"Robert Reed - The Children's Crusade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

The Children's Crusade

by Robert Reed



If one tallies weekly allowances, part-time employment, birthday and holiday gifts, as well as
limited trusts, the children of the world wield an annual income approaching one trillion NA
dollars. Because parents and an assortment of social service organizations supply most of their
basic needs, that income can be considered discretionary. Discretionary income always possesses
an impact far beyond its apparent value. And even more important, children are more open than
adults when it comes to radical changes in spending habits, and in their view of the greater world.


Please note: We have ignored all income generated through gambling, prostitution, the sale of
drugs and stolen merchandise, or currency pilfered from a parent's misplaced wallet.

We need to conspicuously avoid all questionable sources of revenue тАж at least for the present тАж

тАФCrusade memo, confidential




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The pregnancy couldn't have been easier, and then suddenly, it couldn't have been worse.

We were still a couple weeks away from Hanna's due date. By chance, I didn't have an afternoon class,
which was why I drove her to the doctor's office. The check-up was supposed to be entirely routine. Her
OB was a little gray-haired woman with an easy smile and an autodoc aide. The doctor's eyes were
flying down a list of numbersтАФthe nearly instantaneous test results derived from a drop of blood and a
sip of amniotic fluid. It was the autodoc who actually touched Hanna, probing her belly with pressure and
sound, an elaborate and beautiful and utterly confusing three-dimensional image blooming in the room's
web-window. I've never been sure which professional found the abnormality. Doctors and their aides
have always used hidden signals. Even when both of them were human, one would glance at the other in
a certain way, giving the warning, and the parents would see none of it, blissfully unaware that their lives
were about to collapse.

Some things never change.

It was our doctor who said, "Hanna," with the mildest of voices. Then showing the barest smile, she
asked, "By any chance, did you have a cold last week?"

My wife was in her late forties. A career woman and single for much of her life, she delayed menopause
so that we could attempt a child. This girl. Our spare bedroom was already set up as a nursery, and two
baby showers had produced a mountain of gifts. That's one of the merits of waiting to procreate to the
last possible moment; you have plenty of friends and grateful relatives with money to spend on your