我的征尘是星辰大海。。。

The dirt and dust from my pilgrimage forms oceans of stars...

-------当记忆的篇章变得零碎，当追忆的图片变得模糊，我们只能求助于数字存储的永恒的回忆

作者:黄教授

手机视频列表

基因囚笼觉醒的前夜5

视频

音频

原始脚本

第五章，基因黑市与反抗者。
巷子深处的铁门挂着精密仪器维修的牌子。
推开门，消毒水的味道混着金属锈味扑面而来。
墙上的全息屏关着，只有几盏应急灯亮着，在地上投下晃动的光斑。
这里是蜂巢社区最隐蔽的基因黑市，人称修种铺。
丽娜攥着马克给的加密芯片，手心全是汗。
芯片里存着小远的基因序列，是她上周趁摇篮城机器保姆充电时，偷偷用探针提取的。
三天前，规划局又发了通知，火星农业自动化率突破99.3%，农业工程师岗位缩减至原计划的12%，建议未完成培育的儿童申请职业转向。
转向，说得轻巧。
丽娜见过转向的孩子，邻居家的小凯，原本被定向培育成月球物流调度员。
去年岗位取消后，强行植入太空垃圾分拣基因。
现在10岁的孩子，手指关节比成年人还粗，眼神却像蒙了层灰。
新来的，一个穿着工装裤的男人从阴影里走出来，脸上有道疤，说话时嘴角歪着。
他是黑市的老板，人称老八。
莉娜把芯片递过去，他扫了一眼，嗤笑一声，又是农业工程师，这月第17个了，规划局那帮孙子 去年还说火星缺10万农夫，今年就说机器比人能扛辐射。
角落里传来低低的议论声，三个家长围着一张破桌子，全息投影上是孩子的基因报告，红色的职业匹配失效字样刺眼的很。
穿蓝裙子的女人抹着眼泪，我儿子是星际导游定向，现在虚拟旅游舱能模拟99%的星球场景，谁还需要真人导游？老八，你那自由基因包真能行？自由基因包黑市的招牌货，说是能敲掉规划局植入的职业锁，激活人类原生的基因潜能，至于激活哪部分，全看运气。
老八颠了颠手里的芯片，慢悠悠的说，行也行，不行也不行。
成功率70%，成了孩子能像旧人类一样，想长什么样长什么样，想干啥干啥，败了。
他顿了顿，指了指墙角的一个铁柜，上个月有个孩子激活失败，皮肤变成了透明的，现在还在摇篮城的特殊看护区。
没人说话，应急灯的光忽明忽暗，照在每个人脸上，一半亮一半暗。
穿蓝裙子的女人突然捶了下桌子，凭什么？他们把资源全往太空运，说要建什么第二地球。
我们在这连口新鲜空气都快吸不上了，连生孩子都得被他们安排的明明白白。
可不是嘛！另一个男人接口，他是是废品回收站的。
我上周拆了台报废的货运机器人，内存里存着物流单。
光上个月，就有500吨高纯度硅片运去月球，说是建星际飞船引擎。
硅片啊，我们社区的全息屏都用的是二手货，闪的眼睛疼。
莉娜的心猛地一跳，她想起艾莎说过的话，想起超市里永远限量的天然食品，想起太空港每晚准时升空的货运船，那些船尾的火焰像一把把勺子，正把地球的血肉一勺勺挖走，填向遥远的太空。
地球不好吗？她忍不住问，声音很轻，为什么非要去火星、去月球？这里有海、有树、有，他没说下去。
树早就成了全息投影里的东西，海被分成一块一块的生态保护区，普通人连靠近的资格都没有。
老八冷笑一声，打开一个冷藏箱，里面摆着一排排银色的针剂，因为有人觉得地球不配了。
他拿起一支针剂对着光看。
他们说地球快完了，辐射、资源枯竭，还有那颗快炸的破星星。
所以得把好东西都搬到太空去，留我们在这等死。
莉娜的手指冰凉，申诉4，那个在天文课上听过的名字，老师说它是颗红超巨星。
随时可能爆发，伽马射线暴要是扫过地球，一切都会化为灰烬。
可规划局的宣传里，从没提过这些，他们只说星际移民是人类的未来。
我要一个，他突然说。
马克要是在，肯定会拦着他。
可他想起小远在虚拟课堂上画的那朵花，那朵不存在于规划局数据库里的花，一定藏在他原生的基因里，藏在那些被职业所压住的角落。
老八挑了挑眉，把针剂递给他，这玩意见不得光，得在摇篮城的维护窗口期用。
机器保姆每周三凌晨2点充电，那时候安防系统会休眠15分钟。
他凑近丽娜，声音压得像耳语。
对了，最近有群人在找同类，都是不想被规划局摆弄的家长，说要一起搞清楚那些运去太空的东西到底要干啥。
你要是敢，完事了可以来这碰个头。
莉娜接过针剂，金属的凉意透过玻璃传到掌心。
走出修种铺时，天刚蒙蒙亮，太空港的方向又升起一艘船，尾焰在晨雾里拖出长长的白带，像一道未愈合的伤口。
他摸了摸口袋里的针剂，突然想起小远昨天视频时说的话。
妈妈，机器老师说，等我们去了火星，就再也不用看地球的假月亮了。
可他宁愿孩子看一辈子假月亮，也不想他变成一个被基因牵着走的木偶。
巷子口的全息广告换了画面，一个虚拟宇航员对着镜 镜头笑，加入星际移民计划，给孩子一个光明的未来。
丽娜加快了脚步，针剂在口袋里轻轻晃动，像一颗即将破土的种子，不管未来是好是坏，这一次她想让孩子自己长。

