The Last Days of Krypton - Kevin J. Anderson [89]
“Do you think Zod has that vision?” Alura asked. “Will he hear you?”
His dark eyebrows drew together skeptically. “I don’t know about Zod. He is intelligent and ambitious, but he’s proved an impediment to progress so many times in the past.”
“Many things have changed…”
“Yes. Let’s hope that his mind has changed.”
He and Alura left the villa and walked together through the bustling streets, along the burbling canals, crossing one ornate pedestrian bridge after another. The center of Argo City had recovered quickly, but still the sounds of construction reverberated everywhere. They passed homes bedecked with beautiful flower vines, multicolored herbs, blossoming ferns, and spore trees. Butterflies and pollinating bees descended in droves, adding a pleasant background hum to the air. For today, at least, nature seemed oblivious to impending geological disasters and alien attacks.
Thin streams cascaded off the sides of buildings, trickling down in small waterfalls to strike fountain basins. Weary people came out to stand on their colonnaded balconies, took seats on stone benches, or leaned up against hedges. Even after the disaster, children still found reasons to play in the streets, resiliently discovering joy in life.
Since Kandor could not possibly be rebuilt, Zor-El considered suggesting that Argo City become Krypton’s new capital, at least in the interim. Though he had no interest in serving as planetary leader, he and the heads of other population centers might provide the basis of a new council. A competent council. Zor-El began to doubt, however, that Commissioner Zod had any inclination to hand over the reins of power. That concerned him.
Instead of delivering ponderous speeches to swelling audiences, Zor-El simply walked through squares and gathering points, talking personally to the people, who listened and helped to spread his words.
“What do we do now, Zor-El? Is there a plan?” called a citizen with long white hair and a clean-shaven face. Zor-El recognized him as a man who designed and built barges.
“Krypton has no capital, no Council, no Temple of Rao.” Zor-El straightened. “But Krypton still has its most important resource—people like you and me. And we have our determination.”
“Is Argo City safe?” called someone else. “What can we do if Brainiac shows up here?”
He nodded sagely. “That is my challenge to you: prepare for the unthinkable. We’ve got to consider the long term. How do we save Krypton? How do we all survive?” Zor-El raised his burned hand as if it were a badge of honor. “Take heart. Argo City will carry the flame now. I’ll remain in contact with my brother Jor-El, and we will get through this.”
As the sun set over the mainland to the west, the sky presented a blazing and colorful spectacle. Every day the dusk grew increasingly beautiful, but Zor-El could think only of more ash, more fire, and more turmoil being thrown into the atmosphere.
CHAPTER 37
While he waited for Aethyr to arrive for their special planning session, Zod stood at the flap of his headquarters tent and looked across the expanse of hastily erected huts in the deepening twilight.
Settling in for what they expected to be long months or years of work, the people had already begun to decorate their shelters with tassels, family symbols, and reflective streamers as a way to defy the grimness all around them. As darkness fell, the many mourners gathered to sing and tell stories in what had become an impromptu tradition. Already numerous ballads and poems had been written about lost loved ones, lionizing the wealth and beauty of Kandor.
Spontaneously, refugees joined with well-meaning volunteers to make pilgrimages to the edge of the crater and throw flowers, ribbons, and other mementos into the deep emptiness. Priests of Rao had set up small temples to attract new worshippers in their prayers to the great red sun. Little