On the outskirts of a modest galaxy, its planets have been orbiting for billions of years, governed by a slightly modified inverse square law.Three of these planets were not small enough to attract attention; the rest were mere pebbles, hidden in the primordial flare of their stars, or lost in the diffuse darkness of space.Like the rest of the universe, all of these planets are polluted by a weird, distorted entropy called "life"; surface temperatures on them hover around the freezing point of hydrogen monoxide, and the life forms that develop are therefore fairly close, To a certain extent, social activities can be carried out.
On the fourth pebble, the venerable Martian was not thrilled by contact with Earth.The pups of this species happily bounced up and down the surface of the planet, learning to survive, and eight out of nine died in the process.Adult Martians, physically and mentally different from their cubs, congregate in dreamy, elegant cities that are just as quiet as their cubs are.However, adult Martians have a very rich mental life, much busier than young ones.
Judging from the human definition of work, adult Martians also need to work.They have a whole planet to tend to: to tell the plants where and when to grow, to bring back the surviving young, who have passed their "apprenticeship" and are now to be cherished and reproduced; The eggs of the human being need to be cherished and contemplated to encourage them to mature properly, and the cubs that do it all need to be persuaded to give up their childish fun and transform into adult Martians.All of this is a must.The problem is, they don't say much about what Martian "life" is like.This is like a big boss of a multinational company. He walks his dog twice a day and manages the company between the two dog walks, but you can't call dog walking his "life". (Although in the eyes of the Big Three's creatures, walking the dog is arguably the most important activity of the tycoon—as a dog's slave, of course.)
Martians and Earthlings are both self-aware life forms, but they have followed two very different paths.The human mode of reproduction is both tragic and strangely beautiful.All human actions and motives, hopes and fears, are influenced and governed by this pattern.For Martians, the mode of reproduction has the same influence, but its mode of operation is completely different from that of Earth humans, and it happens to be cross-referenced to form a symmetrical system.In this galaxy, the two-sex mode of life is the most efficient and the most common.Martians are certainly no exception.But the Martian manifestation of this model is far from the earth. Among human beings, only biologists can regard it as "sex", and in the eyes of psychologists, the "sex" of Martians is definitely regarded as "sex". There is no such thing as "sex", and a bullet point must be drawn under the word "no".
Martian cubs are all female, but adult Martians are all male.But no matter men or women, it only refers to function and has nothing to do with psychology.On Earth, the male-female polarity dominates human life; on Mars, there is no such thing, and there is no possibility of "marriage."Adult Martians are enormous, reminding Earthlings who first saw them of icebreakers sailing to the wind; they are physically dull, but mentally active.The cub is like a fat ball of fur, bouncing around, full of mindless energy.Earthlings do not have the slightest resemblance to Martians in their psychological underpinnings.On Earth, the difference between the sexes not only constrains all human behavior, but is also the driving force of human action, from sonnets to nuclear equations, without exception.If there is any creature who thinks that human psychologists are exaggerating a bit, let it go to the patent offices, libraries and art galleries of the earth to find the creations of eunuchs.
Mars drives differently than Earth, and the arrival of the Messenger and Victor rovers received little attention.The history of these events is too short to be of great significance (if the Martians also published newspapers, a more appropriate publication cycle would be one issue per Earth century).The Martians have long been accustomed to contact with other races; such things have happened in the past and will happen in the future.In their view, only when a new race is fully enlightened, and then (probably after a thousand years in Earth time) should action be taken—if any action is required.
Martians also have so-called current events, but they are of a completely different nature from Earth events.The disintegrated spirit elders almost absent-mindedly made a decision to let the earthling cub try his best to understand the third planet in the galaxy, and then they turned their attention to really serious matters.Not so long ago (almost at the same time as Julius Caesar on Earth) a Martian artist was making art.As for the work, you can call it a poem, a piece of music, or a philosophical treatise, in short, a series of emotions organized according to the inevitable rate of tragedy and logic, which human beings can't understand at all, just as you can't understand it. Explaining sunsets to a man who was born blind, so it doesn't matter what category it falls into.Importantly, the artist accidentally disintegrated before completing his masterpiece.
