For the day’s event, he was joined by Vor-On, the younger son of a noble family with no prospects whatsoever. “Will your charioteer win today, Commissioner Zod? Shall I place another wager?” He smelled of too much perfume masking too much sweat. Vor-On was little more than a sycophant, embarrassingly glad to have Zod’s attention.
After many years of practice, Zod kept his voice carefully controlled. “I expect Nam-Ek will win, but such things cannot be guaranteed.”
Vor-On squirmed, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. His rusty hair was cut with straight bangs and a square back; the style, which was very popular this year, had so little finesse it looked like an inexpensive wig. “You’re planning something, aren’t you? You’ve got the victory in your pocket. What’s the surprise, Zod? Tell me.”
“If I tell you, then it will not be a surprise.” Zod did not bet, and he was not in this event for profit. He was certain, however, that his man Nam-Ek would meet or exceed expectations; in that, the muscular mute was quite predictable.
Zod leaned forward, bored. Misters sprayed cooling moisture into the air. Food vendors tried to sell cold drinks. Clownish performers in gaudy clothes carried streamers and ribbons, dancing along the packed track far below, overseeing the final preparations while doing pratfalls to amuse the audience. The anticipation built moment by moment.
In the midst of all the tedious hubbub, Zod spied something interesting. Over in the gaudy stadium box of the noble family of Ka, the guests wore extravagantly ornate and absolutely impractical costumes dictated by fashion and not by common sense. The men and women sat with high collars, spiky sleeves, cinched waists, and crinkled fabric studded with so many jewels that they couldn’t possibly bend over to duck, should an assassin hurl a dagger at them. He found it both amusing and disgusting.
But what caught Zod’s attention was a lovely young woman who didn’t seem to belong there at all. Her raggedly cropped dark hair was mussed instead of coiffed. She wore no jewelry. Her eyes were like black pools, her features all the more bewitching because they did not pander to Kryptonian standards of beauty. Her tight black leather pants and loose dark jerkin were designed more for comfort and ser viceability than for show. She lounged, rather than postured, on the stone bench.
Zod immediately sensed that this woman was unlike all the dull nobles he dealt with every day. “Vor-On, who is that intriguing creature over there?”
The eager young noble followed Zod’s gaze, and a distasteful frown flickered across his face. “You cannot be interested in her, Commissioner!”
“Why must I explain myself? I asked a simple enough question.”
“Yes, Commissioner. Of course, Commissioner. She’s the third daughter of the house of Ka, something of an outcast, an embarrassment. When her parents tried to disown her, she retaliated by deleting her family name. She insists on being called simply Aethyr.”
“Wonderful.”
“Shameful! She intentionally refuses to live up to her family’s great lineage.”
Zod scratched his beard, contemplating. “Because she does things they disapprove of?”
“Certainly, Commissioner. She doesn’t like her family, and they don’t like her. I don’t know why she insisted on coming to the chariot races, why she would want to be seen with them in their box.”
Zod restrained his smile. Even if his naïve companion couldn’t comprehend the reason, he understood the answer very well. Aethyr probably relished the very discomfort she caused, and she did it on purpose. He found it charming. Looking around, he saw members in the other noble boxes glancing at the Ka seats, frowning at Aethyr, then quickly turning away. So painfully obvious, so artificial. Kryptonians were like players in a stale performance.
“Don’t you see? This is her rebellion, and she flaunts it in front of her family.” He laughed. “Watch how the closer she comes to them, the more they flinch away. It’s all a game to her. Aethyr is smarter than every member of her family. She is a diamond in the rough, Vor-On. In fact, she’s quite beautiful.”
Vor-On responded with horror. “Maybe—if you could see past all the dirt and her flaws. And those…clothes!”
“If she wished, Aethyr could dress herself in clothing that other people told her to wear, but nothing can artificially create that sheer charisma.”
The preparation horns sounded. Fanfares played over tuned resonator systems, drowning out the background noise of the audience. Even under the blazing red sunlight, ornamental lights sparkled from the tops of fluted obsidian columns around the Council seating area. Vor-On immediately turned to the track, glad to concentrate on something more appropriate than Aethyr.
The ground-level gates rolled up, and the beasts emerged from the shadows of the darkened pens. Teams of hrakkas—brawny, short-legged lizards with jagged head crests—plodded forward, three tethered to each floating vehicle. The green-and-tan creatures strained in their yokes as each team hauled its chariot out into the open. The scaly hides bore the marks of noble family sponsors.
Zod narrowed his eyes to watch as his own man emerged. Bushy bearded and broad shouldered, Nam-Ek stood tall at the helm of his vehicle, holding the reins in one thick hand. Zod covered his smug smile as the audience began muttering about the unusual beasts hooked to Nam-Ek’s chariot.
The mute had tamed black-skinned lizards from Krypton’s wild southern continent. Adorned with horns and spines along their bodies, ebony scales, and scarlet head crests, these were feral creatures accustomed to hunting and gutting their own prey. As a trainer, Nam-Ek could be as fierce as the beasts, and he had whipped the three into line. The burly driver appeared utterly confident.
