A Princess of The Linear Jungle

gestures, the ratmen induced the humans to sit in a tolerably comfortable cluster on the soft fragrant turf.
    Cady Rachis and Dan Peart now numbered among the conscious. The pampered torchsinger—no longer quite so glamorous as when onstage as Loona Poole—was bearing up better than Merritt had anticipated. Comforting noises and stroking from Ransome Pivot achieved the same effect on her that the ratman’s solicitations worked on the cargo roach, thought Merritt, before mentally criticizing herself as bitchily uncharitable.
    Cady glared at the ratmen, then spat onto the grass. “Flea-bitten murderous bastards! Eat poison and die!”
    Dan Peart, noted Merritt, was actually suffering more acutely than Cady. A long, crusted cut from a ratman lance blade ran from his temple, down the side of his face to his jaw. But although undoubtedly painful, the cut must have paled when compared to Peart’s remorse at his inability to protect his cyclist comrades. He clucked his tongue and muttered their names over and over as a sad litany.
    “Bunyan and Hunko. Darcy and Sickafoose. Lorne and Ross. All gone now….”
    As soon as they had composed themselves on the grass, the humans were encircled within a living barricade of roaches made to lie head to butt. This softly hissing, waist-high barrier discouraged escape very effectively. Within minutes, two ratmen returned to their captives and dumped big armfuls of fruit within their pen.
    Everyone looked to Professor Durian Vinnagar.
    “I don’t recognize these species, but they’re not saliva tree pods. And I cannot imagine our hosts would choose such a contrived way to slay us, after taking care to capture us alive.”
    With that reassurance, the famished humans fell upon the feast. Merritt found that the delicious fruit slaked her thirst as well as filled her stomach.
    Arturo Scoria wiped his pulp-smeared drippy face with the back of one hand, then cleaned the hand upon the grass. “Any of these fruits would fetch a high price on a Wharton greengrocer’s stand, if they could be cultivated. Perhaps we should save the seeds….”
    Cady looked incredulously at Scoria, as if at an addle-pated child. “Do you really believe we’re ever going to leave this horrible green prison alive?”
    “Oh, I’ve been in bad fixes before—maybe none worse than this, I admit—and I’ve come out of ‘em just fine. Once Durian susses out the palaver of these rats, we’ll have them eating out of our hands.”
    “Now then, Scoria, you’re making a non-trivial task sound as easy as Patchen famously knocking out his Bluesong’s Dilemma novella in a week.”
    “I have immense faith in you, Durian!”
    Even after living with the man for months, Merritt could not discern if Art’s bravado was a calculated sham, or authentic. In either case, his bold tone and sangfroid seemed just the antidote to despair. Even Peart perked up, availing himself of a second helping of fruit.
    “Can’t bring them back, nope. Just gotta get home to comfort the widows. Maybe stage a memorial race….”
    Ransome Pivot wore a serious mien. “If you really think we could get home safely, and establish some kind of trade with Vayavirunga, then I predict a medical revolution. Corpses of these ratmen would allow us to perfect the study of anatomy. Assuming they are as human inside as out. Brain and skull anatomy are out the window, of course, but otherwise—Poor Henry and Goodge! If only they had restrained their impetuousness just a bit longer.”
    Merritt chimed into the discussion with a genuine and burgeoning curiosity. “What are we to make of their hybrid nature, Art? How did their race ever arise? Some kind of perverse interbreeding? How would that even be possible? Or do they derive from artificial grafting of some sort? The combination of parts seems rather arbitrary. Where are their females? And why don’t the Pompatics claim the bodies of the dead ratmen?”
    Art cast an admiring glance at Merritt. “Ever the bright student, my dear, even amidst the wreckage of our expedition. You justify my estimation of your potential and your brilliance every day. Old Cham-bless would be proud of you as well, I’m sure. Your intriguing questions are all germane. But I’m afraid I have no immediate answers.”
    Cady Rachis said, “Little Miss Genius has forgotten to ask one important question. Where’re the red-skinned natives who sparked this whole crazy trip?”
    Merritt glared at Cady, but could not