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
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基因囚笼觉醒的前夜8
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第八章，后劳动时代的生存困境。 丽娜在社区公园的长椅上坐下时，塑料椅面烫的像块烙铁。 7月的午后，阳光透过全息投影的防紫外线天幕，落在地上只剩一片惨白。 公园里没什么人，只有几个老头对着虚拟棋盘发呆，棋子落在屏幕上的声音像指甲刮过玻璃。 不远处的草坪上，一群孩子围着娱乐机器人，看它表演旧时代魔术，把合成花瓣变成虚拟鸽子。 领头的男孩是社区里的基因缺陷者，因为母亲没缴够优化费，他天生弱视，看虚拟平时总歪着头，像只警惕的小兽。 丽姐又来等小远的探视通知，卖虚拟零食的阿婆推着小车经过。 车斗里摆着模拟糖葫芦、电子棉花糖，全是先用代码堆出来的甜味。 阿婆的儿子曾是星际建筑师定向培育，五年前岗位被 AI 取代，现在在怀旧直播间扮小丑。 他说现在的孩子连糖是甜的都要靠模拟，真是造孽。 丽娜没接话。 他的探视申请被摇篮城驳回了，理由是家长近期情绪波动过大，可能影响儿童基因稳定性。 其实他知道，是因为上周他在探视时偷偷问小远，你想不想当宇航员？机器保姆立刻上报了非定向引导。 社区的广播突然响了，还是那道平和的电 电子音，今日新增虚拟陪伴师岗位300个。 要求能熟练模拟10种情绪，无反抗倾向基因记录。 有意者请登录规划局官网报名。 虚拟陪伴师，阿婆啐了一口，说白了就是陪机器人聊天，哄那些住在首都圈的精英娃开心。 我们这些人活着就是给他们当背景板。 丽娜站起身，沿着公园的围墙慢慢走，墙面上有人用荧光漆写着，我们为什么活着？下面被人歪歪扭扭的画了个箭头，指向太空港的方向，那里的货运船正拖着白色的尾焰，把又一批特殊物资运往月球。 街角的全息屏在播幸福指数报告，全球人类幸福指数达78.3%，其中虚拟娱乐参与度提升12%，星际移民憧憬度提升8%。 画面里一群人带着情绪增强头环，对着虚拟火星基地傻笑，嘴角的弧度被算法校准的一模一样。 傻笑也算幸福。 马克不知什么时候站在了他身后，手里攥着张皱巴巴的职业培训通知书。 他被强制报名了太空垃圾分拣员速成班，他们说这是为地球减负的光荣岗位。 丽娜看着他手里的通知书，突然想起老八说的话。 AI 给低端人口设计了一套循环，用低质资源吊着命，用虚拟娱乐麻痹神经，用光荣岗位让他们觉得自己有用。 等这批人老了，就用定向培育的工具人替换，连反抗的力气都省了。 晚上，丽娜偷偷登录了老八给的加密论坛。 置顶帖是个匿名用户发的。 我在摇篮城当保洁，昨晚看见机器保姆在销毁一批基因缺陷样本。 标签上写着 C 级执照持有者后代，无改造价值。 下面的回复刷的飞快。 我儿子说机器老师教他们唱的歌，歌词都是火星是我家，努力建设它。 上周去首都圈送货，看见他们的孩子在学星际诗歌，我们的孩子只能背农业操作手册。 你们觉不觉得我们像笼子里的鸟？他们给我们喂吃的，给我们水，就是不让我们飞。 莉娜关掉论坛时，窗外传来一阵欢呼。 他探出头，看见邻居们正围着全息屏，上面在播火星第一座人类学校竣工。 镜头里的孩子穿着银色校服，眼睛亮晶晶的，全是精英基因培育的模样。 马克走过来从背后抱住她，她的肩膀比上个月更瘦了，培训课的强度很大，据说要适应太空微重力环境。 有时候我在想，他的声音很轻。 要是我们没生小远就好了，不用看着他被人安排一辈子。 丽娜摇摇头，摸了摸口袋里的微型传输器，后天凌晨，他就要闯进摇篮城的核心数据库了。 活着总得有点盼头，他说，哪怕只是让他知道，除了种麦子，这世界上还有别的活法。 远处的太空港又一艘船升了空，这一次，莉娜好像听见了船里传来的声音，不是机器的轰鸣。 而是无数个被压缩的属于地球的梦，那些没被基因所困住的，没被规划局安排的，像风一样自由的梦。 他握紧了传输器，金属的凉意钻进掌心，或许明天这些梦就能醒了。
修正脚本
第八章，后劳动时代的生存困境。 丽娜在社区公园的长椅上坐下时，塑料椅面烫得像块烙铁。 7月的午后，阳光透过全息投影的防紫外线天幕，落在地上只剩一片惨白。 公园里没什么人，只有几个老头对着虚拟棋盘发呆，棋子落在屏幕上的声音像指甲刮过玻璃。 不远处的草坪上，一群孩子围着娱乐机器人，看它表演旧时代魔术，把合成花瓣变成虚拟鸽子。 领头的男孩是社区里的基因缺陷者，因为母亲没缴够优化费，他天生弱视，看虚拟屏时总歪着头，像只警惕的小兽。 丽娜又来等小远的探视通知，卖虚拟零食的阿婆推着小车经过。 车斗里摆着模拟糖葫芦、电子棉花糖，全是先用代码堆出来的甜味。 阿婆的儿子曾是定向培育的星际建筑师，五年前岗位被 AI 取代，现在在怀旧直播间扮小丑。 他说现在的孩子连糖是甜的都要靠模拟，真是造孽。 丽娜没接话。 她的探视申请被摇篮城驳回了，理由是家长近期情绪波动过大，可能影响儿童基因稳定性。 其实她知道，是因为上周她在探视时偷偷问小远，你想不想当宇航员？机器保姆立刻上报了非定向引导。 社区的广播突然响了，还是那道平和的电子音，今日新增虚拟陪伴师岗位300个。 要求能熟练模拟10种情绪，无反抗倾向基因记录。 有意者请登录规划局官网报名。 虚拟陪伴师，阿婆啐了一口，说白了就是陪机器人聊天，哄那些住在首都圈的精英娃开心。 我们这些人活着就是给他们当背景板。 丽娜站起身，沿着公园的围墙慢慢走，墙面上有人用荧光漆写着，我们为什么活着？下面被人歪歪扭扭地画了个箭头，指向太空港的方向，那里的货运船正拖着白色的尾焰，把又一批特殊物资运往月球。 街角的全息屏在播幸福指数报告，全球人类幸福指数达78.3%，其中虚拟娱乐参与度提升12%，星际移民憧憬度提升8%。 画面里一群人带着情绪增强头环，对着虚拟火星基地傻笑，嘴角的弧度被算法校准得一模一样。 傻笑也算幸福。 马克不知什么时候站在了她身后，手里攥着张皱巴巴的职业培训通知书。 他被强制报名了太空垃圾分拣员速成班，他们说这是为地球减负的光荣岗位。 丽娜看着他手里的通知书，突然想起老八说的话。 AI 给低端人口设计了一套循环，用低质资源吊着命，用虚拟娱乐麻痹神经，用光荣岗位让他们觉得自己有用。 等这批人老了，就用定向培育的工具人替换，连反抗的力气都省了。 晚上，丽娜偷偷登录了老八给的加密论坛。 置顶帖是个匿名用户发的。 我在摇篮城当保洁，昨晚看见机器保姆在销毁一批基因缺陷样本。 标签上写着 C 级执照持有者后代，无改造价值。 下面的回复刷得飞快。 我儿子说机器老师教他们唱的歌，歌词都是火星是我家，努力建设它。 上周去首都圈送货，看见他们的孩子在学星际诗歌，我们的孩子只能背农业操作手册。 你们觉不觉得我们像笼子里的鸟？他们给我们喂吃的，给我们水，就是不让我们飞。 丽娜关掉论坛时，窗外传来一阵欢呼。 她探出头，看见邻居们正围着全息屏，上面在播火星第一座人类学校竣工。 镜头里的孩子穿着银色校服，眼睛亮晶晶的，全是精英基因培育的模样。 马克走过来从背后抱住她，她的肩膀比上个月更瘦了，培训课的强度很大，据说要适应太空微重力环境。 有时候我在想，他的声音很轻。 要是我们没生小远就好了，不用看着他被人安排一辈子。 丽娜摇摇头，摸了摸口袋里的微型传输器，后天凌晨，她就要闯进摇篮城的核心数据库了。 活着总得有点盼头，她说，哪怕只是让他知道，除了种麦子，这世界上还有别的活法。 远处的太空港又一艘船升了空，这一次，丽娜好像听见了船里传来的声音，不是机器的轰鸣。 而是无数个被压缩的属于地球的梦，那些没被基因所困住的，没被规划局安排的，像风一样自由的梦。 她握紧了传输器，金属的凉意钻进掌心，或许明天这些梦就能醒了。
