Lone Huntress: Lone Huntress, #1

By Patti Petrone Miller and Andrew L Miller

Born to a hunter-gatherer society living in the massive trees of an alien forest, Lisa was abducted by the sadistic pirates who slaughtered her tribe. Rescued by a gruff bear of a bounty hunter, Lisa learned the trade as her adoptive father's apprentice and devoted her life to hunting those who would hurt others. But it's a lonely life for a traumatized woman, and inside the powered armor is an emotionally damaged introvert who fears large crowds and hates the very appearance of the amazonian amputee with the prosthetic limb and the biochemical alterations that she sees in the mirror.

Throwing herself into her work, Lisa establishes a reputation for herself for competence and professionalism that opens the doors to greater opportunities. But seizing those opportunities means facing not only her crippling anti-social awkwardness and self-doubts, but also the ancient enemies of humanity itself. Enemies who live in the shadows and in secrecy, manipulating attitudes and preying on psychological vulnerabilities.

What happens when a bounty hunter hiding a fragile psyche under her armored shell confronts telepathic aliens who specialize in picking at open wounds and emotional scars?

A lot of dead aliens... 

• Language: English
• Publisher: AP MILLER PRODUCTIONS
• Release date: Feb 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201015053

Book preview

Chapter One

The multimeter's LED screen flickered as the probes connected with delicate circuitry. As the device detected abnormalities, two large, strong hands selected tools from the drawers in which they were stored. Specialized tools meant to clean, replace, and restore were put to the usage for which they were created. Once again, the merely functional was restored to the level of the truly exceptional. Until finally the probes were withdrawn and tools were put away and the cover plate reinserted to conceal the technological magnificence within. The face sharing a body with that hand took a few moments to admire its streamlined form, the promise of swift justice, and the lips curved in a slight smile of appreciation for an indulgent beat. Then the smile faded and one of those strong hands gripped the wrist of the other, and what had appeared to be living flesh went still, plastic, no longer a match for its counterpart. The living left hand tugged as the right prosthetic came away from the stump of remaining arm, and the properly maintained and almost legendarily dangerous weapon was snapped into its place.

The figure rose, a silhouette that towered by comparison to the profile of what most would call an average physique. The broad shoulders of a lumberjack bunched as the thick thighs and powerful calves lifted the body up to a standing posture. Wide hips swiveled as the figure moved with a slow, predatory strut towards a lurking behemoth standing proudly in its maintenance rack. Its rounded, almost organic curves kept to the classical designs of ancient plated armor, designed to deflect attacks by denying them an even striking plane. The visored helm rose up as if being doffed by an invisible wearer, while the breastplate opened and pulled away, revealing the softly padded interior, the sealed joints to protect against the most hostile of environments.

The figure gave a soft, sensuous groan as it climbed into the armor, clean skin pillowed against padding that reeked faintly of sweat, excitement, and terror, a cocktail soaked in too deeply to ever be washed clean. And as the armor sealed itself up the figure gave the tiniest of wriggles, snug and secure in the protective embrace of a cherished friend.

Less than ten meters away, another figure huddled behind the bars of a metal cage, his slender limbs shackled by the wrists and ankles to the center of his prison. His head lifted as his eyes rose, hearing the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Full, kissable lips peeled away from gleaming white teeth in a suddenly dazzling smile, and eyes danced with sincere delight at the approach of the armored colossus.

The towering figure did not seem to share the sentiment. Feeding time, scum, it declared in a deep, husky voice resonant with aggressive contempt. And the left hand jerked forward, tossing a pair of foil wrapped bars and a liter squeeze packet of clean pure water. The visored face plate revealed nothing as the captor watched her captive.

The captive caught the water deftly, plucking it out of the air despite his chains, and raised the squeeze packet in a toast. Thank you, fair lady, he said, and his voice was the voice of a dear friend, a lover, a father...

The right limb of the armored captor lifted and pointed itself directly at the dazzlingly handsome face. Beneath the elbow joint it was mostly a long, thick tube, extending rather longer than its counterpart on the left. And with the way it was aimed so threateningly, even someone unfamiliar with what it was and what it could do would recognize it as a weapon being pointed with hostile intent. Knock it off, the wielder of that weapon arm told him, her voice cold and unamused.

