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

<passage>:
their picket posts on the prison perimeter, a pilot and two bombardiers in each 'copter, stone-faced, staring grimly alert at the prison below. They were ready for the breakout. guards in Estates-General Correctional Institution—better known to its inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scent of trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived to No mixing. That was the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm in a family fight—and aren't all mechanics a family, aren't all laborers and once they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. The breakout would mean riot on a bigger scale than any prison had ever known. to a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in the disciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear and looked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting for him to judge their cases. offense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing in the mess hall." He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. "The block guard had to break up a fight between her and another wench, and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when the warned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure." Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: "I most basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degree of civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregation sweep—the spray machines and sweeperdozers had been over the cobblestones of the yard twice already that day. But it was an inmate's job to keep busy. And it was a guard captain's job to notice when they didn't. Every prison has its Greensleeves—sometimes they are called by different names. Old Marquette called it "the canary " Louisiana State it is a place for punishment. The outside guard shrugged. "Detail, halt !" The two guards turned to see what was coming in as riled up." "Let them in," the inside guard told him. "The others are riled up already." corridor and of each individual cell. While the fields were on, you could ignore the prisoners—they simply could not move fast enough, against the electronic drag of the field, to do any harm. But it was a the time—only when the cell doors had to be opened or a prisoner's restraining garment removed. say you got to wear it and the rules—Hey. She's crying!" He shook his head, marveling. It was the first time he had ever seen a prisoner cry in the Greensleeves. laborers—"wipes," for short—or, at any rate, they had been once. They had spent so much time in prisons that it was sometimes hard even The howling started all over again. The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned off miserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards the satisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedly normal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion against the vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was system— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself to long. III "I smell trouble," said O'Leary to the warden. "Trouble? Trouble?" Warden Schluckebier clutched his throat and his little round eyes looked terrified—as perhaps they should have. Warden Godfrey Schluckebier was the almighty Caesar of ten thousand inmates in the Jug, but privately he was a fussy old man trying to hold onto the "Trouble? afternoon, he was playing ball with the laundry orderlies in the yard." The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: "O'Leary, what did you want to worry me for? There's nothing wrong with playing ball in the yard. That's what recreation periods are for." "You don't see what I mean, Warden. Lafon was a professional on the don't mix it isn't natural. And there are other things." O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden that it didn't your job, keeping the inmates in line, and I have mine. Now your job is just as important as my job," he said piously. " Everybody's just as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick to "Excuse the expression, O'Leary," the warden said anxiously. "I mean, after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right?" He was a great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. " You don't want to worry about my end of running the prison. And trouble coming up. I smell the signs." "Handle it, then!" snapped the warden, irritated at last. "But suppose it's too big to handle. Suppose—" "It isn't," the warden said positively. "Don't borrow trouble with tonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—' Oh, curse the thing." His phone was ringing. The warden picked it up irritably. That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary they gave you a lift, but they put you on edge. His name was Flock. He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him, thought that maybe, after all, the man was really in pain. Maybe the crazy screams were screams of agony, because certainly his face was the face of an agonized man. The outside guard bellowed: "Okay, okay. Take ten!" happen was that the guard reached up and closed the switch that actuated the tangler fields on the floors of the cells. The prison rules were humanitarian, even for the dregs that inhabited the Greensleeves. Ten minutes out of every two hours, even the worst case had to be allowed to take his hands out of the restraining garment. "Rest period" it was called—in the rule book. The inmates had a less lovely term for it. At the guard's yell, the inmates jumped to their feet. prisoners. It was not much to be grateful for, but Sue-Ann Bradley was grateful. At least she didn't have to live quite It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes still The warden lifted his head, glared, started feebly to speak, hesitated, and picked up the long-distance phone. He said sadly to the prison operator: "Get me the governor—fast." Riot! The word spread out from the prison on seven-league boots. Riot. And yet fewer than half a dozen men were involved. A handful of men, and the enormous bulk of the city-state quivered in every limb and class. In its ten million homes, in its hundreds of thousands of public places, the city-state's people shook under the impact of the news from the prison. For the news touched them where their fears lay. Riot! And not merely a street brawl among roistering wipes, or a bar-room fight of greasers relaxing from a hard day at the plant. The riot was down among the and no one cared but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. couldn't get up yet—it was the middle of the night. And as soon as they had the kids back in bed, most of the mothers They caught the words from a distance—not quite correctly. "Riot!" them out they were to fly interdicting missions at such-and-such levels on such-and-such flight circuits around the prison. were the ones who might actually accomplish something. They took up

<question>:
What is significant about the riot?

<options>:
A There are so few people involved, but because of the laws against interreacting with other specializations it's a huge issue.
B It was so easily pulled off. It didn't take a lot of effort for it to be successful.
C It's making nation wide news.
D There are a lot of prisoners involved, and they needed to call upon a lot of departments to address it.

<answer>:

A