The Last Days of Krypton (5 page)

Crying out from the pain, he staggered away. The hot droplets of rock kept burning deeper into his skin. He gagged from the smell of sizzling flesh and burned hair. With his other hand he clawed at his arm and side, but the heat had cauterized the wounds.

Overwhelmed by waves of pain, he couldn’t tell how badly he was injured. With great determination, Zor-El drove back the agony. He had a greater mission now. He
had
to survive. He had to get back to Argo City because of what he had discovered. He had to see his brother. In the worst-case scenario, the very fate of the planet might be in his hands.

Though each breath burned his mouth, and he could barely see, Zor-El somehow made it back to the stable ground where he had landed his silver flyer. Panting and shuddering, yet strangely exhilarated from the endorphins flooding through him, he hauled himself up into the cockpit. He refused to let himself faint.

Zor-El powered up the levitation engines, extended the ash-covered wing panels in an attempt to drink in more solar energy, and finally lifted off into the buffeting thermal currents. As the craft rose away from the southern continent, far from the stark and dangerous lava field, he saw another bright flash of emerald green, the new form of mineral lava burbling up from Krypton’s depths.

Even though he viewed the world
in terms of mathematics and science, the raw beauty of Kandor took Jor-El’s breath away. With its temples to Rao, the shining pyramids, and the great Council ziggurat, Krypton’s capital city was the pinnacle of civilization. Some exotic buildings had been grown from active crystals; other edifices were hewn from lustrous white veinrock or speckled granite polished to a sheen that reflected the red sunlight.

Early that morning Jor-El had departed from the estate on his personal flying platform, an open levitating raft that skimmed smoothly only two meters above the purple and brown grasses of the vast Neejon plain. He stood relaxed at the control pedestal, holding the accelerator and guidance handles, looking ahead at the approaching metropolis. Behind him he towed a cargo floater wide enough to carry the silver-ringed frame of the Phantom Zone and its crystal control array.

When he reached Kandor, he surrendered his invention to the city security forces, which were named the Sapphire Guards for their deep-blue armor. He gave them the Phantom Zone and the control console for processing and delivery to the Commission for Technology Acceptance. The guards knew who he was and stared at him with amazement, as if he were a great celebrity; Jor-El barely noticed. Their reverence for his previous accomplishments, though, made them listen very carefully when he warned them to treat the hovering “gap” in the air with extreme care. He left the framed singularity with them for safekeeping until he could make his case to Commissioner Zod.

Because of his boundless imagination, Jor-El had done this many times before, always optimistic about the prospects of a new technological innovation. All too often, though, his most exotic ideas were deemed too dangerous for a safe and peaceful Kryptonian society, and then they were censored and destroyed. In spite of his many successes, the frequent defeats frustrated Jor-El. The Commissioner (following the orders of the eleven-member Council) was prone to overreact…most of the time.

Jor-El wasn’t so sure about the Phantom Zone, though. It had not turned out to be a portal into parallel universes as he had anticipated, and after his frightening ordeal inside the empty dimension, even Jor-El was uneasy about the possibility that it could be misused. Placing a call via public communication plate, he steeled himself and requested a meeting with Commissioner Dru-Zod.

However, Zod was involved in the funeral preparations for his fourth-level assistant, Bur-Al, who had been tragically killed in the hrakka stables. The Commissioner could not meet with him until late that afternoon.

In the meantime, Jor-El decided to watch the proceedings of the Kryptonian Council, which was in session. The government temple was a huge stepped pyramid at the very center of the city. Each corner was adorned with crystal shards, and atop the pyramid, focusing lenses displayed a high-resolution image of the red sun, projecting the incandescent face of Rao like a spotlight above Kandor.

Jor-El casually entered the observation gallery, following a tall, orange-haired instructor who ushered a group of well-behaved children to reserved seats as part of a class project. He made no mention of who he was, tried to keep a low profile. Even though he wasn’t part of the Council itself, Jor-El had been invited to serve many times. He had always declined the offer, claiming that he had more important things to accomplish. His attitude startled and perplexed the Council members, who couldn’t conceive of anything “more important,” but that only increased his mystique. Even so, they kept the invitation open, offering to create a pending seat for him, if he ever decided to take up politics, like his brother from Argo City. Jor-El did not see that day coming any time soon.

