Chapter 8 chapter eight

Ford has his own code of ethics.It's nothing to brag about, but it's his principle, and he won't go against it... basically.One of the rules is to never pay for alcohol out of your own pocket.He's not sure if that's virtuous, but you can only make do with what you have.At the same time he was firmly and absolutely against all cruelty to animals of any kind, except geese.Also, he would never steal from his employer. Well, not exactly a steal. Ford, for a man, would feel he was not doing his job if his account manager looked at the expense statement he handed over and didn't take a deep breath and sound the alarm to seal off all the exits.But actually stealing something is another matter.To steal from your employer is to bite the hand that feeds you.Sucking it hard, or even nibbling it affectionately a few times is fine, but you won't actually bite.Since that hand is the Guide, you won't do it. The Guide is sacred and special.

But that was about to change, Ford murmured as he ducked around the building.And you can only blame yourself.Look at this thing: neat rows of small gray offices and executive pods, the dull hum of memos all over the floor, minutes of meetings flying around the electronic network.For heaven's sake, people out there are hunting furry monsters, but in the heart of the guide, you won't find a guy having fun, no one kicking recklessly in the aisle , or even a swimsuit of an inappropriate color. "Invincible handsome company." Ford couldn't help gnashing his teeth.He strode forward, passing through one corridor after another, all the doors were opened for him without a second thought, and the elevator happily sent him to places he shouldn't be going.Ford chose the most complicated and winding route he could imagine.But overall it has been going down.Everything is taken care of by that happy little robot; every time it encounters the security circuit, it will send out waves of default pleasure.

Ford thought it needed a name, and decided to call him Alice Sanders—a girl he used to quite like.Then he felt that the name Alice Sanders was too much for a security robot, so he decided to call him Colin, which was Alice's name for her puppy. He was now deep into the heart of the building, areas of increased security that he had never been before.The employees I met on the road began to show puzzled expressions-at this level of security, you can't even call them people anymore, and most of them do things that no one but the employees would know how to do.After returning home at night, these guys turned back into human form.Their little dolls will look at them with cute and shining eyes and ask: "Dad, what did you do today?" They will answer succinctly: "I have fulfilled my duties as an employee." .

The truth of the matter is this: "Guide" has always been full of all kinds of deceptive things, but there was a mask that looked happy and carefree earlier, and all the deceptive tricks were hidden here Behind Zhang's favorite mask of "Guide"—or behind the mask it once loved—until the guys from the Invincible Shuai Company swaggered in and transformed the inside face into a very deceptive one.The gleaming building is all supported by tax evasion, commercial fraud, embezzlement and black-box operations, and the downstairs floors responsible for security research and data processing are where all this happens.

Every few years, the "Guide" will move its business—in fact, including its building—to another place, and for a while there will be sunshine everywhere, singing and dancing; the "Guide" will take root in the local economy, culture, and provide Employment opportunities, the locals feel a glamorous passion for adventure, and, in the end, find that the money in their pockets has not actually increased as much as expected. The Guide would then move again and take the building with it.When retreating, it may be a bit like a little thief at night-in fact, it should be said to be a little thief at night. Basically, it sets off before dawn. After dawn, the locals will always find that there are many fewer many things.Entire civilizations and economies fall apart, usually within a week of the Guide being removed.The planet that was once prosperous and rich has become devastated and impoverished, but there is still a feeling in everyone's heart, as if they are part of some great adventure or something.

For Ford, who strode in the most sensitive area, the "employees" all gave puzzled eyes, but Colin's presence reassured them.The little robot flew beside Ford with the utmost contentment, clearing the way for his escort at every stage. Alarms started to go off in other parts of the building.Someone might have discovered Van Haar, and that would be troublesome.Ford had hoped for a quick fix, to slip the "I-re-I" back into his pocket while he was still passed out.Well, there's no need to think about it now; Ford doesn't have the slightest idea how to clean up the mess later, so he's not ready to start worrying just yet.Anyway, wherever he and little Colin went, there was a lot of sweetness and cheerfulness all around, and, most importantly, there were elevators that were willing and obedient and doors that were downright flattering.

