The Secret War - 1st novel in the Shadow Series

Chapter 1 .

VAI

I never imagined I could become friends with a K'thaktra—and I guess I wasn't friends with Thrissko, exactly. We were friendly acquaintances. That was a better term for it. Still, I had gotten him into this mess, so I figured I had to get him out of it before I left the planet for good and maybe never saw him again. Besides, I didn't want to just ghost on him. I wanted to say goodbye before I left. That felt important. And you can't say goodbye to somebody if they're being held prisoner by a local crime . . . gang. Crime gang? I supposed the term was crime syndicate, but that sounded too couth for this band of thugs.

My okulus chirped again to let me know my father was calling. I set it to silent, shrank it to its smallest size, and snapped it into a pocket within my cape.

"I know, I know," I muttered, "I'm late."

"Did you say something, sir?" said the three-armed mechatronic to my left.

We were sitting at the counter of a coffee stand in one of the busiest areas of Olympus City. The Saturday night crowd thrummed all around us, a chaotic crush of people going in every direction—mostly Human and Bundu-jo, but with a few Starwatchers peppered in, too. They were all so busy. Checking their okuli, scurrying on their way. And volos were zipping everywhere above the crowd like a chaotic swarm of bees . . . The only one of the Gathering's four races I didn't see represented at all were its newest—the K'thaktra. After the war, they had integrated into society surprisingly well, but still, certain feelings had remained hard, and even after all this time, not many of them had migrated this close to Earth.

I was watching the storefront on the other side of the boulevard, pretending to drink koko from a paper cup that had been empty for the better part of half an hour, and Warpaint—my mechatronic—was on the stool next to me, just kind of hulking there. Making whirring noises with the little movements of his head, of his hands. Looking ridiculous.

"I said I'm late" I frowned, in reply to Warpaint's earlier question.

"Yes. We should depart for the shuttleport at once. Your friend will have to fend for himself."

I set the paper cup down on the counter and stood up. "He's not my friend."

"Oh, I hope you haven't taken the young K'thaktra as your lover, sir. I must caution you that the laws against such a thing are severe. He is only 16 years old."

"What? No. He's just definitely not my friend, that's all. What does his age have to do with anything?"

"You are far older than he is, sir."

"No I'm not."

"You're 97 years old today. It would be --"

"I—Warpaint. I'm 17."

"Why do you keep saying that, sir?" If a mechatronic could look at a Human with sorrow and pity, he looked at me that way now.

I sighed and paid the elderly Human woman who operated the coffee stand, making sure to leave a handsome tip. She nodded her thanks, but looked glad to see us go. I wasn't sure if it was because we had occupied the seats for so long, preventing other customers from sitting, or because she disapproved of us generally. I supposed it didn't matter. She hadn't said anything, but I stopped and doubled the tip. On the Shadow, I wouldn't need the money anyway.

Warpaint and I moved toward the boulevard.

No one had come in or out of the tailor shop since the boss—the Bundu-jo they called Papa—had gone in about 40 minutes ago. All this time, I had been trying to gather my nerve. My heart was pounding low, ominous beats into my ears. The OPEN sign remained lit, and the holographic advertisements continued to appear in the display window as people passed by. The shop was part of a complex of storefronts that wound around to face other alleyways and streets; a thousand facades all honeycombed together. Public records indicated that the main door was the only exit. I was certain there were no customers inside. It would just be the gang—the gang and Thrissko.