and be floundering in this mess.\" \"I'm giving the orders, Moran!\" said Burleigh shortly. \"But what you say does make sense.\" He and the others joined Moran on the yielding surface. Their footing was uncertain, as on a trampoline. They staggered. They moved toward the hillock which was a covered-over wrecked ship. somehow sedate. Moran heard muffled noises in his helmet-phone as the others tried to \" Moran said with savage precision It was to be noted that Hallet the engineer, avoided the huge harmless creature more widely than most. They reached the mound which was the ship. Moran unlimbered his torch. He said sardonically \"This ship won't do anybody any good. It's old-style. That thick belt but they felt that there should be an intolerable smell. Moran slashed and slashed angrily with the big flame, cutting a way to the metal hull that had fallen here before his grandfather was born. Sometimes the flame cut across things that writhed, and he was sickened. wouldn't dare. A ship that came in to port with two few on board would be investigated as thoroughly as one that had too many. Perhaps more thoroughly. So if Harper were killed, Moran would be needed to take his place. He'd go on from here in the\n\n<question>:\nHow does Burleigh feel about Moran?\n\n<options>:\nA Burleigh thinks Moran is annoying. They would be at their intended destination now if Moran hadn't highjacked the Nadine.\nB Burleigh respects Moran. He doesn't want to kill him, but he can't keep Moran on the Nadine. A marooned man at least has a fighting chance.\nC Burleigh is angry with Moran for putting the crew in this position. They don't want to kill Moran, but they can't arrive with 6 crew. A marooned man at least has a fighting chance.\nD Moran intimidates Burleigh. Moran took control of the ship once, if the crew is not careful, he may do it again.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,269	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 had a lease that could be broken— Roger Tennant, crossing the lawn, could see two of the three wings of the house, which radiated spoke-like from its heptagonal central reminiscent of scores of movie sets of the Deep South. That on the close-fitting and slit up the leg like the gown of a Chinese woman. should behave. this is Hell.\" \"Is this crop rotation or did you send for me?\" she asked cynically. on with it.\" He could sense the restless stirring of the woman within Dana, just as he could feel the stirring toward her within himself—desire that both of them loathed because it was implanted within them by their captors. It didn't look like a prison—or a cage. Within the dome of the wasn't. It was a prison, a cage. Eudalia, who had borne twin girls recently, was lying back, newly thin brought through. something that might cheer her up, for she was by far the youngest of other two, especially Dana, upon him, he could not. in a harem, even when it's supposedly my own.\" \"You're not doing so badly,\" Dana replied acidly. \"Lay off—he can't help it,\" said Eudalia unexpectedly. \"He doesn't like it any better than we do.\" however. She was too frightened. \"Let's get the meal ordered,\" said Dana and they were all silent, thinking of what they wanted to eat but would not enjoy when it came. It arrived before the meal, materializing against one of the seven be it gold, brown or red, A disc jockey's buoyant tones cut in quickly as the final ooooo faded. \"This is Grady Martin, your old night-owl, coming to you with predecessors doomed it to instant success. into it just to listen. Dana stood almost in the center of the room, carmine-tipped fingers \" Rog! Eudalia laid down her fork with a clatter and regarded Dana disapprovingly. \"Why take it out on Rog?\" she asked bluntly. \"He didn't she's right, Dana. We're as helpless as—laboratory animals. They have the means to make us do whatever they want.\" \"Rog,\" said Dana, looking suddenly scared, \"I'm sorry I snapped at you. changing .\" He shook his head. \"No, Dana, you're not changing. You're adapting. We all are. We seem to be in a universe of different properties as well as \"We may be in the eleventh for all I know,\" he told her. \"But I'll \"Why haven't they brought more of us through?\" Eudalia asked, tamping \"I'm not sure,\" he said thoughtfully. \"I think it's hard for them. They \"Why do they do it—the other way, I mean?\" asked Dana. it's because they're pretty human.\" \" \" Dana was outraged. \"Do you call it human to—\" considerable danger and, probably, expense of some kind. Some of them don't come back. They kill those of us who put up a fight. Those who don't—or can't—they bring back with them. Live or dead, we're just display in their—their whatever they live in. You call that human, Rog?\" \"Of course not,\" he agreed. \"In the one instance, we're the hunters, the breeders, the trophy collectors. In the other\"—he shrugged—\"we're the trophies.\" There was a long silence. They finished eating and then Dana stood up matched his, and a narrow halter. Eudalia took him to the nursery. He was irritated now in another, angrier way. The infants, protected by cellophane-like coverlets, were it wasn't Eudalia's turn. Tennant said, \"I \"And it's not yours,\" insisted Eudalia. \"Don't let them make you think it is.\" \"I'll try not to,\" he said and stopped, realizing the family party was over. He had felt the inner tug of command, said good-by to the women and returned to his smaller compound within its own barrier dome. it was , that was all. discarded as too nightmarish for belief. As in all of this strange universe, excepting the dome-cages in which the captives were held, the training hall followed no rules of it, too, felt straight. The floor looked like crystal smashed by some Opal iridescent and shot with constantly changing colors. Hence the name Opal. and Opal would have shown no reaction. Yet feet. He was getting good at it. Dog does trick, he thought. He went through the entire routine at Opal's bidding. When at last he was allowed to relax, he wondered, not for the first time, if he probing investigation. Opal, like the rest of the captors, was as repetition before his workout was done. On Earth, dogs were said to be helpless futility when their masters taught them to heel, to point, to Now you are ready. We are going through at last. Opal was nervous, so much so that he revealed more than he intended. Or perhaps that was his intent Tennant could never be sure. They were his role was to be. He had little time to speculate before Opal seemed to envelop him. everything but the date and season. Opal, like the rest of the captors, seemed to have no understanding of time in a human sense. Waiting, Tennant tried not to think of his wife, of the fact that he could have controlled his heartbeat with one of his new powers, but that might have made Opal suspicious. He should be somewhat excited. with the casual antiquity of the living room. Your wife and a man are approaching the house. The thought message from Opal crumbled his illusion of freedom. He sank down in a chair, trying to refuse to listen to the rest of the command: when it came, was more humiliating than a slap across a dog's snout. Opal had been too interested in the next lab specimen to bother about power over him. He was not free of them. He understood all too well what they wanted him to do me . He'd had one too many and only wanted a little fun. groomed, more assured than his memory of her. out of hand, but whose inherent aggressive grace had not yet deserted man , that was all—unless one threw in the little black mustache and the smooth salesman's manner. it would be you.\" \" Roger! \"Roger,\" repeated Tennant viciously. He felt sick with disgust. Maybe he should have expected a triangle, but somehow he hadn't. And here it was, with all of them going through their paces like a trio of tent-show actors. He said, \"For God's sake, sit down.\" six months. Where have you been, Rog? Smashing up the car like that you been, Rog?\" Gordon's tone was almost Agatha looked at him over the rim of hers. \"Tell us, Rog. We have a brought the four of them through, not since they had begun to train him It didn't have to be anybody at all. For it to be Cass Gordon was revolting. \"Rog,\" she said and her voice trembled, \"what are we going to do? What do you want \" subsided in mumbles, he added, \"Actually, I don't think I'm capable of making more than a fraction of the trouble for either of you that you both are qualified to make for yourselves.\" \"Tristan and Isolde,\" said Tennant, grinning almost happily. \"Well, easier and pleasanter than he had expected. They deserved some of the Tennant knew now why he was the only male human the captors had been Otherwise, apparently, men were next to impossible for them to capture. whatever they were, worked more efficiently on females. A difference in tenuosity as well as the immovability of the gateway itself. They could be hurt, even killed by humans in a three-dimensional world.\n\n<question>:\nHow is Rog treated differently than the others?\n\n<options>:\nA he's the only one that can get what he thinks about\nB he's the only one that trains with Opal\nC they all dislike him because he's responsible for their situation\nD he's the one that makes all of the decisions in the house\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,473	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nOnce the deal was made, they left it up to him to make the decisions. as it had in his own time. Oceans, mountains, and to a lesser extent, deserts, spreading over him, the are fairly permanent even against man's corroding efforts. circle of steel that was the mouth of getaway. After I give it to this Howard the run, don't I?