Read Online A Princess of The Linear Jungle by Paul Di Filippo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Di Filippo
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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 rope wrapped around a tree trunk thick as one of the columns on the NikThek portico.
A lush carpet of blue-green moss speckled with white florets completely covered the surface of the Slip. It provided solid footing, Merritt was pleased to learn.
Soon the whole party, twelve souls all told, had disembarked. Captain Canebrake gave the order to cast off.
“If you don’t radio for pickup sooner, I’ll be back every ten days, as we arranged!”
All twelve ashore silently watched their link to civilization dwindle. Even though the River was full of other traffic, Merritt felt isolated and bereft.
Slinging his rifle on one shoulder, Scoria said, “I’ll call Base Camp, and tell them we’ve landed.”
But the radio had died, and no amount of amateur tinkering could get it to work again.
Professor Vinnagar offered a hypothesis and a practical assessment of their situation. “The Wall could be creating interference. Or perhaps whatever caused the transformation of these three Boroughs initially
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 rope wrapped around a tree trunk thick as one of the columns on the NikThek portico.
A lush carpet of blue-green moss speckled with white florets completely covered the surface of the Slip. It provided solid footing, Merritt was pleased to learn.
Soon the whole party, twelve souls all told, had disembarked. Captain Canebrake gave the order to cast off.
“If you don’t radio for pickup sooner, I’ll be back every ten days, as we arranged!”
All twelve ashore silently watched their link to civilization dwindle. Even though the River was full of other traffic, Merritt felt isolated and bereft.
Slinging his rifle on one shoulder, Scoria said, “I’ll call Base Camp, and tell them we’ve landed.”
But the radio had died, and no amount of amateur tinkering could get it to work again.
Professor Vinnagar offered a hypothesis and a practical assessment of their situation. “The Wall could be creating interference. Or perhaps whatever caused the transformation of these three Boroughs initially
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