The Last Days of Krypton

by Kevin J. Anderson

  When he opened the set of louvered alloy panels in the roof of the research building, scarlet light flooded into the laboratory. Soon, the solar flux would reach the level he required. Keen scientific curiosity gave him more incentive than his awe for the red giant, which the priests had named Rao. He monitored the power levels displayed on flatcrystal gauges.

  All the while, the sunlight outside blazed noticeably brighter. The flares continued to build.

  Though he was young, Jor-El’s distinctive thick hair was as white as bleached ivory, which gave him a regal appearance. The classically handsome features of his face looked as if they were modeled directly from the bust of an ancient Kryptonian nobleman, such as his revered ancestor Sor-El. Some might have thought his blue-eyed gaze distant and preoccupied, but in truth, Jor-El saw a great many things that others did not.

  He activated his carefully arranged crystal rods, setting up a harmonic melody of wavelengths. On the rooftop, angled sheet-mirrors clashed their reflections into a central concentrating prism. The crystals stole only a precise segment of the spectrum, then diverted the filtered beam into parabolic mirrorpools made of half-transparent quicksilver. As the sunstorm’s intensity increased, the quicksilver mirrors began to ripple and bubble.

  According to plan, Jor-El quickly withdrew an amber crystal and inserted it into its proper grid point. The slick facets were already hot against his fingertips. The primary beam splintered into a luminous spiderweb that connected the labyrinth of mirrors and crystals.

  In moments, if his experiment worked, Jor-El would break open a doorway into another dimension, a parallel universe—maybe even more than one.

  The large and lonely estate many kilometers from Kandor suited Jor-El. His research building was as large as a banquet hall. While other Kryptonian families might have used such a space for masques, feasts, or performances, Jor-El’s once-celebrated father had built this entire estate as a celebration of discovery, a place where every question could be investigated regardless of the technophobic restrictions imposed by the Kryptonian Council. Jor-El put these facilities to good use.

  For an experiment of this magnitude, he had considered calling his brother from Argo City. Although few could match Jor-El’s genius, dark-haired Zor-El, despite his occasional temper, had the same burning need to discover what was yet to be known. In a long-standing cordial rivalry, the two sons of Yar-El often tried to outdo each other. After today, provided this experiment succeeded, he and Zor-El would have a whole new universe to investigate.

  Jor-El withdrew another crystal from the control grid, rotated it, and reinserted it. As the lights glowed brighter and the colors intensified, he became entirely engrossed in the phenomena.

  Sequestered in their stuffy chambers in the capital city, the eleven-member Kryptonian Council had forbidden the development of any sort of spacecraft, effectively eliminating all possibility of exploring the universe. From ancient records, Kryptonians were well aware of other civilizations in the twenty-eight known galaxies, but the restrictive government insisted on keeping their planet separate “for its own protection.” That rule had been in place for so many generations that most people accepted it as a matter of course.

  In spite of this, the mystery of other stars and planets had always intrigued Jor-El. Not one to break the law, no matter how frivolous the restrictions might seem, he was nonetheless willing to find ways around it. They could not prevent him from traveling in his imagination.

  Yes, the Council had disallowed the construction of spacecraft, but according to Jor-El’s calculations, there could be an infinite number of parallel universes, countless alternate Kryptons in which each society might be slightly different. Jor-El could therefore travel in a new way—if only he could open the door to those universes. No spacecraft was necessary. Technically, he would not be breaking any rules.

  In the center of the spacious lab, he set a pair of two-meter-wide silver rings spinning to establish a containment field for the singularity he hoped to create. He monitored the power levels. He waited.

  When the intensified solar energy reached its peak, a shaft of collected light plunged through the ceiling lens into the center of Jor-El’s laboratory like a shaft of fire. The multiplied beams gathered into a single convergence point, then ricocheted into the very fabric of space. The focused blast pummeled reality itself and tore open a hole to somewhere else…or nowhere at all.

