The Last Days of Krypton (28 page)

After discovering that Tyr-Us was
truly gone, Zor-El did not dare tell anyone where he was going. For too long he had given his brother’s benefactor the benefit of the doubt, but now he felt duty bound to formalize the resistance against the self-proclaimed ruler. And he had to find a way to get Jor-El away from Zod before it was too late.

He arrived at Borga City and demanded to speak to Shor-Em. Zor-El hid his personal floater vehicle on dry land, then sought out one of the gondoliers who plied the canals through the marshes. After securing a ride, he sat in the narrow boat, mulling over what he knew and what he suspected about Zod. Fortunately, the gondolier asked no questions.

The boatman pulled up to a cluster of moss-draped pilings and secured his craft to a silver ring. Zor-El looked up at the main scarlet balloon at the center of Borga City, from which the satellite platforms extended. Small inflatable elevators tethered to the piling were available to anyone who wished to use them. After thanking the gondolier, Zor-El stepped onto the nearest platform and opened the valve so that marsh gases filled the anchored balloon. When the elevator began to rise quickly toward the main floating city, he adjusted the flow of gas until the balloon reached the proper height. Zor-El stepped off.

On the interlocked platforms, the citizens of Borga City lived in open-framework homes, little more than awnings stretched across poles. Subsidiary bridges and platforms were held up by their own flotation sacks, the separate districts named according to the colors of their centerpiece balloons.

Shor-Em and his city council met in the emerald district, a high-floating dock next to the scarlet central balloon. The dissident city leader and his noble advisers sat on an open deck, sipping from steaming cups of tea.

Seeing Zor-El, Shor-Em stood up from his cushions and exclaimed, “I hoped you would come! We need each other’s support against this menace.” He had curly blond ringlets that fell in a soft mane around his head. As was traditional in Borga City, the leader wore a thin gold circlet around his brow. His robes were sky blue, his skin pale. The seven other nobles with him wore similar clothing and identical worried expressions. “Have you heard about Zod and his
statue
?” The others tittered, openly showing their scorn.

Zor-El immediately got down to business. “Tyr-Us is gone. He came to my city, claiming that Zod’s men were hunting him. I sent him to what I believed was a safe place to hide, but he has vanished.”

The news caused great consternation among the gathered men, but Shor-Em was not entirely shocked. He called for more refreshments. “The Commissioner is already touting Tyr-Us as a miraculous convert, like all the others. None of us is fooled.” Several of the blue-robed councilmen shook their heads in disbelief. “Do you think he murdered them all, just to silence them?”

“He might have, but I believe Zod is smarter than that.”

“Ahem, he’s not smarter than we are.” Shor-Em proudly looked at his nobles. “Sit with us. We have important decisions to make.”

After the loss of Kandor, many older noble sons had congregated here in Borga City, lamenting the lost glory days of Krypton. Instead of quietly disappearing as Zod had hoped, the blueblood nobles had become a persistent thorn in his side, though they had not yet managed to take any significant action.

Zor-El found it unsettling to sit on soft cushions while discussing matters of such gravity. It reminded him too much of how the old eleven-member Council would have dealt with the problems. Restless, he walked to the edge of the high platform and stared down at the marsh. Like a cloud of flying jewels, amethyst-winged butterflies flitted about in a huge group, their movements perfectly coordinated, as if they were a single organism. Not a single one missed its move. “If only Kryptonians could cooperate like that,” he muttered.

“We will have to.” Shor-Em nodded defiantly. “The Commissioner is already ahead of us. He has brainwashed his followers, but we cannot let him fool any more people. I have already expelled all of his fanatics from Borga City. I will not allow them to praise that terrible man. You should do the same.”

“We all should!” cried another nobleman.

Zor-El was troubled. “Zod’s supporters have also spoken in Argo City, but I do not have the right to silence them because I disagree. That’s not what we stand for.”

Shor-Em gave him a sour frown and slurped his tea. “You have the right to stop a merchant from selling poison, if he claims it is food. That’s how I see it. All followers of the traitor Zod can go live out in the swamps, for all I care.” He straightened the circlet on his brow. “But we need to do more, create a full-fledged uprising to strip Zod’s power from him.”

Zor-El smelled the mulchy aroma of swamp gases boiling up from far below. “If that is what you believe, then the leaders of other cities should be here. A rebellion must represent all of Krypton, not just Borga City.”

“Ahem, if we were to announce such a conference, Zod’s spies would hear of it, and he could strike us all in one place. No, I have decided that we will make up our minds here and discreetly pass the word. We must proceed with great caution.”

