The Last Days of Krypton (20 page)

Now unexpectedly exonerated, Jor-El began
to assist Commissioner Zod in strengthening Krypton. He was wary that the ambitious Commissioner might be taking advantage of the tragedy to gather a great deal of personal power. On the other hand, Jor-El had witnessed firsthand the total paralysis of the old Council, and he couldn’t imagine them trying to deal with the disaster. At least Zod was getting things done.

And Jor-El intended to do the same. He and Lara returned to his research building at the estate, where he assembled all his best ideas for the protection of his planet. First and most important, the Commissioner had decided that Krypton must be vigilant, alert for any alien attack force that might come against them.

With Zod’s encouragement, Jor-El designed a large array of observation telescopes to scan the heavens and provide an early warning about any threats from space. This was a significant turnabout from his previous dealings with the old government, which had never given his proposals much serious consideration. So far, at least, Zod was giving the brilliant scientist free rein. That was a silver lining to the cloud of awful events that had happened.

As an astronomer, Jor-El had always been fascinated with the heavens, other stars, nebulae, black holes. He longed to see what was Out There. Previously, the dour Council had chided him for his preoccupations. “Distant worlds mean nothing to Kryptonians,” old Jul-Us had once pronounced in a ponderous voice from his high bench. “It is best that you keep your eyes toward Krypton.”

Now, everything had changed. Zod
wanted
him to turn his gaze outward.

“And those small rockets you built, the ones confiscated by the Council?” the Commissioner had said. “Find a way to modify them so they can carry explosives rather than scientific probes.”

“I need to continue my solar studies,” Jor-El said. “We must monitor the fluctuations in Rao.”

“So long as you help create defensive missiles, we can both get what we want out of this situation.”

Jor-El had never meant to “get something” from the situation. He merely intended to devote his work to helping Krypton recover from disaster and to stay safe.

He chose a perfect site for the observation network on the uninhabited plains not far from his estate and mapped out a broad-baseline listening post consisting of twenty-three parabolic telescope dishes. He made only clumsy sketches, but Lara proved to be a remarkable help by cleaning up his drawings until they were precise blueprints. From his command tent at the crater, Zod approved the plans with barely a glance. “You will have all the resources, equipment, workers, and materials you could possibly need.”

Less than two days later, like an invading army, heavy machinery rattled away from the refugee settlement and rumbled across dry grasslands to the open land Jor-El had chosen. The volunteer workers seemed glad to participate in such a significant project.

Constructors cleared the grasses, plowed new access roads, excavated foundations, and sank anchor pilings down to bedrock. At Zod’s command, foundries from the mines in Corril began producing the structural girders and conduits needed for the framework of the telescope dishes. Tyr-Us, the industrialist leader of Corril, complained about the imposition, but obeyed anyway. Anyone at the refugee camp who demonstrated an ability to perform skilled or technological labor was shipped away to help build the listening post.

Jor-El was amazed, even overwhelmed. In all his years of research, he had never been offered so much assistance. Previously, his projects had been mere experiments, prototypes to be submitted to (and usually confiscated by) the Commission for Technology Acceptance. Now, though, his dreams became large-scale practicality.

Lara spent the days beside him as his wife, his companion, and his sounding board. Though they had been married for only a short time, she could easily read his moods. Though the loss of her parents and little brother still weighed heavily on her, and she remained restless and agitated, she drew strength from Jor-El and gave it back at the same time. She wrote faithfully in her personal historical journal, recording firsthand all the activities around them; someday it would be a valuable—and accurate—chronicle of what had really taken place during Krypton’s most difficult days.

As she watched the construction continue, Lara was pleased to see so many people following her husband’s instructions. “You have an amazing second chance, Jor-El. Krypton needs you. I always knew you’d be found innocent.”

He turned away from the rising dust and rumble, unable to hide a troubled frown. “I wasn’t found innocent, Lara. I was
pardoned.
Those are two different things. People will still assume I’m guilty, but that Commissioner Zod simply needed something from me. A shadow of doubt will always hang over me.”