Ford started whistling, which was probably not a wise move.No one likes to whistle, especially the gods who hold us in the palm of their hands. The next door refused to open. That's a shame, because that's exactly what Ford was aiming for.It stood before him, gray from head to toe, firmly shut, with a sign on it that read: no entry including insiders you are wasting your time go away Colin had reported earlier that the doors got darker the further down they went. Now they have reached about ten floors underground.Whereas the buildings above ground had chilled air and tasteful gray striped wallpaper, here there are just brutal gray steel walls.Colin's stormy joy had dissolved into a resolute joy.He said that he was a little tired, and he had to use his strength to search for bits and pieces of kindness and enter them into the door below.

Ford kicked at the door.It's on. "Sugar and whip," he murmured, "never work." He went in, and Colin flew in after him.Even with a wire plugged into the pleasure electrode, its pleasure is tinged with tension.It wobbled around. The room was gray, small and humming. This is the nerve center of the entire Guide. Computer terminals lined up in front of the gray wall, and all the actions of the "Guide" were displayed on it, with every detail and detail. The "Guide"'s expatriate correspondents are scattered in every corner of the galaxy. They send the manuscripts back to headquarters through the sub-ether network, collect them on the computer on the left hand side of the room, and send them directly to the office network of the assistant editors, where they are read by their editors. The secretary cut out all the highlights because the assistant editors had all gone to lunch.The rest of the manuscript was sent to the other side of the building—the other side of the "H"—that was the legal department.The legal department picks out even the slightest bit of brilliance, clicks them off, and sends the rest back to the managing editor's office.The managing editors were out to dinner too, so their secretary would read the manuscript, say it was stupid, and proceed to cut most of the rest.

When an editor finally staggers back to the office from lunch, they exclaim, "This *!" -* referring to the guy who delivered the manuscript - "from half a fucking galaxy away Sending this crap back? Why are we sending him to the goddamn Jagulakaka thinking zone for three whole weeks if he's going to take the trouble to send a bunch of anemic scabs? Orbital cycle, seeing so many good things? Don't reimburse him!" "What about the manuscript?" the secretary would ask him. "Ah, put it on the Internet. There must be something on it. I have a headache and I'm going home."

So the manuscript, which has been edited countless times, will pass through the sword of the legal department for the last time, and then sent back here, uploaded to the Sub-Ethernet, and can be received instantly from any location in the galaxy.This part of the work is all supervised and controlled by the terminal on the right hand side of the room. At the same time, the order not to reimburse was transmitted to the terminal tucked into the right corner.Ford Prefect walked quickly, aiming at it. (If you're on Earth reading this, then: A. Good luck.The amount of stuff you don't know anything about is overwhelming, and you're certainly not alone in this.It's just that for you, the consequences of being completely ignorant of these things will be particularly serious, but then again, hey, it's okay for the useless little guy to be trampled by others.

