On the 10th, Duarte sat with other company commanders in the balcony of
what had once been the Mexican Congress. Below, Garma Zabi stood at the
podium from which the President of the Republic would once have spoken.
Behind him, the Presidential throne was now draped not only with the flag
of Mexico but the red battle flag of Jion. Garma himself was dressed in a
green Space Attack uniform, complete with the black velvet panels in front
and cape in back.
In the un-airconditioned hall, Garma must have been uncomfortable. If so, he hid it better than Duarte ever could. Octavio had to use all his discipline not to tug on the high collar of his dress tunic or squirm inside it. While his tropical uniform was the same khaki cotton as the one he wore every day, this one bore more stiff embroidery and long sleeves. He was glad of the cotton gloves he was wearing for the occasion, as his hands were moist and the gloves absorbed it. When they reached saturation, though, it was not going to be pretty.
Garma spoke good Spanish. Chavez had told him that Garma did, but since it wasn't Chavez's first language, Duarte had taken that with reservations. Chavez had been correct, though. Garma was reading his speech, but before he'd begun he'd spoken to the audience without notes.
From the reaction the crowd was giving him, Garma could have been speaking Croatian and reading from the phone book. Not that they were inattentive; quite the reverse. They were spellbound to the point that Duarte was quite sure they weren't hearing a word he said.
It was understandable, though. Garma Zabi was impossibly beautiful. Not handsome, because his looks were too androgynous for that, but beautiful. Yet for all his good looks, perfect posture, and obvious breeding, he still had a "gosh-wow" quality about him that was very endearing. If he could bottle and sell his charisma, he'd have made a fortune.
That was the point when Duarte realized that he wasn't concentrating on the speech either, but on the man who was delivering it. He hoped this was not the case when Garma gave orders on the battlefield.
The strain on the young viceroy was showing at the reception shortly after. While the rest of the politicians, their wives, and other dignitaries seemed not to feel the heat and humidity generated by all those bodies, Garma looked as if he were starting to wilt. While it was if he were refusing to sweat by sheer force of will, he also looked as if the gabardine of his uniform was slowing transforming itself into a suit of lead. His eyes were a little dull, his handshakes a bit weak. Having those flashbulbs constantly going off at him couldn't have helped.
"Ay, mija, isn't he the cutest thing you ever seen?" piped Luna.
Provi Alcaraz snorted. "Like he'd ever look at a cholita like you."
"I hear that the Zabis like surrounding themselves with the lower classes. They trust them like they don't trust the rich. A Nuevo-Aztlan princess is just what that family.oh, hello, jefe," she said as Duarte came over.
"There's nothing wrong with ogling His Highness, it's part of his job to be ogled, but could you keep it down in public? I don't want the 505th to get a reputation for acting like a bunch of Chula Vista high school students."
Luna made a dismissive noise. "He's coming to visit us, so he'll get a chance to see what we're really all about. Sides, he's not that far from high school himself."
"You must be stressed about that, jefe," Provi said.
"A little performance anxiety," Duarte admitted. "I'm sure we'll do just fine in showing ourselves off and taking care of him."
The fact was that he was more than a little anxious. Garma's plans for visiting his Mexican companies were public, so even the Federation knew it. Duarte had received Intelligence reports of an increased presence of Federation ships along the Atlantic coast. The prospect of killing or capturing the beloved youngest son of the Jion monarch had to be making the Fedichos drool.
Hot and uncomfortable as it was, the reception was at least a calm before the storm of actually having the Viceroy as Duarte's own responsibility. It ended soon, and the Falling Eagles took to their Zakus to escort Garma out to Teotihuacan.
They met and saluted Garma as the viceroy came down the covered ramp to the hangar. "The 505th Falling Eagles presenting themselves for inspection, sir," Duarte told him.
Garma returned the salute and gestured for his assistant to carry his luggage to his Zaku. Duarte noted that he carried a guitar case as well as the expected suitcase and garment bag. "Thank you, Captain Duarte y Garcia." He walked forward and proceeded to make the usual motions of inspecting the nine soldiers. He was wearing a simpler version of the uniform he'd worn inside, but the green uniform still had long sleeves and a high collar, even without the velvet cape and panels. Up close, Duarte could see that hair was clinging damply to Garma's neck and that there was just a trace of perspiration high on his forehead. He gave his approval and Duarte ordered his company to their suits.
The march to the base took about an hour along major roads. Octavio had time to study Garma's suit and worry about it a bit. It was an MS-06F Commander meant for space combat, not for terrestrial or, heaven forbid, desert use. He knew the thing wouldn't have much maneuverability in gravity, not without the extra propulsion. Without the cooling packs the Desert Types had, it would probably overheat and stall quickly. If they were attacked, which fortunately was unlikely, they would have to surround and protect the prince like a pack of dogs with their young.
It struck Octavio as potentially significant though, that Garma's paint scheme was olive, maroon, and grey. Green, red, and white, mixed with black. Abuelo would find some meaning in that, he was sure.
