The Last Days of Krypton

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Inside the immense hall, tiers and tiers of stone benches were carved out of the inner walls to accommodate thousands of spectators. Today, surprisingly, the audience tiers were filled. People in fantastically expensive and exotic formal attire crowded shoulder to shoulder with workers dressed in drab uniforms. Something interesting must be on the docket for this session. Jor-El rarely paid attention to the news.

  The eleven Council members sat next to one another at a high bench many meters above the floor, where they loomed godlike above those who chose to speak. Jor-El himself had appeared before the eleven powerful representatives on several occasions. Though the Council considered him Krypton’s greatest scientific hero, he could rarely get them to budge from their conservative stance.

  Armored Sapphire Guards marched in, leading a prisoner across the tiled arena floor. The man was weighed down with transparent shackles and further restrained by a stun collar around his throat. His clothes were torn and blotched with reddish-brown stains that Jor-El guessed must be old blood. His blond hair was unkempt, his eyes wild-looking, his long face haggard. The prisoner moved with a feral clumsiness—stumbling, cringing, but always alert for a chance to escape. Members of the crowd hissed and drew back, as if the very wrongness of this man might contaminate those in the nearest lines of seats.

  The Sapphire Guards hauled the prisoner in front of the Council, then took a step back to let the shackled man stand by himself. The security men remained tense and alert, close enough to seize the prisoner if he should become violent.

  When old Jul-Us stood up in his white robes, he no longer looked grandfatherly or kind. He spoke in a booming voice. “Gur-Va, you have committed a heinous crime. You were caught in the Kandor zoo soaked with the blood of your victims, their torn bodies at your feet.”

  Gur-Va lifted his blond head, pulled back his lips to expose long teeth. “I am a predator. They were prey. What I did was only natural.”

  “What you did was an abomination!” said Kor-Te, a Council member who had thick silver hair that hung to his shoulders in waves, intentionally emulating the style of Krypton’s classic leaders. “All details of this incident should be struck from the record so that future generations need not be sickened by it!”

  Jor-El was astonished by the statement. Kor-Te practically worshipped past decisions and mandates; he read and quoted from the Council annals and documents as if they were holy scripture. In Council business Kor-Te believed that all important discoveries had already been made and that all matters had already been decided. To him, any question could be answered by digging through the annals and finding the appropriate quotation. It was inconceivable that such a man would propose striking an event from the historical record.

  Jor-El leaned forward, fascinated. He turned to an intent gray-haired woman next to him. “What exactly has this man done? Whom did he kill?”

  The old woman’s expression overflowed with disgust and disbelief. “He’s the Butcher of Kandor—broke into the zoo and went from cage to cage with his long knives, slaughtering rare animals. He chopped apart the last living flamebird. He decapitated the drang. He slit the throats of both rondors on display. It was senseless and appalling.”

  Above the arena floor, Council member Pol-Ev called for a series of evidence images to be projected. Pol-Ev, the dandy on the Council, had so many clothes and robes with trendy folds and ruffles it was hard to tell whether he followed fashion or set it. His hair was swirled and primped and pomaded, and he always wore a distinctive cologne that added a lingering background aroma to the entire chamber. Now, though, he looked ready to faint.

  Crisp holograms showed mangled carcasses in merciless detail. Amid gasps and outcries from the spectators’ gallery, several people became audibly ill; others, greenish and pale, stumbled out of the Council temple. The orange-haired teacher nearly fell over himself as he hurried his group of young students out of the tiers of seats.

  Jor-El could hardly believe the sheer violence of what he saw in the display. The drang, a purple flying snake, had been hacked to pieces. The snagriff, a winged dinosaur, had been hamstrung in its cage and, once it had dropped to the ground, Gur-Va had gutted it while it was still alive. The heavy rondors, nearly hunted to extinction because their curved horns supposedly cured many illnesses, lay in a pool of their own blood; one had managed to crawl to its watering pond and slumped over the rim, near its mutilated mate.

