Diego and the Rangers of the Vastlantic

by Armand Baltazar

  They heard a clanking sound from down the beach. Redford stood in the breakwater, gazing out at the moonlit waves.

  “What will be next for you?” Lucy asked.

  “Petey, Paige, and I are staying for another week with my mom. We’ll help repair the John Curtis, and then . . . it’s back to school for the rest of the year, I guess. Mom might let me train with the Mapmakers for the summer. Petey and Paige are going to ask their parents about it, too.”

  “You won’t be joining the captain and Ajax?”

  “They are leaving for a long while. Once their repairs are done, they’re setting sail to find new recruits and to search for information about where Magnus might be holding the captain’s wife and daughter.”

  Lucy’s fingers intertwined with his. The waves shushed against the sand in a slow, steady rhythm.

  “Diego, I have something to tell you.”

  “What?” Diego asked.

  “Do you remember back in Yorktown, before your father took Seahorse, he said something to me?”

  “Yes.”

  Tears spilled from Lucy’s eyes. “Everything was so chaotic, I didn’t have time to think about what he meant. . . . I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be,” Diego said. “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Tell Diego to always remember who he is to me, and to his mother.’ That sometimes you forget that. And then he said, ‘Tell him and his mother that what I do today, I do for them. And that I love them.’”

  “Thanks for telling me.” He pushed through all his complicated thoughts and tried to voice something that he’d been putting together in his head over the last day. “I think I understand now what my father has been doing all these years. He was still fighting the war, but his weapons were happiness, dignity, and prosperity. Every city, or outpost, or family that he helped with his steam-converter technology was a victory against Magnus. The more people who believe in this future, who feel that they belong here, who are happy, the fewer who will want to join Magnus and change it back. And once we’re home, I’ll try to continue my father’s work, for the city and for the Vanguard. I’m going to keep that going. Who knows? It might end up being me that works on your father’s steam converters.”

  “Well, that should be fun. They’re as sturdy as his beliefs.” Lucy sighed. “Seriously, though, I’m envious of your future. Mine sounds like death.”

  “Then don’t go,” Diego said. “Tell him no.”

  “I know you don’t approve, and believe me, neither do I. But you don’t have the right to defy my father’s wishes, and neither do I.”

  “Don’t you?” Diego said.

  “No.” Lucy shuffled away on the sand. “I can’t.”

  “But why not? After all we’ve been through?”

  “Because it’s not just about me!”

  “Then I’ll kidnap you.”

  This made a smile crack Lucy’s armor. “Like you even could.”

  “I’m sorry. I just feel like you have a right to be happy, to choose your own path.”

  “That’s a very American thing to say,” Lucy said. “Always only concerned with yourself.”

  “Yeah, but you aren’t from their time, and I’m sorry, but . . . they’re not from ours,” Diego pleaded. “You’re a Ranger of the Vastlantic!”

  “I know who I am,” Lucy said. “I mean, you don’t get to . . . Ugh! Why did I even come out here? I wanted to say a proper good-bye, but leave it to you to make everything confusing!”

  A series of splashes distracted them.

  “Oh great,” Lucy said. “Now Redford’s coming to watch us fight again.”

  She got to her feet, gathering her boots under her arm and her dress in her other hand. “I’m going back. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day and—”

  “Lucy, wait!” Diego said. He jumped to his feet. “I made the flying car for you.”

  “What?”

  “The Bentley plane car . . . it’s for you, for when you become a pilot. So that you have a plane unlike any in history. All your own, even more special than Skywolf.”

  Lucy’s lip quivered. “No one’s ever done anything that nice for me. How is it that you can be so infuriating and so sweet all at the same time?”

  “It’s my special talent.”

  Lucy laughed. “Does anyone else know?”

  “Not even Petey.”

  “Good. No one can ever know.” She took a deep breath. “I cannot accept your gift. As much as I want to, doing so would shame my father and embarrass my family. But I do accept it.” She put a hand over her heart. “Here.”

  Diego didn’t know what to say. “I wish you could take it.”

