“That’s his job?” Zacharies brushed his fingers against his shirt — fine, perfect cloth — looking at the empty plate. His belly was full. More than full. He was in the city of angels, surrounded by people.
Ordinary people, perfect people.
“You want some more?” said the man, gesturing to the plate.
“Check with them first,” said Zacharies. “Others may be hungry.”
The man looked at him, then laughed again. “They might be, at that,” he said. “But they can buy their own damn bagels.”
“They — they don’t need to eat?”
“They need to eat all right,” said the man. “But here? Zacharies, if you stay with us, well. No one ever goes hungry at Metatech.”
Zacharies looked down at the collar again. “My sister?”
“She’ll be welcome,” said the man. “We’re a family-first company.”
“What is… What will it cost?” The word came from his mouth, foreign. Cost meant the whip, the iron, the fist. But if he could get Laia here, he would pay it. For her.
“Ah,” said the man. “That’s the thing.” He gestured at the collar between them. “You said this was holding you back.”
“Yes,” said Zacharies. “Removing it was like taking a hand from around my throat.”
“Gotcha,” said the man. After a pause, he leaned forward. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It’s like…” Zacharies waved at the window, the rain slicking the glass — glass, spun fine and clear. “It’s like always being under a cloud. Then walking out into a clear day.”
“Sure,” said the man, then he slouched back. “Still don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about.”
“Ok,” said Zacharies. “Who is the master here?”
“Master?” said the man.
“Yes,” said Zacharies. “Who controls your leash?”
“That’s a funny question,” said the man. “Or a funny way of asking it.”
“You have a master, surely,” said Zacharies.
“I’ve got a boss,” said the man. “I’m no-one’s servant.”
“You keep servants? Not slaves?” Zacharies looked at the plate again. “I think I would like another bagel.”
“Not something else?” The man frowned. “That’s a lot of bagels, man.”
“There are… You have other things?”
“Sure,” said the man, tipping his head to the side. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’ve got something on the way.”
“How?” said Zacharies.
The man tapped the side of his head. “The link, kid. You’ll work it out.”
Zacharies frowned at the collar, then lifted it in his hands. It was crude metal, dirty, black. “Who tells you when you may use your gift?”
“Gift?” said the man. “I’m not sure I’d call shooting fools in the head a gift, but whatever.”
“No,” said Zacharies. “Your inner gift.”
The man frowned at him, then looked at the empty plate. “You’re not allergic to wheat? Not having some kind of chemical imbalance?”
“No,” said Zacharies. “I don’t know. I’ve… I don’t think I’ve eaten this much before.”
“Ok,” said the man. “Me neither. Seven bagels is some impressive shit. Zach?”
“Yes,” said Zacharies.
“Zach, we don’t have magic inner powers and weird monkey friends in the sky. I get missions. I fix problems.” He frowned at Zacharies. “You said you could show me your gift.”
“Yes,” said Zacharies. “Once you removed the collar.”
“Right,” said the man. “It’s removed.”
“I need… Permission. From a master.”
“This master,” said the man. “Was he that asshole who came through with you?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, he’s not going to be anyone’s master for long. Reed have a reputation.”
The night closed about him, the pain in his mind extreme, as Laia whimpered in the darkness near the master. If he could just get free, he could —
“A reputation? Will they hurt him?”
“Absolutely,” said the man. “Probably a great deal.”
“Good,” said Zacharies, spitting the word out.
A woman wearing green arrived at their table. “Who wants the steak?”
The man nodded at Zacharies. “He does.”
“Ok,” she said, then put a plate in front of the man. “Yours must be the omelette.”
“No,” said the man. “They’re both for him.”
“I see,” she said, winking. “Growing boy.”
“Something like that,” said the man. The woman walked away.
The smell of the meat in front of Zacharies was… divine. This was Heaven, without question. He reached out with one hand, but the man stopped him.
“Not like that,” he said. “Fuck’s sake. Were you raised in a barn?”
“I… Yes.”
The man nodded. “Ok, fair enough,” he said. “The knife and fork.”
Fork. “I don’t know that word.”
“Knife?”
“Fork.”
“It’s that thing beside you that’s not the knife, all right?” The man picked up the knife and fork, showing Zacharies how to hold them. Zacharies took the implements from him, his grip clumsy. He managed to more mash than cut a piece of the steak, getting it into his mouth.
“This is very good,” he said.
“It’s ok,” said the man. “Like I said, this place is just a bit shit.”
Zacharies chewed, then lifted his eyes to the man. “If there is no master…”
“Kid? Here, we do what we want.”
Zacharies frowned, chewing another piece of steak. “Anything?”
“Not anything,” said the man. “The police need paying if we go too far.”
“Police?”
“Assholes,” said the man.
“There are a lot of assholes here,” said Zacharies.
“More than you know. Let’s see it.”
“See it?”
The man waved a hand in the air, then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small rectangular box. He pulled a stick from it, putting one end in his mouth, then lit it with another box that made flame. The man breathed in, then blew smoke into the air above them.
Zacharies watched. He forgot to chew.