  Standing in the arena, Gur-Va seemed maliciously delighted to see the images. Why would anyone commit such a senseless act? What purpose did it serve? What could this man possibly have meant to accomplish? The utter irrationality of it made Jor-El reel.

  Trying to steady himself, he viewed this as a problem, a puzzle. Something had corrupted Gur-Va’s personality, broken him from sanity. The bloodthirsty temperament of this twisted man was a throwback to violent and primitive times. Where did such destructive impulses come from?

  Such ferocious criminals were true anomalies on modern, peaceful Krypton. Inspired in part by his father’s psychological deterioration from the Forgetting Disease, Jor-El’s mother had spent a great deal of time trying to understand the mysteries of the Kryptonian mind. But psychology was not a mathematical, precise science.

  All eleven Council members were so appalled that they remained silent for a long moment before turning to each other in quiet, urgent discussion. Jul-Us did not take long to pronounce the obvious sentence. “Your senseless actions are inconceivable. You are a danger to yourself and to all life on Krypton.”

  The prisoner started laughing. “Show the images again—especially the snagriff. That was my favorite!”

  In consternation, the old Council Head raised his voice. “We will hold you deep underground in a cell from which you will never escape, and where you will never again see the red light of Rao. We do this for the safety of our people, and the protection of your soul.”

  Gur-Va didn’t struggle as the muscular Sapphire Guards hauled him away, his transparent chains and shackles clanking. Jor-El felt an empty nausea inside. The punishment seemed harsh and terrible, but what else could be done with such a dangerous atavism? The audience muttered in approval. This was the most severe sentence the Council could impose. Only one or two criminals per year suffered such a fate.

  Recently, another scientist had proposed that the worst criminals be sealed in capsules, placed in suspended animation with mental reconfiguring crystals fixed to their foreheads. Over the course of decades, the scientist suggested, the reconfiguring crystals might heal their damaged minds. But the Council members did not consider that solution feasible. Where else could such violent criminals be placed, except in an impregnable underground cell?

  Suddenly Jor-El realized what he should do, what he must suggest to the Commissioner. A hopeful smile crossed his face. Perhaps his new discovery did indeed have a practical application.

  He looked forward to presenting the idea to Commissioner Zod.

  CHAPTER 7

  Two blocks from the majestic governmental ziggurat, the Commission for Technology Acceptance was headquartered in an unpretentious side building, as if to emphasize the fact that Zod’s status was far inferior to the Council’s. As far as Jor-El could tell, the Commissioner ignored the implication.

  When he arrived for his scheduled afternoon meeting, Jor-El noticed a weighty, somber feeling inside the office building. The windowfilms had been phased so that the huge sun bathed the rooms in muted, warm light. He recalled that the Commission staff had just returned from the funeral for their coworker.

  Commissioner Zod stood to greet Jor-El, offering him a pleasant smile despite the gloom. Zod’s office had a spartan feel, without the grandeur and ostentation of other buildings in Kandor. “How have you decided to challenge me today? Something to delight my sensibilities or something that will make me worry?”

  “A little of both, Commissioner—as always.” Despite the man’s cordial reception, Jor-El could never forget that Zod was his adversary, a hindran
ce if not an actual barricade to progress.

  Seeing Jor-El’s expression, the Commissioner shook his head in a mixture of disappointment and reproof. “I believe you enjoy making my job difficult.”

  “I prefer the term ‘challenging.’”

  No one could doubt that Jor-El had done remarkable things for Kryptonian society—more efficient transportation monitoring to minimize accidents, new techniques to illuminate large structures through photonic excitation of crystal lattices, highly sophisticated medical scanning devices that could study ailments on a deep cellular level, advanced agricultural harvesting machinery that significantly increased crop yields. The average Kryptonian believed Jor-El could accomplish virtually anything he set his mind to.

  Ever since the restrictions to progress had been set down generations ago, all new inventions needed to be submitted to the special Commission for Technology Acceptance, which would determine if any new technology had the potential to be used for dangerous purposes. The nightmare of Jax-Ur and his nova javelins had never been forgotten, and the people had no incentive to take risks. Zod’s job, like that of his predecessors, was to crack down on any item that did not fit within a narrow definition of what was “acceptable.”

