The Lord of Opium

25

THE MUSHROOM MASTER

Matt realized that the biosphere was much larger than he’d imagined. There were dozens of buildings, each a mile or more long. If the Scorpion Star was built on this scale, it was no wonder they needed hovercrafts to get around. Most of the regions were named for parts of the world, but a few were labeled WATER, AIR, KITCHEN and, more mysteriously, GAIA’S DOMAIN, DORMANCY, and BRAT ENCLOSURE. The Mushroom Forest was two buildings away. Beyond it was KITCHEN and a small building labeled EXIT.

Northern Europe was so full of trees they couldn’t see the other end of the building for a while, but eventually they came to a long corridor. The air grew warmer and more humid as they walked, and presently they came to the next building, Oceania. Before them lay a wide expanse of water, beside which curved a white sandy beach. The water flowed in and withdrew in a regular rhythm. “Look at that. They’ve found a way to make tides,” said Cienfuegos, pleased.

Listen chased the water as it receded and ran back when it returned. She paddled it with her hands. “It’s salty,” she cried, licking her fingers. Seagulls floated overhead, and farther out, where it was too hazy to see clearly, a shoal of something dimpled the water. “Oh, boy! I could live here forever!” she yelled, dancing on the sand. Cienfuegos watched her for a while and then urged her to move on because they had to finish the visit before nightfall.

They came to a rocky shore full of tide pools. Sea anemones waved as the water washed over them. Large colonies of purple mussels hung from the rocks, and pale green crabs and orange starfish lurked in shadowy pools. Two men were walking slowly along the beach, one of them busily clicking a calculator. “The mussel population is down,” he announced. The other man removed one of the starfish. “Better take a couple of crabs, too,” advised the first. “They’re upsetting the balance.”

The second man dropped the starfish and crabs into a bag tied to his waist. He put his hands together as though praying, and Listen ran up to him. “What are you doing?” she asked. He ignored her, and she tugged at his tunic. “Hey, mister, are you going to eat those animals?”

He looked down, clearly irritated. “You should be in the Brat Enclosure,” he said.

“We’re visitors,” Cienfuegos said quickly. “We’re from outside.”

The two men looked at him as though he were insane. “Nobody lives Outside,” the man with the calculator said.

“There are legends about people who do,” the other argued. “Once I saw a UFO fly overhead.”

“Only bobos believe in UFOs,” sneered the man with the calculator. “You probably believe in the vampire king with his zombie army, too.”

“There’s no reason to be nasty just because I have an open mind.”

Matt trotted ahead, leaving the men to argue, and signaled for the others to follow him. The story of the vampire king was too much like El Patrón for comfort. Listen huffed and puffed after him until they left the rocky shore and came to a mangrove swamp.

Sluggish fish with large fins clustered around the roots. A group of men were hunting them with spears, and a woman warned, “Don’t take more than sixteen.”

When an animal was collected, the hunter folded his hands and said, “Praise Gaia for this gift of food.”

“They are praying,” said Listen.

“They don’t act like scientists,” said Cienfuegos. He glanced up at the ceiling. “We don’t have much time, so let’s keep moving.” Listen said she was tired, and he lifted her to his shoulders. “If you pull my ears, you’re getting dumped,” he warned just as she reached out to do exactly that.

Next was Sub-Saharan Africa. Giant trees, hung with vines, alternated with grasslands dotted with acacia trees. Antelopes lifted their heads and watched as they passed. “Are there lions here?” whispered Listen, as though speaking aloud might attract them.

“I hope not,” said Cienfuegos. “I think the main predator here is man. Dr. Rivas said this place wasn’t an exact copy of the real world, only an ecosystem that could exist permanently on its own. Its purpose was to create the Scorpion Star, and I don’t think they’ve got lions and grizzly bears up there.”

Butterflies as big as Listen’s hand flapped by, and praying mantises the size of mice swayed drunkenly back and forth as they hunted. “So this is Africa.” The little girl sighed. Guinea fowl scrabbled in the underbrush, and three-foot-long lizards flicked their tongues at the intruders. Cienfuegos put the little girl down and warned her not to touch anything without asking first. But he needn’t have worried. The little girl was cowed by the size and variety of animals around her.

A guinea fowl came right up to Matt’s feet and pecked around his toes. “It isn’t afraid,” he said. He bent down to pet it, and it pecked his hand.

A group of women approached them. One consulted a small calculator and said, “Praise Gaia! There are two excess guinea fowl.” Immediately, the others pounced on two birds and wrung their necks.

