The enemy lines between Smallseep and Deepvent consisted of scatter soldiers hiding in the broken rock and coral that inhabited the no-one's land of cool water. The goal of the hidden was to cut off the defenders from using the heavy cart road built into the seafloor. A second goal was to harass fleeing or reinforcing decapods. Supplies could still arrive over the top, but that would involve lifting cargo the high in the water and then descending at an angle. At heights, they could also become prey to the roving predators in the bathypelagic zone of their ocean.

Ahead of them was a quiet line of defensive barricades along a simple stone street. The buildings here were rock structures, or shell piles, with only one room apiece. This far out, their ration was only a tepid outflow from the middle-class ring of housing.

City militia were waiting behind their defensive position. They heard the quartet (well, quintet with The Object) and as soon as they approached called out. “Who goes there?” . They all flashed back their identity colors, which none of the militia recognized. “Stop civilians!”

“We’re not civilians... we’re scientists.” Ice-Driller replied. He said it with a swagger of someone who felt equal.

To which the militia corporal swam up and said, “Don’t go any further. The enemy is beyond—and what is that behind you?”

“You won’t believe this,” Ice-Driller began. “But we’ve found a living alien artifact from the Nullworld. I need to bring it to Deepvent leadership. To your generals beyond.”

“A what?” One of the other militia said. On both sides of the road, Ice-Driller could sense the movement of a few poking their heads out, which listened and visualized the commotion.

“Long story, but this device can emit deafening sounds. We’ll use this to cover our advance over the terrain.”

“An Overworld Demon.” someone gasped from an entryway from one a rundown home. This area was the edge of civilization. Everything from here to Deepvent’s slums was all cold water, bacterial mats, and fan coral. Anything that could eke out a meager sustenance.

“It’s a machine.” Ice-Driller replied.

“Like some wind-up swimming toy?” The corporal asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you talked with the aliens?” The corporal asked.

“No, not really. But the machine responds to sonopictorial images.”

Thermal-Rock projected out the sonic image of another hot smoker, but this time with shrimp swarming around it. This was the new image they picked to guide the machine where they wanted. They were confusing The Object, because after each imagined image, the machine let out soft pings to verify its location in relation to the surroundings.

Designed to handle unknown amounts of bad data, the object continued to classify the decapods as 'interactive fish,' bad data, or an unknown unknown. They were visible, and it dutifully recorded the data, but it failed to classify them as intelligent life, relying on controllers on Earth to reclassify. The object continued to pursue the next best science goal, more hydrothermal vents. After failing to discover a true hydrothermal vent because of years of decapod development, (which had fully diverted every unit of heat through the surrounding buildings). It mindlessly continued to search for another hot vent. was the systems code it saved for this location and date.

It turned on more lights and spun completely around to record the area.

Several moments of silence occurred as the corporal and surrounding militia watch the machine operate. They could visualize inside it a small distance and sensed its flashing strange colored emotions.

“Amazing. It has a shell several centi-lengths thick of solid metal.”

“Well-made metal too!” Someone said, knocking his spear on the hull of the submarine.

“It is my belief that we can stop this war if we convince the enemy we have an alien artifact.” Ice-Driller said. He had previously (naively) thought simply communicating the presence of other worlds, and energy from the ice-growth bacteria, might relieve the pressures of war.

“We should mount a blade to it and let it ram them!” One militia member said. “Nothing they have would penetrate this armor.”

Another two decapods swam out from under cover to inspect.

“Stop! Get back to your post.” The corporal said, seeing that he was attracting ever more of his squad out from their defenses.

“Unfortunately, the only way to steer it is to get in front of it.” Sand-Stirrer replied. “But good thought.”

A few whistles and clicks of acknowledgment emitted from the surrounding decapods, as they all flashed yellow-green and saw the humor of being skewered by an alien vessel one had just armed.

“Well, anything that can end this war would be welcome, but what can it do?”

“It can send out pictures of where it came from. Somewhere with substantial amounts of water.” Ice-Driller said.

“—And a deafening sonar pings. Not one we’re able to auto-mute easily.” Thermal-Rock added. “It really fries your melon for a few centa-moments.” Then he floated lifelessly down, as if one were stunned.

“... And nothing else?” The corporal asked. He looked over The Object with a few soft pings.

“Not yet.” Thermal-Rock said, getting back up.

“You don’t have an iceblock’s chance in a magma vent to survive, let alone stop our annihilation.”

“Deepvent’s being invaded solely for one nation's living space at the expense of another. There are only so many vents to go around, as others believe. But this object proves there are other worlds to live in. We’re not limited by the number of vents Aquarius has bequeathed us with.” Study-Up retorted.

At this, the corporal swam away. “Our God, Aquarius, has his reasons for the amount that we have been given. Maybe you need to do more with less. We get heat for free and all you talk about is asking the Universe for more? What has science produced recently except more ways to kill?”

“I didn’t mean to blaspheme… The Creator has given us heat from the center, but he may have given us more to discover.” Ice-Driller added.

At this, some soldiers ignored the device and kept their sound melons pointed at the rocky seafloor for the slightest sound of the enemy. They had very little hope of the war ending, though a few hoped the object might scare the enemy into retreat. Flickers of belief that they might at least live to their next sleep, warm meal, or even a full tide.

One soldier swam up and advised them on a strategy. They should leave from above the highest building in the area. Beforehand, he would cast out a bag of silt hide their intent.

They positioned themselves on a small tower of rocks, with The Object following them and examining the rocks (in its peculiar way that seemed to be with heatsense). The tower was an exhaust flume and had a slim trickle of warmth. Ice-Driller and Study-Up took their positions to get The Object to follow them. Thermal-Rock and Sand-Stirrer silently swam above the contested strip of land, each about forty-five degrees in front of each side of The Object.

The friendly soldier swam up with a large bag of sand. The current was going from Smallseep towards Deepvent and the soldier released clumps of silt. It provided a comforting muffle.

This was a dead give-away to the enemy soldiers that something was occurring and they should be on their guard. But the siege had lasted many sleeps already and the constant games played by the defenders to induce the enemy out of cover exhausted to both sides. They had already lost many to a stay bolt shot at a hapless soldier poking his sound melon out from cover.

Ice-Driller guided The Object with soft sonopictures of a distant hot vent, as best as he could imagine, roaring and fumed. A softness fell over him as the silt billowed around them all. Doubtless, the object sensed the muted surroundings. The silt muffled everything underneath. He at once felt a bit of calm—if he died, it would be quick and silent.

We will do this. We must do this.

Above the enemy lines, he could sense quiet pings from somewhere below. They were beams of sounds were directed straight up. Unless something caught them directly in a beam, those lurking below wouldn’t notice. The beams hit the covering silt and then leaked a soft noise around. A white noise of pictorial distortion covered them. It was beautiful and yet terrifying.

They continued their swim above the curtain of silt.

Amazing how little is needed to obscure the ground truth, Ice-Driller thought.