“I don’t think so, Jor-El.” Lara placed her fingers on his cheeks, turned his face to hers, and gave him a kiss. “Look around you. Krypton is forever changed.”

Unlike his brother, Jor-El had always held himself aloof from politics, avoiding the petty rivalries and arguments in the Council. Though he’d been repeatedly offered a seat among the eleven, he could imagine nothing more frustrating than to spend his days in bureaucratic quicksand. Better to let them worry that he could accept the appointment any time he wished.

The government had wasted time on decisions that improved one noble family’s personal standing rather than Kryptonian society as a whole; they had misplaced priorities. With his science Jor-El felt he was doing far greater work than a political career would ever have allowed. He had bypassed the Council when necessary, done what he believed was right, and completed his independent studies.

Now, however, he didn’t have to worry about Zod’s Commission seizing and locking away his greatest discoveries. Zod had once been his greatest rival and nemesis, but now he couldn’t help but feel a sort of grudging gratitude toward the intense man.

Together, Jor-El and Lara watched the first tall girders being installed into pilings for the listening dishes. At the speed these people were working, it would be less than a month before he could begin thorough, round-the-clock observations. While the Commissioner was primarily concerned about alien invaders, Jor-El couldn’t wait for the scientific opportunities this huge telescope array would offer. He could finally produce a complete sky survey in various wavelengths.

While his thoughts wandered, the ground suddenly began to shake, an ominous tremor building from deep underground. The girders of the partially built telescopes began to sway. Construction machines strained to stabilize themselves while the dirt bucked and heaved. Workers shouted from high scaffolding.

Jor-El grabbed Lara, and they ran out into the open, away from any tall structures. As the shaking reached a crescendo, one of the anchored telescope stalks toppled and crushed a lifting machine as its operator leaped to safety.

When the tremors faded again, Lara brushed herself off, trying not to look shaken. “Do you know what that was? What caused it?”

His brother’s earlier concerns came thundering back to him. “It’s what Zor-El warned us about—science that the Council didn’t take seriously.”

Hoping to secure his power
base, Commissioner Zod had already dispatched some of his passionate followers to Orvai, Corril, Ilonia, Argo City, Borga City, and many smaller agricultural and mining villages. Speaking Zod’s praises, the messengers rallied the citizens, played upon their fears, and put him forward—humbly, of course—as the only man who could truly lead Krypton, “at least during these uncertain times.” Zod had personally faced the evil Brainiac. He had been there from the very beginning, while other city leaders had stayed home for weeks, discussing the tragedy from the sidelines.

Meanwhile, arrogant Shor-Em had unilaterally issued a call for volunteer candidates to become members of a reestablished Council that he proposed in Borga City. Though the pompous nobleman commended Zod’s continuing “temporary” efforts at the crater camp, he called the prospect of rebuilding Kandor absurd. Although the Commissioner privately agreed, he nevertheless encouraged his fanatically devoted workers to take offense at the insensitive pronouncement. By virtue of their indignation, they recruited even more followers.

Living with the painful reality of the gaping wound every day, his dedicated followers at the temporary camp couldn’t help but recognize how slow and ineffectual the other city leaders had been. Zod was clearly the only viable alternative. Everyone had to see that.

Unfortunately, the majority of Kryptonians hadn’t personally lived through the tragedy or witnessed the magnitude of the damage firsthand, and they were swayed by naïve and impractical suggestions, such as Shor-Em’s. Zod knew he had to set them straight, and soon, before these complainers stumbled upon some way to oppose him.

It was time he decided, to see for himself what Aethyr had found in the ruins of Xan City. There he would find the tools he needed to consolidate Krypton and trump the blowhard claims of any rival leaders.