  “I know.” Lucy wiped at her eyes. “Okay, I’m going to bed now, though I doubt I’ll sleep. Listen, tomorrow morning, I’ll present myself accordingly, and we will say good-bye with a handshake and a thank-you. Please accept it graciously and act like a gentleman. If you’re a true friend, you won’t make it hard for me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “No, promise.”

  Diego swallowed. “I promise.”

  “Good.” Lucy paused, her eyes taking in the ocean. “Good night, Diego. I will think of you all the time.” She made a little shrug, wiped her eyes, and left.

  Diego watched her go, wanting to run after her, grab her arm, ask her to stay longer, but he didn’t, for her sake.

  Redford puffed steam.

  “Yes,” Diego said, wiping at his eyes, “she was crying but, no, we weren’t fighting. Or, at least, not at the end.”

  Redford put a hand on his hip.

  “I’m serious! Don’t throw me in the water again! I was trying to do something nice.”

  Redford puffed again, and his hand lowered to the sand. Diego stepped up on it, and Redford raised him to his shoulder. Diego climbed onto the cockpit chair. Daphne was there, and he scooped her into his arms. She barked in the direction of the lone figure disappearing into the shadows beneath the palms.

  “Yeah, Daph,” Diego said, rubbing her head. “I’m going to miss her, too.”

  The next morning, though he’d barely slept, Diego remembered to do as he was told. Lucy, looking radiant in a white dress, said good-bye to each of them, her father allowing her this one last respite.

  Ajax gave her a wooden carving of the John Curtis. The captain reminded her that she would always be part of the Vanguard. Petey gave her a salute and called her “Captain Emerson.” Siobhan hugged her and told her to be proud of her strength. She and Paige hugged the longest, promising to write to each other.

  When she got to Diego, he extended his hand. When Lucy put her hand in his, a small, surprised expression crossed her face. But she continued shaking his hand.

  “Good-bye . . . ,” Diego said.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Ribera. Do stay out of trouble.”

  “Safe travels, Ms. Emerson.”

  For a moment, it seemed Lucy would say something else, but instead she curtsied and returned to her father’s side.

  Diego stood with Paige and Petey as the Emersons joined Captain Wallace on the platform. Diego watched Lucy rise up, away from them. She watched him back.

  “I saw that,” Paige said in his ear. “What did you put in her hand?”

  “Oh,” Diego said, reaching into his pocket. “One of these.”

  As the Magellan faded into the puffy clouds, Diego felt certain of one thing: he would see Lucy again.

  Their adventures together were far from over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A Dream Changed

  A week later, the John Curtis steamed into New Chicago Harbor. Diego knew he was home when he saw the first silhouettes of the immense walking cranes through the mist on the horizon. After so many weeks on the open sea, it was a shock to smell the acrid tinge of diesel fuel, that slight undercurrent of sewage that said home.

  He stood beside Siobhan at the prow. Diego ran his finger over the railing, its surface chipped and splintered by bullets. He sighed
. It had been a great adventure, but they’d all sustained damage.

  “I can’t believe we’re back,” he said.

  “Neither can I.” She put an arm around him and squeezed. “Sometime after we’re home, I have a few words for you about how you took off across the world without telling me.”

  “Sorry,” Diego said.

  “I only wish I’d been with you.”

  Diego’s spirits fell. His dad should be with them now. That had been the point of leaving in the first place.

  “What is it?” Siobhan asked.

  “I feel like I failed,” Diego said. “I was supposed to save Dad.”

  “You did,” Siobhan said. “But after that, your father made his own choices, and he saved you.”

  “I know.”

  “And I know something else,” Siobhan said. “He was never prouder of you.”

  Another squadron flew overhead, this time flanking the John Curtis, so low that Diego and Siobhan could see the pilots.

  Ahead, they could hear the clanging of the harbor. Fingers of steam rose off the city as it woke to this lovely spring day.

  The John Curtis released the barge carrying Redford and the Skywolf to a city tug near Navy Pier. As they rode past the pier, Diego pointed out where he’d been shot at, and where they’d found Redford.

  “See, these are the parts a mother doesn’t want to hear,” Siobhan said.

