Chapter 6 Chapter Six

Ford Prefect ran and hit the ground.The ground was three inches farther from the air shaft than he remembered, causing him to misjudge the timing of the landing, start it too early, stumble awkwardly while running, and sprain his ankle.hell!He continued to run down the corridor, with a slight limp of course. Throughout the building, the alarm roared excitedly as usual.He ducked behind the locker he always used to hide in, glanced around to make sure he wasn't spotted, and quickly started digging around in his backpack for the things he usually needed. Unlike usual, his ankle hurt like hell.

Not only was the ground three inches farther than he remembered, but it also appeared on a different planet than he remembered, but it was the three inches that really caught him off guard.Offices are often moved to another planet without further ado: the reasons for moving can range from the local climate, hostility of the locals, to electricity bills or tax issues.But no matter where you go, the office is rebuilt exactly as it was, almost to the last detail.For many of the company's employees, the layout of their own offices is the only constant in their deeply distorted personal universes.

However, there is something odd about it. That's not surprising in itself, Ford mused, pulling out his own lightweight throw towel.In fact, everything in his life was more or less eccentric, in varying degrees.It's just that this weirdness is slightly different from the weirdness he's used to.This is a little, uh, weird.He couldn't figure it out for a moment. He pulled out his No. 3 wrench. The sound of the siren was still the same as he was familiar with.There was a melody in that voice, he could almost hum along.It feels really kind.Ford didn't know much about the world outside the building.He had never been to Saqua-Palia Hensa.This place seems to have a bit of a carnival vibe to it.

He took out a pair of toy bows and arrows bought on the street from his backpack. He had discovered that Saqua-Palia Hensa had a carnival vibe because the locals were celebrating the annual Ascension of St. Antwim.St. Antwim was a great and beloved king, and once advanced a great and equally beloved hypothesis.The content of St. Antwim's Hypothesis is that, all other things being equal, the best thing everyone can hope for is to be happy, to be happy, and to have as much fun together as possible.When he died, he left a will to use all his property to sponsor an annual festival, where everyone eats and drinks, dances and sings, and plays silly games such as hunting monsters to remind everyone Keep this theory in mind.St. Antwim's hypotheses were so brilliant and ingenious that in the end they simply canonized him as a saint.Not only that, those saints in the past, whether they were stoned to death in such a miserable way or lived head and foot in a dung bucket and got titles, all were immediately downgraded, and now everyone thinks about them, and they feel quite ashamed.

The familiar H-shaped building stood on the outskirts of the city, and Chief Ford broke in in the old way.He never walks through the lobby, but through the ventilation system, because there are robots patrolling the lobby, which specifically stop employees who enter the door and check their reimbursement status.Ford Prefect's expense report was notorious for its complexity and complexity.He found that, in general, the robots in the lobby were not well equipped to understand the arguments he was making, so he preferred to find another way to enter. That meant nearly every alarm in the building would go off except the one in the accounting department, which was exactly what Ford wanted.

He crouched behind the locker, licked the suction cup of the toy arrow, and slung it to the bowstring.Only thirty seconds later, a robot the size of a small watermelon came along the corridor. It flew at a waist-high angle, searching for abnormalities as it moved forward. Ford shot the toy arrow, and the timing was just right. The arrow passed through the corridor in front of the robot, and stuck to the opposite wall tremblingly. As soon as it flew out, the robot's sensor immediately locked it, and then he himself A ninety-degree turn followed, trying to see what the hell the thing was and where it was going.

Now the robot was staring intently in the opposite direction from Ford, which gave him a precious second before he threw the towel across and caught it. There are all kinds of sensors on the robot's body, and it is impossible to move freely in the towel; it twists back and forth, but it can't always turn its face towards the hunter. Ford quickly pulled it to his side and pinned it to the ground.It started whining pitifully.Ford reached under the towel with his No. 3 wrench and pried open the plastic panel covering the logic circuits on the top of the robot's head, with agility and obvious training.

