Finding Parker
by Doranna Durgin
PARKER EUN SU tripped over a lower level bulkhead frame, caught herself, and stumbled onward. Excitement surged through her bio interface as Cory Dog hit the harness hard, utterly focused on the target scent and its surrounding scent pools, the puzzle of direction and air currents and—
Cory came to a stop, stymied by the utterly still air. The stale air. Parker emerged from her bio’face haze to take in the battered nature of the metal plating beneath their feet, the dimly lit corridors . . .
The deep levels of the former asteroid refinery called Plexis were no place for a Human Finder and her partner, no matter how enthusiastically that partner had brought them here. Especially not in a space already occupied by a Scat.
The Scat in question lounged an insouciant threat against the bulkhead, forked black tongue flicking from long snout, teeth everywhere. “Oh, my dear,” he said. “Just a bit far from home, aren’t we? And with such a tidy morssssel.”
Parker already had her badge palmed; she thrust it out in display. “Plexis Authority!” she said, as if her brisk delivery would make a difference. She pointed at Cory, whose wary frustration slapped hard through the bio’face. “Project property!”
The trade script on Cory’s work vest lit in response to her words. Given the correct phrase, it would also alert Hospitality Chief Randall to any peril, but that was the last thing Parker wanted right now—for Randall to know. For anyone to know.
For she and Cory Dog were in trouble again. No matter that Cory sniffed tentatively in the Scat’s direction, wagging a tremulous tail. goodgoodgood?
“How delightful!” said the Scat. “Is itssss flesh sssweet?”
Parker shortened the harness line, touching beside her eye. “I’m sending your image to my chief. We’ll be leaving now.”
“Little Hossspitality Finder,” the Scat said, “You are not important enough for that particular implant.” He straightened, flicking free a thin, supple line that would as soon cut a throat as encircle it. His predatory grin made her step back, hand tightening on Cory Dog’s line.
Because he was right. She hadn’t sent an image. She didn’t have that implant. She had only one option, and she really didn’t want to take it. “Oh, come on. Do you really think no one’s keeping track of us?”
“You will be gone before anyone comes looking,” the Scat pointed out, altogether too amiable.
“Oh, fine,” Parker snapped. “Let’s just do this, then. Security, Alert: Cory Parker!” She glared as Cory’s harness strobed into an alarm flasher. “Are you happy now?”
Because it was really the very, very last thing she’d wanted to do.
Again.
“Food penalties!” Hospitality Chief Randall sputtered, waving the stasis-wrapped toy—battered, beloved, and well and truly lost—from which Parker had taken scent samples. “Find this thing’s owner and move on, or we’ll see if hunger motivates the little beast!”
Parker bit back a snapping reply. Chief Randall had yet to be convinced that her bio’face with Cory didn’t imbue the dog with magical intelligence, but Cory was only what he’d ever been: trained, implanted, deeply connected, and so bursting with brilliance that no other handler had been able to adapt to his bio’face interjections. Neither he nor Parker were able to conjure up the owner of a lost item from Plexis’ sometimes admittedly thin air.
Randall’s strident tones were too loud; canine anxiety pushed through the bio’face. Cory looked at her with dark eyes gone worried, ginger-brown ears hanging low: a scent dog bred to theoretical perfection, bio’face-enhanced and packed into a sturdy twenty-pound body with a happy, whipping brush of a tail.
And, Parker told herself, a whole lot of crazy.
“Chief,” she said, mustering all her patience, “Cory’s trained to recognize and follow scent, and that’s what he’s doing.”
“Wasting air is what he’s doing!” Randall gestured with the stuffed toy, a thing so generically depicted as to obscure its original species—big round ears propped atop an equally round head with a conical swoop of a muzzle and six floppy limbs. Its eyes were beady and scratched, its whiskers broken off, and its fur loved down to a soft fuzz. It had been found in the luxury sections not recently dropped from some youngling’s grip, but encased in a broken stasis wrap.