B. Don't think you know what a computer terminal is.A computer terminal isn't some boring old TV with a typewriter in front of it, it's an interface that allows the body and mind to connect with the universe and move things around. ) Ford trotted to the terminal, sat down in front of him, and plunged headfirst into its universe. This wasn't the normal universe he was used to.This is a universe full of highly concentrated worlds, full of crazy terrain, towering peaks, and heart-stopping canyons; many moons have been broken into pieces, seahorses, sharp cracks, and silence The undulating ocean and the bottomless, rapidly rotating scene. He didn't move to get his bearings.He controlled his breathing, closed his eyes, and then opened them again. It turns out that those accountants are killing time in this kind of place.They are obviously not as simple as they appear on the surface.Ford looked around carefully, trying not to let everything around him expand, spin, and engulf him. He knows no way in this universe, nor the laws of physics that determine its spatial extent or behavior, but his intuition tells him to look for the original feature and approach it. In a place too far away—I don’t know whether it is a mile or a million miles, of course it may be a speck of ashes in his eyes—a mountain that stunned people went straight into the sky, and finally scattered into herons. Feather, Block Rock and Abbot. He struggled towards it, rushing and squeezing, and finally came to it after a long, meaningless time. He clung to it tightly, arms outstretched, hugging its rough, uneven surface.Sure he was safe, he made the ugly mistake of looking down. When he was struggling and rushing to squeeze the ground, the distance under his feet did not deliberately run to make trouble, but when he grasped it now, the height made his spirit and brain succumb.His fingers were white with pain and tension.His teeth didn't listen to orders at all, they squeezed together and bit and twisted.His eyes were driven into their sockets by waves of nausea. Relying on his incomparable will and belief, he simply let go of his hands and pushed hard. He felt himself floating, floating out.And then—and this is totally against common sense—up, and up. He straightened his chest, let his arms fall, and stared at the sky, letting himself go up, higher and higher, higher and higher. Soon after—although the meaning of time in this fictional universe is really difficult to say—a rock protruding ahead appeared, and he could grasp it and climb it. He stands up, he grabs it, he climbs up. He took a few breaths.All this made him a little nervous. He sat down and clung to the rock tightly.He wasn't quite sure if it was to keep him from falling or to fall, but he needed something to hold on to so he could look at the world around him with confidence. The dizzying, spiraling heights threw him back and forth, twisting his head into a ball, until finally he closed his eyes involuntarily, and clutched the loathsome chunk of rock with a whimper. He adjusted slowly, taking control of his breath again.He kept telling himself that it was just a picture of the world.A virtual world.A simulated reality.He can jump out at any time. So he jumped. He's sitting in a foam-filled swivel chair, the blue faux leather office chair, with a computer terminal in front of him. He relaxes. He was stuck on an inexplicably majestic high mountain, and when he looked down, there were only narrow rock ridges and a height that made him dizzy. The problem wasn't just that the ground was too far away from him—he wished it wouldn't go up and down and go back and forth. He has to catch it.It's not stone - it's just an illusion.He had to get to the heart of the matter, he needed to see the physical world he was in and at the same time he had to be emotionally detached from it. He clenched his fist in his heart and let go of the rock, and at that very moment he let go of his ideas about the rock.He sat casually, relaxed and free.He looked at the world in front of him.His breathing is steady.He is calm.Everything is under control again. This is a four-dimensional terrain model of the "Guide"'s financial system, and soon someone or something will come out and want to know what he is doing here. No, here they come. From the virtual space, a small group of vicious things rushed straight towards him, with steel eyes, small pointed heads, and pencil mustaches.They furiously asked Ford who he was, what he was doing here, who authorized it, what authority did he authorize, what was his thigh circumference, and so on.Laser lights flashed up and down his body as if he were a bag of cookies being checked out at the supermarket.The laser gun that does the dirty work is also here, but it's just a spare, for now.It all happened in a virtual space, but it didn't make any difference.Being virtually killed by a virtual laser gun in a virtual space is as effective as the real thing.For you will die as completely as you think you will. The laser reader swept over his fingertips, his irises and the follicles of his bald hair, getting more and more excited.They don't like the information they get at all.They continue to ask very invasive questions in an arrogant and disrespectful way, and they babble, their voices screech and grow higher and higher.A small steel surgical spatula was inserted into the skin on the back of Ford's neck.Ford held his breath and murmured a prayer as he pulled out Van Haar's "I-re-I" from his pocket and shook them. Immediately each laser beam was directed toward the little card, and it was scanned front to back, back to front, inside out, and every molecule was