His smile froze momentarily, his eyes glazing with terror, before he nodded in cheerful compliance, the aura of good vibes toning itself down a notch or so. "You'll forgive me if I maintain a little charm... he half suggested, half pleaded. Simply in the interest of providing good company, oh hostess."

Be pleasant if you wish, she retorted, utterly merciless with her prisoner. but I'll forfeit the bonus for a live bounty before I let you charm me into freeing you.

He nodded his head vigorously, his smile looking less charming and more frightened and placating, his hands held up in a pacifying gesture. The water packet still dangled in the fingers of one hand. No need to worry about that, er... miss? He paused a moment, as if to test her reaction to the honorific. I shall save my powers for those who'd put such a price on my head. Which would be...?

The towering figure paused a moment, as if savoring the moment of revelation. Adra Agrippina.

The slender, beautiful man began to tremble violently, and the color drained from his face. Even the weapon still aimed at him with a steady arm failed to intimidate him so much as the identify of the bounty hunter’s client. "She really wants to see you again, the bounty hunter taunted him. When I talked to her, she couldn’t seem to decide whether or not to let you live through your reunion."

Oh, no. No, no, no, he moaned, shaking his head slowly from side to side, as if to deny reality. You... you don’t know what she’s like...!

If the armor could show a shrug, the bounty hunter would have shrugged. Rich, beautiful, and pliable, she observed dryly. What more could a con man have wanted?

She... she killed a man, he declared. His eyes bulged and stared at nothing, as if he were reliving the moment. Right in front of me. Killed him herself. Then she made me make love to her, because the killing... excited her! He shuddered in horror and disgust. She takes pleasure in hurting people. It... it took everything I had to keep her satisfied with normal sex. Without the whips and... chains...

The bounty hunter gave this all the credit a known fraudulent and lying con artist deserved. Surely the rewards were worth the effort? she suggested, almost mockingly.

He shuddered again. She’s bound to whip those things out, this time... He shook his head sadly, now looking less like a sweet friend and lover and more like a beaten puppy desperate for rescue from an abusive owner.

The only potential rescuer in the room turned away with an utter lack of pity. Shouldn’t have run, she suggested as she walked out of the room, leaving him there. Hell hath no fury...

The man watched her casually strut away, his eyes blinking as he witnessed her complete and total absence of compassion for his plight. Then he sighed and shook his head, sitting down heavily on the cage floor. The act appeared to drop away without an audience to appreciate it, and he now looked almost mundane and ordinary as he picked up one of the ration bars and began to peel away the foil wrapping to get at the nutrient dense candy bar within.

Chapter Two

Gentle hands ran across my slick flesh, slippery with sweat. I moaned quietly, my body arching towards those skilled hands, desperate for more. Those fingers, soft skin over strong muscle, caressing me both worshipfully and demandingly. A tongue, long and wet and ravenous, lashed over my painfully hardened nipples before pulling away to make room for the teeth to playfully nip at them. I gasped at the sudden hint of pain, then whimpered invitingly as my own hands reached out to caress a muscular back. As the hands continued their journey of exploration, the mouth made its way more purposefully upward. Slowly. Lingering at each square inch of flesh to plant a loving kiss, until it reached my mouth, where... it claimed me. Lips that seared my own like a brand, parting them to spear my mouth with a tongue like molten iron. I responded in kind, laying claim to my lover with everything I had.

The hands drifted about, finding all my most sensitive places, and making them scream for more. My legs spread, wider and wider, in abject submission. A shaft, iron hard, touched the opening to my dripping pussy. I moaned, my hands grabbing my lover's tight ass to pull him in. But that shaft refused to be forced, instead entering slowly, agonizingly slowly... for less than an inch. Then it slowly retracted.

I cried out in frustration. My voice called out without my volition, its tones grown husky and hoarse with desperate desire. I begged for more, the humiliation of surrender only heightening my arousal.

The shaft entered again, slower than before. This time, it reached an inch and a half. Then retracted again. For all my strength, all I could was take was what was being given, at the tantalizingly slow pace being set by my dominant partner.

I moaned loudly, like a wounded beast, my anguished bellow more eloquent than any words. The shaft entered again, achingly slowly. Two inches. And retracted. I gibbered incoherently, offering everything I had to my tormentor. My heart. My soul. My life. I would have gladly died, if only I could have reached completion first.