Promising to return in only a day or two, Zod departed from the burgeoning refugee camp with Aethyr and Nam-Ek. As their levitating raft raced away to the south, Zod looked back at the temporary settlement, shaking his head in disappointment. “If I am to lead Krypton, my center of power must be more than a group of tents, dirt paths, and primitive sanitation facilities. No wonder people listen to Shor-Em when he offers Borga City as a viable alternative.”

Aethyr lounged back on a cushion at the side of the open-air vessel, smiling at him. “One problem at a time.”

After a journey of many hours, they arrived at the ruins of Jax-Ur’s ancient capital. Using this very place as his center of power, the warlord had conquered a world, destroyed an inhabited moon, and prepared to reach out across the nearby inhabited star systems. Only treachery had toppled him.

Zod reveled in the sensation of being surrounded by looming history. In the middle of Execution Square, he approached the weathered statue of the once-great warlord surrounded by the nearly unrecognizable figures of kneeling and defeated subjects. Propping his hands on his hips, he looked upward with a challenging smirk. “All your works have fallen into dust, Jax-Ur! Mine will be greater.”

Aethyr said, “Then take Jax-Ur’s mantle for your own, Zod. Why not follow in his footsteps? Be the savior of Krypton.”

He looked at her strangely. “Jax-Ur is one of the most reviled men in our history.”

She pointed out the obvious. “Only because history was written by those who reviled him.”

“Then I had better write my own history to make sure that later generations will remember these events properly.”

She was delighted with this solution. “Yes, you’ll have to do that—and soon. Now, let me show you the weapons.”

Not overly interested in history or technology, Nam-Ek prowled among the flagstones and the fallen columns. He enjoyed stomping on the topaz beetles, crunching their shells under his big feet, and stepping back to watch as other ravenous insects scuttled forward to devour the oozing carcasses. These were not his beloved animals. They were bugs,
vermin
—like anyone who opposed his master. Nam-Ek stomped some more.

With obvious anticipation, Aethyr played the notes of “Jax-Ur’s March” on the crude and ancient musical instruments scattered around the square: a pitted tubular bell that still rang out low and clear, a hollow stone box that resonated when struck, a sheet-alloy gong that boomed like metal thunder. When she had completed the ponderous sequence of loud notes, the round covers of the underground silos ground slowly open to reveal the golden doomsday weapons standing upright in their cradles.

With shining eyes, Zod gazed at Aethyr, thinking that she looked more beautiful than ever, now that she had revealed her secret. He leaned over the lip of the nearest pit to stare down at the slender missile, with its smooth, bulbous tip that contained such untold destructive energy. He shook his head, nearly hypnotized by the elegant symmetry. Three of these warheads had been sufficient to blast Koron to rubble. Only three! “What could a warlord possibly do with
fifteen
such weapons?”

Aethyr lifted her softly pointed chin. “A man with such power could strike fear into anyone who might challenge him. Simply by possessing the nova javelins, a leader could ensure peace, prosperity—and total, absolute obedience.”

Possibilities swirled in the Commissioner’s mind. “Intriguing.”

The pair descended into the shadowy control-room bunkers she had found underneath the ruins. Zod inhaled the smells of dust, stale air, cold metal, and old grease. The ancient equipment looked intact and undamaged, except for the slow deterioration of time. Only a few of the old illumination crystals still functioned in the large and silent banks of machinery.

“The systems are strange, the notions old-fashioned,” Aethyr said, “but I don’t believe it would take much to fine-tune them.”

Later, when they emerged from the control bunkers, Zod admired the lost grandeur all around him. Studying the still-intact buildings and towers, he extended his hands as if he could feel ancient power rising from the ground.

“I like this place. It has a very solid feel, a sense of majesty. Think of how long it has endured.” He smiled at Aethyr. “Yes, once all my followers are in place, this will be a clean, fresh start for a new world.
This
will be Krypton’s new capital.”