Zor-El wasn’t sure which course of action would prove wiser. “Many Kryptonians have had enough of great caution.”

For hours he, Shor-Em, and the nobles talked. Passions rose, but they all had a similar goal. Finally Shor-Em made his firm summary announcement. “We will form our own government, a Council with eleven members of our own choosing. That will give the people a preferable alternative. We will return Krypton to what it should be, ruled in the time-honored tradition.” He sounded brave, but somewhat pompous. “Commissioner Zod can rot in Kryptonopolis. The rest of the world will live under another banner—our banner.”

His fellow nobles applauded, reinforcing their own bravery, drawing strength from one another. Zor-El did not disagree, though he still had reservations. He seemed to be the only man here who understood how dangerous their course of action was going to be. “Zod won’t like this one bit.”

No matter how carefully she
applied her brushstrokes to the painting, Lara could not get the details right. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Every day, she grew more uneasy about the Commissioner’s activities, especially since the unveiling of his statue. And now he had commanded her to paint this self-aggrandizing portrait.

From the moment the project began, Commissioner Zod had adopted a carefully chosen pose at his desk surrounded by important documents. Wearing a dark uniform of a more militaristic design than his usual clothes, he raised his chin and froze in position for Lara to paint his likeness.

“Aethyr was right to recommend you to me,” Zod said, barely moving his lips. “You have remarkable talent in so many areas.

“I do my best, Commissioner.” Lara couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“If only everyone did. I was very pleased with your portrait of Jor-El out at his estate. You truly captured his heart, his nature, his soul.” Zod’s eyes flashed as he half rose from his chair. “It’s imperative that you do the same for me.”

“Please don’t move, Commissioner.” She swallowed hard and tried to focus on her work. “I’d like to capture that expression.” Lara could never portray the same depth of nobility in a portrait of Zod because she simply didn’t see it in him. He wanted a flattering likeness, yet Lara saw too much in him that was
un
flattering.

She wiped her brow, set down the pigments, and pressed a hand against the small of her back. Because of her growing pregnancy, she frequently had to shift position. Her stomach was now obviously rounded. At least the bouts of morning sickness had mostly passed. She poured herself a glass of cool water from a pitcher and quickly poured a second glass, which she offered to Zod first.

He accepted the water without thanks and frowned impatiently. “You took a break not long ago. My portrait must be on display for the public unveiling of the completed government palace in two days.”

“It will be finished, Commissioner.” Lara took a long drink, gathered her resolve, and returned to painting.

As if locked into place, Zod immediately assumed the same pose as before. “Since I have you here, I will tell you more of my personal background for your historical chronicle.” Lara continued to work studiously on her painting. She had written some pages in the official document Zod had requested, but she spent more time jotting down unfiltered—and much more critical—impressions in her private journal. He continued, “Understanding my personality is the key to properly describing my actions and motivations. Generations from now, people will read your account of me, so it is imperative that you grasp how my mind works.”

“I’m writing a history, Commissioner, not a biography.”

“If it is a representative account of the most pivotal events, then my story must be your main focus. I suggest you start with a brief description of the life of my father. Cor-Zod was the greatest man ever to serve on the Kryptonian Council, and certainly the last effective one. I am following in his footsteps.”

“Should I include some background on your mother as well? For balance?”

“Not necessary. Your chronicle will be long and detailed as it is, so let us concentrate on the important influences in my life.”

Holding back a retort, Lara made a long, thick brushstroke in the background of the portrait. She felt a twinge in her abdomen, as if her unborn baby were also reacting to the chauvinistic comment.

Zod talked at great length about his father, crediting Cor-Zod with virtually every important decision the Council had made in the last fifty years. “I should have been the heir to my father’s legacy, but I was cheated out of my rightful position on the Council. The other members accepted bribes or promoted cronies rather than valuing a truly competent man.”

Unconsciously, he ran a finger along the line of his cheek. “Many people say I look just like my father. When we unveiled my statue, I felt as if I were looking at him again.” He flashed a glance at Lara, who had frozen in her painting. “I get the impression you don’t entirely approve of that statue. Why?”

Lara quickly searched for an acceptable answer. “The statue is a fine work. Yet by its very nature it seems…presumptuous. History has not yet issued its verdict on what you are doing.”

Zod’s face was as stony as that of his statue. “That is why I instructed you to write the history—to ensure that the verdict is favorable.”

“You seem quite certain of me, Commissioner.”