  The pier was packed with people, and so were the sides of the canal. Hundreds, stretching all the way to their building. Diego stood with Petey and Paige, and when the crowd spotted them, a huge cheer erupted. Confetti sprinkled through the air. Diego waved back, and the shouting only increased.

  “Guess word of our adventure got back before we did!” Petey shouted over the cheering, soaking it all in.

  “They honor your heroism,” the captain said, arriving beside them. He rested a hand on Diego’s shoulder. “And your sacrifice. They don’t know the whole story, of course. But they know enough, for now.”

  The crowd in front of Marina Towers threatened to spill over into the canal. As the John Curtis tied off at the dock, Diego turned to the captain and Ajax. “Thank you, Captain Boleslavich.”

  “Finally you honor my family name. Maybe there’s hope for you.”

  “Thanks for not throwing me overboard.”

  “We were honored to fight by your side,” the captain said.

  “Agreed,” Ajax said.

  The captain looked at him squarely. “Do not dwell on the loss of your father,” he said. “Remember his life, and the life he gave you.” He pushed Diego gently away. “Now go enjoy this moment. We will soon have more work to do.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” Diego said. He shook hands with Ajax as Petey and Paige said their good-byes, and then the three made their way through the cheering crowd.

  They stopped for pictures, slapped hands, and it took them nearly a half hour to get all the way inside and safely into the elevator.

  “Lucy’s bumming she missed that,” Petey said.

  “Are you kidding?” Paige said. “She would have hated all that informality. It would have been so fun to watch!”

  Diego smiled, but it made his heart ache. He wondered where she was. Close enough to hear that crowd? Or locked away in her family’s apartment in Old Chicago? She deserved this as much as they did.

  The elevator clanked to a halt, and Diego was surprised to find they’d stopped at the workshop. “Why here?” Diego asked, hesitant to be in his father’s space so soon.

  “It’s a parade!” Petey shouted, running ahead with Paige.

  Diego stepped out with Siobhan. “What are they talking about?” he asked.

  “The people deserve a show from their heroes,” Siobhan said. “Magistrate Huston had the canal cleared all the way from here to City Hall. Everyone is waiting to salute you.” She patted Diego’s shoulder. “I want you to make the memories for a new dream.”

  Before Diego could ask what she meant, Siobhan gave him a gentle shove into the shop. “Fly,” she said.

  Diego turned back, trying to hide his surprise. She could never have known about his dream. And yet . . .

  He found Petey and Paige already putting on their steam packs and gloves. The five gravity boards, Diego’s and the four he’d made, were lying on the workbench.

  “I had Ajax send them ahead,” Siobhan said.

  Diego stepped to his board and then ran a finger over Lucy’s. It would have been perfect if she’d been here.

  He noticed Paige looking at Gaston’s board. She smiled. “They’ll be with us, you know?”

  Diego took a deep breath and nodded. “Definitely.”

  After he strapped on his pack, he slid the photo of the four friends out of his pocket. He folded it so that it was a narrow rectangle, only showing Lucy, and then he slipped it in the strap of his glove.

  “Ready?” Petey called. “First one to the clock tower wins!”

  He grabbed his board and leaped out the window. Paige followed.

  Diego waited a moment. Just to give them a head start. He wanted it to be fair, after all.

  Lucy wouldn’t have needed one.

  Then he fired up his Walkman, sprinted for the window with his board in front of him, and dived out into the morning sun, headfirst.

  The crowd in City Hall Plaza was bigger than anywhere else, cheering, waving, the magistrate standing at a podium decorated with bunting.

  And for a moment, Diego felt a dash of worry, remembering his dream: the people disappearing, the world falling apart. He glanced up at the face of the clock in the tower, and as he did, the minute hand moved. . . .

  But not backward. And the screams from below were only of joy. And the air and the sun and the sky stayed made.

  The clock moved as it should, as it would, as long as he and his friends kept their vow and continued on their path.

  Forward.

  Epilogue

  He woke in a fog of pain, the world distant. When he tried to move, he felt only a stinging sensation and distance, as if his limbs were miles away. Broken bones, he thought, internal bleeding, my spine . . .

