The Last Days of Krypton (3 page)

Lara used quick strokes of her stylus to sketch everything in the chamber. Again, through the meticulous process, she lifted the plate into his field of view and showed him the images. By pointing to each apparatus with the stylus, she gradually narrowed down what he was talking about.

At last, precisely following Jor-El’s instructions (as she understood them), she located the set of controlling crystals. Jor-El grew obviously tense, but Lara felt only excitement. She wondered if the poor man was beginning to doubt his own theory, but she strangely had no such reservations. She believed in him.

Lara selected what he had called the “master crystal,” which glowed a bright emerald green. When she slid it out of its socket, the crystal’s light died away; she turned it around and reinserted the opposite end.

Suddenly, the glassy shaft glowed a bright scarlet. The hovering silvery rings that framed the dimensional hole began to spin like thin, razor-edged wheels, then flipped over, reversed position—

—and ejected Jor-El headfirst from the other universe. Sprawling onto the floor where he had fallen, he brushed off his ser viceable white pants and tunic—which were unstained from his ordeal—and shook his head to clear it.

She ran to him, took his trembling arm, and helped him to his feet. “Jor-El! Are you all right?”

He could barely find words to speak. At first he flushed, then grinned. “What a fascinating experience.” When he looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling, he seemed to see more of Lara than anyone else ever had. “You saved my life. More than that, you saved me from being trapped forever in that…Phantom Zone.”

She held out her hand. “My name is Lara. Sorry for the unorthodox way of making your acquaintance.” She decided to wait awhile before asking his permission to paint the twelve obelisks.

Rao’s turbulent storm created a
silent light show of auroras that night. Colorful, ethereal curtains spilled across Krypton’s sky.

Since she had been his rescuer, Jor-El invited Lara to dine with him out on the balcony of the manor house. This gesture of gratitude was not a mere formality; it was the right thing to do. He had laughed when her parents apologized because their brash daughter had disturbed his work. If Lara hadn’t interrupted him in his laboratory, who knew how long he might have been trapped in that empty place? He very much wanted to have dinner with her, and to get to know her better.

Now the two of them sat together in the warm, calm night, eating from many small plates, each of which contained a savory delicacy. Jor-El was something of a loner, not much for casual talk, but conversation with Lara proved to be surprisingly easy.

Using a dainty pearl-tipped prong, she picked up a spiced morsel of eggfruit from a gilt-edged plate, leaving the last piece for him. “When I’ve attended fancy banquets in Kandor, the food is usually so lovely that the taste can’t possibly live up to its presentation.” She removed the lid from a small enameled pot, drawing a deep breath of the warm peppery steam that rose from stewed fleshy leaves wrapped around edible skewers. “This, though, is all delicious.”

“I instructed my chef, Fro-Da, to prepare a special meal, but I don’t usually pay much attention to eating. Too busy with other things.” With his fingers he took a small triangular patty. He had no idea what sort of meat it was or what ingredients Fro-Da had put into the sauce. “I’ve been to banquets where the dinner is more of a performance than a meal.”

Lara brightened. “Nothing wrong with a performance, if that’s what you’re looking for. I enjoy the levitating ballets of Borga City and Kandor’s opera tapestries, but when I’m hungry, I just want to eat.” They both laughed.

As if eavesdropping on their conversation, the portly chef arrived and presented the colorful dessert course with a minimum of fanfare. “We allow our food to be a celebration of itself,” said Fro-Da. Jor-El tried to thank him, but the chef disappeared along with a flurry of helpers who cleared away the dishes.

The two of them looked up into a dark sky suffused with pastel colors. In previous years, Jor-El had designed and constructed four telescopes of various apertures on the rooftops of his buildings. Though the Council would never “waste time” staring into the heavens, Jor-El had taken it upon himself to produce a detailed sky survey. He gazed at the stars, cataloguing the different types, searching for the other planets he knew were out there. He could not travel to those amazing worlds, but at least he could look. Perhaps later he would show Lara some of the distant marvels through his largest telescope. But for right now, he was having a surprisingly pleasant time just sitting here.

Prominent overhead hung the remnants of Koron, one of Krypton’s three moons and once the home of a thriving sister civilization. No Kryptonian could look into the sky without feeling the poignant loss. Jor-El mused as he followed Lara’s gaze, “Have you ever tried to imagine how much power it would take to destroy an entire moon? What kind of science was behind it?”

“Science?
Science
wasn’t responsible for all that death and destruction—Jax-Ur was. I’ve read about that tyrant in the epic cycles. No single person has changed Krypton’s history more.”

