W E C AN R EMEMBER IT FOR You W HOLESALE
H E AWOKE -- and wanted Mars. The valleys, he thought. What would it be like to trudge among them? Great and greater yet: the dream grew as he became fully conscious, the dream and the yearning. He could almost feel the enveloping presence of the other world, which only Government agents and high officials had seen. A clerk like himself? Not likely.
"Are you getting up or not?" his wife Kirsten asked drowsily, with her usual hint of fierce crossness. "If you are, push the hot coffee button on the darn stove."
"Okay," Douglas Quail said, and made his way barefoot from the bedroom of their conapt to the kitchen. There; having dutifully pressed the hot coffee button, he seated himself at the kitchen table, brought out a yellow, small tin of fine Dean Swift snuff. He inhaled briskly, and the Beau Nash mixture stung his nose, burned the roof of his mouth. But still he inhaled; it woke him up and allowed his dreams, his nocturnal desires and random wishes, to condense into a semblance of rationality.
I will go, he said to himself. Before I die I'll see Mars.
It was, of course, impossible, and he knew this even as he dreamed. But the daylight, the mundane noise of his wife now brushing her hair before the bedroom mirror -- everything conspired to remind him of what he was. A miserable little salaried employee, he said to himself with bitterness. Kirsten reminded him of this at least once a day and he did not blame her; it was a wife's job to bring her husband down to Earth. Down to Earth, he thought, and laughed. The figure of speech in this was literally apt.
"What are you sniggering about?" his wife asked as she swept into the kitchen, her long busy-pink robe wagging after her. "A dream, I bet. You're always full of them."
"Yes," he said, and gazed out the kitchen window at the hover-cars and traffic
runnels, and all the little energetic people hurrying to work. In a little while he would be among them. As always.
"I'll bet it had to do with some woman," Kirsten said witheringly.
"No," he said. "A god. The god of war. He has wonderful craters with every kind of plant-life growing deep down in them."
"Listen." Kirsten crouched down beside him and spoke earnestly, the harsh quality momentarily gone from her voice. "The bottom of the ocean -- our ocean is much more, an infinity of times more beautiful. You know that; everyone knows that. Rent an artificial gill-outfit for both of us, take a week off from work, and we can descend and live down there at one of those year-round aquatic resorts. And in addition --" She broke off. "You're not listening. You should be. Here is something a lot better than that compulsion, that obsession you have about Mars, and you don't even listen!" Her voice rose piercingly. "God in heaven, you're doomed, Doug! What's going to become of you?"
"I'm going to work," he said, rising to his feet, his breakfast forgotten. "That's what's going to become of me."
She eyed him. "You're getting worse. More fanatical every day. Where's it going to lead?"
"To Mars," he said, and opened the door to the closet to get down a fresh shirt to wear to work.
Having descended from the taxi Douglas Quail slowly walked across three densely-populated foot runnels and to the modern, attractively inviting doorway. There he halted, impeding mid-morning traffic, and with caution read the shifting-color neon sign. He had, in the past, scrutinized this sign before. . . but never had he come so close. This was very different; what he did now was something else. Something which sooner or later had to happen.
REKAL, INCORPORATED
Was this the answer? After all, an illusion, no matter how convincing, remained
nothing more than an illusion. At least objectively. But subjectively -- quite the opposite entirely.
And anyhow he had an appointment. Within the next five minutes.
Taking a deep breath of mildly smog-infested Chicago air, he walked through the dazzling polychromatic shimmer of the doorway and up to the receptionist's counter.
The nicely-articulated blonde at the counter, bare-bosomed and tidy, said pleasantly, "Good morning, Mr. Quail."
"Yes," he said. "I'm here to see about a Rekal course. As I guess you know."
"Not 'rekal' but recall," the receptionist corrected him. She picked up the receiver of the vidphone by her smooth elbow and said into it, "Mr. Douglas Quail is here, Mr. McClane. May he come inside, now? Or is it too soon?"
"Giz wetwa wum-wum wamp," the phone mumbled.
"Yes, Mr. Quail," she said. "You may go in; Mr. McClane is expecting you." As he started off uncertainly she called after him, "Room D, Mr. Quail. To your right."
After a frustrating but brief moment of being lost he found the proper room. The door hung open and inside, at a big genuine walnut desk, sat a genial-looking man, middle-aged, wearing the latest Martian frog-pelt gray suit; his attire alone would have told Quail that he had come to the right person.
"Sit down, Douglas," McClane said, waving his plump hand toward a chair which faced the desk. "So you want to have gone to Mars. Very good."
Quail seated himself, feeling tense. "I'm not so sure this is worth the fee," he said. "It costs a lot and as far as I can see I really get nothing." Costs almost as much as going, he thought.
"You get tangible proof of your trip," McClane disagreed emphatically. "All the proof you'll need. Here; I'll show you." He dug within a drawer of his impressive desk. "Ticket stub." Reaching into a manila folder, he produced a small square of embossed cardboard. "It proves you went -- and returned. Postcards." He laid out four franked picture 3-D full-color postcards in a neatly-arranged row on the desk for Quail to see. "Film. Shots you took of local sights on Mars with a rented moving camera." To Quail he displayed those, too. "Plus the names of people you met, two hundred poscreds worth of souvenirs, which will arrive -- from Mars -- within the following month. And passport, certificates listing the shots you received. And more." He glanced up keenly at
Quail. "You'll know you went, all right," he said. "You won't remember us, won't remember me or ever having been here. It'll be a real trip in your mind; we guarantee that. A full two weeks of recall; every last piddling detail. Remember this: if at any time you doubt that you really took an extensive trip to Mars you can return here and get a full refund. You see?"
"But I didn't go," Quail said. "I won't have gone, no matter what proofs you provide me with." He took a deep, unsteady breath. "And I never was a secret agent with Interplan." It seemed impossible to him that Rekal, Incorporated's extra-factual memory implant would do its job -- despite what he had heard people say.
"Mr. Quail," McClane said patiently. "As you explained in your letter to us, you have no chance, no possibility in the slightest, of ever actually getting to Mars; you can't afford it, and what is much more important, you could never qualify as an undercover agent for Interplan or anybody else. This is the only way you can achieve your, ahem, life-long dream; am I not correct, sir? You can't be this; you can't actually do this." He chuckled. "But you can have been and have done. We see to that. And our fee is reasonable; no hidden charges." He smiled encouragingly.
"Is an extra-factual memory that convincing?" Quail asked.
"More than the real thing, sir. Had you really gone to Mars as an Interplan agent, you would by now have forgotten a great deal; our analysis of true-mem systems -- authentic recollections of major events in a person's life -- shows that a variety of details are very quickly lost to the person. Forever. Part of the package we offer you is such deep implantation of recall that nothing is forgotten. The packet which is fed to you while you're comatose is the creation of trained experts, men who have spent years on Mars; in every case we verify details down to the last iota. And you've picked a rather easy extra-factual system; had you picked Pluto or wanted to be Emperor of the Inner Planet Alliance we'd have much more difficulty. . . and the charges would be considerably greater."
Reaching into his coat for his wallet, Quail said, "Okay. It's been my life-long ambition and so I see I'll never really do it. So I guess I'll have to settle for this."
"Don't think of it that way," McClane said severely. "You're not accepting second-best. The actual memory, with all its vagueness, omissions and ellipses, not to say distortions -- that's second-best." He accepted the money and pressed a button on his desk. "All right, Mr. Quail," he said, as the door of his office opened and two burly men swiftly entered. "You're on your way to Mars as a secret agent." He rose, came over to shake Quail's nervous, moist hand. "Or rather, you have been on your way. This afternoon at four-thirty you will, um, arrive back here on Terra; a cab will leave you off
at your conapt and as I say you will never remember seeing me or coming here; you won't, in fact, even remember having heard of our existence."
His mouth dry with nervousness, Quail followed the two technicians from the office; what happened next depended on them.
Will I actually believe I've been on Mars? he wondered. That I managed to fulfill my lifetime ambition? He had a strange, lingering intuition that something would go wrong. But just what -- he did not know.
He would have to wait and find out.
The intercom on McClane's desk, which connected him with the work area of the firm, buzzed and a voice said, "Mr. Quail is under sedation now, sir. Do you want to supervise this one, or shall we go ahead?"
"It's routine," McClane observed. "You may go ahead, Lowe; I don't think you'll run into any trouble." Programming an artificial memory of a trip to another planet -- with or without the added fillip of being a secret agent -- showed up on the firm's work-schedule with monotonous regularity. In one month, he calculated wryly, we must do twenty of these. . . ersatz interplanetary gravel has become our bread and butter.
"Whatever you say, Mr. McClane," Lowe's voice came, and thereupon the intercom shut off.
Going to the vault section in the chamber behind his office, McClane searched about for a Three packet -- trip to Mars -- and a Sixty-two packet: secret Interplan spy. Finding the two packets, he returned with them to his desk, seated himself comfortably, poured out the contents -- merchandise which would be planted in Quail's conapt while the lab technicians busied themselves installing false memory.
A one-poscred sneaky-pete side arm, McClane reflected; that's the largest item. Sets us back financially the most. Then a pellet-sized transmitter, which could be swallowed if the agent were caught. Code book that astonishingly resembled the real thing. . . the firm's models were highly accurate: based, whenever possible, on actual U.S. military issue. Odd bits which made no intrinsic sense but which would be woven into the warp and woof of Quail's imaginary trip, would coincide with his memory: half an ancient silver fifty cent piece, several quotations from John Donne's sermons written incorrectly, each on a separate piece of transparent tissue-thin paper, several match folders from bars on Mars, a stainless steel spoon engraved PROPERTY OF DOME-MARS NATIONAL KIBBUZIM, a wire tapping coil which --
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. McClane, I'm sorry to bother you but something rather ominous has come up. Maybe it would be better if you were in here after all. Quail is already under sedation; he reacted well to the narkidrine; he's completely unconscious and receptive. But --"
"I'll be in." Sensing trouble, McClane left his office; a moment later he emerged in the work area.
