00002.00

From:

Alien Spy Threttubray, codename: “null value/null value/heptad”

To:  

Orbital Intelligence Communications Node Guiding Intelligence Prymaesst codename: “Mu”.

Swarm Date: Retributionday; 17^th rotation of Swarm Unblemished Unity; Year of the Screaming Traitor.

Mu, we must encourage The Taliban and hairdressing!

This Host’s body has begun to smell of pineapple and mackerel during the dark part of the planetary cycle.

These smells are only marginally noticeable to the curiously inefficient sensory apparatus of the biped species and the presence of deodorising fluids and fermented apples tend to mask the scent from the Host’s neighbours and genome-sept group.

Unfortunately however both of the planet Trash’s evolutionary supreme overlord species (the cockroaches and cats) have reacted more emphatically to whatever pheromones my transformation of the Host’s nervous system are emitting. Cockroaches by greater avoidance and cats by more eager attraction.

This might prove awkward as the Host has a reputation for disliking cats, and as they are now more willing than ever to be near him.

Even so, it is likely that as other agents of the Swarm invest biped bodies here on Trash prior to Operation Swarmfall, some alert creature or other might notice our unusual nocturnal behaviour and connect it to the smell, count the legs, add two and ten together and thus expose our Intelligence Echelon to capture and autopsy, and thus instigate global searches for other spies of the Queen.

Fortunately, help is within our manipulation-appendages’ reach in the form of Planet Trash’s sub-colonies called Taliban and hairdressing.

This of the Taliban:

When Aisha was 12, her father promised her in marriage to a Taliban fighter to pay a debt. She was handed over to his family who abused her and forced her to sleep in the stable with the animals.

When she attempted to flee, she was caught and her nose and ears were hacked off by her husband as punishment.

This of hairdressing:

A hairdresser was horrified when her nose collapsed after decades of breathing in minute hair clippings.

The bipeds’ remote olfactory organs are hardly miracles of Nature but if men and women can be encouraged to persevere in behaviours that destroy them altogether then our Infiltration Corps might go on unrecognised until The Day itself – after which it will be a matter of no interest what we smell of as there will be no other species but The Swarm on Planet Trash to care.

[Strategic briefing #3: please take care to evaluate whether or not another invading swarm or its equivalent is behind the spread of Taliban and hairdressing across Planet Trash – perhaps to disguise its own infiltration operatives’ chemical spoor. Can it be those digestive waste Pod People again?]

[Strategic briefing #4: please arrange for the destruction of the wheat field in Swizerland at reference 17/132/101 by 66/91/140, where cereal curlers have inscribed the treasonous warning:

Like, sniff out your neighbours, Earth-losers; and if it smells like Del Monte or Bird’s Eye, then terminate with extreme vitamins.] 

Host’s Sunday nap is now ending.

Threttubray out.