Jor-El was startled by the vehemence of her reaction. Lara certainly wasn’t afraid to state her own opinion. He’d merely been interested in deciphering the physics behind the astonishing weapons.
Nova javelins,
they’d been called. What sort of device could crack open the core of a world and cause such inconceivable destruction?

More than a thousand years ago, Jax-Ur had attempted to conquer all of Krypton, as well as the other colonized planets and satellites in the solar system. The people of Koron had refused to bow to him, so the warlord threatened to use his doomsday weapons. When they still refused to capitulate, Jax-Ur launched three nova javelins. After the weapons had shattered the whole moon, the warlord revealed that he had at least fifteen more in a hidden stockpile.

But Jax-Ur had spread his forces too thin; his conquests were too swift and too widely separated. Seven rebel generals gathered desperate armies from independent city-states that had survived the warlord’s depredations. The seven armies converged at the great river delta in the Valley of Elders, risking everything to defeat Jax-Ur. One of the warlord’s trusted advisers betrayed him—whether for noble reasons or just to save his own life, no one was sure. The traitor poisoned Jax-Ur before he could launch more of his weapons, and the despised warlord died without revealing where his stockpile was hidden.

Jor-El let his imagination roam. “If I could find one of those nova javelins, I could determine how it worked.”

“Let’s hope nobody ever discovers that stockpile. No one should have access to such weapons. That’s why dangerous technology is forbidden on Krypton.”

He gave her a wan smile. “Oh, yes, I know that too well. I have butted heads many times with the Commission for Technology Acceptance.”

After the defeat of Jax-Ur, the leaders of the seven armies established a long-standing peace, and Kryptonians turned their attention to other ways they could salvage their civilization. Since Jax-Ur had learned how to build his nova javelins from an alien visitor, the leaders of Krypton chose to block themselves off from any outside influence. The Seven Army Conference had banned all interstellar travel, all contact with potentially destructive races, and all dangerous technologies.

Lara stared up at the shattered moon. “I loved reading the historical cycles. In those days every life was part of an epic. Kryptonians had passions and dreams.”

Jor-El could not entirely veil his sarcasm. “But now the Council says we have everything we can possibly need and should be content. No new discoveries. No progress.”

Her thin eyebrows drew together, making a gentle furrow on her forehead. Her green eyes had the most amazing sparkle. She seemed so very alive. “But if we don’t aspire to improve ourselves, it removes the zest from life.”

Jor-El looked at her and smiled. “I couldn’t have said that better myself. I’m hungry for all different kinds of science—physics, chemistry, architecture, optics. Astronomy is my main passion.”

Lara touched her fingertips to his arm, startling him. “Look at us—an artist and a scientist. At first glance we seem completely different, yet we’re more alike than I could have guessed. My parents want me to specialize in mural painting, like they do, but I also love music, history, epic cycles. I don’t want to be locked into only one area of expertise.”

“Yes, I understand. Well, not those things, specifically. I’ve never been able to figure out tone symphonies or opera tapestries. Clinically, I recognize that they require significant work and imagination, and a certain level of skill. However, I can’t help but scratch my head and wonder what it all means.”

Her laughter was like music. “Ha! Now you know how most people feel about your science. It’s all a mystery to them.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“You don’t know this, Jor-El, but I insisted on participating in this project with my parents because of you. You’ve always fascinated me—you and what you represent. I wanted to be where real history is taking place.”

“History?”

“History isn’t always old legends or records. History is being created every day, and you’re creating more of it than any Kryptonian alive. You may well be the greatest genius ever born on this planet.”

Jor-El had heard such things before, but always discounted them. Now he felt embarrassed to have her say it. She laughed softly when she saw him blush.

He quickly pointed up at the sky. “Look, the meteors are about to start.” He was too shy to look at her, but he knew she was staring at him with that warm expression on her face. Each month as the moon’s rubble orbited Krypton, gravity tugged at the debris. Fireworks streaked across the night sky, radiating from Koron as if the moon were still exploding.

Lara was captivated as the shower intensified. Streak after streak, meteors scratched like bright fingernails across the sky. Shooting stars flared out, then vanished. “I’ve never seen so many.”

“That’s the advantage of living outside the city where the skies are dark. In Kandor, the bright lights make it impossible to see most of the meteors. The trails are made by ionized gas caused by the frictional heating of—”

She brought his words to a halt with more laughter. He couldn’t understand what was funny, but Lara continued to grin. “Sometimes, Jor-El, a scientific explanation serves only to dilute beauty. Just watch and enjoy it.”