On a hygienic bed lay Douglas Quail, breathing slowly and regularly, his eyes virtually shut; he seemed dimly -- but only dimly -- aware of the two technicians and now McClane himself.
"There's no space to insert false memory-patterns?" McClane felt irritation. "Merely drop out two work weeks; he's employed as a clerk at the West Coast Emigration Bureau, which is a government agency, so he undoubtedly has or had two weeks' vacation within the last year. That ought to do it." Petty details annoyed him. And always would.
"Our problem," Lowe said sharply, "is something quite different." He bent over the bed, said to Quail, "Tell Mr. McClane what you told us." To McClane he said, "Listen closely."
The gray-green eyes of the man lying supine in the bed focussed on McClane's face. The eyes, he observed uneasily, had become hard; they had a polished, inorganic quality, like semi-precious tumbled stones. He was not sure that he liked what he saw; the brilliance was too cold. "What do you want now?" Quail said harshly. "You've broken my cover. Get out of here before I take you all apart." He studied McClane. "Especially you," he continued. "You're in charge of this counter-operation."
Lowe said, "How long were you on Mars?"
"One month," Quail said gratingly.
"And your purpose there?" Lowe demanded.
The meager lips twisted; Quail eyed him and did not speak. At last, drawling the words out so that they dripped with hostility, he said, "Agent for Interplan. As I already told you. Don't you record everything that's said? Play your vid-aud tape back for your boss and leave me alone." He shut his eyes, then; the hard brilliance ceased. McClane felt, instantly, a rushing splurge of relief.
Lowe said quietly, "This is a tough man, Mr. McClane."
"He won't be," McClane said, "after we arrange for him to lose his memory-chain again. He'll be as meek as before." To Quail he said, "So this is why you wanted to go to Mars so terribly bad."
Without opening his eyes Quail said, "I never wanted to go to Mars. I was assigned it -- they handed it to me and there I was: stuck. Oh yeah, I admit I was curious about it; who wouldn't be?" Again he opened his eyes and surveyed the three of them, McClane in particular. "Quite a truth drug you've got here; it brought up things I had absolutely no memory of." He pondered. "I wonder about Kirsten," he said, half to himself. "Could she be in on it? An Interplan contact keeping an eye on me. . . to be certain I didn't regain my memory? No wonder she's been so derisive about my wanting to go there." Faintly, he smiled; the smile -- one of understanding -- disappeared almost at once.
McClane said, "Please believe me, Mr. Quail; we stumbled onto this entirely by accident. In the work we do --"
"I believe you," Quail said. He seemed tired, now; the drug was continuing to pull him under, deeper and deeper. "Where did I say I'd been?" he murmured. "Mars? Hard to remember -- I know I'd like to see it; so would everybody else. But me --" His voice trailed off. "Just a clerk, a nothing clerk."
Straightening up, Lowe said to his superior. "He wants a false memory implanted that corresponds to a trip he actually took. And a false reason which is the real reason. He's telling the truth; he's a long way down in the narkidrine. The trip is very vivid in his mind -- at least under sedation. But apparently he doesn't recall it otherwise. Someone, probably at a government military-sciences lab, erased his conscious memories; all he knew was that going to Mars meant something special to him, and so did being a secret agent. They couldn't erase that; it's not a memory but a desire, undoubtedly the same one that motivated him to volunteer for the assignment in the first place."
The other technician, Keeler, said to McClane, "What do we do? Graft a false memory-pattern over the real memory? There's no telling what the results would be; he might remember some of the genuine trip, and the confusion might bring on a psychotic interlude. He'd have to hold two opposite premises in his mind simultaneously: that he went to Mars and that he didn't. That he's a genuine agent for Interplan and he's not, that it's spurious. I think we ought to revive him without any false memory implantation and send him out of here; this is hot."
"Agreed," McClane said. A thought came to him. "Can you predict what he'll remember when he comes out of sedation?"
"Impossible to tell," Lowe said. "He probably will have some dim, diffuse memory of his actual trip, now. And he'd probably be in grave doubt as to its validity; he'd probably decide our programming slipped a gear-tooth. And he'd remember coming here; that wouldn't be erased -- unless you want it erased."
"The less we mess with this man," McClane said, "the better I like it. This is nothing for us to fool around with; we've been foolish enough to -- or unlucky enough to -- uncover a genuine Interplan spy who has a cover so perfect that up to now even he didn't know what he was -- or rather is." The sooner they washed their hands of the man calling himself Douglas Quail the better.
"Are you going to plant packets Three and Sixty-two in his conapt?" Lowe said.
"No," McClane said. "And we're going to return half his fee."
" 'Half'! Why half?"
McClane said lamely, "It seems to be a good compromise."
As the cab carried him back to his conapt at the residential end of Chicago, Douglas Quail said to himself, It's sure good to be back on Terra.
Already the month-long period on Mars had begun to waver in his memory; he had only an image of profound gaping craters, an ever-present ancient erosion of hills, of vitality, of motion itself. A world of dust where little happened, where a good part of the day was spent checking and rechecking one's portable oxygen source. And then the life forms, the unassuming and modest gray-brown cacti and maw-worms.
As a matter of fact he had brought back several moribund examples of Martian fauna; he had smuggled them through customs. After all, they posed no menace; they couldn't survive in Earth's heavy atmosphere.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he rummaged for the container of Martian maw-worms --
And found an envelope instead.
Lifting it out, he discovered, to his perplexity, that it contained five hundred and seventy poscreds, in cred bills of low denomination.
Where'd I get this?, he asked himself. Didn't I spend every 'cred I had on my trip?
With the money came a slip of paper marked: One-half fee ret'd. By McClane. And then the date. Today's date.
"Recall," he said aloud.
"Recall what, sir or madam?" the robot driver of the cab inquired respectfully.
"Do you have a phone book?" Quail demanded.
"Certainly, sir or madam." A slot opened; from it slid a microtape phone book for Cook County.
"It's spelled oddly," Quail said as he leafed through the pages of the yellow section. He felt fear, then; abiding fear. "Here it is," he said. "Take me there, to Rekal, Incorporated. I've changed my mind; I don't want to go home."
"Yes, sir or madam, as the case may be," the driver said. A moment later the cab was zipping back in the opposite direction.
"May I make use of your phone?" he asked.
"Be my guest," the robot driver said. And presented a shiny new emperor 3-D color phone to him.
He dialed his own conapt. And after a pause found himself confronted by a miniature but chillingly realistic image of Kirsten on the small screen. "I've been to Mars," he said to her.
"You're drunk." Her lips writhed scornfully. "Or worse."
" 's God's truth."
"When?" she demanded.
"I don't know." He felt confused. "A simulated trip, I think. By means of one of those artificial or extra-factual or whatever it is memory places. It didn't take."
Kirsten said witheringly, "You are drunk." And broke the connection at her end. He hung up, then, feeling his face flush. Always the same tone, he said hotly to himself. Always the retort, as if she knows everything and I know nothing. What a marriage. Keerist, he thought dismally.
A moment later the cab stopped at the curb before a modern, very attractive little
pink building, over which a shifting polychromatic neon sign read: REKAL, INCORPORATED.
The receptionist, chic and bare from the waist up, started in surprise, then gained masterful control of herself. "Oh, hello, Mr. Quail," she said nervously. "H-how are you? Did you forget something?"
"The rest of my fee back," he said.
More composed now, the receptionist said, "Fee? I think you are mistaken, Mr. Quail. You were here discussing the feasibility of an extra-factual trip for you, but --" She shrugged her smooth pale shoulders. "As I understand it, no trip was taken."
Quail said, "I remember everything, miss. My letter to Rekal, Incorporated, which started this whole business off. I remember my arrival here, my visit with Mr. McClane. Then the two lab technicians taking me in tow and administering a drug to put me out." No wonder the firm had returned half his fee. The false memory of his "trip to Mars" hadn't taken -- at least not entirely, not as he had been assured.
"Mr. Quail," the girl said, "although you are a minor clerk you are a good-looking man and it spoils your features to become angry. If it would make you feel any better, I might, ahem, let you take me out. . ."
He felt furious, then. "I remember you," he said savagely. "For instance the fact that your breasts are sprayed blue; that stuck in my mind. And I remember Mr. McClane's promise that if I remembered my visit to Rekal, Incorporated I'd receive my money back in full. Where is Mr. McClane?"
After a delay -- probably as long as they could manage -- he found himself once more seated facing the imposing walnut desk, exactly as he had been an hour or so earlier in the day.
"Some technique you have," Quail said sardonically. His disappointment -- and resentment -- was enormous, by now. "My so-called 'memory' of a trip to Mars as an undercover agent for Interplan is hazy and vague and shot full of contradictions. And I clearly remember my dealings here with you people. I ought to take this to the Better Business Bureau." He was burning angry, at this point; his sense of being cheated had overwhelmed him, had destroyed his customary aversion to participating in a public squabble.
Looking morose, as well as cautious, McClane said, "We capitulate, Quail. We'll refund the balance of your fee. I fully concede the fact that we did absolutely nothing for you." His tone was resigned.
Quail said accusingly, "You didn't even provide me with the various artifacts that you claimed would 'prove' to me I had been on Mars. All that song-and-dance you went into -- it hasn't materialized into a damn thing. Not even a ticket stub. Nor postcards. Nor passport. Nor proof of immunization shots. Nor --"
"Listen, Quail," McClane said. "Suppose I told you --" He broke off. "Let it go." He pressed a button on his intercom. "Shirley, will you disburse five hundred and seventy more 'creds in the form of a cashier's check made out to Douglas Quail? Thank you." He released the button, then glared at Quail.
Presently the check appeared; the receptionist placed it before McClane and once more vanished out of sight, leaving the two men alone, still facing each other across the surface of the massive walnut desk.
