(1)
Did you know?
There are over 7,000 spoken languages and 293 writing systems in the world today. Among the 9 billion people living on this planet, about 1.4 billion speak Mandarin Chinese, 2 billion speak English, 1.1 billion speak Hindi, and 900 million speak Spanish. Not exactly efficient, is it?
The first few weeks will probably be filled with basic theories and knowledge sharing, while we stay focused on our respective interests. We come from different fields—some overlapping, some completely different. That's why we try to communicate as simply as possible, doing our best to drop technical terms. Every conversation feels like a "Dummy for Something" kind of thing.
Today, we have three sharing sessions: a sermon from Reverend Sterling, a presentation from Dr. Tobias Klem and an experiment demonstration from Miss Clara Zhou.
Reverend Sterling's Curse of Babel will start very soon, followed byDr. Klem's explanation of Human Bias Thinking after lunch and Zhou's untitled experiment in the evening.
(2)
We all gather in Hall B (Babylon), just below the Observatory. It has a hanging balcony with a small garden—what we like to call the "Hanging Garden."
Everyone's standing around with a cup of coffee, tea, or whatever they prefer. In my case, it's a Black Eye. No caffeine, no life.
I remember one of my friends explaining it to me back in elementary school. She was of Karen ethnicity. Her first explanation was quite accurate to the story: people spoke one language and lived in harmony. They began building a tower to reach God, but God became angry and cursed them, causing people to be divided and to speak different languages.
But then she said that the one universal language was Karen — her mother tongue. Once upon a time, she claimed, all people were Karen. I can't believe I actually bought that story at the time. Well, I was eight. And she wasn't lying either — she genuinely believed it herself. She was simply the messenger of that little piece of propaganda.
The Reverend Sterling wears a black clerical shirt and a cassock. He's also vibing with his espresso — see, everyone needs caffeine.
He greets everyone as they greet him back. He has this aura that makes us all fall silent and sit up straight. But he isn't scary; he's a lovely old man whom I often see watering plants in the hanging garden.
Since we're dealing with "deciphering interstellar messages," I'm not surprised that most of the topics revolve around language and communication. Things like Semitic roots and symbols will probably come next. For now, let's focus on the seminar.
"Commit suicide."
He says the words slowly, letting them settle.
"The Australian Aboriginal tribes didn't have the concept of suicide until they met Westerners. There was no word for it, so they didn't understand the idea."
"After Westerners taught them the word 'suicide' and explained it… the rate of suicide among the tribes started to rise. And it has continued since then. God bless"
He looks around the room.
"Language is a tool for communication, but it can also be a weapon. It opens doors — to new possibilities, or to risks we may not see. That's why the Commandments, the Psalms, the Exodus — they guide thought and action. Some words, some ideas, are restricted. If you misuse them, or misunderstand them, their power changes. Words are doors. Once opened, we can't always control what comes through."
He glances at the symbols projected behind him.
"These messages from the sky… I could say they are messages from God. But these symbols aren't in the Bible or the Exodus. So… probably not God. At least, not in the way we think of God," he laughs.
He pauses.
"These symbols carry weight. I'm not sure what they mean.But look at the history. We've fought hundreds of wars .. crusades ..over ideas — because some ideas couldn't coexist. Even a simple word can become a weapon."
He leans back slightly.
"Religion is important. But science is necessary too. Beliefs and Logics should coexist. Not the contrast. Without logic, people believe blindly through words. Without beliefs .. we wont know the limit of humanity."
"I believe in God — in his kindness. Most of you, I suspect, do not. That's fine. I don't force anyone to believe. God is something you accept in your mind, not through words. But today, reality is different. Beliefs are spread through language — words, radio waves, images, videos. That's why people either stop believing, or they believe blindly without understanding. Religion becomes a control panel, rather than guidance for being a good person."
" We see with our eyes, and then translate that into words. Our thoughts still form sentences. Now imagine a language that isn't spoken with sound, but with sight.What if a being communicates directly — without words, without structure? There won't be any lost in translation"
"Many of you know more than one language. We speak English now, but we think in different ways. Kafka wrote "The Metamorphosis" in German, but did he think it in German, or in Czech?"
"If these beings are creatures of light, and they communicate in light, their messages could be clearer than ours. Information might pass directly, without the limits of language. We're biased by our own thinking. We filter everything through human experience. But they may not."
"Even if we are cursed by the Babel plague, they might still have their own version of Babel standing."
He continues, calm, measured
"I'm still studying the patterns. I don't mean the Bible, the Quran, or the Hindu texts. Each contains truths, but some are hidden. We think we've just discovered the Interstellar message for the first time, but maybe this isn't truly our first contact. Maybe long ago we shared common ideas. Many religions tell similar stories. At their core, they teach us to be good. The rest—the stories, the lore—are guides, metaphors."
