The Last Days of Krypton (8 page)

As soon as Jor-El had
departed for Kandor, Lara began sketching furiously, planning a distinct image for each of the obelisks arranged around the estate grounds. After she had rescued him from the Phantom Zone, Jor-El gladly agreed to let her paint the mysterious stone slabs. (Apparently, even he didn’t know why his father had erected them.) Lara had never been so excited about a single project.

On her sketchplate she planned a thematic arc across the twelve obelisk stones, alternations of chaotic colors and precise geometric lines. She didn’t think Jor-El would understand the nuances of unbounded abstract artwork—he was such a literal person—but she could bring him around if he gave her a chance to explain. The eleven perfectly separated obelisks would each demonstrate one of the powerful foundations of Krypton’s civilization: Hope, Imagination, Peace, Truth, Justice, and others. She would pair each concept-image with a particular historical figure who embodied those ideals.

The outlying twelfth stone offered the greatest challenge. Why was the single obelisk set apart from the others? Obviously, Yar-El had considered this stone to have a greater significance. Did it symbolize how he felt—that he stood apart from the eleven Council members in Kandor? After she finished sketching her other designs, Lara went to stare at the blank outlier stone. She had to think of something sufficiently important to paint on it, and so far she hadn’t come up with the right idea.

As they completed their own massive project, Ora and Lor-Van had noticed a difference in their daughter’s attitude; Lara frequently caught them giving her sidelong smiles and amused glances. They seemed to know whenever she was thinking of Jor-El. Well, let them think what they wanted! She went back to work.

Her young brother, bouncing a half-levitating green ball, walked up to her. He leaned over her shoulder to look at the sketches. Ki-Van tossed the ball high above his head, then ran around his older sister as he waited for it to slowly descend so he could catch it. “You’re trying to show off for Jor-El, aren’t you?”

“I am creating a new project,” she replied too quickly. “This is Jor-El’s estate, so I hope he’ll be impressed.”

“Mother and Father say you like Jor-El. They say you want him to notice you.” Even though he was a good-natured boy, Ki had a knack for being annoying.

Lara said defensively, “He already has noticed me, thank you very much.”

Ki tossed the ball up in the air again, waited for it to drift back down into his hands. “I think he likes you.”

“You don’t know what Jor-El thinks at all.”
But I hope you’re right, little brother.
“Now leave me alone so I can concentrate.”

The creative technicians and apprentices began to take down the scaffolding against the long wall of the main house, where her parents had completed their intricate mural. The artwork showed the seven armies dramatically rallying against Jax-Ur. Too distracted to continue her sketches, Lara paced around the work site, admiring the art. She noted with satisfaction that her mother and father had accurately painted the Valley of Elders. After all, Lara was one of the few living Kryptonians who had ever visited there.

Back then, she had wanted to be a historian, an archaeologist, a documenter of her civilization’s past. Her teachers had expressed frequent skepticism about her career choice, though. “History has already been recorded, so you would be wasting your time. The chronicles were written long ago. There is nothing to change.”

“But what if some of the details are incorrect?” she had asked, but no one gave her a satisfactory answer. From that point on, Lara had begun to keep her own journal, recording her impressions of events so that there might be at least one independent chronicle.

Several years ago, after completing their cultural and historical instruction, Lara and five fellow students—all considered audacious by their conservative instructors—had left Kandor to see the long-abandoned places for themselves. Among their group was an opinionated young woman named Aethyr-Ka, the rebellious child of a noble family.

On their expedition, the group had been rained on, and some of the mapped “roads” had turned out to be little more than quagmires of mud. Paths were overgrown with foliage. The marshes were infested with biting insects—not at all like the romantic glory Lara had seen in legendary images or read about in poem cycles. She and her companions had trekked out to the Valley of Elders and stood at the intersection of two rivers where Kol-Ar, Pol-Us, and Sor-El had fashioned the resolution that turned Krypton forever away from the dangers of ambition and greed.

While Lara had stared awestruck, Aethyr had simply shaken her head. “So this is where it all began. This is the place we should blame.”

“Blame?” Lara had asked. “This is where we gave up all warfare, all violence and death.”

“We gave up a lot more than that. Have you looked at the noble families lately? Have you studied Kryptonian history over the past several centuries?”

“Of course I have!”

“Then you can explain in a sentence everything we’ve achieved since proclaiming our society ‘perfect.’ Stagnant, more like!”

“What about…Jor-El? Think of all that he’s accomplished.” Even years ago, Lara had been fascinated by the great scientist.

“The exception proves the rule, dear Lara,” Aethyr said with a superior expression. “You can think of only one man who embodies Kryptonian ideals anymore. Our noble families have become decadent and lazy.”

“I’m not,” Lara had said.