Logic is indeed a good thing, but evolutionary development also tells us that it also has certain flaws. Anything that thinks logically can be fooled by something else that is at least as logical as itself.The easiest way to fool a fully logical computer is to feed it the same subroutine over and over until it is locked in an infinite loop.The best illustration of this problem comes from the world-famous herring sandwich experiment, which was done thousands of years ago by MISPWOSO (Maxim Galen University Institute for Slowly and Painfully Coming to White Rot Extraordinary Conclusions). They programmed a robot to believe it liked herring sandwiches.In fact, this was the most difficult part of the whole experiment.Once the robot had been programmed to believe it liked sandwiches, they put a herring sandwich in front of it.So the robot thought, "Ah! A herring sandwich! I like herring sandwiches."

Then he'll bend down, scoop up the herring sandwich with his herring sandwich spade, and straighten up again.Unfortunately for the robot, however, its styling has been tampered with, and the act of standing upright causes the herring to fall from its herring shovel to the ground.So the robot thinks again, "Ah! A herring sandwich..." and so on, and then it repeats the previous action over and over again.Even the herring sandwich was so pissed off by the bloody shit that it nearly crawled aside to find another way to pass the time, except that the only snag was that as a herring sandwich—that is, a little bit of dead fish between two slices of bread— — It is slightly less alert to its surroundings than a robot.

Scientists at the Academy have thus discovered the driving force behind all change, development and innovation in life, and it is: the Herring Sandwich.They published their work, the results were widely criticized, and the consensus was that they were downright stupid, and they checked their data and realized that what they found was "boring," or more precisely, the practical application of boring.They were excited for a while, and then they continued to work hard, and found various other emotions, such as "anger", "depression", "worried", "sentimental" and so on.The next breakthrough came when they stopped eating herring sandwiches, and there was a sudden surge of new emotions for them to study, such as "relief," "euphoria," "happiness," "appetite," "satisfaction," and, most importantly, Most importantly, the desire to be "happy".

