The entire process, though lengthy, took place in virtual silence, bouts of strenuous, grunting effort interrupted by periods of frozen stillness when they tasted even the remotest presence of the great Ularians. Each time it was only a hint of taste, a momentary awfulness.
The sun was setting by the time all were assembled at the top of the cliff. Saluez lay wrapped in warm blankets—provided by Snark—while the rest hunkered down with their heads together, telling Snark how they had come to be with her and watching the sun set in a bonfire of reds and pinks and oranges against a purple sea and lavender sky. The shaggies had spread themselves evenly, a plane of blobby black shapes cutting the red orb of the sun into a knife edge of light.
“So you haven’t come to rescue me.” Snark laughed. It was a harsh, self-mocking sound. She looked directly at Lutha. “I guess I knew that as soon as I saw your face, Lutha Tallstaff.”
“Why?” Lutha asked, puzzled.
Snark laughed again, like a cock crowing, half jeer, half boast. “I hate you, Lutha Tallstaff. And him, Leelson. Not that I can do anything about it. Prob’ly learn to hate him, too, the one that was king. Not her, though.” She jerked an elbow in Saluez’s direction. “She’s like me. Life ate her up and spit her out, din it.”
Lutha was both offended and mystified. “Have we met before?”
Snark told her where, and when. Lutha flushed. She had known the shadows were … people. Hadn’t she? Or had she?
Unexpectedly, Leelson came to her defense. “Lutha doesn’t know anything about shadows. None of the ordinary people do. Only the Procurator’s people knew about them.”
“Likely.” Snark sneered.
“True,” he said. “I am well connected in the bureaucracy, and I knew next to nothing about them until the Procurator told me, there on Dinadh.”
Lutha added, “And if we’ve offended you, we’re sorry.”
“I killed you. I got even.”
This required explanation, and Mitigan was much fascinated by Snark’s description of a simul booth.
“Sensurround doesn’t work that way! It has built-in censors,” he said. “You can’t kill anybody in sensurround. You can’t do anything to a person that’s against his will!”
“Shadows can.” She sneered again. “Simuls let you do anything you want, and they let me kill her, more than once.” She cast a ferocious glance in Lutha’s direction, making the other woman pale and draw back.
The ex-king intervened. “As I’ve mentioned to Mitigan, we have no time for hating or killing, for our survival must come first. So tell us, Snark. How do we survive?”
She gave him the same up-and-down look she had given Lutha, though a more approving one, as she said offhandedly, “I’ve got me a few holes dug here and there, but they’re only big enough for me. I don’t know whether the big Rottens know I’m here or not, but I do know they like to play games.”
“Let’s take it one thing at a time,” said Leelson. “Food, first.”
“There’s all you’ll ever need in the camp. The Rottens don’t seem to care if I take stuff. They don’t seem to notice, I mean.”
“Warmth?” Leelson asked.
“So far it hasn’t been very cold. The team records say it doesn’t get really cold. If you’re out of the wind, all you’ll need is a few blankets. There’s both blankets and solar-heat storage units at the camp. ‘Course, they’ll have to be recharged at the camp, where the collectors are.”
“And, finally, shelter?” asked Mitigan.
“Well, that’s it, isn’t it?” she agreed, with a lopsided, rather desperate grin. “That’s what it’s all about. Either they don’t know we’re here, the big Rottens—”
“Why do you call them big Rottens?” queried Leelson.
“Because it’s descriptive, damn it! Call ‘em Ularians if you like, I don’t care. Like I was saying. Either they don’t know we’re here, or they know damn well we’re here and are playing with us. If they don’t know, then we got to stay hid, don’t we? If they do know, it still makes sense not to tempt ‘em.”
“We can’t stay in the camp?” asked the ex-king.