"Let me give you a word of advice," McClane said as he signed the check and passed it over. "Don't discuss your, ahem, recent trip to Mars with anyone."
"What trip?"
"Well, that's the thing." Doggedly, McClane said, "The trip you partially remember. Act as if you don't remember; pretend it never took place. Don't ask me why; just take my advice: it'll be better for all of us." He had begun to perspire. Freely. "Now, Mr. Quail, I have other business, other clients to see." He rose, showed Quail to the door.
Quail said, as he opened the door, "A firm that turns out such bad work shouldn't have any clients at all." He shut the door behind him.
On the way home in the cab Quail pondered the wording of his letter of complaint to the Better Business Bureau, Terra Division. As soon as he could get to his typewriter he'd get started; it was clearly his duty to warn other people away from Rekal, Incorporated.
When he got back to his conapt he seated himself before his Hermes Rocket portable, opened the drawers and rummaged for carbon paper -- and noticed a small, familiar box. A box which he had carefully filled on Mars with Martian fauna and later smuggled through customs.
Opening the box he saw, to his disbelief, six dead maw-worms and several varieties of the unicellular life on which the Martian worms fed. The protozoa were dried-up, dusty, but he recognized them; it had taken him an entire day picking among the vast dark alien boulders to find them. A wonderful, illuminated journey of discovery.
But I didn't go to Mars, he realized.
Yet on the other hand --
Kirsten appeared at the doorway to the room, an armload of pale brown groceries gripped. "Why are you home in the middle of the day?" Her voice, in an eternity of sameness, was accusing.
"Did I go to Mars?" he asked her. "You would know."
"No, of course you didn't go to Mars; you would know that, I would think. Aren't you always bleating about going?"
He said, "By God, I think I went." After a pause he added, "And simultaneously I think I didn't go."
"Make up your mind."
"How can I?" He gestured. "I have both memory-tracks grafted inside my head; one is real and one isn't but I can't tell which is which. Why can't I rely on you? They haven't tinkered with you." She could do this much for him at least -- even if she never did anything else.
Kirsten said in a level, controlled voice, "Doug, if you don't pull yourself together, we're through. I'm going to leave you."
"I'm in trouble." His voice came out husky and coarse. And shaking. "Probably
I'm heading into a psychotic episode; I hope not, but -- maybe that's it. It would explain everything, anyhow."
Setting down the bag of groceries, Kirsten stalked to the closet. "I was not kidding," she said to him quietly. She brought out a coat, got it on, walked back to the door of the conapt. "I'll phone you one of these days soon," she said tonelessly. "This is goodbye, Doug. I hope you pull out of this eventually; I really pray you do. For your sake."
"Wait," he said desperately. "Just tell me and make it absolute; I did go or I didn't -- tell me which one." But they may have altered your memory-track also, he realized.
The door closed. His wife had left. Finally!
A voice behind him said, "Well, that's that. Now put up your hands, Quail. And also please turn around and face this way."
He turned, instinctively, without raising his hands.
The man who faced him wore the plum uniform of the Interplan Police Agency, and his gun appeared to be UN issue. And, for some odd reason, he seemed familiar to Quail; familiar in a blurred, distorted fashion which he could not pin down. So, jerkily, he raised his hands.
"You remember," the policeman said, "your trip to Mars. We know all your actions today and all your thoughts -- in particular your very important thoughts on the trip home from Rekal, Incorporated." He explained, "We have a tele-transmitter wired within your skull; it keeps us constantly informed."
A telepathic transmitter; use of a living plasma that had been discovered in Luna. He shuddered with self-aversion. The thing lived inside him, within his own brain, feeding, listening, feeding. But the Interplan police used them; that had come out even in the homeopapes. So this was probably true, dismal as it was.
"Why me?" Quail said huskily. What had he done -- or thought? And what did this have to do with Rekal, Incorporated?
"Fundamentally," the Interplan cop said, "this has nothing to do with Rekal; it's between you and us." He tapped his right ear. "I'm still picking up your mentational processes by way of your cephalic transmitter." In the man's ear Quail saw a small white-plastic plug. "So I have to warn you: anything you think may be held against you." He smiled. "Not that it matters now; you've already thought and spoken yourself into oblivion. What's annoying is the fact that under narkidrine at Rekal, Incorporated you told them, their technicians and the owner, Mr. McClane, about your trip -- where you went, for whom, some of what you did. They're very frightened. They wish they had never laid eyes on you." He added reflectively, "They're right."
Quail said, "I never made any trip. It's a false memory-chain improperly planted in me by McClane's technicians." But then he thought of the box, in his desk drawer, containing the Martian life forms. And the trouble and hardship he had had gathering them. The memory seemed real. And the box of life forms; that certainly was real. Unless McClane had planted it. Perhaps this was one of the "proofs" which McClane had talked glibly about.
The memory of my trip to Mars, he thought, doesn't convince me -- but unfortu-nately it has convinced the Interplan Police Agency. They think I really went to Mars and they think I at least partially realize it.
"We not only know you went to Mars," the Interplan cop agreed, in answer to his thoughts, "but we know that you now remember enough to be difficult for us. And there's no use expunging your conscious memory of all this, because if we do you'll
simply show up at Rekal, Incorporated again and start over. And we can't do anything about McClane and his operation because we have no jurisdiction over anyone except our own people. Anyhow, McClane hasn't committed any crime." He eyed Quail, "Nor, technically, have you. You didn't go to Rekal, Incorporated with the idea of regaining your memory; you went, as we realize, for the usual reason people go there -- a love by plain, dull people for adventure." He added, "Unfortunately you're not plain, not dull, and you've already had too much excitement; the last thing in the universe you needed was a course from Rekal, Incorporated. Nothing could have been more lethal for you or for us. And, for that matter, for McClane."
Quail said, "Why is it 'difficult' for you if I remember my trip -- my alleged trip -- and what I did there?"
"Because," the Interplan harness bull said, "what you did is not in accord with our great white all-protecting father public image. You did, for us, what we never do. As you'll presently remember -- thanks to narkidrine. That box of dead worms and algae has been sitting in your desk drawer for six months, ever since you got back. And at no time have you shown the slightest curiosity about it. We didn't even know you had it until you remembered it on your way home from Rekal; then we came here on the double to look for it." He added, unnecessarily, "Without any luck; there wasn't enough time."
A second Interplan cop joined the first one; the two briefly conferred. Meanwhile, Quail thought rapidly. He did remember more, now; the cop had been right about narkidrine. They -- Interplan -- probably used it themselves. Probably? He knew darn well they did; he had seen them putting a prisoner on it. Where would that be? Somewhere on Terra? More likely on Luna, he decided, viewing the image rising from his highly defective -- but rapidly less so -- memory.
And he remembered something else. Their reason for sending him to Mars; the job he had done.
No wonder they had expunged his memory.
"Oh, God," the first of the two Interplan cops said, breaking off his conversation with his companion. Obviously, he had picked up Quail's thoughts. "Well, this is a far worse problem, now; as bad as it can get." He walked toward Quail, again covering him with his gun. "We've got to kill you," he said. "And right away."
Nervously, his fellow officer said, "Why right away? Can't we simply cart him off to Interplan New York and let them --"
"He knows why it has to be right away," the first cop said; he too looked nervous,
now, but Quail realized that it was for an entirely different reason. His memory had been brought back almost entirely, now. And he fully understood the officer's tension.
"On Mars," Quail said hoarsely, "I killed a man. After getting past fifteen bodyguards. Some armed with sneaky-pete guns, the way you are." He had been trained, by Interplan, over a five year period to be an assassin. A professional killer. He knew ways to take out armed adversaries. . . such as these two officers; and the one with the ear-receiver knew it, too. If he moved swiftly enough --
The gun fired. But he had already moved to one side, and at the same time he chopped down the gun-carrying officer. In an instant he had possession of the gun and was covering the other, confused, officer.
"Picked my thoughts up," Quail said, panting for breath. "He knew what I was going to do, but I did it anyhow."
Half sitting up, the injured officer grated, "He won't use that gun on you, Sam; I pick that up, too. He knows he's finished, and he knows we know it, too. Come on, Quail." Laboriously, grunting with pain, he got shakily to his feet. He held out his hand. "The gun," he said to Quail. "You can't use it, and if you turn it over to me I'll guarantee not to kill you; you'll be given a hearing, and someone higher up in Interplan will decide, not me. Maybe they can erase your memory once more, I don't know. But you know the thing I was going to kill you for; I couldn't keep you from remembering it. So my reason for wanting to kill you is in a sense past."
Quail, clutching the gun, bolted from the conapt, sprinted for the elevator. If you follow me, he thought, I'll killyou. So don't. He jabbed at the elevator button and, a moment later, the doors slid back.
The police hadn't followed him. Obviously they had picked up his terse, tense thoughts and had decided not to take the chance.
With him inside the elevator descended. He had gotten away -- for a time. But what next? Where could he go?
The elevator reached the ground floor; a moment later Quail had joined the mob of peds hurrying along the runnels. His head ached and he felt sick. But at least he had evaded death; they had come very close to shooting him on the spot, back in his own conapt.
And they probably will again, he decided. When they find me. And with this transmitter inside me, that won't take too long.
Ironically, he had gotten exactly what he had asked Rekal, Incorporated for. Adventure, peril, Interplan police at work, a secret and dangerous trip to Mars in which his life was at stake -- everything he had wanted as a false memory.
The advantages of it being a memory -- and nothing more -- could now be appreciated.
On a park bench, alone, he sat dully watching a flock of perts: a semi-bird imported from Mars' two moons, capable of soaring flight, even against Earth's huge gravity.
Maybe I can find my way back to Mars, he pondered. But then what? It would be worse on Mars; the political organization whose leader he had assassinated would spot him the moment he stepped from the ship; he would have Interplan and them after him, there.
