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addictive drugs, one does not develop a tolerance for mab. A single dose taken each night lasts until the next night. True, the effect diminishes over the following day, but it makes one’s labors less harsh. Rather than debilitating the addict, mab encourages him to take care of himself, to nurture his body. He now has reason to live, whereas with opium he hopes at best to survive and, truly, places a low value on survival. One might surmise that mab disposes the addict toward this cast of mind. What would you call a chemical compound that achieves those ends? That treats the worst symptoms of a community and causes it to function more smoothly? That makes its citizens content with their lot? Is it a drug, or is it a tonic? I say a tonic. In fact, that is how I’ve begun to market the drug in Port Chantay.”
    Councilman Rooney puffed himself up to full bloat and said, “Sir, you are the Devil.”
    “The Devil is never far from any of us, sir. Yet I’ll wager I am closer to God than the priests who will soon inhabit the palace you’re building at the end of the square.”
    “I’ve had a stomachful of this!” Rooney said; then, addressing the table: “Must we listen to more of his spew?”
    A mild voice responded,“Oh, I think we should hear him out.”
    From the way the others reacted to the the man who had spoken, the youngest of the councilmen, Jean-Daniel Breque, turning toward him like dogs that have heard a piercing whistle, Rosacher understood that he had misread the council’s dynamic. Councilman Breque was a small, sturdily built man with a largish head, a professorial beard shot through by a few gray threads, and wire spectacles. He seemed bemused by the proceedings, but it was evident that his bemusement had less to do with Rosacher’s proposal than with the general reaction to it.
    “You make a cogent point,” he said to Rosacher. “But there are spiritual issues to be considered, are there not?”
    “If by spiritual you’re referring to the sensibilities of the Church…yes. The Church is a powerful concern. They must be paid their tribute. That said, permit me to ask you this. Where was the Church three years ago? Ten years ago? Fifty years ago? The sole reason for their interest in Teocinte is that it has become worth their while to put a franchise here. Now that there’s an economy they can tap into, they’re suddenly appalled by the sorry state of our souls. My word on it, should you write a law that criminalizes mab, they’ll come to you and say, ‘Let’s be tolerant now. We don’t want the poor to be flung down from their heaven, illusory though it may be. Give us time to work our magic, to wean them from the drug and redirect their loyalties, and we will rid you of Rosacher in due course.’ They’re no different from me. They’re a business that offers consolation as a product…only theirs is an inferior product. They want to be paid and they’ll take the money wherever they find it, even from a competitor. So I’ll pay them and that moral outrage you’re hearing now will be greatly muted.”
    “I take it your concern over the Church’s past whereabouts was yet another rhetorical question,” said Breque, and smiled.
    Rosacher inclined his head to acknowledge this small joke made at his expense.
    “If you believe all of this,” said Breque, “then why respond to our summons? You must have a pressing reason for coming here this morning. Is there something you would have us do?”
    “I want you to help protect your greatest resource,” Rosacher said.
    “Mangos? Silver? Somehow I don’t think you have either of those in mind.”
    “Before I tell you more, I would like you to have at look at some figures.”
    Rosacher began passing out the papers Ludie had given him, laying a sheet in front of each councilman. Rooney sniffed and pushed his away.
    “As you can see, the figures on the top half of the page reflect my month-by-month profits for the past year.” Rosacher