"Jaime," I say, "what is your job?" It's a question I've asked since he was ten. My hijo lets out an annoyed huff. "You know she can't watch those scary movies," I say.
"It's her own fault!" he defends. "She kept bugging me and wouldn't leave and-"
I raise an eyebrow.
"I know," he says and his eyes roll to the ceiling. "It's my fault. I'm supposed to protect her." My eyes flick expectantly to the kitchen where Milagro sniffs softly. He begins to protest. My other eyebrow raises. Another sigh from him. My hijo shuffles to obey. I don't hear what is said. But he smiles and teases her gently. My hija wraps her arms around his neck. He scoops her up in his arms. A soft smile brushes my mouth.
These are my hijos. They fight and are selfish. And then they surprise me with their capacity to forgive, and amaze me with their tender and puro amor.
-Bianca Reyes
PRESENT:
After his flight across the Atlantic, Jaime collapsed somewhere along the the outer banks of North Carolina exhausted. Surprisingly enough torture, fighting for his life, and flying at the speed of sound took a lot out of him.
He woke up hours later and, ignoring his cramping hunger, took to the skies again. The south was green and luscious. He couldn't believe how many trees there were. They piled across mountains and marched beyond into the flattening Midwest.
Then he entered the plains. Farmland. His spirits rose as he crossed over the Mississippi. He longed to pause over the ocean like vastness of the river, but a more urgent matter drew him on. He avoided Dallas, heading along the border of Oklahoma and then shooting down towards the far corner of Texas. At last, that pale earth he knew. Just there, the Franklin mountains. Cupped below them: home.
Jaime landed in the outskirts of El Paso. It was almost five. He planned to walk the rest of the way in. He didn't particularly like the idea of having his neighbor Mrs. Johanson glance up from her flowerbeds to see him landing in the back yard. But the suit refused to come off, clinging to the notion that it was likely Checkmate waited at his home.
Paranoid trasto.
He considered arguing with it-
Jaime's objections altered nothing.
-but that could take forever. He thought of waiting for nightfall. But he couldn't. Had to get home. Had to see his familia. Jaime followed the suit's coordinates to his street. At a distance that ensured he was nothing but a speck in the sky, he hovered unsure over his house.
Sun heating his body, Jaime evaluated the street. Scratch that. The suit evaluated, he stared. Their green minivan wasn't out front. In its place was a beat up two door car. His vision rippled and the scanners took over.
"Will you warn me before you do that," he told the suit. "You're gonna make me puke."
Jaime stared into the invisible light spectrum and peered into his home. There were only two people inside. One adult sized blob was in the living room seated on the couch. The other he knew was his hermana Milagro. She was in his room, playing a video game based on the heat from the TV. She knew she wasn't supposed to be in there without his permission. But he found he didn't really care about that. He never thought he could hurt so much seeing the little moco. All he wanted to do was run in and sweep her up in un abrazo.
"Coast is clear," Jaime told the suit. "Bajemos."
Negative.
"Look, we separated before. Do I have to pass out again?"
Segregation of combat operating systems from Jaime: not permitted.
"Why not?"
Segregation: direct opposition to directive.
"We need to work together, jefe. You know, like a team."
Affirmative. Jaime: surrender all functions.
"That's not what a team is."
Team: to join together.
"It's more than that. A team's ... it's ... Okay, it's like Han and Chewbacca."
Identify Han and Chewbacca.
"Well, obviously I'm Han," he said.
Adding information to database-
"What? No! I'm not actually Han Solo. It's a metaphor, you stupid traje!"
Metaphors serve no purpose to directive.
"There's more to life than your directive."
For once the suit was silent.
"I need to go home."
Negative. Unidentified personage within edifice. Obtain more data. Premises: unsecure.
"It's probably a babysitter." He tried to descend. The thrusters refused to obey. "Come on, traje. It's over. I'm home. Let me down and get off." But the suit was in the process of scanning the neighboring homes. His brain buzzed as information crowded in from all the different readings.
