The Last Days of Krypton (13 page)

Returning home, Zor-El drew a
deep, exhilarating breath of Argo City’s salty air. He stood on the central golden bridge that spanned the bay separating the peninsula from the mainland, letting traffic flow around him. Once again, he did not want to call attention to his arrival. Doing so would mean having to admit that his warning to the Council had been ignored.

Great pillars in the seabed supported the long bridge above the water. Looking south, he could see another bridge farther down the coast and then, at the tail end of the peninsula, the misty outline of the last bridge. To the north he could see two other bridges, five in all.

Long ago, the Argo City elders had launched a competition: The greatest architects would present their best bridge designs, and judges would decide which were the most beautiful, the most durable, the most innovative. Five of the proposed structures were so magnificent that the elders could not choose; they decided to give no prizes, but to erect all of the bridges as testaments to Kryptonian ingenuity.

As Zor-El walked across the span, he admired the calm waters of the bay, the glorious towers of Argo City, the lacy suspension cables of the bridges. A knot formed in his stomach. If the strange pressure buildup in the core continued unabated, all this would be destroyed—and soon.

Alura was waiting for him in the villa, and her expression told him that she already guessed how the Council had responded. “Jor-El agrees that the readings indicate a very real danger,” he said, “but the Council refuses to consider the problem until I provide them with more extensive data.”

She stroked his long, dark hair. “Then that is what we must do.”

“I know, and it will be a large project. I tried to convince the leader of Borga City to offer his assistance, strictly as a gesture of support, but he was preoccupied with his own internal matters.”

“So we’ll just have to do it ourselves.”

“Yes. I expect to mount an expedition and send a preliminary team as soon as possible.” He looked at her with hardening determination. “Even if I don’t get much cooperation from Kandor or Borga City, I am the leader here, and I can make decisions as I choose.”

He winced as a twinge of pain from his recent injuries shot through him. Alura frowned with disapproval. “You should have rested another day or two. Here, come into the main terrarium.”

She gently took his bandaged left arm and led him into one of the transparent domes. The air was filled with the perfumes of flowers, warm resins, and oils from shrubs and herbs. One large plant with thick, soft stems had burst into bloom, displaying seven radically different flowers, each blossom exuding a distinct, potent scent. Root tendrils emerged from a basket of loose, peaty moss, at the ends of which Alura had installed tapered, transparent vials. Liquids dripped from the ends of the distended roots, drop by drop, to fill each vial with a different substance.

She removed a tube of clear yellow-green fluid from a root, held it up to the light, and nodded. “While you were gone, I created this to help your burns heal.” She cut away the loose cloths that bound his arm and side to reveal angry red skin and dark scabs. During the long trip, Zor-El’s energetic passion had been enough to drive away the pain, but now he could feel the underlying ache.

She snapped off a blossom and squeezed it over the healing scabs; with deft fingers she began to rub in the greenish liquid like a salve. “This will prevent infection, and it should smooth the skin. There’ll still be scars. You’re always going to carry the mark of this.”

He flexed his fingers. “Scars are nothing. Each time I look at my arm or my side, I’ll be reminded of how blind the Council was.”

Then, as if Krypton itself were listening to his complaint, the floor of the greenhouse shuddered. The plants in the terrarium cases began to sway, rustling against one another. Increasing vibrations made the tiles and shift out of alignment.

Zor-El grasped his wife’s shoulder, pulling her out of the way as one of the transparent panes of the greenhouse split. It shattered, dropping shards onto the floor. Outside, he heard a tinkling crash as a poorly balanced flowerpot toppled from a balcony and smashed into the thoroughfare.

The quake lasted no more than a minute, but it seemed like an eternity. When it was over, Zor-El’s stomach felt leaden. “Those will occur much more often as the months go by.” He grabbed Alura’s hand and hurried with her to his tower that overlooked the open sea. “I need to check my seismic probes. That may have been the worst of it, or we may be at the weak fringe of a much larger event.”