修正脚本

第五章，基因黑市与反抗者。
巷子深处的铁门挂着精密仪器维修的牌子。
推开门，消毒水的味道混着金属锈味扑面而来。
墙上的全息屏关着，只有几盏应急灯亮着，在地上投下晃动的光斑。
这里是蜂巢社区最隐蔽的基因黑市，人称修种铺。
丽娜攥着马克给的加密芯片，手心全是汗。
芯片里存着小远的基因序列，是她上周趁摇篮城机器保姆充电时，偷偷用探针提取的。
三天前，规划局又发了通知，火星农业自动化率突破99.3%，农业工程师岗位缩减至原计划的12%，建议未完成培育的儿童申请职业转向。
转向，说得轻巧。
丽娜见过转向的孩子，邻居家的小凯，原本被定向培育成月球物流调度员。
去年岗位取消后，强行植入太空垃圾分拣基因。
现在10岁的孩子，手指关节比成年人还粗，眼神却像蒙了层灰。
“新来的。”一个穿着工装裤的男人从阴影里走出来，脸上有道疤，说话时嘴角歪着。
他是黑市的老板，人称老八。
丽娜把芯片递过去，他扫了一眼，嗤笑一声，又是农业工程师，这月第17个了，规划局那帮孙子去年还说火星缺10万农夫，今年就说机器比人能扛辐射。
角落里传来低低的议论声，三个家长围着一张破桌子，全息投影上是孩子的基因报告，红色的“职业匹配失效”字样刺眼得很。
穿蓝裙子的女人抹着眼泪，我儿子是星际导游定向，现在虚拟旅游舱能模拟99%的星球场景，谁还需要真人导游？老八，你那自由基因包真能行？“自由基因包是黑市的招牌货，说是能敲掉规划局植入的职业锁，激活人类原生的基因潜能，至于激活哪部分，全看运气。”
老八颠了颠手里的芯片，慢悠悠地说，行也行，不行也不行。
成功率70%，成了孩子能像旧人类一样，想长什么样长什么样，想干啥干啥，败了。
他顿了顿，指了指墙角的一个铁柜，上个月有个孩子激活失败，皮肤变成了透明的，现在还在摇篮城的特殊看护区。
没人说话，应急灯的光忽明忽暗，照在每个人脸上，一半亮一半暗。
穿蓝裙子的女人突然捶了下桌子，凭什么？他们把资源全往太空运，说要建什么第二地球。
我们在这连口新鲜空气都快吸不上了，连生孩子都得被他们安排得明明白白。
可不是嘛！另一个男人接口，他是废品回收站的。
我上周拆了台报废的货运机器人，内存里存着物流单。
光上个月，就有500吨高纯度硅片运去月球，说是建星际飞船引擎。
硅片啊，我们社区的全息屏都用的是二手货，闪得眼睛疼。
丽娜的心猛地一跳，她想起艾莎说过的话，想起超市里永远限量的天然食品，想起太空港每晚准时升空的货运船，那些船尾的火焰像一把把勺子，正把地球的血肉一勺勺挖走，填向遥远的太空。
地球不好吗？她忍不住问，声音很轻，为什么非要去火星、去月球？这里有海、有树，她没说下去。
树早就成了全息投影里的东西，海被分成一块一块的生态保护区，普通人连靠近的资格都没有。
老八冷笑一声，打开一个冷藏箱，里面摆着一排排银色的针剂，因为有人觉得地球不配了。
他拿起一支针剂对着光看。
他们说地球快完了，辐射、资源枯竭，还有那颗快炸的破星星。
所以得把好东西都搬到太空去，留我们在这等死。
丽娜的手指冰凉，参宿四，那个在天文课上听过的名字，老师说它是颗红超巨星。
随时可能爆发，伽马射线暴要是扫过地球，一切都会化为灰烬。
可规划局的宣传里，从没提过这些，他们只说星际移民是人类的未来。
我要一个，她突然说。
马克要是在，肯定会拦着她。
可她想起小远在虚拟课堂上画的那朵花，那朵不存在于规划局数据库里的花，一定藏在他原生的基因里，藏在那些被职业压住的角落。
老八挑了挑眉，把针剂递给她，这玩意见不得光，得在摇篮城的维护窗口期用。
机器保姆每周三凌晨2点充电，那时候安防系统会休眠15分钟。
他凑近丽娜，声音压得像耳语。
对了，最近有群人在找同类，都是不想被规划局摆弄的家长，说要一起搞清楚那些运去太空的东西到底要干啥。
你要是敢，完事了可以来这碰个头。
丽娜接过针剂，金属的凉意透过玻璃传到掌心。
走出修种铺时，天刚蒙蒙亮，太空港的方向又升起一艘船，尾焰在晨雾里拖出长长的白带，像一道未愈合的伤口。
她摸了摸口袋里的针剂，突然想起小远昨天视频时说的话。
妈妈，机器老师说，等我们去了火星，就再也不用看地球的假月亮了。
可她宁愿孩子看一辈子假月亮，也不想他变成一个被基因牵着走的木偶。
巷子口的全息广告换了画面，一个虚拟宇航员对着镜头笑，加入星际移民计划，给孩子一个光明的未来。
丽娜加快了脚步，针剂在口袋里轻轻晃动，像一颗即将破土的种子，不管未来是好是坏，这一次她想让孩子自己长。

