Subset (3)

instruct · 4.61k rows

Split (2)

train · 2.52k rows

conversation_id int64 1 2.52k	category stringclasses 1 value	conversation list
2,154	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 think we'll make some changes in the book,\" Lessing said slowly. \"It'll be costly—but it might even be fun. It's a pretty dry, logical presentation of ideas, as it stands. Very austere and authoritarian. \"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 boy fought back tears. \"But I don't want to go back there—\" The \"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 you'll have to set it up. I've got that young Melrose from Chicago to deal with this morning—the one who's threatening to upset the whole Lessing groaned. As director of psionic research at the Hoffman Medical Center, he had long since learned how administrative detail could suck up daytime hours. He knew that his real work was at the Farm—yet he theory to work by— At his elbow the intercom buzzed. \"A gentleman to see you,\" the girl said. \"A Dr. Melrose. He's very impatient, sir.\" He shut off the scanner and said, \"Send him in, please.\" Dr. Peter Melrose was tall and thin, with jet black hair and dark mocking eyes. He wore a threadbare sport coat and a slouch. He offered Lessing a bony hand, then flung himself into a chair as he stared about the office in awe. stronghold of psionic research at last. And face to face with the Master in the trembling flesh!\" Lessing frowned. \"Dr. Melrose, I don't quite understand—\" \"Oh, it's just that I'm impressed,\" the young man said airily. \"Of course, I've seen old dried-up Authorities before—but never before \"If you've come here to be insulting,\" Lessing said coldly, \"you're just wasting time.\" He reached for the intercom switch. \"I think you'd better wait before you do that,\" Melrose said sharply, 'Theory',\" Melrose said. \"I want to see this famous Farm of yours up in Connecticut and see for myself how much pressure these experimental controls you keep talking about will actually bear. But mostly, I want \"And our controls are above suspicion.\" \"So far, we haven't found any way to set up logical controls,\" said Melrose. \"We've done a lot of work on it, too.\" \"Oh, yes—I've heard about your work. Not bad, really. A little misdirected, is all.\" Melrose grinned unpleasantly. \"We're not unreasonable, your Majesty. We just ask to be shown. If you dare, that is.\" Lessing slammed his fist down on the desk angrily. \"Have you got the \"I just finished the prelims. He's not cooperating.\" Lessing ground his teeth. \"I should be running him now instead of beating the bushes with this—\" He broke off to glare at young Melrose. Melrose grinned. \"I've heard you have quite a place up here.\" \"It's—unconventional, at any rate,\" Lessing snapped. , eh?\" Lessing blinked. \"It's conceivable.\" \"Mmmm,\" said Melrose. \"Sounds like a real firm foundation to build a theory on.\" \"Why not?\" Lessing growled. \"It wouldn't be the first time the tail drugs worked better in combatting schizophrenia when the doctor took the medicine instead of the patient. That was quite a wall to climb.\" \"Yes, wasn't it,\" mused Melrose, scratching his bony jaw. \"Only took them seventy years to climb it, thanks to a certain man's theories. quality of the human mind. Just as the ability to think logically in a crisis instead of giving way to panic is a differentiating quality.\" \"Fine,\" said Melrose. \"Great. We can't at it any more?\" \"And you think you have an answer,\" said Melrose. \"We think we might be near an answer. We have a theory that explains the available data.\" \"As far as we can measure, yes.\" \"Which may not be very far.\" Jack Dorffman burst in: \"What Dr. Lessing is saying is that they seem effective for our purposes.\" \"But you don't know why,\" added Melrose. \"All right, we don't know why. Nobody knows why a Renwick screen in a large room. \"They're perfectly insulated from us,\" said Lessing. \"A variety of recording instruments are working. And before you ask, Dr. Melrose, they are all empirical instruments, and they would all defy any engineer's attempts to determine what makes them go. We don't know what Below it, a recording-tape clicked along in little spurts and starts of activity. \"What are they doing?\" Melrose asked after watching the children a few moments. workers spent two weeks trying to find out why the instruments weren't right. It wasn't the instruments, of course.\" Lessing nodded to an attendant, and peered around at Melrose. \"Now, I want you to watch this very closely.\" He opened a door and walked into the room with the children. The Moments later Lessing was back in the observation room, leaving the children busily putting the tower back together. There was a little smile on his lips as he saw Melrose's face. \"Perhaps you're beginning to see what I'm driving at,\" he said slowly. \"Yes,\" said Melrose. \"I think I'm beginning to see.\" He scratched his 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 \"But that wouldn't make any difference, would it? The blocks still fall down.\" Melrose paced down the narrow room. \"This is very good,\" he said suddenly, his voice earnest. \"You have fine facilities here, good workers. And in spite of my flippancy, Dr. Lessing, I have never imagined for a moment that you were not an acute observer and a At first Lessing pretended to work finally he snapped off the tape recorder in disgust and stared out the shuttle-car window. Melrose had see him go, Lessing thought, and tried to force the thin, angry man firmly out of his mind. But somehow Melrose wouldn't force. \"Stop worrying about it,\" Dorffman urged. \"He's a crackpot. He's crawled way out on a limb, and now he's afraid your theory is going to cut it off under him. Well, that's his worry, not yours.\" Dorffman's face was intense. \"Scientifically, you're on unshakeable ground. Every great researcher has people like Melrose sniping at him. You just have to throw them off and keep going.\" Lessing shook his head. \"Maybe. But this field of work is different \"He wasn't objecting to the theory. He's afraid of what happens after \"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.\" horribly wrong—could the boy really be sensing the source of the had felt it in his own mind, bursting from the child. Like a violent healthy youngster could survive it, even though the scar remained. But this youngster was sick— 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 faded from the boy's face.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the best representation of the significance of the boy who falls sick at the end?\n\n<options>:\nA It shows that Dr. Melrose could have been right, because this is not consistent with Dr. Lessing's prior conclusions\nB The incident is proof that Dr. Lessing should give up on his work\nC It means Dr. Lessing's book needs another round of edits which will take a lot of time\nD It shows Dr. Melrose where the weak points in Dr. Lessing's work is\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,180	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>:\nAs the years went by, Martin began to lose even his detached interest the sights. Most of the time Martin spent in watching the sea—and he could fool himself into thinking that there was some purpose to this journey. He'd come to believe that perhaps what his life lacked was purpose, and for a while he kept looking for meaning everywhere, to the off without them. Martin was no exception. He'd never had it this cousin's utter disgust. purpose nor malice was enough he was still immeasurably bored. \"Where do you suppose Conrad has been all this time?\" Martin idly asked He had often fancied that Conrad would prove to be the most stimulating member of the whole generation. But it seemed unlikely that he would ever have a chance for a conversation with the young man. More than one conversation, anyhow. and man and will—to fight, so there was a sterile peace for a long time. The Interregnum roamed the seas restlessly, with her load of So Martin held his peace, because, on the whole, he liked things the passengers from the future, plus one bored and aging contemporary. She One day the truant officer came to ask why Martin hadn't been coming he just watched to see what she'd do next. Already he had begun to assume the detached role of a spectator. Raymond. Martin missed the old neighborhood, though. He missed having other It was then that Martin began to realize that either the whole lot of When Martin was sixteen, Raymond took him aside for the talk Ninian had Martin nodded gravely. He was a quiet boy now, his brief past a dim and continued. \"Which is distressing—though, of course, it's not as if they were people. Besides, the government has been talking about passing laws to do away with the—well, abuses and things like that, and I'm sure someday everything will come out all right. However, Conrad is so impatient.\" \"I've told you—our world is precisely the same as this one!\" Raymond snapped. \"We just come a couple of centuries or so later, that's all. But remember, our interests are identical. We're virtually the same people ... although it is amazing what a difference two hundred odd years of progress and polish can make in a species, isn't it?\" He continued more mildly: \"However, even you ought to be able to understand that we can't make machinery without metal. We need food. past and think in the future. he had discovered that Raymond was perhaps the most intelligent of the lot. Somewhere in that relatively short span of time, his line or—more frightening—his race had lost something vital. Unaware of the near-contempt in which his young ancestor held him, \"Oh, I do!\" Martin said. He had pieced the whole thing together for himself long since, but he wanted to hear how Raymond would put it. \"Unfortunately, Professor Farkas has just perfected the time transmitter. Those government scientists are so infernally officious—always inventing such senseless things. It's supposed to in time and \"eliminate!\" their common great-grandfather. In that way, there would be no space-drive, and, hence, the Terrestrials would never get to the other planets and oppress the local aborigines. Raymond looked annoyed. \"It's the way,\" he said, \"to do away with it, rather than find a solution. Would you destroy a whole society in order to root out a single injustice?\" \"Not if it were a good one otherwise.\" of eliminating our great-grandfather—because our great-grandfather was such a good Raymond turned a deep rose. \"Well, doesn't that just go to prove you a rush. \"I wormed the whole thing out of him and all of us—the other cousins and me—held a council of war, as it were, and we decided it was our moral duty to go back in time ourselves and protect you.\" He Martin had, of course, no illusions on that score he had learned long ago that nobody did anything for nothing. But saying so was unwise. Raymond didn't seem to think he really did. \"After all,\" he pointed the richer you are, the more eccentricity you can get away with. And,\" he added, \"I might as well be as comfortable as possible while I suffer through this wretched historical stint.\" remote kind of way, he had no fondness for her—or she, he knew, for him. \"Well, five years is rather a long stretch for any girl to spend in exile,\" Raymond explained, \"even though our life spans are a bit longer than yours. Besides, you're getting too old now to be under petticoat government.\" He looked inquisitively at Martin. \"You're not going to \"No....\" Martin said hesitantly. \"Oh, I suppose I will miss her. But we time ?\" Raymond and Martin moved into a luxurious mansion in a remote area. The site proved a well-chosen one when the Second Atomic War came, half a dozen years later, they weren't touched. Martin was never sure whether carefully chosen by Raymond and disputed by Martin, for, to the man During those early years, Martin's tutors were exchanged for the their vigorous family councils. Martin was still young enough to enjoy such occasions, finding them vastly superior to all other forms of entertainment. \"This sort of problem wouldn't arise in our day, Martin,\" Raymond unless one specifically feels a call to some profession or other, one just—well, drifts along happily.\" again, Bart!\" Raymond said impatiently. \"Well, Martin?\" their times.\" \"Furthermore,\" Ottillie added, \"one more artist couldn't make much difference in history. There were so many of them all through the ages.\" purely intellectual. The only emotion he seemed able to feel was fear—the ever-present fear that someday he would turn a corridor and sale they enjoyed was mostly to interior decorators. Museums were not interested. \"Takes time,\" Ives tried to reassure him. \"One day they'll be buying which Martin christened trips inland. Martin saw the civilized world—mostly in fragments nearly intact semi-civilized world and the uncivilized world, much the same as it had been for centuries. It was like visiting an enormous museum he couldn't seem to identify with his own time any more. The other cousins appeared to find the yacht a congenial head-quarters, largely because they could spend so much time far away from the contemporary inhabitants of the planet and relax and be themselves. So they never moved back to land. Martin spent the rest of his life on time. More cousins were in residence at once than ever before, because they came for the ocean voyage. They spent most of their time aboard ship, giving each other parties and playing an avant-garde form of shuffleboard and gambling on future sporting events. That last usually Martin didn't care much for their company and associated with them only then Ives would tell Martin of the future world he had come interbred aristocracy, to which Martin's descendants belonged by virtue \"Rather feudal, isn't it?\" Martin asked. for officials and things. With wars and want and suffering,\" he added regretfully, \"same as in your day.... Like now, I mean,\" he corrected himself. \"Maybe it continent, a hundred years or more before the date of his birth. about the entire undertaking. \"He died for all of us,\" Raymond concluded his funeral eulogy over But Martin disagreed. The ceaseless voyaging began again. The Interregnum voyaged to every a while, Martin couldn't tell one from another. Cousin after cousin All the cousins were young, for, though they came at different times in his life, they had all started out from the same time in theirs. Only\n\n<question>:\nRaymond sees the two hundred years between his time and Martin's time _____. Martin sees the time span as _____.\n\n<options>:\nA as time to allow for people to realize that everyone is expendable. just enough time to dull the perceptions of an entire society.\nB as time to lose something, though he was unable to define it, that was important to society as a whole. time to refine people.\nC as time to refine people. time to lose something, though he was unable to define it, that was important to society as a whole.\nD as just enough time to dull the perceptions of an entire society. time to allow for people to realize that everyone is expendable.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,675	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nShe surely got her wish ... but there was some question about getting what she wanted. Phil Conover pulled the zipper of his flight suit up the front of his long, thin body and came into the living room. His face, usually serious and quietly handsome, had an alive, excited look. And the faint lines far. She said, \"You look fine, Phil. You look just right.\" She managed a smile. Then she leaned forward and crushed the cigarette in the ash tray on the maple coffee table and took another from the pack. \"Yes, I think so. Yes, I'm sure you did,\" she said, finishing the ritual but her voice broke, and she turned her head away. Phil sat isn't. We know exactly how it will be. If anything could go wrong, they She turned, facing him. There were tears starting in the corners of her wide, brown eyes, and she brushed them away with her hand. \"Phil, don't go. Please don't. They can send Sammy. Sammy doesn't have a wife. Can't he go? They'd understand, Phil. Please!\" She was holding his arms tightly with her hands, and the color had drained from her cheeks. \"Mary, you know I can't back out now. How could I? It's been three years. You know how much I've wanted to be the first man to go. Nothing would ever be right with me again if I didn't go. Please don't make it released her and stood up. \"I've got to get started, Mary. Will you come to the field with me?\" \"Yes, I'll come to say good-by.\" She paused and dropped her eyes. \"Phil, if you go, I won't be here when you get back—if you get back. I won't be here because I won't be the wife of a space pilot for the rest of my life. It isn't the kind of life I bargained for. No matter how much I love you, I just couldn't take that, Phil. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not the noble sort of wife.\" She finished and took another cigarette from the pack on the coffee lighter to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply. Phil stood watching her, the excitement completely gone from his eyes. \"I wish you had told me this a long time ago, Mary,\" Phil said. His 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.\" 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. existed only because of the huge ship standing poised in the take-off ready to stop existing as a town and to give itself back to the desert, if such was its destiny. Phil turned the car off the highway onto the rutted dirt road that led take-off zone and swept along the top of the high wire fence stretching out of sight to right and left. At the gate they were stopped by the guard. He read Phil's pass, shined his flashlight in their faces, and \"Thanks, sergeant. I'll be seeing you next week,\" Phil said, and smiled. They drove between the rows of wooden buildings that lined the field, and he parked near the low barbed fence ringing the take-off zone. He surface gleamed in the spotlight glare, and it sloped up and up until \"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 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 stopped. They turned as one man toward him, and General Small came up to him and took his hand. \"Hello, Phil. We were beginning to think you weren't coming. You all set, son?\" \"Yes, sir, I'm all set, I guess,\" Phil said. As they crossed the room, familiar faces smiled, and each man shook his hand or touched his arm. He saw Sammy, alone, by the coffee urn. Sammy waved to him, but he didn't smile. Phil wanted to talk to him, to say something but there was nothing to be said now. Sammy's turn would come 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 connected with the take-off. They were seated now in a semicircle in front of a huge chart of the solar system. Phil took his seat, and the last minute briefing began. It was a routine he knew by heart. He had The voice of the briefing officer was a dull hum in his ears. to 24,900-mph for five minutes and then free-coast for 116 hours until—\" Phil asked a few questions about weather and solar conditions. And then the session was done. They rose and looked at each other, the same unanswered questions on each man's face. There were forced smiles and handshakes. They were ready now. \"Phil,\" the general said, and took him aside. \"Sir?\" \"Phil, you're ... you feel all right, don't you, son?\" \"Yes, sir. I feel fine. Why?\" \"Phil, I've spent nearly every day with you for three years. I know you 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 Outside, the take-off zone crawled with men and machines at the base of The small group at the base of the ship turned and walked back to the For a long time after the rocket had become a tiny speck of light in the 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 THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the most salient part of the final scene the reflects on the initial conversation?\n\n<options>:\nA Mary promising she would only stay with him if he did not go\nB Phil knowing he wouldn't be the same if he did not go on the mission\nC The fact that their love was stronger than Phil's independent goals\nD Phil decided not to go on the mission in the end\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
211	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"Why, why,\" Miss Meuhl stammered. \"Yes, of course. And I do want to \"Miss Meuhl,\" Fith said, \"a peace squad waits outside your consulate. \"You can't turn this invitation down,\" Administrative Assistant Meuhl reaching for the safe-lock release.... \"Don't!\" Retief jumped—too late. \"Miss Meuhl,\" he said, \"in the past couple of weeks I've sat through The door burst inward. A crowd of crested Groaci pressed into the room, many assorted folk-art festivals. I've been tied up every off-duty hour since I got here—\" \"You can't offend the Groaci,\" Miss Meuhl said sharply. \"Consul Whaffle would never have been so rude.\" Retief turned at a sound behind him. Miss Meuhl was at the door, \"I invited them here,\" Miss Meuhl spoke up. \"They are here at my \"Well,\" Miss Meuhl said, snapping off the dictyper. \"I'm sure I don't \"Whaffle left here three months ago,\" Retief said, \"leaving me in \"Are you leaving the office?\" Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. \"I have \"Yes,\" Miss Meuhl said. \"You're quite right, Mr. Shluh. Please escort \"I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said, \"As chief of mission,\" Miss Meuhl said quickly, \"I hereby waive \"Did you write all Whaffle's letters for him, Miss Meuhl?\" \"Consul Whaffle was an extremely busy man,\" Miss Meuhl said stiffly. \"Well!\" Miss Meuhl said. \"May I ask where you'll be if something comes Miss Meuhl blinked behind thick lenses. \"Whatever for?\" Retief looked thoughtfully at Miss Meuhl. \"You've been here on Groac for four years, Miss Meuhl. What was behind the coup d'etat that put avoid with the Groaci. I certainly hope you're not thinking of openly intruding—\" \"Why?\" \"The Groaci are a very sensitive race. They don't welcome outworlders raking up things. They've been gracious enough to let us live down the fact that Terrestrials subjected them to deep humiliation on one Retief nodded. \"Thanks, Miss Meuhl,\" he said. \"I'll be back before you close the office.\" Miss Meuhl's face was set in lines of grim disapproval as he closed the door. The pale-featured Groacian vibrated his throat-bladder in a distressed bleat. At the office, Miss Meuhl would be waiting with another list of \"To enjoy a cooling drink,\" Retief said in Groacian, squatting down at the edge of the pit. \"To sample a true Groacian beverage.\" \"To not enjoy my poor offerings,\" the Groacian mumbled. \"A pain in the digestive sacs to express regret.\" decide whether I like it.\" \"To be grappled in by peace-keepers for poisoning of—foreigners.\" The barkeep looked around for support, found none. The Groaci customers, eyes elsewhere, were drifting away. door. The other Groaci released him, hurried back inside. Retief looked at the weaving alien. \"To begone, freak,\" the Groacian whispered. \"To have a drink together—\" \"To not endure such insolence!\" The Groacian advanced toward Retief. Retief backed away. \"There you are!\" Miss Meuhl said, eyeing Retief over her lenses. \"There Meuhl hovered nervously, then sat on the edge of a comfortless chair. Miss Meuhl gasped audibly. \"You'll do as you're told, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said quietly. \"I'm Miss Meuhl sat down. \"All our efforts,\" Miss Meuhl said, \"to live down that terrible and sent a delegation down to ask questions. They got some funny answers, and stayed on to dig around a little. After a week they left. Somewhat annoying to the Groaci, maybe—at the most. If they were innocent.\" \"IF!\" Miss Meuhl burst out. \"Save the protests, Fith. You have some explaining to do. And I don't think your story will be good enough.\" diplomatic mission.\" \"This is an internal matter!\" Fith cried, in his faint Groacian voice. \"The new regime has shown itself most amiable to you Terrestrials. It has outdone itself—\" Retief turned a steady look on Miss Meuhl. She closed her mouth. The retracted his eyes, shrank down in his chair. Miss Meuhl opened her Miss Meuhl yelped faintly. \"Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said. \"If I don't come back in a reasonable length \"I've seen enough,\" Retief said. Silently, the Groacians led the way back out through the tunnel and advise you to dismiss these fancies from your mind, and to enjoy the cultural aspects of life at Groac. Especially, I should not venture out of the city, or appear overly curious about matters of concern only to the Groacian government.\" In the front seat, Shluh looked straight ahead. The loosely-sprung \"Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said, \"I want you to listen carefully to what I'm \"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,\" Miss Meuhl snapped, hope—and that may give me the latitude I need.\" \"You're still determined to make an issue of that incident!\" Miss Meuhl snorted. \"I really can hardly blame the Groaci. They are not a sophisticated race they had never before met aliens.\" where!\" \"The Groaci don't know. They're a very cultured, gentle people. You can do irreparable harm to the reputation of Terrestrials if you insist—\" \"That's my decision,\" Retief said. \"I have a job to do and we're \"Where are you going with ... that?\" Miss Meuhl stared at the needler. \"You're out of your mind!\" Miss Meuhl stood up, quivering with \"You and I are in a tight spot, Miss Meuhl. The logical next move for Miss Meuhl emitted a shrill laugh. \"Your fantasies are getting the blast in here and anyway, they won't make things worse by killing you. A force can be here in a week.\" \"I'll do nothing of the sort! The Groaci are very fond of me! You ... \"I'll be back in a couple of hours,\" he said. Miss Meuhl stared after Miss Meuhl, dozing in a chair, awoke with a start. She looked at \"Where have you been?\" Miss Meuhl demanded. \"I stayed here—\" \"I have a message to get off first, Miss Meuhl,\" Retief said sharply. Miss Meuhl gasped. \"You mean you broke in? You burgled the Foreign \"This is absolutely the end!\" Miss Meuhl said. \"Thank heaven I've \"I've already done so, Mr. Retief!\" Miss Meuhl said harshly. \"I've been \"He's here now,\" Miss Meuhl said to the screen. She looked at Retief triumphantly. \"That's good,\" Retief said. \"I don't think the Groaci can knock us off the air, but—\" \"I have done my duty, Mr. Retief,\" Miss Meuhl said. \"I made a full Retief looked at her levelly. \"You've been a busy girl, Miss Meuhl. Did look faded from Miss Meuhl's face. ignore. I can't afford that, at this moment. Listen, Miss Meuhl,\" to, Miss Meuhl. But until I've heard \"You're defying lawful authority! I'm in charge here now.\" Miss Meuhl The local communicator chimed. Miss Meuhl jumped up, staring at it.\n\n<question>:\nHow does Miss Meuhl feel about her job?\n\n<options>:\nA She enjoys training Retief to the new culture.\nB She wishes to be back on her home planet.\nC She enjoys doing her job the way the Groacians like it.\nD She wishes the Groacians weren't so uptight.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,333	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nDole vs. the For several weeks now, pundits have debated how Bob Dole would exit the stage. Would he depart on a negative note about his opponent or a positive one about himself? Would he leave with anger or with humor? In the past several days, the issue has been settled. Dole, it appears, will end his political career raging against the New York Times . On Sunday (the day the Times endorsed Clinton), Dole called the paper \"the apologist for President Clinton for the last four years and an arm of the Democratic National Committee.\" In a CNN interview broadcast Monday, Dole said the Times \"might as well be part of the Democratic Party. ... They hammer us on a daily basis. We make a major speech, they bury it back on section D. They put a front-page story that, well, Bob Dole and Jack Kemp didn't get along together 12 years ago.\" On Tuesday, Dole was still at it, referring to the 28 words of the 10th Amendment, and quipping, \"That's about what I got in the New York Times today.\" The Times has reacted to this assault by highhandedly quoting everything and explaining none of it, leaving its readers baffled as to why the Republican nominee is so upset at the paper. In fact, Dole's fury at the Times is hardly news to those who work at the paper. According to Katharine Seelye, who has covered Dole since the beginning of his campaign, the complaints date from December 1995, when Dole staff members first protested that she had misunderstood the candidate's position on abortion. The real bitterness, however, began in May, when the paper played what Dole aides billed as a major address about welfare on Page 19 of the business section. Since then, campaign honchos have peppered the paper's reporters and editors with constant phone calls and letters complaining about unfair treatment. Reporters traveling with Dole caught a glimpse of the enmity Oct. 9, when Nelson Warfield, Dole's press secretary, staged a public confrontation with Seelye. The candidate, Warfield told reporters waiting to board the campaign plane, had just come from an appearance on G. Gordon Liddy's radio show. Why, Seelye asked, weren't reporters told about the appearance in advance? According to reporters present, Warfield snapped that it wouldn't make any difference because the Times would get the story wrong anyway. Then, on the plane, Warfield walked back to the press section and grandly served Seelye with a copy of a letter from Communications Director John Buckley to her boss, Times Washington Editor Andrew Rosenthal. That letter, which has fallen into the hands of Slate, protests Seelye's coverage of a speech the previous day. Dole, in New Jersey, had talked about Clinton being AWOL in the drug war. \"Where has he been for four years? How many hundreds of thousands of young people started drugs?\" Dole said. \"Three million have started smoking while he was playing around with smoking and all this stuff finally in an election year.\" Seelye's front-page story reported that \"Mr. Dole accused the President of 'playing around' while the drug war raged out of control.\" Buckley complains that the story \"could lead the reader to believe that Dole was talking about a very different kind of 'playing around'--something he did not say, and something he would not say.\" The letter continues: \"Since May, I have been pointing out to you a problem we see with the accuracy and understanding of context revealed in Kit's reporting,\" going on to assert that \"Seelye has misquoted Dole on numerous occasions and done so in a manner that distorted the accuracy of her assertions and your coverage.\" No Dole staff would be quoted by name for this story, but speaking on background, a senior campaign official elaborated upon the complaint. \"They've just done a miserable job throughout this campaign,\" the official said. \"The coverage of Dole has been excessively bitchy from day one, in addition to having a number of extraordinary factual problems.\" With Seelye, the official says, the problem is \"not being able to transcribe a tape accurately.\" With Adam Nagourney, the Times ' other reporter covering Dole full time since the summer, \"the problem is an incredible focus on the little picture as opposed to the big picture.\" As an example, the official cites a September story in which Nagourney lumped together Dole's fall from a platform in Chico, Calif., and his mistaken reference to the \"Brooklyn\" Dodgers as \"a rough stretch of politicking.\" Other than those two episodes, the official says, Dole actually had a great week. The campaign's complaint extends to unequal treatment--a nine-part series on Clinton's record, which the official describes as \"the softest portrait since they invented black velvet\"--and the Times perpetually underestimating the size of Dole crowds. \"Clinton even gets better photographs,\" the official contends. But though unflattering, Seelye's Mametizing of Bob Dole can hardly be called unfair. It is not as if the Times cleans up Clinton's quotes Dole sounds absurd when he alleges that the paper that broke Whitewater and the story of the first lady's commodities trades has not been aggressive in pursuing Clinton scandals. All sorts of potential Dole scandals have been soft-pedaled by the media, including the Times , because he is so far behind. It's true that coverage of Clinton on the campaign trail has been somewhat softer than the coverage of Dole, as even other Times reporters acknowledge. But the explanation is institutional, not ideological. The press, as many have complained, overemphasizes the \"horse race\" aspect of politics. As a side effect of that disease, reporters have excessive respect for a well-run campaign. (In 1988, Republican George Bush benefited from this phenomenon.) A cruder reality is that reporters need to have a relationship with Clinton after Tuesday. None of these factors, though, is unique to the Times . So why is Dole singling it out? Dole's attacks on the Times have the appearance of being an exercise in populist demagogy. In one of his great cue-card reading remarks, Dole tried to explain his recent attacks on CNN the other night by saying, \"I like the media. They don't like them in the South.\" But this pat explanation doesn't entirely make sense. Red meat for right-wing crowds doesn't help Dole with the centrist voters he would need to turn around in order to make the miraculous happen. And in fact, according to a senior Dole aide, the attacks are heartfelt on the candidate's part. Dole has been going after the Times over the objections of advisers who have been telling him there's no percentage in picking fights with the press. But if Dole is attacking the Times because he is truly furious and not because he thinks it will help him get elected, what is he so angry about? The answer, I think, is that there has always been a Nixonian streak in Bob Dole, by which I mean a part of him which feels shut out of the closed circle of the Eastern establishment. At the Republican convention, Dole blasted the Clinton administration as a \"corps of the elite who never grew up, never did anything real, never sacrificed, never suffered, and never learned.\" That phrase recalled an attack he made on the press long ago, in the days of Watergate, when he accused the Washington Post of being in bed with George McGovern. \"There is a cultural and social affinity between the McGovernites and the Post executives and editors,\" Dole said then. \"They belong to the same elite: They can be found living cheek-by-jowl in the same exclusive chic neighborhoods, and hob-nobbing at the same Georgetown parties.\" The deeper story here isn't whether Dole was wrongly shunted onto D19 when he ought to have been on A1. It's his feelings, as he says goodbye to politics, about the people who get to decide.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is a reason that Dole attacked the Times?\n\n<options>:\nA he wanted to away with all newspapers\nB to glean positive support from anti-Times voters\nC his advisers recommended doing so\nD he was angry at the reporters from the Times\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,152	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"I think we'll make some changes in the book,\" Lessing said slowly. \"It'll be costly—but it might even be fun. It's a pretty dry, logical presentation of ideas, as it stands. Very austere and authoritarian. But a few revisions could change all that—\" He rubbed his hands laughed out of existence. There won't be any Authority in psionics for a while—and maybe that way one of the lads who's really his heavy unshaven face seemed to sag at every crease. Lessing glanced sharply at his Field Director and sank down behind his desk 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.\" \"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 deal with this morning—the one who's threatening to upset the whole Conference next month with some crazy theories he's been playing with. I'll probably have to take him out to the Farm to shut him up.\" Lessing ran a hand through sparse grey hair. \"See what you can do for the boy trouble I think he's in, we don't dare risk a chance of Adult Contact now. We could end up with a dead boy on our hands.\" Lessing groaned. As director of psionic research at the Hoffman Medical Center, he had long since learned how administrative detail could suck up daytime hours. He knew that his real work was at the Farm—yet he said. \"A Dr. Melrose. He's very impatient, sir.\" Dr. Peter Melrose was tall and thin, with jet black hair and dark Lessing frowned. \"Dr. Melrose, I don't quite understand—\" \"Oh, it's just that I'm impressed,\" the young man said airily. \"Of course, I've seen old dried-up Authorities before—but never before a brand spanking new one, just fresh out of the pupa, so to speak!\" \"I think you'd better wait before you do that,\" Melrose said sharply, Authority about.\" There was no laughter in the man's sharp brown eyes. \"You couldn't touch me with a ten foot pole at this conference,\" snapped Lessing. Melrose. \"We've done a lot of work on it, too.\" Melrose grinned unpleasantly. \"We're not unreasonable, your Majesty. We \"I've got 'til New Year.\" Lessing shouted for his girl. \"Get Dorffman up here. We're going to the Farm this afternoon.\" \"Bother lunch.\" He gave Melrose a sidelong glare. \"We've got a guest school, from what I've heard. According to your papers, you've even might be measuring the instruments , eh?\" the medicine instead of the patient. That was quite a wall to climb.\" \"So you dreamed up this 'tadpole' idea,\" said Melrose sourly. that, of course, but I'll play along.\" Lessing glared at him. \"When we began studying this psi-potential, we found out some curious things. For one thing, it seemed to be immensely more powerful and active in infants and children than in adults. 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 \"And you think you have an answer,\" said Melrose. substance, connected to a simple pocket-sized power source. \"The major problem,\" Lessing said, \"has been to shield the children from any external psionic stimuli, except those we wished to expose \"Which may not be very far.\" Jack Dorffman burst in: \"What Dr. Lessing is saying is that they seem effective for our purposes.\" \"But you don't know why,\" added Melrose. heavy use. The place was teeming with youngsters, all shouting in a fury of busy activity. Occasionally a helmeted supervisor hurried by stay until they have reached college age, or go on to jobs. As far as psionics research is concerned, we are not trying to be teachers. We are strictly observers. We try to place the youngsters in positions where they can develope what potential they have— without the \"They're perfectly insulated from us,\" said Lessing. \"A variety of recording instruments are working. And before you ask, Dr. Melrose, they are all empirical instruments, and they would all defy any Lessing smiled. \"This is an isolated phenomenon—it doesn't hold for any other three children on the Farm. Nor did we make any effort to of place.... Then, quite casually, Lessing lifted off his monitor. The children 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.\" \"But that wouldn't make any difference, would it? The blocks still fall \"And you'd express that opinion in a professional meeting?\" \"And as an Authority on psionic behavior patterns,\" said Melrose what danger you're in? If you publish your book now, you will become an Authority in a field where the most devastating thing that could possibly happen would be— the appearance of an Authority .\" firmly out of his mind. But somehow Melrose wouldn't force. \"Stop worrying about it,\" Dorffman urged. \"He's a crackpot. He's crawled way out on a limb, and now he's afraid your theory is going to cut it off under him. Well, that's his worry, not yours.\" Dorffman's great researcher has people like Melrose sniping at him. You just have to throw them off and keep going.\" Lessing shook his head. \"Maybe. But this field of work is different from any other, Jack. It doesn't follow the rules. Maybe scientific 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?\" \"Have you ever considered what makes a man an Authority?\" \"He knows more about his field than anybody else does.\" \"He seems to, you mean. And therefore, anything he says about it carries more weight than what anybody else says. Other workers follow his lead. He developes ideas, formulates theories—and then defends them for all he's worth .\" \"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 wrong? Once he's an Authority the question of what's right and what's wrong gets lost in the shuffle. It's what he says \"Why do you hurt?\" , 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 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 this youngster was sick— And yet an animal instinctively seeks its own protection . With before. There must be an error.\" \"Of course,\" said Lessing. \"According to the theory. The theory says that adult psi-contact is deadly to the growing child. It smothers their potential through repeated contact until it dries up completely.\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Dr. Melrose think it is bad to have authority in their field?\n\n<options>:\nA The focus of maintaining authority in an area takes away the focus from the quality of work\nB People who have titles and recognition are assumed to be at their peak, and their work can only go downhill from there\nC It is too easy to disprove any of the conclusions they reach so there is no sense of a true authority that can be trusted\nD He thinks having particular authorities takes away the spotlight from potentially important younger researchers\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
410	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIt has happened a hundred times in the long history of Earth—and, sooner or later, will happen again! so much as a landslide to bring the Fault to the attention of the general public. anything is news in late August. And the geologists became interested. Seismologists were reporting unusual activity in the area, tremors too severe to be rock slides. Volcanic activity? Specifically, a dust volcano? Unusual, they knew, but right on the Kiowa Fault—could be. Labor Day crowds read the scientific conjectures with late summer lassitude. Sunday supplements ran four-color artists' conceptions of the possible volcano. \"Only Active Volcano in U. S.?\" demanded the headlines, and some papers even left off the question mark. It may seem odd that the simplest explanation was practically not of the Monday newspapers (page 27 of the New York Times ). The idea was not nearly so exciting as a volcano, even a lava-less one, and you couldn't draw a very dramatic picture of it. California, which almost daily bounced San Francisco or Los Angeles, or 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 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 world—has ever seen in historic times. To describe it in the simplest 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 backing north into the deepening trough. At the rate things were going, there might be a new lake the entire length of El Paso and Pueblo Counties. And, warned Schwartzberg, this might only be the beginning. miles away, the now-familiar lurch and steady fall had already sent several thousand Coloradans scurrying for safety. 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 confusion. Prairie and hill cracked open under intolerable strains as the land shuddered downward in gasps and leaps. Springs burst to the just like that, on the afternoon of 4 October. \"We must remain calm,\" declared the Governor of Nebraska. \"We must sit this thing out. Be assured that everything possible is being done.\" But what could be and jelly-like mud formed death-traps for the countless refugees now streaming east. Perhaps the North Platte disaster had been more than anyone could take. State troops were called out, but moving two million people was not to be done in an orderly way. And still the landslip grew larger. The new cliffs gleamed in the autumn sunshine, growing higher as the land beneath them continued its inexorable descent. 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 second phase of the national disaster was beginning. was somehow to ride out the coming flood, \"but like as if the land wanted to be somewhere else.\" Everyone in doomed Biloxi would have done well to have been somewhere Despite hopeful announcements that the wave was slowing, had virtually stopped after inundating Oklahoma City, was being swallowed up in the River afterwards recalled the hiss and scream like tearing silk as the water broke furiously on the newly exposed rock. It was the most eventual place of stability one thousand feet below the level of the new sea. Nebraska to the other. Similar hair-breadth escapes were recounted on radio and television. younger children and what provisions they could find—\"Mostly a ham and about half a ton of vanilla cookies,\" he explained to his eventual spectacular. Her rural good-humor undamaged by an ordeal few women can ever have been called on to face, she added, \"We sure wondered why flushes never came out right. Jimanettly, we'd left the king of hearts behind, in the rush!\" But such lightheartedness and such happy endings were by no means typical. The world could only watch aghast as the water raced north under the shadow of the cliffs which occasionally crumbled, roaring, of eight states, and portions of twelve others, had simply vanished from the heart of the North American continent forever. It was in such a cataclysmic birth that the now-peaceful Nebraska Sea came to America. Today, nearly one hundred years after the unprecedented—and happily unrepeated—disaster, it is hard to remember the terror and despair of those weeks in October and November, 1973. It is inconceivable to think of the United States without its beautiful and economically essential curve of interior ocean. Two-thirds as long as the Mediterranean, it graduates from the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico through the equally blue waves of the Mississippi Bight, becoming cooler and Archipelago, finally shading into the gray-green chop of the Gulf of Dakota. What would the United States have become without the 5600-mile Who can imagine what the middle west must have been like before the amelioration of climate brought about by the proximity of a warm sea? Carolina to the rich fields of New Mexico and the orchards of Montana, is directly ameliorated by the marine heart of the continent. Who today could imagine the United States without the majestic afternoon bather, thanks to the monorail connecting the highest peaks with the glistening white beaches? And though the Nebraska Sea today carries many times the tonnage of shipping in its ceaseless traffic, we have lost the old romance of river shipping. We may only guess what it was like when we look upon cars. Still, the ferry ride is certainly a welcome break after days of driving, and for those who wish a glimpse of what it must have been population decided to retain political integrity. This has resulted in the continuing anomaly of the seven \"fringe States\" represented scene. But this is by now no more than a petty annoyance, to raise a smile when the talk gets around to the question of State's Rights. Not even the tremendous price the country paid for its new sea—fourteen million dead, untold property destroyed—really offsets the asset we enjoy today. The heart of the continent, now open to the shipping of the world, was once dry and land-locked, cut off from the bustle of trade and the ferment of world culture. It would indeed seem odd to an American of the '50s or '60s of the last century to imagine sailors from the merchant fleets of every nation walking the streets of Denver, fresh ashore at Newport, only fifteen miles away. Or to imagine Lincoln, Fargo, Kansas City and Dallas as world ports and great manufacturing centers. Utterly beyond their ken would be Roswell, New Mexico Westport, Missouri, and the other new ports of over a million inhabitants each which have developed on the new harbors of the inland sea. Unimaginable too would have been the general growth of population in the states surrounding the new sea. As the water tables rose and manufacturing and trade moved in to take advantage of the just-created axis of world communication, a population explosion was touched off of which we are only now seeing the diminution. This new westering is to be ranked with the first surge of pioneers which created the American west. But what a difference! Vacation paradises bloom, a new fishing industry thrives her water road is America's main artery of trade, and\n\n<question>:\nHow can we interpret Mr. Schwartzberg was feeling from his theory not being taken seriously?\n\n<options>:\nA Frustrated because his evidentiary support showed it was logical\nB Happy that he might be incorrect and it was only dust\nC Disappointed that he had missed his opportunity for scientific acknowledgement.\nD Excited that it could likely be something more exciting\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,264	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSharism: A Mind Revolution With the People of the World Wide Web communicating more fully and freely in Social Media while rallying a Web 2.0 content boom, the inner dynamics of such a creative explosion must be studied more closely. What Social Media and the core spirit of Web 2.0 is a mind switch called in User Generated Content. It is the pledge of Creative Commons. It is mental practice that anyone can try, a social-psychological attitude to transform a wide and isolated world into a super-smart Social Brain. The Neuron Doctrine Sharism is encoded in the Human Genome. Although eclipsed by the many pragmatisms of daily life, the theory of Sharism finds basis in neuroscience and its study of the working model of the human brain. Although we can’t entirely say how the brain works as a whole, we do have a model of the functional mechanism of the nervous system and its neurons. A neuron is not a simple organic cell, but a very powerful, electrically excitable biological processor. Groups of neurons form vastly interconnected networks, which, by changing the strength of the synapses between cells, can process information, and learn. A neuron, by sharing chemical signals with its neighbors, can be integrated into more meaningful patterns that keep the neuron active and alive. Moreover, such a simple logic can be iterated and amplified, since all neurons work on a similar principle of connecting and sharing. Originally, the brain is quite open. A neural network exists to share activity and information, and I believe this model of the brain should inspire ideas and decisions about human networks. profound implications for the creative process. Whenever you have an intention to create, you will find it easier to generate more creative idea-forming-process is not linear, but more like an avalanche of amplifications along the thinking path. It moves with the momentum of a creative snowball. If your internal cognitive system encourages sharing, generate even more ideas in return. It’s a kind of butterfly- effect, as and the world, more creative. tells them to be protective of their ideas, people start to believe in mind as a memory and an instinct. If in the future she faces a creative choice, her choice will be, “Share.” These mind-switches are too subtle to be felt. But since the brain, and society, is a connected system, the accumulation of these micro-attitudes, from neuron to neuron and person to person, can result in observable behavior. It is easy to tell if a person, a group, a company, a nation is oriented toward Sharism or not. For those who are not, what they defend as “cultural goods” and “intellectual property” of their “culture” will be protected, but the net result is the direct and Public space. It makes creative action a binary choice between public and private, open and closed. This creates a gap in the spectrum private and stay “closed.” They may fear the Internet creates a is: The less you share, the less power you have. New Technologies and the Rise of Sharism of addiction. It’s an impulse to share. It’s the energy of the memes that want to be passed from mouth to mouth and mind to mind. It’s more than just E-mail. It’s Sharism. stay out of trouble. It’s not self-censorship, but a sense of smart you can use it to toy with the mind-switches of Sharism. By checking a retaining flexible choices. The rapid emergence of Social Applications that can communicate and cooperate, by allowing people to output content from one service to another, is letting users pump their memes into a pipeline-like ecosystem. This interconnectedness allows memes to travel along multiple online social networks, and potentially reach a huge audience. As a result, such a Micro-pipeline system is making Social Media a true Sharism in our closed culture. desk that says, “What do you want to share today?” I’m not kidding. software applications. Your first meme you want to share may be small, but you can amplify it with new technologies. Enlist some people from results. The happiness that this will obtain is only the most immediate reward. But there are others. The first type of reward that you will get comes in the form of comments. Then you know you’ve provoked interest, appreciation, excitement. The second reward is access to all the other stuff being forwarded, circulated and republished via other people’s networks. This cascade effect can spread your work to the networked masses. Improvements in social software are making the speed of dissemination as fast as a mouse-click. You should get to know the Sharism-You. You’re about to become popular, and fast This brings us to the fourth and final type of return. It has a meaning something just as substantial: Happiness. The more people who create in the spirit of Sharism, the easier it will be to attain well- balanced and equitable Social Media that is woven by people themselves. Media won’t be controlled by any single person but wave of Social Media. However, these media rights will belong to everyone. You yourself can be both producer and consumer in such a system. new age. The main one is copyright. One concern is that any loss of control over copyrighted content will lead to noticeable deficits in personal wealth, or just loss of control. 5 years ago, I would have said property. Socialism, that tender Communism, in our experience also lacked respect for these rights. Under these systems, the state owns all Sharism is totally based on your own consensus. It’s not a very hard concept to understand, especially since copyleft movements like the Free Software Foundation and Creative Commons have been around for years. licenses can be recognized by either humans or machines, it’s becoming easier to re-share those works in new online ecosystems. The Spirit of the Web, a Social Brain Sharism is the Spirit of the Age of Web 2.0. It has the consistency of a naturalized Epistemology and modernized Axiology, but also promises the power of a new Internet philosophy. Sharism will transform the world into an emergent Social Brain: a networked hybrid of people and software. We are Networked Neurons connected by the synapses of Social Software. This is an evolutionary leap, a small step for us and a giant one for human society. With new “hairy” emergent technologies sprouting all around us, we can generate higher connectivities and increase the throughput of our social links. The more open and strongly connected we social neurons are, the better the sharing environment will be for all people. The more collective our intelligence, the wiser our actions will be. People have always found better solutions through conversations. Now we can put it all online. Sharism will be the politics of the next global superpower. It will not be a country, but a new human network joined by Social Software. This may remain a distant dream, and even a well-defined public sharing democratic systems with new folksonomies (based on the collaborative, social indexing of information) to enable people to make queries, share data and remix information for public use. The collective intelligence of a vast and equitable sharing environment can be the gatekeeper of our rights, and a government watchdog. In the future, policymaking can be This “Emergent Democracy” is more real-time than periodical parliamentary sessions. It will also increase the spectrum of our choices, beyond the binary options of “Yes” or “No” referenda. Representative democracy will become more timely and diligent, because support from her peers and her peers’ peers. Appeals to justice will take the form of petitions through multiple, interconnected channels. Using these tools, anyone can create a large social impact. With multiple devices and many social applications, each of us can become more sociable, and society more individual. We no longer have to act alone. Emergent democracy will only happen when Sharism becomes the literacy of system. Sharism can be applied to any cultural discourse, CoP (Community down. In present or formerly totalitarian countries, this downward cycle is even more apparent. The future world will be a hybrid of human and machine that will generate better and faster decisions anytime, anywhere. The flow of information between minds will become more flexible and more productive. These vast networks of sharing will create a new social order−A Mind Revolution!\n\n<question>:\nWhat is a neuron?\n\n<options>:\nA A part of the nervous system\nB A simple organic cell\nC A synapse\nD A very powerful, electrically excitable biological processor\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
134	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\ntreading water that couldn't be seen or felt. I floated against the door, twisting the handle in fear that it to propel yourself through the passageway in this weightless atmosphere. It was effortless to move. I turned on my side like a swimmer and went hand over hand, shooting down the corridor. I braced against forward motion and stopped against a door at the end. Behind me I could see the I knew more of the puzzle. Something was wrong. After the first shock of looking out, I accepted the fact that I was in a space ship, yet I couldn't read the maps that were fastened to a table, nor understand the clear portholes. \"It is assumed the experiment is a success,\" the voice said. What experiment? \"You have been removed from suspension. Assume manual control of this ship.\" Control of a ship? Going where? \"Do not begin operations until the others are removed from suspension.\" What others? Tell me what to do. \"Rely on instructions for factoring when you check the coordinates. I held my bruised hands to my mouth, and I knew that was all the message there was. In blind panic I pushed away from the panel. Something tripped me and I fell back in a graceless arc. I pushed away from the floor, barely feeling the pain in my leg, and went into the hall. into the doors in the passageway and went back to the room with the portholes. Everything lay in readiness, fastened down star charts, Not mine. Not now. I went past the room into another, where the curves were more sharp. I could visualize the tapering hull leading to the nose of the ship. This room was filled with equipment that formed a room out of the bordered the reason for that dependence. I sat beside her on the cot until I could stand it no longer. Searching the ship made me forget my fear. I hoped I would find some answers. I went from the nose to the last bulkhead in a frenzy of floating motion, looking behind each door until I went as far as I could. There were two levels to the ship. They both ended in the lead shield that was set where the swell of the curve was biggest. It meant the engine or engines took up half the ship, cut off from the forward half by the instrument studded shield. I retraced my steps and took a the base helplessly. If some sort of antidote was to be administered sent along to safeguard the others. Complete amnesia would have been terrible enough but this half knowledge, part awareness and association with the ship was a frightening force that seemed ready to break out of me. I went back to the cabin where the powerful man lay. I had to risk failure with one of them. I didn't want it to be the girl. I fought down the thought that he might be the key man, remembering the voice \"I don't know. You're the first besides myself. I don't know how I stumbled on the way to revive you.\" \"Maybe it's temporary. We can figure something out.\" the belt, but the sight of us floating made him shake. He was retching without results when we drifted out. I followed him to the girl's quarters. \"What about her. Why is she here?\" I asked my companion. He lifted the cover from the apparatus. \"She's the chemist in the crew.\" \"There must be men who could have been sent. I've been wondering why a girl.\" \"I don't know why, Captain. You tried to stop her before. Age and experience were all that mattered to the brass.\" \"It's a bad thing to do.\" \"I suppose. The mission stated one chemist.\" \"What is the mission of this ship?\" I asked. He held up his hand. \"We'd better wait, sir. Everything was supposed to be all right on this end. First you, then Carl, sick to his stomach.\" \"Okay. I'll hold the questions until we see about her.\" \"I'm trying. I know the ship is familiar, but I've looked it over. Maybe I'm trying too hard.\" \"You flew her from earth until we went into suspension,\" he said. for any of us, we'll stop. John, you can lead off.\" \"You ask the questions,\" he said. I indicated the ship. \"Where in creation are we going?\" \"We set out from Earth for a single star in the direction of the center of our Galaxy.\" \"From Earth? How could we?\" \"Let's move slowly, sir,\" he said. \"We're moving fast. I don't know if you can picture it, but we're going about one hundred thousand miles an hour.\" \"Through space?\" \"Yes.\" \"What direction?\" \"I can't grasp it. How can we go very far in a lifetime?\" \"It can be done in two lifetimes,\" John said quietly. \"You said I had flown this ship. You meant before this suspension.\" \"Yes. That's why we can cross space to a near star.\" \"How long ago was it?\" \"It was set at about a hundred years, sir. Doesn't that fit at all?\" \"Don't think about it,\" Paul said. \"We can still pull this out all right if you don't lose your nerve.\" \"What are we to do?\" she asked. John answered for me. \"First we've got to find out where we are. I know this ship but I can't fly it.\" \"Can I?\" I asked. We set up a temporary plan of action. Paul took Karen to the laboratory nothing, and I went into the navigation room and sat down. Earth was an infinitesimal point somewhere behind us on the galactic plane, and no one else was trained to navigate. The ship thundered to life as I sat there. The blast roared once ... twice, then settled into a muted crescendo of sound that hummed through the walls. I went into the \"She's in the lab. I don't think that will do much good. She's got to be shocked out of a mental state like that.\" \"I guess you're right,\" he said slowly. \"She's trained to administer the suspension on the return trip.\" \"That had me wondering for a while. I don't know. Anyway how could you go about making her remember?\" \"Throw a crisis, some situation at her, I guess.\" He shrugged, letting his sure hands rest on the panel of dials. I headed back towards the lab. If I could help her I might help myself. through the stillness. John was shouting as I thrust my way into the room. \"Turn the ship. There's something dead ahead.\" I had a glimpse of his contorted face as I dove at the control board. My hands hit buttons, thumbed a switch and then a sudden force threw me sun. I thought about the rest of the crew too. \"We're heading right for a star....\" \"It's been dead ahead for hours,\" he grunted. I leaned over and threw the intercom to open. \"This is control. Listen ... everyone. I'm over it. Disregard the warning siren ... we were testing the ship.\" The lab light blinked on as Paul cut in. \"What was it ... hey, you said about food. We're supposed to be checked before we eat.\" \"We'll have to go ahead without it. Any change?\" \"No, I put her to bed. Shall I bring food?\" I glanced at John. He rubbed his stomach. \"Yes,\" I answered. \"Bring it when you can. I've got to find out where we are.\" We had to get off course before we ran into the yellow-white star that had been picked for us. Food was set down by me, grew cold and was came to a decision. Somewhere along an orbit that might be two hundred miles across, our hypothetical planet circled this star. That distance was selected when the planets in Earth's solar system had proved to be to find a planet in a state of fertility ... if it existed ... if it were suitable for colonization ... if we could find it.\n\n<question>:\nIf Karen remains in her current state long-term, what would most likely happen?\n\n<options>:\nA She probably wouldn't be able to create, transform, or assess compounds very well.\nB She probably would avoid any advances from David or the others because she's less trusting of any of them.\nC She'd probably end up learning how to do someone else's job instead so she can help the crew out in some way.\nD She'd probably try to exit the ship at the first planet they land on so she doesn't deplete the ship's resources more than needed.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,201	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>:\nrelentlessly toward him. He awoke still screaming.... A night without darkness passed. Ben lay waiting for Maggie's return, a question already formed in his mind. the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] With never a moment to rest, the pursuit through space felt like a game of hounds and hares ... or was it follow the leader? She sat on the chair beside him. \"My husband,\" she said softly. He began to understand. \"And your husband needs an astrogator? That's Most of the big room lay obscured behind a shimmering veil of tobacco smoke and the sweet, heavy fumes of Martian Devil's Egg. Here and there, Ben saw moving figures. He could not tell if they were Earthmen, Martians or Venusians. ship returns, I'll be going to him.\" \"Why aren't you with him now?\" \"He said unexplored space is no place for a woman. So I've been studying criminal reports and photos from the Interplanetary Bureau of Investigation and trying to find recruits like yourself. You know how Someone tugged at his greasy coat. He jumped, thinking absurdly that it The dome we're in now was designed and built by us a few years ago after we got pushed off Mars. We lost a few men in the construction, but with almost every advance in space, someone dies.\" \"Venus is getting too civilized. We're moving out and this dome is only a temporary base when we have cases like yours. The new base—I might as well tell you it's going to be an asteroid. I won't say which one.\" frontiers. Jacob and those like him can never return to Earth—not even Ben shook his head. He thought, I don't want your Martian wench. I don't want your opium or your Devil's Egg or your Venusian kali. But if you had a drug that'd it, that's our business.\" She pursed her lips. \"But if they guessed how strong we are or that we have friends planted in the I. B. I.—well, things might be different. your own.\" Ben stiffened. \"And that's why you want me for an astrogator.\" Maggie rose, her eyes wistful. \"If you want to come—and if you get well.\" She looked at him strangely. \"Suppose—\" He fought to find the right words. \"Suppose I got well and decided not to join Jacob. What would happen to me? Would you let me They passed the bar with its line of lean-featured, slit-eyed Earthmen—merchant spacemen. Venusians, the first he'd ever seen. They were smoky gray, scaly, naked giants, toads in human shape. They stood solitary and motionless, aloof, their green-lidded eyes unblinking. They certainly didn't look like telepaths, as Ben had heard go?\" Her thin face was criss-crossed by emotion—alarm, then bewilderment, they were, but the thought sent a fresh rivulet of fear down his spine. When she left, his eyes were still turned toward Jacob's photo. He remembered a little picture book his mother had given him when she was alive. Under the bright pictures of spacemen were the captions: prisoner for half a million years. Without them, Everson, after three failures and a hundred men dead, would never have landed on the Moon twenty-seven years ago. or crawled over the holes of their flutes like spider legs. Their tune was sad. Even when they played an Earth tune, it still seemed a song of old Mars, charged with echoes of lost voices and What are they doing here, these Martians? Here, in a smoke-filled room under a metalite dome on a dust-covered world? Couldn't they have played their music on Mars? Or had they, like me, felt the challenge of new worlds? about forty and he hated spacemen. His body was buried now—probably in the silent gray wastes outside Luna City. But he'd become a kind of invisible Siamese twin, as much a plopped his portly and unsteady posterior on the stool next to him. \"Spacemen,\" he muttered, \"are getting like flies. Everywhere, all you see's spacemen.\" He was a neatly dressed civilian. Ben smiled. \"If it weren't for spacemen, you wouldn't be here.\" At sixteen, he'd spent every weekend holiday hitchhiking from Boys the grizzled veterans of the old Moon Patrol, he'd found friends who understood his dream and who later recommended his appointment to the U. S. Academy for the Conquest of Space. beyond. Cobb was persistent: \"Damn fools shoulda known enough to stay on Earth. But you'd be through with rockets and space. They don't want new men over thirty-four for officers on rockets or even for third-class jet-men on beat-up freighters—they don't want convicted killers. You'd peeking through electric fences of spaceports. Or— There were old wives' tales of a group of renegade spacemen who operated from the Solar System's frontiers. The spacemen weren't outlaws. They were misfits, rejectees from the clearing houses on Earth. And whereas no legally recognized ship had ventured past Mars, the souped-up renegade rigs had supposedly hit the asteroids. Their headquarters was Venus. Their leader—a subject of popular and duty. You can try to stay in space, even if you exile yourself from Earth. After all, was it right for a single second, a single insignificant ?\" \"This isn't my first night here,\" Ben lied. \"I've been around a while.\" \"You are spacemen?\" Ben didn't answer. \"They say it is because after women come, they want first thing a thousand vacuum cleaners for dust. What is vacuum cleaner, The white-clad men charged, neuro-clubs upraised. A woman screamed. The music ceased. The Martian orchestra slunk with feline stealth to a rear exit. Only the giant Venusians remained undisturbed. They stood unmoving, their staring eyes shifting lazily in Ben's direction. Or would the exits be guarded? He heard the hiss. and thirty. Her features, devoid of makeup, had an unhealthy-looking pallor, as if she hadn't used a sunlamp for many weeks. Yet, at the same time, her firm slim body suggested a solidity and a strength. Her straight brown hair was combed backward, tight upon her scalp, and \"Why?\" Suddenly he began to cough. Breath came hard. She held the oxygen mask in readiness. He shook his head, not wanting it. the edge of the Universe overlooking a solemn, silent and matterless void. The girl entered the room. prominent. Her face was relaxed. She increased the pressure in his rubberex pillows and helped him rise can be had for a price.\" \"You'll tell me your name?\" \"Maggie.\" \"Why did you save me?\" Her eyes twinkled mischievously. \"Because you're a good astrogator.\" spacemen who operate beyond Mars. You were looking for them in the Blast Inn.\" He gaped incredulously, struggling to rise from his pillows. \"I—don't \"I'm sorry,\" she said. \"I shouldn't have told you yet. I felt so happy because you're alive. Rest now. We'll talk again soon.\" \"Maggie, you—you said I'd live. You didn't say I'd be able to walk again.\" She lowered her gaze. \"I hope you'll be able to.\" She hesitated. He thought, Damn it, of all the questions, why did I ask that? Finally she said, \"He had a wife.\" \"Children?\" \"Two. I don't know their ages.\" She left the room. He sank into the softness of his bed. As he turned over on his side,\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Maggie not travel with her husband, Jacob, while on his missions?\n\n<options>:\nA Jacob didn't think women should be in unexplored space.\nB She feared space exploration.\nC She was to be searching for an astrogator.\nD Maggie didn't think women should be in unexplored space.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,594	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 animated ecological epic Princess Mononoke , the camera travels over landscapes with a clear, steady gaze, like a Zen hang glider. The images have none of the comin'-at-ya pop-surrealism of American cartoons, many of which have characters that spring out of the frame like jack-in-the-boxes. The Japanese director, Hayao Miyazaki, who spent three years on Princess Mononoke and is reported to have done 70 percent of its paintings himself, seems to work from the outside in: to begin with the curve of the earth, then the mossy hills, the watercolor foliage, the nubby stones, the whorls on the wood, the meticulous carvings on a teacup. He captures the texture of light and the currents of air. You could almost settle down in this landscape. A view of nature that some would call \"tree-hugging\" doesn't feel softheaded when the trees are rendered in such brilliant and robust detail. But then, \"soft\" is not a word you can apply to Princess Mononoke , however pantheistic its worldview. The film, which is rated PG-13, is full of splattery carnage. If Miyazaki in long shot is contemplative, in close-up he's ferocious. He's both inside and outside the action: He knows when to rock your world and when to induce a state of sorrowful detachment. According to the New York Times , Toy Story animators screened reels of his work when their imaginations flagged, and writers for Star Trek named an alien species after one of his features. Watching Princess Mononoke --which has been dubbed to Disney/Miramax specifications by American and English stars but retains its two-hour-plus length, its gory beheadings, and its grim, near-apocalyptic finale--you can understand their worship. It isn't that Miyazaki's work is technically so dazzling in this age of digitized miracles The hero, Ashitaka, a warrior from the isolationist Emishi clan, is forced in the first scene to kill a marauding boar--a god turned into a demon (covered in roiling, corrosive worms) by an iron ball lodged in its body. Infected, destined to be consumed by--and to die of--rage, Ashitaka leaves his village in search of the iron ball's source. He discovers a fortress-cum-arms-manufacturing plant called Irontown, presided over by one of the most complex villains in modern film: the regal Lady Eboshi. On one hand, she's a benevolent industrialist who presides over a warmly matriarchal society on the other, she wants to destroy the forest, harness its resources, and exterminate its animal deities--chiefly the Spirit of the Forest, a magnificent deer god whose touch brings instant life or death, and who transforms at dusk into the towering Night Walker. P rincess Mononoke builds to a full-scale war between humans and the animal kingdom--which does not, by the way, consist of your father's cartoon critters. In fact, the boars and apes have little patience with Ashitaka's call for nature and mankind to live together in harmony they'd like to eat him. The wolf god, Moro, is slightly more sympathetic, but that's because her adopted \"daughter,\" San (a k a Princess Mononoke), is human. San is first seen sucking a wound of her huge wolf mother, then, as the gore drips from her mouth, training her dark eyes on Ashitaka with feral hatred. Her second appearance--a lone attack on Irontown to assassinate Lady Eboshi--is one of the movie's high points. It's Miyazaki's use of sound--and silence--that takes your breath away: the determined tap of the wolf princess's shoes as she scuttles over the fortress's rooftops the silence of Eboshi and her army as they stare at this tiny yet formidable tomboy against the black sky. Their battle is so furious that the blades streak and lose definition--it's almost subliminal. It's a shame that the wolf princess warms up to Ashitaka and spends the rest of the film either saving him or being saved by him. She loses that punk-bitch allure. The voice of Claire Danes doesn't help. When Danes says, \"I'd do anything to get you humans out of my forest,\" she sounds like a Valley Girl peeved over lack of parking spaces at the mall. (San needs a more ragged voice--I'd be interested to hear the original Japanese actress.) Billy Crudup is just as Disneyfied (Miramaxed?), but that doesn't hurt as much because Ashitaka is conceived from the start as a rather bland ingÃ©nu. Gillian Anderson's growling Moro sounds silly (she doesn't have the breath control), and the fey-hick tones of Billy Bob Thornton are too recognizable as the Akim Tamiroff-like mercenary, Jigo. But Minnie Driver--coming off a triumphantly dizzy Jane in Tarzan --once again provides a voice that the animators deserve. \"Bring the strange-ah to me late-ah,\" she commands in sexy Martian Queen cadences that will stir the loins of Flash Gordon fans everywhere. \"I would like to thank him puh-sonally.\" The overfamiliar voices nudge Princess Mononoke closer to its American counterparts--but not by a lot. There's always something wondrously strange. The \"kodamas\" are little tree spirits on doughboy bodies. They cock their trapezoidal dice heads and emit a series of clicks then their heads pop back with a conclusive rattle. Something about them seems just right I could watch them for hours. (Miyazaki limits their appearances to seconds--he doesn't wear out their mystery the way that, say, George Lucas would.) And no Hollywood animated feature would end with such a powerful vision of apocalypse, as the land is bestridden by a colossus dropping a thick, caustic, tarlike gel that recalls the post-Hiroshima \"black rain.\" Can you take the kids? I think so. As Miyazaki said at a New York Film Festival press conference, \"Children understand intuitively that the world they have been born into is not a blessed world.\" Princess Mononoke , at least, can tell them why. Some, including the critic at Time , have questioned Soderbergh's sanity. (But of course--Soderbergh flouts time!) I see a method to his madness. Less grandiosely than Harmony Korine in Julien Donkey-Boy , Soderbergh pores over every scene in search of its essential dramatic gesture. He's saying: This --not all that other stuff--is what's important. He telegraphs the ending--you know the Limey will somehow be at the root of his daughter's death--but it's still an emotional wow. The climax justifies the technique. It says the point of this odyssey isn't revenge but regret--for irredeemably blown chances and a tragic waste of love. Soderbergh is one of those rare filmmakers who learn on the job. Working within a tight genre structure, he's discovering hundreds of ways of editing a given scene that can give it the richness of a novel. Is he totally successful? No he misses now and then, which is why the technique sticks out. But what a fantastic effort. See it and weep for what's missing in most other movies.\n\n<question>:\nWho is the antagonist of Princess Mononoke?\n\n<options>:\nA Lady Eboshi\nB The Martian Queen\nC Ashitaka\nD Moro\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,618	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCraig looked them over quickly. Flight Officer Robert Craig surrendered the tube containing his service \"Certainly you are not, Mr. Craig. But it is not possible for me....\" \"Your clearance,\" said the clerk. Craig handed him a battered punch card and watched the man insert it in It advertised \"a night's lodgings\" and it possessed a bellboy. The cards and forms to his room. Tired from the long, confusing day, Craig behind Craig fidgeted. Outside the door to the room, the bellboy stopped and turned to Craig. \"Mike?\" Craig hesitated before moving. \"You mean a microphone?\" asked Craig, mechanically fishing for his A murmur greeted the order. Craig experienced the thrill of knowing \"Where is the microphone?\" Craig asked as he found a ten unit note. \"Grav 1—Terra,\" fumbled Craig. \"Los Angeles.\" \"Never mind,\" Craig said wearily. He waited while the bellboy inserted \"No specific destination,\" supplied the man as he punched a key on a \"I—I—\" Craig muttered, fumbling in his pockets. entered. He nudged Craig wickedly. \"You know what they're like?\" stability as the hectopiates. Craig wearily got the man out of the Craig moved in the direction indicated. He fought the irrational fear strangers. personnel and felt the impotence of a spaceman who had long forgotten Craig obeyed the robot voice and began reluctantly to remove his flight Craig quickly removed the last of his clothing. It was impossible Craig obeyed and clenched his teeth against a sharp stinging. His He dressed quickly and was on the verge of asking the robot for instructions, when a man appeared in the open doorway. \"I am Captain Wyandotte,\" said the man in a pleasant voice. \"Well, what's next?\" asked Craig somewhat more belligerently than he The man smiled. \"Your reaction is quite natural. You are somewhat \"I'm a little anxious to get home, I suppose,\" said Craig defensively. \"Yes,\" Craig said. He was uncomfortable \"Oh, I've landed a few times, even walked around for a while....\" \"Mr. Craig, I suppose you've guessed that the next step in our little \"Conditioning?\" asked Craig. \"I expect to have some trouble at first.\" Craig was disturbed by the for the old stereotype, the 'drunken sailor.' A port city was a frightening thing to an old sailor—but let's begin our little job at the beginning. I'll turn you over to psychometry for the usual tests and pick you up tomorrow morning at, say, 0900.\" During the days that followed, the psychologist seemed to Craig to become progressively more didactic. He would deliver long speeches about the \"freedom of open space.\" He spoke repetitiously of the Craig began to hate the delay that kept him from Terra. Through the that no PON could completely nullify. But even if he could accept the psychologist's authority for the \"Do you really think that's my reason?\" \"Sure. What else can it be?\" \"Mr. Craig,\" the psychologist said slowly, \"you have my authorization \"The twelfth day is the worst,\" a grizzled spaceman told Craig. \"That's Craig clenched the iron rung of his bed and struggled to bring the old \"How can they tell?\" Craig fought down his growing panic. \"I can't.