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Buku The Maze Game by Diana Reed Slattery

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The Maze Game by Diana Reed Slattery

Author:Diana Reed Slattery [Slattery, Diana Reed]

Language: eng

Format: epub, mobi

Publisher: Xenolinguistics

Published: 2012-04-13T21:00:00+00:00

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The Maze Game by Diana Reed Slattery

48—Final Focus

The Millennium Class walked through the Dancemaster’s maze together for their final lesson. The maze was black. By tradition, a Glide led the way. T’Ling glided forward, a tiny doll on wheels. Six-foot tall MyrrhMyrrh followed. Next Daede, now two inches taller, watched her powerful form, and the rippling tattoos across the moving muscles of her back and legs. He wanted to reach forward and run his finger down the deeply indented valley of MyrrhMyrrh’s spine. He also noticed her clenching and unclenching her fists as she walked, then shaking the tension out her hands. Angle brought up the rear, towering over the other three. His combat springs brought him to a height fully two heads over Daede. He had eliminated every squeak for the occasion; the only sound his springs made was an occasional slight hydraulic sigh. Daede’s broad shoulders were set straight, his dark shoulder-length hair pulled back slick and captured in a silver ring at the base of his skull. Angle watched him toss his head back, as if his hair was unbound, and had fallen across his eyes. A habitual gesture, usually accompanied by a flashing Luciferian smile, or a sidelong glance from under his eyelids while his head was still raised. At least he’s got the swagger under control, Angle thought. Hair—how long had it taken MyrrhMyrrh to achieve those intricate indigo coils, dyed, oiled, braided, spiraled. All he needed was a wipe of the skin and a quick swab of the skull sockets—took two minutes with the vacuum pick. But he had to admit, if you’re going carry wet, you couldn’t do it much better than MyrrhMyrrh and Daede. They’d asked him to go last, as the tallest, but also because his chrome was so shiny. No one wanted to walk behind a mirror. Angle was happy; the chances of being touched were minimal. Not a single greasy fingerprint to break the perfect shine. T’Ling stood on a table to polish his back plates in the hard to reach spots at the top of the cradle. And she never left a trace.

T’Ling’s waist-length hair was unbound and fanned across the stiff, dulled silver robe she’d chosen for the occasion. Her feet were hidden. She never even let him see them anymore. Tradition, he reminded himself, but it still felt like one more sign of her withdrawal. He felt as if she were literally disappearing before his eyes, even when they were closest, even when he carried her in his claws, springing high over the fields. Even when she whispered love words, in which he could hear every nuance and overtone with his augmented audio. After the ceremonial greetings, they stood, widely spaced, in a line in front of the Dancemaster. No one sat during last class. On the story stone were four long ampoules of cobalt blue glass containing the Lily Wine.

 

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The Maze Game by Diana Reed Slattery

Author:Diana Reed Slattery [Slattery, Diana Reed] , Date: July 11, 2019

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Author:Diana Reed Slattery [Slattery, Diana Reed]

Language: eng

Format: epub, mobi

Publisher: Xenolinguistics

Published: 2012-04-13T21:00:00+00:00
48—Final Focus

The Millennium Class walked through the Dancemaster’s maze together for their final lesson. The maze was black. By tradition, a Glide led the way. T’Ling glided forward, a tiny doll on wheels. Six-foot tall MyrrhMyrrh followed. Next Daede, now two inches taller, watched her powerful form, and the rippling tattoos across the moving muscles of her back and legs. He wanted to reach forward and run his finger down the deeply indented valley of MyrrhMyrrh’s spine. He also noticed her clenching and unclenching her fists as she walked, then shaking the tension out her hands. Angle brought up the rear, towering over the other three. His combat springs brought him to a height fully two heads over Daede. He had eliminated every squeak for the occasion; the only sound his springs made was an occasional slight hydraulic sigh. Daede’s broad shoulders were set straight, his dark shoulder-length hair pulled back slick and captured in a silver ring at the base of his skull. Angle watched him toss his head back, as if his hair was unbound, and had fallen across his eyes. A habitual gesture, usually accompanied by a flashing Luciferian smile, or a sidelong glance from under his eyelids while his head was still raised. At least he’s got the swagger under control, Angle thought. Hair—how long had it taken MyrrhMyrrh to achieve those intricate indigo coils, dyed, oiled, braided, spiraled. All he needed was a wipe of the skin and a quick swab of the skull sockets—took two minutes with the vacuum pick. But he had to admit, if you’re going carry wet, you couldn’t do it much better than MyrrhMyrrh and Daede. They’d asked him to go last, as the tallest, but also because his chrome was so shiny. No one wanted to walk behind a mirror. Angle was happy; the chances of being touched were minimal. Not a single greasy fingerprint to break the perfect shine. T’Ling stood on a table to polish his back plates in the hard to reach spots at the top of the cradle. And she never left a trace.

T’Ling’s waist-length hair was unbound and fanned across the stiff, dulled silver robe she’d chosen for the occasion. Her feet were hidden. She never even let him see them anymore. Tradition, he reminded himself, but it still felt like one more sign of her withdrawal. He felt as if she were literally disappearing before his eyes, even when they were closest, even when he carried her in his claws, springing high over the fields. Even when she whispered love words, in which he could hear every nuance and overtone with his augmented audio. After the ceremonial greetings, they stood, widely spaced, in a line in front of the Dancemaster. No one sat during last class. On the story stone were four long ampoules of cobalt blue glass containing the Lily Wine.

The Dancemaster wore a brand new black pajama and robe. He swirled the robe each time he changed direction, weaving around and between them as he talked.

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