Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Dzhackoon nodded. "For a moment, it appeared you were disinclined to stop. I'm glad you decided to be reasonable." "What outfit did you say you were with?" Dan asked. "The Inter-dimensional Monitor Service." "Inter-what?" "Dimensional. The word is imprecise, of course, but it's the best our [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Earth ... is this what is going to happen? I Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied, in a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane's travel-stained six foot one. "Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me." He nodded toward the florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like something that needed oiling. "Something about important information regarding safeguarding my paintings." "That's right, Mr. Snithian," Dan said. "I believe I can be of great help to you." "Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me...." The red eyes bored into Dan like hot pokers. "Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guards here—the papers are full of it—" "Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press, "Now, wait a minute—" Kelly started. "What's that?" Snithian cut in. "You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds day and night—" "Two hundred and twenty-five," Kelly snapped. "Of course not," Snithian shrilled. "Why should I post a man in the vault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside." "I'll work cheap," Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. "I'm an "Never mind that," Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. He turned in at an office and closed the door. "Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. If added. Kelly nodded. "I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. If you're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet." So far, so good, he reflected, stretching out. When they showed up, he'd have to handle everything just right. If he scared them off The apparition was an open-work cage—about the size and shape of an out-house minus the sheathing, Dan estimated breathlessly. Two figures with a grate of metal, the cage a cluster of levers in a console before the two seats. And the thieves looked ordinary enough: Two men in gray coveralls, one slender and balding, the other shorter and round-faced. Neither of them noticed "Ah, magnificent. Almost the equal of Picasso in his puce period." crook!" Dan looked about wildly. The voice seemed to be issuing from a speaker. "Pretty clever!" Kelly's voice barked. "Inside job. But it takes more the cage. the time machine." cop pushed past them, spotted Dan, moved in briskly for the pinch. Dan grabbed a lever at random and pulled. Sudden silence fell as the walls of the room glowed blue. A spectral a simple brown-painted office, dimly lit by sunlight filtered through above the brown eyes. "Who're you?" a bass voice demanded from somewhere near the floor. "I'm ... I'm ... Dan Slane ... your honor." "What happened to Manny and Fiorello?" "They—I—There was this cop. Kelly—" "Oh-oh." The brown eyes blinked deliberately. The many-fingered hands "How ... what...?" "The carrier returns here automatically when the charge drops below a critical value," the voice said. "A necessary measure to discourage big ideas on the part of wisenheimers in my employ. May I ask how you happen to be aboard the carrier, by the way?" "I just wanted—I mean, after I figured out—that is, the police ... I went for help," Dan finished lamely. "Help? Out of the picture, unfortunately. One must maintain one's anonymity, you'll appreciate. My operation here is under wraps at present. Ah, I don't suppose you brought any paintings?" to catch a brown eye upon him. Only one. The other seemed to be busily at work studying the ceiling. "I hope," the voice said, "that you ain't harboring no reactionary racial prejudices." "Gosh, no," Dan reassured the eye. "I'm crazy about—uh—" "Vorplischers," the voice said. "From Vorplisch, or Vega, as you call picture, a vacancy exists on my staff, which you might well fill. How does that grab you?" "You mean you want me to take over operating the time machine?" "Time machine?" The brown eyes blinked alternately. "I fear some confusion exists. I don't quite dig the significance of the term." "That thing," Dan jabbed a thumb toward the cage. "The machine I came here in. You want me—" "Time machine," the voice repeated. "Some sort of chronometer, perhaps?" "Huh?" "I pride myself on my command of the local idiom, yet I confess the time machine?" "Well, it's what you use to travel through time." The brown eyes blinked in agitated alternation. "Apparently I've loused "But—don't you have a time machine? I mean, isn't that one?" "That? That's merely a carrier. Now tell me more about your time machines. A fascinating concept! My superiors will be delighted at this development—and astonished as well. They regard this planet as Endsville." "Your superiors?" Dan eyed the window yellow cylinder lying on the desk. "Until the carrier is fueled, I'm afraid it's quite useless. But, to put you in the picture, I'd best introduce myself and explain my mission here. I'm Blote, Trader Fourth Class, in the employ of the Vegan Confederation. My job is to develop new sources of novelty items for the impulse-emporiums of the entire has to be a time machine they were riding in. Nothing else could just materialize out of thin air like that." " I'm supposed to supply you with a time machine?" Blote waggled a stubby forefinger at Dan. "I dislike pointing it out, Dan, but you are in a rather awkward position at the moment. Illegal entry, illegal possession of property, trespass—then doubtless some "A sales center?" Blote inquired. "Or a manufacturing complex?" "Both," Dan said. "I'll just nip over and—" "That won't be necessary, Dan," Blote said. "I'll accompany you." He "You!" a hoarse voice bellowed. "Grab him!" someone yelled. deafening shriek, like all the police sirens in town blaring at once. If the carrier stopped it would be a long fall from here. Dan worked was, it hadn't attracted any attention from the scattered pedestrians in the park. Perhaps it was some sort of burglar alarm. But if so, why hadn't it gone into action earlier? Dan took a deep breath. Sound or no which hung suspended near the carrier. Its surface rippled, faded to blankness. In a swirl of frosty air, a tall figure dressed in a tight-fitting white uniform stepped through. " Alors, monsieur ," the new-comer said, bending his knees and back in a quick bow. " Vous ete une indigine, n'est ce pas? " "No compree," Dan choked out "Uh ... juh no parlay Fransay...." "My error. This is the Anglic colonial sector, isn't it? Stupid of me. Permit me to introduce myself. I'm Dzhackoon, Field Agent of Class five, Inter-dimensional Monitor Service." "That siren," Dan said. "Was that you?"

<question>:
Dzhackoon’s job is most similar to what human job?

<options>:
A A novelty trader.
B A time machine specialist.
C An art collector.
D A police officer.

<answer>:

D