\" And at that moment, the universe America has been united into one unit. Today, there are only eight nations in the world.\" nation, Mr. Prantera. All North There was a falling through all \"That's a helluva long way to go on \"Where's the nearest?\" of every muscle and nerve. There was pain, horror and tumultuous fear. didn't, huh? What happens after I doubling and twisting and twitching And he came out of it as quickly He brought his thinking to the era.\" That at least meant that whatever \"If I understand your idiom correctly, the rap was it wouldn't be too and collecting up all the bread?\" \"No banks! You gotta have banks!\" method of distribution well over a found we were devoting as much time to financial matters in all their endless ramifications—including bank robberies—as we were to productive efforts. So we turned to more been through a most harrowing the drink and bolted it. He put the let's get down to facts. Summa the things you guys say don't stick together so good. Now, first place, Warren Brett-James said soothingly, which seemed to be the prevailing \"Prepare yourself for somewhat Indeed, it is sometimes never this city.\" \"Well, that's handy, eh?\" Joe scratched himself thoughtfully. \"You this character could have known that. mother had died in childbirth. His leaves the house all by hisself. O.K., so I can make plans, like, to give it dispose of him?\" ... during what? He hadn't the I come to give it to him and he gives it to me instead.\" an organization he is forming. It \"You think I'd be seen dead wearing this stuff? What is this, some religious eh?\" he said sarcastically. \"Then what happens? How do I get out of the Where do I hide out? Where do I \"Dump the heat?\" \"Get rid of the gun. You want I upon a wide boulevard of what was What is him, \"but, you see, we no longer punish flatly, \"What's it all about?\" That took a long, unbelieving moment matter what they do? That's crazy. Everybody'd be running around giving it to everybody else.\" \"The motivation for crime has realization would be a shock to you,\" The other put down the unaccepted person who commits a violence against another is obviously in need of medical care. And, consequently, receives it.\" failure, were now far away. \"Where would you go?\" vengeance, of the measures that might be taken by Big Louis on his The other was heavier and more But that didn't explain the view brief and painless, believe me.\" Joe said coldly, \"And what happens after you have accomplished your mission, we plan to turn ourselves Prantera, wouldn't it? The maternal linage was almost universally \"Now I'm beginning to wonder over again, what'd'ya wanta give it to into the piece atavistic, evil genius. We are afraid for our institutions if his plans are allowed to mature.\" \"Well if you got things so good, everybody's got it made, like, who'd The doctor nodded at the validity is a unique animal. Physically he matures at approximately the age of thirteen. However, mental maturity of its means of delivery. He took up and adjustment is often not fully realized until thirty or even more. achieved. Before such maturity is \"What's it all about, huh?\" reached, our youth are susceptible to romantic appeal. Nationalism, chauvinism, racism, the supposed glory of the military, all seem romantic to the immature. They rebel at the orderliness of present society. They seek entertainment in excitement. Citizen finds his recruits among the young.\" that.\" Temple-Tracy is aware of this and screws everything up. But the way \"I am afraid you have no alternative,\" He let the sentence fall away as he realized the impossibility. \"You mean there's no place in the had been solved. repelled by the very conception of what they had planned. that they had got in the clutch, the years after the last memory you to those last memories and his project. It wasn't any answer though. you guys better let me in on what's this all about.\" to feel the comfortable, pleasurable, through to them. Or, at least, that they were to him. Finally he said, \"If I get this, you \"That is correct.\" \"That is correct.\" his feet. \"I'm gettin' outta here.\" belt and beneath the jacketlike garment \"Let's start all over again. I got this He left them and entered the building. soft. \"They are all dead, Mr. Prantera. Their children are all dead, and their grandchildren.\" The two men of the future said nothing more for long minutes while something. Finally he said, \"What's this bit \"That is why we brought you here, the interruption. \"There is small remember that at the point when we ... I might say, whose demise would probably have caused small dismay to society.\" this here is?\" this age, nor have there been for over a century and a half.\" line you're in these days you needa in some gutter with a lotta holes in complicated mess was growing. And the things he knew—for Jessie and Tony and the others, for his favorite already he was beginning to long for story, though. First off, I better tell is simply not within us to take the life of a fellow creature—not to speak of a fellow man.\" THE END Joe snapped: \"Everything you guys two.\" for you, Chief, is to give it to those say sounds crazy. Let's start all over \"In your day you were confronted with national and international, problems. Just as we are today and just as nations were a century or a millennium ago.\" \"Sure, O.K., so we had problems. I depressions and dictators and like that.\" that the problems of your day were solved. Hadn't they been, the world most surely would have destroyed itself. Wars? Our pedagogues are hard put to convince their students that such ever existed. More than a century and a half ago our society eliminated the reasons for international conflict. For that matter,\" he added musingly, \"we eliminated most international boundaries. Depressions? Shortly after your own period, man awoke to the fact that he had achieved to the point where it was possible to produce an abundance for all with a minimum of toil. Overnight, for all practical purposes, the whole world was industrialized, automated. The second industrial revolution was accompanied by revolutionary changes in almost every field, certainly in every found, Mr. Prantera, that it is difficult for a man to be free so long as others are still enslaved. Today the democratic ethic has reached a pinnacle never dreamed of in your own era.\" \"So everybody's got it made. What I wanta know is what's all this about race unprotected from its disease. We had thought our vaccines immunized us.\" \"What's that suppose to mean?\" The other nodded. \"Such men are unique. They have a drive ... a 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 evil has appeared on the current scene.\" \"Now we're getting somewheres,\" him. O.K. What's in it for me?\" As I understand Californian law of the period, your life to doubt their word. Reston-Farrell said, \"As to reward, psychiatric therapy will soon remove the flow of the time stream. There can be no return to your own era.\" assimilating, but this was the final involved, the better. to do with the process that had enabled\n\n<question>:\nWhat central theme of the story is revealed in the conclusion?\n\n<options>:\nA The more good you do for others, the more opportunity for them to criticize you\nB If someone is willing to take a life, you cannot trust them to make moral decisions\nC When cornered, threatened creatures will do anything to survive\nD The prosperity of a nation is more important than any individual life\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,710	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nunder any circumstances, to be considered as having any truth whatever to it. It's obviously utterly impossible ... isn't it? S-Regions.\" Owing to its unassuming title the startling implications implications are discussed here in an exclusive interview with Dr. Niemand by Philip Latham. LATHAM. Dr. Niemand, what would you say is your main job? can between activity on the Sun and various forms of activity on the LATHAM. What do you mean by activity on the Sun? describe it. A sunspot is a region on the Sun that is cooler than its surroundings. That's why it looks dark. It isn't so hot. Therefore not LATHAM. Isn't it true that the number of spots on the Sun rises and eleven years. That word makes quite a difference. LATHAM. In what way? of sunspot activity. Sunspots are mighty treacherous things. LATHAM. Haven't there been a great many correlations announced between sunspots and various effects on the Earth? LATHAM. What is your opinion of these correlations? LATHAM. But some are valid? NIEMAND. A few. There is unquestionably a correlation between sunspots and disturbances of the Earth's magnetic field ... radio fade-outs ... auroras ... things like that. LATHAM. Now, Dr. Niemand, I understand that you have been investigating solar and terrestrial relationships along rather unorthodox lines. NIEMAND. I think our biggest advance was the discovery that sunspots studying on the Earth. It's something like the eruptions in rubeola. a conspicuous symptom of the disease. Whereas the real cause is an LATHAM. Why S-Regions? suitable instrumental methods. It is extremely doubtful, however, if the radiation we detect is the actual cause of the disturbing effects observed. ever since the days of Job. And like Job they have usually given up in despair, convinced that the origin of evil is too deep for the human science has thrown new light on this subject. LATHAM. How is that? for no detectable reason —conditions are bloodshed and misery. LATHAM. But weren't there reasons? NIEMAND. What reasons? LATHAM. Well, disputes