David had built instruments to see what he couldn't perceive.
That was the physicist's bargain. The universe operated at scales and speeds that human senses couldn't access. You built detectors, sensors, arrays—machines that translated the invisible into the measurable. You learned to trust the instruments because they didn't lie. They just reported what was there.
His detector had been telling him something impossible was encoded in iridium-bearing substrate. He had believed the instruments. He had followed the data. And now Susan and Margaret were telling him the data was a shadow of something he could experience directly.
"It's disorienting at first," Susan said. "Your brain isn't used to processing information through this channel."
"You've been thinking in quantum terms your whole career," Margaret added. "The perception will feel like confirmation."
David looked at Jennifer, who stood near the monitoring station. His wife. The anchor who had learned to hold Starseed through impossible depths.
"You don't have to do this," she said quietly.
"Yes, I do." He picked up the glasses. "I've built instruments to perceive what I couldn't touch. Detectors and arrays, always one step removed from the phenomenon itself. This is the first time I get to be the instrument."
Jennifer held his gaze for a long moment. Then she nodded and turned to her station.
David sat in the navigator's chair and settled the glasses onto his face.
"Passive…