  The silver containment rings intersected, spun faster, and held open a pinprick that expanded in an equilibrium of energy and negative energy. As blinding light poured into the small speck of emptiness, the rip grew as wide as his hand, then the length of his forearm, until at last it stabilized, two meters in diameter, extending to the edge of the rings.

  A circular portal hovered in the middle of the air, perpendicular to the ground…something a curious person could simply walk into. Behind that opening Jor-El knew he might find new worlds to explore, infinite possibilities.

  On a pedestal in front of the hovering doorway, the crystal control array glowed hot and intense. To stabilize the volatile system, he pulled out the subsidiary power crystals, then tilted the quicksilver parabolas to deflect the main beam of sunlight. The power dissipated, but the singularity held. The dimensional portal remained open.

  Dazzled, Jor-El stepped forward. Many times he had felt the delicious thrill of discovery, the rush of success when an experiment either produced the results he had predicted or, almost as exciting, something wonderfully unexpected. This doorway had the potential to be both.

  When the strange portal did not waver, he cautiously slowed the spinning silver rings so that they hung motionless vertically in the air. Though eagerness tempted him to take shortcuts, his analytical mind knew better. He began his testing process.

  First, like a child tossing a pebble into a still pond, he found a small stylus on his worktable and gently threw it into the opening. As soon as the slim implement touched the unseen barrier, it winked out, vanishing entirely and appearing on the other side, in the other universe. Jor-El could barely see a blurred reflection of it floating beyond his reach. But he could see no details of the strange place he had discovered. He ached to see what was there.

  Filled with wonder, Jor-El approached the empty gateway. He saw nothing—literally nothing—a bottomless void in the air. He wished he had someone with him. Such a great moment should be shared.

  He shouted into the opening. “Can anyone hear me? Is anybody there?” The portal remained silent, a vacuum that drained all light and sound.

  For his next test, Jor-El attached an imaging crystal lens to a telescoping rod that he removed from an unused piece of equipment stored against a wall of the research building. He would carefully extend the imaging crystal through the barrier, allow it to record the surroundings, then withdraw the tool. He would review the images and determine his next step. He would have to test the air, the temperature, the environment in that other universe.

  Sooner or later, though, he knew he was destined to explore.

  Holding his breath, Jor-El extended the telescoping rod and pushed the imaging crystal into the edge of the void with the slightest, most delicate touch.

  Suddenly, as if a great wind had swallowed him whole, he found himself yanked to the other side, sucked through the opening along with the rod and the imaging crystal. In less than a heartbeat, he was nowhere, suspended in a black and empty void—adrift, yet more than adrift, for he could not feel his body. He sensed no gravity, no temperature, no light. He didn’t seem to be breathing, didn’t need to. He was just a floating entity, completely aware and yet completely detached from reality. As if through a dirty window, he caught a glimpse of his own universe.

  But he could not get back there.

  Jor-El shouted, then quickly realized that no one else could hear him in this whole strange dimension. He yelled again in vain. He tried to move but noticed no change whatsoever. He was lost here, so close to Krypton, yet infinitely far away.
/>   CHAPTER 2

  Working with her fellow apprentice artists around the wonderfully exotic structures, Lara couldn’t decide if the design of Jor-El’s estate was the result of genius or madness. Maybe the two things were too similar to be distinguishable.

  Rao shone down on “light chimes,” ultrathin strips of metal dangling on fine wires that spun under the pressure of photons, producing a racket of rainbows. A milky-white corkscrew tower without doors or windows rose at the center of the estate, like the horn of a giant mythical beast, tapering to a sharp point at its apex. Other outbuildings were unique geometrical structures grown from hollowed crystals and covered with interesting botanical designs.

  The bachelor scientist’s manor house was a sprawling labyrinth of arches and domes; interior walls met each other at irregular angles, intersecting in unexpected places. A visitor walking through the chaotic layout could easily become disoriented.