Cory had loved it fiercely, instantly, even mouthing it briefly before Parker could stop him. Such purity of scent! Such intensity! Such uniquely persistent skin rafts! He wasn’t about to abandon that scent to lesser pursuits. And Parker wasn’t about to push the point, not after he had been so close to ruin once already.
Because really, the liaison to the Triads should have known not to display Cory’s recently unearthed Hoveny artifacts behind the refreshments table where the dignitaries sat, no matter the celebratory occasion. And really, Cory had only been doing his job. But no one from the Project had stopped the dignitaries from turning on them, a verbal cacophony of assault from the people Parker had trusted, echoing through the bio’face to crush Cory’s honest, eager little heart.
So Parker had resigned from the Bio Interface Project, protecting Cory the only way she could—removing him from service simply because no other handler would have him. She hadn’t expected the offered compromise—a brand new outreach position in the giant traveling Plexis Supermarket, returning precious lost items to the luxury travelers who’d lost them.
From Finder of precious Hoveny artifacts to Finder of lost items and owners. From working in vast outdoor spaces and amazing landscapes to sniffing through the enclosed corridors and artificial air of Plexis.
No wonder Chief Randall thought their unique arrangement to be a demotion, and treated them accordingly.
Now Randall eyed her with an impatience that meant he’d decided the conversation was over. “Find the owner of this thing or move on, Parker.” Like many, he persistently confused her first and last names. She no longer corrected him; only her friends realized her personal name was Eun Su, and so far no one on Plexis had offered that gesture of welcome. Randall, of course, was oblivious. “Find them, or else we’ll see what the Project says about providing this dog with a handler who can.”
It was an empty threat on all fronts. Parker’s amusement, hidden from Randall, could not be hidden from Cory himself, relieving him of his worry as no empty reassurance could do. He jumped to his feet, head cocked, his new hunt excitement pouring through the bio’face with the intensity of a solar flare. For a moment, Parker couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, wasn’t sure what she touched. She had no access to senses of her own.
Just proving the point. If Cory could be worked by just any handler, then he’d still be with a Triad, scenting out the Hoveny sites. But not any handler could manage his obsessive intensity, his nova-like bursts through the bio’face, or his ridiculously impulsive nature. Parker, a bolt of a headache coming on, could barely do it herself.
But, for Cory’s sake, she was here. Here in this enclosed space, working with this close-minded supervisor.
For Cory’s sake.
Out in the Hospitality Section proper, Parker accepted office manager Mellilou’s sympathetic smile. She watered Cory, sprayed his hard-working nose with soothing emollient that would also help him retain scent, and chose an easy item from the found property bin. The scarf was an impossibly light silk, the painted design unmistakably that of a master. The food stain, aside from being tragic, was also still fresh. And the locator tag readily pinpointed the exact site of the find, offering Cory the perfect start to his hunt.
Besides, Parker knew where the trail would lead even before they entered the upscale convenience eatery. The luxury shuttle lounge was only two modules away, and a frequent end point. She let Cory pick up the scent and then let him drag her with undue speed to the entrance of the lounge, emoting praise-pride at every step, waving back at the smiles and greetings they received along the way—some familiar, some passing through.
When she entered the lounge, momentarily dizzied by Cory’s reaction to this sensory-rich environment of cushions and pheromones and plush flooring, privacy curtains and quiet music and relaxed whispers, the scarf’s owner stood and waited for their approach.
Cory spiked excitement and flung himself down to indicate their target—an individual of an unfamiliar species, with another of its kind; both wore highly decorative armbands.
Parker touch-released the small stasis pocket in her work vest, retrieving the ultimate reward treat—real meat. She tossed it Cory’s way as she greeted the person, presenting the scarf with a respect that acknowledged its worth.
Sometimes she and Cory were greeted with true excitement; sometimes with the ennui of those who felt themselves entitled to special effort. But Parker couldn’t remember seeing this person’s expression before—ears slanting back, eyes narrowing, lips firm and flat. She tried to not make assumptions based on Human expressions, but she was pretty sure she knew disapproval when she saw it.
The person said, “Then you do, on occasion, manage to find lost items.”
