Armand Baltazar - Diego and the Rangers of the Vastlantic

“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—”

“Diego. Try.” Santiago’s hand fell on his shoulder. “I want you to place your hands on the engine components and close your eyes.”

Diego glanced at his dad.

Santiago nodded at the parts. “I’m serious. Go ahead.”

Diego shrugged. “Okay . . . but this would probably go a lot faster if you did it.” He placed his hands over the cool metal pieces and closed his eyes.

“Now, try to see how the engine should be put together in your mind.”

“But I have no idea how—”

“Just try.”

Diego almost pointed out that birthday presents were a lot less fun when they were tests. Also, what if he couldn’t do it? He wanted to fly this thing today!

But even as he was wondering this, a strange thing began to happen in Diego’s mind. He saw flashes . . . images of the parts. Not just the parts, but how they fit together. It happened in bursts of white light against darkness. He focused on two pieces and saw them connect. Two more, now three. And not only that, he sensed their relationships, how the different pieces functioned together, how each gear, each material had a purpose.

Distantly, he felt his muscles working, his hands and arms moving, following the images in his mind. He lined up pieces, grabbed a screwdriver from the far end of the table, made a connection. . . .

It was like watching a movie about how to put the parts together, except that movie was playing inside his mind, almost like some part of him already knew. But how do I know this? he wondered.

The thought broke his concentration, and the images sank back into the darkness.

“Ow!” Diego felt a stinging sensation as he opened his eyes. He’d stabbed his thumb with the screwdriver. He hadn’t drawn blood, but there was a red indentation.

“What just happened?” Diego asked, looking up at Santiago. “I saw something, but I lost it.”

“Relax,” Santiago said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Concentrate on the pieces and try again. Clear your mind and think only about the build, and nothing else.”

Diego closed his eyes and focused harder. The flashes returned, showing him more. His hands moved faster, his brow starting to sweat. He finished the accelerator and moved to the motor, calibrated it, and finished the assembly.

I can’t believe this is happening , he thought. What is making this happen—

Just that simple thought seemed to snuff out the images again. Diego took a deep breath and concentrated again, but the images didn’t return. Come on . He tried to think of nothing else, to clear his mind and focus , but there were only distant impressions in the dark, like shapes through a fog.

Diego sighed and opened his eyes. “I lost it,” he said. The board was nearly complete. He stepped away from the bench, breathing hard. His brain felt stretched, his head tingly. He eyed the board. “Dad, what was that?”

“I’ll show you.” Santiago shut his eyes and reached to the parts. His fingers traced over the last small pieces, then fit them together to make a compression valve, which he placed in the motor. He flipped a switch, and the mercury accelerator purred to life. The board rose in front of them, hovering a foot off the table.

“How did you do that?”