The Last Days of Krypton (38 page)

Jor-El retreated from public view
for a few days after the birth of his son. At home, he doted on baby Kal-El, savoring the delights of watching him discover small marvels, like holding his parents’ fingers, splashing in warm bathwater, and making experimental sounds. Jor-El wondered if Yar-El had experienced the same simple pleasures after his two sons were born.

Jor-El returned to his laboratory and revisited the many half-finished projects he had abandoned over the years. As a scientist, he couldn’t simply stop the ideas from coming into his head. Zod’s Commission for Technology Acceptance was forever gone, but Jor-El expected no more openness from the new leadership, even though he was ostensibly part of the Council. The six old-guard members could always vote down his suggestions.

Though some of his fellow Council members blamed Jor-El for their troubles, others respected him just as much for what he had done in the past. He was
Jor-El
, and he did not care about glory, wealth, or fame.

Since Lara was recovering well and the baby was healthy, he knew he had to return to Kryptonopolis and get back to work on the Council. Many of the members were the older sons of entrenched noble families that had been disenfranchised by Zod’s iron regime, and they were likely to idealize the old, stagnant ways. Without his guidance, he dreaded some of the decisions they might make.

Before he could leave home, an urgent message from No-Ton and Or-Om shattered the calm. In Jor-El’s absence, many scientific responsibilities had been shifted to the other scientist’s shoulders, and No-Ton was the first to admit he felt inadequate to bear them.

On the communication plate, the two men stood close to each other, their images clear. “This isn’t a social call,” Or-Om said gruffly, scratching at his newly cut hair.

No-Ton seemed almost frantic. “The Council just issued an edict banning
all
of your supposedly dangerous technology, Jor-El.”

He felt a cold wave of disgust. He had already been afraid of dark and reactionary days ahead. “Just how do they define dangerous technology?”

“Anything invented by
you,
presumably.” Or-Om shook his head. “Since they don’t understand any of it, they don’t want to take the risk.”

“I wasn’t there for the vote,” Jor-El said. “I didn’t hear any of the discussion. I wasn’t given a chance to speak on my own behalf. I will demand a reopening of the debate.”

“Your vote wouldn’t have made a difference,” No-Ton said. “Tyr-Us has his majority of cronies, and he means to demonstrate how ‘different’ he is.”

Now Jor-El did not try to hide his anger. “They already destroyed my wife’s art in Kryptonopolis without a valid reason. Now they mean to erase everything
I’ve
done? They can’t just delete me from the historical record. Surely I have more supporters than that? How could they forget so quickly?”

“Right now, people are afraid to speak out,” No-Ton said. “The Council is still vigorously rooting out any remaining supporters of Zod, and no one wants to fall under a veil of suspicion.”

“We could bring Zor-El back to stand by you,” Or-Om suggested. “He won’t put up with this nonsense. He never should have gone back to Argo City.”

“I’m coming to Kryptonopolis. Maybe I can sway them in the next official meeting. I can’t ignore this.”

“It’s more urgent than that!” No-Ton interrupted. “You already know that the Council means to destroy your Phantom Zone. Tyr-Us and Gil-Ex are irrational about it. Korth-Or and Gal-Eth both debated with them, but the six won’t change their votes.”

Jor-El replied with a sigh, “But they can’t destroy it. I’ve already explained that.”

No-Ton was trembling as he spoke. “Tyr-Us has decided to throw the silver rings down the shaft in the crater of Kandor. He thinks the magma should get rid of the Phantom Zone well enough. I…I’m not certain about my physics, but I fear that—”

Jor-El reeled backward, feeling as if a tall dam had just shattered and a wall of foaming white water was rushing toward him. “But if they do that, it will sink to the very core! The Council members don’t understand what they’re doing. They never have. The consequences could be devastating.”

“They have made up their minds, Jor-El,” Or-Om said gruffly. “Tyr-Us has already taken the Phantom Zone up to the crater.”