Can you hear me thinking? he wondered. Easy avenue to paranoia; sitting here alone he felt them tuning in on him, monitoring, recording, discussing. . . He shivered, rose to his feet, walked aimlessly, his hands deep in his pockets. No matter where I go, he realized, you'll always be with me. As long as I have this device inside my head.
I'll make a deal with you, he thought to himself -- and to them. Can you imprint a false-memory template on me again, as you did before, that I lived an average, routine life, never went to Mars? Never saw an Interplan uniform up close and never handled a gun?
A voice inside his brain answered, "As has been carefully explained to you: that would not be enough."
Astonished, he halted.
"We formerly communicated with you in this manner," the voice continued. "When you were operating in the field, on Mars. It's been months since we've done it; we assumed, in fact, that we'd never have to do so again. Where are you?"
"Walking," Quail said, "to my death." By your officers' guns, he added as an afterthought. "How can you be sure it wouldn't be enough?" he demanded. "Don't the Rekal techniques work?"
"As we said. If you're given a set of standard, average memories you get -- restless. You'd inevitably seek out Rekal or one of its competitors again. We can't go
through this a second time."
"Suppose," Quail said, "once my authentic memories have been canceled, something more vital than standard memories are implanted. Something which would act to satisfy my craving," he said. "That's been proved; that's probably why you initially hired me. But you ought to be able to come up with something else -- something equal. I was the richest man on Terra but I finally gave all my money to educational foundations. Or I was a famous deep-space explorer. Anything of that sort; wouldn't one of those do?"
Silence.
"Try it," he said desperately. "Get some of your top-notch military psychiatrists; explore my mind. Find out what my most expansive daydream is." He tried to think. "Women," he said. "Thousands of them, like Don Juan had. An interplanetary playboy -- a mistress in every city on Earth, Luna and Mars. Only I gave that up, out of exhaustion. Please," he begged. "Try it."
"You'd voluntarily surrender, then?" the voice inside his head asked. "If we agreed, to arrange such a solution? If it's possible?"
After an interval of hesitation he said, "Yes." I'll take the risk, he said to himself, that you don't simply kill me.
"You make the first move," the voice said presently. "Turn yourself over to us. And we'll investigate that line of possibility. If we can't do it, however, if your authentic memories begin to crop up again as they've done at this time, then --" There was silence and then the voice finished, "We'll have to destroy you. As you must understand. Well, Quail, you still want to try?"
"Yes," he said. Because the alternative was death now -- and for certain. At least this way he had a chance, slim as it was.
"You present yourself at our main barracks in New York," the voice of the Interplan cop resumed. "At 580 Fifth Avenue, floor twelve. Once you've surrendered yourself, we'll have our psychiatrists begin on you; we'll have personality-profile tests made. We'll attempt to determine your absolute, ultimate fantasy wish -- then we'll bring you back to Rekal, Incorporated, here; get them in on it, fulfilling that wish in vicarious surrogate retrospection. And -- good luck. We do owe you something; you acted as a capable instrument for us." The voice lacked malice; if anything, they -- the organization -- felt sympathy toward him.
"Thanks," Quail said. And began searching for a robot cab.
"Mr. Quail," the stern-faced, elderly Interplan psychiatrist said, "you possess a most interesting wish-fulfillment dream fantasy. Probably nothing such as you consciously entertain or suppose. This is commonly the way; I hope it won't upset you too much to hear about it."
The senior ranking Interplan officer present said briskly, "He better not be too much upset to hear about it, not if he expects not to get shot."
"Unlike the fantasy of wanting to be an Interplan undercover agent," the psychiatrist continued, "which, being relatively speaking a product of maturity, had a certain plausibility to it, this production is a grotesque dream of your childhood; it is no wonder you fail to recall it. Your fantasy is this: you are nine years old, walking alone down a rustic lane. An unfamiliar variety of space vessel from another star system lands directly in front of you. No one on Earth but you, Mr. Quail, sees it. The creatures within are very small and helpless, somewhat on the order of field mice, although they are attempting to invade Earth; tens of thousands of other ships will soon be on their way, when this advance party gives the go-ahead signal."
"And I suppose I stop them," Quail said, experiencing a mixture of amusement and disgust. "Single-handed I wipe them out. Probably by stepping on them with my foot."
"No," the psychiatrist said patiently. "You halt the invasion, but not by destroying them. Instead, you show them kindness and mercy, even though by telepathy -- their mode of communication -- you know why they have come. They have never seen such humane traits exhibited by any sentient organism, and to show their appreciation they make a covenant with you."
Quail said, "They won't invade Earth as long as I'm alive."
"Exactly." To the Interplan officer the psychiatrist said, "You can see it does fit his personality, despite his feigned scorn."
"So by merely existing," Quail said, feeling a growing pleasure, "by simply being alive, I keep Earth safe from alien rule. I'm in effect, then, the most important person on Terra. Without lifting a finger."
"Yes, indeed, sir," the psychiatrist said. "And this is bedrock in your psyche; this is a life-long childhood fantasy. Which, without depth and drug therapy, you never would have recalled. But it has always existed in you; it went underneath, but never ceased."
To McClane, who sat intently listening, the senior police official said, "Can you implant an extra-factual memory pattern that extreme in him?"
"We get handed every possible type of wish-fantasy there is," McClane said. "Frankly, I've heard a lot worse than this. Certainly we can handle it. Twenty-four hours from now he won't just wish he'd saved Earth; he'll devoutly believe it really happened."
The senior police official said, "You can start the job, then. In preparation we've already once again erased the memory in him of his trip to Mars."
Quail said, "What trip to Mars?"
No one answered him, so reluctantly, he shelved the question. And anyhow a police vehicle had now put in its appearance; he, McClane and the senior police officer crowded into it, and presently they were on their way to Chicago and Rekal, Incorporated.
"You had better make no errors this time," the police officer said to heavy-set, nervous-looking McClane.
"I can't see what could go wrong," McClane mumbled, perspiring. "This has nothing to do with Mars or Interplan. Single-handedly stopping an invasion of Earth from another star-system." He shook his head at that. "Wow, what a kid dreams up. And by pious virtue, too; not by force. It's sort of quaint." He dabbed at his forehead with a large linen pocket handkerchief.
Nobody said anything.
"In fact," McClane said, "it's touching."
"But arrogant," the police official said starkly. "Inasmuch as when he dies the invasion will resume. No wonder he doesn't recall it; it's the most grandiose fantasy I ever ran across." He eyed Quail with disapproval. "And to think we put this man on our payroll."
When they reached Rekal, Incorporated the receptionist, Shirley, met them breathlessly in the outer office. "Welcome back, Mr. Quail," she fluttered, her melon-shaped breasts -- today painted an incandescent orange -- bobbing with agitation. "I'm sorry everything worked out so badly before; I'm sure this time it'll go better."
Still repeatedly dabbing at his shiny forehead with his neatly folded Irish linen handkerchief, McClane said, "It better." Moving with rapidity he rounded up Lowe and Keeler, escorted them and Douglas Quail to the work area, and then, with Shirley and
the senior police officer, returned to his familiar office. To wait.
"Do we have a packet made up for this, Mr. McClane?" Shirley asked, bumping against him in her agitation, then coloring modestly.
"I think we do." He tried to recall, then gave up and consulted the formal chart. "A combination," he decided aloud, "of packets Eighty-one, Twenty, and Six." From the vault section of the chamber behind his desk he fished out the appropriate packets, carried them to his desk for inspection. "From Eight-one," he explained, "a magic healing rod given him -- the client in question, this time Mr. Quail -- by the race of beings from another system. A token of their gratitude."
"Does it work?" the police officer asked curiously.
"It did once," McClane explained. "But he, ahem, you see, used it up years ago, healing right and left. Now it's only a memento. But he remembers it working spectacularly." He chuckled, then opened packet Twenty. "Document from the UN Secretary General thanking him for saving Earth; this isn't precisely appropriate, because part of Quail's fantasy is that no one knows of the invasion except himself, but for the sake of verisimilitude we'll throw it in." He inspected packet Six, then. What came from this? He couldn't recall; frowning, he dug into the plastic bag as Shirley and the Interplan olice officer watched intently.
"Writing," Shirley said. "In a funny language."
"This tells who they were," McClane said, "and where they came from. Including a detailed star map logging their flight here and the system of origin. Of course it's in their script, so he can't read it. But he remembers them reading it to him in his own tongue." He placed the three artifacts in the center of the desk. "These should be taken to Quail's conapt," he said to the police officer. "So that when he gets home he'll find them. And it'll confirm his fantasy. SOP -- standard operating procedure." He chuckled apprehensively, wondering how matters were going with Lowe and Keeler.
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. McClane, I'm sorry to bother you." It was Lowe's voice; he froze as he recognized it, froze and became mute. "But something's come up. Maybe it would be better if you came in here and supervised. Like before, Quail reacted well to the narkidrine; he's unconscious, relaxed and receptive. But --" McClane sprinted for the work area.
On a hygienic bed Douglas Quail lay breathing slowly and regularly, eyes half-shut, dimly conscious of those around him.