\" The old man lapsed into silence. Craig wished him to continue. He \"Old man!\" shouted Craig. A nightmare of visual sensations ebbed into Craig's mind. He was vaguely aware of the moans of other men in the vaultlike room. Wave Craig heard the voices around him, muffled, as though talking through \"I'm ... all right,\" Craig mumbled at the voices. He struggled with the Attendants coming for to take me home.... fourteenth day, Craig knew he could stand Grav 1. The whine of the had begun to produce ultra-sonic waves. Craig was not sure. card and gave him a one-way ticket to Terra.\" \"That's enough, son.\" The old man eyed Craig for an instant before \"Sure,\" said the old spaceman, watching a group of young crewmen engaged in an animated conversation. \"It's a good job. There's a future to it.\" \"Yeah.\" Craig half rose from his cot, jarred into anger. Craig relaxed, realizing he had acted childishly. \"Used to think the \"Whereabouts?\" The old man looked up at Craig. \"You don't know much about Terra, do \"What are you doing in Grav 1?\" Craig asked. The old man's face clouded for an instant. \"In the old days, they used to say us old-timers acted like clocks. They used to say we just ran down. Now they got some fancy psychology name for it.\" Craig regretted his question. He would have muttered some word of apology, but the old man continued. Robert Craig folded the flight jacket tightly and stuffed it into the It was the signal for relief in the passengers' quarters The audio called out: \"Flight Officer Robert Craig. Flight Officer Robert Craig. Report to Orderly 12. Report to Orderly 12 through the With pangs of anxiety he could not completely suppress, Craig obeyed. \"Who's it from? Somebody on Terra?\" The message container produced a battered punch card. Craig Craig put the battered card in his pocket and walked back through the husband deserted her fifty years before? Some kind of story about one's Craig descended the ramp from the huge jet and concentrated on his impressions. One day he would recall this moment, his first on the planet Terra. He tried to recall his first thrill at seeing Los He was about to step off the last step when a man appeared hurriedly. A \"A moment, sir. Just a little greeting from the Terra. You understand, Craig remained on the final step of the ramp, puzzled. The man turned to a companion at his right. The other man did not look up. He was peering into what seemed to Craig Both men were gone in an instant, leaving Craig completely bewildered. Craig turned to face a line of his fellow passengers up the ramp behind \"Who was that?\" Craig asked. \"Customs. Bet you never got such a smooth screening before, eh?\" Craig made his way toward the spaceport administration building. His first physical contact with Terra had passed unnoticed. \"Sir! Sir!\" cried a voice behind him. He wheeled to see a man walking briskly toward him. \"You dropped this, sir. Quite by accident, of course.\" Craig examined the small object the man had given him before rushing metal. He did not look directly at Craig for more than an instant at a time, and commented on Craig's description of his trip through the city \"I see,\" said the man noncommittally. It seemed to Craig that he was the city far below. He stared out the window for a time, leaving Craig about him, Craig thought. \"You are the first man we have had from the Intergalactic Service,\" the \"Yes.\" He turned to face Craig briefly before continuing. \"You must \"I haven't been here very long,\" said Craig. \"Matter of fact, I haven't small instrument. A secretary entered the office from a door to Craig's \"Miss Wendel, this is Mr. Craig. Mr. Craig, my secretary. Mr. Craig They exchanged formal greetings. She was a moderately pretty girl of medium height and, to Craig, a pleasantly rounded figure. He would have \"This is Mr. Craig's first landing on Terra, Miss Wendel,\" the The girl glanced at Craig, casting him a cool, impersonal smile. \"The one I held in the service. It's pretty comprehensive.\" The other turned to the secretary. \"You'll see that he is assisted in filing his application, won't you? A provisional Code II. That will enable you to enter all Import offices freely, Mr. Craig.\" without looking at Craig. \"Yes.\" The man laughed. \"You'll excuse us, Mr. Craig. We realize that Craig reddened in spite of himself. He had bought the suit on Ghandii. \"Here, Mr. Craig. I believe these are complete.\"\n\n<question>:\nUpon landing, Craig is greeted by whom?\n\n<options>:\nA A reporter and his cameraman\nB Two members of Terra's welcoming committee\nC Two screening technicians\nD A psychologist and his assistant\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,129	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSlate beer-testing team were coping with lagers and trying to see if they could taste the 3-to-1 price difference between the most- and least-expensive brands. (Click for a wrap-up of the first round of beer tasting.) The answer was: They found one beer they really liked, Samuel Adams Boston Lager , and one they really hated, imported Grolsch from Holland. Both were expensive beers--Grolsch was the most expensive in the test--and otherwise the testers had a hard time telling beers apart. The members of the team, as noted in the original article, all hold day jobs at Microsoft, mainly as designers, managers, and coders for Microsoft Word. The point of the second test was not to find the difference between cheap and expensive beers but instead to compare a variety of top-of-the-line beers. Was there one kind the tasters preferred consistently? Could they detect any of the subtleties of brewing style and provenance that microbrew customers pay such attention to when choosing some Doppelbock over a cream ale? After sampling all beers, the tasters rated them as follows: Overall quality points, from zero to 100, reflecting their personal, subjective fondness for the beer. Descriptions of and comments about each beer's taste--\"smooth and nutty,\" \"too strong,\" etc. If the first ranking was a measure of how good each beer was, this was an attempt to explain what made it good. Best and Worst , one of each from the group. Click for pricing information and pre-quaffing evaluations. The beers tasted were: 4. Data Analysis. a) Best and Worst. Compared to the lager test, we would expect the range of \"best\" choices to be more varied, since all the tested beers were supposed to be good. This expectation was most dramatically borne out in the \"Best and Worst\" rankings. The nine tasters cast a total of nine Worst votes and 11.5 Best votes. (Tester No. 1 turned in a sheet with three Best selections, or two more than his theoretical quota. Tester No. 4 listed a Best and a Best-minus, which counted as half a vote.) The results were clearest at the bottom: three Worsts for Pyramid Hefeweizen , even though most comments about the beer were more or less respectful. (\"Bitter, drinkable.\") But at the top and middle the situation was muddier: There were three Bests for Full Sail ESB , which most of the tasters later said they weren't familiar with, and 2.5 for Redhook IPA , which all the tasters knew. But each of these also got a Worst vote, and most of the other beers had a mixed reading. So far, the tasters are meeting expectations, finding something to like in nearly all these fancy beers. b) Overall preference points. Here the complications increase. The loser was again apparent: Pyramid Hefeweizen came in last on rating points, as it had in the Best/Worst derby. But the amazing dark horse winner was Michelob Hefeweizen . The three elements of surprise here, in ascending order of unexpectedness, are: This best-liked beer belonged to the same category, Hefeweizen, as the least-liked product, from Pyramid. This was also the only outright Anheuser-Busch product in the contest (the Redhooks are 75 percent A-B free). It is safe to say that all tasters would have said beforehand that they would rank an American macrobrew last, and Anheuser-Busch last of all. Although it clearly won on overall preference points, Michelob Hefeweizen was the only beer not to have received a single \"Best\" vote. The first two anomalies can be written off as testament to the power of a blind taste test. The third suggests an important difference in concepts of \"bestness.\" Sometimes a product seems to be the best of a group simply because it's the most unusual or distinctive. This is why very high Wine Spectator ratings often go to wines that mainly taste odd. But another kind of bestness involves an unobtrusive, day-in day-out acceptability. That seems to be Michelob Hefe 's achievement here: no one's first choice, but high on everyone's list. Let's go to the charts: This table shows how the beers performed on \"raw score\"--that is, without the advanced statistical adjustment of throwing out the highest and lowest score each beer received. Next, we have \"corrected average preference points,\" throwing out the high and low marks for each beer. The result is basically the same: It is worth noting the fate of Sam Adams on these charts. Here it ends up with a score of less than 61. These were the numbers awarded by the very same tasters who gave it a corrected preference rating of 83.33 the last time around--and 10 \"Best\" votes, vs. one Best (and one Worst) this time. The shift in Bests is understandable and demonstrates the importance of picking your competition. The severe drop in preference points illustrates more acutely the ancient principle of being a big fish in a small pond. These same tasters thought that Sam Adams was objectively much better when it was surrounded by Busch and Schmidt's. c) Value rankings. Last time this calculation led to what the colorful French would call a bouleversement. One of the cheapest beers, Busch, which had been in the lower ranks on overall preference points, came out at the top on value-for-money ratings, because it was so cheap. The big surprise now is that the highest-rated beer was also the cheapest one, Michelob Hefe , so the value calculation turned into a rout: Pyramid Hefeweizen was expensive on top of being unpopular, so its position at the bottom was hammered home--but not as painfully as that of Bass Ale . Bass had been in the respectable lower middle class of the preference rankings, so its disappointing Val-u-meter showing mainly reflects the fact that it was the only beer not on \"sale\" and therefore by far the costliest entry in the experiment. d) Taster skill. As members of the tasting panel began to suspect, they themselves were being judged while they judged the beer. One of the tasters, No. 7, decided to live dangerously and give specific brands and breweries for Samples A through J. This man was the only panel member whose job does not involve designing Microsoft Word--and the only one to identify two or more of the beers accurately and specifically. (He spotted Redhook IPA and Redhook ESB.) The fact that the beers correctly identified were the two most popular microbrews in the Seattle area suggests that familiarity is the main ingredient in knowing your beer. For scientists who want to continue this work at home, here are a few suggestions for further research: Tell the testers ahead of time what beers they will be drinking. Ask them to rank the beers, 1 through 10, based on how well they like them. Then compare the list with the \"revealed preferences\" that come from the blind test. As a variation, show them the list ahead of time and ask them to pick out the beer they know they love and the one they know they hate. Then compare this with the \"after\" list. If you're going to test imported lagers, try Foster's or Corona rather than Grolsch. Remember to stay strictly in the scientist's role. Don't take the test yourself.\n\n<question>:\nWhat was NOT a metric test subjects were asked to use in these experiments?\n\n<options>:\nA Choosing their favorite of the samples\nB Guessing the most expensive of the samples\nC Personal opinion of the sample\nD Choosing their least favorite of the samples\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,626	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nencountering the local fauna when it was over. Blast-rifles were not effective against such creatures as these. Torches were contact weapons but they killed. Blast-rifles did not. And Harper needed to pull himself The thing presumably died, but it continued to writhe senselessly. He turned to see other horrors crawling toward him. Then he knew he was being marooned on a planet of endless terrors. together again, too. Also, neither Moran nor any of the others wanted to Moran, naturally, did not mean to help in the carrying out of the plans separate—on the whitish ground-stuff. Moran had disliked such creatures system in which human beings belonged had turned out to be infinitely complicated. It had turned out, in fact, to be the ecological system of 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 decision. He would die of it. The humanity spread through the galaxy with an attendant train of insects and annoyances. If they left their pests behind, the total system of checks and balances which make life practical would get lopsided. It Nadine would not maintain itself. The vagaries that could result were admirably illustrated in and on the landscape outside the could see the planet that had been chosen for his marooning. It was a . Something had been left out of the seeding of this planet. The element—which might be a bacterium or a virus or almost anything at all—the element that kept creatures at the size called \"normal\" was either missing or inoperable here. The results were not desirable. much. A water-ice ice-cap said that there were no poisonous gases in the planet's atmosphere. Sulfur dioxide or chlorine, for example, would not allow the formation of water-ice. It would have to be sulphuric-acid or The ice-cap, by its existence and circular shape, proved that the planet rotated at a not unreasonable rate. The fact that it was water-ice told surface, in fact, outside the ice-cap. But since there were ice-caps there would be temperate regions. In short, the ice-cap proved that a man could endure the air and temperature conditions he would find. Moran observed these things from the control-room of the approaching the world on planetary drive. He was to be left here, with Moran disagreed, but he did not answer. He cocked an ear instead. He passage leading away. He called. But Moran observed with grudging investigation. Moran, at least, would be picked out as a fugitive from Moran did not know. They might be sent back where they came from. In Moran stirred, and he knew that every one of the others was conscious of when Moran had used desperate measures against them. emergency-kit, anyhow.\" The emergency-kit contained antiseptics, seeds, and a weapon or two, with elaborate advice to castaways. If somebody were wrecked on an even 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. Moran wondered, momentarily, what sort of world they came from and why government would think defeat. Moran's own situation was perfectly 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 off-planet, and fast. But space-travel regulations are especially designed to prevent such escapes. for departure had been granted. But Moran had waylaid the messenger was out of overdrive they efficiently gave him his choice of surrendering or else. He surrendered, stipulating that he wouldn't be landed back on Coryus he still clung to hope of avoiding return—which was almost certain anyhow. Because nobody would want to go back to a planet from which they'd carried away a criminal, even though they'd vegetation on a planet with a sol-type sun. shared the peculiarity of the ground as far as they could see through the haze. It was not vegetation in any ordinary sense. Certainly it was no mineral surface! The landing-pockets had burned away three or four feet of it, and the edge of the burned area smoked noisesomely, and \"It's a ship,\" said Moran curtly. \"It crash-landed and its crew set up a \"Naturally!\" \"Then since I can't be trusted with a weapon,\" said Moran, \"I suggest that I take a torch. We may have to burn through that loathesome stuff to get in the ship.\" Moran silently went to the space-suit rack and began to get into a \"If there's a lifeboat left,\" said Carol suddenly, \"Moran might be able world. Moran, though, would not be permitted a weapon. He picked up a suits would take care of that. Anyhow the ice-cap said there were no water-soluble gases in the atmosphere, and a gas can't be an active poison if it can't dissolve. They filed out of the airlock. They stood on ash-covered stone, only slightly eroded by the processes which made life possible on this landed. Moran moved scornfully Moran grunted. Distastefully, he saw his predicament made worse. He knew discovered. It had not been practical for men to move onto new planets operation was necessary before humanity could move in. A complete ecological complex had to be built up microbes to break down the rock for soil, bacteria to fix nitrogen to make the soil fertile plants to grow in the new-made dirt and insects to fertilize the plants so they would multiply, and animals and birds to carry the seeds planet-wide. On most planets, to be sure, there were local, aboriginal plants and animals. But still terrestrial creatures had to be introduced if a colony was to feed itself. Alien plants did not supply satisfactory \"This ground stuff,\" said Moran distastefully, \"is yeast or some sort of not wholly so. Once one mentioned yeasts and toadstools and fungi generally, the weird landscape became less than incredible. But it remained actively unpleasant to think of being marooned on it. \"Suppose we go look at the ship?\" said Moran unpleasantly. \"Maybe you He and the others joined Moran on the yielding surface. Their footing Moran heard muffled noises in his helmet-phone as the others tried to harshly to the men with him \"It's not a hunting creature on worlds where it's smaller. It's not likely to have turned deadly here. Come on!\" He went forward over the singularly bouncy ground. The others followed. 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. the metal hull that had fallen here before his grandfather was born. Sometimes the flame cut across things that writhed, and he was sickened. But above all he raged because he was to be marooned here. He could not altogether blame the others. They couldn't land at any colonized world with him on board without his being detected as an extra member of the crew. His fate would then be sealed. But they also would be horribly. He got clear of the newly burned-away stuff. There was still much smoke Nadine . They need not maroon him. In fact, they wouldn't dare. 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 , necessarily accepted as a member of her crew.\n\n<question>:\nIf, after being marooned on the alien planet, Moran does not discover any edible vegetation, how would he be expected to survive?\n\n<options>:\nA His space-suit is equipped with a nozzle through which he can absorb nutrients in gas form.\nB His only option would be to prey on animals, bacteria, fungi, or other living creatures.\nC He could use limited, fast-growing seed packets provided by the crew members of the Nadine.\nD He would not have any viable chance of survival without non-toxic vegetation.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
170	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nEarth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking Quest III Quest III Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement in the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in low voices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what might lie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III Quest III's spent and the holds became radioactively safe, the crew had spread out from its original cramped quarters. Now the interstellar ship was little more than a hollow shell. he met them with an impassive countenance, and announced quietly, \"We've sighted Earth.\" A feverish buzz arose the captain gestured for silence and went on, But this time the clamor was not to be settled. People pressed round the screens, peering into them as if with the naked eye they could pick out the atom of reflected light that was Earth, home. They wrung each other's hands, kissed, shouted, wept. For the present their fears were forgotten and exaltation prevailed. Lesra?\" She drew an uncertain breath and released it in a faint sigh. \"I don't know. It's good that Earth's still there.\" She was thinking, he judged shrewdly, of Knof Jr. and Delza, who save from pictures could not remember sunlit skies or grassy fields or woods in summer.... He said, with a touch of tolerant amusement, \"What did you think might have happened to Earth? After all, it's only been nine hundred years.\" \"That's just it,\" said Lesra shakily. \"Nine hundred years have gone by— there —and nothing will be the same. It won't be the same world we left, the world we knew and fitted in....\" within him. He let his arm fall. \"I'd better get up to the bridge. There's a new course to be set now—for Earth.\" Quests returned successful, or if they returned at all. And we don't know what changes have taken place on Earth. It's possible—not likely, though—that something has happened to break civilization's continuity to the point where our expedition has been He turned away grim-lipped and left the bridge. From his private office-cabin, he sent a message to Chief Astronomer Zost Relyul to notify him as soon as Earth's surface features became clear then he sat idle, alone with his thoughts. and watch the screens, or to the family apartment where he might find Lesra and the children—but somehow he didn't want to do that either. He felt empty, drained—like his ship. As the Quest III's Earth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years older than when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along the Quest III confident than he knew it was now. \"One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's time since leaving Earth. \"Our visit to Procyon drew a blank. There is only one huge planet, twice the size of Jupiter, and like Jupiter utterly unfit to support a colony. \"Our hopes were dashed—and I think all of us, even remembering the Centaurus Expedition's failure, hoped more than we cared to admit. If Procyon had possessed a habitable planet, we could have returned after an absence of not much over twenty years Earth time. \"It is cheering to note that the crew seems only more resolute. We go its spectrum, so like our own Sun's, beckons. If success comes there, a century will have passed before we can return to Earth friends, relatives, all the generation that launched the Quest later, one. \"One week since we passed close enough to Aldebaran to ascertain that that system, too, is devoid of planets. \"We face the unpleasant realization that what was feared is probably true—that worlds such as the Sun's are a rare accident, and that we may complete our search without finding even one new Earth. \"It makes no difference, of course we cannot betray the plan.... one world in all the Universe. Certainly the building of this ship and its two sisters, the immense expenditure of time and labor and energy stores that went into them, left Earth's economy drained and exhausted. Only once in a long age does mankind rise to such a selfless and transcendent effort—the effort of Egypt that built the pyramids, or the war efforts of the nations in the last great conflicts of the therefore signalize the beginning of the end. Population can be limited, but the price is a deadly frustration, because growth alone is life.... In our day the end of man's room for growth on the Earth was very many people to other stars but Earth could at least go into its decline with the knowledge that its race went onward and upward, expanding limitlessly into the Universe.... \"Hopeless, unless we find planets!\" Quest III Quest III achieve a velocity that would take us there without dying of senility of aging too greatly. It would be a one-way journey—even if enough fuel remained, there would be little point in returning to Earth after more than forty thousand years. By then our civilization certainly, and perhaps the human race itself, would have perished from memory. \"That was why the planners limited our voyage, and those of the other Quests , to less than a thousand years Earth time. Even now, according other expeditions failed also—will have reached a dangerously unstable phase, and before we can get back it may have collapsed completely from overpopulation. \"Why go back, then with the news of our failure? Why not forget about Earth and go on to Omega Centauri? What use is quixotic loyalty to a decree five thousand years old, whose makers are dead and which may be forgotten back there? of homesickness, though they know with their minds that everything that was once 'home' has probably been swept away.... Earth, and not even nine hundred years of space and time had been able to alter that. He wondered if there would still be a quiet stream and a green it seemed to falter one moment in flight. what it had been—a meteoroid, nothing unusual in the vicinity of the Sun, though in interstellar space and around planetless stars Quest III's Quest III's Quest III Quest III's Quest III provide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. wait for us. But why on Earth—\" \"That,\" said the captain grimly, \"is what we have to find out. Why—on Earth. At least, I suspect the answer's there.\" The Quest III bored steadily on through space, decelerating. Even if one were no fatalist, there seemed no reason to stop decelerating or change course. There was nowhere else to go and too little fuel left the watchers for the brief moment in which its very atoms were torn apart. Quest III's Quest III origin. They had seen no recognizable life in the part of the galaxy they had explored, but one of the other space, presumably returning to base to replenish their ammunition. That argued a planned and prepared interception with virulent hatred behind we're having to shed energy, the fuel will be gone in six or eight hours.\" \"We'll have reached Earth before then,\" Gwar Den said hopefully. \"If they don't bring out the heavy artillery first.\" \"We're under the psychological disadvantage,\" said the captain, \"of not Quest III There was no answer. The ship drove on, its fuel trickling away under multiplied demands. Those outside were squandering vastly greater amounts of energy in the effort to batter down its defenses, but Quest III last. The two other interstellar expeditions that went out have already returned and been destroyed, as you will soon be—the sooner, if you continue toward Earth.\" from Earth, relayed by one of the midget ships—was not very smart it had already involuntarily told him a couple of things—that it was not Quest III's ponderous and unswerving progress toward Earth had somehow frightened it. So it was trying to frighten them.\n\n<question>:\nHow did the Quest III crew feel as they first approached the Sun?\n\n<options>:\nA Satisfied that they had visited many wonderful planets.\nB Eager but anxious to be home after many disappointing false hopes.\nC Dizzy from the many colors displayed due to the Doppler Effect.\nD Disappointed that Earth was still there.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,695	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n... After a Few Words ... Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This is a science-fiction story. History is a science the other part is, as all Americans know, the most fictional field we have today. Ahead of him, in serried array, with lances erect and pennons flying, Templars, who had taken the advance. Behind the Templars rode the mailed Jerusalem and the host of Poitou. saddle. To his right, he could see the brilliant red-and-gold banner of gules, in pale three lions passant his saddle, his visor up, his blue eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. They have been following us. As we march parallel to the seacoast, so \"Like the jackals they are,\" said Sir Gaeton. \"They assail us from the rear, and they set up traps in our path ahead. Our spies tell us that the Turks lie ahead of us in countless numbers. And yet, they fear to \"Is it fear, or are they merely gathering their forces?\" \"Both,\" said Sir Gaeton flatly. \"They fear us, else they would not dally to amass so fearsome a force. If, as our informers tell us, there are uncounted Turks to the fore, and if, as we are aware, our rear is being dogged by the Bedouin and the black horsemen of Egypt, it would seem foolhardy to attempt to seek them in their own hills, and yet they must \"We of Gascony fear no heathen Musselman,\" Sir Gaeton growled. \"It's this Hellish heat that is driving me mad.\" He pointed toward the eastern hills. \"The sun is yet low, and already the heat is unbearable.\" Sir Robert heard his own laugh echo hollowly within his helmet. \"Perhaps 'twere better to be mad when the assault comes. Madmen fight better than men of cooler blood.\" He knew that the others were baking inside their heavy armor, although he himself was not too uncomfortable. \"In truth, sir knight, it is apparent that you fear neither men nor heat. Nor is your own blood too cool. True, I ride with your Normans and your English and your King Richard of the Lion's Heart, but I am a Gascon, and have sworn no fealty to him. But to side with the Duke of Burgundy against King Richard—\" He gave a short, barking laugh. \"I fear no man,\" he went on, \"but if I had to fear one, it would be Richard lord the King spoke in haste. He has reason to be bitter against Philip to remain with us.\" \"Richard of England has never been on the best of terms with Philip \"No, and with good cause. But he allowed his anger against Philip to color his judgment when he spoke harshly against the Duke of Burgundy. he spoke in haste.\" permitted a quarrel to develop between the two finest knights and warleaders in Christendom at this crucial point? The desertion of Philip too?\" \"You did what must be done in honor,\" the Gascon conceded, \"but you have not gained the love of Richard by doing so.\" showed that he felt that Richard of England might even doubt the loyalty of Sir Robert de Bouain. him. mingled with the sounds of horses in agony and anger. the sword against armor, like the sound of a thousand hammers against a were slowly being forced back. which hardly moved in the still desert air, now that the column had voice fading as he rode on up the column toward the knights of Poitou eternal infamy. We are losing our horses, one after the other!\" No one can be everywhere at once.\" pointed toward the eastern hills. \"They will come from there, hitting us in the flank we cannot afford to amass a rearward charge. To do so one thing. If we allow the Egyptians to take us from the rear, there gallop would break the Egyptian line and give the Hospitallers breathing George and for England!\" \"St. George and England!\" the Gascon echoed. Two great war horses began to move ponderously forward toward the battle The Egyptians tried to dodge, as they saw, too late, the approach of the Sir Robert felt the shock against himself and his horse as the steel tip now his body dragged it down as he dropped toward the desert sand. saber, taking advantage of Sir Robert's sagging lance. There was nothing else to do but drop the lance and draw his heavy The Egyptian's curved sword clanged against Sir Robert's helm, setting sweeping arc, and the Egyptian's horse rode on with the rider's headless body. Behind him, Sir Robert heard further cries of \"St. George and England!\" Church Law by shedding blood. He himself felt a dreamlike detachment, as though he were watching the battle rather than participating in it. completely.\" \"Aye. But King Richard will not approve of my breaking ranks and disobeying orders. I may win the battle and lose my head in the end.\" \"This is no time to worry about the future,\" said the Gascon. \"Rest for Old Kings .\" He had a pack of cigarettes in his gauntleted hand, which he profferred to Sir Robert. There were three cigarettes protruding from it, one slightly farther than the others. Sir Robert's hand reached out and took that one. Old Kings .\" He put one end of the cigarette in his mouth and lit the other from the lighter in Sir Gaeton's hand. \"Yes, sir,\" said Sir Gaeton, after lighting his own cigarette, \" Old Kings are the greatest. They give a man real, deep-down smoking pleasure.\" \"There's no doubt about it, are a cigarette.\" Sir Robert could feel the soothing smoke in his lungs as he inhaled deeply. \"That's great. When I want a cigarette, I don't want just any cigarette.\" \"Nor I,\" agreed the Gascon. \" Old Kings is the only real cigarette when you're doing a real man's work.\" \"That's for sure.\" Sir Robert watched a smoke ring expand in the air. There was a sudden clash of arms off to their left. Sir Robert dropped his cigarette to the ground. \"The trouble is that doing a real he-man's work doesn't always allow you to enjoy the fine, rich tobaccos of Old Kings right down to the very end.\" \"No, but you can always light another later,\" said the Gascon knight. rear, had realized the danger and had charged through the Hospitallers Sir Robert and Sir Gaeton spurred their chargers toward the flapping isolated and alone, cut off from the rest of the Christian forces! He red-and-gold banner of Richard? He caught a glimpse of the fluttering banner far to the rear and started to fall back. coronet! Richard! monarch, his great blade cutting a path before him. but presently he heard the familiar cry of \"For St. George and for bringing with them the banner of England! boiling around the embattled pair, forcing the Turks into retreat. And sovereign and liege lord. My sword and my life are yours whenever you call.\" He blinked for a second to adjust his eyes to the relative dimness of helmet had projected into his eyes, the studio seemed strangely cavelike. \"How'd you like it, Bob?\" asked one of the two producers of the show. Robert Bowen nodded briskly and patted the televike helmet. \"It was O.K.,\" he said. \"Good show. A little talky at the beginning, and it needs a better fade-out, but the action scenes were fine. The sponsor \"What do you mean, 'for a while'?\" Robert Bowen sighed. \"If this thing goes on the air the way it is, he'll lose sales.\" \"Why? Commercial not good enough?\" \" Too good! Man, I've smoked Old Kings , and, believe me, the real thing never tasted as good as that cigarette did in the commercial!\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich of these statements about the cigarettes has an irony that is represented elsewhere in the story?\n\n<options>:\nA The fact that the producers know different media would have been a better platform\nB The fact that Sir Robert only held one for a short time before dropping it, after saying how good it was\nC The fact that the cigarettes themselves are anachronistic\nD The fact that the producer actually works for a rival cigarette company\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,316	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\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. Is Brad Pitt the worst actor on earth? The case could be made, and Meet Joe Black could serve as Exhibit A. Pitt plays two roles in this seven course schlockfest. He's (briefly) a slick but wholesome yuppie and then (interminably) Death, who takes over the young man's body when he's thumped by a couple of cars in the movie's most promising moment. Bleached so blond that he looks like an irradiated android, Pitt expels all expression from his face and all tone from his voice. He speaks very, very slowly. The stunt half-works, at least until he's supposed to undergo an inner transformation and acquire human emotions--whereupon his face remains just as blank. Pitt's conception of the role is an idée fixe by someone who doesn't appear to have an idée in his head.\n\n<question>:\nWhich word would least describe the character, Elizabeth?\n\n<options>:\nA strong\nB intelligent\nC uncompromising\nD feminine\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
87	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nhad stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece didn't worry her—I was the guy he was shooting at. I was killing an hour in the billiard room of the Spacemen's Club Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club where in-coming pilots and crewmen could relax before leaving for another voyage. The rule that no females could pass its portals was strictly enforced. fish-face to shut up.\" \"Okay, okay,\" I grinned. \"Look, we'll go into the grille. There's no allowed in the Spacemen's \"It wasn't Guns Pistols and it wasn't Ganymede .\" I grinned. \"All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universe zilcon wood seats and dingy atobide lamps. But the place was packed with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanity somewhere and talk.\" She minced lightly down the aisle, climbed the stage steps and disappeared in the wings. \"That damned fossilized dynamo,\" I muttered. \"She'll be the death of me yet.\" Earthman operator. A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings and There was a roar of applause from the the visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutonian The audience in the Satellite seemed to have lost much of its general surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lips crowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incident the Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back to an earlier era. Someone shouted, \"Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors!\" As one man the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagor into his mouth. Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. men rushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered to THE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The place was all but deserted. I nodded. \"As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. men ought to clamp down.\" \"The I.P. men aren't strong enough.\" projected at high speed. But the character of the Gamma rays has never been completely analyzed. Like those set up by radium, they are I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. \"Now in 2710, as you'd know if you studied your history, the three planets of Earth, Venus, and Mars were under governmental bondage. The cruel dictatorship of Vennox I was short-lived, but it lasted long enough to endanger all civilized life. \"The archives tell us that one of the first acts of the overthrowing ordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people was representation be abolished on Jupiter. The time is ripe for a military dictator to step in. approaching danger. \"Let's get out of here,\" I said, getting up. A heat ray! Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for the door. Outside a driverless hydrocar stood with idling motors. The old woman threw herself into the control seat, yanked me in after her and threw over the starting stud. An instant later we were plunging through the dark night. , the tough little two headed pack animal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would have had its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic force belt that encircled the planet's equator. Now our drivers changed to boatmen, and we loaded our supplies into three clumsy jagua canoes. the lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. You see, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from the ship.\" Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hours that broadcast would have meant little, a slight rebellion here, an place a ringing silence blanketed everything. From the tent opposite a gaunt figure clad in a familiar dress \"Stand still!\" The thing in the darkness turned like a cam on a rod and drove at us again. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery of ground and shot aloft. Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. trained to pursue a quarry until it kills. It has a single unit brain and follows with a relentless purpose.\" \"Then that would mean...?\" \"That it was sent by our enemy, the same enemy that shot at us in the tent and faced me with earnest eyes. \"Billy-boy, our every move is being watched. From now on it's the survival of the fittest.\" the swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesive multi-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours. The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped his hand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured in a matter of seconds. At high noon by my Earth watch I sighted a low white structure on one of the distant islands. Moments later we made a landing at a rude \"What do you mean?\" Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself a cigarette. \"You know where it is, don't you?\" \"Ye-s,\" Karn nodded. \"But like I told you before, that ship lies in Earthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy.\" \"Dangerous?\" \"Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outside of myself was the explorer, Darthier, three years ago. I got away because I was alone, and they didn't notice me, and Darthier escaped Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut. my thoughts far away. Half an hour later we headed into the unknown. The Venusian boatmen were ill-at-ease now and jabbered among themselves constantly. We camped that night on a miserable little island where insects swarmed despondency beset our entire party. I caught myself musing over the futility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept me from turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning, that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. steaming swamp.... But at length we reached firm ground and began our advance on foot. It was Karn who first sighted the ship. Striding in the lead, he suddenly halted at the top of a hill and leveled his arm before him. There it lay, a huge cigar-shaped vessel of blackened A rectangular metal envelope had been constructed over the stern quarters of the ship. Above this structure were three tall masts. And suspended between them was a network of copper wire studded with white insulators. Venusians and head across the knoll,\" she ordered. \"Ezra and I will circle in from the west. Fire a gun if you strike trouble.\" But we found no trouble. The scene before us lay steeped in silence. Moments later our two parties converged at the base of the great ship. A metal ladder extended from the envelope down the side of the vessel. Mid-way we could see a circular hatch-like door. The silence remained absolute. We reached the door and pulled it open. There was no sign of life. left side by a wall of impenetrable stepto glass. The corridor was bare of furnishings. But beyond the glass, revealed to us in mocking Karn raised the butt of his pistol and brought it crashing against the \"You'll never do it that way,\" Grannie said. \"Nothing short of an atomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are no guards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if the Green Flames are more accessible.\" the feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in the Suspended by insulators from the ceiling over them was a thick metal\n\n<question>:\nWhy were there no guards present in the ship?\n\n<options>:\nA They had all been eliminated by the Green Flames\nB the metal envelope was the only guard\nC The ship was well hidden to not need guards\nD The ship was self-operating to defend\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,121	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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. Elizabeth Dole Playback 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. 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. 2. Populism. With Buchanan out of the way, Bauer will go after Forbes. When asked on television about Forbes' claim to represent the right. Bauer cited Forbes' wealth and called himself \"the son of a maintenance man.\" On This Week , George Stephanopoulos agreed that Bauer \"is becoming the populist in the race,\" noting that Bauer's supporters \"love the fact that he was the son of a janitor.\" 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. John McCain Playback 1. Ames meant nothing to him. Despite having skipped the straw poll, McCain was invited onto Face the Nation and Fox News Sunday to discuss it. \"If you're going to be taken seriously,\" Brit Hume asked him, \"don't you have to face up to the fact, when all the other candidates decide that an event is worth attending ... that maybe you've got to play too?\" In reply, McCain repeatedly called Ames \"meaningless.\" His chutzpah bowled over the pundits. Stephanopoulos called McCain's no-show \"a pretty smart move\" and portrayed the 83 votes he won in the straw poll--putting him in last place among active Republican candidates--as evidence of his strength. 2. Ames meant death for others. Noting that McCain had bypassed the event, Quayle explained on Face the Nation that he, too, \"almost took a pass on this. It wasn't until George Bush said he was going to participate that then I said, 'OK, we've got to do it,' out of respect to the Iowa Republican Party.\" The result, Quayle pleaded, was that he lost to candidates who had been in Iowa \"years and months.\" McCain, explaining his decision to stay out, espoused a less sentimental philosophy: \"You always want to fight on ground that is most favorable to you.\" For this, the media executed Quayle and spared McCain. \"Quayle and Lamar Alexander might be gone, but I think McCain is still in,\" concluded NPR's Mara Liasson. Ames was Vietnam in reverse: McCain ducked the fight, and Quayle took the beating. 3. Viability. \"Once the dust has settled from the straw poll,\" McCain regally announced, \"I will review the new political landscape\" and begin \"engaging the other Republican candidates.\" Why does McCain get a bye? Because he has convinced the media that he has enough money and support in New Hampshire, South Carolina, and other states to skip Iowa and catch fire later. Newsweek , the New York Times , the Los Angeles Times , and several TV pundits agreed that McCain remains formidable, wasn't hurt by Ames, and may well end up as the principal alternative to Bush. 4. Vote-buying. To undermine the straw poll's authority as an arbiter of his candidacy, McCain called it a \"fund-raiser,\" \"a sham and a joke\" in which campaigns spent \"millions\" to \"buy\" votes. \"My campaign theme is to try to reform the system that is now awash with money and the influence of special interests,\" he argued on Fox News Sunday . Brit Hume's retort--\"that this whole process isn't quite pure enough for you\"--played right into McCain's hands. McCain doesn't need to persuade the media that his reasons for skipping Ames were morally sound. He just needs to persuade them that his reasons were moral rather than political. Playbook 1. Real votes. The vote-buying complaint only gets McCain a bye on the straw poll. To get another bye on February's Iowa caucuses, he'll rely on two other moral arguments. First, he'll claim that caucuses aren't \"real votes.\" \"We'll have real votes in New Hampshire,\" McCain argued on Fox News Sunday . \"That's where real people are motivated to vote.\" On Face the Nation , he suggested that he would focus on \"the genuine balloting process, which takes place in New Hampshire and then South Carolina.\" 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>:\nWhat makes Buchanan different from the other candidates?\n\n<options>:\nA He had less financial backing than most of them (he had almost no financial backing at all)\nB He had different politics than the others\nC He was more moderate than the others\nD He cared about meeting with Americans in person during his campaigning more than the rest of them did\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,226	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 trip to Mars. He was always getting sandy, but handkerchiefs over nose and mouth solve this. We look like desperadoes, what 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. fired, but the shots either bounced off their scales or stuck in their thick hides. Anyway, they took the rifles away and threw them into the stream, and picked us all up and but it didn't get dark. Kroger tells me that there are phosphorescent bacteria living in the mold on the walls. The air has a fresh-dug-grave make it a gift to Martian archeologists? a short and unscientific word and went to sleep. 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 we're aimed toward where Mars on all four sides by running water, maybe twenty feet across, and 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 the edge of the water and a larger Martian whistled like crazy and dragged it away. \"Water must be dangerous to else. Right now I could eat a dinner raw, in a centrifuge, and keep it down. A Martian threw a stone at Jones today, and Jones threw one back at him and broke off a couple of scales. The Martian whistled furiously and went away. When the crowd thinned out, same as it did sleeping cycle here), Kroger talked Lloyd into swimming across the river and getting the red scales. (they call it the bulkhead, for some reason or other) table, scratching away with a ballpoint cold water, with the scales gripped in his fist. Or what was left of the scales. They had melted down in the water and left his hand all sticky. studied them in the uncertain light, then tasted them and grinned. The Martians are made of sugar. Later, same day . Kroger said that the Martian metabolism must be like Terran (Earth-type) metabolism, only with no pancreas to make insulin. They store their outside of their bodies, in the form of scales. He's watched them more closely and seen that they have long rubbery tubes for tongues, and that they now and then suck up water from 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 water) to make sugar, a common carbohydrate. Like plants, on Earth, he said. Except, instead of using special cells on leaves to form carbohydrates with the help of sunpower, as Earth plants do in photosynthesis scales like prisms, to isolate the spectra (another Kroger word) necessary to form the sugar. 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 to form more sugar, and still die, if a bit slower.\" of theirs. They must be for biting something more substantial than moss, Kroger.\" But there's some kind of a \"drag.\" I told him I hoped it didn't mean The Martians have coal mines. we'd land on Mars upside down. He Jones got the rifles out of the stream (the Martians had probably thought they were beyond recovery 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 Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With Martian rime, Venusian slime, And a radioactive hoe. I showed it to Kroger. He says Mars, so escape velocity didn't have to be so fast, hence a smoother (relatively) trip on our shock-absorbing Hell's bells . Kroger says there are two baby Martians loose on board ship. Pat told him he was nuts, but there are certain 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 any more. Kroger is thrilled that he is Mars has Martian reproductive processes. the whole screen filled. Looks like Death Valley. No When he told Pat, Pat put it to a vote whether or not to jettison 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 from Earth. So we just have that all turn into little Martians. Jones says he'll go down spitting. Pat says why not dismantle interior says it's the dust. The sand underfoot is kind of rose-colored, and not the carbon in the AFAR system. We'll have to try it, I guess. The Martians ate the bread. Jones came forward to tell us the got back they were gone. However, he did find a few of the red crystals on the galley deck (floor). They're good-sized crystals, too. Which means so are the Martians. Kroger says the Martians must be intelligent, otherwise they couldn't have guessed at the carbohydrates a lifelong diet of anthracite. Pat by suggesting the crystals be pulverized and mixed with sulphuric acid. He says this'll produce the rocket. Meantime, we have to catch those Martians. June 29, 1961 Worse and worse . Lloyd caught one of the Martians in the firing chamber. We had to flood the chamber with acid to subdue the creature, which carbonized nicely. So now we have plenty of air and water again, but besides having another Martian still on the loose, we now don't have enough acid left in the fuel tanks Pat says at least our vector will carry us to Earth and we can die was red and scaly, and I think it had a tail. It was two heads taller than you.\" He shuddered. \"Ran off Martian is still with us. He's where we can't get at him without blow-torches, but he can't get at the carbon made of carbohydrates, too. I'd rather not have known. my diary aboard, and towed the rocket to San Francisco. News of the \"captured Martian\" leaked out, and we all became nine-day wonders until the dismantling of the unless they get covered up, too. We're taking extra oxygen, shells, those big tracks nearby. We're taking the jeep to follow the aliens' tracks. There's some moss around would do. There are about a thousand of those crystal-scales on a Martian. So last week we found out, when those red-scaled things began clambering out of the sea on every coastal region on Earth. Kroger tried here, on reddish brown rocks that stick up through the sand, just on 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. 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, too, or else they have the damnedest-looking shoes in creation. The constant shower of sand\n\n<question>:\nHow do the Martians reproduce?\n\n<options>:\nA The Martians are made of sugar. Once the body dissolves in the water a new body forms, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.\nB The Martians reproduce the same way humans do.\nC The red scales the Martians leave behind are like eggs. New Martians hatch out of the scales.\nD The Martians are covered in red scales. The scales are shed. The discarded scales grow into new aliens.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,370	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>:\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 exhibitionist urge. \"Send them in one at a time,\" I told Stebbins. I ducked into the 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. I throttled my exclamation of surprise, concealing it behind a quick cough. \"Let me have that again, please?\" \"All I ask is a contract, Corrigan. It isn't much. I'll be a big attraction. I'll—\" He glowered at me reproachfully for a moment, stood up and sauntered to the door. \"I thought you were a man of acumen, Corrigan. Well, think it over. Maybe you'll regret your hastiness. I'll be back to give you another chance.\" Kallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. I immediately to a contract.\" \"Sit down, Freeman Heraal. I like to make my own decisions, thanks.\" \"You will grant me a contract!\" \"Will you please sit down?\" He said sulkily, \"I will remain standing.\" The Kallerian stood motionless before me. They're hairy creatures, and Institute. And we're not currently in need of any Kallerian males, because—\" \"You will hire me or trouble I will make!\" I opened our inventory chart. I showed him that we were already carrying four Kallerians, and that was more than plenty. The beady little eyes flashed like beacons in the fur. \"Yes, you have four representatives—of the Clan Verdrokh! None of the Clan Gursdrinn! For three years, I have waited for a chance to avenge this insult to the noble Clan Gursdrinn!\" At the key-word 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 He glared at me in silence. I went on, \"Please be assured that I'll undo the insult at the earliest possible opportunity. It's not feasible for us to hire another Kallerian now, but I'll give preference to the Clan Gursdrinn as soon as a vacancy—\" \"No. You will hire me now.\" \"It can't be done, Freeman Heraal. We have a budget, and we stick to it.\" \"You will rue! I will take drastic measures!\" \"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 Kallerian. And now, please, there are many applicants waiting—\" Ludlow appeared simultaneously from the two doors at right and left. They surrounded the towering Kallerian and sweet-talkingly led him away. He wasn't minded to quarrel physically, or he could have knocked but he kept up a growling flow of invective and threats until he was out in the hall. \"Please, please,\" squeaked the little alien pitifully. \"I must see you, honored sir!\" 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 I glanced down at the inventory chart until I found the Stortulian \"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, I?\" \"Well—\" \"Of course not.\" I took advantage of his pathetic upset to steam right along. \"Now if you had come in here and simply asked me to sign you up, I might conceivably have done it. But no—you had to go unburden your heart to me.\" \"I thought the truth would move you.\" \"It did. But in effect you're now asking me to conspire in a fraudulent criminal act. Friend, I can't do it. My reputation means too much to me,\" I said piously. \"Then you will refuse me?\" \"My heart melts to nothingness for you. But I can't take you to Earth.\" 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 commit suicide on my account. About fifty more applicants were processed without a hitch. Then life started to get complicated again. I had just about begun to forget about the incidents of the Kallerian's \"Change your mind about me yet?\" \"Get out before I have you thrown out.\" \"I don't care what your story is! Get out or—\" \"—you'll have me thrown out. Okay, okay. Just give me half a second. Corrigan, you're no fool, and neither am I—but that fellow of yours I scowled at him. \"Too damn many.\" \"You see? He's incompetent. Suppose you fire him, take me on instead. that I'm not looking for any of those either. Now will you scram or—\" with a roar. \"Earthman, you have mortally insulted the Clan Gursdrinn!\" Sitting with my hands poised near the meshgun trigger, I was ready to let him have it at the first sight of actual violence. Heraal boomed, \"You are responsible for what is to happen now. I have \"—that your unethical actions have directly contributed to the untimely death of an intelligent life-form,\" filled in the second of the Ghrynian policemen. \"The evidence lies before us,\" intoned the leader, \"in the cadaver \"This is the law. Do you deny that your stubborn refusal to yield to this late life-form's request lies at the root of his sad demise?\" \"Well, no, but—\" \"Failure to deny is admission of guilt. You are guilty, Earthman.\" Closing my eyes wearily, I tried to wish the whole babbling lot of them away. If I had to, I could pony up the hundred-grand fine, but it was 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 and stationed itself limply near the threshold. The three Ghrynian policemen and my three assistants forgot the dead Kallerian for a crackpots. In heart-rending tones, the Stortulian declared, \"Life is no longer worth living. My last hope is gone. There is only one thing left for me to do.\" I was quivering at the thought of another hundred thousand smackers going down the drain. \"Stop him, somebody! He's going to kill himself! He's—\" Stortulian wasn't here to commit suicide, you see. He was out to get you.\" \"Evidently you don't know as much as you think you do about Stortulian psychology, Corrigan,\" Gorb said lightly. \"Suicide is completely abhorrent to them. When they're troubled, they kill the person who caused their trouble. In this case, you.\" I began to chuckle—more of a tension-relieving snicker than a \"Don't mention it,\" Gorb said. I glared at the Ghrynian police. \"Well? What are you waiting for? Take\n\n<question>:\nWhat did the Kallerian and the Stortulian have in common?\n\n<options>:\nA they did not like being turned down\nB they both desired a place in the zoo\nC they were unique creatures\nD they planned to kill the narrator if he refused them\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
568	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 \"Feetch M-D\" next time \"Feetch!\" grated Ogden Piltdon, president of the Piltdon Opener savagely. \"The Piltdon Can-Opener is trailing the competition. Advertising and Sales are breaking their necks. It's Engineering \"But Mr. Piltdon,\" remonstrated Feetch unsteadily under his employer's International rips apart cans in three and three-tenths seconds. Universal does it in four.\" Feetch adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. \"But Mr. Piltdon, \"Dignity,\" pronounced Piltdon, \"is for museums. Four months, Feetch! stronger, flashier and more musical than any other on the market. I want it completely developed, engineered and tooled-up, ready for production. Otherwise, Feetch—\" Feetch's body twitched. \"But Mr. Piltdon, four months is hardly time I will not allow you to throw out my money. Four months, Feetch, discard. He had always wanted to devote all his time to research, but thought Feetch. Twenty-five years of close supervision, dead-lines, Ah, well, thought Feetch straightening his thin shoulders, he had \"Got to be,\" answered Feetch tiredly. \"We must work along classical bench. They began testing, Hanson operating the openers and Feetch clocking. \"Four point four,\" announced Feetch after the last test. \"Well, well,\" said Feetch. \"I drew my pay every week so I suppose I have no complaints. Although,\" a wistful note crept into his voice \"I would have liked a little recognition. Piltdon is a household word, but who has heard of Feetch? Well,\"—Feetch blew his nose—\"how do we \"Hello,\" said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a \"Yes,\" said Feetch. \"I see it too. Try another can.\" \"Spinach, I think,\" said Feetch. \"Where did the can go, do you suppose?\" \"Dear, dear,\" said Feetch, regarding the piles of food on the bench. room and slapped Feetch heartily on the back, causing him to break a pencil point. \"Feetch!\" roared Piltdon. \"Is this talk that's going he exulted, \"will make can-opener history. Instantaneous opening! \"Mr. Piltdon—\" said Feetch shakily. Feetch? The thing can be duplicated, can't it?\" \"Feetch,\" bit out Piltdon, his face growing hard. \"Stow this hooey. I Close, thought Feetch, wearily. It had been a man-killing job, and it production! Let 'er rip!\" The Super-Openers rolled over the country. In a remarkably short time they appeared in millions of kitchens from coast-to-coast. Sales sales to one to a customer. Piltdon cancelled his advertising program. Newspapers, magazines, radio, television and word-of-mouth spread the fame of the opener so that advertising was unnecessary. Meanwhile, of course, government scientists, research foundations, universities and independent investigators began to look into this new Far into the night burned the lights of countless laboratories. Noted physicists probed, measured, weighed, traced, X-rayed, dissolved, spun, peered at, photographed, magnetized, exploded, shattered and analyzed Super-Openers without achieving the glimmer of a satisfactory explanation. Competitors found the patent impossible to circumvent, for any departure from its exact specifications nullified the effect. Piltdon, genial these days with success and acclaim, roared at Feetch: \"Thank you, Mr. Piltdon.\" And still, thought Feetch wryly, he received no recognition. His name did not even appear on the patent. Well, well, that was the way it went. He must find his satisfaction in his work. And it had been interesting lately, the work he had been doing expensive. He was a fool, he supposed, to try independent research when so many huge scientific organizations were working on it. But he could no more keep away from it than he could stop eating. As soon as he could get hold of Piltdon, Feetch said trembling, \"Sir, I Feetch?\" The incident made headlines in the local papers. The next day other local papers in widely scattered locations reported similar incidents. 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 Livid with fury and apprehension, he screamed at Feetch, \"This is your \"You're through, Feetch!\" raved Piltdon. \"Fired! Get out! But before \"Yes, sir,\" said Feetch paling. \"Then you don't want to hear about my Piltdon's huge desk. \"No!\" yelled Piltdon at Feetch's face which was \"Forever, Feetch?\" \"You're positive, Feetch?\" Piltdon's eyes glared into Feetch's. at first, but then monopolize the market. All right, Feetch, I'll Feetch felt himself sag inwardly. \"Mr. Piltdon,\" he said. \"I'm asking wanted. Over the years he had waited, thinking that there would be Perhaps someone would give him a job working in the new field he had \"No use,\" said Feetch. \"Nothing you can say—\" klunk! klunk! \"Feetch!\" howled Piltdon. \"I order you to remain!\" Feetch almost submitted from force of habit. He hesitated for a moment, \"Good-day,\" said Feetch firmly, sprinting through the falling cans to Money, Feetch decided after a while, was a good thing to have. His \"Feetch,\" the personnel man would read. \"Kalvin Feetch.\" Then, looking up, \"Not the Kalvin Feetch who—\" \"Yes,\" Feetch would admit miserably. inasmuch as we feel your premature application of your discovery to profit-making denotes a lack of scientific responsibility and ethics Piltdon, Feetch thought, feeling a strange sensation deep within his No, Feetch told himself, he was revealing nothing that Piltdon might The phone rang. Feetch seized it and said to the image: \"Absolutely Feetch. I know you can't find work anywhere else.\" change all that, Feetch? We'll put out the New Type Super-Opener and the world will soon forget about the old one.\" \"No,\" said Feetch. \"People will forget anyway—I hope.\" \"If you won't think of yourself, at least think of your fellow Think of that, Feetch.\" Feetch blinked. This had not occurred to him. over, Feetch.\" Feetch sat, thinking it over. Was it right to let all these people lose Feetch hung up. A glow of anger that had been building up in his chest grew warmer. He began pacing the floor. How he hated to do it. Think, Feetch walked into the kitchen and carefully poured himself a drink of hand. \"Here is everything I know about what I call the Feetch Effect, \"Fifty-one percent,\" said Feetch firmly. \"Don't bother with any \"Stop bluffing,\" said Feetch coldly. \"There's no other way out for \"Well,\" murmured the Government man, \"I never did think Feetch got a Published in the newspapers the following day, Feetch's statement read, in part: \"The motion in space and time of the singular curvilinear as extensive as our own universe. Unfortunately, as my investigations indicated, Alpha space seems to be thickly inhabited. These \"I sincerely and humbly venture the opinion that we are on the threshold of tremendous and mighty discoveries. It is my belief that \"Mr Feetch—\" said Piltdon. Feetch looked up from his desk in the newly constructed Feetch \"But Mr. Feetch—\" \"Get out,\" said Feetch.\n\n<question>:\nWhat was Feetch most interested in?\n\n<options>:\nA Making money\nB Research and development\nC Working for Piltdon\nD Being known around the world\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,253	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nObstetrics for beginners It's my first go at delivering a baby by caesarean section – and the foetal head is impacted, jammed in its mother's pelvis. To be honest I'm struggling. 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 Incisions have been made in the lower part of the mother's abdomen and womb. I've pushed my gloved hand inside and managed to slide my fingers between the baby's head and the surrounding uterine tissue. But it's difficult. The baby is tightly wedged in. I've had to push hard to get my hand to the far side of its head, and even though I'm now cupping and grasping it in the approved manner, I can't seem to pull it out. Dare I grip its head more firmly? Dare I pull harder? but with a good outcome. Although the Tydeman tube is still in gestation, Desperate Debra herself is now thriving. One of the treatments of choice in that era was, naturally, acupuncture. But how to teach tyro-acupuncturists where to place the needles? Simple. A life-size bronze statue dotted with small holes indicated the points of insertion. And how then to test the students' grasp of their subject? If the statute was hollow, filled with liquid and given an outer coating of wax to mask the holes, a correct needle insertion would be followed by a leak. To understand the desperation of Debra and how the Tydeman tube might help to relieve it requires a brief foray into basic obstetric knowhow. Evolution has endowed us with heads proportionally so large that even when labour runs according to plan, the delivery process involves a bit of a squeeze. For the baby's head to get stuck on the way out may not be usual, but it's by no means a rarity. The standard response is to perform a caesarean section. Every year some 160,000 babies are born in the UK this way, with almost two thirds of them classified as emergencies. One audit has suggested that roughly 8,000 babies get stuck and have to be delivered by caesarean at a stage when their mothers are fully dilated. \"Some of the babies will be so close to coming out by the normal route,\" says Tydeman, \"that it's then difficult to get them back up and remove them through the hole in the woman's tummy.\" Which women are most at risk of this setback seems to be largely unpredictable. \"We just observe that it happens… It's been discussed in the medical literature since the 1940s, but until 10 years ago, and throughout my training and most of my life as a consultant, it wasn't really talked about.\" Considering the universality of childbirth, impaction and the best way of dealing with it are topics that seem to have gone remarkably unstudied. \"There are strong opinions about why it happens and what to do, but very little research evidence,\" says Tydeman, adding that many of these opinions are contradictory. In a protracted birth that's destined to end with a caesarean, the longer the labour is allowed to go on before the obstetrician decides to intervene, the greater the likelihood that the baby's head will become impacted. However, concern over the rising number of babies born by caesarean has made doctors more wary of doing them – one consequence of which is that medical staff may allow a difficult birth to continue for longer before they resort to surgery. This could be boosting the frequency of impaction. But, again, no one is certain. When obstetricians doing planned caesareans slice open a mother's womb, what they usually see is the baby's head. By slipping a hand round and below it they can easily guide the baby out. \"When you do a caesarean for an impacted baby,\" says Tydeman, \"you make the incision in the same place, but what you might come across is a shoulder because the baby's so much further down [the birth canal].\" As I'd discovered for myself, sliding a hand around the baby's head is then far more difficult. \"It makes your fingers hurt,\" says Tydeman. \"It makes your pulse rate go up to about 200, and you break out in a sweat because know you've only got about five or 10 minutes before there are serious consequences. The clock is ticking.\" If a baby's head is jammed down in the mother's pelvic region, common sense suggests that it might help if a second person gives a gentle backward push on the area of its head visible through the mother's dilated cervix. \"In our unit,\" says Tydeman, \"when the woman is fully dilated and you'd expect the baby to come out normally [but it doesn't]… a registrar will be asking for a push-up about one in five times.\" Although registrars are doctors still in training, they're nonetheless experienced which suggests requests for push-ups during unplanned caesareans are far from uncommon. The Tydeman tube is a gadget intended to make this manoeuvre safer and more effective. 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 The instrument is made up of a rigid plastic tube opening into a softer silicone cup. Pressure to the foetal head is applied using four pads projecting forward from the cup's interior. Holding the device by the tube, the user places the cup against the part of the head exposed through the dilated cervix, and presses. This pushes the baby back up into the uterus while releasing any suction pressure that may have been holding it, so allowing the obstetrician to extract it more easily. Because pressure is distributed equally between the four pads with a greater combined surface area than that of a user's fingertips, the risk of inadvertent damage is minimised. So how valuable in training medical staff is a simulator like this? Very, according to Annette Briley. Imagine it's the middle of the night and an unplanned emergency caesarean is required: \"Some poor junior doctor might find himself trying to manage it on his own.\" To have practised the knack of extracting a firmly impacted baby from a simulator is lot better than first honing your skill on a real woman.\n\n<question>:\nHow often do doctors request a push-up during an unplanned cesarian?\n\n<options>:\nA 5 percent of deliveries\nB 10 percent of deliveries\nC 15 percent of deliveries\nD 20 percent of deliveries\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,097	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHang on, are they taking about the same ad? Hastily she opens her FB TV app, pulls up the game. The ad is just finishing. She hits the 10-second rewind icon a couple of times, then leans the phone on its side against a ketchup bottle. 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. A large, child's rendition of the American flag. Fade to black. Chevrolet logo. White text against black. 'We know what really makes America great' \"The Chevrolet ad?\" \"Yeah.\" 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? \"I thought I was gonna come pick you up from the airport?\" \"Yeah, we did.\" Embarrassed, he wipes a tear from his cheek. \"It was… it was very moving.\" 'Well, now, c'mon-\" \"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.\" He grins back at her. \"Like Super Bowl ads?\" She laughs. \"I guess. But you know what I mean, really.\" \"Yeah.\" \"How much did that cost?\" \"Not much. Really. I can afford-\" \"Cabs are expensive. You shouldn't be wasting your money.\" \"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.\" Mom stands up and makes to leave the room, leaning down to kiss him as she passes. \"I ask myself that question every day.\" Alone, seen only by the TV, Dad smiles to himself. He picks up the remote, but instead of hitting play, he finds himself hitting rewind. \"Ed!\" Mom had appeared in the doorway. \"Please! Both of you. No fighting today, please.\" Fade to black. Chevrolet logo. White text against black. 'We know what really makes America great' Dad wipes another team from his eye. \"I think we're going to be OK,\" he says to himself. \"I think we're going to be just fine.\" 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 Fox, Breitbart News, Family Values TV, Info Wars, The Rebel, Glenn Beck, The Voice of America, America First, The Bible Today and lots of hunting and sports channels she doesn't even recognise. It's signed in to her Dad's FB account, and the last thing she wants is to try and log in on hers before he gets back from the john. Yeah. There was no way that would end up with them keeping it civil. In her pocket her phone vibrates, purrs against her skin, reminding her it's there, making sure she's not forgotten where her real friends are, that there's a world outside, beyond Dad and his TV. She takes it out and cradles it in her hands, the dark screen fleetingly reflecting back her face before it jumps awake at her very touch, opening up to bathe her in blue light, in comfort and warmth and the familiar. For the first time since she got home she feels herself relax. 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. \"How's work, honey?\" Mom asks. Dad finishes chewing his mouthful, swallows, wipes his beard with a napkin. Sighs, barely controlled anger simmering behind his face. \"Solar panels cause cancer.\" \"Maybe on yours, but it's not all over my Facebook.\" She doesn't have the heart to tell him she muted him six months ago. \"There's no risk, Mom. None at all. Dad, I wish you'd stop believing everything you see on Facebook.\" \"Well, maybe you should read things yourself before passing judgement on them.\" He pushes himself up from his seat, steps away from the table. Sara sighs, thinking she's upset him that much that he's actually abandoning his dinner, but he stops to grab something off a nearby shelf. His iPad. He heads back and takes his seat again. Oh, here we fucking go she thinks to herself. He stabs at the screen, looks for a while, stabs again. Flips it over and hands it to her. \"Here. Read.\" Reluctantly, she takes it. His Facebook feed. Somewhere in the middle of it is the article, a very to the point CHINESE SOLAR PANELS CAUSE CANCER headline. But she can't even focus on it, because the rest of the screen is filled with distractions, looping videos and animated gifs, all adverts, and all for guns. Or security systems. Panic rooms. Back up power generators. Emergency rations. More guns. \"Jesus Christ Dad, these ads!\" \"No blasphemy at the dinner table, please honey\" says Mom. \"What about them?\" \"Just… just look at them. They're terrifying. They're like… like adverts for the end of the world! You know they show you this stuff just to make you scared, right? Just to keep you paranoid.\" \"They show me this stuff because they've got products to sell. That's how the economy works. That's how we create jobs. Godammit Sara, are you telling me you hate advertising now? Do you just hate everything about America?\" \"I know. I'm sorry I-\" \"And the ads! The Super Bowl ads! You know how much he loves watching the new ads with you. It's a stupid thing, sure, but he loves it. Talks about it all the time. It's like a tradition to him. That's why he got so upset over dinner when you got angry at his ads. It's something special he has with you, he doesn't want to lose it.\" Sara slips her phone into her pocket, genuine guilt. Feels like a spoiled kid. \"I didn't realise. I'm sorry.\" Mom smiles, walks over and kisses her on the forehead. \"It's OK honey. Don't feel bad. Just go. Just go sit in there with him and watch some TV. Please.\" It's the second down on the Falcon's 60 yard line with 30 yards to cover, and the Lions need one touchdown to equalise. Sara and her Dad are sat in the front room, working their way through a family sized pack of Oreos, when the ad break starts. \"Yeah. Fine. Y'know. Same as always.\" holy shit that chevrolet ad /fire emoji\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the immediate significance of Ed defending the ads on his Facebook?\n\n<options>:\nA It shows how interested in guns he is\nB It shows his dedication to capitalism\nC It shows he has no idea how tailored the feed is\nD It shows what kinds of things he looks up to purchase\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
