The Lord of Opium

I’m trying to show you how to save money, Celia had explained. That’s how people get rich. But money wasn’t used in Opium, and Matt had preferred to roll the coins around until they were lost down cracks in the floor.

“What you see is the Sky Village,” said Cienfuegos. “Long ago astronomers lived here, and each of them had his own observatory. When El Patrón took over, he built his own observatory, larger and more powerful than anyone else’s. He bought a giant telescope that he said could see all the way around the universe and look at the back of your neck.”

“Don’t . . . understand,” Matt said. It was hard enough to think without puzzles like that.

“El Patrón didn’t either,” said the jefe. “He was repeating what some scientist told him. He must have had a good reason to build the observatory, because it cost him a quarter of his fortune.”

“Maybe . . . ” Matt swallowed. His fever must be going up again, because when he blinked he saw lights flashing. “Maybe . . . he was looking for heaven.”

Cienfuegos chuckled. “If he found heaven, you can bet the angels were out building fences to keep him away. I’ll tip slightly so you can see the trees as we go into the mountains.”

Scrubby mesquite and cholla gave way to juniper and oak, and then to pine. Cliffs rose on either side, with folded rocks and caves in which anything might hide. A flock of brightly colored parrots went by. The hovercraft was getting lower as they followed a road with a stream at its side. A mule deer looked up from drinking.

“There it is,” said the jefe. In the middle of the wilderness was a fabulous mansion, with many outbuildings extending under trees on either side. It was so cleverly built of native rock that at first it looked like part of the mountain. Only up close could you see verandas and reflecting pools and gardens. “El Patrón loved this place. He sometimes said, ‘If there is Paradise on Earth, it is here, it is here, it is here.’ That’s a quote from an ancient Indian emperor. The old man could surprise you with what he knew, but then he had a hundred and forty-six years to learn. Anyhow, that’s why this place is called Paradise.”

The hovercraft set down as delicately as a feather, and at once men in green scrubs ran out. They unloaded Matt and carried him to one of the outbuildings. In an instant he was moved from a cool, pine-smelling forest to a bed in a place filled with the odors of medicine and antiseptics. He tensed up. He couldn’t help it. Hospitals had never been good to him.

An older man in a lab coat appeared and felt Matt’s head. “Por Dios, Cienfuegos! Why hasn’t anyone treated this boy?”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Rivas,” said the jefe. “We don’t have anyone left at the Ajo hospital except a nurse called Fiona.”

Dr. Rivas gave a barking laugh. “Fiona! She’s no nurse. She was in charge of sterilizing equipment. She must have taken advantage of the situation and put on a uniform.”

“You don’t say! She stitched up my arm.”

“You’re lucky not to have gangrene,” said the doctor. “Well, let’s look at you, chico. Where does it hurt?”

“Uh, Dr. Rivas. This is the new patrón.”

The doctor flinched as though he’d been shot. “This child? How is it possible? Nobody told me.”

“He was, uh, he was . . . ” Cienfuegos trailed off.

“A clone,” Matt finished for him.

A look of wonder crossed the doctor’s face. “This is the one I remember. I thought he’d been harvested.” He touched Matt’s head again very gently. “Let’s get you better before I go off on a tangent.” He opened Matt’s shirt and pressed his fingers on the boy’s chest. “Look, Cienfuegos. That’s classic. The skin is red as though scalded, and when I take my fingers away, you can see a white imprint for a few seconds. His lymph nodes are swollen. I’ll bet your throat’s sore, mi patrón. God, it feels strange to call a child patrón.”

Matt smiled weakly. He wasn’t upset that the doctor had called him a child.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Cienfuegos.

“Scarlet fever. I haven’t seen a case for years and certainly never expected it in”—he paused—“someone so heavily immunized.”

“The patrón accessed the holoport twice and fine-tuned the border once in little more than a day,” said the jefe. “I thought that the scanner might have weakened his immune system.”