The first thought Anderton had when he saw the young man was: I'm getting bald. Bald and fat and old. But he didn't say it aloud. Instead, he pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and came resolutely1 around the side of his desk, his right hand rigidly3 extended. Smiling with forced amiability4, he shook hands with the young man.
"Witwer?" he asked, managing to make this query5 sound gracious. "That's right," the young man said. "But the name's Ed to you, of course. That is, if you share my dislike for needless formality." The look on his blond, overly-confident face showed that he considered the matter settled. It would be Ed and John: Everything would be agreeably cooperative right from the start.
"Did you have much trouble finding the building?" Anderton asked guardedly, ignoring the too-friendly overture6. Good God, he had to hold on to something. Fear touched him and he began to sweat. Witwer was moving around the office as if he already owned it—as if he were measuring it for size. Couldn't he wait a couple of days—a decent interval7?
"No trouble," Witwer answered blithely8, his hands in his pockets. Eagerly, he examined the voluminous files that lined the wall. "I'm not coming into your agency blind, you understand. I have quite a few ideas of my own about the way Precrime is run."
Shakily, Anderton lit his pipe. "How is it run? I should like to know."
"Not badly," Witwer said. "In fact, quite well."
Anderton regarded him steadily9. "Is that your private opinion? Or is it just cant10?"
Witwer met his gaze guilelessly. "Private and public. The Senate's pleased with your work. In fact, they're enthusiastic." He added, "As enthusiastic as very old men can be."
Anderton winced11, but outwardly he remained impassive. It cost him an effort, though. He wondered what Witwer really thought. What was actually going on in that closecropped skull12? The young man's eyes were blue, bright—and disturbingly clever. Witwer was nobody's fool. And obviously he had a great deal of ambition.
"As I understand it," Anderton said cautiously, "you're going to be my assistant until I retire."
"That's my understanding, too," the other replied, without an instant's hesitation13.
"Which may be this year, or next year—or ten years from now." The pipe in Anderton's hand trembled. "I'm under no compulsion to retire. I founded Precrime and I can stay on here as long as I want. It's purely14 my decision."
Witwer nodded, his expression still guileless. "Of course."
With an effort, Anderton cooled down a trifle. "I merely wanted to get things straight."
"From the start," Witwer agreed. "You're the boss. What you say goes." With every evidence of sincerity15, he asked: "Would you care to show me the organization? I'd like to familiarize myself with the general routine as soon as possible."
As they walked along the busy, yellow-lit tiers of offices, Anderton said: "You're acquainted with the theory of precrime, of course. I presume we can take that for granted."
"I have the information publicly available," Witwer replied. "With the aid of your precog mutants, you've boldly and successfully abolished the post-crime punitive16 system of jails and fines. As we all realize, punishment was never much of a deterrent17, and could scarcely have afforded comfort to a victim already dead."
They had come to the descent lift. As it carried them swiftly downward, Anderton said: "You've probably grasped the basic legalistic drawback to precrime methodology. We're taking in individuals who have broken no law."
"But they surely will," Witwer affirmed with conviction.
"Happily they don't—because we get them first, before they can commit an act of violence. So the commission of the crime itself is absolute metaphysics. We claim they're culpable18. They, on the other hand, eternally claim they're innocent. And, in a sense, they are innocent."
The lift let them out, and they again paced down a yellow corridor. "In our society we have no major crimes," Anderton went on, "but we do have a detention19 camp full of would-be criminals."
Doors opened and closed, and they were in the analytical20 wing. Ahead of them rose impressive banks of equipment—the data-receptors, and the computing21 mechanisms22 that studied and restructured the incoming material. And beyond the machinery23 sat the three precogs, almost lost to view in the maze24 of wiring.
"There they are," Anderton said dryly. "What do you think of them?" In the gloomy half-darkness the three idiots sat babbling25. Every incoherent utterance26, every random27 syllable28, was analyzed29, compared, reassembled in the form of visual symbols, transcribed30 on conventional punchcards, and ejected into various coded slots. All day long the idiots babbled31, imprisoned32 in their special high-backed chairs, held in one rigid2 position by metal bands, and bundles of wiring, clamps. Their physical needs were taken care of automatically. They had no spiritual needs. Vegetable-like, they muttered and dozed33 and existed. Their minds were dull, confused, lost in shadows.
But not the shadows of today. The three gibbering, fumbling34 creatures, with their enlarged heads and wasted bodies, were contemplating35 the future. The analytical machinery was recording36 prophecies, and as the three precog idiots talked, the machinery carefully listened.
