NOVEL WEB Chapter 209: Moby Dick
Location: Unknown star system, 4,501 light-years from Earth.
Travel Time: 90 days through Wormhole Corridor-2.
Primary Vessel: Arcship EVE.
Fleet Escort: 6 UEDCC Battleships, 3 TRC Heavy Cruisers.
Colonists: ~6 million souls.
The wormhole didn't rip open. It unfurled. Like a serpent of starlight, slowly unwinding into the void. It spiraled, a tunnel of shimmering chaos. The Arcship EVE emerged. Its hull, glistening white and dark gold, trembled. A gentle shudder. Residual warp-shock. The journey was done. Ninety days of travel.
Captain Ingrid Moss felt it. A deep hum in her bones. She was a stoic, silver-haired Scandinavian, with a mind for stars and people.
"Wormholes were never shortcuts… just tolerated cheats. A tunnel made of fire and hunger, needing fuel from suns and sorrow alike."
Inside EVE's bridge, Moss sighed. Relief. She tapped her command console. Her movements were precise.
Moss spoke calmly. "Report. Structural integrity?"
A French Bridge Officer, mid-thirties, checked his screen. "Hull stress normal. Gravitation stabilizing. Energy burn peaked at 78% of core reserves, Captain." His voice was steady.
Moss nodded. "Noted. Open forward observatory."
The shielding on the huge curved viewport dissolved. It pulled back, revealing clear space. Before them, a cool orange K-type star burned peacefully. Its light was soft, welcoming. Five planets orbited it. Three were rocky and airless. Dead. The fourth was a distant, icy dwarf.
The fifth… a mystery. A faint, purplish smudge in the black.
EVE approached. Data flowed across displays. Green lines, flashing numbers.
Sensor AI: "Planetary mass: 0.58 Earth standard. Atmosphere: dense. Liquid water confirmed. Temperature: borderline habitable. Surface coloration... purple."
The bridge fell silent. The ship's hum seemed to grow louder in the quiet. Every eye fixed on the data.
Lt. Aina Olayemi, Nigeria's bioenvironment officer, leaned forward. Her voice was a low whisper. "Purple?"
Moss raised an eyebrow. A hint of curiosity. "Bring us closer. I want eyes on it."
EVE and its escort fleet began orbital braking. A slow, careful move towards the purple planet. Then, a sound. Deep. Unearthly. It echoed across local radio frequencies. It wasn't from the ship. It wasn't an alarm.
It was a whale's song. But warped. Ancient. Hollow. Filled with metallic reverb. It vibrated through the hull, felt more than heard.
Suddenly, EVE shuddered. The hull groaned, like old timber. Lights flickered. Crew grabbed handholds.
Tactical Officer Yumi Hoshino, from Japan, called out. Her voice was tight. "Captain, contact on the dorsal hull—massive object. Non-hostile. Reading… organic." Her fingers flew across her console.
Moss stood. Her chair slid back. "What kind of organic?"
Yumi looked up, eyes wide. "You'll want to see this."
Outside, drifting slowly was a leviathan. A creature from myth. A space whale. It was huge, easily the size of the battleship Astraeus. It glided with elegant motion through the vacuum. Its skin shimmered like obsidian glass. It pulsed with bioluminescent patterns—deep blues, greens, and specks of gold like scattered stars.
It had whiskers. Long and curling, almost like a catfish. They drifted in the void. Its eyes were massive, the size of city buses. They glowed a calm, icy turquoise, watching them.
A Bridge Officer, panicked, yelled. "Do we engage? Ready cannons?" His hand hovered over the weapons console.
Moss's voice cut through the fear. Sharp. "Stand down. This is their home, not ours. But if we want to stay here, we must respect it. Observe it for now."
She paused. The whale drifted closer. Its massive form blocked out stars.
Moss spoke again, softly. "Sound the horn."
A beat of silence. Confusion.
Yumi looked at her. "Ma'am… did you say the… horn?"
"Yes," Moss said. Her gaze was fixed on the whale. "This is a creature that listens. Let's speak in kind."
EVE's deep-sea tonal horn rumbled through space. A low, resonant sound. An ancient call, meant for Earth's deep oceans. It vibrated against the space whale's hull.
A few moments passed. The whale turned. Slowly. It looped in a gentle arc around the ship. Its body thrummed a melodic response. A perfect, beautiful mimicry of the horn's tone. But fuller. Warmer. Alien. A song of welcome.
Onboard EVE, in the viewing galleries, colonists watched. Some applauded. Others wept openly. Children screamed in amazement, pointing at the giant, glowing creature.
Captain Moss smiled. A full, genuine smile. Her first in hours. "Let's take orbit. This may be the most polite neighbor we've ever met."
