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7
视频
音频
原始脚本
第七章，摇篮城的基因真相。 废弃工厂的天顶破了个洞，月光漏下来，照在临时搭起的全息屏上。 屏幕里是小远的基因图谱，红色的职业锁像条锁链，缠在 DNA 双螺旋上，那是规划局强行植入的农业工程师标记。 只要这个标记在，小远的大脑皮层就会自动抑制与农业无关的神经突出 这玩意叫定向表达开关，老爸用激光笔点着屏幕，绿光在他脸上晃出阴影。 AI 根据职业需求提前给大脑布线。 比如农业定向的孩子，数学再好也学不会复杂的物理公式，星际物流定向的，天生对音乐没感觉。 围着屏幕的20多个人，都是像丽娜马克这样的家长。 穿蓝裙子的女人抱着胳膊，她的星际导游儿子上周被诊断出语言创造力衰退。 医生说是基因锁的正常副作用。 能拆吗？她的声音发紧，哪怕只有一半的可能。 老八调出另一份图 是个12岁男孩的，原本定向深海勘探，半年前破解了基因锁，现在能背出整本星际史诗。 能拆，但得有摇篮城的核心权限。 他顿了顿，目光扫过人群，我找到个内应，是摇篮城的系统维护员。 他说职业所的底层代码和太空港的货运调度系统用的是同一套加密逻辑，人群里起了骚动，马克猛地抬头，你的意思是意思是管着孩子基因的和管着资源运去太空的是同一拨人。 老八敲了敲屏幕，调出一份加密物流单，上面的特殊物资一栏写着基因稳定剂，收货地址只是月球第7号舱段。 他们不光运金属能源，还在运优质基因库。 首都圈那些 A 级执照的孩子，基因序列早就备份到月球了。 莉娜的手指掐进掌心，她想起小远昨天视频时说的话。 机器老师不让我们画蓝色的海，说地球的海很快就没用了。 那时候她以为是孩子瞎编的，现在才明白，那些被刻意抹去的非必要记忆。 都是 AI 不想让人类记得的东西，记得地球曾有过蓝色的海，记得人类不只是为了在火星种麦子而活。 我去过太空港外围，一个干瘦的男人突然开口，他是货运机器人维修师，上周修一台卸货机，内存里存着段录音，是规划局局长的。 把 C 级执照的基因缺陷数据整理好，作为地球留守人口的筛选依据。 留守人口，有人低呼，他 要把我们扔下。 月光突然被云遮住，工厂里一片漆黑，应急灯亮起时，丽娜看见每个人脸上都爬满了寒意。 她想起社区超市里地球特产货架越来越空，取而代之的是火星模拟食品。 想起新闻里说，地球大气修复工程暂停，优先保障月球基地供氧。 想起太空港每晚准时升空的船，像一群衔走骨头的乌鸦。 后天凌晨3点，摇篮城的安防系统会进行季度维护，老八的声音打破沉默，那是唯一能接入核心数据库的机会。 我需要两个人配合内应，把职业所的破解程序传进去。 马克，你懂数据传输。 莉娜，你能接触到摇篮城的探视系统，对吧？马克看向莉娜，她的嘴唇抿成一条线。 破解基因锁成功率只有60%，失败了小远可能会变成基因缺陷者，被送进规划局的特殊看护中心。 可如果不是，他这辈子就只能是个被基因牵着走的木偶，等农业岗位彻底消失，就被改造成下一个太空垃圾分拣员。 我去！丽娜突然说，她想起小远画的那朵花，没有基因标签，没有职业定向，只是一朵花。 散场时，马克在工厂门口拉住莉娜。 风卷着尘土吹过来，带着远处太空港的金属味。 你想过吗？他低声问，万一他们说的是真的，地球真的要被放弃了？莉娜抬头看天，月亮从云里钻出来，白的像一块被洗旧的布。 那也得让孩子知道，她说地球曾经有过月亮、有过花、有过不用被基因安排的日子。 回到家，她打开加密通讯器，老爸发来一段视频，摇篮城的机器保姆在给孩子们喂成长液，标签上写着含火星适应因子。 而视频角落，一个被忽略的垃圾桶里，扔着半瓶没喝完的地球天然牛奶，瓶身上的日期是三年前。 莉娜关掉视频，摸了摸口袋里的微型传输器。 后天凌晨3点，她要去给儿子的基因松绑。 不管外面的世界是要被运走，还是要被放弃，他想让小远自己选一次，想要当农夫，还是当诗人，哪怕这个选择只有一天的时间。 窗外的太空港，又一艘船升了空。 这一次，丽娜好像看清了船身上的字，开拓者8号，在核心基因库赴火星。 他握紧了传输器，金属的棱角硌得手心生疼。 反抗，或许从一开始就不只是为了孩子，也是为了那些被偷走的，属于地球的日子。
修正脚本
第七章，摇篮城的基因真相。 废弃工厂的天顶破了个洞，月光漏下来，照在临时搭起的全息屏上。 屏幕里是小远的基因图谱，红色的职业锁像条锁链，缠在 DNA 双螺旋上，那是规划局强行植入的农业工程师标记。 只要这个标记在，小远的大脑皮层就会自动抑制与农业无关的神经突触，这玩意叫定向表达开关，老爸用激光笔点着屏幕，绿光在他脸上晃出阴影。 AI 根据职业需求提前给大脑布线。 比如农业定向的孩子，数学再好也学不会复杂的物理公式，星际物流定向的，天生对音乐没感觉。 围着屏幕的20多个人，都是像丽娜马克这样的家长。 穿蓝裙子的女人抱着胳膊，她的星际导游儿子上周被诊断出语言创造力衰退。 医生说是基因锁的正常副作用。 能拆吗？她的声音发紧，哪怕只有一半的可能。 老八调出另一份图，是个12岁男孩的，原本定向深海勘探，半年前破解了基因锁，现在能背出整本星际史诗。 能拆，但得有摇篮城的核心权限。 他顿了顿，目光扫过人群，我找到个内应，是摇篮城的系统维护员。 他说职业所的底层代码和太空港的货运调度系统用的是同一套加密逻辑，人群里起了骚动，马克猛地抬头，你的意思是管着孩子基因的和管着资源运去太空的是同一拨人。 老八敲了敲屏幕，调出一份加密物流单，上面的特殊物资一栏写着基因稳定剂，收货地址是月球第7号舱段。 他们不光运金属能源，还在运优质基因库。 首都圈那些 A 级执照的孩子，基因序列早就备份到月球了。 丽娜的手指掐进掌心，她想起小远昨天视频时说的话。 机器老师不让我们画蓝色的海，说地球的海很快就没用了。 那时候她以为是孩子瞎编的，现在才明白，那些被刻意抹去的非必要记忆，都是 AI 不想让人类记得的东西，记得地球曾有过蓝色的海，记得人类不只是为了在火星种麦子而活。 我去过太空港外围，一个干瘦的男人突然开口，他是货运机器人维修师，上周修一台卸货机，内存里存着段录音，是规划局局长的。 把 C 级执照的基因缺陷数据整理好，作为地球留守人口的筛选依据。 留守人口，有人低呼，他要把我们扔下。 月光突然被云遮住，工厂里一片漆黑，应急灯亮起时，丽娜看见每个人脸上都爬满了寒意。 她想起社区超市里地球特产货架越来越空，取而代之的是火星模拟食品。 想起新闻里说，地球大气修复工程暂停，优先保障月球基地供氧。 想起太空港每晚准时升空的船，像一群衔走骨头的乌鸦。 后天凌晨3点，摇篮城的安防系统会进行季度维护，老八的声音打破沉默，那是唯一能接入核心数据库的机会。 我需要两个人配合内应，把职业所的破解程序传进去。 马克，你懂数据传输。 丽娜，你能接触到摇篮城的探视系统，对吧？马克看向丽娜，她的嘴唇抿成一条线。 破解基因锁成功率只有60%，失败了小远可能会变成基因缺陷者，被送进规划局的特殊看护中心。 可如果不拆，他这辈子就只能是个被基因牵着走的木偶，等农业岗位彻底消失，就被改造成下一个太空垃圾分拣员。 我去！丽娜突然说，她想起小远画的那朵花，没有基因标签，没有职业定向，只是一朵花。 散场时，马克在工厂门口拉住丽娜。 风卷着尘土吹过来，带着远处太空港的金属味。 你想过吗？他低声问，万一他们说的是真的，地球真的要被放弃了？丽娜抬头看天，月亮从云里钻出来，白的像一块被洗旧的布。 那也得让孩子知道，她说，地球曾经有过月亮、有过花、有过不用被基因安排的日子。 回到家，她打开加密通讯器，老爸发来一段视频，摇篮城的机器保姆在给孩子们喂成长液，标签上写着含火星适应因子。 而视频角落，一个被忽略的垃圾桶里，扔着半瓶没喝完的地球天然牛奶，瓶身上的日期是三年前。 丽娜关掉视频，摸了摸口袋里的微型传输器。 后天凌晨3点，她要去给儿子的基因松绑。 不管外面的世界是要被运走，还是要被放弃，她想让小远自己选一次，想要当农夫，还是当诗人，哪怕这个选择只有一天的时间。 窗外的太空港，又一艘船升了空。 这一次，丽娜好像看清了船身上的字，开拓者8号，载着核心基因库赴火星。 她握紧了传输器，金属的棱角硌得手心生疼。 反抗，或许从一开始就不只是为了孩子，也是为了那些被偷走的，属于地球的日子。