“How can I not be certain? I stood by your husband in his time of greatest need. I performed your marriage ceremony. Our bond is very close.” He didn’t speak the words, but she could hear it in his voice:
You owe it to me.

“I see your point.” Lately, she and Jor-El had been uncomfortably aware of additional Sapphire Guards, even members of the Ring of Strength, watching them, taking a close interest in their movements and activities. It made Lara very uneasy.

“And you see how unfairly I am treated by those who oppose me. So many ignorant dissidents!” His voice grew strident as he stood from his desk; Lara didn’t chide him to resume his pose. “Did you know that Shor-Em has expelled all of my supporters from Borga City? He chased them into the swamps, just as he did to his own brother!” He sniffed in indignation. “So speaking one’s opinion is now punishable by exile! Is that the sort of Krypton they wish to have, a fascist state?” He shook his head. “If we could take care of only a few main ringleaders, I am confident this ill-advised resistance would crumble.”

“Take care of them? What—what do you mean?”

He caught himself, then belatedly chuckled. “I simply wish I could talk directly with my critics. I
know
I am doing the right thing for Krypton. And thanks to your chronicle, others will see it as well.”

Lara concluded that she could do no more work on the portrait. Though she had not intended it, her painting had captured a darkness about Zod—an expression of implacable calculation and hauteur. Nervous about what his reaction might be, she turned the work toward him. “It’s finished, Commissioner.”

He pondered the painting for a long moment. “Quite adequate. You have captured my true essence. It will go on display immediately in the government palace.” He folded his hands at his desk. “Now that this project is complete, I am anxious to read a draft of your history.”

“The events themselves haven’t finished unfolding yet, Commissioner.”

“I am merely referring to volume one. We must establish the facts and begin disseminating them.”

Though he had grave concerns
about the Commissioner, Zor-El wasn’t convinced that Shor-Em and his councilmen could solve the world’s problems, either. The self-absorbed nobles didn’t seem to be much of an improvement over the oblivious old Council. Despite this, he agreed to sign their defiant declaration against Zod. Given the situation, it seemed imperative.

Then he returned to Argo City to explain to all his people what he had done. And why.

Even before resting or changing his travel clothes, he called a meeting of the citizenry in the central fountain square. For those who could not attend in person, his image and words were projected on the faceted crystal walls of strategically located public buildings.

“When I look around me today, I no longer see my Krypton,” Zor-El said to the attentive audience. “No one can deny that the Council in Kandor made serious mistakes in their naïveté and lethargy, but I won’t correct old mistakes by making new ones. No tyrant can ever restore our civilization. The people who are hypnotized by Zod’s charisma and fearmongering must be shown the truth. He has removed many of his critics, but I will not be silenced!”

Around him, the air was heady with the scent of blooming flowers. Alura stood by his side, as always, and now his mother had also come to live with them. Over the past two months, Charys had settled comfortably in Argo City.

He continued his speech. “I have clear evidence that Commissioner Zod’s overzealous followers have committed grave crimes, perhaps even murder. Other leaders who spoke out against him have been kidnapped or killed. One of my close friends has vanished—it was the only way Zod could ensure his silence.”

Worried muttering rippled through the crowd. “The evidence is simply too alarming to ignore, and so I have come to a difficult decision: Those who disseminate Zod’s propaganda are no longer welcome in Argo City. They must leave, voluntarily or by force. I have to draw the line, take a stand.” He nodded sternly. No one in the audience argued with him.

“Since our normal city guard is not equipped to meet this challenge, I call upon the rest of my citizens to form a Society of Vigilance. All of us must watch for threats from Commissioner Zod. He wants no organized resistance to his rule.”

“So how do we stand up against him?” called an older leathery-skinned man from the audience. Zor-El recognized him as a wealthy fisherman who owned five ships, two of which had been destroyed by the tsunami.

“But we have no army!” said someone else. “And you can bet Zod is gathering one. While we’re trying to rebuild Argo City, he’s preparing for war.”

“War on Krypton?” a young man said in a high voice filled with disbelief. “A civil war?”

Zor-El said, “Shor-Em is about to issue a declaration challenging the Commissioner for leadership. Many other cities, towns, and villages are also rejecting the authority of Kryptonopolis. Here in Argo City, I declare that we are an independent city-state. We do not accept the rule of Zod.”

As soon as he spoke the words, Zor-El knew he had stepped across a line and dragged all his people along with him. He had thrown down a gauntlet that Commissioner Zod could not ignore.

Argo City had to be ready.