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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.