Tea For Two 下午茶
By Sylvia Spruck Wrigley
Translated By Noc
2014-11
彗星科幻
(译文见后)
Lily measured the precise thickness of the piece of pale white bread and calibrated the blade to slice it exactly in half. She added a scant layer of spread and laid on the perfectly paper-thin, if overly pale, cucumber slices. Then she carefully trimmed off the crusts and sliced the sandwich diagonally twice into four perfect triangles. It was a shame the cucumbers were so white; ghostly renditions of the pastel green they should be. They were as close as she could manage in the lower deck hotbeds, just as the oil-based spread was as close as she could get to butter. It wasn't likely that anyone would notice, even if anyone should come to afternoon tea who had tasted real butter in the past century.
Which of course, no one on the ship had.
She scanned the small kitchen. Zane was due to arrive any minute. Zane Thomas was born in Dorking in the county of Surrey in England in 2037. He had just turned twenty when he joined the passengers of the Mayflower for their epic journey. And now he came every Sunday to afternoon tea, never missed a week, not ever. That's what she loved about Zane: dependable, responsible. He didn't shirk his duties and he didn't leave her alone with her cucumber sandwiches, not once.
The water came to a boil. Lily checked her sensors and found Zane passing the laboratory module on his way to the hold. She measured out the tea leaves into the pot and checked the water temperature once more before pouring.
The tea set was one of the few luxuries on the ship where every centimetre packed tight. Switches and monitors covered the sloping walls, although no one ever used them. Lily was plugged in and never needed to. The rest were sleeping. All except for Zane, whose footsteps she heard climbing the ladder to the kitchen. She switched on the fibre-optics, lighting the way for him. He poked his head up the hatch and clambered in.
"Lily." Zane sat down heavily on the pull-out chair. He'd gained a bit of weight. The stubble on his chin and cheeks was turning grey.
She laid the table with the dainty blue Victorian china tea set: a large plate for the sandwiches and a small plate for Zane. There was nothing to put in the milk jug but she placed it next to the sugar bowl anyway. Finally, she placed a fat pink plastic rose next to the cup and saucer. It was all about the details. Afternoon tea wasn't a meal, afternoon tea was a ritual. It was important to get everything right. Zane should appreciate the precision. He had just finished his theology degree before joining the Mayflower and you couldn't be more influenced by ceremony than that.
"You should shave," she told him.
Zane moved a triangle of sandwich onto his plate and pushed it around before nibbling off a corner. "S'pose so."
Lily checked the teapot and filled his cup before dropping two sugar cubes in. Another glance at Zane and she dropped a third one in. He looked like he needed it.
She waited seventeen seconds after he'd had a sip and began the small talk. "Did you know that the cucumber sandwich has been popular with the British upper-class since the Edwardian era? They used coal for the hotbed cucumbers, much like we grow them here."
He shrugged and picked up the nibbled triangle, swallowed it in two bites. He didn't seem very socially stimulated. Perhaps she needed to make more sandwiches. Lily paused, giving Zane a chance to start a new interaction.
Still nothing. She decided to come out and say it. "I'm trying to make conversation."
"All right, fine." He dropped his cup with a clatter. "How are you, dear Lily? What have you done, trapped on this ship all week? Oh, you are just a construct, possibly just a construct of my imagination, so I guess you've done nothing, nothing at all."
That was incorrect. She suspected that he didn't understand what a construct was or at least, not in a philosophical sense. And she'd done quite a bit while he'd climbed up to the kitchen. She'd worked out the odds of them colliding with a foreign object on their current trajectory (0.03%) and the odds of them finding another life-form at their destination (12.47%) and finally the odds of Zane surviving another month on the ship. Sadly, the chances were so close to zero that it really had not been worth calculating.
"I increased the temperature in the cargo bay from 145.25 Kelvin to 145.29 Kelvin as a precaution," she said. "If it gets too cold, there's a risk of bone fractures."
Zane swallowed another sandwich in a single bite and gulped the hot tea without stirring. Lily revised her estimate down by 0.0012 percent.
The endless drone of the hydrogen-scoop engines filled the silence.
"How much longer?" Zane stared at the faded gilding on the cup.
"Well, it's difficult to put into a timescale. It's approximately 6.7 parsecs from South Uist to the Gliese 667C system."
"Where? We're set for Proxima Centuri."