"We started interrogating him," Lowe said, white-faced. "To find out exactly when
University of California, Berkeley加利福尼亚大学伯克利分校 1. 学校名称：University of California, Berkeley加利福尼亚大学伯克利分校 2. 官网：https://www.doczj.com/doc/4017905380.html, 3. 学校地址： Berkeley, California 4. 招生办地址 Office of Undergraduate Admissions University of California, Berkeley 110 Sproul Hall #5800 Berkeley, CA 94720-5800 5. 2014本科综合排名：20 6. 2014本科专业排名 2014年USNews美国大学本科最佳工程学院第3名 7. 成立时间：1868年 8. 校园面积（1acre=4047m2 =0.004km2 ）：1,232 acres 9. 学校类型：公立 10. 可授予的学位：学士、硕士、博士、第一职业学位 11. 学生人数及比例 共有学生：35,390 本科生：25,138 研究生：10,252 12. 师生比：1:17 13. 费用 总费用：$56,216/年 州外学费：$35,742/年 住宿费：$14,232/年 其他费用：$6,242/年 14. 申请截止日期 RD截止日期：11月30日 15. 录取发放日期
RD：03月31日 16. 要求的考试 TOEFL托福成绩要求：80 IELTS雅思成绩要求：7.00 SAT居中成绩范围 SAT总分：1840 - 2240 SAT阅读：590 - 720 SAT数学：630 - 770 SAT写作：620 - 750 ACT居中成绩范围 ACT总分：28 - 33 ACT英语：25 - 33 ACT数学：26 - 34 17. 是否有双录取：无 18. 国际学生是否有春季招生：无 19. 是否有面试：无 20. 申请费：80美元 21. 录取者GPA数段 新生平均GPA：3.65 22. 录取相关统计 申请总人数：52,982 录取人数：11,450 录取率：22% 23. 招收本科生的学院 College of Chemistry化学学院 College of Engineering工程学院 College of Environmental Design环境设计学院College of Letters and Science文理学院College of Natural Resources自然资源学院
美国文学部分(American Literature) 一．独立革命前后的文学（The Literature Around the Revolution of Independence） 1．本章考核知识点和考核要求： 1)．殖民地时期的文学的特点 2)．主要的作家、其概况及其代表作品 2．独立革命前后时期的主要作家 本杰明·富兰克林Benjamin Franklin本杰明·富兰克林，散文家、科学家、社会活动家，曾参与起草―独立宣言。 《穷查理历书》Poor Richard’s Almanack 《致富之道》The Way to Wealth 《自传》The Autobiography 托马斯·潘恩Thomas Paine托马斯·潘恩，散文家、政治家、报刊撰稿人。 《税务员问题》The Case of the Officers of Excise 《常识》Common Sense 《美国危机》American Crisis 《人的权利》Rights of Man 《专制体制的崩溃》Downfall of Despotism 《理性时代》The Age of Reason 菲利普·弗伦诺Philip Freneau菲利普·弗伦诺，著名的―革命诗人‖。 《蒸蒸日上的美洲》―The Rising Glory of America‖
《英国囚船》―The British Prison Ship‖ 《纪念美国勇士》同类诗中最佳―To the Memory of the Brave Americans‖ 《野生的金银花》―The Wild Honeysuckle‖ 《印第安人殡葬地》―The Indian Burying Ground‖ 1二．美国浪漫主义文学（American Romanticism） 1．本章考核知识点和考核要求： 1)．美国浪漫主义文学产生的社会历史及文化背景 2)．主要作家的创作思想、艺术特色及其代表作品的主题结构、人物刻画和语言风格 3)．清教主义、超验主义、象征主义、自由诗等名词的解释 2.美国浪漫主义时期的主要作家 华盛顿·欧文Washington Irving华盛顿·欧文，美国著名小说家，被称为―美国文学之父‖.《瑞普·凡·温可尔》Rip Van Winkle 《纽约外史》A History of New York 《见闻札记》The Sketch Book 《睡谷的传说》The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 詹姆斯·费尼莫尔·库珀James Fenimore Cooper 詹姆斯·费尼莫尔·库珀开创了以《皮裹腿故事集》为代表的边疆传奇小说，其中最为重要的一部是《最后的莫西干人》。 《皮裹腿故事集》Leatherstocking Tales 《间谍》The Spy 《领航者》The Pilot
2018年电大《科学与技术》考试答案 一、填空题（每题1分，共10分）（如果以附件形式提交，请在输入框中输入“见附件”）1．原子的范围是________m。 2.原子核的范围是________m。 3.夸克的的范围________m。 4．原子能释放的方式有三种，分别是原子核衰变、________、原子核聚变。 5.在原子能三种释放形式中，其中利用最多是________？ 6．核电站是利用________反应所放出的核能，驱动汽轮发电机组进行发电的设施。 ７．三大合成高分子材料是塑料、合成纤维、。 ８．分子生物学诞生的标志是。 ９．蛋白质的基本结构单位是。 10.核酸的基本单位是。 1.10-10 2.10-14 3.10-20 4.核裂变 5.核裂变 6.核聚变链式 7.合成橡胶 8.1953年沃森、克里克提出的DNA双螺旋结构 9.氨基酸 10.核苷酸二、名词解释（每题3分，共18分）（如果以附件形式提交，请在输入框中输入“见附件”）1．原子核 2．核能 3．纳米材料 4．超导材料 5．细胞全能性 6．基因工程 1.原子核是原子中非常小的核心部分，几乎集中了原子的全部质量与正电荷。 2.核能(或称原子能)是在原子核变化过程中，从变化前后原子核质量亏损的质量差转化来的。 3.纳米材料就是用特殊的方法将材料颗粒加工到纳米级（10-9米），再用这种超细微粒子制造人们需要的材料。 4.能产生电阻趋近于零现象的材料，称为“超导材料”。 5.细胞的全能性指每一个细胞中都包含着产生一个完整集体的全套基因，在适宜条件下，能形成一个新的个体。 6.基因工程是指在基因水平上，采用与工程设计十分类似的方法，按照人类的需要进行设计，然后按设计方案创建出具有某种性的性状的生物新品系，并能使之稳定地遗传给后代。三、简答题（每题7分，共21分）（如果以附件形式提交，请在输入框中输入“见附件”）爱因斯坦质能关系式说明了什么？ 爱因斯坦在关于狭义相对论的第二篇短文中论述了质量与能量的关系 △E＝（△m）c
外国文学经典书目推荐 一、古希腊文学至19世纪浪漫主义文学推荐阅读书目 《希腊神话故事》 《荷马史诗》（《伊利昂记》《奥德修记》） （古希腊）索福克勒斯《俄底浦斯王》 （意大利）但丁《神曲》 （意大利）薄伽丘《十日谈》 （西班牙）塞万提斯《堂吉诃德》 （英）莎士比亚《罗密欧与朱丽叶》《哈姆莱特》《奥瑟罗》《麦克白》《李尔王》（法）莫里哀《伪君子》《吝啬鬼》 （德）歌德《浮士德》《少年维特之烦恼》 （法）卢梭《新爱洛依丝》 （英）菲尔丁《汤姆·琼斯》 （法）雨果《悲惨世界》《巴黎圣母院》 （美）麦尔维尔《白鲸》 （美）霍桑《红字》 二、19世纪现实主义文学推荐阅读书目 （法）司汤达《红与黑》 （法）梅里美《卡门》 （法）巴尔扎克《高老头》《欧也妮·葛朗台》 （英）简·奥斯丁《傲慢与偏见》 （英）狄更斯《双城记》 （英）勃朗特姐妹《简爱》《呼啸山庄》
（英）乔治·爱略特《弗洛斯河上的磨坊》《米德尔马契》（法）小仲马《茶花女》 （法）福楼拜《包法利夫人》 （法）莫泊桑《羊脂球》 （英）哈代《德伯家的苔丝》 （美）马克·吐温《哈克贝利·芬历险记》 （美）欧·亨利《短篇小说集》 （挪威）易卜生《玩偶之家》 （俄）普希金《叶甫盖尼·奥涅金》 （俄）果戈理《死魂灵》 （俄）屠格涅夫《贵族之家》 （俄）托尔斯泰《安娜·卡列尼娜》《战争与和平》 （俄）陀思妥耶夫斯基《罪与罚》《白痴》《卡拉马佐夫兄弟》（俄）契诃夫《短篇小说集》 （英）王尔德《道林·格雷的画像》 三、20世纪现实主义文学推荐阅读书目 （英）D·H·劳伦斯《虹》《查泰莱夫人的情人》 （法）罗曼·罗兰《约翰·克利斯朵夫》 （美）海明威《老人与海》 （美）菲茨杰拉德《了不起的盖茨比》 （法）玛格丽特·杜拉斯《情人》 （捷克）米兰·昆德拉《生命中不能承受之轻》 （美）德莱塞《美国的悲剧》 （美）塞林格《麦田的守望者》
揭秘美国16大情报机构 (2013-07-05 16:13:29) 揭秘美国16大情报机构 资料来源：网络 美国“棱镜”监控行动的曝光，再次将美国的情报系统推到了世人面前。美国的情报机构到底有多少？都隶属美国政府的哪些机构？都有一些什么职能？这无疑都引起了全世界各国关注。 美国国家安全委员会是美国政府的最高情报机构。美国总统担任该委员会的主 席。
美国情报工作重地—国防部五角大楼 美国情报工作重地—美国国家安全局大楼
美国国家情报总监办公室 美国国家情报总监办公室(Director of National Intelligence，DNI)，成立于2004年，是美国联邦政府的一个部门，是美国国家安全委员会的具体执行部门，全面统管协调美国16个重要情报机构。由美国总统直接指挥、管理与控制。主要职责是为美国总统、美国国家安全会议与美国国土安全会议提供关系美国国家安全的情报事务。
（一）中央情报局（CIA） 中情局1947年经美国国会通过而成立。美国最大从事情报收集、分析的隐蔽行动机构，是美国情报体系中唯一一个独立的情报部门。中情局通过公开和秘密渠道收集、分析关于国外政府、公司和个人，以及政治、文化、科技等方面的情报；协调其他美国国内情报机构的活动。中情局没有国内任务，也没有逮捕权。
