In the end he took Cienfuegos, Listen, Fidelito, Sor Artemesia, and the Mushroom Master. The last was the jefe’s idea. “The old fellow has done so much for us. Sooner or later he’ll have to return to his cramped life in the biosphere, and I want him to have happy memories.”
“Are you sure that going up into the sky will give him a happy memory?” Matt asked.
“He can bring his umbrella,” said Cienfuegos.
40
THE CLONING LAB
The minute they left the ground, the Mushroom Master gave a wail of despair and jammed the umbrella down over his head so hard that one of the spokes snapped.
The rainy season was over except for a few stray storms. The ride was smooth, and the land below was covered with sheets of golden poppies. Cienfuegos flew low so everyone could admire them. “On the way back we’ll fly over the biosphere,” he said to the old man. “You’ll enjoy seeing it from the air.” The only answer was a low moan.
“I told Dr. Rivas that the Mushroom Master is a fungus expert from California,” the jefe informed them before landing. “I don’t think he’d be happy to learn I took someone out of the biosphere.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Matt, whose attention had been focused on seeing María.
“He doesn’t like people poking their noses into what he considers his territory,” said Cienfuegos. “All of you keep your mouths shut about the Mushroom Master—pay attention, Listen and Fidelito. There are microphones hidden everywhere. And you, sir,” he addressed the old man, “please stay close to me. Bad things happen to people when they’re alone with Dr. Rivas.”
Matt wondered what the jefe was up to. He made it sound like the trip was dangerous, and perhaps it was. Neither he nor Matt had forgiven the doctor for microchipping the new security guards, doctors, and pilots.
When they arrived, the Mushroom Master was escorted inside and allowed to recover from his fright. “Airsickness,” Cienfuegos explained to Dr. Rivas, who was waiting to greet them. “Poor old fellow. Barfed his socks up the minute we left the ground.” Sor Artemesia took Listen and Fidelito away, to visit Mbongeni.
The Mushroom Master was soothed with pulque, his new favorite drink. “You must send me the wild yeast responsible for this,” he told the jefe. He then described the chemical reactions that fungi were capable of, the joy of watching a yeast bud develop, and the different odors produced by the action of mold on old sneakers.
Dr. Rivas’s eyes glazed over, and he excused himself quickly to do some work at the hospital.
“I think that went well,” said Cienfuegos, and the Mushroom Master smiled.
“I’d like to see the lab where you were grown,” said the old man. Matt nodded, although he wasn’t happy about showing anyone the unnatural way he’d been created. It still filled him with a sense of shame. They went through the gardens, and the Mushroom Master bravely put aside his battered umbrella to enjoy the trees. “Imagine letting everything grow wild without worrying about whether the ecosystem is in balance. Gaia is an excellent mother.”
“We shouldn’t talk about Gaia here,” warned Cienfuegos, and the old man changed the subject.
They came to the fountain with the children holding their hands out to the water. “Now, that is truly beautiful,” declared the Mushroom Master. “One of the chief regrets I have about my, um, home is the lack of art. All is devoted to practical things.”
“Those are supposed to be El Patrón’s sisters and brothers who died young,” said Matt.
“He must have been an extraordinary man, although I’m sure I wouldn’t have liked him.” The Mushroom Master stepped into the fountain and held his hands up like the children. “Yes, this is a marvelous work of art. I think they are worshipping Gaia.”
“We should go on,” said Cienfuegos, frowning. They came to the lab, with long tables covered in gleaming, stainless-steel pans and microscopes. A lot of work seemed to have been done recently. They inspected the giant freezers containing bottles labeled MACGREGOR #1 to MACGREGOR #13 and DABENGWA #1 to DABENGWA #19.
One of the glass enclosures was no longer empty. A cow walked slowly on a treadmill as her legs were flexed by mechanical arms. Matt halted in shock. “Who—”
Cienfuegos held a finger to his lips to caution silence. “So that was how you were grown,” the Mushroom Master said, peering through the glass. “What an amazing achievement! In some cultures the cow was worshipped as the embodiment of motherhood. I wonder what they would have made of this.”