The man noticed him staring. He offered the rectangular box to Zacharies. “Smoke?”
Zacharies ignored him, pointing at the smaller box. “That makes fire?”
“Yeah,” said the man. “You’ve not seen a lighter before?”
“Laia usually does that,” said Zacharies.
“Your sister has a lighter?”
“No, she is…” Zacharies moved some steak around his plate. “Her gift is smaller and bigger than mine.”
“What?”
Zacharies sighed, then put down the knife. It really was very good steak. He reached his hand out a little way. His gift walked the air between them, standing invisible on the table. He felt the plates, the — vile, evil — collar, the table itself.
His mind touched the small rectangle held in the man’s hand, and he tugged. The man’s eyes widened as the lighter slipped from his fingers, spinning silver in the air as it snapped across the table to Zacharies’ hand.
“What…” The man swallowed. “What the fuck.”
Zacharies voice was small. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My gift is tiny.”
“Tiny,” said the man, then drew on his cigarette again, hands shaky. “You call this a gift?”
“Yes.”
“How many… How many people on your world can do this?”
“Some,” said Zacharies. “The masters watch the babies as they are born, selecting some.”
“Some?”
“Yes,” said Zacharies, looking down. He didn’t feel like eating steak anymore.
The man watched him in silence for a moment, then said, “
Fair enough, kid. Assholes.”
“Yes,” said Zacharies.
“Yes?”
“I think my world is full of assholes too.”
The man laughed, his head tipping back. “No shit,” he said. “Assholes on two worlds. Who’d have thought.”
Zacharies smiled again, timid as the dawn. “Who’d have thought.” He held the lighter out to the man.
“Keep it,” said the man, shifting his chair back and crossing his legs. “Your sister has a bigger gift?”
“Bigger and smaller,” said Zacharies, waggling his hand in the air. “She is stronger, but works on smaller things.”
“Smaller?”
“It’s hard to describe,” said Zacharies. He held up the lighter. “She can make fire.”
“Hm,” said the man. “Well, we’ll look into that when we find out where she is. How much can you do?”
“Do?”
“You know,” he said. “You took my lighter.”
“I apologize.” Zacharies held the lighter out again.
“Don’t apologize,” said the man, waving it away. “Not here. Zach, can I give you some advice?”
“I’d like that,” said Zacharies. “This is all very strange.”
“Zach, there’s a bunch of…”
“Assholes?”
“Sure, assholes. There’s a bunch of assholes in R&D who are going to want to get in your head. Peel it like a grape.”
Zacharies swallowed, but said nothing.
“So,” said the man. “Here’s the thing. I like you. And I don’t like R&D.”
“I don’t understand,” said Zacharies.
“Don’t apologize,” said the man. “That’s it. Do what you do. Do it large. And if someone wants to peel your head like a grape?”
“An asshole?”
The man smiled over his cigarette. “Sure, an asshole. Don’t just take their lighter away.”
“I think I understand,” said Zacharies. “You want me to use my gift.”
“I don’t think you do understand,” said the man, “but it’s a start. Now. Before we go see those guys in R&D, what can you do?”
“Lift things. Move things.”
“How many? How heavy?”
“Not many. Not heavy.” Zacharies thought back. “I can lift a chair holding a man and supplies for a week. I can carry that across the desert.”
“Right,” said the man. He blew more smoke at the ceiling. “Quite a bit, then.”
“My powers are small,” said Zacharies. “Not like the angel.”
The man laughed again, then scrubbed out his cigarette on the table. “He’s not an angel. Told you that. Whatever. Let’s go watch you mess with someone’s day in R&D.” He stood, holding a hand out to Zacharies. “Call me Mike.”
Zacharies took Mike’s hand, his grip firm. Zacharies wondered why Heaven was full of assholes as well.
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
“I don’t know,” said Zacharies. “I… touch it, and ask it to move.”
The tech — Mike had said his name was Yelden — watched the chair, doubt in his eyes. He turned to Mike. “Seriously, if this is some kind of joke—”
Mike spread his hands. “It’s no joke. Mind if I smoke?”
“There’s no smoking in here,” said Yelden. Zacharies watched as Mike nodded, pulled a pack of cigarettes out and lit one. He offered the pack to the tech, who looked at it before taking one. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” said Mike around the edges of his cigarette. He nodded to Zacharies. “It’s not a trick, right?”
Zacharies frowned. “I don’t know if I understand the question. I… Your language is strange. Do you mean…”
“He means,” said Mike, “that you’re lying. Are you lying, kid?”
“I don’t think so,” said Zacharies. He gestured to the chair. “I just asked it to—”
“Spin in the air?” said Yelden, watching the chair rotate in space. “Hang on. I’m going to call Kerney down here.”
Zacharies turned to Mike. “Should I put the chair down?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Mike, tugging at his shirt sleeves. He leaned closer to Zacharies. “Remember what I said about assholes?”
“Yes,” said Zacharies, looking at the chair. It was black, with some kind of animal skin seat, metal clamps on the arms. The chair was very light, lighter than anything that size had a right to be. “What is the chair for?”
“Exactly,” said Mike. “Grapes. Keep your head together.”