（二）联邦调查局 联邦调查局(FBI)创立于1908年7月26日，隶属于司法部(DOJ).是美国最大的反间谍机构和最重要的联邦执法部门，它与中情局并驾齐驱。FBI的任务是：调查违反美国联邦法律的内部犯罪行为，以及调查来自于外国的情报和恐怖活动等。其中，在反外国间谍活动、暴力犯罪和白领阶层犯罪等方面，FBI享有最高优先权。2002年10月22日, 美国驻华使馆设立了FBI北京办事处，这是美国FBI第45个海外专员办事处,配备特工2名，负责FBI在中国的事务。
加州大学伯克利分校宿舍环境攻略式介绍大公开 加州大学伯克利分校,加州大学伯克利分校住宿,美国留学生活 加州大学伯克利分校的七个宿舍差不多都是分布在校园周边的，南边的有Unit1,2,3; 东北边也就是山角下有Stern ，Foothill 和Bowels 等，下面为大家介绍加州伯克利的住宿情况如何。 加州伯克利南边宿舍Unit1,2,3是最受欢迎的地方，比较social,比较方便，离上课的地方也就5-10分钟路程，食堂好，东北边的Stern 是全女生的，Bowels 是全男生的，比较旧。每周四Bowels 的男生会去Stern 楼下唱歌。很安静很安全，但是稍微远一些，并且每天要爬坡子(不能算爬山 吧)stern 和foothill 共用一个食堂。东北边的宿舍不好的地方在于离南边参观聚集点比较远，离车站也比较远。然后东北边的宿舍挨着山，会有很多小动物。松鼠啊什么的，bowels 门前和窗外偶尔会有浣熊经过(这个东西还是比较凶猛的据说)。 CKC 的话，每天要走20分钟才能到上课的地方。不过宿舍超级大! 我先说一下Unit 的内部构造吧，每个unit 有4-6个resident hall,每个hall 有8层楼，有电梯(6楼以上能看见湾区的海)。有double, tripple 和suite. 因为double 和tripple 面积是一样的，所以tripple 会很挤。 double 很好，床不是双层的。suite 的话就是2个double 加一个4人共用的卫生间。每层楼10个房间，一大半是double,一小半是tripple,每层楼1个洗手间，有4个上厕所的隔间，3个洗澡的隔间。都是有门的!不会遇到需要等的情况，非常干净。 然后每两层楼share 一个lounge 和一个laundry. laundry 是2台洗衣机，4台烘干机(好奇怪)，不过也不会遇到要等的情况～每个hall 的ground floor 有厨房和比较大的main lounge.所有的地方都是铺地毯的(除了厕所)。 Stern 内部也差不多，不过比unit 旧很多。CKC 虽然远，但是一个double 是unit 的2倍大!每个宿舍区都有自己academic center,有很多电脑，可以打印东西，也有tutor 可以辅导你一些科目。还有自己的健身房，5台跑步机和2个骑自行车的那个机器，一般没有很多人去。 其实可以自己选择住不住宿舍的，这届不少人都是大一就自己在外面租房子的，会便宜不少。学校周围的房子都是租给学生的。大家可以在myequityappartment 网站上搜索相关信息。 以上是天道留学为大家介绍的加州大学伯克利分校的住宿情况，如果想了解更多关于美国留学的相关信息，请关注天道教育美国频道，小编会为大家持续更新信息，欢迎您的访问。祝大家梦圆名校！
5.方茴说：“那时候我们不说爱，爱是多么遥远、多么沉重的字眼啊。我们只说喜欢，就算喜欢也是偷偷摸摸的。” 6.方茴说：“我觉得之所以说相见不如怀念，是因为相见只能让人在现实面前无奈地哀悼伤痛，而怀念却可以把已经注定的谎言变成童话。” 7.在村头有一截巨大的雷击木，直径十几米，此时主干上唯一的柳条已经在朝霞中掩去了莹光，变得普普通通了。 8.这些孩子都很活泼与好动，即便吃饭时也都不太老实，不少人抱着陶碗从自家出来，凑到了一起。 9.石村周围草木丰茂，猛兽众多，可守着大山，村人的食物相对来说却算不上丰盛，只是一些粗麦饼、野果以及孩子们碗中少量的肉食。 兰州大学网络教育学院 2012年11月课程考试《外国行政制度》论文卷纸 要求： 1．满分100分。 2．论文字数在1500字以上。无错别字。 3.抄袭、不按规定题目写作的论文以“0”分记。 4. 有明确、具体的内容，分析清楚；作用定性分析要清楚； 论点、论据充分、确实，结论完整； 评定成绩 评语： 题目：论企业家政府理论对我国公共管理的启示 20世纪90年代,伴随着西方传统政府官僚体制危机的加深,发达国家政府掀起了新一轮的行政改革热潮,其间,奥斯本和盖布勒提出了“企业家政府”这一概念并进而将其发展成为一种理论,指出应该用企业家精神来改革或重新塑造政府。企业家政府理论的宗旨就是试图把企业管理的精髓移植到政府中来,通过改变官僚政府内部的管理机制和内部驱动力,来达到重新塑造政府形象的目的。 结合我国今天的改革实践,奥斯本企业家政府理论的很多方面依然具有生命力,并且对我国公共管理还有一定的启示意义。 首先,企业家政府理论说明了政府的本质及其存在的必要性。指出政府“是我们用来作出公共决策的一种机制”,是我们解决共同问题的方式,对于一切文明社会来说,政府都是必不可少的,因为客观存在的社会公共问题需要政府来解决。 其次,企业家政府理论指出传统政府官僚体制存在的危机导致政府未能有效地运作。任何一种类型的政府体制都是特定社会环境的产物,面对已经变化了的社会环境,传统的官僚制政府组织形式已经无法适应时代的要求,产生治理危机也就在所难免。然而,问题的根本不在于在政府工作的人,而在于他们工作所在的体制。最后,企业家政府理论指出要从根本上提高政府工作效率,就必须改革政府的不良机制。 面对迅速变化的信息社会及知识经济的挑战,奥斯本提出“为了使我们的政府重新变得有效,我们一定要重塑政府”,亦即用企业家精神来改革或重新塑造政府。基于上述思想,奥斯本提出了改革传统政府官僚体制应当遵循的十项原则:一是掌舵而不是划桨:即政府应该集中精力做好决策工作,而把具体的服务性工作承包给 1.“噢，居然有土龙肉，给我一块！” 2.老人们都笑了，自巨石上起身。而那些身材健壮如虎的成年人则是一阵笑骂，数落着自己的孩子，拎着骨棒与阔剑也快步向自家中走去。
美国联邦调查局，是世界著名的美国最重要的情报机构之一，隶属于美国司法部，英文全称Federal Bureau of Investigation，英文缩写 FBI。“FBI”也不仅是美国联邦调查局的缩写，还代表着该局坚持贯彻的 信条——忠诚Fidelity，勇敢Bravery和正直Integrity，是联邦警察。美 国联邦调查局根据职能和授权，广泛参与国内外重大特工调查案件，现 有的调查司法权已经超过200种联邦罪行。FBI在北京（美驻华大使馆）等世界各地设有办事处。 中央情报局（CIA:Central Intelligence Agency）是美国政府的情报、间谍和反间谍机构，主要职责是收集和分析全球政治、经济、文化、军事、科技等方面的情报，协调美国国内情报机构的活动，并把情报上报美国政府各部门。它也负责维持在美国境外的军事设备，在冷战期间用于推翻外国政府。中央情报局也支持和资助一些对美国有利的活动，例如曾在1949年至1970年代初期支持第三势力。根据很多报道和一些中央情报局重要人物的回忆录，中央情报局也组织和策划暗杀活动，主要针对与美国为敌的国家的领导人。中情局的根本目的，是透过情报工作维护美国的国家利益和国家安全。 美国国家安全局（NSA:National Security Agency）是美国保密等级最高、经费开支最大、雇员总数最多的超级情报机构，也是美国所有情报部门的中枢。它名义上是国防部的一个部门，而实际上则是一个直属于总统、并为国家安全委员会提供情报的组织。它甚至能监视包括中央情报局、联邦调查局在内美国其他情报或政府部门的高级官员。该局谍报活动每小时至少耗资100万美元，每年耗资150亿美元。该局总部和驻外站共有军事和文职雇员约16万人，比美国其他情报部门雇员总和还多。在美国政府每天收到的秘密情报中，近90%是NSA提供的。因此该局一向有世界上最大的情报机构之称。 美国国防部（United States Department of Defense，简称DOD或DoD）是关于美国军队的部门。它的中心是五角大楼。国防部的领导是美国 国防部长。按照美国法律，部长须为文官。美国国防部成立于1947年9月18日，前身为美国战争部，总部位于五角大楼。
https://www.doczj.com/doc/4017905380.html, 立思辰留学360介绍：加利福尼亚大学伯克利分校（University of California-Berkeley，简称UC Berkeley、Berkeley或Cal ，加州大学伯克利分校，伯克利加州大学）是美国顶尖公立研究型大学，也是世界上最富盛名且最顶尖的公立大学。加州大学伯克利分校是加利福尼亚大学中最老的一所，也是美国大学协会（Association of American Universities）创始会员之一，其吉祥物蜕变自加州州旗，故其学生亦自称“小金熊”。加州大学伯克利分校与斯坦福大学、麻省理工学院一同被誉为美国工程科技界的学术领袖。曾在伯克利工作和深造的诺贝尔奖得主不少于69位，目前仍有7位在校进行教学研究工作。该校常年位居上海交通大学世界大学学术排名（ARWU）前四名，泰晤士报高等教育期刊(Times Higher Education, THE)世界大学声誉排行榜前十名，美国新闻和世界报导（US News）首次发布的世界大学排名中位列全球第三名（2015年）。在著名的QS 2015世界大学排名中，加州大学伯克利校更是有26个学科进入世界前十。该校是美国最为自由激进的两所大学之一（另一所为哥伦比亚大学）。 校园生活 住宿 在这里强烈推荐大家逛一下学校的官方网站。上边贴出了各个宿舍楼的详细信息，包括房间样式（单、双、多人套间等），地理位置，到学校主要教学楼的距离，等等非常贴心的信息。学校也为春季/秋季的新生提供了不同的帮助项目，以便他们能更快融入大学生活。值得一提的是主页上有一项“Help Me Choose”，如果在住宿这方面有些迷茫，不知道该如何挑选，这个小东西非常的管用。 餐饮
