Diego and the Rangers of the Vastlantic

by Armand Baltazar

  A bright blue robotic crane passed by Diego’s building, picking its way through the crowded canal like a spider on its eight spindly legs. Another smaller robot followed not far behind. It was yellow and sturdy, more like a bulldozer on legs but with two piston-powered arms instead of a giant shovel. It towed a barge loaded with steel beams.

  The streets were clogged with people and vehicles from many eras. New Chicago was unique like that. In most parts of the world, the eras of time were uniform over vast geographic regions, and they lined up neatly against each other like slices of a pie. Here, the time regions were more like splinters in a cracked mirror. Some narrow and long, some short and trapezoidal, and they wove and crossed among one another. It made life more colorful and chaotic than in other places, and in some ways more dangerous, but compared to that skyline in the poster on his wall, Diego thought this version of Chicago seemed way more interesting.

  The smell of bacon and eggs broke Diego out of these thoughts. He heard sizzling meat from inside. Then he remembered why they were having a bigger breakfast than normal.

  It was Diego’s thirteenth birthday.

  He hurried back inside and to the kitchen. Siobhan stood by the stove wearing her pilot’s jumpsuit, her thick red curls pulled back and held up with a blue chopstick. She dropped another strip of bacon into the sizzling pan just as the pressure gauge next to the stove dropped to zero. A shrill whistle burst from the gauge, and the stove went dead.

  “Blimey,” Siobhan muttered. “There should be at least thirty minutes of power left on that blasted thing.”

  “Try this one, Mom,” Diego said, unclipping the pressure gauge from his belt and handing it to her. “It should have three hours of burn on it.”

  “Thank you, my darling birthday boy.” She hugged him tightly, kissing his forehead.

  “Mom . . . ,” Diego said.

  “What?” She smiled as she unscrewed the depleted gauge and affixed the new one, the stove snapping back to life. “Should I say ‘young man’ now instead of ‘boy’?”

  “Just maybe not ‘darling,’” Diego said.

  Siobhan sighed. Her face was ivory white and smooth, her eyes a striking gray blue. “Oh, you are getting older, aren’t you? And I think you grew another inch overnight.” She tapped his nose with her index finger. “Sit. You need to eat and get off to school. And don’t forget,” she added as Diego moved to the table, “you’re meeting Dad after school today at the Arlington Geothermal plant.”

  “I know,” Diego said.

  “You’re supposed to report to the ferry dock right after school. No messing around with Petey. Dad says that installing this new steam converter will take all afternoon.”

  “I know,” Diego said. “Man, it would’ve been great if Dad could’ve built the power plant closer. The ferry ride is too long.”

  “I think you could forgive him that one oversight,” Siobhan said. “This city has power, security, and prosperity because of your father.”

  He knew how much his father had done for New Chicago: in the short years after the Time Collision, Santiago had designed and built the power plant and the perimeter wall protecting the territories, and created most of the robots that maintained and protected the city. “It’s just a long afternoon on my birthday.”

  “Yes,” Siobhan said. “We’d been hoping to take you to the Signature Room at the 95th for dinner tonight, but this job is very important. If your father could have scheduled it for any other day, believe me, he would have. So there will be no more complaining in the ranks, boyo. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Diego said. He gave his mom a salute. Siobhan flew for the City Search and Rescue now, but she’d once been a decorated fighter pilot. She fought against the Aeternum, a group of marauders who frequently raided New Chicago and other coastal cities in the aftermath of the Chronos War, and her part in the decisive Battle of Dusable Harbor had made her a legend.

  Heavy boots echoed down the hall.

  “Good morning,” Santiago said. He was dressed for work. Though the title Chief Mechanical and Civil Engineer might sound like it required a suit, Santiago was not one to put on airs, never mind wash the engine grease from beneath his fingernails. He was happiest when he was right there among his crew, up to his elbows in machines.

  He hung his heavy, weather-beaten satchel on the back of a chair and then filled a mug with coffee.

  “Good morning, Santi.” Siobhan handed him a plate of food, and he leaned over to kiss her.

  “You always look fetching and official in your uniform,” he said.

  “I thank ya kindly,” Siobhan said, her words seeped in a light Irish lilt that always seemed stronger when she was either embarrassed or furious. “Turns out I got all fancied up for nothing. The whole fleet’s grounded. Colonel McGregor sent word that the batch of fuel they put into the squadron last night was bad.”

  “Bad?” Santiago asked as he sat down. “How could that be?”

  “Full of impurities,” Siobhan said. “So, instead of flying, we’re going to spend all day draining the tanks and flushing the fuel lines. It’s affected most of the navy ships, too. Nearly every vehicle at the base is out of commission.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” Santiago said. “That’s odd, though. The Calumet refinery is usually so reliable. Did they say how it happened?”

  “Not in the report I got,” Siobhan said.

  Santiago frowned. “I’ll give them a call later this morning. If there’s a problem with one of the pumps, the sooner I can send a team the better.” After a bite of eggs, he glanced at Diego. “I heard you call her ‘Captain.’ You’ll be a captain yourself this afternoon.”

