Snark disagreed. “The tempter wasn’t the same! If Ularians are the same as the tempter on Breadh, then the Rottens are not Ularians. The tempter was mighty and mysterious, wonderful and terrible, so my mother said. He wasn’t a blob that made people drool all down their chins while they listened.”
Leelson murmured, “Or, if both Rottens and tempter are Ularian, then tempter is some kind of ultimate Ularian, some other race, or evolved type.”
Jiacare rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. “An ultimate Ularian. Interesting thought. And both you and Saluez are sure about this tempter?”
Snark nodded in vehement agreement. “The sisterhoods on Dinadh kept alive a lot of the old forbidden stories and songs. The original sisterhood, so my mother said, was made up of women who actually remembered what happened on Breadh.”
“So”—the ex-king threw his arms wide—“if the Rot-tens aren’t Ularians, where are the Ularians?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Lutha. “If Snark is right, then the ones here are just … nannies. Caretakers. They fret over a sick or dying shaggy; they come and go, minding the young; but they don’t or can’t clear planets or transport humans. What we call a Ularian crisis, from our point of view, may be just nannies tidying up, from the Ularian point of view.”
“We’ve got three layers of beings already, and you’re extrapolating another?” Leelson at his most supercilious.
As usual, Lutha found his tone infuriating. “I’m extrapolating from what Saluez and Snark have told us and what we’ve found out, Leelson! We don’t know for sure that the Rottens even know we’re here, and neither they nor the shaggies have been proven capable of vanishment. Therefore, as Snark says, there’s a chance that our local Rottens are not Ularians, or at least, not the ‘ultimate Ularian.’ Besides, Snark says she’s seen … how many big Rottens all together?”
Snark made a face. “A hundred, maybe. Mostly I just see the same ones, over and over, about thirty or forty of ’em.”
Lutha nodded grimly. “Millions of Kachis came through from Dinadh. Ninety-nine percent of them died in the brood struggle; there are still hundreds of thousands of them out there in the grid; but Snark has seen only about a hundred big Rottens. What happened to the rest of the previous generation? The ones that came through a hundred years ago. They must have gone somewhere. Where are they?”
Puzzled silence until Snark broke it, saying:
“There’s the thing. You know. The thing that happened the night you got here. There’s that.”
They shifted uncomfortably, each recalling the occurrence, the strangeness, the occulted stars, the dampened sound, the odd effects of air and light. Mitigan made a furious gesture of rejection, as though about to burst out in anger, but Leelson quelled him with a look. The ex-king smiled, very slightly, a mere quiver of lips that seemed to say, “Ah, yes, well, there was that.” Snark and Lutha exchanged questioning looks, and Snark nodded firmly.
“That wasn’t nannies,” she said. “That was a different thing, that was. And if that was it, the ultimate Ularian, we don’t need to ask where IT is. Part of the time, anyhow, it’s here.”
The question of whether the Rottens knew there were humans on Perdur Alas was answered during the early-morning hours when they woke choking in the dark. Gray dawn disclosed besiegers all around them. Portieres of tentacles encircled the rockfall, closing off every doorway to the outside world and most of the sunlight as well. While the others stayed miserably huddled near the stove, Mitigan and Snark went scrambling through the stones, trying to find an escape route. There was none. The tentacles were too closely spaced to get between, the tips resting on the ground preventing anyone’s going under. The only option seemed to be to outwait them, though as the day wore on it was clear that time meant little or nothing to Rottens. Midmorning came and departed. Noon came, status quo. They forced themselves to drink, to rehydrate bodies depleted by the constant salivation. Eating was out of the question. Early afternoon came and went. Though the Rottens made no effort to infiltrate the rock pile, they seemed prepared to stay forever.
All of them but Mitigan became increasingly worried about Saluez. She remained comatose; only her chest and belly moved; breath came and went almost inaudibly while her belly quivered and jabbed sharply beneath the blanket. How close to the time? Snark wanted to know, receiving shrugs as reply. It could be today, Lutha thought, or much later. Even if they knew when, it wouldn’t help. No baby could nurse with this going on! And a dehydrated mother couldn’t provide milk.
When Jiacare said he was going to one of the peek holes to get a good look at the Rottens, Lutha offered to go with him, partly from curiosity, but mostly just to stop sitting, spitting, worrying about Saluez. Snark joined them, though Mitigan and Leelson sat immovably, each in his own drool corner.
Lutha had thought the shaggies quite large enough—they were hundreds of times larger than the Kachis—but the Rottens were enormously bigger yet. They shared the same form, even to the bulgy, lumpy tentacles that looked as though they contained bones or hard chunks of something rather than being the sinuous flow of flesh one might expect. Lutha mentioned this to Snark.
“It’s a scleroprotein,” Snark replied indistinctly. “It’s got a lot of silicon in it, and I’m guessing it’s the lining for the hydrogen