10部必读美国文学经典作品 1. The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Howthorne《红字》霍桑著小说惯用象征手法，人物、情节和语言都颇具主观想象色彩，在描写中又常把人的心理活动和直觉放在首位。因此，它不仅是美利坚合众国浪漫主义小说的代表作，同时也被称作是美利坚合众国心理分析小说的开创篇。 2. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain《哈克贝利·费恩历险记》马克·吐温著《哈克》是美国文学中的珍品，也是美国文化中的珍品。1984 ,美国文坛为《哈克》出版一百周年举行了广泛的庆祝活动和学术讨论，这在世界文坛上也是少有的盛事。这是因为《哈克》的意义不一般。美国著名作家海明威说：“一切现代美国文学来自一本书，即马克·吐温的《赫克尔贝里芬历险记》……这是我们所有书中最好的。一切美国文学都来自这本书，在它之前，或在它之后，都不曾有过能与之媲美的作品”。 3. The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James《贵妇画像》亨利·詹姆斯著美国小说家亨利·詹姆斯的《贵妇画像》自问世以来一直受到文学评论界的关注，专家学者已从各个不同角度对女主人伊莎贝尔·阿切尔作了深入细致的研究。本文试图从一个全新的视角，即跨文化交际角度，剖析伊莎贝尔在婚姻方面所作的选择。文章指出她是该小说中跨文化交际的最大失败者，并对其失败原因作了分析。希望在跨文化交际日益频繁的今天我们都能从伊莎贝尔的生活经历中得到某种启发。 4. Moby Dick by Herman Melville《白鲸》麦尔维尔著小说描写了亚哈船长为了追逐并杀死白鲸莫比·迪克的经历，最终与白鲸同归于尽的故事。故事营造了一种让人置身海上航行、随时遭遇各种危险甚至是死亡的氛围，是作者的代表作。小说场面宏阔博大，思想内涵复杂，哲理性很强，而且文笔沉郁瑰奇，堪称杰作。 5. Martin Eden by Jack London《马丁.伊登》杰克.伦敦著在美国文学发展史上，《马丁·伊登》起着先驱作用，后来不少描写“美国梦”破灭的作品都或多或少地受到它的影响。围绕这部书引起的争论首先是在主题上，按照杰克·伦敦的本意，写这部属的宗旨之一乃是攻击个人主义，但大多数评论家都认为他是在为个人主义辩护，而相当多的读者是把马丁·伊登当作“个人奋斗”的典型来接受的。其次是语言，有人认为“充满元气和力量”，也有人认为“粗糙”、“变化少”。杰克·伦敦是以“超人”自居的，他并没有成为超人，但《马丁·伊登》的确是一部超越了时代的作品。 6.The Great Gatsby by F.S. Fitzgerald《了不起的盖茨比》菲茨杰拉德著二十世纪的二十和三十年代是美国小说的黄金时代，群星璀璨，各放异彩。先是作家德莱塞出版了一部又一部长篇巨著，并且在一九二五年又发表了他的代表作《美国的悲剧》。同年四月，《了不起的盖茨比》在纽约出版，著名诗人兼文艺评论家T·S ·艾略特立刻称之为“美国小说自亨利·詹姆斯以来迈出的第一步”。海明威在回忆菲氏时写道：“既然他能够写出一本像《了不起的盖茨比》这样好的书，我相信他一定能够写出更好的书。”艾略特和海明威都是以苛刻闻名的批评家，因此我们就不难领会这些评价的分量了。直到今天，《了不起的盖茨比》还是美国一部家喻户晓的经典。
美国加州大学伯克利分校排名 院校概况： 加利福尼亚大学伯克利分校(University of California, Berkeley，缩写UC Berkeley或UCB，别名Cal)是一所男女合校的公立大学，位于旧金山东湾柏克莱市的山丘上。加大柏克莱是加利福尼亚大学中最老的一所，它也是美国大学协会(Association of American Universities)的创始者之一。 加利福尼亚大学伯克利分校是加州大学9个分校中历史最悠久、教育质量最好的分校，也是加州大学系统最杰出的代表。 伯克利的教职工(包括研究、教学和公共服务人员)总数近1.1万，其中有1,640名全日制教员，450名兼职教员，他们中有不少是世界最著名的小说家、诗人、思想家及科学家，包括9名诺贝尔奖获得者，98名美国科学院院士(仅次于哈佛大学)，60名美国工程学院院士(仅次于麻省理工学院)，还拥有比美国任何一所大学都多的古根海姆会员和美国科学基金颁发的“青年研究学者总统奖”获得者。在伯克利的教员中，还有14位曾获得美国国家科学奖章，6位曾获普利策奖，139位美国文理科学会会员，15位麦克阿瑟研究员。伯克利的9位曾获诺贝奖的现任教员分别是：爱德文?麦克米兰和格林?西博格，荣誉物理学教和化学教授，1951年因合作发现钚及9种超铀元素而获诺贝尔化学奖;欧文?查伯伦，物理学教授，1959年因发现反质子而与伯克利已离任的艾米里奥?塞格雷教授同获诺贝尔化学奖;查尔斯?托尼思，物理学教授，1964年因其创立的光激射和微路激射原理而获诺贝尔物理学奖;捷斯劳?米洛兹，荣誉斯拉夫语言文学教授，1980年因其所创作的诗歌而获诺贝尔文学奖;吉拉德?德博鲁，经济与数学教授，1983年因其发展的供需平衡理论的数学依据而获诺贝尔化学奖。 伯克利另外还有6位离任的教授也曾获诺贝尔奖。 伯克利分校共有14个学院：化学院、工程学院、环境设计学院、文理学院、自然资源学院、沃尔特?哈斯商学院、教育学研究生院、新闻学研究生院、法学院、图书馆和信息研究学院、验光配镜学院、公共卫生学院、公共政策研究生院、社会福利学院等，下属100多个系和系内研究组。除系外，校园内还有40多个组织研究韵(ORUS)配合进行研究和教学。另外，伯克利还设有许多重要的研究机构，其中有美国能源开发署的3个闻名世界的大型研究中心：劳诺斯伯克利实验室、劳诺斯弗莫尔国家实验室和罗斯?阿拉莫斯国家科学实验室。如果说美国形成史是一部由西向东不断开发的历史，那么，伯克利加州大学(简称伯克利加大)就是美国“西部大开发”中的“智力开发”基地。这所公立大学与私立的斯坦福大学、加州理工学院共同支撑起与美国东部常春藤大学相比肩的西部学术脊梁。与紧随其后的密歇根大学、伊利诺大学香槟分校是所谓的公立大学“三巨头”。 19世纪上中叶，随着美国西进运动的迅速推进，“淘金热”、“淘银热”席卷加利福怪亚等西南部地区。一股股来自四面八方的人们为各自的利益拼命搏斗、无情掠夺。丰富的宝藏遭到野蛮的吞食，辽阔的沃野充满了杂乱与喧嚣。目睹此情此景，加州有识之士发出了振聋发聩的呐喊：“在挖掘矿藏之前，先要开发才智”，于是，在“富口袋”的同时，“富脑袋”的声音响彻
美国文学经典：《丧钟为谁而鸣》 “没有人能自全，没有人是孤岛，每人都是大陆的一片，要为本土应卯……任何人的死亡，都是我的减少，作为人类的一员，我与生灵共老。丧钟在为谁敲，我本茫然不晓，不为幽明永隔，它正为你哀悼。” 《丧钟为谁而鸣》是美国著名作家海明威流传最广的长篇小说之一。作品以1936年初秋到1939年春的西班牙内战为写作题材，讲述了一个美国青年参加志愿军并为西班牙人民献出年轻生命的感人故事。这部精彩的小说凭借其深沉的人道主义力量感动了一代又一代人，被无数读者推崇和喜爱。 海明威是美国著名的小说家，著名代表作有《老人与海》、《太阳照样升起》、《永别了，武器》、《丧钟为谁而鸣》等。海明威凭借其在文学上的杰出造诣获得了1953年的普利策奖和1954年的诺贝尔文学奖，被誉为美利坚民族的精神丰碑，深深地影响了美国文学及20世纪文学的发展。 《丧钟为谁而鸣》是海明威篇幅最大的一部小说，但故事情节极为紧凑，全部发生于三天之内。美国青年罗伯特·乔丹原本是大学里的西班牙语教师，对西班牙有着深厚的感情。西班牙内战爆发后，罗伯特·乔丹志愿参加西班牙政府军，负责在敌后搞爆破活动。在一次反攻炸桥任务中，他与地方游击队取得联系。在战火纷飞的三天时间里，罗伯特·乔丹陷入了爱河，经历了爱情与职责的冲突，经历了生
与死的考验，最终在炸桥的撤退途中，为了掩护战友而独自留下阻击敌人，为西班牙人民献出了年轻宝贵的生命。 《丧钟为谁而鸣》以独特的叙事手法、细致入微的动作描写和丰富多彩的对白，将故事娓娓道来，一气呵成。在此同时，海明威在作品中插入了大段的内心独白及回忆，让罗伯特·乔丹这个主人公形象变得生动丰满而栩栩如生。 在那战火纷飞的短短的三天时间里，《丧钟为谁而鸣》细腻地呈现了罗伯特·乔丹这个思想复杂的青年知识分子的心灵轨迹。面对生与死的矛盾、爱情与职责的矛盾、道德伦理与严酷现实的矛盾，罗伯特做了什么样的选择呢?这只有进入到书中的世界里去才能找到答案了。 “没有人是独自存在的岛屿，每个人都是大地的一部分……任何人的死都让我蒙受损失，因为我与人类息息相关，因此，别去打听钟声为谁而鸣，它为你鸣……” 杨绛生活回忆录：《我们仨》 2013年3月13日zhy发表评论8208人阅读《我们仨》是中国著名文学家钱钟书的夫人、中国著名作家杨绛女士撰写的一部家庭生活回忆录。我们仨指的是钱钟书先生、杨绛女士和他们唯一的女儿钱媛。作品记述了他们家庭三口63年来的风雨历程和生活中的点点滴滴。1997年，杨绛唯一的女儿钱媛离她而去;1998年，一生的伴侣丈
中美撞机惊人隐情曝光美国付惨重代价2015-03-31 09:43:39发帖人：云天孤鹤参与评论（4）人 2001年4月1日，布什总统刚上任，美国海军一架EP-3E电子侦察机，在南海上空与中国海军航空兵一架歼-8II战斗机相撞，美机迫降海南岛，爆发美中关系近年来最大的危机。美军被迫临时销毁电脑，但中国对机上极机密的情报侦察电脑设备，使用“逆向工程”还原，读取资料，重创美国军情，损失至今难估。 美国一直迟到2009年，才下决心对这次中方逆向工程所造成的军事机密损失，采取对应措施，革新海军的情报侦蒐处理设备。但为时晚矣，美国才惊觉美国网路系统之脆弱，军方随即成立网路司令部，重视网战(cyber warfare)。 预定11月1日出版的“纽约客”报导，美国2000年总统大选，因选票争议，无法决定谁是新总统，华府群龙无首。当时美国刚决定减少对前苏联的每日军事侦察飞行架次，军方也不敢断然终结侦察飞行任务。为维持既有编制军力，中国成为新目标，侦察中国军事动向，从每两周一次的飞行架次，增加到每天都飞，其实侦察飞行任务只是纯为应付。 中方飞行员自2000年12月起，对美方侦察机动作越来越挑衅。这些情况虽向华府反映，但华府当时无人有权威回应，结果导致美国无法挽回的灾难性损失。 EP-3E在迫降海南岛前，机员理应依规定销毁机上的电脑等设备。规定要求机员使用消防斧，甚至热咖啡等，销毁机上电脑硬体和软件。但当时处于紧急情况的机员未能及时销毁，EP-3E整机落在中方手中，任由处置。 EP-3E上由美国国家安全局操控的作业系统，可以监测中国的加密雷达，语音和电子通讯等等。中国取得EP-3E机后，使用逆向工程，复制机上电脑，解出3000至5000万行的密码电脑程式，等于取得美国海军情报解码路线图的最高机密。中国知道美国如何探测中国的机密，更反过来侦测美国机密，对美军动向一清二楚。 美国海军起初低估中国对EP-3E所做的逆向工程，一直到2008年年底，才惊觉到损失之惨。在欧巴马当选总统后数周，美国国家安全局发现通常监视的系列中国网站上，同时出现大量包括美国海军未来动向等的机密细节，等于向美国展示中国逆向工程的成果。当时研判，中国此举是为给欧巴马新政府一个下马威。 前中央情报局官员指出，当时美军太平洋总司令基亭，为此紧急召开系列会议，并在2009年初报告欧巴马新政府，指出如果中国已对EP-3E的操作系统进行逆向工程的仿制，海军所有相关电脑系统都必须全部换新。结果海军花费数亿元完成更新。 报导指出，中国甚至侦察到美国就伊朗问题举行秘密会议的内容。 008年欧巴马及共和党总统候选人马侃的竞选团队，都遭到怀疑是中国骇客的攻击。专家认为中国网路技术，足以袭击美国的民用的基础设施和军事设施。 但一位前柯林顿政府官员指出，中国官员告诉他，中国不会用骇客攻击华尔街，“因为现在华尔街基本上是我们的。” EP-3E电子侦察机事件，让美国警觉必须正视及尽速处理网路安全问题。今年5月，美国网路指挥部正式启动。 网路指挥部司令亚历山大(Keith Alexander)中将说，美国军方必须重整网路安全作业。欧巴马将在未来几个月内，决定应该由军方还是民间主导美国的网路安全，以及网路间谍、骇客行动等是否将视为战争行为。 南海撞机事件发生后，根据中美双方达成的解决方案，降落在海南陵水机场的EP-3侦