"No, I analysed the data and redirected the ship. It's clear that Gliese 667C is by far the most likely chance of sustaining life if we survive the impact. There's seven planets in the system, three of which are of a good size and within the Goldilocks zone. They are the most likely to have water and to host the lives of our cargo. Well, not yours, of course, you won't make it that far. We still have some time to go." She sliced another piece of bread in half.
"But then why did you take me out of the chamber?"
"Well, someone should be awake, don't you think? It's traditional. The initial journey parameters included a three-man working crew in addition to the settlers in the cargo bay. Sadly the crew had prematurely completed their lifespan by the time we drew near to the Proxima Centuri system." Her blade slashed wetly along a small cucumber leaving a stack of one-millimetre-thick slices in its wake.
"The reserve crew didn't do so well once I diverted, but that didn't cause any long-term issues as we had to recalibrate anyway. The trip to Gliese 667C is a lot further than initially planned but we pull hydrogen for fuel as we go. So you can see that I've had to improvise with passengers to man the ship. You are the eighteenth. You've done well." She paused, searching for the right words. "Slightly below average but much better than the last one." Lily slid the serving plate towards him. "Will you have more tea?"
He shoved the china away from him with a clatter. "I don't want bloody tea."
"It's my fault really," said Lily. She increased the temperature in the room by two degrees in an attempt to make him more comfortable. "I should have realised it would be more difficult for you. Your mother wasn't British. Mary Bernice Parsons emigrated from a small town in Indiana when she was twenty-seven. As her forefathers were British, I thought it wouldn't matter. You probably just don't have the right kinds of cultural connection to the ceremonies of your people." She scanned as she spoke. "In the United States, they don't have the same kind of tea ritualisation. In fact, they erroneously refer to high tea when speaking about afternoon tea, in the belief that high means higher status. The phrase high tea, however, is the evening meal as eaten by the lower classes and would normally include a meat dish. The 'high' in high tea refers to the fact that it is eaten later in the day." She closed the database and looked at Zane. "At least you have been good enough to come and have tea with me."
Zane's face was twitching violently on the right side. Lily revised her estimate down to six days.
"How far have we gone? How old am I?"
"About ten light years. You age differently in the cargo bay, so I'm not sure how you could count your age like rings on a tree. We're about halfway there." She saw his face and took pity. "More than halfway. Enough time for another cup of tea."
"No," said Zane. "I can't do this anymore. I'm trapped on a spaceship going nowhere with an AI who thinks that making cucumber sandwiches will keep me sane."
He threw himself down the hatch, his feet clanging against metal rungs as he raced to the lower deck.
"See you next week!" She kept her voice bubbly and full of happiness, hopeful that it would be contagious. She discarded the extra sandwiches and crusts into the grinder to pass through to the garden for composting. If only she could grow properly green cucumbers, she was sure that would bring her passengers solace.
The lower sensors lit up as Zane paced around the small corridors of the ship. Eventually he collapsed into a heap in the flight engineer's rack. Lily unlocked the pharmaceutical cabinet and lit the floor lights leading to it. She watched for a moment and then shut the sensors off and busied herself with the ship's roster.
Only a few days had passed when she turned the sensors back on, but it was too late for Zane. Lily set up the self-cleansing routine and restored the Mayflower decks to pristine pre-Zane condition. She'd found a new candidate on the roster: Zoe Edward-Hughes was born in Llandudno, Wales in 2037 and joined the Mayflower at age twenty. Lily checked the processes and then set the routine in motion to gently free Zoe from cryonic storage.
Lily measured the precise thickness of the piece of pale white bread and calibrated the blade to slice it exactly in half. She added a scant layer of spread and paper-thin slices of cucumber. Then she carefully trimmed off the crusts and sliced the sandwich diagonally twice into four perfect triangles.
