The Lord of Opium

Heed the high cliffs, lad. They keep things out. Now Matt remembered that Tam Lin had actually said this once when they camped overnight. The boy had wondered why they could sleep so soundly with mosquitoes whining in their ears and the hard earth under the sleeping bags.

’Tis not bodily comfort we need, the man had said, but the mind at ease. Something about the rocks holds back the cares of the world. This is the only place in Opium I’ve felt free.

That was the time Tam Lin had told him the sad story of the sandhill cranes. The later Alacráns didn’t know about the oasis, but the old man did. It was the first place he’d come to in the United States, before he established his empire. He’d built the old miner’s cabin and planted the grapevine. Through the years he’d forgotten the oasis and anyhow was too old to climb through the rocks. But in the beginning he’d noticed the sandhill cranes arrive with cold weather and depart in spring.

El Patrón hated to give up anything he thought he owned.

He had his son Felipe net the birds and pull out the lead feathers on one wing. Birds cannot fly unbalanced,

said Tam Lin. They tip to one side and fall to earth. The cranes were trapped. Half of them died that first summer, and more the next.

A few had survived, the ancestors of this flock. Matt watched them now, guiltily enjoying their presence. After a while, his mind at ease, he went back to the horse and rode toward the hacienda.

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.”