But the Essiel didn’t do this. It wasn’t their style, according to all the well-paid theorists whose job it was to scrute the inscrutable. You went to the Essiel, they didn’t come to you. Except now apparently they had. An actual Essiel, one of the god-clams themselves, and its retinue of a dozen different species, a couple of whom had previously been completely unknown to Hugh xenoanthropologists.