  Though Jor-El spent most of his time in the cluttered research building, he had apparently realized that something was missing on the estate his father had left him. Chalk-white external walls of polished stone beckoned like pristine canvases that practically demanded artwork. To his credit, the great scientist had decided to do something about it, which was why he had called in a team of talented artists led by Lara’s famous parents, Ora and Lor-Van.

  Lara wanted to make her own mark, apart from her parents. She was her own person, an adult, independent and filled with her own ideas. Given the chance, she imagined creating a distinctive showpiece that maybe even Jor-El himself would notice (if the handsome but enigmatic man ever bothered to emerge from his laboratory). One day Krypton would recognize her as an imaginative artist in her own right, but that wasn’t enough for her. Lara wanted to go beyond that, and she wouldn’t limit her possibilities. In addition to being an artist, she considered herself a creative storyteller, a historian, a poet, even a composer of opera tapestries that evoked the grandeur of Krypton’s never-ending Golden Age.

  Her long hair fell in ringlets past her shoulders, each strand the color of spun amber. As an exercise, Lara had tried to paint a self-portrait (three times, in fact), but she never quite got the startling green eyes right, nor the pointed chin or the rosebud lips that curved upward in a frequent smile.

  Her twelve-year-old brother, Ki-Van, with his faintly freckled nose, inquisitive eyes, and tousled straw-colored hair, had also come to the work site, which he seemed to find more marvelous than any exhibition in Kandor.

  Around the main buildings, teams of artists in training clustered around Lara’s mother and father. More than just underlings and assistants, these were true apprentices who learned from Ora and Lor-Van so that one day they could add their own genius to Krypton’s cultural library. They mixed pigments, erected scaffolding, and set up projection lenses for transferring patterns that the master artists had scribed the night before.

  If her parents did their jobs well, Kryptonians would no longer focus on Yar-El’s tragic fading and confusion that had marked the poor man’s later life as he succumbed to the Forgetting Disease. Instead, they would remember Yar-El’s visionary greatness. Surely, Jor-El would be grateful to Lara’s parents for that. What more could he ask of them?

  With the limberness of youth, Lara sat cross-legged on a lush patch of purple lawn, a strain of grass found in the wild plains that surrounded Kandor. She stared at what she considered to be the most puzzling objects on the grounds: Twelve smooth sheets of tan veinrock stood around the estate’s open areas, each one two meters wide and three meters tall, with irregular edges. The obelisks were like flat upraised hands, blank and unblemished. Eleven of the flat stones were arranged at precise intervals, but the twelfth was startlingly offset from the others. What had old Yar-El meant by that? Had he intended to cover the obelisks with incomprehensible messages? Lara would never know. Though he was still alive, Yar-El was long past explaining the visions locked inside his head.

  Lara propped her sketchplate on her knees. She used a charge-tipped stylus to change the colors of the coating of electromagnetic algae, drawing what she had already painted in her imagination. While her mother and father painted epic murals showing the history of Krypton, Lara had made up her mind to use these twelve blank obelisks for a more symbolic purpose. If Jor-El would let her do it. She grew more and more excited as she made plans for each of the flat panels.

  Satisfied with her ideas, Lara froze the images on the sketchplate and climbed to her feet, brushing flecks of purple grass from her pearlescent white skirt. Exuberant and determined, she hurried over to the scaffolding where her parents were discussing the best dramatic portrayal of the Seven Army Conference, which had taken place thousands of years ago and changed Kryptonian society forever.

  Lara proudly held out her sketchplate. “Mother, Father, look at this. I’d like to have your approval for a new project.” She was full of energy, ready to get to work.

  Lor-Van had tied his long auburn hair back in a neat ponytail to keep it out of his way. His expressive brown eyes showed his love for his daughter—as well as long-suffering patience. He tended to indulge Lara whenever she came up to him with one of her new (and often impractical) schemes, but he still seemed to view her as a child rather than an adult in her own right.