  Blinking away pinpricks of light, he saw the blazing sun, and beneath that a strange, vast world unlike any he’d ever known.

  But there was more pressing business now. Horses and riders. Thirty or more. Approaching fast. The seven in front, however, were distinct. Those weren’t horses they rode. The shape was different.

  He tried to stand, to face them, but collapsed.

  Their leader motioned to one of the horse riders, an Asian girl, maybe fourteen. She dismounted and joined the leader. He spoke urgently to her in a foreign tongue, then gave her a rough push forward. She stumbled, righted herself, and cast an annoyed glance back.

  The clothing looked familiar. Somewhere in the highlands of the continent. Tibetan, Mongolian maybe.

  “Hello,” she said in halting English.

  “Hi,” he said. “You speak English.”

  The girl nodded.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. This was probably not information she was supposed to give. “Song,” she said.

  Their leader shouted at her in their strange tongue.

  “He will speak to you now.” Song stepped back, and the leader approached, ax drawn.

  “Thor Rammuelson,” the leader said. He lowered his ax and pressed, saying more in his ancient Norwegian tongue.

  “He wants your name,” Song said. “And to know where you come from, and why you are here.”

  The stranger felt the edge digging into his ribs. The slightest pressure would break the skin. “The where is very far,” he said. “The why I cannot say, but my name is . . . Santiago Ribera and I’m from a place called New Chicago.”

  Acknowledgments

  When my son, Dylan, was a young boy, we’d often play together for hours on end drawing pictures and creating things with his toy Legos. Our imaginations at play. One
afternoon my son had fashioned a robot from random Lego parts and bricks in his collection but had fallen short in completing the robot’s head. Undeterred, he grabbed a toy tractor from his farming play set and taped it atop the robot’s shoulders to make its head. He proudly presented me his tractor-bot. In looking at it, the spark of an idea took hold, and I painted what would be the first image for Timeless. That evening when I put Dylan to bed, he asked me to make up an adventure about his robot that included the two of us. Years later, that bedtime story would become . . . Timeless.

  There were many folks who helped me bring this epic adventure to life. I want to start off by thanking my friend Kevyn Lee Wallace, who inspired me to have the courage to follow my dreams and create this story. Special thanks to Philip Metschan, who was my sounding board on our daily commute to Pixar. As my carpooling partner and office mate he had no escape from my story-obsessed mind. His patience in reading my drafts and providing feedback and his help in making visual sense of the Timeless world was invaluable. To Greg Dykstra, resident dinosaur expert and sculptor at Pixar, who gave me great information and was patient with my endless questions. Thanks to Jessica Coville, Mark Burstein, and Adrienne Fedak Ranft for reading my evolving drafts and helping me whip my story into shape. Thanks to Iain Morris, whose brilliant eye and design sensibilities helped me bring the early Timeless artwork out into the light. I want to thank master artists and storytellers James Gurney and Iain McCaig for their inspiration, encouragement, friendship, and darn good advice they gave me along the way.

  Like the fellowship in Tolkien’s epic saga, Timeless would have never made it to the journey’s end without its own fellowship. My thanks to Steve Tzirlin, who, with Brooklyn Weaver, saw what Timeless could be, and to Michelle Kroes. And thanks to my agents at the Gernert Co., Will Roberts and Seth Fishman, who at times was equal parts Gandalf and Samwise lending advice as both an author and an agent as I traveled unfamiliar lands. Together they helped Timeless find its way.

  I want to thank everyone involved at HarperCollins. To Katherine Tegen, for believing in my story and artwork, and to Ben Rosenthal—I couldn’t have asked for a better editor to brave the unknown in making the kind of book I wanted to make. It was uncharted territory for both of us, and we came out on the other side wiser and stronger for the adventures ahead. Huge thanks to Kevin Emerson and Amy Ryan, along with Carla Weise and Jason Cook, for helping me make the book read and look as fantastic as possible. I also want to thank Alana Whitman and Ann Dye in marketing, and publicist Stephanie Hoover. Thanks to assistant editor Mabel Hsu, production editor Kathryn Silsand, production manager Allison Brown, and copy editors Andrea Curley and Maya Myers.