Slowly, achingly slowly, it entered. Two and a half inches. I was in heaven, Paradise was mine.

Slowly, treacherously, it withdrew. I was in hell, Perdition was my lot.

In... Three inches... Out...

Whimper.

In... Three and a half... out...

Howl.

In... Four inches... out...

Scream.

My lover held that devastating weapon over my quivering cunt, as I cried and thrashed my head from side to side. My arms were pinned to my side by strong hands. Those exquisite lips whispered in my ear. A demand. Surrender...

Yes.

Possession...

Yes.

Love...

Yes!

That evil, awful, wonderful rod slammed home, with one smooth motion. As my legs wrapped around a trim waist in a vice grip, and my arms wrapped around a strong neck, those lips claimed me for their own. Strong arms wrapped me in a tight embrace. And my body exploded, in a conflagration of love and ecstasy...

The Amazonian body flinched and jerked violently in the bed as she awoke. For a long moment she lay still, rigid and unmoving, the bed sheets soaked with the sweat of her physiological reactions to her lurid dream. She could feel the juices dripping from her thighs, testimony to how extreme her pleasure had been. And then she rolled to her side, curling up into a ball with her muscular arms wrapped tightly about her knees as she began to sniffle. The tears began to run down the side of her face as she lay there, and her broad shoulders swelled and heaved with her heavy sobs.

For several long minutes she lay there, grabbing at her pillow to smother the sound of her deep, husky voice bitterly weeping, to soak up the fluids streaming from her eyes and nose and mouth. Slowly the intensity of her sobs began to subside as she gave vent to her emotions, from full body wracking shudders to soft little whimpers like half-hearted coughs. Only when she had regained enough control over her own body to stand and walk did she stumble towards the bathroom, its shape-memory polymers currently in the default configuration of a toilet seemingly grown out of the floor, the sink waiting for her to wash her face clean. The full length mirror that occupied the far wall waiting for her to glare into it in her almost standardized ritual of self-loathing.

Her eyes started from the bottom, glaring sullenly down at her own feet. Big feet, well suited for supporting that statuesque physique. The strong, shapely calves capable of propelling her through leaps and sprints like a jungle predator, flaring up into truly formidable looking thighs. This too met with her clear disfavor, her dissatisfaction with her lack of daintiness even more self-evident as she looked at the scalloped bulges of her abdominal musculature. If she had an hourglass figure, it was only because of the sheer circumference of what lay beneath and above that torso. The massive size of her cleavage sufficient to make an observer, particularly a self-loathing observer staring into a mirror with an obsessive compulsion, think of dairy cows and other large, domesticated animals. Even the hair, long and green and well suited to the planet where generations of her ancestors had adapted to the local environment through micro-evolution, was clearly being tagged in a category labeled as unattractive.

She glanced down at her right hand for the climax of what become practically a routine at this point. The prosthetic limb. A reminder of her loss. A reminder that she was not now, nor would she ever be again, a whole person. Her body was incomplete, over-sized, and grotesque. Synthetic flesh approximating the appearance of a proper organic limb, the forearm housing a collection of useful features in lieu of the blood vessels and tissues of a natural arm. Technically more effective and efficient for her professional purposes, yet utterly failing to conform to standards of beauty. A smaller representation of her body as a whole, really.

The ritual of self-loathing thusly concluded, she returned to the bedroom itself. A ship with artificial gravity encouraged furniture similar to that found on planets, but with or without the luxury of a synthetic up and down drawers and containers were still needed, particularly when common objects could become dangerous projectiles. Containers such as the nightstand next to her bed. Objects such as the phallic shaped toy she furtively withdrew, its surface glistening with the dried fluids from clandestine and shame ridden masturbatory sessions before being tossed back into the drawer as if to shut out her need for a toy in her solitude.

She slipped back onto the bed, the rubbery shaft already beginning to hum and vibrate merrily even as she guided it between those thickly muscled thighs. And with a quiet groan of despair mingled with lust, she pressed it in and allowed it to take her mind off her troubles and allow her to sleep.