莉莉测量出那片淡白面包的精确厚度,随后校准刀片,将之分毫不差地切成两半。她加了一层调味酱,然后把薄如纸翼、但过于苍白的黄瓜片铺在上面。接着,她小心地去掉面包皮,沿对角线切了两次,将三明治分成四块完美的三角形。遗憾的是,黄瓜的颜色太淡了,本应是碧绿色,现在却像是它的苍白幻影。可这已经是她在下层甲板温室里能弄出的最像样的东西了,就像这层油性调味酱,也是她能做出的最接近黄油的东西。应该不会有人注意到个中分别,哪怕来喝下午茶的人在过去一个世纪里尝过真正的黄油。
当然了,这艘船上没人尝过真正的黄油。
她扫视了一下这间小小的厨房。赞恩随时都会到。赞恩•托马斯在2037年出生于英格兰萨里郡的多尔金。他登上五月花号、加入到这次伟大的旅行中时刚满二十岁。现在他每个星期天来喝下午茶,每周如此,一次不漏。这就是她喜欢赞恩的原因:可靠、尽责。他从未逃避责任,也不曾丢下她,丢下她一个人和她的黄瓜三明治不管,一次都没有。
水开了。莉莉检查了下她的传感器,发现赞恩正穿过实验舱,朝货舱 走。她称出所需的茶叶,将之放进茶壶,再次检查了水温后才把水倒进去。
在每一厘米都挤得满满当当的舰船上,这套茶具是为数不多的奢侈品。倾斜的墙面上布满了开关和监视器,尽管从来没人用过。莉莉与系统相连,用不着它们。其余人都在沉睡。除了赞恩,她听见了他爬上通往厨房的梯子的声音。她打开光纤灯为他照明。他将头伸进舱口,爬了进来。
“莉莉。”赞恩重重地在伸缩椅上坐下。他胖了一些。下巴和脸颊上的胡茬开始发白。
她将那套雅致的蓝色维多利亚精瓷茶具摆上桌子:一个放三明治的大盘子,还有一个给赞恩用的小盘子。牛奶壶里空空如也,但她还是把它放在了糖罐子旁边。最后,她把一朵饱满的粉色塑料玫瑰放置在杯子和茶托旁。细节是关键。下午茶不是吃饭,下午茶是一种仪式。把一切都做好很重要。赞恩会欣赏这种一丝不苟的态度。在登上五月花号之前,他刚拿到神学学位,没有什么仪式比宗教更能影响一个人了。
“你该刮胡子了,”她告诉他。
赞恩将一块三明治移到自己的盘子上,摆弄了好一会儿,才下口咬掉一个角。“我想是吧。”
莉莉检查了下茶壶,然后往他的杯子里放进两块方糖,再把水倒满。她又扫了赞恩一眼,放进了第三块。他看起来很需要糖分。
赞恩呷了一小口,她等了十七秒才开始闲聊。“你知不知道,黄瓜三明治是从爱德华七世时期开始在英国上流社会流行的?那时候的人用烧炭的温室来培育黄瓜,跟我们这里现在的做法很类似。”
他耸耸肩,抓起那块被啃过的三明治,两口吞了下去。他的社交能力似乎并不活跃。也许她需要做更多的三明治。莉莉停了下来,留出机会让赞恩开始新一轮互动。
还是没反应。她决定直说了。“我正在努力进行对话。”
“好吧,好吧。”他啪一声放下杯子。“亲爱的莉莉,你好吗?困在船上的这一周里你都干了些什么?噢,你只是个虚拟产物,说不定只是我脑海里的虚拟产物,所以我猜你什么事儿也没干。”
那可不对。她怀疑他没理解虚拟产物是什么,或者,至少没从哲学意义上理解。而且他往厨房爬上来的时候她干了不少事呢。她计算了现有轨迹下他们和某个外星物体相撞的概率(0.03%),在目的地找到其他生命形式的概率(12.47%),最后,还有赞恩在船上再活上一个月的概率。不幸的是,那概率极其接近于零,所以没什么计算的价值。
“作为预防措施,我把货舱的温度从145.25K升到了145.29K,”她说。“太冷的话容易骨折。”
赞恩一口吞掉了又一块三明治,然后咽下一大口热茶,都没有事先搅拌一下。莉莉修正了之前的估计,把概率调低了0.0012个百分点。
氢动力引擎无休无止的嗡嗡声填补了沉默。
“还有多久?”赞恩凝视着杯口褪色的镀金问道。
“唔,很难说得准。从南尤伊斯特岛到格利泽667C大约有6.7秒差距④。”
“那是哪儿?我们的目的地是比邻星啊。”
“不,我分析了数据,然后重新设置了舰船目的地。显然格利泽667C是目前最有可能支持生命存在的地方——前提是我们能挨过着陆的冲击力。该星系有七颗行星,其中三颗大小适中且处于适居带内。那里最有可能拥有水资源,最有可能让我们运载的那些生命存活下去。唔,当然那不包括你,你活不了那么久。我们还得走上好一会儿呢。”她把又一片面包切成两半。
“那你为什么要把我从休眠室唤醒?”
