6.9 LIGHT

In the aftermath of the drone attack, the survivors restore dim emergency lighting and jury-rig isolated life-support, then spend hours clearing blood and bodies. Any attempt to reconnect systems is instantly shut down by the Shrouded, and twenty-four suspended drones remain inert but threatening. Efforts to access launch chutes fail, and opening the workbay doors would vent the entire bay.

Ceelander argues the Shrouded cannot perceive human minds as individual signal sources and proposes broadcasting a live model of human brain activity via the pod’s pharmacopoeia. The first attempts—through a drone and through the ship’s comms—are blocked by the Shrouded’s blanket suppression of links. Meanwhile, disconnection from the orbital anchor proves useless when they learn the Shrouded can radio-disable distant installations, so drifting free changes nothing.

As temperatures fall, Umbar’s tally confirms multiple deaths and a near-miss rescue of hibernators. With no other options, the team refits the prototype pod, replacing guns with high-power transmitters to project Ceelander’s real-time neural activity directly into Shroud’s radiosphere.

Advent authorizes the desperate plan. Ceelander ensures Ste Etienne is kept off the mission—Jerennian physically drags her away—so only one mind is transmitted. FenJuan, suited, manually opens the bay, breaking a leg in the violent depressurization, and Ceelander launches.

Guided by automatics, the pod descends into Shroud. Ceelander activates the transmitters, offering the Shrouded a continuous, two-way model of a human mind. Landing among familiar, deliberate movements near the surface, Ceelander waits to see if contact—true recognition of human individuality—will begin.