Abuelo. He cringed a bit mentally. What would Garma do on meeting him? No way to keep the two apart, but he wasn't looking forward to it.
They arrived at the base and walked down the macadam road to the central square, where the Zakus stood in a line. The colonel's voice spoke in Tavi's cockpit, saying in Jion-accented Spanish, "Very good, Captain. Tell your soldiers to dismount."
Tavi gave the order. Ten cockpits opened and ten giant hands moved to the chest area of the mobile suits. The pilots stepped out into the palms and rode down to the ground. They stood in front of their mecha, and Tavi compared and contrasted them with their Zabi commander. They were nine men and women in sepia, short-sleeved uniforms, each with an eagle on a cactus devouring a snake on the unit patch. Brown skin, black hair and dark eyes completed their uniformity.
Garma also had dark hair and eyes, but there the resemblance stopped. His skin was the pale cream of a white spacenoid. He was clearly hot and wanting to cut this as short as possible. Tavi fell in beside him and they walked again along the line of pilots. Satisfied, he allowed Tavi to dismiss the troops. Tavi gave the order and they returned to their Zakus, to walk them back to the hangar.
"The colours your soldiers choose for their mobile suits are interesting," Prince Garma, said to Tavi.
"The colour scheme means something to each pilot. The white one with the spots belongs to Leobardo Magadan-Ramirez. It represents Plague, that he is going to spread death through the Federation."
"I see." Garma crossed his arms. "And the fellow with the musclebound Aztec warrior holding the big-breasted dead lady?"
"George Villalobos. He's from southern California originally, not Mexico. And yes, he does have fuzzy dice hanging in his cockpit."
Garma laughed. "And your suit?"
Tavi looked up at his Zaku and smiled. "Just green, white, and red, Colonel. No more, no less. It's all I need to say." He turned his eyes to his companion. "You have traveled far today, sir. Let's put our mobile suits away and we can rest."
As they left, heading for the village of geodesic domes, Garma asked, "If you want, you can just direct me towards the guest quarters."
"We wouldn't dream of putting you someplace by yourself, sir. It will be the honour of my family to offer you hospitality." Tavi took Garma's bags and walked towards the village. As they approached, he became worried. Could there be any chance that Abuelo had gone to Mexico City or Puebla today, to watch lucha libre or something? Ay, Señor, he hoped so. He was trying to remember the sports schedule when the question was answered for him.
Tavi's grandfather, his Abuelo, came scampering down the path with a bowl of burning copal in one hand and a cluster of bright-green quetzal feathers in the other. Even though he was in a perfectly ordinary pair of khaki pants and a white polo shirt, he managed to look like something off an Aztec carving. He was grinning widely, showing what teeth he had left. He handed the copal to Tavi and then to Tavi's horror, rushed right up to Garma and took his hand, placing the feathers in them.
"So you are the viceroy. Welcome, welcome!"
Garma looked stunned at first, then recovered. He remained holding Abuelo's hand in both of his own and visibly concentrated for a second before saying, "Oticmiiyohuitli, oticmociahuitli".
Now it was Abuelo's turn to stare. "That is very polite of you," he said, "but that is what I should say to you, not you to me. It means 'you have been tired by your travels', and you are the one who has traveled, not I. Come along, come along."
Holding Garma's hand as if he were a favourite grandchild, Abuelo proceeded down the path, chatting to him about the history of the place. Tavi shook his head and sighed. He hoped Degin Zabi's youngest son was flexible, because there was certainly more to come.
Garma and Abuelo were soon in front of the Duarte home, with Abuelo introducing his new friend to Abuela and Luisa. Luisa, dressed as usual in jeans, an embroidered cotton blouse, and braids, was looking as disturbed as her husband. Abuela, in blouse, skirt, and braids now turned white, acted as if she greeted royalty every day and that it was nothing to be particularly excited about.
Tavi handed the bag to Luisa and the bowl of copal to Abuela. "Abuelo, why don't we show Colonel Zabi to his room and let him rest before dinner?"
"Yes, yes. He came all the way from San Diego, he was saying."
Tavi led the way, followed by his guest. Just inside the door was a large framed image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, in front of which a votive candle always burned. Tavi touched the frame and crossed himself, watched in surprise as Garma did the same. They walked through the dark interior of the building to the rear, where one of the domes was divided in half, forming a small room. There was some basic bedroom furniture there. At the top was a skylight, allowing in air and illumination.
"The shower is around the corner. Do not open your mouth when showering, and when you brush your teeth, use the bottled water. You could get sick if you don't. It happened to Lopez when we first came here," Tavi said.
"I'll be careful."
Tavi went back out towards the front. Abuela was outside with Luisa, starting the cooking in the outdoor kitchen. He poked his head into his grandparents' room and sure enough, found Abuelo sitting on the double bed, holding his chart.