After the setback from the
severe quake, Jor-El revised his plans for the telescope array, reinforced the structures, and set the teams to work again. In only a week, four more giant observation dishes unfurled, like the petals of enormous wire-frame flowers. With the structures geometrically arranged along two intersecting baselines, each a kilometer long, the array looked like a technological garden. He wished his father could see this. Yar-El would have been awed by the site.

The sensitive telescopes and receiver dishes would warn of any impending invasion, and they would also collect copious pure scientific data. The heavens were rife with mysteries and possibilities, but the Council had not wanted Jor-El even to look for them. Now, under the pretext of defending the planet, Zod had given him all the permission he needed.

Jor-El also set his mind to pondering designs for new defenses, just as Zod had asked him to do. However, even though he convinced himself the weapons would be used only against Krypton’s outside enemies, his mind often went blank now that he was
trying
to create destructive devices.

In the midst of Jor-El’s efforts to complete the telescope array, his mother tracked him down, first by sending a message to the estate, then to the temporary camp at the crater, and finally to the telescope construction site. He watched her image on the communication plate, read her distraught expression, and suddenly knew that this message was what he had been dreading for many years.

“Your father is dying. This could be your last chance to say good-bye.” Charys hesitated. The image flickered, and he realized that she had switched off the recording to gather her courage so that she wouldn’t cry, so that her voice wouldn’t crack. “I’ve already sent a message to Zor-El, but I doubt he’ll make it from Argo City in time. Please hurry. I need at least one of you here.”

Lara would not let him go alone. An angry breeze picked up, growing moist as gray clouds formed overhead, and Jor-El didn’t even notice when the drizzle began. They borrowed a fast platform flyer from one of the construction crews, activated the passenger cover, and left the noisy and frenetic work site.

It was raining hard by the time they landed the hovering raft among the trees that enfolded the isolated dacha. Jor-El’s knees shook as he stepped down from the vehicle. Cold droplets splattered his face and plastered down his white hair, but he hardly noticed the discomfort.

As they ran to the porch, Jor-El saw that Charys had allowed her garden to fall into weeds. After the blooms had been plucked for Jor-El and Lara’s wedding more than a month before, the untended flowers had reblossomed in a riot of colorful petals. The fact that his mother had not cared for her prized plants told him more than any verbal explanations.

She opened the door, looking wan and lonely, her eyes hollow. “Come inside. I’m glad to have you here with me.”

His face gray and pale, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his forehead, Yar-El lay on his bed, covered by a light blanket. His open eyes barely blinked as he stared off into his own universe. His breathing was shallow.

“He knows what happened to Kandor,” Charys said. “It’s not always obvious when he’s aware of his surroundings, so I’m not sure how he learned the news, but he feels the loss of the city. That’s what did this to him.” Unnecessarily, she straightened the blankets, then stroked Yar-El’s hair, keeping her hands busy. The older woman struggled to maintain her dignity. “Another day, Yar-El. Just hold on another day. Zor-El will be here as soon as he can.”

They watched over the catatonic man in a long vigil, unable to find words. Surprisingly, old Yar-El blinked. His watery eyes flicked from side to side, then focused. He lifted a hand, weakly extending a finger.

Jor-El leaned closer. “Father, can you hear me?”

Yar-El pointed to the side of the bed, growing agitated. He clenched his fingers, then pointed again, attempting to grasp something. Lara saw that he was trying to reach the touch-sensitive notepad at the side of the bed. “He wants to write something. Do you have a stylus?”

Charys rushed to get a writing implement, but Yar-El took the tablet and made a sweeping stroke with his finger, drawing a curve that bent and rebent back upon itself. The old man clearly and deliberately formed the S-shaped symbol of their family crest, the serpent of deceit trapped within an impenetrable diamond. He let the pad fall onto the blankets that covered his lap.

With his other hand, he reached out to clasp Jor-El’s fingers and said a slow, breathy word. “Remember.” The effort took the last sparks of his existence. Yar-El sighed, slumped back into his pillows, and closed his eyes forever.