Inside the immense hall, tiers and tiers of stone benches were carved out of the inner walls to accommodate thousands of spectators. Today, surprisingly, the audience tiers were filled. People in fantastically expensive and exotic formal attire crowded shoulder to shoulder with workers dressed in drab uniforms. Something interesting must be on the docket for this session. Jor-El rarely paid attention to the news.

The eleven Council members sat next to one another at a high bench many meters above the floor, where they loomed godlike above those who chose to speak. Jor-El himself had appeared before the eleven powerful representatives on several occasions. Though the Council considered him Krypton’s greatest scientific hero, he could rarely get them to budge from their conservative stance.

Armored Sapphire Guards marched in, leading a prisoner across the tiled arena floor. The man was weighed down with transparent shackles and further restrained by a stun collar around his throat. His clothes were torn and blotched with reddish-brown stains that Jor-El guessed must be old blood. His blond hair was unkempt, his eyes wild-looking, his long face haggard. The prisoner moved with a feral clumsiness—stumbling, cringing, but always alert for a chance to escape. Members of the crowd hissed and drew back, as if the very wrongness of this man might contaminate those in the nearest lines of seats.

The Sapphire Guards hauled the prisoner in front of the Council, then took a step back to let the shackled man stand by himself. The security men remained tense and alert, close enough to seize the prisoner if he should become violent.

When old Jul-Us stood up in his white robes, he no longer looked grandfatherly or kind. He spoke in a booming voice. “Gur-Va, you have committed a heinous crime. You were caught in the Kandor zoo soaked with the blood of your victims, their torn bodies at your feet.”

Gur-Va lifted his blond head, pulled back his lips to expose long teeth. “I am a predator. They were prey. What I did was only natural.”

“What you did was an abomination!” said Kor-Te, a Council member who had thick silver hair that hung to his shoulders in waves, intentionally emulating the style of Krypton’s classic leaders. “All details of this incident should be struck from the record so that future generations need not be sickened by it!”

Jor-El was astonished by the statement. Kor-Te practically worshipped past decisions and mandates; he read and quoted from the Council annals and documents as if they were holy scripture. In Council business Kor-Te believed that all important discoveries had already been made and that all matters had already been decided. To him, any question could be answered by digging through the annals and finding the appropriate quotation. It was inconceivable that such a man would propose striking an event from the historical record.

Jor-El leaned forward, fascinated. He turned to an intent gray-haired woman next to him. “What exactly has this man done? Whom did he kill?”

The old woman’s expression overflowed with disgust and disbelief. “He’s the Butcher of Kandor—broke into the zoo and went from cage to cage with his long knives, slaughtering rare animals. He chopped apart the last living flamebird. He decapitated the drang. He slit the throats of both rondors on display. It was senseless and appalling.”

Above the arena floor, Council member Pol-Ev called for a series of evidence images to be projected. Pol-Ev, the dandy on the Council, had so many clothes and robes with trendy folds and ruffles it was hard to tell whether he followed fashion or set it. His hair was swirled and primped and pomaded, and he always wore a distinctive cologne that added a lingering background aroma to the entire chamber. Now, though, he looked ready to faint.

Crisp holograms showed mangled carcasses in merciless detail. Amid gasps and outcries from the spectators’ gallery, several people became audibly ill; others, greenish and pale, stumbled out of the Council temple. The orange-haired teacher nearly fell over himself as he hurried his group of young students out of the tiers of seats.

Jor-El could hardly believe the sheer violence of what he saw in the display. The drang, a purple flying snake, had been hacked to pieces. The snagriff, a winged dinosaur, had been hamstrung in its cage and, once it had dropped to the ground, Gur-Va had gutted it while it was still alive. The heavy rondors, nearly hunted to extinction because their curved horns supposedly cured many illnesses, lay in a pool of their own blood; one had managed to crawl to its watering pond and slumped over the rim, near its mutilated mate.

Standing in the arena, Gur-Va seemed maliciously delighted to see the images. Why would anyone commit such a senseless act? What purpose did it serve? What could this man possibly have meant to accomplish? The utter irrationality of it made Jor-El reel.

Trying to steady himself, he viewed this as a problem, a puzzle. Something had corrupted Gur-Va’s personality, broken him from sanity. The bloodthirsty temperament of this twisted man was a throwback to violent and primitive times. Where did such destructive impulses come from?