In spite of the crucifix over the bed, the large piece of cardboard Abuelo held was a sign of his persistent paganism. On it were clipped photos of the Jion royal family. Under each photo was pinned a notecard with a Nahua name on it, followed in some cases by a question mark.
Degin Zabi was a sure thing: Ometecutli, the masculine Creator. Kishiria was Coyolxauhqui. Giren was Quetzalcoatl?, Dozel Huitzilopochtli?. As Tavi watched, Abuelo pinned the word "Cuauhtemoc" under Garma's picture.
"He's finally come back to us," Abuelo beamed. "After almost 700 years, he's done it. It is a pity his cyclic fate is to die."
Tavi closed the door and crossed his arms. Switching languages from Spanish to Nahuatl he said, "Abuelo, I think you're pinning too many hopes on a little white boy."
"He isn't just a little white boy. He's a member of the royal family, and I saw their coming in the stars. Remember that?"
"I remember. How could I forget us being loaded onto transports by the Federation and forced into space?" Octavio still seethed at the memories, even though it had been a good twelve years ago. "You looked out of the ship's window and made the grand announcement that the gods would be back, and that a challenge to the Federation was coming."
"They must be gods. Who else would throw a world as a weapon?"
"Looks like you've made a decision as to who our viceroy is."
"Not quite a god. A prince who must be sacrificed if we're to win this war."
"Abuelo, Cuauhtemoc's death didn't lead to the Mexica winning the war against the Spanish. He was hanged by Cortez and no emperors succeeded him."
"Not emperors, no. But we were an autonomous and free people until the Federation conquered us, weren't we?"
Abuelo's slightly watery eyes glared at him like two Zaku eyes in the dark. Tavi felt himself backing up slightly.
"True, Abuelo. I've often felt that our being stationed back in Mexico was nothing short of a miracle. "
"Of course it was. Now go check in on the chamaco* and make sure he's got what he needs."
####
Garma was fast asleep with the Duarte family dog in his arms. Octavio and his grandfather went out to go watch Luisa and Abuela cook dinner, now with the help of some of the other wives.
Eventually Garma emerged, followed by the dog at his heels. He still looked a bit drowsy, and the short-sleeved khaki uniform he was now wearing didn't suit his colouration. Then again, none of the mobile suit company did, so he wasn't alone.
The company snapped to attention immediately. Garma nodded. "At ease." He paused a moment as he took a seat at the end of the table and said, "Everyone act normally, please."
The Eagles watched him nonetheless. Abuela flapped a towel at the dog, but Garma grabbed its collar and she relented.
"It looks like Alberto's made a friend," Luisa said. She put a ceramic bowl of salsa verde on the table, followed by a basket of tortillas. Villalobos immediately reached for them, but Luna snatched them out of his way.
"You let the guest have some first, cabron!"
"Maybe he doesn't like chiles," Duarte heard Provi whisper back.
In response, Chavez pushed the bowl of salsa closer to Garma. "Tavi's wife made this," he said in English.
There was dead silence as they watched Garma dip a tortilla. The question on everybody's mind was the same: how would the gringuito respond?
Garma chewed and swallowed, then said, "As I once commented to Mike over there, I don't see why people think Mexican food is so spicy. Thai.now that's hot!"
The atmosphere relaxed immediately. Garma fed a bit of tortilla to Alberto, which the beige mutt gobbled down eagerly. Magadan poured Garma a shot glass of tequila and passed it to the prince with a lemon wedge and dish of salt. Luna demonstrated how to add a squeeze of lemon and a pinch of salt to the drink. Another one of the wives started putting out vegetables and another few bowls of salsa.
Eventually the women put big plates of turkey in dark-brown mole sauce on the table. Everyone waited for Garma to serve himself, which he did, putting a modest amount of rice, vegetables, and mole on his plate. He gestured for the rest of them to do the same, at which point they too started loading their dishes.
A few minutes into the meal, Tavi's abuela said, "The prince is very skinny. Does your father never feed you, mijo?"
Garma shook his head. "I'm not a big eater."
Over Tavi's shoulder, Chavez said, "Have you started eating meat, sir? That must be making your father very happy."
Garma looked down at his plate guiltily. "No."
Villalobos's wife looked confused. "Started eating meat? Do you only eat humbly, sir?"
Luna rolled her eyes. "Of course Prince Garma's a vegetarian. Don't any of you ever read the magazines?"
Duarte looked over at his commander. Garma had shrunk, suddenly reduced to just a small boy with a fussy appetite.
"I suppose," Garma said slowly and deliberately in English, "that you will be reporting on my eating habits to my sister, Chavez. I was hoping that once you were re-assigned to Mexico that would all stop."
Chingao, thought Duarte. This was going to be a nightmare. Chavez was exchanging an embarrassed look with Maria Franco. Garma returned to his dinner, picking gently at it with his fork.
After a few moments, one of the guys brought up futbol scores and they spent the rest of the evening discussing sports.
Later that night, after Garma had turned in, Duarte called Chavez in to his office.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked.