Sitting close to her, he forced himself to lean back and stare at the night. “For you, I’ll try.” He did indeed see the beauty of the meteor shower for its own sake, and he felt a surprising elation to be watching it with her.

While Lara continued to marvel at the particularly bright bolides, Jor-El’s thoughts wandered back to the Phantom Zone. Even under such pleasant circumstances he couldn’t stop his scientific mind from working. He had created a hole to another dimension, though it wasn’t what he had expected. Not a doorway to wondrous new worlds, but a trap. He had hoped to venture into numerous parallel universes, but now he could see no benefit to that empty place where he’d been trapped alone and adrift. Before the Commission for Technology Acceptance allowed him to keep such a discovery, he would have to demonstrate some incontrovertibly practical application.

When the meteor show had died down, Lara stretched. “It’s late.” Jor-El realized that the sparkling rubble of Koron was close to the western horizon; he had been lost in thought for a long time. “Thank you, Jor-El, it’s been an unforgettable evening.”

“An unforgettable day. And tomorrow I will take the Phantom Zone to Kandor.” He stood to lead her back toward the guest quarters where her parents, younger brother, and all the artist apprentices were staying. “I need to meet with Commissioner Zod.”

Kandor’s grand stadium was a
perfect ellipse with high walls, colonnades, and stately arches. All strata of Kryptonian society attended the spectacular hrakka races, sitting shoulder to shoulder in seats carved from polished bloodstone.

Pennants bearing the crests of Krypton’s prominent noble families adorned the parapets of the grand stadium, and the spectators sat within section boundaries so they could cheer for their favorite charioteers. They whistled and shouted for whichever racing teams they considered to be the most exciting, and their fickle attentions changed throughout the course of the competition.

Veinrock stairs crusted with crystal dust led from one seating level to another like stone waterfalls. Prominent, private boxes were reserved for special viewers. The eleven members of the Kryptonian Council sat in the middle tiers with the best view. Below, the tan gravel of the track had been raked smooth for the beasts to run on when they emerged.

Commissioner Dru-Zod found the event both uncomfortable and uninteresting. The ruddy afternoon sunlight was too bright, too hot. Though ventilation systems dispersed cool air into his viewing stand, Zod still felt sweaty. Outside, the environment was too difficult to control, and he didn’t like things out of his control. The stands were overcrowded, and he could smell the teeming populace even from his private box.

Nevertheless, the Commissioner pretended to be enjoying himself. Leadership was all about appearances. The great hrakka races were a cultural event, a circus thrill for people who had nothing important to accomplish. Zod had plenty of more important things to do, but he couldn’t accomplish them unless he played to the expectations of the people. Everyone in the capital city gathered for this monthly spectacle. It kept them happy. It kept them calm. It kept them under control.

Zod’s designated box was located in a dustier tier, two levels below the elaborate private boxes of the Council members, where the view wasn’t as good, but Zod didn’t care a whit for the spectacle. Since he supervised the Commission for Technology Acceptance, the eleven-member Council considered his position to be subordinate to their own. They thought that Zod happily did their bidding. They were fools. The smile on his face was perfect; neatly barbered dark hair and a trim beard and mustache gave him a distinguished appearance.

For the day’s event, he was joined by Vor-On, the younger son of a noble family with no prospects whatsoever. “Will your charioteer win today, Commissioner Zod? Shall I place another wager?” He smelled of too much perfume masking too much sweat. Vor-On was little more than a sycophant, embarrassingly glad to have Zod’s attention.

After many years of practice, Zod kept his voice carefully controlled. “I expect Nam-Ek will win, but such things cannot be guaranteed.”

Vor-On squirmed, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. His rusty hair was cut with straight bangs and a square back; the style, which was very popular this year, had so little finesse it looked like an inexpensive wig. “You’re planning something, aren’t you? You’ve got the victory in your pocket. What’s the surprise, Zod? Tell me.”

“If I tell you, then it will not be a surprise.” Zod did not bet, and he was not in this event for profit. He was certain, however, that his man Nam-Ek would meet or exceed expectations; in that, the muscular mute was quite predictable.

Zod leaned forward, bored. Misters sprayed cooling moisture into the air. Food vendors tried to sell cold drinks. Clownish performers in gaudy clothes carried streamers and ribbons, dancing along the packed track far below, overseeing the final preparations while doing pratfalls to amuse the audience. The anticipation built moment by moment.

