The Lord of Opium

36

GOING ROGUE

The first sign that something was wrong was Cienfuegos galloping toward him through the poppy fields. “There you are!” shouted the jefe, waving his hat. “I’ve had men hunting all over for you. Fiona said she’d seen you ride this way.”

“About Fiona—” began Matt.

“No time for that now, mi patrón. We have an emergency. Mirasol has gone rogue.” He turned and led the way. When they got to the hacienda, Ton-Ton and Fidelito were waiting outside.

“Don’t get mad at her,” Fidelito begged. “She thought she was doing the right thing.”

“Why would I get mad at Mirasol? She can’t help her condition,” said Matt, sliding off the horse and leaving Cienfuegos to take charge of it.

“Not Mirasol. Listen,” said Fidelito.

“Sh-she was trying to be nice,” Ton-Ton said. “They’re in your office, the, uh, one we’re supposed to stay out of.”

Matt ran through the halls, thinking, Listen has been playing “Trick-Track.” She’s been trying to wake Mirasol up. When he got there, he saw that he’d been nearly right. The recording for “Trick-Track” was still in its folder, but music boxes covered the table. Mirasol was lying on the floor, sobbing as though her heart would break. Sor Artemesia and Dr. Kim were leaning over her. Listen was huddled in a corner, a ball of total misery.

“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t want to hurt her!” the little girl cried. “Don’t hit me! Don’t put me into the freezer!”

What now? thought Matt. “I’m not going to do anything to you, Listen. Mirasol is the one we have to worry about.” He knelt next to Mirasol and tried to take her hand, but she threw him off.

“Father! Father!” she screamed.

“It’s all right. I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said. She couldn’t hear him. She kept calling for her father and weeping hysterically. “Can you give her a sedative?” Matt asked Dr. Kim.

“It won’t save her,” the doctor said bluntly. “When eejits go rogue, nothing helps them. The best I can do is give her a lethal injection.”

“¡ Jesús, María, y José! What kind of doctor are you? Give her something to let her rest. I’ll take her to the hospital in Paradise. Maybe they’re better at their jobs than you are.”

Dr. Kim showed a flash of anger, quickly repressed. He took out an infuser, a kind of injector, and pressed it to Mirasol’s neck. There was a hiss, and she relaxed. “It won’t last long, mi patrón. She’ll need more and more of these until the sedative itself kills her.”

“Give as many as we need to Sor Artemesia,” Matt ordered. “I’m going to tell Cienfuegos to get our fastest hovercraft.” He ran outside to find the jefe already waiting in the hallway.

“The hovercraft is ready, mi patrón,” Cienfuegos said. “I ordered a larger, faster one after your bout of scarlet fever. I hope that was all right.”

Matt looked at him, exasperated. Now was not the time to deal with another hidden spending spree. “How many people can it take?”

“Mirasol, a pilot, you, a nurse, perhaps two more.”

“You will fly the craft,” said Matt.

“Mi patrón, that isn’t a good idea.”

“Do as I say! There’s no room for argument.” Matt was in full El Patrón mode now. He felt like a general commanding troops. He got Mirasol loaded onto a stretcher and into the hovercraft. Sor Artemesia, who’d had first aid training, was installed next to the girl. Cienfuegos was in the pilot’s seat. “You come too,” Matt ordered Listen, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her into the craft.

“Don’t blame her,” wailed Fidelito from outside.

The craft took off, first balancing delicately on a cushion of antigravity and then speeding away. It was fast. They rose through monsoon clouds and now and then were buffeted by wind or spatters of rain. “If we encounter a thunderstorm, we should go around it. It’s safer,” said Cienfuegos.

“Do whatever you like,” Matt said tersely. Turning to Sor Artemesia, he said, “Now tell me what happened.”

“I wasn’t there at first,” the nun said. “Listen was alone with Mirasol.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her!” cried Listen.

“Shut up until you’re told to speak,” Matt snapped. She buried her head in her arms and began to cry.

“I don’t think she meant harm,” said Sor Artemesia, with a quick look at the little girl.

“I’ll be the judge of that. What happened?”

