# HighWire

## The New Atari WWW Browser

#### By Robert Goldsmith

## What is planned:

### Multiple thread downloading
HTML 4
JavaScript
Various other Plugins

## What We Already have ...

### 2 * faster than CAB in loading
Very fast redraws
Most of HTML 3.2
multithreading ready

## THE EYES OF GOD: A NOVEL OF THE PINCH

### by Mark Kreighbaum

### Excerpt

Go to the end

### Wan met Vida on the way to the reception, on time and sober, for once. He wore an odd sarong-like garment that wrapped tightly around his shoulders and hips. The fabric was some sort of tartan weave. Any other man would have looked foolish, but Wan cut a striking figure with his wide shoulders, slim hips, sculpted features and long dark hair flowing down over his shoulders. He looked like a wild warrior out of a holonovel. The media outside the reception hall couldn't stop taking pictures.

"You look very nice tonight, Sé Wan," said Vida, still feeling a warm glow from her afternoon with Rico.

Karlo's son gave her a sour look. Vida noticed that Wan's factor, Lenobai, had failed to show up again. She would have to have a talk with Wan about replacing his drinking buddy with somebody competent. Samante often ended up doing Leni's work as well as her own at these gatherings, which was unfair.

Wan plucked at his clothes with a disgusted expression.

"I feel ridiculous," said Wan. "This thing is hot as hell."

Vida suppressed a smile and tried to affect a look of sympathy.

"Well, shall we go in?"

He shrugged, but offered his arm. Vida could smell a faint musk on Wan. Hm. Maybe he'd had a little playtime of his own today. Well, none of her business. They'd slept together a handful of times since their marriage; it couldn't be avoided with Karlo so intent on his heirs that even without a birth permit, he expected them to practice. Each session was awful in its own way, but she had to admit that her husband had a fine body and knew what he was doing in bed, more than Rico in some ways. He just didn't give a damn about her pleasure and she certainly didn't arouse any passion in him--she remembered vividly that he hadn't even touched her on their wedding night. It was humiliating. She guessed it wasn't much fun screwing a woman because your father thought you were a lousy heir.

The reception hall had been decorated to resemble one of the great Theaters on Souk. All the walls had been switched to transparency and holos filled the room with stelae, columns that swirled with color and were programmed to interact with guests in a variety of ways. Arm in arm, she and Wan strolled the perimeter of the hall, pausing to chat with everyone they met. Vida did most of the talking, while Wan plastered on a fake smile and murmured platitudes. His thoughts were obviously light years away. In fact, she felt as if she were being escorted by a ghost, until Wan saw his father, without Dukayn for once, burst into the reception in a swarm of media, politicians, and entourage. The muscles in his forearm became stone and a shadow of hatred crossed his face. A moment later, he had a drink in his free hand.

Aleen had very definite theories about working a room and Vida tended to follow her principles--spiral in, focus on individuals but plan for the next encounter, and work to make every contact pleasant and memorable. But with such a large gathering of people from all different sects, guilds and even planets, the effort drained her very soon. She kept looking out for Samante. Vida hadn't realized how much the Interpreter acted as a subtle buffer and her language skills and cultural knowledge were invaluable in a situation like this. Wan was no help, though surprisingly he had a gift for languages and often spoke the native tongue of the people they met with an offhand fluency that annoyed her. Since their marriage, she'd discovered that Wan had talents that he chose to keep hidden from everyone, especially his father. She couldn't understand why he preferred to be seen as a stupid drunken buffoon by Karlo when it was clear that he had some intelligence.

He detached from her early on, in any case, to flow into a raucous crowd of younger people, mostly soldiers and Interstellar guildmembers. She sighed. It wouldn't be long before he was drunk and making an ass of himself.

"Sé Vida, how nice to see you again." The round little Countess of Motta clasped Vida's hands in her soft warm grip.

"And you, Countess. I'm sorry I couldn't stop by to see you today, but I did wave as we passed over your plantations. I loved the arrangement of the rice paddies, in the shape of your family's gene-glyph, aren't they?"

The Countess clapped her hands and laughed with delight. The group of hangers-on and would-be entourage all laughed heartily with her, like little echoes.

"You know, you are the first person to notice that? I feel that anything worth doing is worth doing artfully, don't you?"