When all chariots were in place at the starting line, bald and grandfatherly Council Head Jul-Us stepped up to the main podium. Among all the resounding cheers, Zod could manage little more than polite applause. Although old Jul-Us was well liked in Kandor, Zod despised the man for his high position. He should have been the head of the Council, but due to political backstabbing and faithless “allies,” Zod had been shunted aside and put in charge of the minor Commission as a consolation prize. Though he had eventually reaped more power from that position than any Council member realized, Zod would never forget being unfairly spurned.
All eyes were upon Jul-Us as he raised a long scarlet crystal over his head, a symbolic shard containing a burst of light. Below, all of the chariot drivers marshaled their impatient hrakkas, ready to jockey for position as soon as they received the signal.
To his credit, the Council Head was not a man who demanded attention and praise from the people of Kandor. He said simply, “Let the races begin!” and snapped the scarlet shard in two, releasing a blazing flash.
The hrakkas lunged forward, tugging at their harnesses and charging down the packed track. With wiry muscles and long claws that dug into the gravel, Nam-Ek’s black lizards pulled ahead. On either side of the big mute, the rival hrakka teams strained and pulled, trying to keep up with the feral beasts.
The crowd cheered for their chosen teams, waving pennants, calling last-minute wagers. Some whistled, some issued catcalls. Standing like a beatific stone deity in front of his box, Jul-Us watched the great races.
A thready voice tinged with barely controlled fear interrupted Zod’s concentration. “Commissioner, I demand to speak with you!”
Forcibly calming himself, Zod looked smoothly over his shoulder. Close behind him, in a bright red cape and puffy sleeves, stood Bur-Al, his fourth in command at the Commission for Technology Acceptance. The man was an administrator, a functionary with neither backbone nor vision. “Why are you interrupting my enjoyment of the race? My man Nam-Ek is in the lead.”
Bur-Al crossed his puffy-sleeved arms over his chest. “Commissioner, this issue would be best discussed in private.”
Zod gave him a withering glance. “Then why come to a place with thousands of people gathered around?”
The other man seemed taken aback by the question, then blurted, “I’ve discovered your s
ecret. I know what you’ve done with all the technological items you considered dangerous, the things you censored.”
“Please confine your ravings to a more appropriate venue.” The crowd shrieked and applauded. So far, Vor-On hadn’t even noticed the mousy visitor. Finally the Commissioner sighed. “Very well, meet me downstairs in the private stables after the race is run, where we will not upset the rest of the crowd. Nam-Ek tends his hrakkas there, and you know he can’t speak a word. Now leave me alone.”
Enraptured by the spectacle, Vor-On raised his hands. “Did you see that, Commissioner? It was amazing!”
On the track, one of the chariots had wrecked. Nam-Ek pulled on his reins, encouraging the creatures without needing to whip them. The black beasts plunged ahead around the circuit, trampling the gravel, racing faster and faster. Zod sensed that Bur-Al was still behind him, fuming and antsy, but he ignored the man. Finally, the administrator went away.
Some noble families who had invested in opposing teams began to complain loudly about the black hrakkas. Behind closed doors before the running of the races, two racing officials had also questioned the legality of using the new species. Nam-Ek had looked forlorn and agitated, unable to verbally express his anxiety, but Zod, as always, had been the voice of reason, telling the officials to look at the letter of the rules. In the dusty old records, no one had defined exactly what a “hrakka” was. In the absence of any established rule to the contrary, the hidebound officials consented to let Nam-Ek’s team compete in the races.
Now, as the charioteers entered the third lap, two of the opposing teams closed the gap, pushing the green-and-gold creatures beyond their limits of endurance. Zod could see that those hrakkas would probably die at the end of the race, which would no doubt cause a scandal in Kandor.
As one of the golden hrakkas pulled abreast of Nam-Ek’s chariot, the nearest black beast turned its head and lashed out with a whiplike tongue, pulping the rival hrakka’s eye. The wounded creature reared up, maddened, and clawed at the next creature in its harness. Suddenly the chariot toppled over in a tumbling crash. The driver, wearing a protective suit and antigravity belt, ejected himself from the wreckage, unharmed, while the beasts lay injured and dying.
Wide-eyed, Vor-On looked at Zod as if he knew all the answers. “Is that allowed?”
“It is not forbidden by the rules.”
“How could it not be forbidden? This is…horrible.”
“One might call it innovative.”
Zod felt a thrill as he watched. Nam-Ek’s hrakkas lashed out with their long tongues to strike at the team on the right, also driving it into ruin. By now, the big mute had an indisputable lead. Zod didn’t even need to watch the rest of the race; the outcome was a foregone conclusion. He let Vor-On pick over the refreshments that servants had placed in the Commissioner’s box.
While all eyes were focused on the climax of the races, no one noticed Zod slip quietly away. He had to get down to the stables and begin his preparations before Bur-Al arrived.
The black hrakkas exuded an oily scent from musk glands behind their powerful jaws, but the stable smells did not bother Zod. He had built these pens adjacent to the big arena; they were dim and cool, and also very private. To his fellow noblemen, the stables showed that the Commissioner spared no extravagance to keep Nam-Ek, his chariot, and his hrakkas in fine form. For Zod, though, the stables served as a perfect place for unobserved meetings.
After the hard-fought race, Zod met his charioteer in the comforting shadows, standing aside as the victorious mute pulled the three black hrakkas into their pens and fastened thick chains to anchors on the wall.
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.
CHAPTER 5
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.
The Last Days of Krypton Page 4