The door behind Zacharies opened, a soft hiss of air, and he turned to see another tech enter the room. The man’s hair was a mess, and he had some kind of stain at the edge of his lips. “Fuck is it?” said the newcomer. “I’m in the middle—”
He stopped, taking in the chair. His mouth hung open.
“Kerney,” said Yelden. “I need a consult.”
Kerney continued to stair at the chair, then started a slow walk around it. “You’ve—”
“I haven’t done shit,” said Yelden, taking a pull on his cigarette. “I just wanted to see if the look on your face was the same as mine.”
Kerney stopped walking, looking at Zacharies. “Who the hell are you?” He turned to Mike. “There’s no smoking in here.”
Mike nodded, taking a pull on his cigarette. “That’s right,” he said. Zacharies watched as he blew a line of smoke, soft and grey, at the ceiling.
“Fucking Specialist Services,” said Kerney.
“What was that?” said Mike. He leaned forward. “I didn’t—”
“Nothing,” said Kerney, too fast.
Zacharies looked between the two men. Someone is in charge in this room. It isn’t Kerney.
Kerney gestured at the chair. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” said Yelden.
Kerney reached out a hand, stopping the chair from spinning. Zacharies could feel the touch of his hand like a light in his mind, the pressure against the side of the chair’s arm alive and bright. Kerney’s hand pulled back, and Zacharies let the chair hang in front of him.
Kerney turned to a table, grabbing a steel tray from it, tools and instruments clattering to the ground.
“Hey,” said Yelden.
Kerney ignored the other tech, starting to pass the tray through the air around the chair. “There’s nothing holding it up,” he said at last.
“That’s not quite true, is it?” said Mike, grinding out his cigarette against the side of a machine. He pulled another from his pack, lighting it. Zacharies could see the brief flare of fire reflected in his eyes. “Because it’s not holding itself up.”
“It is,” said Kerney, waving the tray at the chair. “There’s nothing—”
“It’s an inanimate object,” said Mike. “It doesn’t do anything.”
“Semantics,” said Kerney.
“I thought you guys were scientists,” said Mike.
Yelden was about to say something before Zacharies spoke. “I asked it to do that.”
All three men turned to look at him. Yelden spoke first. “You said something like that before. Like you talked to it.”
“It’s not… talking,” said Zacharies. “You do not have gifted people in your world?”
“Our world?” said Yelden, looking sideways at Mike.
Mike shrugged, the gesture small. “Roll with it.”
“Ok,” said Yelden. “There’s lots of gifted people. People who can do math faster than a computer, or someone who can hit a curve ball out of the park.”
Math. Computer. Curve ball. Zacharies frowned. “I don’t know these words. Not yet.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” said Mike. “The link will work it out for you over the next couple days.”
“He’s got a new link?” said Kerney. “He’s what, 18? 19?”
“Maybe,” said Mike, tipping his hand in the air. “Hard to tell.” He blew more smoke at the ceiling.
“Hell with it,” said Kerney. “How are you doing it?” He walked over to Zachar
ies, reaching a hand towards his face. Zacharies took a step back, the chair jerking in the air, following Zacharies’ movement backward.
“Yeah,” said Mike, “that’s where you guys come in. If I knew how he was doing it, it’d be in my report already.”
“Are you saying—” said Yelden.
“He’s a telekinetic?” Kerney swallowed, then took another step towards Zacharies. Zacharies stepped back, the chair drifting again. “The military applications…”
“Please,” said Zacharies. “I just want to find my sister.”
“You have a sister?” said Yelden. “Can she do this?”
“Apparently not,” said Mike. “Different thing.”
“Her gift is different.” Zacharies shrugged. “Bigger and smaller.”
“Right,” said Kerney. He rubbed at the stain on his lip. “Protocol is clear. We need to get him in a chair.”
“Go ahead,” said Mike, stepping back to the edge of the room.
“Are you giving authorization?” said Yelden.
“No,” said Mike. “I’m just an observer.”
Yelden turned to Kerney. “Security is on the way.”
“Security?” said Zacharies. “What needs to be secured?”
The door whispered open again, three men stepping through. They wore clothing of — hard, strong material, rigid against his mind — strange cut, weapons in their hands. Zacharies’ eyes narrowed, recognizing the shape of the devices from what the angel had carried. “Are these men angels?”
“No,” said Mike, behind him. “You don’t need to go easy on ‘em.”
Yelden pointed at Zacharies. “Detain him.”
One of the three men took a step forward, then stopped, looking at the chair. “Is that chair floating in the air?”
“Kinda,” said Mike. “You need to think carefully, sergeant. How do you want this day to end?”
The sergeant looked over at Mike, then back at Zacharies. “Don’t take this personal, kid.” He pulled a smaller device from behind him, pointed it at Zacharies. The device hissed and spat, the dart —
Stopping in the air in front of Zacharies. Zacharies reached out a finger, touching the tip of it, turning it in the air. “Please. I just want to find my sister.”
“Kid,” said Mike, “the fastest way to find your sister is to get taken seriously. I take you seriously. These guys? Orangutans.”
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