“呃,总得有人醒着,你不这样想吗?这是惯例。除了那些货舱里的移民,行程的初始设置包括一个三人工作小组。可惜在我们靠近比邻星星系的时候,他们就已经过早走完了他们的人生。”她的刀片顺着小黄瓜切着,留下一叠一毫米厚的薄片,黄瓜汁液沾湿了刀刃。
“我更换目的地后,后备机组成员不是很配合,不过没导致什么长期问题,反正我们总会重新校正航线。到格利泽667C的距离比起初设定的远多了,不过我们能一边前进一边获取氢作为燃料。你看见了吧,我得从乘客里凑出人来操纵飞船。你是第十八个。你干得不错。”她停顿了一下,寻找着合适的字眼。“稍稍低于平均水平,不过比倒数第一的那个人好多了。”莉莉把那只大盘子移向他。“再来点茶吗?”
他咣一声把精瓷盘子推到一边。“我不要什么茶。”
“是我的错,”莉莉说。她将室内的温度调高了两度,试图让他感觉更舒适。“我应该想到的,这对你来说还要难一些。你母亲不是英国人。玛丽•伯妮斯•帕森斯是二十七岁时从印第安纳州的一个小镇移民到英国的。她的祖先是英国人,所以我原以为不要紧。可能你就是与你的民族的仪式确实没有多少文化联系。”她边浏览资料边说。“美国人不像英国人有一套喝茶的仪式化做法。事实上,他们还错把下午茶称为‘高茶’,以为‘高’是指地位高。但其实‘高茶’的意思是下层阶级吃的晚饭,一般还包括一份荤菜。‘高’这个字指的是这顿饭的时间比较晚。”她关掉数据库,看着赞恩。“至少你还肯来和我喝茶。”
赞恩的右脸猛烈抽搐着。莉莉将她的预估下调至了六天。
“我们走了多远?我几岁了?”
“大约十光年。在货舱休眠时的衰老速度和平时不同,所以不能像数年轮一样计算你的年龄。我们走了有一半了。”她看到赞恩的脸,感到一阵怜悯。“超过一半了。时间还够我们还再喝一杯茶的。”
“不,”赞恩说。“我受不了了。我跟个AI一起被困在一艘漫无目的的宇宙飞船上,这AI还觉得给我做黄瓜三明治能让我保持理智。”
他俯下身子钻出舱口,快速爬向下层甲板,脚步落在金属横档上铿锵有声。
“下周见!”她用生气勃勃、快乐洋溢的声音说,希望这种情绪能感染到赞恩。她把多余的三明治和面包皮丢进研磨机,它们会被传送到花园用作肥料。要是她能正确培育出绿色的黄瓜就好了,她确信那一定会给她的旅客带来慰藉。
赞恩在舰船狭小的通道间踱来踱去,下层的传感器在他经过时亮了起来。终于,赞恩一下瘫倒在飞行工程师的驾驶舱里。莉莉将药品柜解锁,并打开了通向它的地面灯光。她观察了一会,随即关掉传感器,忙着去处理舰船的人员名单了。
她再次打开传感器时只过了几天,不过对赞恩来说已经太迟了。莉莉启动了自净程序,并把五月花号甲板恢复到赞恩之前的初始状态。她在人员名单中找到了一名新候选人:佐伊•爱德华-休斯,2037年出生于威尔士的兰迪德诺,上船时二十岁。莉莉核查了一下各项步骤,随后启动苏醒程序,将佐伊从冷冻休眠中轻柔地唤醒。
莉莉测量出那块苍白的面包片的精确厚度,随后校准刀片,将之分毫不差地切成两半。她加了一层调味酱,然后把薄如纸翼的黄瓜片铺在上面。接着,她小心地去掉面包皮,沿对角线切了两次,将三明治分成四块完美的三角形。
——————————————————————————————--
彗星科幻:每月举办的国际短篇科幻赛事,展现地球上最好最高水平的科幻短篇创作。
每月从全世界范围邀请5名优秀科幻作者命题创作,字数3000-4500,获胜者奖金3000元(海外作者500美金)。
投稿、合作请联系:sfcomet@qq.com
官网:www.SFComet.com
微信号:SFComet
By Sylvia Spruck Wrigley
Translated By Noc
2014-11
彗星科幻
(译文见后)
Lily measured the precise thickness of the piece of pale white bread and calibrated the blade to slice it exactly in half. She added a scant layer of spread and laid on the perfectly paper-thin, if overly pale, cucumber slices. Then she carefully trimmed off the crusts and sliced the sandwich diagonally twice into four perfect triangles. It was a shame the cucumbers were so white; ghostly renditions of the pastel green they should be. They were as close as she could manage in the lower deck hotbeds, just as the oil-based spread was as close as she could get to butter. It wasn't likely that anyone would notice, even if anyone should come to afternoon tea who had tasted real butter in the past century.