  “I wish we had more scientists like you,” the Commissioner had once told Jor-El, sounding very sincere. “Alas, not everyone’s character is as unimpeachable as yours. If only I didn’t have to worry about your work being corrupted and used for evil purposes.”

  Jor-El could not disagree. In recent years incidents of bizarre and violent crimes had grown more and more frequent—for no apparent reason. Having seen the wild look in the eyes of the Butcher of Kandor, he shuddered to think what a man like that could have done with some of his inventions….

  Zod called for his security men to bring the item to his office. “Let us see what you’ve brought me this time.”

  Jor-El let enthusiasm guide his words. “I’ve created a hole in the universe that leads to a dimension I can only describe as a Phantom Zone. It’s pure emptiness.”

  Two burly Sapphire Guards arrived, guiding a levitating platform that held the stilled silver rings and the blank field they enclosed. Because the singularity was composed of nothing at all, bounded by positive and negative energy, the frame was remarkably light. The guards barely had to strain their large muscles as they brought the containment frame into the Commissioner’s office.

  Zod’s eyes widened. “By the red heart of Rao! You always manage to astonish me.”

  After the Commissioner dismissed the guards, Jor-El explained his experiment. “During yesterday’s solar storm, Rao’s energy was sufficient for me to punch through the fabric of space and create a kind of singularity. It’s a doorway, or a portal, and it is stable.”

  Zod leaned closer to the fuzzy blankness that hovered in the air, but Jor-El quickly blocked the other man. “Be careful not to touch the field. I discovered how sensitive it is. I was trapped there for hours until a…friend…released me.”

  “Intriguing. So you fell through that hole into another dimension?”

  “Only temporarily, Commissioner. With a relatively simple control panel, modified from standard equipment, it is possible to release an individual from the Zone. I need to spend more time conducting experiments, perhaps even with volunteer test subjects. I’ve been in there myself, and I came out unharmed, so there’s no real danger.” He offered his annotated plans. “I have brought the prototype control panel from my estate.”

  Zod tapped a finger against his lips, calculating. “And what possible practical use could this Phantom Zone have?”

  Jor-El jumped at his chance, perhaps the only chance to get the device approved rather than censored. “A very real and relevant application occurred to me during this morning’s trial in the Council temple.”

  “Ah, the Butcher of Kandor? Unfortunately, I was busy with the funeral of my poor assistant.”

  “We have no real way to punish or secure such a person. We don’t know how to rehabilitate the damaged minds of our worst criminals, and it has been centuries since we considered such barbaric penalties as execution. The Butcher was sentenced to spend the rest of his life deep in an underground cell. Personally, I consider that a very inadequate solution.”

  Zod was unaffected by Jor-El’s logic. “And what do you propose?”

  “Sentence our worst criminals to the Phantom Zone instead of sealing them in underground cells until they die. In that other dimension, they have no physical needs, experience no pain, and can cause no further damage. Think of it, Commissioner—those criminals would be left to contemplate their crimes in passive and permanent isolation. If the Council ever determined they were sufficiently repentant, we could release them.”

  Zod scratched his neat beard. “Intriguing. Such violent criminals do make us nervous and uneasy. Your Phantom Zone would be a very effective way of sweeping them under the rug.”

  Jor-El flushed. “I wouldn’t put it in such a crude fashion.”

  “I was not criticizing you. It seems little different from locking them away in an underground cell—and much more secure.” He let out a long sigh—a sigh that Jor-El knew all too well. “But I must consider the worst-case scenario.” Zod walked slowly around the silver rings, looking into the central gap as if he might find an answer there. “What if this singularity fell into the wrong hands? What if it were abused?”

  Jor-El stiffened. “Naturally, we’d have to keep it under heavy guard, to be used in only the most extreme circumstances.”

