"Elizabeth Moon - Vattas 4 - Command Decision" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

Except that she had shipboard ansibles and intended to use them. That, he had to think about, and
carefully, before he told his father. ISC must not decide she was an enemy. He owed her that much, just
in case she was still alive.

His portable security system informed him that—aside from the general surveillance designed to notice
and focus on suspicious activity—he was not observed. Humans were inattentive witnesses anyway, and
no one really cared about a middle-aged, slightly paunchy man quietly eating honeycake and drinking tea.
Nor would they care if he appeared to be talking to himself; almost everyone had an implant, and most of
those had skullphones.
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He activated his own skullphone and called his father’s private number. His father might be in a meeting,
might not answer at once, but—

“This number is no longer available. Please check the number you are calling and try again.”

Rafe sat very still, then made himself breathe normally. It had been years; the number was in his implant
files, but perhaps he had flicked the wrong one. That could happen. He entered it again.

“This number is no longer…”

He closed the connection and took a bite of honeycake. His father’s number was no longer available?
Had he changed it for some reason? That could be awkward; Rafe’s business persona had no reason
and no influence to get access to ISC’s chief executive. Surely his father hadn’t…died. Someone would
have told him. His mother would have, surely…

He activated the table’s local information file. His family’s home number would not be listed in such a
public place, but he remembered a lot of local numbers and he could see if there had been an overall
change. No. He did not have his mother’s private skullphone number, nor his sister’s, and he had not
wanted to call the house…all calls were recorded, and why would Genson Ratanvi be calling that
number? Call ISC headquarters? Use one of his other names? One of the names known to ISC’s internal
security? Very dangerous if someone there was crooked.

He found a useful number only two digits off his home—Flasic’s Bakery Supplies—and marked it on the
table’s list. Then he entered his own home’s number—a simple mistake, if anyone asked.

“Please state your name and reason for calling.” That was not a voice he knew, none of the household
he recognized, though his parents could have hired new servants since his last visit home. But the hair
rose on his arms. The link was hardbound, so that he could not simply cut off the call.

“This is Genson Ratanvi, just arrived from Cascadia,” he said in Genson’s voice, a prissy, plummy
version of a Cascadian accent. “I’m trying to reach Flasic’s Bakery Supplies…you are a purveyor of
custom-designed commercial bakery equipment and specialized mixes, are you not?”

“You have the wrong number,” the voice informed him. “Where are you calling from?”