over boundaries ... economic rivalry ... border incidents.... NIEMAND. Nonsense. Men always make some flimsy excuse for going to war. The truth of the matter is that men go to war because they want to go to war. They can't help themselves. They are impelled by forces over which they have no control. By forces outside of themselves. specific? NIEMAND. I'm afraid that old stress-and-strain theory has been badly overworked. Been hearing about it ever since I was a pre-med student at ucla . Even as a boy I can remember my grandfather deploring the stress and strain of modern life when he was a country doctor practicing in Indiana. In my opinion one of the most valuable contributions anthropologists have made in recent years is the discovery that Latham, it's time the stress-and-strain theory was relegated to the junk pile along with demoniac possession and blood letting. inquiry into their personal life. Here again I drew a blank. They had no particular financial worries. Their sex life was generally satisfactory. There was no history of mental illness in the family. In fact, the only remedies for a patient. To my way of thinking it is a lazy slipshod way of carrying on the practice of medicine. The only thing for which I do give myself credit was that I asked my patients to keep a detailed record of their symptoms taking special care to note the time of exacerbation—increase in the severity of the symptoms—as accurately as possible. LATHAM. And this gave you a clue? LATHAM. Coincidences? became convinced it could not be attributed to chance. A mathematical disturbed around the time of full moon, but a search of medical literature failed to reveal any connection with the Sun. however, take pains to impress upon them the necessity of keeping an 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. been getting an increasing number of patients suffering with the same identical symptoms as my own. Furthermore, upon exchanging records we did find that in many cases patients three thousand miles apart had gave us another clue. LATHAM. Which was? had to be above the horizon at both places. A person might undergo an attack soon after sunrise in New York but there would be no corresponding record of an attack in California where it was still dark. had both noticed that the attacks occurred only during the daylight evidence pointing directly to the source of trouble. It must have some connection with the Sun. 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 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? NIEMAND. It was the old case of workers in one field of science being 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 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 at intervals of twenty-seven point three days. NIEMAND. Because the average period of solar rotation in the sunspot forty-eight hours between the two. But otherwise they were almost optical telescope, but are detected with ease by a 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 about ten or twelve days. How does that tie-in with the S-Regions? just coming on or just going off the disk of the Sun. LATHAM. Are the S-Regions associated with sunspots? NIEMAND. They are connected in this way: that sunspot activity and S-Region activity certainly go together. The more sunspots the more one-to-one correspondence between sunspots and S-Regions. That is, you cannot connect a particular sunspot group with a particular S-Region. The same thing is true of sunspots and magnetic storms. LATHAM. What other properties of the S-Regions have you discovered? constant while one is passing across the Sun. If the magnetic field forty-eight hours between the development of an S-Region and the onset some degree. Just why some speculation. LATHAM. How long does an S-Region last? entirely different region of the Sun. Sometimes there may be several LATHAM. Why were not the S-Regions discovered long ago? enough numbers to attract attention. Also the present sunspot cycle LATHAM. Is there no way of escaping the S-radiation? NIEMAND. I'm afraid the only sure way is to keep on the unilluminated on the Sun. But a new one may develop at any time. Also, the outlook for a decrease in activity is not very favorable. Sunspot activity continues LATHAM. And so you believe that the S-Regions are the cause of most of LATHAM. Could we not be warned of the presence of an S-Region? malignant radiation know that one of these regions is active? be with us ... as long as the Sun shall continue to shine upon this little world. THE END discovered from information derived from Explorer I and III has no\n\n<question>:\nWhich of these is not a reason for the researchers to travel to Arizona?\n\n<options>:\nA It is not on the coastlines, allowing to look at data away from either coast\nB Mountain ranges are expected to have unique effects on the symptoms\nC There is an observatory with equipment that can be used for research\nD A potentially useful research partner is there\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
671	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWarrior of Two Worlds By MANLY WADE WELLMAN He was the man of two planets, drawn through the blackness of space to save a nation from ruthless invaders. He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from You lie upon the world Dondromogon. \"It was ordered—by the Masters of the Worlds—that you should be brought from your own home planet, called Earth in the System of the star called Sun. Do you remember Earth?\" Dondromogon.\" worlds away, for a specified purpose here on whatever windswept planet Dondromogon might be. \"Birth and beginning—destined leadership—\" Fantastic! And yet, for all I could say to the contrary, unvarnishedly \"Dondromogon?\" I mumbled. \"The name is strange to me.\" \"It is a world the size of your native one,\" came words of information. \"Around a star it spins, light-years away from the world of your birth. One face of Dondromogon ever looks to the light and heat, wherefore its metals run in glowing seas. The other face is ever away in cold darkness, with its air freezing into solid chunks. But because Dondromogon wavers on its axis, there are two lunes of its surface which from time to time shift from night to day. These are habitable.\" My eyes were tight shut against the dust, but they saw in imagination such a planet—one-half incandescent, one-half pitchy black. From pole to pole on opposite sides ran the two twilight zones, widest at the equators like the outer rind of two slices of melon. Of course, such areas, between the hot and cold hemispheres, would be buffeted by mighty gales ... the voice was to be heard again: \"War is fought between the two strips of habitable ground. War, unceasing, bitter, with no quarter asked, given or expected. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. Now come invaders, to reap the benefits of discovery and toil.\" A pause. \"You find that thought unpleasant? You wish to right that wrong?\" called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid My first glance showed me that my companions were creatures like myself—two-legged, fair-skinned men, shorter and slighter than I, but \"There's a bigger reward for capture than for warning,\" objected his friend in turn, \"and whoever comes to take this man will claim 'capture.' I'll guard here, and you take him in, then we'll divide—\" \"No. Yours is the idea. I'll guard and you take him in.\" The second man prevent it burning me, and tried to break away, but my bonds were too much for me. \"Let me out of this,\" I growled, and kicked at the man with my still heavily. Triumphant laughter came from both adversaries. Then: \"What's this?\" \"What proof have I?\" I demanded. \"On this world of yours—Dondromogon, The other made a little grimace. \"This may be Yandro, though I'm a \"Who might Yandro be?\" I demanded, very uncomfortable in my bonds and one side a thumb-print, or a drawing of one, in black. \"Behold,\" Doriza was saying, \"matters which even expert identification men take into thought. The ears in the picture are like the ears of the in several places with the glowing end of the rod. The coils dropped three gazed. know?—are sent by the First Comers to save us from our enemies.\" \"Enemies?\" I repeated. \"The Newcomers,\" supplemented Doriza. \"They have taken the \"Other Side\" of Dondromogon, and would take our side as well. We defend ourselves at the poles. Now,\" and her voice rang joyously, \"you will lead us to defeat and crush them utterly!\" level of light and sound. \"Our cities are below ground,\" he quavered. \"Whipped by winds above, we must scrabble in the depths for life's necessities—chemicals to transmute into food, to weave into clothing, to weld into tools and weapons—\" fierce fighting—but surely no inspirational leader or savior of a distressed people. Outside stood Doriza. Her blue eyes met mine, and her lips moved to kissing it. \"I serve Yandro,\" she vowed tremulously. \"Now and forever—and happy that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all Dondromogon.\" herself at my left hand. \"Will Yandro come this way? He will be awaited mixture of awe and brightness. \"It is necessary that we live like this,\" she explained. \"The hot air of Dondromogon's sunlit face is ever rising, and the cold air from the dark side comes rushing under to fill the vacuum. Naturally, our strip of twilight country is never free of winds too high and fierce to fight. No crops can grow outside, no domestic animals flourish. We must pen ourselves away from the sky and soil, with stout walls and heavy sunken parapets. Our deep mines afford every element for necessities of life.