  “And what if the guards themselves were corrupted? What if an enemy mounted a surprise military assault?” Zod shook his head. “The Council members are very strict in cases such as this—one practical application does not cancel dozens of possible abuses. I cannot in good conscience grant this Phantom Zone our stamp of approval. Too many drawbacks.”

  Jor-El had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he did not meekly turn away. His voice had a rough edge of anger. “Commissioner, using those criteria, you’d forbid the use of fire because someone might burn his fingers. How will our lives ever improve?”

  Zod folded his hands. “According to our beloved Council, there is no need for improvement on Krypton.” Did his voice have a hint of sarcasm? “Unfortunately, I have no recourse but to seize your Phantom Zone, your blueprints, and all related materials. I cannot allow this device to tempt the twisted elements in our society.”

  Jor-El clenched his jaws, biting back further argument. He knew full well that he would not change Zod’s mind, and he had no choice but to admit defeat for the moment, though he chafed under the harsh, narrow-minded, and nonsensical restrictions.

  “I will keep trying, Commissioner,” he said, making it a promise.

  CHAPTER 8

  After Jor-El departed in frustration, Zod could barely control his excitement. He left instructions with the outer receptionist that he was not to be disturbed, then turned to study the vertical silver rings that enclosed the Phantom Zone. Jor-El’s discoveries were often frivolous or useless, but occasionally the man produced something that struck the Commissioner with awe. The scientist had outdone himself this time.

  At his summons, burly Nam-Ek arrived within minutes, as if he had been waiting for the Commissioner’s call. Zod locked the office door securely after him. With childlike curiosity and uncertainty, the bearded mute peered through the shimmering silver rings. When he raised a hand to poke at them, Zod lurched forward to stop him. “Careful, it’s dangerous! I don’t want to lose you.” Nam-Ek gave him a grateful look.

  Though his front office was small and plain, Zod went to the back wall and operated a secret lift chamber from a hidden panel. “Store that down below with the other items, where it will be safe.”

  Nam-Ek obeyed without question. After the back wall slid open, the muscular man dragged the rings through the covert door onto the lift platform. Together, the two men rode the humming elevator to the hidden room beneath the Commission’s
main offices. Without so much as a grunt of effort, Nam-Ek wrestled the silver rings into an open area.

  The empty blankness of the Phantom Zone beckoned to Zod. He believed Jor-El’s report, of course, but he wanted to see direct evidence for himself. This could well be the most powerful object in his special collection. He walked around the rings, looked at the flat opening from both sides, but could determine nothing. “Fetch me a servant, Nam-Ek. I don’t care which one.”

  Without hesitation, the broad-shouldered man strode to the lower entrance of the underground chamber. The doorway was hidden, mounted behind the far wall of a forgotten storage room. Nam-Ek opened it and began to prowl through the halls of the Commission building’s lower levels.

  Zod remained behind, looking at all the devices on display as he pondered possibilities. Here, he kept all the important innovations that he had censored over the years. For the good of Krypton. As far as Jor-El and the handful of other visionary scientists knew, their “unapproved” inventions had been destroyed, but the Commissioner had assembled a veritable museum of marvels, available to himself and no one else. No one else bothered to see the potential; those eleven cretins on the Council were incapable of original thought.

  Alone with his toys, he marveled at one object after another: a “Rao beam”—an intense burning ray that could be used for important construction work but also, obviously, as a potential weapon. Powerful engines that could drive a rocket into space. Memory crystals that could cause a person to forget or remember anything that a controller desired. Self-guided levitating daggers that could be directed to a specific target—what had Jor-El been thinking with that one?

  Zod rationalized his acts by following the letter of his mandate—in a sense. Though he kept them for himself, he did remove potentially dangerous discoveries from the hands of the people. But he simply could not bear to waste such brilliance. Who could guarantee that Krypton would never need these discoveries? It was insane to discard such amazing items just because shortsighted politicians were afraid of change. He trusted himself to be a good steward for the world, unlike the pampered and self-congratulatory members of the Council. He certainly didn’t trust them.