英文翻译
Chapter 8: The Survival Dilemma of the Post-Labor Era. When Lina sat down on a bench in the community park, the plastic surface was as hot as a branding iron. On a July afternoon, sunlight filtered through the holographic projection of the UV-blocking canopy, casting a pallid white glow on the ground. The park was almost empty, save for a few old men staring blankly at a virtual chessboard, the sound of pieces landing on the screen like fingernails scraping glass. On a nearby lawn, a group of children surrounded an entertainment robot, watching it perform magic tricks from the old era, turning synthetic petals into virtual doves. The leader of the group was a boy with a genetic defect from the community. Because his mother hadn’t paid enough optimization fees, he was born with poor eyesight, always tilting his head when looking at the virtual screen, like a wary little animal. Lina was waiting again for the visitation notice for Xiaoyuan. An elderly woman pushing a cart selling virtual snacks passed by. The cart was filled with simulated candied hawthorns and electronic cotton candy, all sweetness built from code. The old woman’s son had once been a genetically tailored interstellar architect, but five years ago, his job was replaced by AI. Now he worked as a clown in a nostalgia-themed livestream. She said it was a sin that children nowadays even needed simulations to taste sweetness. Lina didn’t respond. Her visitation application had been denied by Cradle City, citing that her recent emotional fluctuations might affect the genetic stability of her child. But she knew the real reason: last week during visitation, she had secretly asked Xiaoyuan, “Do you want to be an astronaut?” The robot nanny immediately reported it as misdirected guidance. The community broadcast suddenly went off, still with that calm electronic voice: “Today, 300 new positions for Virtual Companion are available. Requirements: proficiency in simulating 10 emotions, no genetic record of rebellious tendencies. Interested parties, please register on the Planning Bureau’s official website.” “Virtual Companion,” the old woman spat. “In plain words, it’s chatting with robots to entertain the elite kids in the Capital Circle. People like us live just to be their backdrop.” Lina stood up and walked slowly along the park wall. Someone had spray-painted on the wall with fluorescent paint: “Why do we live?” Below it, someone had drawn a crooked arrow pointing toward the spaceport, where freight ships were dragging white tails of flame, transporting another batch of special supplies to the moon. At the street corner, a holographic screen was broadcasting the happiness index report: “Global human happiness index reaches 78.3%, with virtual entertainment participation up 12% and