Part 5 (1/2)

The bloated red star was undergoing its final stages of evolution. After countless millennia of converting hydrogen into helium, the fuel at the core was running out, leading to more complex nuclear reactions. Unsettled by its new diet, the sun had swelled over the past millennia, expanding until it had swallowed up all of the solar system's inner planets. The engine at Rao's heart would keep burning until it used up the remaining fuel, and then an abrupt collapse would initiate a shock wave sufficient to create a cataclysmic supernova.

That could happen at any time. Maybe tomorrow, maybe thousands of years from now.

A year earlier, Jor-El had warned the Council that the red sun would eventually explode. After listening to the evidence, old Jul-Us had spoken slowly. ”Over the past hundred years or so, other scientists have also mentioned such a catastrophe as a means to frighten the gullible.”

”Even if we believed you, no one can stop the changes in Rao,” said Kor-Te, who was always confident in the security of the past. ”The sun has burned without incident for all of recorded history.”

But Jor-El had found an ally on the Council in its youngest member, Cera-Si. ”We can't ignore a problem simply because there's no immediately obvious solution. Jor-El's science is impressive. We would be foolish to ignore him.” When Cera-Si had been appointed to the Council, he'd begun his work with great dreams and interesting ideas. Jor-El had placed hope in him, but although Cera-Si had a more open mind than some of the older members, he didn't have the fort.i.tude to persuade others.

The young man had long flaming-red hair that he bound behind his head with a single gold ring. Because of the red hair, the Priests of Rao had courted him for years, trying to recruit him as one of their number. But he had no patience for the hours of wearing goggles and solemnly staring at the giant red sun. Cera-Si had trouble sitting still and was famous for requesting frequent breaks during long and ponderous Council sessions.

”We need to think in the long term. There are ways we can prepare.” Jor-El began to list options. ”We must think beyond Krypton. We can explore other planets. We can be ready to evacuate our people, if it becomes necessary.”

Al-An just laughed, looking at the other Council members to see if they would join in.

”That goes against the prime resolution of the Seven Army Conference,” grumbled Silber-Za, the only female member of the Council. She had long yellow hair, a bright smile, and a razor-edged temper that she directed toward those who dared to challenge her. She was also the reigning expert in nuances of Kryptonian law. ”Doing so would expose us to outside contamination. It could be the end of us.”

Jor-El jabbed a finger toward the high ceiling. ”Rao ”Rao will be the end of us if it goes supernova.” will be the end of us if it goes supernova.”

”There's no reason not to let Jor-El continue his studies,” said Mauro-Ji, another occasional ally. He was a cautious Council member, always willing to give each question due consideration. ”It seems only prudent. I say he should draw up his plans, doc.u.ment his ideas. Centuries from now, when and if the sun does become slightly more unstable, our descendants might be glad that we had such foresight.”

”That does seem prudent,” Pol-Ev conceded. ”Let the historical record show that we did indeed plan ahead.”

Jor-El had nodded his appreciation to Mauro-Ji. He knew the man had his own reasons for keeping on the scientist's good side. Centuries ago, the n.o.ble Ji family had been powerful and prominent, but in recent years their holdings had fallen on hard times. After they had invested heavily in a new set of vineyards to compete with those in the Sedra region, a blight had killed the vines, and an earthquake had leveled one of their large manor houses. Mauro-Ji often invited Jor-El to social events, weddings, and feasts, as if proximity to the esteemed scientist might increase his own standing. Jor-El wasn't sure that anyone could benefit from being his friend, given the vagaries of Kandor's high society.

After looking at his supernova data, the Council members had discussed the matter interminably before finally agreeing that he should continue his work, just in case. Jor-El had hoped they would begin a full-scale investigation with many other scientists, exhaustive probes, and contingency plans. Instead, they saw the unstable sun merely as a theoretical issue, a problem of esoteric scientific interest rather than immediate urgency.

At least they had not commanded him to stop his work. Jor-El could only hope there would be enough time to save his people if anything terrible should happen. When the star went supernova, the shock wave would disintegrate Krypton and its moons. In all likelihood, the population would have only hours of warning. So he had to plan ahead.

He turned away from the giant rippling hologram as turbulent Rao continued its slow-motion upheavals. When the diligent young artist caught his attention, still playing with his colored gels to form a three-dimensional sculpture of the sun, Jor-El realized that there were so many more important investigations to do.

He needed to get back to his estate, where he could continue to work undisturbed, without the interference of unimaginative people. Yes, once he returned, he would launch another probe into the glowering red sun.

Somebody had to take the initiative. had to take the initiative.

CHAPTER 12.

As soon as Jor-El had departed for Kandor, Lara began sketching furiously, planning a distinct image for each of the obelisks arranged around the estate grounds. After she had rescued him from the Phantom Zone, Jor-El gladly agreed to let her paint the mysterious stone slabs. (Apparently, even he didn't know why his father had erected them.) Lara had never been so excited about a single project. departed for Kandor, Lara began sketching furiously, planning a distinct image for each of the obelisks arranged around the estate grounds. After she had rescued him from the Phantom Zone, Jor-El gladly agreed to let her paint the mysterious stone slabs. (Apparently, even he didn't know why his father had erected them.) Lara had never been so excited about a single project.