Unexpected disintegrations are rare on Mars.When dealing with such things as disintegration, the taste of Mars requires life to be a complete whole, and the time of death of the body must be carefully selected to occur at the most suitable moment.However, the artist was so engrossed in artistic creation that he forgot to enter the room from the cold outside.By the time everyone found out that the man was missing, his body was almost unfit to eat.And he didn't even notice that he had disintegrated, and continued to create.
There are two types of Martian art; those created by living adults, vigorous, often quite radical, and crude; A much higher technical level.Both are judged separately.
So, by what standard should we judge this magnificent chapter?It crosses the line between substance and dissolution; its final form is accomplished by a spirit elder.The problem is that this artist, like artists everywhere in the universe, is detached from things. He didn't notice the change of his identity at all, and continued to create as if he hadn't disintegrated.Is this a whole new art form?Can other artists also accidentally disintegrate when creating, so as to get more works like this?For centuries the Elders had been meditating with fervent discussions of the possibilities, and all the undisintegrated Martians eagerly awaited their verdict.
This question is also significant because the work we are referring to is religious art (of course, this is the view of the people on Earth, there is no such thing as a religion on Mars) and it is very emotional, depicting the contact of the Martians with the fifth planet.Although the event itself is very old, it is still very fresh and significant in the eyes of the Martians, just as for the people on the earth, a person who was crucified two thousand years ago is still important and fresh in people's memory.The Martians encountered the people on the fifth planet, enlightened them thoroughly, and took action; today the fifth planet is only a pile of asteroid debris, but the Martians still cherish and praise this planet that was destroyed by themselves. race.Many artists try to realize this beautiful and complex experience completely in one piece of work, and the creation just mentioned is one of them.The Martians wish to evaluate this work, but before evaluating it, they must first figure out what standards should be used to evaluate it.
This question is really tricky.
Valentine Michael Smith on the third planet didn't bother with this great problem, he hadn't heard of it at all.His guardian and guardian's water brother never teased him with things he couldn't understand.Of course, Smith also knew about the destruction of the fifth planet, just like on Earth, boys knew about Troy and Plymouth Stone where the Pilgrims landed in North America.However, those arts that he could not comprehend were not shown to him.His education is unique, much more than his nestmates, and far less than that of adults.His guardian and the spirit elder who acted as his advisor also took some interest in him from time to time, wanting to see what and how much this nest boy can learn.It turns out that they know more about humans than the race knows about itself.In the process, Smith realized many things that no human being has ever learned.
At this moment, Smith felt very happy.He just won another water brother, Jubal, and made many new friends.A kaleidoscope of delightful new experiences emerged one after another, and he had no time to realize them, so he could only store them up and experience them again when he was free.
His brother Jubal told him that if he learned to read, he would have a quicker epiphany of this beautiful and strange place.So, Smith set aside a day, and Jill pointed to the words and read aloud to teach him pronunciation.It's a great sacrifice, as it means not being able to swim in the water all day.For Smith, swimming (after he figured out it was allowed) was not just enjoyable but an almost unbearable religious ecstasy.He would never have crawled out of the pool if Jill and Jubal hadn't called him.
Since he was not allowed to swim at night, he read all night long.He flitted through the Encyclopaedia Britannica, grabbing Jubal's medical and legal collections for dessert.Once, his brother Jubal saw him flipping through a book quickly and stopped to ask him what he had read.This question reminded Smith of the tests of the elders, so he was very careful in answering it.His answers seemed to unsettle the Jubal brothers so much that Smith felt the need to enter a meditative state.Jubal's reaction baffled him, for he answered with the exact words from the book, even though he didn't fully understand them.
But he liked swimming pools better than books, especially when Jill, Miriam, Larry, and the others were splashing in the pool.He didn't learn to swim right away, but he discovered that he had a skill that no one else could match.He went to the bottom of the pool and lay down, completely immersed in bliss.But he was pulled out with so much hassle and panic that he was almost forced into a state of trance-which didn't happen only because it seemed to him that he was clearly concerned only for his safety.