In the high observation tower, he had installed receivers for the scientific apparatus he had already deployed across Krypton, including automated buoys out on the oceans. As he watched, the readings went wild. “Look at how the underground tremors spread!” Shuffling papers, he scanned the patterns his devices had detected during the past few days while he’d been in Kandor. He saw that three more massive eruptions had occurred down in the southern continent; the seismic signatures were unmistakable. “This is definitely not normal. The core is changing more dramatically than I predicted. How can the Council ignore this? Maybe these readings will be enough to show them.”

Alura went to the balcony where cool breezes wafted around the tower. Out on the open sea, colorful pleasure craft dotted the waves. Kite-driven fish skimmers floated along, scooping up the day’s catch. Catamarans with bright blue or red sails tacked along the coast, their passengers diving overboard to swim in the warm water. The red sun reflected off the sea. It all looked so peaceful.

A signal came in from one of Zor-El’s drifting buoys. The seismic trace was massive, an undersea signature nearly as great as the largest volcanic eruptions in the southern continent. He could barely believe what he was seeing. “What we felt here was only a minor temblor, less than a tenth of the actual quake.”

She turned away from the ocean view. “Where was the epicenter?”

“Deep underwater, far out to sea.”

She looked relieved. “Then it won’t harm anyone.”

Zor-El felt a profound uneasiness. He had more questions than answers. “I can’t be certain what the effects of such a powerful deep-sea quake might be.”

Crystal bells began chiming from the shoreline watchtowers, then louder alloy tones clanged as the alarm increased. Zor-El crossed the tower room to the emergency communication plate, where he received a frantic distress call from a far-outlying fishing boat.

“—swamped! A rogue wave came out of nowhere and slammed into us! Fifteen lost at sea. Our ship is floundering.”

On the balcony, Alura stared at the water. “Zor-El, look at this. The ocean, it looks…wrong.”

He rushed out to see what appeared to be long, low wrinkles in the water far off, but approaching at an astonishing speed. Rolling closer and closer, a series of waves, each as tall as the greatest buildings in Kandor. “By the red heart of Rao!”

A breakwater of rugged black rocks extended out to shelter the city’s edge, and a thick seawall had been built up to protect against hurricanes and high surf. As he watched, though, Zor-El knew it couldn’t possibly be enough. He wanted to evacuate the city, get everyone across the bridges to the mainland, but there was no time. It would be only a matter of minutes before the first wave struck the coast.

Zor-El ran to the communication link and summoned all emergency personnel. “Prepare for worst-case rescue and recovery procedures. A disaster is approaching the likes of which Argo City has never seen.”

Sickened, he watched the first frothing wall of water engulf several colorful catamarans close to shore. Responding to the clamoring alarms, four fishing craft had reached the piers; their captains had lashed the boats to pilings and scrambled onto the docks.

A cluster of fishing kites simply vanished beneath the first growing wave. Swimmers who noticed the oncoming threat too late were swept away from their boats, and the boats themselves were picked up and dashed against the rocks like a child’s toys.

Holding Alura, Zor-El clenched his burned fist at his side, as if through sheer willpower he could drive back the set of waves. But no one on Krypton had such strength.

As it continued to roll along toward the shallower water at the coast, the terrifying wave actually grew higher, more destructive. By the time it smashed over the breakwater, then pushed on toward the high seawall, it was at least five meters high.

People were running along the piers trying to reach the stairs that led to the top of the seawall, but they too were swept away. The piers were smashed, the seawall hammered as if by some great monster pounding at the gates. Spray flew up as high as the tallest buildings.

The water was sucked away for an awful, tense moment in the trough between the first and second waves, and then the second one hit.

Zor-El looked down from his tower. The ocean, so peaceful only a few minutes ago, now looked like a boiling cauldron filled with a soup of wreckage and floating bodies. Much of the debris began to march back out to sea, drawn by the deadly undertow between the next two waves.

After five seconds of sickened awe, Zor-El snapped out of his shock and ran out of the tower and into his city, shouting to the emergency crews to initiate rescue operations. His mind raced through all the layers of the response. And the train of waves kept coming. Before he could get out of the tower and onto the streets, a third hammer hit, causing a surge through Argo City’s canals.

