The Last Days of Krypton - Kevin J. Anderson [57]
“And how soon will we know if my brother’s concerns are justified?” Jor-El added, looking at the blue-skinned alien. “Another day. Two at the most. We are putting our fullest effort into this task.”
“I can see that.” He came to a decision. “Then, since I have the full authority of the Council”—he withdrew the pretentious writ Jul-Us had given him—“I would like to remain here and be a part of the test.”
Jor-El was taken aback. He considered the Commissioner with more than a hint of suspicion. “You are welcome to stay at my estate for the next day or so, provided you do not interfere. We have important work, and the Commission did ask me to provide them with proof of the danger in the core.”
“If it exists.”
“It exists.”
“I would not dream of interfering. I will simply watch. You will barely even know I am here.”
As the two worked, they ignored the Commissoner’s presence. He didn’t mind. He watched the scientist and the alien continue to modify their frivolous, flashy device. They shared insights about theoretical physical principles that went far above Zod’s head.
Meanwhile, Nam-Ek waited dutifully by the vehicle, but Zod would find him a place to sleep. Jor-El would pay even less attention to Zod’s burly bodyguard, and that was good.
The young artist, Lara, daughter of Lor-Van, was also there at the estate, supposedly completing a project. She seemed oddly out of place as she watched, mystified by what Jor-El and Donodon were doing. She acknowledged Zod with a nod, but he paid little attention to her.
Within a few hours, he had already seen what he needed and had already decided what he wanted Nam-Ek to do. It was swift and impulsive…and decisive.
No one on the Council could suspect his plan. The big mute would do the difficult work, and he would do it well. The Commissioner had seen a way to remove the potential problem, as well as to increase his own control of the situation…and of Krypton itself.
CHAPTER 24
Returning home, Zor-El drew a deep, exhilarating breath of Argo City’s salty air. He stood on the central golden bridge that spanned the bay separating the peninsula from the mainland, letting traffic flow around him. Once again, he did not want to call attention to his arrival. Doing so would mean having to admit that his warning to the Council had been ignored.
Great pillars in the seabed supported the long bridge above the water. Looking south, he could see another bridge farther down the coast and then, at the tail end of the peninsula, the misty outline of the last bridge. To the north he could see two other bridges, five in all.
Long ago, the Argo City elders had launched a competition: The greatest architects would present their best bridge designs, and judges would decide which were the most beautiful, the most durable, the most innovative. Five of the proposed structures were so magnificent that the elders could not choose; they decided to give no prizes, but to erect all of the bridges as testaments to Kryptonian ingenuity.
As Zor-El walked across the span, he admired the calm waters of the bay, the glorious towers of Argo City, the lacy suspension cables of the bridges. A knot formed in his stomach. If the strange pressure buildup in the core continued unabated, all this would be destroyed—and soon.
Alura was waiting for him in the villa, and her expression told him that she already guessed how the Council had responded. “Jor-El agrees that the readings indicate a very real danger,” he said, “but the Council refuses to consider the problem until I provide them with more extensive data.”
She stroked his long, dark hair. “Then that is what we must do.”
“I know, and it will be a large project. I tried to convince the leader of Borga City to offer his assistance, strictly as a gesture of support, but he was preoccupied with his own internal matters.”
“So we’ll just have to do it ourselves.”
“Yes. I expect to mount