The Lord of Opium

Cienfuegos had been correct about Esperanza. She seemed to have forgotten about Major Beltrán’s existence and had little interest in anything besides the plant and animal samples. Matt managed one unsatisfactory meeting with María, with her mother present, and called the girl his novia openly. Esperanza only gave him a tight smile that reminded him of a sprung mousetrap.

As for Cienfuegos, he was short-tempered for reasons Matt couldn’t discover. The man was never rude, and yet the boy sensed a gathering tension. It worried him, and finally he approached Celia about it.

“He’s being foolish,” Celia said. “He knew what Dr. Rivas would do when the new staff arrived.”

“Dr. Rivas was going to train them,” said Matt. “Is there something else I should know about?”

“Oh, dear,” said Celia, putting down the soup ladle she was holding and wiping her hands on her apron. “New staff can’t just be turned loose in Opium.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt had the queasy feeling that things had moved out of his control.

“Remember what I said about the bodyguards and Farm Patrolmen being microchipped?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t tell Dr. Rivas to alter their brains!” cried Matt in horror.

“They’re violent men,” Celia said. “El Patrón said that chipping them was no different from a rancher turning bulls into steers. Left alone, bulls fight, and it’s dangerous for anyone around them. That’s why Major Beltrán had to die. He intended to kill you when he discovered you were the only Alacrán left. Cienfuegos understood.”

“You knew about the murder! You were in favor of it!” Matt was astounded. This was the woman who had sung him lullabies when he was a small child, but who had also coldly watched El Patrón die.

“I may be only a cook, but I’ve been close to the center of power for fifteen years,” said Celia. “You don’t rule a country by being weak. Thousands have died in Opium and will keep on dying if we don’t do something. The drug trade is too powerful to stop without shedding blood. God will forgive us our sins if we manage to stamp it out.”

Matt sat down, feeling that the room had suddenly filled with shadows. El Patrón had shot down a passenger plane to avert a war. Esperanza felt righteous about killing the eejits in Cocaine. Dr. Rivas held poor Mbongeni hostage to fend off Glass Eye. Where did it all end? How much wickedness could you do in the service of good before it turned into pure evil?

“Cienfuegos blames me for microchipping the new bodyguards,” said Matt.

“He’s too personally involved,” Celia said.

“What, exactly, is the effect of the process on him?” Matt asked.

The woman frowned. “You know the chips keep him from harming you or leaving the country. They also forbid him to feel pity or love.”

Matt thought about the jefe’s reaction to Listen’s tears. The man had clearly wanted to comfort the little girl, but he dared not do it. If he had touched her, what would have happened? Would he have doubled up in agony as he had when he attacked Matt?

“Cienfuegos is a very unusual man,” concluded Celia after a moment’s thought. “He fought like a tiger when the Farm Patrol first caught him. Very strong-minded people have more resistance to the microchips.”

Without being asked, she dished up a bowl of soup for Matt and set out bread still warm from the oven. The boy wished she would sit with him, but Celia no longer thought it was proper. He ate without much appetite. Cienfuegos did care about people, Matt thought. He liked Listen, pest though she was, and he was upset about the new bodyguards. It was there under the surface, and it was driving him mad.

Matt finished his meal with dulce de leche ice cream covered in marshmallow sauce. How Fidelito would like that when he arrived! The thought cheered Matt up, and he made plans to find more things to delight the little boy.

“By the way, you don’t have to keep paying the doctors and nurses those outrageous salaries,” said Celia, removing his dishes to the sink. “They’ve been microchipped too. You can’t have people who hold the power of life and death out of control either.”

*  *  *

Matt eagerly watched the train cross the border on the holoport screen. Workers unloaded suitcases and carried them to waiting hovercrafts. Wonderful, magical passengers disembarked and stretched their legs in the shimmering desert heat. First a group of musicians, five men and one woman, got out, carrying their instruments. They removed their coats and looked around to see what must have been a land of fables to them, a zombie kingdom ruled by an ancient vampire. They wouldn’t realize that the workers around them were zombies.