"Karen Haber - On the Tip of a Cat's Tongue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haber Karen)

gleam of plastiflesh. She looked up and blue eyes of startling intensity met
his. She smiled.
The cat vaulted gracefully onto the desk. "I appreciate your coming on
short notice," it said.
Belatedly Seaton remembered the story: a cruiser docking error. Three
passengers killed, five badly hurt. One -- Kembali Val, level two curator
-- had survived. But her throat, her voice, was gone. The doctors had fitted
her with prostheses and a cyber-link to the animal -- and new voice -- of
her choice.
"My situation takes everyone by surprise at first," the cat continued.




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"My voice's name is Sebastian. He does not enjoy being petted by strangers.
Please sit down."
Green silk whispered as the woman gestured gracefully toward the
well-padded wing chair at the side of her desk.
Seaton nodded, uncertain whether to look at Kembali Val or her
surrogate voice. To gain time and a bit more composure he flashed his
holocard.
"Willem Seaton," Sebastian the cat said. "Private detective. Formerly
with the Department of Internal Security, IASA. So you are who you claim to
be, at least at first glance."
Seaton leaned toward Ms. Val. "It's rare that I receive a call from
someone in your line of work, ma'am."
"Is that so?" said Sebastian. "Well, I wouldn't have called you at all
if my employer -- "
"Colonel Westphal."
" -- hadn't insisted. We prefer to handle these matters privately --
in-house -- of course. But Colonel Westphal demanded that I contact you."
"Regarding?"
"Why, the fake, of course."
Seaton's eyebrows rose swiftly as the curator nodded. The Westphal art
collection was renowned throughout the Three Systems. While Seaton didn't care
much for art -- he could take it or leave it -- he knew that public
acknowledgement of an exhibited piece as fake would be extremely damaging. Not
to mention embarrassing.
"I see you understand the gravity of the situation. Good. Mr. Seaton,
what I'm about to show you must be held in complete secrecy. I am relying upon
your personal as well as professional discretion."
"Of course."
"Look at this."
She pressed a panel in her desk. A door sprang open, revealing a
faceted black onyx case. She opened it, and a light came on in the lid of the
case, illuminating the contents.
A smooth stone oval carved to eggshell thinness at its center sat upon
a plump cushion of amber velvet. Although it appeared to be crafted from rock
crystal, the object began to cloud and change color as Seaton watched, until