Diego and the Rangers of the Vastlantic

“What?” Diego asked. It was almost like Santiago was studying him. “Dad . . .”

“Sorry.” Santiago shook his head, like he was returning from a daydream. “You know what? On second thought, I tell you what: Why don’t we stop by the workshop before school?” He checked his watch. “There’s enough time if you eat fast. And then you can have that present now, after all.”

“Okay, cool.” Diego wolfed down his food.

“I’ll meet you at the front door,” Santiago said, gathering his belt and refilling his coffee mug.

Diego shoved in his last bites and jumped to his feet, still chewing.

“Bye, sweetie,” Siobhan said, kissing Diego’s head. “We’ll have cake tonight when you two get home.”

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

A Workshop of Wonders (#litres_trial_promo)

Diego and Santiago rode the elevator down to the workshop. The elevator clacked and shimmied, its gears grinding. Like so many things, it had once run on electricity, but the Time Collision had made the earth’s magnetic field violently unstable. As a result, virtually nothing electric worked. Some simple devices worked with the help of Elder fuses but only in limited capacity and only for short amounts of time. Limited use of old-fashioned telegraph devices was the only form of long-distance communication. Anything that had used circuit boards needed to be resurrected using steam, hydraulics, limited diesel, and manual labor. The work that Santiago had pioneered, mixing Steam-Time and Mid-Time technologies, had been the key to rebuilding the world safely. He had replaced this elevator’s smooth plastic buttons with brass ones that triggered little pistons, which in turn connected to gear works. The elevator lowered with a rhythmic pumping of steam compressors. Like most things in the city, it smelled of machine oil.

The elevator lurched and clanged to a stop, the doors grinding open.

As they did, Diego felt an odd sensation in his head. The world swam slightly, and there was a faint ringing in his ears. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself.

Santiago stepped out into the hall and glanced back at Diego.

“Diego, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just . . . I’m fine,” Diego said, following him out. He took a deep breath and felt normal again, but when he looked up, Santiago was still gazing at him oddly.

“Dad, what?”

Santiago shook his head. “You just looked green for a second. You sure you’re all right? It’s going to be a big job today. I’ll need your best effort.”

“It’s just driving a loader,” Diego said, walking beside Dad. “And I’m sure their steam converter is nowhere near as sophisticated as yours.”

“No,” Santiago agreed. “But its designer, George Emerson, is a tough nut to crack. Don’t take his attitude personally. He’s been here six months already, working on the retrofit, and the encounters I’ve had with him have been . . . less than pleasant. His son Georgie has been helping too, though, and he’s much nicer. Maybe you two will have something in common.”

“Maybe,” Diego said.

They walked down a high-ceilinged hall, their footsteps echoing on the long, warped boards.

“Hey, have you thought any more about what you want to do this summer?” Santiago asked.

“Nah,” Diego said. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Time’s getting short,” Dad said. “If you want to fly and service the planes with your mother at the air base, I’ll need to find an apprentice for the shop. And that will be hard, since I already have the best young engineer in New Chicago.”

Diego knew that if he looked up, he’d find Dad smiling proudly, so he kept his eyes on the floor. “I like working in the shop, Dad. It’s just . . .”

Santiago sighed. “I know. You love to fly. Besides, Mom should get a summer with you for once.” Santiago patted Diego’s shoulder. “She’s jealous of all the time we get together.”

“I could still come by in the evenings,” Diego said. “I mean, to check in on the robots and stuff.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. I’d be glad for it. Whoever I find will no doubt need a lot of training.”

“Well, yeah, but then you’ll have someone around who can really help out, long term.”

Santiago shrugged. “Someone who will need things explained three times when you barely needed once.”

“That’s not true,” Diego said. “I wrecked that plasma torch last month, even though you showed me how to use it.”

“That plasma torch would be hard for even my most experienced men to operate.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

Santiago stopped and patted Diego’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I hear you. Flying sounds more exciting.”

Diego wasn’t sure that was what he was saying at all. And he hated this feeling that he was letting his father down, but also that Dad kept assuming Diego was a genius builder like he was. Actually, there was little chance he’d ever be the pilot that his mother was either. Both his parents cast tall shadows.

“You know working with Search and Rescue will be a lot more swabbing decks and windshields than flying patrols or performing rescues,” Dad said.

“I know.” Diego understood that what he most often pictured—spotting Aeternum scout ships, arcing through the air with his cannon rifles firing—was unrealistic for his summer.

A shrill bark echoed in the hallway.

“Hey, Daphne.” Diego bent, and the little orange-and-white Shiba Inu nearly jumped on his face. “Whoa, girl.” Diego wrestled the dog down and gave her a quick, furious scratch. “Nice to see you, too.”

He stopped at a large metal door on runners and twisted the big dials on its lock. The door hissed and began to grind open.

“Over here,” Santiago said. He stood by a large iron workbench, its faded red paint chipped and worn away. The sunlight bathed a black tarp covering something on the table.

“Now,” Santiago said, grinning like a kid. “Back to your birthday . . .” He whipped off the tarp.

There it was: a gravity board, the magnet-bottom boots, steam pack, and gloves beside it.

“Awesome,” Diego breathed. He gazed at the polished surface, at the fans and machinery. The design was so cool. Diego could barely keep himself from grabbing it and jumping headlong out the window.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey, you weren’t kidding . . . it’s not finished.”

“What do you mean, it’s nearly there . . . isn’t it?” Santiago asked, eyeing him.

Diego pointed to the board. “Well, the rear thruster and the mercury accelerator haven’t been installed yet.” It seemed obvious to Diego, but that was strange; he’d never really studied exactly how these boards worked. He’d been too concerned with how to fly them.

“I was going to finish it today and give it to you tonight,” Santiago said, stepping over to a bench by the wall. He returned with an armful of parts. “But maybe you should try to finish it yourself.” He placed the parts on the table.

“Me?” Diego said. “But I’ve never worked on one of these.”

“I think it will be different today.”

“Dad—”