what we don’t know we fear
Sorry to wake you, sir. There is a development. The surface is rock, but not all above is cloud. The atmosphere’s alive with foggy whale-like forms, like cetaceans in the sky. Some of our crew members speak with them: the Quarrian, of the once-lost Quarry people. They have no words outside their experience. To the Quarrian, round-square can’t be imagined or even said. Their glossary expands with encounter. New words for new worlds; a leap of language acquired upon contact. Moments ago Quarrian crew met sky-osaurs. Each added words, but we have no equivalents. They share sensory experiences with the aliens, like bees see ultraviolet to guide them to plants. Much more of a world might they see than we. Security says to suppress the indecipherable. Neither cloud creature or Quarrian will answer. Suppress which or the other—your orders, sir?