“How many more will there be?” Alura cried, following him.

“I saw at least four…and others may not be far behind.”

Search teams would have to find the injured and give immediate medical attention. Many victims swept out to sea might still be alive, but they would drown soon; he would send flyers out to search for survivors clinging to drifting wreckage. Others would have to keep watch for additional deadly waves. Boats and flyers must travel the coastline, looking for seacraft washed ashore, picking up stranded people.

And that was only in the first few hours.

Next, he would have to restore power in any sections of the city and outlying villages that had been cut off. Fresh water would soon be a problem, so he had to ensure a proper supply. The sheer cleanup would take weeks, the rebuilding would take months. Tens of thousands would be affected by this.

Then he had to worry about food, reconstruction materials, transportation. He’d have to repair the piers and replace the boats, which were vital for Argo City’s food supply. He would make reconstructing and reinforcing the seawall a high priority, because he knew that other quakes and tsunamis would eventually come.

Given the dangerous buildup in Krypton’s core, Zor-El was sure this was only the beginning.

In the fresh early morning
light, Jor-El finished adjusting the internal generator and ran a few quick diagnostics of the penetrating scanner before climbing back out of the contraption. He wiped his face, but succeeded only in smearing a grease spot.

The deep seismic probe was ready to test, and he could tell that Donodon shared his excitement. He found it amazing that two people with such vastly different origins could relate to each other in so many areas.

From their first brainstorming, both of them wrapped up in the problem, the two had decided to build the new invention right at his estate. On the purple lawn in front of his research building, Jor-El had dismantled a large ornate fountain to make room for the glittering machine he and Donodon were constructing. Using levitators and magnetic pulleys, he had pulled aside the fountain’s wide elliptical bowl, tipped over the columnar stand that looked like a petrified tree trunk, and stacked them together off to the side to create room for the scanner that would look deep into the heart of the planet.

Unfortunately, despite his supposed watchful interest in the project, Commissioner Zod had decided not to stay for the demonstration. The Commissioner had never been particularly warm or understanding, cordial but resistant to Jor-El’s work…and consequently Jor-El saw the man as a roadblock, an impediment to progress. He didn’t consider the Commissioner to be a fool (unlike several members of the Kryptonian Council); Zod was extremely intelligent, but he simply did not see eye to eye with Jor-El.

And now, even before he could watch the remarkable new seismic scanner in operation, a showpiece of cooperative technology between Krypton’s best science and Donodon’s knowledge, Zod had made his excuses. He claimed “pressing business” in Kandor, and he had left the night before.

No matter. Jor-El had Lara here at his side, and that was much more important to him. He was eager to show her what he and Donodon had come up with.

When he called her for the big demonstration, he wore his best white robes emblazoned with the serpent-in-diamond family crest of the House of El. With a grand gesture he indicated the finished cylindrical machine on the lawn near the large, dismantled fountain. The framework and power source came from the alien’s supplies, but Jor-El had integrated his own focusing crystals and concentrating lenses to add the power of Rao to the machine.

Even silent and motionless, the device looked magnificent. The seismic scanner had waited alone all night long, seemingly impatient to begin its work, but Jor-El and Donodon were forced to delay until dawn’s intensifying red sunlight would let them begin their work.

Lara came out to stand beside them, and Jor-El proudly showed her the completed machine. “Today we will see what’s really changing deep inside Krypton.”

She smiled, captivated by the intricacies of the probe. “I’m sure you didn’t do this on purpose, but by following the mathematical needs of your design, you’ve constructed an amazing sculpture of conflicting angles and reflections.”

Jor-El was both pleased and embarrassed. “You mean I’m an artist now?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!”

He wished Zor-El could have been here to witness the proof of his suspicions, or to experience relief at being proved wrong. Jor-El had tried to contact him using the communication plate when he and Donodon began their design, but his brother had not yet returned home, apparently having taken a long side trip. This morning, when he’d attempted to contact Argo City again, all communication lines were down; he could not get a signal to his brother, which he found odd. Such disruptions frequently occurred during severe solar storms, but Rao had been relatively quiescent. Jor-El could not fathom why Argo City wouldn’t respond.

