The Lord of Opium(93)

“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.”