\" I looked at my garments, and hers. There were various kinds of fabric, which I now saw plainly to be synthetic. \"The other side, where those you call the Newcomers dwell and fight,\" I reminded. \"Is it also windswept? Why can two people not join forces and face toil and nature together? They should fight, not each other, but the elements.\" Doriza had no answer that time, but Sporr spoke up behind us: \"Great Yandro is wise as well as powerful. But the Newcomers do not want to help, not even to conquer. They want to obliterate us. There is nothing to do—not for lifetimes—but to fight them back at the two poles.\" \"Doriza, gentlewoman of the guard, conducts Yandro, the Conquering in the nation I seemed destined to save, my work was cut out for me. Not that they really seemed stupid—none had the look, or the subsequent action, of stupidity. But they were not pleasant. Their dozen pairs of eyes fixed me with some steadiness, but with no frankness anywhere. One man had a round, greedy-seeming face. Another was too narrow and cunning to look it. Of the women, one was nearly inspiring were it not so blatantly dyed. The other was a little wisp of a brunette, with teeth too big for her scarlet mouth and bright eyes like some sort of a rodent. They all wore jewelry. Too much jewelry. Doriza—no, she was not like these \"Yandro, folk of the Council! He deigns to give you audience.\" Yandro! \"The tenth part of the wonders which concern mighty Yandro have not fixing me with his wise old eyes. One of the group, called Council by Doriza, now moved a pace forward. He was the greedy-faced man, short but plump, and very conscious of will speak simply. Our hopes have been raised by Yandro's return—the caused fear and ruin. But it pleased our fortune-bringing stars to encompass his destruction.\" He grinned, and licked his full lips. \"Now, even as they are without their battle-leader, so we have ours.\" \"You honor me,\" I told him. \"Yet I still know little. It seems that I Dondromogon. But I must know them before I can help.\" The others followed suit—the Council on their range of chairs, Doriza\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the meaning of Dondromogon’s two extreme hemispheres?\n\n<options>:\nA It causes its people to develop two vastly different cultures, creating social tension.\nB It causes its people to search for prophets, martyrs, and heroes, symbolizing the schizophrenia of the planet’s inhabitants.\nC It causes its people to live underground, giving the story its setting.\nD It causes its inhabitant groups to fight over what amount of the planet is habitable, the two extremes symbolizing the split between peoples.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,620	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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\"They look pretty complicated.\" Rootless and footloose, a man in space can't help the seal. \"I'm afraid I don't understand.\" was not impressed. He vaguely wondered if the little drama of the \"It ain't notched.\" so damn notched,\" he complained. \"You ought to take care of that card \"Mike?\" \"All right, mister, three units, then. I wasn't trying to hold you up.\" \"You mean a microphone?\" asked Craig, mechanically fishing for his wallet. \"Sure, they don't put in screens here. Wanted to, but the boss \"You know, the mike.\" the envy of the others. Grav 1—that meant Terra. He crossed the long, He was too puzzled to wonder what he was expected to do with the information. \"Your service tapes,\" the next noncom said. \"Where you going?\" \"I can get you a sensatia-tape,\" whispered the boy when they had small instrument, \"Air-lock ahead and to your right. Strip and follow the robot's orders. Any metal?\" \"You know, metal .\" \"Well, my identification key.\" It had been a weird day and he had not liked it. There was no telling had called it. One thing was sure: Terra aggressively went after its personnel and felt the impotence of a spaceman who had long forgotten the bureaucracy of a rear area base. The knowledge that much of it was jacket. Its incredibly fine-grained leather would carry none of the appropriate it. He would never know the beautiful, gentle beast that to hate a robot, but one could certainly hate those who set it into operation. \"You will find a red button at your feet. Lower your head and depress that button.\" pliant as before. pain, but it is necessary to treat the small injury you have been disregarding.\" respect for the robot-controlled equipment of bases had risen. When flesh-colored plastic material. He dressed quickly and was on the verge of asking the robot for had intended. aggressive after Clerical, eh?\" \"I'm a little anxious to get home, I suppose,\" said Craig defensively. about him. \"We might say you've been away quite a while, eh?\" \"You mean you haven't been in a gravity system?\" torture system here is psych.\" \"So I gathered.\" The worst is over. Short of Gravitational conditioning, there is \"Sorry, I guess I'm a little touchy. This is my first time....\" \"Quite natural. But it being your first time—in quite a number of conditioning.\" \"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 all spacemen carry PON, paraoxylnebutal, with them. It helps suppress certain physiological reactions to an entirely new set of conditions. Channels of the ear, for example. They play an important part in our awareness of balance. They operate on a simple gravity principle. Without gravity they act up for a time, then gradually lose function. Returning to gravity is rather frightening at first.\" \"It meant more than that. There were excellent psychological reasons about the \"freedom of open space.\" He spoke repetitiously of the intolerable. cumulative effect of a gravity system, he could not understand the really knew very much about Terra. So what? I know it won't be as it can't—tell me why. I've got a damned good job there—\" time.\" \"Sure. What else can it be?\" On the eighth day, two attendants, who showed the effects of massive doses of PON to protect themselves from the centrifugal force, \"The twelfth day is the worst,\" a grizzled spaceman told Craig. \"That's when the best of 'em want out.\" \"How ... how do they know when you ought ... to come out?\" he asked \"Blood pressure. They get you just before you go into shock.\" \"That strap around your belly. You mean you ain't noticed it?\" \"Haven't noticed much of anything.\" \"Well, it's keyed to give them some kind of signal.\" desperately wanted something to distract his mind from the ghastly conditioning process. \"Dropped ... it ... down?\" \"Can't they ... drop it down continuously?\" wadding. \"... got it bad.\" \"... pretty bad.\" \"He'll go into shock.\" \"... never make it the twelfth.\" white-clad figures, ridiculously out of proportion, hovered wraithlike over him. Four elongated eyes peered at him. had begun to produce ultra-sonic waves. Craig was not sure. Most of the men had passed through the torments of gravitational conditioning. The huge headquarters base centrifuge aboard the man-made satellite had gradually caused their bodies to respond once more to a single source of pull. They were now ready to become inhabitants of On the eighteenth day, automatic machinery freed them from their and joked about it and kidded those who were slow at adjusting. free-fall flight to Terra. \"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 \"And spend your weekends on Luna.\" \"Whereabouts?\" \"Not much.\" a long time, old man, this hitting atmospheres all over the Universe.\" personal belongings from a kit. \"What are you doing in Grav 1?\" Craig asked. down. Now they got some fancy psychology name for it.\" \"But space is different. Space is raw and new. It tugs at your guts. It out of you, leaves you brittle and old—old as a dehydrated piece of \" You can't figure it. Some of 'em urp all over and turn six shades of \" \" \" \" \" \" \" \" \" \" \" \" \" \" He probably outlived everybody that ever knew him. \" \" \" difficult to fit into the place he had made for it. Exasperated, he irradiation. Probably in another ten years his son-to-be would put it what a stinking life it was. It was the signal for relief in the passengers' quarters \"Who's it from? Somebody on Terra?\" \" \" transcriber. But then he noticed the card bore only a few irregular me out across the Galaxy, while she's home. Go see her if you can, son. Will you? Make sure she gets the unit imagination that long ago. He must have been in on the first Cetusian impressions. One day he would recall this moment, his first on the planet Terra. He tried to recall his first thrill at seeing Los atmosphere. \"A moment, sir. Just a little greeting from the Terra. You understand, of course. Purely routine.\" we believed for a minute, you understand ... purely routine.\" him. \"Customs. Bet you never got such a smooth screening before, eh?\" \"You mean he me? What for?\" get it over with quick.\" first physical contact with Terra had passed unnoticed. \"You dropped this, sir. Quite by accident, of course.\" nor trace of dirt. The Import personnel man was toying with a small chip of gleaming \"Yes, naturally.\" \"Thought you could give me some idea of conditions....\" \"Conditions?\" part is closest to where I'll work.\" seated uncomfortably in the silent room. There was a distracted quality find it very strange here.\" \"Yes, so big. And also....\" He seemed to consider many words before completing the sentence. \"And also different.\" a planet. As an adult, anyway.\" much the same way we would an extraterrestrial.\" The statement was delivered in an almost exaggeratedly casual tone. \"Will he need a food and—clothing ration also?\" asked the girl, you couldn't be expected to be familiar with Terra's fashions. In your made uncomfortable.\" \"A hick,\" he supplied. business suit. He amused himself by calculating stress patterns in its plain woven material as she assembled the forms for him.\n\n<question>:\nSensatia most likely refers to ________.\n\n<options>:\nA illicit drugs\nB microphone shorters\nC pornography\nD virtual reality equipment\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
