[PI]Unlike other races in the galaxy, humans never left their solar system because they were too busy fighting the Eldrish horrors that appeared there, and improving their technology. Those who first attacked them didn't even understand what had happened to them before being destroyed.
"What am I looking at?"
The sensor operator looks at the readouts and shrugs helplessly.
"Extrasolar transit, sir. Didn't even disturb the Barrier. No interaction."
"So it was one-way this whole time... if they're even real."
Wika sucks on their teeth. This is a wrinkle they really, truly do not need right now. They raise a hand and sweep, calling up the broader battlespace.
Neptune is shattered. A million fractal fragments spear out, the planet flexing under the weight of incomprehensible temporal shear. It's all TempWar can do to anchor it halfway into reality, keeping it from shattering into a thousand different timelines they would have to control.
The battle around the ice giant rages, a great snarl of millions of warships trying to escort Wika's reality anchors deeper into the gravity well in a bid to fish out the billions of troops still stranded in the mantle before the Invectives crack the whole thing down to substrate and haul a Neptune back into realspace. Bratura is giving them plenty of grief, great wandering sweeps of spatial distortion playing merry hell with the expeditionary force as it tried to carve its way through the blockade of subunits.
"Call up scouts... 8, 15, and 23, attach them to Sheka and sling them out. I want EWar assets to confirm those returns. I know Gannix has been active lately, but page Uranus to see if they can pull anyone out for a QRF."
"Aye, sir."
Wika watches the scout squadrons pull out of the battle, slipping by a marauding cruiser squadron before linking up with one of the massive invasion ships, reorienting onto a Pluto insertion sling.
"23 is getting light returns. 8 and 15 are reporting... something. Minor technopathic presence, but it's diffuse. They're either running cold or something's damping their substrate echo."
"Not doing a very good job..."
Wika mutters to themselves, examining the readouts.
"Pull 8 out, have 23 drop a beacon and remain on station. We'll..."
"Scout 15 is being interrogated. High-energy pulses from leading extrasolar contacts. Coherent EM radiation, no spatial backscatter to go with it."
"Well they're not going to get much, then. Belay, have scout 8 remain on station. Interrogate contacts."
"Confirmed, scout 15 is going active. Reporting... they're unshielded. Completely. We're getting full scans. They're reacting... Frequency of contact sensor pings has increased."
"Who..."
Wika calls up the report, frowning as their eyes track through a damn near atom-by-atom breakdown of the encroaching contacts. Even automated transports had more shielding, even if just to protect their navs from stray spatial scatter coming off the Ten Beings. Approaching a running battle with Bratura without shielding is just...
"Cease scanning! All scout units to passive sensors only!"
"Sir? Sir!"
The urgency in their voice shocks the comm tech into motion, typing out the order in quick shorthand. Wika closes their fist to stop the shaking as the image glares up from their console.
The ensemble analysis model had identified a collection of masses. Organic compounds, weak hydrocarbon bonds and phosphates. As the scout unit had swept the formation's leading elements with their sensors, they had begun to deteriorate in real time, each sweep showing more broken bonds and shattered compounds.
Unshielded. Unshielded organic matter. A stone's throw away from one of the Ten Beings.
"Bratura is reorienting! Scout 23 is reporting approaching contacts. Requesting permission to disengage."
Space itself shivers as the massive thing possessing Neptune turns its eyes towards the sensor pings, the incomprehensible weight of its attention bearing down on the small scout detachment. Without pause, without consideration, it pounces, dark ships of twisted spacetime riding a wave of shattered dimension as it reaches out to... touch.
Wika takes a deep breath and dismisses the scanning reports, bringing up the battlespace reports. It was taking some pressure off, but...
"Denied. Have them light their beacon. Pull anchor groups 8 and 11 off the line and have them jump onto it. Order their anchor ships to switch the control mode three and overlap fields. If Uranus has anything to spare, throw them in, too."
They close their eyes, then open them again, letting the reality of the battle wash over them.
"Lock shields. Protect those ships."
Posted Mar 14, 2026, 6:24 AM UTC