Breeder
“Drakor!” The vilest word in the Parseon language reached Dak’s ears as he and Omra neared the Market center. He signaled for the bodyguard to watch over her, shoved the package into her hands, and sprinted toward the shouts.A mob encircled the fountain area. Dak assessed the size and composition of the crowd. Perhaps a couple hundred alphas and betas shouted and waved their fists, joined by several lower members of Dak’s advisory cabinet, as well as one high-ranking subcommander. He tightened his lips. The participation of his officials served to sanction the demonstration. Also among the assemblage were members of his personal guard, their weapons holstered. They’d made no move to halt the growing melee, but at least they weren’t participating.With his gaze, he sought their attention, and they snapped into a military stance, readied for his orders.“Drakor! Drakor!” chanted the mob.Dak could not see beyond the wall of people, but instinct identified the object of their animus.
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