Aethyr chuckled. “Neither am I. Perhaps the two of us will set a new standard for our generation.”

Now, sitting alone and staring at the blank twelfth obelisk, Lara thought again about that journey to the Valley of Elders. She still had her detailed record of the trip, what they had seen, descriptions of how it felt to be surrounded by the immensity of true history. Jor-El’s ancient ancestor had been revered, but Sor-El was long in the past; modern-day Kryptonians were far more interested in gossiping about how his father had lost his mind to the Forgetting Disease and fallen from grace. It was terribly unfair. Lara hoped that, in some small measure, her work would begin to turn opinion around for old Yar-El.

Her mother startled her, coming up close behind. “You’re daydreaming.”

“An artist doesn’t daydream. An artist simply waits to be inspired.”

“And you find inspiration in daydreams about Jor-El?”

Lara flushed. “Please don’t distract me. This is important work.”

“Of course it is.” Lara didn’t acknowledge her mother’s amusement, nor did she admit how long she had been thinking about Jor-El.

From atop the Council temple
the holographic image of Rao blazed through the darkness. Zod could see it from the balcony of his private penthouse, and he stared at the hovering solar image until his eyes hurt. As the city lights began to sparkle, he scanned the other magnificent buildings on the skyline, all of them brightly illuminated. The people of Kandor liked to laugh at the darkness, and Zod often laughed at them.

Outwardly, he waited with calm patience, but inside he felt great anticipation. He wondered if Aethyr-Ka would arrive early to show her eagerness to meet him…or late, to toy with his emotions…or if she would show up at all. He had no guarantees, and that was what made it so intriguing. He sensed a kindred spirit in this brash, independent woman.

After she had caught his attention at the chariot races, Zod had immediately sent a few spies to make quiet inquiries about her while he dealt with the bothersome fallout of Bur-Al’s death. He easily learned that most of Vor-On’s dismissive comments and assessments reflected the general opinion. Aethyr enjoyed breaking the rules, and she relished provoking strong reactions, much to her family’s dismay. She didn’t live her life in the same tedious, washed-out manner that most Kryptonians did.

Deciding that he wanted to meet her as soon as possible, Zod had recorded a message crystal. With his most sincere and meaningful smile (he had been practicing that), he requested that she join him for a fine private dinner. At first, to impress her, he had listed his formal credentials; then, not wanting to sound pompous, he deleted them all. Aethyr would scoff at such pretension.

But Zod’s assistants had a difficult time actually tracking her down. Aethyr had no stable address. Her family did not know (and claimed no interest in) her whereabouts. One of his spies finally found her poring over crumbling maps in an archives center and museum.

When they delivered the Commissioner’s message to her, Aethyr had held the rose-colored crystal in the palm of her hand, warming it with her personal heat. The image of Zod’s face wafted upward and congealed so that he seemed to be speaking directly to her. She listened to his invitation, then flustered Zod’s men by declining to give an answer. Any answer at all. She simply went back to her maps, digging out records of ancient historical sites….

Now, as he waited on the balcony on the evening after his meeting with Jor-El, Zod was sure Aethyr must at least be curious. He had planned carefully for the assignation, choosing exactly the right bottle of wine from the Sedra region of the coastal highlands. His servants set out a selection of chilled seafood caught by nomadic fishermen, fresh fruits drenched in nectar, and a braised fillet of gurn held in a thermal field to keep it warm. Everything was perfectly calculated and staged.

Aethyr arrived four minutes early—another surprise. Not early enough to imply anticipation, not stiffly punctilious, and not arrogantly late. When he opened the door, he was caught by her large dark eyes, like a robber bird trapped in the fine mesh covering an orchard. As before, Aethyr wore none of the ridiculously formal costumes other nobles loved to flaunt; instead, her clothes absolutely suited her, showing off her lean figure. She wore no jewelry, and her short, dark hair was unadorned.

“Welcome, Aethyr. Thank you for coming.” He gestured her inside, but she remained at the threshold of his penthouse.

“I came so that I could decline your invitation in person, Commissioner.”

She obviously expected him to reel, to protest, to react with indignation. Instead he smiled and answered in a neutral voice, “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t play political games, and this seems like one. Too many unanswered questions.”

“Such as?”

Aethyr arched her eyebrows. “What could the great Commissioner Zod possibly want from me? You gain no political clout with my family through making my acquaintance.”

“Maybe I have no interest in your family. Maybe I find you beautiful. Maybe I think you’re intriguing.”

“Maybe I think you’re used to getting what you want. I’m not a bauble in the marketplace to be had because you toss a few coins in my direction.”

He gestured inside again, slightly more insistent. “Why don’t you at least share a glass of wine with me while you explain yourself. Tell me what you have against me.”

