The Last Days of Krypton (9 page)

Without sending a message ahead
through the communication plates, Zor-El arrived from Argo City with his urgent news. Jor-El rushed forward to meet the dark-haired man as his high-speed floater settled down in front of the main house. When the two embraced, Zor-El winced in pain.

“You’re hurt!” Jor-El saw that his brother’s left arm was wrapped in a thick bandage, and his reddened complexion showed blisters and peeling skin from recent burns. “What happened to you?”

“It’s a long and frightening story. I need your help.”

“And you’ll have it—that goes without saying.” Jor-El quickly took the other man by his uninjured arm. “Come inside. Tell me everything.”

In the shade next to a wall of rippling water that flowed down polished bloodstone, Zor-El sat back with a heavy sigh. He noticed the artists and scaffolding, the dramatic murals on the external walls, even the portraits painted on many of the mysterious obelisks, but he did not comment on them.

Zor-El’s dark eyes were still red from exposure to the acrid smoke. “I’ve documented severe seismic activity, deep quakes that are sure to rock all of Krypton very, very soon.” He explained what he had discovered in the southern continent, to his brother’s growing alarm, and then he dejectedly admitted how he had lost the data. “I don’t know what it means, but I wanted to share this with you. I’ve never seen anything like it. That’s why I came to you.”

“The pressure in the core is building.” Jor-El’s expression was grave. “We could go see our father. Perhaps he can help.”

The dark-haired man was surprised at the suggestion. “But he won’t even know we’re there.”

“Nevertheless, we could use his wisdom now. We have to hope for some kind of reaction.”

Originally a summer cottage, the isolated dacha had been built in the forested foothills two hours’ journey from the estate. As his condition grew worse, old Yar-El and his wife, Charys, had chosen to live here in the shelter of tall trees, far from public view. The intimate home was constructed partly of fast-growing crystals, partly of stone, and framed and adorned with polished blackwood. Intricate wind chimes hung from rugged wooden rafters. As the two brothers arrived, the resinous forest air was utterly still, and only a rare tinkle of tones wafted around the small home.

Their gray-haired mother was outside tending her garden, a precisely arranged network of colorful herbs, vegetables, and blooming flowers. Though her face looked pale, and her shoulders were stooped, Charys straightened from her work to greet them with a genuine smile. “My boys!”

Jor-El stepped forward to hug her with his brother right behind him. “It’s been too long, Mother.”

“It’s been too long for both of you,” Charys scolded. She set down her gardening tools and led them up the walk to the porch. “Sometimes it gets lonely out here with only your father for company. I still prefer it to living in Kandor, though. I grew tired of the pitying stares from everyone I met, of so-called friends expressing sympathy. The worst were those who looked at me as if it were my fault—as if something I did cost Krypton the great mind of Yar-El.”

Zor-El was quick to show a flash of anger. “Who did that to you?”

“Now, don’t you worry. Come inside. Maybe your father will know who you are today, but I can’t guarantee it.”

The shadowy house smelled of sun-warmed wood and polishing oils. Jor-El looked around the kitchen area, remembering the meals their mother had made for them when they were young. In a conservatory room that looked out on the wooded hills, old Yar-El sat in a chair like a mannequin, silently staring into the blacktree forest.

“Look who’s come, Yar-El! Don’t you want to greet them?” Gently touching his shoulder, Charys turned the chair. The old man’s gaze remained fixed in a straight line, but she directed his head toward the two brothers. Jor-El looked for any sign of recognition, any flash in those once-brilliant eyes. His father didn’t blink.

“He’s quiet most of the time.” She lovingly stroked his smooth cheek; Jor-El could see that she shaved him every day. “I can remember the way he was. I had many wonderful years with Yar-El, and two wonderful sons. That should be enough for any person.”

She forced a smile, making herself appear strong and undefeated. “I sit with him while I work on my psychological treatise. I’ve made a great deal of progress in the last several months, and I’ll submit it to the Academy soon.” Charys looked at her husband with a wan smile. “Yar-El would be pleased to know that even after his…collapse, he’s still providing ways for us to increase our understanding. I watch him, quantify my observations, record my thoughts, and draw conclusions. That’s what he would do. My husband wouldn’t want to let such a striking problem go unsolved.”