Emanation of radio waves detected from structure. Intercepting.
He winced as static screeched through his head and clamped his hands over his ears. A woman's voice emerged from the din, Spanish flowing from her lips.
"La cirugía se realizó sin problemas, gracias a Dios."
"Mami!" Jaime gasped. The sound of her voice — that voice like a warm quilt being drawn around him — made the ropes of tension uncoil from his limbs. That comfort was immediately offset with panic. Cirugía? What surgery? What happened?
The suit as always ran scans in the background, updating him on the environment-
88 degrees Fahrenheit, UV index: high. Humidity: 3 percent.
-and posting updates on things he'd just rather not know.
Secretion of cortisol: increasing. Metabolic levels: operating at approximately 70 kilocalories per hour. Glucose levels: below normal.
The constant bubble of information mixed with his panic kept him from information about his padre's condition.
"Cállate!" Jaime snarled and strained his hearing.
"Berto said Jaime was with him when the shooting happened," his madre was saying in Spanish.
"Alberto's awake?" This voice he recognized as one of his primas. They must be talking on the phone. Emanation of radio waves. He rolled his eyes. This thing needed to come with a dictionary.
"Not yet," his madre sighed. "He was lucid a few moments before they took him back to surgery. He's in ICU right now. I'll see him in a bit."
Jaime's head suddenly spun. ICU. That's where people went when they could die. His padre was in intensive care. It was serious. It was bad. The sound of his name drew him back to the conversation.
"Anything? Any news? Did he call the house?"
The prima hesitated to answer.
"Dios mio," his madre uttered. "Jaime."
"He's fine, Bia," the prima said. "I'm sure of it."
His madre spoke in a low tone she reserved for rude telemarketers, people who cut her off in traffic, and when he and Milagro fought. He called it her "calm before the storm" voice. "When that boy gets back," Jaime cringed. "I'm going to skin him with a butterknife and tack his hide to the fridge."
Jaime had no reason to fear harm. Subject "mother" lacked the tools to effectively disable defencive capabilities.
Jaime was not reassured.
His madre's voice cut off. She sucked in a quick, trembling breath. She was about to cry. Jaime's innards writhed. She'd been through so much in the last day. And worse, been through it alone. She was doubtless worn ragged from fretting at the hospital and accompanying papi through surgery and the ICU. On top of that, Milagro was probably enloquecido with worry. No one to reassure her. Protect her.
He should be there.
"Bia," the prima soothed, "don't worry. Everything will work out. I have things taken care of here with Milagro. You just take care of yourself. Alberto needs you right now."
His madre regained composure. "You're an angel. I don't know how I could get through this without family." The statement twisted a knife in his gut.
"It's what we're here for," the prima said.
The conversation continued but Jaime focused his attention on the dark shell over his skin.
"Listen up, traje," he growled. "I'm going inside. Get off."
Negative.
"That is my family!" he yelled.
Family serves no purpose to direc-
His body tensed and rage churned through his blood as thick as molten steel. "Don't even go there."
The prima's voice cut through the moment. "Bianca, get to a TV. It's Jaime. He's on the news!"
"What?" his madre yelped.
"What did she say?" Jaime joined.
Warning!
"What now!" he cried.
Jaime requested a warning when visuals would be manipulated. Intercepting satellite transmission.
He could swear the suit was getting an attitude with him. Jaime braced for the pinching shift. His eyes twinged and in front of him appeared a large image of a reporter behind a desk. Jaime reached out to touch it but felt nothing, hand passing through the mirage. The reporter was replaced with the sight of his padre's shop quarantined behind police tape. He gasped. His ears pinged and a voice over accompanied the footage.