  Her mother, though, was harder to convince. She had short hair, amber-gold like Lara’s, but streaked with gray; as always, a few smudges of pigment dotted Ora’s cheeks and hands. “What have you done now, Lara?”

  “Produced a work of brilliance, no doubt,” her father teased, “but beyond the capability of mere mortals like us to understand.”

  “Those twelve obelisks,” Lara said before she could catch her breath, pointing back toward the nearest one. She forced an evenness, a determination, into her voice. “I want to paint them, each one different.”

  Without even a glance at the sketches, her mother turned away. “That’s beyond the scope of our project here. Jor-El hasn’t given us permission to touch those.”

  Lara pressed the issue. “But has anyone actually asked him about it?”

  “He’s inside his laboratory, working. No one should disturb him. I had to send your brother to the perimeter of the grounds because he was making too much noise.” She looked to her husband. “Maybe Ki should be back in Kandor attending classes with the other children his age.”

  Lor-Van snorted. “He is learning far more here. When will the boy ever get such an opportunity again?”

  But Lara persisted with her own question, not accepting the easy answer. “Has Jor-El ever commanded us not to disturb him while he’s working, or are you just making an assumption?”

  “Lara, dear, he’s a revered scientist, and we’re here on his estate at his invitation. We don’t want to overstep our welcome.”

  “Why are you so afraid of him? He seems perfectly kind and nice.”

  “Now, Lara,” her father said with a tolerant smile, “we aren’t afraid of Jor-El. We respect him.”

  “Well, I’m going to go ask. Somebody has to clarify our parameters.” She turned determinedly away, ignoring her parents’ words of caution.

  Lara signaled at the door of the research building, which was as large and ornate as a temple of Rao. When the door beacon elicited no response, she rapped hard with her knuckles, but again heard only silence. Finally, she impulsively poked her head inside. “Jor-El? Am I disturbing you? I need to ask you a question.” She had chosen her words carefully. What true scientist could deny a seeker of knowledge who simply wanted to ask something?

  “Hello?” Though she knew he must be inside the brightly lit lab, she heard only the echoing hum of equipment. “I’m one of the artists, the daughter of Ora and Lor-Van.” She hung on her words, venturing farther inside, waiting to hear from him.

  Jor-El’s spacious laboratory was full of crystals that glowed like a light bank. The huge chamber was a wonderland of unusual apparatus, half-dismantled experiments, equipment racks, and exhibits. The man seemed to lose i
nterest in a project once the challenging part was over, Lara thought. She could understand that.

  Still, she couldn’t find the distinguished scientist. Had he secretly left the estate? “Jor-El? Is anyone here?”

  In the center of the laboratory hovered a motionless pair of silver rings that enclosed a…hole. And pressed up against the intangible surface membrane, she saw Jor-El floating there, gesturing wildly, his features blurred and oddly squashed. Though his lips moved, he made no sound.

  Lara hurried forward, her sketchplate and drawings forgotten. She raised her voice. “Are you trapped?” Though he tried to answer her, she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  Frowning, she went around to the back of the silver-ringed frame, and on the other side found Jor-El staring out at her again, as if he’d been sealed inside a two-dimensional plane. Curiosity spurred her on. “Is this an experiment of some sort? You didn’t do this on purpose, did you?” The desperate expression on his handsome face was the only answer she needed. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure some way to get you out of there.”

  Drifting in the numb and empty void, Jor-El experienced a moment of bitter irony: For so many years he had dreamed of a place of absolute quiet where he would not be disturbed, a place where he could let his thoughts wander and follow them through to their conclusions. Now, trapped in this dead and surreal silence, he wanted only to get out.

  In the initial moments of being trapped here, he had lost his telescoping rod and the imaging crystal. As soon as he had reoriented himself to face the window to his own universe, he had poked at the opening with the rod in his hand, but the barrier recoiled, somehow at a different polarity from this side. The imaging crystal had shattered, the rod had bent and shot out of his grasp, tumbling off into the nothingness. Jor-El just hung there like a disembodied spirit.