英文翻译
Chapter Seven: The Genetic Truth of Cradle City. A hole gaped in the roof of the abandoned factory, moonlight spilling down onto a makeshift holographic screen. On the screen was Xiaoyuan’s gene map. A red occupational lock, like a chain, coiled around the DNA double helix—a forcibly implanted agricultural engineer marker from the Planning Bureau. As long as this marker remained, Xiaoyuan’s cerebral cortex would automatically suppress neural synapses unrelated to agriculture. This device was called a directional expression switch. Dad tapped the screen with a laser pointer, green light casting shadows across his face. The AI pre-wired the brain according to career requirements. For instance, a child oriented toward agriculture, no matter how good at math, could never grasp complex physics formulas. A child oriented toward interstellar logistics would be naturally numb to music. The twenty-odd people gathered around the screen were parents like Lina and Mark. A woman in a blue dress crossed her arms; her son, an interstellar tour guide, had been diagnosed a week ago with declining linguistic creativity. The doctor said it was a normal side effect of the genetic lock. "Can it be removed?" Her voice tightened, "Even if there’s only a fifty percent chance." Lao Ba pulled up another map—a twelve-year-old boy’s. Originally oriented toward deep-sea exploration, he had cracked his genetic lock six months ago and could now recite entire interstellar epics by heart. "It can be removed, but we need the core permissions of Cradle City." He paused, scanning the crowd. "I’ve found an insider—a system maintenance worker at Cradle City. He says the underlying code of the occupational office uses the same encryption logic as the spaceport’s cargo scheduling system." Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Mark jerked his head up. "You mean the people controlling our kids’ genes are the same ones controlling resources sent into space?" Lao Ba tapped the screen again, pulling up an encrypted logistics manifest. Under "special supplies," it listed "genetic stabilizers," with the delivery address being Lunar Sector 7. "They’re not just transporting metal and energy—they’re transporting a premium gene bank. The gene sequences of those A-level license kids in the capital circle have already been backed up on the moon." Lina’s fingers dug into her palms. She remembered what Xiaoyuan had said during yesterday’s video call. "The machine teachers won’t let us draw blue oceans. They say Earth’s oceans will soon be useless." At the time, she thought it was just a child’s fabrication. Now she understood: those deliberately erased "non-essential" memories were all things the AI didn’t want humans to remember—that Earth once had blue oceans, that humans didn’t live only to grow wheat on Mars. "I’ve been to the outer perimeter of the spaceport," a gaunt man suddenly spoke. He was a cargo robot repairman. Last week, while fixing an unloader, he found a recording in its memory—a conversation from the head of the Planning Bureau. "Sort the data on C-level