The Last Days of Krypton (11 page)

During their time together, Lara
had seen more of the real Jor-El than anyone else bothered to notice. She learned his fascinations, memorized his changing expressions. Jor-El was unaware of her surreptitious observation, too busy looking at all the things she pointed out to him. Lara was thrilled to have shown him as much as she did.

And at last, Lara knew what to paint on the final obelisk. It was perfect.

After the arrival of the alien spaceship—quite an unusual ending to their date!—Jor-El had not wanted to send her back to the estate by herself, but she gave him no option. “I don’t need a bodyguard or a babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

He had flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean—”

“Jor-El, you have to stay behind and deal with this. It’s too important to leave in the hands of the Council members.” Besides, since she had her inspiration, Lara wanted to get back to the last obelisk so she could surprise him.

Now, engrossed in painting the solitary stone near the corkscrewing tower, Lara didn’t even notice how alone she was on the mysterious estate. Her parents had packed up their scaffolding and materials, ready to return to their Kandor studios. The apprentices had already departed with most of the equipment, like a legendary army retreating from an encampment. Ki-Van had gone back to his classes in the city.

Lara, though, intended to stay until she was done. She implied that Jor-El had given her permission to do so, and she was sure he wouldn’t mind. She also took time to write down her thoughts and impressions of him, documenting what the two of them had done in Kandor, describing the events leading up to the arrival of the alien spaceship. Maybe someday she would write Jor-El’s biography.

At the moment, though, art was her outlet. She painted the obelisk’s background with sweeping colors to imply radical ideas, paradigm shifts, and the wellspring of scientific imagination. This stone would convey a rare and vital aspect of Kryptonian society, a quality that too few people still showed:
Genius.
And who better to symbolize that concept than Jor-El himself?

She applied another brushstroke and stepped back. She had outdone herself. The heart of the image was just the face of Jor-El—the real Jor-El.

Before he joined the others leaving the work site, her father came up behind her and watched her paint. “Haven’t lost interest yet? You’re putting far more passion into that one painting than I’ve ever seen you apply to any other project.”

She blushed at his knowing smile. “It’s an important project to me.”

“I can see that you’ve paid a great deal of attention to Jor-El himself.” Lor-Van nodded toward the painting.

“I wanted to get the likeness right.” She tried to keep a defensive tone out of her voice. “Not enough people bother to look at Jor-El. They consider him either a crackpot or a slightly sad figure.”

“I can see that in your painting. And yes, your mother and I can also see that you’re attracted to him.”

Lara didn’t deny it. “I think he’s growing fond of me as well.”

“How could he not?” Lor-Van said with a chuckle. “Just look at you.”

“Yes, he has looked at me—and talked to me, and listened to me. It’s probably a new experience for him.” She hesitated, serious now. “Are my excuses to stay here that transparent?”

“Oh, they’re reasonable enough for now. The key will come if Jor-El wants you to stay even after you run out of excuses.”

“He just might.” Smiling, Lara flipped her hair away from her face and turned back to her painting. “I intend to give him some very good reasons.”

After saying their goodbyes, her parents and the remainder of their entourage departed for the studio in Kandor. When Lara looked again at the obelisk, she nodded to herself. Others viewed the great scientist as merely the sum of his achievements, but Lara’s painting showed Jor-El’s inner strength and genius, revealing that it was
he
who had created those achievements, not the achievements that created the man. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when
he
saw what she had done.

Once his brother had listened
to his story and interpreted the seismic data, Zor-El fully believed in the impending disaster and knew that something had to be done. Jor-El had not even seen the actual readings, but the brewing disaster in the planet’s core was severe enough to be obvious to him.

And regardless of the data itself, Zor-El had actually
been there.
He had witnessed the planet’s restless heart in a more visceral way than his brother could ever believe. Zor-El had watched the eruptions, seen the chilling emerald-green mineral shift, and he
knew
that something wasn’t right.