“Apparently Listen had the idea that music could awaken Mirasol. She took all of El Patrón’s music boxes and put them into your office. She told Mirasol to sit down, and she began to play the boxes one by one. It was all right until she wound up ‘You Are My Sunshine.’ That particular one seemed to trigger something in Mirasol’s mind.”

“She started screaming. I was so scared,” whimpered Listen.

“Who cares if you were scared?” Matt snarled. “You knew you weren’t supposed to play music for her.”

“I thought she would dance.”

“And now you may have killed her!”

“Mi patrón, mi patrón,” interrupted Sor Artemesia. “Listen is only a little girl. She doesn’t have the judgment of an adult. She liked the music boxes and thought Mirasol would too. She came directly to me for help, and I called Dr. Kim.”

Mirasol began to stir, and soon she was sobbing again. She sat up and flung her arm at Cienfuegos, who was watching the sky intently. “He killed my father!” she screamed. “He did it! Help me, oh, help me! I can’t escape!” She convulsed, and Sor Artemesia quickly applied another infuser.

Matt moved into the seat next to the jefe and said, “Is that true? Did you kill her father?”

Cienfuegos turned the hovercraft to avoid a pillar of rain descending from an enormous thunderhead. The craft shuddered as a lightning bolt flashed at the edge of the cloud. “The electricity interferes with the navigation of this craft. I have to pay attention. I may have killed her father. I don’t remember. There were so many.”

There was nothing more to say. Matt watched the jefe’s yellow-brown eyes as the man maneuvered around the storm. Cienfuegos’s attention was riveted on his task, and no trace of regret was detectable. If Matt distracted him, they might never reach Paradise. “Can you go faster?” Matt said.

“No,” the jefe said. Now rain began to lash the side of the craft. Another lightning bolt fell, and Listen counted, “One-thousand-and-one.” That was as far as she got. Thunder rocked the sky. Sor Artemesia silently told the beads of her rosary.

Matt went into the back of the craft and sat by Listen. “I know you’re only a child. I was angry, but it was out of fear. I’m not angry anymore.” The little girl huddled against him, tears rolling silently down her face. “Did Mirasol say why the music upset her?”

“She said her father used to sing that song. At first she seemed okay. She talked like any other person. She said her father sang to her when she went to sleep, even when they were running away. That’s how the Farm Patrol found them. And then she screamed.”

Matt put his arm around the little girl. “I might have done the same thing. It was just chance.”

Mirasol awoke two more times on the journey, and then they landed outside the hospital in Paradise. Orderlies swarmed out to carry her inside. Matt followed closely. He didn’t trust any of the doctors. Their idea of a cure was a lethal injection.

She was taken to an operating room and Dr. Rivas came in, dressed in hospital scrubs, with latex gloves on his hands. “This is going to be brutal. I don’t think you should watch,” he said.

“What are you going to do?” Matt asked.

“The only thing we can do. Open her skull and pick out the microchips one by one.”

“That doesn’t work. Dr. Kim tried it.”

“So did we. So did I over the years,” said Dr. Rivas. “I sacrificed hundreds of eejits trying to find a cure for my son. I tried nullifying the magnetism with electrical currents. I engineered a white blood cell to attack microchips. I induced high fevers, hoping they would destroy the chips before they killed the brain. Nothing worked.”

“So this is hopeless,” Matt said.

“You can do a procedure a thousand times and sometimes the thousandth time is different. You make a lucky mistake. That’s the only hope I can give you.”

Matt looked down at Mirasol, her beautiful face composed, for the moment, in sleep. How could he order this mutilation without any hope of success? They said eejits didn’t feel pain, but he knew, deep down where no one could detect it, they did. “Leave her as she is,” he said.

“Shall I give her a lethal injection?” The doctor removed his gloves.

“No. Give me the infusers. When she starts suffering, I’ll give her one.”

“She might linger for an hour or two. No more.”

Dr. Rivas left, and Matt sat by Mirasol’s bed. She awoke, and for a moment her eyes were clear and she seemed to see him. Then the anguish overtook her and she screamed. The last time she looked directly at Matt and he bent over and kissed her. “I love you, Waitress,” he said.

She gazed back, really seeing him. “I am called Mirasol,” she whispered, and then, as the infusion flooded her veins, she sighed and did not wake again.