Guelito's Gift

The door to guelo’s high rise apartment was left ajar. I clutched my vintage heart shaped locket in anticipation. Then I crept my way towards the door and when I entered and realized the apartment’s A.I. failed to greet me, I knew something was wrong.

My abuelo, grandfather in Spanish and whom I called guelo or quelito for short, had programmed the A.I. with different greetings for both of us. Not only did LUZ ,the A.I. named after my abuela, refer to us by our real names but it also recognized us by our nicknames. Her nicknames for him leaned towards her love of how husky he was. Gordo , meaning “fat” or “chubby”, was his favorite. Coming from her it was like a badge of honor and it always made him blush.

Surveying the living room I see that nothing is out of place.

“LUZ, its Jozy, is guelito home?” I called out anxiously as I stood in the doorway, not fully inside yet. No answer.

Steadily walking in,

“Umm… chiquita is here, has guelito stepped out?”, again, no answer.

One of my many nicknames was chiquita which meant “cute little one” or “short girl” in our native tongue. All the nicknames he had for me were some derivative adjective having to do with my being “vertically challenged” as he would say - he was cheeky that way. Always having fun or cracking jokes. This wasn’t funny though and I’m worried. Usually when I come to visit he is in the kitchen by the window with a coffee singing and dancing, in the living room having holo-domino games with Luz (which he lost most of the time), or his favorite of watching pro-wrestling. Our family had been fans for generations. My job currently is in the professional wrestling business helping set up the venue and ring, so it is in our blood.

I peer over and look into the kitchen and over the counter and notice that a freshly made pot of coffee still sits. With steam rising from the top and two empty mugs right beside it. I don’t drink coffee as it makes me sleepy and the taste is just bitter. Clearly he had or was expecting company. Very rare thing for us as we kept a low profile.

I try again,

“LUZ, mi amor, did guelito have company today? Who came over?”. And again, no answer.

Now I make my way to the back corner of the living room where the alter bay for LUZ was standing. We didn’t have a lot of money so this model of home A.I. was already several generations old. It was so old that it was a hand-me-down from one of guelo’s old road buddies in pro-wrestling. It was so old in fact that the bay’s outer shell was slightly decayed, greyish, and about a four foot tall, hexagonal alter. Nowadays, home A.I.’s are the size of a golf ball that you could just plug into your wall via a special socket.

When we first got her, she would short circuit and malfunction on occasion and guelito was such a crafty man that he would fix it himself. Until, one day him and his best friend, a mechanic, decided to make some modifications to spruce up what was once an old piece of tech into something that could be considered new. One of the cool mods was LUZ actually had my grandmother’s voice programmed into it.

I looked behind the bay and notice the cable connecting to the wall socket was removed. No cable at all. Not only was it removed but it was done so violently that attempting to just plug in a spare would do nothing and I needed to access LUZ and check her security files to see what I can find. Dreading the worst I clutch my locket tightly with my false arm. Well, false in the sense that it’s a cybernetic prosthetic I had after a beam fell on my right arm while helping set up a show three years ago. That accident took nearly 3/4 of my arm, from the middle of my bicep down to my arm, it’s all false. At the time I was just seventeen years old, hoping to be able to train to be a wrestler but guelo forbade it. He was disappointed when he found out and spent nearly his life savings to get me this - arm. Since then I’ve grown used to it even though it reminds me of what could have been. To help ease my depression after the accident guelo and his mechanic friend modded my arm just as beautifully as they did LUZ.

Since the cable port and socket are busted, I turn the alter bay around with my false arm. Its old and heavy. Open the central processing unit located in the back just above the busted cable socket and plug a wire I pull from my wrist apparatus into the processing unit. Hopefully a diagnostic can help me out here. As it’s attempting to power on I notice the heads up display (HUD) on my wrist apparatus starts the diagnostic. Things do not look good. Tons of errors pop up and the alter bay has nearly no juice left. Not nearly enough to get answers out of LUZ.

Considering the severity of the situation I decide to take one of the four power vials that give juice to my false arm. Hoping it can maybe let me talk to LUZ and get an idea of what happened here. I reach into my forearm, grab a vial, remove one of the two power vials in the bay and plug in mine. The top of the bay lights up.

“Jozy, Hola mamita, how are you today?”, what a relief - It worked!

“Oh my god! LUZ, where is guelo?!”

“Is everything ok, chiquita?”

“No! I don’t know yet… I came over and the door was open. Was anyone here before I arrived?”

There was a brief moment of silence before she replied.

“JOBBERS”

“What? Are you sure? How many?”