Which of course, no one on the ship had.
She scanned the small kitchen. Zane was due to arrive any minute. Zane Thomas was born in Dorking in the county of Surrey in England in 2037. He had just turned twenty when he joined the passengers of the Mayflower for their epic journey. And now he came every Sunday to afternoon tea, never missed a week, not ever. That's what she loved about Zane: dependable, responsible. He didn't shirk his duties and he didn't leave her alone with her cucumber sandwiches, not once.
The water came to a boil. Lily checked her sensors and found Zane passing the laboratory module on his way to the hold. She measured out the tea leaves into the pot and checked the water temperature once more before pouring.
The tea set was one of the few luxuries on the ship where every centimetre packed tight. Switches and monitors covered the sloping walls, although no one ever used them. Lily was plugged in and never needed to. The rest were sleeping. All except for Zane, whose footsteps she heard climbing the ladder to the kitchen. She switched on the fibre-optics, lighting the way for him. He poked his head up the hatch and clambered in.
"Lily." Zane sat down heavily on the pull-out chair. He'd gained a bit of weight. The stubble on his chin and cheeks was turning grey.
She laid the table with the dainty blue Victorian china tea set: a large plate for the sandwiches and a small plate for Zane. There was nothing to put in the milk jug but she placed it next to the sugar bowl anyway. Finally, she placed a fat pink plastic rose next to the cup and saucer. It was all about the details. Afternoon tea wasn't a meal, afternoon tea was a ritual. It was important to get everything right. Zane should appreciate the precision. He had just finished his theology degree before joining the Mayflower and you couldn't be more influenced by ceremony than that.
"You should shave," she told him.
Zane moved a triangle of sandwich onto his plate and pushed it around before nibbling off a corner. "S'pose so."
Lily checked the teapot and filled his cup before dropping two sugar cubes in. Another glance at Zane and she dropped a third one in. He looked like he needed it.
She waited seventeen seconds after he'd had a sip and began the small talk. "Did you know that the cucumber sandwich has been popular with the British upper-class since the Edwardian era? They used coal for the hotbed cucumbers, much like we grow them here."
He shrugged and picked up the nibbled triangle, swallowed it in two bites. He didn't seem very socially stimulated. Perhaps she needed to make more sandwiches. Lily paused, giving Zane a chance to start a new interaction.
Still nothing. She decided to come out and say it. "I'm trying to make conversation."
"All right, fine." He dropped his cup with a clatter. "How are you, dear Lily? What have you done, trapped on this ship all week? Oh, you are just a construct, possibly just a construct of my imagination, so I guess you've done nothing, nothing at all."
That was incorrect. She suspected that he didn't understand what a construct was or at least, not in a philosophical sense. And she'd done quite a bit while he'd climbed up to the kitchen. She'd worked out the odds of them colliding with a foreign object on their current trajectory (0.03%) and the odds of them finding another life-form at their destination (12.47%) and finally the odds of Zane surviving another month on the ship. Sadly, the chances were so close to zero that it really had not been worth calculating.
"I increased the temperature in the cargo bay from 145.25 Kelvin to 145.29 Kelvin as a precaution," she said. "If it gets too cold, there's a risk of bone fractures."
Zane swallowed another sandwich in a single bite and gulped the hot tea without stirring. Lily revised her estimate down by 0.0012 percent.
The endless drone of the hydrogen-scoop engines filled the silence.
"How much longer?" Zane stared at the faded gilding on the cup.
"Well, it's difficult to put into a timescale. It's approximately 6.7 parsecs from South Uist to the Gliese 667C system."
"Where? We're set for Proxima Centuri."