165	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nMONOPOLY Sheer efficiency and good management can make a monopoly grow into being. And once it grows, someone with a tyrant mind is compound. This was the administrative heart of Venus City. Out here, the Venus Consolidated Research Organization, he was in large part responsible for the prosperity of this vigorous, young world. Venus Consolidated had built up this city and practically everything else monopolistic control. But, if they could not realize that the company's regime served the best interests of the planet, they would just have to of revolution among the disgruntled older families. He heard there had been killings, but that was nonsense. Venus Consolidated police had only powers of arrest. Anything involving uniform. \"Sorry, sir, but one of those rebels is loose in the Administration Center somewhere. We're making a check-up of all the apartments.\" \"Well, you can check out I haven't got any blasted rebels in here.\" \"Oh, I see, sir. No rebels, of course. Sorry to have disturbed you. \"All right, joke's over, you can beat it now.\" force.\" satisfaction of the unending extra work that was going to occur around \"Quit stallin', bud. You know who. That female rebel who was in here.\" \"Rebel? You're crazy! That was just ... Pete said ... rebel? Did you say rebel?\" \"Yeah, I said rebel, an' where is she?\" Brian Hanson, Chief of Research for Venus Consolidated, as dignified as They're about the oldest family on Venus. Police have been after her she's a rebel and she's sure been raising plenty of hell anything about any damn rebels. All I want is to get out of here—\" trouble because of me. But don't worry, we're going to get you out.\" rest of the key. He had designed these escape-proof locks himself. In a few seconds the door swung open and they were fleeing silently down the jail corridor. of himself, the fair-haired boy of Venus Consolidated, in his flapping bathrobe, leading a band of escaping rebels out of the company's best a gasping grunt of pain as one of the rebels went down. They were \"We've got to run!\" the girl shouted. He started after her. Two surface transport vehicles waited around the corner. Brian and the rebels bundled into them and took away with a the orderly rush of Venus City traffic. The two carloads of rebels cruised nonchalantly past the Administration Center and pulled into a private garage a little beyond. \"What are we stopping here for?\" Brian demanded. \"We've got to get The rebels piled out and the cars pulled away to become innocuous parts of the traffic stream. The rebels seemed to know where they were going \"Where the dickens are we?\" Brian whispered hoarsely. \"Oh, you don't have to whisper, we're safe enough here. This is one of the air shafts leading down to the old mines.\" \"Old mines? What old mines?\" area was worked out long before Venus Consolidated came to the planet. level tunnel. \"What do we do? Hide here?\" will be after us now. We won't be safe anywhere near Venus City.\" Brian was startled at the icy hardness of her voice. Two of the rebels pulled a screening tarpaulin aside and revealed one of the old-type ore cars that must have been used in the ancient mines. A brand-new atomic motor gleamed incongruously at one end. The rebels crowded into it and they went rumbling swiftly down the echoing rebels had cleared away the debris of years. Brian struggled into a zippered overall suit as they followed a Crystal James, at the controls, seemed to know exactly where they were going. The tunnel emerged in a huge cavern that gloomed darkly away in every direction. The towering, massive remains of old machinery, eroded and rotten with age crouched like ancient, watching skeletons. to be swallowed to a whisper in the vast, echoing darkness. Between two rows of sentinel ruins they came suddenly on two slim Venusian atmospheric ships. Dim light spilled over them from a ragged gash in the wall of the cavern. Brian followed Crystal into the smaller of the two ships and the rest of the rebels manned the other. \"Wait a minute, how do we get out of here?\" Brian demanded. Crystal looked at him in surprise. \"That's nothing. We Venusians fly see. Two big, fast, green ships, carrying the insignia of the Venus Consolidated police, cruised suddenly out from a mountain air station. An aërial torpedo exploded in front of the rebel ship. Crystal's face \"You don't have to get excited like that,\" he complained. \"They weren't \"But, girl, they're just Venus Consolidated police. They haven't got \"Authority doesn't make much difference to them,\" Crystal snapped think this revolution is about?\" The slower rebel freight ship staggered drunkenly as a torpedo caught them. It was over in a few moments. The dead rebels drifted down into outrage. \"They didn't have a chance!\" valley mists. The heavier police ship, with its higher wing-loading, could not match the maneuver. The rebel craft plunged down through the \"Look! Police ships. They've seen us!\" She held the ship in its glide, aiming directly for the tangled foliage lush green of the mountainside swirled up to meet them. They ripped through the foliage—there was no crash. They burst through into a huge, brilliantly lighted cavern and settled to a perfect landing. Men \"Douse those lights,\" she shouted. \"The police are outside.\" \"Wait, you fool. They may not even have seen us.\" But he was gone, running toward a group of ships lined up at the end of the cavern. this is our headquarters.\" One of the ships at the back of the cavern thundered to life, streaked across the floor and burst out through the opening Crystal's ship had left. \"He hasn't got a chance! We'll be The other rebels waited uncertainly, but not for long. There was the Brian suggested doubtfully. She looked at him steadily. \"You sound like the only good rebel left. We can try it, anyway.\" They ran two ships out into the middle of the cavern, gunned them around and jockeyed them into position—not a moment too soon. Half a dozen police showed in brief silhouette as they slipped cautiously into the cavern, guns ready, expecting resistance. They met a dead silence. A score or more followed them without any attempt at concealment. Then Brian and Crystal cut loose with the drives of the two ships. Startled screams of agony burst from the crowded group of police as the police, their clothes and flesh scorched and flaming, plunged as \"Oh, let them shoot us! I can't go through that again!\" adjusted to critical fineness. The beat of the stuttering exhaust in the rock where the police were cutting their way through outside the line of the exhaust flames. The pulsating thunder in the cavern crescendoed to an intolerable pitch. A huge mass of stalactites crashed to the floor. \"It's time to check out,\" Brian shouted. Crystal led the way as they fled down the escape tunnel. The roaring crash of falling rock was a continuous, increasing avalanche of sound in the cavern behind them. They emerged from the tunnel on the face of the mountain, several it stilled and left them bruised and shaken in a tangle of torn vegetation. The remains of two police ships, caught without warning in the rush as vibratory combination, you can shake anything down. But now that we've scrambling through the jungle up the mountainside. \"Where are we heading for?\" Brian grunted as he struggled along. \"The headquarters of the Carlton family. They're the closest people we can depend on. They've kept out of the rebellion, but they're on our\n\n<question>:\nWhat advantage did the rebels have over the Venus Consolidated police?\n\n<options>:\nA Fast atmospheric ships\nB Detailed knowledge of the area\nC Secret supporters on the inside\nD Stashes of weaponry in caves\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