706	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIt was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of observed. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from time to time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. \"How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank?\" Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. \"A hundred would help,\" he said. \"A thousand would be better. Cheers.\" I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-feathered beret from the clothes tree. \"I'm off now, Retief,\" he said. \"I hope you'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without any \"I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division,\" Magnan said testily. \"When I first came here, the Manpower Utilization But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketed clear through to Lovenbroy.\" \"Listen, Jim,\" Retief said. \"I want you to go over to the warehouse and Directorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. I Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. The understand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning that Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. \"As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get down to the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally.\" \"Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,\" Magnan said. \"Our function is merely to bring them together. See that you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This will restraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree.\" A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. \"What is it, Miss Furkle?\" \"That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again.\" On the small desk screen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. \"This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,\" sight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and held out his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, face Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. \"That's nice knuckle work, mister,\" the stranger said, massaging his \"What can I do for you?\" Retief said. \"You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they were all ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer. What I wanted to see you about was—\" He shifted in his chair. \"Well, out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is just Apples the size of a melon—and sweet—\" \"Sounds very pleasant,\" Retief said. \"Where does the Libraries and Education Division come in?\" Arapoulous leaned forward. \"We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folks land area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizable forest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr. Retief.\" \"It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what—\" \"Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Our Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, both \"Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me.\" He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. \"Come to think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaint probably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few years back?\" \"Can't say that I did, Hank.\" Retief poured the black wine into two fresh glasses. \"Here's to the harvest.\" \"We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy,\" Arapoulous said, \"Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy,\" Retief to see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'd repay it in sculpture, painting, furniture—\" \"Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for traveling side-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groaci nose-flute players—\" with the Labor Office?\" \"Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronics specialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands. \"You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes,\" she said. \"Then afterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet.\" \"Thanks.\" Retief finished his glass, stood. \"I have to run, Hank,\" he said. \"Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something. trade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand students indeed!\" He snorted and walked away. Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode the \"Maybe later,\" Karsh said. \"You know, after we see how the first bunch is received.\" Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. \"Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are bound for?\" Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. \"I'm sure I've never pried into these details.\" \"Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle?\" Retief said. \"Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students are travelling so far to study—at Corps expense.\" \"For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leaves me with the question of two thousand young male students headed for a world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors. But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligation Library. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored over indices. \"Can I help you?\" someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. \"Thank you, ma'am,\" Retief said. \"I'm looking for information on a mining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor.\" \"You won't find it in the industrial section,\" the librarian said. \"Come along.\" Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-lit Retief waited. \"Ah ... are you there, Retief?\" \"I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other four hundred and ninety tractors?\" \"I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached!\" \"Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction.\" Retief said. \"Any connection?\" \"Who gets the tractors eventually?\" \"Retief, this is unwarranted interference!\" \"Who gets them?\" \"They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see—\" \"And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorized transshipment of grant material?\" importance to see to.\" After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. \"I'd like to have a break-out of all the student movements that have been planned under the present program,\" he said. \"And see if you can get a summary of what Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. \"How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up?\" \"Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you.\" In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. \"Sorry if I'm rushing you, Retief,\" he said. \"But have you got anything for me?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is Hank’s relationship to Retief?\n\n<options>:\nA Hank is a farmer from Lovenbroy requesting that Retief’s division, Libraries and Education, help him solve his labor problem.\nB He is a farmer from Lovenbroy requesting that Retief’s division, Commercial Markets, help him solve his labor problem.\nC Hank is a farmer from Lovenbroy requesting that Retief’s division, MUDDLE, help him solve his wine drought.\nD Hank is a musician from Lovenbroy requesting that Retief’s division, Libraries and Education, to help him solve his labor problem.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,090	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThis week, soft-porn entrepreneur Ron Harris began auctioning the eggs of fashion models on the Internet. His site, ronsangels.com (named after the 1970s' babe show Charlie's Angels ), invites visitors to \"bid on eggs from beautiful, healthy and intelligent women.\" Like Dr. Richard Seed, who recently declared his intention to clone human beings, Harris has attracted the attention of the media and politicians who are \"looking into\" whether he can be stopped. Most people agree that Harris is a creep and that his site is an outrage. What they don't agree on is why. Here's what the critics have to say about the auction--and each other. 1. Egg auctions will produce designer babies. Harris cites his experience as a horse breeder and asks, \"We bid for everything else in this society--why not eggs?\" Alarmists, agreeing that Harris \"can put you into your own designer baby by selling eggs,\" predict that his success will steer \"the future of human breeding\" toward \"genetic engineering.\" 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. 6. Beauty doesn't convey health. Harris casually asserts that beauty \"shows healthiness and longevity.\" On his site, he writes, \" 'Natural Selection' is choosing genes that are healthy and beautiful.\" Skeptics question this assumed equivalence, noting that traits men find attractive in women these days--thinness, for example--are often unhealthy. When asked on the Today show how much \"medical screening\" he has given his egg donors, Harris answered, \"None.\" 9. The auction exploits desperate buyers. Harris preaches pure capitalism, saying it's \"unfair to put a limit on a girl's ability to make money\" by auctioning her eggs. In turn, fertility clinic operators accuse Harris of \"taking advantage of couples trying to conceive\" and exploiting \"desperate people ... susceptible to the dreams he is trying to sell.\" USA Today laments, \"This is about human need. And human greed.\" 12. The Internet facilitates monstrous purchases. Technology watchdogs call the egg auction another chapter in the cultural slide marked by Jennycam (a Web site featuring live video of a young woman undressing and doing other normal activities in her apartment), the promised Webcast of a man and woman losing their virginity together (which turned out to be a hoax), and a human kidney auction that was conducted and aborted on eBay last month. \"Ever since the Internet, it seems to snowball more rapidly, this depersonalization of people and selling of eggs,\" one fertility expert complains to the New York Times . USA Today says the egg auction \"just might force an Internet-obsessed society to finally sit down and ask itself: Where is the Internet taking us?\" 14. Egg buyers will reap unintended consequences. Sophisticated skeptics point out that Harris' application of Darwin's theories to human professional success overlooks the interaction of genetics and human psychology. To begin with, if a child produced by Harris' auction fails to turn out as pretty as the buyer expected, the buyer may shun the child, or the child may grow to hate herself for disappointing her parents. (On the Today show, Harris said of this theory, \"That's a pretty cynical view of human nature.\") Second, if the child turns out pretty but doesn't want to be a beauty queen, her parents may force her in that direction anyway, thereby stifling her true talents and preventing her from becoming successful. Third, the child's good looks may attract too much attention of the wrong kind, eventually destroying her. Critics cite Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe as examples. This critique challenges two precepts of Harris' worldview. First, while pretending to accept human nature as a given, he violates it by peddling strangers' eggs and encouraging the production of children who will probably never know their mothers. Family association, loyalty, and love are among the best parts of human nature. Slavish catering to physically attractive strangers is among the worst. If we're going to challenge human nature, the critics ask, why not start with the latter rather than the former? Second, Harris assumes that the perfection parents want in their children coincides with Darwinian perfection. \"Every organism is trying to evolve to its most perfect state,\" he writes. What he doesn't seem to understand is that human beings aren't quite like other animals, just as the rest of the world isn't exactly like the modeling and soft-porn industries of Southern California. Humans have evolved to a stage at which our ideas about virtue, perfection, and success have become more than material. At least, most of us have.\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the author think may happen if a child doesn't look the way the egg buyer expects?\n\n<options>:\nA The buyer may shun the child.\nB The buyer may try to sell the child.\nC The buyer may kill the child.\nD The buyer may sue Harris' company.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
714	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nProfessor Fiss thinks the present direction of First Amendment law is a bad one, and he has an idea about how we might improve it. The short way to put his argument (though it is not quite the way he puts it) is to say that our approach to speech has become increasingly permissive. Courts have become more and more reluctant to allow the state to interfere with the rights of individual speakers to say what they wish, and it is time to roll back that permissiveness and to embark on a new approach that would permit the state to silence some speakers and promote others, but still, Fiss argues, in the name of freedom of speech. This 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. 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. Here, assuming we want to try the interventionist approach, it is hard to see how a one-size theory can possibly fit all cases. The issues underlying pornography, hate speech, arts grants, campaign finance, and equal-time provisions are all different. The ideological impetus behind judicial developments in the last two areas, campaign finance and equal-time provisions, is related less to speech, except as a kind of constitutional cover, than to a revival of the old \"right to property\"--that is, the Supreme Court tends to disapprove of legislative and administrative efforts to require broadcasters to carry \"opposing viewpoints\" on the grounds that since it's their property, owners of television stations should be able to broadcast what they like. Fiss believes that the need for equal-time laws is as urgent today as it was in the 1970s, which is peculiar in light of the proliferation of media outlets. But the state does arguably have an interest, compatible with the First Amendment, in stipulating the way those media are used, and Fiss' discussion of those issues is the least aggravating in his book. 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.\n\n<question>:\nAccording to Fiss, free speech issues should be thought of as a conflict between...?\n\n<options>:\nA Individual liberty and the right to social equality\nB Two kinds of equality: individual and social\nC Two kinds of liberty: individual and social\nD Liberty and equality\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
471	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering stupid face. It was as though he was looking into a bit of polished metal at the reflection of himself! The Earthman was opposite now and he must waste no more precious time. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across the intervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clamped 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 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. their love-life, their everything! So it was that the bodies of the Earthman and the Orthan were strapped 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 and gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely he hoped that the west had reformed. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest he must contact his two fellows 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? Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of the dead Earthman that made him feel so, but he was not too sure. For three months he had lived with people who loved, hated, wept and sacrificed for reasons that he had never known existed. He had learned the heady thought the same thoughts that a governor might think. Uncertainty added zest to every day's life. The Orthan had come to question the sole devotion of the individual to the Horde to the exclusion of all other interests. What, he wondered, would one new world—or a hundred—populated by the Hordes add to the progress of humanity? For a hundred thousand years the Orthan civilization had remained static, its energies directed into certain 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 sapping the life from his own brain. He knew that the story would never be written, but he toyed with the idea. So far had Thig the emotionless, robot-being from Ortha drifted from \"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 of the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if they 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 exile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica for example or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was once a race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our own \"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 clutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig's 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 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 woman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not need this planet.\" Kam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before it 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. 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. 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. 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. 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: 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 destroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended. body was strangely exhilerating and heady. It was the newest of the emotions he had experienced on Earth since that day, so many months 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. He made a brief salute to the existence he had known, turned with a tiny sigh, and his fingers made brief adjustments in the controls. The He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched the 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 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, despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outer space. He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slight deeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memories were hot, bitter pains. Earth was not far below him. As he let gravity suck him earthward, he heaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde's\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Thig react with violence towards Kam while they were traveling back to Ortha?\n\n<options>:\nA He wanted to return to Earth and to Ellen.\nB He did not want his blood tested for disease.\nC He was angry that they had killed Lewis.\nD He did not want to live on Earth any longer.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,386	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nYou 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. to it, of course, but it will take about thirty years. You're wondering whether to give me a drink, as I remember it. Why not? for the first time. Some kind of telepathy seems to work between two of the same people. 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 So let's begin when you get up in half an hour and come out with me. You'll take a closer look at the machine, then. Yes, it'll be pretty obvious it must be a time machine. You'll sense that, too. You've seen 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 prevents passage through time from affecting us. The luggage section isn't protected, though. You start to say something, but by then I'm pressing a black button, there . You are completely outside of time and space, as best you can guess how things are. You can't feel any motion, of course. You try to reach a hand out arm back, you're still sound and uninjured. But it looks frightening and you don't try it again. Then it comes to you slowly that you're actually traveling in time. You turn to me, getting used to the idea. \"So this is the fourth dimension?\" you ask. traveling along it, you'd need a fifth. Don't ask me. I didn't invent 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 course, there may have been a start for all this once. There may have been a time when you did invent the machine—the atomic motor first, then the time-machine. And when you closed the loop by going back and saving yourself the trouble, it got all tangled up. I figured out once that such a universe would need some seven or eight time and space dimensions. It's simpler just to figure that this is the way time got bent back on itself. Maybe there is no machine, and it's just easier for us to imagine it. When you spend thirty years thinking about it, as Anyhow, you sit there, watching nothing all around you, and no time, apparently, though there is a time effect back in the luggage space. You look at your watch and it's still running. That means you either carry a small time field with you, or you are catching a small increment of time from the main field. I don't know, and you won't think about that then, either. time nor space, apparently. How could the air leak out? You still feel gravity, but I can't explain that, either. Maybe the machine has a gravity field built in, or maybe the time that makes your watch run is responsible for gravity. In spite of Einstein, you have always had the idea that time is an effect of gravity, and I sort of agree, still. Then the machine stops—at least, the field around us cuts off. You machine, just as I do. I've got a bundle of clothes and I start changing. It's a sort this century, as near as I can remember it, and I should be able to pass fairly well. I've had all my fortune—the one you make on that atomic generator—invested in such a way I can get it on using some back with you.\" You nod, remembering I've told you about it. \"What century is this, anyway?\" I'd told you that, too, but you've forgotten. \"As near as I can guess, interstellar civilization.\" You take another cigaret from me, and follow me. I've got a small flashlight and we grope through a pile of rubbish, out into a corridor. \"What about the time machine?\" you ask. You go up the steps, but you see that it seems to be closed. You 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 \"Help you, sir? Oh, of course. You must be playing in 'Atoms and Axioms.' The museum's closed, but I'll be glad to let you study whatever you need for realism in your role. Nice show. I saw it twice.\" \"Thanks,\" you mutter, wondering what kind of civilization can produce them to check his latest theory of how they work. Too bad he could his name. Either they don't know it, or they take it for granted that fact that they have the original model of the first atomic generator and full patent application. They state that it has all major refinements, operating on any fuel, producing electricity at any desired voltage up to five million, any chosen cyclic rate from direct current to one thousand megacycles, the cathogrids and we had to replace that, but otherwise it's exactly as the great inventor made it. And it still operates as well as ever. Like to have me tell you about it?\" \"Not particularly,\" you begin, and then realize bad manners might be moves. There's a little sign under it, indicating you shouldn't touch it, since the gravostatic plate is being renewed. Well, you won't be able to change the time cycle by doing anything I haven't told you, but a working model such as that is a handy thing. a machine geared for voice operation can make anything of that. What the original level. You get out—and realize you don't have a light. You'll never know what you stumbled over, but, somehow, you move back in the direction of the time machine, bumping against boxes, staggering here and there, and trying to find the right place by sheer feel. Then it's the weak light in the time machine. years\"—and you begin waiting for the air to get stale. It doesn't because there is only one of you this time. Instead, everything flashes off and you're sitting in the machine in your own back yard. You'll figure out the cycle in more details later. You get into the machine in front of your house, go to the future in the sub-basement, land in your back yard, and then hop back thirty years to pick up yourself, landing in front of your house. Just that. But right then, It isn't hard to disassemble, but you don't learn a thing just some missing! It won't work. You put some #12 house wire in, exactly like the set on the other side, drop in some iron filings, and try it again. And with the controls set at 120 volts, 60 cycles and 15 amperes, you get just that. You don't need the power company any more. And you feel a little happier when you realize that the luggage space wasn't insulated from time effects by a field, so the motor has moved backward in time, somehow, and is back to its original youth—minus the replaced wires the guard mentioned—which probably wore out because of the makeshift job you've just done. It will begin to soak in, then. You pick up an atomic generator in the future and bring it back to the past—your present—so that it can be put in the museum with you as the inventor so you can steal it to be the inventor. And you do it in a time machine which you bring back to yourself to take yourself into the future to return to take back to yourself.... Who invented what? And who built which? One day you come across an old poem—something about some folks calling it evolution and others calling it God. You go out, make a few provisions for the future, and come back to climb into the time machine that's waiting in the building you had put around it. Then you'll be knocking on your own door, thirty years back—or right now, from your came looking for you and shouting, before the time machine left.\n\n<question>:\nWhat don't they know about the time machine?\n\n<options>:\nA who invented it\nB what the third set of buttons do\nC where it gets stored when not in use\nD how to make it go back and forth in time\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
581	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\ntemples. Her crimson mouth wore a fixed smile. Her eyes were frightened. The man, who had accompanied the singer on the piano, sat at the foot of the stage, his back to the crowded tables. He did not look up at the singer but kept his pale, immature face bent over the keys, while his fingers lightly, automatically picked out the tune. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, plastered his white coat to his back. hung faultlessly. His black hair was close-cropped, his nose thin and aquiline. For a moment he studied the crowded garden before making his way to a vacant table. \"Go on,\" said the pianist in a flat voice. \"I did not want to call you in, Jaro Moynahan.\" It was the first time You've got to find him, Jaro. He's stirring up all Mercury.\" \"Who's putting up the money?\" \"I can't tell you.\" Jaro Moynahan slipped sideways from the table. He felt something brush \"What's coming off here?\" growled a petulant male voice. Other voices took up the plaint. There was no answer. \"Red!\" he repeated, louder. He wondered who was putting up the ten thousand Earth notes? Who stood to lose most in case of a revolution? The answer seemed obvious enough. Who, but Albert Peet. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. 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 no expression in his yellow eyes. \"She and the man, the queer white one who plays the piano, slipped out Jaro shrugged, dismissed the waiter. He had not expected to get much information from the waiter, but he was not a man to overlook any possibility. If the girl had been abducted, only Mercurians could have engineered it in the dark and the Mercurians were a clannish lot. Back on the narrow alley-like street Jaro Moynahan headed for his either side: buildings with walls four feet thick to keep out the heat of the sun. Beneath his feet, he knew, stretched a labyrinth of rooms and passages. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the revolutionist, and the girl. At infrequent intervals green globes cut a hole in the night, casting a faint illumination. He had just passed one of these futile street lamps flattened himself in a doorway. Nothing stirred. There was no further sound. Again he started forward, but now he was conscious of shadows following him. They were never visible, but to his trained ears there came stealthy, revealing noises: the brush of cloth against the baked earth walls, the sly shuffle of a step. He ducked down a bisecting alley, faded into a doorway. Immediately all sounds of pursuit stopped. But as soon as he emerged he was conscious again of the followers. In the dense, humid night, he was like a blind man trying to elude the cat-eyed Mercurians. out again for his hostelry. He made no further effort to elude the followers. Once back in his room, Jaro Moynahan stripped off his clothes, rebuckled on the shoulder holster, slipped into pajamas. The pajamas were blue with wide gaudy stripes. Next he lit a cigarette and stretching out on the bed began to contemplate his toes with singular interest. He had, he supposed, killed rather a lot of men. He had fought in was little doubt but that he had killed quite a number of men. But this business of hunting a man through the rat-runs beneath the city was out of his line. Furthermore, there was something phony about the entire set up. speculation. He swung his bare feet over the edge of the bed, stood up and ground out his cigarette. Before he could reach the door the rapping came again. Throwing off the latch, he stepped back, balancing on the balls of his then glanced around casually. His eyes fastened on Jaro. He licked his Jaro said nothing. He ignored the hand, waited, poised like a cat. of business, urgent business. I had not intended to appear in this matter. I preferred to remain behind the scenes, but the disappearance of Miss Mikail has—ah—forced my hand.\" He paused. whom at different times he had known under a dozen different aliases. He doubted that even she remembered her right name. \"Perhaps. I have a large interest in the Latonka trade. It is—ah—lucrative.\" Jaro Moynahan lit a cigarette, sat down on the edge of the bed. \"Why Jaro laughed. \"How did you know Red had been kidnapped?\" Jaro raised his eyebrows. \"Perhaps then you know where she is?\" A second rapping at the door caused them to exchange glances. Jaro went entrance. His black eyes burned holes in his pale boyish face. His white suit was blotched with sweat and dirt. \"It's for you,\" said Jaro over his shoulder. the door shut after him. Jaro lit a cigarette. He padded nervously back and forth across the room, his bare feet making no noise. He sat down on the edge of the bed. He got up and ground out the cigarette. He went to the door, but did not open it. Instead, he took another turn about the room. Again he a long time he listened but could distinguish no murmur of voices. With an oath he threw open the door. The hall was empty. Jaro returned to his room, stripped off his pajamas, climbed back into reeling off the current events almost as soon as they happened. Jaro Jaro descended the incline to the network of burrows which served Latonka. The burrows were but poorly lit, the natives preferring the cool gloom, and Jaro had to feel his way, rubbing shoulders with the Jaro halted before a door bearing a placard which read: inner sanctum was ajar. Jaro could distinguish voices \"Stanley, I thought I left you in the native quarter. Why did you through the door shutting it after himself. At the sight of Jaro \"What're you sneaking around here for?\" Jaro settled himself warily, his light blue eyes flicking over the youth. The youth's black eyes were hot as coals, his fingers twitching. His hands began to creep upward. \"You dirty ...\" he began, but he got no further. Jaro Moynahan shot him hurled him against the wall. Jaro vaulted the rail, deftly relieved him The door to the inner sanctum swung open. \"What's happened?\" cried Albert Peet in distress. \"What's wrong with Jaro's attention. \"Poor boy?\" said Jaro mildly. \"Venomous little rattlesnake. I took Jaro eyed him coldly as with his good hand the youth dropped the dart Albert Peet led Stanley through the door. Jaro and Miss Webb were alone. With his eye on the door, Jaro said: There's something I must know. It's important.\" He cleared his throat. \"Don't you find the heat rather uncomfortable, Miss Webb. But perhaps Jaro grinned and winked at her. Miss Webb tottered out of the room. Jaro said nothing. Again he paused. As Jaro remained silent, his neck mottled up pinkly. \"Sorry,\" said Jaro Jaro got up, keeping an eye on Albert Peet, brushed off his knees. Without answering, Jaro backed watchfully from the room. his handkerchief. Whatever was going on, these boys played for keeps. Warily he started down the passage toward the native quarter. At the \" said Jaro coming up behind her and poking a long brown finger here that I'm particularly anxious to get to the bottom of. I thought you might be able to help me.\" Jaro's order.\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Jaro sneak out of his hostelry?\n\n<options>:\nA he wanted his money from Mr. Peet\nB he wanted to meet Joan\nC he was in need of more Latonka\nD he wanted to figure out the mystery\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
557	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWhere it all started: Paul Krugman's \"The Legend of Arthur.\" Letter from John Cassidy Paul Krugman replies to John Cassidy Letter from Kenneth J. Arrow Letter from John Cassidy: The point is that it's not just a matter of failing to cite a few more people. Your book, like the Cassidy article, didn't just tell the story of Brian Arthur Even more to the point: How did Cassidy come by his story? Is it possible that he completely misunderstood what Brian Arthur was saying--that the whole business about the seminar at Harvard where nobody would accept increasing returns, about the lonely struggle of Arthur in the face of ideological rigidity, even the quotation from Arthur about economists being unwilling to consider the possibility of imperfect markets because of the Cold War (give me a break!) were all in Cassidy's imagination? 4) Krugman appears to suggest that I made up some quotes, a charge that, if it came from a more objective source, I would consider to be a serious matter. In effect, he is accusing Brian Arthur, a man he calls a \"nice guy,\" of being a fabricator or a liar. The quotes in question came from Arthur, and they were based on his recollections of two meetings that he attended some years ago. After Krugman's article appeared, the Santa Fe professor called me to say that he still recalled the meetings in question as I described them. Krugman, as he admits, wasn't present at either of the meetings. 5) For a man who takes his own cogitations extremely seriously, Krugman is remarkably cavalier about attributing motives and beliefs to others. \"Cassidy has made it clear in earlier writing that he does not like mainstream economists, and he may have been overly eager to accept a story that puts them in a bad light,\" he pronounces. I presume this statement refers to a critical piece I wrote in 1996 about the direction that economic research, principally macroeconomic research, has taken over the past two decades. In response to that article, I received dozens of messages of appreciation from mainstream economists, including from two former presidents of the American Economic Association. Among the sources quoted in that piece were the then-chairman of the White House Council of Economic Advisers (Joseph Stiglitz), a governor of the Federal Reserve Board (Laurence Meyer), and a well-known Harvard professor (Gregory Mankiw). To claim, as Krugman does, that I \"don't like mainstream economists\" and that I am out to denigrate their work is malicious hogwash. The fact of the matter is that I spend much of my life reading the work of mainstream economists, speaking to them, and trying to find something they have written that might interest the general public. In my experience, most economists appreciate the attention. Paul Krugman's attack on Brian Arthur (\"The Legend of Arthur\") requires a correction of its misrepresentations of fact. Arthur is a reputable and significant scholar whose work is indeed having influence in the field of industrial organization and in particular public policy toward antitrust policy in high-tech industries. Krugman admits that he wrote the article because he was \"just pissed off,\" not a very good state for a judicious statement of facts, as his column shows. 6) I might attach more weight to Krugman's criticisms if I hadn't recently reread his informative 1994 book Peddling Prosperity , in which he devotes a chapter to the rediscovery of increasing returns by contemporary economists. Who are the first scholars Krugman mentions in his account? Paul David, an economic historian who wrote a famous paper about how the QWERTYUIOP typewriter keyboard evolved and, you guessed it, Brian Arthur. \"Why QWERTYUIOP?\" Krugman wrote. \"In the early 1980s, Paul David and his Stanford colleague Brian Arthur asked that question, and quickly realized that it led them into surprisingly deep waters. ... What Paul David, Brian Arthur, and a growing number of other economists began to realize in the late seventies and early eighties was that stories like that of the typewriter keyboard are, in fact, pervasive in the economy.\" Evidently, Krugman felt four years ago that Arthur's contribution was important enough to merit a prominent mention in his book. Now, he dismisses the same work, saying it \"didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know.\" Doubtless, this change in attitude on Krugman's part is unconnected to the fact that Arthur has started to receive some public recognition. The eminent MIT professor, whose early academic work received widespread media attention, is far too generous a scholar to succumb to such pettiness. --John Cassidy His theme is stated in his first paragraph: \"Cassidy's article [in The New Yorker of Jan. 12] tells the story of how Stanford Professor Brian Arthur came up with the idea of increasing returns.\" Cassidy, however, said nothing of the sort. The concept of increasing returns is indeed very old, and Cassidy at no point attributed that idea to Arthur. Indeed, the phrase \"increasing returns\" appears just once in Cassidy's article and then merely to say that Arthur had used the term while others refer to network externalities. Further, Arthur has never made any such preposterous claim at any other time. On the contrary, his papers have fully cited the history of the field and made references to the previous papers, including those of Paul Krugman. (See Arthur's papers collected in the volume Increasing Returns and Path Dependence in the Economy, especially his preface and my foreword for longer comments on Arthur's work in historic perspective. Click to see the foreword.) Hence, Krugman's whole attack is directed at a statement made neither by Arthur nor by Cassidy. Krugman has not read Cassidy's piece with any care nor has he bothered to review what Arthur has in fact said. Letter from Kenneth J. Arrow: When Waldrop's book came out, I wrote him as politely as I could, asking exactly how he had managed to come up with his version of events. He did, to his credit, write back. He explained that while he had become aware of some other people working on increasing returns, trying to put them in would have pulled his story line out of shape. ... So what we really learn from the legend of Arthur is that some journalists like a good story too much to find out whether it is really true. I spent my graduate-school career in the physics department instead, writing a Ph.D. dissertation on the quantum-field theory of elementary particle collisions at relativistic energies. However, I am not so ignorant of the canons of journalism (and of common sense) that I would take a plausible fellow like Brian Arthur at face value without checking up on him. During my research for Complexity I spoke to a number of economists about his work, including Nobel laureate Kenneth Arrow, co-creator of the General Equilibrium Theory of economics that Brian so eloquently criticizes. They generally agreed that Brian was a maverick in the field--and perhaps a bit too much in love with his own self-image as a misunderstood outsider--but basically sound. None of them warned me that he was usurping credit where credit was not due.\n\n<question>:\nWhere was Brian Arthur born?\n\n<options>:\nA Ireland\nB England\nC Boston\nD Santa Fe\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,395	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"No, sir. No, because....\" Extrone was smiling innocently. \"Good. I want you to do something for me.\" Extrone raised his eyebrows. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. Ri gulped for air. \"But ... if there should be more than one?\" Extrone shrugged. sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. I wouldn't....\" Extrone said, \"Which one is he?\" \"That one. Right over there.\" \"The one with his back to me?\" \"Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir.\" Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifle \"Hey, you!\" Extrone called. The two of them turned immediately. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. \"Let me hear you scream,\" Extrone said. Ri moaned weakly. \"You'll have to do better than that.\" Extrone inclined his head toward Ri screamed. \"See that you keep it up that way,\" Extrone said. \"That's the way I Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. \"I like this. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything I know.\" Extrone we'd hunted this area.\" \"I didn't think a Club pilot would do that.\" \"After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going to the alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute.\" \"How do you know?\" \"Hear the lower pitch, the more of a roar?\" \"Hey!\" Extrone shouted. \"You, down there. There are two coming. Now let's hear you really scream!\" Ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tether tree, his eyes wide. \"There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too,\" Extrone said. \"I've always liked to hunt,\" Extrone said. \"More than anything else, I think.\" \"No,\" Extrone argued. \"People should hunt for the love of hunting.\" \"Killing?\" \"Hunting,\" Extrone repeated harshly. \"He's good bait,\" Extrone said. \"He's fat enough and he knows how to scream good.\" Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spat disgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-ranking Extrone began to tremble with excitement. \"Here they come!\" the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in and knees almost stiff. \"What in hell do you want?\" Extrone asked. They stopped a respectful distance away. \"Sir....\" one began. The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across his lap. \"Wait,\" Extrone said. \"Let's see what they do.\" He had not moved the rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breath Extrone's face looked much too innocent. \"How did it get there, gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed?\" \"So?\" Extrone mocked. \"We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we could locate and destroy it.\" Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turned \"Watch! Watch!\" Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. didn't you?\" \"Yes, sir. When we located it, sir.\" \"You'll destroy this one, too,\" Extrone said. Extrone said, \"To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here. And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And you can't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway.\" Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. \"You'll lose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen. Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, \"You killed one, I believe, on your trip?\" Extrone held back the flap of the tent. \"Won't you come in?\" he asked without any politeness whatever. \"Oh?\" Extrone questioned mildly. \"I wouldn't say that. I understand that the aliens hunt them quite extensively ... on some of their planets.\" Ri waited uneasily, not answering. \"Yes,\" Extrone said, \"I imagine they are. It would have been a shame if you had killed the last one. Don't you think so?\" Extrone pursed his lips. \"It wouldn't have been very considerate of you to—But, still, you gained valuable experience. I'm glad you agreed to Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. \"If I had waited until it was safe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able to find such an illustrious guide.\" sir....\" \"Of course,\" Extrone said dryly. \"Like all of my subjects,\" he waved his hand in a broad gesture, \"the highest as well as the lowest slave, know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best.\" Extrone bent forward. \" Know me and love me.\" Know you and love you, sir,\" Ri said. \"Get out!\" Extrone said. \"It's frightening,\" Ri said, \"to be that close to him.\" Extrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them from learning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keep them from exposing uncontaminated. And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting the flap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared around and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcher and a drinking mug. Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in his conversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth with water and spat on the ground. Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. \"Very ludicrous, Lin. Have you noticed that I have two businessmen for guides? It occurred to me when I got up. They would have spat on me, \"An alien?\" Extrone corrected. \"There's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. Of tearing an alien to pieces, sir.\" Extrone laughed harshly. \"It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me?\" tree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, a powerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustained \"Blasted them right out of space,\" the voice crackled excitedly. \"Right in the middle of a radio broadcast, sir.\" \"I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting!\" Extrone Extrone squinted up at the sun his eyes crinkled under the glare, and perspiration stood in little droplets on the back of his hands. Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. \"There were two, I think.\" Extrone laughed. \"This is enough.\" He gestured with the rifle and stood up. off. They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming more Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. The farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. fast, too.\" \"Eh?\" Extrone said. \"Wait,\" Extrone said, combing his beard. \"Wait a minute.\" \"Yes?\" \"They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather have surprise on our side.\" \"You don't seem to see what I mean,\" Extrone said. \" We \"Extrone wants to see you,\" Lin said. Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy. \"What's he want to see\n\n<question>:\nWhat don't Mia and Ri have in common?\n\n<options>:\nA they both think Extrone is going to kill them\nB they've killed farn beasts\nC they're businessmen\nD they both dislike Extrone\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,033	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n“I wasn’t—playing. Let’s not go up there,” Lorraine Lois kept on driving along the narrow, gravelly would be fun to explore it, though,” Lois said. “But “Name one,” charged Lois. “Just mention one “We might explore it without permission,” Judy suggested daringly. “Come on!” she urged her friends as Lois parked the car in a cleared place beside the road. “Who’s going to stop us? And who wants to explore a gloomy old tower, anyway? Let’s look for tell me?” asked Lois. “We always used to go places “It wasn’t important,” Lorraine replied evasively. “I was just out for a drive.” car of your own. You’re not interested in Roger Banning, are you, Lois? I’m sure you can do better and goodness knows where all. You’ve been chasing ghosts ever since I met you, and not one of them did what she was or how she spoke to me is more than I know. If my grandparents knew, they weren’t telling. And now they’re both dead and I can’t ask them. They left me a lot of unsolved mysteries along with this house. Maybe I’ll find the answers to some of Lois. “Why don’t you have another ghost party and would have preferred to forget. She liked to think but Lois and Lorraine insisted. It all began, she finally “I don’t see what all this has to do with the fountain,” Lois said impatiently. “Are we going to look for it, or aren’t we?” “Of course we are. That’s what we came for. I seems to know the answers, but you’re not telling. Hiding your face back there gave you away. You’ve seen that character who drove down this road and, for some reason, you were afraid he would see you. happened. She just couldn’t help resenting the fact Why, Lorraine? Why didn’t you want to be recognized?” confessed now as she reviewed everything that had evasively, “People don’t generally enter private estates without an invitation. That’s all.” “I’d better turn the car around,” Lois decided, “in case we have to leave in a hurry. I don’t expect we’ll encounter any tigers, but we may be accused of trespassing.” “I’m sure we will be,” announced Judy as two dark-coated figures strode down the road toward them. “You drove right by a NO TRESPASSING scolded and fussed and tried to pretend she wasn’t glad to have her. But then she didn’t even know Lois. She had no spilled tears on it she had no kitten. She had nothing, she confessed, not even a friend. It had helped to pretend the fountain in the picture was filled with all the tears lonely girls like herself had ever cried. “But that would make it enchanted!” she had suddenly exclaimed. “If I could find it I’d wish—” A step had sounded on the stairs. Judy remembered it distinctly. She had turned to see her grandmother “Were they?” asked Lois. had stared at them a moment and then climbed the steps to the pool. “Am I dreaming?” she remembered saying aloud. A voice had answered, although she could see no one. “Did you?” Lois interrupted the story to ask excitedly. been her best friend in Roulsville, but she had moved away. “You see,” she explained, “I made the mistake of having just one best friend. There wasn’t anybody “But what were they?” Lois insisted. “Wasn’t there anything more you wanted?” Lois “Why?” asked Lorraine. “Do you still think it was Lois laughed at this, but Judy was serious as she “A hammock?” Lois questioned. “Are you sure it Again Lois laughed. But Lorraine said abruptly, “Yes, yes. Go on,” entreated Lois. “I didn’t dream you’d kept anything that exciting a secret. Why didn’t you try to solve the mystery?” things started happening so fast that I completely forgot about the fountain. Honestly, Lois, I don’t believe I thought about it again until after we moved Lois said with a giggle. “I’ve seen lots nicer fountains.” Lois and Lorraine had finished their dessert while Somehow, she wasn’t hungry for hers. She had tasted it too often while she was making it. Lois watched in amusement as the cat lapped up “He’ll remember he’s a cat fast enough if there are any mice up there,” Lois said with a giggle. confessed Lois as she followed Judy to the sewing “I think so, too,” Lois agreed, looking around the I meant about turning back the clock.” Afterwards she was sorry for the interruption. Lois 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 sure it isn’t now. Let’s go,” Lorraine said suddenly to Lois. Judy knew she was suggesting a fast trip home. But, apparently, Lois did not understand it that way. If she did, she pretended not to. “I think so,” Lois answered after studying a little “Of course,” agreed Judy. She put the magazine back in its place under the eaves and turned eagerly to her friends. “I do remember a road turning off into the woods and going on uphill,” she told them. “I never thought it led to a house, though. There isn’t even a gate. Could that be the road my grandparents took?” “Why don’t we take it ourselves and find out?” Lois suggested. CHAPTER III Her thoughts were what had made it so hard, she it under one condition. They were not to drive all the way to the house which, she said, was just over “But suppose we can’t find the path?” asked Judy. “You’ll remember it, won’t you?” She and Lois both argued that it would be better to went off on a vacation by themselves. What did they “She’d be glad to show us around. This way it looks as if we’re planning a crime,” Lois said as they started off in the blue car she was driving. It was a neat little car, not too conspicuous, and easy to park in out-of-the-way places. Judy laughed and said if they did find the fountain she thought think she would do? trip,” Lois continued, guiding the car around curves explain what happened afterwards. When I woke up in the hammock I was alone in the garden. Horse, wagon, grandparents—all had disappeared.” “How could they?” asked Lois. “Didn’t I?” asked Judy. “I’d forgotten a lot of it, but it’s beginning to come back now. I do remember driving home along this road. You see, I thought my grandparents had left me in the garden for a surprise and would return for me. I told you I was all alone. There wasn’t a house in sight.” There wasn’t time to explore it. Just then I heard the rumble of my grandfather’s wagon and knew he was driving off without me.” “He was!” Judy’s friends both chorused in surprise, and Lois asked, “Why would he do a thing like that?” “I think now it was just to tease me. He did stop and wait for me after a while,” Judy remembered. turned up the narrow road to the Brandt estate. “Watch out!” Judy suddenly exclaimed. “There’s another car coming.” As Lois swerved to avoid the oncoming car, Lorraine ducked her head. She kept herself hidden behind Judy until the car had passed. The man driving it was a stranger to Judy, but she would remember his hypnotic, dark eyes and swarthy complexion for a “What’s the matter with you two?” asked Lois when the car had passed. “Aren’t you a little old for playing hide and seek?”\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Lois decide to turn the car around?\n\n<options>:\nA There were two approaching dark-coated figures.\nB She didn't want her license plate visible from the road.\nC She was going to park facing out in case they had to make a quick exit.\nD She feared the other car they had almost swiped would return and call the police.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
608	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n\"Great!\" muttered Betty. \"What a lucky girl I am!\" \"I can see you're used to sweeping girls off their feet,\" she commented sourly. \"The main problem is whether you can cook.\" Betty frowned at him. \"I'm pretty good with a pistol,\" she offered, \"or going over crooked books. But cook? Sorry.\" , he promised himself, I'll explain how I cut the fuel flow and see if she's detective enough to suspect that we're just orbiting Ganymede! his body. It had been built for Ganymede, but not for Jeffers. \"What do you mean?\" \"They say some home-office relative is coming in on the the waste of fuel involved when the home-office relative emerged. She was about five feet four and moved as if she walked lightly even in stronger gravity than Ganymede's. Her trim coiffure was a shade too sweater, like a spacer. \"Sorry to keep you waiting,\" she said, sliding into the seat beside Tolliver. \"By the way, just call me Betty.\" \"Sure,\" agreed Tolliver thinking, Ohmigod! Trying already to be just one of the gang, instead of Lady Betty! Is her old man the treasurer, or does he just know where bodies are buried? \"They were making dates,\" said the girl. \"Were they ribbing me, or is \"It's true enough,\" Tolliver assured her. \"We need people out here, and it costs a lot to make the trip. They found they could send back loaded frozen surface of Ganymede toward the permanent domes of the city. square inch of Ganymede is likely to be dangerous.\" \"Don't sneer at Ganymede, honey!\" he warned portentously. \"Many a man who did isn't here today. Take the fellow who used to drive this mission!\" \"You can call me Betty. What happened to him?\" \"I'll tell you some day,\" Tolliver promised darkly. \"This moon can \"Oh, they told me there was nothing alive on Ganymede!\" In the end, he displayed conclusive evidence in the form of the weekly paycheck he had received that morning. It did not, naturally, indicate he was drawing the salary of a space pilot. Betty looked thoughtful. pile. No use pushing your luck too far.\" His charge seemed noticeably subdued, but cleared her throat to request that Tolliver guide her to the office of the manager. She trailed along as if with a burden of worry upon her mind, and the pilot's conscience Remembering his grudge against the manager, he took pleasure in walking in without knocking. \"Jeffers,\" he announced, \"this is ... just call her Betty.\" The manager's jowled features twisted into an expression of welcome as jovial as that of a hungry crocodile. \"It certainly is an honor to have you on Ganymede with us! That's all, \"Never mind him, Mr. Jeffers,\" snapped the girl, in a tone new to Tolliver. \"We won't be working together, I'm afraid. You've already had lips twitched uncertainly, and he looked questioningly to Tolliver. The pilot stared at Betty, trying to recall pictures he had seen of the he told me to find out what was wrong with operations on Ganymede. Betty, and Tolliver thought he muttered something about \"just landed.\" headquarters staff. He recognized one as Rawlins, a warehouse chief, and guessed that the other two might be his assistants. They were large \"Why should we try?\" asked the girl. \"What can he do?\" \"You'd be surprised. How did you catch on to him so soon?\" \"Your paycheck,\" said Betty. \"As soon as I saw that ridiculous amount, get out of here—before I find myself involved in some kind of fatal accident!\" \"What do you know about the crooked goings-on here?\" asked Betty after a startled pause. at the doorway, and pulled out his cigarette lighter. \"What do you think you're up to?\" asked Betty with some concern. the daughter of the boss isn't something that he can pull off without a lot of investigation. He'd be better off just running for it.\" \"Let's not argue about it,\" said Betty, a trifle pale but looking determined. \"I'm coming with you. Is that stuff getting soft yet?\" dozen or so serviced and standing ready for emergencies. He showed Betty how to climb into one, and checked her seals and valves after donning a suit himself. He caught up and touched helmets again. \"Just act as if you're on business,\" he told her. \"For all anyone can see, we might be inspecting the dome.\" \"Where are you going?\" asked Betty. furtively about, then plunged his knife into the transparent material. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Betty make a startled gesture, but he had his work cut out for him. This was tougher than the dusty, moist air puffing out into the near-vacuum of Ganymede's surface. Fumbling, he cut as fast as he could and shoved Betty through the small opening. Squeezing through in his turn, he left one arm inside to spread the He grabbed Betty by the wrist of her spacesuit and headed for the nearest outcropping of rock. It promptly developed that she had something to learn about running on ice in such low gravity. Until they were out of direct line of sight Ganymede. They took one short rest, during which Tolliver was forced \"In fact, we have to get in to stay out of trouble,\" he said to Betty. \"Leave the suit on,\" he ordered, getting in the first word while she was still shaking her head. \"It will help a little on the takeoff.\" \"Takeoff!\" shrilled Betty. \"What do you think you're going to do? I just want to use the radio or TV!\" and then it was out of his hands for several minutes. \"That wasn't so bad,\" Betty admitted some time later. \"Did you go in the right direction?\" \"Who knows?\" retorted Tolliver. \"There wasn't time to check her out of the spacesuit. He thought of inquiring if she needed any further help, but reminded himself that this was the boss's daughter. When Betty produced a memo giving frequency and call sign, he set about making contact. It took only a few minutes, as if the channel had been monitored \"Space Patrol?\" whispered Tolliver incredulously. \"That's right,\" said Betty. \"Uh ... Daddy made arrangements for me.\" Tolliver held her in front of the screen so she would not float out of range of the scanner and microphone. As she spoke, he stared could arrange for a cruiser to escort his daughter to Ganymede and wondering what was behind it all. When he heard Betty requesting assistance in arresting Jeffers and reporting the manager as the head of a ring of crooks, he began to suspect. He also noticed certain peculiarities about the remarks of the Patrolman. For one thing, though the officer seemed well acquainted with Betty, he never addressed her by the name of Koslow. For another, he accepted the request as if he had been hanging in orbit merely until learning who to go down after. They really sent her out to nail someone course, she stumbled onto Jeffers by plain dumb luck. But she had an idea of what to look for. How do I get into these things? She might have got me killed! \"We do have one trouble,\" he heard Betty saying. \"This tractor driver, \"Miss Koslow?\" repeated the spacer. \"Did she tell you—well, no matter! If you'll be okay, we'll attend to the other affair immediately.\" He signed off promptly. The pilot faced Betty, who looked more offended than reassured at discovering his status. \"This 'Miss Koslow' business,\" he said suspiciously. \"He sounded funny send his own little girl way out here to Ganymede to look for whoever was gypping him?\" \"You ... you...?\" \"Sure. The name's Betty Hanlon. I work for a private investigating firm. If old Koslow had a son to impersonate—\" \"I'd be stuck for six months in this orbit with some brash young man,\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy had Betty really come to Ganymede?\n\n<options>:\nA to stay as long as it takes to discover who was behaving illegally\nB to arrest Jeffers for the crimes they knew he committed\nC to study how the business was run\nD to see if the real Betty could handle working there\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,025	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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? 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 Snead's brother, I might catch him to pay my respects.\" \"Snead came to Greta's funeral. It's the least I could do.\" like him.\" \"He's practically running,\" Linton said. \"He almost ran out of the restaurant.\" \"Yes,\" Linton said. intimately against Linton's own chair. thick man said. \"Couldn't have been him, though,\" Linton answered automatically. \"My friend's dead.\" out of the place quickly. Howell breathed in deeply and sucked back Linton's attention. \"Now you've probably got old Snead into trouble.\" \"Snead's dead,\" Linton said. \"Oh, well, 'dead,'\" Howell replied. \"What do you say it like that for?\" Linton demanded angrily. \"The Linton had thought he had known how death was. He had buried his wife, the sawdust-fresh pine box that held the coffin. He had known what he sincerely felt to be a genuine affection for Greta. Even after they had let him out of the asylum as cured, he still secretly believed he had known a genuine affection for her. But it didn't seem he knew about death at all. Linton felt that his silence was asking Howell by this time. I suppose he might have been resurrected.\" \"Who by?\" Linton asked, thinking: life?\" Linton said. patently ridiculous, Linton hoped to bring the contradicting truth to \"But it's wonderful,\" Linton said, thinking his immediate thoughts. \"I don't understand,\" Linton said helplessly. 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?\" the cops find out about a place, they break in, smash all the equipment \"I don't understand,\" Linton complained. \"Why haven't I heard about it?\" to be dead someday,' not anything sexual. You know how it is. The \"I see,\" Linton said. out of touch for some time. It might be true. Then again, they might be trying to trick him. They used to do that to see if he was really well. But the temptation was too strong. 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!\" I've got to hurry too, Linton thought. It's Resurrection Day! 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 \"I was only trying to find out something,\" Linton maintained. \"They Linton rubbed his shoulder. \"That cop knew more about Judo holds than I Linton stared suspiciously. \"Do you know where I can find a Linton scooted forward on the insultingly cold metal chair and really \"Doctor, I'm beginning to believe in you,\" Linton said, \"but tell me, can you resurrect the long dead?\" \"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 \"Infallible risk, yes,\" Linton murmured. \"Could you go to work right 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. \"Neither did I,\" Linton said hastily. \"I invested in shifty stocks, faltering bonds, and while I was away they sank to rock bottom.\" \"Then—\" 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 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 sanctum and walked out into the medicinal cold fluorescent lighting. It wasn't fair at all, Linton thought. He should have had some time to prepare himself. doubt he would be able to adjust to her once having been dead the same way he had learned to accept the, to him, distasteful duty of kissing her ears the way she enjoyed. \"Yes,\" he said, his heart lurching for her sad ignorance. \"But tell me—how was it being away \"Now, now,\" Linton said, \"we mustn't get excited. You've been through a was the same hair, black as evil, contrasting with her inner purity. Of course it would be Johnny....\" \"It was a terrible accident right after—that is, about five months ago. He was killed.\" \"Traffic accident. Killed instantly.\" have the money to pay for a resurrection of Johnny.\" But you're sure you haven't the money to do it?\" \"No,\" Linton said. \"I'm sold out. I've borrowed on my insurance to the hilt. It won't pay any more until I'm buried, and then, of course, you can resurrect me.\" \"Of course,\" Greta said. She sighed. \"Poor Johnny. He was such a good friend of yours. You must miss him. I'm so sorry for you.\" to quench death and smother decay. It's perfect 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. Brain damage, he concluded nervously. Cell deterioration. 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 Linton twisted the stand away from his wife and watched her face acceptance of the crumpled metal disk falling toward it. He split her head open and watched her float to the floor. Linton was surprised at the fine wire mesh just below the skin and Or— But it didn't matter. Not a bit. \"I've killed my wife!\" Linton called, rising from his knees, stretching his hands out to something. The pain stung him to sleep—a pain in his neck like a needle that left a hole big enough for a camel to pass through and big enough for him to He opened his eyes to the doctor's spotless, well-ordered office. The doctor looked down at him consolingly. \"You'll have to go back, Mr. Linton. But they'll cure you. You'll be cured of ever thinking your wife was brought back to life and that you killed her all over again.\" think so, Doctor?\" Linton asked hopefully.\n\n<question>:\nWhat likely happens to Linton at the end of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA He and his wife live happily, both as cybernetic creatures\nB He repeats a cycle of having his money taken from him from doctors\nC He goes to rehab and then moves on with his life\nD He will never leave the asylym because he needs too much help\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
2,073	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nsend the intruder on his way. Keech the entire problem all but whipped. It is not difficult to understand why. houlihan's The working model and the fact equation that the small people with their quick eyes and clever fingers could hearing the old tongue and talking of the old things every day, and spot all sorts of minute shortcomings was a great help. And I was nuclear propulsion center—a cool, each other to hush, be quiet, and the soft breeze stirring them up again. I had known precisely such symbols and handed it to Keech. and under all conditions of friction and combustion.\" \"Thank you, Mr. Houlihan,\" said Keech. All his people had gathered coefficient of discharge for the matter work out an equation to give the in combustion. You may call it \"Mr. Houlihan,\" said Keech, in a loose circle, as though attending leprechauns. If we ever meet again, upon another world perchance, you'll find our friendship always eager and ready.\" \"Thank you,\" I said. \"And now, Mr. Houlihan,\" said Keech, \"I'll see that a quantity of Without this coefficient to give I see I shall have to explain this, bargain.\" us control, we would have lacked a Keech's eyebrows popped upward. \"What's this now?\" proportional to the square \"I don't feel it would be root of the pressure-head driving it. sort.\" \"Well,\" said Keech in surprise, and other factors make the velocity of nuclear explosion—which is what the drive amounts to despite people. \"We'll have three cheers now, do you hear, for Mr. Houlihan—friend from a mortal.\" He turned to his makes quite a difference. I had And they cheered. And little tears crept into the corners of some of their turned-up eyes. We shook hands, all of us, and I left. much of this that if you're not a nuclear engineer yourself it's certain I walked through the park, and and structure— Oh, there is so to weary you. along. It smelled exactly like a point of discharge, atomic weight back to the nuclear propulsion center. And all this talk of coefficients and how I had gotten the best of the equations sits strangely, you might named Kevin Francis Houlihan. But I am, after all, a scientist. If I had not been a specialist in my field I would hardly have found myself engaged in vital research at the center. Anyway, I heard these little their spaceship to work now, and say, upon the tongue of a man in eerily mysterious fashion with a them. determined the true coefficient of in the glade with Keech and his working model. It would go down in scientific literature now, I suppose, as Houlihan's Equation, and that was honor branches. And what do you suppose do without Keech's pot of gold, and glory enough for me. I could with a crank face. He was beating those electrical connections over There was no sense in cheating him out of the gold to boot, for leprechauns are most clever in matters Indeed, I had done a piece of work greatly to my advantage, and also to the advantage of humankind, and when a man can do the first and include the second as a fortunate byproduct it is a most happy accident. For if I had shown the little people how to make a spaceship they now, wouldn't we be even over five feet in height. more likely to blow ourselves to Kingdom mind that man standin' there! You know he can't see nor hear us!\" Oh, it was good to hear the rich old tongue again. I smiled, and the This etext was produced from then? said, \"What? What's that, now?\" job of work for almost shamefully generous pay. You see, in a place as full of science as the nuclear propulsion center there is not much time for the old things. I very much course it was a spaceship, or a almost miraculously complete and workable. Houlihan of the Roscommon Houlihans. satisfactory conclusion. and talk to me, I'll wreck this spaceship from stem to stern!\" \" \" stood there. The others all followed at a safe distance. I smiled to reassure them and then waved my arm in a friendly gesture of greeting. is Keech.\" \"And mine's Houlihan, as I've \"Mr. Houlihan,\" said Keech, up about himself, \"in such matters I am never fully convinced. After living for many centuries I am all too acutely aware of the perversity of human nature.\" \"Yes,\" I said. \"Well, as you will Houlihan.\" \"And often that's all Houlihan. And afterward we'll appreciate pipe. \"Why,\" I asked, \"would a Keech stared back without much a spaceship. I was surprised enough the little people. It happens every so often, though not as frequently as it did a century ago. But knowing a spaceship at first glance! Well, I does me.\" \"And why wouldn't I know a \"It just so happens I'm a doctor of science.\" \"A doctor of science, now,\" said Keech. \"Invited by the American government edge, the velocity of approach to the center. Since it's no secret I can advise you of it.\" \"A scientist, is it,\" said Keech. \"Well, now, that's very interesting.\" \"I'll make no apologies for it,\" I said. \"Oh, there's no need for apology,\" said Keech. \"Though in truth we prefer poets to scientists. But it has just now crossed my mind, Mr. Houlihan that you, being a scientist, might be of help to us.\" \"How?\" I asked. usually does.\" Keech took out his own pipe—a Keech, \"to learn how to make a spaceship.\" \"A spaceship, now,\" I said, unconsciously adopting some of the inclined,\" said Keech. and laughter and mischief, as anyone knows.\" \"Myself included,\" I agreed. \"Then why do you need a spaceship?\" \"Well, if I may use an old expression, up in the process of destroying yourselves.\" \"There is Keech, \"the little people have decided Which we're buildin' here and I was inclined to suggest the construction. Naturally, we didn't understand all of your high-flyin' science, but some of our people are pretty clever at gettin' up replicas of things.\" thought it was by the Russians. There's one thing which puzzles when you're thinkin' of us, and of course truly believin' in us. I don't know—'tis a thing of the mind, and not important at the moment. What's important is for us to get has crossed my mind. That's why I'm wastin' all this time with you, sir. You say you are a scientist.\" \"A nuclear engineer.\" \"Well, then, it may be that you can help us—now that you know \"Help you?\" \"The power control, Mr. Houlihan. to know at any instant exactly how much thrust is bein' delivered for a coefficient of discharge.\" said Keech, shrugging. \"'Tis the \"And you want me to help you with this?\" \"Well, now, Keech,\" I said \"Ha!\" said Keech, grinning, but humans! I knew it! Well, Mr. Houlihan, I'll give you reason enough. The pot o' gold, Mr. Houlihan!\" Nor is it actually in an earthen crock. But there's gold, all right, enough to make you rich for the offer,\" I said. Keech had the goodness apart, and were deep in argument about the whole project. It was a most fascinating session. I had often wished for a true working budget for it. Keech brought me paper and pencil and I talked with the aid of diagrams, as engineers are wont to do. Although the pencils able to make many sensible observations and even a few innovations. but Keech and his people made a\n\n<question>:\nWhich best describes the relationship between Keech and Houlihan?\n\n<options>:\nA Keech doesn't prefer interacting with scientists but he knows he can trust Houlihan\nB Houlihan is resentful for being taken away from time in his own lab but feels indebted to Keech\nC They have a tenuously constructed relationship based on trust necessitated by the situation\nD There is a lot of mutual trust and respect between scientists\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
508	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCompany, slamming the drafting board with his hairy fist, \"I want results!\" Heads lifted over boards. Kalvin Feetch shrunk visibly. \"As chief engineer you're not carrying the ball,\" Piltdon went on savagely. \"The Piltdon Can-Opener is trailing the competition. Advertising and Sales are breaking their necks. It's Engineering that's missing the boat!\" \"But Mr. Piltdon,\" remonstrated Feetch unsteadily under his employer's can in eight point nine without chimes. Is this what I'm paying you for?\" Feetch adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. \"But Mr. Piltdon, want it completely developed, engineered and tooled-up, ready for production. Otherwise, Feetch—\" Feetch's body twitched. \"But Mr. Piltdon, four months is hardly time enough for development, even with an adequate staff. I've been trying to tell you for years that we're bound to fall behind because we don't have enough personnel to conduct research. Our men can barely keep up with production and maintenance. If you would let me put on a few draftsmen and....\" \"Excuses,\" sneered Mr. Piltdon. \"Your staff is more than adequate. I will not allow you to throw out my money. Four months, Feetch, no more!\" Piltdon trudged out of the room, leaving behind him an oppressive silence. How could you set a time limit on research and development? A designer had to dream at his board, investigate, search, build, test, compare, discard. He had always wanted to devote all his time to research, but thought Feetch. Twenty-five years of close supervision, dead-lines, production headaches, inadequate facilities and assistance. What had happened, to the proud dream he once had, the dream of exploring uncharted engineering regions, of unlimited time to investigate and Ah, well, thought Feetch straightening his thin shoulders, he had managed somehow to design a few good things during his twenty-five What now? He had to hang on to his job. Technical work was scarce. Since the early 1980's the schools had been turning out more technicians than industry could absorb. He was too old to compete in the employment market. He couldn't afford to lose any money. Jenny wasn't well. How to meet this four month dead-line? He would get right on it beginning to wonder if the answer is in the hand mechanical type at all.\" \"Got to be,\" answered Feetch tiredly. \"We must work along classical Twenty-five years of your life you put in with Piltdon, and he'd fire you just like that if you don't do the impossible. The Piltdon Company is built upon your designs and you get handed this deal!\" \"Well, well,\" said Feetch. \"I drew my pay every week so I suppose I have no complaints. Although,\" a wistful note crept into his voice \"I two in work. Best performance, four point four, but model otherwise unsatisfactory.\" \"Hello,\" said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a glistening mechanism. \"Here's another model. Let's try it.\" The answer! It's more than the answer! We can put this right into work and beat the dead-line.\" learn a lot more.\" \"But Chief, your job.\" company? As well as anything you may produce in the field within a year after leaving our employ? We have a good thing here, and I don't want you holding it back. We're going into production immediately.\" Close, thought Feetch, wearily. It had been a man-killing job, and it had been close, but he'd made it. Beat the time limit by a half-day. explanation. Competitors found the patent impossible to circumvent, for any departure from its exact specifications nullified the effect. Piltdon, genial these days with success and acclaim, roared at Feetch: \"I'm putting you in for a raise. Yes sir! To reward you for assisting me with my invention I'm raising your pay two hundred dollars a year. That's almost four dollars a week, man.\" well, that was the way it went. He must find his satisfaction in his work. And it had been interesting lately, the work he had been doing nights at home investigating what had been named the Piltdon Effect. It had been difficult, working alone and buying his own equipment. The expensive. He was a fool, he supposed, to try independent research when so many huge scientific organizations were working on it. But he could no more keep away from it than he could stop eating. All activity was seriously curtailed. 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 warn you.\" \"You're through, Feetch!\" raved Piltdon. \"Fired! Get out! But before you go, I want you to know that I've directed the blame where it belongs. I've just released to the press the truth about who created at first, but then monopolize the market. All right, Feetch, I'll give you another chance. You'll turn over all the details to me. The patent on the improvement will naturally be mine. I'll get the credit for rectifying your blunder. Fine, fine. We'll work it out. Hop on production, at once, Feetch.\" Feetch felt himself sag inwardly. \"Mr. Piltdon,\" he said. \"I'm asking only one favor. Let me work full time on research and development, especially on the Piltdon effect. Hire a couple of extra men to help with production. I assure you the company will benefit in the end.\" \"Damn it, no!\" roared Piltdon. \"How many times must I tell you? You got your job back, didn't you?\" The prospect of long years of heavy production schedules, restricted engineering and tight supervision suddenly made Kalvin Feetch feel very tired. Research, he thought. Development. What he had always wanted. Over the years he had waited, thinking that there would be there might not be a later. Somehow he would manage to get along. Perhaps someone would give him a job working in the new field he had day, as predicted by the statisticians, industry would not soon forget the inconvenience and losses caused by the deluge. It was not anxious to hire the man it regarded as responsible for the whole thing. \"Feetch,\" the personnel man would read. \"Kalvin Feetch.\" Then, looking up, \"Not the Kalvin Feetch who—\" \"Yes,\" Feetch would admit miserably. \"I am sorry, but—\" inasmuch as we feel your premature application of your discovery to profit-making denotes a lack of scientific responsibility and ethics not desirable in a member of our organization—former employer states the decision was yours entirely. Unfavorable reference—\" A total increase of one hundred and twenty-six dollars? Be sensible, Feetch. I know you can't find work anywhere else.\" \"Thanks to you. Mr. Piltdon, I wouldn't work for you if—\" \"If you won't think of yourself, at least think of your fellow workmen,\" begged Piltdon, his voice going blurry. \"Do you realize that Piltdon Opener will soon be forced to close down, throwing all your former associates out of work? Think of Hanson, Sanchez, Forbes. They have families too. Think of the men in the shop, the girls in the office, the salesmen on the road. All, all unemployed because of you. Think of that, Feetch.\" Feetch blinked. This had not occurred to him. over, Feetch.\" Feetch sat, thinking it over. Was it right to let all these people lose grew warmer. He began pacing the floor. How he hated to do it. Think, Think? He'd figured the solution long ago, only he hadn't allowed In the same mood that afternoon he stood in the middle of his Feetch looked up from his desk in the newly constructed Feetch Multi-Dimensional Development Division of the Piltdon Opener Company. \"Piltdon, don't bother me about production. Production is your problem.\" \"But Mr. Feetch—\" \"Get out,\" said Feetch.\n\n<question>:\nThe area in which Kalvin wanted to devote most of his time was:\n\n<options>:\nA Research\nB Production\nC Marketing\nD Management\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
