Chapter 15 — The Leviathan
The chamber pulsed faintly with green light from the drive signatures outside, the hum of the Horizon’s vast engines echoing through its ribbed architecture like the beating of a heart. Veydril stood at his station, talons poised over the bioluminescent interface as the communication from Mars flickered to life.
Dorrin’s voice carried a steady confidence. Progress was unfolding exactly as planned. Colonies multiplying. Tunnels carved deep into the crust. And Jeyla’s work—her gardens—were already bearing fruit. Dorrin had hinted at the feasts being prepared, real meals born of fungal loam and cultivated flesh rather than the nutrient composites the Acheli had endured for years.
Veydril allowed himself a moment of anticipation. Soon, he too would taste those labors. But his path was not yet Earthward—it bent outward, toward the storm-wrapped giant that loomed ahead. Jupiter was close now, only twenty Martian days away. Twenty days until deceleration. Twenty days until the Horizon took its place as the citadel of the outer system.
When the communication ended, he turned to Commander Aor-Kesh and relayed the news. The commander listened in silence, his four dark eyes narrowing, then gave a single nod. Dorrin was proving his worth. Mars was secure—for now.
But the future lay in the Leviathan.
From within the Horizon’s armored vaults, one of the great warships waited. At its full length it stretched over one kilometer, nearly half as wide, a spear of blackened alloy bristling with weaponry. Plasma lances, gravitic projectors, mass-drivers capable of shattering asteroids. Hundreds of smaller Acheli marauders nested within its hull, fangs ready to scatter and strike.
Once, the fleet had boasted six Leviathans. Centuries of war had thinned their number to three. Now, two remained concealed within the Horizon’s hold, the third left in orbit around Mars to oversee the colonies. This one—the Xytherion—would soon become the flagship of the system.
Veydril felt its gravity even before he set foot aboard it. The promise of command, of power incarnate. It was not his yet, but he could feel its shadow stretching toward him, a future that whispered of destiny.
Aor-Kesh’s voice broke the silence, low and commanding.
“Selvek.”
The navigator inclined his head. “Deceleration windows calculated. Orbital velocity target: thirty thousand of your Earth kilometers per hour. I have plotted insertion through the shadow of Callisto. Fuel expenditure minimal. Risk acceptable.”
“Prepare the sequence,” Aor-Kesh ordered. His voice carried like a blade drawn across stone.
“Yes, Commander,” Selvek replied, already bending to his task. The consoles flared with new equations, streams of light racing like veins through the chamber.
Veydril closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the shift in his chest—the hum of engines aligning for the long burn, the anticipation of braking thrusters igniting like green suns in the dark. Twenty more days until the Horizon became a fortress. Twenty more days until he walked aboard the Xytherion and left Mars, and perhaps his own past, behind.
The order had been given. The course was set. Jupiter awaited.