63	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nlife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. So they skipped several steps in the procedure. Positive over most of the surface. There several tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thought on the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to it required a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they found nothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Then before it's back in our ken if we let it go now.\" \"Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest of the world to make sure we've missed nothing,\" said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult of analysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This was designed simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this might be so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and the when turned on the inventor himself, bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he had The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, that And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (or Positive on a Positive on ninety per cent of the acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been a on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out of billions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at all was shown by the test. individual, though this could not be certain) and got very definite action. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, and assumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it ever of the shoulders in a man. They called it the \"You tell me \"Scan the remainder of the world, Steiner,\" said Stark, \"and the rest from the thoughtful creature?\" \"No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reason So they all, except Steiner, went off to their bunks then: Stark, the Dawn did not come to the moon-town. The Little Probe hovered stationary in the light and the moon-town came up under the dawn. Then the Probe track of the minds. There's nothing but a meadow and some boscage, a \"Keep on towards the minds,\" said Stark. \"They're our target.\" Earth-people. But with a difference. Where is that bright light coming \"I don't know, but they're right in the middle of it. Land here. We'll \"Talk to them, Father Briton,\" said Stark. \"You are the linguist.\" \"Howdy,\" said the priest. He may or may not have been understood, but the two of them smiled at \"Ha-Adamah,\" said the man. It may be that the shining man frowned momentarily at this woman smiled, proving that she was human. named hoolock.\" wouldn't have a drink on you for a tubful of thirsty travellers, would \"Ah—I see.\" But the crew all drank of the fountain to be sociable. It was water, the first water ever made. \"What do you make of them?\" asked Stark. \"Human,\" said Steiner. \"It may even be that they are a little more than human. I don't understand that light that surrounds them. And they seem \"And very little else,\" said Father Briton, \"though that light trick does serve a purpose. But I'm not sure they'd pass in Philadelphia.\" \"Talk to them again,\" said Stark. \"You're the linguist.\" \"That isn't necessary here, Captain. Talk to them yourself.\" \"Are there any other people here?\" Stark asked the man. \"The two of us. Man and woman.\" The captain was a little puzzled by this, but he went on doggedly: \"Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people?\" Engineer. He is named Flunky.\" \"But are we not people?\" persisted Captain Stark. \"No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there be going to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling.\" \"Can we have something to eat?\" asked the Captain. will want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which does They wandered about the place, but they were uneasy. There were the animals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, though they offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though they wanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you. \"If there are only two people here,\" said Casper Craig, \"then it may be that the rest of the world is not dangerous at all. It looked fertile those rocks would bear examining.\" \"Flecked with gold, and possibly with something else,\" said Stark. \"A haven't yet tried the—\" and he stopped. \"If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think,\" said Gilbert, \"then it will be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream or whether this is reality. Go ahead and eat one.\" \"Ask him first. You ask him.\" \"Well, the analogy breaks down there,\" said Stark. \"I was almost beginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what. \"Of course they do. You know that as well as I.\" \"I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact same It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it. did understand the answer, however.\" \"And do you think that you will ever die?\" \"To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property of \"And are you completely happy here?\" \"Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taught that on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost.\" \"Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how about a game of checkers?\" \"This is hardly the time for clowning,\" said Stark. \"I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice of colors and first move.\" \"No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect.\" and have a go at it.\" \"No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you.\" \"What is there, Adam?\" asked Captain Stark. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their time there. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when they left. And they talked of it as they took off. perfection. \"So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: Ninety names were \"Snake-Oil Sam,\" spoke to his underlings: \"You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in show pomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becoming better researched, and they insist on authenticity. \"This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in human whoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and mar a big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb.\" \"I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of the Casper Craig was still dictating the gram: neighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm of \"And you had better have an armed escort when you return,\" said Father \"Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort?\" \"It's as phony as a seven-credit note!\" \"You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced by our senses? Why do you doubt?\" \"It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds. Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible, zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot through with anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers.\" \"What?\" \"If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game of was just that he chose not to make our acquaintance personally.\" \"They looked at the priest thoughtfully. \"How?\" \"All the time we were there the woman did not speak.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat was thought to be used as an indication to settle the confusion between the crew and the two humans in moon-town?\n\n<options>:\nA An inquisition about knowledge\nB A game of checkers\nC A contest of preternatural intellect\nD A physical test\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
830	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 were mad, all right, and now Matilda wondered if, actually, Matilda would seek the happy medium. The best that could be said for Matilda Penshaws was that she was at which she would have scoffed ten or even five years ago. Matilda was This, in itself, was not unusual—but Matilda was so completely Matilda, you see, had patience. She also had a fetish. Matilda had received her A.B. from exclusive Matilda would write, and she often told her mother, the widow Penshaws, That particular night, Matilda pulled her battered old sedan into the Matilda smiled. \"It wouldn't have worked out, Ma. He was too darned to hide his feelings.\" \"Hogwash!\" said her daughter. \"He has no true feelings. He's sorry that \"But, Matilda, that's your fifth broken engagement in three years. It Matilda admired her mother's use of the word osmosis, but she found Matilda switched her bed lamp on and dabbed some citronella on each Matilda even liked the sound of the name. But mostly, she had to admit to herself, it was the flavor of the wording. This very well could be it Matilda could see that. But she had Matilda was not yet that far gone in years or appearance. Dressed Matilda got out of bed at seven, tiptoed into the bathroom, showered \"Mother,\" gasped Matilda. Matilda always gasped when she saw something Then the widow Penshaws told Matilda that she could never hope to sneak The stereotype grunted and peered at her over his glasses. Matilda asked him where she could find Haron Gorka. \"What?\" \"I said, where can I find Haron Gorka?\" Matilda kept the alarm from creeping into her voice. She muttered an Matilda felt bad, but she had no intention of returning home this Then Matilda frowned. Twenty years from now, this could be Matilda hadn't she thought of it before? Certainly a man as well-educated as Haron Gorka would be an avid reader, and unless he had a permanent Matilda cleared her throat. \"Pardon me,\" she began. \"I'm looking for—\" \"That's easy. You're the sixth young woman who came here inquiring about that man today. Six of you—five others in the morning, and now you in the afternoon. I never did trust this Mr. Gorka....\" Matilda jumped as if she had been struck strategically from the rear. Matilda thought a little flattery might be effective. \"Only ten,\" she \"What do you mean?\" \"I mean anyone would like to correspond with Haron Gorka. Or to know \"Um, where can I find Mr. Gorka?\" \"I'm not supposed to do this, you know. We're not permitted to give the addresses of any of our people. Against regulations, my dear.\" \"Was this the way?\" she demanded. Matilda was not very good at this whistling to herself. Haron Gorka lived in what could have been an agrarian estate, except that the land no longer was being tilled. The house itself had fallen to ruin. This surprised Matilda, but she did not let it keep her he was too busy with his cultural pursuits to pay any real attention to his dwelling. That was it, of course: the conspicuous show of wealth or personal industry meant nothing at all to Haron Gorka. Matilda liked him all the more for it. be left far behind. Matilda congratulated herself for what she thought Matilda. And then, quite annoyedly, she berated herself for not having As it turned out, she wasn't. Not only that, she was welcomed with open arms. Not by Haron Gorka that she really might have liked. Instead, \"You want any food or drink,\" the servant told her, \"and you just press that button. The results will surprise you.