The Lord of Opium(59)
Listen covered her eyes, and Matt turned away. He saw that they were approaching a collection of huge buildings, each one at least a mile long. Surrounding them was a clear bubble. “That looks like the Scorpion Star,” said Matt in amazement.
“The space station was copied from this. I’ve always wanted to go inside, but I couldn’t get permission from Dr. Rivas,” said the jefe. “Now, of course, I have the new patrón to back me up.”
“I’ve seen the Scorpion Star dozens of times,” boasted Listen. “Dr. Angel lets me come whenever I want, because I’m clever and I don’t break things like the Bug.”
“The first biosphere was built in the United States,” said the jefe, ignoring her. “El Patrón captured it during the drug wars, but the US army drove him away. In revenge, he took every plant and animal with him and destroyed the buildings to keep anyone else from using them.”
“He wasn’t much of an ecologist, was he?” Matt said.
Cienfuegos grinned. “You could call him an accidental ecologist. His real motive was to collect as much loot as possible. He rebuilt the biosphere, improving and refining it until he had a model for the Scorpion Star.”
“Let’s go inside,” said Listen, her eyes bright with excitement.
“No one has done that since the scientists collected plants to make the jungle you saw,” said the jefe. “That was eighty years ago.”
Imagine being locked up all that time, Matt thought, looking at the miles of buildings. Generations had passed, wars had been fought, and governments had toppled. “Didn’t El Patrón get curious about what was going on inside?” If anything is, he thought with a thrill of horror. Maybe they’re all dead.
“He was interested for as long as it took to build the Scorpion Star,” said Cienfuegos. “Then he had a new toy to play with. There are lots of things knocking around Opium that no one has bothered with for a long time.”
Cienfuegos eased the hovercraft onto a magnetic strip. “I hope to hell the recharger still works. I wouldn’t want to get stranded here.” He opened the hatch, and all climbed out. The jefe produced a device like a TV remote and clicked in numbers. A door in the biosphere bubble opened up. It moved reluctantly, as though decades of dust had found its way into the machinery. “Dr. Rivas says we have to go through a screening process to keep germs from entering.”
The door closed behind them, and Matt jumped at a sudden grinding, creaking noise. Ancient robots were coming to life, their arthritic limbs jerking into motion. Smaller machines hurried among them, oiling and flexing their joints. “They look like bugs! Big, horrible, ugly bugs!” cried Listen, trying to wrench open the door. “Don’t let them touch me!” She screamed as the fully lubricated robots moved forward, their metal hands clicking.
“Easy, chiquita. They’re programmed to disinfect us. I’ll go first,” said the jefe. But even he looked nervous as the ancient robots sprayed his clothes and the little machines crawled over him like mice to poke disinfectant into his ears and nose. When they were finished, they moved on to Matt, and he did his best not to panic. Listen tried to climb up the smooth wall of the bubble, but the robots pulled her down.
“Show some class. No drug lord would ever marry such a crybaby,” Cienfuegos scolded.
“I don’t care! They’re big, horrible, ugly bugs!” yelled Listen. She batted away the little machines, but they kept on coming, and finally she rolled herself into a ball and endured the process. Then the robots cleansed Mirasol, who of course showed no reaction at all.
They were allowed through to a second chamber, where they were dried and told to breathe deeply by a large machine that belched scented air. “I believe this is to clear the germs that live inside us,” said Cienfuegos. After an hour they were released to yet a third area, where new clothes were presented to them. These were white tunics, and each of them received the correct size. By now Listen had calmed down, and she fingered the cloth with interest.
When they had passed through the final door, they found themselves in a grove of trees whose branches stretched toward a distant glass ceiling. It was like a place in a dream where the colors were unusually clear and bright. The air had the smell of green, growing things. They heard a brook and saw the pond into which it emptied behind a screen of reeds. “It’s raining,” whispered Listen, her voice muted with awe.
“Yes, it is,” said Matt. The room was so huge that clouds had formed between them and the ceiling, and cool drops pattered around them. In the distance, between stands of oak, laurel, and pine, was a field of golden wheat. People in white tunics bent to harvest it. “It’s so peaceful,” Matt said, and was swept by a longing to live in such a place forever.