"Sir?"
"About you and the viceroy. It sounds as if you two know each other."
"That." Chavez sat down. "Princess Kishiria likes to know what Garma is doing. When I was sent to Earth initially, I was requested by the general, as the colonel's superior officer, to keep an eye on him, to make sure he was all right."
"That's very unusual. She doesn't trust him?
Chavez shook his head. "It's not that. He's 20, Octavio, and a young 20 at that. I was asked to look after him, to make sure he ate and slept and to report back to Kishiria if he did anything potentially.er.."
"Potentially what?"
Chavez visibly weighed his words. "His Royal Highness has a tendency to take risks. I and several others were to make sure he didn't."
"I'd be upset too."
Chavez nodded. "And I spoke out of turn. I was his minder then; I'm not now. He's a sweet kid, though, and very scared underneath that know-it-all exterior. I think he'll grow up well, if he's given a chance."
"Do you think that's likely?"
"That he'll grow up or be given a chance?"
"Either."
"Sadly, I don't know."
Duarte nodded. "Well, here's what I want you to do. Avoid crossing the Viceroy, comprende? If he's paranoid about you being a spy for his sister, and if I were in his shoes I would be, just don't make him feel any worse."
That little interview done, Octavio called it a night. He re-entered his home to find his grandparents sitting in the living room, watching television and eating ice cream. Garma's bedroom light was off. He could hear the sound of his and Luisa's bedroom raido. He loosened his collar and went into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water from the cooler. He was leaning against the sink and thinking about getting some ice cream too when his Abuelo walked in, grinning his "I have a prophecy" grin.
"What is it now?" Octavio asked.
Abuelo switched to Nahuatl. "Perhaps our little prince is not Cuauhtémoc as I thought. He said that he intends to lead his people."
"Princes do that."
"His mother died in childbirth, you know."
Octavio finished his glass and turned to pour another one. This was getting stupid, even if he did believe Abuelo was a prophet. "Really."
"That and the rivalry with his sister point to his being Huitzilopochtli."
"And do you think he will lead us to a new home on a planet where we will find an eagle on a maguey, devouring a snake too?"
"I don't think the gods have to repeat their own legends. They will give us new ones, taking us from this Sun to the next."
"Taking us from the Quinto Sol to the Sexto.Abuelo, I think that maybe you really are putting too many hopes on that little white boy."
"He'll surprise us. Just wait, mijo. You'll see."
The next morning, Garma appeared at the breakfast table in shorts and a t- shirt, looking ashen. He was holding one hand to his stomach.
"I think your troops better go on patrol without me," he said, "I forgot to use the bottled water last night when I brushed my teeth. I gave myself turista[1]."
Tavi shot an "I told you so," glance at Abuelo and went to get a bottle of Immodium.
*****Author's Notes****
A transition chapter, I know. For some reason this one was like pulling teeth, which is why it took so long. That and I finally landed myself a job while still teaching a class, so I've been busy.
A word on Mexican mythology, which none of my characters are going to get a chance to really explain. Huitzilopochtli et al are from the legend of the founding of Mexico. The grandmother of the gods, Coatlicue, (serpent skirt) was sweeping a temple one afternoon. As she swept, she found a soft, fluffy ball of feathers which she picked up and put into the pocket of her apron. Some time later, her children, came into the temple. Her daughter Coyolxauqui (painted with bells) pointed out that their mother was pregnant, that she had shamed them, and should die. Coatlicue's protests that no, it was the ball of feathers that had absorbed into her body, fell on deaf ears.
As her children went to attack her, the god Huitzilopochtli (hummingbird) suddenly burst from her body, full-grown, to defend his mother. Although the legends don't specifically say that this killed Coatlicue, and why protect a dead mother, she does vanish from the story at this point. Huitzilopochtli went to war against Coyolxauqui, and defeated her, cutting her body into pieces. These were scattered through the skies to make the stars, with her head being the Moon.
Huitzilopochtli then went to take his people, the Mexica, from where they lived in Aztlan (thought to be what is now the American Southwest) to a new promised land. He prophecied that their wanderings would end when they saw an eagle standing on a maguey (cactus), devouring a snake. After many years they found this sight in a swamp, which they drained and began to turn into a city, Tenochtitlan. Today it is Mexico City and a statue of the eagle's dinner stands on the spot where it was seen, and it is the crest on the flag of Mexico.
The creator Olmetecutli, is an old god whose cult was pretty much in disuse by the time the Spanish came. He had been displaced by the more famous Quetzalcoatl, who while not a creator per se, was a powerful wizard and technical genius. In some versions, he is benevolent, not wishing human sacrifices, but in others he demands them. I've seen and photographed a large altar to him in Cholula in Puebla. The Cholulan Pyramid is something I recommend to everyone who is heading down to Central Mexico, although if you are able to get to Teotihuacan (where the home base of the 505th is located) that is even more spectacular, and fully excavated.
