When the bedraggled fleet finally managed to communicate their surrender, the alien leaders were ushered into a private meeting with Earth's world leaders. The translator, still fresh from training in the aliens' gestural language, struggled to keep up with their rapidly flickering mouth-pixels.
"'We... regret... confusions. You did... receive not... greeting? Message boxes?' Oh!" The translator whipped out his smartphone. "I think he means this." He flashed several handsigns at the alien leaders and showed them the screen, which blipped and beeped. The aliens' boxy limbs waved agitatedly.
"'Dammit... Carl...'" the translator dutifully repeated, "'I told you... invaders was... wrong word.'"
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