“Believe me, Masem,” Qual hissed, giving one last glance around the control room, “I certainly don’t want them to find out our true strength.”
“Now that we’ve established communications, Leftenant,” Phule said, “I’d like to begin by apologizing for the unprovoked attack on one of your crew. It was a fear reaction to the unexpected, made before we realized yours was an intelligent species. Further, I’d like to thank you for the merciful nature of your force’s counterattack. It is impressive that my underling was only stunned and not killed outright.”
Qual was impressed with the translator, though he did his best to act as if it were commonplace. It had taken some time for him to realize he was to hang it around his neck, but once it was in place and in contact with his hide, the various grunts and clickings this strange alien used for speech were readily transformed into images and contacts in his mind. The translation of his own foremost thoughts into those same weird noises was a bit disquieting, but it was worth it to be able to establish that neither force was particularly eager to fight.
“Thank you for the apology, Captain Clown, but-“
“Excuse me, but that’s Captain Clown.”
“I … see.”
The image provided by the translator was identical to the one Qual had formed in his mind when addressing the alien commander. Apparently the mechanism was not as effective as it first appeared.
“Anyway, as I was saying, Captain … Captain, I’m afraid there has been a minor misunderstanding. You see, my crewman was hunting for food when he was attacked, so the weapon he was carrying was designed specifically for that purpose. “