Similarly, having faced the eleven-member Kryptonian Council in Kandor, he was able to instinctively interpret their political mood. His brother was a genius in all matters related to science, but Zor-El understood the lumbering machinery of bureaucracy and governments. He grasped the herdlike lethargy of an entrenched decision-making body.

Zor-El headed back to Argo City, deep in thought. He could not let the whole planet die because of the shortsighted members of the government. If they wanted data, he would give them data, but after seeing the Council in session, he doubted even the data would be enough.

However, there were other ways to influence the momentum of a large government. It seemed petty, but momentum could be diverted by pressure from other sources. If he could secure other allies, influence independent cities to join him, then Kandor’s government would take the path of least resistance and flow with the main current.

Jor-El would never think of such tactics. He would present the data and let the numbers speak for themselves, even if the Council was deaf to that kind of language.

Zor-El stopped briefly in Borga City on his way home, hoping to rally support, technical assistance, and funding from Shor-Em, the city leader there. Shor-Em was something of a stuffed shirt who pretended to pride himself on his forward thinking and public works. He made no secret of the fact that he expected to be appointed to a position on the Council as soon as another seat came open; the man had said more than once that he simply couldn’t understand why the great Jor-El would ever have declined “such an honor.”

Zor-El considered the man a colleague rather than a friend, someone with similar interests and civic problems. Though Argo City had the means to continue the seismic investigations alone, Zor-El firmly believed that other city leaders should participate. He had to gather a political rationale as well as a scientific one.

Borga City was located on the other side of the Redcliff Mountains, where several drainages created an expansive marsh carpeted with spiky grasses taller than a man. Rivulets of brown and green water tangled like the threads of a crumpled tapestry interweaving the marsh.

The city itself was suspended above the swampy ground, a complex of interconnected platforms made from multicolored alloy plates and interlocked boards of treated wood. Tethered to huge pilings sunk deep into the muck, the platforms were held aloft by colorful balloons adorned with jewels. To fill their balloons, Borgans captured lighter-than-air gases that boiled up from the swamp.

In peaceful times tourists often came there to take in the marsh vapors and enjoy one of the many independently floating spas. Boatmen netted fat water beetles that were considered a culinary delicacy; others harvested reeds and grasses for the renowned fabric artists who lived on their own platforms.

Zor-El crossed the extensive marshes only to find Borga City in an uproar. Shor-Em and his ambitious (not to mention abrasive) younger brother, Koll-Em, had once again been feuding. With their parents long dead, Shor-Em had blithely assumed control of the city government as a natural consequence of his birth order. The younger brother demanded a place on the city’s council and called for drastic changes, many of which were ill advised. Change for the sake of change—simply because Koll-Em disliked the old order of things—was no way to run a city, Zor-El knew. Shor-Em had ignored his brother for some time, first passively and then more blatantly.

When Zor-El arrived, Koll-Em had just been cast out of Borga City, evicted for staging a clumsy attempt to overthrow his brother. The people were horrified by the very idea, and Koll-Em had fled in angry disgrace. Zor-El waited patiently to see Shor-Em, who sent a messenger with a curt response that he was “preoccupied with urgent matters at the moment” and that he would “be happy to discuss the concerns of Argo City in some months’ time.”

Zor-El departed without leaving a formal response. He preferred to go back to where he could make his own decisions, where people cooperated for the good of society. Back home…

The arrival of the alien
visitor threw all of Kandor into turmoil. When the Kryptonian Council called an emergency session, Commissioner Zod insisted on attending. Though he was not part of their anointed group, Zod believed he was the only one who could see the opportunity, and the real danger, here.

When the great Cor-Zod had been in charge as Council Head, he would have rallied the other ten members behind him and made a swift and reasonable decision. Now, though, Jul-Us and his lackeys would most likely run around in aimless circles like panicked gurns trying to flee a thunderstorm. Now picking up his father’s mantle, Zod felt it was up to him to keep his eyes open and determine the proper response at the proper moment.