  Diego smiled nervously. “And what will I be captain of?” he asked, thinking, Say a gravity board, say a gravity board. . . .

  “Hah.” Santiago chuckled and ate his bacon. “The loader, of course, driving the big blue Centauri bot. This Goliath steam converter is a big deal. I hope you’re still up for it.”

  “Oh,” Diego said. “Right. That bot is kinda tricky.”

  “I’ve seen you handle it like a pro,” Santiago said.

  “I’m not that good at it,” Diego said. “I mean, I guess when we’re installing pressure valves or something, but . . . maybe you should have Stan Angelino do it. He’s the top robot driver at Arlington.”

  “Come on,” Santiago said. “You are my son. How could you help but be one of the best, someday maybe even the best?” Santiago rubbed the top of Diego’s head, messing up his hair. “This converter came to us all the way from London. The queen’s top steam propulsion designer and his son are here to help us install it. Stan is very good, but I need my top man on the job.”

  Diego felt his cheeks burn.

  “And besides,” Santiago said, “you’ve got to see this thing. It’s massive!”

  Dad always sounded like a kid when he talked about work. He liked to say that it kept him young, though lately Diego had noticed the gray hair at his father’s temples and the occasional white whisker in his broad mustache.

  But instead of smiling back, Diego stared down at his plate.

  “What is it, Diego?”

  “Well, I just don’t understand why Magistrate Huston thinks that we need some old-fashioned steam technology. First, there was the engineer from France with his revolutionary gas lamp systems, then that awful crude oil expert from Texas. Now we have to put up with some stuffy British guy?” Diego flashed a glance at his father. “I mean, you’re ten times the engineer that he is.”

  Santiago sipped his coffee. “Sharing our technology helps strengthen our alliances. It’s my duty to help them, and this converter is the queen’s way of doing the same.” Santiago smiled. “There’s more to being chief engineer than gears and pistons. There’s also the workings of people. And sometimes they’re more complicated. You’ll have to learn that if you are ever going to take my place.”

  Diego wished he hadn’t said anything. “I don’t know, Dad. . . .”
He didn’t think he could ever take Santiago’s place. He didn’t know if he had that kind of greatness in him, and he didn’t want to see the disappointment in his father’s eyes if he didn’t.

  “Listen,” Dad said. “I realize it’s not as exciting as taking your pilot’s test. But I need you.”

  “I know,” Diego said.

  “And someday when you finally turn thirteen and take that test, you’ll still be the youngest pilot in New Chicago.”

  “Dad . . . ,” Diego muttered. He shoved a whole piece of bacon into his mouth.

  “What is it?” Santiago asked.

  “Today is my birthday.”

  “Wait . . . today? But . . .” Santiago started counting on his fingers. “It can’t be. Today is Tuesday, yesterday was Monday. Before that it was Sunday, so today must be . . .”

  Santiago’s face cracked, and he started to laugh.

  “Dad!” Diego said.

  “You’re horrible,” Siobhan said, punching Santiago’s shoulder lightly.

  “Sorry,” Santiago said, grinning. “But I had you going.” He pulled a small package from his satchel and held it out. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget. Here.”

  This was not the size of a gravity board, but Diego pulled off the brown paper, revealing a small box wrapped in white paper, with a blue bow. There was a card attached.

  To our young adventurer and son, Diego

  Through this, may you see

  A world of wonders hidden from most.

  Love, Mom & Dad

  He unwrapped the package.

  “What is it?” Diego asked, raising the tube to his eye. Through the lens, he saw tiny broken fragments. They formed a fractured pattern of beautiful colored shapes.

  “Now turn the other end,” his father instructed. Diego rotated the cylindrical collar at the front. The image began to move and change, forming new patterns even more beautiful than the last, the colors tumbling and rearranging.

  “Wow,” Diego said.

  Santiago smiled. “It’s a kaleidoscope. It has mirrors and bits of different-colored glass inside. That’s what creates those patterns when you rotate it.”

  “It’s amazing,” Diego replied. He turned the device over in his hand.

  “Don’t you like it?” Siobhan asked.

  “Yeah, I mean—it’s awesome.” He tried to sound thankful, and he was just . . . Was this it? “Thanks, guys.”

  “Never discount the potential in all things, no matter how humble their appearance,” Santiago said.

  “Okay,” Diego said, doing his best to smile.

  But his parents were still grinning.

  “Santi,” Siobhan said, nearly cracking up. “Isn’t there something else?”

  “Maybe.” Santiago’s eyes glinted mischievously.

  Diego jumped. “Is it—”

  “Hold your horses,” Dad said. “It’s still down in the workshop. I have a few last touches to do, but it will be ready by tonight.” He saw Diego’s face fall. “I think you can survive. Besides, we have lots to distract us between now and then. I . . .”

  Santiago paused and looked at Diego curiously.

  “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

  A Workshop of Wonders

  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.