----------------------- *Chamaco: Mexican Spanish for "kid". [1] What is usually referred to as "Montezuma's Revenge." However, this is considered a highly offensive term in Mexico, and the proper one is "turista" as given here.
In the un-airconditioned hall, Garma must have been uncomfortable. If so, he hid it better than Duarte ever could. Octavio had to use all his discipline not to tug on the high collar of his dress tunic or squirm inside it. While his tropical uniform was the same khaki cotton as the one he wore every day, this one bore more stiff embroidery and long sleeves. He was glad of the cotton gloves he was wearing for the occasion, as his hands were moist and the gloves absorbed it. When they reached saturation, though, it was not going to be pretty.
Garma spoke good Spanish. Chavez had told him that Garma did, but since it wasn't Chavez's first language, Duarte had taken that with reservations. Chavez had been correct, though. Garma was reading his speech, but before he'd begun he'd spoken to the audience without notes.
From the reaction the crowd was giving him, Garma could have been speaking Croatian and reading from the phone book. Not that they were inattentive; quite the reverse. They were spellbound to the point that Duarte was quite sure they weren't hearing a word he said.
It was understandable, though. Garma Zabi was impossibly beautiful. Not handsome, because his looks were too androgynous for that, but beautiful. Yet for all his good looks, perfect posture, and obvious breeding, he still had a "gosh-wow" quality about him that was very endearing. If he could bottle and sell his charisma, he'd have made a fortune.
That was the point when Duarte realized that he wasn't concentrating on the speech either, but on the man who was delivering it. He hoped this was not the case when Garma gave orders on the battlefield.
The strain on the young viceroy was showing at the reception shortly after. While the rest of the politicians, their wives, and other dignitaries seemed not to feel the heat and humidity generated by all those bodies, Garma looked as if he were starting to wilt. While it was if he were refusing to sweat by sheer force of will, he also looked as if the gabardine of his uniform was slowing transforming itself into a suit of lead. His eyes were a little dull, his handshakes a bit weak. Having those flashbulbs constantly going off at him couldn't have helped.
"Ay, mija, isn't he the cutest thing you ever seen?" piped Luna.
Provi Alcaraz snorted. "Like he'd ever look at a cholita like you."
"I hear that the Zabis like surrounding themselves with the lower classes. They trust them like they don't trust the rich. A Nuevo-Aztlan princess is just what that family.oh, hello, jefe," she said as Duarte came over.
"There's nothing wrong with ogling His Highness, it's part of his job to be ogled, but could you keep it down in public? I don't want the 505th to get a reputation for acting like a bunch of Chula Vista high school students."
Luna made a dismissive noise. "He's coming to visit us, so he'll get a chance to see what we're really all about. Sides, he's not that far from high school himself."
"You must be stressed about that, jefe," Provi said.
"A little performance anxiety," Duarte admitted. "I'm sure we'll do just fine in showing ourselves off and taking care of him."
The fact was that he was more than a little anxious. Garma's plans for visiting his Mexican companies were public, so even the Federation knew it. Duarte had received Intelligence reports of an increased presence of Federation ships along the Atlantic coast. The prospect of killing or capturing the beloved youngest son of the Jion monarch had to be making the Fedichos drool.
Hot and uncomfortable as it was, the reception was at least a calm before the storm of actually having the Viceroy as Duarte's own responsibility. It ended soon, and the Falling Eagles took to their Zakus to escort Garma out to Teotihuacan.
They met and saluted Garma as the viceroy came down the covered ramp to the hangar. "The 505th Falling Eagles presenting themselves for inspection, sir," Duarte told him.
Garma returned the salute and gestured for his assistant to carry his luggage to his Zaku. Duarte noted that he carried a guitar case as well as the expected suitcase and garment bag. "Thank you, Captain Duarte y Garcia." He walked forward and proceeded to make the usual motions of inspecting the nine soldiers. He was wearing a simpler version of the uniform he'd worn inside, but the green uniform still had long sleeves and a high collar, even without the velvet cape and panels. Up close, Duarte could see that hair was clinging damply to Garma's neck and that there was just a trace of perspiration high on his forehead. He gave his approval and Duarte ordered his company to their suits.
The march to the base took about an hour along major roads. Octavio had time to study Garma's suit and worry about it a bit. It was an MS-06F Commander meant for space combat, not for terrestrial or, heaven forbid, desert use. He knew the thing wouldn't have much maneuverability in gravity, not without the extra propulsion. Without the cooling packs the Desert Types had, it would probably overheat and stall quickly. If they were attacked, which fortunately was unlikely, they would have to surround and protect the prince like a pack of dogs with their young.
It struck Octavio as potentially significant though, that Garma's paint scheme was olive, maroon, and grey. Green, red, and white, mixed with black. Abuelo would find some meaning in that, he was sure.
Abuelo. He cringed a bit mentally. What would Garma do on meeting him? No way to keep the two apart, but he wasn't looking forward to it.
