The Lord of Opium

“They assume I’m in another building,” said the Mushroom Master. “They’re not curious.”

“They think I’m a traveler from Tundra, one of the outer ecosystems,” said the jefe. “Everyone knows Tundrans are idiots, and that excuses the stupid questions I ask.”

“Now, now. Tundrans are children of Gaia,” reproved the Mushroom Master.

“All Gaia’s children are blessed,” the two men chanted in unison, and burst into laughter.

It wasn’t possible to stay angry with them, even though Matt was annoyed at being deceived. El Patrón would have murdered Cienfuegos for less. Yet wasn’t the country’s problem that no one except the old man had been allowed freedom?

It had been El Patrón’s intent to control everyone’s will. From the eejits to the doctors, all had been made part of a monstrous machine. It was a sterile machine, a parasite feeding on the surplus bodies of neighboring countries. There were no families or children. Left alone, it would die.

“I’m glad you decided to help us,” Matt conceded. “Have you tried your mushrooms out near the eejit pens?”

“Just beginning to,” said the Mushroom Master. “We’ve got plastic sheets around the pits and mycelia spreading like bullhead vines underneath. It’s marvelous!”

“Keep the prehumans away, would you, mi patrón?” the jefe said. “We don’t want Fidelito running around covered with spores.”

Matt left the men, laughing and congratulating themselves on their success. He felt deflated by the easy way they had outwitted him, yet he couldn’t argue with the results. He ran his hand over the smooth outer wall of the building. It was made of a photosensitive plastic that darkened in sunlight, ideal for raising mushrooms. It was probably worth half a ton of opium.

Deeply thoughtful, he walked back to the hacienda and encountered Listen and Fidelito in the swimming pool, with Sor Artemesia watching at the side. “What was that building?” called the little girl. “Was it another greenhouse?”

“It was a sewage treatment plant,” Matt said, and went inside.

35

THE EXPIRY DATE

Chacho did not take his father to the greenhouse. Mr. Ortega explained that removing an eejit (or “a man in your father’s condition” as he put it) from his job caused jittering. It was a sign of extreme stress and might actually kill him. This threw Chacho into an even deeper depression. He refused to leave the guitar factory and barely spoke to anyone.

Several days later, after prolonged nagging, Matt let Listen watch Mirasol dance. He turned on the music, and the girl twirled and clapped. She bowed to an invisible partner before moving to the next.

“That’s spooky,” said Listen. “She’s really seeing something.”

“It’s a memory,” Matt said sadly. “Somewhere, the real Mirasol exists where we can’t find her.”

“What if you played the music over and over?” suggested the little girl.

“I’m afraid to. I don’t know how strong she is. She’s past her expiry date.” Too late Matt realized he’d opened the door to something he didn’t want to talk about.

“What’s an expiry date?” asked Listen.

“It means . . . the day something is finished,” Matt said, thinking rapidly. “It means Mirasol has to be repaired, like putting a new battery into a flashlight.”

“So why don’t you fix her?”

Matt wished, not for the first time, that the little girl weren’t so quick to pick up on things. “The doctors are trying to figure out how. It’s part of the microchip problem.”

Listen nodded and fortunately didn’t ask what would happen if Mirasol wasn’t fixed. “How do you know when her expiry date is?”

“It’s printed on the bottom of her foot.”

By now the music had ended. Matt caught Mirasol and eased her to the carpet. Listen got a magnifying glass and inspected the date. She pulled off her shoes and checked her own feet. “Nothing,” she said. “What about you?”

“I have writing,” said Matt. “It got me into a lot of trouble when I was at the plankton factory in Aztlán.” He’d gotten into the habit of talking to the little girl, always being careful not to give her more information than was good for her. Sometimes he forgot she was only seven years old, she was so intelligent, but he knew she wasn’t able to handle many things.

“The Keepers and other boys found out I was a clone. They thought I was lower than the lowest beast . . . except for Chacho, Ton-Ton, and Fidelito. They stood by me.”

“You were like Mbongeni,” said Listen. For a moment she looked sad, and he realized that she missed her playmate. He would have to figure a way to bring them together, minus the Bug. “I saw writing on Mbongeni’s foot,” the little girl said. “I didn’t know what it meant. Can I see yours?”