Then he showed it to Jubal and stayed on the bottom of the pool for a long time and tried to teach it to Brother Jill.But the other party seemed very disturbed, so he broke the idea.For the first time, he realized that he could do things that his new friends couldn't.He thought about this question for a long time, trying to achieve a perfect enlightenment.
Smith is happy, Jubal is unhappy.He grumbled as usual, except that he would look at his lab animal now and then.He didn't set any schedule for Smith, neither study plan nor regular physical examination, just let Smith wander around like a farm puppy at will.All custody of Smith came from Jill—too much, in the view of the surly Jubal.He had never been quite pessimistic about men raised by women.
In fact, Jill just taught Smith some social customs.Now he eats at the table, dresses himself (Jubal thinks he does it himself, and writes a memo to remind himself to ask Jill if she is still helping him), adapts to the unwritten habits of the family, meets The new situation is "see what the other monkeys do".When Smith ate his first meal at the table, he only took a spoon at first, and even Jill cut the meat for him.But the meal wasn't over yet, he was already trying to eat and drink like everyone else.By the next meal, Smith's demeanor was an exact copy of Jill's, down to the extraneous little gestures.
Jubal found that Smith had learned to read at the speed of electronic scanning and seemed to remember every word.But that still didn't seduce Jubal Harshaw, who didn't turn Smith into a "project" with controls, standards, and progression curves for him.Harshaw was a man of great learning, and learned his own ignorance by virtue of his study, which led to an arrogant humility; since he did not know what he was measuring, he did not feel the need to set up any" standard".
Harshaw was happy to watch the one-of-a-kind animal develop into a simulated human, but the fun didn't bring him joy.
Like Secretary Douglas, he was waiting for the boulder to fall.
Harshaw thought others would do something to him, so he was forced to take action, and nothing happened, which irritated him very much.Damn it, the feds aren't so stupid as to not even find a trace of an inexperienced girl dragging an unconscious man across the country?Or maybe they've been following her? —is watching his home now?The very thought made him angry; the government dared to spy on his home, his castle, as abominable as a letter being opened and read.
They might be doing just that!government!Three quarters a parasite, and a quarter a clumsy idiot.Yes, Harshaw concedes, man, as a social animal, can no more hide from government than he can hide from his own gut.But it cannot be called "good" just because evil is inevitable.He hoped that the government would go away and go far away.
Perhaps the authorities knew where Smith was and chose to keep it quiet.It's possible, even likely.
If so, how long will this be the case?How long can he keep his "bomb" on standby?
Also, where the hell is that goddamn dumbass Ben Caxton?
Jill Boardman pulled him out of his mental idleness, "Jubbal?"
"Eh? Oh, it's you, bright-eyed girl. Sorry, I was thinking. Sit down. Have a drink?"
"Well, no, thanks, Jubal. I'm worried."
"It's normal. Your swallow dive just now was amazing, how about doing it again for us?"
Jill bit her lip, looking twenty years old. "Jubbal! Listen to me! I'm so worried."
He sighed, "If this is the case, wipe off the water first. The wind is too cold."
"I'm warm. Well, Jubal, you think it's okay if I leave Mike here?"
Harshaw blinked. "Of course. The girls will take care of him, he's no trouble at all. You want to go?"
She didn't look into each other's eyes, "Yes."
"Mmm...you are always welcome here. But you can leave whenever you want."
"Huh? But, Jubal—I don't want to go!"
"Then don't go."
"But I must go!"
"Play it back again, I didn't understand."
"Don't you understand, Jubal? I like it here—you've been so kind to us! But I can't stay. There's no news from this book. I have to go find him."
Harshaw uttered a rather mundane word, and added, "How are you going to find it?"
She frowned. "I don't know. But Ben's missing, how can I just lay around like this all day and hang around and swim and stuff?"