"No, I analysed the data and redirected the ship. It's clear that Gliese 667C is by far the most likely chance of sustaining life if we survive the impact. There's seven planets in the system, three of which are of a good size and within the Goldilocks zone. They are the most likely to have water and to host the lives of our cargo. Well, not yours, of course, you won't make it that far. We still have some time to go." She sliced another piece of bread in half.
"But then why did you take me out of the chamber?"
"Well, someone should be awake, don't you think? It's traditional. The initial journey parameters included a three-man working crew in addition to the settlers in the cargo bay. Sadly the crew had prematurely completed their lifespan by the time we drew near to the Proxima Centuri system." Her blade slashed wetly along a small cucumber leaving a stack of one-millimetre-thick slices in its wake.
"The reserve crew didn't do so well once I diverted, but that didn't cause any long-term issues as we had to recalibrate anyway. The trip to Gliese 667C is a lot further than initially planned but we pull hydrogen for fuel as we go. So you can see that I've had to improvise with passengers to man the ship. You are the eighteenth. You've done well." She paused, searching for the right words. "Slightly below average but much better than the last one." Lily slid the serving plate towards him. "Will you have more tea?"
He shoved the china away from him with a clatter. "I don't want bloody tea."
"It's my fault really," said Lily. She increased the temperature in the room by two degrees in an attempt to make him more comfortable. "I should have realised it would be more difficult for you. Your mother wasn't British. Mary Bernice Parsons emigrated from a small town in Indiana when she was twenty-seven. As her forefathers were British, I thought it wouldn't matter. You probably just don't have the right kinds of cultural connection to the ceremonies of your people." She scanned as she spoke. "In the United States, they don't have the same kind of tea ritualisation. In fact, they erroneously refer to high tea when speaking about afternoon tea, in the belief that high means higher status. The phrase high tea, however, is the evening meal as eaten by the lower classes and would normally include a meat dish. The 'high' in high tea refers to the fact that it is eaten later in the day." She closed the database and looked at Zane. "At least you have been good enough to come and have tea with me."
Zane's face was twitching violently on the right side. Lily revised her estimate down to six days.
"How far have we gone? How old am I?"
"About ten light years. You age differently in the cargo bay, so I'm not sure how you could count your age like rings on a tree. We're about halfway there." She saw his face and took pity. "More than halfway. Enough time for another cup of tea."
"No," said Zane. "I can't do this anymore. I'm trapped on a spaceship going nowhere with an AI who thinks that making cucumber sandwiches will keep me sane."
He threw himself down the hatch, his feet clanging against metal rungs as he raced to the lower deck.
"See you next week!" She kept her voice bubbly and full of happiness, hopeful that it would be contagious. She discarded the extra sandwiches and crusts into the grinder to pass through to the garden for composting. If only she could grow properly green cucumbers, she was sure that would bring her passengers solace.
The lower sensors lit up as Zane paced around the small corridors of the ship. Eventually he collapsed into a heap in the flight engineer's rack. Lily unlocked the pharmaceutical cabinet and lit the floor lights leading to it. She watched for a moment and then shut the sensors off and busied herself with the ship's roster.
Only a few days had passed when she turned the sensors back on, but it was too late for Zane. Lily set up the self-cleansing routine and restored the Mayflower decks to pristine pre-Zane condition. She'd found a new candidate on the roster: Zoe Edward-Hughes was born in Llandudno, Wales in 2037 and joined the Mayflower at age twenty. Lily checked the processes and then set the routine in motion to gently free Zoe from cryonic storage.
Lily measured the precise thickness of the piece of pale white bread and calibrated the blade to slice it exactly in half. She added a scant layer of spread and paper-thin slices of cucumber. Then she carefully trimmed off the crusts and sliced the sandwich diagonally twice into four perfect triangles.