Was that disdain in those large brown eyes, heavily lashed and lined by a natural mascara that had been enhanced with cosmetics? As had the crisp white markings along the individual’s lengthy nose, and the black gleam of a nose pad above a small dark mouth with firm lips. A pair of upright ears swiveled with a rapidity that struck Parker as an anxious display, flicking at every sharp sound.
foodfoodfoods
Parker tossed Cory another scrap, hiding the sting of the person’s reaction and preparing for a rapid exit. “It was an honor to return this item. I hope you enjoy your stay on Plexis.”
The individual’s partner stood, too—a larger person with similar but coarser features and the same innate, long-limbed grace. “Address her as Fem Cervidde,” he said. “And then do what you should have done these many days ago: find and return our child’s mananna so we can leave this place.”
There was no other individual of their species within sight; Parker glanced at the door to the lounge’s staffed nursery and found the gentle glow of the occupancy light. Of course; the child was being watched. “Fem,” she said, offering a small bow. “Hom. Perhaps your lost item has not yet been turned in to us, or it may be in the queue.” She understood then that the scarf had been a test, deliberately dropped. “Our office is open for your convenience, should you want to examine the queue. We return items in the order that we receive them.” Unless Cory had other ideas.
The Hom snorted through the length of his nose, a sharp sound. “You,” he said. “You are Human?”
“Yes,” Parker said, and interpreted the Fem’s head tip as puzzlement. “Some of my features may be different from other Humans, depending on their world of origin.” Hers was a colony in the Fringe, settled by a more compact group than most, closer knit than most, and still full of their own customs.
“You are small.”
“Others are larger,” Parker agreed.
“Are you too small?” the Hom asked. “Is that why you fail to find and return the mananna?”
“I am just the right size,” Parker said firmly, and repeated her previous offer. “If you’d like to examine the queue, our office welcomes your inquiry. We can also bring items here for your viewing, and I hope you’ll call on us if that option interests you.” She offered a crisp, shallow bow that meant the end of the conversation and gathered the harness line.
foods!
Cory never reached out in actual thought-words. He didn’t have to, not with the intent that spiked every emoted reaction. Parker’s own stomach, fooled, rumbled at her. She told the couple, “I hope you find your other lost item, and that you enjoy your beautiful scarf.”
Parker made a brisk retreat, marching Cory out of the lounge. Once the door swiped closed, she threw her arms out in a wildly gleeful gesture, emoting the high-pitched praise that sent his tail into a frenzy. No matter the heads and appendages it turned—she was long used to looking the clown on his behalf, and she’d learned to recognize the affectionate smiles various beings sent her way.
Cory burst into playful spurts of motion, swapping ends without ever hitting the limit of the harness line. His excitement burst through her thoughts in firecracker sparks until she dropped a handful of food pellets at her feet, finishing their game while he satisfied himself with a search for crumbs.
She settled her thoughts, unclipping his line from the tracking ring to the collar ring to take him off-duty and emerging from handler mode long enough to wave to the concierge stationed across the corridor, a Tolian with feathers ruffled in amusement. The Hom bent his head to a well-dressed customer who pointed at Parker and Cory, querying with a colorful flare of humor in his cheek pouches.
Parker didn’t linger—she had raw steak to resupply. She waved at Fem Chirruk on her way past the delicacies vendor and called a greeting to Hom Shneeple as that worthy used all eight of his flexible upper limbs to rearrange his couture footwear. Delicate Fem Flir emerged from her vendor space of light scents and comforting oils to toss Cory a tiny treat from the box Parker had inspected and approved, skittering back inside with a giggle and susurrus of skirts and filmy veils.
Parker decided that she, too, could use a meal. Down one level and along the corridor to a well-placed but less pretentious location, and Cory’s mounting excitement fluttered through her own chest as they approached his—
Very. Favorite. Spot.
Huido’s Claws & Jaws.
Hom M’Tisri must have seen them coming. By the time Parker reached the entrance, the Vilix, beaming such as he could, had already extracted a treat for Cory. “Earth shrimp,” he said. “Very high food value for this canine.”