英文翻译

Chapter 5: The Gene Black Market and the Rebels.

A sign for precision instrument repair hung on the iron door at the end of the alley.  
Pushing the door open, the smell of disinfectant mixed with metallic rust hit her face.  
The holographic screen on the wall was off, with only a few emergency lights glowing, casting flickering patches of light on the floor.  
This was the most hidden gene black market in the Hive Community, known as the "Seed Repair Shop."

Lena clutched the encrypted chip Mark had given her, her palms slick with sweat.  
The chip stored Xiao Yuan's gene sequence, which she had secretly extracted last week using a probe while the Cradle City robot nanny was charging.  
Three days ago, the Planning Bureau had issued another notice: Mars agricultural automation had exceeded 99.3%, agricultural engineer positions had been reduced to 12% of the original plan, and children who had not yet completed their cultivation were advised to apply for career redirection.

Redirection—easy for them to say.  
Lena had seen redirected children. The neighbor's kid, Xiao Kai, had originally been cultivated as a lunar logistics dispatcher.  
After his position was canceled last year, he was forcibly implanted with space debris sorting genes.  
Now, at ten years old, his finger joints were thicker than an adult's, but his eyes had a layer of gray, like they were shrouded in dust.

"Newcomer." A man in work overalls stepped out of the shadows. He had a scar on his face and spoke with a crooked mouth.  
He was the black market boss, known as Old Eight.  
Lena handed him the chip. He glanced at it and sneered, "Another agricultural engineer—the 17th this month. Those bastards at the Planning Bureau said last year that Mars needed 100,000 farmers, and now they say machines can handle radiation better than people."