In the midst of all the tedious hubbub, Zod spied something interesting. Over in the gaudy stadium box of the noble family of Ka, the guests wore extravagantly ornate and absolutely impractical costumes dictated by fashion and not by common sense. The men and women sat with high collars, spiky sleeves, cinched waists, and crinkled fabric studded with so many jewels that they couldn’t possibly bend over to duck, should an assassin hurl a dagger at them. He found it both amusing and disgusting.

But what caught Zod’s attention was a lovely young woman who didn’t seem to belong there at all. Her raggedly cropped dark hair was mussed instead of coiffed. She wore no jewelry. Her eyes were like black pools, her features all the more bewitching because they did not pander to Kryptonian standards of beauty. Her tight black leather pants and loose dark jerkin were designed more for comfort and ser viceability than for show. She lounged, rather than postured, on the stone bench.

Zod immediately sensed that this woman was unlike all the dull nobles he dealt with every day. “Vor-On, who is that intriguing creature over there?”

The eager young noble followed Zod’s gaze, and a distasteful frown flickered across his face. “You cannot be interested in
her,
Commissioner!”

“Why must I explain myself? I asked a simple enough question.”

“Yes, Commissioner. Of course, Commissioner. She’s the third daughter of the house of Ka, something of an outcast, an embarrassment. When her parents tried to disown her, she retaliated by deleting her family name. She insists on being called simply Aethyr.”

“Wonderful.”

“Shameful! She intentionally refuses to live up to her family’s great lineage.”

Zod scratched his beard, contemplating. “Because she does things they disapprove of?”

“Certainly, Commissioner. She doesn’t like her family, and they don’t like her. I don’t know why she insisted on coming to the chariot races, why she would want to be seen with them in their box.”

Zod restrained his smile. Even if his naïve companion couldn’t comprehend the reason, he understood the answer very well. Aethyr probably relished the very discomfort she caused, and she did it on purpose. He found it charming. Looking around, he saw members in the other noble boxes glancing at the Ka seats, frowning at Aethyr, then quickly turning away. So painfully obvious, so artificial. Kryptonians were like players in a stale performance.

“Don’t you see? This is her rebellion, and she flaunts it in front of her family.” He laughed. “Watch how the closer she comes to them, the more they flinch away. It’s all a game to her. Aethyr is smarter than every member of her family. She is a diamond in the rough, Vor-On. In fact, she’s quite beautiful.”

Vor-On responded with horror. “Maybe—
if
you could see past all the dirt and her flaws. And those…clothes!”

“If she wished, Aethyr could dress herself in clothing that other people told her to wear, but nothing can artificially create that sheer charisma.”

The preparation horns sounded. Fanfares played over tuned resonator systems, drowning out the background noise of the audience. Even under the blazing red sunlight, ornamental lights sparkled from the tops of fluted obsidian columns around the Council seating area. Vor-On immediately turned to the track, glad to concentrate on something more appropriate than Aethyr.

The ground-level gates rolled up, and the beasts emerged from the shadows of the darkened pens. Teams of hrakkas—brawny, short-legged lizards with jagged head crests—plodded forward, three tethered to each floating vehicle. The green-and-tan creatures strained in their yokes as each team hauled its chariot out into the open. The scaly hides bore the marks of noble family sponsors.

Zod narrowed his eyes to watch as his own man emerged. Bushy bearded and broad shouldered, Nam-Ek stood tall at the helm of his vehicle, holding the reins in one thick hand. Zod covered his smug smile as the audience began muttering about the unusual beasts hooked to Nam-Ek’s chariot.

The mute had tamed black-skinned lizards from Krypton’s wild southern continent. Adorned with horns and spines along their bodies, ebony scales, and scarlet head crests, these were feral creatures accustomed to hunting and gutting their own prey. As a trainer, Nam-Ek could be as fierce as the beasts, and he had whipped the three into line. The burly driver appeared utterly confident.

When all chariots were in place at the starting line, bald and grandfatherly Council Head Jul-Us stepped up to the main podium. Among all the resounding cheers, Zod could manage little more than polite applause. Although old Jul-Us was well liked in Kandor, Zod despised the man for his high position.
He
should have been the head of the Council, but due to political backstabbing and faithless “allies,” Zod had been shunted aside and put in charge of the minor Commission as a consolation prize. Though he had eventually reaped more power from that position than any Council member realized, Zod would never forget being unfairly spurned.

All eyes were upon Jul-Us as he raised a long scarlet crystal over his head, a symbolic shard containing a burst of light. Below, all of the chariot drivers marshaled their impatient hrakkas, ready to jockey for position as soon as they received the signal.

To his credit, the Council Head was not a man who demanded attention and praise from the people of Kandor. He said simply, “Let the races begin!” and snapped the scarlet shard in two, releasing a blazing flash.

