The Lord of Opium

23

THE RUINS OF TUCSON

The new hovercraft was large enough to carry cages of owls as well as Matt, Mirasol, and Listen. Listen planted herself sulkily next to the owls, who watched her with round yellow eyes. She had thrown an unholy fit when informed she was to go to Ajo, and it had taken two eejits to subdue her. Only Dr. Rivas’s command to obey the patrón had made any impression on her. And Matt’s promise to send her back later.

Matt had said nothing to Dr. Rivas about Mirasol. What was the point? The girl hadn’t minded the tacks, and her injuries had been slight. A disinfectant spray, an injection of vitamins, and a few crème caramel custards had put everything right.

Cienfuegos climbed into the pilot’s seat. “You didn’t see much on your way here, mi patrón. Now you can get a better idea of your country.”

They flew down the valley and over the huge observatory. Sunlight glinted off the two telescopes, and soon they were traveling north to go around the mountains. “I could fly over them, but there are dangerous downdrafts in the canyons,” said the jefe.

Matt looked out the window, entranced. The other times he’d been in hovercrafts, he’d been either sick or scared. Now he watched the landscape unroll beneath him. Here and there were the ruins of abandoned houses or the sketchy marks of agriculture gone back to the wild. After a while he saw a large town that had been deserted. “That’s Willcox,” said Cienfuegos.

“Where did the people go?” Matt wondered.

“When the Dope Confederacy was established, people were moved either to the United States or Aztlán,” the jefe explained. “It wasn’t a peaceful transition. Thousands died in the conflict.”

“¡Por Dios!” exclaimed Matt. “Why did the governments allow that?”

“The governments had no control. Drug lords battled homeowners; homeowners fought back. The armies of Aztlán and the United States moved inhabitants who cooperated, but the system broke down in many places. It was a bloody time.”

“Was it worth it?”

“For the drug lords, very much so,” said Cienfuegos. “As for Aztlán and the United States, they experienced a few drug-free years. In the long run, who can say whether it was worth it? Allowing Opium to return to the wild preserved the ecosystem. Throughout history there have been disasters that have had beneficial results. Bubonic plague killed a third of the people in Europe, but it destroyed the old governments and allowed their citizens to gain freedom. The result was a burst of creativity and prosperity never seen before.”

“Dr. Rivas has a supply of plague germs frozen in his fridge,” Listen revealed, having gotten over her tantrum. “He’s got smallpox and cholera, too. He spanked me hard when I opened the door.”

“Now I know he’s one of the villains. Show me which fridge the next time we go to Paradise and I’ll blowtorch it,” said Cienfuegos. She stuck her tongue out at him.

They flew over another deserted town called Benson. It was crossed by a meandering stream that sparkled in the light. “That’s the San Pedro River,” said the jefe. “Not long ago it was dry, but with the people gone, the water isn’t being sucked away.” Cottonwoods filled the river valley, and the ground was covered in tall grass. Suddenly, a large catlike creature emerged from the grass and bent down to drink from the stream. It was followed by four adults and four cubs.

“That’s a lion!” cried Matt.

“Well, what do you know? They’ve spread from Tucson,” Cienfuegos said, pleased.

“Lions don’t live here!”

Listen got up and peered out the window. “Looks like they do,” she observed.

“They broke out of the zoo during the fighting,” said the jefe, “along with a lot of other animals. The elephants didn’t do well, and the hippos died from lack of water, but there’s still quite a wildlife population around Tucson. In winter they stay close to the nuclear power plant, where it’s warm. Some of the lions have adapted to the cold and moved away.”

Matt saw a herd of antelopes grazing along an old road. “We can collect some of these for Esperanza,” he said. “She won’t believe what we’ve got here.”

“Let’s keep it our little secret, in case we need to negotiate with her,” advised Cienfuegos.

As they went on, Matt saw more greenery and more animals. There were large stretches of desert covered with saguaro, paloverde, and ocotillo, but between them were green valleys where water ran. Clusters of deserted adobe buildings appeared, and rusting metal dwellings that Cienfuegos said were called trailers. The dead city of Tucson loomed ahead with skyscrapers like the ones Matt had seen in Aztlán, only these stood against a bright-blue desert sky, not the polluted air to the south.

To the north were two gigantic power plants, one nuclear and the other a cold-fusion energy producer. By the nuclear plant was a large lake surrounded by reeds and waterbirds.

“Are the power plants deserted too?” Matt asked.

“Oh, no,” said the jefe. “El Patrón had them built. This is where Opium gets its power. Most of it goes to protect the border. We’ll land here to recharge our antigravity pods.” They floated down to a large hovercraft port and clamped onto one of the magnetic strips.

Immediately, men swarmed out of a nearby building. “I’ve alerted them to our arrival,” said Cienfuegos.

He stepped out, and the men snapped to attention. “At ease, amigos. I bring you our new patrón. Try to look fierce,” he said in a lower tone to Matt.

As Matt stepped out, a cheer went up from the men. “¡Viva! ¡Viva El Patrón!”

“I’m not El Patrón,” Matt whispered.

“Oh, but you are,” said the jefe. “You’re the old man reborn. I’ve watched you develop these past weeks. You were nervous at first, but the power grows in you. You’ll make a fine drug lord.”