“Too few people suffer from the Forgetting Disease to warrant a large-scale research effort,” Jor-El said. “The doctors call it incurable, with unexplained causes.”

“Is that good enough?” She snorted. “I don’t believe it’s just an obscure bacterium or undetectable virus. I believe the Forgetting Disease is a symptom of what is happening to all of Krypton’s society.”

Jor-El had already read his mother’s theories and agreed with her thesis, though it frightened him. For so long, Kryptonians had had everything they needed; they lived happy lives, free of ambition or purpose, devoting themselves to comforts and diversions, simply whiling away the days. Although violent criminals were true abnormalities, genius and innovation were equally rare. That was one reason why genuinely brilliant men like Yar-El and his two sons managed to invent so many new things. Few other people made the effort.

Sadly, Jor-El’s father had lost touch with the world around him.

People in Kandor muttered that the man had been too brilliant for his own good, that too many ideas had created a bottleneck in his head. In his last year of sanity, Yar-El had become increasingly manic, then swiftly lost his awareness of reality. Now catatonic, unable to break the logjam of thoughts, the old man was lost in another universe…a Phantom Zone in his own mind. Jor-El shuddered at the comparison.

Charys had spent years trying to understand both what had happened to her husband and what was causing the increasing number of anomalies on Krypton. According to her theory, everyone had been forced to be “average” for too many generations. “One cannot constrain an ever-growing thing without consequences,” Charys had said.

If society inhibited the bell curve for too long, radical spikes would appear at either end. Some anomalies took the form of unorthodox geniuses like Jor-El and Zor-El, while others were heinous criminals who demonstrated their “genius” through violence and destruction rather than creation. Like the Butcher of Kandor.

Jor-El leaned close to Yar-El, looking deep into his eyes, but the old man did not focus. “Father, we need your wisdom! You have to help us with this crisis. Zor-El has discovered something very disturbing.”

Charys turned to them. “What crisis?” She glanced from one brother to the other.

Jor-El quickly described the situation while his brother added details. With a grave nod, their mother said, “You both need to go to Kandor to explain the problem. If the Council has any sense, they’ll devote Krypton’s resources to a concerted analysis and solution.”

“
If
they have any sense,” Zor-El emphasized.

“I was hoping Father would hear the problem.”

Charys spoke encouraging words into her husband’s ear. “These are our sons, Yar-El. Can you speak to them? They need you. Krypton needs you.”

Suddenly something changed. Their mother picked up on it first, but Jor-El also noticed a difference in his father’s breathing. The old man shifted his body. He blinked and seemed alive again. Yar-El looked first at Jor-El, then at his brother. “My sons—good sons! Listen to me.” The two leaned toward him, eager for any insight he might offer. “Do not be afraid to have children.” Already the light was fading from Yar-El’s eyes. “I am very proud of the ones that I had.” He focused on some far-distant point, and his breathing went back to the shallow, mechanical rhythm of inhale and exhale.

Charys was visibly moved. Even though Yar-El hadn’t been able to help his sons, his words acted like a tonic on her. “He hasn’t reacted that way in a long time! He saw you. He
knew
you.”

Jor-El tried not to let his disappointment show. “But he offered no insights on the crisis at hand.”

Charys looked from one brother to the other. “Then you will have to solve that problem yourselves.”

The pulsing red heat of
early afternoon drove most Kandorians inside their buildings of veinrock or filtered crystal. Shops and offices closed down, and the pedestrian walkways were nearly deserted. But the plodding business of government continued inside the Council temple.

While his brother scanned the posted schedule, Jor-El insisted that no other prominent hearings could be more important than the ominous readings from the southern continent. Now that Zor-El had identified the problem, they both felt an urgent need to
do
something about it. Zor-El had already begun making plans to dispatch another team to verify his data, to take more extensive measurements of the continuing eruptions.