加州大学伯克利分校（University of California, Berkeley），简称伯克利（Cal），位于美国旧金山湾区伯克利市，是世界著名公立研究型大学、在学术界享有盛誉，位列2015年usnews世界大学排名世界第3、ARWU世界大学学术排名世界第4。伯克利是加州大学的创始校区，也是美国最自由、最包容的大学之一；该校学生于1964年发起的“言论自由运动”在美国社会产生了深远影响，改变了几代人对政治和道德的看法。伯克利还是世界上最重要的研究教学中心之一，ARWU理科排名世界第1、工程及计算机科学世界第、人文社科也长期位列世界前5，与南湾的斯坦福大学共同构成了美国西部的学术中心。 立思辰留学360介绍，截止2015年，伯克利共走出了72位诺贝尔奖得主（世界第六）、8位菲尔兹奖得主（数学最高奖）和世界最多的20位图灵奖得主（计算机最高奖）；21世纪获得诺贝尔奖人数位居世界第三。数学大师陈省身在此建立了美国国家数学科学研究所；在此任教的“原子弹之父”奥本海默领导制造出了人类第一枚原子弹；诺贝尔物理学奖得主欧内斯特·劳伦斯在此发明了回旋加速器，并建立了美国顶级国家实验室劳伦斯伯克利国家实验室；诺贝尔化学奖得主西博格等人在此发现了十六种化学元素，在世界上遥遥领先，其中第97号元素“锫 (Berkelium)”更是以“伯克利”命名；在工程和计算机领域，伯克利为南湾的硅谷培养了大量人才，包括英特尔创始人戈登·摩尔、安迪·葛洛夫和苹果公司创始人斯蒂夫·沃兹尼亚克。现任美联储主席耶伦也是该校教授。 历史沿革 加利福尼亚大学伯克利分校创立时期 加州大学伯克利分校所在的土地是1866年由私立的加利福尼亚学院（College of California）所买下的，但由于当年资金短缺，学院被州立的农业、矿业和机械工艺学院合并，并在1868年3月23日成立了加利福尼亚大学（University of California），成为加州大学系统的前身，也是加利福尼亚州第一所全日程的公立大学。学校于1869年9月开始招生，当时全校共有10个教职员工与40名学生。当时，作为加州大学理事的Frederick H. Billings提议，为了纪念18世纪伟大的哲学家乔治·贝克莱（George Berkeley，注：伯克利市的命名也是为了纪念这位伟人），在学校名字中加入“Berkeley”，因此加州大学正式改名为“加州大学伯克利分校”（University of California, Berkeley）。（注：加州大学并没有所谓的“主校区”，“分校”只是历史上翻译的误区；除行政管理方面外，一个分校等价于一所相对独立的大学） 1870年，学校创立者Henry Durant 任加州大学伯克利分校的第一任主席（President）。1873年，当北楼（North Hall）和南楼（South Hall）完工后，学校正式迁入位于伯克利市的新址。第一届学生共有167名男性和222名女性学生组成。从1891年开始，加州富翁Phoebe Apperson Hearst女士不断地向伯克利进行捐赠，这使学校能够大量开展新的学科，添置新的教学设施。1905年，学校在伯克利东北部的萨克拉门托（Sacramento）附近设立“学校农场”（University Farm），之后从伯克利独立，成为加州大学另一个校区——加利福尼亚大学戴维斯分校（University of California, Davis）。 20世纪30年代，美国教育委员会向2000名著名学者进行调查，结果伯克利以其“杰出的”和“适宜的”的学科建设而跻身美国一流学府之列——这是美国200余年来公立大学向东部常春藤大学发出的首次挑战。1942年，美国教育委员会评定伯克利所拥有的美国顶尖院系数量跃升为全美第二，仅次于哈佛大学。 加利福尼亚大学伯克利分校崛起时期
Advances in Geosciences地球科学前沿, 2019, 9(7), 627-638 Published Online July 2019 in Hans. https://www.doczj.com/doc/4017905380.html,/journal/ag https://https://www.doczj.com/doc/4017905380.html,/10.12677/ag.2019.97067 Analysis of Meteorological Conditions for Heavy Pollution Events in Chengdu in the Early Winter of 2018 Yuzhang Tang, Dongbei Xu*, Yuqing Gou Chengdu University of Information Technology, Chengdu Sichuan Received: July 4th, 2019; accepted: July 19th, 2019; published: July 26th, 2019 Abstract From December 11 to 22, 2018, a heavy pollution process lasting for 12 days took place in Chengdu. Based on hourly environmental monitoring data from 7 sites in Chengdu, provided by Ministry of Ecological Environment of China, observation data of Wenjiang meteorological station in Chengdu, sounding data of Wenjiang station from University of Wyoming and 2.5? × 2.5? NCEP/NCAR reanalysis data, pollution characteristics, meteorological pollution parameters, wind speed characteristics of 850 hPa and 925 hPa and atmospheric circulation background in this process were analyzed. The re-sults showed that fine particulate matter was the primary pollutant in the heavy pollution process, and the pollution was more serious in the later stage than in the earlier stage. There were 3 key fac-tors for pollution accumulation. First, the upper air of Sichuan basin maintained a straight westerly wind or was controlled by the northwest airflow in front of the ridge, resulting in weak vertical movement. Second, low-level warm advection reduced the bottom height of the inversion layer, which limited the height of the mixing layer and reduced the atmospheric environmental capacity. Third, atmosphere under 850 hPa horizontal wind speed was small. The horizontal wind speed on the iso-baric surface of 850 hPa and 925 hPa was a good indication for pollutant accumulation and diffusion. There was a weak cold front during the pollution weather process, but it was too weak to change stable atmospheric junction completely. Therefore, the pollution weather process lasted a long time. The main reason for the end of the heavy pollution process was that the upper polar cold vortex guided the cold air southward and coordinated with the surface anticyclone to invade Chengdu from the western path, completely changing the stable atmospheric junction of the lower atmosphere. Keywords Heavy Pollution, Meteorological Conditions, Inversion Layer, Temperature Advection 2018年初冬成都市重污染事件气象条件分析 唐玉章，许东蓓*，苟玉清 *通讯作者。