They arrived at the base and walked down the macadam road to the central square, where the Zakus stood in a line. The colonel's voice spoke in Tavi's cockpit, saying in Jion-accented Spanish, "Very good, Captain. Tell your soldiers to dismount."
Tavi gave the order. Ten cockpits opened and ten giant hands moved to the chest area of the mobile suits. The pilots stepped out into the palms and rode down to the ground. They stood in front of their mecha, and Tavi compared and contrasted them with their Zabi commander. They were nine men and women in sepia, short-sleeved uniforms, each with an eagle on a cactus devouring a snake on the unit patch. Brown skin, black hair and dark eyes completed their uniformity.
Garma also had dark hair and eyes, but there the resemblance stopped. His skin was the pale cream of a white spacenoid. He was clearly hot and wanting to cut this as short as possible. Tavi fell in beside him and they walked again along the line of pilots. Satisfied, he allowed Tavi to dismiss the troops. Tavi gave the order and they returned to their Zakus, to walk them back to the hangar.
"The colours your soldiers choose for their mobile suits are interesting," Prince Garma, said to Tavi.
"The colour scheme means something to each pilot. The white one with the spots belongs to Leobardo Magadan-Ramirez. It represents Plague, that he is going to spread death through the Federation."
"I see." Garma crossed his arms. "And the fellow with the musclebound Aztec warrior holding the big-breasted dead lady?"
"George Villalobos. He's from southern California originally, not Mexico. And yes, he does have fuzzy dice hanging in his cockpit."
Garma laughed. "And your suit?"
Tavi looked up at his Zaku and smiled. "Just green, white, and red, Colonel. No more, no less. It's all I need to say." He turned his eyes to his companion. "You have traveled far today, sir. Let's put our mobile suits away and we can rest."
As they left, heading for the village of geodesic domes, Garma asked, "If you want, you can just direct me towards the guest quarters."
"We wouldn't dream of putting you someplace by yourself, sir. It will be the honour of my family to offer you hospitality." Tavi took Garma's bags and walked towards the village. As they approached, he became worried. Could there be any chance that Abuelo had gone to Mexico City or Puebla today, to watch lucha libre or something? Ay, Señor, he hoped so. He was trying to remember the sports schedule when the question was answered for him.
Tavi's grandfather, his Abuelo, came scampering down the path with a bowl of burning copal in one hand and a cluster of bright-green quetzal feathers in the other. Even though he was in a perfectly ordinary pair of khaki pants and a white polo shirt, he managed to look like something off an Aztec carving. He was grinning widely, showing what teeth he had left. He handed the copal to Tavi and then to Tavi's horror, rushed right up to Garma and took his hand, placing the feathers in them.
"So you are the viceroy. Welcome, welcome!"
Garma looked stunned at first, then recovered. He remained holding Abuelo's hand in both of his own and visibly concentrated for a second before saying, "Oticmiiyohuitli, oticmociahuitli".
Now it was Abuelo's turn to stare. "That is very polite of you," he said, "but that is what I should say to you, not you to me. It means 'you have been tired by your travels', and you are the one who has traveled, not I. Come along, come along."
Holding Garma's hand as if he were a favourite grandchild, Abuelo proceeded down the path, chatting to him about the history of the place. Tavi shook his head and sighed. He hoped Degin Zabi's youngest son was flexible, because there was certainly more to come.
Garma and Abuelo were soon in front of the Duarte home, with Abuelo introducing his new friend to Abuela and Luisa. Luisa, dressed as usual in jeans, an embroidered cotton blouse, and braids, was looking as disturbed as her husband. Abuela, in blouse, skirt, and braids now turned white, acted as if she greeted royalty every day and that it was nothing to be particularly excited about.
Tavi handed the bag to Luisa and the bowl of copal to Abuela. "Abuelo, why don't we show Colonel Zabi to his room and let him rest before dinner?"
"Yes, yes. He came all the way from San Diego, he was saying."
Tavi led the way, followed by his guest. Just inside the door was a large framed image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, in front of which a votive candle always burned. Tavi touched the frame and crossed himself, watched in surprise as Garma did the same. They walked through the dark interior of the building to the rear, where one of the domes was divided in half, forming a small room. There was some basic bedroom furniture there. At the top was a skylight, allowing in air and illumination.
"The shower is around the corner. Do not open your mouth when showering, and when you brush your teeth, use the bottled water. You could get sick if you don't. It happened to Lopez when we first came here," Tavi said.
"I'll be careful."
Tavi went back out towards the front. Abuela was outside with Luisa, starting the cooking in the outdoor kitchen. He poked his head into his grandparents' room and sure enough, found Abuelo sitting on the double bed, holding his chart.
In spite of the crucifix over the bed, the large piece of cardboard Abuelo held was a sign of his persistent paganism. On it were clipped photos of the Jion royal family. Under each photo was pinned a notecard with a Nahua name on it, followed in some cases by a question mark.