He touches his chest.
"For me, God is in the mind, not the sky. Heaven is a state of thought. Hell is inside us."
He nods.
"Thank you. I hope you all have a good day. Amen."
"Amen," we reply.
There's no discussion. We are left with our own thoughts. Two more sessions remain today. For now, everyone goes back to their domes. Reverend Sterling quietly returns to his plants, watering them with care.
I give him a nod and return to my dome, ready to continue my research before lunch.
(3)
Our morning starts heavy — the coffee, and the sharing session. Before the next one begins, I need a moment to breathe. I take a shower — I already took a hot shower last night, but this time it's cold. While the water runs, I glance at the outer world through the smart mirror embedded in the shower chamber. It's convenient, though the swiping gestures don't always work well when my hands are wet.
Things are not looking good. The markets are crashing. The U.S. government has restricted gun sales to civilians after reports of panic — some Americans are building their own warheads. New cults are appearing, preaching "the second coming is near" or "judgment day is coming." Many observatories have closed due to crowds wanting to witness the Halo Beacon. The rich either rent or buy telescopes, building private domes for themselves.
In the entertainment industry, countless "first contact" movies are being announced. Algorithms are pushing alien content everywhere. Strangely, green-colored items are falling in popularity — people associate the color with aliens now. Typical hypercapitalism and consumerism.
For lunch, I head to the restaurant area. I've been busy preparing for my next sharing session, so I've mostly been living on takeout and microwaved meals. But today, I want something real — freshly made by human hands. What am I craving? Boat noodles? Pho? Biryani?
"One Kung Pao chicken, one bowl of rice, please."
There's a Western misconception about Chinese food — that it's fast food or pre-cooked takeout. In truth, it's meant to be served fresh and eaten hot. It's just that Westerners assume it's all scooped into boxes and handed over. I like this little Chinese restaurant. Probably because it doesn't have robot servers. Actually, it doesn't have any servers at all — just an old man cooking, and you place your order directly with him.
Why such a small, authentic place here in Solaris? I heard Clara Zhou personally requested him — not as her private chef, but as a kind of sanctuary. Taiwan is in crisis; Chinese ships often pass through nearby territory. There was a seven-day war three years ago. Clara invited the old man to move here, knowing he just wanted to cook and serve people. She even spent her own money decorating the restaurant. Enough about that — time to enjoy my food.
There's still an hour left before Dr. Klem's session. I settle at a nearby smart worktable and browse what's new on Gilgamesh. Our data scientist, Jim, is doing his best to manage all our data in one place. He's ordered more MSS drives and is impatiently waiting for the shipment. Hart said pirate activity has gotten worse — most shipping lines have stopped operating. Only airdrops by plane or helicopter are considered safe now.
Gilgamesh has both open and closed channels, but most are public — anyone can watch what others are working on. It's not a competition, not a race to decode the message first. It's cooperation.
Speaking of which, I see one open channel. Someone's working hard. Oh — it's Mr. Mozart "sonta(ing)". Did I really nickname him Mozart? I guess I did. Whatever. Let me be a hypocrite B word for a moment. Since it's an open channel, I take a peek.
"Mingalar par," I greet.
"Magalar pin," he replies — the standard procedural response.
"Oh, it's my—"
"Yes, your father…"
He's studying my father's painting. On the other side of the screen, symbols scatter across his workspace. He's trying to assemble them, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
"I noticed similar motifs in these symbols," he says. "So I'm trying to connect them."
Impossible. How could my father's paintings relate to these alien frescos? I ask him the question.
"Don't you know about the space probes sent thirty years ago?"
My father once told me he had been selected as one of the artists to represent Earth and humanity — contributing music, paintings, sculptures — for a NASA mission meant to send our culture into deep space. That was a year before I was born. He said those were his best years: my mother, me, and his art all thriving.
After my mother died in a volcanic eruption when I was four, everything fell apart. People told me he loved me deeply, but when I grew old enough to think for myself, I saw it differently.
Anyway, enough about my unnecessary backstory. I stayed silent for a while on Moe Zet's channel before saying goodbye. Then I head toward the city circle for Dr. Tobias Klem's seminar.
(4)
Dr. Klem meets us in the City Circle. He's using the digital walls as his presentation slides.He greets everyone, then pulls up a picture of a pipe with the caption:
"This is not a pipe."
A classic — The Treachery of Images by René Magritte. It's famously known for its meta message, similar to "The word is not the thing" or "The map is not the territory."
He continues the discussion: "What is it?"
Answers vary. Moe Zet says, "It's not a pipe, but an image of a pipe." Clara adds that the painting has also been used by authoritarian regimes for brainwashing — forcing people to alter their ideologies.
