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

her, creating prisms, and her chubby baby fingers reaching for them, only to be caught and held by her mother's cold
hand.
Brooke declined to answer the third question, but the psychologist asked it at every single meeting. And after every
single meeting, Brooke went home and cried.
She gave a mid-term exam in her World Wars class, the first time she had ever done so in a survey class. But she
decided to see how effective she was being, since her concentration was more on her own past than the one she was
supposed to be teaching.
Her graduate assistants complained about it, especially when they looked at the exam itself. Her assistants had tried
to talk her into a simple true/false/multiple choice exam, and she had glared at them. "I don't want to give a test that can
be graded by computer," she said. "I want to see a handwritten exam, and I want to know what these kids have
learned." And because she wanted to know that -- not because of her assistants' complaints (as she made very clear) --
she took twenty of the exams to grade herself.
But before she started, she had a meeting in Franke's office. He had called her.
Franke's office was in a part of the campus she didn't get to very often. A winding road took her past Washburn
Observatory on a bluff overlooking Lake Mendota, and into a grove of young trees. The parking area was large and
filled with small electric and energy efficient cars. She walked up the brick sidewalk. Unlike the sidewalks around the
rest of the city, this one didn't have the melting piles of dirty snow that were reminders of the long hard winter.
Instead, tulips and irises poked out of the brown dirt lining the walk.
The building was an old Victorian style house, rather large for its day. The only visible signs of a remodel (besides
the pristine condition of the paint and roof) were the security system outside, and the heatpump near the driveway.
 Clearly this was a faculty-only building; no classes were held here. She turned the authentic glass door knob and
stepped into a narrow foyer. A small electronic screen floated in the center of the room. The screen moved toward her.
"I'm here to see Dr. Franke," she said.
"Second floor," the digital voice responded. "He is expecting you."
She sighed softly and mounted the stairs. With the exception of the electronics, everything in the hall reflected the
period. Even the stairs weren't covered in carpet, but instead in an old-fashioned runner, tacked on the sides, with a
long gold carpet holder pushed against the back of each step.
The stairs ended in a long narrow hallway, illuminated by electric lights done up to resemble gaslights. Only one
door stood open. She knocked on it, then, without waiting for an invitation, went in.
The office wasn't like hers. This office was a suite, with a main area and a private room to the side. A leather couch
was pushed against the window, and two matching leather chairs flanked it. Teak tables provided the accents, with
round gold table lamps the only flourish.
Professor Franke stood in the door to the private area. He looked at her examining his office.
"Impressive," she said.
He shrugged. "The university likes researchers, especially those who add to its prestige."
She knew that. She had published her thesis, and it had received some acclaim in academic circles, which was why
she was as far ahead as she was. But very few historians became famous for their research. She doubted she would
ever achieve this sort of success.
"Would you like a seat?" Franke asked.
She sat on one of the leather chairs. It was soft, and molded around her. "I didn't think you'd need to interview
every subject to see if they wanted to continue," she said.
"Every subject isn't you." He sat across from her. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he had been running his
fingers through it, and he had a coffee stain above the breastpocket of his white shirt. "We had agreements."
She nodded.
"I will tell you some of what we have learned," he said. "It's preliminary, of course."
"Of course." She sounded calmer than she felt. Her heart was pounding.
"We've found three interesting things. The first is that all Millennium Babies in this study walked earlier than the
norm, and spoke earlier as well. Since most were firstborns, this is unusual. Firstborns usually speak later than the
norm because their every need is catered to. They don't need to speak right away, and when they do, they usually
speak in full sentences."