"Walter Jon Williams - Aristoi" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

folds pronounced.

Gabriel watched, absorbing the sight, as the spinning globe dropped morning into the garden.
Photons' touch

12

WALTER JON WILLIAMS

caused palati plants to fire pollen from their tube'shaped flowers. Floating particles glowed in
the light of the rising sun.

Dawn, in her golden sandals, Gabriel thought, after Sappho. Whatever thought came next drifted
away with the palati pollen before he could catch it.

He was going to impregnate the Black-Eyed Ghost, his lover. He thought for a moment about that,
about gametes floating like pollen, about bits of himself set adrift in the universe.

His various selves seemed at peace with the notion.

The dog yawned again. The light, as the sun rose, turned bluer, more precise. Reality took on a
hard, photographic edge, qualities for which thousands of artists came to this system, this
planet. Illyricum, the World of Clear Light.

Gabriel's world. He had built it, designed its effects, contributed to its architecture. Issued
decrees to its population, at least when he felt like it, which wasn't often. He had, in fact,
owned the whole thing, till he'd given most of it away.

Illyricum was one of several worlds that Gabriel had designed.

He liked to think he hadn't made too many mistakes with any of them.

For the opening-night reception in Persepolis Gabriel dressed his skiagenos in a forest-green
jacket covered with gold brocade, tight breeches of a lighter green with Hungarian-style laces on
the thigh-tops, black reflective Hessian boots with gold tassels. The cravat was pinned with a
diamond, gem-stones ornamented the fingers, the hair was drawn back with diamond-and-enamel clips.
Atop his head Gabriel put a soft bonnet with a diamond pin and dashing feather. He worked some
long moments getting his scent precisely the way he wanted it, just the proper combination, a hint
of spice and intrigue.

The finery was not purely ornamental. None of it existed in the Realized World—the outfit was
purely oneiro-chronic—but it all served as advertising for Gabriel's pro-

gramming skills. The stiif touch of the brocade had to be plausibly different from the soft feel
of the hat, the tickle of the feather, the pliant mass of copper hair, the warm press of Gabriel's
flesh. The reflective look of the polished boots was different from the hard, depthless glitter of
the stones on his fingers, the cheerful liquid highlights in his eyes, the soft weave of the
jacket and the complex patterned loops of the glowing gold brocade. The tassels on the boots were
reflected in the boots themselves and cast complex shadows as they danced.