The valley around Kandor was black and devastated, the once-beautiful landscape now a vast, leprous scar. Lava boulders lay scattered everywhere, as if a giant had tossed a handful of black crumbs across the ground. A smoky haze hung in the sky, trapped by an atmospheric inversion.

At the edge of the crater, Jor-El disembarked and let the floating vessel drift. He began to scramble along the steep rock-strewn path; the group of determined Council members had already picked their way down. Tyr-Us, Gil-Ex, and the other four Council members who had been imprisoned in the Phantom Zone were clearly determined to undertake this ill-advised action.

Work crews had cleared away part of the hardened lava pillar left behind by the eruption, exposing the shaft sealed off by Zor-El’s protective field. The containment barrier held the still-pressurized magma below the surface. The somber self-important men stood next to a large object covered with a draping fabric, the silver rings enclosing the Phantom Zone.

“Wait!” Jor-El sprinted across the hellish ruins of the crater floor, waving his arms. When he stumbled and cut his palm, he ignored the blood running down his hand. “Stop! You must not do this.” Armored guards blocked his way. They seized Jor-El’s arms, but he continued to throw himself forward. “Let me go. I am a member of the Council.” He pulled free. “Do not put the Phantom Zone into the shaft! You’ll never stop the aftereffects.”

The six members of the new Council looked at him with exasperation and resentment. “Once again, Jor-El threatens us with his science,” Gil-Ex sneered.

“This is the
truth.
You are about to cause an irrevocable disaster!”

Tyr-Us screwed up his face into an expression of extreme distaste. “Obviously, he doesn’t want us to destroy the Phantom Zone. Either he has an overweening pride in his own work, or he has an insidious plan to use the rings.”

One of the other four said, “Maybe he wants to release General Zod. We can’t let him do that.”

“Ask any of your own scientists if you don’t believe me. Ask No-Ton or Zor-El! Tyr-Us, my brother is your friend. At least talk to
him
first—but listen to
somebody.
” The guards stopped him again when he tried to push forward, so he kept shouting from where he was, desperate to get through to them. “The Phantom Zone is a singularity. It’s an opening into another universe. I created it by using a great concentration of energy, and it feeds on energy. If you throw it into our planet’s core, the singularity will have more than it can possibly consume. It will grow, and it will keep growing. You’ll never be able to stop it.”

Gil-Ex rolled his eyes. “Jor-El is predicting the end of the world—again!”

Jor-El’s knees went weak. Even though time and again he had been proved right, no one believed him. “I’m begging you—at least consider what I have said. If you do this, there’s no turning back.”

Two of the men removed the fabric to expose the silver rings and the flattened furious faces of Zod, Nam-Ek, and Aethyr trapped in the empty dimension.

Tyr-Us smiled. “We have pushed the lava down into the shaft using Zor-El’s barrier. We’ll drop the Phantom Zone in, cover it with another energy field, and dump these rings into the depths, where no one can ever retrieve them.” He let out a long, slow sigh. “Zod will be gone, the Phantom Zone will be gone, and we can all breathe easily again.”

Jor-El thrashed and struggled, but he could not stop these foolish, naïve men from carrying the object toward the deep hole. He let out a last cry as they placed the silver rings into the protected shaft, and he caught a final glimpse of General Zod’s vengeful expression, snarling at them.

Pleased with themselves, the Council members switched off the lower field, releasing the singularity into the fiery lava core. The Phantom Zone disappeared into the blazing pit.

When it was entirely too late, the armored guards released Jor-El, and he sank to his knees on the sharp black rocks. He began to calculate how much time remained before Krypton destroyed itself.

In the few weeks since
defeating General Zod, Argo City had made tremendous progress. One of the severed bridge spans was temporarily repaired so that mainland traffic could cross the bay to the peninsula. Zor-El began to feel that his city was thriving once more. He had real hope again.

Until Jor-El told him what Tyr-Us and the others had done.

Continuing solar flares caused bursts of static and signal breakup on the communication plate, but his brother’s news was shockingly clear. “I couldn’t stop them, Zor-El. Every day, every
hour
counts now.” His brother’s face was pale and distraught. “The Phantom Zone is going to kill us all.”