"I do. My guardian is very fond of art and she had me tour all the galleries on the Map when I was a girl."

"Have you been to the Nomadia's Collection, then?"

"Oh yes! The Hirrel have such a unique visual sense. I adore their poetry. I've often thought that 'Iai i' is meant to be part of some larger idea, all those rivers flowing into each other. I confess that I don't understand the poem, even in translation."

Suddenly, Samante stepped into view. She was wearing a long black smartsilk gown that pooled around her like liquid shadow. Her icelight pin shone where it clasped up her braids. Vida wondered how long the Interpreter had been standing there, silent and unobserved. "The Sh'mil version is a poor translation, hackwork. May I offer my interpretation, Sé Vida?"

"Oh, please do," said the Countess, her face open with honest interest, or an exceptionally good imitation.

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind, Sé Samante."

Samante inclined her head.

"First, I will give you the poem in Relzhu. It would be a shame not to hear it first in the Hirrel's native tongue:

         Iaiai uani i zhuris
         zhuri i oma
         omamiu aoa w'orina
         i maro iai maro iaimi
         zhur"

Samante paused. The little group around them was an island of complete silence. Vida hadn't realized what a pure singing voice Samante possessed.

"The extant translations all attempt to make false rhymes, or obey some artificial metrical structure; Sh'mil is famous for being a slave to forms. There is always the human tendency to try and make alien art fit our own preconceptions." Samante gazed off into some distant place.

         "Love knows no river,
         rivers don't sing,
         singers believe in star-swimming,
         not moments. Kiss moments of passion.
         Flow."

The Countess of Motta clapped her hands and, after a moment, so did most of the others, including Vida.

"That was beautiful, Samante, much better than the Sh'mil," said Vida. Then she added, ruefully, "But I still don't get it."

Everyone laughed and even Samante smiled.

"It's a kind of tone-poem, meant to create an ambience for the artwork. It helps if you've read other work by the poet of 'Iai i.' She often works with metaphors of movement. If we ever get to Souk, I'll introduce you to her."

"You know Kiltë?" exclaimed the Countess.

Samante nodded. "I met her on Souk. She is the shipsib of a friend." But now the Interpreter seemed to feel that she had been the center of attention too long and she stepped slightly back. "Sé Karlo asked if you might join him at some point."

Vida excused herself and fell in step with her factor. She leaned close to her and whispered, "I like the dress, but I still think the gold shimmy would've been better."

Samante laughed and her icy manner seemed to melt away. A saccule came up to them with a tray of various drinks balanced on its palm. Vida took a fingertube of what looked like pink sherry and gave a little boom of thanks. Samante kept her hands tucked into the billowy sleeves of her gown.

"You're probably right, but Greenie had, ahem, an accident on it and this was the only clean thing I had to wear."

Vida sighed theatrically. "Greenie has got to learn not to get so excited when laying out clothes."

They chatted just like usual as they crossed the floor toward Karlo's group. Vida glanced around for Wan, but her husband was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he hadn't just left the reception and forgotten about the private dinner after.

The First Citizen wore his Fleet uniform, the dress version with medals and honors, and he was an impressive sight, all gold and silver with clusters of jade and ruby. Vida had never seen him in full regalia and found herself staring at his military decorations. Karlo, whose blunt features concealed a quick wit, noticed. His white teeth flashed.

"I look ridiculous, don't I?"

"Oh no, First Citizen," said Vida, honestly startled. In fact, she'd been thinking that he looked wonderful, like one of the characters in her beloved holonovels come to life.

Vanna arrived, and the swirl of people around them grew. The Second Citizen might be vindictive and dangerous, but she was also a valuable ally to many families. Vanna wore white slit skirts, a style more usual for Leps then humans. The dress showed a lot of skin, all of it covered with elaborate blue tattoos, a legacy of her youth in the Interstellar guild.

While Karlo greeted his wife, Vida took the moment to scan the crowd for Wan. She leaned close to Samante.

"Could you please find Wan? It looks like he's forgotten the dinner."

Samante nodded and turned toward a saccule servant to whisper instructions. Vida realized Vanna had said something to her.

"I'm sorry, Sé Vanna, I didn't hear you."

