"Vattas 4 - Command Decision - Moon, Elizabeth_13" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

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?”

It had to be official. Something was very wrong indeed. “From a place…er…Luce’s?…they have
honeycakes and lime tea.”

“And when did you say you arrived?”

“A few hours ago; my ship from Cascadia docked at Nexus Station yesterday.”

“Do not attempt to end this call. Just a moment.” The connection hummed and hissed. Rafe finished his
honeycake and sipped tea while he waited.

The voice came back, a little less strained. “You entered the wrong number, a seven instead of a five.
We have confirmed your arrival today. You may end this call now.”

“What is this about?” Rafe asked. “Is something wrong?” Genson would ask that.





“It is no affair of yours,” the voice said; the connection broke.

“Would you like something else?” Luce’s proprietor, whom Rafe had known since childhood, stood by
the table, looking at him with suspicion but no recognition.

“It’s very good,” Rafe said, waving his hand at the crumbs on his plate. “But this is confusing. I need to
contact Flasic’s Bakery Supplies, and I entered the wrong number and someone was very rude to me.”

“We aren’t as formal as you Cascadians,” Luce said, picking up the plate. “Don’t assume we’re rude if