“Meat!” they exulted, raising their hands to the ceiling. “Meat!” They danced around with the two dead guinea fowls.

“Gaia has given us food,” shouted the woman with the calculator. “Gaia is great!”

“Join with us, Sister,” cried one of the women, taking Mirasol’s hand. The eejit obediently joined the circle and copied what the others were doing.

“Let’s get out of here,” whispered Listen, but Matt hesitated. Mirasol looked no different from the other women, swaying, clapping, and singing praises to Mother Earth. No one had noticed that she wasn’t normal. He wished then that she could stay here forever, but they would soon discover that she could do nothing on her own. He took her hand and led her away.

They hurried through this building because the heat was really unbearable. But the Mushroom Forest was just as warm, and the air was heavy with the smell of fungi. It was also fairly dark. White, brown, orange, and luminous green mushrooms sprouted on every side. A group of teenagers, swathed in gauze masks, were harvesting while others scooped up the soil the plants had grown in.

An old man with white hair rushed up to the visitors. “Hey! You’re not wearing masks.” He thrust four at them. “If you’re not careful, you’ll grow a little mushroom forest of your own inside your lungs.”

“Mil gracias, señor,” said Cienfuegos. “We didn’t know there was a danger.” He quickly fastened a mask over Listen’s nose, and Matt did the same for Mirasol. “This is a most unusual place, sir. I would be most honored if you would tell me about it.”

The white-haired man seemed pleased by his interest. “You are obviously a person of intelligence,” he replied. “These young ones”—he waved his hand at the teenagers—“are newly awakened from Dormancy and have the brains of rabbits. Not,” he hastened to say, “that I have anything against rabbits. All Gaia’s creatures are blessed.”

He proceeded to list the name of each fungus and what its specialty was. “These,” he said, “are Shaggy Manes.” Matt looked out over a sea of white humps covered with tattered fringes. “They’re experts at killing E. coli, which gives you the runs, and Staph aureus, which makes you grow pimples. They munch them up like candy. Wonderful plants!” The man’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Matt couldn’t help smiling at him. “You look as though you could use a little of their help,” the man said, smiling back.

Matt self-consciously ran his hand over the remnants of the acne he’d acquired at the plankton factory.

“Never mind. The pimples go away when you get older,” the old man said kindly. “Shaggy Manes eat chemicals, too. Once upon a time farmers put so much fertilizer and pesticides on their crops that the ground became polluted. Nowadays we aren’t so foolish, but if we were, the Shaggy Manes would come to our rescue.” He smiled proudly at his mushrooms as though they were a herd of prize cattle.

“You mean . . . you mean these little things can pull poison out of the soil?” asked Cienfuegos.

“They not only pull it out, they digest it so that it’s harmless. It’s like a snack to them. Mmm! Yummy pesticides!”

The jefe looked stunned. “All those years of failed crops and sickened farmers . . . It could have been avoided so easily.”

“Not so easily,” cautioned the white-haired man. “You have to learn how it’s done—which mushrooms to grow, how to grow them, and what to do with them. The ones that eat mercury, for example, must be burned. You can reuse the metal.” The man led them around the fields, pointing out fungi that ate oil or pesticides or bacteria. “This little beauty,” he said, gesturing at a dull purple mushroom glistening with slime, “likes radioactivity. Positively wolfs it down. It’s called a Gomphidius.” He patted it fondly.

“Surely you don’t have radioactivity here,” said Cienfuegos.

“Never,” the old man said, “but if we did, we’d be ready.”

“This is what I’ve been looking for all my life,” murmured the jefe. “May I ask your name, sir?”

“I’m the Mushroom Master,” the man said.

“I would give anything to learn your skill. I could take one day off every week and come here. Please, sir, would you teach me?”

“Of course,” said the Mushroom Master, looking somewhat startled by Cienfuegos’s fervent plea.

The jefe turned to Matt. “You’d order me to come, wouldn’t you, mi patrón?”

“Of course,” said Matt, understanding that Cienfuegos couldn’t leave his work unless directly ordered.

“Then it’s all right.” The jefe closed his eyes briefly.

They toured the rest of the building, for only part of it was kept for renewing the soil. The rest grew edible mushrooms. By now Listen was complaining loudly that she was crotting tired, that she’d had it up to here with weird people, and that she was going to eat a Gomphidius, slime and all, if they didn’t get going.

“Patience,” said Cienfuegos. He picked her up and thanked the Mushroom Master at great length. They headed for the area labeled KITCHEN.