“I trust you,” Parker assured him as M’Tisri required Cory to sit and wave a paw for the treat. “Can I get my usual?”
“Deung-galbi,” M’Tisri said. They always kept some aside for her, and Parker had never understood why some people complained about stasis-stored food. It tasted just the same to her, and always hit her tongue with a familiar and welcome tang of home. “Huido will be right—ahh, here he is.”
As if anyone could miss the arrival of the Carasian, a massive being plated in gleaming black natural armor and festooned with implanted hooks and swinging cooking implements. How an individual so large could also be so quick . . .
Parker had never fathomed it. But Cory had his own opinion of Huido.
Adoration. Wild, exuberant, unadulterated adoration.
Thus it was that Parker always greeted Huido with fireworks in her head and Cory’s silly grin on her face. “Sorry,” she said, as Cory, unable to contain himself, erupted in a series of melodious hound barks, a bigger sound than one would ever expect from that wiry, muscled little body. “You know how he is.”
Huido only boomed a laugh, one claw-hand clacking in emphasis. “This one might even have the nose for grist!” He held out two sealed bags—one would be her dinner, and the other undoubtedly contained the scraps he would never admit he could have otherwise used.
Parker took the bags with a grateful duck of her head. She had no idea what grist was and had long decided not to ask. “He’s got a nose, all right. Doesn’t know when to quit.”
Huido’s upper carapace tipped so she could see the gleam of several eyes. “Best you both learn, little friends.” He sounded as somber as he ever could. “I heard about your encounter with the Scat.”
She couldn’t help an incredulous look. “Already?”
He gestured at Cory, who now stood with his front feet against Huido’s lower carapace, sniffing vigorously and sending bio’face goosebumps down Parker’s spine. “The Scat will not hesitate to acquire you both, if he sees your value.”
“Acquire?” Parker repeated.
Huido leaned forward as if imparting a confidence, a gesture completely offset by the boom of his voice. “Recruiters.” He straightened and added, in a paradoxically quieter tone, “The vest and badge will not save you. The lower levels are not for you or this Cory Dog.”
Recruiters. Predators of the vulnerable, those hard up on their luck and scraping by in the shadows. Predators of whoever they thought they could nab. Here, on Plexis?
“Now!” Huido said, booming again. “Eat your dinner! I must go share beer, for the Fox departs in station morning!”
Parker thanked him again, but he was already leaving, a clatter of cutlery moving nimbly through the restaurant interior. She numbly bid the Vilix good-bye and took Cory back to their diminutive quarters, feeding him in accordance with the treats he’d received that day and feeding herself with somewhat less care.
Recruiters. And Cory had followed his favorite scent right to them.
Cory spent the night in a tight little ball, sleeping as hard as he did everything else and offering Parker a mental respite. She sank into meditation to clear her mind of the reactions and sensations that weren’t hers, read a chapter in her book, and tried not to think about Randall’s behavior.
She wasn’t quite ready to reach out to the Project. Ultimately, she’d be dealing with the same people who failed to protect Cory the first time, and who had relocated him only because no other handler had been able to absorb his interface-pounding nature—no matter his quick accumulation of Hoveny finds. Brilliance with a price.
But Cory shouldn’t be the one paying that price. And Parker no longer had trust. So no, not quite yet.
But she slept restlessly, with the feel of the soft worn toy in her hand and the scent of it somehow in her nose.
In the morning she fed Cory his token breakfast and loaded her vest with meal pellets and a chunk of reconstituted ox horn, enduring the heavy-handed flavor of her own basic food bar. Cory performed his morning toilet in the special enclosure off her tiny bathroom and gave a mighty shake, his tiny sparks of pleasure bouncing through her thoughts as she fastened his vest and harness. He trotted close at heel on the way to the Hospitality offices and once there, leaped upon his personal little cot with the glee of knowing he was such a good boy!
Parker tossed him the horn chunk and waited for the fizzy popping sparks of delight to pass, full of relief that he wasn’t worried about the scolding from the day before, and that he hadn’t picked up on her own mood. Too busy in his own mind for now.
