A Princess of The Linear Jungle

Merritt had a hard time recalling the sensation of puzzlement she had experienced when she first heard the term from the lips of Goodge Adams during that first party she had attended. Source of much of the talk was the Medical School at Swazeycape U., which was dealing with a continual flood of requests for interviews and press conferences as they struggled to inform the public and counter the bad press their rogue students had brought down upon their august reputation.
    Everyone knew now of course that a corpse was a human turned into animal meat, a pile of bones and innards left behind after the essential motivating spark had fled, yet impossibly unclaimed by the Pompatics. Such an object would, of course, were it a feature of nature, have proved most useful for medical study, allowing close and prolonged examination of organic structures with an eye toward training up future physicians. And while Adams and Yun had come close to producing corpses, they had not of course completely succeeded, as evidenced by the speedy reclamation of their victims once disconnected from the life-support apparatus.
    What the amoral students had done was to produce near-corpses, humans kept quivering by technology on the knife’s edge of death as their bodies were coolly and rationally dissected for anatomy’s sake. The pair had kidnapped their victims from the lowest levels of society—drunkards, prostitutes, drug addicts, immigrants, criminals—the type of citizen whose disappearance would generally go unremarked or uninvestigated. Rendered unconscious at the outset and continually thereafter, mercifully kept from sensing their excruciations by strong drugs, the victims never knew their sordid fate.
    Weeks into November, Merritt still shivered when she recalled how Yun had sized her up, as if measuring her for a slab. She felt grateful and lucky to have escaped.
    But she also felt sad for Ransome Pivot, who had, in a non-fatal way, not been so fortunate.
    The trial of the Boy Docs happened swiftly, in the wonted manner of the Wharton justice system. During the proceedings, Yun and Adams both affirmed without duress—one tearfully, the other icily—that although Pivot knew of their vivisections, he had resolutely declined to participate in any manner. His only crime lay in not informing on his comrades. Public sentiment was about equally divided for and against Pivot. But the officials of Swazeycape University could not be so lenient.
    Ransome Pivot was swiftly expelled. And he still faced possible criminal charges.
    Merritt’s heart went out to the big bumbling idiot. She braced Arturo Scoria for help.
    “Can’t you get him reinstated somehow, Arturo dear? Please? He’s too young to have his life ruined like this—even if it is his own dam fault!”
    Scoria sized up Merritt with wry discernment. “I don’t suppose you harbor any tender feelings for the fellow?”
    “No! Of course not! It’s just that he’s from my native Borough, and he’s got so much potential. Despite this failure of judgment and his all-round idiocy, he’s really quite brilliant, you know.”
    “Let me see what I can do. For your sake, dear Merritt.”
    But despite what Merritt believed were Professor Scoria’s sincere best efforts, the academic authorities remained unbending.
    “You realize it’s actually better that young Pivot remain expelled. There are plenty of other institutions of higher learning in Linear City after all, many in distant Boroughs where this scandal will not have penetrated. The public here will feel he’s gotten some measure of punishment, and might not press so hard for criminal charges against him. Those would be much more serious. In fact, let me call my friend, Chief Constable Ivan Leonidov and see what they intend.”
    Returned from this second errand, Scoria reported results more heartening.
    “I’ve convinced Leonidov to drop all further prosecution of your friend, under one condition. He’s got to leave Wharton soon, and never return.”
    Merritt threw herself at Arturo Scoria, hugged and kissed him. “Oh, Art, that’s wonderful! Thanks you so, so much!”
    But then she began to worry again. “Where will he go right now? He can’t return to Stagwitz in disgrace. It would kill his family, if it hasn’t already.”
    “Don’t concern yourself with that. There’s a possibility I might have the solution. Your Ransome Pivot might be of use to me. But it concerns a matter which is not settled yet. Just