Word passed swiftly through the city. The people, both fascinated and frightened by the diminutive blue-skinned alien, were not certain how to react. And Kryptonians did not deal well with uncertainty.

In recent days, many citizens had already been appalled by the shocking murder of the Butcher of Kandor in his own protected cell. No one particularly mourned the loss of the detestable criminal, however, and the mystery remained unsolved. Although some trace in the information systems hinted that Zod’s own access crystal had been used at the time of the murder, he knew nothing about it; he also had a perfect alibi, since he had been with Aethyr-Ka at the time. Though he didn’t care about the Butcher, he was intrigued by the crime itself.

Such fascinations, though, were far overshadowed by this mysterious alien. Giant crystal screens broadcast flickering news images within the facets of the tall transparent towers. Crowds gathered outside the imposing Council temple early the next morning, because the tiers of audience seats had already filled up. Bells and resonant chimes announced the impending important session.

Zod thought the eleven Council members must be wringing their hands behind closed doors, at a loss as to how they should respond. And the blue-skinned visitor hadn’t even told them what he wanted. Their flurry of indecision only proved their own potential weakness. If Zod had been in charge, he would have told them to be calm, to be strong, to face the wizened alien without fear.

If he had been in charge….

Donodon waited patiently in a lower anteroom outside of the speaking arena. Alert Sapphire Guards kept watch over him, ready to prevent the visitor from taking any aggressive action, though the burly men were clearly uncertain that their weapons would be effective. The gadgets in the pockets of Donodon’s comfortable baggy jumpsuit might well be weapons, but no one had the nerve to confiscate them. The alien remained quiet and content, seemingly innocuous. His beard of feelers twitched and wriggled sinuously, either tasting the air or sensing vibrations.

Inside the echoing chamber, Zod claimed an important seat reserved for prestigious observers, as was his due, and he waited. Finally, wearing white robes emblazoned with their family symbols, the eleven members filed in, attempting to look imposing from their lofty positions. When they had taken their seats, Jul-Us commanded the great doors to open into the arena below.

Pointed forward by the Sapphire Guards, the elfin alien strutted in, smiling as he crossed the floor of hexagonal tiles, which looked like a game board. But this was no game. Donodon stopped and stood looking up at the Council seats that towered high above him. He slowly blinked his enormous eyes and twitched his beard-feelers.

Without introduction, the alien spoke. “Greetings, Council of Krypton!” The audience stopped muttering, as if hundreds of people held their breath at once. The blue-skinned alien bent backward to look at the high benches. Clearly finding the situation unsatisfactory, he brushed his hands along his lumpy pockets, searching for something. “My apologies, but staring upward like this is not conducive to a productive conversation.”

He selected a device from one pocket, held it close to his beard-feelers as if sniffing it, then swapped it for another gadget. He paced in a small circle, looking down at the hexagonal tiles, and pointed the glowing end of the device at the floor. “I see, yes, this will do it.”

Four Sapphire Guards approached the alien on the speaking floor, but paused, afraid he might open fire with his glowing device. High above, Jul-Us sat, his face reddening. He shouted, “Explain yourself! We have not granted you—”

Donodon seemed oblivious to the reaction. As he used his small device, the thick tiles in the floor popped loose and bounced off to the side like discarded puzzle pieces, exposing packed sand and dirt under the foundation. Still gripping his strange tool, the alien played the beam over the ground, turning in a full circle. As if by magic, a structure began to build itself out of the loose grains. “Do not worry,” he said offhandedly. “I will restore everything when we are finished.”

Sand and clumps of dirt piled together, building higher, until a corkscrewing ramp rose up. Dizzying patterns, ornate decorations, and alien hieroglyphics adorned the sides. Pillars sprouted from around the platform’s base to shore it up. The growing podium lifted Donodon above the speaking floor until he reached the level of the flustered Council, where he could face them directly. “Much better!”

