Part 16 (2/2)

With his other hand, he reached out to clasp Jor-El's fingers and said a slow, breathy word. ”Remember.” The effort took the last sparks of his existence. Yar-El sighed, slumped back into his pillows, and closed his eyes forever.

Zor-El arrived four hours too late in the swift silver flyer that had previously taken him to the southern continent. He and Alura, windblown and exhausted, ran from the clearing where they had landed, but to no avail. As soon as they stepped through the door of the dacha, Zor-El immediately sensed the pall of sadness. He looked at his brother, and Jor-El shook his head.

Yar-El lay at peace on his bed, and his younger son approached tentatively. ”I suppose I mourned him a long time ago,” he said in a rough voice. ”With a mind like his, our father was effectively dead when the Forgetting Disease stole his thoughts.”

The four of them stood together in shared grief while Charys collapsed in a chair, finally letting them see the toll taken by so many years of tending her unresponsive husband. ”That's what I thought, but I was deluding myself. Now that he's gone, all the pain is back, as fresh and sharp as it ever was.” She drew in a long, shuddering breath. ”Now it's as if he died twice, and I've had to endure the same loss both times.”

”He was lucid right at the end. He said something.” Jor-El looked at his brother. ”Remember.” ”Remember.”

Zor-El's dark eyes flashed, bright with a sheen of withheld tears. ”'Remember'? What does that mean?”

”I think he wanted us to do what he could not.” Gazing down at the old man, Jor-El realized how little he knew his own father.

Finding a small reservoir of strength, Charys announced, ”We will hold the funeral at the estate, his original home. That's where he belongs.”

After Yar-El's body was prepared, they returned to the manor house. Memories pressed down upon Jor-El, clear recollections of when his father had been brilliant, how Yar-El had spoken of his hopes for his two sons, how he had trained them both to investigate scientific possibilities and make intuitive leaps that few Kryptonians even attempted.

When Rao was high in the sky, the two brothers carried their father's bier across the estate grounds. Charys led the way in a slow procession with Lara and Alura on either side of their husbands. Jor-El could not help thinking that Yar-El deserved greater fanfare than this, a huge crowd, a funeral parade that wound through the streets of Kandor.

The little group gathered at the small private solar observatory Jor-El had built on a stepped platform behind the estate's main building, where it was unshadowed by trees or lichen towers. Although this was much smaller than the similar facility that had projected a huge orb of Rao atop the Council temple, Jor-El had spent much time here deciphering the star's turbulent flaws. The observatory's mirrors and focusing lenses had been swung aside to leave the projection zone empty. The brothers placed Yar-El's body at the center of the focal s.p.a.ce.

Zor-El delivered a brief eulogy, but his gruff voice cracked, and his words ended quickly. Jor-El stood beside him, summoning his own thoughts, wrestling down the waves of grief. ”Krypton should revere Yar-El for the great things he accomplished and forget his strange fall from grace.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. ”Even though we find that our heroes have feet of clay, we must never forget that they were heroes heroes in the first place.” in the first place.”

He and Zor-El each took one of the alignment rods and swung the curved focusing mirrors into place. As the observatory gathered the light of Rao, they slipped the magnifying lenses into position, removed the filter covers, and stepped back.

A fuzzy image of the red sun formed in the focal zone where Yar-El's body rested; then the image suddenly sharpened into an intense representation of the blazing star. The corona formed, followed by the churning layers of dark sunspots and thundering plasma. The heat condensed in a blinding flash. Yar-El's body vanished into white smoke, entirely disintegrated, becoming one with Rao.

Jor-El's face was dark and troubled. ”Krypton needs us, Zor-El. It's what Father would want. We can't let him down. We can't let Krypton down. You and I know what's happening in our planet's core. The quakes, the tidal waves-it'll only get worse. Now that the Council is gone, you and I have to do something to save the world. Do we have proof to show Commissioner Zod?”

Zor-El's expression hardened. ”I recently received word from my survey team. One member was killed in a fresh round of eruptions, but the others are returning with a complete set of data from the network of sensors they deployed.” He pressed his lips together. ”Soon we will know for certain.”

CHAPTER 41.

By the time Zod returned from Xan City, satisfied and enthusiastic with his new plans, many of Krypton's ambitious younger n.o.bles had arrived at the camp. They came to deliver extravagant loads of supplies or to volunteer for the work of constructing a new city or memorial. Back in their decadent, sprawling households, these young men had nothing significant to do. from Xan City, satisfied and enthusiastic with his new plans, many of Krypton's ambitious younger n.o.bles had arrived at the camp. They came to deliver extravagant loads of supplies or to volunteer for the work of constructing a new city or memorial. Back in their decadent, sprawling households, these young men had nothing significant to do.

Some of them were bleeding hearts who wrung their hands in misery at the loss of the Council and dreamed only of restoring Krypton to what it had once been. Zod had no interest in people like that. Aethyr, fortunately, pointed out others who were much more likely to serve him.

”For someone who doesn't bother with internal politics and household rivalries,” Zod observed with an amused smile, ”you certainly know a lot about the n.o.ble family members.”

