The Last Days of Krypton (4 page)

Sweaty and exhilarated, Nam-Ek gulped directly from a bucket of cool water. He grinned at Zod, who patted his hefty shoulder in sincere congratulation. Though he must be famished, the mute would not eat until he had tended his hrakkas. The black lizards would also be ravenous from all the energy they had burned during their run, but Nam-Ek was careful not to feed them just yet. In their condition, they would gorge themselves and get sick.

The big charioteer rubbed a handful of oil into the hrakkas’ hides, giving their scales a perfect obsidian sheen. He worked meticulously, massaging the beasts’ muscles. The hrakkas growled and hissed and purred, but they made no threatening moves against Nam-Ek. They were also accustomed to Zod, who often came to the stables to do his thinking, frequently using Nam-Ek as a silent sounding board. He found it refreshing just to be able to speak his opinions without being interrupted by foolish comments.

After he explained to his muscular companion what he needed, Nam-Ek gave a brusque nod. Zod could still hear leftover noises from the crowd outside as people filed out of the stadium, chattering to one another, excited by the outcome of the race.

He looked up and saw a thin figure at the doorway. Bur-Al had come exactly as Zod had instructed him. The Commissioner leaned against the stone-block wall near the pens, looking at his fourth-level assistant. “I had hoped you would come to your senses by now, Bur-Al. You made some alarming accusations.”

“Not just accusations. I have proof, and you know what I’m talking about. Don’t even try to bribe me!”

“Who said anything about a bribe? I would never dream of it.”
You’re not worth the investment.

Bur-Al gathered his courage. “I was a great admirer of your father, and it makes me ashamed to see that you don’t follow in his footsteps. You put personal ambitions ahead of the perfection of Krypton.”

“I thought Krypton was already perfect. And do not bring my father into the discussion. He was a great and visionary leader.”

“In that, at least, we agree. But you have broken the law! All dangerous inventions submitted to the Commission must be destroyed. But that isn’t the case, is it?” Bur-Al actually seemed to think he had the upper hand here.

“If you are so convinced, and if you insist that I cannot bribe you, why in the world would you broach the subject here? Why confront me with this? It seems foolish and naïve.”

Bur-Al was flustered, as if he hadn’t considered the question himself. “I wanted to look into your face when I made my accusations. I wanted to see your eyes—and you’ve shown me that I am indeed correct.”

Zod sighed. The man was an idiot. “Why should you need that, if you have incontrovertible proof? You haven’t thought this through very well, Bur-Al.”

The young man sniffed, taking the insult as a badge of honor. “I apologize for not being as well practiced in deceit and scheming as you are, Commissioner.”

Zod walked over to where Nam-Ek had just finished oiling the third hrakka and stood wiping his hands on a rag. “You give me nothing to work with, and most serious of all, you have wasted my time. These few minutes of nonsense with you are minutes that I can never have back. Very inefficient.” Bur-Al clenched his small fists at his sides. Zod turned to Nam-Ek. “The only redeeming factor is that I can make the event entertaining.”

The charioteer clasped the thick chains with his bare hands, twisted them, and uprooted the anchor from the wall. The black hrakka stood up, thrashing, snarling. Nam-Ek broke the second chain, then the third.

“They are very hungry after the races,” Zod explained. “You can make up for the waste of my time by at least saving me money on food.”

The hrakkas bounded out of their pen before Bur-Al knew what was happening. The black lizards fell upon the hapless man, snapping and tearing. They gutted the young administrator, and blood sprayed in the air. A fanfare of resounding exit music played outside in the stadium, drowning out his screams. The last of the departing audience members cheered and laughed. Apparently the clowns were running along the track again, raking the gravel.

Bur-Al lay twitching in the sand and dust, and the three hrakkas continued their meal in the dim stable.

Zod said in a deadpan voice, “By the red heart of Rao, this is terrible. I simply don’t know how they could have broken loose.”

Nam-Ek could not tear his soulful eyes from the feeding frenzy. Zod could see the mute’s misery, and his heart went out to the big man. “It’ll be all right, Nam-Ek. I won’t let them do anything to you.”

Because murder was exceedingly rare on Krypton, no one would suspect anything sinister. The deadly animals had simply gotten loose. An accident. Hrakkas were predators, after all, and had shown their penchant for violence during the running of the races. They were a hazard.