She gave him a subtle mental press—wait there until I return—and he wagged his tail twice, already chewing hard. She walked past the Found Things bin—not at all in its usual neat state—and knocked on the wall beside Randall’s open office. “Parker Eun Su,” she announced, which he never acknowledged but which she’d never stopped doing.
He looked up from the display at which he’d been frowning. “Why aren’t you out making deliveries?”
“Our shift starts in fifteen.” Parker stepped into the office, one ear on Cory’s vigorous chewing. “I came early so we could talk. No . . . that’s not quite right. So you could listen.”
His expression darkened. He was a coarse Human, with coarse features, and he’d never welcomed discussion. “I suppose you think you have something to say.”
“I do.” She kept her voice neutral and kept her mind that way, too. “Chief, Cory and I are Bio’face Project personnel contracted to work in your section.” She approached his desk, going so far as to prop her hands on it. “Cory is a brilliant, talented, sensitive being who’s astronomically improved the rate of returned items. He’s doing exactly what he’s trained to do, and it’s not our fault—or problem—if you don’t fully understand that process. Don’t ever think you can take out your day’s frustrations on him through me again. You took me by surprise yesterday, but it won’t happen again.”
Randall sat back in his chair, arms crossed over a stout chest, a clearing noise in his throat. He grunted, “You done?”
Parker straightened. “Yes. We’ll start work now.”
“You do that,” Randall said. “And best you not get into any trouble today. Seems it’s not my problem if you can’t figure out how to do what you’re trained here in my station.” He flicked a dismissive hand at her.
Parker thought of Cory’s worth. She thought about the likelihood that she could leave the Project and still retain her implant, or that Cory Dog could retain his. She thought about how long it would take her to pay off the costs of taking Cory if she left.
Forever.
But she couldn’t trust the Project to protect him. She clearly couldn’t trust Randall to care about him at all. She was all Cory had—and she was on her own.
She swallowed that reality deep where Cory wouldn’t find it and went to pluck an item from the bin, reassured by the steady grind of canine teeth on horn.
Another person joined her at the bin; a familiar hand slipped in beside hers and deftly chose the next item in the queue, an appendage mitten of some sort. Office manager Mellilou whispered, “Parker, Cory let me kiss his head!” and held out the item. Then, in a normal and much more brusque tone, she added, “The toy is gone—a couple came in last night and claimed it. Cerviddes. They had grief bands—makes me wonder if there’s some story there.”
“Cerviddes?” Parker asked, accepting the mitten. Or whatever. “That’s their species, and not their name?”
“They don’t reveal their names to outsiders.” Mellilou quite matter-of-factly knew more about Trade Pact species than Parker thought she’d ever learn. “They have a species-long history of being hunted; they can be quite touchy. Hom or Fem Cervidde will do for any of them.”
“But—” Parker stopped her own thought. No good would come of protesting that Cory hadn’t found the child’s scent in the lounge. The toy was gone, and if it had gone to the wrong family, they apparently weren’t any the wiser. She retrieved the horn from Cory, offered him a drink, and then gathered the harness line. The mitten had been lost outside one of the upper levels’ most discreet pleasure businesses, and she thought if she was lucky she wouldn’t ever quite find out what it was for.
She was halfway there, taking and returning cheerful greetings on Cory’s behalf, when her thoughts exploded in joyful recognition, her vision completely obscured by internal fireworks, her fingers numbed from those same joyful fireworks fizzling along her skin.
Such purity of scent! Such intensity! Such unique persistence!
She had just enough presence of mind to duck as Cory lunged against the harness with every vibrating fiber of his being, jerking her abruptly into a tiny service run. She had no opportunity to clip the line to the harness working ring, had no idea where they were going—couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, found herself drowning in scent. Slow, slow! she flung at him, to no effect whatsoever. To no surprise, either—most of their Hoveny finds had been just this frenetic. She raised an arm to protect her face from what she couldn’t quite see, slipping and stumbling and waiting for that moment when she could regain just enough of herself to ease Cory back under control. They skidded around a corner and slid down a ramp, servo traction strips tearing her tough pants and skin alike.