From the corner came murmurs. Three parents huddled around a battered table, with a holographic projection showing their children's gene reports. The red text reading "Career Match Failed" was glaring.  
A woman in a blue dress wiped her tears. "My son was cultivated as an interstellar tour guide. Now virtual travel pods can simulate 99% of planetary scenes—who needs a real guide? Old Eight, does your Free Gene Package really work?"

The Free Gene Package was the black market's flagship product. It was said to remove the career lock implanted by the Planning Bureau and activate the human race's original genetic potential. But which part got activated was entirely a matter of luck.  
Old Eight tossed the chip in his hand and said leisurely, "It works or it doesn't. A 70% success rate. If it succeeds, the child can grow up like old humans—look however they want, do whatever they want. If it fails..." He paused, pointing to an iron cabinet in the corner. "Last month, a child's activation failed, and their skin turned transparent. They're still in Cradle City's special care unit."

No one spoke. The emergency light flickered, casting shadows that cut each face in half—half bright, half dark.  
The woman in the blue dress suddenly slammed the table. "Why should we put up with this? They ship all the resources into space, saying they're building a 'Second Earth.' Down here, we can barely breathe fresh air, and even having kids is arranged for us down to the last detail."

"Exactly!" another man chimed in. He worked at a recycling station. "Last week, I dismantled a scrapped cargo robot, and its memory had shipping logs. Just last month, 500 tons of high-purity silicon wafers were shipped to the moon to build starship engines. Silicon wafers! Our community's holographic screens are all secondhand—they flicker so much it hurts my eyes."

Lena's heart leaped. She remembered what Esha had said, the perpetually limited supply of natural food in the supermarket, the cargo ships lifting off every night from the spaceport. Their tail flames were like spoons, scooping out Earth's flesh and blood piece by piece, filling the distant void of space.

"Isn't Earth good enough?" she asked softly. "Why must we go to Mars, to the moon? There are seas, trees..." She didn't finish.  
Trees had long become holographic projections. The seas were divided into ecological reserve zones, off-limits to ordinary people.

Old Eight snorted coldly, opening a refrigerated case filled with rows of silver syringes. "Because some people think Earth isn't worth it anymore." He held up a syringe, examining it against the light. "They say Earth is done—radiation, resource depletion, and that damn star about to blow. So they move all the good stuff into space and leave us here to die."

Lena's fingers went cold. Betelgeuse—the name she'd heard in astronomy class. The teacher said it was a red supergiant, ready to explode at any moment. If its gamma-ray burst swept past Earth, everything would turn to ash. But the Planning Bureau's propaganda never mentioned this. They only talked about how interstellar migration was humanity's future.

"I'll take one," she said suddenly.  
If Mark were here, he would have stopped her. But she remembered the flower Xiao Yuan had drawn in his virtual class—a flower that didn't exist in the Planning Bureau's database. It must be hidden in his original genes, buried in the corners suppressed by the career lock.

Old Eight raised an eyebrow, handing her the syringe. "This thing can't see the light. You have to use it during Cradle City's maintenance window. The robot nanny recharges every Wednesday at 2 a.m., and the security system goes into hibernation for 15 minutes." He leaned closer to Lena, his voice dropping to a whisper. "By the way, there's a group looking for people like us—parents who don't want to be manipulated by the Planning Bureau. They want to find out what all those things shipped into space are really for. If you're brave enough, you can meet here after it's done."

Lena took the syringe. The coldness of the metal seeped through the glass into her palm.  
As she walked out of the Seed Repair Shop, dawn was just breaking. Another ship was rising from the spaceport, its tail flame trailing a long white ribbon through the morning mist like an unhealed wound.  
She touched the syringe in her pocket, suddenly remembering what Xiao Yuan had said in their video call yesterday.  
"Mom, the robot teacher said that when we get to Mars, we won't have to look at Earth's fake moon anymore."

But she would rather her child look at a fake moon forever than become a puppet led by its genes.  
The holographic advertisement at the alley entrance changed its image. A virtual astronaut smiled at the camera: "Join the Interstellar Migration Plan—give your child a bright future."  
Lena quickened her pace. The syringe swayed gently in her pocket, like a seed about to break through the soil. Whatever the future held—good or bad—this time, she wanted her child to grow on his own.