Nam-Ek pointed a blunt finger toward the three lizards, and Zod realized that his silent friend was distraught that the animals would now have to be destroyed. “I am sorry, Nam-Ek. There’s nothing I can do about it.” He racked his brain, unable to think of another way. “I’ll get you new pets. I promise.”

Clearly resigned, Nam-Ek nodded, and Zod felt a slight pang of guilt. It had seemed like the perfect way to get rid of Bur-Al, but perhaps he should have been more careful, should have thought of a subtler method that would not have jeopardized Nam-Ek’s beloved hrakkas. “I promise I will make it better.”

Once he was sure that his silent and muscular friend was all right, Zod calmly went out to sound the alarm.

Even in Zor-El’s beloved Argo City,
most Kryptonians were too comfortable, their ambitions were too few, and they noticed too little of the world around them. They had forgotten the heady taste of danger. Zor-El, on the other hand, found it exhilarating to place himself in hazardous situations—at least when it was scientifically necessary.

According to his seismic sensor network, a tremendous volcanic eruption had occurred eight days earlier, and even now the aftermath contained enough hellish fury to incinerate him if he made a single misstep. The dark-eyed, ruddy-faced scientist stood alone among the brimstone and chaos of the wild southern continent—no safety nets, no guards, only his own wits and reactions. Many Kryptonians would have thought him mad to take such a risk.

Sulfurous smoke and fumes boiled into the air, and bubbling pools simmered around him. Zor-El let the hot breezes blow his black hair into a ragged mane around his face. His reddened eyes stung, and smoke and grit stained his cheeks.

He was enjoying himself immensely.

The ground shook again, and a geyser of scarlet lava shot up and arced back down like the mating plumage of a flamebird. After the massive seismic event, the fury that burbled beneath the planet’s crust would take a long while to die down—if it died down at all. Zor-El wasn’t convinced it ever would.

Over the years, suspecting that Krypton was by no means tame and peaceful, geologically speaking, he had deployed a network of sensor stations at hot spots across the landscape. And Zor-El had grown more and more disturbed by the readings….

Since he also served as the leader of Argo City, political duties demanded much of his time, but Zor-El never failed to monitor his geological stations. Argo City was a thriving metropolis on a narrow tropical peninsula off the main continent’s southeastern coast. When the unprecedented volcanic eruption had occurred across the ocean on the distant southern continent, he had learned about it immediately. Judging by the readings, the explosion must have vaporized the mass-equivalent of a mountain, spraying ash, smoke, and poisonous vapor into the air. Had the southern continent been inhabited, the lava alone would have wiped out every settlement within hundreds of miles.

The ash and smoke had colored Argo City’s sunsets with flaring oranges and reds. While the city’s artists were inspired by the sheer beauty and color, Zor-El had explained to his wife, Alura, what the burning sky truly meant. “I must go down there and see for myself, take direct measurements. We can’t ignore these danger signs. Something is brewing in our planet’s core, and I have to find out what it is.”

Cool and intelligent herself, Alura understood his scientific need for answers. “And once you know, what can you do about it?”

“That’s a premature question. I’ve got to understand a problem before I can fix it. And if the task gets too difficult,” he added, flashing a smile, “I’ll ask Jor-El to help.”

So he had packed his instruments and supplies and departed in a silver-winged aircraft. The sleek high-altitude vessel had a small enclosed cockpit, a cargo compartment in its belly, and streamlined wings that gathered wind and copious solar energy to drive its levitation engines.

Alone in the bright silence, Zor-El had circled up above Argo City, cutting through the morning sea mists. From this height, he could view his entire beautiful city, which was practically an island connected to the main continent only by a thin isthmus and five golden bridges. Argo City looked more marvelous than any map or painting.

He had streaked southward, leaving the curving coastline behind. As he gained altitude, Zor-El extended the flyer’s razor-thin wing panels. The prevailing winds pushed him south, and the turbulence grew worse as he approached the isolated continent. The plume of gray smoke rose like a towering anvil into the sky. Volcanic ash powdered the flyer’s viewscreen and dulled the reflective alloy of the hull, reducing its energy-absorbing abilities, but he pressed forward, eyes intent, brow furrowed.