"Jill, Ben's a big boy. You're not his mother, or his wife. You're under no obligation to him, are you?"
Jill wiggled one toe in the grass. "Yes," she admitted, "I'm none of Ben's. All I know... I just know that if I go missing... Ben will come looking for me—until I find him. So I have to go find him!"
Jubal cursed under his breath.I don't know which god is responsible for the madness of humans, but whoever he is, Jubal will curse him.After a while, he asked Jill: "Well, let's have some logic. Are you going to hire a detective?"
She looked sullen. "I guess that's what it takes. Well, I've never hired a detective. Is it expensive?"
"Quite expensive."
Jill swallowed. "Will they accept, uh, monthly installments?"
"It's money first, then goods in this business. Don't look lost, boy. I'm only mentioning this to dissuade you. I've hired the best detective to find Ben—so you don't have to put the future Pawn it to a second-rate guy."
"You never mentioned it to me!"
"It's not necessary."
"But—Jubbal, what did they find?"
"Nothing," he admitted, "that's why I don't need to tell you, so as not to make you feel worse." Jubal's face darkened, "I thought it was you who was worrying too much. I also talked to his assistant, the one named Keir. Like Galen’s boy, he thought he was chasing some news, and he would come back when the story got his hands on it.” Harshaw said with a sigh, “Now, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Kilgalen’s elm head is really good A letter came in telling him he was going away for a while; my men saw it, he took a surreptitious photograph, and checked it. It wasn't a fake."
Jill looked puzzled. "Why didn't Ben leave me a message too? That's not his style—Ben is always considerate."
Jubal stifled a groan. "Use your brains, Jill. Doesn't it say there are cigarettes on the box? You're here on a Friday; this code on the letter says it's from Philadelphia—" Paoli station tarmac - 10:30 am the first morning, 10:30 am Thursday. It is sent, received immediately; Ben has a dedicated telex machine in his office. Well, you tell me, Why didn't Ben just call instead of texting to his office - and during working hours?"
"How? I don't think he'd do it. At least I wouldn't. The phone is what people usually—"
"You're not Ben. I can think of a dozen reasons why a man in Ben's line of business would do what he does. To prevent people from deliberately misinterpreting him, and to keep a record in the phone company's files." As evidence, for sending delayed messages... There are many possible reasons. Kilgallen didn't find it surprising, and since Ben had paid for a telex machine in his office, it meant he would use it. thing."
"The telex located Ben on the Paoli Station tarmac at ten-thirty-four on Thursday morning," continued Jubal. "But Jill, that's not where the telex came from."
"But--"
"Listen to me. The information can be submitted in person or by phone. If you hand it to the counter in person, the customer can fax your handwriting and signature to the other party...but if you submit it by phone, you have to take a photo Print it out before sending."
"Yes, of course."
"Doesn't that make you think of something, Jill?"
"Uh... Jubal, I'm so distracted I can't think."
"Don't beat your chest; I can't figure it out as much as you do. But the man who works for me is a professional and very suspicious. He took a picture of Ben's message under Kilgallen's nose and made a fake one. sent a telex, and went to Paoli—with full papers identifying himself as the addressee, Osbert Kilgallen. A young lady said a lot of things that she shouldn't have said. Sadly, those things shouldn't have been leaked unless there was a court order. Normally, she couldn't remember which telex, put it in her ear, pointed it out with her hand, and then Gone, left in the archived miniatures. But this one happens to be a fan of Ben; reads Ben's column every night—what a horrible vice." Jubal blinked. "Shorthand!"
Anne came, still dripping. "Remind me," Jubal told her, "to write an article on news-reading compulsion. Topic: Daily newspaper reading and indulging in the troubles of five billion strangers is an unhealthy habit, and most nervous breakdowns are It can be traced back to the source, and it comes down to this. The title is "Endless Gossip" no, it's better to be "Crazy Gossip."
"Boss, you are getting sicker and sicker."
