They left, to allow Cienfuegos to recover, and the doctor explained his injuries outside. “Mostly broken ribs. The bullets didn’t get through, but the force of the blows must have been terrific. There’s some damage to the liver, and a broken rib pierced a lung. Fortunately, his heart is unharmed. He’ll be laid up for a long time.”
The gardens were filled with eejits—or ex-eejits, Matt reminded himself. Paisanos, he would call them. Fellow countrymen. He supposed he should address them, but he was too exhausted. Instead, he gave orders to the nurses and lab technicians to see to their needs. He would tackle the problem in the morning.
“I’m really tired,” said Listen, trotting by his side.
“Me too, but there’s something we have to do before we can rest,” Matt said. For once she didn’t complain about the long walk. They were both too anxious to see their friends. Matt lit the path by the stream with Tam Lin’s flashlight, and they saw the gleam of rabbits’ eyes as the creatures hopped out of their way.
The chapel was visible long before they arrived. Dozens of candles had been lit and fastened to rocks. The inside of the building as well was illuminated by flickering light. All around the outside were newly freed eejits, Farm Patrolmen, and bodyguards, among them Daft Donald. Sor Artemesia stood in the doorway with María, Fidelito, and the Bug. The Bug was on a leash.
“You did it!” shrieked Fidelito when he caught sight of Listen. He ran through the crowd and hugged her. “You can slap me all you like for touching you. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“It isn’t worth it,” she said, hugging him back. “You’ll only do it again.”
Matt and María held each other’s hands. They were more restrained, being older, and somewhat embarrassed by the large audience. “Well, then,” said Matt.
“Well, then,” replied María.
“I guess things have worked out.” He wished they could be alone.
“God has answered your prayers,” said Sor Artemesia in a ringing voice. “He has sent his messenger.”
“What in hell are you up to?” asked Matt. He saw the gathered men kneel. Some were weeping openly.
“You know who you resemble,” said the nun. “These men are frightened, and they need sympathy. Try to look saintly.”
First Cienfuegos tells everyone that I’m El Patrón, and now I’m supposed to be Jesús Malverde, thought Matt. When will I ever be myself?
Matt spoke what he hoped were consoling words and sent everyone away to their hostels and bunkhouses. Then he went inside with María, and they embraced behind the statue of Malverde, where the Bug couldn’t spy on them.
“I’ve got so much to tell you,” he said.
“Me too,” said María. “I was outside when the first meteor fell. It was the brightest I’ve ever seen, and then I saw another one. Not long after, the men began to show up. They were so lost, mi vida. They didn’t know what had happened, and they were calling for their families. Sor Artemesia said that Malverde was the only shred of religion they’d had and that we must honor it.”
“I’m really interested,” said Matt, yawning broadly, “but I’ve been through so much I can’t even think straight.”
“That’s all right,” she said in the understanding way he loved. “We have the rest of our lives to talk.”
He kissed her sleepily, staggered to the front of the chapel, and passed out on one of the pews. In the middle of the night he awoke when a bright light passed over the forest. It was the last of the meteors, perhaps Tundra.
The Scorpion Star had uncoupled, each building separating from the others, and the carefully maintained orbit had failed. One by one they had fallen. Matt tried not to think of the terrified people inside. He’d been no better than El Patrón shooting down a passenger plane.
52
THE GHOST ARMY
It seemed unfair that Matt could remember everything awful that had happened, but few of the good times. The months after the Scorpion Star fell were some of the good times. They were a golden blur. Many of the paisanos left, with money to get established in their new lives. Nothing, of course, could make up for what they had lost. Some remained who had little to return to.
One of the most difficult problems was getting Aztlán and the United States to take back their citizens. These people had no passports, the governments argued. They were unpersons and therefore Opium’s responsibility. Matt understood that paisanos had little value in lands where machines did most of the work, and for this problem he called on Esperanza.
She looked like a small black thundercloud ready to spit lightning when he accessed the Convent of Santa Clara. “What have you done with my daughter?” she shouted.
“I didn’t do anything. María came here of her own accord,” protested Matt.
“Then she is with you,” said Esperanza, and Matt realized he’d been tricked. María’s mother hadn’t known where she was.
“She’s happy,” he said.
“She probably is, the little fool. What I can’t figure out is how you got your hands on her. The last anyone saw of her, she was in this room. Then the sisters discovered that the door lock had been melted with a laser. By the time they broke it open, she was gone. What did you do? Send a commando unit and then fuse the lock to provide a distraction?” Esperanza was practically incandescent with rage.
“I didn’t do anything. She came through the portal,” Matt said.
Her eyes widened. “That’s impossible! It’s a wormhole. It’s the temperature of outer space.” The intensity of her rage reached through the portal, and Matt, in spite of knowing he was safe, took a step backward.
“You’re lying. You lured her through, and now she’s dead,” said Esperanza.
“No!” Matt cried. “She dressed herself in a UN peacekeeper’s hazard gear. She almost died from lack of air, but she recovered and has no permanent damage. I’ll bring her. You’ll see.”
He turned to call a paisano, but Esperanza impatiently waved the man away. “This is extremely interesting. A person went through a wormhole and survived. Don’t you see the military importance of such a discovery?”
It wasn’t just a person, Matt thought. It was your daughter. As before, he was amazed at how coolly she received bad news. Her husband and older daughter had died at El Patrón’s funeral, and Esperanza’s only reaction had been, That certainly makes things awkward.
“With the right gear and a supply of oxygen, I could transport a soldier anywhere in the world,” said Esperanza. “I’ll have to find out how long it takes to cross a wormhole.”
“If you’re thinking of sending peacekeepers here, think again. Armies can go both ways,” Matt said, with what he hoped was El Patrón’s menace.
“It won’t be necessary,” said Esperanza, brushing off his threat. “Some very unusual things have been happening. The Scorpion Star, that monstrosity El Patrón planted in the southern sky, fell out of orbit and burned. And the eejits under Glass Eye Dabengwa’s control went rogue and wiped out his army. Reports are that he’s missing.”