From high above, Zor-El studied the mottled terrain, black rocks freshly formed by cooling lava, yellow-and-brown smears that indicated oozing sulfur compounds. As he circled the raw blast crater, he was amazed to note the extent of the destruction. The titanic eruption had knocked down countless trees, flattening them like crushed straw for kilometers around. The ecological impact was incalculable. How many creatures had gone extinct in only a few days? And how many more would die in the coming months and years with the continent so devastated? Only the hardiest life-forms could possibly survive.

Zor-El had retracted the flyer’s wings and landed on a small patch of level ground outside the active lava area. Lava continued to boil from beneath scabs on the terrain, flowing out like extremely hot pudding. Whenever the lava encountered pools of stagnant water, steam plumes rocketed into the sky.

Exhilarated by the chaos around him, Zor-El climbed out of the flyer and gathered his pack and equipment. The air was oven-hot on his face. Each breath dried his mouth and seemed to sear his lungs. Alura had prepared him for this, though. Back in Argo City, with her vast botanical knowledge and greenhouses full of exotic species, she had picked a sealed bud—fleshy, soft and moist, the size of an outstretched hand. She had explained what to do with it, and now he silently thanked her.

Before setting out across the volcanic field, he pulled the bud from his pack. When he stroked the tight sepals at the base of its broken stem, the fleshy petals opened to form a soft and protective cup large enough to cover the lower half of his face. Zor-El placed the petals firmly over his mouth and nose, where they gently adhered; then he tentatively drew in a breath. He could barely smell the flower’s perfume, but the air he inhaled was sweet and fresh, filtered through the stem and the active membrane of the petals. He drew another breath, satisfied.

He trudged across sharp rocks that were still hot. The sound around him was a background roar. A bright splash of lava flowed like spilled blood across the blackened ground. When he reached the edge of the molten river, he stared directly into the fury for a long moment, then got to work.

Zor-El opened his pack and removed the prized new tool he had invented—a diamondfish, half alive and half machine. It was shaped like a powerful swimmer, its scales formed of purest diamond to protect the delicate internal circuitry, its body run by a network of circuit paths as well as biological nerves. The diamondfish twitched in his hand as he activated it. When it turned faceted eyes toward him, he looked the gleaming creature-device in the face. “Tell me what’s down there.”

He switched on a small force-field generator (another of his inventions), which projected a shimmering protective sheath around the mechanical animal. “Swim deep, as far as you can go.” He gently tossed the diamondfish into the air. It twitched and wriggled as it plunged into the hot, scarlet current. As if playing, the diamondfish splashed about in the molten rock, then dove downward.

From his pack, Zor-El removed a contact screen and activated it. Picking up the signal from the creature-device, he monitored the diamondfish as it swam deeper. It tasted the magma, ran the chemical constituents through integrated analyzers, and followed the intense thermal currents deeper.

As Zor-El looked around at the sterile, barren environment, he could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet. The diamondfish’s continued readings gave alarming indications of rising pressures in the planet’s core. He couldn’t be sure exactly what it meant. Zor-El suspected that some inexplicable radioactive shift was occurring far beneath the crust. Elements were converting, creating strange mineral instabilities. But how? He had to know.

With another convulsive upheaval, the river of lava churned. The magma level dropped, then bubbled up again in a fresh burst. He was astonished when the molten rock abruptly changed color, as if a vat of dye had spilled into it. Instead of the intense orange and scarlet, a gush of some new mineral compound appeared—a bright emerald green seeping into the flow like a spreading stain. Zor-El had never seen anything like it. Then the thermal currents swallowed up the green, and the lava ran red again.

The dutiful diamondfish swam deeper and deeper, hotter and hotter. On Zor-El’s contact screen the readings became even more damning. The situation in the mantle was worse than he had feared.

Then, with a flash of static, the signal vanished. The diamondfish had been programmed to keep going until the extreme temperatures terminated it. He felt briefly sorry for the brave little creature-device, but it had served well. More important, it had given him vital, but baffling information. Something unimaginably powerful but inexplicable was shifting deep beneath his feet. The larger question was to determine whether this was a fascinating curiosity or an impending planetary disaster.

Zor-El began making plans to bring much larger teams here with heavy equipment. More than likely, he would have to pull his brother into the effort if the scale was as great as he imagined. Though Jor-El was more of an astronomer than a geologist, more theoretician than engineer, his insights would be vital. Even from the preliminary glimpse of data, Zor-El guessed that this problem was too large to be ignored.