"I don't, sick of everyone else. Remind me to write next week. Gone now, I'm busy." He turned to Jill. Pounding...too bad Ben didn't pay for the video call so she couldn't see the hero face to face. Oh, she remembered...and still remembers that Ben paid in cash at a pay phone booth in Washington."
"Washington?" repeated Jill, "why should Ben start from—"
"Of course!" Jubal echoed unhappily, "If he was in a phone booth in Washington at that time, he could have a direct audio-visual conversation with his assistant, which is cheaper and simpler, and it costs a hundred more than submitting information by phone." Miles back to Washington a lot quicker. It doesn't make sense. Or maybe he has his reasons. Blindfolded. Ben's blindfolded like a bride kisses, familiar. He's one of the best Winchells out there, you think? Are you going straight with people?"
"It's not! He's a!"
"Sorry, I'm kind of colorblind to this kind of stuff. He probably thinks his phone is tapped, but the telex is safe. Or maybe he suspects they're both being tampered with - so he goes in a big circle, so that The other party believes that he is not in Washington and will not be returning anytime soon." Jubal frowned. "If that is the case, then we will do him no good if we find him. It may even endanger his life."
"Jubbal! No!"
"Jubbal, yes," he replied wearily, "that kid was always playing tricks on the edge of a cliff; Yeah, are you hoping to draw attention to him? Kilgallen is covering for him, and Ben's column comes in on a regular basis every day. I've got a special case."
"That's an article recorded in the past!"
"Of course. It could have been Kilgallen's ghostwriting. Anyway, officially, Ben Caxton is still running his own show. Maybe that's his plan, dear. Because it's too dangerous , so he doesn't even dare to contact you. Got it?"
Jill covered her face, "Jubbal...I don't know what to do!"
"Cheer yourself up," he said gruffly, "at worst you'll die... Who can run away--days, weeks, years, and finally die. Talk to Mike You get the point. He thinks being scolded is more scary than 'disintegrating'. Really, if I told him we were going to roast him for dinner, he'd be speechless with gratitude and thank me for the His honor."
"I know," Jill whispered, "but I don't have his detachment."
"Neither have I," agreed Harshaw cheerfully, "but I'm starting to get a little bit of it--for a guy my age, that's a real relief. Only the inevitable To enjoy as much as I can—really, I've been developing it all my life... But this baby, who's just old enough to vote and too innocent to dodge a buggy, makes me feel like I'm just in kindergarten. Jill , you ask me if I would like to keep Mike here, boy, I want to keep him until I find out all the things he knows that I don't! This 'disintegration'...not Freud's 'Death', and it's not 'Even the Wearyest Creek' or something like that - it's more like Stevenson's 'I live and die and die, and when I lie down I have a will'! I suspect Stevenson is either blowing the shit out of it or enjoying the thrill of consumption. But Mike seems to really know what he’s talking about, and I’m almost convinced.”
"I don't know," Jill said sullenly, "I'm just worried about Ben."
"Me too," Jubal said. "Jill, I don't think Ben is hiding."
"But you didn't say—"
"Sorry. I poked around and looked everywhere except Ben's office and the Paoli apron. On Thursday morning, Ben went to Bethesda Medical Center with a lawyer and a notary. The notary was James Oliver Cavendish. If you care about such things, you should know him."
"I'm afraid I haven't noticed."
"Never mind. Ben got Cavendish, and that's enough to show how serious he is about it; rabbits don't need to shoot elephants. They've been taken to Martians—'
Jill Ann gasped, "It's impossible!"
"Jill, you're questioning a notary...and not just any notary. Cavendish is saying the same thing as the Gospel."
"I don't care if he's the Twelve! Last Thursday, he certainly didn't come to my floor."
"You're not listening. I didn't say they were taken to meet Mike—I said they were taken to meet the Man from Mars, obviously the fake, TV guy."
"Well. Of course. And then Ben caught them by the pigtails!"
Jubal looked pained, "Little girl, I didn't catch people's pigtails. Not even Cavendish—at least he won't admit it. You also know what a notary is like."
"Well... no, I don't know. I've never seen a notary."