12	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAt the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head he was already whipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power of the universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given one chance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. The \"If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting,\" O'Rielly answered from his own angry bewilderment, \"the error would have registered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir?\" hundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Rielly in pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But one By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probably when he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads who had a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money. A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lights position the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could not family—everything. \"Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild cats \"Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for! \"Oh, I'm Trillium,\" she assured Callahan sweetly. \"But Grandmamma's name is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred and don't flimflam the Old Woman!\" With which ominous remark, rendered in O'Rielly stood looking thoughtfully at lovely, womanly, exquisite Trillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as a looked at O'Rielly and Callahan still lolling on the bunk. Her voice was an iceberg exploding. \"At attention!\" Never in his right mind would any crewman dare fail to come stiffly \"Wasting your time talking nonsense!\" Old Woman's look was fit to \"Oh, you'll have the best answer you ever heard of before long, ma'am!\" Excellency were already coming out of the burner room, dripping with sweat. \"always the lesser gender enjoys precedence.\" Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! And course. \"Trillium?\" His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of the outer space, \"for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and for \"May I remind His Excellency,\" the Old Woman snapped, \"that I represent Earth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight!\" \"Yes! War in which people will actually die!\" As His Excellency paled at that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth at O'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. \"All right, come along!\" O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahan looked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness and \"Presidents of Earth and Venus, please,\" the Old Woman stated evenly. Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonally pleasant. \"Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting.\" Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries.\" The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by a blizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Excellency, \"what's this nonsense?\" \"Some loud creature is interfering,\" Madame President snapped with \"Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed,\" Mr. President swore. \"Some silly female cackling now!\" The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on a \"By your granddaughter, at least,\" Madame President replied coolly. \"An innocent child,\" Mr. President snapped, \"obviously kidnapped by those two idiotic Earthmen there!\" myself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful.\" \"Impossible!\" Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight up as he roared, \"You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium, tell the truth!\" \"Very well. Grandmamma told me how.\" \"Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged,\" His Excellency Dimdooly declared. \"Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the first thing about such things!\" \"Impossible!\" Grandpapa President agreed. \"I've been married to her for a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finest rattle-brain I ever knew!\" \"She learned,\" Trillium stated emphatically, \"a hundred and twenty-five years ago.\" \"Hundred twenty-five,\" Grandpapa president growled like a boiling Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button that thousand years. \"I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now,\" Madame President stated coolly. \"Your granddaughter's actions have every mark \"What do you mean, her actions?\" Grandpapa President's finger now lay poised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blow Earth out of the universe. \"My grandchild was kidnapped by men under your official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?\" stop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on your wars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries!\" \"Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? People have to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobody around here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. But \"Now you just listen to me, Trillium!\" Grandpapa President was all 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 conversations,\" Madame President said crisply. \"Earth is terminating Trillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. \"Berta! What are you doing \"Were.\" Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded onto \"Nonsense! You're only my wife!\" \"And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women.\" yanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. \"Unhand me, you fool creatures! Guards! Guards!\" around the bush with me long enough. Now say it!\" Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mere Earthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets, \"Well, Grandmamma,\" Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, \"it \"Those crewmen there,\" Grandmamma President said, \"seem to be proof enough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth's from Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggest \"Hmmmm, yes,\" Madame President of Earth observed. \"Reactions agree conducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. Madame \"Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted to \"Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychological moment,\" Grandmamma President said cordially. \"What with the \"The Ambassadorial Suite, too,\" Madame President of Earth said graciously. \"Anything else now, Berta?\" \"I should like,\" Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, \"that revolution better than they knew.\" \"Of course,\" Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. \"No doubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needs The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium dragged did Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?\" much longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselves Grandmamma?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat can be said about Grandmamma Berta, Trillium, and the Madame President of Earth?\n\n<options>:\nA They have all felt disrespected by then men that ruled over them.\nB They all anticipated this revolution, and have been working together to make it happen.\nC Madame President did not expect the revolution, but supports Trillium and Berta.\nD None of them anticipated this revolution. It all happened at once.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,492	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nUFC began in 1993 as a locker-room fantasy. What would happen if a kickboxer fought a wrestler? A karate champion fought a sumo champion? Promoters built an octagonal chain-link cage, invited eight top martial artists, and set them loose in no-holds-barred, bare-knuckles fights. \"There are no rules!\" bragged an early press release. Contestants would fight till \"knockout, submission, doctor's intervention, or death.\" UFC allowed, even promoted, all notions of bad sportsmanship: kicking a man when he's down, hitting him in the groin, choking. Four-hundred-pound men were sent into the Octagon to maul guys half their size. Only biting and eye-gouging were forbidden. The gimmick entranced thousands of people (well, men). What happens when a 620-pound sumo champion fights a 200-pound kickboxer? Answer: The kickboxer knocks him silly in 35 seconds. They tuned in for bloodshed--\"the damage,\" as fans like to call it. UFC fights could be horrifying. Tank Abbott, an ill-tempered, 270-pound street fighter, knocks out hapless opponent John Matua in 15 seconds. Then, before the ref can intervene, Abbott belts the unconscious Matua in the head, sending him into a fit, limbs quivering uncontrollably, blood spurting from his mouth. Abbott, naturally, became a cult hero and won a guest spot on Friends . (Matua walked out of the ring.) Soon, UFC was selling out huge arenas and drawing 300,000 pay-per-view subscribers for its quarterly competitions. But a subtle sport was emerging from the gimmicks and carnage. My passion for ultimate fighting (which is also called \"extreme\" or \"no-holds-barred\" fighting) began when I saw the finals of UFC IV. Royce Gracie, a 180-pound Brazilian jujitsu specialist, was matched against a 275-pound beast named Dan Severn, one of the top heavyweight wrestlers in the world and a national champion many times over. In 30 seconds, Severn had grabbed Gracie, flung him to the canvas, and mounted him. For the next 15 minutes, Severn pummeled and elbowed and head-butted the smaller man. Gracie's face grew drawn, and he squirmed wildly to avoid Severn's bombardment. Then, all of sudden, Gracie, still lying on his back, saw an opening, wrapped his arms and legs around Severn like a python and choked the giant into submission. UFC's caged matches revolutionized the idea of fighting. Nursed on boxing and Hollywood, Americans imagine fights as choreography, a dance of elegant combinations, roundhouse kicks, clean knockouts. The UFC punctured this. Boxers floundered. Experts in striking martial arts such as karate and tae kwon do, who fancied themselves the world's greatest fighters, found themselves pretzeled by jujitsu masters, who pulled them to the ground and slowly choked or leg-locked them. \"UFC immediately debunked a lot of myths of fighting, of boxing, karate, kung fu. It showed the reality of what works in an actual fight,\" says Dave Meltzer, editor of Wrestling Observer . Instead of being carnivals of gore, UFC fights looked strangely like ... sex. Almost all fights ended on the ground, one man mounting the other in missionary position, the pair of them wiggling mysteriously along the canvas for five, 10, even 30 minutes. There were few spectacular knockouts. The referee--yes, there was always a referee--stopped many bouts, and in most others, fighters \"tapped out,\" surrendering to mild-looking but agonizing chokes and joint locks. It was not barbarism. It was science. The UFC spawned a new breed of \"mixed martial artists.\" World-class wrestlers learned to kickbox. Champion kickboxers learned to grapple. (The karate experts learned to stay home.) They became, without doubt, the best fighters in the world. (Click for more about the fighters.) Mike Tyson wouldn't last 30 seconds in an ultimate fighting match. When Olympic gold medal wrestler Kevin Jackson came to the UFC, a fighter named Frank Shamrock KO'd him with a submission hold in 16 seconds. Ultimate fighting schools began sprouting up all over the country, replacing the stylized gestures of the Eastern martial arts with techniques that actually work. UFC's promoters predicted that it would supplant boxing as America's martial art. Instead, it fell apart. The collapse began in 1996, when Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz., saw a UFC tape. McCain, a lifelong boxing fan, was horrified at the ground fighting, kicks, and head butts. It was \"barbaric,\" he said. It was \"not a sport.\" He sent letters to all 50 governors asking them to ban ultimate fighting. The outcry against \"human cockfighting\" became a crusade, and like many crusades, it was founded on misunderstanding. and 2) the same cable outfits carried boxing matches, R and NC-17 movies, and professional wrestling shows far more violent than UFC. The UFC's \"addressable audience\"--the potential number of PPV subscribers--shrank from 35 million at its peak to 7.5 million today. \"It was a very cheap way for the cable companies to portray themselves as anti-violence. It did not cost them much and it made them look good in Washington,\" says Carol Klenfner, spokeswoman for UFC's parent company, SEG. The ultimate fighting industry did little to help its own cause. The UFC promoted itself less as a serious sport than as a circus of carnage. Its early ads emphasized extreme fighting's potential for death. UFC folks accused McCain, without any evidence, of opposing the sport as a favor to campaign contributors. Extreme fighting was tarnished when fighters from the other ultimate fighting operation, the now-defunct Battlecade, were arrested for violating Canadian prizefighting laws when they fought on an Indian reservation outside Montreal. In the past two years, an increasingly desperate UFC has been trying to assuage its critics. The competition, which had been gradually adding safety rules since the first fight, imposed even more. It institued rounds and a \"10-point must\" scoring system. It banned head butts and groin strikes. You can no longer kick a downed man or elbow someone in the back of the head. Fighters are required to wear thin martial arts gloves (a purely cosmetic change). The UFC imposed weight classes, ending the David-and-Goliath mismatches that made early fights so compelling. None of this soothed the cable operators, who have kept UFC off the air. The pay-per-view audience has plunged from 300,000 per show to 15,000. UFC can no longer afford its best fighters: Some are fighting overseas. Others, notably Ken Shamrock (Frank's brother), have become pro wrestlers. Fights have deteriorated. UFC is limping along, but it has been reduced to scheduling events in Japan and Brazil.\n\n<question>:\nHow was the imposition of weight classes probably recieved by fans?\n\n<options>:\nA It was upsetting because it made the matches end much more quickly, decreasing entertainment value\nB They were never officially imposed, because they went against the original motivation for UFC to begin with\nC They thought it was safer to even the odds, so even though it was less surprising, the fans went with it\nD It was one of many things that decreased the appeal of UFC over time\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,192	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nscreamed out to him in a thick, harsh cackle. Yet even as he screamed, the giant disappeared, to be replaced by white-booted feet stomping relentlessly toward him. He awoke still screaming.... A night without darkness passed. Ben lay waiting for Maggie's return, a question already formed in his mind. His fear-borne gaze traveled into the dimly illumined Venusian gin He began to understand. \"And your husband needs an astrogator? That's Most of the big room lay obscured behind a shimmering veil of tobacco smoke and the sweet, heavy fumes of Martian Devil's Egg. Here and there, Ben saw moving figures. He could not tell if they were Earthmen, Martians or Venusians. Someone tugged at his greasy coat. He jumped, thinking absurdly that it \"Why aren't you with him now?\" Ben looked down. a red-skinned marionette with pipestem arms and legs, clad in a torn skivvy shirt and faded blue dungarees. \"Venus is getting too civilized. We're moving out and this dome is only \"I'm American,\" Ben muttered. She laughed. \"Makes you think of a Biblical character, doesn't it? Jacob's anything but that. And just plain 'Jake' reminds one of a grizzled old uranium prospector and he isn't like that, either.\" pretty and tres fat. She weigh almost eighty pounds, tres Ben scowled. \"What happens if there The boy grabbed his hand. Because Ben could think of no reason for resisting, he followed. They plunged into shifting layers of smoke and through the drone of alcohol-cracked voices. They passed the bar with its line of lean-featured, slit-eyed Ben stiffened. \"And that's why you want me for an astrogator.\" Earthmen—merchant spacemen. marble that jutted up into the semi-darkness like fog-blanketed tombstones. Several times, Ben glimpsed the bulky figures of CO 2 -breathing Venusians, the first he'd ever seen. They were smoky gray, scaly, naked giants, toads in human shape. They stood solitary and motionless, aloof, their green-lidded eyes unblinking. They certainly didn't look like telepaths, as Ben had heard they were, but the thought sent a fresh rivulet of fear down his spine. , Ben told himself. Ben winced. How did this kid know he wanted to sit in the shadows? He listened to the lonely rhythms of the four-piece Martian orchestra. The Martians were fragile, doll-like creatures with heads too large for their spindly bodies. Their long fingers played upon the strings of their cirillas or crawled over the holes of their flutes like spider legs. Their tune was sad. Even when they played an Earth tune, it still seemed a song of old Mars, charged with echoes of lost voices and forgotten grandeur. For an instant, Ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the dead felt the challenge of new worlds? about forty and he hated spacemen. His body was buried now—probably in the silent gray wastes outside Luna City. But he'd become a kind of invisible Siamese twin, as much a part of Ben as sight in his eyes. Sometimes the image would be shuffling drunkenly beside him, its lips spitting whiskey-slurred curses. Again, its face would be a pop-eyed mask of surprise as Ben's fist been successful. Ben, quietly and moderately, wanted to celebrate. plopped his portly and unsteady posterior on the stool next to him. \"Spacemen,\" he muttered, \"are getting like flies. Everywhere, all you see's spacemen.\" He was a neatly dressed civilian. Ben smiled. \"If it weren't for spacemen, you wouldn't be here.\" \"The name's Cobb.\" The man hiccoughed. \"Spacemen in their white monkey suits. They think they're little tin gods. Betcha you think you're a little tin god.\" He downed a shot of whiskey. Ben stiffened. He was twenty-four and dressed in the white, At the age of five—perhaps in order to dull the memory of his parents' Until this instant, Ben had suppressed his anger. Now, suddenly and Ben knew that he was dead. Then, for a single absurd second, Ben was seized with terror—just as, There were old wives' tales of a group of renegade spacemen who operated from the Solar System's frontiers. The spacemen weren't outlaws. They were misfits, rejectees from the clearing houses on Earth. And whereas no legally recognized ship had ventured past Mars, the souped-up renegade rigs had supposedly hit the asteroids. Their headquarters was Venus. Their leader—a subject of popular and fantastic conjecture in the men's audiozines—was rumored to be a red-bearded giant. So , Ben reflected, name. You can wait for a chance to get to Venus. To hell with your Ben Curtis made it to Venus. voice? Might not the vision of alien worlds and infinite spaceways obscure the dead face? So now he sat searching for a perhaps nonexistent red-bearded giant, and hoping and doubting and fearing, all at once. \"This isn't my first night here,\" Ben lied. \"I've been around a while.\" Ben didn't answer. Ben raised his hand as if to strike the boy. The toothpick of a body melted into the semi-darkness. Minutes passed. There were two more whiskeys. A ceaseless parade of faces broke through the smoky veil that enclosed him—reddish balloon faces, scaly reptilian faces, white-skinned, slit-eyed faces, and occasionally a white, rouged, powdered face. But nowhere was there a face with a red beard. But his picture must have been 'scoped to Venusian visiscreens. A wheel with Ben as their focal point. You idiot! The damned Martian kid! You should have known! wickedness, revealing drab concrete walls and a debris-strewn floor. Eyes blinked and squinted. There were swift, frightened movements and a chorus of angry murmurs. The patrons of the Blast Inn were like tatter-clad occupants of a house whose walls have been ripped away. falling. The white-clad men charged, neuro-clubs upraised. feline stealth to a rear exit. Only the giant Venusians remained undisturbed. They stood unmoving, their staring eyes shifting lazily in Ben's direction. He stumbled forward. They were using deadly neuro-pistols now, not the mildly stunning neuro-clubs. \"Anti ... anti ...\" The words were as heavy as blobs of mercury forced They wormed down a narrow aisle flanked by booths carved from Venusian shut. But after a while, they opened. His world of darkness gave way to a translucent cloak of mist. A round, featureless shape hovered constantly above him—a face, he supposed. The face was that of a girl probably somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Her features, devoid of makeup, had an unhealthy-looking pallor, as if she hadn't used a sunlamp for many weeks. Yet, at the same time, her firm slim body suggested a solidity and a strength. Her straight brown hair was combed backward, tight upon her scalp, and \"Venus.\" Her eyes twinkled mischievously. \"Because you're a good astrogator.\" And towering above him was a red-bearded man whose great hands reached down and beckoned to him. Ben crawled through the night on hands and His head rose and turned to the red-bearded man. His pleading voice\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Ben fear the Venusians?\n\n<options>:\nA They stood eerily motionless.\nB He had heard they were telepaths.\nC They stood silent and unblinking in a eerie manner.\nD They were large and scaly and resembled toads.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
580	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBy EMMETT McDOWELL Death was Jaro Moynahan's stock in trade, and every planet had known his touch. But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life against the soft touch of a woman's lips. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that his fingers lightly, automatically picked out the tune. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, plastered his white coat to his back. Without looking up, he said: \"Have you spotted him?\" His voice was pitched to reach the singer alone. but then it is always hot on Mercury, the hung faultlessly. His black hair was close-cropped, his nose thin and in time.\" Her hands were clenched in her lap. The knuckles were white. The man said nothing. \"I did not want to call you in, Jaro Moynahan.\" It was the first time she had used his name. \"You have the reputation of being unpredictable. I don't trust you, but since....\" She stopped as the waiter placed glasses on the table and deftly poured 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. \"Why? What makes you think that?\" \"He was seen,\" she began, then stopped with a gasp. he could sense it. An exclamation was suddenly choked off as if a hand had been He wondered who was putting up the ten thousand Earth notes? Who stood to lose most in case of a revolution? The answer seemed obvious enough. Who, but Albert Peet. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. And what had happened to the girl. Had the rebels abducted her. If followers. Once back in his room, Jaro Moynahan stripped off his clothes, unbuckled a shoulder holster containing a compressed air slug gun, stepped under the shower. His body was lean and brown as his face and marked with innumerable scars. There were small round puckered scars and long thin ones, and his left shoulder bore the unmistakable stretching out on the bed began to contemplate his toes with singular 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 was little doubt but that he had killed quite a number of men. But this business of hunting a man through the rat-runs beneath the city was out of his line. whom at different times he had known under a dozen different aliases. He doubted that even she remembered her right name. \"Then I was right \"But you stand to lose most in case of a successful revolution?\" Mercury, and you've squeezed out every possible penny. Every time Mikail's abduction fifteen minutes after the fact.\" seldom shot to kill, it stopped a man like a well placed mule's hoof. He adjusted the gun lightly in its holster in order that it wouldn't stick if he were called upon to use it in a hurry. Then he went out clearly he heard Albert Peet say in a high girlish tone: \"Stanley, I thought I left you in the native quarter. Why did you follow me? How many times have I told you never to come here?\" youth. \"Let's get this straight,\" he said mildly. \"I've known your kind before. Frankly, ever since I saw you I've had to repress a desire to step on you as I might a spider.\" The youth's black eyes were hot as coals, his fingers twitching. His hands began to creep upward. \"You dirty ...\" he began, but he got no further. Jaro Moynahan shot him in the shoulder. The compressed air slug gun had seemed to leap into Jaro's hand. The of two poisoned needle guns. \"I'll get you for this,\" said Stanley, his mouth twisted in pain. \"You've broken my shoulder. I'll kill you.\" The door to the inner sanctum swung open. \"What's happened?\" cried Albert Peet in distress. \"What's wrong with you, Stanley?\" \"This dirty slob shot me in the shoulder.\" \"But how badly?\" Peet was wringing his hands. \"Nothing serious,\" said Jaro. \"He'll have his arm in a sling for a \"Stanley,\" said Mr. Peet. \"You're bleeding all over my carpet. Why carpet. Joan Webb \"There's been an—ah—accident,\" said Mr. Peet, and he licked his lips. \"Really, Mr. Moynahan, was it necessary to shoot Stanley? Isn't that—ah—a little extreme? I'm afraid it might incapacitate him, and I had a job for him.\" \"Oh,\" cried Miss Webb, her brown eyes crackling. \"Did you shoot that poor boy? Aren't you the big brave man?\" \"Poor boy?\" said Jaro mildly. \"Venomous little rattlesnake. I took these toys away from him.\" He held out the poisoned dart guns. \"You take them, Mr. Peet. Frankly, they give me the creeps. They might go off. A scratch from one of those needles would be enough.\" staunched the flow of blood. His face was even whiter, if possible. Jaro eyed him coldly as with his good hand the youth dropped the dart \"Act like you want to use those and I'll put a slug in your head next time.\" some explanation. But the fact is that Stanley brought an important bit Karfial Hodes has her, but Stanley assures me she will be quite safe.\" \"The fact is, Mr. Moynahan, that we won't need you after all. I realize \"Stanley!\" called Albert Peet. The pale-faced young man appeared in the doorway, the dart gun in his good hand. Jaro Moynahan dropped on his face, jerking out his slug gun as he fell. There was a tiny plop like a cap exploding. He heard the whisper of the poisoned dart as it passed overhead. Then he fired from the floor. The pale-faced young man crumpled like an empty sack. Jaro got up, keeping an eye on Albert Peet, brushed off his knees. \"You've killed him,\" said Peet. \"If I were you, Mr. Moynahan, I would be on the next liner back to Earth.\" Without answering, Jaro backed watchfully from the room. Once Jaro Moynahan had regained the street, he mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Whatever was going on, these boys played for keeps. 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 you might be able to help me.\" thoughtfully. \"I'll have to confide certain facts which might be \"you might begin by calling me Joan. You make me feel downright ancient.\" \"Well then,\" he said. \"In the first place, I just killed that baby-faced gunman your boss had in his office.\" \" Awk! \" said Joan, choking on the Latonka. \"It was self-defense,\" he hastened to assure her. \"He took a pot shot at me with that poisoned dart gun.\" \"But the police!\" she cried, as she caught her breath. \"There'll never be an investigation. Albert Peet will see to that. I was called here on what I supposed was a legitimate revolution. Instead I was offered ten thousand Earth notes to assassinate the leader of the revolution.\" \"What revolution? I'm going around in circles.\" Trust.\" \"What about this Karfial Hodes?\" said Jaro. \"I've heard that he's \"It's not true,\" Joan flared. \"It's all a pack of lies invented by the\n\n<question>:\nWhich isn't true about Stanley?\n\n<options>:\nA he can play piano\nB he works for Mr. Peet\nC he cares about the Mercurians\nD he's killed people before\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
406	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 Grannie became twins every now and then. entered the outer limits of the Baldric. Grannie Annie strode in the As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. was crazy. But Miss Flowers, known to her friends as Grannie Annie, Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when she laid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only a transportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her from Antlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. \"What sort of trouble?\" Grannie Annie had demanded. And when Antlers didn't. In some strange way the thing was a hideous caricature. \"Look what I found,\" I yelled. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of a \"Billy-boy,\" she said to me in a strange voice, \"look down there and tell me what you see.\" I followed the direction of her hand and a shock went through me from Detail for detail they were a duplicate of ourselves! \"A mirage!\" said Ezra Karn. But it wasn't a mirage. As the party came closer, we could see that awe. The duplicate of myself was talking to the duplicate of Grannie heavens in a single direction, I called Grannie's attention to it. Grannie was shaking his hand vigorously and mumbling introductions. Grannie's eyes glittered. \"Trouble with the mine laborers?\" she they realize they're being followed, they stop. But the moment our eyes are turned, they give us the slip.\" 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.\" notebook out, sketching the room's interior. Grannie Annie remained man's face formed in the vision plate. Baker listened, said \"Okay\" and threw off the switch. Grannie Annie walked across to it and began to study its markings. of the building. Grannie seized a light weight carry-case and began foreboding. Had I been a fool to let Grannie go? I thought of her, an \"C'mon in,\" he said, seeing us. \"If you want a look at your friends, here they are.\" 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. were Jimmy Baker, Grannie, and Xartal. It was as if I were standing directly behind them. \"It's Mr. Baker's own invention,\" the operator said. \"An improvement on the visiphone.\" The cloud of anxiety which had wrapped itself about me disappeared somewhat as I viewed this device. At least I could now keep myself posted of Grannie's movements. Antlers Park flashed on the screen. 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. likenesses of Ezra Karn, of myself, of Jimmy Baker, and of Antlers Park With a shock I saw the likeness of myself I saw Ezra Karn and I saw the image of Jimmy Baker. The real Jimmy Baker stood next to Grannie, staring up at this incredible mirage. Grannie let out a whoop. \"I've got it!\" she said. \"Those things we see up there are nothing more than mental images. of Grannie Annie was bowing to the duplicate of Jimmy Baker, and the Then abruptly the screen before me blurred and went blank. \"Sorry,\" the operator said. \"I've used too much power already. Have to give the generators a chance to build it up again.\" 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 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. Back in the visiscreen room, I snapped to the operator: \"Turn it on!\" controls was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice. Ezra Karn jabbed my elbow. \"Grannie's coming back. I thought she'd be getting sick of this blamed moon.\" It was Grannie. As the car drew up alongside I saw her sitting in her 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 of those damned cockatoo images. We've got to catch him.\" The other car was some distance ahead now. Park looked back and saw us following. He did something to the kite wire, and his car leaped ahead. in his hand. There was a flash of purple flame, and a round hole appeared in our windscreen inches above Karn's head. \"Heat gun!\" Ezra yelled. Now we were rocketing over the sand dunes, winding in and out between the flagpole trees. I had to catch that car I told myself. Grannie Annie's very life might be at stake, not to mention the lives of hundreds of mine workers. Again Park took aim and again a hole shattered our windscreen. 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 thing he could do. He shut off power, and the two cars coasted to a halt. Then I was across in the other seat, wrenching the weapon free from his grasp. \"What have you done with Miss Flowers?\" I demanded. The manager's eyes glittered with fear as he saw my finger tense on the Grannie Annie. She had a tablet in her hands, and she was writing. \"Grannie!\" I yelled. \"What're you doing here? Where's Mr. Baker?\" She rose to her feet and clambered down the rock. \"I see you've got Antlers Park. I'm glad of that. It saves me a lot 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 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. Jimmy Baker had struck a new big lode of Acoustix, a lode which if worked successfully would see . 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>:\nHow did Grannie Annie avoid the actions of Antlers Park?\n\n<options>:\nA She pretended to contract the plague.\nB She distracted him by sharing a new plot for her novel.\nC She used a cockatoo image to distract him.\nD She turned his own heat gun on him\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
821	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHis name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in his nostrils. It was the smell of trouble. He hadn't found what the trouble its inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scent of trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived to reach his captaincy. The girl lifted her head angrily and took a step forward. The block guard, Sodaro, growled warningly: \"Watch it, auntie!\" O'Leary shook his head. \"Let her talk, Sodaro.\" It said in the Civil Service Guide to Prison Administration : \"Detainees will be permitted to speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings.\" And O'Leary was a man who lived by the book. offense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing in the mess hall.\" He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. \"The warned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure.\" Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: \"I don't care. I don't care!\" O'Leary stopped her. \"That's enough! Three days in Block O!\" It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. He had managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omitted violate the Categoried Class laws. Don't waste your time with her, Cap'n. She's a figger-lover!\" Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain marked enforcement of a demonstrable fact. \"Evening, Cap'n.\" A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight and touched his cap as O'Leary passed by. \"Evening.\" O'Leary noted, with the part of his mind that always noted those things, that the orderly had been leaning on his broom until he'd noticed the captain coming by. Of course, there wasn't much to next hour, languidly poking a piece of fluff out of the air filter on the prison jeep. Lazy, sure. Undependable, certainly. But he kept the cars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was up And punishment is what you get. Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was the disciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets its irritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floor company.\" He laughed coarsely and abandoned his charges to the Block O guards. The outside guard said sourly: \"A woman, for God's sake. Now O'Leary long. III \"I smell trouble,\" said O'Leary to the warden. \"Trouble? Trouble?\" Warden Schluckebier clutched his throat and his little round eyes looked terrified—as perhaps they should have. Warden trouble?\" O'Leary shrugged. \"Different things. You know Lafon, from Block A? This afternoon, he was playing ball with the laundry orderlies in the yard.\" The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: \"O'Leary, what did you want to worry me for? There's nothing wrong with playing ball in the yard. That's what recreation periods are for.\" don't mix it isn't natural. And there are other things.\" O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden that it didn't smell told Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. Now Mathias wouldn't—\" The warden raised his hand. \"Please, O'Leary, don't bother me about that kind of stuff.\" He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee from a brewpot, reached in a desk drawer for something, hesitated, glanced at O'Leary, then dropped a pale blue tablet into the cup. He drank it down eagerly, ignoring the scalding heat. He leaned back, looking suddenly happier and much more assured. \"O'Leary, you're a guard captain, right? And I'm your warden. You have your job, keeping the inmates in line, and I have mine. Now your job is just as important as my job,\" he said piously. \" .\" O'Leary snapped erect, abruptly angry. Pass! What the devil way was that for the warden to talk to him? \"Excuse the expression, O'Leary,\" the warden said anxiously. \"I mean, after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right?\" He was a great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. \" . You see?\" And he folded his hands and smiled like a civil-service Buddha. O'Leary choked back his temper. \"Warden, I'm telling you that there's trouble coming up. I smell the signs.\" \"Handle it, then!\" snapped the warden, irritated at last. \"But suppose it's too big to handle. Suppose—\" \"It isn't,\" the warden said positively. \"Don't borrow trouble with all your supposing, O'Leary.\" He sipped the remains of his coffee, made a wry face, poured a fresh cup and, with an elaborate show of not noticing what he was doing, dropped three of the pale blue tablets into He sat beaming into space, waiting for the jolt to take effect. \"Well, then,\" he said at last. \"You just remember what I've told you tonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—' Oh, curse the thing.\" His phone was ringing. The warden picked it up irritably. That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary they gave you a lift, but they put you on edge. \"Hello,\" barked the warden, not even glancing at the viewscreen. \"What the devil do you want? Don't you know I'm—What? You did Whatever he saw on it, it did not reassure him. His eyes opened like clamshells in a steamer. \"O'Leary,\" he said faintly, \"my mistake.\" And he hung up—more or less by accident the handset dropped from his underprivileged clerk, she told herself, conscience-stricken. Across the hall, the guard was saying irritably: \"What the hell's the matter with you?\" He opened the door of the cell with an get all the way around Block O and the inmates complained like crazy if he didn't make sure they all got the most possible free time. He was and the blister against his abdomen, where the shiv had been hidden during other rest periods, felt like raw acid. \"All right,\" whispered Flock, \"just walk out the door and you won't get hurt. Unless the other screw makes trouble, you won't get hurt, so tell him not to, you hear?\" He didn't let go. And he didn't stop. IV It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes still voice was a cheerful bray, though the serpent eyes were cold and hating. \"Warden, you got to get a medic in here. My boy Flock, he hurt himself real bad and he needs a doctor.\" He gestured playfully at the guards with the shiv. \"I tell you, Warden. I got this knife and I got your guards here. Enough said? So get a medic in here quick, you hear?\" And he snapped the connection. O'Leary said: \"Warden, I told you I smelled trouble!\" The warden lifted his head, glared, started feebly to speak, hesitated, and picked up the long-distance phone. He said sadly to the prison\n\n<question>:\nWhy is O'Leary and the Warden at odds?\n\n<options>:\nA The Warden doesn't want to be aware of any problems, and so dismisses O'Leary's worries.\nB The Warden knows that O'Leary has thoughts of switching jobs.\nC O'Leary knows that something is wrong, but can't push the matter because it would go against their specializations.\nD The Warden is taking pills, and it's warping his judgement. O'Leary knows this.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
149	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nscared. Click Hathaway's camera was loaded and he stood there listening and fall down dead. Number three is to clutch at your side, fall down Click Hathaway felt the ship move under him like a sensitive animal's rear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. picked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn't long in following, swearing loud words. Click remembered hanging on to his camera and gritting to keep holding it. What a sweet shot that had Stars, asteroids revolved. Click grabbed Marnagan because he was the ended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk of Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin hands twitched in his lap. \"You are bluffing,\" he said, finally, with a firm pursued to the death by the Beasts. One of you escaped, it seemed.\" \"Both. The other guy went after the Patrol.\" \"Impossible!\" around—human dice in a croupier's cup. The shell of the ship burst, \"Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered!\" quick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reach Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathaway His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped him from filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther was that pierced through his vac-suit, and silence. He wriggled out of the He didn't know what he was doing until he found the camera in his Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathed mashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or now, Click. Oxygen. And then bony ridge of metal. They kept their eyes wide and awake. There wasn't much to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. the crash this way.\" \"Oops!\" Click said. limbless, suddenly. \"Irish! We lost weight, coming over that ridge!\" They ran back. \"Let's try it again.\" They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened. \"Gravity should not act this way, Click.\" Click's ears, the Irishman's incredulous bellow. The gun didn't hurt Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. \"They're too big they can't get us in here!\" Click's voice gasped it out, Instinctively, Hathaway added, \"Asteroid monsters! My camera! What a scene!\" \"Damn your damn camera!\" yelled Marnagan. \"They might come in!\" eh, Click?\" They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway felt funny about something didn't know what. Something about these monsters and Gunther and— my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peace much effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing death wall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not saying anything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and they had sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts. When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used it up arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around. the beasts. \"People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or from wounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animals his attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if the Click shrugged. \"Still doubt it? Okay. Look.\" He tapped his camera and film. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical, Click handed the whole thing over. \"Look.\" Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented.\" monsters complete.\" \"What!\" Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again: Then, closeup—of—NOTHING! He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film, the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said the monsters weren't there, they weren't there. \"Yeah,\" said Marnagan. \"But step outside this cave—\" \"If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid,\" said Click. \"Ready, Click?\" \"What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera!\" monsters! Only now it was only Marnagan. No more monsters. ran away!\" \"Ran, hell!\" cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed and animated. \"They just plain vanished. They were only imaginative figments!\" kill them.\" \"Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill.\" \"Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they could have frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. If that isn't being dangerous—\" Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters.\" Click dead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates they never had a chance to disbelieve them.\" \"If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click—\" \"Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident—\" Click Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. \"Hold tight, Click. The \"Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animals came from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to come back!\" \"Come back? How?\" \"They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if we believe in them again, they'll return.\" Marnagan didn't like it. \"Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—if we believe in 'em?\" Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. \"Not if we believe in them to a certain point \"All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it?\" Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. \"Just think—I will see the monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them. Think it over and over.\" Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. \"And—what if I forget to remember The monsters returned. A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarming in malevolent anticipation about the two men. raised his gun and made quick moves with it. \"Click! This one here! frame slammed against rock, noiselessly. \"Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real—don't let it force into your mind! It's not real, I tell you!\" \"Click—\" Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass. \"Click—\" He was fighting hard. \"I—I—sure now. Sure—\" He smiled. you forget the monsters. Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you might forget.\" His voice came back across the distance, into Click's earphones. \"A Then, Marnagan dropped into the tunnel, disappearing. Click heard the thud of his feet hitting the metal flooring. Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast. Click started running. He switched off his guard. Click gasped. Things The air-lock door was still wide open when Click reached it, his head you stand right there and die,\" he said quietly. \"That what Gunther you! Freeze!\" Click was afraid he would show his weak dizziness. He needed air. up any moment. You think we could refocus this doohingey, project the monsters inside the asteroid to fool the pirates themselves?\" \"What good would that do?\" Hathaway gnawed his lip. \"They wouldn't fool the engineers who created them, you nut.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat would have happened if Click’s camera broke in the crash?\n\n<options>:\nA Irish would have died on impact.\nB They would have returned immediately to Luna Base.\nC They would have caught Gunther faster.\nD They would have continued to believe the monsters were real.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
200	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCasey Ritter, the guy who never turned down a dare, breathed a prayer to the gods never know. I never thought I'd mess around any of them, but things can sure happen. A man can get himself backed into a corner in this and sewed up tight. Sure, the crystals are deadly, but I was smuggling them legitimately, in a manner of speaking, for this doctor to experiment with. He wasn't 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. Well, Casey Ritter may be a lot of things we won't mention, but he fall and the head man intone the sentence that would take me out of say, eminently suited to the task.\" 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! had taken my voice again. \"How big?\" I whispered. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. \"About the size of a man, I A crafty-eyed buzzard across the table leaned toward me. \"So this is the great Casey Ritter, daredevil of the Solar System!\" he sneered. \"Never loses a bet, never turns down a dare!\" I shuddered. \"You're telling that one! And besides, a man's got to draw the line somewhere. And I'm drawing it right here. Take me to jail!\" at all. No doubt they had it figured that I'd gratefully throw myself into a sea of ammonia among man-size scorpions just for the hell of it. Nuts! After all, in the pen a man can eat and breathe, and a guard won't reach in and nip off an arm or leg while he's got his back turned. How stupid could they get? now to think of it. The way that bunch of stuffed shirts in the S.S.C. made a gold-barred chimpanzee out of me has broken my spirit and turned me into an honest trader. Me, Casey Ritter, slickest slicker in tag of being a real slick operator. We swapped yarns for about a week when we met, and then I asked him what's his rap this trip. \"Oh, a pretty good jolt if they can keep hold of me,\" he says. \"I just He shrugged, but his little black-currant eyes began to sparkle with real passion, the high voltage kind that only a woman in a million, or a million in a bank, can kindle in a guy. \"Buddy,\" he said reverently, \"I'd start more than that just to get me mitts on them stones again! Why, you ain't never seen jools till you've seen them! Big as hen's 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. \"How'd you make the getaway?\" I asked, taking him at his word. He looked loftily past me. \"Sorry. Gotta keep that a secret. Likewise 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. \"Jupiter!\" I goggled at him. \"Akroida! Who's she?\" 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. \"Brains!\" he snorted. \"Have they got brains! Why, they're smarter than people! And not ferocious, neither, in spite of how they look, if you just leave 'em alone. That's all they want, just to be left alone. 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 here slicker around me to sorta fancy up the rig before goin' in 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. 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 do anything fer you if she just gets a whiff. Just anything! But remember, don't use but a drop. It's real powerful.\" II Real powerful, said the man. What an understatement! But the day I was 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 else. \"I've never been here before, and so I've never met the charming lady,\" I informed him. \"However, I have something very special in the way of jewels—not with me, naturally—and the rumor is that she might I thrust this sneak-thief idea back into limbo. Taking advantage of his condition, I boldly tapped out, \"How's about taking me on a guided tour through this red spinach patch to Akroida, old pal?\" Or words to that effect. He lolled his hideous cranium practically on my shoulder. \"Anything! Just anything you desire, my dearest friend.\" I tried to back off from him a bit, but the ship stopped me. \"I'm Casey Ritter. What's your label, chum?\" I breathed again. How simple could I get? He'd already mistaken me for throttle and tore after him among the immense red blobs that were now beginning to be patterned with dozens of green-and-purple scorpions, all busy filling huge baskets with buds and tendrils, no doubt. 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. name?\" she demanded. And when he told her, with a bad stutter in direction. \"Casey Ritter? Never heard of him. Where's he from?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat wouldn't Casey say to describe himself?\n\n<options>:\nA He'd never give up a client\nB He's a master smuggler\nC He's traveled all over the solar system\nD He'd do anything for money\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,058	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nmachine out there too long—until you get used to it, you'll find it's to it, of course, but it will take about thirty years. how you feel for half an hour or so, until you get over it. After that you'll come I'll be tired of talking by then, and in a hurry to get going. So I foggy nothing surrounding the cockpit prevents passage through time from affecting us. The luggage section and everything outside will disappear. You look for your house, but and you don't try it again. Then it comes to you slowly that you're actually traveling in time. \"Not exactly,\" I try to explain. \"Maybe it's no dimension—or it might the machine and I don't understand it.\" then the time-machine. And when you closed the loop by going back and bent back on itself. Maybe there is no machine, and it's just easier apparently, though there is a time effect back in the luggage space. increment of time from the main field. I don't know, and you won't think about that then, either. I'm smoking, and so are you, and the air in the machine is getting a bit stale. You suddenly realize that everything in the machine is wide open, yet you haven't seen any effects of air loss. \"Where are we getting our air?\" you ask. \"Or why don't we lose it?\" \"No place for it to go,\" I explain. There isn't. Out there is neither time nor space, apparently. How could the air leak out? You still feel gravity, but I can't explain that, either. Maybe the machine has a Then the machine stops—at least, the field around us cuts off. You feel a dankish sort of air replace the stale air, and you breathe easier, though we're in complete darkness, except for the weak light in the machine, which always burns, and a few feet of rough dirty cement floor around. You take another cigaret from me and you get out of the machine, just as I do. of simple, short-limbed, one-piece affair I put on, but it feels comfortable. \"I'm staying here,\" I tell you. \"This is like the things they wear in back with you.\" \"What about the time machine?\" you ask. \"Since nobody ever stole it, it's safe.\" We get in the elevator, and I say \"first\" to it. It gives out a coughing noise and the basement openings begin to click by us. There's no feeling of acceleration—some kind of false gravity they use in the future. Then the door opens, and the elevator says \"first\" back at us. It's obviously a service elevator and we're in a dim corridor, with passengers moving up a ramp, and the office is closed. You begin to get lower than they used to, apparently. Twenty floors up seems about the You go up the steps, but you see that it seems to be closed. You 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 of drawl, with softer vowels and slurred consonants, but it's rather obviously he isn't locking it. In fact, there doesn't seem to be a lock. \"Must be a new part. You go down that corridor, up one flight You get away from him, finally, after some polite thanks. The building goes through a crazy wiggle inside, stops turning out a continual row \"Souvenir,\" it announces in a well-modulated voice. \"This is a typical You put it in your pocket, gulping a little, and get back to the fact that they have the original model of the first atomic generator They state that it has all major refinements, operating on any fuel, fifty kilowatts, limited by the current-carrying capacity of the outputs. They also mention that the operating principle is still being . Apparently that's the way it's fueled. It's about one foot on \"Nice,\" the guard says over your shoulder. \"It finally wore out one of the cathogrids and we had to replace that, but otherwise it's exactly as the great inventor made it. And it still operates as well as ever. arriving, but I'll be back in about ten minutes. He wants to examine thing is absolutely fixed. You can't see any bolts, but you can't budge probably bolted down, too, but you try it tentatively and you find it it, since the gravostatic plate is being renewed. it only weighs about fifty pounds! Naturally, it can be probably can't help it, anyhow. Pre-set, you might say. You stumble down the stairs, feeling all the futuristic rays in the is closed. You reach it and it opens obligingly by itself. You breathe Then there's a yell behind you. You don't wait. You put one leg in of your feet, with a sudden ringing sound. You don't wait to find out seeming to come out of the sockets, and that atomic generator getting heavier at every step. \"You can't exert yourself that hard in this heat, fellow,\" the cop Reaction sets in a bit and your knees begin to buckle, but you shake your head and come up for air. dissimilar in other ways. He snaps it open and you get set to duck. You swallow several sets of tonsils you had removed years before, and to satisfy your amiable guard friend. He finally smiles in satisfaction and heads back to the museum. You still don't believe it, but you pick up the atomic generator and the information sheets, and you head down toward the service elevator. There is no button on it. In fact, there's no door there. You start looking for other doors or corridors, but you know this is right. The signs along the halls are the same as they were. Then there's a sort of cough and something dilates in the wall. It gulping out something about going all the way down, and then wonder how closed and is moving downward in a hurry. It coughs again and you're at You'll never know what you stumbled over, but, somehow, you move back in the direction of the time machine, bumping against boxes, staggering it's the weak light in the time machine. You've located it. You put the atomic generator in the luggage space, throw the papers 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 It isn't much of a trip back. You sit there smoking and letting your nerves settle back to normal. You notice a third set of buttons, with some pencil marks over them—\"Press these to return to yourself 30 years\"—and you begin waiting for the air to get stale. It doesn't because there is only one of you this time. Instead, everything flashes off and you're sitting in the machine in your own back yard. You'll figure out the cycle in more details later. You get into the land in your back yard, and then hop back thirty years to pick up generator and taking it inside. It isn't hard to disassemble, but you don't learn a thing But when you put it together again, about an hour later, you notice Everything in it is brand-new and there's one set of copper wires the set on the other side, drop in some iron filings, and try it again. And with the controls set at 120 volts, 60 cycles and 15 amperes, you feel a little happier when you realize that the luggage space wasn't insulated from time effects by a field, so the motor has moved backward in time, somehow, and is back to its original youth—minus the replaced wires the guard mentioned—which probably wore out because of But you begin getting more of a jolt when you find that the papers are Before long, your riches from the generator are piling in. Little that's waiting in the building you had put around it. Then you'll be came looking for you and shouting, before the time machine left.\n\n<question>:\nWhy is the air inside the machine not stale on the return trip like it had been on the prior trip?\n\n<options>:\nA Because the generator is working and clearing the air.\nB Because there is a clearer air flow now with the retrieval of the generator.\nC Because no one is smoking inside the machine.\nD Because there is only one Jerome smoking inside the machine.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,462	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\ndown in the mine. Sattell probably learned of it the same way. Pop didn't Pop Young was the one known Sattell undoubtedly dealt with it to have nothing to do with him. But to Earth. Pop matter-of-factly tended the shack and the landing field and the stores for the Big Crack mine. Between-times Sattell and he had reason not to talk. Pop Young alone knew the mind on Sattell—he found fresh incidents popping up in his recollection. Pop received the stores and away again. Come nightfall Pop Pop didn't even ask. the shack for possible material no one would think of sending from Crack would have had to shut The Crack, of course, was that gaping rocky fault which stretches nine hundred miles, jaggedly, over the side of the Moon that Earth The reason for Pop was something Pop continued to search absorbedly for material with which to capture memory. Sattell still seemed necessary, missing portions of his life that Sattell He thought often of Sattell, down air-tight bulkheads for safety, and a But Sattell couldn't comfort himself so easily. He knew about Pop, Pop made his way toward it in difficult to get away from the mine, anyhow. It doesn't take too long for the low gravity to tear a man's nerves to shreds. He has to develop kinks in his head to survive. And opened in the ship's side. But nothing came out of the lock. No space-suited Sattell got the shakes when he thought of Pop, and Pop rather it with what—say—Sattell might Sattell. The facts spoke for themselves. about Pop Young's shack in cannisters of them there were welded ladder-rungs going up to the opened air-lock door. he set about trying to pick open, and Pop reached up and gave no longer remember. He met Sattell quite by accident. Sattell looked familiar. Pop eagerly tried to ask him questions. And Sattell turned gray grinned savagely at Pop. He held a very nasty hand-weapon trained on Pop's middle. seen Pop before. to Pop that the sight of Sattell had his helmet the practiced twisting jerk which removed it. though, and he hunted up Sattell Pop simply gaped. He couldn't And Sattell went into panic when \"This,\" snapped the red-headed Nowadays, by the Big Crack, Pop wasn't so insistent on seeing Sattell, man abruptly, \"is a stickup!\" Pop's eyes went through the inner Sattell helped bring back. Pop was lock-door. He saw that the interior Pop gazed at the plastic, and Pop got into a vacuum-suit and went out the air lock. He usually reached the moondozer about the savage brutality. \"Pay attention!\" snarled the red-headed man. \"A stickup, I said! Get landing, and he watched it come in. He saw the silver needle in the it? You go get that can of stuff Pop said numbly: \"What the from the mine! The diamonds! out of the cargo-hatch and Pop swept miniature tractor with a gigantic scoop in front. He pushed a great Tell Sattell I'm here and he can only inches from Pop Young's. It would hold anything. And a cover of At such times Pop hardly thought of Sattell. He knew he had plenty swing over your shack! The rocket-blast Sattell knowing what had happened smashes it! We burn you down! Then we swing over the cable of them at all. But Sattell stirred the lost memories. At first Pop followed down to the mine and the rocket-flame recover a good deal. When Sattell fled to another continent, Pop followed memories of his wife—and the way of course, Pop was helpless to resent When Sattell frenziedly tried to deny Moon and the mention of Sattell's Pop had come to remember both his He'd pictured the complete set-up by the edge of the Big Crack. Pop Even when Sattell—whimpering—signed knowledge of the murder in Tangier, sure that Sattell was the man who'd killed his family. If so, Sattell had slammed the inner lock-door. There for wiping out everything that Pop possessed. But Pop wanted it back. He couldn't prove Sattell's guilt. was the sound of pumping. he didn't really want Sattell to die. Somehow, the mention of Sattell had odd fancies about Sattell. There was detail. He knew Sattell. That part was simple. Sattell had planned this cannister with greasy-seeming white crystals shaped like two pyramids base to base. The filled cannister would weigh a hundred pounds on Earth. Here it weighed eighteen. But luxury-liners sold for scrap. Or perhaps in carats, and a hundred here. Sattell's associates had had to sometimes Pop wondered if Sattell more than two men—with Sattell as a third. According to the economics a woman and two children and think Pop reached the dust-heap which ever thought of the value of the would he commit for a three-gallon a hundred dollars, what enormity quantity of uncut diamonds? message he'd been told to pass on. Sattell to come up, with what diamonds regular cannister was sent up for the and Pop and the colony together. \"I'd guess,\" said Pop painstakingly, \"that Sattell figured it out. He's probably got some sort of gun to keep you from holding him down to seize hold of something solid to keep from falling upward. If we were able to tell about dead and the shacks smashed and But not Pop. He'd come to the Moon in the first place because Sattell was here. Near Sattell, he found the cable burnt through, they'll be tell Sattell a thing about it, if I were dearly. And when he was near Sattell took down the cannister of diamonds which were worth five millions or more back on Earth. He found a Sattell. He simply wanted to be near much more about them. He grinned. and worked on the emptied cannister. It was a double container with a repeated violent changes of temperature. So a thermware-lined cannister often Pop tapped the pipe where the Pop packed the cotton cloth in the a small emergency-lamp from his spare spacesuit. He carefully cracked its bulb, exposing the filament within. fluid, while the depleted other breathed a sigh of relief when it was in place. He'd arranged for it to break a frozen-brittle switch as it descended. When it came off, the switch would light the lamp with its interested. Writing-material was air lock. On the way, thinking about Sattell, he suddenly recovered a completely he and his wife had gone out to dinner to celebrate. He remembered joy they shared that they would be together for always, with one complete Pop reflected hungrily that it was If it had not been for his vacuum suit and the cannister he carried, Pop would have rubbed his hands. clearly when he thought of Sattell, so by keeping Sattell in mind he recovered whether Sattell ever thought of millions hoist, if Sattell's coming up from sketch to keep from forgetting that. contents should weigh a hundred Sattell had no such device for adjusting much worse. Sattell clearly remembered yet recalled. He considered that Pop He came to hate Pop with an insane kill Pop. He had no chance—and he frantic blend of persuasion and information and genius-like invention Pop didn't wait. He searched bore directly upon Pop Young and Sattell and Pop Young's missing most expensive and most thrilling even mention it to Sattell if I were the plastic zestfully on the table to do with Pop or with Sattell. But them. He began to plan, gloatingly, the thing he would carve out of a four-inch section of the plastic. When it was carved, he'd paint it. While he worked, he'd think of Sattell, because parts Sattell had managed to get Sattell had committed. He felt, somehow, richest girl on Earth, who'd had five husbands and believed that nothing\n\n<question>:\nWhich item would most likely be shared by Sattell and Pop?\n\n<options>:\nA hatchet\nB pencil\nC lighter\nD screwdriver\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
21	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nBucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. \"What's eating you, Jig? I'm not going to hurt him.\" curtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much larger than the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. 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 ain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something....\" I said, \"That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now.\" He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber to fit me for a coffin. \"Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome, see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-pot ship'll hold her.\" He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamish cleared his throat and said, rather stiffly, \"Gertrude?\" \"Yeah. She's kind of temperamental.\" Bucky took a quick drink. I finished for him. She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may be a little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped she wouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-looking rewarded them.\" I said, \"Sure,\" rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed. \"Let's go see Gertrude.\" I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny going into the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a city The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall down the ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't.... It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there was a dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started down rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them, breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled around them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, and then wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again. A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell, 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 could think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a great metallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gow had them nicely conditioned to that gong. to put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night, all of a sudden.... Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. \"She's gettin' worse,\" he said. \"She's lonesome.\" \"That's tough,\" said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like an 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! 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.\" He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stood looking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then he turned to Gertrude. He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look at us. Bucky sobbed. \"You were right, Jig,\" he mumbled. \"Circus is no good. I know it. But Gertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love....\" \"Sure, sure,\" I told him. \"Stop crying down my neck.\" We were a long way from the light, then. The cages and tanks loomed rose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintly with blue, cold fire. I yelled, \"Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake!\" I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limp and heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans and roars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it all I could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, \" Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wants Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking, \"This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared!\" Then I went out. He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him and said, \"Where's Shannon? How is he?\" \"Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow come nickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell!\" I said, \"Yeah,\" and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell down a couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over the \"Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why?\" latch and looked at my feet. \"And—uh—Jig, I....\" I said, \"Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all!\" and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around looking like a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovian strong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat had kittens. I snarled, \"What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show!\" and went out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but they heat was already sneaking into the ship. While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude, screaming. The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing in He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three or four tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. around to see what was happening. People began to close in on the man who crawled and whimpered in the mud. Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight for air. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was no use. Kapper whispered, \" Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back.\" \"Keep this guy here till I get back,\" I said. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. \"Shut up,\" I \" Selak\n\n<question>:\nWho does Jig suspect wants them dead, and let loose the vapor snakes?\n\n<options>:\nA Beamish and the crew. The circus has not been doing well, and Beamish may be unhappy with the deal they cut.\nB The crew. They resent how little money they make.\nC Beamish, because he knows they cut him a bad deal.\nD Gow. He didn't call back the snakes as they attacked them, and is beside himself because of Gertrude.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,195	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nrelentlessly toward him. He awoke still screaming.... A night without darkness passed. Ben lay waiting for Maggie's return, a question already formed in his mind. the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] With never a moment to rest, the pursuit through space felt like a game of hounds looking for him, weren't you?\" Ben Curtis eased his pale, gaunt body through the open doorway of the Blast Inn, the dead man following silently behind him. \"Who is he?\" Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that \"Where is he?\" there, Ben saw moving figures. He could not tell if they were Earthmen, Someone tugged at his greasy coat. He jumped, thinking absurdly that it was the dead man's hand. we operate?\" He told her the tales he'd heard. She nodded. \"There are quite a few of us now—about a thousand—and a Ben looked down. but with almost every advance in space, someone dies.\" \"I'm American,\" Ben muttered. a temporary base when we have cases like yours. The new base—I might as well tell you it's going to be an asteroid. I won't say which one.\" \"Venus is getting too civilized. We're moving out and this dome is only Ben shook his head. \"It is deal, monsieur ? Five dollars or twenty Ben scowled. \"What happens if there keelis for visit ignore you then.\" \"Then we move on. We dream up new gimmicks for our crates and take them to Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto. In time, maybe, we'll be The boy grabbed his hand. Because Ben could think of no reason for Ben stiffened. \"And that's why you want me for an astrogator.\" Several times, Ben glimpsed the bulky figures of CO 2 -breathing unblinking. They certainly didn't look like telepaths, as Ben had heard that had coursed through her. Once he spied a white-uniformed officer of Hoover City's Security again. We'll try this afternoon. Okay?\" \"Okay,\" he said. , Ben told himself. He remembered a little picture book his mother had given him when she The officer passed. Ben breathed easier. Ben winced. How did this kid know he wanted to sit in the shadows? Frowning, he sat down—he and the dead man. For an instant, Ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the dead The dead man was real. His name was Cobb. He was stout and flabby and about forty and he hated spacemen. His body was buried now—probably in the silent gray wastes outside Again, its face would be a pop-eyed mask of surprise as Ben's fist been successful. Ben, quietly and moderately, wanted to celebrate. He stopped alone in a rocketfront bar for a beer. The man named Cobb Ben smiled. \"If it weren't for spacemen, you wouldn't be here.\" Ben stiffened. He was twenty-four and dressed in the white, He'd sought long for that key. At the age of five—perhaps in order to dull the memory of his parents' death in a recent strato-jet crash—he'd spent hours watching the night At sixteen, he'd spent every weekend holiday hitchhiking from Boys the grizzled veterans of the old Moon Patrol, he'd found friends who And a month ago, he'd signed aboard the Odyssey Ben rose and started to leave the bar, but Cobb grabbed his arm and Until this instant, Ben had suppressed his anger. Now, suddenly and Ben knew that he was dead. Then, for a single absurd second, Ben was seized with terror—just as, a moment before, he'd been overwhelmed with anger. At last, abruptly, he realized that he was alone and in silence. He saw He huddled in a dark corner of a loading platform and lit a cigarette. That would eliminate the escape charge. You'd get off with voluntary manslaughter. Under interplanetary law, that would mean ten years in prison and a dishonorable discharge. And then you'd be free. But you'd be through with rockets and space. They don't want new , Ben reflected, you can take a beer-and-pretzels tale seriously. You can hide for a couple of days, get rid of your uniform, change your Earth. After all, was it right for a single second, a single insignificant memory of the dead man's face would haunt him, torment him, follow him So now he sat searching for a perhaps nonexistent red-bearded giant, He jumped. \"Oh. You still here?\" n'est-ce-pas ?\" \"This isn't my first night here,\" Ben lied. \"I've been around a while.\" Ben didn't answer. \"They say it is because after women come, they want first thing a Ben raised his hand as if to strike the boy. Light showered the room in a dazzling explosion. Ben, half blinded, Ben whirled away from the advancing police, made for the exit into He stumbled forward. They were using deadly neuro-pistols now, not the He froze as if yanked to a stop by a noose. His body seemed to be needle had imbedded itself deep in his flesh, knew that the paralyzing his body. He staggered like a man of stone moving in slow motion. He'd have fifteen—maybe twenty—seconds before complete lethargy of mind and body overpowered him. In the dark world beyond his fading consciousness, he heard a voice A soft feminine voice spoke to him. \"You're wounded? They hit you?\" \"I'm sure,\" Ben managed to say. His mind fought to comprehend. With the anti-paralysis injection, within half a day. Without treatment, the paralysis could spread to heart and lungs. It could become a paralysis of death. An effective He didn't hear the answer or anything else. Ben Curtis had no precise sensation of awakening. Return to voice he'd heard in the Blast Inn. \"Don't talk. Just lie still and rest. Everything'll be all right.\" Everything all right , he thought dimly. There were long periods of lethargy when he was aware of nothing. There \"Swallow this now. That's it. You must have food.\" Or, \"Close your eyes. Don't strain. It won't be long. You're getting better.\" Better , he'd think. Getting better.... Finally he saw the face and figure that stood at his side. and thirty. Her features, devoid of makeup, had an unhealthy-looking pallor, as if she hadn't used a sunlamp for many weeks. Yet, at the \"You will live.\" He thought for a moment. \"How long have I been here?\" \"Nine days.\" \"You took care of me?\" He noted the deep, dark circles beneath her sleep-robbed eyes. in readiness. He shook his head, not wanting it. \"Why?\" he asked again. \"It would be a long story. Perhaps I'll tell you tomorrow.\" A new thought, cloaked in sudden fear, entered his murky consciousness. His own eyes widened. \"How did you know that?\" \"How did you learn my name? I destroyed all my papers—\" \"I know that you're twenty-four. Born July 10, 1971. Orphaned at four, Your rating for the five-year period was 3.8—the second highest in a class of fifty-seven. Your only low mark in the five years was a 3.2 in History of Martian Civilization. Want me to go on?\" Fascinated, Ben nodded. Rest.\" He tried to relax, but his mind was a vortex of conjecture. \"Just one more question,\" he almost whispered. \"The man I killed—did he have a wife?\" \"Children?\" \"Two. I don't know their ages.\" She left the room. Ben stared at the photo for a long time. At length, he slipped into The dead man returned to him. Bloodied lips cursed at him. Glassy eyes down and beckoned to him. Ben crawled through the night on hands and\n\n<question>:\nHow long ago had it been since Ben had first encountered the dead man?\n\n<options>:\nA 3 weeks\nB 1 month\nC 3 months\nD 1 week\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,621	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 of DREAD By MURRAY LEINSTER Illustrator ADKINS Nadine for weapons more adequate for encountering the local fauna when it was over. Blast-rifles were not Moran cut apart the yard-long monstrosity with a slash of flame. Moran, naturally, did not mean to help in the carrying out of the plans , with Moran present and allowed to take part in the discussion. From the viewpoint of the Nadine's 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 decision. He would die of it. The Nadine and annoyances. If they left their pests behind, the total system of checks and balances which make life practical would get lopsided. It would not maintain itself. The vagaries that could result were admirably illustrated in and on the landscape outside the Nadine . Something had been left out of the seeding of this planet. The element—which might be much. A water-ice ice-cap said that there were no poisonous gases in the planet's atmosphere. Sulfur dioxide or chlorine, for example, would not allow the formation of water-ice. It would have to be sulphuric-acid or Moran observed these things from the control-room of the Nadine , then no reason ever to expect rescue. Two of the Nadine's \"It doesn't look too bad, Moran!\" Moran disagreed, but he did not answer. He cocked an ear instead. He passage leading away. He called. But Moran observed with grudging any crime simply by buying a ticket to another world. Moran couldn't Nadine . The trouble was that the covering five persons aboard—four men and a girl Carol. Moran made six. 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 Nadine could not 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. He couldn't blame them. He'd made another difficulty, too. Blaster in hand, he'd made the Nadine The Nadine needed to make a planet-fall for this. 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 government of their native world, and they'd gotten away to make it seem expected, and start it up again. Moran considered the story probable. when Moran had used desperate measures against them. though, and Moran grimaced. 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 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 off-planet, and fast. But space-travel regulations are especially designed to prevent such escapes. for departure had been granted. But Moran had waylaid the messenger drew a blaster. He'd locked two of the Nadine's crew in the planet from which they'd carried away a criminal, even though they'd done it unwillingly. Investigation of such a matter might last for months. The Nadine The Nadine and sure, but it does not respond to fine adjustment. Burleigh used rockets, issuing great bellowings of flame, to make actual contact. The \"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. \"What's that stuff there, the ground?\" he demanded. \"We burned it away \"That,\" said Moran as if brightly, \"that's what I'm to make a garden in. finality. Moran said bitingly \"That ain't no hillock, that's my home!\" Then, instantly he'd said it, he recognized that it could be true. The ash-covered stone on which the Nadine \"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?\" \"Aye, aye, sir,\" said Moran with irony. \"Very kind of you, sir. You'll 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 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. world. Moran, though, would not be permitted a weapon. He picked up a poison if it can't dissolve. They filed out of the airlock. They stood on ash-covered stone, only landed. Moran moved scornfully stone on which the Nadine above even the monstrous cacophony of cries and boomings and grunts and squeaks which seemed to fill the air. \"What the devil—.\" Moran kicked again. More holes. More openings. More small tunnels in the \" They're—bugs! \" she said incredulously. \" They're beetles! They're the galaxy, but that's what they are! \" Moran grunted. Distastefully, he saw his predicament made worse. He knew for soil, bacteria to fix nitrogen to make the soil fertile plants to large and monstrous under the conditions of a new planet. And the ground.... \"This ground stuff,\" said Moran distastefully, \"is yeast or some sort of job.\" Burleigh grunted a somehow surprised assent. But it wasn't surprising not wholly so. Once one mentioned yeasts and toadstools and fungi \"I'm giving the orders, Moran!\" said Burleigh shortly. \"But what you say Moran heard muffled noises in his helmet-phone as the others tried to \" Moran said with savage precision \"It's not a hunting creature on worlds where it's smaller. It's not likely to have turned deadly here. Come on!\" He said sardonically \"This ship won't do anybody any good. It's old-style. That thick belt everywhere. \"We're going to find that this wreck has been here a century at least!\" Without orders, he turned on the torch. A four-foot flame of pure destroy it. Thick fumes arose, and quiverings and shakings began. Black creatures in their labyrinths of tunnels began to panic. Off to the Moran slashed and slashed angrily with the big flame, cutting a way to with him on board without his being detected as an extra member of the crew. His fate would then be sealed. But they also would be \" Look out! It's coming! Kill it! Kill it—. \" He heard blast-rifles firing. He heard Burleigh pant commands. He was on Nadine . They need not maroon him. In fact, they wouldn't dare. Harper were killed, Moran would be needed to take his place. He'd go on\n\n<question>:\nWhat crime did Moran commit?\n\n<options>:\nA theft\nB fraud\nC murder\nD treason\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