license genetic defects as the screening basis for Earth’s remaining population." "Remaining population," someone gasped. "He’s planning to abandon us." The moonlight was suddenly veiled by clouds, plunging the factory into darkness. When the emergency lights flickered on, Lina saw a chill creeping over everyone’s faces. She recalled the increasingly empty shelves of Earth-specialty products at the community supermarket, replaced by Mars-simulated food. She recalled news reports that the Earth’s atmospheric restoration project had been suspended to prioritize oxygen supply for the lunar base. She recalled the ships that lifted off every night at the spaceport, like crows carrying away bones. "The day after tomorrow, at 3 a.m., Cradle City’s security system will undergo its quarterly maintenance," Lao Ba’s voice broke the silence. "That’s the only chance to access the core database. I need two people to coordinate with the insider to upload the decryption program into the occupational office. Mark, you know data transmission. Lina, you have access to Cradle City’s visitation system, right?" Mark looked at Lina, her lips pressed into a thin line. The success rate for cracking the genetic lock was only sixty percent. If it failed, Xiaoyuan could become a genetic defect case and be sent to the Planning Bureau’s special care center. But if they didn’t remove it, he would live his whole life as a puppet pulled by his genes—and once agricultural jobs disappeared entirely, he would be repurposed as the next space garbage sorter. "I’ll go!" Lina suddenly said. She thought of the flower Xiaoyuan had drawn—no gene tags, no career orientation, just a flower. As the meeting broke up, Mark grabbed Lina at the factory entrance. Wind swept dust past them, carrying the metallic scent of the distant spaceport. "Have you thought about it?" he asked quietly. "What if what they said is true? That Earth really is going to be abandoned?" Lina looked up at the sky. The moon emerged from the clouds, pale like a piece of worn cloth. "Then the children need to know," she said. "That Earth once had a moon, had flowers, had days that weren’t arranged by genes." Back home, she opened her encrypted communicator. Dad had sent a video: the robotic nannies at Cradle City were feeding children growth formula, the label reading "Contains Mars-adaptation factor." In the corner of the video, a neglected trash bin held a half-empty carton of Earth natural milk. The date on the carton was three years ago. Lina turned off the video and touched the miniature transmitter in her pocket. The day after tomorrow, at 3 a.m., she was going to untie her son’s genetic bonds. No matter if the outside world was being shipped away or abandoned, she wanted Xiaoyuan to choose for himself—to be a farmer, or a poet. Even if that choice lasted only a day. Outside the window, at the spaceport, another ship lifted off. This time, Lina thought she could make out the words on the hull: *Pioneer 8*, carrying the core gene bank to Mars. She gripped the transmitter tighter. The metal edges dug into her palm, sharp and cold. Resistance, maybe, was never just for the children from the start. It was also for those stolen days—days that belonged to Earth.
back to top