The Lord of Opium

Matt ran to the window and signaled for the others to stay back. He saw the shadow of several hovercrafts pass overhead. He heard the clap of stun guns, more machine-gun fire, then silence. They waited. “It came from the direction of the observatory,” said Matt.

“Closer than that.” Sor Artemesia shivered. They waited for a long time, and no more sounds came. Matt ventured into the hallway and found it deserted.

“I took Fidelito to a place of safety,” said Sor Artemesia. “I tried to bring Listen, but she wouldn’t leave Mbongeni. Chacho and Ton-Ton are okay as long as they stay in Ajo.”

“You seem to have expected trouble,” said Matt.

“Let’s just say I know Dr. Rivas. We should take María away. I don’t trust him.”

They unpinned the altar cloth and eased María out of bed. Her legs gave out when she tried to stand, and they had to support her. “I wish we could get one of those little stirabouts,” she said. “I remember floating around the gardens in one.”

“We’re less noticeable on foot,” said Matt, remembering the shadows of large hovercrafts overhead.

Half-filled coffee cups sat on the nurses’ desks, and half-eaten sandwiches had been knocked to the floor. The station had been abandoned in a hurry. They collected a full thermos of coffee and unopened packages of cookies.

“Why don’t we go to the holoport room and call Mother?” suggested María.

“Later,” said Matt. The sooner they got under cover, the better. Sor Artemesia led them along a stream in a direction Matt hadn’t been before. For a while María had to lean on the others, but she recovered swiftly. She looked around eagerly and chattered about how happy she was to be here. Matt didn’t tell her about Dr. Rivas. Sycamores twisted white branches over the path, and cottonwoods whispered among themselves. The shadows of birds followed them as they traveled.

The Paradise hospital and observatory were the most advanced of their kind in the world. Yet a short walk took you into a world that looked as though it hadn’t been disturbed since the beginning of time. Pronghorn antelope and white-tailed deer swiveled their ears toward the travelers. A coyote slipped into tall grass, and Matt saw his yellow eyes peering at them through the leaves. He reminded the boy of Cienfuegos.

A fork-tailed hawk crested the trees in search of prey, and a family of quail sat as still as a painting in the dappled shade of a bush. Nothing was unduly alarmed by the people moving through their domain. The animals were cautious, as they would have been with one another, but not frightened. They had not been hunted for a century.

Matt saw a white building with stained-glass windows beyond a woven fence of reeds. “Is that a church?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” said Sor Artemesia with a crooked smile. “It’s the chapel of Jesús Malverde.”

There had been a small shrine in Ajo and near the nursery in Paradise, but this was a building as big as a church. A long room had pews on either side and an altar at the end. Storerooms and a kitchen were separate from the main chapel. This was a serious meeting place, and Matt wondered what sort of rituals were performed for a saint who answered the prayers of drug dealers. Stained-glass windows showed Malverde standing in a marijuana patch, giving money to the poor, casting blindness on a troop of narcotics agents, and warning a drug mule to flee.

The altar was covered with silver charms, candles, and gifts like the one in Ajo. On a dais behind it was the saint himself, sitting in a chair. A cactus wren had made a nest in the timbers over his head, and wisps of grass had fallen onto Jesús Malverde’s black hair.

This was a far better statue than the other ones Matt had seen. The saint’s hair was carefully combed, and his face was painted with care. He wore a white shirt and bandanna. His trousers were black and his shoes were polished and expensive-looking. In one hand he held a bag of money. In the other was a sheaf of dollar bills. At his feet was a carpet of gold coins.

“María!” squealed Fidelito, popping up from behind a pew. The little boy ran up and hugged her. “I was so worried about you. Are you all waked up? Did you see things when you flew through the wormhole?”

But María couldn’t tell him, because she had no memory of it.

“Be gentle with her, chico. She’s been ill,” said Sor Artemesia, untangling the little boy’s arms.

“Where’s Listen? I found dolls at the back of the altar. She’d like them.”