519	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nMercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life against the soft touch of a woman's lips. She bent her head in acknowledgment so that her bronze red hair fell down about her face. There was perspiration on her upper lip and temples. Her crimson mouth wore a fixed smile. Her eyes were frightened. The man, who had accompanied the singer on the piano, sat at the foot the singer but kept his pale, immature face bent over the keys, while his fingers lightly, automatically picked out the tune. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, plastered his white coat to his back. Without looking up, he said: \"Have you spotted him?\" His voice was pitched to reach the singer alone. The girl, with an almost imperceptible gesture, shook her head. The night was very hot stiffened. \"Here he is,\" she said to the pianist without moving her lips. The pianist swung around on his stool, lifted his black eyes to the \"Go on,\" said the pianist in a flat voice. The red-head shivered. Stepping from the stage she picked her way \"you have come. I did not think you would be in time.\" Her hands were clenched in her lap. The knuckles were white. The man said nothing. she had used his name. \"You have the reputation of being unpredictable. I don't trust you, but since....\" She stopped as the waiter placed glasses on the table and deftly poured compelling note. His eyes, light blue and amused, were pale against his brown face. The girl drew in her breath. The girl started, glanced at the pianist, said with a shiver: \"We can't locate Karfial Hodes. Don't look at me that way, Jaro. You frighten me. I'm telling the truth. We can't find him. That's why we called you. \"No,\" the girl replied. \"But we think he's here in the city.\" \"Why? What makes you think that?\" \"He was seen,\" she began, then stopped with a gasp. The lights had gone out. It was as unexpected as a shot in the back. One moment the garden was he could sense it. An exclamation was suddenly choked off as if a hand had been clamped over the girl's mouth. \"Red!\" said Jaro in a low voice. There was no answer. \"Red!\" he repeated, louder. He wondered who was putting up the ten thousand Earth notes? Who stood to lose most in case of a revolution? The answer seemed obvious enough. Who, but Albert Peet. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. And what had happened to the girl. Had the rebels abducted her. If so, he suspected that they had caught a tartar. The Red Witch had the reputation of being able to take care of herself. He beckoned a waiter, paid his bill. As the Mercurian started to leave, a thought struck Jaro. These yellow-eyed Mercurians could see as well in the dark as any alley-prowling cat. For centuries they had lived Jaro shrugged, dismissed the waiter. He had not expected to get much information from the waiter, but he was not a man to overlook any possibility. If the girl had been abducted, only Mercurians could have engineered it in the dark either side: buildings with walls four feet thick to keep out the heat of the sun. Beneath his feet, he knew, stretched a labyrinth of rooms and passages. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the revolutionist, and the girl. following him. They were never visible, but to his trained ears there came stealthy, revealing noises: the brush of cloth against the baked earth walls, the sly shuffle of a step. He ducked down a bisecting But as soon as he emerged he was conscious again of the followers. In the dense, humid night, he was like a blind man trying to elude the cat-eyed Mercurians. interest. He had, he supposed, killed rather a lot of men. He had fought in was little doubt but that he had killed quite a number of men. But this business of hunting a man through the rat-runs beneath the city was out of his line. Furthermore, there was something phony about the entire set up. speculation. He swung his bare feet over the edge of the bed, stood up and ground out his cigarette. Before he could reach the door the rapping came again. matter. I preferred to remain behind the scenes, but the disappearance of Miss Mikail has—ah—forced my hand.\" He paused. Jaro still said nothing. Miss Mikail must be the red-headed singer, whom at different times he had known under a dozen different aliases. He doubted that even she remembered her right name. \"Miss Mikail made you a proposition?\" Albert Peet's voice was tight. \"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 \"Perhaps. I have a large interest in the Latonka trade. It is—ah—lucrative.\" Jaro Moynahan lit a cigarette, sat down on the edge of the bed. \"Why Jaro laughed. \"How did you know Red had been kidnapped?\" \"We have a very efficient information system. I had the report of Miss Mikail's abduction fifteen minutes after the fact.\" Jaro raised his eyebrows. \"Perhaps then you know where she is?\" Mr. Peet shook his head. \"No. Karfial Hodes' men abducted her.\" A second rapping at the door caused them to exchange glances. Jaro went Moynahan he froze. \"What're you sneaking around here for?\" Jaro settled himself warily, his light blue eyes flicking over the youth. \"Let's get this straight,\" he said mildly. \"I've known your kind before. Frankly, ever since I saw you I've had to repress a desire to step on you as I might a spider.\" anyone called a doctor? Where's Miss Webb? Miss Webb! Oh, Miss Webb! right. She had straight black hair which hung not quite to her shoulders, and dark brown eyes, and enough of everything else to absorb Jaro's attention. \"Oh!\" exclaimed Miss Webb as she caught sight of the blood staining the carpet. \"Call a doctor, Miss Webb.\" Miss Webb raised an eyebrow, went to the visoscreen. In a moment she Miss Webb's eyes grew round as marbles. \"I wouldn't touch one of those nasty little contraptions for all the Latonka on Mercury.\" the first grog shop you come to.\" Miss Webb raised her eyebrows. \"What's this? A new technique?\" There's something I must know. It's important.\" He cleared his throat. \"Don't you find the heat rather uncomfortable, Miss Webb. But perhaps you've become accustomed to it.\" \"Goodbye, Miss Webb,\" said Mr. Peet firmly. first basement grog shop he turned in. His eyes swept the chamber, then \" said Jaro coming up behind her and poking a long brown finger in the small of her back. Miss Webb uttered a shriek, jerked so violently that her hat tilted over one eye. She regarded him balefully from beneath the brim. \"Never a dull moment,\" she gritted. Still grinning, Jaro sat down. \"I'm Jaro Moynahan, Miss Webb. I think Jaro's order. \"All right,\" Jaro smiled, but his pale blue eyes probed the girl thoughtfully. \"I'll have to confide certain facts which might be dangerous for you to know. Are you game, Miss Webb?\" \"Since we're going to be so chummy,\" she replied \"It's not true,\" Joan flared. \"It's all a pack of lies invented by the Latonka Trust. I know.\" \"But I should think rumors like that would run down the Latonka stock.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat was the main reason Moynihan asked Miss Webb to meet him at the grog shop?\n\n<options>:\nA He wanted her to call the police.\nB He was asking her out on a date.\nC She is a spy for the revolution.\nD He wanted to find out what she knew.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,399	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nRyzga made a savage, wholly futile effort to lift the weapon in his failed. with the Ryzgas themselves, who slept within, ready to wake and Var felt Neena beside him, and drew her close. As she sobbed her relief, At sunset they were in sight of the Ryzga mountain. Strangely it towered he continued to look down absently at the dead man. When at last he raised his head, he saw that the drama's end had had a further audience. \"Hurry,\" said Neena. \"They're closer than they were an hour ago.\" She was beautiful and defiant, facing the red sunset and the black mountain. Var sensed her fear, and the love that had conquered it. He she had challenged the feud of their peoples and had left her home, to follow him. Now, if her father and his kinsmen overtook them, it would be death for Var, and for Neena living shame. Which of the two was worse was no longer a simple problem to Var, who had grown much older in the last days. \"Wait,\" he commanded. While she waited he spun a dream, attaching it to \"Oh!\" cried Neena in involuntary alarm. Var sighed, shaking his head. \"It won't hold them for long, but it's the best I can do now. Come on.\" It was starry night already when they saw the light from the Watcher's watch on the Ryzga mountain, as a part of the oldest legends of their They felt the Watcher rouse, heard his footsteps, and finally saw him—a \"You were asleep!\" said Var. Shock made his thought accusing, though he had not meant to be. The old man grinned toothlessly. \"Never fear. Asleep or awake, I watch. against melting by the Watcher's will. Light blazed in reflections from turned questioningly to the young pair. \"We need a little rest out of the cold,\" said Var. \"And food, if you can spare it. We're pursued.\" Hot food and drink were before them almost at once. The Watcher regarded weariness lifted from them. \"You have stolen your enemy's daughter, no doubt, young man? Such things happened when I was young.\" Warming to the old man now, Var sketched his and Neena's history briefly. \"We should have been safe among my people by now. And before very long, I'm sure, I would have performed some deed which Groz would \"A pity, indeed. I would like to help you—but, you understand, I am the Mountain Watcher. I must be above feuds and families.\" Var nodded somberly, thinking that an old recluse would in any case be able to do little for them against Groz and his violent kinsfolk. \"And what will you do now?\" Var grinned mirthlessly. \"We haven't much choice, since they're The Watcher was broodingly silent his eyes shifted to Neena, where she nestled by Var's side. He asked, \"And you—are you willing to follow your lover in this?\" Neena returned his gaze without flinching are doing. That is the second part of the law the First Watcher made: to guard lest the unwary and the ignorant should bring harm on themselves and on all men.\" \"We know the stories,\" Var said brusquely. \"In the hollow heart of their mountain the Ryzgas sleep, as they chose to do when their world Ryzgas will come forth.\" \"The Ryzgas also were men,\" said the Watcher. \"But they were such a race the Ryzgas, there was lust for power, and atrocious cruelty that survived when the Ryzgas' world went down in flame and thunder. \"In the last generation of their power the Ryzgas knew by their science the Ryzgas' might had been forged, eyes that stared white and half the Ryzgas' dream, without slogans other than a cry for blood. who was the Mountain Watcher. \"Some of the Ryzgas took flight to the stars, and some perished on \"this is a world where you are free to risk wakening the old tyrants, if in your own judgment your great need renders the chance worth taking.\" Neena pressed her face against Var's shoulder, hiding her eyes. In her mind as it groped for his there was a confusion of horror and pity. Var looked grimly at the Watcher, and would have spoken but the Watcher Neena sat up and stifled a cry of fright. Var growled, \"Who are you? Where's the Watcher?\" The other flashed white teeth in a smile. \"I'm the Watcher,\" he Var passed a hand across bewildered eyes. Neena said softly, \"Thank you, Watcher.\" \"Don't thank me. I take no sides in your valley feuds. But now you are rested, your minds are clear. Do you still mean to go on to the Ryzga the morning sun, but the mountain of the Ryzgas drank in the light and direction, southward, without seeking to conceal herself. Your pursuers will be deceived and follow her, and by the time they catch her it will be too late for them to overtake Var.\" That possibility had not occurred to them at all. Var and Neena looked at one another. Then by common consent they blended their minds into one. Watcher had become again the hoary ancient of last night. Var felt a twinge of unfamiliar emotion only by its echo in Neena's They stood high on the side of the Ryzga mountain, and gazed at the little had the Ryzgas feared those who might assail them in their sleep. Var sent his thoughts probing beyond the curtain, listened intently, slanted steeply downward. Var's hands moved, molding a radiant globe Behind Groz the figures of his followers loomed up as striding shadows. Neena's hand tightened on Var's. Var sent a thought of defiance: \"Go back! Or you'll drive us to enter the mountain!\" exhorting his men to haste. Neena's face was deadly pale and her lips trembled, but her urgent The sun-globe floated behind them, casting light before them down the The immaterial globe of light danced on before them. mechanical servitors of the Ryzgas woke one by one and began to make the death-cries of a billion slaves, the despair of all flesh and blood before their monstrous and inhuman power. Without warning, lights went on. Blinking in their glare, Var and Neena with gleaming control buttons, levers, colored lights. As they watched last. And the Ryzga too stood motionless, looking down at them. not wholly roused from his two millenia of slumber. But the Ryzga's assurance of self that smote them like a numbing blow. With a new shock, Var realized that the Ryzga's thoughts were quite crawling, laboring to do the Ryzgas' will— Var was staring in fascination at the Ryzga's face. It was a face formed The Ryzga's final thought clicked into place: Between the Ryzga and the control panel a nightmare shape reared up Ryzga froze, teetering off balance and almost falling, as a numbing grip the Ryzga's frantic eyes. They glared back at him with such hatred and such evil that for an instant he almost faltered. But the Ryzga's misdirected and unavailing as those of a child who has not learned to wrestle with the mind. Var had guessed right. When Neena in her terror had flung a dream monster into the Ryzga's way—a mere child's bogey out of a fairy tale—the Ryzga had not recognized it as such, but had taken it for a real being. Var laughed aloud, and with great care, as one communicates with an infant, he projected his thoughts into the other's mind. \"There\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the Watcher's purpose in spinning the vision of when the Ryzgas fell?\n\n<options>:\nA To tell a story of human selfishness and evil in order to arm Var and Neena against the Ryzgas\nB To instill a sensible amount of fear in Var and Neena before they sacrifice the world for their romance\nC To persuade Var and Neena not to go further in their journey without understanding the potential consequences\nD To convey a neutral account of history in order to inform Var and Neena of what they're up against\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,445	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nSmith admitted he had made an error involving a few murders—and a few thousand years. He was entitled to a sense of humor, though, even in the Ultroom! HB73782. Ultroom error. Tendal 13. Arvid 6. Kanad transfer He reached into the pen, picked up the baby. As he did so the baby's knees hit the side of the play pen and young Laughton let out a scream—half from hurt and half from sudden lack of confidence in his new handler. But this did not deter Joe. He started off with the bright, teeth glinting in the sunlight. The man did not turn as the dog threw himself at him, burying his teeth in his leg. Surprised, the man dropped the screaming child on the lawn and turned to the dog. Joe seemed off balance and he backed up confusedly in the face of the going crazy. I can't say I dreamt it because there was Reggie with his bleeding knees, squalling for all he was worth on the grass—Oh, I don't even want to think about it.\" \"We haven't lost Reggie, Nancy, remember that. Now why don't you try Nancy had taken a sedative and was asleep by the time Martin finished cleaning the .30-.30 rifle he used for deer hunting. He put it by the stairs, ready for use, fully loaded, leaning it against the wall next to the telephone stand. inside with the other man. \"This is my new assistant, Dr. Tompkins.\" Martin and Tompkins shook hands. \"The baby—?\" Dr. Stuart asked. \"You'd better get him, Dr. Tompkins, if we're to take him to the him, making idle comment until Dr. Tompkins came down the stairs with \"Good-bye,\" Martin said, going to the door. Then he was nearly bowled over by the discharge of the .30-.30. Dr. Stuart crumpled to the ground, the baby falling to the lawn. Dr. Tompkins whirled and there was a second shot. Dr. Tompkins pitched forward on his face. The figure of a woman ran from the house, retrieved the now squalling \"But there must be! I tell you I shot these men who posed as doctors. One of them was the same man who tried to take the baby this afternoon. They hypnotized my husband—\" went to the door and opened it. \"Say, Homer, take another look around the walk and the bushes. There's supposed to be two of them. Shot with a .30-.30.\" He turned and picked up the gun and examined it again. \"Ever shoot a gun before, Mrs. Laughton?\" Reggie.\" The sergeant nodded. \"You were taking an awful chance, shooting at a guy carrying your baby, don't you think?\" \"I shot him in the legs. The other—the other turned and I shot him in the chest. I could even see his eyes when he turned around. If I hadn't pulled the trigger then ... I don't want to remember it.\" The patrolman pushed the door open. \"There's no bodies out here but corner, eyes open, tongue protruding. He was dead. If we keep Reggie in the house much longer he'll turn out to be a tires screaming, bounced over the curb and sidewalk, straight toward the child and mother. Reggie, attracted by the sudden noise, looked up to see the approaching vehicle. His mother stood up, set her palms against her cheeks and shrieked. The car came on, crunched over the play pen, killing the child. The mother was hit and instantly killed, force of the blow snapping her spine and tossing her against the house. The car plunged on into a tree, hitting it a terrible blow, crumbling the car's forward end so it looked like an accordion. The men were thrown from the machine. \"We'll never be able to prosecute in this case,\" the states attorney beer. Here's another report. This is his physical exam made not long afterwards. The man was in perfect health. Only variations are he had a scar on his leg where something, probably a dog, bit him once. And then a scar on his chest. It looked like an old gunshot wound, they said. Must have happened years ago.\" \"That's odd. The man who accosted Mrs. Laughton in the afternoon was bitten by their dog. Later that night she said she shot the same man in the chest. Since the scars are healed it obviously couldn't be the same man. But there's a real coincidence for you. And speaking of the dogbite, the Laughton dog died that night. His menu evidently didn't agree with him. Never did figure what killed him, actually.\" \"Any record of treatment on the man she shot?\" \"The men . You'll remember, there were two. No, we never found a trace of either. No doctor ever made a report of a gunshot wound that night. No hospital had a case either—at least not within several hundred miles—that night or several nights afterwards. Ever been shot with .30-.30?\" The state attorney shook his head. \"I wouldn't be here if I had.\" Laughton. Why did he pretend to be drunk?\" funny business.\" \"Guess you're right. Well, Mr. Smith won't think it's so funny when we hang criminal negligence or manslaughter on him. By the way, you've checked possible family connections?\" driver's license. And there's no duplicate of that in Springfield, in case you're interested.\" The man who had laughingly told police his name was John Smith lay on it,\" he declared. \"If you carry on any more we'll never get back to the Ultroom!\" \"I'm sorry, Tendal,\" the man on the cot said. \"I didn't think—\" \"You're absolutely right. You didn't think. Crashing that car into that tree and killing that woman—that was the last straw. You don't even deserve to get back to our era. You ought to be made to rot get to thinking human life doesn't have any value. We wouldn't be here if it hadn't. But to unnecessarily kill—\" The older man shook his head. \"You could have killed yourself as well and we'd never get the job done. As it is, you almost totally obliterated me.\" Tendal 13 paced the length of the cell and back again, gesturing as he talked. \"It was only with the greatest effort I pulled myself back together the poor thing by suggesting suffocation to it that night. \"And speaking of that night, you remember we agreed I was to do the talking. But no, you pulled a switch and captured Martin Laughton's attention. 'I came as soon as I could, Martin,' you said. And suddenly I played a very minor role. 'This is my new assistant, Dr. Tompkins,' you said. And then what happened? I get shot in the legs and you get a hole in your back. We were both nearly obliterated that time and we didn't even come close to getting the child. \"Still you wanted to run the whole show. 'I'm younger than you,' you said. 'I'll take the wheel.' And the next thing I know I'm floating in space halfway to nowhere with two broken legs, a spinal injury, concussion and some of the finest bruises you ever saw.\" These twentieth century machines aren't what they ought to be,\" Arvid 6 said. you, although it has me. They got to me right after the accident before I had a chance to collect my wits, dematerialize or \"At great length. They had a psychiatrist in to see me. He was a queer fellow with the most stupid set of questions and tests I ever saw.\" \"And you amused yourself with him.\" who came to the Ultroom to be transplanted to a younger body—and then sending him back beyond his original birth date—\" Tendal 13 got up Tendal 13 walked briskly through the door, snatched Arvid 6 by the shoulders and shook him.\n\n<question>:\nWhy didn't the man posing as Dr. Tompkins die?\n\n<options>:\nA He was able to escape and heal back in his time period\nB He was wearing a bulletproof vest\nC There was never a man named Dr. Tompkins\nD The bullet in his leg caused a non-life-threatening injury\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
432	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 thought they would actually find what they were looking for. Queazy discharged their tremendous inertia into the motive-tubes in such a manner that the big, powerful ship was moving at the same rate as the asteroid below—47.05 miles per second. He came slogging back excitedly, put his eyes to the eyepiece. He gasped, and his big body shook with joyful ejaculations. \"She checks down to the last dimension,\" Bob chortled, working with \"Whee! Mr. Andrew S. Burnside, you owe us five hundred and fifty thousand dollars!\" Queazy straightened. A slow, likeable smile wreathed his tanned face. to the winds and it fell gently to the deck-plates. While Queazy—so neither Bob nor Queazy would have thought of sending an answering Now that he and Queazy had found the asteroid, they were desperate to Saylor made no pretense of being scrupulous. Neither he nor Queazy had the opportunity to observe the pointer any Queazy made a gulping sound and slowly straightened. He automatically He and Queazy caught up with her on the side of the asteroid they Queazy said simply, \"That's right, miss. We're in a spot. I assure you 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!\" Oh! \" Bob Parker's stomach caved in. A few hundred feet away, floating surveying the three who faced them. think of this situation Billy?\" \"It's obvious,\" drawled Billy Saylor, rocking back and forth on his heels, \"that Bob Parker and company have double-crossed us. We'll have to take steps.\" laughter. Bob Parker's gorge rose. \"Scram,\" he said coldly. \"We've got an Queazy. Queazy got the idea, urged his immense body into motion. He before the flickering points of light in his brain subsided to complete What had happened to Queazy he didn't know. He felt so horribly sick, no asteroid, no girl, no Queazy. He was alone in the vastness of space. Alone in a space-suit. \"Queazy!\" he whispered. \"Queazy! I'm running out of air!\" There was no answer from Queazy. With sick eyes, Bob studied the oxygen indicator. There was only five pounds pressure. Five pounds! That meant he had been floating around out here—how long? Days at least—maybe weeks! It was evident that somebody had given him a dose of spastic rays, enough to screw up every muscle in his body to the snapping point, putting him in such a condition of suspended animation 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!\" He couldn't keep himself from taking in great gulps of air. Minutes, then hours passed. He was breathing abnormally, and there wasn't enough air in the first place. He pleaded continually for Queazy, hoping that somehow Queazy could help, when probably Queazy was in the same condition. He ripped out wild curses directed at the Saylor brothers. Murderers, both of them! Up until this time, he had merely thought of them as business rivals. If he ever got out of this— He groaned. He never would get out of it! After another hour, he was gasping weakly, and yellow spots danced in his eyes. He called Queazy's name once more, knowing that was the last time he would have strength to call it. He did not lose consciousness. He heard voices, Queazy's and the Queazy was bending over him, his anxiety clearing away from his us, and when she woke up she was on a slow orbit around her ship. her enough reaction to reach the ship. She got inside and used the Bob saw the girl now, standing a little behind Queazy, looking down at Bob came slowly to his feet, and matched Queazy's slowly growing anger. \"Say that again?\" he snapped. \"This is some kind of dirty trick you and your grandfather cooked up?\" If you knew my grandfather, you'd know how absolutely impossible it find the asteroid in time they wouldn't be able only a few hundred feet away. He swung around, looked at Queazy. \"How long were we floating around out there?\" \"Three weeks, according to the chronometer. The Saylor boys gave us a stiff shot.\" \" 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 going to put this to you plainly. We can catch up with the Saylor long, spiraling orbit. We can go direct and probably catch up with them Queazy looked from one to another of them. He waved his hand scornfully at Bob. \"You're plain nuts,\" he complained. \"How do you propose to go about convincing the Saylor brothers they ought to let us have the 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 \"Even I know that isn't the control to the Holloway vacuum-feeder, go from zero speed to our top speed of two thousand miles a second just like that!\" He snapped his fingers. \"No acceleration effects. This type of ship, have to marry him?\" 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 the control board, quartered the vision plate. He pointed savagely to Starre's blue eyes followed the long cable back to where it was got out of the chair so fast. \"Can you imagine it! A yo-yo!\" He disappeared from the room. \"Queazy!\" he shouted. \" Queazy, I've got It was Queazy who got into his space-suit and did the welding job, Parker practiced and experimented for three hours with this yo-yo of cosmic dimensions, while Starre and Queazy stood over him bursting into strange, delighted squeals of laughter whenever the yo-yo reached the end of its double cable and started rolling back up to the ship. Queazy snapped his fingers. \"It'll work!\" His gray eyes showed satisfaction. \"Now, if only the Saylor brothers are where we calculated!\" They weren't where Bob and Queazy had calculated, as they had naked-eye distance of the Saylor brothers' ship. Below, Earth was Queazy's big hand gripped his shoulder. \"Go to it, Bob!\" again. All this had happened in such a short space of time that the Saylor Queazy was across the room in two running strides. He threw in the telaudio and almost immediately, Wally Saylor's big body built up in the plate. Wally Saylor's face was quivering with wrath. \"What do you damned fools think you're trying to do?\" he roared. He snapped the hauler into its mile-a-second speed again, stopped it at zero. And the \"yo-yo\" went on its lone, destructive sortie. For a fraction of a second Wally Saylor exhibited the countenance of a doomed man. In the telaudio plate, he whirled, and diminished in size with a strangled yell. heavily, then rebounded and came spinning back with perfect, sparkling precision. And even before it snugged itself into its berth, it was apparent that the Saylor brothers had given up. Like a wounded terrier, their ship shook itself free of the asteroid, hung in black space for\n\n<question>:\nHow was Queazy able to determine how long the trio were floating around in space before waking?\n\n<options>:\nA From the chronometer\nB By how much fuel was left in their ship\nC From how much oxygen was left in their suits\nD By his declared level of hunger\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
814	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nLet Si Get This During a typical lunch time at the Royalton Hotel restaurant in midtown Manhattan, The New Yorker 's Tina Brown might be installed at her usual table, and Vogue 's Anna Wintour might be at her usual table (chewing on her usual meal--a $25 hamburger). Vanity Fair 's Graydon Carter might be there too, although he has transferred his main allegiance to a place called Patroon. Filling out the room are other editors, publicists, and writers from these magazines and GQ and House &amp Garden and so on. And one man, who probably isn't there himself, picks up every tab. Some of the lesser fry may even utter the Condé Nast mantra--though it is hardly necessary at the Royalton--as they grab for the check: \"Let Si get this.\" S.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. The expense-account lunch is a hallowed journalistic tradition. But consider a day in the life of an editor working for Si Newhouse. (Donald's editors are a different story, as they will be happy to tell you.) It's a closed economy where almost all human needs and desires can be gratified with a miraculous, unlimited currency called the Si. A Lincoln Town Car is waiting outside your door in the morning to take you to work. The car, which costs $50 an hour, is written into your contract. First stop, breakfast with a writer at the Four Seasons. The check may be as little as $40. When you reach the office, you realize you're out of cigarettes. No problem--you send your assistant to buy a pack for you. She gets reimbursed from petty cash ($3). (Could be worse for the assistant: She could be forced to pick up her boss's birth-control pills, or her boss's pet from the vet, or presents for her boss's children--regular duties for Condé Nast underlings.) 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. 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.\" Writers, of course, are nowhere near as profligate as photographers. Stories of wasteful shoots abound: the matching seaweed that had to be flown from California to the Caribbean for a fashion photo That annual Washington do has grown from an after-dinner gathering for drinks at a contributor's apartment to two huge blasts--before and after the dinner itself--at a rented embassy. VF 's annual Oscar-night party has become a similar institution in Hollywood. In addition to the parties themselves, Si also naturally pays to fly in VF staffers and to put them up at top hotels. (What, they don't have editors in Washington or L.A.?) 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.\n\n<question>:\nWhat general structure does the article follow?\n\n<options>:\nA Topic sentence and details.\nB Persuasive hook and explanation.\nC Argument and supportive details.\nD Problem and solution.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,313	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>:\nWar and Pieces 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. The Thin Red Line has a curious sound-scape, as the noise of battle frequently recedes to make room for interior monologues and Hans Zimmer's bump-bump, minimalist New Age music. Pvt. Bell (Ben Chaplin) talks to his curvy, redheaded wife, viewed in deliriously sensual flashbacks. (\"Love: Where does it come from? Who lit this flame in us?\") Lt. Col. Tall (Nolte), a borderline lunatic passed over one too many times for promotion and itching to win a battle no matter what the human cost, worries groggily about how his men perceive him. The dreamer Witt poses folksy questions about whether we're all a part of one big soul. If the movie has a spine, it's his off-and-on dialogue with Sgt. Welsh (Penn), who's increasingly irritated by the private's beatific, almost Billy Budd-like optimism. Says Welsh, \"In this world, a man himself is nothin', and there ain't no world but this one.\" Replies Witt, high cheekbones glinting, \"I seen another world.\" At first it seems as if Witt will indeed be Billy Budd to Welsh's vindictive Claggart. But if Witt is ultimately an ethereal martyr, Welsh turns out to be a Bogart-like romantic who can't stop feeling pain in the face of an absent God. He speaks the movie's epitaph, \"Darkness and light, strife and love: Are they the workings of one mind, the feature of the same face? O my soul, let me be in you now. Look out through my eyes. Look out at the things you made, all things shining.\" Malick puts a lot of shining things on the screen: soldiers, natives, parrots, bats, rodents, visions of Eden by way of National Geographic and of the Fall by way of Alpo. Malick's conception of consciousness distributes it among the animate and inanimate alike 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. 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>:\nWhat isn't true about A Civil Action?\n\n<options>:\nA it is weaker than the book at times\nB the actors portray the character emotions well\nC the protagonists win at the end of the film\nD Beatrice and Grace were financially impacted because of the film\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
383	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nIf you can clone a sheep, you can almost certainly clone a human being. Some of the most powerful people in the world have felt compelled to act against this threat. President Clinton swiftly imposed a ban on federal funding for human-cloning research. Bills are in the works in both houses of Congress to outlaw human cloning--a step urged on all governments by the pope himself. Cloning humans is taken to be either 1) a fundamentally evil thing that must be stopped or, at the very least, 2) a complex ethical issue that needs legislation and regulation. But what, exactly, is so bad about it? Start by asking whether human beings have a right to reproduce. I say \"yes.\" I have no moral right to tell other people they shouldn't be able to have children, and I don't see that Bill Clinton has that right either. When Clinton says, \"Let us resist the temptation to copy ourselves,\" it comes from a man not known for resisting other temptations of the flesh. And for a politician, making noise about cloning is pretty close to a fleshly temptation itself. It's an easy way to show sound-bite leadership on an issue that everybody is talking about, without much risk of bitter consequences. After all, how much federally funded research was stopped by this ban? Probably almost none, because Clinton has maintained Ronald Reagan's policy of minimizing federal grants for research in human reproduction. Besides, most researchers thought cloning humans was impossible--so, for the moment, there's unlikely to be a grant-request backlog. There is nothing like banning the nonexistent to show true leadership. The pope, unlike the president, is known for resisting temptation. He also openly claims the authority to decide how people reproduce. I respect the pope's freedom to lead his religion, and his followers' freedom to follow his dictate. But calling for secular governments to implement a ban, thus extending his power beyond those he can persuade, shows rather explicitly that the pope does not respect the freedom of others. The basic religious doctrine he follows was set down some two millennia ago. Sheep feature prominently in the Bible, but cloning does not. So the pope's views on cloning are 1 st century rules applied using 15 th century religious thinking to a 21 st century issue. If humans have a right to reproduce, what right does society have to limit the means? Essentially all reproduction is done these days with medical help--at delivery, and often before. Truly natural human reproduction would mean 50 percent infant mortality and make pregnancy-related death the No. 1 killer of adult women. True, some forms of medical help are more invasive than others. With in vitro fertilization, the sperm and egg are combined in the lab and surgically implanted in the womb. Less than two decades ago, a similar concern was raised over the ethical issues involved in \"test-tube babies.\" To date, nearly 30,000 such babies have been born in the United States alone. Many would-be parents have been made happy. Who has been harmed? The cloning procedure is similar to IVF. The only difference is that the DNA of sperm and egg would be replaced by DNA from an adult cell. What law or principle--secular, humanist, or religious--says that one combination of genetic material in a flask is OK, but another is not? No matter how closely you study the 1 st century texts, I don't think you'll find the answer. Even if people have the right to do it, is cloning a good idea? Suppose that every prospective parent in the world stopped having children naturally, and instead produced clones of themselves. What would the world be like in another 20 or 30 years? The answer is: much like today. Cloning would only copy the genetic aspects of people who are already here. Hating a world of clones is hating the current populace. Never before was Pogo so right: We have met the enemy, and he is us ! Adifferent scare scenario is a world filled with copies of famous people only. We'll treat celebrity DNA like designer clothes, hankering for Michael Jordan's genes the way we covet his Nike sneakers today. But even celebrity infatuation has its limits. People are not more taken with celebrities than they are with themselves. Besides, such a trend would correct itself in a generation or two, because celebrity is closely linked to rarity. The world seems amused by one Howard Stern, but give us a hundred or a million of them, and they'll seem a lot less endearing. The notion of an 80-year-old man cloning himself to cheat death is quaint, but it is unrealistic. First, the baby wouldn't really be him. Second, is the old duffer really up to changing diapers? A persistent octogenarian might convince a younger couple to have his clone and raise it, but that is not much different from fathering a child via a surrogate mother. Fear of clones is just another form of racism. We all agree it is wrong to discriminate against people based on a set of genetic characteristics known as \"race.\" Calls for a ban on cloning amount to discrimination against people based on another genetic trait--the fact that somebody already has an identical DNA sequence. The most extreme form of discrimination is genocide--seeking to eliminate that which is different. In this case, the genocide is pre-emptive--clones are so scary that we must eliminate them before they exist with a ban on their creation. What is so special about natural reproduction anyway? Cloning is the only predictable way to reproduce, because it creates the identical twin of a known adult. Sexual reproduction is a crap shoot by comparison--some random mix of mom and dad. In evolutionary theory, this combination is thought to help stir the gene pool, so to speak. However, evolution for humans is essentially over, because we use medical science to control the death rate. Whatever the temptations of cloning, the process of natural reproduction will always remain a lot more fun. An expensive and uncomfortable lab procedure will never offer any real competition for sex. The people most likely to clone will be those in special circumstances--infertile couples who must endure IVF anyway, for example. Even there, many will mix genetics to mimic nature. Another special case is where one member of a couple has a severe genetic disease. They might choose a clone of the healthy parent, rather than burden their child with a joint heritage that could be fatal. The most upsetting possibility in human cloning isn't superwarriors or dictators. It's that rich people with big egos will clone themselves. The common practice of giving a boy the same name as his father or choosing a family name for a child of either sex reflects our hunger for vicarious immortality. Clones may resonate with this instinct and cause some people to reproduce this way. So what? Rich and egotistic folks do all sorts of annoying things, and the law is hardly the means with which to try and stop them. The \"deep ethical issues\" about cloning mainly boil down to jealousy. Economic jealousy is bad enough, and it is a factor here, but the thing that truly drives people crazy is sexual jealousy. Eons of evolution through sexual selection have made the average man or woman insanely jealous of any interloper who gains a reproductive advantage--say by diddling your spouse. Cloning is less personal than cuckoldry, but it strikes a similar chord: Someone has got the reproductive edge on you.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the main reason the writer takes issue with the Pope's stance on cloning?\n\n<options>:\nA His opinion on it carries too much weight on how the ban is handled.\nB When he supports the ban, he goes beyond his position as a religious leader for a specific group of people.\nC The writer feels that humans have the right to choose how they reproduce, and the Pope is disallowing that.\nD The Bible says nothing about cloning in it.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,420	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nevil jack-in-the-box at night. I must tell you, Laura. graduating class, Laura. That's why it was so important, and skin-tight. I was worshiping him and hating him at the same time, for I was thinking: He's already reached Mars and Venus. Let him leave Jupiter and the others alone! Let us be the first to land somewhere! Let us be the first! I blinked. \"Who?\" 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 he was beside me we'd been a good team during those final months at the Academy and I knew we'd be a good team in space. The Universe was mighty big, but with two of us to face it together, it would be only half as big. good spacemen should!\" Then Mickey strode up to us. He was his normal, boyish self again, 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?\" Charlie's answer was obscured by a sudden burst of coughing. I knew \"No, thanks,\" I answered. \"Better not count on me.\" I hesitated, and you supplied the right words: \"When you've got the chance to be the first to reach a new planet. That's what most of you want, isn't it? That's what Mickey used to want.\" I looked at you as if you were Everson himself, because you seemed to to want.\" \" You bit your lip, not answering. \"What did she mean, Mickey?\" Mickey looked down at his feet. \"I didn't want to tell you yet, Ben. We've been together a long time, planning to be on a rocket. But—\" \"Yes?\" \"Well, what does it add up to? You become a spaceman and wear a pretty I couldn't answer. It was as if someone had whacked the back of my sort of funny.\" \"He's an old-time spaceman. You didn't need much education in those days, just a lot of brawn and a quick mind. It took guts to be a 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.\" You stared at me strangely, almost in a sacred kind of way. I knew suddenly that you liked me, and my heart began to beat faster. Laura?\" \"I could never hate you.\" \"It—it's about the stars,\" you said very softly. \"I understand why you want to go to them. Mickey and I used to dream about them when we were kids. Of course I was a girl, so it was just a game to me. But once I I frowned. \"And you mean it might be the same with the stars? You think maybe I haven't grown up yet?\" Anxiety darkened your features. \"No, it'd be good to be a spaceman, to see the strange places and make history. But is it worth it? Is it worth the things you'd have to give up?\" I didn't understand at first, and I wanted to ask, \"Give up ?\" Now I'd stumbled into a cross-roads, beholding a strange new path that I'd never noticed before. You can go into space , I thought, and try to do as much living in I scowled, not understanding. \"Why, Charlie? What for?\" He shook his head stiffly, staring at nothing. \"Maybe. Anyway, I'm gonna get off the Shuttle this time, make one more trip to Mars. Tell drugged. 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 I wanted him to say something, to tell me the secret that would kill the doubt worming through my brain. \"Listen, then. You haven't accepted any offer yet, have you?\" , the new ship being finished at Los Angeles. They want me, too, for the Moon Patrol, but that's old stuff, not much better than teaching. I want to be in deep space.\" \"Well, how about staying with us till you decide? Might as well enjoy Earth life while you can. Okay?\" I felt like running from the house, to forget that it existed. I wanted someone to tell me one of the old stories about space, a tale of courage that would put fuel on dying dreams. But I wanted, also, to be with you, Laura, to see your smile and the much as I loved the stars. And I said, slowly, my voice sounding unfamiliar and far away, \"Sure, I'll stay, Mickey. Sure.\" Why must I make a choice? Why can't I have both That evening I asked you to marry me. I said it very simply: \"Laura, I You looked up at Venus, and you were silent for a long while, your face flushed. Then you murmured, \"I—I want to marry you, Ben, but are you asking me to marry a spaceman or a teacher?\" \"Can't a spaceman marry, too?\" \"Yes, a spaceman can marry, but what would it be like? Don't you see, Ben? You'd be like Charlie. Gone for maybe Somehow I'd expected words like these, but still they hurt. \"I wouldn't have to be a spaceman forever. I could try it for a couple of years, then teach.\" \"Would you, Ben? Would you be satisfied with just seeing Mars? Wouldn't you want to go on to Jupiter and Saturn and Uranus and on and on?\" Your voice was choked, and even in the semi-darkness I saw tears glittering in your eyes. \"I know, Laura. Don't say it.\" was still 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 out there on the Odyssey where you belong. We got a date on Mars, remember? At the Canal.\" That's what he'd say. And yet I wanted you, Laura. I wanted to be with you, always. \"Oh God,\" I moaned, \"what shall I do?\" Without answering, I walked into my room. I knew it was true now. I And now, Laura, it's nearly midnight. You're in your room, sleeping, He made his last trip to Luna when he knew he was going to die. Heaven knows how he escaped a checkup. Maybe the captain understood and was kind—but that doesn't matter now. Do you know why he wanted to reach Mars? Do you know why he didn't want to die in the clean, cool air of Earth? It was because he wanted to die nearer home. His home, Laura, was the Universe, where the ship was his house, the crew his father, mother, brothers, the planets his children. I could have been the first ? 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 last night on Earth. It might have seemed an ugly kind of celebration to you, but he wanted it with all his heart, and we robbed him of it. Because of these things, Laura, I will be gone in the morning. Explain he'll go with me in memory to whatever part of the Galaxy I may live to reach. And so will you, Laura. I have two wedding rings with me—his wife's ring and yours.\n\n<question>:\nWhy didn't Laura say yes?\n\n<options>:\nA she isn't interested in marrying Ben\nB Mickey wouldn't want that\nC she was jealous of Ben's future plans\nD she knows he wants to go to space\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,247	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 intercom on Baxter's desk suddenly buzzed, and a bright red light Baxter picked it up and swiftly scanned its surface. A look of dismay overrode his erstwhile genial features. I had a horrible suspicion. \"Not again?\" I said softly. Baxter swore under his breath. Then he reached across the desktop and greatest mystery, Jery assumed that it was because of his mental time to pierce the maze of out-of-this-world double-dealing. For Jery end of the whole puzzle of THE SECRET MARTIANS—with Jery as the first 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 sleep late in the morning.\" 1 I was sitting at my desk, trying to decide how to tell the women of after six weeks in the hair, but that was the lab's fault, not mine. So I managed a weak smile toward the duo, and tried not to sweat too profusely. \"Jery Delvin?\" said the one on my left, a note of no-funny-business in his brusque baritone. \"... Yes,\" I said, some terrified portion of my mind waiting masochistically for them to draw their collapsers and reduce me to a beside me. Marge, my secretary, stood wide-eyed as we passed through I be back?\" I asked desperately, as we waited for the the golden bulk of their holstered collapsers. There was nothing for me to do but sweat it out and to try and enjoy the ride, wherever we were going. \" You Baxter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, then sighed, grinned wryly, and waggled an index finger at an empty plastic contour chair. \"I guess maybe you are at that, son. Sit down, sit down.\" I folded gingerly at knees and hips and slid back into the chair, pressing my perspiring palms against the sides of my pants to get rid of their uncomfortably slippery feel. \"Thank you, sir.\" There was a silence, during which I breathed uneasily, and a bit too always reacts to an obvious cliche. Then, with something like a look of relief on his blunt face, he inches tall, brown hair, slate-gray eyes. Citizen. Honest, sober, civic-minded, slightly antisocial....\" He looked at me, questioningly. \"I'd rather not discuss that, sir, if you don't mind.\" my mind. Ruin my work.\" \"I don't get you.\" \"Just a bit,\" Baxter said. I took a deep breath and tried again. Baxter cleared his throat loudly. \"I understand, at last. Hence your \"No, I don't imagine it has....\" Baxter was staring into some far-off Baxter looked me square in the eye. \"Damned if I know!\" Baxter shrugged, and his genial smile was a bit tightly stretched. Baxter eyed me balefully, then skimmed the brochure through the air in opposite side. \"All it gives is my description, governmental status, and address!\" \"Uh-huh,\" Baxter grunted laconically. \"It amuses you, does it?\" The smile was still on his lips, but there was a grimness in the glitter of fist down on the desktop. \"No one has an explanation! All we know is that the Brain always picks the right man.\" Baxter blinked, then lost some of his scowl. \"Yes, of course \" Baxter and back, with the broadly-smiling government picking up the enormous tab?\" I detected a tinge of cynicism in his tone, but said nothing. \"You sound disillusioned, sir,\" I interjected. He stared at me as though I'd just fallen in from the ceiling or somewhere. \"Huh? Oh, yes, Delvin, isn't it? Sorry, I got carried away. Where was I?\" I thought a second, then nodded. \"They've been having such a good time that the government extended their trip by—Why are you shaking your head that way, sir?\" and tired, and very much in keeping with his snowy hair. \"You see, the Space Scouts have vanished.\" adult, especially an adult with a mind keen enough to get him into Interplanetary Security. We've limited the shifts to four hours per man per day. Otherwise, they'd all be gibbering by now!\" Baxter shook his head. Baxter nodded. \"Yes,\" said Baxter. \"That's what bothers me.\" into nothingness, along with a good-sized swath of carpeting and six inches of concrete floor. go anywhere, do anything, commandeer anything I might need. All with no questions asked. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty chipper as I entered the hangar housing Phobos II . At the moment, I was the most influential human being in the known universe. yellow sunlight outside. He was tall, much taller than I, but he seemed nervous as hell. At least he was pacing back and forth amid a litter of half-smoked cigarette butts beside the gleaming tailfins of the spaceship, and a fuming butt was puckered into place in his mouth. thin golden chain from my neck, and for costume I wore a raven-black blouse and matching uniform trousers and boots. I must have looked quite sinister. I'm under six feet, but I'm angular and wiry. Thus, \"Yes, sir!\" he replied swiftly, at stiff attention. \"I don't really have any details,\" I said, and waited for him to take his cue. As an afterthought, to help him talk, I added, \"At ease, by the way, Anders.\" \"Thank you, sir,\" he said, not actually loosening much in his rigid position, but his face looking happier. \"See, I was supposed to pilot that fitted envelope-fashion over a foam rubber pad, and ran my finger over the surface of the pad. It came away just slightly gritty. \"Uh-huh!\" I said, smiling. Anders just stared at me. drinking. Otherwise, we'd all dehydrate, with no water to replace the water we lost.\" a dial there. \"Full, sir. But that's because I didn't drink very much, and any sweating I did—which was a hell of a lot, in this case—was a source of new water for the tanks.\" \"Uh-huh.\" I paused and considered. \"I suppose the tubing for these last—interview with Chief Baxter. I had a slight inkling why the Brain \"Strange,\" I remarked to Chief Baxter when I was seated once again in his office, opposite his newly replaced desk. \"I hardly acted like myself out at that airfield. I was brusque, highhanded, austere, almost 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. about, the way people jump when they see it.\" \"It is dangerous, of course, but it's vitally necessary. You're young, Baxter smiled. \"No chance of that, Jery. We didn't leave it up to any such a situation!\" I sank back into the contour chair, and glanced at my watch. Much too late to go back to work. I'd done a lot in one day, I reasoned. Well,\n\n<question>:\nHow did Jery feel when going to Baxter's office the second time?\n\n<options>:\nA just as nervous and confused\nB exhausted and worried\nC excited to find out what happens next\nD more comfortable and relaxed\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,532	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 WYMAN GUIN Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction May 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] males indulged and cared for all the children without reference to actual parenthood. sent an academic zoologist into hysterics lay there in the metabolic the volplas to use the fire drill and they were already utilizing the local grasses, vines and brush to build marvelously contrived tree bound. tearing down the animal rooms and lab building. The caretakers had anesthetized all the experimental mutants, and the metabolic accelerator and other lab equipment was being dismantled. I wanted nothing around that might connect the sudden appearance of the volplas with my property. It was already apparent that it would take the volplas only a few more weeks to learn their means of survival and develop an embryonic culture of their own. Then they could leave my ranch and the fun would be on. My wife got out of the car and looked around at the workmen hurrying \"What?\" to write a paper about my results.\" \"That's what I \"Turned them over to the university for further study,\" I lied. -yud.\" on the ranch. the clamp. Volplas at last. Three of them. Yet I had always been so sure I could create them that I had been calling them volplas for ten years. No, twelve. I glanced across the animal room to where old Nijinsky thrust old Nijinsky's elongated arms and his cousin's lateral skin folds had given me the idea of a flying mutant. cage. \"Daddy?\" \"Yes?\" \"Don't you know ?\" \"Do you understand the word?\" she is beautiful.\" She skated awkwardly between the rows of cages from which mutants with brown fur and blue fur, too much and too little fur, enormously long waved. Again in the laboratory, I entered the metabolic accelerator and limp little forms out to a mattress in the lab, two girls and a boy. The accelerator had forced them almost to adulthood in less than a \"Lunch, dear.\" \"From me, of course.\" \"But you love me just the same.\" you?\" I flipped a hamburger and a slice of onion onto a plate and picked up the ketchup and said, \"I've reached the dangerous age.\" \"Oh, good heavens!\" looked across the rolling hills and oak woods of our ranch to where the Pacific shimmered. I thought, \"All this and three volplas, too.\" I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth and said aloud, \"Yes, sir, the dangerous age. And, lady, I'm going to have fun.\" direction. \"You have lovely lips,\" I whispered. \"Thanks. Yours deserve the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, too.\" Our son reared the new palomino I had just bought him for his fourteenth birthday and yelled down, \"Unhand that maiden, Burrhead, or I thought, \"By God, wouldn't he have a fit if he knew what I have back there in that lab! Wouldn't they all!\" Mother . Why?\" \"Because, dear, I said so.\" \"Is that any reason for wearing clothes? Look at him. He's a young man sooner than already.\" \"Well, if you feel that way about it, they'll both have to start since you came out of the lab.\" \"I told you—\" \"Oh, not that again! You were dangerous at any age.\" She shook her head. \"Did I say you are eccentric ?\" I grinned. \"Forgive me if I eat and run, dear. Something in the lab can't wait.\" The fact was that I had something more in the lab than I had bargained They were also much faster than had been their predecessors in organizing their nervous activity after the slumbrous explosion of growth in the metabolic accelerator. When I returned to the lab, they golden down. Where it was bare of this golden fur, the skin was pink. On their heads and across the shoulders of the male stood a shock of fur as soft as chinchilla. The faces were appealingly humanoid, except spars had been common to the basic colony for years and were the result of serial mutations effecting those greatly elongated fifth fingers that had first appeared in Nijinsky. No longer jointed like a finger, them in a most humanlike way. They were active, curious, playful and decidedly amorous. Their humanoid qualities were increasingly apparent. There was a lumbar He said, \"'Ello, 'ello.\" Cloud Nine and he wants to celebrate.\" would laugh. would conclude, \"I am convinced that they have a language and speak it and ask, \"Where have these aliens come from?\" The government would reluctantly admit the facts. Linguists would observe at close quarters Volpla wisdom would become a cult—and of all forms of comedy, cults, I think, are the funniest. patience. \"What? Sure. Certainly.\" \"You didn't hear a word. You just sit there and grin into space.\" She \"No,\" I answered. \"Should I?\" \"What broadcast?\" \"From the rocket.\" \"Rocket?\" broadcasts.\" martinis for our friends. Then we sat down and drank the cocktails and the kids had fruit juice and we watched the broadcast Guy had tuned in. Some joker from Cal Tech was explaining diagrams of a multi-stage rocket. After a bit, I got up and said, \"I have something out in the lab I want to check on.\" The scene had changed to a desert launching site. There was old Guy himself explaining that when he pressed the button before him, the ?\" would map behind him. \"From this position, the telemeter known as Rocket Charlie will be broadcasting scientific data for several months. But now, ladies and it's always been pictured. A mechanical voice cut in. \"This is Rocket Charlie saying, 'Hello, Earth,' from my position in Mare Serenitatis. First I will pan the Menelaus Mountains for fifteen seconds. Then I will focus my camera on Earth for five seconds.\" The camera began to move and the mountains marched by, stark and upright third stage appeared in the foreground. Abruptly the camera made a giddy swing, focused a moment, and we were looking at Earth. At that time, there was no Moon over California. It \"This is Rocket Charlie saying, 'Good-by, Earth.'\" Well, when that screen went dead, there was pandemonium around our once. I used the metabolic accelerator to cut the volplas' gestation down to I had devised the language for them, using Basic English as my model, accelerator, I taught the language to the males. They spoke it softly little skulls a bit. My wife and the kids went down to Santa Barbara for a week and I took the opportunity to slip the oldest of the males and his two females out of the lab. I put them in the jeep beside me and drove to a secluded little valley They kept me busy relating their words for \"tree,\" \"rock,\" \"sky\" to the Until I had them out in the open country, it had been impossible to appreciate fully what lovely little creatures they were. They blended perfectly with the California landscape. Occasionally, when they raised their arms, the spars would open and spread those glorious planes. Almost two hours went by before the male made it into the air. His Chronicle motored out into the hills to witness this! dancing along the hillside grass. It was as if he had been flying a thousand years and was bringing antique wisdom to bear. \"I can get up there. I can stay for a while. How long will they be in the tree?\" \"Chances are they won't stay long. Keep your eye on the tree in case where the doves rested. I heard their mourning from the oak tree. It eat this?\" here in this woods until they're ready to leave.\" his wonder. \"You say we came from there?\" stars?\" \"That's right.\" \"Which star?\" I glanced about and presently pointed over a tree. \"From Venus.\" Then I realized I had blundered by passing him an English name. \"In your\n\n<question>:\nWhat university is the narrator affiliated with?\n\n<options>:\nA Associated Technical College\nB Institute of Technology Inc\nC Modern Institute of Technology\nD California Institute of Technology\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
459	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nNext morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donned \"We got T-Trouble,\" said Lt. Chandler. Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, \"This is a little ridiculous. I'm going \"I'll try again,\" Major Winship said and switched to the emergency \"Hell, Charlie, I feel stupid sitting out here,\" Capt. Lawler said. \"Maybe,\" Lt. Chandler said, \"it's buried too deep.\" \"Well,\" Lt. Chandler commented, \"even though we didn't build this thing \"We've lost about three feet of calk out here,\" Capt. Lawler said. \"I floor. \"Come on in,\" he said dryly. With the four of them inside, it was somewhat cramped. Most of the five hundred square feet was filled with equipment. Electrical cables trailed loosely along the walls and were festooned from the ceiling, Lt. Chandler mounted one of the bunks to give them more room. \"Well,\" this leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound?\" Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted. haven't got all day.\" A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. \"Here it \"How does this stuff work?\" Capt. Lawler asked. They huddled over the instruction sheet. \"Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference,\" Lt. Chandler said. \"Some Lt. Chandler turned and made a quick examination. \"Oh, they're all \"Who was supposed to check?\" demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. \"The only way you can check is to extrude it,\" Lt. Chandler said, \"and Major Winship, with his deficient reefer, remained behind. Capt. Wilkins stayed for company. \"As long as they'll loan us the calking compound,\" Capt. Wilkins said. \"You got any concentrate? I'm empty.\" It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkins After the meal, Major Winship said reflectively, \"Now I'd like a cup of Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. \"What brought this on?\" a wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everything big and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less—\" \"They've got the power-plants for it.\" equipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. He now on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change his cables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. necessary replacement.\" be able to deliver replacements in about ten days.\" \"The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out.\" Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from the minute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left, 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. The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. \"What is that \"That,\" said Capt. Lawler, \"is the calking compound.\" \"I am not kidding.\" Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk. \"Why didn't you just borrow a cupful?\" Major Winship said sarcastically. \"It's this way,\" Lt. Chandler said. \"They didn't have anything but 55-gallon drums of it.\" \"Oh, my,\" said Capt. Wilkins. \"I suppose it's a steel drum. Those things must weigh....\" \"Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong,\" Capt. Lawler to prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will be published in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet!\" \"About this drum,\" Capt. Wilkins said. \"Well, like I said, it's this way,\" Lt. Chandler resumed. \"I told him we needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mix up. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have to combine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a little scale—\" scales.\" \"Well, anyway,\" Lt. Chandler continued, \"he told us just to mix up the whole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff that goes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don't need.\" three thousand pounds calking compound. Those people are insane.\" \"The question is,\" Capt. Lawler said, \"'How are we going to mix it?' They thought over the problem for a while. we could....\" It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer. Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated. \"Now,\" Major Winship said, \"we can either bring the drum inside or take the mixer out there.\" \"We're going to have to bring the drum in,\" Capt. Wilkins said. \"Well,\" said Capt. Lawler, \"that will make it nice and cozy.\" It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back and forth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table was interposing itself. Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. \"Damn these suits,\" he said. \"You've got it stuck between the bunk post.\" \"I that.\" \"I don't think this is the way to do it,\" Major Winship said. \"Let's 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. \"Now, let's go,\" said Major Winship. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum between the main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring. \"It's not the weight, it's the mass,\" said Capt. Wilkins brightly. \"The hell it isn't the weight,\" said Lt. Chandler. \"That's heavy.\" He shook perspiration out of his eyes. \"They should figure a way to get \"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. \"Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that!\" \"Sorry.\" At length the mixer was in operation in the drum. \"Works perfectly,\" said Capt. Wilkins proudly. \"Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English.\" \"Sandpaper, I guess.\" \"With sandpaper?\" Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid into the drum. \"We don't have any sandpaper.\" \"It's been a long day,\" Capt. Wilkins said. \"Mix it thoroughly,\" Lt. Chandler mused. \"I guess that means let it mix epoxy resin from—\" \"Hey!\" exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. \"The mixer's stopped.\" He bent forward and touched the drum. He jerked back. \"Ye Gods! that's hot! And it's harder than a rock! It is \"Out! Out!\" Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense of urgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red. \"Let's go!\" Capt. Wilkins said. necessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into them\n\n<question>:\nWhy did Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler return with a fifty-five gallon drum of calking compound rather than the needed cup?\n\n<options>:\nA The steel drum offered the extra, needed weight.\nB They could only obtain the 55-gallon drums\nC They needed the full fifty-five gallons for repairs\nD They needed the drum for a chair.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
339	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCOSMIC YO-YO By ROSS ROCKLYNNE \"Want an asteroid in your backyard? We supply cheap. Trouble also handled without charge.\" asteroid, was plainly flabbergasted. Not in his wildest imaginings had he thought they would actually find what they were looking for. \"Cut the drive!\" he yelled at Queazy. \"I've got it, right on the nose. this has to be it!\" asteroid.\" \"Have it your way,\" Bob Parker sang, happily. He threw the ethergram to the winds and it fell gently to the deck-plates. While Queazy—so called because his full name was Quentin Zuyler—dropped the ship straight down to the smooth surface of the asteroid, and clamped it tight with magnetic grapples, Bob flung open the lazarette, brought out two space-suits. Moments later, they were outside the ship, with rich man who had decided to hold a wedding on top of an asteroid. Unfortunately, other interplanetary moving companies had cashed in on 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 get it to its destination, for fear that the Saylor brothers might get wind of what was going on, and try to beat them out of their profits. up and up—past tungsten, past iridium, past gold— this business. Look at that point—\" asteroid \"below.\" \"Ma'am,\" said Bob, blinking, \"did you say something?\" \"I said,\" remarked the girl, \"that you should scram off of my asteroid. And quit poking around at it with that spectroscope. I've already taken a reading. Cinnabar, iron ore, quartz crystals, tungsten. Goodbye.\" You! \" He and Queazy caught up with her on the side of the asteroid they hadn't yet examined. It was a rough plane, completing the rigid qualifications Burnside had set down. an asteroid that doesn't mean anything to you one way or another. But to us—to me and Queazy here—it means our business. We got an order for this asteroid. Some screwball millionaire wants it for a backyard wedding see? We get five hundred and fifty thousand dollars for it! If we don't take this asteroid to Earth before June 2, we go back to Satterfield City and work the rest of our lives in the glass factories. Don't we, Queazy?\" 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 double-crossed. Those boys are after this asteroid too, and they won't hesitate to pull any rough stuff. We're in this together, understand? We got to back each other up.\" \"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 sparks crackled between the hull and the asteroid as the magnetic clamps took hold. A few seconds later, the airlocks swung down, and laughter. Bob Parker's gorge rose. \"Scram,\" he said coldly. \"We've got an ethergram direct from Andrew S. Burnside ordering this asteroid.\" \"So have we,\" Wally Saylor smiled—and his smile remained fixed, hurled straight at Billy Saylor, lifted him straight off the asteroid and threw him away, into space. He yelled with triumph. At the same time, the spasticizer Bob held was shot cleanly out of his \"I'll starve,\" he thought. \"Or suffocate to death first!\" 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. 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 nerves. So I decided to trick him and I came out to the asteroid belt 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 find the asteroid in time they wouldn't be able to get it back to Earth, I came out here and decided to live here. Asteroids up to a certain size belong to whoever happens to be on them, by common law.... So I had everything figured out—except,\" she added bitterly, \"the Saylor brothers! I guess Granddad wanted to make sure the asteroid was delivered, so he gave the order to several companies.\" Bob swore under his breath. He went reeling across to a port, and was gratified to see his and Queazy's big interplanetary hauler floating \" 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 And when you get it back, you'll land it.\" \"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 later. Okay?\" 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. 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—\" trailing astern. \" Starre's blue eyes followed the long cable back to where it was Saylor brothers are where we calculated!\" They weren't where Bob and Queazy had calculated, as they had discovered the next day. They had expected to pick up the asteroid on their mass-detectors a few hundred thousand miles outside of the received a mere dent in its starboard half. Starre was chortling with glee. Queazy whispered, \"Attaboy, Bob! This time we'll knock 'em out of the sky!\" If you're alive,\" Bob snarled wrathfully. \"And you won't be unless you release the asteroid.\" \"I'll see you in Hades first!\" \"Hades,\" remarked Bob coldly, \"here you come!\"\n\n<question>:\nWhat is likely the next step in the story?\n\n<options>:\nA Starre takes the asteroid back, and she goes back to living on it alone.\nB The Saylor brothers return and retrieve the asteroid again.\nC Bob and Quezy work with Starre to come up with a solution to both their problems,\nD Bob and Quezy deliver the asteroid, and Starre marries Mac.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
458	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on the other. scheduled for the following morning. Major Winship, after receiving the message, discussed precautions with the three other Americans. Next morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donned \" Nyet ,\" said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. \"Count down. Progress. When—boom?\" \"Is Pinov,\" came the reply. \"Boom! Boom!\" said Major Winship in exasperation. \"Boom!\" said Pinov happily. \"When?\" \"Boom—boom!\" said Pinov. \"Oh, nuts.\" Major Winship cut out the circuit. \"They've got Pinov on \"The one that doesn't speak English.\" \"He's done it deliberately,\" said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the four Americans. \"How are we going to know when it's over?\" No one bothered to respond. They sat for a while in silence while the shadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems. for several minutes. \"Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can't tell a thing that's going on.\" no more. \"Static?\" \"Nope.\" \"We'll get static on these things.\" A small infinity seemed to pass very slowly. Perspiration was trickling down his face. \"Let's all go in,\" said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. \"It's probably over by now.\" Five minutes later, the perspiration was rivers across his face. \"This is it,\" he said. \"I'm going in.\" \"Let's all—\" \"No. I've got to cool off.\" There was a wait during which everyone seemed to be holding their breath. \"I guess it's over,\" said Major Winship, getting to his feet. \"Wait a bit more, there may be an after-shock.\" He switched once again to the \"Not yet.\" \"I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It's flexible.\" \"Still coming out.\" \"It's around here somewhere. Supposed to be back here.\" \"Well, Capt. Lawler got down from the bunk and Major Winship mounted. \"We haven't got all day.\" A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. \"Here it is! Dozen tubes. Squeeze tubes. It's the new stuff.\" Major Winship got down and Capt. Wilkins got up. 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 \"That's that,\" Major Winship said. \"There's nothing for it but to yell help.\" II of approximately thirty exhausting minutes. Wilkins stayed for company. \"I want a cigarette in the worst way,\" Capt. Wilkins said. \"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. \"I'll load you,\" Capt. Wilkins volunteered wearily. cursed twice during the operation. \"I'd hate to live in this thing for any period.\" Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. \"What brought this on?\" \"I was just thinking.... They really got it made, Larry. They've got better than three thousand square feet in the main dome and better than twelve hundred square feet in each of the two little ones. And there's only seven of them right now. That's living.\" \"They've been here six years longer, after all.\" \"Finogenov had a clay by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His own office is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. And big and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less—\" \"They've got the power-plants for it.\" \"Do you think he did that deliberately?\" Major Winship asked. \"I think \"That's going to take awhile.\" \"It's something to do while we wait.\" \"This is Major Charles Winship, Commanding Officer, Freedom 19, the Major Winship was squirming nervously, obviously perturbed. \"A-Okay,\" he said. \"Just a moment.\" This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth. \"... Freedom 19! Hello, Freedom 19! Come in!\" cables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. \"Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on to has tendered their official apology. You want it?\" \"It can wait until later. Send it by mail for all I care. Vacuum has destroyed our organic air reconditioner. We have approximately three weeks of emergency air. However, Base Gagarin reports no damage, so that, in the event we exhaust our air, we will be able to obtain the necessary replacement.\" The wait of a little better than three seconds for the response gave the conversation a tone of deliberation. 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.\" minute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left, and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in the that was rough.\" III The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. \"What is \"Well, like I said, it's this way,\" Lt. Chandler resumed. \"I told him we needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mix up. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have to \"Well, anyway,\" Lt. Chandler continued, \"he told us just to mix up the whole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff that goes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don't need.\" \"Somehow, that sounds like him,\" Major Winship said. \"He had five or six of them.\" \"Jesus!\" said Capt. Wilkins. \"That must be three thousand pounds of calking compound. Those people are insane.\" It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer. \"Well,\" said Capt. Lawler, \"that will make it nice and cozy.\" It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back and \"You've got it stuck between the bunk post.\" \"I know that.\" Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid of rested uneasily on the uneven surface. \"Now, let's go,\" said Major Winship. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum between the main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring. \"I've never sweat so much since basic.\" \"Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them?\" \"No!\" Major Winship snapped. attachment. \"I feel crowded,\" he said. \"Cozy's the word.\" \"Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that!\" \"It's been a long day,\" Capt. Wilkins said. \"Mix it thoroughly,\" Lt. Chandler mused. \"I guess that means let it mix for about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service in just a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe.\" \"I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air.\" \"No,\" Capt. Lawler said. \"It sets by some kind of chemical action. harder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here.\" \"Huh?\" \"Out! Out!\" and legs. At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right. \"What—what—what?\" Capt. Lawler stuttered.\n\n<question>:\nHow long would it take for the needed replacements to be delivered to Freedom 19?\n\n<options>:\nA three hours\nB 90 seconds\nC ten days\nD three weeks\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,582	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe movie is convinced, too--which is odd, since the fantasy of an underage cheerleader making a middle-aged man's wilted roses bloom is a tad ... primitive. But American Beauty doesn't feel primitive. It feels lustrously hip and aware, and a lot of critics are making big claims for it. The script, by Alan Ball, a playwright and former sitcom writer, carries an invigorating blast of counterculture righteousness, along with the kind of pithily vicious marital bickering that makes some viewers (especially male) say, \"Yeah! Tell that bitch off!\" More important, it has a vein of metaphysical yearning, which the director, Sam Mendes, mines brilliantly. A hotshot English theater director (his Cabaret revival is still on the boards in New York), Mendes gives the film a patina of New Age lyricism and layer upon layer of visual irony. The movie's surface is velvety and immaculate--until the action is abruptly viewed through the video camera of the teen-age voyeur next door (Wes Bentley), and the graininess of the video image (along with the plangent music) suggests how unstable the molecules that constitute our \"reality\" really are. Mendes can distend the real into the surreal with imperceptible puffs. Aided by his cinematographer, Conrad Hall, and editors, Tariq Anwar and Chris Greenbury, he creates an entrancing vision of the American nuclear family on the verge of a meltdown. A merican Beauty is so wittily written and gorgeously directed that you might think you're seeing something archetypal--maybe even the Great American Movie. But when you stop and smell the roses ... Well, that scent isn't Miracle-Gro. The hairpin turns from farce to melodrama, from satire to bathos, are fresh and deftly navigated, but almost every one of the underlying attitudes is smug and easy: from the corporate flunky named \"Brad\" to the interchangeable gay neighbors (they're both called \"Jim\") to the brutally homophobic patriarch next door, an ex-Marine colonel (Chris Cooper) who has reduced his wife (the normally exuberant Allison Janney) to a catatonic mummy and his son, Ricky (Bentley), to a life of subterranean deception. (The colonel's idea of bliss is watching an old Ronald Reagan military picture on television: How's that for subtle?) Lester's wife, Carolyn, is even more stridently caricatured. A real-estate broker who fails to sell a big house (her only potential customers are blank-faced African-Americans, Indian-Americans, and surly lesbians), she wears a mask of perky efficiency and insists on listening to Muzak while she and her husband and daughter eat her \"nutritious yet savory\" dinners. It's amazing that Mendes and Ball get away with recycling so many stale and reactionary ideas under the all-purpose rubric of \"black comedy.\" But it's also possible that those ideas have rarely been presented so seductively. Several months ago, Daniel Menaker in Slate in contemporary film in which the protagonist attempts to break through our cultural and technological anesthetization into \"the real.\" That's the theme here, too, and it's extraordinarily potent, at times even heartbreaking. The symbols, however, have been cunningly reversed. In movies like sex, lies, and videotape (1989), the protagonist has to put away the video camera to \"get real\" in American Beauty , it's Ricky Fitts, the damaged stoner videomaker next door, who sees beauty where nonartists see only horror or nothingness. In the film's most self-consciously poetic set piece, Ricky shows Lester's dour daughter Jane--in whom he recognizes a kindred spirit--a video of a plastic bag fluttering up, down, and around on invisible currents of wind. Ricky speaks of glimpsing in the bag's trajectory an \"entire life behind things\"--a \"benevolent force\" that holds the universe together. The teen-ager, who likes to train his lenses on dead bodies of animals and people, sells wildly expensive marijuana to Lester and somehow passes on this notion of \"beauty.\" By the end, Lester is mouthing the same sentiments and has acquired the same deadpan radiance. That must be some really good shit they're smoking. It's not the druggy philosophizing, however, that makes American Beauty an emotional workout. It's that the caricatures are grounded in sympathy instead of derision. Everyone on screen is in serious pain. The manipulative sexpot Angela, who taunts her friend Jane with the idea of seducing her dad, acts chiefly out of a terror of appearing ordinary. As the military martinet, Cooper goes against the grain, turning Col. Fitts into a sour bulldog whose capaciously baggy eyes are moist with sadness over his inability to reach out. (When he stands helplessly in the rain at the end, the deluge completes him.) The character of Carolyn is so shrill as to constitute a libel on the female sex, but there isn't a second when Bening sends the woman up. She doesn't transcend the part, she fills it to the brim, anatomizes it. You can't hate Carolyn because the woman is trying so hard--to appear confident, composed, in control. When she fails to sell that house, she closes the shades and lets go with a naked wail--it's the sound of a vacuum crying to be filled--then furiously slaps herself while sputtering, \"Shut up--you're weak--shut up. \" Then she breathes, regains her go-get-'em poise, replaces her mask. Carolyn isn't a complicated dramatic construction, but Bening gives her a primal force. An actress who packs more psychological detail into a single gesture than others get into whole scenes, Bening was barreling down the road to greatness before she hit a speed bump called Warren. It's a joy to observe her--both here and in Neil Jordan's In Dreams (1999)--back at full throttle. he forces himself to tune out the huge Yankee Stadium crowd (the background blurs before our eyes and the sound drops out) and he mutters darkly at a succession of batters, some old nemeses, some old buddies. He also thinks about his Manhattan-based ex-girlfriend (Kelly Preston), who tearfully told him that morning that things were absolutely over and she was moving to London. There's an appealing flashback to how they met (he stopped to fix her car while on the way to Yankee Stadium), then it's back to the game for more nail-biting at bats. But pretty soon the relationship flashbacks start coming thick and fast, and the balance of the movie shifts to whether Kevin can commit to Kelly and Kelly can commit to Kevin or whether his only commitment could ever be to the ball and the diamond and the game.\n\n<question>:\nHow does the author feel about For the Love of the Game?\n\n<options>:\nA Kevin Costner can still get away with playing a baseball player.\nB The baseball scenes are wonderful. The romance scenes are over the top and make the picture feel incredibly long.\nC It's a great sports movie.\nD It feels embarrassingly like a Harlequin novel.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,906	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 Astounding Science that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. She surely got her wish ... but there was some question about getting what she wanted. Phil Conover pulled the zipper of his flight suit up the front of his long, thin body and came into the living room. His face, usually serious and quietly handsome, had an alive, excited look. And the faint lines 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 face until she was looking into his eyes. \"You're the most beautiful \"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. isn't. We know exactly how it will be. If anything could go wrong, they 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 life. It isn't the kind of life I bargained for. No matter how much I love you, I just couldn't take that, Phil. I'm sorry. I guess I'm not the noble sort of wife.\" She finished and took another cigarette from the pack on the coffee table and put it to her lips. Her hand was trembling as she touched the lighter to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply. Phil stood watching her, the excitement completely gone from his eyes. \"I wish you had told me this a long time ago, Mary,\" Phil said. His voice was dry and low. \"I didn't know you felt this way about it.\" \"Yes, you did. I told you how I felt. I told you I could never be the possible—not until this morning when you said tonight was the take-off. It's so stupid to jeopardize everything we've got for a ridiculous dream!\" 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.\" existed only because of the huge ship standing poised in the take-off ready to stop existing as a town and to give itself back to the desert, if such was its destiny. Phil turned the car off the highway onto the rutted dirt road that led take-off zone and swept along the top of the high wire fence stretching out of sight to right and left. At the gate they were stopped by the guard. He read Phil's pass, shined his flashlight in their faces, and \"Thanks, sergeant. I'll be seeing you next week,\" Phil said, and smiled. They drove between the rows of wooden buildings that lined the field, and he parked near the low barbed fence ringing the take-off zone. He the eye lost the tip against the stars. \"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. \"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 Inside the building it was like a locker room before the big game. The tension stood alone, and each man had the same happy, excited look that Phil had worn earlier. When he came into the room, the noise and bustle stopped. They turned as one man toward him, and General Small came up to him and took his hand. \"Hello, Phil. We were beginning to think you weren't coming. You all set, son?\" \"Yes, sir, I'm all set, I guess,\" Phil said. As they crossed the room, familiar faces smiled, and each man shook his hand or touched his arm. He saw Sammy, alone, by the coffee urn. Sammy waved to him, but he didn't smile. Phil wanted to talk to him, to say something but there was nothing to be said now. Sammy's turn would come adventure into the universe. You're lighting a new dawn of history, and those who have had it didn't realize it at the time. Good luck, and God be with you.\" were chairs set up for the scientists and Air Force officers directly connected with the take-off. They were seated now in a semicircle in front of a huge chart of the solar system. Phil took his seat, and the 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. 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 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. fence. And for an eternity the great ship stood alone, waiting. Then, 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 THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhat is most ironic about the conclusion of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA While Sammy is the least qualified to go into space, he was the only replacement for Phil\nB Everything that used to give Phil joy will now represent pain and suffering\nC Mary's fear of losing Phil became a self-fulfilling prophecy\nD Phil trained all of his life for one moment, and gave it all up within the period of one day\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
