The Last Days of Krypton

by Kevin J. Anderson

  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, h
e 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.

  Crying out from the pain, he staggered away. The hot droplets of rock kept burning deeper into his skin. He gagged from the smell of sizzling flesh and burned hair. With his other hand he clawed at his arm and side, but the heat had cauterized the wounds.

  Overwhelmed by waves of pain, he couldn’t tell how badly he was injured. With great determination, Zor-El drove back the agony. He had a greater mission now. He had to survive. He had to get back to Argo City because of what he had discovered. He had to see his brother. In the worst-case scenario, the very fate of the planet might be in his hands.

  Though each breath burned his mouth, and he could barely see, Zor-El somehow made it back to the stable ground where he had landed his silver flyer. Panting and shuddering, yet strangely exhilarated from the endorphins flooding through him, he hauled himself up into the cockpit. He refused to let himself faint.

  Zor-El powered up the levitation engines, extended the ash-covered wing panels in an attempt to drink in more solar energy, and finally lifted off into the buffeting thermal currents. As the craft rose away from the southern continent, far from the stark and dangerous lava field, he saw another bright flash of emerald green, the new form of mineral lava burbling up from Krypton’s depths.

  CHAPTER 6

  Even though he viewed the world in terms of mathematics and science, the raw beauty of Kandor took Jor-El’s breath away. With its temples to Rao, the shining pyramids, and the great Council ziggurat, Krypton’s capital city was the pinnacle of civilization. Some exotic buildings had been grown from active crystals; other edifices were hewn from lustrous white veinrock or speckled granite polished to a sheen that reflected the red sunlight.

  Early that morning Jor-El had departed from the estate on his personal flying platform, an open levitating raft that skimmed smoothly only two meters above the purple and brown grasses of the vast Neejon plain. He stood relaxed at the control pedestal, holding the accelerator and guidance handles, looking ahead at the approaching metropolis. Behind him he towed a cargo floater wide enough to carry the silver-ringed frame of the Phantom Zone and its crystal control array.

  When he reached Kandor, he surrendered his invention to the city security forces, which were named the Sapphire Guards for their deep-blue armor. He gave them the Phantom Zone and the control console for processing and delivery to the Commission for Technology Acceptance. The guards knew who he was and stared at him with amazement, as if he were a great celebrity; Jor-El barely noticed. Their reverence for his previous accomplishments, though, made them listen very carefully when he warned them to treat the hovering “gap” in the air with extreme care. He left the framed singularity with them for safekeeping until he could make his case to Commissioner Zod.

  Because of his boundless imagination, Jor-El had done this many times before, always optimistic about the prospects of a new technological innovation. All too often, though, his most exotic ideas were
deemed too dangerous for a safe and peaceful Kryptonian society, and then they were censored and destroyed. In spite of his many successes, the frequent defeats frustrated Jor-El. The Commissioner (following the orders of the eleven-member Council) was prone to overreact…most of the time.

  Jor-El wasn’t so sure about the Phantom Zone, though. It had not turned out to be a portal into parallel universes as he had anticipated, and after his frightening ordeal inside the empty dimension, even Jor-El was uneasy about the possibility that it could be misused. Placing a call via public communication plate, he steeled himself and requested a meeting with Commissioner Dru-Zod.

  However, Zod was involved in the funeral preparations for his fourth-level assistant, Bur-Al, who had been tragically killed in the hrakka stables. The Commissioner could not meet with him until late that afternoon.

  In the meantime, Jor-El decided to watch the proceedings of the Kryptonian Council, which was in session. The government temple was a huge stepped pyramid at the very center of the city. Each corner was adorned with crystal shards, and atop the pyramid, focusing lenses displayed a high-resolution image of the red sun, projecting the incandescent face of Rao like a spotlight above Kandor.

  Jor-El casually entered the observation gallery, following a tall, orange-haired instructor who ushered a group of well-behaved children to reserved seats as part of a class project. He made no mention of who he was, tried to keep a low profile. Even though he wasn’t part of the Council itself, Jor-El had been invited to serve many times. He had always declined the offer, claiming that he had more important things to accomplish. His attitude startled and perplexed the Council members, who couldn’t conceive of anything “more important,” but that only increased his mystique. Even so, they kept the invitation open, offering to create a pending seat for him, if he ever decided to take up politics, like his brother from Argo City. Jor-El did not see that day coming any time soon.