”I know a great deal about anyone who thinks along similar lines as I do. Koll-Em even tried to overthrow his brother not long ago-a botched attempt, but it shows how he thinks. He was banished from Borga City, and now he's here. Many more of the younger sons and daughters played their roles as dutiful children, but it was all an act. You'd be astonished at the depths of hatred some of them have toward their elder, privileged siblings. And we can turn that to our advantage. We have to. You and I won't succeed without their strength and support.”

Zod sent out a discreet invitation to seventeen of the most ambitious younger sons, as chosen by Aethyr. Putting the pieces in place. He met his special guests at the broken rim of the crater at dawn. The edge dropped off into a debris slope before plunging steeply into emptiness and the smoky unseen bottom of the pit. Nam-Ek stood behind the group, an intimidating presence.

Seventeen candidates: some eager, others skeptical, all curious. Zod observed them. Sharp-featured Koll-Em. No-Ton, a n.o.ble son who had studied science and engineering (not remotely comparable to Jor-El, but useful nonetheless). Vor-On, the eager sycophant who had tried to curry the Commissioner's favor at the chariot races. Mon-Ra, Da-Es, Ran-Ar, and others whose names he did not know yet. And of course, Aethyr.

These were talented men willing to break rules, those who had either bypa.s.sed family expectations and made something of themselves or chafed at restrictions and had every reason to despise the placid order of old Krypton. They had spent their lives being told what they couldn't do.

Many of them were barely out of their teens, with fire in their blood. What they lacked in experience and reasonable caution they made up for with radical enthusiasm. They were young enough to be naive, convinced of their own righteousness, never imagining that their closely held beliefs might be wrong. They were perfect for what Zod had in mind.

At a glance, he could see that some were doubtful that Commissioner Zod would be any different from previous government officials-skeptical, just as Aethyr had originally been. He simply smiled at them. ”The old Council is gone, and so is our old way of life. Not one of you will mourn that. Do not pretend otherwise.” He could tell by their shocked expressions that he had grabbed their attention. ”In order to achieve my goals, I need a cadre of close advisers to stand with me as I do what must be done, for Krypton's sake. Will you listen to what I have to say?”

The younger n.o.bles glanced at one another, some muttering questions while others remained silent. Koll-Em said brashly, ”It does no harm for us to hear you out.”

”No one's ever taken us seriously before,” Mon-Ra added. He had a well-muscled body, created by physical sculpting rather than hard labor.

”Come, let us descend a ways into the crater.” Zod gestured to the sharp drop-off and the uneven switchbacked path Aethyr had marked out.

She stepped up to the lip. ”The Commissioner needs you to touch what actually happened here. Feel it viscerally, grasp the power of one evil alien who uprooted a city and left a hole halfway through the crust. Make yourselves different from those who issue p.r.o.nouncements while they sit in comfort halfway across the continent.”

”Like my brother.” Koll-Em's voice dripped with loathing.

”Down in the crater? crater?” Vor-On said, alarmed. Only a moment ago, he had been bursting with excitement at the thought of being part of the Commissioner's inner circle.

”I have no use for timid advisers, Vor-On. You are welcome to stay in the camp with the other manual laborers.”

The young man swallowed hard. ”No, no. I'll come...if the rest of you do.” He looked around. His square-cut hair no longer looked terribly stylish.

Zod took the first step onto the crumbling slope. Pebbles skittered downward, but he found solid footing. ”Aethyr explored our route last night. It may be difficult going, but if a simple hike is beyond your abilities, you are not the people I am looking for.”

None of the seventeen turned down the offer.

Aethyr led the group, picking her way from boulder to boulder, sliding on loose dirt, holding on to outcroppings. Some of the ground had been fused into gla.s.sy patches by Brainiac's powerful cutting beams. They scrambled deeper and deeper until they were far from the lip, away from the edge and any possible spies. Nam-Ek's burly silhouette waited for them on top.

Down here, the air smelled of sulfur and steam, foul water and bitter dust. Zod's hands were dirty and sore from gripping sharp-edged stones as he worked his way down. One tall, loose-limbed man, Da-Es, slipped and stumbled, dropping almost two meters before Aethyr snagged his tunic and stopped his fall. Da-Es regained his composure and brushed himself off. He looked with scorn at his torn clothing, a smear of blood, the sc.r.a.pes and bruises.

”And? Do you want to return, climb up to the top?” Zod prodded him.

”My ego is more bruised than my body is,” Da-Es said. ”I want to hear why you've gone to such great lengths so no one will overhear us.”

After a quarter of an hour of climbing, they reached a shelf of rock. Zod and Aethyr waited as all seventeen gathered on the stable ledge or balanced on rocky protrusions slightly above.

”As you can guess,” Zod began, ”this is not the sort of meeting where we serve refreshments or adhere to rules of order. This is a war council.” The young men looked surprised; some nodded grimly. ”Krypton is at war, not just against alien invaders like Brainiac, but also against those of our own people who would keep our great civilization stagnant, as in the old days.”

Most of the seventeen muttered in agreement, Koll-Em the loudest.

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