“I’m not—”

“Walk past them into the building,” said Cienfuegos. “Don’t wave. They don’t expect it. There’s a lunch waiting for us inside.” Matt, feeling uneasy, did his best to look tall and fierce as he went past the cheering men. Mirasol walked obediently at his side, and Listen followed with her head held high, as though she were already a drug queen. Inside was a table covered with a white tablecloth and bowls of food. Three places were set.

“What about Mirasol?” asked Matt.

“She will serve you,” said the jefe. “You can’t be seen treating an eejit as an equal.”

“Oh boy! Apple pie!” said Listen as her eyes lit on the dessert.

“Wait until you’re served,” Cienfuegos ordered. First Matt, then the jefe, and then Listen were given potato salad, fried chicken, and candied yams by Mirasol. She filled their plates until told to stop. When she cut pieces of pie, Listen demanded three slices, but Cienfuegos stopped her at two.

“I want ice cream and lots of it,” said Listen.

After the meal, various men came up and offered their greetings to Matt. They were all Farm Patrolmen in charge of supervising the technicians operating the plants.

“Mirasol needs to eat,” Matt said after the introductions were over.

“I’ll order a packed lunch. She can have it while she waits for us in the hovercraft,” said Cienfuegos. “Now we get the grand tour.” A technician guided them through the plants, explaining what each section was for. The man seemed very intelligent, but there was a deadness in his eyes that spoke of some form of control. Most of the workers were robots, but a few human technicians moved among them. They must have been performing jobs that required great skill, yet their faces were just as expressionless as the robots. They didn’t look up as Matt and his companions passed.

“They’re all men,” said Listen.

Matt stopped and looked around. She was right. “Why aren’t there any women?” he asked Cienfuegos.

“El Patrón didn’t think women were smart enough for this kind of work,” said the jefe.

“I could do it,” Listen boasted. “Show me how and I could run the whole damn plant.”

“You can’t even reach the on button,” said Cienfuegos. The technician who was guiding them went back to work, and the jefe led them outside to the lake. Here it was hot and humid, and strange trees formed a dense forest not far away. They were covered with vines, and dark shapes moved restlessly behind shaking leaves. Close by, a bird erupted from the reeds and flew toward them, honking angrily. The jefe caught it before it managed to attack and tossed it back into the lake.

“That’s an Egyptian goose. She must have a nest nearby. Let’s go before she recovers.”

There were many kinds of birds Matt had never seen before living in the marsh. Some had built nests like baskets attached to the reeds. Cienfuegos said they were weaverbirds and came from Africa. “I come from Africa too,” Listen said proudly. In the water itself were catfish with long whiskers, and Matt saw a pair of yellow eyes gazing up at him from green depths.

Cienfuegos hastily pulled him and Listen away from the edge. “I forgot. There are Nile crocodiles in the lake. We lost a technician last year,” he said.

Nile crocodiles? thought Matt. This place was getting more amazing by the minute. When they got to the forest, he saw monkeys slipping through the leaves. Large-billed toucans flapped heavily to keep their balance on the branches, and something howled in the trees beyond. Listen cowered behind Cienfuegos.

“It’s a gibbon,” the jefe said. “Harmless, but noisy. Some of the things here aren’t harmless, though. There are Malayan tigers, African river otters that can take a chunk out of your leg, and Tasmanian devils that will attack anything. I think we should turn back. I’d hate to have to kill anything.”

Matt vowed to return when they didn’t have a little girl to protect. He was enchanted with the lush greenness, the teeming life, the odor of flowers hanging from the trees. “It’s a real jungle,” he exulted. “Did El Patrón know about this?”

“Of course, but he lost interest in it after a while,” said Cienfuegos. “He liked to start things and then move on to something else. Neglect is probably what preserved this place.”

“Did all these animals come from the zoo?” Matt asked.

“Yes, but even more interesting is where the plants came from. We’ll go there next,” said the jefe. They retraced their steps and cut through the nuclear power plant to reach the hovercraft port. On the way they passed a shrine to Jesús Malverde, and Matt saw Farm Patrolmen arranging flowers in front of the statue.

“That looks like you,” said Listen, pointing.

Matt sighed. “It’s a portrait of El Patrón as a young man.”

“There’s a big chapel in the woods near Paradise,” the little girl said. “The nurses were always going out there to worship. Dr. Rivas says that only idiots pray to a chunk of plaster.”

“Dr. Rivas doesn’t know anything about religion,” said Cienfuegos.

“Oh, yes he does. He’s a scientist, and they know everything. Religion is crap,” declared Listen.

“You’re the most obnoxious little brat I’ve ever met.”

“Both of you be quiet,” said Matt, who wanted to savor the memory of the green jungle.

They returned in silence as Cienfuegos and Listen simmered with resentment. From all the crumbs inside the hovercraft, it was clear that Mirasol had fed lavishly. She looked up and—was it possible?—smiled at Matt. The smile was gone as swiftly as it had appeared, and he wasn’t quite sure it had existed.

He sat next to her and let Listen sit in the front. For days at a time he forgot about Mirasol. He was so used to her that she seemed more like a familiar piece of furniture than a person. He took her hand, hoping for a reaction. She let it hang limply in his grasp. Remembering how risky it was to awaken her, he let it fall again.