He breathed through the flower mask on his face, and fumaroles and geysers continued to hiss around him, blurring his vision. As he rummaged in his pack, though, something gave him an instinctive shudder, a feeling that he was being watched even in this blasted place. The dark hairs prickled on the back of his neck.

He stood and spun, ready to fight. Suddenly, he saw movement among the black rocks, no more than a shadow—four shadows. Their color was the same as fresh lava rock and newly cooled obsidian, but the motion was lithe, fast, predatory. Crawling over the terrain low to the ground came four vicious-looking giant lizards. Hrakkas.

They were stalking him.

Zor-El drew a quick breath through the filtering flower. His mind spun as he tried to find a way to protect himself. He had not come here to the southern continent to fight. Because most indigenous creatures had been wiped out in the eruption, these hardy lizards must be very hungry. Their normal prey had been decimated, and the steaming landscape offered very little to eat, even for scavengers.

Careful to make no abrupt moves, Zor-El held his pack in front of him, the only shield he had. He estimated how far away his landed flyer was. Judging by their powerful reptilian legs, he assumed the hrakkas could run faster than he could, especially over the sharp-edged rock field.

The dark lizards warily circled him, and he watched their every movement. He counted four, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more of them unseen among the jumbled terrain. They hunted like a pack and could very well be setting up a trap. The creatures blended into their surroundings, except when they opened their jaws, and the flash of white teeth gave them away.

Because the smooth black crust could be eggshell thin, Zor-El had been careful picking his way to the edge of the lava flow. Now he scanned the ground along his escape route and mentally mapped his path, planning ten footsteps ahead. When he saw the black lizards closing in, he bolted.

Zor-El had taken no more than five steps before the creatures gave up all attempts at stealth and bounded after him. He jumped from one large rock to another, hoping each foothold was solid and stable. With one arm wrapped around the pack, he heaved great breaths through the flower mask. His foot slipped, and a sharp rock cut a long gash in his ankle. He ignored the pain, kept running.

Smelling blood, the hrakkas closed in. The nearest one stepped on a thin-shelled area and broke through, and its clawed forelimb dropped into the still-molten rock underneath. It yowled and hissed, pulling out a smoking stump, the rest of its paw incinerated. Sensing easy prey, a second hrakka dashed in, opened its jaws, tore open the belly of its wounded companion, and began to feed, ignoring the chase.

With half of the hrakkas out of the way, Zor-El had to worry about only two more of the black lizards. When one lunged at him, he spun and shoved his pack into its gaping mouth. He jammed it firmly into the beast’s maw and twisted to shove the lizard aside. The momentum nearly bowled him over, but he let go of the tangled pack and sprang in another direction.

The hrakka tossed its head back and forth, trying to rip open the object or free its teeth. The other hrakka dove in, fighting for whatever “prey” the other had caught. Both creatures ignored Zor-El.

In the struggle with the pack, the filtering flower had been knocked from Zor-El’s face, and now each breath felt as if he were gulping an open flame. Panting, he increased his lead, furious at the hrakkas. His data had been inside the pack—along with the readings the diamondfish had taken! All evidence of the drastic changes occurring in Krypton’s core! Now how could he show Jor-El?

Irrationally, he considered going back to fight for what was rightfully his—until a fifth, previously unseen black lizard burst out from between two boulders and dove at him. Zor-El tried to dodge, but his escape was blocked by a sheer drop-off and a streaming flow of scarlet lava.

Zor-El struck back with his arms and fists. The lizard’s sharp scales and jagged crest cut him, lacerating his forearm and his side. The hrakka snapped its jaws, raked him with its claws, but Zor-El fought back and finally pulled away.

The hrakka bounded onto the jagged rocks near the edge of the flowing magma, then came back at him. Zor-El kicked it in the ribs. The lizard scrabbled sideways on the shaking ground where steam and sulfurous smoke burbled up. Just as the hrakka coiled itself to spring again, the rocks collapsed beneath it, and the bank of the molten river gave way. The hrakka scrabbled for a foothold as it slid into the lava, where it was incinerated alive.

Zor-El somehow managed to keep his balance. Before he could inhale the searing air to breathe a sigh of relief, the continued turbulence of the eruption sent a spray of liquid stone into the air. Instinctively, he raised his bleeding arm to shield himself, and globules of lava splashed onto his side and his forearm, like a rain of tiny branding irons.