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It was a series of transmitters and receivers, and ensconced like torches within each platforms are particle accelerators, fed both by ramscoops devouring Neptune's atmosphere in huge gulps, reminding Shultz of the forms deceptively primitive Akerataeli, known infamously to have all but annihilated the theory once vaunted by Garmillan scholars, that only the humanoid frame can ever develop sentience, and thus a soul, naturally. Already, he had made peace that he definitely have had to blundered severely, that he would likely not return alive, as the familiar hum-buzz of ubiquitous perception filtering system projected by the Argus Array enveloped his fleet, and every single vector of possible escape was either blocked out by a wolfpack of cruisers, or massive anti-ship batteries mounted on the very installation, surrounding the mouth of the landing bay that his fleets would now be entering. The belly of the beast.
