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

The semester was winding down. The mid-term in her World Wars class showed her two things: that she had an
affinity for the topic that she was sharing with the students; and that at least two of her graduate assistants had a
strong aversion to work. She lectured both assistants, spoke to the chair of the department about teaching the survey
class next semester, and continued on with the lectures, focusing on them as if she were the graduate student instead
of the professor.
By late April, she had her final exam written -- a long cumbersome thing, a mixture of true/false/multiple choice for
the assistants, and two essay questions for her. She was thinking of a paper herself -- one on the way those wars still
echoed through the generations -- and she was trying to decide if she wanted the summer to work on it or to teach as
she usually did.
The last Saturday in April was unusually balmy, in the seventies without much humidity, promising a beautiful
summer ahead. The lilac bush near her kitchen window had bloomed. The birds had returned, and her azaleas were
blossoming as well. She was in the garage, digging for a lawn chair that she was convinced she still had, when she
heard the hum of an electric car.
She came out of the garage, dusty and streaked with grime. A green car pulled into her driveway, next to the ancient
pick-up she used for hauling.
Something warned her right from the start. A glimpse, perhaps, or a movement. Her stomach flipped over, and she
had to swallow sudden nausea. She had left her personal phone inside -- it was too nice to be connected to the world
today -- and she had never gotten the garage hooked into House's computer because she hadn't seen the need for the
expense.
Still, as the car shuddered to a stop, she glanced at the screen door, wondering if she could make it in time. But the
car's door was already opening, and in this kind of stand-off, fake courage was better than obvious panic.
Her mother stepped out. She was a slender woman. She wore blue jeans and a pale peach summer sweater that
accented her silver and gold hair. The hair was new and had the look of permanence. Apparently her mother had finally
decided to settle on a color. She wore gold bangles, and a matching necklace, but her ears were bare.
"I have a restraining order against you," Brooke said, struggling to keep her voice level. "You are not supposed to
be here."
"I'm not the one who broke the order." Her mother's voice was smooth and seductive. Her courtroom voice. She had
won a lot of cases with that melodious warmth. It didn't seem too strident. It just seemed sure.
"I sure as hell didn't want contact with you," Brooke said.
"No? Is that why your university contacted me?"
Brooke's heart was pounding so hard she wondered if her mother could hear it. "Who contacted you?'
"A Professor Franke, for some study. Something to do with DNA samples. I was to send them through my doctor,
but you know I wouldn't do such a thing with anything that delicate."
Son of a bitch. Brooke hadn't known they were going to try something like that. She didn't remember any mention of
it, nothing in the forms.
"I have nothing to do with that," Brooke said.
"It seems you're in some study. That seems like involvement to me," her mother said.
"Not the kind that gets you around a restraining order. Now get the hell off my property."
"Brooke, honey," her mother said, taking a step toward her. "I think you and I should discuss this--"
"There's nothing to discuss," Brooke said. "I want you to stay away from me."
"That's silly." Her mother took another step forward. "We should be able to settle this, Brooke. Like adults. I'm your
mother--"
"That's not my fault," Brooke snapped. She glanced at the screen door again.
"A restraining order is for people who threaten your life. I've never hurt you, Brooke."
"There's judge in Dane County who disagrees, Mother."
"Because you were so hysterical," her mother said. "We've had a good run of it, you and I."
Brooke felt the color drain from her face. "How's that, Mother? The family that sues together stays together?"
"Brooke, we have been denied what's rightfully ours. We--"
 "It never said in any of those contests that a child had to be born by natural means. You misunderstood, Mother.
Or you tried to be even more perfect than anyone else. So what if I'm the first vaginal birth of the new millennium. So