 Hello, and welcome to my performance of Drone Child, a novel of war, family, and survival. The author and publisher is David H. Rothman, and I'm your narrator, Deon Graham. Drone Child is a fast-paced thriller and adventure story about a brilliant child soldier and his gifted twin sister in the war-torn Congo of the near future. This book is just like the Congo River, plenty lurks below the surface. Meanwhile, thanks to Junior Boya and Jean-Félix Moema-Engando for their help with the details. You'll find an author's note, as well as a discussion guide for book clubs, libraries, and schools prepared with help from a veteran educator at dronechild.com. 1. The Deaths of Papa and Mama Boubou. The problem with the war memoir is there's no suspense. You already know I live. I need to tell you, too, that I not only survive, I thrive. Even less suspense. But such is the nature of the horrors I'll share with you. I doubt you would ever complete the journey without a hint of my happy ending despite all the death and other sadness along the way. Perhaps my memoir will inspire you. Of course, I was lucky. Fate easily could have flattened me. All I could do was try. This is also a story of love, and even one of Richie's, both the financial variety and far more important kinds. But first, I must write about Imparsi and his family, so you can better understand the worst of my wartime nightmares. I hated Imparsi much about time together. Come other days, we could be brothers. Once, I almost choked him to death for all the evil inside him. But I still mourn the deaths of his parents and baby brothers, the same horrors my own family dreaded. Let me tell you how often the people dearest to Imparsi died. He lied often, but the tremble in his voice, the slight shake in his hands, told me there could be only truth in his story. He remembered every detail. Imparsi's father, a kind but half-crazy fisherman, lived seven kilometers upriver from me. People nicknamed Imparsi's parents Mama and Papa Boo Boole because most everything they wore had polka dots in it, just like clown's costumes, even if the dots were smaller. Back then, Imparsi must have smiled as much as his parents did. It all ended the day the rebels shelled Imparsi's village, which, like mine, was about 120 kilometers from Kinshasa, capital of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The men drew nearer to collect their bounty. They stole not just food, TVs, and cell phones, but also boys and girls to be child soldiers in the war with the central government. Sample complete. Ready to continue?