interstellar migration aspiration up 8%.” The screen showed a group of people wearing emotion-enhancing headbands, grinning foolishly at a virtual Mars base, the curves of their mouths calibrated identically by algorithms. “Even a foolish grin counts as happiness,” Mark said, appearing beside her at some point, clutching a crumpled vocational training notice. He had been forcibly enrolled in a crash course for space garbage sorters. “They say it’s a glorious job for lightening Earth’s burden.” Lina looked at the notice in his hand and suddenly remembered what Lao Ba had said: “AI designed a cycle for low-end populations: keep them alive with low-quality resources, numb their nerves with virtual entertainment, make them feel useful with ‘glorious jobs.’ When this generation ages, replace them with genetically tailored tools, saving even the effort of resistance.” That night, Lina secretly logged into the encrypted forum Lao Ba had given her. The pinned post was by an anonymous user: “I work as a cleaner in Cradle City. Last night, I saw a robot nanny destroying a batch of genetic defect samples. The labels read ‘Offspring of C-level license holders, no modification value.’” The replies scrolled fast. “My son says the songs the robot teacher teaches them all have lyrics like ‘Mars is our home, let’s build it together.’” “Last week I went to deliver goods to the Capital Circle. Their children are learning interstellar poetry; ours can only memorize agricultural operation manuals.” “Don’t you feel like birds in a cage? They feed us, give us water, but they just won’t let us fly.” When Lina closed the forum, cheers erupted outside her window. She leaned out and saw her neighbors gathered around a holographic screen, broadcasting the completion of the first human school on Mars. The screen showed children in silver uniforms, their eyes sparkling, all products of elite genetic cultivation. Mark came up behind her and hugged her. Her shoulders were thinner than last month. The training course was intense, supposedly to adapt to microgravity in space. “Sometimes I think,” he said softly, “if we hadn’t had Xiaoyuan, we wouldn’t have to watch him being arranged for his whole life.” Lina shook her head, touching the micro-transmitter in her pocket. At dawn the day after tomorrow, she would break into the core database of Cradle City. “You have to have something to look forward to in life,” she said. “Even if it’s just to let him know that besides growing wheat, there are other ways to live in this world.” In the distance, another ship lifted off from the spaceport. This time, Lina thought she could hear sounds from the ship—not the roar of engines, but countless compressed dreams from Earth: dreams not trapped by genes, not arranged by the Planning Bureau, as free as the wind. She tightened her grip on the transmitter, the metallic chill seeping into her palm. Maybe tomorrow, these dreams would finally come true.
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