But first they had a major obstacle to overcome: the Council itself.

The two sons of Yar-El entered the central ziggurat. Jor-El frowned to see only a sparse audience in the tiers of public seats; he had hoped for a full hall with thousands of attentive ears to hear their momentous announcement. “My news will have to speak for itself,” Zor-El said.

Side by side, the brothers descended five steps to an arched waiting foyer before the wide, empty speaking arena. A harried chamberlain intercepted them. “You wish to address the Council? I will add you to the schedule at their earliest convenience. We will contact you when—”

Jor-El coolly stood up to the man. “Come now, the leader of Argo City and Krypton’s preeminent scientist do not need to be announced. Besides, I have a standing offer of a seat on the Council if ever I choose to accept it.” As the ineffective chamberlain spluttered, the two men marched past him onto the vast expanse of colored hexagonal tiles that comprised the speaking floor.

Council Head Jul-Us was conferring with three members who leaned close to him, all exchanging documents and nodding. Without waiting to be acknowledged by them, the brothers faced the towering bench.

Startled by their unexpected appearance, old Jul-Us turned from his documents. “This is most unexpected.” Jor-El appeared so rarely before them, and he had such a prominent reputation, that heads turned. The eleven members viewed him with a sort of surprise and reverence as he came forward with his brother.

Jor-El raised his voice to the Council Head. “Zor-El has come from Argo City with a grave announcement that warrants your utmost attention.”

With a troubled expression on his grandfatherly face, Jul-Us glanced at his fellow Council members, all of whom looked either confused or annoyed by this deviation from the routine. “Very well, Jor-El. We can table our business for the moment. Your brother wouldn’t have traveled a great distance on a mere whim. I trust this is important?” He folded his big-knuckled hands and leaned forward to listen.

Jor-El wasted no time with niceties. “Gentlemen, Krypton is doomed.” His words, stated so baldly, caused a stir among the eleven members.
“Unless
we do something about it.”

Even his brother was startled at the dramatic approach, but Jor-El knew he had to seize their attention. “Zor-El, tell them what you’ve seen.”

The other man tossed his dark hair. “I’ve been to the southern continent, where I witnessed massive volcanic eruptions and unrelenting seismic instability. I saw it with my own eyes, and nearly died to bring my observations back here.” He raised his still-bandaged arm, almost in a gesture of defiance. In no-nonsense terms, he explained what he had seen and the obvious conclusions to be drawn. “I took readings, but I didn’t know what they meant. I came here to ask my brother for help. On his advice, we are presenting the information to you. This is a problem that affects all of Krypton, and all of Krypton must work together to study it—and solve it. Not just me, not just Jor-El…not just Argo City and not just Kandor.
All of us.
”

“Your words are alarming,” Jul-Us said with a deep frown.

“Some might even say premature and impetuous,” Silber-Za added, a scowl on her face.

Zor-El was ready to defend himself, visibly controlling his temper, but red-haired Cera-Si interjected, “Wait, the Council has enough respect for these two men that we should discuss their concerns. Does anyone here wish to question the wisdom of Jor-El?”

Mauro-Ji leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the flat table surface in front of him. “We’ll give it a very thorough consideration, I promise. We will look at the issue and debate the seriousness of this supposed emergency.”

“Debate? There is not time to entangle this matter in endless discussions and committees. First we must set up a full-scale study group and begin collecting data without delay. In Argo City—”

“This is
not
Argo City,” Pol-Ev cut him off, adjusting one of his many rings. Even down on the speaking floor, his cologne hung thick in the air.

Seeing his brother’s growing frustration, Jor-El broke in. “I wholeheartedly agree with Zor-El. I suggest we perform planetwide seismic studies—send probes not just across the southern continent, but distribute them across Krypton. We need to assess the extent of the problem. From what he has told me, I believe there is a real reason for concern.”

When old Jul-Us frowned, his face became a wadded ball of soft leather. “So, you claim that instabilities are building up in our core and that somehow”—he spread his hands, as if looking for a reasonable explanation—“our whole planet will just spontaneously…explode?”