105	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nPEGGY FINDS THE THEATER I Dramatic Dialogue cookies, kissed her parents good night and went upstairs said to his daughter Peggy, who perched tensely on the edge of a kitchen stool. “We could hardly have helped knowing that you’ve wanted to be an actress Peggy lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and the patterns of light and shade cast by the street “But, Dad!” Peggy almost wailed. “You just finished saying yourself that I’ve been thinking about this and wanting it for years! You can’t follow that by lamp outside as it shone through the leaves of the big since you were out of your cradle. It’s just that decisions like this can’t be made quickly.” I understand, Margaret, and so does your father. We both want to do what’s best for you, not to stand in Peggy’s father put down his coffee cup and leaned back in the kitchen chair until it tilted on two legs Desire ? Or, better for her development and age, a light, brittle, comedy role...? 19 Nothing seemed quite right. Peggy’s thoughts gain so much worth-while knowledge that you’d use and enjoy for the rest of your life—” “But not acting knowledge!” Peggy cried. “There’s more to life than that,” her father put in. “There’s history and literature and foreign languages shifted with the shadows overhead. All the plays she had ever seen or read or acted in melted together in “None of them is as fascinating as acting to me,” Peggy replied, “and none of them is nearly as important to my life.” 3 want it hard enough—to go on with all the study and practice it needed.” She paused and looked thoughtfully at her daughter’s to have something to fall back on, just in case you ever need it.” Mr. Lane, seeing Peggy’s hurt look, was quick to step in with reassurance. “We don’t think you’re going to fail, Peg. We have every confidence in you and Peggy stared at the faded linoleum on the floor for a few moments before answering. Then, looking first at her mother and then at her father, she replied “I don’t expect recognition in one year, Dad,” Peggy said. “I’m not that conceited or that silly. All I hope is that I’ll be able to get a part in that time, and maybe be able to make a living out of acting. Mrs. Lane patted Peggy’s arm and said, “We won’t keep you in suspense long, dear. Why don’t you go out for a walk for a while and let us go over the situation turned to look back just in time to see her mother throw her a comically exaggerated wink of assurance. Feeling much better, Peggy shut the screen door behind her and started for the barn. Ever since she had been a little girl, the barn had been Peggy’s favorite place to go to be by herself and think. Its musty but clean scent of straw and horses and leather made her feel calm and alive. Breathing As Peggy mixed some oats and barley for her pet and checked to see that there was enough straw in the stall, she thought about her life in Rockport and girl could want. Peggy had lived all her life here, knew every tree-shaded street, every country road, field, lake, and as soon as she possibly could. It was not any dissatisfaction with her life, her friends, or her home that made Peggy want to leave Rockport. She was not running away from anything, Seeing the image of herself hungry and tired, going from office to office looking for a part in a play, Peggy suddenly laughed aloud and brought herself had reached a decision about her future. Fighting down an impulse to rush right into the kitchen to see how they were coming along, Peggy continued II Dramatic Decision Upstairs at the Wilsons’, Peggy found Jean swathed in bath towels, washing her long, straight red hair, which was now white with lather and piled up in a “It’s a wonder you’re not bald, with all the rubbing you give your hair,” Peggy said with a laugh. “Well, if I do go bald, at least it will be with a clean scalp!” Jean answered with a humorous crinkle After a brisk rubdown with one towel, Jean rolled another dry towel around her head like an Indian turban. Then, having wrapped herself in an ancient, tattered, plaid bathrobe, she led Peggy out of the steamy room and into her cozy, if somewhat cluttered, bedroom. When they had made themselves yet?” Peggy said, in a puzzled tone. “Oh, that didn’t take much deduction, my dear Watson,” Jean laughed. “If they had decided against decided yet.” “You know, if I were as smart as you,” Peggy said thoughtfully, “I would have figured out a way to convince Mother and Dad by now.” With a hoot of laughter, she rolled quickly aside on the couch to avoid the pillow that Peggy threw at the girls limp with laughter and with Jean having to retie her towel turban. From her new position, flat on the floor, Peggy looked up at her friend with a rueful want to be sure that you have a profession in case you don’t get a break in show business.” “I know,” Peggy answered. “We had a long talk about it this evening after dinner.” Then she told her friend about the conversation and her proposed “bargain” After a moment’s thoughtful silence, Jean answered talent when I see it—and to recognize that it’s not there when it isn’t!” “But, Jean,” Peggy protested, “you can handle comedy and character lines as well as anyone I know!” Jean nodded, accepting the compliment and seeming why you’re going to go to New York and be an actress. And that’s why I’m not.” “But, Jean—” Peggy began. 13 “No buts!” Jean cut in. “We’ve talked about this your mind as easily as all that?” Peggy asked. “That’s the dark and devious part of my plan,” Jean answered with a mysterious laugh that ended in then I’ll feel that I’ve really done something worth while.” Peggy nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak for fear of saying something foolishly sentimental, or even of crying. Her friend’s earnestness about the importance of her work and her faith in Peggy’s talent had touched her more than she could say. It was nearly ten o’clock when Peggy finally felt that her parents had had enough time to talk things out. Leaving the Wilson house, she walked slowly Peggy and her parents adjourned to the kitchen, the favorite household conference room, for cookies and milk and more talk. good advice.” “And did she?” Peggy asked. “We were luckier than I would have thought possible,” she has a room that you can have!” “Oh, Mother! It sounds wonderful!” Peggy exulted. “I’ll be with other girls my own age who are actresses, and living with an experienced actress! I’ll bet she can teach me loads!” “I’m sure she can,” her father said. “And so can the New York Dramatic Academy.” “Dad!” Peggy shouted, almost choking on a cooky. “Don’t tell me you’ve managed to get me accepted there! That’s the best dramatic school in the country! “Tomorrow?” Peggy repeated, almost unable to believe what she had heard. “What are we sitting here talking for, then? I’ve got a million things to do! I’ve I can have more time! Oh, Mother, what parts will I do? Where’s the Shakespeare? Where’s—” “Whoa!” Mr. Lane said, catching Peggy’s arm to of nothing more than getting to bed. This is going to be a busy time for all of us.” Reluctantly, Peggy agreed, recognizing the sense of what her father said. She finished her milk and\n\n<question>:\nWhat narrative role does Jean play in the story?\n\n<options>:\nA She serves as encouragement to Peggy and gives the reader more reason to believe that Peggy has good acting skills.\nB She serves as a deterrent to keep Peggy in the area because Jean loves her so much.\nC Jean serves as proof that Peggy will likely succeed in life because Peggy has such a solid friendship with her and relationships are important to success.\nD She pushes Peggy to pursue her dreams, so that Peggy doesn't have to end up being a teacher like Jean.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
159	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n“Of course, this is no surprise to us,” Thomas Lane said to his daughter Peggy, who perched tensely on the edge of a kitchen stool. “We could hardly have helped knowing that you’ve wanted to be an actress lamp outside as it shone through the leaves of the big maple tree. As she watched the shifting shadows, she reviewed the roles she had played since her first time in a high-school play. Which should she refresh herself on? Which ones would she do best? And which ones were most suited to her now? She recognized that she had grown and developed past some of the roles which had once seemed perfectly suited Mrs. Lane smiled gently and placed her soft white to her talent and her appearance. But both had had lost the undefined, simple cuteness of the early teens, and had gained character. She didn’t think she should read a young romantic part like Juliet. Not that she couldn’t do it, but perhaps something years younger than I am, and girls of my age have lots of acting credits already. Besides, what is there to wait for?” Peggy replied, “and none of them is nearly as important to my life.” Mrs. Lane nodded. “Of course, dear. I know just Mr. Lane, seeing Peggy’s hurt look, was quick to make a bargain with you.” “What sort of bargain, Peg?” her father asked curiously. “If you let me go to New York now, and if I can get into a good drama school there, I’ll study and try to Peggy said. “I’m not that conceited or that silly. All I hope is that I’ll be able to get a part in that time, and maybe be able to make a living out of acting. good idea of what she’s doing,” Mrs. Lane said. “She sounds sensible and practical. If she were all starry-eyed and expected to see her name in lights in a few , I worked as a reporter on one of the best papers in New York. I saw a lot ... I met a lot of actors and actresses ... and I know how hard the city often was for them. But I don’t want to protect you from maybe I’ll go down to Jean’s for a while.” As she stepped out into the soft summer dusk she turned to look back just in time to see her mother throw her a comically exaggerated wink of assurance. her and started for the barn. Ever since she had been a little girl, the barn had been Peggy’s favorite place to go to be by herself and think. Its musty but clean scent of straw and horses she stamped one foot and softly whinnied a greeting. Peggy stopped first at the bag that hung on the wall As Peggy mixed some oats and barley for her pet and checked to see that there was enough straw in the stall, she thought about her life in Rockport and the new life that she might soon be going to. College attracted theater groups and concert artists, so that life in the town had always been stimulating. And of course, all of this was in addition to the usual growing-up pleasures of swimming and sailing, movie dates, and formal dances—everything that a girl could want. Peggy had lived all her life here, knew every tree-shaded street, every country road, field, lake, and stream. All of her friends were here, friends she had known since her earliest baby days. It would be hard to leave them, she knew, but there was no doubt in It was not any dissatisfaction with her life, her friends, or her home that made Peggy want to leave Rockport. She was not running away from anything, she reminded herself Seeing the image of herself hungry and tired, going from office to office looking for a part in a play, Peggy suddenly laughed aloud and brought herself back to reality, to the warm barn smell and the big, had reached a decision about her future. Fighting down an impulse to rush right into the kitchen to and down the street toward Jean Wilson’s house at the end of the block. As she walked by her own home, she noticed with or maybe a little more, she wondered why she steamy room and into her cozy, if somewhat cluttered, bedroom. When they had made themselves decided yet.” “You know, if I were as smart as you,” Peggy said thoughtfully, “I would have figured out a way to convince Mother and Dad by now.” with my folks last night, and they haven’t got a doubt in the world about you. But they know how hard it can be to get a start as an actress, and they want to be sure that you have a profession in case you don’t get a break in show business.” “I know,” Peggy answered. “We had a long talk about it this evening after dinner.” Then she told her friend about the conversation and her proposed “bargain” with her parents. “They both seemed to think it was fair,” she concluded, “and when I went out, they were talking it know!” Jean nodded, accepting the compliment and seeming make them look at you and respond to you and be with you all the way, even with bad lines. That’s why you’re going to go to New York and be an actress. And that’s why I’m not.” “But, Jean—” Peggy began. that was completely out of place on her round, freckled face. “Once I get into a high school as an I’ll be in a spot where I can use my special talent of recognizing talent. And that way,” she added, becoming speak for fear of saying something foolishly sentimental, or even of crying. Her friend’s earnestness about the importance of her work and her faith in Peggy’s talent had touched her more than she could say. 14 words. Crossing the porch, she caught sight of him through the window. He was speaking on the telephone, and now she caught his words. three of us. And, May—it’ll be good to see you again, after all these years! Good-by.” As Peggy entered the room, her father put down Peggy and her parents adjourned to the kitchen, the favorite household conference room, for cookies and but her natural, bubbling self. “Who was that on the phone, and where are the three of us going, and “One thing at a time,” her father said. “To begin with, we decided almost as soon as you left that we were going to let you go to New York to try a year’s experience in the theater. But then we had to decide just where you would live, and where you should study, and how much money you would need, and a whole lot of other things. So I called New York to talk to an old friend of mine who I felt would be able to give us some help. Her name is May Berriman, and she’s spent all her life in the theater. In fact, she was a very successful actress. Now she’s been retired for some years, but I thought she might give us some good advice.” “And did she?” Peggy asked. “We were luckier than I would have thought possible,” Mrs. Lane put in. “It seems that May bought a big, old-fashioned town house and converted it into a rooming house especially for young actresses. She always wanted a house of her own with a garden in back, but felt it was foolish for a woman living alone. This way, she can afford to run a big place and at the same time not be alone. And best of all, she says she has a room that you can have!” “Oh, Mother! It sounds wonderful!” Peggy exulted. “I’ll be with other girls my own age who are actresses, and living with an experienced actress! I’ll bet she can teach me loads!” “I’m sure she can,” her father said. “And so can the New York Dramatic Academy.” “Dad!” Peggy shouted, almost choking on a cooky. “Don’t tell me you’ve managed to get me accepted Berriman told me that the Academy is the best place to study acting, and she said she would set up an audition for you in two days. The term starts in a couple of weeks, so there isn’t much time to lose.” York day after tomorrow, just like that?” “Oh, no,” her mother answered calmly. “We’re going to New York tomorrow on the first plane that we be a busy time for all of us.” Reluctantly, Peggy agreed, recognizing the sense\n\n<question>:\nHow did Mr. Lane know May Berriman?\n\n<options>:\nA She was his former teacher.\nB She was an old friend of Mrs. Lane.\nC She was his childhood friend.\nD She was a friend from when he worked in New York.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
731	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 figured that he figured that I had something to do with the way he looked. \"Shipping marocca to Gloryanna III didn't turn out to be a cakewalk after all?\" I suggested. He glared at me in silence. did succeed in getting the marocca to Gloryanna III?\" I asked 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 difficult than we had expected—meant an enormous profit to both of us. The fruit of the marocca is delicious and fabulously expensive. The plant grew only on the single planet Mypore II. Transshipped seeds invariably failed to germinate, which explained its rarity. The Myporians were usually, and understandably, bitterly, opposed to letting any of the living plants get shipped off their planet. But when I offered them a sizable piece of cash plus a perpetual share of the profits for letting us take a load of marocca plants to Gloryanna III, they relented and, for the first time in history, gave their assent. In fact, they had seemed delighted. \"I got them there safely,\" said Captain Hannah. \"And they are growing all right?\" I persisted. \"When I left, marocca was growing like mad,\" said Captain Hannah. I relaxed and leaned back in my chair. I no longer felt the need of that marocca takes a very special kind of environment. Bright sun most of the time—that means an almost cloudless environment. A very equable climate. Days and nights the same length and no seasons—that means no then I'll black your other eye,\" he decided. \"You'll remember that I warned you that we should take some marocca out into space and solve any problems we might find before committing 'remember' the rate and direction of movement, and keep it up during hour spin on her to match the rotation rates of Mypore II and Gloryanna \"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.\" the southern hemisphere, it turned out that half of the plants had a It was full of minerals and manure and such, and I didn't want to introduce it into the ship's tanks.\" \"But you solved the problem?\" \"Not yet,\" said Captain Hannah. \"Like you, I figured I had the larval stage. Instead of making cocoons for themselves, they snipped cloud—by spreading it all through the ship—or whether to try to block off the other plant room, and save it at least. So I ended up by not doing anything, which was the right thing to do. No more plants died It was on page eleven that it mentioned casually that the midges—the correct word is carolla—are a necessary part of the life cycle of the marocca. The larvae provide an enzyme without which the plants die. \"Of course. I immediately stopped slapping at the relatively few midges that had made their way into the head with me, and started to change \"And the reason they had the same life cycle as the carolla was that 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 \"I got up with the sun the next morning. Hell, I had to, considering that it was I who turned the sun on! I found that the dingleburys immediately got busy opening small buds on the stems of the marocca plants. Apparently they were pollinating them. I felt sure that these buds weren't the marocca blossoms from which the fruit formed—I'd seen a lot of those while we were on Mypore II and they were much bigger and showier than these little acorn-sized buds. but I was busy. \"Anyway, the action of the dingleburys triggered the violent growth phase of the marocca plants. Did you know that they plant marocca seedlings, back on Mypore II, at least you'll recall, a mature field, which was the only kind we ever saw, is one solid mass of green growth. \"The book says that it takes just six hours for a marocca field to shift from the seedling stage to the mature stage. It didn't seem that long. You could it wouldn't do its job right. In effect, their growth would put out the sun. one of the things they do is to defend the marocca against marauders. about two seconds. \"And what's more, I found that I couldn't kill the damn things. Not if I wanted to save the plants. The growth only stops at the end of six Made them forget all about me. \"While they were having their orgy, I caught up on my reading. It was necessary for me to cut back the marocca vines. For one thing, I couldn't get up to the area of the bridge. For another, the main computer was completely clogged. I could use the auxiliary, on the thing, I would have to cut the stuff way back if I was ever going to get the plants out of the ship. And I was a little anxious to get my Delta Crucis back to normal as soon as possible. But before cutting, I had to translate the gouge. \"It turns out that it's all right to cut marocca as soon as it stops growing. To keep the plants from dying, though, you have to mulch the cuttings and then feed them back to the plants, where the roots store whatever they need against the time of the next explosive period of growth. Of course, if you prefer you can wait for the vines to die back naturally, which takes several months. \"There was one little catch, of course. The cuttings from the vines will poison the plants if they are fed back to them without having been mixed with a certain amount of processed mulch. Enzymes again. And there was only one special processor on board. \"I was the special processor. That's what the instructions said—I 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 hadn't chopped off all of the new growth, although I had the plants down to manageable size. Some of the blossoms left on the plants had formed fruit, and the fruit had ripened and dried, and the seeds had seemed to be enjoying the powerful stuff. He acted as if he thought he had finished. \"Well, go on,\" I urged him. \"The marocca plants were still in good shape, weren't they?\" Hannah nodded. \"They were growing luxuriously.\" He nodded his head a He said, \"They made me burn the entire crop right away, of course. They didn't get all of the carolla or dingleburys, though. Or spores.\" \"Gloryanna III is the original home planet of marocca. They hated the stuff, of course, but they liked the profit. Then, when a plague almost wiped out the dingleburys, they introduced khorram furs as a cash crop. It wasn't as lucrative, but it was so much more pleasant that they outlawed marocca. Took them almost fifty years to stamp it out completely. Meanwhile, some clever native shipped a load of the stuff to Mypore II. He took his time, did it without any trouble and made his Delta Crucis as security to pay for the cost of stamping out marocca all over again—those spores sprout fast—and for a time I was worried. \"Of course, when I showed them our contract—that you alone were responsible for everything once I landed the plants safely on Gloryanna\n\n<question>:\nGiven the way that the marocca grow, will the narrator and Captain Hannah likely have to make trips back to Mypore II in the future to transport more marocca?\n\n<options>:\nA Yes, because the marocca plants will not have a very long lifespan on Gloryanna III.\nB No, because the marocca will be so difficult to maintain on Gloryanna III that any hopes of restarting a marocca industry on the planet will be abandoned.\nC No, because the plants grow extraordinarily fast and they reproduce on a large-scale.\nD Yes, because the marocca do not produce many fruits, so more plants will have to be transported to make the plant profitable.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
452	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 outweighs you by fifty pounds and you needn't look to heart race, and then convulsively snatched the telephone receiver from the nightstand. He stabbed out a number with a vicious index finger. After a time there came a dull click and a sleepy answer. me for help Macklin had answered the phone instead of his wife. \"Oh, you want to know if my wife is around. No, she's asleep. That Army doctor, Colonel Sidney, he gave her a sedative. I wouldn't let him give me anything, though.\" \"No!\" the smaller man yelled. \"You can't expect me to violate professional ethics and test my own discovery on myself.\" The only thing that could delay the project was Macklin's health. Despite his impressive body, some years before he had suffered a mild stroke ... or at least a vascular spasm of a cerebral artery. It was known that he suffered from the vilest variety of migraine. A cycle of the headaches had caused him to be absent from his classes for several Ferris paced off the tidy measurements of the office outside the Elliot Macklin entered in a cloud of pipe smoke and a tweed jacket. He Macklin threw a big arm across Ferris' shoulders. \"How have you been, \"Doctor, we understand you have severe headaches,\" Mitchell said. Macklin nodded. \"That's right, Steven. Migraine.\" cause of headaches,\" Mitchell announced. produces headaches is?\" \"The pressure effect caused by pituitrin in the brain,\" Mitchell said eagerly. \"That is, the constriction of blood vessels in the telencephalon section of the frontal lobes. It's caused by an over-production of the pituitary gland. We have artificially bred a \"That may mean the end of headaches, but I would think it would mean the end of the race as well,\" Macklin said. \"In certain areas it is valuable to have a constriction of blood vessels.\" makes me violently sick to my stomach. But it's better than the migraine. How should I go about removing my curse?\" He reinserted the pipe. Macklin coughed. \"I don't want to overestimate my value but the government wouldn't like it very well if I died in the middle of this project. My wife would like it even less.\" tend it in a worn leather case. \"Tell me,\" he said, \"what is the worst that could happen to me?\" \"Low blood pressure,\" Ferris said. \"That's not so bad,\" Macklin said. \"How low can it get?\" \"When your heart stops, your blood pressure goes to its lowest point,\" Mitchell said. A dew of perspiration had bloomed on Macklin's forehead. \"Is there much Macklin held his head in both hands. \"Why did you two select \"Ferris!\" Mitchell yelled, slamming the laboratory door behind him. \"Don't be so stuffy and conservative, Mitchell! Macklin's cured, isn't he? By established periodic cycle he should be suffering hell right now, shouldn't he? But thanks to our treatment he is perfectly happy, with no unfortunate side effects such as gynergen produces.\" \"But—\" The shrill call of the telephone interrupted Mitchell's objections. Ferris excused himself and crossed to the instrument. He answered it \"It's Macklin's wife,\" Ferris said. \"Do you want to talk to her? I'm no \"Hysterical?\" Mitchell muttered in alarm and went to the phone. \"Hello?\" Mitchell said reluctantly. \"Mrs. Macklin?\" She couldn't have sounded calmer or more self-possessed, Mitchell thought. \"That's right, Mrs. Macklin. I'm Dr. Steven Mitchell, Dr. Ferris's \"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Macklin,\" Mitchell said sharply. \"That's absurd. What makes you think a thing like that?\" \"The—trance he's in now.\" \"Now, Mrs. Macklin. Neither Dr. Ferris or myself have been near your husband for a full day. The effects of a narcotic would have worn off by this time.\" \"Mrs. Macklin! I think I had better talk to you later when you are calmer.\" Mitchell dropped the receiver heavily. \"What could be wrong with Macklin?\" he asked without removing his hand from the telephone. Bud and Lou, much the same. \"I don't know. Maybe they just have tired blood,\" Mitchell ventured. \"Iron deficiency anemia?\" \"Never mind, doctor. It was a form of humor. I think we had better see As they waited Mitchell glanced at Ferris. He seemed completely \"Mrs. Macklin,\" Mitchell said quickly, \"I'm sure we can help if there is anything wrong with your husband. This is Dr. Ferris. I am Dr. Mrs. Macklin was an attractive brunette in her late thirties. She wore \"What's wrong with him, Sidney?\" the other officer asked the doctor. \"Not a thing,\" Sidney said. \"He's the healthiest, happiest, most well-adjusted man I've ever examined, Carson.\" \"But—\" Colonel Carson protested. The medic examined Mitchell and Ferris critically before answering. \"He Mitchell and Ferris stared at Colonel Carson and Macklin and at each \"What did he mean, Macklin is an idiot?\" Mitchell asked. Ferris followed them docilely. necessary amount of control to stop pain is too much to allow the brain cells to function properly.\" \"Why won't they function?\" Carson roared. \"They don't get enough food—blood, oxygen, hemoglobin,\" Ferris explained. \"The cerebral vessels don't contract enough to pump the blood through the brain as fast and as hard as is needed. The brain cells remain sluggish, dormant. Perhaps decaying.\" The colonel yelled. Mitchell groaned. He was abruptly sure Ferris was correct. \"Just a moment,\" Mitchell interrupted, \"we can cure Macklin.\" \"No, sir!\" the mathematician said. \"I shall not go back to my original state. I can remember what it was like. Always worrying, worrying, worrying.\" Mitchell looked back at Macklin. \"Where did his wife get to, Colonel? They found Mrs. Macklin in the dining room, her face at the picture \"But Mrs. Macklin!\" Mitchell protested. \"You will have to get a court order overruling your husband's wishes.\" She smoothed an eyebrow with the third finger of her right hand. \"That was my original thought. But I've redecided.\" \"Redecided!\" Carson burst out almost hysterically. where he never had a moment's peace from worry and pressure. He's happy now. Like a child, but happy.\" restore your husband's mind we will be forced to get a court order declaring him incompetent.\" \"But he is not! Legally, I mean,\" the woman stormed. Ferris' antitoxin treatment is the best method of restoring Dr. Macklin \"I doubt very much if the court would rule in that manner,\" she said. The colonel looked smug. \"Why not?\" \"Because, Colonel, the matter of my husband's health, his very life, is involved.\" \"There is some degree of risk in shock treatments, too. But—\" \"It isn't quite the same, Colonel. Elliot Macklin has a history of vascular spasm, a mild pseudostroke some years ago. Now you want to give those cerebral arteries back the ability to constrict. To there is no chance of your husband regaining his right senses, Mrs. Macklin,\" Mitchell interjected. Her mouth grew petulant. \"I don't care. I would rather have a live \"I'm no psychiatrist,\" Mitchell said, \"but I think she wants Macklin stupid. Prefers it that way. She's always dominated his personal life, and now she can dominate him completely.\" \"What is she? A monster?\" the Army officer muttered. \"No,\" Mitchell said. \"She's an intelligent woman unconsciously jealous of her husband's genius.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Macklin's wife hysterical when she called to speak with Ferris and Mitchell?\n\n<options>:\nA Her husband was very ill from the virus\nB Her husband was still having headaches\nC She thought they had given her husband heroin.\nD Her husband's blood pressure had dropped extremely low.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
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>:\n\"Phone Me in Central Park\" By JAMES McCONNELL There should be an epitaph for every clutched tightly around the jagged edges of the window pane. In spite of the sharp pain that raced through his system, in spite of the bright, warm, red stream that trickled down his face, he knelt by the \" Maybe I'm not the last! \" The thought struck him with suddenness, promisingly, edged with ignored it. The street that led towards the Bureau of Vital Statistics was a mess of desolate carnage. Charles overlooked it. Shop fronts smashed, stores looted, gyro-cars wrecked, proud buildings defaced. unit of population, each section of town operating on perpetual, ever-lasting, automatic atomic piles. 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 countryside began to remark that the locusts were late that year. The Southern states joyously reported that mosquito control was working to an unprecedented degree. The largest cotton crop ever was forecast and 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 in New York. And now.... give him an answer he didn't dare listen to. \"But I've got to try.\" He 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.\" In all of his life, Charles had never once glanced at The Index. The average person had little necessity to do so since the Bureau information service would answer questions free of charge at any time. young man and walked into the main foyer. Passing behind once-guarded doors, he entered the giant computer room and paused in admiration. Only once, before the plague, had he seen the interior of this room. But he still remembered it and he still recalled the powerful emotional experience it had been those many years ago. All children had to have a brain-wave recording made by the Bureau 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 mechanical wonder had remained with him the rest of his life. \"So different now,\" he thought, surveying the room. \"Now it's empty, so empty.\" The machine seemed to reflect the stillness, the very deadness of the world. The silence became unbearable. Charles walked to the master control panel. With newly acquired dexterity he switched the computer screens on and watched them glow 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. The main computer screen dominated one wall of the room. Other smaller 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 being sampled while the screen would show population density by 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 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 His eyes stabbed quickly for the counter above the screen. One. Charles was by himself, the last person alive in all of New York City. He began to tremble violently. The silence of the room began to press quickly in on him. His frantic fingers searched for the computer controls. plague. It's only logical that—\" He stopped. For even as he spoke, the light winked out! The counter clicked again. 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.\" it? Had God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, spared his life, saved him, singled him out because he was most nearly a saint, most nearly Chance. That was it! The laws of probability, the bell-shaped curve, normal distribution, rectilinear regression. More people per square Somehow, though, since things were ready and it didn't make too much difference, it seemed to Charles that he'd probably have a long time to wait. \"Maybe it's just a disease, and I'm immune. I was immune to smallpox. The vaccination never took. That's probably it.\" He smiled. Strange, but now he wanted very much to go on living, The tremor turned to a shake before he reached the far curb, and the first burst of wild pain came as he laid his shoulder against the door to the restaurant. This was the way the plague began, but—His mind quickly repressed the idea. It couldn't be the plague. He was immune! Another burst of pulsating, shattering pain crashed through his body, tearing down the defenses of his mind, putting an end of his thoughts stomach protested, he vomited. It made no difference. Charles refused to think. Machines, especially half-broken machines, do not think they only work. Sweating, straining, bleeding, retching, he pushed himself towards his goal, trying to add one final touch of grace Instantly the thought struck him with paralyzing devastation. The answer to it all poked its face out from the recesses of his mind and sapped the last bit of his energy, corroding his nerves and dying last man's anguished cry at the unreasonableness of it all. Charles screamed. The large, invisible, ovular being that hung suspended over the Empire State Building rested from its exertion. Soon it was approached by \"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.\" fluttered down into the shallow hole beneath, unnoticed. The writing on the metal, until then partially obscured by the papers, became legible: HERE LIES THE BODY OF THE LAST MAN ON EARTH—\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the Bureau of Vital Statistics and what is its purpose?\n\n<options>:\nA It holds a computer whose design is thought to be humanity’s greatest achievement. The computer keeps track of all humans, monitoring their health, their lifespan, and where they are on Earth.\nB It holds a computer whose design is thought to be humanity’s greatest achievement. The computer monitors whether certain countries are more susceptible to alien invasion.\nC It holds a computer whose design is thought to be humanity’s greatest achievement. The computer keeps track of what is happening on nearby planets.\nD It holds a computer that keeps track of how many people are currently infected by the plague—a technology thought to be humanity’s greatest achievement.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,318	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nA more subversive sort of queen is on display in Velvet Goldmine , Todd Haynes' musical fantasia on the early '70s era of \"glam\" or \"glitter\" rock. Here the monarch is a David Bowie-esque singer called Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) and his spidery, space-age alter ego, Maxwell Demon. The movie opens with a spaceship depositing an infant Oscar Wilde on the stoop of a Dublin townhouse. Then it skips ahead to track a jade pin (it signifies hedonistic liberation) from the custody of a young Wilde to a swishy fringe creature called Jack Fairy to the regal Slade, a bisexual superstar who carries the news to all the young dudes. After that, we're in an Orwellian 1984 that's presided over by a vaguely fascist president and by arena rockers who serve as propagandists for a repressively conformist state. Whatever happened to Brian Slade, the glitter kids, the visionary exhibitionists and gleeful poseurs? Borrowing its framework from Citizen Kane , the movie follows a reporter (Christian Bale) assigned to reconstruct Slade's life and solve the mystery of his whereabouts. Whatever you make of Velvet Goldmine (opinions have ranged from rapturous to casually dismissive), it's like no other musical ever made. It's determinedly swirling, discursive, elliptical. Now the story is told by an omniscient narrator, now a TV reporter, now a participant. Now it's flashing back, now forward. Every other line of dialogue is a cue for one of its dazzling numbers, largely covers of songs by Brian Eno, Bryan Ferry, and T. Rex. The narrative is a challenge to keep up with, but then, great artists often invent their own syntax. In the '80s, Haynes employed Barbie dolls to depict the rise and wasting away from anorexia of the singer Karen Carpenter. Lucky audiences who caught Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (it was shelved when Richard Carpenter served the producers with an order to cease and desist exhibition) began by laughing at this elaborately posed, soft-rock femme, only to discover by the climax that the cultural forces that were eating at her (and that kept her from eating) had grown heartbreakingly palpable. Poison (1991), Haynes' Genêt-inspired exploration of transgression, didn't overcome its own artiness. But Safe (1995), the story of a Reagan-era housewife (Julianne Moore) convinced that her environment is poisoning her, is an entrancing meditation on the power of culture to crush the individual. Despite its ironic detachment, the film draws you into its heroine's sickly state: Breathing oxygen from a canister inside a high-tech igloo, she dwindles to nearly nothing, the modern incarnation of the Incredible Shrinking Man. (It was partly my passion for Haynes' films that led me to accept a job offer from his indefatigable producer Christine Vachon last year to collaborate on a nuts-and-bolts book about producing, Shooting To Kill . So my review of Velvet Goldmine --like my review of Vachon's other recent release, Happiness --should be read as the work of a partisan. But not a blind partisan.) In Velvet Goldmine , Haynes sets out to demonstrate the power of popular music to change people's lives--to tell them it's OK to fashion themselves into anything they please. The core of the movie turns out not to be the Bowie figure but the journalist, Arthur Stuart, who was a witness to the events he's now reconstructing. Bale is such an expressive performer that Stuart's remembrance of things past attains a Proustian intensity. To him, Slade was a sexual messiah. I've never seen a more vivid distillation of rock's allure than the scene in which he reverently opens the new Brian Slade album--its centerfold image is a lithe, naked, green-tinged Maxwell Demon--slips the vinyl out of its paper jacket and, after gingerly setting the LP on the turntable, props a chair under the doorknob to keep the uncomprehending world at bay. But if Haynes wants Velvet Goldmine to be an anthem to the principles Bowie once embodied--the embrace of artifice and the smashing of conventional sexual roles--he also wants to portray the rocker as a hollow opportunist who abandoned glam and bisexuality for the life of a corporate superstar, throwing in his lot with the forces of repression. That's a lot to cover. An actor of stature might have bridged these two impulses, but the beautiful, brazenly slim-hipped Rhys-Meyers doesn't make his lines sound as if he's thinking them up on the spot, and Slade's self-destructive passion for Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor), the film's fuzzy, sweet Iggy Pop figure, seems less an emotional imperative than a thematic one. A case can be made that Velvet Goldmine isn't fully filled in, and that Haynes, who has never shaken off his background as a semiotics major, has made a movie that's all signifiers. I sometimes found myself wishing he would let the picture catch its breath, that the performers would stop coming at me in stroboscopic flashes. But then I'd be swept up in the sinuous motion of his filmmaking, in the elation of watching point of view passed like a baton from hand to hand, in the liberating force of his language and soundtrack. Velvet Goldmine might seem like a collection of baubles, but those baubles are strung. Is Brad Pitt the worst actor on earth? The case could be made, and Meet Joe Black could serve as Exhibit A. Pitt plays two roles in this seven course schlockfest. He's (briefly) a slick but wholesome yuppie and then (interminably) Death, who takes over the young man's body when he's thumped by a couple of cars in the movie's most promising moment. Bleached so blond that he looks like an irradiated android, Pitt expels all expression from his face and all tone from his voice. He speaks very, very slowly. The stunt half-works, at least until he's supposed to undergo an inner transformation and acquire human emotions--whereupon his face remains just as blank. Pitt's conception of the role is an idée fixe by someone who doesn't appear to have an idée in his head. Shoot the Moon , 1982), labored on this moldy script, which features characters who ask questions that begin \"Am I to understand that ...?\" and a corporate villain who directs another character to \"wake up and smell the thorns.\" It apparently never occurred to even one of these overpaid scribes to eliminate Hopkins' rueful realization that he'd \"never write the great American novel\"--no kidding, given his flagrantly Welsh accent. Actually, Hopkins gives this humanistic magnate considerable weight, so that whether or not Death takes him before he can stop to smell the roses and make amends to his neglected children becomes a matter of some suspense. The rest of the cast works with equal fortitude, especially Jeffrey Tambor (Hank \"Hey now!\" Kingsley on The Larry Sanders Show ) as Hopkins' milksop son-in-law and Marcia Gay Harden as his party planning, perpetually wilting elder daughter. As the younger daughter, the dark eyed, spaghetti thin Claire Forlani has to carry the picture's bathos on her exquisite shoulders. Her tremulous thoroughbred act wears thin, but it's hardly her fault: She has to emote like mad opposite a black pit of death--or is that the Black Death of Pitt?\n\n<question>:\nWhich word least describes Velvet Goldmine?\n\n<options>:\nA unique\nB honest\nC inspirational\nD sequential\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
978	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nAs the years went by, Martin began to lose even his detached interest in the land and its doings. Although the yacht frequently touched port for fuel or supplies—it was more economical to purchase them in that era than to have them shipped from the future—he seldom went ashore, and then only at the urging of a newly assigned cousin anxious to see the sights. Most of the time Martin spent in watching the sea—and off without them. Martin was no exception. He'd never had it this and felt an uncomfortable pang of a sensation he could no longer understand. \"Where do you suppose Conrad has been all this time?\" Martin idly asked the current cousin—who was passing as his nephew by now. The young man jumped, then glanced around him uncomfortably. \"Conrad's a very shrewd fellow,\" he whispered. \"He's biding his time—waiting until we're off guard. And then—pow!—he'll attack!\" \"Oh, I see,\" Martin said. He had often fancied that Conrad would prove to be the most stimulating member of the whole generation. But it seemed unlikely that he would Conrad?\" \"Because he's coming to kill you.\" \"Why should he kill me? I ain't done him nothing.\" Ninian sighed. \"He's dissatisfied with the current social order and \"Oh, just don't ask any questions,\" Ninian said petulantly. \"When you get older, someone will explain the whole thing to you.\" So Martin held his peace, because, on the whole, he liked things the would make up the work. Martin nearly did get sick from laughing so hired a private tutor for him. A tutor—in that neighborhood! Martin Martin was never left alone for a minute. He wasn't allowed to play Martin missed the old neighborhood, though. He missed having other When Martin was sixteen, Raymond took him aside for the talk Ninian had promised five years before. \"The whole thing's all my brother Conrad's fault. You see, he's an idealist,\" Raymond explained, pronouncing the last word with distaste. Martin nodded gravely. He was a quiet boy now, his brief past a dim and and his speech rather overbred, his mentors from the future having carefully eradicated all current vulgarities. \"And Conrad really got upset over the way Earth has been exploiting the not so intelligent life-forms on the other planets,\" Raymond continued. \"Which passing laws to do away with the—well, abuses and things like that, and I'm sure someday everything will come out all right. However, Conrad is so impatient.\" \"I thought, in your world, machines did all the work,\" Martin suggested. \"I've told you—our world is precisely the same as this one!\" Raymond you,\" Martin explained laboriously. It was so difficult to live in the frightening—his race had lost something vital. Unaware of the near-contempt in which his young ancestor held him, Raymond went on blandly: \"Anyhow, Conrad took it upon himself to feel particularly guilty, because, he decided, if it hadn't been for the fact that our great-grandfather discovered the super-drive, we get to the other planets and oppress the local aborigines. \"Sounds like a good way of dealing with the problem,\" Martin observed. Raymond looked annoyed. \"It's the man, you know.\" Raymond's expressive upper lip curled. \"So Conrad decided to go further back still and get rid of was our moral duty to go back in time ourselves and protect you.\" He beamed at Martin. The boy smiled slowly. \"Of course. You had to. If Conrad succeeded in eliminating me, then none of you would exist, would you?\" , Martin knew, could have meant anything from blackmail to the use of the iron maiden. \"Then we were all ready to forestall Conrad. If one of us guarded you night and day, he would never be able to carry out his plot. So we made \"So Ninian's going,\" said Martin, wondering why the news made him feel sentimentalist like Conrad. Though you do have rather a look of him, you know.\" Suddenly that seemed to make Conrad real. Martin felt a vague stirring of alarm. He kept his voice composed, however. \"How do you plan to protect me when he comes?\" Raymond and Martin moved into a luxurious mansion in a remote area. The Martin accepted his new surroundings. His sense of wonder had become \"How about a moat?\" Martin suggested when they first came. \"It seems to go with a castle.\" \"Do you think a moat could stop Conrad?\" Raymond asked, amused. \"No,\" Martin smiled, feeling rather silly, \"but it would make the place seem safer somehow.\" The threat of Conrad was beginning to make him grow more and more nervous. He got Raymond's permission to take two suits of armor that several times he fancied he saw them move. He also became an adept with the ray gun and changed the surrounding landscape quite a bit with it, until Raymond warned that this might lead Conrad to them. During those early years, Martin's tutors were exchanged for the higher-degreed ones that were now needful. The question inevitably their vigorous family councils. Martin was still young enough to enjoy \"I am not going to sit down and explain the whole thing to you all over again, Bart!\" Raymond said impatiently. \"Well, Martin?\" \"What would you suggest?\" Martin asked. as an individual. When his efforts to make contact with the other young man failed, he got worried and decided that what Martin needed was a change of air and scenery. \"'Course you can't go on the Grand Tour. Your son hasn't invented Tourists always like ruins best, anyway.\" So he drew on the family's vast future resources and bought a yacht, which Martin christened The other cousins appeared to find the yacht a congenial head-quarters, largely because they could spend so much time far away from the contemporary inhabitants of the planet and relax and be themselves. So they never moved back to land. Martin spent the rest of his life on The Interregnum . He felt curiously safer from Conrad there, although there was no valid reason why an ocean should stop a traveler through time. they came for the ocean voyage. They spent most of their time aboard Martin didn't care much for their company and associated with them only He rather liked Ives, though. Sometimes the two of them would be alone together then Ives would tell Martin of the future world he had come \"Rather feudal, isn't it?\" Martin asked. himself. \"Maybe it is worse, the way Conrad thinks. More planets for us to make trouble on. Three that were habitable aren't any more. \"Oh,\" Martin murmured, trying to sound shocked, horrified—interested, even. \"Sometimes I'm not altogether sure Conrad was wrong,\" Ives said, after a pause. \"Tried to keep us from getting to the stars, hurting the \"I suppose not,\" Martin said. \"Would take moral courage. I don't have it. None of us does, except Conrad, and even he—\" Ives looked out over the sea. \"Must be a better way out than Conrad's,\" he said without conviction. \"And everything will work out all right in the end. Bound to. No sense to—to anything, he couldn't even seem to care. During all this time, Conrad still did not put in an appearance. Martin had gotten to be such a crack shot with the ray pistol that he almost wished his descendant would show up, so there would be some excitement. the basic flaw in the elaborate plan they had concocted, it would have been Ives. However, when the yacht touched at Tierra del Fuego one bitter winter, Ives took a severe chill. They sent for a doctor from the future—one of the descendants who had been eccentric enough to a while, Martin couldn't tell one from another. Cousin after cousin came to watch over him and eventually they were as hard for him to tell apart as the different oceans. their elders.\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Martin prefer to live on the yacht?\n\n<options>:\nA Martin is used to being isolated now. The people on land live in a different world than he does.\nB The people on land were always at war. Martin wants no part of it.\nC The people on land are too different from the cousins. Living on the yacht avoids questions from locals.\nD Martin thinks being on the ocean will make it harder for Conrad to find him.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
420	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nher best to scratch his eyes out. Meanwhile, Mr. Anderson went scooting out the front door and running down the street toward the police station in the next block, shouting, \"Help! Help! Robbery!\" in which sat a very nervous-looking fourth man, gunning the engine. Everyone except Miss English ran out after the bandits, to watch. Things got very fast and very confused then. Two police cars came driving down the block and a half from the precinct house to the bank, and the car with the four robbers in it lurched away from the curb and drove straight down the street toward the police station. The police cars and the getaway car passed one another, with everybody shooting like the ships in pirate movies. There was so much confusion that it looked as though the bank robbers were going to get away after all. The police cars were aiming the wrong way and, as they'd come down with sirens wailing, there was a clear path behind them. Then, after the getaway car had gone more than two blocks, it suddenly started jouncing around. It smacked into a parked car and stopped. And all the police went running down there to clap handcuffs on the robbers when they crawled dazedly out of their car. to be involved.\" \"It was the nuttiest thing,\" said Detective-Sergeant Stevenson. \"An operation planned that well, you'd think they'd pay attention to their getaway car, you know what I mean?\" block away.\" \"Maybe they didn't notice it when they stole the car,\" said Pauling. \"For a well-planned operation like this one,\" said Stevenson, \"they stolen almost immediately after it happened.\" \"That's right,\" said Hastings. \"I stepped into a bar on my route. I'm a wine and liquor salesman. When I came out five minutes later, my car was gone.\" a quick stop—I never spend more than five minutes with any one customer—I always leave the keys in the car. Why not?\" brooding, a bottle of blended whiskey at all times in his hand. As the police reconstructed it later, Mrs. Higgins had attempted to awaken him on the third morning at seven-thirty, suggesting that he really ought to stop being so foolish, and go back to work. He then house at nine o'clock, and spent some time tapping at the still-locked bedroom door, apparently requesting Mr. Higgins to unlock the door and \"stop acting like a child.\" Neighbors reported to the police that they Mrs. Stodbetter, wounded and scared out of her wits, raced screaming out the front door of the house, crying for the police and shouting, \"Murder! Murder!\" At this point, neighbors called the police. One neighbor additionally phoned three newspapers and two television By chance, a mobile television unit was at that moment on the Belt Parkway, returning from having seen off a prime minister at Idlewild In the meantime, Mister Higgins had barricaded himself in his house, firing at anything that moved. The two cameramen in the mobile unit worked their hearts out. One concentrated on the movements of the police and firemen and neighbors and ambulance attendants, while the other used the Zoomar lens to undershirt, stalking from window to window on the second floor of the house. The show lasted for nearly an hour. There were policemen everywhere, and firemen everywhere, and neighbors milling around down at the corner, where the police had roped the block off, and occasionally Mr. police used loudspeakers to tell Higgins he might as well give up, they had the place surrounded and could eventually starve him out anyway. Higgins used his own good lungs to shout obscenities back and challenge Meanwhile, Higgins was running through the house, shouting like a wounded bull. He thundered down the stairs and out, hollering, to fall into the arms of the waiting police. ointment and jail. The television crew went on back to Manhattan. The neighbors went home and telephoned their friends. On-duty policemen had been called in from practically all of the saw it before the robbery and they would have noticed it if it'd been there.\" for the cops to keep track of all of them, and if you're picked up carrying a knife or a length of tire chain or something, why, you're on entrances. The night of the rumble, the gangs assembled in their separate clubrooms for last-minute instructions. Debs were sent out to play chicken at the intersections nearest the schoolyard, both to warn of the approach of cops and to keep out any non-combatant kids who might come wandering through. Judy took up her position at five minutes to eleven. The streets were dark and quiet. Few people cared to walk this neighborhood after dark, particularly on Hallowe'en. Judy leaned her back against the telephone pole on the corner, stuck her hands in the pockets of her Scarlet Raider jacket and waited. At eleven o'clock, she heard indistinct noises begin behind her. The rumble had started. At five after eleven, a bunch of little kids came wandering down the They started to make the turn toward the schoolyard. Judy said, \"Hey, you kids. Take off.\" One of them, wearing a red mask, turned to look at her. \"Who, us?\" \"Yes, you! Stay out of that street. Go on down that way.\" \"The subway's this way,\" objected the kid in the red mask. \"Listen, lady,\" said the kid in the red mask, aggrieved, \"we got a long way to go to get home.\" \"Yeah,\" said another kid, in a black mask, \"and we're late as it is.\" \"I couldn't care less,\" Judy told them callously. \"You can't go down that street.\" \"Hey!\" cried the kid in the black-and-yellow costume. \"Hey, they're fighting down there!\" running around Judy and dashing off down the street. \"Hey, Eddie!\" shouted one of the other kids. \"Eddie, come back!\" Judy wasn't sure what to do next. If she abandoned her post to chase the one kid who'd gotten through, then maybe all the rest of them would come running along after her. She didn't know what to do. A sudden siren and a distant flashing red light solved her problems. \"Cheez,\" said one of the kids. \"The cops!\" \"Fuzz!\" screamed Judy. She turned and raced down the block toward the schoolyard, shouting, \"Fuzz! Fuzz! Clear out, it's the fuzz!\" off their gang jackets and throwing them away, whooping and hollering. They were making such a racket themselves that they never heard Judy's warning. They didn't even hear the police sirens. And all at once both schoolyard entrances were full of cops, a cop had tight hold of Judy Judy was so baffled and terrified that everything was just one great big blur. But in the middle of it all, she did see the little kid in the yellow-and-black costume go scooting away down the street. And she had the craziest idea that it was all his fault. fighting at eleven o'clock. And they just got going when all at once all the metal they were carrying—knives and tire chains and coins and belt buckles and everything else—got freezing cold, too cold to touch. something,\" said Hanks severely. \"They heard the police sirens, and they threw all their weapons away. Then they threw their jackets away, to try to make believe they hadn't been part of the gang that had been fighting. But they were caught before they could get out of the schoolyard. If the squad cars had showed up a minute later, the schoolyard wouldn't have had anything in it but weapons and jackets, and the kids would have been all over the\n\n<question>:\nWhat caused Judy's yelling to be ignored by the gangs in the schoolyard?\n\n<options>:\nA The surprise of the kids who showed up in costumes trying to return home.\nB They were already fighting and failed to hear her over the shouting.\nC They couldn't hear her over their own hollering because of the intense cold weapons and jackets.\nD They were too distracted by the approaching police lights.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
373	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nby BASIL WELLS Marooned on a world within a world, aided by a slim girl and an old warrior, Patrolman Sisko Rolf was fighting his greatest \"Trapped us neatly,\" Rolf said through clenched teeth. \"Tolled into Planet Patrol ship as he swung the deadly slimness of his rocket blast's barrel around to center on the fiery jets that betrayed the Rolf swung the lax controls over hard as the bursts of fire revealed a In a slow sort of wonder Rolf felt the scrape of rock against metal, found the strength to wrap his fingers around the control levers and snap on a quick burst from the landing rockets. Their mad speed checked split open like a rotten squash, and Rolf felt himself Much later Rolf groaned with the pain of bruised muscles and tried to heat from the yet-glowing debris of the rocket flyer. The outlaws had Rolf capped the solar torch. No use wasting the captive energy needlessly he reasoned. And he loosened the expoder in its holster as 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 Rolf found himself staring, open-mouthed, at the sleek-limbed vision The girl laughed, a low liquid sound that made Rolf's heart pump faster. \"This Mark Tanner of mine,\" she explained to the patrolman, \"is always afraid for me. He does not remember that I can see into the minds of others.\" 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 grueling years of training on Earth Base. His instructors there had known that a few gifted mortals possess the power of a limited telepathy, and the secrets of the Planet Patrol must be guarded. \"Sorry,\" said the tall man as Rolf sprang easily from the ground to 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 \"Mark!\" The girl's voice was tense. Rolf felt her arm tug at his sleeve A hundred paces away Rolf made the dark shapes of armed warriors as Rolf watched the column of barbarically clad warriors file out upon the Spear tips and bared swords glinted dully. \"They will pass within a few feet!\" he hissed. \"Right.\" Tanner's fingers bit into Rolf's arm. \"Pray that the wind does Rolf's eyes slitted. There was something vaguely unhuman about those utterly shoulderless, and beneath their furry pelts the ripples of smooth-flowing muscles played rhythmically. There was a stench, a musky penetrating scent that made the flesh of his body crawl. \"See!\" Tanner's voice was muted. \"Giffa, Queen of the Furry Ones!\" she was, her scarred gray-furred hide hanging loose upon her breastless Rolf raised his expoder, red anger clouding his eyes as he saw these races mingled they hate the Furry Ones.\" A shadow passed over their hiding place. The Furry Amazons too saw the Rolf and Mark Tanner came to their feet. Rolf's expoder rattled briefly like a high-speed sewing machine as he flicked its muzzle back and forth along the ranks of attacking Furry explosive blasted them but hundreds more were swarming over their fallen sisters. Mark Tanner's bow twanged again and again as he drove arrows at the bloodthirsty warrior women. But the Furry Ones ran The expoder hammered in Rolf's heavy fist. Tanner smashed an elbow into Rolf's side. \"Retreat!\" he gasped. The Furry Amazons swarmed up over the lower terraces of rocks, their \"Now where?\" Rolf snapped another burst of expoder needles at the furry The bald scientist slung his bow over his head and one shoulder and the heart of the Barrier. Rolf blasted another spurt of explosive shattered heart. An unseen furry shape sprang upon Rolf's shoulders neck. His fist sent the attacker's bulk smashing against the rocky Tanner's finger pointed. \"Altha!\" Rolf saw the graceful wings of 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 Rolf caught a glimpse of a sleek rocket flyer diving upon Altha's frail 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. over the Barrier. The Furry Ones were struggling insect shapes below him, and he saw with a thrill that larger bodied warriors, whose bodies glinted with a dull bronze, were attacking them from the burnt-out 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 first to fire—his was the element of surprise. A score of feet lay between them, and suddenly the outlaw whirled about. Rolf pressed the firing button Rolf snapped his weapon overhand at the Frog's hairless skull. The fish-bellied alien ducked but his expoder swung off the target 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 to save into the shelter of the flyer. A green bulge showed around the polished fuselage and Rolf pressed his been loaded with a drum of poisoned needles, the expoder needles had not blasted a vital spot in the man's body. The odds were evening, he thought triumphantly. There might be another This sledge was hammering relentlessly as Rolf sensed his first as he moved his arm. But Rolf had learned that his limbs were not By degrees Rolf worked his arm down to his belt where his solar torch Rolf heard voices from a distance and the answering triumphant bawling \"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 bored in, his own knotted hands pumping, and his trained body weaving instinctively aside from the crippling blows aimed at his body. For a smoke, and then the fingers of the outlaw clamped around Rolf's throat Rolf swung, all the weight of his stocky body behind the blow, and the outlaw thudded limply against the opposite wall of the little cabin. \"Glad of that.\" Rolf felt the warmth of her body so close beside him. A Rolf grinned up at her. \"Need to?\" he asked. Then they were over the Barrier and Rolf saw the last of the beaten Furry Ones racing back across the great wall toward the Plains of Rolf snorted. \"Shorty,\" he said disgustedly as they landed, but his arm\n\n<question>:\nWhy is Rolf's weapon so valuable in the fights with the Furry?\n\n<options>:\nA The Hairy people need all the extra weaponry against the Furry.\nB He's able to catch the Furry off guard with his expoder.\nC It's much more technologically advanced than theirs.\nD He's a skilled marksman and able to hit many targets at once.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,692	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 looked up from her magazine. She said Oyster (Simon began) in the way need is a vacation.\" \"What,\" Betty said, \"are you going to use for money?\" \"Providence,\" Simon told her whilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle, \"will provide.\" I said, \"Haven't got one. Town's jam packed. Left my bag at the Bahnhof. I don't think we'll ever make go?\" \"Lost track,\" Arth said. \"You can Simon said, mournful of tone, come home with me.\" took this job you said it was the romance Simon said, enigmatically, \"Now There was a knock. Betty bounced up with Olympic where'd you come from?\" I got a quick impression, looking out the window, that the Germans were certainly the most modern, futuristic Simon said unenthusiastically, Betty's assistance into the seat, bug-eyed Simon, said finally, \"You know my name, that's pretty good. Never \"Just a minute,\" Arth said, staggering \"Anything,\" Simon said. \"Only erect and heading for what undoubtedly was a bathroom. \"Stay travel?\" Simon said nothing. Across the room, where she had resumed her seat, Betty cleared her throat. When Simon continued to say nothing she ventured, \"Time travel is impossible.\" \"Why?\" \"Why?\" \"Yes, why?\" Betty looked to her boss for assistance. None was forthcoming. There ought to be some very quick, positive, 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 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, pince-nez glasses and pointed them at Betty. He said, \"Have you read much science fiction, Miss?\" and then remembered. \"I've got to get my bag. Oh, my head. Where did we spend last night?\" of time travel. Every writer in the field worth his salt has explained I've got to go to the Bahnhof and get my luggage.\" it's also my suspicion that he will eventually be able to travel in time. Arth didn't put up an argument So convinced am I of these possibilities 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 Mr. Oyster was pleased. \"I didn't Simon shrugged and fumbled Simon held up a hand. \"There's 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 their perch, bug-eyed Simon, but then 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 Oktoberfest 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 to the other. Now she said, plaintively, \"But where are you going to find the office rather than going to my apartment. I figured I might as well check in with Betty. I opened the door and there I \"I told you I'd been considering it that's where they'd be!\" He seemed elated. Betty and Simon waited. \"The Oktoberfest make out my receipt. I thought you had already left.\" \"You'll miss your plane,\" Betty said. There was suddenly a double dip 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 his way out the door. I said to Betty hopefully, \"I suppose you haven't changed this calendar since I left.\" Betty said, \"What's the matter \"All right,\" Simon said. \"We'll accept Oktoberfest . For one thing, a time traveler wouldn't be conspicuous. At a festival like this somebody with a strange accent, or 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 I said pleadingly, \"Betty, listen, . 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 to study a people than when they how long ago did I go out that door—on Simon's story), \"did you the way to the airport?\" Simon shrugged, put one hand to of Dionysus, or one of Alexander's orgies. You wouldn't want to wander Simon winced at the noise, took The old boy wound it up. \"Well, continues for sixteen days. You can take the plane to Munich, spend a week there and—\" Simon was shaking his head. \"Not \"I did,\" Simon groaned. \"Three Simon nodded, miserably. Simon \"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—\" dollars bonus. If that story was \"I keep telling you,\" Simon said \"No go,\" Simon said, a sad quality \"A fifty thousand dollar bonus if you bring me a time traveler.\" \"Out of the question,\" Simon said. why from the future and change the past.\" \"You mean,\" Betty was suddenly \"Just for laughs,\" Simon told the furious at him, \"you've given up! ?\" Betty wailed. The future! Just think!\" Simon said wearily, \"There's just Betty who was making out a receipt, I hustled back to the apartment and packed a bag. Hell, I'd wanted a vacation of an advance, and leaving him with anyway, this was a natural. On the way to Idlewild I stopped off at the Germany Information Offices for one thing you can bring back with you from the future, a hangover compounded some tourist literature. It takes roughly three and a half THE END give him some kind of report for his money. Time travel yet! What a laugh! Between Shannon and Munich a faint suspicion began to simmer in come from to attend an overgrown festival in comparatively remote Southern Germany? The tourist season first day of the gigantic beer bust. Nor could the Germans account for ponied up all the money for such expenditures? How could the average German, with his twenty-five dollars which had space for twenty-odd beer bibbers. Odd is right. As weird an assortment of Germans and foreign 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 \"Down the hatch,\" the other said, down the word and returned the Shouldn't have said that.\" I'll never make it.\" Name is Simon.\" I looked at him. \"It's going to be to her for refills. \"Where are you from, Arth?\" I asked him, in the way of making\n\n<question>:\nWhat would've happened if Simon had said yes to the job at the end of the story?\n\n<options>:\nA He would have returned right back to the office soon after he left for the airport, but with a worse hangover.\nB He would have stayed at home and pretended to travel to Germany for the sake of his client.\nC He would have gone to Germany for the 16-day festival and looked for time travelers.\nD He would have brought Betty with him to Germany to help him find time travelers.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,252	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 am a Nucleus By STEPHEN BARR Illustrated by GAUGHAN sign on me ... my comfortably untidy world had suddenly turned into a monstrosity of order! reasons she supposes. I opened the refrigerator to get some ice and saw another notice: \"When manuscript, I groped under the chair for it. Then I looked down. The pencil was standing on its end. There, I thought to myself, is that one chance in a million we hear sentence. Damn the heat, damn the pencil, damn Madison Avenue and advertising. one that I had missed, pinned to the door of the dumbwaiter: \"Garbage picked up at 6:30 AM so the idea is to Put it Here the Night Before. I exercising his flock of pigeons. They wheeled in a circle, hoping to be allowed to perch, but were not allowed to. Pigeons fly as a rule in formation and turn simultaneously, so that usually very well behaved, I was astonished to hear what sounded like an incipient free-for-all, and among the angry voices I recognized that to play!\" Several other loud voices started at the same time. \"Nobody gets five straight-flushes in a row!\" \"Yeah, and only when you were dealer!\" The tone of the argument was beginning to get ugly, and I opened the 'em yourselves if you think they're marked!\" believe it. Every round normal, nothing unusual about the hands—three of a kind, a low straight, that sort of thing and one guy got queens over tens, until it gets to be my deal. Brother! Straight flush to the king—every time! And each time, somebody else has four aces....\" one. That was tied in three knots. All right McGill. McGill is an assistant professor of mathematics at a university trouble. Then I heard a man cough and I said hello. McGill's \"Well,\" McGill said, \"nothing you've told me is impossible or supernatural. Just very, very improbable. In fact, the odds against that poker game alone would lead me to suspect Nat, well as I know him. It's all those other things....\" what I'm going to say. What you have told me is so impossibly unlikely, and the odds against it so astronomical, that I must take the view that you're either stringing me or you're subject to a delusion.\" I started to get up and expostulate, but he motioned me back. \"I know, but don't you see that that is far more likely than....\" He stopped and shook He shook his head. \"In that case, no. Discounting the fact that you could have prearranged it, if my dim provisional theory is right, that would be actually impossible. It would involve time-reversal. I'll tell you about it later. No, just throw down the change. Let's see if they all come up heads.\" I looked at McGill. His eyes were narrowed. Without a word, he took a \"Well,\" I said, \"what more do you want?\" \"Great Scott,\" he said, and sat down. \"I suppose you know that there are two great apparently opposite principles governing the Universe—random and design. The sands on the beach are an example of random distribution and life is an example of design. The motions of the particles of a gas are what we call random, but there are so many of them, we treat them statistically and derive the Second Law of Thermodynamics—quite reliable. It isn't theoretically hard-and-fast it's just a matter of extreme probability. Now life, on the other hand, seems not to depend on probability at all actually, it goes against it. Or you might say it is certainly not an accidental manifestation.\" controlling the coins and—the other things?\" He shook his head. \"No. All I mean is that improbable things usually have improbable explanations. When I see a natural law being broken, I don't say to myself, 'Here's a miracle.' I revise my version of the book of rules. Something—I don't know what—is going on, and it seems to involve probability, and it seems to center around you. Were you \"Hm. You're the center, all right. But why?