Regardless, after this successful test, he would have a wealth of data to share with his brother. Then, working with Donodon, they could figure out how to solve the problem—if it existed.

Donodon was already hunkered down on the grass. The alien’s smile of anticipation made his chin tentacles quiver. He climbed to his feet, checked that all of his pockets were securely fastened. “We are ready.”

A small control pedestal stood next to the blocky base of the dismantled fountain. “Stand here with me to watch,” Jor-El said to Lara.

He rotated one of the crystal rods until it illuminated, and the penetrating scanner began to shine. Shutters and reflective flaps opened to expose a power collector that drank in Rao’s light. The cylindrical body rotated, picking up speed. Mirrors shifted angles to receive the output from the solar battery, added to the power source Donodon had supplied; then they began to revolve about their axes, flashing glints of light.

The alien stepped close to the whirring device and withdrew one of his handheld tools. Pointing the end in the air above his head, he drew a floating rectangle in front of him, then filled it in as if spraying the frame full of information. His ethereal screen began to display data being projected by the throbbing probe, layer after layer of rock, then lava, currents of molten stone as the view rushed deeper and deeper.

Jor-El found it dizzying. Lara laughed in amazement. “This is…beautiful!”

The heavy engine hummed, and the screen hovering in the air showed impossible thermal chaos. “I see, yes…there is your problem. Just a little deeper.” The alien stepped closer, his facial tentacles twitching with fascination.

When Jor-El checked his set of control rods, several of the crystals glowed amber. He pulled them out and reinserted them, but the warning color continued to intensify. “That isn’t supposed to happen.”

The lights from the penetrating scanner flashed on and off. The internal engines began to groan, then emitted a shrieking, tearing whine. Suddenly all the control crystals turned a blazing red. Donodon rushed toward the scanner in an attempt to fix the problem, but Jor-El could see it was already too late. He shouted a warning to the blue-skinned alien and grabbed Lara. He dragged her to the ground behind the shelter of the heavy fountain just as the throbbing device exploded with a scintillating, searing flash.

Jor-El pushed Lara’s head down, tried to cover her with his own body. A shattering, shrieking hail of broken fragments peppered the tilted fountain and sheared off the control rods of the standing podium. In the last instant he saw diminutive Donodon raise his hands to shield himself. Shards of crystal and gleaming metal hurtled into him, propelled with explosive force.

With a crash and a groan, the cylindrical device toppled over, like a mortally wounded behemoth, all its prisms falling in upon themselves. Showers of crystal continued to tinkle around them with incongruously musical sounds.

Wearing a stricken expression, Jor-El noted the blood flecks all over Lara’s slashed clothes, then glanced down to see that he, too, had been sliced by dozens of the razor-edged shards. He didn’t yet feel any pain. “Lara, are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so. At least, not badly.”

Leaving her, he bolted across the purple grass. Broken fragments of crystal crunched under his feet. “Donodon!” His voice was ragged.

The alien lay sprawled on his back. More than twenty spearpoint shards had slammed into his body, delivering multiple mortal wounds. His jumpsuit was shredded, and brownish-green blood oozed from the cuts. Jor-El dropped to his knees, grabbed the alien’s head. “Donodon, I’m sorry. I don’t know what went wrong.”

Blood trickled from Donodon’s mouth. The fringe tentacles were limp. He reached up with a gnarled hand. Even his throat had been cut, and he bled profusely. He managed to gasp no more than a fading rattle; then he died in Jor-El’s arms.

Blood smeared Jor-El’s hands. Lara knelt beside him. “It’s not your fault.”

But the scientist stared at his dead friend in abject horror. “It
is
my fault. The probe…something was wrong.”

He and Lara sat listening to the final collapse of the destroyed machine. The last fragments settled to the ground, still reflecting the light of Rao.

Neither of them saw the muscular form of Nam-Ek slip away from the hiding place from which he had secretly watched the results of his sabotage—just as Commissioner Zod had commanded him to do.