莉莉测量出那片淡白面包的精确厚度,随后校准刀片,将之分毫不差地切成两半。她加了一层调味酱,然后把薄如纸翼、但过于苍白的黄瓜片铺在上面。接着,她小心地去掉面包皮,沿对角线切了两次,将三明治分成四块完美的三角形。遗憾的是,黄瓜的颜色太淡了,本应是碧绿色,现在却像是它的苍白幻影。可这已经是她在下层甲板温室里能弄出的最像样的东西了,就像这层油性调味酱,也是她能做出的最接近黄油的东西。应该不会有人注意到个中分别,哪怕来喝下午茶的人在过去一个世纪里尝过真正的黄油。
当然了,这艘船上没人尝过真正的黄油。
她扫视了一下这间小小的厨房。赞恩随时都会到。赞恩•托马斯在2037年出生于英格兰萨里郡的多尔金。他登上五月花号、加入到这次伟大的旅行中时刚满二十岁。现在他每个星期天来喝下午茶,每周如此,一次不漏。这就是她喜欢赞恩的原因:可靠、尽责。他从未逃避责任,也不曾丢下她,丢下她一个人和她的黄瓜三明治不管,一次都没有。
水开了。莉莉检查了下她的传感器,发现赞恩正穿过实验舱,朝货舱 走。她称出所需的茶叶,将之放进茶壶,再次检查了水温后才把水倒进去。
在每一厘米都挤得满满当当的舰船上,这套茶具是为数不多的奢侈品。倾斜的墙面上布满了开关和监视器,尽管从来没人用过。莉莉与系统相连,用不着它们。其余人都在沉睡。除了赞恩,她听见了他爬上通往厨房的梯子的声音。她打开光纤灯为他照明。他将头伸进舱口,爬了进来。
“莉莉。”赞恩重重地在伸缩椅上坐下。他胖了一些。下巴和脸颊上的胡茬开始发白。
她将那套雅致的蓝色维多利亚精瓷茶具摆上桌子:一个放三明治的大盘子,还有一个给赞恩用的小盘子。牛奶壶里空空如也,但她还是把它放在了糖罐子旁边。最后,她把一朵饱满的粉色塑料玫瑰放置在杯子和茶托旁。细节是关键。下午茶不是吃饭,下午茶是一种仪式。把一切都做好很重要。赞恩会欣赏这种一丝不苟的态度。在登上五月花号之前,他刚拿到神学学位,没有什么仪式比宗教更能影响一个人了。
“你该刮胡子了,”她告诉他。
赞恩将一块三明治移到自己的盘子上,摆弄了好一会儿,才下口咬掉一个角。“我想是吧。”
莉莉检查了下茶壶,然后往他的杯子里放进两块方糖,再把水倒满。她又扫了赞恩一眼,放进了第三块。他看起来很需要糖分。
赞恩呷了一小口,她等了十七秒才开始闲聊。“你知不知道,黄瓜三明治是从爱德华七世时期开始在英国上流社会流行的?那时候的人用烧炭的温室来培育黄瓜,跟我们这里现在的做法很类似。”
他耸耸肩,抓起那块被啃过的三明治,两口吞了下去。他的社交能力似乎并不活跃。也许她需要做更多的三明治。莉莉停了下来,留出机会让赞恩开始新一轮互动。
还是没反应。她决定直说了。“我正在努力进行对话。”
“好吧,好吧。”他啪一声放下杯子。“亲爱的莉莉,你好吗?困在船上的这一周里你都干了些什么?噢,你只是个虚拟产物,说不定只是我脑海里的虚拟产物,所以我猜你什么事儿也没干。”
那可不对。她怀疑他没理解虚拟产物是什么,或者,至少没从哲学意义上理解。而且他往厨房爬上来的时候她干了不少事呢。她计算了现有轨迹下他们和某个外星物体相撞的概率(0.03%),在目的地找到其他生命形式的概率(12.47%),最后,还有赞恩在船上再活上一个月的概率。不幸的是,那概率极其接近于零,所以没什么计算的价值。
“作为预防措施,我把货舱的温度从145.25K升到了145.29K,”她说。“太冷的话容易骨折。”
赞恩一口吞掉了又一块三明治,然后咽下一大口热茶,都没有事先搅拌一下。莉莉修正了之前的估计,把概率调低了0.0012个百分点。
氢动力引擎无休无止的嗡嗡声填补了沉默。
“还有多久?”赞恩凝视着杯口褪色的镀金问道。
“唔,很难说得准。从南尤伊斯特岛到格利泽667C大约有6.7秒差距④。”
“那是哪儿?我们的目的地是比邻星啊。”
“不,我分析了数据,然后重新设置了舰船目的地。显然格利泽667C是目前最有可能支持生命存在的地方——前提是我们能挨过着陆的冲击力。该星系有七颗行星,其中三颗大小适中且处于适居带内。那里最有可能拥有水资源,最有可能让我们运载的那些生命存活下去。唔,当然那不包括你,你活不了那么久。我们还得走上好一会儿呢。”她把又一片面包切成两半。
“那你为什么要把我从休眠室唤醒?”