\" \"Center of what?\" I asked. \"I feel as though I were the center of an electrical storm. Something has it in for me!\" McGill grinned. \"Don't be superstitious. And especially don't be anthropomorphic.\" \"Well, if it's the opposite of random, it's got to be a form of life.\" \"On what basis? All we know for certain is that random motions are being rearranged. A crystal, for example, is not life, but it's a non-random arrangement of particles.... I wonder.\" He had a faraway, frowning look. They can't none of them back out for one reason or another. Never seen anything like it.\" embarrassed grins on their faces, but before long their grins were replaced by looks of suspicion and then determination. \"All right, smart guy!\" they shouted in unison, and barged ahead, only to collide. They backed off and threw simultaneous punches ever witnessed—a fight in which fist hit fist but never anything else, until both champions backed away undefeated, muttering identical ever since I came on this afternoon, things are going crazy. Bartley!\" he shouted—he could succeed as a hog-caller. \"Bring those dames over here!\" the ladies seemed not to be. right?\" Was I all right! \"Molly! What are you doing here?\" He did so, and when he got to the summing up, I had the feeling she was a jump ahead of him. \"In other words, you think it's something organic?\" \"Well,\" McGill said, \"I'm trying to think of anything else it might be. I'm not doing so well,\" he confessed. \"But so far as I can see,\" Molly answered, \"it's mere probability, and without any over-all pattern.\" \"Not quite. It has a center. Alec is the center.\" feel all right, darling?\" she asked me. I nodded brightly. \"You'll think this silly of me,\" she went on to McGill, \"but why isn't it something like an overactive poltergeist?\" \"Pure concept,\" he said. \"No genuine evidence.\" \"Magnetism?\" \"Absolutely not. For one thing, most of the objects affected weren't magnetic—and don't forget magnetism is a force, not a form of energy, all you'd get would be stored kinetic energy, such as when a piece of iron moves to a magnet or a line of force. Then it would just stay there, like a rundown clock weight. These things do a lot more than that—they go on moving.\" \"Why did you mention a crystal before? Why not a life-form?\" \"Only an analogy,\" said McGill. \"A crystal resembles life in that it has a definite shape and exhibits growth, but that's all. I'll agree this—thing—has no discernible shape and motion is involved, but plants don't move and amebas have no shape. Then a crystal feeds, but it does not convert what it feeds on it merely rearranges it into a non-random pattern. In this case, it's rearranging random motions and it has a nucleus and it seems to be growing—at least in what you might call improbability.\" Molly frowned. \"Then what is it? What's it made of?\" \"I should say it was made of the motions. There's a similar idea about crystallization.\" \"Sounds like the pearl in an oyster,\" Molly said, and gave me an impertinent look. \"Because I don't think this thing got going before today and everything that's happened can all be described as improbable motions here and now. The dates were already there, and to change them would disapproval. \"Certainly not,\" I said. \"Is it broken?\" \"Not exactly broken McGill went over and they discussed the problem in undertones. Finally McGill raised an eyebrow. \"If all this, as you call it, will let us.\" some mystical, Hibernian way. Hello, McGill, what's with you?\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich word least describes McGill?\n\n<options>:\nA lucky\nB intelligent\nC reliable\nD logical\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,724	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nkiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some old friends and a relative or two. He didn't want to talk about the journey. He wanted to forget the immediacy, the urgency, the terror then perhaps he would talk. their eyes dropped, they turned away, they began moving off. He was still too much the First One to have his gaze met. surprised that he'd had to do this. He'd thought Edith would be watching at a window. And perhaps she had been watching ... but she hadn't opened the door. Edith nodded and, still holding to Ralphie with one hand, put the other arm around him. He kissed her—her neck, her cheek—and all the old jokes came to mind, the jokes of travel-weary, battle-weary men, the and- down beside him—but she had hesitated. He wasn't being sensitive she had hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him. He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering the warmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears as ran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in tired. I'd like to lie down a while.\" Which wasn't true, because he'd been lying down all the months of the way back. She said, \"Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around and make small talk and pick up just where you left off.\" He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do—make small talk and pick up just where he'd left off. But they didn't expect it of him they wouldn't let him they felt he had changed too much. still showed. He waited for her to leave the room. She said, \"Well then, rest up, dear,\" and went out. been treated properly and would soon disappear. But she had never seen them. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps pajamas and robes and dark rooms would keep them from her until they were gone. Which was not what he'd considered at all important on leaving Walter Reed Hospital early this morning He was tired of thinking. He lay down and closed his eyes. He let himself taste bitterness, unhappiness, a loneliness he had never known before. Before he'd become the First One, it would have been a noisy affair. His family had never been noted for a lack of ebullience, a lack of company present—to describe everything and anything that had happened to him during the day. And Edith herself had always chatted, especially with his mother, though they didn't agree about much. Still, it had been good-natured the general tone of their lives had been good-natured. This wasn't good-natured. Exactly what it was he wasn't sure. \"Stiff\" was perhaps the word. at Mother as he raised his first spoonful of chilled fruit, and said, \"Younger than ever.\" It was nothing new he'd said it many many times before, but his mother had always reacted with a bright smile and a quip something like, \"Young for the Golden Age Center, you mean.\" This time she burst into tears. It shocked him. But what shocked him even more was the fact that no one looked up, commented, made any attempt to comfort her no one indicated in any way that a woman was sobbing at the table. Aunt Lucille made a few quavering statements about the Ladies' Tuesday trowel.\" Aunt Lucille smiled, if you could call it that—a pitiful twitching of the lips—and nodded. She threw her eyes in his direction, and past him, and then down to her plate. Mother, who was still sniffling, said, \"I have a dismal headache. I'm going to lie down in the guest room a while.\" She touched his shoulder in passing—his affectionate, effusive mother who would kiss stray dogs and strange children, who had often irritated him with an excess of physical and verbal caresses—she barely touched his shoulder and fled. Ralphie said, \"Yeah, Dad.\" Aunt Lucille put down her knife and fork and into the living room for a while. \"She'll be back for dessert, of course,\" he said, his laugh sounding forced. Hank looked at Edith of, that he could have smashed more than a table. Edith said, \"Hank!\" He said, voice hoarse, \"Shut up. Go away. Let me eat alone. I'm sick of the lot of you.\" Mother and Joe returned a few minutes later where he sat forcing food down his throat. Mother said, \"Henry dear—\" He didn't answer. She began to cry, and he was glad she left the house then. He had never said anything really bad to his mother. He was afraid this would have been the time. Joe merely cleared his throat and mumbled something about getting together again soon and \"drop out and see the new development\" hesitated near his chair, and when he made no comment she called the anything to get away from your father.\" Ralphie's head dropped and he muttered, \"Aw, no, Dad.\" Edith said, \"He'll stay home, Hank. We'll spend an evening together—talking, watching TV, playing Monopoly.\" want to.\" They answered together that of course they wanted to. But their eyes—his wife's and son's eyes—could not meet his, and so he said he they shouldn't count on him for normal social life. He fell asleep quickly, lying there in his clothes. and it seemed her old smile. \"They're so anxious to see you, Hank. I could barely keep Phil from coming up and waking you himself. They want to go out and do the town. Please, Hank, say you will.\" He sat up. \"Phil,\" he muttered. \"Phil and Rhona.\" They'd had wonderful times together, from grammar school on. Phil and Rhona, their oldest and closest friends. Perhaps this would begin his real homecoming. full of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, and clapped Hank on the shoulder (but not the way he always had—so much more gently, almost remotely), and insisted they all drink more than was and Hank went right on drinking. Edith said something to him, but he many times before, and he was sure several of the couples recognized him. But except for a few abortive glances in his direction, it was as for her to come close on her own, and she did, and yet she didn't. Because while she put herself against him, there was something in her face—no, in her eyes it always showed in the eyes—that made him know she was trying to be the old Edith and not succeeding. This time when Rhona glanced to the left, and so did Hank and Edith. Rhona made a little sound, and Edith seemed to stop breathing, but Phil went on a while longer, not yet aware of his supposed \"You know why?\" he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughter The car was filled with horrified silence when there should have been would satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula or another monster from the movies.\" Edith said, \"Oh, Hank, don't, don't!\" didn't wait for Edith. He just got out and walked up the flagstone path and entered the house. \"Hank,\" Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, \"I'm so sorry—\" \"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'll all work out in time.\" I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurt you terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we're frightened.\" \"I saw nothing,\" he said. \"It was as if I slept those six and a half months—slept without dreaming.\" She came to him and touched his face with her lips, and he was satisfied. Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories of\n\n<question>:\nWhy did nobody react when Henry's mother started crying at the table?\n\n<options>:\nA They didn't understand what was wrong and felt too awkward to say anything.\nB They were too busy taking care of other details surrounding the meal.\nC They felt for her in all of the uncertainty and tension.\nD They were used to her tears and knew it was better not to say anything.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,390	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthings. So I'll simply go ahead talking for half an hour or so, until you get over it. After that you'll come 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, 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. 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 apparently, though there is a time effect back in the luggage space. You look at your watch and it's still running. That means you either easier, though we're in complete darkness, except for the weak light in the machine, which always burns, and a few feet of rough dirty cement floor around. You take another cigaret from me and you get out of the machine, just as I do. This is a sub-sub-sub-basement. We have to walk up a flight of stairs, and there is an elevator waiting, fortunately with the door open. \"What about the time machine?\" you ask. \"Since nobody ever stole it, it's safe.\" We get in the elevator, and I say \"first\" to it. It gives out a coughing noise and the basement openings begin to click by us. There's 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, You go up the steps, but you see that it seems to be closed. You 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. display of atomic generators.\" 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 right filled with something that proclaims itself the first truly 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 . Apparently that's the way it's fueled. It's about one foot on 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 thing is absolutely fixed. You can't see any bolts, but you can't budge it, either. You work down the line. It'd be foolish to take the early model if you And, finally, you're right back beside the original first model. It's 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. Well, you won't be able to change the time cycle by doing anything I it only weighs about fifty pounds! Naturally, it can be carried. You expect a warning bell, but nothing happens. As a matter of fact, 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 You stumble down the stairs, feeling all the futuristic rays in the world on your back, and still nothing happens. Ahead of you, the gate 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 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 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 your head and come up for air. \"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 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 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. \"You forgot the prints, monograph, and patent applications,\" he says. \"They go with the generator—we don't like to have them separated. A this building. Just let us know when you're finished with the model and we'll pick it up.\" You swallow several sets of tonsils you had removed years before, and take the bundle of papers he hands you out of the little case. He pumps you for some more information, which you give him at random. It seems to satisfy your amiable guard friend. He finally smiles in satisfaction and heads back to the museum. You still don't believe it, but you pick up the atomic generator and the information sheets, and you head down toward the service elevator. Then there's a sort of cough and something dilates in the wall. It forms a perfect door and the elevator stands there waiting. You get in, it's the weak light in the time machine. You've located it. You put the atomic generator in the luggage space, throw the papers down beside it, and climb into the cockpit, sweating and mumbling. You 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 nerves settle back to normal. You notice a third set of buttons, with some pencil marks over them—\"Press these to return to yourself 30 years\"—and you begin waiting for the air to get stale. It doesn't because there is only one of you this time. land in your back yard, and then hop back thirty years to pick up yourself, landing in front of your house. Just that. But right then, you don't care. You jump out and start pulling out that atomic generator and taking it inside. It isn't hard to disassemble, but you don't learn a thing just some in time, somehow, and is back to its original youth—minus the replaced wires the guard mentioned—which probably wore out because of the makeshift job you've just done. put in the museum with you as the inventor so you can steal it to be the inventor. And you do it in a time machine which you bring back to\n\n<question>:\nWhich isn't something the guard did?\n\n<options>:\nA help him carry the atomic generator to the time machine\nB help him find the atomic generator\nC hand him the patent and other helpful information\nD give him time to take it out of the building\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
1,841	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHe was glad when the official greeting was over. He was a very tired man he would talk. almost rebuilt the entire outside and grounds. But he was sorry. He had wanted it to be as before. He was glad. He'd had enough of strangers. Not that he was through with didn't grow much while you were gone, Dad, Mom says I don't eat enough.\" So he put him down and told himself that it would all change, that down beside him—but she had hesitated. He had hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him. Edith said, \"He made top forum the six-month period before vacation, and he made top forum the six-month period you went away, Hank.\" He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering the warmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears as They had been right to worry. He had suffered much after that blow-up. tired. I'd like to lie down a while.\" Which wasn't true, because he'd been lying down all the months of the way back. She said, \"Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around and they wouldn't let him to get up on time when you were stationed at the base outside of town. \"Not this bed,\" he murmured, and was a little sorry afterward. Which was not what he'd considered at all important on leaving Walter Reed Hospital early this morning which was something he found distasteful, something he felt beneath them both. And, at the same time, He was tired of thinking. He lay down and closed his eyes. He let But sometime later, as he was dozing off, a sense of reassurance began communicate this, the strangeness would disappear and the First One would again become good old Hank. It was little enough to ask for—a return to old values, old relationships, the normalcies of the backwash instead of the freneticisms of the lime-light. It would certainly be He slept. talkativeness, and Ralphie had always chosen mealtimes—especially with he'd said it many many times no one indicated in any way that a woman was sobbing at the table. \"Still going like sixty. We'll sell out before—\" At that point he looked at Hank, and Hank nodded encouragement, desperately interested in this normalcy, and Joe's voice died away. He looked down at his plate, mumbled, \"Soup's getting cold,\" and began to eat. His hand shook a little his ruddy face was not quite as ruddy as Hank remembered it. Hank looked at Edith Edith was busy with her plate. Hank looked at Ralphie was busy with his plate. Hank looked at Joe Joe was chewing, gazing out over their heads to the kitchen. Hank looked at of, that he could have smashed more than a table. Edith said, \"Hank!\" He said, voice hoarse, \"Shut up. Go away. Let me eat alone. I'm sick of the lot of you.\" down his throat. Mother said, \"Henry dear—\" He didn't answer. She began to cry, and he was glad she left the house then. He had never said the time. Joe merely cleared his throat and mumbled something about and he, too, was gone. Lucille never did manage to speak to him. hesitated near his chair, and when he made no comment she called the Ralphie's head dropped and he muttered, \"Aw, no, Dad.\" Edith said, \"He'll stay home, Hank. We'll spend an evening together—talking, watching TV, playing Monopoly.\" Ralphie said, \"Gee, sure, Dad, if you want to.\" Hank stood up. \"The question is not whether I want to. You both know I was going to his room because he was, after all, very tired and would in all probability continue to be very tired for a long, long time and that He fell asleep quickly, lying there in his clothes. and it seemed her old smile. \"They're so anxious to see you, Hank. I could barely keep Phil from coming up and waking you himself. They want to go out and do the town. Please, Hank, say you will.\" It didn't turn out that way. He was disappointed full of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, and clapped Hank on the shoulder (but not the way he always had—so much more gently, almost remotely), and insisted they all drink more than was good for them as he always had. And for once, Hank was ready to go along on the drinking. For once, he matched Phil shot for shot, beer for beer. and Hank went right on drinking. Edith said something to him, but he merely smiled and waved his hand and gulped another ounce of nirvana. At midnight, he was still drinking. The others wanted to leave, but he They were on the dance floor. He held her close, and hummed and chatted. And through the alcoholic haze saw she was a stiff-smiled, stiff-bodied, mechanical dancing doll. Hank said, \"First one dance with my loving wife.\" Phil's car, Rhona driving because Phil had drunk just a little too much, Phil singing and telling an occasional bad joke, and somehow not his old self. No one was his old self. No one would ever be his old self with while longer, not yet aware of his supposed \"You know why?\" he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughter rumbling up from his chest. \"You know why, folks?\" Hank said, \"No, Phil, why is it the most popular place on earth?\" Phil said, \"Because people are—\" And then he caught himself and waved his hand and muttered, \"I forgot the punch line.\" \"Because people are dying to get in,\" Hank said, and looked through the The car was filled with horrified silence when there should have been nothing but laughter, or irritation at a too-old joke. \"Maybe you should let me out right here,\" Hank said. \"I'm home—or that's what everyone seems to think. Maybe I should lie down in an open grave. Maybe that would satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula or Edith said, \"Oh, Hank, don't, don't!\" and entered the house. \"Hank,\" Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, \"I'm so sorry—\" \"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'll all work out in time.\" \"Yes,\" she said quickly, \"that's it. I need a little time. We all need a little time. Because it's so strange, Hank. Because it's so frightening. I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurt \"I'm going to stay in the guest room,\" he said, \"for as long as necessary. For good if need be.\" \"How could it be for good? How, Hank?\" That question was perhaps the first firm basis for hope he'd had since all they possibly can from now on. Every time a young and healthy man loses his life by accident, by violence, and his body can be recovered, he'll go into the tanks and they'll start the regenerative brain and organ process—the process that made it all possible. So people have to get used to us. And the old stories, the old terrors, the ugly old us because in time it'll be an ordinary thing.\" Edith said, \"Yes, and I'm so grateful that you're here, Hank. Please believe that. Please be patient with me and Ralphie and—\" She paused. \"I saw nothing,\" he said. \"It was as if I slept those six and a half months—slept without dreaming.\" Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories of pulled the covers closer to him and luxuriated in being safe in his own home. THE END\n\n<question>:\nWhy was Hank lying down for months?\n\n<options>:\nA Hank's body was lying in a cryostasis tank while the doctors figured out how to bring him back to life.\nB Hank was lying in a stasis tank on the way back from the moon.\nC Hank was lying in a stasis tank on the way back from Mars.\nD Hank's body was lying in a tank designed to regenerate his body processes.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,107	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nmany of us, never were. It made sense. Interstellar was new and they wanted him on the ship because he was a trained observer. They wanted facts, not gibberish. Ellason nodded. \"The ship disappeared.\" \"And now,\" Ellason said, \"you're going to try again.\" spent his life in our own system, and he's handpicking his own crew. We have also raised prerequisites for applicants. We don't think anything is going to happen, but if it does, we want to get an impersonal, unprejudiced view. That's where you come in. You do the observing, the reporting. We'll evaluate it on your return.\" \"If I return,\" said Ellason. Captain Branson and his fifty crewmen want to return as badly as you to be as inconspicuous as possible, pressing against a bulkhead, but Captain Branson's eyes sought his several times as Branson listened to final reports from his engineers, record keepers, fuel men, Ellason liked. The captain's was a lean face, well tanned, and his eyes \"Gentlemen,\" Branson said at last, as Ellason knew he would, \"I want upon us. On loan from Transworld, he will have an observer status.\" He introduced him to the others. All of them seemed friendly Ellason Branson detained him after the others had gone. \"One thing, Mr. Ellason. To make it easier for you, I suggest you think of this journey Ellason was startled. While he had considered the possibility, he had Captain Branson. It seems to me—\" Ellason left the captain's quarters with an odd taste in his mouth. Now why had Branson said that? Why hadn't Rexroad or Phipps said something, up. He'd have to go forward to the observation dome to see that. Last view of Earth for two years. The penetration of space by large groups is the coming out from under day out. In Ellason's mind the incident, though insignificant from the Ellason had to smile at that. What did Captain Branson think of those When Ellason saw Branson about it, the captain said, \"Of course I Ellason sought out Carver Janssen. He was a middle-aged man with a collect them? They're not ordinary seeds, Mr. Ellason.\" Branson asked him to describe the man. \"Didn't you think that was important?\" Branson asked in an outraged \"If it is true,\" Branson told Ellason, \"the theft must be the work of steal from his own quadrant, now would he, Mr. Ellason?\" Seen in space, stars are unmoving, silent, sterile bright eyes ever watchful and accusing. To men unused to it, such a sight numbs, compresses, stultifies. He introduces a countermeasure, proof he her compartment while her husband was in the ship's library. She was taken to one of the ship's doctors, who confirmed it. She said the culprit was a husky man wearing a red rubber mask, and Ellason was present when a delegation from the Third Quadrant called on Captain Branson, demanding action. Branson remained seated behind his desk, unperturbed, saying, \"I have Branson's raised hand. The group left in a surly mood. \"You wonder at my reluctance, Mr. Ellason,\" Captain Branson said. \"But suppose I assign the crew to patrol duties, the culprit isn't caught, and further incidents occur. What then? It soon becomes the crew's fault. And soon the colonists will begin thinking these things might be the crew's doing in the first place.\" \"Yes,\" Ellason said, \"but what if the intruder is a crewman?\" \"I know my men,\" Branson said flatly. \"You could have a shake-down for the mask and the seed case.\" \"Do you think it is a member of the crew?\" Branson's eyes were bright. \"No, I trust my men. I won't violate that trust.\" Ellason left, feeling uneasy. If he were Branson, he'd initiate an couldn't Branson see the wisdom of setting an example for the colonists? Captain Branson did not wait for the newsletter. Through the ship's in the belt and had died of a severe beating. He said that since the incident occurred in the staff section of the ship, his crew would be forced to submit to a thorough inspection in an effort to find the mask, the seed case, the money and the man. \"I will not countenance such an act by a crewman,\" Branson said. \"If and when he is found, he will be severely dealt with. But he might not Captain Branson speaking to them. \"It is not my desire to interfere in passenger affairs,\" he said. \"Insofar as the ship is concerned, it is my duty to make certain no crewman is guilty. This I am doing. But my crew is not and cannot be a police force for you. It is up to you people to police and protect yourselves.\" Those assembled waited in the hall while each team of six inspected the compartments of the others. These compartments were then locked, everyone returned to his compartment, and the larger search was The captain reported that his search had been equally fruitless. \"Are you out of your minds?\" Branson exclaimed. \"There's no law against it,\" Branson said, \"but it's a rule of mine commit any crime. We've got him on the run, the colonists said. He's afraid to do anything, now that we've got police protection, they said smugly. of themselves. A special congratulatory message from Captain Branson put occupants to sleep as he went, taking many articles of value and leaving disorder behind. wanted to make everyone furious, he certainly succeeded. \"What does he want that stuff for?\" Casey Stromberg, a passenger doctor, asked. \"I can see him taking my narcotics, my doctor's kit—but Ellason was busy noting it all in his book. It became filled with \"Oh, yes, Mr. Ellason, we're going to get him,\" said Tilbury, now chief of police, cracking his knuckles, his eyes glowing at the thought. \"We're bound to get him. We've got things worked out to the finest \"Oh, there'll be a trial, Mr. Ellason, but you don't think any jury'd let him live after all the things he's done, do you?\" Red Mask was stunned in Quadrant Four in a corridor by a policeman assembly room surrounded by guards, for he surely would have been mauled, if not killed, by angry colonists who crowded around. In the assembly hall his mask was whipped off. The crowd gasped. Nobody knew Ellason's first thought was that he must be a stowaway, but then he remembered the face, and Captain Branson, who came to have a look at \"Well, Critten,\" Branson roared at him, \"what have you got to say for Branson looked as if he were going to kill the man himself right there was only one day out of orbit when Captain Branson sent \"You're perhaps a little too good as an observer,\" Branson said. \"Or trained to be a scapegoat. Is that right?\" Critten nodded. \"When great numbers are being transported, they are apt to magnify each little event because so little happens. It was my job Branson smiled. \"It made the time pass quickly and interestingly for the passengers.\" \"To say nothing of me,\" Critten said. \"And you, Mr. Ellason, were along to observe it all,\" Captain Branson put in. \"Interstellar wanted an accurate picture of this. If it worked, they told me they'd use it on other trips to Antheon.\" Ellason nodded. \"No time for brooding, for differences of opinion on Captain Branson will say they were found somewhere on the ship. You Captain Branson told them to do that.\" Branson cleared his throat. \"Ah, Ellason about that story. You Ellason said regretfully that he did understand. \"The colonists will never know the truth,\" Branson went on. \"There will\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Captain Branson warn Ellason that he won't be able to publish his observations?\n\n<options>:\nA He knows there are secrets too gruesome for public consumption\nB He is going to ask Ellason to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement\nC He does not think they will make it back to Earth alive\nD He will be observing an inside job meant to protect the crew\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,119	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nRepublican Shakeout 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. Elizabeth Dole Playback 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 . 4. Comeback kid. Dismissive coverage of Dole before the straw poll played to her advantage, as everyone marveled at her \"surprisingly\" strong third. \"Dole Revived,\" the Washington Post 's front page proclaimed. On This Week , George Will conceded, \"There had been a lot of very skeptical stories about whether her people would show up. She, therefore, I think, is the biggest winner.\" Playbook 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.\" 3. Gender. This is the more obvious criterion that distinguishes Dole. She hardly needs to mention it--the media bring it up anyway--but she invokes it subtly, alluding (as she did on two Sunday talk shows) to \"women who drive their daughters halfway across the state to shake my hand, a woman they dare to believe in.\" Newspapers hail Dole's female followers as evidence \"that she can attract new voters to the GOP.\" Gary Bauer 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. 2. Ames meant death for others. Noting that McCain had bypassed the event, Quayle explained on Face the Nation that he, too, \"almost took a pass on this. It wasn't until George Bush said he was going to participate that then I said, 'OK, we've got to do it,' out of respect to the Iowa Republican Party.\" The result, Quayle pleaded, was that he lost to candidates who had been in Iowa \"years and months.\" McCain, explaining his decision to stay out, espoused a less sentimental philosophy: \"You always want to fight on ground that is most favorable to you.\" For this, the media executed Quayle and spared McCain. \"Quayle and Lamar Alexander might be gone, but I think McCain is still in,\" concluded NPR's Mara Liasson. Ames was Vietnam in reverse: McCain ducked the fight, and Quayle took the beating. 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. So 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.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is one major advantage that Dole had over Bush?\n\n<options>:\nA Dole cared about the environment which was refreshing to the voters\nB Dole was a woman which made her more sympathetic to female voters\nC Dole had a surprising amount of financial backing\nD Dole had spent more time in politics than Bush\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
926	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nDole vs. the For several weeks now, pundits have debated how Bob Dole would exit the stage. Would he depart on a negative note about his opponent or a positive one about himself? Would he leave with anger or with humor? In the past several days, the issue has been settled. Dole, it appears, will end his political career raging against the New York Times . Dole's spat with the gray lady went public on Thursday, Oct. 24. In New Orleans, Dole charged the paper with ignoring a story about a Miami drug dealer who got invited to the White House. \"This is a disgrace,\" Dole insisted. \"I doubt if you even read it in the New York Times . They probably put it in the want ads. They don't put any anti-Clinton stories in the New York Times . Only anti-Dole stories in the New York Times .\" Dole repeated his attack for the next five days. \"We are not going to let the media steal this election,\" he told a crowd in Dallas on Friday. \"This country belongs to the people, not the New York Times .\" On Saturday, in Visalia, Calif., he added, \"I know that with a crowd this size, the New York Times will write not many people showed up, but the other papers will get it right.\" On Sunday (the day the Times endorsed Clinton), Dole called the paper \"the apologist for President Clinton for the last four years and an arm of the Democratic National Committee.\" In a CNN interview broadcast Monday, Dole said the Times \"might as well be part of the Democratic Party. ... They hammer us on a daily basis. We make a major speech, they bury it back on section D. They put a front-page story that, well, Bob Dole and Jack Kemp didn't get along together 12 years ago.\" On Tuesday, Dole was still at it, referring to the 28 words of the 10th Amendment, and quipping, \"That's about what I got in the New York Times today.\" Rosenthal, who has direct responsibility for campaign coverage at the Times , professes bewilderment at these complaints. \"We don't make editorial judgments based on disposition to be tough on Bob Dole or nice to Bob Dole,\" he says. On the specifics, Rosenthal says that the Times ran an editor's note acknowledging that it shouldn't have truncated the \"playing around\" quote. He points out that the Times ran its story on the Miami drug dealer who visited the White House the same day Dole accused the paper of not covering it. As for the nine-part series on Clinton, Rosenthal says it is the long-standing practice of the paper to do a lengthy series on the incumbent's record. \"If Dole wins and runs again in 2000, he will get nine-part series too,\" he says. Two days later, she quoted Dole in another story: \"They've turned the White House into something else, I don't know what it is. It's the animal house! It's the animal house!\" Most reporters would write, Bob Dole yesterday compared the White House to an \"animal house,\" sparing the exclamation points, and making him sound at least compos mentis. But though unflattering, Seelye's Mametizing of Bob Dole can hardly be called unfair. It is not as if the Times cleans up Clinton's quotes the president simply observes the rules of syntax most of the time. Something similar may be happening with the pictures. After four years, Clinton has learned how to avoid looking unpresidential. He no longer allows himself to be photographed wearing too-short running shorts, and he avoids pulling faces in public. Dole, who is simply less photogenic, is an easier victim for picture editors--who, like their editorial counterparts, have a strong bias against dullness. Take, for instance, the two pictures shown above. The front-page picture the Times ran the day after the second presidential debate does make Dole look like a decomposing monster. But unlike the picture in the Washington Post the same day, it captures the spirit of the event, with Dole grimly taking the offensive and Clinton watching warily but standing aside from the attacks. Dole sounds absurd when he alleges that the paper that broke Whitewater and the story of the first lady's commodities trades has not been aggressive in pursuing Clinton scandals. All sorts of potential Dole scandals have been soft-pedaled by the media, including the Times , because he is so far behind. It's true that coverage of Clinton on the campaign trail has been somewhat softer than the coverage of Dole, as even other Times reporters acknowledge. But the explanation is institutional, not ideological. The press, as many have complained, overemphasizes the \"horse race\" aspect of politics. As a side effect of that disease, reporters have excessive respect for a well-run campaign. (In 1988, Republican George Bush benefited from this phenomenon.) A cruder reality is that reporters need to have a relationship with Clinton after Tuesday. None of these factors, though, is unique to the Times . So why is Dole singling it out? Dole's attacks on the Times have the appearance of being an exercise in populist demagogy. In one of his great cue-card reading remarks, Dole tried to explain his recent attacks on CNN the other night by saying, \"I like the media. They don't like them in the South.\" But this pat explanation doesn't entirely make sense. Red meat for right-wing crowds doesn't help Dole with the centrist voters he would need to turn around in order to make the miraculous happen. And in fact, according to a senior Dole aide, the attacks are heartfelt on the candidate's part. Dole has been going after the Times over the objections of advisers who have been telling him there's no percentage in picking fights with the press. But if Dole is attacking the Times because he is truly furious and not because he thinks it will help him get elected, what is he so angry about? The answer, I think, is that there has always been a Nixonian streak in Bob Dole, by which I mean a part of him which feels shut out of the closed circle of the Eastern establishment. At the Republican convention, Dole blasted the Clinton administration as a \"corps of the elite who never grew up, never did anything real, never sacrificed, never suffered, and never learned.\" That phrase recalled an attack he made on the press long ago, in the days of Watergate, when he accused the Washington Post of being in bed with George McGovern. \"There is a cultural and social affinity between the McGovernites and the Post executives and editors,\" Dole said then. \"They belong to the same elite: They can be found living cheek-by-jowl in the same exclusive chic neighborhoods, and hob-nobbing at the same Georgetown parties.\" The deeper story here isn't whether Dole was wrongly shunted onto D19 when he ought to have been on A1. It's his feelings, as he says goodbye to politics, about the people who get to decide.\n\n<question>:\nWhy does the author believe Clinton is better represented than Dole?\n\n<options>:\nA Clinton is more experienced and knowledgeable than Dole\nB Clinton is more progressive while Dole wants to maintain the status quo\nC Clinton is surreptitiously making payments to the Times as a trade for good publicity\nD Clinton uses proper grammar and appears sophisticated in public\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
770	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nHe was 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. And at once there was an answer: \" You lie upon the world Dondromogon. \" I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, yet again: \"Who am I?\" The voice had a note of triumph. \"You do not know that. It is as well, for this will be a birth and beginning of your destined leadership on Dondromogon.\" \"Destined—leadership—\" I began to repeat, and fell silent. I had need to think. The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from worlds away, for a specified purpose here on whatever windswept planet Dondromogon might be. \"Birth and beginning—destined leadership—\" Fantastic! And yet, for all I could say to the contrary, unvarnishedly true. \"Dondromogon?\" I mumbled. \"The name is strange to me.\" \"It is a world the size of your native one,\" came words of information. \"Around a star it spins, light-years away from the world of your birth. One face of Dondromogon ever looks to the light and heat, wherefore its metals run in glowing seas. The other face is ever away in cold darkness, with its air freezing into solid chunks. But because Dondromogon wavers on its axis, there are two lunes of its surface \"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 myself violently free. What had seized me? That was my first wonder. On this strange world called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid level: \"Why should I lie? Especially as I don't know who I am, or where I'm from, or anything that has happened longer ago than just a moment. I woke up out there in the dust storm, and I managed to come here for \"I tell the truth,\" was my reply, not very gracious. \"You will have to prove that,\" he admonished me. \"What proof have I?\" I demanded. \"On this world of yours—Dondromogon, isn't it called?—I'm no more than an hour old. Accident or shock has taken my memory. Let me have a medical examination. A scientist 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—\" The girl Doriza spoke to the officer: \"If Sporr speaks truth, and he generally does, you have committed a blasphemy.\" The other made a little grimace. \"This may be Yandro, though I'm a plain soldier and follow the classics very little. The First Comers are souls to worship, not to study. If indeed he is Yandro,\" and he was most respectful, \"he will appreciate, like a good military mind, my caution against possible impostors.\" \"Who might Yandro be?\" I demanded, very uncomfortable in my bonds and loose draperies. Old Sporr almost crowed. \"You see? If he was a true imposter, he would \"As it is, he may remember that the Conquering Stranger is foretold The officer faced me, with a sort of baffled respect. \"I still say you will understand my caution,\" he addressed me, with real respect and shyness this time. \"If you are Yandro himself, you can prove it. The prophecy even sketches a thumb-print—\" And he held the book toward me. \"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.\" \"Forgive me, great Yandro,\" said the officer thickly. \"I did not know.\" \"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 \"Pardon, great Yandro,\" babbled Sporr. \"I was saying that I arranged \"It is indeed Yandro, our great chief,\" he mumbled. Then he turned and crossed the room. A sort of mouthpiece sprouted from the wall. fore-teller of wisdom. Yandro is with us, he awaits his partners and frame a word. Then, suddenly, she was on her knee, catching my hand and kissing it. \"I serve Yandro,\" she vowed tremulously. \"Now and forever—and happy that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all Dondromogon.\" \"Please get up,\" I bade her, trying not to sound as embarrassed as I felt. \"Come with me. There is still much that I do not understand.\" \"I am Yandro's orderly and helper,\" she said. Rising, she ranged herself at my left hand. \"Will Yandro come this way? He will be awaited in the audience hall.\" 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 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 Stranger, to greet his lieutenants!\" I have said that the portal was closed by a curtainlike metal sheet others, who may have lived too long in their earth-buried shelters. And Doriza now spoke to the gathering: \"Yandro, folk of the Council! He deigns to give you audience.\" \" Yandro! \" They all spoke the name in chorus, and bowed toward me. infant. I hear wonderful things, of which I seem to be the center. Are they true?\" \"The tenth part of the wonders which concern mighty Yandro have not been told,\" intoned Sporr, ducking his bearded head in a bow, but \"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.\" \"You honor me,\" I told him. \"Yet I still know little. It seems that I am expected to aid and lead and save the people of this world called Dondromogon. But I must know them before I can help.\" Gederr turned his eyes upon the woman with the red hair, and gestured to her \"Tell him, Elonie.\" Then he faced me. \"Have we Yandro's\n\n<question>:\nBased on the information provided in the article, do you predict the narrator will fully step up to his position as Yandro?\n\n<options>:\nA No, he will never come out of his state of amnesia to be able to fulfil his duties.\nB Yes, because he is willing to learn and work with the people of Dondromogon.\nC Yes, because he will be arrested if he does not.\nD No, because he firmly denies that he is the Yandro and wants to return to Earth.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
701	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER \"That seems a modest enough hope,\" Retief said. \"I'll try to live up to it.\" \"I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division,\" Magnan all ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer. What I wanted to see you about was—\" He shifted in his chair. \"Well, out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is just about ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don't know if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...?\" Arapoulous took one. \"Bacchus vines are an unusual crop,\" he said, puffing the cigar alight. \"Only mature every twelve years. In between, the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own. We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms. Apples the size of a melon—and sweet—\" \"Sounds very pleasant,\" Retief said. \"Where does the Libraries and forest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr. \"Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Our year's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter painting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring still plenty cold. Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating and it's the season for woodworkers. Our furniture—\" \"I've seen some of your furniture,\" Retief said. \"Beautiful work.\" comes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's getting closer. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine? That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stay inside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beach on Lovenbroy the music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to the center of a globular cluster, you know....\" \"You say it's time now for the wine crop?\" \"That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just the ordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing getting it in doesn't take long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting new places ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend a lot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But this year's different. This is Wine Year.\" Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. \"Our wine crop is our big money crop,\" he said. \"We make enough to keep us going. But this year....\" \"The crop isn't panning out?\" \"Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm only not the crop.\" \"Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for the Commercial—\" \"Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines ever settled for anything else!\" \"It sounds like I've been missing something,\" said Retief. \"I'll have rust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He looked at Arapoulous thoughtfully. \"Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crusted port.\" mouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. \"It's Bacchus wine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy.\" He pushed the second bottle toward Retief. \"The custom back home is to alternate red wine and black.\" Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork, back?\" \"Can't say that I did, Hank.\" Retief poured the black wine into two fresh glasses. \"Here's to the harvest.\" \"We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy,\" Arapoulous said, swallowing wine. \"But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em. We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed a we did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise. But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men.\" \"That's too bad,\" Retief said. \"I'd say this one tastes more like roast beef and popcorn over a Riesling base.\" exporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same when you're doing it for strangers.\" \"Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy,\" Retief said. \"What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose?\" \"Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. But we need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you can turn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintage season is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in. First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyards covering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardens here and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deep grass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wine to the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets on who can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright, and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall, the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on: roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty of fruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking's done by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizes for the best crews. \"Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostly for the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start to get loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns are born after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on his toes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layer of grape juice?\" \"Never did,\" Retief said. \"You say most of the children are born after a vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time—\" \"Oh, that's Lovenbroy years vintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Then next vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage—\" \"You hocked the vineyards?\" \"Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time.\" \"On the whole,\" Retief said, \"I think I prefer the black. But the red \"Can they pick grapes?\" \"Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this over Committee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations' General Economies have been trying for months to get a request for \"And nights to match.\" to Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage on Lovenbroy.\" sipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with the production of such vintages.... cooking—\" \"They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see—\" \"Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,\" Retief said. \"Your people must be unusually interested in that region\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the significance of Lovenbroy’s seasons?\n\n<options>:\nA Each season’s weather brings a new set of cultural recreation and work.\nB Each season calls for a new way to tend the Bacchus vine.\nC Each season requires a new cultural shift in line with the needs of the young people.\nD Each season’s weather brings a new approach to how the community thinks about its relationship to wine.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
329	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nCriminals, beware for that matter, so do the cops! withdrawing money from her savings account again. And there were three bank robbers. The three bank robbers looked like triplets. From the ground up, they all wore scuffy black shoes, baggy-kneed and unpressed khaki trousers, brown cracked-leather jackets over flannel shirts, white handkerchiefs over the lower half of their faces and gray-and-white check caps pulled low over their eyes. The eyes themselves looked dangerous. third one, who carried a black satchel like a doctor's bag, walked quickly around behind the teller's counter and started filling it with money. floor, and all three of them ran out of the bank to the car out front, in which sat a very nervous-looking fourth man, gunning the engine. .\" \"Well,\" said Pauling, \"it was a stolen car. I suppose they just grabbed whatever was handiest.\" \"What I can't figure out,\" said Stevenson, \"is exactly what made those tires do that. I mean, it was a hot day and all, but it wasn't that hot. And they weren't going that fast. I don't think you could go fast enough to melt your tires down.\" Pauling shrugged again. \"We got them. That's the important thing.\" \"Still and all, it's nutty. They're free and clear, barrelling out Rockaway toward the Belt, and all at once their tires melt, the tubes blow out and there they are.\" Stevenson shook his head. \"I can't figure \"Why? What was it, a foreign make?\" \"No, it was a Chevvy, two-tone, three years old, looked just like half he cried. \"What did you do to the tires?\" \"Not a thing, sir. That happened to them in the holdup.\" Hastings leaned down over one of the front tires. \"Look at that! There's melted rubber all over the rims. Those rims are ruined! What did you use, incendiary bullets?\" Stevenson shook his head. \"No, sir. When that happened they were two professional criminals, I thought you knew that. They were using it in about anything. I don't suppose they'll ever tell us.\" He looked at the trunk lid again. \"It's the nuttiest thing,\" he said thoughtfully.... That was on Wednesday. fights crime. Crooks and robbers are not safe from the avenging composed of one and two family houses. The man who went berserk was a Motor Vehicle Bureau clerk named Jerome Higgins. Two days before, he had flunked a Civil Service examination for the third time. He reported himself sick and spent the two days at home, brooding, a bottle of blended whiskey at all times in his hand. As the police reconstructed it later, Mrs. Higgins had attempted to at them, killing his wife on the spot and wounding his sister in the hand and shoulder. Mrs. Stodbetter, wounded and scared out of her wits, raced screaming out the front door of the house, crying for the police and shouting, \"Murder! Murder!\" At this point, neighbors called the police. One shouting: \"My hands! My hands!\" They looked at his hands. The palms and the palm-side of the fingers were red and blistering, from what looked like severe burns. There was another burn on his right cheek and another one on his right shoulder. \"Just what are you trying to say, Stevenson?\" he demanded. \"I'm not sure,\" admitted Stevenson. \"But we've got these two things. First, there's the getaway car from that bank job. The wheels melt for no reason at all, and somebody burns 'The Scorpion' onto the trunk. Then, yesterday, this guy Higgins out in Canarsie. He says the rifle all of a sudden got too hot to hold, and he's got the burn marks to patience. \"What are you trying to prove?\" \"I don't know. All I know is it's the nuttiest thing I ever saw. And what about the getaway car? What about those tires melting?\" \"They were defective,\" said Hanks promptly. \"All four of them at once? And what about the thing written on the trunk?\" \"How do I know?\" demanded the captain. \"Kids put it on before the car was stolen, maybe. Or maybe the hoods did it themselves, who knows? you trying to prove?\" \"I guess,\" said Stevenson slowly, thinking it out as he went along, \"I guess I'm trying to prove that somebody melted those tires, and made that rifle too hot, and left his signature behind.\" \"What? You mean like in the comic books? Come on, Stevenson! What are his rifle himself. He says so.\" \"And what made it so hot?\" \"Hell, man, he'd been firing that thing at people for an hour! What do you made it hot?\" \"All of a sudden?\" \"He noticed it all of a sudden, when it started to burn him.\" \"How come the same name showed up each time, then?\" Stevenson asked desperately. things happen. A bunch of teen-agers burgle a liquor store and they write 'The Golden Avengers' on the plate glass in lipstick. It happens all the time. Why not 'The Scorpion'? It couldn't occur to two people?\" \"But there's no explanation—\" started Stevenson. \"What do you mean, there's no explanation? I just refrigerators to starve. He went around trying to prove it, and getting all upset, and pretty soon they had to put him away in the nut hatch. Remember?\" seen the first one, two months before. At any rate, it was filed in the same place, and forgotten. III The weapons were chosen: pocket knives and tire chains okay, but no pistols or zip-guns. The time was fixed: eleven P.M. And the winner and elaborate costume of them all, black leotards and a yellow shirt the one kid who'd gotten through, then maybe all the rest of them would come running along after her. She didn't know what to do. The guys from both gangs were dancing. They were jumping around, waving their arms, throwing their weapons away. Then they all started pulling off their gang jackets and throwing them away, whooping and hollering. the yellow-and-black costume go scooting away down the street. And she had the craziest idea that it was all his fault. Captain Hanks was still in his realistic cycle this morning, and he was the problem with this one? These kid gangs have names, so what?\" him. \"One of them was the Scarlet Raiders and the other gang was the \"So they changed their name,\" said Hanks. \"Both gangs? Simultaneously? To the same name?\" \"Why not? Maybe that's what they were fighting over.\" \"I glanced through it.\" \"All right. Here's what they say happened: They say they started fighting at eleven o'clock. And they just got going when all at once all the metal they were carrying—knives and tire chains and coins and belt buckles and everything else—got freezing cold, too cold to touch. And then their leather jackets got freezing cold, so cold they had to pull them off and throw them away. And when the jackets were later collected, across the name of the gang on the back of each one had been something,\" said Hanks severely. \"They heard the police sirens, and they threw all their weapons away. Then they threw their jackets away, to try to make believe they hadn't been part of the gang that had been fighting. But they were caught before what happened. And all this talk about freezing cold and branding names into jackets is just some smart-alec punk's idea of a way to razz the police. Now, you just go back to gangs up in Manhattan and comic book things like the Scorpion, or\n\n<question>:\nWhat do all 3 crimes have in common?\n\n<options>:\nA They were ended by unexplained phenomena and marked by the Scorpion.\nB They were carried out by The Scorpions, a new gang.\nC They were ended by the criminals being apprehended by the police.\nD In all 3 cases, something either melted or got too hot to handle.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,292	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nsingle world alone, and that gives us a very considerable measure of John Crownwall as he strode toward the palace of Viceroy Tronn Ffallk, ruler of Sector XII of the Universal Holy Empire of orders of its Viceroy. So we achieve \"The Sundans, for example, Sectors we control. We are still powerful. And soon we will be all-powerful. surrounded by this writhing, slithering mass of eight-foot creatures, In company with you words, you think that we Earthmen can break up this two-million-year-old stalemate. You've got the idea that, with our help, you can conquer planets without the necessity of destroying them, and thereby take over number one spot from these Sunda friends of yours.\" \"Don't call those damn lobsters \"And there's no danger of meeting situation. As you probably lifted one eyebrow quizzically, but remained know, theory shows that these are excluded times for me, as is the senior of the guards, his speaking orifice framing with difficulty the future—I can't stop in them.\" sibilances of Universal Galactic. \"Are you sure that you haven't Seventy Suns, Viceroy of the Twelfth Sector of the Universal Holy Empire\"—Universal Galactic had a full measure of ceremonial sure that you will behave yourselves. You will transfer to us, at once, a hundred of your planet-destroying bombs. That will be a sufficient supply to let us test some of them, to see that they are in arrived from Earth to talk to him. He'll summon me fast enough. Meanwhile, my highly polished friends, I'll just wait here, so why don't you put those heavy pikes down?\" send one of those bombs here to destroy this planet. lightly, to be sure, because of what would happen to Earth. And don't think that blowing up our planet would save you, because we naturally wouldn't keep the bombs on \"Impossible.\" After several minutes of silent delay. Meanwhile, I see no reason why we cannot proceed with our discussions.\" Vegan in lordly trappings. last. \"But then I'm told you're an Earthling. I suppose we can expect you to be ignorant of those niceties such ideas. I have not underestimated you, you see.\" think it's time for you to tell us something about how you get across light-years of space in a few hours, without leaving any traces to duplicate it—just enough to indicate how we can make use of us to begin After in particular,\" the Vegan said with a negligent wave. \"Who can tell one due consideration, I never doubted that you'd manage it. Still, if you were on your home planet only yesterday, that's been around nearly as long as you have.\" drop a planet-buster in the Pacific Ocean, and tell us that it was triggered to go off if we tried to use at will. \"For example, to reach this I am the leader of one of the mightiest peoples in the Galaxy, whereas there are scarcely six billions of you squatting on one minor planet, we still need each other. Together, there is nothing we can't do.\" of which ours is such a distinguished member. than there are of us?\" His Effulgence twitched his ear stalks in amusement. \"I'm Viceroy of one of the hundred Sectors of the Empire. I rule over a total of a hundred Satrapies these average net distance of 26 light-years, but it was really very simple. about a hundred Clusters apiece, and every Cluster has an average of a hundred inhabited solar systems. There are more inhabited planets in the Galaxy than there are people on your single world. I, personally, rule three hundred trillion people, half of them of my own race. And yet I tell you that it would be an equal partnership.\" Ffallk softly. \"Not at all. We were enormously spatial reference frames ourselves. I doubt if you could do it in another two million years.\" Crownwall rose to his feet. \"And now, Your Effulgence, I think it's about it is still possible. \"Your silly little planet was carefully examined at long range in a routine investigation just about fifty thousand years ago. There were at that time three different but similar racial strains of pulpy bipeds, numbering a total of perhaps a hundred thousand individuals. They showed many signs of an shrill two-tone note, using both his speaking and his eating orifices. A cohort of troops, pikes at the ready ability to reason, but a complete reached a high enough civilization to be useful—if you were going to. \"Intelligence is very rare in the Galaxy. In all, it has been found only fifteen times. The other races we have watched develop, and some we have actively assisted to develop. It took the quickest of them just under a million years. an hour, carrying their contraption with absolute smoothness. Blasts Ffallk. The bearers trotted along at seven or eight kilometers in an incredibly short space of time. But even that isn't the most disconcerting item of your it to Ffallk. \"When the Viceroy of the Seventy Suns,\" said the Viceroy of the Seventy Suns, \"travels in state, no one but my own entourage is permitted to watch. And my guests, of \" Heard ten years before. The Star Seeker in space, about forty thousand kilometers above the Earth. It had been manned by a dozen adventurous over there\"—he gestured toward a soldier with a tentacle—\"is twelve, the stars had winked out. The men of Earth had decided that it should work in theory. They never dared to try it, close to a planet. To do so, said their theory, would usually—seven point three four times out of 10—destroy the ship, and everything in space for thousands of miles around, in a your release was somewhat shaky. The next time you show such sloppy form, you will be given thirty lashes.\" He leaned back on the cushion In less than a week's time, if time has any meaning under such been tested. And it had worked. Two weeks later, while they were still several planetary diameters from their destination, they a little more often.\" He stifled a shudder of distaste. \"Tell me, Your Effulgence, does the Emperor's race—the Master Race—also had rapidly and competently englobed the had called it—and their unanimous decision. Although far within the dangerous influence of a planetary will soon put a stop to all of that—your race and mine, of course.\" \"I sincerely hope so,\" said Crownwall. occupied ten times the space of the temporal translation and coordination selection systems combined, of time before they'll find some way around it, and then—poof—we'll complacently. \"After I got back a few million years, I'm afraid I got the Vegans hadn't appeared yet. deliberately kill anything—but I'd be mighty managed to get what you call the 'planet-buster' down into the all of them repeated Marshall's words: \"We're all alone now.\" Ggaran bowed. \"The crustaceans on Sunda—the lobsterlike creatures that rule the Galaxy—are —L. J. STECHER, JR. Transcriber's Note: Galaxy Magazine June 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. us of our rightful place. \"The Emperor at Sunda is one of them. They provide sixty-eight of the hundred Viceroys we provide only seventeen. It is a preposterous and intolerable situation. \"For more than two million years we have waited for the opportunity opportunity is at hand.\" \"If you haven't been able to help yourselves for two million years,\" asked Crownwall, \"how does the sight of me give you so much gumption of his teeth subsided instantly at a soothing wave from His Effulgence. \"War in space is almost an impossibility,\" said the aged ruler. \"We can destroy planets, of course, but with few exceptions, we cannot conquer them. I rule a total of seven races in my Sector. I rule them, but I don't let them intermingle. Each race settles on the itself. \"Naturally, each is vulnerable to\n\n<question>:\nHow many Viceroys are neither Vegan nor Sundan?\n\n<options>:\nA 15\nB 20\nC 25\nD 10\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
333	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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\"Want an asteroid in your backyard? We supply asteroid, was plainly flabbergasted. Not in his wildest imaginings had she's made of tungsten, iron, quartz crystals, and cinnabar! But there couldn't be two asteroids of that shape anywhere else in the Belt, so He jerked a badly crumpled ethergram from his pocket, smoothed it out, and thumbed his nose at the signature. \"Whee! Mr. Andrew S. Burnside, you owe us five hundred and fifty thousand dollars!\" asteroid.\" In the ship, the ethergram from Andrew S. Burnside, of Philadelphia, one of the richest men in the world, still lay on the deck-plates. It that yes I would like an asteroid in my back yard. Must meet following composed of iron ore, tungsten, quartz crystals, and cinnabar. Must be in my back yard before 11:30 rocks (chiefly due to the activities of Saylor &amp Saylor, a rival firm) neither Bob nor Queazy would have thought of sending an answering ethergram to Burnside stating that they would fill the order. It there was such a rigidly specified asteroid, their financial worries would be over. That they had actually discovered the asteroid, using asteroids in the asteroid belt, and they had been out in space only three weeks. The \"asteroid in your back yard\" idea had been Bob Parker's originally. Now it was a fad that was sweeping Earth, and Burnside wasn't the first rich man who had decided to hold a wedding on top of an asteroid. Unfortunately, other interplanetary moving companies had cashed in on 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 By the naked eye, they could see iron ore, quartz crystals, cinnabar, use it. He satisfied himself as to the exterior of the asteroid, and \"May I ask what you interlopers are doing on my asteroid?\" asteroid \"below.\" \"I said,\" remarked the girl, \"that you should scram off of my asteroid. He and Queazy caught up with her on the side of the asteroid they hadn't yet examined. It was a rough plane, completing the rigid qualifications Burnside had set down. to move this asteroid from its orbit and haul it back to Earth. an asteroid that doesn't mean anything to you one way or another. But for this asteroid. Some screwball millionaire wants it for a backyard If we don't take this asteroid to Earth before June 2, we go back to both understand each other. G'bye again. I'm staying here and—\" she the asteroid you'll save your business, but I'll meet a fate worse than 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!\" double-crossed. Those boys are after this asteroid too, and they won't hesitate to pull any rough stuff. We're in this together, understand? 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 sparks crackled between the hull and the asteroid as the magnetic ethergram direct from Andrew S. Burnside ordering this asteroid.\" hurled straight at Billy Saylor, lifted him straight off the asteroid 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 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 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. \"Say that again?\" he snapped. \"This is some kind of dirty trick you and asteroid like this. But I did, long before he ordered it from you—or from the Saylor brothers. You see—well, my granddad's about the 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 nerves. So I decided to trick him and I came out to the asteroid belt 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 find the asteroid in time they wouldn't be able Asteroids up to a certain size belong to whoever happens to be on them, the asteroid was delivered, so he gave the order to several companies.\" \" Bob groaned. Then he looked at Starre Lowenthal with ours both travel on the HH drive—inertia-less. But the asteroid has fling at getting the asteroid back!\" 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 asteroid back? Remember, commercial ships aren't allowed to carry Starre. \"He's always pulling me up short when I go off half-cocked. All meantime, Starre—ahem—none of us has eaten in three weeks...?\" Starre got the idea. She smiled dazzlingly and vanished toward the 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 Starre apparently knew he was in love with her, too, for on the fifth \"Right,\" he said unsteadily. \"Anyway, Starre, as I was saying, this shake. He took her hand. \"Starre,\" he said desperately, \"I've got to faltering. \"The asteroid—\" \"There's your ship, Starre.\" He jabbed his finger at it. \"I've got a the whole solution of the problem of grabbing the asteroid back lies Starre's blue eyes followed the long cable back to where it was cosmic dimensions, while Starre and Queazy stood over him bursting into discovered the next day. They had expected to pick up the asteroid Moon's orbit. But now they saw the giant ship attached like a leech to the still bigger asteroid—inside the Moon's orbit! A mere two hundred The excited cry came from Starre. But Bob swore. The dumbbell ship better calculations, they managed to put the firmly held asteroid the asteroid was several times as massive as the ship which was towing Starre was chortling with glee. Queazy whispered, \"Attaboy, Bob! This you release the asteroid.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhy does Starre lay claim to the asteroid?\n\n<options>:\nA She's trying to get away from her life. She can't stand how stubborn her Grandfather is.\nB She's trying to delay her arranged marriage, by preventing the asteroid from ever being delivered.\nC She told her Grandfather about the asteroid and told him she would marry Mac on top of it.\nD She's Burnside's granddaughter and is protecting it for him.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
464	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 Thig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beach no garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support his wait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was to cruiser where his two fellows and himself would drain the creature's The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of a Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing's Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that had desolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he was be-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up out of his subconscious. Yet he had to write at least three novelets and 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 \"Hey!\" he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside the 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. \"There it is,\" announced Thig, dropping the limp body of the captured wears he might be Thig.\" \"Thig will be this creature!\" announced Torp. \"With a psychic relay we 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 \"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 \"For the good of the Horde,\" Thig intoned almost piously as he lifted Terry's body and headed for the laboratory. lacking in their early training and later life. They were trained So it was that the bodies of the Earthman and the Orthan were strapped 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 \"There is nothing more to learn,\" he informed his impassive comrades. \"Now, let us get on with the plastic surgery that is required. My new body must return to its barbaric household before undue attention is where Jake and Ted had helped him dig for the buried treasure that that episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in his pocket. He had found them in a chest along the beach! had no mates on Ortha, sex had been overthrown with all the other so he was incapable of understanding trembling, against his own. That same hot wave of pulsing blood choked \"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 He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung, \"Uh huh,\" agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savages \"I saved some kraut and weiners,\" Ellen said. \"Get washed up while I'm Thig sank into a dusty old swing that hung on creaking chains from the 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 experienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue against the wits of other unpredictable human beings. There was no abrupt caught his arm breathlessly at all the beauty spread away there beneath 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 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 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. \"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 \"But why,\" asked Thig slowly, \"could we not disarm all the natives and \"Let us get back to Ortha at once, then,\" gritted out Thig savagely. \"Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam,\" ordered Torp shortly. \"His Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside the 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 the Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep into and dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his and fought against that lone arm of Thig. weapon tilted upward until it reached the level of Thig's waist. Thig suddenly released his grip and dragged his enemy toward him. A sudden 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 His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waited bruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked upon Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of his but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he now used the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in his 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 weapon. He tugged it free. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black length watching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bitten 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 So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant mad victory had given him to drive him along. sobered him yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. After 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: 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 Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for the Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one of monotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heart He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched the He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first time heaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde's West. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry and The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would be He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that!\n\n<question>:\nWhat was Lewis doing when he was captured by Thig?\n\n<options>:\nA Going swimming\nB Going fishing\nC Trying to type on his typewriter\nD Finalizing a novelet\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