Degin Zabi was a sure thing: Ometecutli, the masculine Creator. Kishiria was Coyolxauhqui. Giren was Quetzalcoatl?, Dozel Huitzilopochtli?. As Tavi watched, Abuelo pinned the word "Cuauhtemoc" under Garma's picture.
"He's finally come back to us," Abuelo beamed. "After almost 700 years, he's done it. It is a pity his cyclic fate is to die."
Tavi closed the door and crossed his arms. Switching languages from Spanish to Nahuatl he said, "Abuelo, I think you're pinning too many hopes on a little white boy."
"He isn't just a little white boy. He's a member of the royal family, and I saw their coming in the stars. Remember that?"
"I remember. How could I forget us being loaded onto transports by the Federation and forced into space?" Octavio still seethed at the memories, even though it had been a good twelve years ago. "You looked out of the ship's window and made the grand announcement that the gods would be back, and that a challenge to the Federation was coming."
"They must be gods. Who else would throw a world as a weapon?"
"Looks like you've made a decision as to who our viceroy is."
"Not quite a god. A prince who must be sacrificed if we're to win this war."
"Abuelo, Cuauhtemoc's death didn't lead to the Mexica winning the war against the Spanish. He was hanged by Cortez and no emperors succeeded him."
"Not emperors, no. But we were an autonomous and free people until the Federation conquered us, weren't we?"
Abuelo's slightly watery eyes glared at him like two Zaku eyes in the dark. Tavi felt himself backing up slightly.
"True, Abuelo. I've often felt that our being stationed back in Mexico was nothing short of a miracle. "
"Of course it was. Now go check in on the chamaco* and make sure he's got what he needs."
####
Garma was fast asleep with the Duarte family dog in his arms. Octavio and his grandfather went out to go watch Luisa and Abuela cook dinner, now with the help of some of the other wives.
Eventually Garma emerged, followed by the dog at his heels. He still looked a bit drowsy, and the short-sleeved khaki uniform he was now wearing didn't suit his colouration. Then again, none of the mobile suit company did, so he wasn't alone.
The company snapped to attention immediately. Garma nodded. "At ease." He paused a moment as he took a seat at the end of the table and said, "Everyone act normally, please."
The Eagles watched him nonetheless. Abuela flapped a towel at the dog, but Garma grabbed its collar and she relented.
"It looks like Alberto's made a friend," Luisa said. She put a ceramic bowl of salsa verde on the table, followed by a basket of tortillas. Villalobos immediately reached for them, but Luna snatched them out of his way.
"You let the guest have some first, cabron!"
"Maybe he doesn't like chiles," Duarte heard Provi whisper back.
In response, Chavez pushed the bowl of salsa closer to Garma. "Tavi's wife made this," he said in English.
There was dead silence as they watched Garma dip a tortilla. The question on everybody's mind was the same: how would the gringuito respond?
Garma chewed and swallowed, then said, "As I once commented to Mike over there, I don't see why people think Mexican food is so spicy. Thai.now that's hot!"
The atmosphere relaxed immediately. Garma fed a bit of tortilla to Alberto, which the beige mutt gobbled down eagerly. Magadan poured Garma a shot glass of tequila and passed it to the prince with a lemon wedge and dish of salt. Luna demonstrated how to add a squeeze of lemon and a pinch of salt to the drink. Another one of the wives started putting out vegetables and another few bowls of salsa.
Eventually the women put big plates of turkey in dark-brown mole sauce on the table. Everyone waited for Garma to serve himself, which he did, putting a modest amount of rice, vegetables, and mole on his plate. He gestured for the rest of them to do the same, at which point they too started loading their dishes.
A few minutes into the meal, Tavi's abuela said, "The prince is very skinny. Does your father never feed you, mijo?"
Garma shook his head. "I'm not a big eater."
Over Tavi's shoulder, Chavez said, "Have you started eating meat, sir? That must be making your father very happy."
Garma looked down at his plate guiltily. "No."
Villalobos's wife looked confused. "Started eating meat? Do you only eat humbly, sir?"
Luna rolled her eyes. "Of course Prince Garma's a vegetarian. Don't any of you ever read the magazines?"
Duarte looked over at his commander. Garma had shrunk, suddenly reduced to just a small boy with a fussy appetite.
"I suppose," Garma said slowly and deliberately in English, "that you will be reporting on my eating habits to my sister, Chavez. I was hoping that once you were re-assigned to Mexico that would all stop."
Chingao, thought Duarte. This was going to be a nightmare. Chavez was exchanging an embarrassed look with Maria Franco. Garma returned to his dinner, picking gently at it with his fork.
After a few moments, one of the guys brought up futbol scores and they spent the rest of the evening discussing sports.
Later that night, after Garma had turned in, Duarte called Chavez in to his office.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked.
"Sir?"
"About you and the viceroy. It sounds as if you two know each other."
