I had many questions. What parent brought their kid to a zero-g place if the kid didn’t like zero-g? What, exactly, was the orange stain on that guy’s shirt? Did it come from the same source that created the unidentified mucus on his leg? What had happened to the scheduled entertainment? But most importantly, how were we going to entertain some twenty kids?
That last one was the most important, especially as the guy shoved an acoustic guitar at us. Myka took it without hesitation.
I whispered. “Can you even play guitar?”
She just smiled at me. That’s it. No answer. She was leaving me in the lurch.
Embarrassing myself in front of a bunch of kids wouldn’t be fatal. It probably wouldn’t even be the most unpleasant part of the night when I tallied things up. But let’s be real: Kids were cruel animals, and they would play with your liver and eat it if you didn’t entertain them adequately.
These kids were restless too. Crawling over each other, fidgeting, watching the cooler kids zoom through the air in the zero-g section. These kids knew they had drawn the short straw, and they hated it. What could make up for not being in the zero-g section? Certainly not Myka Benton with a guitar.
But Myka didn’t seem the least bit worried. She sat on a stool and took the guitar into her lap, holding it like she actually knew how to play the thing. My hand dangled awkwardly near her left hand at the neck of the guitar as I tried not to mess up her…whatever she was doing.
One of the kids at the front raised a hand. “Why are you two handcuffed together?”
Great fucking question.
“That’s an excellent question!” Myka echoed my thoughts. Just without the swearing. “Can anybody take a guess?”
Prompted, the kids blurted out answers. Maybe we’d been arrested. Or Myka was a space smuggler. Or we were best friends and didn’t want to be separated. Or I was a dangerous criminal who couldn’t be let free. The entire time, Myka strummed basic chords on the guitar. I held my right hand like a statue so as to not hinder her.
“Those are all great ideas.” Myka sounded like one of those entertainers in kids vids. “Let me tell you the real reason.” She leaned forward, encouraging the kids to lean towards her. “I need to make sure I don’t lose my Elly.”
Giggles. Giggles everywhere.
“One time I lost my Elly, and I had to look everywhere for her.”
Then no shit: Myka began singing a kid’s song about looking in ludicrous places for a lost item. Her voice was like a clear, peaceful day, and the kids fell entranced with intermittent giggling.
Okay, not just the kids. I was transfixed. Myka Benton, personal attaché of Adela Glezos and permanent thorn in my side, was serenading a bunch of children with a playful song that she was just making up on the spot. It was bizarre and, well, a little beautiful.
I couldn’t stop staring, and the room around her blurred in my vision ‘cause it wasn’t near as important as this pretty woman singing a stupid song. Her voice was magical, and it settled inside me like a little bomb of warm happiness.
I startled when Myka glanced at me like I’d been caught out doing something I shouldn’t. She just smiled, though. “Get them clapping, El.”
But if I clapped, I’d interfere with Myka’s guitar-playing. Seeing my hesitation, Myka widened her smile. So I put my trust in her—for some reason—and tried to raise my hand to clap. Of course, doing so pulled at her busy fingers.
Myka abruptly stopped with an exaggerated startled reaction. The kids laughed.
With a glare of put-upon annoyance, Myka began playing the guitar again. I had figured out the plan. I tried to raise my hand again, more insistent. This time Myka struck a run on the strings as she cut off playing. She thrust out her jaw in anger as the kids laughed.
More harshly this time, she began playing, her head whipping around to give me a warning glare. The kids loved it. The exaggerated fight and the musical interruptions and the pure slapstick of it. Kids loved dumb stuff: news at eleven. I ended up bent over, clapping with my face centimeters away from Myka’s. She kept playing throughout, ignoring the wide stare I was giving her.
Until she stopped.
A pair of beefy guys stood in front of the holo-greeter. They might as well have had COMPANY MERC tattooed on their foreheads. The Sev Tech goons had found us.
Myka was on her feet and shoving the guitar at the regular caretaker before the kids even realized the show was over. I struggled to catch up with her as I was pulled along for the ride.
The main entrance was a no-go so Myka ducked us into the first door she came across. It led into a hallway. Probably an employee area. Myka dashed through corridors, seemingly without any particular route. I yanked on the cuffs to force a stop.
“What’s the plan?” I spoke through winded breath, my janky leg aching.
She was already pulling away. “We’re gonna cut across the zero-g area and get up to the roof.”
When had she decided that? “Why the roof?”
Footsteps pounded down the hall behind us. “You got a better idea?”
“Not really.”
“Then let’s go.” She pulled harder against me.
“One more thing!”
She froze impatiently.
I wanted to argue about the plan, but I didn’t have a better idea. I had no idea what I was doing, and Myka seemed way more competent at this whole cat and mouse thing. I didn’t have much choice but to go along with her, especially now that the mercs were behind us.
So I pushed aside my objections. “Where did you learn to play guitar?”
She rolled her eyes.