“Yes, chiquita. Three JOBBERS showe up. My memory banks show they came. There was a heated discussion about history and legacy. Gordo, put on a pot of coffee. They headed towards his bedroom and…”

Just as she was talking the HUD on my apparatus lit up bright red with a warning of power waning fast. Before I can even motion to try and save LUZ, the central processing unit burst into sparks, knocking me back a few feet. The whiplash knocking my head into the flagstone floor.

“Crap, ouch! No! Almost there…”

It was nice to hear her. Even just a moment. JOBBERS were android security that promoters can buy or hire to protect their venues and events. The fact that they came here tells me they were looking for something. I quickly got up and ran towards guelo’s room. It was a complete mess, confirming what I thought. They were looking for something and I knew who sent them and where my guelo was. Since I’m headed into the center of the city, I grab my mask and goggles then head out.

I pull up to the venue in a hover-cab, the Catch Coliseum, owned by a promoter connected to organized crime. My boss. Vincenzo Watts. One of the wealthiest promoters in the world. His talent roster was mostly droids and partly human talent. If I had to guess it was a bout a 75/25 split. The only human talent he was interested in signing were those with blood, legacy in pro wrestling. These days it was hard to get your promoter’s license if your roster is mostly human. The years of C.T.E. on past talents caused the business to shift into a more safer model as time passed. Build a wrestler in a lab and let a legacy grappler teach the droid how to perform. Personally, nothing can capture the magic a human grappler can convey.

The Catch Coliseum is huge. Shaped like some kind of techno-pyramid and roughly 5 times the size of any coliseum in the early 2000s, Mr. Watts had a flair for extravagance and in 2197, he wanted you to know it as soon as you pulled up. I walk up the stairs towards the entrance, greeted by two JOBBERS.

“Here for work, Jozy?”, said the one on the left.

“No. Day off. I’m here to see Vinnie.”

“I’m sorry to inform you but he is in a meeting. No visitors.”, said the one on the right.

“Yeah it’s my grandfather. Can I come through please?”

In unison, both JOBBERS eyes lit up red and a buzzer sounded off.

“NEGATIVE”, they said.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll just wait out here”, I said sarcastically. I’m fluent in sarcasm and these bump dummies couldn’t understand a lick of it.

Obviously, I’m not waiting so I sneak around the back and go through the kitchen. Some co-workers greet me and I make my way towards the business elevator which would lead me to Mr. Watt’s office. I make it to the elevator and press the very obvious, flamboyantly labeled button (V) to his basement office. On my way down I clutch onto my heart shaped locket with my good hand. Feeling the engraving of my name on the back, and three rubies embedded into it on the front, rubbing my thumb over each one in a circular motion, eyes closed just thinking, wondering and hoping guelo is ok when I get down there.

The elevator doors open. I see the double doors to Mr.Watts office down the hall, red carpet leading right to it. Walking up I hear grown discussion. It’s guelo’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Watts. You were given terrible information. This title belt is not the one you’re looking for.”

“So, my stooges are mistaken?”, says Mr. Watts. All 6’5” of him.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, I apologize for the misunderstanding. Send me the bill for any repairs needed that were caused by my JOBBERS.” Said Mr. Watts, somewhat embarrassed.

“Yes, sir. Goodnight and good luck with the show next month”

The doors open and my guelo sees me.

“Chiquita! Hey!” he says

In confusion “No hey! What the heck happened? I came here, your room was trashed and LUZ busted, are you ok?!” I say

Waving back at Mr.Watts nervously and moving urgently towards the elevator, my guelo says

“I’ll explain at the house let’s go now!”

Back at the house guelito explains everything. The JOBBERS came on a anonymous tip that we had a legacy championship from the early 2000s and my grandfather had it in his possession. The belt in my guelito’s house was a replica and not the real thing. That was half the truth.

“Chiquita, there is no belt because I had the real one reforged by my mechanic buddy” he says excitedly.

“He made them into three heart shaped lockets. Two buried with your mom and your grandmother each, and the last one is around your neck”

He placed the fake belt on the kitchen table and he explained that the rubies have a cool trick. Plucking one ruby out he puts it into the top center plate of the belt. A holographic mural is displayed over the center plate. It’s my great, great, grandfather, my dad, uncle, all raising the real belt high during their reigns as champion. Apparently the rubies are encoded with our rich history and legacy in pro-wrestling. I’m speechless.

Now knowing the truth I clutch my locket with my good hand tightly. I carry generations of my families legacy around my neck and my grandfather just swerved the biggest promoter in the country.