She chuckled. “I’d be happy to drink your wine. I assume you’ve brought out a rare and expensive vintage in an attempt to impress me?”

“Absolutely.” Despite what Aethyr said, Zod could tell she was enjoying herself, pleased with the discomfiture she had inflicted. He poured her a glass of the ruby-red wine. She took a large sip without going through the motions of staring at its color in the light, sniffing its aroma, or swirling it around in the glass. He waited for her to make a comment, but she didn’t. “Do you like it?” he finally pressed.

“It’s wine.” She shrugged, then changed the subject. “I understand you’ve been busy, Commissioner. The funeral for your assistant?”

Zod frowned. He never wanted to think about that idiot again. “Poor Bur-Al is gone, and the vicious hrakkas have been destroyed. We have other things to discuss.”

“Do we?”

He was finding this quite amusing. “Most women in Kandor would leap backward off a cliff for the chance to have dinner with me.”

“I’m not most women.”

“I know. That’s why I asked
you
here.”

She looked down at the meal extravagantly spread out on the private little table. “I don’t like seafood.” She walked to the balcony and looked at the skyline. “I have no interest in the stuffy leaders of Kandor or the clumsy establishment. They always want to change me.”

Zod came to stand next to her. “How do you know I’m not different?”

She finished off her wine in a single gulp. “Since you haven’t proved otherwise, I can only assume that the great Commissioner has much invested in maintaining our stagnant status quo.”

“You might be surprised.” Zod’s eyes were gleaming. “If modern society is so distasteful to you, tell me what you would change. What do you want to do with your life?”

“I do whatever I like. I’m about to go off into the wasteland to study a large set of ruins. I think I’ve found ancient Xan City.”

“Where Jax-Ur made his capital long ago? No one goes there.”

“Exactly. That’s why I have to.”

Zod delicately sipped his wine. “When you come back, return here. Have dinner with me and tell me your adventures.”

“I doubt there would be any point.” She walked back to the door of his penthouse. “You can finish the rest of the wine by yourself. As you said, it’s an expensive vintage. Don’t let it go to waste.”

And then Aethyr was gone. Zod stared after her, and a slow smile curled his lips. The fact that she had so easily dismissed him made her that much more intriguing.

Jor-El arrived back at the
estate long after the artists and their crew had retired to their guest quarters for the night. He realized he had hoped to encounter Lara, but then decided he didn’t want to tell her how Commissioner Zod had taken the Phantom Zone from him. He still stewed over this, but he had other important work to do, and he was anxious to dive into it.

He slipped into his private study and worked for many hours drawing up plans and calculating trajectories for the following morning’s solar probe launch. He didn’t even notice when the sleepy chef delivered a quick meal for him, and he ate without looking up from his blueprints.

But he often found himself distracted by thoughts of Lara. Normally, Jor-El resented distractions, but now he didn’t mind. That had never happened before. He was curious to note these unusual feelings.

Forgetting about his equations, he analyzed his growing attraction for Lara as if it were an experiment, but he couldn’t fit his emotions into a suitable framework. And it had happened so quickly! He had a perfectly clear memory of everything she had said during their evening together, each time she had laughed. Not only was Lara beautiful and talented, she was also
interesting.

He finally went to bed, but sleep was a long time coming.

Early the next morning he emerged, fully dressed but bleary-eyed. He walked across the quiet, dew-spangled lawns from the manor house to the large research building. He had a two-hour window to launch his probe toward the red giant sun, but he wanted to finish the project before too many people might see the rocket plume even from far-off Kandor.

Lara interrupted him, calling his name as she ran out of the artists’ guest quarters. “Jor-El, I’m glad you’re back. I want to show you something. Follow me.” She took him to the first obelisk stone she had painted, to show off what she had done. With the launch of his solar probe forgotten for now, he dutifully admired the placid image of a man whose head was shaved except for a thin, curly crown of silver hair above his ears. Around the face, the background was a confusing discordance of slashes, hues, and shapes. “Look at this obelisk and tell me what you see.”

He frowned. “I see a man’s face surrounded by pretty colored lines.” She waited. Jor-El looked at her, then back at the painting, concentrating. “Is there something else?”

With a sigh and a wry smile, she said, “This panel is called
Truth,
and that is Kal-Ik, a man executed during the ancient city-state wars. I copied the facial features directly from a bust in the Kandor cultural museum. Do you know the story?”

“I think I heard it once, but I didn’t pay much attention….”

Lara stood very close to him, both of them facing the portrait. “All the advisers of the chieftain Nok insisted that his war was going well, that the battles would easily be won, that all of his soldiers would fight bravely for their chieftain. The so-called advisers shielded him from what was really happening. They continued to say what the chieftain wanted to hear, just so they could save their lives. But Kal-Ik knew this was not the truth. He demanded an audience with Nok and told him the grim reality. The chieftain grew angry, and when the advisers demanded that Kal-Ik retract his statements, he insisted that truth was more important than his life. So they killed him for it. Shortly afterward Nok was defeated.”