The Second Citizen was a tall, muscular woman, and the tattoos that covered her whole body vaguely unsettled Vida. She spoke slowly, enunciating each word.

"Where is your saccule? A Chief Patron should always bring a saccule to stand behind the chair and serve as a dinner servant."

The large group of people around them consisted of a mix of people, younger Patron-tracks from families in Vanna's debt, or hoping to be, soldiers on leave from the Fleet, politicians and diplomats. This little scene was bound to become a piece of Government House gossip. Every time she saw Vanna, this sort of thing happened. She was getting used to it. Vanna was obviously setting her up for yet another insult.

Vida fixed a polite smile on her face.

"Greenie isn't feeling well." Actually, Greenie was still clumsy and nervous. She would never dare bring the saccule to an important social function. "I'll have to borrow one of yours, I'm afraid. My good fortune. Everyone knows that the Makeesa saccules are the best trained on Palace." Maybe a compliment would deflect her this once.

Vanna glanced at Samante and Vida guessed what she was going to say a moment too late to stop her.

"Sé Dinisa, perhaps you would stand for your Patron?"

Samante's face drained of color.

"Vanna." Karlo stepped close to his wife, but the Second Citizen laughed.

"Oh, please. It was only a joke. You weren't offended, were you, Dinisa?"

"No, Second Citizen, of course not." Vida was amazed at Samante's level tone. "Excuse me, please, I have to run an errand for my Patron."

Samante bowed and melted into the gathering. Vida stared at Karlo, who only shrugged. Even Karlo didn't dare confront Vanna Makeesa unless it was a matter that concerned him and obviously the hurt feelings of a mere factor didn't signify. Vanna laughed again and her crowd of sycophants echoed her with weak chuckles. What a talent she has for cruelty, Vida thought. No wonder she has so many enemies. Maybe it was time for the L'Vars to build a coalition against her. Vanna must have sensed something in Vida's look, because she smiled at her with a look of inquiry. Vida remembered the lesson of the Garang Japat and maintained a pose of calm dignity. But it was a good thing Vanna couldn't read her thoughts.

"Perhaps we should go in to dinner?" said Vida. "I'm sure Sé Wan will join us momentarily."

The tension of the moment was past and Karlo and Vanna led them out of the reception area to a private room in a cordoned off area of the East Tower, where they met the guest of honor and his companion. As they walked, Vida studied the legate and his jii. He was a short Varani with a dyed goatee and clothes whose cut and fabric even Aleen would have approved, though as Karlo had hinted, they were very brightly colored. The jii wore a simple white shift and no jewelry. She was a tiny thing, not more than five feet tall, with no obviously exceptional attributes, though she had a nice compact body. But she exuded a genuine charm and her quick laughter never seemed forced. Aleen had made Vida study the techniques of the jii very carefully and it made her a bit uncomfortable to realize how much of her own interactions with people were based on the psychological theories of sociobiology used by jii transition wives to make their husbands happy and comfortable.

The dinner party was smaller than Vida had expected, only a dozen people total, including the Souk legate, his jii and a mere half dozen of his entourage. Vida felt very nervous. Neither Wan nor Samante were back and this was her first occasion where the Protocols really mattered. She remembered the correct order of greeting, gave each Souk citizen the proper angle of bow and kept her remarks short and neutral, but she continued to get more and more anxious. If Wan didn't arrive before they sat down to the first course and opening toast, it would be an obvious insult to the legate. Damn the man.

At the last moment, Wan and Samante entered the room. Wan's beautiful sarong was speckled with blood, his hair was matted, and his face was flushed. Samante's expression was as close to genuine fury as Vida had ever seen. Wan quickly joined Vida and stood behind his chair. The Souk legate was a master of the Protocols, but he couldn't resist this dramatic entrance.

"Sé Wan, you are not hurt, I trust?"

"No, Sé Abelvaas. I'm sorry to be late."

"What happened?" That was the jii, who was probably the only person in the room who could get away with such an obvious breach of etiquette, but you could sense everybody's relief. It was the question everyone wanted to ask.

"I caught Captain Wintershoal beating a saccule." Wan met his father's glare without flinching. Wintershoal was one of Karlo's favorite officers. "I asked him if he wanted to take on someone a bit taller. He won't be whipping any saccules with that silly little baton of his for a while."