Such ferocious criminals were true anomalies on modern, peaceful Krypton. Inspired in part by his father’s psychological deterioration from the Forgetting Disease, Jor-El’s mother had spent a great deal of time trying to understand the mysteries of the Kryptonian mind. But psychology was not a mathematical, precise science.

All eleven Council members were so appalled that they remained silent for a long moment before turning to each other in quiet, urgent discussion. Jul-Us did not take long to pronounce the obvious sentence. “Your senseless actions are inconceivable. You are a danger to yourself and to all life on Krypton.”

The prisoner started laughing. “Show the images again—especially the snagriff. That was my favorite!”

In consternation, the old Council Head raised his voice. “We will hold you deep underground in a cell from which you will never escape, and where you will never again see the red light of Rao. We do this for the safety of our people, and the protection of your soul.”

Gur-Va didn’t struggle as the muscular Sapphire Guards hauled him away, his transparent chains and shackles clanking. Jor-El felt an empty nausea inside. The punishment seemed harsh and terrible, but what else could be done with such a dangerous atavism? The audience muttered in approval. This was the most severe sentence the Council could impose. Only one or two criminals per year suffered such a fate.

Recently, another scientist had proposed that the worst criminals be sealed in capsules, placed in suspended animation with mental reconfiguring crystals fixed to their foreheads. Over the course of decades, the scientist suggested, the reconfiguring crystals might heal their damaged minds. But the Council members did not consider that solution feasible. Where else could such violent criminals be placed, except in an impregnable underground cell?

Suddenly Jor-El realized what he should do, what he must suggest to the Commissioner. A hopeful smile crossed his face. Perhaps his new discovery did indeed have a practical application.

He looked forward to presenting the idea to Commissioner Zod.

Two blocks from the majestic
governmental ziggurat, the Commission for Technology Acceptance was headquartered in an unpretentious side building, as if to emphasize the fact that Zod’s status was far inferior to the Council’s. As far as Jor-El could tell, the Commissioner ignored the implication.

When he arrived for his scheduled afternoon meeting, Jor-El noticed a weighty, somber feeling inside the office building. The windowfilms had been phased so that the huge sun bathed the rooms in muted, warm light. He recalled that the Commission staff had just returned from the funeral for their coworker.

Commissioner Zod stood to greet Jor-El, offering him a pleasant smile despite the gloom. Zod’s office had a spartan feel, without the grandeur and ostentation of other buildings in Kandor. “How have you decided to challenge me today? Something to delight my sensibilities or something that will make me worry?”

“A little of both, Commissioner—as always.” Despite the man’s cordial reception, Jor-El could never forget that Zod was his adversary, a hindrance if not an actual barricade to progress.

Seeing Jor-El’s expression, the Commissioner shook his head in a mixture of disappointment and reproof. “I believe you enjoy making my job difficult.”

“I prefer the term ‘challenging.’”

No one could doubt that Jor-El had done remarkable things for Kryptonian society—more efficient transportation monitoring to minimize accidents, new techniques to illuminate large structures through photonic excitation of crystal lattices, highly sophisticated medical scanning devices that could study ailments on a deep cellular level, advanced agricultural harvesting machinery that significantly increased crop yields. The average Kryptonian believed Jor-El could accomplish virtually anything he set his mind to.

Ever since the restrictions to progress had been set down generations ago, all new inventions needed to be submitted to the special Commission for Technology Acceptance, which would determine if any new technology had the potential to be used for dangerous purposes. The nightmare of Jax-Ur and his nova javelins had never been forgotten, and the people had no incentive to take risks. Zod’s job, like that of his predecessors, was to crack down on any item that did not fit within a narrow definition of what was “acceptable.”

“I wish we had more scientists like you,” the Commissioner had once told Jor-El, sounding very sincere. “Alas, not everyone’s character is as unimpeachable as yours. If only I didn’t have to worry about your work being corrupted and used for evil purposes.”

Jor-El could not disagree. In recent years incidents of bizarre and violent crimes had grown more and more frequent—for no apparent reason. Having seen the wild look in the eyes of the Butcher of Kandor, he shuddered to think what a man like that could have done with some of his inventions….