Planet Designation: Nyx-4 (unofficial nickname: "Amethyst Earth"). Surface: Purple biome with oceans. Borderline habitable temperatures. Dense vegetation. Orbit Distance: Edge of the Goldilocks zone.
The planet rotated slowly below them. It was hauntingly beautiful. Oceans of blue-black ink shimmered. Continents were covered in dark purple and deep magenta terrain. No green. No yellow. Just alien elegance. The colors were rich, deep, unlike anything from Earth.
Over the PA system, the Medical AI's calm voice spoke.
"For safety, planetary landing is postponed for 7 days. Scouting androids will survey first for pathogens, environmental threats, and wildlife aggression. Colonist descent scheduled for Day 8."
No one was upset. No groans. No complaints. The space whale, the sheer alien beauty of Nyx-4, had changed their minds. They understood the caution. They wanted this new home to be safe.
From their cabins, from the viewing galleries, from the hydroponics domes and common decks, colonists tuned in. They accessed the Android Live Feed on their digipads. Eager to watch their future home be explored. The screens showed the planet in vivid detail, a promise unfolding.
The first wave of android drones deployed. Bipedal. Agile. Full of sensors. They touched down on Nyx-4. Their feet crunched softly on the purple soil.
They walked through dense, almost jungle-like terrain. Trees were soft-fibered, not hard wood. They glowed faintly from inside. Vines crawled, twisting, some seeming to reach towards them. The air was thick, humid. It smelled like damp earth and something sweet, metallic.
Dr. Emilio Santiago, Spain's xenobotany expert, watched the feed from the Science Bay. His voice was hushed. "These aren't just plants. They're… reactive. They're following the androids."
The flora pulsed with light. It matched the androids' heart rhythms. It matched their gestures. A subtle flicker, a soft glow. It was like walking through a living dream. Every step, every movement, drew a response from the environment.
At night, Nyx-4 changed completely. The glowing trees, the pulsing vines. It became a luminous ocean of neon purple. Glowing firefly-like motes drifted through the air, like scattered jewels. The sky was clear, black velvet, thick with unfamiliar stars. No clouds. Only silence. A profound, ancient silence.
The chatboard comments exploded. A global conversation.
@GhostOfEarth: "I'd sell my soul to walk through that forest."
@ScientiaMaxima: "It's alive. That planet is alive in ways we don't understand."
@CuriousMind: "What if the bioluminescence is how they communicate? Like a planetary nervous system."
@OldManDreamer: "My grandpa told me stories of Earth's old forests. This feels… more. Like a living spirit."
The excitement was clear. A new world, alive and mysterious.
The space whale continued its orbit. Slower now. Almost rhythmic. It brushed past EVE's hull again. Gently. Leaving behind traces of plasma-like particles. They scattered harmlessly across the viewing windows, like glittering dust.
On the bridge, Moss watched. "What's Moby Dick doing now?" she asked, a dry humor in her voice.
Hoshino grinned. "Flirting with us, maybe. Ever since the horn, it won't leave us alone."
Tactical Officer Dev Ramachandran, from India, piped up. "Captain, if it's trying to mate with a ship, we may need to explain boundaries."
Everyone laughed. The tension had broken. The whale was no longer just a contact; it was a character.
Moss smiled. A full, genuine smile. "Then we better name it. If it's going to be our sky-whale." She paused, looking at the massive, glowing form outside. "Call it… Aludra."
The name stuck. It spread through the ship like wildfire. Colonists on chat boards began sketching Aludra. They drew its flowing form, its glowing eyes. They wrote poems. They set ambient music to its haunting songs, creating new melodies that blended human and alien. Aludra became a symbol. A guardian. A first friend.
Night fell over Nyx-4's hemisphere. From orbit, EVE floated above glowing purple continents. Below, Amethyst Base was a small cluster of lights, a beacon of human presence.
The arcship's Life Hymn played on all channels. It filled the cabins, the common areas, the silent corridors. It was an orchestral piece. Composed from Aludra's whale responses, AI harmonics, and a human choir. A symphony of arrival. A blend of old Earth and new wonder.
A message from Naoko Tanaka, the vlogger from ADAM, played on the public feeds. It resonated with everyone.
"This isn't the future we were promised. It's better."
From 4,501 light-years away, humanity once again found itself humbled. Not by defeat. Not by conquest. But by wonder. By the vastness of life.
Captain Moss spoke into her log, her voice low, reflective. "We crossed time and fire to find silence… and in that silence, something sang back. Let this be a planet we honor. Not conquer. Not this time. We learn. We adapt. We listen."
Aludra spins lazily in space. Its obsidian skin pulses. Its lights glow softly. In tandem with EVE's orbit. A silent, cosmic dance. The beginning of something new. A fragile hope, under a purple sky.