read and examined with the utmost care. Then they stopped at the same time, just as suddenly as they started. The entire team of virtual monitors stood at attention with a "snap". "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hal." They all flattered in unison. "Is there anything we can do for you?" Ford smiled slowly, maliciously. "You know," he said, "I think there's a thing or two." He left there five minutes later. It takes about thirty seconds to do what it is supposed to do.The other three minutes and thirty seconds were used to cover his tracks.In the virtual space, he can do whatever he likes, almost.He could transfer the ownership of the entire institution to his own name, but it would probably be hard to get away with it, and he didn't want it anyway.Ownership comes with responsibility and late nights in the office, not to mention huge, lengthy fraud investigations and long jail terms.The thing he wanted, if it went wrong, no one but the computer would find out: it was the part that took him thirty seconds. The part that takes three minutes and thirty seconds is setting up the computer so that it doesn't find out that something is wrong. The computer had to wish to ignore what Ford was doing, and it could do the rest of the work, allowing it to rationalize its behavior so that it could ignore relevant intelligence when it emerged.This ingenious programming skill is actually transplanting the pathological mental blockage of human beings into the machine. It has been observed for a long time that those who have no problems at first will suffer from this disease once they are pushed to a high position. Without exception. The rest of the minute is spent discovering that there has been a plug in the computer system.a large one. It would have been impossible for him to notice if he hadn't been busy engineering his own mental block.But just at the place where he was preparing to do something, Ford unexpectedly encountered a whole smooth deny program and transfer subroutine.Of course, the computer completely denies that it knows they exist, and then flatly denies that there is anything to deny.It was such a beautiful job that Ford almost thought he must have made a mistake. He was overwhelmed with admiration. In fact, he abandoned his own blocking process and instead established a link with an existing blocking process.In this way, when a problem occurs, these blocking programs can find themselves to solve it, and the cycle continues like this. Immediately afterward he started debugging the bits and pieces of code he had previously installed, only to find them missing.He scolded and searched everywhere, but couldn't even find a trace of it. He was about to reinstall it when he realized he couldn't find them for a simple reason: they were already working. He grinned contentedly. He tried to find out what the plug on the computer was for, but in this regard, the computer seemed to have a brain plug too - which was normal.In fact, he completely lost track of it, and it was that great.He wondered if it was his imagination.He wondered if he had imagined something about the building himself, and the number: 13.He did a few tests, and yes, it was definitely his imagination. There was no time for tricks, and someone had clearly sounded a major security alarm.Ford took the elevator to the first floor, then took the express lift.He had to figure out a way to slip the "I-re-I" into Hal's pocket before he found out.As for what to do, he still has no idea at the moment. The elevator doors swung open to reveal a horde of guards and security robots waiting for the elevator, each wielding menacing-looking weapons. They ordered him out. He shrugged and stepped out of the elevator.They all squeezed past him, very roughly.The elevator took them to the lower floors to continue searching for him. interesting.Ford thought, patting Colin friendly.Ford had encountered many robots in his life, and Colin was probably the first one that was really useful.It bounced and flew in front of him, completely submerged in soap bubbles of joy and ecstasy.Ford is glad he gave it a puppy name. He really wanted to just leave and pray elsewhere and pray for the best.But he knew that if Hal hadn't found out that he'd lost the "I-re-I," the chances of a happy ending would have increased considerably.He had to figure out a way to return it without anyone noticing. They entered the express elevator. "Hi," said the elevator. "Hi," said Ford. "Where can I take you guys?" the lifter asked. "Floor 23," said Ford. "Looks like it's pretty popular there today," Elevator said. "Hmm," thought Ford.He didn't like the smell of it at all.The elevator lights up 23 on its display panel, and then starts to run upwards.For some reason, what was on the display panel made Ford's mind jump, but he couldn't grasp the idea, so he forgot it again.Right now he was more worried about the popularity of the floor he was going to.He hasn't quite figured out how he's going to cope with what's going on up there, because he has no idea what's going on up there.He can only take risks. Here they are. The door slid open. An ominous silence. Empty corridors. The door of Hal's office is in front of him, surrounded by a thin layer of dust.Ford knew that the ashes were countless molecular robots. They crawled out of the wood, assembled with each other, repaired the door, and then disassembled each other, crawled back into the wood again, and waited for the door to be damaged again.Ford couldn't imagine what it was like, but he didn't think about it for long, because right now he was more concerned with his own life. He took a deep breath and ran away.