"Really? Annie!"
Annie, who was standing on the diving board, turned her head towards them.Jubal yelled, "That house on top of the hill—what color is it painted, can you see it?"
Annie looked at it and replied, "This side is white."
Jubal turned to Jill and said, "See? It never occurred to Anne to speculate that the other side was also white. The king's horses together could not pull her, and no one should let her make a judgment... unless she herself Went there—and even if she did, she wouldn't assume the house was still white after she left."
"Anne is a notary?"
"A degree in hand, an unlimited license, the right to testify in the Federal Supreme Court. Ask her why she doesn't go out to practice sometime. But you can't arrange anything else that day, and the woman will give you a "All the statements are true, and there is absolutely no lie." That would take a lot of time. Let's go back and talk about Mr. Cavendish. I asked him to do the so-called open notarization, which is completely open and does not come with any privacy clauses. Therefore Whenever anyone asks, he answers, corner of the chair, every detail. What's really interesting is what he didn't say. He never said that the people they saw weren't visitors from Mars...but there wasn't a single word that suggested Cavendish approved The guy's identity as a visitor from Mars. If you know Cavendish, that alone should make the case clear. If Cavendish met Mike, he'd report what he saw very accurately, You and I will immediately know that the man he met was Mike. For example, Cavendish described the shape of the man's ears...and that doesn't match Mike's. Proof done: what they showed them was a fake ... Cavendish knows it, it's just that his work ethic forbids him to speak out."
"I told you. They never got near my floor."
"But there's more we can learn from it. This happened hours before you pulled off the escape; Cavendish confirms that they came to the impostor at 9:14 on Thursday morning. Mike was still in the hands of the government at that moment; the government took the risk of pushing an imposter in front of the most famous notary in the country when they could let them see Mike. Why?"
"Ask me? I don't know. Ben told me he's going to ask Mike if he wants to get out of the hospital—if Mike wants to, he'll help him out."
"Ben tried it, at the counterfeit."
"So what? Jubal, they couldn't have foreseen what Ben was going to do...and Mike wasn't going to go with him anyway."
"Didn't he leave with you?"
"Yes—but I was his water brother, as if you were his water brother now. He had this crazy notion that he could trust anyone with whom he had shared water. With a water brother he Very obedient, he's as stubborn as an ass to people. He can't be persuaded." She added, "Last week at least—he's been going too fast lately."
"Indeed. Maybe a bit too fast. I've never seen anyone's muscles grow like that in such a short period of time. Forget about that. Let's talk about Ben. Cavendish reported that Ben was in nine Get him out of the car with the lawyer, a guy named Frisby, at 1:31, while Ben himself is still in the car. An hour later, he - or someone who says he is - sends a message on the phone Arrived at the Paoli apron."
"You don't think that person is Ben?"
"That's right. Cavendish took down the taxi's license plate number, and my detectives checked its daily operating records. If Ben used a credit card, his number should be on the record. Pay with coins, and the records should show where the car has been."
"But?"
Harshaw shrugged. "The records show the car was in for repairs Thursday morning and it wasn't working at all. So either a notary misrepresented the license plate number or someone else changed the records." He added, "Maybe the jury will decide Even a notary could misread a license plate, especially if he wasn't asked to - but I don't believe it. It couldn't have happened to James Oliver Cavendish! Either he was right Things are either beyond doubt or not mentioned in the report at all."
Harshaw scowled. "Jill, you're making me have to have a hand in these things--and I don't like it at all! Yes, the telex may have been sent by himself, it's not impossible; car records, that would be unbelievable...even more difficult to imagine why he would have to. Where did Ben go, and someone with access to public transport records went to great lengths Concealed his whereabouts... and sent a fake telex, so that no one would notice that he was missing."
"'Missing'! You mean 'kidnapped'!"
"Be gentle, Jill. 'Kidnapped' is a dirty word."
"And the only word that fits! Jubal, how are you still sitting here? You should be yelling—"
"Come on, Jill! Maybe it's not kidnapping, maybe Ben's dead."