Jor-El said, “I probably would have done the same in Kal-Ik’s position. An unpleasant reality is preferable to a kind delusion.”

“That explains the history. Now to explain the artwork.” Lara took him closer to the obelisk and carefully guided him through what she meant by the opposing lines, the symbolism in the conflicting angles, the abstract shapes around the figure of Kal-Ik. Jor-El blinked with a dawning realization as he made the connections. He seemed almost abashed. “I didn’t know that it all made any sort of…sense before.”

“Art makes sense, Jor-El, but you have to look at it through a different set of mental filters. It isn’t all quantifiable, cut and dried.” She took him to each of the other eight obelisks she had completed in the previous day, similarly explaining the concepts she meant to convey. By the time they finished, he was delighted with these new revelations. She had done swift and brilliant work.

He wasn’t looking forward to the day when Ora and Lor-Van left with their daughter and their crew back to the city. Maybe he could find some way to invite Lara to stay. He hoped so.

Without even thinking, he took her hand. “Now it’s your turn to come with me. I need your help.”

Behind the research building, he had built a paved launch zone with angled rails and scorched blast deflectors. Each one of his eight probe rockets was no more than two meters long, thin cylinders filled with concentrated explosive fuel directed through a thrust nozzle. The top of each launch tube held a transmitting probe, a scientific package that collected particles from the hurricane of the red giant’s solar wind.

Lara stared around, seeing the evidence of the hot fires from previously launched rockets. “My brother showed me this place, but we did not know what you used it for. Nobody seems to know.”

Jor-El was puzzled. “Nobody asked.”

He asked Lara to assist him in carrying one of the remaining in-system rockets. Each data package was simple and redundant, but it provided him with the direct measurements he needed. His probes studied the outer layers of the swollen red giant. Each month, he shot a probe into space and then recorded the flux levels, magnetic field lines, and the composition of the solar wind.

If anyone in the Council was aware of the streaks of light that arced into the starry blackness, they simply discounted the phenomenon. A few of them might have realized that Jor-El was up to something, but since they were not interested in the answers, they didn’t ask questions.

Lara did not shy from lifting her end of the heavy cylinder and helping Jor-El to load it onto the polished launch rail. “This has the power to fly beyond our atmosphere? It can go all the way to Rao?”

“So far, only one of my rockets has failed. The chemical fuel has enough thrust to reach the target, but frankly it’s not difficult to hit a celestial object as large as our sun. You just have to get close.”

“And then what?”

“Then I can continue my uninterrupted monitoring of the solar cycle. Rao is in its final stages of life. A supernova could happen at any time.”

Lara didn’t even seem particularly alarmed. “But you have developed a plan to save us.”

He had to catch himself from laughing. “You have a great deal of faith in me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I have a few ideas.”

Jor-El had indeed made plans, letting his imagination run free. He had drawn up designs for a huge fleet of arkships, gigantic vessels that could be built only with a concerted worldwide effort. The ships would be vast enough to take most, if not all, of Krypton’s population. Jor-El didn’t believe in thinking small. He had spent months dabbling with the designs, fine-tuning all of the details.

Sadly, because the Council had forbidden space exploration for so many years, Jor-El had no idea where such arkships could really go. Even with the best Kryptonian science, no one had yet proposed a workable faster-than-light stardrive that could take them to a new world. Nevertheless, he continued his sketches and his blueprints…just in case.

Once his new probe rocket was installed, Jor-El used his highest-resolution calipers to check the launch angle. The chemical fuel would take the projectile up above Krypton’s atmosphere, directly into a tight intersecting orbit with the outer layers of the red giant. He knew the sensor package would transmit the vital data back, and he already feared what he would learn.

For the moment, though, he enjoyed the open expression of delight on Lara’s face as she watched the ignition of flames, the thin cylinder streaking up off the launch rail and leaping into the sky, followed by a bright orange and black trail of smoke. How much more thrilling it would be, he thought, if Krypton had allowed him to build a real spaceship, a vessel that could carry a real person up into space and out into the unknown to see all the amazing things the universe had to offer….

For now, he had to content himself with these small scientific launches.

Hearing the roar of the burning rocket, many other artists, including Lara’s parents, rushed out of the guest quarters. They stared up into the sky, seeing the dissipating trail of smoke. Lara’s mop-headed young brother raced over to her, begging to know what had happened. She frustrated him by refusing to answer, simply smiling in awe.

“Thank you, Jor-El. Now I have to get back to work.” She clearly didn’t want to go. “I need to finish the rest of the obelisks.”