Jor-El sent a series of images and calculations. “As it sinks to the core, the singularity will drain more and more energy from the mantle. When it reaches the critical point, the opening into the Phantom Zone will expand geometrically, like a huge hungry mouth. It will swallow the entire core of Krypton instantaneously, leaving a great void. The remaining matter will suddenly collapse inward, and the shock waves will rebound. The whole planet will be blown apart.”

Zor-El brushed his dark hair out of his eyes, refusing to give up. “Then you and I will find some way to stop this disaster. We’ve got to.”

“Take all my data.
Please
find something I’ve done wrong. Show me my error.” Jor-El swallowed hard. “I calculate that we have three days left.”

As solar static threatened to disrupt the transmission, Zor-El stored the information. If Jor-El was right, no one and nothing could retrieve the singularity now that the Council had dropped it down into the shaft.

And Jor-El was almost always right.

After the signal broke up, he sat with Alura in his tower room, tugging at his hair and reviewing his brother’s calculations. He racked his brain to think of some factor Jor-El had forgotten to include, some flaw in the initial conditions. But each result was as disheartening as the last. He tried to force the equations to yield different results.

Every time he ran a simulation, he watched the singularity expand until it engulfed the core of Krypton. Then the whole planet collapsed and broke apart like an empty eggshell. “There’s not even the slightest chance, Alura. Nothing. Jor-El rarely makes mistakes in his calculations, and he hasn’t now.”

No errors.

Less than three days.

He wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her close. Looking out across the sea, they held each other as darkness gathered. “What can we possibly do in three days? Even if we had all the resources of Krypton and the full cooperation of everyone in the world?” He stroked her dark hair. “Do we even tell our people? My mother? Do we inform them all that they’ll be dead soon? It could spark a worldwide panic. Maybe it would be better if we just allowed them a few more days of peace and happiness.”

Alura pulled back. “You can’t do that, Zor-El. You’ve always trusted your people before, and they’ve always believed in you. They put their lives on the line to support your decisions. You can’t hide this from them. It’s not right.”

When they told Charys, she agreed wholeheartedly.

And so Zor-El issued his statement. Despite the late hour, gongs were rung, people came out to their balconies to listen. With his wife and mother beside him, Zor-El paraded solemnly down the long, flower-decked streets. Every time he took a step, he was acutely aware of the ground beneath his feet. Somewhere deep below, a hungry monster was devouring the heart of the planet.

He followed the whispering canals, breathed in the perfume of the beautiful plants, and announced with utmost sincerity that the end of their world was coming.

Zor-El did not sleep, still struggling to find a solution, even a hint of a possibility, but he found very little hope to cling to. “I have the shield that I used to protect us from Zod. I can cover Argo City with a protective dome. We can hide under it and hope that will make enough of a difference.”

“My greenhouses could support our population for a long time—but what chance would we have? How can your golden dome, however powerful, save us when all of Krypton crumbles? What possibility is there that any of us will survive?”

He bowed his head. “Almost none.” Then he clenched his fist, struck the table, and looked up again with fiery eyes. “But what other choice is there?”

She gave him a wan smile and repeated his words. “Almost none.”

The huge telescope dishes stood
as silent sentinels, still watching for now-irrelevant threats from space. With Krypton’s time slipping away minute by minute, Jor-El went to the distant early-warning outpost, hoping for inspiration. The twenty-three receivers looked like gigantic flowers, their petals spread wide to drink electromagnetic signals. Soon they would all be swept away.

Lara accompanied him out to the site, holding the baby as they walked toward the observation array. She refused to leave her husband’s side, knowing they had so little time left together. Kal-El nestled in his mother’s arms, looking at the sights around him as if trying to see every detail of Krypton before it was too late.

Jor-El whispered to his baby son, “Kal-El, I am so sorry that you’ll never be able to grow up, never meet your potential. I wanted to give you everything, but I can’t hold the world together for you.”

