Chapter 1 - GSR

I sat in the cockpit of my newly upgraded fighter. I'd been given it when I was kicked out of the Shadow Stalker academy, the unexpected gift courtesy of my mum. The woman who'd adopted me when I was still curled up in an egg, taken me away from extreme danger and raised me until I was old enough to look after myself and to make my own decisions. I love her with all my heart, like most sons do. And now I'm sat here, looking at the flickering dashboard in front of me, waiting for the internal stability system to come online, to tell me I can get the ex-fighter off the ground and back into the races. It'd been a while since I'd raced and this ship had been put through hell, it's gun metal black surfaces scarred beyond recognition in some cases, but always comming back, most of the time stronger than ever, some of the times sitting at home, in the garage or back at the Shadow Stalkers' HQ in a lift lock out of the way in the main hangar planetside waiting to be repaired.

Of course, there are times when I have to wait to be repaired too. Sitting in a hospital bed, usually on an unfamiliar planet somewhere waiting to be fixed is boring as frack, and something I try and avoid. But the Galactic Space Races or GSR as it's commonly referred to, isn't a friendly sport. A sure fire way to win is to be rutheless, even if it is against the rules. If you're good enough, you won't get caught fiddling your neighbour's ship whilst it's still sat in it's hangar or in it's lift lock in the pits. Get caught though, and to say you're fracked is the sugar coated term. Caught fiddling with the other racer's ships, you can get kicked out of the racing season, or worse; Perma-banned from racing, you're record permanently marred. So I tend to stay away from that kind of thing. I just stick to drugging the other pilots, spiking their drinks, etcetera. Though that's only when I'm in a pinch, when I'm having to face some of the toughest courses and racers in the history of the GSR. Hence why I have to watch what I drink too. I'm one of the most popular racers alive today. It's not something I asked for and it's definately not something I relish in, even though it does have it's perks.

I'm not the kind of guy to flaunt my money, show off in front of the ladies or boast about my wins. I'm just a regular guy who likes to race. I didn't intend on making a living out of it, but here I am, sat in my newly refurbished cockpit of my old ex-fighter, still waiting for my internal stability system to come online. That'd make it twenty minutes that I've been sat here, freezing my tail off as my ship's black and light blue colours are being covered with a thin white layer of snow. The pits are quiet, most of the racers and their crews are inside, keeping warm. But I don't have a crew. Only two other mates who're also racers. Lucas Mew, a psychic and Annette Burrows, an Ant with an attitude, especially when she get's all riled up. She's also my on/off lover. None of us have a crew. We take care of each other and look after ourselves and our ships. Lucas' out in the cold too, but he's also sat in his cockpit, his ship with the rest that'll be racing in two days; firmly in the grip of the lift locks that line the edges of the high up pit lanes. Qualifying tomorrow. The best lap times get furthest up front. But if this snow gets any worse, the race'll be cancelled.

It may be called a space race, but that doesn't mean we're only meant to stick to space. We get sent all over the place some times. Some times, the course, or track, is just in space; a race from planet to planet, or around the planet that's hosting it. Other times, it's strictly planetside, the course weaving through various disaster areas such as valleys, old machinery factories, quarries and across plains. The plains part sounds easy to fly across, huh? That's what I thought when I did my first plains race. It's as treacherous as a mine run or a factory run. Even though it's classed as a sprint, whoever's in charge generally sees to it that we get more of a challenge other than trying not to get shot down by the other racers; we have drones sent after us. Robots or remote controlled fighter ships adding to the stress, I've been through it all, but everytime, something's different. Either that, or I've been through so much shoot in the past I really can't remember the flight or attack patterns that the different planetary race councils like to use. What can I say? I may be young at just over three hundred and fifty years old, but that's a shootload to remember.

The lights stopped blinking and stayed on, a bleep and my onboard computer announced it was ready and able to take off. But I didn't. Lucas was knocking on the thick glass of my cockpit, a long scarf wrapped tightly around him, his paws tucked firmly in his arm pits. I shut down and climbed out once the lid had slid back. A gust of wind caught my wings and nearly sent me over the edge, but I kept a firm grip on the cold ship as I climbed out, my claws clicking on the icing metal surface of the pit lane.
''D-d-dude! It's f-f-fracking freez-zing out here!'' He chattered, a visible shudder wracking his small frame.
''Then get inside, prick!'' I hissed through the cold, dragging him behind me by his scarf.
Sometimes I envied the way his feet never touched the floor, then I remembered about the whole being psychic thing. I don't think I'd be able to shut out all those alien thoughts comming into my head and messing with my mind, never knowing what thoughts were mine and what thoughts weren't. And everytime Lucas would tell me how to block out other's thoughts, like I could read minds. Sure, I can talk to people through my mind, but that's only if they have the power of mind speech. If I try tapping into someone who can't use the whole mind speech thing, I'd only end up giving myself a headache.

The racer's cafe. Ordinary in every way, except the blessing that there were no members of the public or press allowed in. Even the staff were part of the racing society and had to sign a contract about secrecy before they were even accepted for the job. Ann was sat at a table in the far corner, looking out the window at the snow, ignoring a fat onnotian in a too-tight flight suit. It'd didn't take a psychic to figure that she was one step closer to nailing the guy between the eyes with with her heavy coffee cup. I walk up behind him, Lucas trailing after me and tap him on the shoulder, clearing my throat. He turns around, some of the thick leathery dreads being pulled across his left shoulder as he looked over his right. His forehead creased.
''What?'' He grunted.
''Why don't you take a hint and leaver her alone?'' That wasn't exactly a question, but he took it that way anyway and turned back around.
Apparently Dragons don't worry him all that much. Especially ones breathing down his neck, grinding their teeth. But I wasn't in the mood for causing a scene, so I let Lucas do it instead.

A light blue aura surrounded the Onnotian and he flew sideways and hit the far wall where he stayed for a few moments. I righted the chair as Ann sighed with relief, pushing her empty cup aside. Everyone in the cafe turned back to what they were doing, ignoring the Onnotian as he stamped over to us, his light brown colour turning angry red. Lucas looked at him and grinned. He knew this racer. He was cocky, thought he could always get what he wants. Spoiled and cocky. Hasn't won a race for three years though. Lucas coughed and the Onnotian fell over backwards, cracking his head on the floor. A coupled of his team mates walked over to him and dragged him away through the tables and other racers as if it wasn't anything new. Of course they probably did it on a regular basis. I'm just looking forward to when he comes to.

''The guy couldn't take a hint even if it smacked him repeatedly in the face.'' Ann grumbled and hunched over the table, her head resting on the knuckles of her left hand, tracing patterns in the spill of coffee granules and sugar with her right hand.
''How long you been sat in here?'' I asked, mainly out of boredom.
She shrugged half heartedly and yawned. ''Since lunch time I think.''
''A fair few hours then.'' Lucas said, curling up on his chair next to me, left leg tucked beneath him and right knee holding his head.
''Heard any news about what the weather's gonna be tomorrow?''
She shrugged again. ''Snowing. But they say it's not gonna be as bad as today.''
The snow outside was getting heavier. I hoped she and the weather reports were right. I need to win this race. I really need the money otherwise I won't be able to keep my ship in the air or to pay my rent on my apartment back home.

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