On her sketchplate she planned a thematic arc across the twelve obelisk stones, alternations of chaotic colors and precise geometric lines. She didn't think Jor-El would understand the nuances of unbounded abstract artwork-he was such a literal person-but she could bring him around if he gave her a chance to explain. The eleven perfectly separated obelisks would each demonstrate one of the powerful foundations of Krypton's civilization: Hope, Imagination, Peace, Truth, Justice, and others. She would pair each concept-image with a particular historical figure who embodied those ideals.

The outlying twelfth stone offered the greatest challenge. Why was the single obelisk set apart from the others? Obviously, Yar-El had considered this stone to have a greater significance. Did it symbolize how he felt-that he stood apart from the eleven Council members in Kandor? After she finished sketching her other designs, Lara went to stare at the blank outlier stone. She had to think of something sufficiently important to paint on it, and so far she hadn't come up with the right idea.

As they completed their own ma.s.sive project, Ora and Lor-Van had noticed a difference in their daughter's att.i.tude; Lara frequently caught them giving her sidelong smiles and amused glances. They seemed to know whenever she was thinking of Jor-El. Well, let them think what they wanted! She went back to work.

Her young brother, bouncing a half-levitating green ball, walked up to her. He leaned over her shoulder to look at the sketches. Ki-Van tossed the ball high above his head, then ran around his older sister as he waited for it to slowly descend so he could catch it. ”You're trying to show off for Jor-El, aren't you?”

”I am creating a new project,” she replied too quickly. ”This is Jor-El's estate, so I hope he'll be impressed.”

”Mother and Father say you like Jor-El. They say you want him to notice you.” Even though he was a good-natured boy, Ki had a knack for being annoying.

Lara said defensively, ”He already has noticed me, thank you very much.”

Ki tossed the ball up in the air again, waited for it to drift back down into his hands. ”I think he likes you.”

”You don't know what Jor-El thinks at all.” But I hope you're right, little brother. But I hope you're right, little brother. ”Now leave me alone so I can concentrate.” ”Now leave me alone so I can concentrate.”

The creative technicians and apprentices began to take down the scaffolding against the long wall of the main house, where her parents had completed their intricate mural. The artwork showed the seven armies dramatically rallying against Jax-Ur. Too distracted to continue her sketches, Lara paced around the work site, admiring the art. She noted with satisfaction that her mother and father had accurately painted the Valley of Elders. After all, Lara was one of the few living Kryptonians who had ever visited there.

Back then, she had wanted to be a historian, an archaeologist, a doc.u.menter of her civilization's past. Her teachers had expressed frequent skepticism about her career choice, though. ”History has already been recorded, so you would be wasting your time. The chronicles were written long ago. There is nothing to change.”

”But what if some of the details are incorrect?” she had asked, but no one gave her a satisfactory answer. From that point on, Lara had begun to keep her own journal, recording her impressions of events so that there might be at least one independent chronicle.

Several years ago, after completing their cultural and historical instruction, Lara and five fellow students-all considered audacious by their conservative instructors-had left Kandor to see the long-abandoned places for themselves. Among their group was an opinionated young woman named Aethyr-Ka, the rebellious child of a n.o.ble family.

On their expedition, the group had been rained on, and some of the mapped ”roads” had turned out to be little more than quagmires of mud. Paths were overgrown with foliage. The marshes were infested with biting insects-not at all like the romantic glory Lara had seen in legendary images or read about in poem cycles. She and her companions had trekked out to the Valley of Elders and stood at the intersection of two rivers where Kol-Ar, Pol-Us, and Sor-El had fas.h.i.+oned the resolution that turned Krypton forever away from the dangers of ambition and greed.

While Lara had stared awestruck, Aethyr had simply shaken her head. ”So this is where it all began. This is the place we should blame.”

”Blame?” Lara had asked. ”This is where we gave up all warfare, all violence and death.”

”We gave up a lot more than that. Have you looked at the n.o.ble families lately? Have you studied Kryptonian history over the past several centuries?”

”Of course I have!”

”Then you can explain in a sentence everything we've achieved since proclaiming our society 'perfect.' Stagnant, more like!”

”What about...Jor-El? Think of all that he's accomplished.” Even years ago, Lara had been fascinated by the great scientist.

”The exception proves the rule, dear Lara,” Aethyr said with a superior expression. ”You can think of only one man who embodies Kryptonian ideals anymore. Our n.o.ble families have become decadent and lazy.”

”I'm not,” Lara had said.

Aethyr chuckled. ”Neither am I. Perhaps the two of us will set a new standard for our generation.”

Now, sitting alone and staring at the blank twelfth obelisk, Lara thought again about that journey to the Valley of Elders. She still had her detailed record of the trip, what they had seen, descriptions of how it felt to be surrounded by the immensity of true history. Jor-El's ancient ancestor had been revered, but Sor-El was long in the past; modern-day Kryptonians were far more interested in gossiping about how his father had lost his mind to the Forgetting Disease and fallen from grace. It was terribly unfair. Lara hoped that, in some small measure, her work would begin to turn opinion around for old Yar-El.

Her mother startled her, coming up close behind. ”You're daydreaming.”

”An artist doesn't daydream. An artist simply waits to be inspired.”