\" \"What about Mr. Gorka?\" \"When he wants you, he will send for you. Meanwhile, make yourself to It must be said to Matilda's favor that she sobbed only once. After that she realized that what is done is done and here, past thirty, she wasn't going to be girlishly timid about it. Besides, it was not her fault if, in his unconcern, Haron Gorka had unwittingly hired a neurotic servant. For a time Matilda paced back and forth in her room, and of what was she lay down on the bed to take a nap. This didn't last long, however: she had a nightmare in which Haron Gorka appeared as a giant with two heads, but, upon awaking with a start, she immediately ascribed that to her overwrought nerves. Matilda gasped once and felt about to gasp again—but by then her that it was precisely what she would have wanted could, of course, be attributed to coincidence, and the further fact that everything was extremely palatable made her forget all about Haron Gorka's neurotic servant. with the wonderful feeling that everything was all right. The feeling did not last long. Standing over her was Haron Gorka's servant, and he said, \"Mr. Gorka will see you now.\" \"Now?\" realized that each of them probably had a cubicle of a room like her own, and that each in her turn had already had her first visit with Haron Gorka. Well, then, she must see to it that she impressed him better than did all the rest, and, later, when she returned to tell the compare notes. She would not admit even to herself that she was disappointed with Haron Gorka. It was not that he was homely and unimpressive it was He said, \"Greetings. You have come—\" \"In response to your ad. How do you do, Mr. Gorka?\" She hoped she wasn't being too formal. But, then, there was no sense in assuming that he would like informality. She could only wait and see \"I—do.\" Matilda had had visions of her prince charming sitting back Matilda, accustomed to social chatter, gave him a gambit. \"Yes,\" said Matilda vaguely. Perhaps it might be better, after all, if \"Well?\" \"Well, what, Mr. Gorka?\" \"What would you like me to talk about?\" \"Oh, anything.\" Matilda said, \"Beg pardon?\" with you. Excellent idea, really excellent.\" Almost at once, Matilda's educational background should have told her that Haron Gorka was mouthing gibberish. But on the other hand she wanted to believe in him and the result was that it took until now for her to realize it. \"Stop making fun of me,\" she said. all over that system—\" \"Stop!\" \"What's that? Making fun of you?\" Haron Gorka's voice had been so eager as he spoke, high-pitched, almost like a child's, and now he seemed disappointed. He smiled, but it was a sad smile, a smile of Matilda could do nothing but leave the room, walk back through the As she drove back to town, the disappointment melted slowly away. There were, of course, two alternatives. Either Haron Gorka was an eccentric who enjoyed this sort of outlandish tomfoolery, or else he was plainly insane. She could still picture him ranting on aimlessly to no one in broom-stick figure, rigid. But now when she saw Matilda she perked up in detail. She did this first because it was a promise, and second because she knew it would make her feel better. \"So,\" she finished, \"Haron Gorka is either extremely eccentric or insane. I'm sorry.\" Matilda didn't understand. She didn't understand at all, but she told me if I told you something.\" \"What's that?\" \"I am Mrs. Gorka.\" The librarian stood up and came around the desk. She opened a drawer Matilda did not say a word. One madman a day would be quite enough for\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Matilda feel she was being made fun of?\n\n<options>:\nA She though t Gorka was making up stories to appeal to her childish nature.\nB She thought Gorka was playing with her trusting nature by telling her lies.\nC She thought Gorka didn’t respe ct her enough,\nD She thought Gorka was trying to make her feel stupid by saying things she couldn’t disprove.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,875	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSECOND LANDING By FLOYD WALLACE A gentle fancy for the Christmas Season—an Earth was so far away that it was not much out of the way to swing nearer Earth. For days the two within the ship listened and watched with little \"You know what I'm in favor of,\" said the second. \"I can guess,\" said Ethaniel, who had spoken first. \"The place is a complete mess. They've never weapons.\" \"It's not what they've done,\" said Bal, the second alien. \"It's what they're going to do, with that big bomb.\" than a hundred light-years to go.\" \"A week,\" said Ethaniel. \"We can spare a week and still get there on time.\" \"A week?\" said Bal. \"To settle their problems? They've had two world wars in one generation Ethaniel. \"The wrong diplomatic move, or a trigger-happy soldier could set it off. And it wouldn't attack.\" \"Too bad,\" said Bal. \"We'll just have to forget there ever was such a planet as Earth.\" \"I'm doing it,\" said Bal. \"Just give them a little time and they won't be here to remind me that said Ethaniel. \"I ask you to look at them.\" Bal rustled, flicking the screen intently. \"Very much like ourselves,\" he said at last. \"A bit seem defenseless, though I suppose they're not.\" \"Tough,\" said Bal. \"Nothing we can do about it.\" \"There is. We can give them \"You can't tell,\" said Ethaniel. \"We can look things over.\" nothing in this region of space our people want,\" said Ethaniel. \"And how long can Earth last? Ten years? Even ten months? The tension is building by the hour.\" \"What can I say?\" said Bal. \"I suppose we can stop and look them over. We're not committing Earth, not intending to commit themselves. For a day they circled not difficult, testing, and sampling. Finally Ethaniel looked up upward. They either have or are near a primitive form of space travel.\" \"Bad,\" said Ethaniel. \"Sitting there, wondering when it's going to hit them. Nervousness could set it off.\" \"You must think something.\" \"I wish I knew what to think. There's so little time,\" Ethaniel have it.\" \"I realize that.\" \"A flat yes or no,\" said Bal. \"No. We can't help them,\" said Ethaniel. \"There is nothing we can do for them—but we have to try.\" started,\" said Bal. \"It's happened before. We take the trouble to find out what a people are like they met again. In the meantime the ship moved much closer to northern hemisphere was glistening white. Ragged clouds covered the pole, and a dirty pall spread over the mid-regions of the north. \"I haven't thought of anything brilliant,\" said Ethaniel. \"Nor I,\" said Bal. \"We're going to have to go down there cold. And it will be cold.\" \"Yes. It's their winter.\" \"I did have an idea,\" said Bal. \"What about going down as supernatural \"Hardly,\" said Ethaniel. \"A hundred years ago it might have worked. Today they have satellites. They are not primitives.\" \"I suppose you're right,\" said Bal. \"I did think we ought to take advantage of our physical differences.\" \"Well, you're calling it,\" said Bal. \"All right,\" said Ethaniel. \"You take one side and I the other. We'll tell them bluntly have time for.\" \"Special instructions?\" \"None. We leave the ship here and go down in separate landing craft. You can talk with me any Bal looked out of the port at the planet below. \"It's going to be cold where I'm going. You too. Sure we don't want to change our plans and land in the southern hemisphere? It's summer there.\" \"I'm afraid not. The great powers are in the north. They are the ones we have to reach to do the job.\" \"I know, they don't like their holidays interrupted. It can't be helped. We can't wait until it's over.\" \"I'm aware of that,\" said Bal. \"Fill me in on that holiday, anything I ought to know. Probably ago,\" said Ethaniel. \"I didn't learn anything exact from radio and TV. Now it seems to be \"You ought to know. You're running this one.\" Bal looked down at the planet. Clouds were beginning to form at the twilight \"They can't touch it. No matter how they develop in the next hundred years they still won't be about. Down there, alone.\" \"I'll be with you. On the other side of the Earth.\" \"That's not very close. I'd like hurry if things get rough. They don't think much of each other. I don't imagine they'll like aliens any better.\" \"They may be unfriendly,\" switched a monitor screen until he looked at the slope of a mountain. It was snowing and men \"I don't guarantee anything,\" said Ethaniel. \"This is what I was thinking of: instead of hiding the ship against the sun be seen, we'll make sure that they do see it. Let's take it around to the night side of the planet and light it up.\" \"Say, pretty good,\" said Bal. \"They can't imagine that we'd light up an unmanned ship,\" said Ethaniel. \"Even if the thought should occur to them they'll have no way of checking it. Also, they won't be eager to harm us with our ship shining down on them.\" \"That's thinking,\" said Bal, ship in position, glowing against the darkness of space, pulsating with light, Bal said: \"You know, I feel better about this. We may be just the help we need.\" \"It's not we who need help, but the people of Earth,\" said Ethaniel. \"See you in five days.