29/06/31 The Universal Translation Project: Part II

“We are assembled today to mourn the loss of the Astronaut Biota, whom died of the Chameling plague instantly after setting foot in this station. It appears it was not his fault; it appears, indeed, that Hugebig failed to comprehend some basic aspects of the blueprints we had sent them in regards with the construction of the space suit. And so it was, that it was not properly functioning; and so it is, that now he is dead.”

“He will never meet a Purpura-Biota. He will never meet a Sonus-Biota. We do not even know if he could actually see or hear such beings! Just how many perceptions do those bipeds possess? Our autopsy reveals nerve endings throughout their skin. Our investigation of their ship reveals that they probably have gaseous, liquid and solid waste products.”

“The truth is that there is no way to prepare anyone to the experience of translation. Maybe, even if his entire species is doubtlessly filled with mediocrity, he was one of its more valuable members. Maybe he could have had some deep, unusual insight to share. Maybe he knew how to better map the voice of a Frigus-Biota into a compelling smell? Maybe. Now, we will never know.”

“I find myself - and you must forgive my digression - in a sincere state of grief for a being I have never known. Biota came to this place of learning, where we all chose to build, together, the most ambitious monument to its purpose. What intellectual would not dream of this! The sheer scope, and range, of all that can be done! He assuredly was driven by what drives us all. He will never face the intricacy of converting a genealogy into a subtle perfume, or a facetious smile into the repetition of the third key of the Flatus-Biota’s musical system. How could he know! Have we not, us and our ancestors, created vast arrays of machines and protocols that have never left this place? Can we claim success, when it comes to the translation of such intricate knowledge? No, we cannot. It is one thing to share a blueprint. It is another to understand a blueprint. And so, it remains, for now, that most knowledge emerges from a context. It is through our daily, routine handling of our equipment that we mold to its shape, and become the dancer, and that what appears hard becomes easy, and that what appears arbitrary becomes various shades of nuance and - suddenly ! - there may be clarity. There may be a dancer where there was only a structureless progenitor. No offense intended towards Claudus-Biota.”

“Astronaut Biota is gone, but his children are still here. As we speak, we have begun the process of creating a small, contained Biota culture, not with any ill wish or design, not in a spirit of vengeance, domination, or bizarre fetishization of incest. Realistically, even though they will not have any experience of the complex social interactions of their species, they may at least provide us some insight as to the number of senses, the processing of stimuli, and a genuine reaction to coming into contact with each other. Some will be shielded from the knowledge of their past, while some will inherit language and traditions; some might accept to wear the suit and join us, while most will remain isolated, always a wall away in their engagements with us. That is the easiest way. We will not wait for another thousand years.”

“May the nutrients of Astronaut Biota’s flesh be recycled into useful feeding materials. We honor him by abandoning nothing of what has not been lost.”