This is the most important breakthrough. Controlling the robot's behavior in every possible situation required a hunk of incredibly complex computer code, and now everyone has found the simplest substitute.It only needs the robot to have the ability to feel bored or happy, and then set the conditions that must be met to produce these emotions.The rest is left to them to solve by themselves. The robot trapped under the towel by Ford is not happy right now.It is happy when it can run around, it is happy when it can see other things, and it is happy when it can see other things running around, especially when these things are running around doing things they shouldn't be doing. I am very happy, because this way it can report on them, how happy it is. Ford will soon rectify the situation. He crouched on top of the robot, sandwiching it between his knees, all its sensing mechanisms still under the towel, but the logic circuits exposed.The robot roared like a tantrum.But it can only twist and turn, unable to make any substantial movements.With a wrench, Ford lightly pried a small chip out of the holder.The robot immediately became extremely quiet, obediently sitting on the ground and falling into a coma. That chip contains what it needs to be happy.When the small current generated by the right side of the chip flows to the left side of the chip, the robot will feel happy. Whether the current can flow or not is determined by this chip. Ford pulled out a short length of wire sewn in a towel, and he inserted one end of the wire into the hole above and to the left of the chip socket, and the other end into the hole below and to the right of it. That's it.Now no matter what happens, the robot will be happy. Ford stood up quickly, gathering the towel with a flick of the wrist.The robot rose into the air ecstatically, and its route was quite winding. It turned and saw Ford. "Monsieur, oh! It's a pleasure to see you!" "Me too, little one," said Ford. The robot quickly reported to the main control room that in the best of all possible worlds, everything was at its best, the sirens died down quickly, and life returned to normal. Basically normal, at least. There's always something quirky about this place. The electronic joy of the little robot is simply irrepressible.Ford walked briskly down the corridor, letting the thing dangle behind him.It kept telling him how wonderful everything was, and how happy he was to be able to report this to himself. Ford couldn't be happier. Along the way, he met many new faces.They are not like him.They are too well groomed, and their eyes are lifeless.Every time he seemed to see an acquaintance from a distance, he ran over to say hello, but in the end he would find that he had made a mistake.The guy in front of him was, after all, too well-haired, too progressive in his look, and too elitist in his demeanor, better than, yes, better than anyone he'd ever known. The stairs here have been moved a few inches to the left.The ceiling there is slightly lowered.One lobby has been redesigned.All this in itself was nothing to worry him about, although it did make him a little dizzy.What worries him is the decor.The building used to be abrupt and flashy, very expensive—because The Guide sold so well throughout the civilized and post-civilized worlds—but comically expensive.The corridors are lined with crazy game consoles; the ceiling is hung with crazy painted grand pianos; in the tree-lined lobby, violent sea beasts from Weaver Star are writhing in the pond; robot waiters wear silly shirts, Flying around the corridors, desperately trying to squeeze bubbly drinks into everyone's hands.Many offices also tether baby dragons and all sorts of winged things.They know how to have fun -- and it's okay if they don't, as long as there's a lesson to be had, until church is guaranteed. Now these are all gone. Some bad guy with no taste has turned this place upside down. Ford suddenly turned into a cubicle, and with a movement of his hand, he pulled the robot into it.He knelt down and looked at the giggling little robot in front of him. "What's going on here?" he asked. "Oh, it's all the best things, sir, it's all the best things. Can I sit on your lap, please?" "No." Ford flicked the thing aside.I couldn't help but be overjoyed to be looked down upon so much, so I was intoxicated with shaking and laughing.Ford grabbed it and held it firmly in the air a foot from his face.It tried to stay where it was wanted, but couldn't help shivering a little. "Something's changed here, isn't it?" Ford hissed. "Oh, yes," answered the little robot in a high voice, "such a remarkable and incredible change, I feel good about it." "Then, what was it like before, eh?" "Wonderful." "But you like the way it's changed?" asked Ford. "I like everything," the robot groaned, "especially when you yell at me, one more time, please." "Just tell me what happened!" "Oh, thank you, thank you!" Ford sighed. "Okay, okay," the robot gasped, "The Guide has been taken over. New management. Everything is so good, oh, I'm melting. And of course the old management Great, though I'm not sure I thought so at the time." "That was before you had a wire plugged in your brain." "It's true. Oh, it's true. It's true. It's not adulterated. What a fascinating insight." "What the hell happened?" Ford persisted, "Who are the new management? When did they take over? I... oh forget it." He changed his mind temporarily, because the little robot could no longer contain his joy He began to chatter and rub against his knee, "I'd better go and have a look." He rushed to the door of the