Engineering Infinity Read Online Free PDF

Race....”
    Nils tuned out the rest of the
answer, but Madeline argued and argued some more, and finally, he had to put a
hand on her knee, their signal to calm down. He paid for that later. What the hell were you thinking? she snapped at him. We want the best baby possible, and you’re accepting limits.
    Maybe he was. Maybe he didn’t
want the perfect child. Maybe he wanted a child, slightly imperfect, with a gap
in her teeth, and a crooked smile. Some endearing flaws, just to make her
human.
    Later, he learned the source
(sources) of Madeline’s fury. She wanted a child to fulfil her unrealized
dreams - exquisite beauty (there was none in their families, although the
doctor told them they would achieve pretty), brilliance (there both families
came through), and musical ability.
    Madeline sang so badly she was
excused from choir at school. Nils couldn’t read a note, didn’t try, didn’t
even like listening to music. Neither family had any musical talent - no one,
in all the recorded history, played an instrument, sang with a choir, soloed,
or even appreciated music much.
    Madeline wanted a musical child,
not for the grace and ability, the music itself, but because she believed that
music opened doors always closed to her - doors of fame, of importance, of
superstardom.
    But the doctor refused, so
Madeline went to another, and another, and another, until it was too late to
tinker even if they found someone who could, which they didn’t. Not in America,
not in Europe or Asia or Africa. She found a doctor in Peru, whom Nils insisted
on researching before they travelled to Lima, a doctor who turned out to be a
catastrophic fraud. Had they gone, they would’ve lost the baby altogether.
    Lost Suzette, who stole his heart
with her perfect smile, the way her little fingers curled around his thumb, the
mop of dark hair, so like her mother’s. They would’ve lost everything.
    Sooner.
    They would’ve lost everything
sooner.
    He tries to tell himself it’s not
that bad. He tries to put a good face on the problems.
    But his wife - his ex-wife - is
crazy, and his daughter, his daughter. His daughter might be lost forever.
     
    He’s drowning in what his
grandfather calls a mound of bills. Grandfather had to explain it: bills used
to be paper, they used to literally mound up, like a small hill in the middle
of a desk, something that could - quite realistically - bury you.
    Nils wonders if that was better
than picking up his cell, having it tell him, the moment his hand makes
contact, that he owes two months’ payments and he has thirty hours until
cut-off. Or the dun notices that run in 3-D across his eyes when he tries to
watch an entertainment program on the wall screen, just to relax. Or the
sighing whisper of his bed, reminding him that payments are due, payments are
due, payments are due, harassing him until he can’t sleep at all.
    The bills are in his name, not
Madeline’s. He was the organized one, the one who set everything up. She had
been the driven one, the one with the good job, the one who succeeded beyond
their wild imaginings.
    Until the baby. Then the
ambition, the drive he loved, all got poured into the child. Madeline neglected
work, neglected him, neglected all but Suzette - and not Suzette, really, but
what she imagined Suzette to be. Suzette the Musician. Suzette the Talent.
Suzette the Meal Ticket.
    He’d said all of that to the
judge and more. He’d paid for evaluations and custody hearings. He’d paid and
worried, and the lawyer said that he’d better hope they’d get a judge who paid
attention to the child and her needs, instead of Nils’ words, because they’d
become harsh toward the end.
    Harsh toward his wife ( Lard ass , he had called her more than once. The first thing we’re getting you are enhancements , he’d
said one particularly cruel afternoon. I want my skinny
wife back .) She’d let herself go in shocking ways, ways that a few cheap
enhancements would’ve improved.
    It