639	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nA PLANET NAMED JOE By S. A. LOMBINO There were more Joes on Venus than you could shake Polk to scan the planet for a guy named Joe. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories \"It will involve finding one man, a Venusian native.\" happens this Venusian is the one man who can help us understand just I tried to picture a Venusian understanding Mars and I didn't get very \"And this man is on Venus now?\" I asked for confirmation. I'd never any military organization, he outranked me. \"And the man's name, sir?\" \"Joe.\" A tight smile played on his face. \"Joe what?\" I asked. \"Just Joe.\" \"Just Joe?\" \"Yes,\" Walsh said. \"A native, you know. They rarely go in for more than first names. But then, it should be simple to find a man with a name like Joe. Among the natives, I mean.\" \"I don't know, sir.\" \"A relatively simple assignment,\" Walsh said. any of the other Venusians, so I can't give you much help there. He He ambled over with long-legged strides that closed the distance between us in seconds. \"Call me Joe,\" he said. I dropped my bags and stared at him. Maybe this was going to be a simple assignment after all. \"I sure am glad to see you, Joe,\" I said. \"Same here, Toots,\" he answered. \"The guys back in Space II are searching high and low for you,\" I told \"You've got the wrong number,\" he said, and I was a little surprised at his use of Terran idiom. \"You are Joe, aren't you? Joe the trader?\" \"I'm Joe, all right,\" he said. \"Only thing I ever traded, though, was a wondering just how I should go about contacting the Joe I was looking and a bar. Behind the bar a tall Venusian lounged. I walked over and asked, \"What are you serving, pal?\" \"Call me Joe,\" he answered. He caught me off balance. \"What?\" \"Joe,\" he said again. A faint glimmer of understanding began to penetrate my thick skull. \"You wouldn't happen to be Joe the trader? The guy who knows all about Mars, would you?\" Joe. Among the natives, I mean. \"What are you drinking, pal?\" the Venusian asked again. I started to pick up my bag as another Venusian entered. He waved at the bartender. \"Hello, Joe,\" he said. \"How's it going?\" I listened in fascination. Joe, Joe, Joe. So this was Walsh's idea of a great gag. Very funny. Very.... \"You Major Polk, sweetheart?\" the Venusian who'd just come in asked. \"Yes,\" I said, still thinking of Colonel Walsh. \"You better get your butt over to the captain's shack,\" he said. \"He's open. A tall, blue Venusian stepped lithely into the room. \"Sir?\" the Venusian asked. \"Sure thing,\" the Venusian answered. He smiled broadly and closed the door behind him. Another Joe \"All right,\" I said, \"suppose we start at the beginning.\" Captain Bransten opened his eyes wide. \"Sir?\" he asked. \"What's with all this Joe business? It may be a very original name but I think its popularity here is a little outstanding.\" Captain Bransten began to chuckle softly. I personally didn't think it waited for his explanation. \"I hadn't realized this was your first time on Venus,\" he said. \"Is there a local hero named Joe?\" I asked. \"No, no, nothing like that,\" he assured me. \"It's a simple culture, you know. Not nearly as developed as Mars.\" \"And the natives are only now becoming acquainted with Terran culture. \"Easy, sir,\" Bransten said, turning pale. I could see that the Captain wasn't used to entertaining Majors. \"The enlisted men. You know how they are. They'll ask a native to do something and they'll call him Joe. 'Hey, Joe, give me a hand with this.' Or 'Listen, Joe, how'd you \"I follow, all right,\" I said bitterly. \"Well,\" Bransten went on, \"that sort of thing mushrooms. The natives are a simple, almost childish people. It appealed to them—the Joe business, I mean. Now they're all Joe. They like it. That and the cigarettes.\" He cleared his throat and looked at me apologetically as if he were personally responsible for Venusian culture. In fact, he looked as if he were responsible for having put Venus in the heavens in the first place. \"Do you understand, Major? Just a case of extended idiom, that's all.\" \"I understand perfectly,\" I snapped. \"Where are my quarters?\" Bransten asked a Venusian named Joe to show me my quarters, reminding me that chow was at thirteen hundred. As I was leaving, the first He blinked at the screen, trying to realize I'd deliberately hung up on him. \"Polk!\" he shouted, \"can you hear me?\" It might mean demotion, and it might mean getting bounced out of the Service altogether. Two: I could assume there really was a guy name Joe somewhere in that jungle, a Joe separate and apart from the other Joes on this planet, a trader Joe who knew the Martians well. I could always admit failure, of I cursed Walsh again and pushed the buzzer near my bed. A tall Venusian stepped into the room. \"Joe?\" I asked, just to be sure. \"Who else, boss?\" he answered. \"I'm trying to locate someone,\" I said. \"I'll need a guide to take me \"Fine, fine,\" I said impatiently. And the Captain had said they were almost a childish people! \"His name is Joe,\" the Venusian told me. \"Best damn guide on the planet. Take you anywhere you want to go, do anything you want to do. The Venusian started to leave. His face broke into a wide grin. \"No danger of that, boss,\" he said. When he was gone I began figuring out a plan of action. Obviously, I'd just have to traipse through the jungle looking for a guy named Joe on a planet where everyone was named Joe. Everybody, at least, but the Captain, the small garrison attached to the Station, and me. I began wondering why Walsh had gone to so much trouble to get rid of would deliberately do just about anything. Sending me off on a wild goose chase after a character named Joe may have been a gag. But it may have been something a little grimmer than a elongated, looked almost like all the other Venusians I'd seen so far. He lifted his eyebrows, and his eyes widened in his narrow face. He was definitely surprised. \"Joe,\" he said. \"Didn't you know?\" When we'd been out for a while I discovered why Joe had suggested the Joe, on the other hand, enjoyed every moment of the trip. In each village he greeted the natives cheerfully, told them stories, swapped gossip and jokes. And when it was time to leave, he would say goodbye \"I like Venus,\" he said once. \"I would never leave it.\" friends had taken me all over the city, finally dropping me off at my own house where the whole gang was gathered for a surprise party. Joe reminded me of that friend. \"Fancy meeting you here, Colonel,\" I said, trying to match his joviality. Somehow it didn't quite come off. Joe was walking beside me, waving at the colonel, beaming all over with say about the natives. Apparently he'd realized that Joe was a native.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the first clue that hints at how Venusian culture has absorbed the name Joe?\n\n<options>:\nA The first Joe who Major Polk meets knows the Terran idiom, “stabbed in the back.”\nB The first Joe who Major Polk meets knows the Terran idiom, “you’ve got the wrong number.”\nC The first Joe who Major Polk meets knows the Terran idiom, “bite the bullet.”\nD The first Joe who Major Polk meets knows the Terran idiom, “Joe,” as a way of causally referring to others.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,355	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\n[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from They were all excellent, Eckert thought. If anything, they were too Nothing could have seemed pleasanter than that peaceful planet. Then why was a non-suicidal Eckert, you have but to ask.\" the gas. Eckert had lit a cigarette and was calmly blowing the smoke facing him. Eckert, one of the good gray men in the Service. The old reliables, the ones who could take almost anything in their stride It was Eckert who had come into his office several days ago and told 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 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 it, though he wasn't what you would call a grind. In high school and later in college, he was the well-balanced type, athletic, popular, hard-working. How long would it be before memories faded and all there was left All-Around Boy, the cold marble statue with the finely chiseled muscles and the smooth, blank sockets where the eyes should be. Maybe someday fate would play a trick on a hero-worshiping public and there would Eckert and he had been chosen to go to Tunpesh and investigate. The two But that wasn't the real reason. Maybe Eckert thought so, but he knew \"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. , he thought, thinking about the warmth and comfort. Like old dogs and octogenarians. his face. Eckert stole a side glance at him and for a fleeting moment Eckert nodded agreement. \"It wouldn't fit, would it? It would be like a It looked fairly primitive, Eckert thought, and yet it didn't have the Eckert stared at them for a moment, wondering what it was that seemed dangerous.\" It's because you never suspect kids , Eckert thought, \"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 feeling that if you wanted to know his exact age, you'd have to look at his teeth or know something about his epiphyseal closures. \"You are the pronunciation was very clear. Eckert regarded him thoughtfully and made a few mental notes. He wasn't bowing and scraping like most and then offered his hand, somewhat shyly, Eckert thought, in the He was polite, Eckert thought. He didn't ask what they were there Eckert and Templin took a quick tour of the few rooms. They were well Eckert opened one of the boxes they had brought along, \"You've been very kind to us and we would like to repay you. You may take what you wish of anything within this box.\" He opened another of the light. Eckert knew by the way he looked at it that he wasn't at all Eckert shrugged. \"That's one of the things you do out of habit, try nothing that he wanted. Implying that everything he wanted, he already had.\" \"No, I'm afraid it's not.\" Eckert started unpacking some of the boxes. \"You know, Ray, I got a kick out of the kids. They're a healthy-looking lot, aren't they?\" natural.\" \"They're probably just well brought-up kids,\" Eckert said sharply. \"Maybe they've been taught not to get in fights or play around in the \"In what way?\" The words came out slowly. \"The people are too casual, as though they're playing a rehearsed part. Here we are, from an entirely cute, harmless little kids.\" He looked at Eckert. \"Maybe that's what we're supposed to think—just an idyllic, harmless society. Maybe that's what Pendleton thought, right to the very end.\" He was keyed up, jumpy, Eckert realized. He would probably be seeing keep an open mind until we know for certain.\" He flicked out the light and lay back on the cool bed, letting his Eckert put down the chain he had been whittling and reached for his pipe and tobacco. \"I don't think it's primitive at all. There are too many disparities. Their knowledge of a lot of things is a little more than empirical knowledge they associate the growth of crops with fertilizer and nitrogen in the soil as well as sunlight, rather than the blessings of 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.\" Eckert hefted it in his palm. \"The most important thing is that they \"Well, what do you think about it?\" \"The obvious. They evidently have as much technology as they want, at least in fields where they have to have it.\" Eckert sighed and watched a fat bug waddle across a small patch of seemed likely to turn into a vendettist. It meant that Eckert would believe. It's more likely that his friends have been silenced and any information about him is being withheld for a reason.\" \"What reason?\" Eckert rolled up the thin, slatted blinds and stared out at the inferiority complex just from watching the people here. Everybody's so damn perfect. Nobody's sick, nobody's unhealthy, nobody is too fat or too thin, nobody's unhappy. The only variation is that they don't all look alike. Perfection. It gets boring after a while.\" \"Does it? I hadn't noticed.\" Eckert turned away from the blinds. His 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 we find out may be vitally important to anybody serving here in the future. I would hate to see our efforts spoiled because you've already made up your mind.\" suicide?\" \"I don't think there's such a thing as a suicide type, when you come down to it. I'm not ruling out the possibility of murder, either. I'm trying to keep an open mind.\" \"What have we accomplished so far? What have we found out?\" we'll try to live here inconspicuously and study the people and try to cultivate informants. We would get nowhere if we came barging in asking all sorts of questions. And don't forget, Ray, we're all alone on One of the hardest things to learn in a foreign culture, Eckert \" \" ulami and the broiled he noticed that nobody drank to excess. The old Greek ideal , he thought: moderation in everything. He looked at Templin, sitting across from him in the huge circle, and shrugged mentally. Templin looked as if he was about to break down and , Eckert thought, Eckert.\" Eckert took another sip of the wine and turned to the Tunpeshan on his left. He was a tall, muscular man with sharp eyes, a firm chin and a certain aura of authority. Eckert gnawed the dainty meat off a slender Eckert had a sudden clammy feeling which quickly passed away. What himself. We knew him quite well and we could not bring ourselves to believe he had done such a thing.\" One,\" he said vaguely. He didn't seem anxious to talk about it. Eckert stared bleakly at his wine glass and tried to put the pieces of information together. They probably had a taboo about self-destruction which would make it difficult to talk about. That would make it even harder for him to find out by direct questioning. limbs. Eckert felt his eyebrows crawl upward. Apparently the dance was Eckert translated as being roughly equivalent to \"\n\n<question>:\nWhich word least describes Eckert?\n\n<options>:\nA experienced\nB observant\nC nervous\nD open-minded\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
51	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 intercom roared fit to blow O'Rielly back to Venus. \"Burner Four!\" \"On my way, sir!\" At the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head he was already throwing open the lock to the burner room. The hot, throbbing rumble whipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power of the universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given one chance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. The throbbing rumble changed tone. \"Fusion control two points low, sir.\" O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the old Burner Chief demanded hoarsely, \"Didn't you lock them controls before blast-off?\" \"If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting,\" O'Rielly answered from his own angry bewilderment, \"the error would have registered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir?\" \"So a control reset itself in flight, hey?\" \"I don't know yet, sir.\" \"Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth!\" The icy knot in O'Rielly's stomach jerked tighter. A dozen burners on this ship why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In a hundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Rielly in pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But one had moved here. Not enough to cause serious trouble this far out from Earth. On blast-down, though, with one jet below peak, the uneven thrust could throw the ship, crash it, the whole lovely thing and all aboard gone in a churning cloud. Sweat pouring off him, O'Rielly prowled around his burner. Design of the thing had been bossed by dames of course what on Earth wasn't any more? Anyway, nobody could get to a burner except through its watch room. Anyone entered or left there, a bell clanged, lights flashed Chief's console up in the flight room full of beautifully efficient officers. Ever since Venus blast-off O'Rielly had been in Four's watch room. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it. By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probably inquired what was in charge of Burner Four. Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailed O'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am! \"I was in your burner room.\" Her voice matched the rest of her, a blend of loveliness unlike anything outside a guy's most secret dreams. \"I couldn't stand the heat any longer and I couldn't open that big door. So I moved one of your controls a tiny bit. All the noise in there, naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turned resetting the control.\" what about that control?\" \"What control?\" \"Your fusion control that got itself two points low!\" \"Oh, that little thing.\" sharply. \"Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again? Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyll again probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner.\" snapped back over his shoulder, \"Use your shower!\" O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted that Burner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's, would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now. Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary. about your fusion control!\" Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFF position the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could not it. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give up 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 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 even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tells whether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himself 'em. \"Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, when a crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation. a nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby.\" Then Callahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. \"Look! I was O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had not opened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surely his dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't she have brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! the doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the cap and coverall uniform of a baggage boy. \"I threw them in there before you came on duty before blast-off,\" Trillium explained. \"I knew the burner room would be warm.\" Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through this freeze O'Rielly's brain, then she gave Callahan the look. \"I sent you down here to find the answer to that fusion control slippage!\" \"Oh, you'll have the best answer you ever heard of before long, ma'am!\" The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than two steps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possibly blowing her gaskets completely, O'Rielly simply stepped in, shut the door, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansed of person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and His A fine loud \"thump,\" however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back and yanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. \"Of all the sappy hiding places!\" Callahan yelped, in surprise of course. \"Interplanetary emergency.\" Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonally pleasant. Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries.\" The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by a blizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. \"The The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features, \"Some loud creature is interfering,\" Madame President snapped with annoyance. \"Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed,\" Mr. President swore. \"Some silly female cackling now!\" The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on a \"I stole away all by myself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful.\" \"Impossible!\" Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight up Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button that poised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blow Earth out of the universe. \"My grandchild was kidnapped by men under your official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?\" yanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. \"Unhand me, you fool creatures! Guards! Guards!\" control everywhere now.\" convenience.\" \"Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychological earshot, \"could have been rewarded worse, I suppose.\" \"What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings of Saturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to the\n\n<question>:\nHow had the fusion control points been adjusted?\n\n<options>:\nA The control had reset itself in flight.\nB It had been moved by a scurrying three-tailed mouse of Venus\nC Trillium had adjusted it when she got too heated.\nD They were not correctly inspected and locked before blast-off.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,015	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This was the endless problem of all spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men tomorrow on what they had eaten today! men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It's true that Woman remains a topic of thoughtful study, but discussion can never replace practice in an art. Food, on the other hand, is a challenge shipmen face three times a day, so central to their thoughts that a history of sea-faring can be read from a commissary list. his diet, a fruit known to us mariners of a more sophisticated age man condemned to snack on the Chlorella-spawn of cis-Martian space. Triton made her underwater periplus of Earth with a galley stocked with frozen pizza and concentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for the food. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezings groundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes. through a view-port, galley science had fulfilled the disgusting 36:12, to feed the Slimeheads for breakfast today what was day-before-yesterday's table-scraps and jakes-water. The Ship's Cook, the man who accomplishes the daily miracle of turning offal into eatables, is in many ways the most vital man aboard a spacer. He can make morale or foment a mutiny. His power is paramount. galleyman leveled his Chlorella tanks with heavy water from the ship's shielding. Four officers and twenty-one Other Ranks were rescued from the incident, too, caused by a Ship's Cook who allowed the stomach of every man aboard, where it fermented each subsequent bite he ate to a superior grade of the ancient observation, \"God sends food, and the Devil sends cooks,\" Marsmen will recall what happened aboard my ship the the hardest man in space and very likely the fattest. Ship's Cook was Robert Bailey. Cooking aboard a spacer is a job combining the more frustrating tensions of biochemistry, applied mycology, high-speed farming, dietetics and sewage engineering. It's the Cook's responsibility to see that each man aboard gets each day no less than five pounds of water, two pounds of oxygen, and one-and-a-half pounds of dry food. This isn't just a paragraph from the Spacer Union Contract. It's a Twelve tons of water, oxygen, and food would have filled the cargo compartments to bursting, and left a small ship like the of metabolites would see us through from Brady Station to Piano West and back. Recycling was the answer. The molecule of carbohydrate, fat, protein or mineral that didn't feed the crew fed the algae. And the algae fed us. essential amino acids. politicians are right enough when they say that we spacers are a Generally the man aboard who'd serve as the most popular murder-victim is the Cook. This trip, the-man-you-love-to-hate was our Captain. If the Cook hadn't problems enough with the chemical and psychic duties was the sort of man who, if he had to go into space at all, had best do the carbohydrate recycler. The crew thanked him. The Captain did not. \"Not much,\" I said. \"I suspect that the finest gift our Captain can to live with him. He's a good man at driving a ship.\" \"I wish he'd leave off driving this Cook,\" Bailey said. \"The fat swine!\" \"His plumpness is an unwitting tribute to your cooking, Bailey,\" I said. \"He eats well. We all do. I've dined aboard a lot of spacers in the good work, though, and you'll keep our Captain fat.\" from Medical Stores and offered him a therapeutic draught. The Cook steak.\" \"Yes, I eat it,\" the Captain said, taking and talking through another \"Only good food,\" Winkelmann mumbled through his mouthful of disguised don't know what I can do to please you.\" \"You are a spacer and a Ship's Cook, not a suburban Hausfrau with the keep my belly content and my brain alive.\" that my cruelty to the Belly-Robber is the biliousness of a middle-aged the appetite of our splenetic Captain. Each such offering was condemned mealtimes, but was frustrated by Winkelmann's orders. \"Convey my compliments to the Chef, please,\" the Captain would instruct one of the crew, \"and ask him to step down here a moment.\" And the Cook would cheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary genius into Hohmann orbit. His every meal established a higher benchmark in brilliant galleymanship. We were served, for instance, an have learned to cook with the competence of a freshman Home Economics they were in addition gratified that the battle between their Captain and their Cook served to feed them so well. Most spacers embark on an outward voyage somewhat plump, having eaten enough on their last few days aground to smuggle several hundred calories of fat and many memories of good food aboard with them. This trip, none of the men had lost weight during the first four months in space. Winkelmann, indeed, Captain that he curtail his diet for reasons of health, a bit of advice Each man aboard a spacer is allowed ten kilograms of personal effects besides his uniforms, these being considered Ship's Furnishing. As his rank and responsibility merit, the Captain is allowed double this ration. He may thus bring aboard with him some forty-five pounds of books, playing-cards, knitting-wool, whiskey or what have you to help him while away the hours between the planets. Bailey, I knew for a fact, had used up his weight-allowance in bringing aboard a case of spices: marjoram and mint, costmary, file powder, basil and allspice, had much practice. \"I've been working on the problem of steak, Sir,\" texture steak-like. Do you understand, Sir?\" should feel like steak to the mouth, and not like baby-food. Right?\" meat.\" our food,\" the Captain said, his jowls settling into an expression of the meal.\" Lifting a hunk of the \"steak,\" streaming ketchup, to his mouth, sufficient ketchup here to see me through to Mars. Please keep a \"You must realize, Belly-Robber, that a dyspeptic Captain is a threat to the welfare of his ship. Were I to continue eating your surrealistic \"Doctor, I must point out to you that it ill behooves the Ship's packaged amino acid additives. And he expects meals that would take the blue ribbon at the annual banquet restaurant of yours and forget about our fat Flying Dutchman.\" though daring him to comment. The Captain lifted a spoonful of the now strong enough to withstand the Captain's fiercest assaults of irony. Our food would likely be bad the rest of this trip, but that was theory of forcing a Cook to make bricks without straw. The Captain had pushed too hard. He'd need that ketchup for the meals to come, I thought. Sale's mess compartment, we ate our meals in three shifts. That evening, going down the ladder to supper, my nose was met with a spine-tingling barbecue tang, a smell first-shift diners said. \"It actually tastes of food!\" \"Then he's beat the Captain at his game,\" I said. \"The Dutchman won't want to mess ketchup on these steaks,\" the crewman said. performance out of his Ship's Cook.\" of the ship and his crew. \"Do I like Captain Winkelmann?\" I asked,\n\n<question>:\nWhat does the narrator seem to think makes a good cook on a spacer?\n\n<options>:\nA Someone who can get food out as fast and as consistently as possible\nB They can bring people together in conversations about food\nC They are willing to be creative in addition to an attention to detail\nD They are able to make meals to help the crewmates lose weight\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
2,039	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nThe planet itself was tough enough—barren, desolate, forbidding enough to stop the most adventurous and dedicated. But they had to run head-on against a mad genius who had a motto: like you, out on the little heap of bones lying there, looking oddly bright parched skeletons of Earthmen. Bits of cloth and plastic, once oxymasks and suits, still tell-tale clicks.\" I gave a joyful whoop and clung to them. about the best wife a guy could ask for, but when she hero,\" she said. wants to be she can be a real flying bother. in an agony of fatigue. And she probably thought it was who had failed to fasten down the engine hood. Nothing but what had stopped us could But we'd vowed it wouldn't happen to us. It had. you?\" \"Because I hate Ron?\" Val pleaded. \"Maybe I thought all his kind had died at the time of the atomic wars. way, but changed my mind. madman!\" When Val's tired and overwrought \"I'm quite sane, believe me. But I'm determined to drive the Geigs—and UranCo—off Mars. Eventually I'll scare you all away.\" I heard Val sob, \"He's a but the mazes and gullies of this dead world. He was a cripple in a wheelchair—helpless as a rattlesnake. \"Exactly,\" replied Ledman. \"And I have no fears of an and clumsily enfolded hers. \"Come on, kid. Remember—we're We're heroes.\" your husband. I want him as rocked back and forth in his wheelchair, toying with the gleaming, deadly blaster in his hand. a nightmare—sitting there, placidly rocking back and forth, a nightmare. I found myself fervently her lovely but unrugged legs. \"Heroes,\" she said bitterly. \"We're not heroes—we're unless she was so exhausted she didn't know what she was \"Ah—two young heroes,\" Ledman said acidly. \"How sad. I could almost feel sorry \"Just what is it you're \"Atomics cost me my legs,\" he said. \"You remember the Sadlerville Blast?\" he asked. \"Of course.\" And I did, too. I'd never forget it. No one would. How could I forget that great accident—killing hundreds, injuring thousands turning against me. I tried to jolly her. \"Buck up, kid,\" I said. I didn't dare You know who I am, now?\" kept up a fairly steady click-pattern, but never broke into that sudden explosive tumult enough to kill me,\" he said. \"Just enough to necessitate I started to feel tired myself, terribly tired. I longed up with the idea before I did. I wished there was some way of turning the weary, bedraggled decided that a semi-basket case like myself was a poor the Geigs. Twelve steps later, I decided Ron?\" Val asked sleepily. \"Don't bother. A more inventive title than Ledman Atomics, but not quite as much heart, wouldn't you say?\" He grinned. \"I saved for years Poor kid , I thought. Maybe enough to keep me in a style to which, unfortunately, I'm no longer accustomed.\" He consulted his wrist just to make doubly certain. \"That's another little souvenir of Sadlerville. I'm short sleeping form, and thought of our warm, comfortable little home on Earth. It wasn't Others. The Blast turned me into a walking pin-cushion. But I'll pay it all down over one eyebrow, and it seemed hard to believe that we'd exchanged Earth and all too nightmarish to be real. I wasn't seriously worried about his threat to wipe out the entire Geig Corps, since it was unlikely that one man her soft blonde hair trailing all off. No, it wasn't the threat that disturbed me, so much as the whole concept, so strange to me, that the human mind could be as warped and twisted as Ledman's. had felt my words, all right. Earth that couldn't be broken without much difficulty. So \"Yes! I'll get even with every one of you for taking first place, I'd be as tall and powerful as you, today—instead of a useless cripple in a wheelchair.\" Heroes. \"You've conceived an impossible scheme of revenge and tired too, tired from our wearying journey across the empty desert. now you're taking it out on His eyes blazed. \"Who are But she was tired. And I was for, Ron?\" bound in thin, tough, plastic tangle-cord, swathed from chin to boot-bottoms, my arms imprisoned, my feet caught. And tangle-cord is about as easy to get out of as a million years. It was some Earthman who had bound us. I rolled my eyes toward much humanity left in him, but there was a little. He lowered moan most horribly. It almost convinced me. I saw Val's pale, frightened face turn to \"Ron—\" leg up hard, tearing the tangle-cord with a snicking rasp, \"A very wise statement,\" said a brittle, harsh voice the customary skin-tight pliable oxysuits we had. He wore an outmoded, bulky glued-in instantly. Ledman went sprawling helplessly out into the middle of the floor, spacesuit and a fishbowl helmet, all but the face area Through the fishbowl I could see hard little eyes, a yellowed, parchment-like face, a grim-set jaw. I didn't recognize him, and this struck me a bit, reached out with my free leg, and booted him across the floor. He fetched which he had entrapped us, and a very efficient-looking with my heavy, clumsy boot. I tried again, and this time it snapped open. I got the tip That was when I realized he are you?\" mind. She began to nibble the vile-tasting tangle-cord, running her teeth up and down it until it started to give. She I told him. \"I'm not man pointing it is in a wheelchair. \"What's going on, Ron?\" \"You're just all full of hardly compared with the amount we needed to put them back together again. In three centuries the shattered world had been completely rebuilt. The wreckage \"She's right,\" I told him. \"The atom can take away, but it can give as well. Soon after the Sadlerville Blast were given the necessary replacement powered by the inexhaustible energy of the dividing atom. But though the energy is inexhaustible, the supply of nuclei isn't. After three centuries of heavy consumption, the supply failed. The mighty for a moment I almost felt sorry for him, a pathetic legless I saw him wilt visibly, and blaster-point. But then I remembered he'd killed twelve Geigs—or more—and would figure propped up against \"You're a very sick man, humans tooth-and-clawing in it in the useless shell of and I decided to give it the final push. \"Haven't you wondered how I managed to break the a great atomic civilization. over?\" \"Yes—human legs aren't strong enough to break tangle-cord that way.\" mine. But what little is there, helps. It's a stopgap effort, peacefully, a wayward lock of my smooth, gleaming metal legs. The almost soundless purr of their motors was the but another look told me that this was actually quite near us and fairly small. A one-man Dome, of all things! clumsily holding the blaster, and unscrewed the ancient spacesuit fishbowl. His face was a bitter, dried-up mask. He was a man who hated. electrocuted you, but there'll be a new—and sane—Gregory now that I had been driving her mercilessly—me, with my chromium legs and atomic-powered muscles. No wonder she was ready to fold! The place was spartanly\n\n<question>:\nWhat kind of person is Ron?\n\n<options>:\nA A curious and determined man who does his best\nB An impulsive man who does not pay attention to others' needs\nC A doting husband who follows his wife to Mars\nD An adventuresome soul but still a timid one\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
839	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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’d been driven to it, he knew, as he watched the man’s amazed face snap from the screen. From NEARLY TWO hundred years of habit carried the the first suspicion of his trouble, floor. Giles made the expected comments, smiled the proper smiles and greeted his staff by the right names, but it was purely automatic. Somehow, thinking Giles thought as carefully as He’d been a fool to come to work, he realized. But with the Procyon heart hammering in his chest. Giles heard his secretary come of aging. I’m afraid the treatment She smiled dutifully at the time-worn joke, but he knew she Giles remembered that Dubbins better than he knew himself—which was more important. It hadn’t been a joke about his growing old, after all. But now, in a few days, wouldn’t be hard, he he’d be his old—no, of course not—his young self again! Even his hair had seemed thinner, though that, of course, was impossible. thought. He’d hardly recognized He resented every second of it. It was as if the almost forgotten specter of age stood beside him, counting the seconds. But at last face and circles under his eyes. light-pulser was adjusted to his Somewhere in every human brain lay the memory of what his cells had been like when he was young. that worked those miracles had taken an incredible amount of did it usually in a single sitting, Giles dropped the report wearily with the full transformation of the body taking less than a week after the treatment! could relax so easily.... He came out of it without He didn’t need to see the signature Only his youngest son would have sent an elaborate tercentenary greeting verse—one that would fatigue on the operator’s face told him it had been a long and difficult job. He stretched experimentally, find himself suddenly young on the first projection. broken Giles’ fifth marriage. “That’s all for now, Mr. Giles. most of the frame with glowing description and a plea for his father to join him there! GILES SNORTED and turned the young against the background of an alien but attractive world. He had no desire to spend of his profession. “We haven’t lost a patient in two hundred years, to my knowledge.” he should give up his work. He took a quick look at Giles and The discovery that men could Giles. Maybe we’ll all get to see live practically forever had put Then he studied Giles more carefully. an end to most family ties going to be fine,” Giles answered. Giles grunted in irritation. He when it had been covered and recovered, he could still sense the glances of the others, as if he through the meal, listening to the conversation about him only when it was necessary because patience was still foreign to him. Then the frown vanished as he’d never regretted it. But tonight his own group irritated him. He puzzled over it, finding no Giles forced his attention on that Harry had been a complete various nostrums, giving him no peace. Constant questions about how he felt, constant little looks “One of my sons—” Giles night’s sleep after a little relaxation. Giles had heard it all before. Even that failed him, though. He’d developed one of the finest chess collections in the world, but loses a little each time. And the no real progress had been made in two centuries carving his hands seemed to be all thumbs. None of the other interests he’d developed through the years helped to add to the richness of living now. He gave it up and went to bed—to have the fragment of that populations fill,” Giles repeated the Earth fit for our longevity. We can wait. We’ll have to.” THE YOUNGER man stared at him with the strange puzzled look Giles had seen too often “Wait a minute.” Giles felt the doubts at the doctor’s words. He got up once to stare at himself the stranger in the mirror as he Giles shook his head at what and there were hollows in his “In the spring, a young man’s then shuddered. It hadn’t been that kind of spring for him—not this rejuvenation nor the last, nor the one GILES TRIED to stop scaring It occurred to Giles then that rest of your life rather than waiting a couple more centuries until we know it’s safe? If you do, I’ll Giles shook his head, interrupting for a second Giles’ heart caught Now that he knew there was reason for his fear, it seemed to vanish, leaving a coldness that numbed him. “I’d rather know the whole truth,” he said. His voice sounded of him. He looked sick, for he had no against such a relatively short wait. Heroism had belonged to those who knew their days were slowly. The belligerence ran out and clicked off. Giles turned to me, too, Mr. Giles. But—well, to simplify it, no memory is perfect—even cellular memory. It plan for short-term benefits. Usually it was too easy to realize that, and the sight of the solid, time-enduring buildings outside should have given him a sense of security. Today, though, nothing seemed He faced away from Giles, to help. He felt choked, imprisoned, somehow lost the city beyond the window blurred as he time scale than we used to have—but it’s in centuries, not in eons. For everybody, not just It was no consolation. Giles “And then....” Giles couldn’t old and he’d grow older. And eventually he’d die! An immortal man had suddenly found death hovering on his trail. The years had dwindled and stop twice to catch his breath and fight against the pain that he meant it. The man had done all he could and had at least saved him the suspense of growing doubt and horrible eventual discovery. Giles hadn’t heard since the man OUTSIDE ON the street, he looked up at the Sun and then at the buildings built to last eternity was no longer a part of him. Even his car would outlast him. with the members. For the GILES FOUND himself lying moment, though, he’d slipped back into the old ways. for thousands of years. Their much now. For a man who had thought of living almost forever, almost himself again. After all, there was nothing to worry about thirty years was too short now Giles wanted no kindness. Giles puzzled over it doubtfully. could still fill his time with work—work that might even be useful. In the future, men would morose man the last few times Universe than now. And he could speed up the work in some ways still, even if he could never see he’d seen him, but that could Giles heard the other man’s hardly explain his taking a twenty-year keep busy enough to forget sometimes that the years were gone for him. Automatic habit carried him for the words to be distinguishable. He finished the drink, feeling Giles frowned. He’d expected he told her. “They tell me I’m just growing old.” This time her laugh was heartier. 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 build inside himself for the future ahead. He was getting positively childish! Yet he relished the feeling of around. Now he’d taken to walking, face hadn’t changed much. Giles as so many others had, for Giles nodded, got out slackening of them in Harry’s a very pleasant world. He read Harry’s note again, with its praise for the planet and its invitation. He wondered if years of practice. Giles felt better, realizing it wouldn’t be one of the younger men. over, and led Giles into a room He listened as Giles stumbled itself. “The years dwindle down to a precious few....” he remembered. Those dwindling years had been precious once. He unexpectedly At Giles’ look, he smiled faintly. seemed precious to the old man then. that was forbidden. The years He inspected it and began making tests. Some were older than Giles could remember—knee Giles shrugged and reached for\n\n<question>:\nHow does Giles change with the knowledge of his aging?\n\n<options>:\nA He resigns to his fate, because he doesn’t know what else to do.\nB He doesn’t. He goes right back to doing what he’d been doing out of habit.\nC He feels a new fondness for his son and family.\nD He shows a much greater appreciation for every aspect of his life.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "C" } ]
1,498	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nMore Bang for the Buck A friend of mine offers a theory about why Bill Clinton's poll numbers stayed so high throughout the Lewinsky scandal: The news made it possible for serious-minded people to spend lots of time--at the office and over lunch--talking about semen stains, vaginal insertions, and blow jobs. And the people were grateful. If that's true, many of us could use a little sexual self-improvement. Not me, of course. I have been happily married for 26 years, since the age of 21. Deb and I have what seems to us to be a perfectly fine amorous life, yet everywhere I turn the culture tells me--almost mocks me-- you can do better! What would happen to our sex life then, if Deb (who participated in this story because she loves me and because she has tenure) and I tried for the first time to make something happen to it? Overall rating, on a scale of 1 to 10: 2 toes curled. A woman I know says women's magazines are the best places in America to find sex tips. She's right--go ahead, just try to find a sewing pattern in Redbook . You're much more likely to land on \"Try phone sex, dirty notes, porn videos, fantasy games and sex in new places. ... Try lingerie and no underwear. ... Try talking dirty and silk scarves. Try anything at all,\" or articles such as \"Eight New Games for the Foreplay Challenged.\" An article in the April Cosmopolitan , \"The Six Best Sex Positions,\" seemed more promising than the Redbook playbook. Each position was accompanied by a succinct write-up and a stick-figure diagram. The position we settled on was \"The Butterfly,\" which we had to read three times to comprehend. The man stands, the woman remains supine on a bed or counter-top with her feet up on his shoulders. The whole idea is to produce a pelvic tilt for better access to the G spot. Instead, we experienced an uncomfortable pretzel feeling that stick figures must be immune to. And in general, Cosmopolitan 's exotic sex positions require the sort of body placement you can't remember in the moment of passion and even if you could, for proper alignment, you still might need mood-killing accessories such as a plumb line and a laser pen. Next we tried those \"Better Sex\" instructional videos advertised in the New York Times Book Review. I ordered Better Sexual Techniques , Advanced Sexual Techniques , Making Sex Fun , and Advanced Oral Sex Techniques (priced about $11.95 each, not including shipping and handling). My wife couldn't bear to watch them I persevered but must admit it was a chore. The oral-sex tape starts with \"well-known sex therapist\" Diana Wiley, in her poofy hair and broad-shouldered blue power suit, looking like she was about to explain how the sales force could increase its third-quarter productivity. Instead she runs through all the euphemisms for oral sex and then the video cuts to XXX action with gratuitous commentary. Wiley's overexplanation of everything two people can do to each other with their mouths raises this question: Do you really need a five-minute video segment on whether or not to swallow? In the great tradition of hotel and travel ads, the guys tend to be markedly less attractive than the women. No way he'd be with her if this wasn't an instructional sex video! The inanity of the experts and the dubious casting make these films about as erotic as ... well, as the New York Times . You could learn more from any randomly selected porn video. Another approach is food. The notion that certain foods, such as oysters or rhino horn, are aphrodisiacs has been pretty much discounted. But it's plausible to think that cooking a meal together and then dining on it, just the two of you, could be erotic. Especially if (like me) your schedule frequently forces you to eat alone and you often find yourself standing in front of the microwave, screaming, \"Come on, goddammit!\" Intercourses , by Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge ($24.95, Terrace Publishing, 1997), preaches that for every time of day and every phase of a relationship there is a type of eating experience that will heighten sexual response. (There's also a chart showing which foods are good for eating off which body parts.) Deb and I blocked off a whole Saturday afternoon and evening for the Intercourses experiment, settling on rosemary-scented lamb over pasta (Page 87) followed by frozen coffee almond dessert (Page 31). According to the book, rosemary is sexy because of its fragrance (used in many perfumes) and because of its texture, which, so the text assured, tickles nerve endings. The dessert was mostly coffee, rum, and Kahlua, which has worked before. We shopped for the food together and cooked together, drinking wine and beer along the way. At one point while I was working on the dessert, I asked my wife how long to beat the heavy cream mixture. \"Till it's stiff--it's an aphrodisiac,\" she said. Preparation took less than an hour, and everything came out perfectly. Eating at our dining room table for the first time ever without guests, we were having fun by candlelight. But the mood was romantic, not erotic. Overall rating: 4 toes curled. St. Augustine held lust to be a fitting punishment for man's disobedience to God: the body's disobeying of the mind, the will, the spirit, and even of itself. (The paradigm of this for him is the unbidden hard-on.) Jean-Paul Sartre discovered something similar, although celebrating it rather than deploring it: Essential to the erotic is the body's defiance of design and control. (The paradigm of this for him is the jiggle.) Sartre's view yields a sort of sexual Heisenberg principle: There is an inherent tension between physically abandoning yourself to another on the one hand and sexual planning on the other. The more of the one, the less of the other. And this, I discovered, is the chief obstacle to sexual self-help. Getting an erection is sexy. Making one is not. As my wife said about Viagra, \"You start to have a new feeling and then you realize where it came from and then you don't have it so much. ... Anything that makes you think about it like that is just creepy.\" This is not to say there isn't a way out of this conflict between desire and design. With homage to our potent POTUS, there is, I think, a Third Way that's neither sexual complacency nor standard self-help. If the intrusion of consciousness is the problem, then maybe the answer is to block it out. Sure, you could do this the old-fashioned way: with alcohol and drugs. But then you have all the traditional drawbacks, including diminished physical attractiveness and degraded sexual performance. So how about this instead? Go for all the sexual self-help you can, but do it covertly . Watch a sex video (or porn flick) if you want--but by yourself, and then try to share what you learned without sharing how you learned it. Don't tell your partner you took Viagra. Or give each other standing permission to slip it into the odd after-dinner drink, saying nothing. (Of course, when you do it you'll still know, but having an unselfconsciously turned-on partner is a real compensation for that, and next time, your partner can surprise you. And yes, this requires trust. But why would you be having sex with someone you don't trust?) My main conclusion is that contrary to our blabby culture, the key to a better sex life is less communication.\n\n<question>:\nHow does the author see the role of self-help?\n\n<options>:\nA Self-help is bogus and isn't worth spending energy on\nB It should be everyone's priority to pursue self-help to improve their sex lives\nC Self-help is useful when it comes from videos, but not from books\nD Self-help can come in a variety of ways but should be low-key in this area\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
2,007	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 way or another JUNIOR ACHIEVEMENT to lead a junior achievement group this summer?\" She pondered it while she went to be quite interesting, if I understand what a junior achievement group is. 20% solution.\" \"Goodness.\" I protested, \"it's been twenty-five years since my last course What gave you the idea?\" \"It wasn't my idea, really,\" I admitted. grades wanted to start one. They need adult guidance of course, and one of the group suggested my name.\" I should explain, perhaps, that I teach a course in general science in in chemistry. Perhaps if I saw the some of the children in the lower water,\" he pointed out. \"Hardest in the country.\" 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. \"What does a junior achievement group do?\" \"It has the purpose,\" I told her, \"of teaching the members something about commerce and industry. They manufacture simple compositions themselves. \"Well, now,\" I demanded, in my best classroom voice. \"What is all which are available for later educational expenses.\" \"Gracious, you wouldn't have to sell from door-to-door, would you?\" built up tidy little bank accounts though. Mr. McCormack is going to put up fifty dollars to buy any raw materials wanted and he rather suggested that I might advance another so, of course, did we, which meant after sobering up long enough to give me a serious warning against the summer—a roomy unused barn belonging to the parents of one of who had proposed the group in the Peter Cope, Jr. and Hilary Matlack were skinny kids, too. The three friends, they had just come to have Doris was right, of course, in spite the Courier gave us most of the third achievement group is a bunch of kids who would lead off, and Peter Cope Many of them wanted to buy mice or money.\" \"Is that what you want to do,\" I asked, \"make money?\" sell things, and maybe make some a dozen—and at a dollar fifty money?\" \"Well, sure, I suppose we want to,\" said Hilary. \"We'll need some money to do the things we want to do later.\" \"And what sort of things would you like to make and sell?\" I asked. each. Tommy's ideas of pricing rather these junior achievement efforts, are chemical specialties that can be made safely and that people will buy and use without misgivings—solvent to free up rusty bolts, cleaner to remove sort of thing. Mr. McCormack had told me, though, that I might find these youngsters a bit more ambitious. he had said, \"have exceptionally high IQ's—around one forty or one fifty. The other three are hard attributes of exceptional pupils, but much of the time they seem to have little interest in their studies. The junior achievement idea has sparked their imaginations. Maybe it'll be just what they need.\" \"is to figure out what people in Ridgeville want to buy, then sell it to them.\" time. Partly for the kicks and partly because we think you may have some things worth protecting. How about it? You worry about the filing and final fees. That's sixty bucks per brainstorm. We'll worry about everything press,\" I told him, \"which, on a guess, might cost ten thousand dollars. Let's think of something easier.\" Pete mulled it over and nodded reluctantly. \"Then maybe something in the electronics field. A hi-fi sub-assembly of some kind.\" \"How about a new detergent?\" Hilary sounds like another operation calling for capital investment. If we should keep the achievement group going for several summers, it might be possible later on to carry out a despondency. \"I'm not very technical. Just sort of miscellaneous. But if the group wanted to raise some mice, I'd be willing to turn over a project I've had going at home.\" an idea the Commission buys a supply every month.\" got the first four pairs from a pet of careful selection.\" \"Well, now,\" I admitted, \"the market \"So I perceive. What is it?\" \"Oh, just a mixture of stuff. Cookbook Why don't you consider making use cosmetics and junk, but if they didn't have to admit it, they might \"Oh, he stopped at the bank to get a loan.\" \"What on earth for? We have over six thousand in the account.\" \"Well,\" Peter said, looking a little embarrassed, \"we were planning to buy a hydraulic press. You see, Doris put some embroidery on that scheme who'd prefer to use it beforehand,\" of bread and ingredients for a variety of sandwiches. The parents had agreed to underwrite lunches at the I'd forgotten all about organization, and that, according to all the articles I had perused, is most important starting action to get the company \"You mean you're going to try to keep the group going after school starts?\" \"Why not? The kids can sail through their courses without thinking about them, and actually they won't put in more than a few hours a week during the school year.\" \"Even so, it's child labor, isn't it?\" that they'd each do what came young boy who doesn't know any better, may wind up a sales manager. reaching any conclusions, so we returned to the problem of what to \"Child labor nothing. They're the but they seemed not to be interested. and I'd be crazy to turn it down. After all, what's to lose?\" \"and think about the small end. It'll work out all right.\" I wished that the youngsters weren't starting out by inventing a new article to manufacture, and risking an almost certain disappointment, but to hold my guidance to the minimum, I 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 put tooth powder into tablets that two colors in the same bottle—orange for morning and blue for night, the blue ones designed to leave the Pete wanted to make a combination a few turns of a screwdriver. Hilary, reluctantly forsaking his possible, to scatter on a snowy sidewalk where they would pick up extra and spread on the surface of a reservoir to reduce evaporation. These latter ideas had made unknowing use of some basic physics, and I'm afraid I relapsed for a few end the slightest of twists. \"There, it ought to swoop.\" \"He stopped off at the bank,\" Pete Cope told me, \"to borrow some money. We'll want to buy materials to and I were going to advance some cash to get started.\" \"Oh, sure, but don't you think it would be better to borrow from a \"Doubtless,\" I said, \"but banks generally want some security.\" I would complacency in his voice. \"It didn't take long, but they sure made it out a big deal. Half the guys in the bank to make out the checks. And they want you to stop in at the bank and matter of mortgages, and bank people make me most uneasy. To say nothing of finding myself responsible for a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar note—over two weeks salary. I made a mental vow to sign very few checks. figured what's to lose, and picked one. afford to look chintzy.\" My appetite was not at its best to such groups. It's standard practice the kite, and the youngsters embarking on a shopping trip for paper, glue to be a company officer. Of course a incorporated.\" over a mandrel to stiffen, cutting the plastic film around a pattern, assembling Over the sandwiches, then, I suggested who by mutual consent, was our any until we had, as he put it, enough to meet the demand, but this quantity seemed to satisfy him. He said he confidence, asked him in all seriousness to be sure to hold out a dozen. Three other things occurred that\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the most likely reason why Peter, Doris, and Hilary were interested in joining the junior achievement group?\n\n<options>:\nA Desire to test their creative ideas in a less restricted environment\nB Desire to recruit Donald to work for the Commission of Ridgeville\nC Desire to challenge authority and wreak havoc on the town of Ridgeville\nD Desire to acquire a large amount of funds in order to eliminate the need to go to college\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
2,104	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 made sense. Interstellar was new and they wanted him on the ship .\" \"Crewmen,\" Rexroad said, \"make poor reporters.\" The crew's report of suffering and chaos during the year's outgoing voyage was twisted, distorted and fragmentary. Ellason remembered it well. The decision of Interstellar was that the colonists started a revolution far out in space, that it was fanned by the ignorance of Captain difficult.\" \"Sessions,\" Rexroad said, \"was a bully. The trouble started at about the halfway point. It ended with passengers engaging in open warfare with each other and the crew. Sessions was lucky to escape with his life.\" Ellason nodded. \"The ship disappeared.\" \"Yes. We gave control to the colonists.\" \"Assuming no accident in space,\" Phipps said, \"it was a wrong decision. They probably took over the ship.\" \"And now,\" Ellason said, \"you're going to try again.\" \"If I return,\" said Ellason. \"I suppose that's problematical,\" Phipps said, \"but I think you will. Captain Branson and his fifty crewmen want to return as badly as you hollow spike, the ship would never land anywhere, but would circle Antheon as it circled Earth, shuttling its cargo and passengers to the to final reports from his engineers, record keepers, fuel men, computermen, and all the rest. He grunted his approval or disapproval, strictly from the observer viewpoint. There will be no story for Transworld at the end.\" Ellason was startled. While he had considered the possibility, he had Captain Branson. It seems to me—\" \"Let me put it differently. Let me say that you will not understand why I say that until the journey ends.\" He smiled. \"Perhaps I shouldn't the traditions of thousands of years, and as these planet-orginated rules fall away, the floundering group seeks a new control, for they are humanity adrift, rudderless, for whom the stars are no longer day out. In Ellason's mind the incident, though insignificant from the standpoint of the ship as a whole, could very well be the cause of dissension later on. His notes covering it were therefore very thorough. was significant that all en route had passed stability tests, and that it was to the ship's discredit that someone with criminal tendencies should have been permitted aboard. Ellason had to smile at that. What did Captain Branson think of those colonists who killed each other on the Weblor I When Ellason saw Branson about it, the captain said, \"Of course I realize it takes only a little thing like this to set things off. I tired face and sad eyes. He said, \"Now what am I going to Antheon for? I could only take along so much baggage and I threw out some mask—or a blue or green one—does or doesn't belong on a spaceship?\" passenger meteorologists, ran screaming down one of the long corridors of the Third Quadrant. She told the captain she had been attacked in Captain Branson, demanding action. Branson remained seated behind his desk, unperturbed, saying, \"I have no crewmen to spare for police duty.\" The delegation commenced speaking vehemently, to be quieted by Branson's raised hand. The group left in a surly mood. \"You wonder at my reluctance, Mr. Ellason,\" Captain Branson said. \"But suppose I assign the crew to patrol duties, the culprit isn't caught, and further incidents occur. What then? It soon becomes the crew's fault. And soon the colonists will begin thinking these things might be the crew's doing in the first place.\" \"Yes,\" Ellason said, \"but what if the intruder is a crewman?\" \"No, I trust my men. I won't violate that trust.\" Ellason left, feeling uneasy. If he were Branson, he'd initiate an investigation, if nothing else than to prove the crew guiltless. Why couldn't Branson see the wisdom of setting an example for the colonists? it was ready for ripening. Raymond Palugger was killed in the ship's hospital on the sixty-first day. Palugger, a Fourth Quadrant passenger, had complained of feeling ill, had been hospitalized with a diagnosis of ileus. He had put his investigation revealed that Palugger had died trying to prevent the theft of the belt. Captain Branson did not wait for the newsletter. Through the ship's speaker system, he reported that Palugger had a fortune in credits in the belt and had died of a severe beating. He said that since the incident occurred in the staff section of the ship, his crew would be forced to submit to a thorough inspection in an effort to find the \"I will not countenance such an act by a crewman,\" Branson said. \"If and when he is found, he will be severely dealt with. But he might not be a member of the crew. I am ordering an assembly of all passengers at nine tomorrow morning in the auditorium. I will speak to you all then.\" Faces were angry, tongues were sharp at the meeting, eyes suspicious and tempers short. Above it all was the overpowering presence of Captain Branson speaking to them. \"It is not my desire to interfere in passenger affairs,\" he said. \"Insofar as the ship is concerned, it is my duty to make certain no crewman is guilty. This I am doing. But my crew is not and cannot be a police force for you. It is up to you people to police and protect The captain reported that his search had been equally fruitless. The Quadrant Council confronted the captain, demanding weapons. force, Captain. We want stunners.\" \"There's no law against it,\" Branson said, \"but it's a rule of mine He's afraid to do anything, now that we've got police protection, they said smugly. The Quadrant Council congratulated itself. The passengers were proud put occupants to sleep as he went, taking many articles of value and leaving disorder behind. Ellason interviewed as many victims as he could, noted it all in personal value. It seemed to be the work of a madman. If Red Mask wanted to make everyone furious, he certainly succeeded. \"What does he want that stuff for?\" Casey Stromberg, a passenger doctor, asked. \"I can see him taking my narcotics, my doctor's kit—but It was the same with others. \"The man's insane, Mr. Ellason. Positively insane.\" Many people said it. The council issued orders that all passengers from now on would be required to lock their compartments at all times. More guns were obtained from the captain. More policemen were appointed. Ellason was busy noting it all in his book. It became filled with jottings about innocent people being accidentally stunned when trigger-happy policemen thought their movements suspicious, about one man's suspicion of another and the ensuing search of compartments, of police, cracking his knuckles, his eyes glowing at the thought. \"Oh, there'll be a trial, Mr. Ellason, but you don't think any jury'd let him live after all the things he's done, do you?\" trained to be a scapegoat. Is that right?\" Critten nodded. \"When great numbers are being transported, they are apt the passengers.\" \"To say nothing of me,\" Critten said. items will be returned. They're all tagged with their owner's names. Captain Branson will say they were found somewhere on the ship. You see, I was a liar.\" into the hall claiming I'd attacked her, which I did not. She was certainly amazed when the ship's physicians agreed with her. Of course Captain Branson told them to do that.\" \"And the murder?\" \"Raymond Palugger died in the hospital all right, but he died from his illness on the operating table. We turned it into an advantage by making it look suspicious.\" Ellason said regretfully that he did understand. \"The colonists will never know the truth,\" Branson went on. \"There will be other ships outward bound.\" Critten sighed. \"And I'll have to be caught again.\"\n\n<question>:\nWhich is not a reason the captain does not want to create a police force?\n\n<options>:\nA He doesn't want to violate the trust of the crew\nB He does not have people to spare\nC He doesn't think it's part of his job\nD He figures passengers will eventually be blamed\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "D" } ]
1,833	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nFallout is, of course, always disastrous— one way or another what seemed to me, since I use two And Hilary brought in a bottle of his new detergent. It was a syrupy Hilary grinned. \"Lauryl benzyl \"Why, Donald,\" she said, \"it could 20% solution.\" \"Goodness.\" I protested, \"it's been twenty-five years since my last course formula—.\" now empty of its soda bottles, this?\" like polishing waxes and sell them from door-to-door. Some groups have \"Perhaps,\" I countered, \"somebody should tell me.\" \"You mean you don't know, honestly? almost nonexistent. to put up fifty dollars to buy any suggested that I might advance another fifty. The question is, could we do it?\" so much suds coming from that course it was the same boy that did starting mortgage payments all over \"Yes, of course. Who would ever with those cute furry tails?\" after sobering up long enough to give me a serious warning against letting such a thing happen again. \"Did you hear what she said? It'll going to do that as little as possible. boy, selling is fun. Hilary, when can and if it's safe and legal and possible you make some more of that stuff? \"How many generations?\" I asked Doris. \"Seventeen. No, eighteen, now. thought, be quite a beauty in a few more years, but was at the moment the new mice were breeding true. right, if you promise me they can't knows what you'll do when fall \"We'll be out of the mouse business by then,\" Doris predicted. \"Every pet them and they'll be down to nothing apiece.\" Doris was right, of course, in spite of our efforts to protect the market. with a face full of freckles and an shipping. It was rather regrettable that, after the Courier Many of them wanted to buy mice or \"There's something wrong with making said Hilary. \"We'll need some money of the mice at ten dollars a pair The usual products, of course, with safely and that people will buy and use without misgivings—solvent to free up rusty bolts, cleaner to remove road tar, mechanic's hand soap—that are you doing to get patent protection on Ridge Industries' new developments?\" their imaginations. Maybe it'll be just what they need.\" Mary said, \"Why don't we make a freckle remover? I'd be our first customer.\" \"The thing to do,\" Tommy offered, \"I've been wondering whether something Ridgeville want to buy, then sell it shouldn't be done, but I know eye. \"You should be able to make ball bearings by molding, then densify them by electroplating.\" \"And all we'd need is a hydraulic press,\" I told him, \"which, on a guess, might cost ten thousand dollars. Let's think of something easier.\" of some kind.\" \"How about a new detergent?\" Hilary offered to license the design. Result, \"Like the liquid dishwashing detergents?\" one licensee with a thousand dollar advance against next season's royalties. brand new synthetic detergent. I've sounds like another operation legal sense, of course. Hilary and I safe synthesis of some sort. You're There are a zillion patents on synthetic detergents and a good round \"Some,\" said Hilary, \"and I've got held up a long admonitory hand—\"it just looks as though we had a clear spot. If we do get protection, you've got a real salable property.\" \"That's fine, Mr. McCord,\" Hilary bottle. He opened and sniffed at it gingerly. \"What gives?\" \"Before-shave lotion,\" Hilary told him. \"You've shaved this morning, but try some anyway.\" Jeff looked momentarily dubious, \"You could sell mice?\" Tommy demanded \"might be sold to laboratories. I have an idea the Commission buys a supply thought about it. \"Are they a pure the cloth, wiped again, and stared. \"What is it?\" \"A whisker stiffener. It makes each hair brittle enough to break off right at the surface of your skin.\" \"So I perceive. What is it?\" for red mice might be rather limited. Why don't you consider making an after-shave lotion? Denatured alcohol, glycerine, water, a little color and perfume. You could buy some do your whiskers grow back the next You'd be in business before you knew it.\" day?\" inquired, \"How do you sell it?\" \"I see. Just a mixture of stuff. And can work there better than here, and if we're going to break the hearts of the razor industry, there's no better time to start than now.\" When they had driven off I turned use cosmetics and junk, but if they didn't have to admit it, they might like the shave lotion.\" Hilary had been deep in thought. He said suddenly, \"Gosh, I think I know how to make a—what do you want to call it—a before-shave lotion.\" \"What would that be?\" I asked. \"You'd use it before you shaved.\" \"I suppose there might be people who'd prefer to use it beforehand,\" I conceded. \"There will be people,\" he said of mine for making ball bearings.\" only it's a permanent magnet. Then bottles and have some labels printed. and a fat-soluble magnesium compound.\" agreed to underwrite lunches at the \"You mean you're going to try to \"Right on schedule,\" I said. \"Even so, it's child labor, isn't it?\" \"Child labor nothing. They're the naturally. On the other hand, they be the only employees—just at first, anyway.\" make. me a small share of the company, and I'd be crazy to turn it down. After all, what's to lose?\" Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. \"and think about the small end. It'll work out all right.\" I wished that the youngsters weren't starting out by inventing a new article to manufacture, and risking an almost certain disappointment, but to How about enough color to leave your face looking tanned. Men won't could help them redesign it along standard lines. impractical, of course, for a group of children to attempt, but several of put tooth powder into tablets that one would chew before brushing the teeth. He thought there should be the blue ones designed to leave the nail and wood screw. You'd drive it in with a hammer up to the threaded part, then send it home with a few turns of a screwdriver. Hilary, reluctantly forsaking his chips but thinner and as cheap as possible, to scatter on a snowy sidewalk where they would pick up extra heat from the sun and melt the and spread on the surface of a reservoir to reduce evaporation. These latter ideas had made unknowing or end the slightest of twists. \"There, it ought to swoop.\" Sure enough, in the moderate swooped and yawed to Mary's entire know that flattening the lower edge of the hole would create instability?\" it? It changed the pattern of air pressures.\" \"Oh, sure, but don't you think it bank? More businesslike?\" \"Doubtless,\" I said, \"but banks generally want some security.\" I would for a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar figured what's to lose, and picked one. Ridge Industries, how's that?\" Everybody afford to look chintzy.\" I only told her about the success of and wood splints. There was no use and presently had a regular production line under way stapling the a resin solution and shaping them over a mandrel to stiffen, cutting the plastic film around a pattern, assembling were sold. to meet the demand, but this quantity would sell them the next week and\n\n<question>:\nHow is Hilary's product going to kill the razor industry?\n\n<options>:\nA Before-shave breaks off whiskers, just apply and wipe away.\nB Before-shave dissolves whiskers permanently.\nC Before-shave dissolves whiskers for four to six weeks at a time.\nD Before-shave will never kill the razor industry. That's just wishful thinking.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "A" } ]
914	quality	[ { "human": "Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.\n\n<passage>:\nWar and Pieces No 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. Malick puts a lot of shining things on the screen: soldiers, natives, parrots, bats, rodents, visions of Eden by way of National Geographic and of the Fall by way of Alpo. Malick's conception of consciousness distributes it among the animate and inanimate alike almost every object is held up for rapturous contemplation. I could cite hundreds of images: A soldier in a rocking boat hovers over a letter he's writing, which is crammed from top to bottom and side to side with script. (You don't know the man, but you can feel in an instant his need to cram everything in.) A small, white-bearded Melanesian man strolls nonchalantly past a platoon of tensely trudging grunts who can't believe they're encountering this instead of a hail of Japanese bullets. Two shots bring down the first pair of soldiers to advance on the hill a second later, the sun plays mystically over the tall, yellow grass that has swallowed their bodies. John Toll's camera rushes in on a captured Japanese garrison: One Japanese soldier shrieks another, skeletal, laughs and laughs a third weeps over a dying comrade. The face of a Japanese soldier encased in earth speaks from the dead, \"Are you righteous? Know that I was, too.\" Whether or not these pearllike epiphanies are strung is another matter. Malick throws out his overarching theme--is nature two-sided, at war with itself?--in the first few minutes but, for all his startling juxtapositions, he never dramatizes it with anything approaching the clarity of, say, Brian De Palma's Casualties of War (1989). Besides the dialogue between Welsh and Witt, The Thin Red Line 's other organizing story involves a wrenching tug of war between Nolte's ambition-crazed Tall and Capt. Staros (Elias Koteas), who refuses an order to send his men on what will surely be a suicidal--and futile--assault on a bunker. But matters of cause and effect don't really interest Malick. Individual acts of conscience can and do save lives, and heroism can win a war or a battle, he acknowledges. But Staros is ultimately sent packing, and Malick never bothers to trace the effect of his action on the Guadalcanal operation. In fact, the entire battle seems to take place in a crazed void. Tall quotes Homer's \"rosy-fingered dawn\" and orders a meaningless bombardment to \"buck the men up--it'll look like the Japs are catching hell.\" Soldiers shoot at hazy figures, unsure whether they're Japanese or American. Men collide, blow themselves in half with their own mishandled grenades, stab themselves frantically with morphine needles, shove cigarettes up their noses to keep the stench of the dying and the dead at bay. A tiny bird, mortally wounded, flutters in the grass. Malick is convincing--at times overwhelming--on the subject of chaos. It's when he tries to ruminate on order that he gets gummed up, retreating to one of his gaseous multiple mouthpieces: \"Where is it that we were together? Who is it that I lived with? Walked with? The brother. ... The friend. ... One mind.\" I think I'd have an easier time with Malick's metaphysical speculations if I had a sense of some concomitant geopolitical ones--central to any larger musings on forces of nature as viewed through the prism of war. Couldn't it be that the German and Japanese fascist orders were profoundly anti-natural, and that the Allies' cause was part of a violent but natural correction? You don't have to buy into Spielberg's Lincolnesque pieties in Saving Private Ryan to believe that there's a difference between World War II and Vietnam (or, for that matter, World War II and the invasion of Grenada or our spats with Iraq). While he was at Harvard, Malick might have peeled himself off the lap of his pointy-headed mentor, Stanley Cavell, the philosopher and film theorist, and checked out a few of Michael Waltzer's lectures on just and unjust wars. Maybe then he'd view Guadalcanal not in an absurdist vacuum (the soldiers come, they kill and are killed, they leave) but in the larger context of a war that was among the most rational (in its aims, if not its methods) fought in the last several centuries. For all his visionary filmmaking, Malick's Zen neutrality sometimes seems like a cultivated--and pretentious--brand of fatuousness. Zaillian is at his most assured when he cuts back and forth between Facher's Harvard Law School lectures on what not to do in court and Schlichtmann's fumbling prosecution. The sequence has the extra dimension of good journalism: It dramatizes and comments simultaneously. Plus, it gives Duvall a splendid platform for impish understatement. (Duvall has become more fun to watch than just about anyone in movies.) Elsewhere, Zaillian takes a more surface approach, sticking to legal minutiae and rarely digging for the deeper evil. As in his Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993), the outcome of every scene is predictable, but how Zaillian gets from beat to beat is surprisingly fresh. He also gets sterling bit performances from Sydney Pollack as the spookily sanguine Grace CEO, William H. Macy as Schlichtmann's rabbity accountant, and Kathleen Quinlan as the mother of one of the victims. Quinlan knows that when you're playing a woman who has lost a child you don't need to emote--you reveal the emotion by trying not to emote. To the families involved in the Woburn tragedy, the real climax of this story isn't the downbeat ending of the book or the sleight of hand, \"let's call the Environmental Protection Agency,\" upbeat ending of the movie. The climax is the publication of a book that takes the plaintiffs' side and that remains on the best-seller list in hardcover and paperback for years. The climax is the movie starring John Travolta. Beatrice and Grace made out OK legally, but some of us will never use their products again without thinking about Travolta losing his shirt in the name of those wasted-away little kids.\n\n<question>:\nWhat is the film reviewer's main critique of Zaillian's performance?\n\n<options>:\nA He takes too many liberties that cause the film to deviate from the real-life outcome of the court case\nB Viewers can easily anticipate the conclusion of each scene in the film\nC He relies too much on director/mentor figures within the same style\nD He makes the same mistakes as Schlichtmann in getting distracted by unimportant details\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]
1,585	quality	[ { "human": "Read the 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 movie is convinced, too--which is odd, since the fantasy of an underage cheerleader making a middle-aged man's wilted roses bloom is a tad ... primitive. But American Beauty doesn't feel primitive. It feels lustrously hip and aware, and a lot of critics are making big claims for it. The script, by Alan Ball, a playwright and former sitcom writer, carries an invigorating blast of counterculture righteousness, along with the kind of pithily vicious marital bickering that makes some viewers (especially male) say, \"Yeah! Tell that bitch off!\" More important, it has a vein of metaphysical yearning, which the director, Sam Mendes, mines brilliantly. A hotshot English theater director (his Cabaret revival is still on the boards in New York), Mendes gives the film a patina of New Age lyricism and layer upon layer of visual irony. The movie's surface is velvety and immaculate--until the action is abruptly viewed through the video camera of the teen-age voyeur next door (Wes Bentley), and the graininess of the video image (along with the plangent music) suggests how unstable the molecules that constitute our \"reality\" really are. Mendes can distend the real into the surreal with imperceptible puffs. Aided by his cinematographer, Conrad Hall, and editors, Tariq Anwar and Chris Greenbury, he creates an entrancing vision of the American nuclear family on the verge of a meltdown. A merican Beauty is so wittily written and gorgeously directed that you might think you're seeing something archetypal--maybe even the Great American Movie. But when you stop and smell the roses ... Well, that scent isn't Miracle-Gro. The hairpin turns from farce to melodrama, from satire to bathos, are fresh and deftly navigated, but almost every one of the underlying attitudes is smug and easy: from the corporate flunky named \"Brad\" to the interchangeable gay neighbors (they're both called \"Jim\") to the brutally homophobic patriarch next door, an ex-Marine colonel (Chris Cooper) who has reduced his wife (the normally exuberant Allison Janney) to a catatonic mummy and his son, Ricky (Bentley), to a life of subterranean deception. (The colonel's idea of bliss is watching an old Ronald Reagan military picture on television: How's that for subtle?) Lester's wife, Carolyn, is even more stridently caricatured. A real-estate broker who fails to sell a big house (her only potential customers are blank-faced African-Americans, Indian-Americans, and surly lesbians), she wears a mask of perky efficiency and insists on listening to Muzak while she and her husband and daughter eat her \"nutritious yet savory\" dinners. It's amazing that Mendes and Ball get away with recycling so many stale and reactionary ideas under the all-purpose rubric of \"black comedy.\" But it's also possible that those ideas have rarely been presented so seductively. Several months ago, Daniel Menaker in Slate in contemporary film in which the protagonist attempts to break through our cultural and technological anesthetization into \"the real.\" That's the theme here, too, and it's extraordinarily potent, at times even heartbreaking. The symbols, however, have been cunningly reversed. In movies like sex, lies, and videotape (1989), the protagonist has to put away the video camera to \"get real\" American Beauty is Spacey's movie, though. He gives it--how weird to write this about Spacey, who made his name playing flamboyantly self-involved psychopaths--a heart. Early on, he lets his face and posture go slack and his eyes blurry. He mugs like crazy, telegraphing Lester's \"loserness.\" But Spacey's genius is for mugging in character. He makes us believe that it's Lester who's caricaturing himself , and that bitter edge paves the way for the character's later, more comfortably Spacey-like scenes of insult and mockery. He even makes us take Lester's final, improbably rhapsodic moments straight. But do the filmmakers take them straight? If I read it correctly, the movie is saying that American society is unjust and absurd and loveless--full of people so afraid of seeming ordinary that they lose their capacity to see. It's saying that our only hope is to cultivate a kind of stoned aesthetic detachment whereby even a man with his brains blown out becomes an object of beauty and a signpost to a Higher Power. But to scrutinize a freshly dead body and not ask how it got that way--or if there's anyone nearby with a gun who might want to add to the body count--strikes me as either moronic or insane or both. The kind of detachment the movie is peddling isn't artistic, it isn't life--it's nihilism at its most fatuous. In the end, American Beauty is New Age Nihilism. Kevin Costner is 11 years older than he was as Crash Davis, the over-the-hill minor-league catcher in Bull Durham (1988), but he can still get away with playing a professional ballplayer. He moves and acts like a celebrity jock, and he can make his narcissistic self-containment look as if he's keeping something in reserve--to protect his \"instrument,\" as it were. In For Love of the Game , he's a 40ish Detroit Tigers pitcher having his last hurrah: The team has been sold and the new owners don't necessarily want him back. For about half an hour, it's a great sports movie. Costner stands on the mound shaking off the signals of his longtime catcher (John C. Reilly) the rhythms of the romance feel embarrassingly Harlequin, and the picture drags on for over two hours. I can't believe that the director, Sam Raimi ( The Evil Dead , 1983 last year's A Simple Plan ) thought that all those scenes of Costner and Preston staring into space while the piano plinks would end up in the final cut, but Raimi apparently gave up control of the final cut for the sake of making his first, real mainstream picture. He might as well have stuck his head over the plate and said, \"Bean me.\"\n\n<question>:\nHow does the author feel about Sam Raimi's direction of the film?\n\n<options>:\nA It is sharply edited and full of texture.\nB It feels like the director gave up control of the movie.\nC It is moronic or insane or both.\nD It is woozily drawn-out.\n\n<answer>:\n", "assistant": "B" } ]

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