Klem nods. "These statements are true from different perspectives," he says, "but I want to focus on the relationship between the word and the object itself."
Everyone here has seen a pipe and knows what it does — so we recognize it as a pipe, no matter what. Unless there's a twist.
The painting suddenly morphs. Now it looks like a lighter — still pipe-shaped. Then it changes again: a pen, shaped like a pipe.
He laughs. "It's possible, you know. You can divide the shank and the tenon of the pipe and make it into a pen."
Then he shows a strange diagram — a "pipe pen" being used backward. The pen tip is the bit, and you're supposed to hold it from the heel.
"That's not ergonomic," Jim comments, saying what we're all thinking.
Klem grins. "That's because we're thinking from the human perspective. The first thing we consider is how our hands would hold it."
He moves to the next slide. This time, an octopus-like tentacle is holding the pipe-pen while another tentacle inserts something into the heel. Then he shows an X-ray view of the pipe's interior — the ink naturally flows from the stem to the tip, perfectly functional for a creature with tentacles.
Weird demonstration — but I get the idea.
We are biased toward ourselves.
Even animal sounds like "woof" or "meow" aren't true representations, just the closest mimicry we can make. Now imagine dealing with a completely different species, from a completely different system — everything could be different.
Then Klem brings up the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis — how language influences thought, perception, and behavior.
He shows the set of alien symbols and asks, "Where do you start looking? From the top? Bottom? Right through the middle? In what order — left to right, then the next row? Or zigzag?"
"See? Even though there are different writing systems, we all write linearly. We speak linearly. We think linearly. But we don't know how they think. Their perception might be completely abstract to us."
Leo remarks, "But the signal itself — it's a series of symbols, then a pause, then a new sequence begins, and finally, a loop. That suggests they think linearly too or at least they try to. Maybe they understand loops and time like we do. Maybe they're adapting their communication style for us — trying to meet us halfway."
True. They're the initiators. They found us, not the other way around. They probably did their homework on us.
What comes to mind are colonizers and missionaries teaching indigenous tribes their language. Sorry to say, but we're the tribes here — we know less about the universe than they do.
There's a concept called cultural anchoring. It means those colonists would adapt familiar objects or rituals from local culture to bridge understanding. For instance, when Christian missionaries came to China, they referred to God as the "Lord of Heaven" (I forgot the Chinese word).
In Burmese, the phrase "အားနာတယ်" literally translates to "Ah, it hurts," but there's no perfect English equivalent. It means a feeling — wanting to do or accept something (from one) but feeling bad or unsure if it's okay for him. A subtle emotion lost in translation.
Many thoughts and feelings are like that — lost in language. Maybe it's like expressing love to someone who doesn't understand, not because they don't feel, but because the words and gestures mean different things across cultures.
While I'm lost in thought, Klem's voice pulls me back:
"Communication is not just linguistic. It's conceptual negotiation."
He continues, "The aliens will try to communicate on common ground. They'll attempt their version of cultural anchoring. But they don't have enough information about us. So their first messages might be self-introductions — expecting us to respond in kind."
"Also," he adds, "just as our thoughts and languages are shaped by human bias, theirs will be shaped by alien bias. The fact that they use light pictographs instead of radio signals tells us their main communication form may be visual — photonic."
Both light and radio travel through a vacuum, so it makes sense. We favor radio because we're verbal creatures. But for them — light could be the natural medium of thought and communication.
They're probably not sentient dolphins ruled by 'Adolphine' or anything like that. If they were, they'd use sonar, a sound wave, not light. So their physiology likely aligns with photons, vision, or some other luminous mechanism.
Dr. Klem concludes:
"To think beyond human bias — we must search for clues in common ground. The hints might lie in the universe itself — the one thing both of us can see and share."
(5)
Clara Zhou's untitled experiment is the last one for this week .
She's dressed all in black, some gothic ornaments here and there. Her round glasses and perfectly cut bob make her look like a witch—in a positive sense. I like her outfit. I like her personality too—not because she's chill and friendly, but because she doesn't talk much. Very edgy type. I like people like that. Efficient communicators.
On the digital canvas behind her, there's a word: 猫.
"I believe some of you speak Chinese, but if you do… please shut up."
"And the rest of you, what do you think this word means? Guesstimate… maybe look at your surroundings… look for hints."
"Also, if you figure it out… don't say it out loud… maybe…"
She paused. Then:
"Those who know the word because you know Mandarin… move to the left."
"And when you figure it out… don't shout. This is not Jeopardy. Slowly move to the right side," she added, followed by a drawn-out "Pleeeeeease."
Hiroshi, Jin, Dr. Tobias, and Mrs. Sayeed already moved to the left. Not surprising—they likely know Chinese. The two East Asians' languages are heavily influenced by Chinese, and Dr. Tobias and Mrs. Sayeed specialize in linguistics.
