It’s not safe here, he thought to himself. Now that he had a child—a son—he was more determined than ever to live until he had accomplished what was necessary. The sooner we are gone, the better our chances.
Looking out over the edge of the terrace, he peered many stories down to the streets and plazas below. No mortal being could survive such a jump, at least not on Krypton, so the only way out was up. Jor-El turned his face toward the sky and shouted at the top of his lungs.
“H’Raka!”
He briefly feared that the furious fighting had chased the war-kite away, but then H’Raka descended onto the terrace, her gossamer wings buzzing. Like all domesticated lifeforms—which were the only sort left on Krypton—the hybrid creature was both genetically engineered and cybernetically enhanced. Large enough to carry one or more adult Kryptonians, H’Raka set down in front of her master.
Wide gray eyes gazed out from above her rounded muzzle. Two pairs of veined, membranous wings sprouted from her sleek grey form, which she owed to chromosomes extracted from an extinct aquatic mammal. Computerized implants, melded to her nervous systems, augmented her natural reflexes and navigational abilities. A saddle, equipped with a rear robotic docking cradle, was strapped to the war-kite’s back.
H’Raka yipped in greeting.
Good girl, Jor-El thought. Thanks for waiting.
He hastily climbed into the saddle, even as Kelex secured himself to the docking cradle. As soon as the robot clicked into place, Jor-El urged H’Raka to take flight.
Wings buzzing, the war-kite soared into the sky, carrying her passengers away from the Council tower. They glided over the besieged city, zig-zagging through a firestorm of flying plasma bursts. Repeated salvoes sprayed across the sky like torrents of liquid fire. H’Raka took evasive action, hoping to avoid being caught in a crossfire, but there was little safety to be found anywhere.
Panicked civilians ran for cover in the avenues and arteries below even as crashing aircraft and falling debris rained havoc on the capital. Emergency sirens keened loudly, competing with the gunfire, explosions, and screams. The air reeked of smoke and burning organics. It was as though the barbaric wars of ages past had returned with a vengeance.
Despite his own desperate situation, Jor-El couldn’t help viewing the widespread carnage with dismay. This was no way for Krypton to end her days…
A salvo of blazing plasma burned through the acrid fumes directly ahead, close enough that he could feel the scorching heat against his face. H’Raka banked sharply to one side to avoid the blast, and only a safety strap kept Jor-El from being spilled from the saddle. He held onto the gilded pommel with both hands, trusting in the creature’s speed and agility to get them through intact. A hot wind blew against his face, assaulting him with the stink of war. The smoke stung his eyes.
The screams of the dying assailed his ears.
Damn you, Zod! This wasn’t necessary!
The tumultuous ride seemed likely to end abruptly at any moment, but at last they left behind the administrative district—and the bulk of the fighting. Jor-El let out a sigh of relief as the heart-rending tumult receded into the distance. He could still hear it, like the thunder of a nearby storm, but, for the moment at least, Krypton was tearing itself apart without him.
Perhaps all was not yet lost.
He longed to fly straight back to Lara and their newborn, but he had one vital errand to which he had to attend. So he steered H’Raka toward the outskirts of the city—where the Genesis Chambers awaited.
The immense complex, which had birthed every living Kryptonian for countless generations, rose up from the earth like the gnarled trunk of a colossal tree, hundreds of lengths in diameter. Sturdy black branches, each one the size of a palace watchtower, extended out from the central hub. Pools of rippling iridescent fluid glistened atop each hollow spire, reflecting the fading sunlight.
H’Raka circled above the Genesis Chambers while Jor-El cautiously scanned the awesome vista from above. To his relief, the automated complex appeared unguarded. He guessed that all of the government’s defense forces were currently engaged in combat with the insurgents.
He smiled wryly.
Maybe Zod’s deranged insurrection was well-timed after all.
Not that any sane Kryptonian ever would have dreamed of trespassing here—at least not before today. The Genesis Chambers provided life and continuity to their entire civilization. Every single Kryptonian, whether rebel or loyalist, owed their very existence to this place. Who but a madman would dare to tamper with it?
Who indeed?
He took one last aerial survey of the scene before guiding H’Raka down to the nearest spire. The war-kite alighted on the basin’s outer lip, which was wide enough to support her. Dismounting, Jor-El peered down into the bottomless depths of the pool. Kelex detached himself from the saddle and joined Jor-El at the water’s edge. The robot probed the shimmering liquid with his sensors.
“Can you see the Codex?” Jor-El asked.
Hours earlier he had attempted to access the schematics of the Genesis Chambers, but that information had been restricted. There was a time when his status as Krypton’s leading scientist might have opened doors, but that was before he staked his reputation on a “controversial” theory that few on Krypton were willing to accept. Nowadays he was regarded as far too radical to be trusted.
“It’s just below the central hub, sir,” the ’bot replied. “But I am compelled to warn you. Breaching the Genesis Chambers is a Class-B crime, punishable by—”
“No one cares any more, Kelex,” Jor-El said. “The world is ending.” He turned toward his mount and gently stroked the beast’s muzzle. “Stay, H’Raka.”
The war-kite purred her assent.
Jor-El approached the edge of the pool. He took a deep breath, as much to steady his nerves as to fill his lungs, and dived headfirst into the hollow shaft at the center of the spire. Amniotic fluid, heated to body temperature, enveloped him as he swam down the length of the spire into a sprawling, liquid-filled complex. An eerie phosphorescence lit the shaft, suffusing the briny fluid with a faint green glow. He kept his eyes open as he swam, taking in sights few Kryptonians had ever been privileged to see.
Gestating embryos grew inside transparent globular sacs that sprouted like buds along branching stems that combined elements of both plant and animal life. Pink and translucent, their tiny hearts already pulsing with life, the infants slept within a clear protective gel. The drifting stems, bearing their fetal fruit, extended for as far as the eye could see, growing an entire generation of future Kryptonians according to the precise and exacting specifications of the Codex.
Krypton had long ago abandoned the unpredictability of sexual reproduction—with its reckless pairings and random mixing of chromosomes—in favor of a more orderly and scientific system that allowed for complete control over each child’s genetic makeup and destiny. Nothing was left to chance. Each developing embryo was expressly designed to fulfill his or her preordained role in society—as a worker, warrior, thinker, administrator, or whatever best served the greater good.
The Genesis Chambers were the ultimate expression of Krypton’s rigid caste system, applying advanced genetic engineering to an inviolate tradition that stretched back to antiquity. Jor-El had sprouted from one such stem, many cycles ago, as had Lara, and Zod, and every Kryptonian who currently breathed upon the planet.