“呃,总得有人醒着,你不这样想吗?这是惯例。除了那些货舱里的移民,行程的初始设置包括一个三人工作小组。可惜在我们靠近比邻星星系的时候,他们就已经过早走完了他们的人生。”她的刀片顺着小黄瓜切着,留下一叠一毫米厚的薄片,黄瓜汁液沾湿了刀刃。
“我更换目的地后,后备机组成员不是很配合,不过没导致什么长期问题,反正我们总会重新校正航线。到格利泽667C的距离比起初设定的远多了,不过我们能一边前进一边获取氢作为燃料。你看见了吧,我得从乘客里凑出人来操纵飞船。你是第十八个。你干得不错。”她停顿了一下,寻找着合适的字眼。“稍稍低于平均水平,不过比倒数第一的那个人好多了。”莉莉把那只大盘子移向他。“再来点茶吗?”
他咣一声把精瓷盘子推到一边。“我不要什么茶。”
“是我的错,”莉莉说。她将室内的温度调高了两度,试图让他感觉更舒适。“我应该想到的,这对你来说还要难一些。你母亲不是英国人。玛丽•伯妮斯•帕森斯是二十七岁时从印第安纳州的一个小镇移民到英国的。她的祖先是英国人,所以我原以为不要紧。可能你就是与你的民族的仪式确实没有多少文化联系。”她边浏览资料边说。“美国人不像英国人有一套喝茶的仪式化做法。事实上,他们还错把下午茶称为‘高茶’,以为‘高’是指地位高。但其实‘高茶’的意思是下层阶级吃的晚饭,一般还包括一份荤菜。‘高’这个字指的是这顿饭的时间比较晚。”她关掉数据库,看着赞恩。“至少你还肯来和我喝茶。”
赞恩的右脸猛烈抽搐着。莉莉将她的预估下调至了六天。
“我们走了多远?我几岁了?”
“大约十光年。在货舱休眠时的衰老速度和平时不同,所以不能像数年轮一样计算你的年龄。我们走了有一半了。”她看到赞恩的脸,感到一阵怜悯。“超过一半了。时间还够我们还再喝一杯茶的。”
“不,”赞恩说。“我受不了了。我跟个AI一起被困在一艘漫无目的的宇宙飞船上,这AI还觉得给我做黄瓜三明治能让我保持理智。”
他俯下身子钻出舱口,快速爬向下层甲板,脚步落在金属横档上铿锵有声。
“下周见!”她用生气勃勃、快乐洋溢的声音说,希望这种情绪能感染到赞恩。她把多余的三明治和面包皮丢进研磨机,它们会被传送到花园用作肥料。要是她能正确培育出绿色的黄瓜就好了,她确信那一定会给她的旅客带来慰藉。
赞恩在舰船狭小的通道间踱来踱去,下层的传感器在他经过时亮了起来。终于,赞恩一下瘫倒在飞行工程师的驾驶舱里。莉莉将药品柜解锁,并打开了通向它的地面灯光。她观察了一会,随即关掉传感器,忙着去处理舰船的人员名单了。
她再次打开传感器时只过了几天,不过对赞恩来说已经太迟了。莉莉启动了自净程序,并把五月花号甲板恢复到赞恩之前的初始状态。她在人员名单中找到了一名新候选人:佐伊•爱德华-休斯,2037年出生于威尔士的兰迪德诺,上船时二十岁。莉莉核查了一下各项步骤,随后启动苏醒程序,将佐伊从冷冻休眠中轻柔地唤醒。
莉莉测量出那块苍白的面包片的精确厚度,随后校准刀片,将之分毫不差地切成两半。她加了一层调味酱,然后把薄如纸翼的黄瓜片铺在上面。接着,她小心地去掉面包皮,沿对角线切了两次,将三明治分成四块完美的三角形。
——————————————————————————————--
彗星科幻:每月举办的国际短篇科幻赛事,展现地球上最好最高水平的科幻短篇创作。
每月从全世界范围邀请5名优秀科幻作者命题创作,字数3000-4500,获胜者奖金3000元(海外作者500美金)。
投稿、合作请联系:sfcomet@qq.com
官网:www.SFComet.com
微信号:SFComet