The Last Days of Krypton - Kevin J. Anderson [30]
While on approach to the lovely city, which sparkled with lights in the darkness, he considered calling for a medical team to meet him on the landing pad. His burns were excruciating, and he could feel hardened pebbles of lava inside the meat of his arm and his left side. But Zor-El did not want his people to see him staggering and weak, hauled off to a hospital. During the return flight across the ocean, he had used the medkit in the cockpit to apply basic first aid.
Landing at night, he left his ash-dusted craft on an empty pad not far from his villa and staggered away before anyone could see him. With unsteady but determined steps, he headed toward his wife, his home. Just smelling the cool, salty air that blew in from the ocean rejuvenated him.
Chains of lights looped between the graceful spires of the five golden bridges that connected the peninsula to the mainland. From the terminus of the bridges, roads led out to the farmlands, the mountains, and the lake district. Cross-country highways led off to Borga City, Ilonia, Orvai, Corril, Kandor, and other villages and mountain communities.
But nothing could compare with Argo City. The Kandor snobs could have their capital, as far as he was concerned. Here the warm, tropical climate made for pleasant days and balmy nights. Ocean mists rolled in regularly to irrigate the lush plant life that graced the streets, buildings, and arboretums. He loved it here.
The city’s circulatory system—a network of glassy-smooth irrigation canals—carried as much traffic as did the paved streets and pedestrian paths. At regular intervals, small bridges arched over the flowing water; each bridge was owned, tended, and decorated by a different family. Hanging vines, flowers, and berries adorned every structure. The city itself—his city—gave Zor-El strength.
He walked through darkness to his villa with its colonnaded entrance and Alura’s two brightly lit geodesic greenhouses. Only a few more steps. His wife was trained well enough in medicine; she could tend him.
He stood at the door, opened it—and somehow she was there to greet him. Alura had shoulder-length black hair even darker than his own, arched eyebrows, and a high forehead, which often showed her focused concentration. Zor-El had always considered her a counterpoint for his passion and energy. Before she could say anything, he collapsed in her arms.
Alura responded in a calm and professional manner, immediately getting to work—exactly as he had known she would react.
“Volcanoes,” he said. “Instability in the core.”
“Quiet, now. Let me tend your injuries. Explanations later.”
“But it’s important…”
Holding him up, she helped him walk down the vine-draped corridors toward their living chambers. “Telling me won’t do any good now. Whatever the emergency is, you’ll have to stay alive to do something about it.” She let him drop onto their foamweave bed as if he were a lightning-struck tree falling in the forest.
Sheets had never felt so cool, and no bed had ever been so comfortable. But the moment the stress and weariness began to drain from his body, the pain of his burns and wounds became paramount. Sweat burst out on his forehead. Zor-El clenched his eyes shut.
Alura leaned over him. Flowers and plants filled the walls, the corners, the alcoves, creating a potpourri of scents. She snatched a smooth, dark-green seedpod from a potted bush and leaned over his face. “Breathe this. Inhale deeply.” She crushed it in her fingertips.
A mist of thin, acrid plant juice sprayed into his sinuses, making him dizzy. “Wait, I must…” Then he couldn’t remember the rest of his sentence, couldn’t speak another word to explain what he had endured. He dropped into an emptiness as black as the lava fields of the southern continent.
Zor-El awoke fuzzy-headed and aching, but much improved. Flower arrangements had been pushed close to the bed—blossoms and aromatic leaves and herbs chosen by Alura for their specific healing properties. He saw coral-colored lilies the size of pillows