A Princess of The Linear Jungle

after he had outfitted them with provisions here?
    Troutwine had sidled up to Merritt in a moment of semi-isolation during the organized chaos of arrival at the interzone and whispered to her, “The splendid beds at the Heatherlake are reputed to confer enormous energies when used properly. May I suggest— oof! ”
    Troutwine’s grunt was occasioned by Merritt’s savage stiff-fingered jab into his ribs. Rubbing his injured area while maintaining a cosmopolitan smile, Troutwine bowed to her and retreated.
    Good riddance! thought Merritt.
    Peart and Ransome had assembled a simple but satisfying supper of ham and roast beef sandwiches, soup and fruit, and now the party sat contemplatively around their rude, nighted hearth, the true enormity of what they intended finally sinking in.
    Peart’s remark on the weather was not met with any great discussion, and Merritt sensed that the rest of the group shared her tiredness. It had been a long, exhiliratingexhilarating day. Even though they were a mere sixty or seventy miles from Wharton, they seemed transported to the legendary Low-Hundreds.
    Merritt stood up and stretched, intending to kick off a general retreat to their foam mattresses.
    At that moment a savage drumming filled the air, punctured within human whoops and wails! The rapid beats of the barbaric alien music sent Merritt’s pulse racing.
    Clutching Ransome, Cady Rachis said, “Are we hearing the savages beyond the Wall?”
    Dan Peart cocked his ear, then said, “Naw. It’s just the dancehall over yonder. Shinetaupe’s Cotillion. Saw it on the way in. Guess they don’t start really hopping till late.”

    Balsam Troutwine waved from the shore and shouted. “Go safely! I’ll have a case of Kriel’s Prosecco awaiting your return!”
    The Samuel Smallhorne pulled away from its Hakelight Slip. Merritt watched the shore recede with mingled feelings of trepidation and excitement. At long last, they had truly embarked on this milestone mission to one of the incontestably unknown districts of the Linear City. No matter what lurked in those green precincts—fame or disgrace, knowledge or enigmas, life or death—the waiting was over. Merritt rested one hand on the haft of her holstered knife, gift of her mentor Chambless, securely belted around her waist. She leaned in to Arturo Scoria’s comforting bulk, noticing that Cady and Ransome were likewise entwined. Peart looked longingly at the shrinking sight of his abandoned bicycle. Durian Vinnagar consulted charts of the River’s currents in a pocket almanac. The bike-messenger boys chucked pebbles into the water, striving to outdo each other’s ripples.
    “It’s comical, really,” said Scoria. “The trip’s just a mile, but it might as well be millions of Blocks.”
    Prior scouting by Captain Canebrake, cruising slowly offshore from the ruined Slips of Vayavirunga, revealed that just four Blocks away a halfway decent mooring could be obtained. There all would be offloaded.
    Scoria doffed the canvas backpack he wore, in common with the others. From it he removed a radio transceiver big as the whole set of Diego Patchen’s triple-decker novel Jesper’s Follies . He activated the set and unlimbered a microphone.
    “Probe to Base Camp, come in.”
    The voice of the charabanc chauffeur, hired to remain behind, emerged from the transceiver. “Base Camp here. Any orders?”
    “No, just testing. Over and out.”
    Ransome called out, “Arturo, can I see you?”
    Scoria attended to the summons, and Merrit accompanied him.
    Ransome had one of their pneumatic rifles disassembled. Operating on compressed air caplets, the weapons fired darts tipped with a fast-acting toxin.
    “Decided to test them all one more time. I’m afraid this one’s useless. Gasket seems to have gone bad overnight.”
    “No matter, we’ll still have enough. Nice foresight, though. Well done!”
    Ransome beamed, and Merritt considered that he already looked happier and healthier than he had back in Wharton. She felt glad for his recovery from the vivisectionist tragedy.
    Captain Canebrake called out, “Prepare to put ashore!”
    Peart ordered his charges into action. Designated to provide defensive coverage, the bike boys scrambled to grab their rifles. Bearing packs four times as large as anyone else’s, they moved a bit clumsily.
    The Samuel Smallhorne ground noisily against the crumbling concrete Slip remnant, and a crewmember vaulted the taff rail to secure the vessel with a