The sting of it fed back to Cory, giving him just enough pause so Parker could wrest back control of her vision, or most of it.
Where are we?
Dim corridor, battered bulkheads, bare scratched floors.
Where—?
Cory’s distraction lasted only an instant, and then he leaped forward in a frenzied wag of tail, giving rare voice to his excitement in a flurry of melodious barks. Scent washed through Parker’s awareness, so strong, so clear.
A squeak of fear. Cory’s joyful baying bark. A FIND!
The bursting fireworks faded from her mind’s eye, leaving behind Cory’s rare but complete haze of success—gentle waves of personal endorphins that left him incoherent, if only ever after a Hoveny find until now. They made Parker prone to giggling but gave her room to think.
And allowed the visual acuity to see the child curled up against the bulkhead, shivering. A tiny thing of absurdly long limbs, huge doe eyes, and tightly flattened ears. Grimy white coloration lined her petite nose and the nostrils of her dark, dry nose pad flared in fear.
“Oh,” Parker said, stunned. “Oh, hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry. We won’t hurt you.”
“Hur me,” the child echoed in a nonsensical whisper, eyeing Cory through a slow blink.
Cervidde. What were the chances?
The toy. The Cervidde couple who had claimed it. The grief bands. The lack of the toy owner’s scent in the lounge . . . the presence in sly tiny spaces and battered station back alleys. Recruiter turf.
Parker crouched; she, too whispered. “How long have you been here?”
The child blinked again, tiny incisors appearing under a quivering upper lip of indecision. “Hep me?”
Parker had no indecision at all. “Yes,” she said, offering her hand. It didn’t matter whether she was right about the Cervidde couple or the slaver Scat—help she would. As a dry little hand slipped into hers, she shifted her attention to the corridor, glancing into its ill-lit spaces. Was that movement, there, to the left? A sound of movement? “Come, Fem Cervidde. Come quickly.” She withdrew the child from her hidey space and reached out to Cory in silence, tapping him for attention without any particular response. “This is Cory Dog. He helped me find you, and he won’t hurt you.”
“Frien,” said the Cervidde child, uncertainly.
“Definitely,” Parker asserted, prodding Cory again; he rose, staggering a little. “Come quickly now.”
A deliberate scrape of footwear against plated flooring, a shadow at the corner of Parker’s eye.
“Too late, s-ssssweetlings.” The Scat blocked the corridor in front of them. The other direction? His territory. “Too late for you, that is-ss. For me, quite delis-ssshously perfect. Ss-sshe is-ss mine, and now ss-sssso are you.”
The child froze, her ears so flat in her head fuzz as to be invisible. Parker shortened Cory’s line, looping it up in a deft one-handed maneuver. “She is no one’s, and neither am I.” The child’s hand tightened on hers. “Let us pass. Or did you forget what happened last time?”
“That was-ss lasst time,” the Scat observed, quite equitably. “You have come far. I think to find us-ss finissshed before your help arrives-ss.” His foot moved to the side in a sudden blur; he bent to it, and straightened with a small station vermin in hand, a thing with glowing red eyes that lasted only another startled squeak longer. The Scat’s long snout snapped closed, lifting as he swallowed. “Your small creature will be ssssso much more tender.”
Cory interrupted the moment with a small tenor growl, finally coming out of his haze. Dark canine alarm washed through Parker’s mind; she would be unable to manage clearly if he roused further. “Security, alert! Cory Parker!”
Cory’s vest lit the corridor, strobing white and yellow. The Scat hissed displeasure, stepping forward to shake out his loop weapon—but then stopping, glancing over his shoulder . . . taking a step back toward discretion and defeat.
Cory’s vest went dark.
The Scat laughed, an unpleasant coughing hiss. “Oh, but they have forssssaken you!”
Parker felt understanding hit her stomach with the impact of a physical blow. Randall had canceled the alarm! Without even knowing why she’d triggered it. He’d canceled it!
