At the front lines, the impossible claims had already been heard: Alien technology in the hands of Deepvent. That news, coupled with the rise of a new seamount, led the enemy to formally request a truce. The second bit of news would be forthcoming shortly.

Ice-Driller carried the strange sound box, and along with the other experiments, they felt like artillery of reason against the hard logic of death; against the mass of cold, lifeless water. They were the only weapons against the well-entrenched beliefs in everyone’s mind: there’s only so much to go around.

They arrived at the front and swarm towards the enemy line, loudly announcing their intention and cycling through the sounds that the strange box made. Taking a slight break in between resets of the message, the strange sounds were not yet annoying, even to them who had listened to the recording multiple times. Each replay yielded new answers and mysteries.

The seafloor plain was now comprised low corral and rock, jumbled places that allowed life to hide from predators but with no shark-proof building. The landscape was exposed and cold.

“Halt!” An unseen enemy called out. Then a contingent emerged to meet them on the jumbled floor. Ice-Driller saw six soldiers with ornate heavy armor, and two officers. One officer had an ornamental coral helmet and festooned with carved armbands. Behind the soldiers and officers were two additional decapods carrying what looked like recording equipment.

“Greetings, my enemy. I am General Quick-Might. I have been instructed to meet with you. This is my captain, and we have here two technicians and scientists to examine your claims.”

Ice-Driller approached. His body was tense, coiled as a spring in case the meeting ‘floated-away’ in a current of mistrust and he needed to flee. “Thank you General. Some say it is a feed-or-be-food world. Krill-or-be-Krill. From my study, it is not true. There are other worlds to live on. Other worlds of heat, other sources of metal. More food.”

“Some might say this view is optimistic—naïve. Old stories of magma creatures or pure ice-eaters are found in all myths. What do you have which isn't myth?” The general asked.

“Hello, Ice-Driller,” another decapod said, swimming up to the group and flashed his identity.“Rift-Drop,” Ice-Driller said. “You convinced your leadership?” Rift-Drop flashed colorful expressions. “Our side was desperate for any information. They listened to everything we theorized,“ he said.Ice-Driller led the other scientists through the evidence. The technicians took accurate copies of the sounds and the sonopictures, while the scientists listened to the echoes. Rift-Drop occasionally answered clarifying questions to those of his city.

For a time, Ice-Driller was faintly worried that they would simply kill him and take the sound device, but none of those fears were realized. The general’s soldiers simply guarded the general. Rift-Drop was the only one to come over and lay tentacles on the others. He could sense anxiety in the water and tried to allay all concerns.

“And that is the end of our research,” Ice-Gazer concluded to one of the enemy scientists.

“Fascinating, yes—even probable. I will take this information back to our committee. Several members had traveled here for the siege.” The scientists remarked.

They ended their intellectual get-together, and the General turned back to Ice-Driller. “This is all fascinating. As of right now, our army will offer a truce to your city. Bring this back to the city governor.” General Quick-Might said. He gave a small bit of writing signed with his specific crest. “Fate booms upon you. Earthquakes in the deep signal a new vent have opened up for us to inhabit.” Then the general and his contingent departed back for his lines and left them in the cool water.

Ice-Driller scanned the writing. A truce for one hundred tides.

As he returned to the city, he thought about the aliens and the probe. What were they like, and how these discoveries would change decapod society? For so long, thoughts were centered on everyone grabbing whatever they can with all tentacles grasping.

This was another step in the long process of civilizing an anxious animal. Preyed upon from above, hiding in the rocks and corals, their species gained cunning, communication skills, intellect and finally tool-making. Now the prey had outsmarted the predators. Their society had advanced to a point where the largest predator, the mandible sharks, could be hunted and killed by the decapods, creatures so small comparatively. Ten decapods could easily fit into the expandable maw of the shark.

Back in the central plaza, he read out the proclamation.

Peace for now.

Questions abounded, but Ice-Driller did not engage. No shimmer of gloat upon his skin. Exhausted, he went back to his house with Ice-Gazer and Study-Up. He wedged himself in a hutch above their meager coral furnishings. He was finally safe and warm.

He wondered about the probe. Why had it not communicated with them further? What was the nature of communicating across a void? He didn’t know, nor did anyone else. He felt so small and impotent compared to all which they had experience—this strange new reality. No one could explain it, but the yet unprocessed experiences would permanently transform society.

While Ice-Driller rested, the two others maintained the long line of wellwishers at the hatch, some of which brought gifts. Most offerings were food, which they soon had to be refused. Others were small clockwork items or shell crafts, which too overran the small confines of the apartment. Others asked if Ice-Driller to make the object return to the seafloor. Though thousands had seen it, millions had not. Experiential curiosity; of placing one’s arms on a subject and feeling it entirely was a hard-coded trait for their species.

Wrestling erupted at their front door as two decapods argued. “Well, if I can’t lay my own tentacles on it, then it didn’t happen.““I heard it. I was as close as you to the other street.“ Another replied as his arms muscled with the non-believer.“You couldn’t have seen it! They stationed you near Brine-Waste,” replied the first.

At this Study-Up and Ice-Gazer closed the hatch. Whistles blew from city patrol and dispersed the crowds.

Study-Up finally locked it, only to receive a quick knock again. She unlatched it to call for a patroller until she noticed through the door the strange item he held.

Study-Up opened the door and saw the item in more detail.

“Thanks be to the Center, and to Ice-Driller for saving us. I thought he might like this collectible I found at a salvage shop.”

“Thank you.” She replied. The decapod continued on without saying more or showing any color. She ran her arms over the item and tapped on it. Ice-Driller poked his sound melon out of the hutch and sensed the object. It was heavily corroded and aged, but he could clearly see enough to know it was some sort of ancient clockwork item.

Encrusted with barnacles and holdfast, it was completely non-functional, but it contained several sets of gears with a large circle at the center. It showed three smaller dots at different locations, all much smaller than the central circle.

Study-Up came over and showed the device in better detail to the others. Internally, the gears looked like they had a ratio of one to two to four. 1:2:4. There above the ‘2’ gears was a symbol, an old pictoglyph for Aquarius, their universe. Three other symbols of unknown meaning were near the other parts.

“1:2:4 is the same ratio as the other lights around the Great Attractor.” Ice-Gazer said.

At this, all sounds died. Everyone seemed unwilling to make the mind swim too far from fact.

Ice-Driller spoke. “But do you think 1:2:4 was just a mathematical coincidence? Like an educational device on numbers?” He asked.

“Not much good teaching someone three numbers. Maybe a tide chart?” Study-Up added.

“The clockwork is finely cut stone. It looks of ancient origin before metal-pressing. This was from before our modern age.” Ice-Gazer replied.

Ice-Driller emitted another pulse of sonar. On the back, another detail obscured by the crusty detritus: Tide-hunters of South-vent.

“What city is that?”

“Never heard of it.” Ice-Gazer rubbed the spot with one arm. “It must be an ancient place. Before the hot-vents moved; all ruins now.”

“So the ancients knew—knew what we only just rediscovered.” Ice-Driller said.

“Yes.”

Ice-Driller rubbed the strange object. “How much of what we know had to be learned more than once? Are we doomed to forever relearn old lessons?”

“A hard shell recalcifies quickly.” Ice-Gazer said.

At that, Ice-Driller retreated to his hutch. Some will never believe unless they touch an object themselves. Others will believe anything without verification. Are we doomed to vacillate between these extremes? He thought.

Exhausted from the day, he sank into torpor.

He would not have to wait long to see how society reformed.