Abelvaas laughed delightedly. "The famous Peronida chivalry. Well done, Wan. I despise bullies."

"Yes, well done, Sé Wan," said the jii.

With that, the dinner party got off to a splendid beginning. The legate, previously a bit cool to Karlo and Vanna, seemed to warm up to them and by the time desserts were served--a special confection of klosh topped by cream--it was clear that he was on their side in some matter of importance. Wan, a bit unused to being treated like a hero at these things, relaxed and kept the table enthralled with stories of hunting swampworms with the wild gendered saccules.

"They're very different from the neuters, of course, much larger and with a wider range of sounds from their throat sacs. But you'd be amazed at the similarities. Saccules don't see well, but they can smell a change of light, I swear."

"Souk doesn't have many saccules," said the jii, who by custom did not reveal her name in public, but simply went by the honorific. "I understand the Pope's Eye is here to determine their sapiency?"

Wan nodded, swallowing a mouthful of klosh and wiping the cream from his chin absently. "Yeah. I've talked with her a few times. She's serious about it. I even offered to help her find the old research stations out in the swamp. The maps are useless. The swamp changes every day. You can't find anything without guides."

Vida hid her surprise. Wan had met with Sister Romero? It made sense, she supposed. But somehow Vida hadn't imagined that Romero would spend her time with someone like Wan. But then, she hadn't thought that a petulant drunk like Wan would care so much about saccules, either.

"I would love to go with you," said the jii wistfully. Was she flirting with Wan? "We're only here for a short visit, though, I'm afraid."

Vida turned to her right, where Samante was having an animated conversation with Abelvaas's Interpreter, a young man with delicate features. They were speaking rapidly in a language Vida had never even heard. Vida looked across the table and caught Vanna staring at her intently. She didn't look away, either. Vida turned away and pretended to be listening avidly to Wan's explanation of the lives of neuter saccules in the swamp. She could feel the weight of Vanna's hostile gaze.

". . . children. Nobody knows why. Sister Romero has some ideas, though."

"And they sell them to you?" asked the jii.

"Right," said Wan. "The gendered saccules thought that the Colonizers were gods and they offered them neuters as a gift. It was only later that it became a barter situation. After the Schism Wars, in fact."

"Yes," Vida said, attempting to join the conversation. She probably knew more about the Schism Wars than anyone at this table--it had been a particular hobby of Aleen's. "But that varied according to the tribe, didn't it? I seem to remember reading somewhere that the arctic saccules did buy and sell their neuters, even before the Colonizers showed up."

"Well, I don't know about that," said Wan, a sulky tone entering his voice. "They all do it now, that's for sure."

"Where do they come from, Sé Wan?" asked the jii. She focused only on Wan. She was flirting with him. That was very improper for her profession. At least the legate didn't appear to mind, though he certainly noticed. "It seems unlikely that so many would be born neuter. Why, Palace must have hundreds of neuter saccules. I've seen dozens right here in Center Sect."

Wan frowned, as if this thought had never occurred to him.

"There's never been a census of the wild saccules. They've got most of the planet to themselves. There were a few attempts to enslave them, too, but the Colonizers figured out real quick that not even Rim tech gave them much of an advantage in the swamp, even with swampsuits. There could be millions of 'em for all we know. Sister Romero is planning to do a real census soon."

"Originally, the first people on Palace were researchers," said Vida. "They didn't become Colonizers until after the macroshunt closed. Part of their research was a study of the saccules. I'm sure they did a census then."

The jii looked at her as if she were a fool. Wan said nothing, but he seemed to have lost all interest in the subject. Soon, he had another drink in his hand, and he and the jii began to chat in Kephalese, a blatant snub. Vida felt thoroughly off balance. Usually, she was so good in these settings, much better than Wan. She'd thought that she and the jii would hit it off, but instead the woman seemed to have taken an immediate dislike to her. Well, why not? Vida was the wife of this man she obviously wanted.

At the head of the table, Vanna was telling a convoluted anecdote that had the legate and most of the people up there laughing continuously. It always surprised Vida that Vanna could be so charming when she wanted to. Karlo was doing some kind of business with his neighbors and Samante seemed completely oblivious to anything but the intense conversation she and the other Interpreter were having.

It was going to be a long dinner . . .

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