Jill was suddenly deflated.She echoed numbly: "That's right."
"But let's assume he's still alive until we see his bones. Jill, what's the greatest danger in a kidnapping situation? It's someone shouting for a thief. Frightened kidnappers tear up tickets, almost without exception." See Jill Ann looked pitiful, and Harshaw said softly again: "I have to say, Ben has been missing for too long, and he is probably dead. But we have agreed that he should be assumed to be alive. Now you plan to find him Jill, what are you going to do? He was kidnapped by unknown kidnappers, how do you find him so as not to increase the chances of him being killed?"
"Er—but we know who did it!"
"yes?"
"Of course! The same people who imprisoned Mike - the government!"
Harshaw shook his head, "This is just speculation. Ben's column has made him a lot of enemies, not all of them work in the government. But—" Harshaw frowned, "We can only follow your speculation at the moment . But it’s still too broad. There are millions of people in the government. We have to ask ourselves: Whose toes is Ben stepping on? Who exactly?”
"Why, Jubal, I told you it was the Secretary-General himself that Ben told me."
"No," Harshaw denied, "whoever did it, as long as it was tough or illegal, it wasn't the Secretary General, even if he benefited from it. No one can even prove he knew about it .Probably he really doesn't know—the hard tactics. Jill, we must find out which of the Secretary General's lackeys is in charge of the operation. Sounds hopeless, but it's not that bad—I don't think so When Ben was taken to meet the impostor, he was with one of Douglas' aides, who first tried to talk him out of it and then went in with him. This top lackey also disappeared last Thursday. He seems He's the man in charge of the fake Visitors from Mars, so I don't think it's a coincidence. If we find him, maybe we can track down Ben. His name is Gilbert Berquist, and I have reason to—"
"Berquist?"
“没错。我有理由——吉尔，怎么了？不许晕倒，否则我把你扔进游泳池！”
“朱巴尔，这个'伯奎斯特'，还有别的伯奎斯特吗？”
“呃？他确实有那么点像个杂种；但或许只有这一个吧。我是说在秘书长的行政人员里头。你认识他？”
“不知道。但如果是同一个人……恐怕咱们再找也没用了。”
“呣……说说看，姑娘。”
“朱巴尔……实在对不起，还有些事我没告诉你。”
“这是常事。好吧，现在说说。”吉尔安磕磕绊绊、结结巴巴地讲完了那两个人消失的经过。“就是这样，”她悲伤地说，“我尖叫起来，吓坏了迈克……然后他就进人了那种昏迷状态——然后我吃尽苦头才到了你这儿。我跟你说过的。”
“呵……没错。真希望你当时把刚才的事也一并说了。”
她涨红了脸，“我以为没人会相信我。而且我很害怕。朱巴尔，他们会不会把我们怎么样？”
“呃？”朱巴尔似乎有些不解。
“让我们坐牢什么的？”
“哦，亲爱的，目睹一个奇迹又不是什么罪。施奇迹也不是。但这件事千头万绪，比猫咪的毛还多。我得想想。”
约摸有十分钟，朱巴尔一动不动。最后，他睁开眼睛：“我看不出你有什么麻烦。他这会儿大概正在池子底下——”
"That's right."
“——那就下去把他叫来，带他到我书房。我想看看他能不能再来一次……而且最好别有观众在场。不，我们需要一个观众；告诉安妮穿上她的公证官大氅，我需要她行使正式的职责。再把杜克也叫上。”
"Okay, boss."
“你没这个荣幸管我叫'老板'；你又不拿工资帮我减税。”
“好的，朱巴尔。”
“呣……要是手上有个爹不疼妈不爱的家伙就好了。迈克的绝技必须用活物吗？”
"have no idea."
“咱们会弄明白的。把他拖出来，让他醒醒神。”朱巴尔眨眨眼，“这倒是个处理坏蛋的好办法——不，我不能让自己受这种诱惑。楼上见，姑娘。”
Notes:
Notes: