"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Millennium Babies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

She was standing by. Now she wished she had brought her glass of wine into the kitchen. For the first time, she felt
as if she needed it.
"Ms. Delacroix?" A male voice spoke, and as it did, the monitor filled with an image. A middle-aged man with dark
hair and dark eyes stared at a point just beyond her. He had the look of an intellectual, an aesthetic, someone who
spent too much time in artificial light. He also looked vaguely familiar. "Forgive my rudeness. I know you go by Cross
now, but I wanted to make certain that you are the woman I'm searching for. I'm looking for Brook Delacroix, born 12:05
a.m., January first in the year 2000 in Detroit, Michigan."
Another safety protocol. What was this?
"That's me," Brooke said.
The screen blinked slightly, apparently as her answer was fed into some sort of program. He must have recorded
various messages for various answers. She knew she wasn't speaking to him live.
"We are actually colleagues, Ms. Cross. I'm Eldon Franke..."
Of course. That was why he looked familiar. The Human Potential Guru who had gotten all the press. He was a
legitimate scientist whose most recent tome became a pop culture bestseller. Franke rehashed the nature versus
nurture arguments in personality development, mixed in some sociology and some well documented advice for
improving the lot nature/nurture gave people, and somehow the book hit.
She had read it, and had been impressed with the interdisciplinary methods he had used -- and the credit he had
given to his colleagues.
"...have a new grant, quite a large one actually, which startled even me. With that and the proceeds from the last
book, I'm able to undertake the kind of study I've always wanted to do."
She kept her hands folded and watched him. His eyes were bright, intense. She remembered seeing him at faculty
parties, but she had never spoken to him. She didn't speak to many people voluntarily, especially during social
occasions. She had learned, from her earliest days, the value of keeping to herself.
"I will be bringing in subjects from around the country," he was saying. "I had hoped to go around the world, but
that makes this study too large even for me. As it is, I'll be working with over three hundred subjects from all over the
United States. I didn't expect to find one in my own backyard."
A subject. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She had thought he was approaching her as an equal.
"I know from published reports that you dislike talking about your status as a Millennium Baby, but--"
"Off," she said to House. Franke's image froze on the screen.
"I'm sorry," House said. "This message is designed to be played in its entirety."
"So go around it," she said, "and shut the damn thing off."
"The message program is too sophisticated for my systems," House said.
Brooke cursed. The son of a bitch knew she'd try to shut him down. "How long is it?"
"You have heard a third of the message."
Brooke sighed. "All right. Continue."
The image became mobile again. "--I hope you hear me out. My work, as you may or may not know, is with human
potential. I plan to build on my earlier research, but I lacked the right kind of study group. Many scientists of all stripes
have studied generations, and assumed that because people were born in the same year, they had the same hopes,
aspirations, and dreams. I do not believe that is so. The human creature is too diverse--"
"Get to the point," Brooke said, sitting on a wooden kitchen chair.
"--so in my quest for the right group, I stumbled on thirty-year-old articles about Millennium Babies, and I realized
that the subset of your generation, born on January 1 of the year 2000, actually have similar beginnings."
"No, we don't," Brooke said.
"Thus you give me a chance to focus this study. I will use the raw data to continue my overall work, but this study
will focus on what it is that makes human beings succeed or fail--"
"Screw you," Brooke said and walked out of the kitchen. Behind her, Franke's voice stopped.
"Do you want me to transfer audio to the living room?" House asked.
"No," Brooke said. "Let him ramble on. I'm done listening."
The fire crackled in the fireplace, her wine had warmed to room temperature, bringing out a different bouquet, and
her blankets looked comfortable. She sank into them. Franke's voice droned on in the kitchen, and she ordered House