\" With that he entered a small landing Earth. As soon as it was safe to do so, Bal left in another craft, heading for the other side of the planet. Earth, unmanned, blazing and pulsing with light. No star in the winter skies of the planet below could equal it in brilliancy. Once a man-made satellite came near seldom, had Earth seen anything like it. In five days the two small landing craft that had left it arched up from Earth and joined the orbit of the large ship. The two small craft slid inside the large one and doors closed behind them. In a short time the aliens met again. \"We did it,\" said Bal exultantly as he came in. \"I don't know how we did it and I thought we were going to fail but at the last minute they came through.\" Ethaniel smiled. \"I'm tired,\" he said, rustling. \"Me too, but mostly I'm cold,\" said Bal, shivering. \"Snow. Nothing but snow wherever I went. Miserable climate. And yet you had me go out walking after Ethaniel. \"If I went out walking one day I noticed that the next \"It did. I don't know why, but it did,\" said Bal. \"Anyway, this agreement they made isn't the from destroying themselves.\" \"It's as much as we can expect,\" said Ethaniel. \"They may have small wars after this, but \"Why?\" \"Something like that happened to me,\" said Ethaniel. \"I didn't get it but I didn't let it upset me,\" said Bal. \"I smiled He shivered again. \"It was always cold. I walked out, but sometimes I flew back. I hope that was all right.\" In the cabin Bal spread his great wings. Renaissance painters \"I don't think it hurt us that you flew,\" said Ethaniel. \"I did bound to resemble ours.\" \"Sure,\" said Bal. \"Anyway, peace on Earth.\" THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhy are Bal and Ethaniel so cold?\n\n<options>:\nA People are mistaking them for the types of angles seen in Renaissance paintings. It is likely they are wearing little or no clothing.\nB They are cold because the clothing synthesizer on their spaceship was not equipped with the materials needed to make cold-weather gear.\nC They are cold because the planet they come from has a much warmer climate, and they were not prepared for cold weather.\nD Bal and Ethaniel are cold because it is winter where they have landed on Earth.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,117	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSo here's how the race shapes up. Bauer will frame it as a populist showdown, chiefly between himself and Forbes. Forbes will frame it as a fight between the establishment, led by Bush, and conservatives, led by himself. Dole will exploit feminism as well as feminine stereotypes, pitching herself as the candidate of change, civility, and moral renewal. And McCain will fortify his war chest while his rivals battle and bleed. Ames has organized the contestants. Let the games begin. This weekend's straw poll in Ames, Iowa, kicked off the 2000 presidential race and sorted out the Republican field. Everyone agrees that George W. Bush is the front-runner, that Steve Forbes is in second place, and that Dan Quayle, who finished back in the pack with Lamar Alexander, will soon join Alexander on the sidelines. But Ames failed to resolve the fate of the candidates who came in third and fourth--Elizabeth Dole and Gary Bauer--and the one who skipped Ames, John McCain. For these three, the post-game spin contest is crucial. Here's a playback of their takes on the straw poll results and a look ahead at their playbook of messages for the remainder of the race. 1. Top three. Dole needed to get within striking distance of Bush and to seal off the rest of the pack behind her. On Meet the Press , Face the Nation , and Late Edition , she boasted that she had cracked \"the top three.\" Pundits bought the three-winners line, treating Ames as a horse race (\"win, place, and show\") and noting that \"no one's ever won the Republican nomination without finishing in the top three\" at Ames. Newspapers, cramped for space, confined their headlines to Bush, Forbes, and Dole. Though Dole's 14 percent was closer to Bauer's 9 than to Forbes' 21, she earned a \"solid third\" and a place among the leaders by crossing the \"double-digit\" threshold. As Fox News' Carl Cameron put it: \"The other seven candidates could not crack double digits.\" 2. Race for third. Since Bush and Forbes were expected to finish first and second, many pundits concluded, as Lisa Myers put it on Meet the Press , that \"the real race here was for third. Elizabeth Dole won that.\" The Boston Globe called Dole \"the winner of this contest-within-the-contest.\" Dole touted her \"victory\" on every talk show and cited the Myers and Globe quotes in a press release. At a news conference, an aide introduced Dole as the straw poll's \"real winner.\" 3. Underdog. In every TV interview, Dole claimed to have been \"outspent by millions of dollars.\" Her spokesman told reporters that \"on a dollar-per-vote basis, Elizabeth Dole trounced George Bush and Steve Forbes.\" Reporters love an underdog. \"From a strict cost-benefit standpoint, the big winner may be Elizabeth Dole,\" concluded Time . 1. Race for second. Forbes wants to fast-forward the GOP tournament to a finals bracket: Bush vs. Forbes. To prevent this, Dole needs to create a semifinal playoff--Forbes vs. Dole--to determine who gets to play Bush. Despite Forbes' huge financial advantage, \"we finished close to second,\" Dole told reporters Saturday night. \"This is going to become a two-person race.\" The press agreed. \"Forbes had growing hopes ... that he might upset Bush or finish a close second,\" recalled the Post . Instead, \"he finished closer to Dole than to Bush.\" 2. Experience. Having narrowed the field to three, Dole needs to focus the contest on criteria that favor her. The first of these is political experience, of which Bush has little and Forbes has almost none. On every talk show, Dole vowed \"to demonstrate that the candidate with the most experience is more qualified than the candidates with the most money. ... We're talking about president of the United States.\" Gary Bauer Playback 1. Top four. Like Dole, Bauer needed to crack the top tier and seal off the pack. Since sports analogies tend to cut off the top tier at three rather than four (e.g., \"bronze medal,\" \"win, place, and show\"), Bauer changed metaphors, telling reporters that he had reached \"the first rung of candidates\" and that lower finishers might soon perish. On Meet the Press , he called himself the \"breakout candidate.\" While some pundits lumped Bauer with the winners, others offered him the next best position--\"leading the rest of the pack\"--or at least distinguished him from the \"losers.\" 2. Social conservative quarterfinal. This was Bauer's big spin win. Like Dole, he won a crucial \"contest-within-the-contest.\" His scant margin over Pat Buchanan--8.9 percent to 7.3 percent--became a huge factor in the post-poll analysis. Pundits concluded that Bauer \"did what he had to do ... beat Pat Buchanan,\" and therefore \"can legitimately say he is the candidate of the Christian right,\" establishing himself as \"one of the winners,\" the \"three or four\" candidates who \"got their tickets punched\" to stay in the race. Talk show hosts reminded Buchanan that he had lost to Bauer and asked whether Buchanan was finished. 3. Conservative semifinal. Having scored well ahead of Bauer and Buchanan, Forbes anointed himself \"the conservative in a two-man race\" against Bush. Bauer disagreed, and the media took his side. \"Forbes, Bauer Battle for Right,\" the Post proclaimed, concluding that because Forbes failed to break away, \"he and Bauer are likely to continue a long and tough fight for the leadership of the conservative wing.\" 4. Underdog. Bauer couldn't claim to be more strapped than Dole, so he claimed underdog status on the basis of low name recognition, inexperience, and working-class heritage. \"I am running against some big bios ... the son of a former president, the son of a tycoon, and the wife of a senator,\" Bauer argued on Late Edition . \"I have never run for president or office before. And yet here we come in fourth place.\" Newsweek 's David Brooks wrote that Bauer \"overcame his own financial disadvantages\" and joined Dole as the two surviving \"Have-Not candidates.\" Playbook 1. Buchanan will defect. Since Buchanan's combativeness and loyal base make him hard to write off as a candidate, his rivals have persuaded the media at least to write him off as a Republican by inferring that his low score at Ames will prompt him to transfer to the Reform Party. The more Buchanan fends off comparisons to Bauer by emphasizing his protectionism, the more he plays into this scenario. 3. Conservatism. If Bauer wins the social conservative quarterfinal and the conservative semifinal, he gets to run as the \"Reagan\" candidate against \"Bush-Gore\" moderation on abortion, Hollywood, China, and other hot-button issues. This bracket-by-bracket tournament strategy reduces Bauer's obstacles from three candidates to two. He can target Forbes, knowing that if he prevails, either Bush or Dole will have vanquished the other in the moderate semifinal. Indeed, Dole's success at Ames arguably helps Bauer by giving Bush a semifinal contest. 3. Experience. The longer McCain stays out of the race without damaging his credibility, the more the field narrows to his advantage. Alexander and Rep. John Kasich, R-Ohio, are already gone. Quayle and Sen. Orrin Hatch, R-Utah, won't be far behind. If the field dwindles to Bush, Forbes, and Bauer, McCain can sell himself as the only experienced officeholder running against Bush. But Dole's third-place finish at Ames, coupled with her victory in the post-Ames spin contest, complicates this plan.\n\n<question>:\nOf all the individuals described in the article, who seemed to make the riskiest decision described?\n\n<options>:\nA McCain\nB Buchanan\nC Dole\nD Bauer\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]

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