For the first time Witwer's face lost its breezy confidence. A sick, dismayed expression crept into his eyes, a mixture of shame and moral shock. "It's not—pleasant," he murmured. "I didn't realize they were so—" He groped in his mind for the right word, gesticulating. "So—deformed37."
"Deformed and retarded," Anderton instantly agreed. "Especially the girl, there. Donna is forty-five years old. But she looks about ten. The talent absorbs everything; the esp-lobe shrivels the balance of the frontal area. But what do we care? We get their prophecies. They pass on what we need. They don't understand any of it, but we do."
Subdued38, Witwer crossed the room to the machinery. From a slot he collected a stack of cards. "Are these names that have come up?" he asked.
"Obviously." Frowning, Anderton took the stack from him. "I haven't had a chance to examine them," he explained, impatiently concealing39 his annoyance40.
Fascinated, Witwer watched the machinery pop a fresh card into the now empty slot. It was followed by a second—and a third. From the whirring disks came one card after another. "The precogs must see quite far into the future," Witwer exclaimed.
"They see a quite limited span," Anderton informed him. "One week or two ahead at the very most. Much of their data is worthless to us—simply not relevant to our line. We pass it on to the appropriate agencies. And they in turn trade data with us. Every important bureau has its cellar of treasured monkeys."
"Monkeys?" Witwer stared at him uneasily. "Oh, yes, I understand. See no evil, speak no evil, et cetera. Very amusing."
"Very apt." Automatically, Anderton collected the fresh cards which had been turned up by the spinning machinery. "Some of these names will be totally discarded. And most of the remainder record petty crimes: thefts, income tax evasion41, assault, extortion. As I'm sure you know, Precrime has cut down felonies by ninety-nine and decimal point eight percent. We seldom get actual murder or treason. After all, the culprit knows we'll confine him in the detention camp a week before he gets a chance to commit the crime."
"When was the last time an actual murder was committed?" Witwer asked.
"Five years ago," Anderton said, pride in his voice.
"How did it happen?"
"The criminal escaped our teams. We had his name—in fact, we had all the details of the crime, including the victim's name. We knew the exact moment, the location of the planned act of violence. But in spite of us he was able to carry it out." Anderton shrugged42. "After all, we can't get all of them." He riffled the cards. "But we do get most."
"One murder in five years." Witwer's confidence was returning. "Quite an impressive record. . . something to be proud of."
Quietly Anderton said: "I am proud. Thirty years ago I worked out the theory—back in the days when the self-seekers were thinking in terms of quick raids on the stock market. I saw something legitimate43 ahead—something of tremendous social value."
He tossed the packet of cards to Wally Page, his subordinate in charge of the monkey block. "See which ones we want," he told him. "Use your own judgment44."
As Page disappeared with the cards, Witwer said thoughtfully: "It's a big responsibility."
"Yes, it is," agreed Anderton. "If we let one criminal escape—as we did five years ago—we've got a human life on our conscience. We're solely45 responsible. If we slip up, somebody dies." Bitterly, he jerked three new cards from the slot. "It's a public trust."
"Are you ever tempted46 to—" Witwer hesitated. "I mean, some of the men you pick up must offer you plenty."
"It wouldn't do any good. A duplicate file of cards pops out at Army GHQ. It's check and balance. They can keep their eye on us as continuously as they wish." Anderton glanced briefly47 at the top card. "So even if we wanted to accept a—"
He broke off, his lips tightening48.
"What's the matter?" Witwer asked curiously49.
Carefully, Anderton folded up the top card and put it away in his pocket. "Nothing," he muttered. "Nothing at all."
The harshness in his voice brought a flush to Witwer's face. "You really don't like me," he observed.
"True," Anderton admitted. "I don't. But—"
He couldn't believe he disliked the young man that much. It didn't seem possible: it wasn't possible. Something was wrong. Dazed, he tried to steady his tumbling mind.
On the card was his name. Line one—an already accused future murderer! According to the coded punches, Precrime Commissioner50 John A. Anderton was going to kill a man—and within the next week.
With absolute, overwhelming conviction, he didn't believe it.
收听单词发音 |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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punitive
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| adj.惩罚的，刑罚的 | |
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deterrent
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| n.阻碍物，制止物；adj.威慑的，遏制的 | |
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culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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analytical
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| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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computing
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| n.计算 | |
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mechanisms
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| n.机械( mechanism的名词复数 )；机械装置；[生物学] 机制；机械作用 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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transcribed
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| （用不同的录音手段）转录( transcribe的过去式和过去分词 )； 改编（乐曲）（以适应他种乐器或声部）； 抄写； 用音标标出（声音） | |
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babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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