Zor-El arrived four hours too late in the swift silver flyer that had previously taken him to the southern continent. He and Alura, windblown and exhausted, ran from the clearing where they had landed, but to no avail. As soon as they stepped through the door of the dacha, Zor-El immediately sensed the pall of sadness. He looked at his brother, and Jor-El shook his head.

Yar-El lay at peace on his bed, and his younger son approached tentatively. “I suppose I mourned him a long time ago,” he said in a rough voice. “With a mind like his, our father was effectively dead when the Forgetting Disease stole his thoughts.”

The four of them stood together in shared grief while Charys collapsed in a chair, finally letting them see the toll taken by so many years of tending her unresponsive husband. “That’s what I thought, but I was deluding myself. Now that he’s gone, all the pain is back, as fresh and sharp as it ever was.” She drew in a long, shuddering breath. “Now it’s as if he died twice, and I’ve had to endure the same loss both times.”

“He was lucid right at the end. He said something.” Jor-El looked at his brother.
“Remember.”

Zor-El’s dark eyes flashed, bright with a sheen of withheld tears. “‘Remember’? What does that mean?”

“I think he wanted us to do what he could not.” Gazing down at the old man, Jor-El realized how little he knew his own father.

Finding a small reservoir of strength, Charys announced, “We will hold the funeral at the estate, his original home. That’s where he belongs.”

After Yar-El’s body was prepared, they returned to the manor house. Memories pressed down upon Jor-El, clear recollections of when his father had been brilliant, how Yar-El had spoken of his hopes for his two sons, how he had trained them both to investigate scientific possibilities and make intuitive leaps that few Kryptonians even attempted.

When Rao was high in the sky, the two brothers carried their father’s bier across the estate grounds. Charys led the way in a slow procession with Lara and Alura on either side of their husbands. Jor-El could not help thinking that Yar-El deserved greater fanfare than this, a huge crowd, a funeral parade that wound through the streets of Kandor.

The little group gathered at the small private solar observatory Jor-El had built on a stepped platform behind the estate’s main building, where it was unshadowed by trees or lichen towers. Although this was much smaller than the similar facility that had projected a huge orb of Rao atop the Council temple, Jor-El had spent much time here deciphering the star’s turbulent flaws. The observatory’s mirrors and focusing lenses had been swung aside to leave the projection zone empty. The brothers placed Yar-El’s body at the center of the focal space.

Zor-El delivered a brief eulogy, but his gruff voice cracked, and his words ended quickly. Jor-El stood beside him, summoning his own thoughts, wrestling down the waves of grief. “Krypton should revere Yar-El for the great things he accomplished and forget his strange fall from grace.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Even though we find that our heroes have feet of clay, we must never forget that they were
heroes
in the first place.”

He and Zor-El each took one of the alignment rods and swung the curved focusing mirrors into place. As the observatory gathered the light of Rao, they slipped the magnifying lenses into position, removed the filter covers, and stepped back.

A fuzzy image of the red sun formed in the focal zone where Yar-El’s body rested; then the image suddenly sharpened into an intense representation of the blazing star. The corona formed, followed by the churning layers of dark sunspots and thundering plasma. The heat condensed in a blinding flash. Yar-El’s body vanished into white smoke, entirely disintegrated, becoming one with Rao.

Jor-El’s face was dark and troubled. “Krypton needs us, Zor-El. It’s what Father would want. We can’t let him down. We can’t let Krypton down. You and I know what’s happening in our planet’s core. The quakes, the tidal waves—it’ll only get worse. Now that the Council is gone, you and I have to do something to save the world. Do we have proof to show Commissioner Zod?”

Zor-El’s expression hardened. “I recently received word from my survey team. One member was killed in a fresh round of eruptions, but the others are returning with a complete set of data from the network of sensors they deployed.” He pressed his lips together. “Soon we will know for certain.”