Lara fought back tears. “It’s not your fault, Jor-El. The other members of the Council closed their eyes to the truth. They didn’t
want
to see it.”

“They feared my knowledge rather than respecting it. Tyr-Us and the others were so tied up in politics and alliances and feuds that they couldn’t imagine a man might speak the truth just because it’s the right thing to do. And now their willful ignorance will kill them.”

No-Ton, Or-Om, and Gal-Eth—the Council members who did believe Jor-El’s dire prediction—begged him to suggest a project they could undertake—even something desperate and high risk, no matter how little likelihood it had of succeeding.

Although their chances were vanishingly small, Jor-El gave No-Ton and his companions his old plans for the arkships to be used if the red sun threatened to become an imminent supernova. Working with complete abandon, racing for their lives, a frantic army of engineers, builders, and other volunteers from all walks of life stripped down buildings and tore apart bridges, then used the structural girders, alloy plates, and curved crystal sheets as raw materials to build the vast vessels.

No-Ton tried to cajole Jor-El to join them, promising him passage for himself, Lara, and his son. But Jor-El had done the projections, and he knew that there simply wasn’t enough time to build such ships. He had to find another way.

Standing at the base of the vigilant telescopes, Jor-El suddenly wondered if someone else might listen, even though the Council had not. He could alter the big dishes in the great array, convert them into powerful phased transmitters, and shout a signal into the interstellar gulf, begging for aid, for rescue.

But Krypton had only two days left. Even with a transmission spreading out at the speed of light, no rescuers could possibly hear him and respond soon enough. In the time remaining, Jor-El’s call for help would barely reach the boundary of Rao’s solar system.

Even so, when he explained his idea, Lara suggested that he try. “At least someday others would know what happened to us. Maybe our tale will save some other race from their own closed minds.”

“Like the last message from Mars,” he said.

“J’onn J’onzz may have been very much like you, Jor-El.”

The plight of the lone Martian survivor had certainly wrenched his heart. He had never imagined Krypton’s fate would be so similar—and so imminent. When Donodon had visited Mars, the blue-skinned alien had found only dust and the echoes of a lost civilization. If only he had Donodon’s help now.

At that moment, Jor-El would have welcomed a fleet of ships from the kindly alien’s race. With those ships, they might have—

Suddenly his eyes flew open wide and his heart began to pound. “Lara, we have to get back to the estate! There’s a chance—a small chance, but only if I can do it in time.” He could barely catch his breath as the ideas thundered forward. With a shaky hand, he touched their baby’s face. “Maybe I can save us after all.”

The estate was quiet and empty. Jor-El had excused his few remaining servants so they could be with their families during the end. Only his chef stayed behind, claiming he had nowhere else to go. “This is my home. I’ll stay here, if it’s all the same to you.” Neither he nor Lara could complain.

Jor-El hurried to the exotic translucent tower his father had built. Inside, with an intensity brought on by desperation and hope, he plunged into work he had left unattended for far too long.

All the components of Donodon’s small spaceship sat in the middle of the tower room where Nam-Ek had brought them. Over the months he had made halfhearted attempts to reassemble the vessel, but the Commission had not given him much of the ship’s framework or the “nonessential” pieces. Now, he carefully catalogued and organized the components, separated according to mechanisms that Jor-El understood and those that remained unexplained. Alas, the “unidentified” pile was much larger than the other. When he’d worked side by side with Donodon, Jor-El had learned much about the alien vessel, but the two had been intent on the needs of the new seismic scanner, not on understanding the details of the exotic starship. Now he had to do it himself.

Kal-El rested comfortably in a crib Lara brought into the tower. Their time was now measured in hours, and Jor-El felt the oppressive loss of each second that slipped away. Every breath he took brought him one breath closer to his last.

Red-eyed with weariness, Jor-El tried to decipher the alien engines and systems, relying on logical guesses. It would be impossible to manufacture other vessels like Donodon’s to begin a mass exodus from Krypton—but if he was lucky and worked hard enough, perhaps he could reassemble and expand this one, placing the still-functional components in a single ship.