“Don’t get into any trouble today . . . it’s not my problem . . .”
They were alone. Again.
She had no need to signal the child, or even Cory. She turned and bolted, and they ran with her.
Into the dim spaces that belonged to the Scat.
His coughing laugh followed them, and so did he.
Cory’s fear splashed across Parker’s mind; she stumbled. The child tugged; Parker followed—stumbled again. Ran and ran and ran, barely seeing, following the child’s direction—aware that they’d turned left and left and left again, crawled through a smaller junction, surely headed back toward brighter spaces—surely. She heard Cory yelp, felt the bright spike of his fear even as the harness line jerked her up short. She spun back to see the line caught in a damaged bulkhead and hit the emergency release, the child’s soft, fast panting in her ear.
The Scat’s loop weapon slithered out of the darkness to fall across Cory’s haunch; freed from the line, he spurted forward. Parker found herself urging him on. Run, Cory, run! Find home! Be safe!
Because the Scat was closing on them. No matter how hard they ran.
And did they run. Panting and scrabbling and tiring and terrified, and when the child tripped and nearly took Parker down, she swept the little Cervidde up and spurted awkwardly onward, the way bright and getting brighter—
Her foot yanked out from under her; the loop bit into her ankle. She would have fallen on the child had she not twisted wildly aside, all the while crying run, Cory, run because wouldn’t it be just like Cory to come dancing back in confusion.
Knobby fingers closed around her ankle, sharp nails digging into her skin. “The Csssservidd is-ss mine,” the Scat said, yanking her back. “Mine. I ssstole her long ago and I find her very, very ussseful. The very bes-sst thief and ssspy—you s-sshould not have tried to take her!”
“She is not yours!” Parker cried, kicking at him. Run, Cory, run! She could sense little of Cory through her terror, her own sensations finally overwhelming the ones he flung at her. “And Cory will never be yours—never!”
The child tried to scramble away and the Scat backhanded her against the corridor without taking his hard black gaze from Parker’s. “Then you are nothing but trouble, and will die!”
minemineminemine! Cory’s bay of fury echoed along the corridor—not distant as it should have been. Closing. Parker cried out in dismay as the Scat’s head lifted sharply—eagerly. But he recoiled just as quickly, his cough one of dismay, and Parker twisted in what remained of his grip to plant her elbows on the grimy floor and lift her head.
Cory.
But not Cory alone.
Cory, attached to a plas rope and tied off to a ring in the black gleaming carapace of Huido Maarmatoo’kk, disruptor in hand. Cory, followed by a crowd of familiar faces—vendors and security and even a few well-dressed customers.
Cory, with friends.
All of whom were talking at once as the loop disappeared from Parker’s ankle and the Scat slipped hastily away. They babbled that Mellilou had seen the alert and seen Randall cancel it and so called the coordinates to Huido, who’d picked up a mishmash of posse members and then met Cory who insisted on coming back this way and here they were, even the two Cervidde gentles who insisted that this disappearance would not happen to someone else’s child, not while they were here.
Huido picked her up with two careful claw-arms and set her on her feet, upon which Parker burst into tears of relief and then had to pat his carapace and let him know she was fine, that this was a Human sort of thing and it would pass.
And then the little Cervidde child stood up and bleated a heartrending sound, and ran straight to the arms of the Cervidde couple who had thought they were, after all, rescuing someone else’s child.
“I don’t . . .” Parker said, looking at them all. Cory wiggled in her arms and pushed his nose against her face for a few quick licks. “I don’t really—”
“You’re welcome,” said Mellilou, knowing Humans best. “And don’t think that Randall won’t bear consequences for this.” A gleam came into her eye. “I believe I’m due a promotion.”
“But how—” And Parker looked at them all, filling the corridor with all their sizes and shapes and mobilities. “You all came . . . so quickly . . . and you had no idea . . .” She shook her head. “No one has ever . . .”
Ever.
Mellilou put a hand on her arm as the others crowded around. “But this time, Cory found us,” she said simply. “And, Eun Su, we found you.”