"-the shootout between two rival gangs carried into an hour long foot chase with police. Local teenager Jaime Reyes is suspect along with Paco Testas—" pictures of Jaime and Paco appeared on the screen "—a known affiliate of the gang known as The Posse. The whereabouts of Reyes are unknown-"
"What gang? What shootout?" Jaime trailed off. Images of the charred husk of of the police car in the street flashed by followed by the scorched cemetery, closeups featuring the damaged headstones, plasma marks, and crater from the rocket. His mouth hung slack. The world seemed to be dropping away from him. His brain struggled to process the report.
There was no mention of the fact that Jaime had been in a high tech suit, or the intervention of the army. But then, it hadn't been the army. It was some top secret organization that had intervened. From Italy! Did Italy even have secret agencies?
Checkmate covered up the incident. Manipulated the press. Silenced the facts. They even dragged Paco into it! Jaime's fists clenched. "Eso es una mentira," he screamed at the reporter. "That's total bull!"
The newscast droned on. "Five days since this shocking event, citizens still recover from repercussions of this gang violence. We take you live to Evergreen Cemetery where we talk with angry residents-"
Did the reporter say five days ago? The echo of these words tumbled through his skull. Five days since the incident. But ... how? It was only yesterday. He felt a slow sinking in his stomach.
"Traje," Jaime whispered. "What's today?"
The suit relayed the date.
"Five days?" Jaime repeated. Five days of torture. Five days without food, water, sleep. Five days of machines prying, ripping, shredding.
Peacemaker ...
Jaime slammed his eyes closed and shook his head.
Checkmate was right to imprison Frost. She was a killer. Dangerous. But he ... he was just a kid. They tried to kill him. They lied, made that bogus news report. Why did they want to ruin his life, hurt his friend, his family, make everyone turn against him?
Five days. His madre not knowing. His padre in surgery. Jaime forced himself to even his breath and tried to steady himself in the churning world.
Warning!
It wasn't a gang. It wasn't Paco. It wasn't Jaime's fault. How did this end up so twisted? How-
Warning!
"Not now you stupid, traje!" Jaime snapped.
Warning: Jaime was being painted.
"What's that mean?"
Painted: marked by means of an infrared laser to enable targeting system of propelled projectile to lock onto desired target. Jaime was warned that this would occur. He should have destroyed the enemy base to ensure they would not pursue. He should not have returned to El Paso.
Jaime's eyes swiveled to follow the yellow geometric shapes that whirled around. Another twinge in his vision. Twin electromagnetic beams shot through the sky, hovering over his chest. He followed them to their source. A van at the end of the block. There were four. A pinch and the suit zoomed in.
Rocket launchers. Two of them. Aimed at him.
A pop and the missiles fired simultaneously, hissing through the air.
He swore and his joints locked in terror.
Jaime need not panic. The laser energy was now being absorbed, rendering the threat useless.
"Thanks for the update. Next time you disable some threat you could tell me ... oh, before I have a heart attack!"
Jaime's cardiac functions were in near optimum conditions.
He wasn't listening. He glanced down at the street, at his house.
They were shooting rockets. Over his house. Over his hermanita.
His anger turned into something hard and calm. The suit responded, understanding what he wanted. Jaime felt the onslaught of emotions and his whirling thoughts fade.
Clarity.
No more running. It didn't matter what happened, as long as he accomplished the priority. He would to protect his home, protect Milagro. Eliminate the attacker. He joined the suit; a team.
Priority: kill Checkmate.
Loose Spanish translation as taken in context:
ay Dios - oh God
bajemos - let's go down
cállate - shut up
cirugía - surgery
comprende - understand
Dios mio - my God
enloquecido - crazy
eso es una mentira - that's a lie
familia - family
gracias a Dios - thank God
hermana - sister
hermanita - little sister
hija - daughter
hijo - son
hijos - children
la cirugía se realizó sin problemas - the surgery went smoothly
madre - mother
mami - mom
moco - snot
padre - father
papi - dad
prima - cousin
puro amor - pure love
traje - suit
trasto - piece of junk
un abrazo - a hug