He remembered when Donodon had originally demonstrated the controls of the vessel, proudly telling him that the spacecraft was so sophisticated it could fly itself, explaining that its life support could adapt to other races. But Jor-El didn’t know
how
anything worked. He couldn’t unravel it in time.

“I could install the heart of Donodon’s small ship in the framework of a larger vessel. Large enough for the three of us.” He looked intently at Lara. “Just the three of us. It might work.”

“What about the rest of the people on Krypton?”

Jor-El hung his head. “It’s not possible, Lara. In my entire life I’ve rarely admitted that, but this is one of those times. Do I save my family…or do I save no one? Those are the only two choices now.”

“Tell me how I can help.” Lara assisted him, working herself to exhaustion helping him and taking care of their baby. There was no time for sleep. Fro-Da kept them fed, but didn’t ask what they were doing. Believing his master’s conviction that the end was near, the chef found contentment in his daily routine.

Jor-El took components from several of his enclosed personal vehicles—a dome from a floater raft, seats and cabin from a groundcar, concentrated food supplies, medical kits. He needed to make a structure large enough for two adults and a baby, to last them for the unknown length of an interstellar voyage. Even the expanded ship would be cramped for an extended journey, and he had no idea how long their flight would be or even where they might go. But if Jor-El succeeded, then he, Lara, and the baby would be alive…at least for a little while longer. Alive. At the moment, that was the most Jor-El could strive for.

Taking precise notes, Lara captured images of his every step to make certain he could put the components back together. Jor-El finished reconnecting the engines, the power source, the navigation grid, and the planetary databases. Those were the most important parts.

Using a levitator crane, he installed the systems into the makeshift vessel he had constructed, a ship large enough to save the three of them. Though he tried not to, he continued to glance at the chronometer, feeling each moment drop away to vanish forever. He worked faster.

Meanwhile, Lara tackled another important task. From the library on the estate, she began to load as much of Krypton’s knowledge as she could cram into memory crystals—history, culture, legends, geography, and science. She couldn’t save the planet itself, but she could save its essence. She included the long and detailed journal recordings she had kept for so many years, the story of Kandor, her romance with Jor-El, the dark reign of Zod. The ship would take not only the three of them, but also all the information they might need.

With very little time remaining, Jor-El hooked up the engines and the power source to the large vessel. With Lara beside him, her expression hopeful and her faith in him complete, he tried to activate the systems.

When nothing happened, he tried again.

The power drain was too large. The sophisticated systems that had been precisely designed and calibrated for Donodon’s small blue-and-silver spacecraft refused to recognize the much larger vessel built to accommodate Jor-El and his family.

The rapidly assembled ship would not function. The engine readings flickered, powered up, but failed to reach sufficient levels. The navigation computers refused to recognize the new framework he had built. Everything automatically shut down.

The ship would not function.

Sweating, fighting down panic, Jor-El double-checked all of the systems, reconnected each component. But still nothing. He had made no errors that he could find.

Donodon’s ship was a marvel that even the alien explorer had not entirely understood. All of the components fit together in a pseudo-organic way, and Jor-El realized with a sinking heart that some part of the old vessel must have been a vital link in the chain. The exotic engines could not simply be pulled out and plugged into something larger.

It was a disaster. The expanded ship would never fly.

He slumped back, nearly knocking over one of his tables. Lara didn’t have to ask him what had happened. She saw and understood. “You tried, Jor-El. We all tried.”

“It isn’t enough! There has to be some other way.” He wrestled with dismay and hopelessness for the better part of an hour, when he did not have an hour to spare. Finally he came to a cold but necessary conclusion. He looked at his wife. “We’ll take it apart—put the components back into a ship as close to the original size and shape that I can manage. They’ll still function the way they were initially built. They have to.”

“But the ship will be too small, Jor-El. It can’t save all of us.”

He drew a deep breath. “No. But at the very least it can save Kal-El.”