The Last Days of Krypton - Kevin J. Anderson [14]
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 secret. 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