“Didn’t he say that about the sun Rao, too?” Al-An muttered loudly.

Jor-El squared his shoulders. “Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. None of you can deny that our cities have noticed a substantial increase in seismic tremors in recent years. Remember the rockslide in Corril only six months ago? Three major mines destroyed—”

“Which my son Tyr-Us is rebuilding along more stringent construction codes,” Jul-Us said, as if that would solve the whole problem.

“Besides, we have always felt tremors,” said Kor-Te. No doubt he had memorized every prior incident.

“Ah, then you have also noted the evidence,” Zor-El added smoothly. “It is obvious for anyone to see.”

Before they could wander into other bureaucratic dances, Jor-El laid out the basic plan he had developed. “Without delay, we’ve got to find some way to release the pressure building up in our core. Who knows how close we are to a critical point? Zor-El took readings at only one of the thermal plumes.”

“A global problem requires a global response,” his brother added. “All cities must join in the effort. We are all in this together.”

Jor-El narrowed his eyes, sounding determined and hoping that no one here decided to call his bluff. They all knew he was far more intelligent than any of them, frighteningly so. “Perhaps I should accept that provisional Council seat you offered me some time ago. It is the only way I can be sure you will focus your efforts on the necessary work. With my vote, I could veto any other distractions until this matter is resolved.”

“That is not necessary,” Pol-Ev said quickly. “Krypton would benefit most if you dedicated yourself to your real work.”

Jor-El stared them down. He could tell he was making them nervous. They didn’t want him to serve on the Council any more than he wanted to do so.

“Jor-El is right about our priorities,” Cera-Si said eagerly. “Provide us with the data you collected, and our objective experts will review it. As soon as the threat is verified, the Council can develop action groups. Both of you should lead them. Then we will send representatives to other cities, see if additional groups wish to join us in the effort.”

“I, for one, intend to look at this data very carefully,” Kor-Te said. “Do you have it?”

Zor-El looked at his brother awkwardly, but Jor-El sighed. “Tell them.”

Mauro-Ji leaned forward, putting his elbows high on the bench. “Is there some problem? If your data is so conclusive that you would rush—”

Zor-El met the skeptical eyes of those staring down upon him. “I lost my data. There was another eruption, and I was attacked by hrakkas. My equipment was destroyed.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, Silber-Za tossed her long yellow hair. Apparently, their entrance had interrupted discussion on a civic matter she had personally submitted to the Council. “Then your claims seem premature. Even if your brother supports you, we cannot authorize dramatic changes in planetary policy on the basis of your word alone, Zor-El.”

“Why would you doubt my word?” He could barely control his anger.

“It’s not an unreasonable request.” Mauro-Ji sounded conciliatory. “Just mount another expedition. Gather more data. Come back here and submit it to us. At that point, we will develop our response.”

“Yes, we really should do everything according to the rules,” Kor-Te added. “That is how it has always been done.”

“Another team will easily confirm what I found,” Zor-El said. “But I had hoped to get a head start on such a large problem, a full-scale research group rather than just me.”

“Rash decisions are often bad decisions,” Jul-Us intoned, folding his hands together. “Thank you both for a most interesting presentation. However, it’s up to this Council to assess the real threats and priorities for Krypton. At such time as we deem this problem to be significant, we will invite the two of you to participate in the study group.”

Though not satisfied, Zor-El saw that they could ask for nothing more at the moment. “We will get the data as soon as possible.”

Jor-El straightened, looking directly at them. He could sense impatience building within him just like the pressure in Krypton’s core. “And when we do, I expect the Council to act promptly and decisively.”

Old Jul-Us nodded sagely. “Of course.” The eleven members were already picking up their documents and debating other civic matters.

Zor-El growled as they passed down the echoing hall, “This isn’t the way things work in Argo City. My people listen, they cooperate, and get things done without dickering endlessly over trivial matters.” He shook his head. “They are deluding themselves. They are delaying—”

“They are the Council.”