"That." Chavez sat down. "Princess Kishiria likes to know what Garma is doing. When I was sent to Earth initially, I was requested by the general, as the colonel's superior officer, to keep an eye on him, to make sure he was all right."
"That's very unusual. She doesn't trust him?
Chavez shook his head. "It's not that. He's 20, Octavio, and a young 20 at that. I was asked to look after him, to make sure he ate and slept and to report back to Kishiria if he did anything potentially.er.."
"Potentially what?"
Chavez visibly weighed his words. "His Royal Highness has a tendency to take risks. I and several others were to make sure he didn't."
"I'd be upset too."
Chavez nodded. "And I spoke out of turn. I was his minder then; I'm not now. He's a sweet kid, though, and very scared underneath that know-it-all exterior. I think he'll grow up well, if he's given a chance."
"Do you think that's likely?"
"That he'll grow up or be given a chance?"
"Either."
"Sadly, I don't know."
Duarte nodded. "Well, here's what I want you to do. Avoid crossing the Viceroy, comprende? If he's paranoid about you being a spy for his sister, and if I were in his shoes I would be, just don't make him feel any worse."
That little interview done, Octavio called it a night. He re-entered his home to find his grandparents sitting in the living room, watching television and eating ice cream. Garma's bedroom light was off. He could hear the sound of his and Luisa's bedroom raido. He loosened his collar and went into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water from the cooler. He was leaning against the sink and thinking about getting some ice cream too when his Abuelo walked in, grinning his "I have a prophecy" grin.
"What is it now?" Octavio asked.
Abuelo switched to Nahuatl. "Perhaps our little prince is not Cuauhtémoc as I thought. He said that he intends to lead his people."
"Princes do that."
"His mother died in childbirth, you know."
Octavio finished his glass and turned to pour another one. This was getting stupid, even if he did believe Abuelo was a prophet. "Really."
"That and the rivalry with his sister point to his being Huitzilopochtli."
"And do you think he will lead us to a new home on a planet where we will find an eagle on a maguey, devouring a snake too?"
"I don't think the gods have to repeat their own legends. They will give us new ones, taking us from this Sun to the next."
"Taking us from the Quinto Sol to the Sexto.Abuelo, I think that maybe you really are putting too many hopes on that little white boy."
"He'll surprise us. Just wait, mijo. You'll see."
The next morning, Garma appeared at the breakfast table in shorts and a t- shirt, looking ashen. He was holding one hand to his stomach.
"I think your troops better go on patrol without me," he said, "I forgot to use the bottled water last night when I brushed my teeth. I gave myself turista[1]."
Tavi shot an "I told you so," glance at Abuelo and went to get a bottle of Immodium.
*****Author's Notes****
A transition chapter, I know. For some reason this one was like pulling teeth, which is why it took so long. That and I finally landed myself a job while still teaching a class, so I've been busy.
A word on Mexican mythology, which none of my characters are going to get a chance to really explain. Huitzilopochtli et al are from the legend of the founding of Mexico. The grandmother of the gods, Coatlicue, (serpent skirt) was sweeping a temple one afternoon. As she swept, she found a soft, fluffy ball of feathers which she picked up and put into the pocket of her apron. Some time later, her children, came into the temple. Her daughter Coyolxauqui (painted with bells) pointed out that their mother was pregnant, that she had shamed them, and should die. Coatlicue's protests that no, it was the ball of feathers that had absorbed into her body, fell on deaf ears.
As her children went to attack her, the god Huitzilopochtli (hummingbird) suddenly burst from her body, full-grown, to defend his mother. Although the legends don't specifically say that this killed Coatlicue, and why protect a dead mother, she does vanish from the story at this point. Huitzilopochtli went to war against Coyolxauqui, and defeated her, cutting her body into pieces. These were scattered through the skies to make the stars, with her head being the Moon.
Huitzilopochtli then went to take his people, the Mexica, from where they lived in Aztlan (thought to be what is now the American Southwest) to a new promised land. He prophecied that their wanderings would end when they saw an eagle standing on a maguey (cactus), devouring a snake. After many years they found this sight in a swamp, which they drained and began to turn into a city, Tenochtitlan. Today it is Mexico City and a statue of the eagle's dinner stands on the spot where it was seen, and it is the crest on the flag of Mexico.
The creator Olmetecutli, is an old god whose cult was pretty much in disuse by the time the Spanish came. He had been displaced by the more famous Quetzalcoatl, who while not a creator per se, was a powerful wizard and technical genius. In some versions, he is benevolent, not wishing human sacrifices, but in others he demands them. I've seen and photographed a large altar to him in Cholula in Puebla. The Cholulan Pyramid is something I recommend to everyone who is heading down to Central Mexico, although if you are able to get to Teotihuacan (where the home base of the 505th is located) that is even more spectacular, and fully excavated.
----------------------- *Chamaco: Mexican Spanish for "kid". [1] What is usually referred to as "Montezuma's Revenge." However, this is considered a highly offensive term in Mexico, and the proper one is "turista" as given here.