editor-in-chief's office, curled up tightly in a ball, and slammed upward; the door creaked open, and Ford rolled in immediately, and rolled straight to a trolley-usually full of the strongest and most powerful objects in the galaxy. Expensive alcoholic beverages; he grabbed the trolley to create cover for himself, pushed himself and the trolley across the main open space in the office, to the location of the extraordinarily expensive, extraordinarily vulgar "Leda and the Octopus", and Use it as cover and hide.At the same time, the security robot from just now cheerfully flew into the door from Ford's chest height, desperately drawing fire away from him. At least that's what Ford plans to do, and planning is absolutely necessary. The current editor-in-chief of the "Guide", Stagya-Zil-Togo, is a dangerous person with emotional imbalance. For subordinates who dare to walk into his office, if they do not have a freshly baked manuscript, proofread the complete manuscript, Stagya Ya definitely had murderous thoughts.He is also equipped with a set of laser-targeted guns, which are connected to special scanners on the door frame. The scanners can detect anyone who dares to come to his office with all kinds of very good reasons. This guarantees a high output rate. Unfortunately, the wine trolley was not in that position. Ford rushed aside in desperation, somersaulting to the statue of Leda and the octopus, but it wasn't there either.Frightened, he rolled randomly around the room, dashed, stumbled, became dizzy, hit the glass—fortunately, the glass was rocket-proof—bounced back, fell, and finally collapsed wounded and panting on a beautiful sheet of paper. Behind the gray wrinkled leather sofa—this sofa has never been seen before. A few seconds later, he cautiously peeked out from the top of the sofa. Not only was the trolley missing, Lida and the octopus were gone, but the frightening gunshots were also gone.He frowned.What a mess. "Mr. Ford, I guess so," said a voice. The voice came from behind a large teakwood desk with a pottery surface, and it was someone with a fake face.Stagya may really have many extraordinary qualities, but due to various reasons, absolutely no one would say that he has a fake face.This man is not Stagya-Zil-Togo. "Based on the style of your appearance, I presume you're not bringing any new material to, er, the Guide right now," said the phony fellow.His elbows rested on the desk, the tips of his fingers intertwined.I don't know why, but this action has not been listed as a major criminal offense so far. "I've been busy." Ford was a little lacking in confidence.He stood up unsteadily and patted his clothes.Then he thought, damn it, why should I be so weak?I have to take control of the situation.I need to figure out who the hell this guy is.Then, he suddenly came up with a way. "Who the hell are you?" he asked. "I'm your new editor-in-chief. That is, assuming we decide to hire you. My name is Van Haar." Without reaching out to Ford, he asked, "What did you do with the security robot?" The little robot was circling the ceiling very slowly, moaning softly. "I made him very happy," snapped Ford. "It's my ambition or something. Where's Staggar? Or let's just say, where's his booze cart?" "Mr. Zill-Togo has left the institution. His carafe of booze, I think, is helping him heal that." "Institution?" growled Ford. "What does an Institution call such a thing? That's fucking stupid." “It feels exactly the same as we do. Poor organization, over-resourced, under-managed, over-alcoholic. And that,” says Hal, “is not just an editor-in-chief.” "Leave the funny to me!" growled Ford. "No," Hal said, "you're doing a food column." He tossed a small piece of plastic onto the desk in front of him.Ford didn't reach out. "What are you?" "No, I'm Hal. You're Ford. Your food column. I'm the editor. I'm sitting here telling you to have a food column. Do you understand?" "Food column?" Ford was too confused right now to get really angry. "Sit down, Ford." Hal turned around in the swivel chair, stood up, looked down at the dots on the ground, and enjoyed the carnival below the thirty-three floors. "Time to get down to business, Ford!" he snapped. "Our Unlimited Handsome Company..." "What are you?" "Unlimited handsome company. "Guide" was acquired by us." "Infinite decay?" "That name cost us millions, Ford. Love it or pack up and go." Ford shrugged.He had nothing to pack at all. "The galaxy is changing," Hal said, "and we have to change with it. Keep up with the market. The market is moving. New needs, new technologies, the future..." "Don't tell me about the future," said Ford. "I've been all over the future, and I've spent half my time there, just like any other place, the rest of the time, I mean. Whatever, it's those guys Things, except that the car is faster and the air smells worse." "That's a future," Hal said, "your future, if you accept it, you can look at things from multiple perspectives, and there are infinite futures stretching in every direction, starting from this second... There are still this second and this second. Hundreds of millions of them are bifurcating every moment! Every possible position of every possible electron forms countless possibilities! There are countless shining and golden futures. You Know what that means?" "Your saliva remains." "Countless countless markets." "Got it," said Ford, "you'll be able to sell zillions and zillions of copies of the Guide, won't you?" "No." Hal reached for the handkerchief, but couldn't find it. "Sorry, but I'm too excited to talk about it." Ford handed him his towel. "The reason we