The hrakkas lunged forward, tugging at their harnesses and charging down the packed track. With wiry muscles and long claws that dug into the gravel, Nam-Ek’s black lizards pulled ahead. On either side of the big mute, the rival hrakka teams strained and pulled, trying to keep up with the feral beasts.

The crowd cheered for their chosen teams, waving pennants, calling last-minute wagers. Some whistled, some issued catcalls. Standing like a beatific stone deity in front of his box, Jul-Us watched the great races.

A thready voice tinged with barely controlled fear interrupted Zod’s concentration. “Commissioner, I demand to speak with you!”

Forcibly calming himself, Zod looked smoothly over his shoulder. Close behind him, in a bright red cape and puffy sleeves, stood Bur-Al, his fourth in command at the Commission for Technology Acceptance. The man was an administrator, a functionary with neither backbone nor vision. “Why are you interrupting my enjoyment of the race? My man Nam-Ek is in the lead.”

Bur-Al crossed his puffy-sleeved arms over his chest. “Commissioner, this issue would be best discussed in private.”

Zod gave him a withering glance. “Then why come to a place with thousands of people gathered around?”

The other man seemed taken aback by the question, then blurted, “I’ve discovered your secret. I know what you’ve done with all the technological items you considered dangerous, the things you censored.”

“Please confine your ravings to a more appropriate venue.” The crowd shrieked and applauded. So far, Vor-On hadn’t even noticed the mousy visitor. Finally the Commissioner sighed. “Very well, meet me downstairs in the private stables after the race is run, where we will not upset the rest of the crowd. Nam-Ek tends his hrakkas there, and you know he can’t speak a word. Now leave me alone.”

Enraptured by the spectacle, Vor-On raised his hands. “Did you see that, Commissioner? It was amazing!”

On the track, one of the chariots had wrecked. Nam-Ek pulled on his reins, encouraging the creatures without needing to whip them. The black beasts plunged ahead around the circuit, trampling the gravel, racing faster and faster. Zod sensed that Bur-Al was still behind him, fuming and antsy, but he ignored the man. Finally, the administrator went away.

Some noble families who had invested in opposing teams began to complain loudly about the black hrakkas. Behind closed doors before the running of the races, two racing officials had also questioned the legality of using the new species. Nam-Ek had looked forlorn and agitated, unable to verbally express his anxiety, but Zod, as always, had been the voice of reason, telling the officials to look at the letter of the rules. In the dusty old records, no one had defined exactly what a “hrakka” was. In the absence of any established rule to the contrary, the hidebound officials consented to let Nam-Ek’s team compete in the races.

Now, as the charioteers entered the third lap, two of the opposing teams closed the gap, pushing the green-and-gold creatures beyond their limits of endurance. Zod could see that those hrakkas would probably die at the end of the race, which would no doubt cause a scandal in Kandor.

As one of the golden hrakkas pulled abreast of Nam-Ek’s chariot, the nearest black beast turned its head and lashed out with a whiplike tongue, pulping the rival hrakka’s eye. The wounded creature reared up, maddened, and clawed at the next creature in its harness. Suddenly the chariot toppled over in a tumbling crash. The driver, wearing a protective suit and antigravity belt, ejected himself from the wreckage, unharmed, while the beasts lay injured and dying.

Wide-eyed, Vor-On looked at Zod as if he knew all the answers. “Is that allowed?”

“It is not forbidden by the rules.”

“How could it not be forbidden? This is…horrible.”

“One might call it innovative.”

Zod felt a thrill as he watched. Nam-Ek’s hrakkas lashed out with their long tongues to strike at the team on the right, also driving it into ruin. By now, the big mute had an indisputable lead. Zod didn’t even need to watch the rest of the race; the outcome was a foregone conclusion. He let Vor-On pick over the refreshments that servants had placed in the Commissioner’s box.

While all eyes were focused on the climax of the races, no one noticed Zod slip quietly away. He had to get down to the stables and begin his preparations before Bur-Al arrived.

The black hrakkas exuded an oily scent from musk glands behind their powerful jaws, but the stable smells did not bother Zod. He had built these pens adjacent to the big arena; they were dim and cool, and also very private. To his fellow noblemen, the stables showed that the Commissioner spared no extravagance to keep Nam-Ek, his chariot, and his hrakkas in fine form. For Zod, though, the stables served as a perfect place for unobserved meetings.

After the hard-fought race, Zod met his charioteer in the comforting shadows, standing aside as the victorious mute pulled the three black hrakkas into their pens and fastened thick chains to anchors on the wall.