Finished with his demonstration, the alien switched off his handheld device and tucked it back into an available pocket. “Simple electrostatic rearrangement and binding of sand grains. Nothing to fear.” He looked down at the complex structure. “Though I admit I may have been showing off.”

“Intriguing,” Zod whispered from his reserved seat in the audience tiers. Despite the alien’s unassuming demeanor, Donodon had just demonstrated extraordinary powers. Was there a threat implied? Zod wondered how much more the creature could do. Jor-El himself would have been impressed.

Donodon stretched his wrinkled blue face in a broad grin. Atop his platform he turned in a slow circle, surveying the hundreds of people in the audience, as if storing and cataloguing their images inside a sharp mind. He paused briefly as he faced Commissioner Zod’s private box, then turned to the Council bench again.

“Why have you come here?” Jul-Us demanded. Zod detected a faint quaver in the old man’s voice.

“We Kryptonians prefer our privacy,” barked Kor-Te, so nervous that he could barely keep his seat.

Donodon brushed a few stray sand grains from his jumpsuit. “A pebble beneath a flowing stream can’t ignore the water that exists all around it. Your solar system exists as part of the twenty-eight known galaxies, whether you like it or not.”

“We’ve done fine for more than a thousand years. We protect ourselves,” said Silber-Za. “Krypton wants no trouble with outsiders.”

Donodon responded with a sincere-looking smile surrounded by his fringe of wormlike tentacles. “I did not bring trouble, but an opportunity, a new beginning for Krypton.” He nodded down toward the muscular armored guards who stood wary but impotent. “There is a galactic security force that patrols and protects all civilized planets. With them, societies such as Krypton can remain safe from the dangers that abound in the universe.”

“We have been safe. Haven’t we?” Pol-Ev looked around. He moved a heavily ruffled collar out of the way of his waxed and pointed beard. “Krypton has always been safe.”

“It appears you haven’t been entirely safe. I saw your destroyed moon from space.”

“You spied on us?” Cera-Si’s face turned nearly as red as his long hair.

“I did due diligence in order to better welcome Krypton into the fold of galactic society. Believe me, there are outside threats you cannot even imagine.” Donodon smiled. “Someday you may be glad to have a superior protective force around.”

Al-An, usually the tiebreaker and peacemaker on the Council, said, “What is your stake in this? Are you a representative of this…enforcement group?”

“I am an explorer who seeks the right opportunities. That is all.”

In a huff, Silber-Za said, “So you want us to submit to the rule of an intergalactic police force?”

Donodon’s tendrils wriggled with apparent agitation. “You misunderstand what I said.” The blue-skinned alien selected a device from another pocket, adjusted its settings, and sprayed a glowing rectangle in the air that shimmered like a projection screen. He displayed a host of images, monstrous villains, destroyed worlds, enslaved populations. “You have been safe thus far, not because the dangers don’t exist, but because none of them have found you yet. Rest assured, they will. Krypton cannot remain hidden forever.”

Zod leaned back as a thrill shivered down his spine. “Exactly.” He could already imagine several ways to prepare the world for the inevitable; the Council certainly wouldn’t do it.

“You threaten us?” Old Jul-Us pretended to be indignant.

“I only suggest that you would benefit greatly from the protection and peace offered by an alliance with other civilizations.”

Unannounced, a pale-haired figure passed through the arch and strode bravely across the tiled floor to the base of the granular podium the alien had created. He extended his hands, shouting upward. “Council Head Jul-Us, all Council members—think of everything this rare visitor can teach us! I have come to speak on his behalf.”

From high above, Donodon peered down at the unexpected visitor. From his own seat in the special balcony, Zod leaned forward, not at all surprised to see Jor-El take charge like this. The scientist’s face seemed to be shining with hope and fascination. He boldly stepped to the base of the sand-and-earth pedestal, calling upward as if he and Donodon were the only two adults among a group of children. “Please excuse the Council’s abrupt reaction. This is all very new to us.”