But I haven't moved yet. I had many Chinese-Burmese friends back in school, but Mandarin never came up in conversation. Most of my friends didn't even know the language—they just followed tradition.
First, let's look for hints. On the table, Zhou holds a box with both hands. Beside it is a monitor with letters scrolling—or so it seems: C, E, G, E, C, E, G, E on the right, and C on the left. A keyboard and a mouse sit there—primitive computer equipment. A glass, tied to a red string, slowly slides toward the edge.
Silence…
Moe Zet laughs, then moves to the right. Quick, huh? Only nine of us left—actually ten, since Dr. Evelyn is also present.
Isabel Cortes, the mathematician, moves to the right.
I notice the glass inching closer to the edge. A countdown, I guess. It touches the ground. End. One hell of a performance art show rather than an experiment. Well, Zhou isn't a scientist—she's an artist.
The box seems to move, so she tries to hold it tight. Wait—a keyboard… a mouse… red string… glass.
I think I got it.
I move to the right. Very clever demonstration. Big smile on my face.
The MVP of Wednesday, our telescope operator Amina (yes, we're close now, so I call her by her first name), joins me. She's smiling too.
The glass falls. Crack. Standby Rombas swoop in to clean up the shattered pieces.
"Time's up," Zhou says as she opens the box. A black cat jumps out and sprawls across the keyboard.
Mao—the phonetic sound for 猫—appears, followed by the English word "Cat."
She continues, "If you think your answer is right, stand still. If wrong, move here." She points. Amina moves.
"What was your answer?" Zhou asks, curious about Amina.
She laughs. "I overthought it and guessed 'Paradox.'"
"I see."
Then Zhou points to Moe Zet. "My fellow artist… how did you figure it out?"
He says, "It's obvious. A keyboard… and a mouse… and I've read a book. The translation would be 'Piano keys stepped on by a cat.' Piano and keyboard share the same vocabulary, and mouse and MOUSE."
"Thank you… how about Miss Shaw?" She addresses me by my last name. For Moe Zet, she knows he's Burmese, so addressing "Mr. Aung" would be weird—Burmese naming doesn't work that way. You either call the full name or the first two syllables; only couples usually use the first syllable. For me, Shaw is my last name, from my mother. I don't mind if Burmese people call me Amara; others use Shaw. Just don't come up with weird nicknames like "Andromeda."
For my case… it's a bit nerdy. Look at those letters on the monitor: C, E, G, E, C, E, G, E on the right and C on the left. Those are piano notes. You play the right-hand keys and C on the left. And, as Moe Zet said… keyboard and KEYBOARD (slash piano) share the same vocabulary. Most people wouldn't know, but I know the "Keyboard Cat" meme—first cat video made in 1984, posted on YouTube in 2007. How do I know? I'm something of a scientist myself, and I used to play in a band too.
And the outfit… Zhou looks like a witch. A subtle hint. Witches and cats, talented women—history's stereotype. The cat in the box? Schrödinger's cat. All hints combined.
Everyone returns to their seats. Zhou explains her experiment. Those who know the language recognize it immediately. For others, hints help—but there are too many: a mouse, a keyboard cat meme, a red string (cats like to play), a glass falling, cat behavior, her outfit, even Schrödinger's cat. We pick the clues we know—bias, familiarity, the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis applied to our minds. She notes Moe Zet even thought of the book he read—outside her plan—but still found the answer.
She later explains that for someone who doesn't know cats—or the language—the best way to learn this little furry animal, Cat or 猫, is to actually see it first. You need a full visual presentation. Only then can you connect the dots: the "meow" (which, by the way, everyone pronounces differently), the pointy ears (but hey, dogs have pointy ears too, so that alone is confusing), or its silhouette. Just tossing random symbols at someone won't work. You have to understand what it is before you can start linking it to text, pictographs, or hints. Otherwise, it's meaningless.
Zhou compares it to the Halo Beacon. Aliens may send messages via beams of communication. To establish a bridge with someone entirely foreign, there must be common ground.
Professor Saira Nadir adds that because the aliens initiated the communication, they will provide hints—visual cues or universal references: planets are round, stars burn with hydrogen and helium—the first and second most abundant elements in the universe.
Nevertheless, Zhou's experiment—playfully named Zhoudinger's Cat—is an entertaining and clever demonstration. It opens possibilities for understanding the symbols: shared common ground rather than unsolvable problems.
A week after the experiment, a few stray cats are airdropped to Solaris. I suspect someone read the report and decided therapy animals would help. They checked our medical records, confident none of us has cat allergies. Rombas were updated for "fur assist," keeping the area clean.
I even adopted three cats near my shelter: Arthur, Lancelot, and Galahad. My goal is to name all twelve knights of the Round Table.