Zod called for his security men to bring the item to his office. “Let us see what you’ve brought me this time.”

Jor-El let enthusiasm guide his words. “I’ve created a hole in the universe that leads to a dimension I can only describe as a Phantom Zone. It’s pure emptiness.”

Two burly Sapphire Guards arrived, guiding a levitating platform that held the stilled silver rings and the blank field they enclosed. Because the singularity was composed of nothing at all, bounded by positive and negative energy, the frame was remarkably light. The guards barely had to strain their large muscles as they brought the containment frame into the Commissioner’s office.

Zod’s eyes widened. “By the red heart of Rao! You always manage to astonish me.”

After the Commissioner dismissed the guards, Jor-El explained his experiment. “During yesterday’s solar storm, Rao’s energy was sufficient for me to punch through the fabric of space and create a kind of singularity. It’s a doorway, or a portal, and it is stable.”

Zod leaned closer to the fuzzy blankness that hovered in the air, but Jor-El quickly blocked the other man. “Be careful not to touch the field. I discovered how sensitive it is. I was trapped there for hours until a…friend…released me.”

“Intriguing. So you fell through that hole into another dimension?”

“Only temporarily, Commissioner. With a relatively simple control panel, modified from standard equipment, it is possible to release an individual from the Zone. I need to spend more time conducting experiments, perhaps even with volunteer test subjects. I’ve been in there myself, and I came out unharmed, so there’s no real danger.” He offered his annotated plans. “I have brought the prototype control panel from my estate.”

Zod tapped a finger against his lips, calculating. “And what possible practical use could this Phantom Zone have?”

Jor-El jumped at his chance, perhaps the only chance to get the device approved rather than censored. “A very real and relevant application occurred to me during this morning’s trial in the Council temple.”

“Ah, the Butcher of Kandor? Unfortunately, I was busy with the funeral of my poor assistant.”

“We have no real way to punish or secure such a person. We don’t know how to rehabilitate the damaged minds of our worst criminals, and it has been centuries since we considered such barbaric penalties as execution. The Butcher was sentenced to spend the rest of his life deep in an underground cell. Personally, I consider that a very inadequate solution.”

Zod was unaffected by Jor-El’s logic. “And what do you propose?”

“Sentence our worst criminals to the Phantom Zone instead of sealing them in underground cells until they die. In that other dimension, they have no physical needs, experience no pain, and can cause no further damage. Think of it, Commissioner—those criminals would be left to contemplate their crimes in passive and permanent isolation. If the Council ever determined they were sufficiently repentant, we could release them.”

Zod scratched his neat beard. “Intriguing. Such violent criminals do make us nervous and uneasy. Your Phantom Zone would be a very effective way of sweeping them under the rug.”

Jor-El flushed. “I wouldn’t put it in such a crude fashion.”

“I was not criticizing you. It seems little different from locking them away in an underground cell—and much more secure.” He let out a long sigh—a sigh that Jor-El knew all too well. “But I must consider the worst-case scenario.” Zod walked slowly around the silver rings, looking into the central gap as if he might find an answer there. “What if this singularity fell into the wrong hands? What if it were abused?”

Jor-El stiffened. “Naturally, we’d have to keep it under heavy guard, to be used in only the most extreme circumstances.”

“And what if the guards themselves were corrupted? What if an enemy mounted a surprise military assault?” Zod shook his head. “The Council members are very strict in cases such as this—one practical application does not cancel dozens of possible abuses. I cannot in good conscience grant this Phantom Zone our stamp of approval. Too many drawbacks.”

Jor-El had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he did not meekly turn away. His voice had a rough edge of anger. “Commissioner, using those criteria, you’d forbid the use of fire because someone might burn his fingers. How will our lives ever improve?”

Zod folded his hands. “According to our beloved Council, there is no need for improvement on Krypton.” Did his voice have a hint of sarcasm? “Unfortunately, I have no recourse but to seize your Phantom Zone, your blueprints, and all related materials. I cannot allow this device to tempt the twisted elements in our society.”

Jor-El clenched his jaws, biting back further argument. He knew full well that he would not change Zod’s mind, and he had no choice but to admit defeat for the moment, though he chafed under the harsh, narrow-minded, and nonsensical restrictions.

“I
will
keep trying, Commissioner,” he said, making it a promise.