“Jor-El, your interruption is unprecedented!” Jul-Us said.

“Everything about this event is unprecedented. We must learn more about this emissary before jumping to rash conclusions. It is the only logical way to proceed.” He placed his hands on his hips, forcefully meeting the gaze of the Council Head. The other members muttered to each other. “And you all know that I am the best-equipped person on all of Krypton to engage in these discussions.”

“He does have a point,” Cera-Si said, loudly enough to be heard in the hushed audience chamber.

“But
we
are in charge here!” Silber-Za insisted.

Turning back to look at the eleven Council members, Donodon said, “While I must respect your traditions,
I
shall choose my own comrades.” The visitor made a gesture with another device, and the platform began to dissolve, falling back down into the hole in the floor, the grains streaming smoothly back to their original positions with a hissing, rushing sound. The hexagonal floor tiles flipped up into the air, then reseated themselves, interlocking perfectly.

The crowds in the viewing stands responded with an appreciative gasp.

When he reached the floor level, Donodon strolled forward until he stood in front of Jor-El, barely reaching the height of the man’s chest. “Thank you for intervening. Are you the leader of Krypton?”

The scientist laughed, surprised by the question. “No, no. I am Jor-El—a scientist, not a politician.”

“I see, yes. Then you and I have much in common.” Donodon craned his neck and faced the Council again. “I think I will continue my discussions with this man.” It did not sound like a request.

The old Council Head was taken aback. Several of the other members muttered, all of them looking pale, few of them having the nerve—Zod wasn’t surprised—to do anything.

Jor-El looked from the amazing visitor up to the governing body. “Council Members, I will take Donodon to my estate. There I will keep him safe.”

“And the people of Kandor will be safe as well,” Pol-Ev said.

“Why yes,” Jor-El said. “Yes, they will.” Moving briskly, as if certain the Council would change its mind if given enough time to do so, the scientist bowed formally to Jul-Us, then to the audience of rapt Kryptonians, and then ushered the diminutive alien out of the great hall.

Zod was already on his feet and rushing to the private Council chambers. He did not dare give them the chance to ruin this if they were allowed to make their own decisions.

Most of the audience had streamed out of the great temple, buzzing with conversation. They watched as Jor-El and Donodon went to the alien’s compact starship, already talking so intently with each other they barely noticed the awed crowd that followed them.

The eleven members of the Council were left alone, having allowed control of the situation to slip through their fingers. Retreating, Jul-Us quickly called them all to meet him in his spacious private chambers—as the Commissioner had known the old man would.

He gave them enough time to convene there. Then he strode down the hall to the tall closed doors covered with patterned yellow metal. As boldly as Jor-El had strode into the speaking hall, Zod flung open the doors and stood framed in the entry to the crowded room.

The eleven members turned toward him in a panic, as if he were brandishing a weapon. Zod just smiled. “You have much to fear,” he said.

He knew that without his help they would continue their “discussions”—bickering, sharing paranoias, and wallowing in helpless despair. Zod expected nothing better from the eleven incompetents.

“Commissioner, this is a private session,” Kor-Te said, swallowing hard to cover his own anxiety.

“Relating to a very public problem.” Without being invited, he stepped into the chamber and closed the doors behind him. “Naturally, you are worried about what Jor-El and that alien might do together.”

“We should have stopped them from leaving. We should have commanded Jor-El to stay!” said Jun-Do, a mousy Council member who seemed very brave now that he was safe in this closed room.

“It is too late for that,” Zod said.
You should have thought to issue some sort of command during the original meeting,
he added silently,
but you were all too afraid.
He understood that their greatest fear was the fear of change itself. He had been disgusted with the ineffectual leaders before, and now their actions (
in
actions!) only reinforced his opinion. How his father would have been sick with disappointment. “But I can offer you an alternative.”