|Otherworldy One of the Huddle|
As Xanthe herself says this is a pure info-dump. If you are as patient as her twin you will find out some necessary facts.
At the time of their capture, what was assumed to be a many-headed, many-limbed creature turned out to be a bunch of separate creatures, some of them very Earth-animal-like, for example the ape, and some, like the lavender-coloured woman with one huge leg, completely other-worldly.
Cele King knew exactly but would anyone listen? She apparently was paid for her silence with a huge genetic-engineering project to be worked at the Reefarium … funny how I never met her when I came to see you. I suppose you had to sign a secrecy clause as well. Still, I am your twin.
Cele comes from that same valley where the aliens splashed down and lived for the missing fifty years. I read the historical notes that SoHAB forced her to write before they would send her and the baby up north. Do you know that baby? He should be about thirteen. The female creatures call themselves a huddle when it is translated out. Everyone here calls them that now.
According to the tests, not one of the huddle creatures is responsible for the continual electrical outages the School has suffered until recently, when the electrical circuits relating to the alien’s abode (polite name for the cage) were finally separated from the general supply.
Now it is only the video cameras and spotlights in the cage that don’t work but no one is game to go in specially to fix them. The huddle is responsible for the stuff (a mix of various body products including blood) smeared onto the inside of the observation walls rendering them so opaque as to be completely useless.
Don’t start, Sis. Yes, it is an info dump I’m giving you. How else to keep you up to date with my life? Because that’s what you constantly tell me you want. The reason you want me to visit. Every fortnight? Give me a break. I’ve got a life, you know. Saturday night is the annual SoHAB Staff ball. Of course I’m going which means of course that I’m not coming to your precious Reefarium again.
Must be even more a ghost house now with Joe, Beardy and Laura gone.
See how I know your every question, answer and output?
Anything else you want to know? Mail me as usual. For my personal news you will have to wait, which I know you will gladly do for me, because when you do make it down to town on my express invitation. Yes, you read that right. You are not welcome until I expressly invite you. If you even try, and I know that isn’t out of the question, you will find out I have had the locks changed.
Ostensibly to keep out my nosy twin sister. Please be patient. All this guff I’m churning out is not aimed at estranging us, but at glazing security eyes. More specifically elevating their boredom levels. I know for a fact that they don’t do big words so I think I’m fairly safe. This only because the facility has had to employ sapients ha ha for most of the jobs that used to be robotic. Did I mention the difficulties due to the mysterious interference in the power supply? Your Valkyrie twin, Xanthe.
PS. If you’ve ever been to SoHAB, you’ll know the Central Hall is made up of three concentric donuts. The foyer and the donut hole together are shaped like a key hole with a shank to the outdoor. These are the public access areas. Lots of coming and goings there. There’s a rail at a metre-and-a-half distance in front of the barred giraffe-sized door, where there are always people waiting for a glimpse of Brisbane’s most famous resident.
The aliens nearly always prefer to hide in the centre of their apartment accessed by way of either a dog-legged corridor from the giraffe-sized gate, frustrating for the viewers because there’s no seeing around corners or the service door-airlock-service door arrangement where cleaners and guards ingress.
A few facts for your delectation and my use as thicket. The back wall of the huddle’s apartment, that was meant to be one-way viewing, has been, as I said, obscured. Regular viewing times have been a wash-out since the Huddle obscured their mirror and refuse to come to the gate.
I’m wondering how I can relate what I’m doing as a cleaner to auditing Procyon Products’ use of public monies. Still need to write up the project, of course.
Procyon Products as a result are trying to raise money by selling figurines and in fact all things alien. One thing interesting PP has got going are the five silver-coloured dog or wolf pups, all of them males, which were deposited one night by the inside of the giraffe door. The supposition is that the Earth-origin dog or wolf mother tried to hide them from her huddle mates. Since they eat all male intruders.
PP had the giraffe door open like a flash to retrieve the the pups. They’re being kept in a kennel in the basement. Naming the pups, which are on show daily in the apartment opposite the Alien’s, is fast becoming their favourite fund-raising racket. They’ve begun a silent auction, which is silent only on the names of the bidders. The amounts are broadcast freely, which is where I’ll expect you to find them, Sister, if you’re interested.
Do you ever wonder what possessed our father and mother to name us as they did, then saddle us with the viking-daughter and Celtic-twin labels? My dearly beloved calls me his Valkyrie. He is in it up to his neck helping me help you. That’s a warning. Don’t come to town and rock the boat. Yes, I love a bit of drama. Though now that I’m living and loving, I’m notching drama back in favour of good deeds and building up social capital. I could go on and have been known to. Remember the screeds I churned out to pass my grades? Back in the day.