don't sell an infinite number of copies of the Guide," Hal continued after wiping his mouth, "is the cost. What we're going to do is sell an infinite number of copies of the Guide. We discover Diversity cuts costs. And we don't sell to penniless free riders. What a stupid idea! That's the only market that by definition has absolutely no money in its pocket, and it's specifically targeted to sell something Give it, no, we're going to sell it to the rich business hotel and his wife, to them in countless countless futures. This is the most radical, passionate, and powerful in the entire infinite variety of space/time/probability commercial speculation." "And you want me to do its food review," Ford said. "We will review your manuscript." "Kill!" Ford yelled suddenly, and the order was aimed at his towel. The towel jumped out of Hal's hand. It's not that it comes with any kind of motivation and passion, but Hal is afraid of this possibility, so he is scared out of his wits.The second startle came from Ford Prefect, who lunged straight across the table with both fists forward.Actually Ford was all about that credit card, but if you want to get to Hal's position, and in the kind of institution he's in, you've got to develop your own perspective on life, put It builds a very healthy paranoia.Hal took the most sensible precaution in such a situation, which was to dodge back hard.As a result, his head hit the anti-missile glass hard, and then fell into a series of anxious, troubled, and very private dreams. Ford lay prone on the table, surprised that everything went so smoothly.He glanced quickly at the piece of plastic he was holding in his hand—it was an "all you can eat" credit card with Ford's name on it, valid for two years.It was probably the most exciting thing Ford had ever seen in his life—and he crawled across the table to look at Hal. His breathing was smooth.It occurred to Ford that he could breathe more easily without the purse on his chest.So he took the wallet out of Hal's coat pocket.There are quite a lot of banknotes.Several credit cards.Ultra Golf membership card.Several other membership cards.A picture of someone's wife and child—probably Hal's, but it's really hard to tell these days.Most of the busy executives don't have time for their full-time wives and children, so they often rent some on weekends. what! He couldn't believe what he saw. A maddening plastic card was sandwiched between a pair of receipts, and Ford slowly pulled it out. It doesn't look too exciting to be mad.In fact it looks pretty boring.Translucent, smaller than a credit card, and slightly thicker.Hold it up to the light and you'll see lots and lots of information and images encoded in holograms that appear to be buried inches beneath the surface, except that the card isn't inches thick enough to bury it. It was an "I-re-I" and Hal was not smart enough to toss it carelessly in his wallet.But such foolishness is perfectly understandable.In today's world, you are required to use various methods to prove your identity at any time, and this alone can make life extremely difficult, let alone you have to face questions such as "being a conscious rational creature How should we operate in an epistemologically rather ambiguous physical universe” is a deeper existential question.Let's say ATM.There is a long line of cash withdrawals, waiting idly for fingerprints to be read, irises scanned, skin samples taken from the nape of the neck, and instant (or close to instant—in the tedious reality of the process to be six or seven seconds long) Chung) genetic analysis, followed by a barrage of pitfalls; some about relatives they don’t remember having, and some about their preferred tablecloth color.And all because you wanted some spare cash for the weekend.If you're looking to take out a loan to buy a jet car, sign a missile deal or pay for an entire restaurant, things can really turn into a major test. So there is "I-really-I".Every piece of information about you is recorded here.Your body and your life can now be stored on an all-purpose access card that can be carried in your wallet, and thus represents the greatest triumph of science and technology-it has defeated not only itself, but ordinary people simple common sense. Ford put it in his pocket.He had just thought of a wonderful idea.He wondered how long Hal would be unconscious. The watermelon-sized robot is still drooling on the ceiling. "Hey!" he yelled at the hedonic guy, "want to keep being happy?" The robot giggled yes. "Then come with me, and do what you are asked to do." The robot replied that he was happy to be on the ceiling at the moment and thanked him for his kindness.Also, it has never realized that a high-quality ceiling can bring such pure pleasure, so it wants to further explore its own feeling about the ceiling. "You stay there," said Ford, "and they're going to catch you in no time and re-chip you. Come down right away if you want to go on happy." The robot let out a long sigh from the bottom of his heart, and reluctantly left the ceiling. "Listen," Ford said, "can you please keep the whole security system happy for a few minutes?" "True happiness can bring endless joy." The robot said with a big tongue. "One of them is sharing. My heart is full of joy, overflowing with joy, flooding..." "Okay," interrupted Ford, "just pass your pleasure into the security system. Don't give it any information. Just make it happy and make it feel like there's no need to ask." He picked up his towel and ran happily to the door.Life has been a bit boring lately, but right now it feels like times are turning around.