The little family had their backs to the tiled wall—the tiles that shaded from blue at the top to purple near the bottom. Tiles he had surely seen before, Dragon realized.
I’ve seen them before because I’ve been here before, he thought. I lived here with them—with Mumma and Poppa—when I was little, when I was Tolor. A sudden feeling of dread filled him like cold, dark water rushing into his mind. Oh Gods, he didn’t want to see what came next! He didn’t want to see!
But his realization and the fear that accompanied it couldn’t stop the scene from playing out to its inevitable conclusion.
“We’ve come for our cut of your profits,” Komendant Vizlar was saying to Taurex—to Poppa. “Things will go easier if you just give us the tribute you owe us.”
“We don’t owe you anything!” Taurex exclaimed. His eyes flamed with anger. “We rented this building free and clear to sell our merchandize and we already paid the rent. Nobody said anything about paying some strong-arm group any kind of ‘tribute.’”
“You’re on edge of Crimson Blades territory,” Rep. Yariz told him smoothly. “That means you pay or you die. Your choice, but pick quickly, I’m afraid my Komendant has an itchy trigger finger and he doesn’t mind wiping out mammalian scum that won’t pay the proper tribute.”
“I’ll pay all right.” Taurex shook free of his frightened wife and took a step forward. Something started happening to him—to Poppa. Somehow, he started changing—growing bigger, shifting…
“I’ll pay you in BLOOD!” he snarled and his voice was a roar with a double echo in it, as though someone else was speaking through him. He took another step forward…
And the Komendant pulled the trigger. The blaster muzzle flashed—again and again and again. It blew dark holes in Poppa’s forehead and chest and midsection. And the blaster shots hit Mumma too. She gasped and tried to hide Tolor with her body, pushing him behind her as she desperately attempted to be his living shield.
And then she wasn’t living anymore—neither of them were. Mumma and Poppa lay in a heap on the floor, their bodies riddled with smoking holes, their eyes open wide and staring at the ceiling high overhead.
Tolor crawled out from under Mumma and stared at them both, too numb to make a sound. He wanted to believe they were only sleeping—but nobody sleeps with their eyes open, do they? And why weren’t they breathing or moving? What was wrong with them?
“Dragon? Dragon?” The familiar voice pulled him out of the echoes the dream weed smoke had formed in his head. The echoes that had taken only moments to form and to clear…only moments to completely tear down the artificial barrier that had been built in his mind, his young, malleable mind that wanted desperately to forget the horrors he had seen…
Dragon blinked and looked up as the familiar voice called his name again. Once more he saw Komendant Vizlar holding a blaster and once more he was pointing it at someone Dragon loved.
“Dragon!” Bobbi whispered, her lovely blue eyes filled with tears. “Oh please…please be careful!”
“Yes, Son, be careful.” Komendant Vizlar’s voice was cold and calculating.
“You…” Dragon breathed, looking at the man he had called “Sire” for so many years. “You’re the one who killed them! You told me it was a rival Clan, and all along it was you!”
The Komendant’s slitted eyes narrowed, then widened in surprise. He glared at his Advisor.
“You said the memory block would hold!”
“It would have if we hadn’t come here!” Rep. Yariz protested. “I’m sure of it! But this is where it happened, all these years ago. And there’s dream weed smoke in the air—it’s a bad combination.”
“Well, it can’t be helped.” Komendant Vizlar said briskly. He turned to face Dragon now, his flat, reptilian face calm. “Yes, Son, it was me who executed your biological parents,” he said calmly. “But it wasn’t personal—just a business decision. As was the decision to adopt you into our family and Clan. Rep. Yariz thought you’d make an excellent Little Brother for Zerlix and that you would grow up to be a loyal member of the Crimson Blades Clan and he was right in every respect.”
“So you admit it?” Dragon’s throat felt dry and the dream weed smoke tasted bitter at the back of his throat.
The Komendant spread his arms.
“What would be the point of denying it? Anyway, it’s in the past. You’re a member of our Clan now and, as you know, sometimes Clan members have to make sacrifices.”
“I suppose you want me to sacrifice Bobbi next.” Dragon’s voice sounded strangely flat in his own ears.
“I’m afraid so,” the Komendant said, shrugging his shoulder regretfully in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “She’s just not a good fit for our family, Son. She’s dividing you and Zerlix and your mother doesn’t like her.”