Chapter Three

The prisoner was curled up on the cold floor of the cage when the armored figure entered the hold, casually chucking both ration bars and water pouch through the bars. Breakfast, scum, the bounty hunter greeted him, her deep, sultry voice almost jovial.

This seemed to meet with the prisoner’s approval. Or possibly it appealed to his instinct for sensing opportunities in social situations, as he opened his eyes and gave her a lazy smile of greeting. Long, slender limbs stretched out with an almost feline grace, languid and suggestive.

The armored figure’s right arm lifted slightly, the thick tube of her prosthetic weapon brandished in a vaguely yet definitely hostile fashion. Don’t even think about it, she told him more coldly. I’ve got it set to my ice beam. It won’t kill you – unless you tip over. But it won’t feel very good. She paused a moment, then added, it won’t do your skin and hair any favors, either.

The smile faded, the sensual body language froze, and suddenly the prisoner looked older – and yet, younger at the same time. The eyes of a frightened child, surrounded by features that showed an awareness of the suffering inherent in life. He swallowed hard. At least... stay to talk with me? he asked imploringly, while reaching for one of the ration bars. He held up the foil wrapped bar as if in offering. Share my meal with me?

I’ve eaten, thanks, she replied dismissively. Rat bars are for scum in cages.

I’m lonely.

Two words. Three syllables. And the bounty hunter rocked almost visibly, the flinch discernible even through the bulky armored exoskeleton. Then she recovered and snarled with a tinge of anger born of her determination to avoid empathizing with her captive. Join the club.

He looked up at her, staring into her visor as if to look into her eyes. You know, he said slowly, I get so used to people... you know, with their thoughts all around? I hear them all the time. It... it feels weird, not hearing anyone. Lonely. He tapped his temple with two fingers, indicating what he meant. I miss hearing people, not having thoughts to hear.

The bounty hunter watched him impassively for a few long moments. Then she finally spoke. So you can’t turn it off?

He shrugged. I never tried. I... I like hearing the thoughts. You learn what people really think. You learn about them. Like reading a gossip column, except you know it’s true... He gave a soft little laugh, ruefully amused. "And they always believe the strangest things... and they always think they’re right. Listening to two people argue, hearing what they’re thinking, it’s just such a trip..."

The hunter continued to stand there. An unspoken agreement to remain for conversation appeared to have been formed. What about when you find out someone doesn’t really like you? she asked, now genuinely curious.

Again the captive telepath shrugged. I can also hear why they don’t like me. It’s like reading a walk through for a game. Everything I need to do to make them like me, it’s all right there. I can make them like me. I can do the things I know will make them like me, because they’re telling me what to do.

The heavy helmet didn’t move, being fixed directly to the rest of the armor, but she seemed to nod in acknowledgment. Predators always enjoy having the tools to catch their prey.

He glanced up sharply at her harsh judgment, his expression twisting slightly. Then he gave a sharp little laugh. You would know. He shook his head and glanced down at the ration bar he still clutched in the one hand. More for something to do than out of genuine hunger, he began to tear it open. Predators don’t hate their prey, though. Isn’t there a saying about that?

Prey assuages hunger. Prey is good. Frank Herbert. Twentieth century writer of considerable distinction. The bounty hunter readily conceded the point.

My prey... they’re like cattle... He paused, then burst into laughter. That makes me sound like a vampire, doesn’t it? These kine, so ignorant of the predator in their midst? Mua hah hah, he hammed it up. I feel more like a rancher. To me, people are... wonderful. He took a bite of the ration bar, chewing with more determination than satisfaction. It was less crunchy than it was stiff and chewy. Very, very chewy, like taffy. The huntress watched with mild amusement as he reached for the water pouch to help him swallow it. Ah... yeah, people are sustenance... and they’re companionship, and entertainment. They’re everything. You know what I always seem to find? he segued suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him. Underestimation. They always think they’re worse than they are.

And that’s how you take advantage of them, the bounty hunter observed.

Yep! The telepath agreed without hesitation or shame. Look at... well, look at Adra. She’s so beautiful, so... He drifted off, shaking his head and shutting his eyes with a slight shudder. ...She thinks she’s unlovable. All that nastiness. All the hate, all the sadism, it’s all just a cover for being afraid to admit she doesn’t think anyone likes her.

The bounty hunter appeared to consider this. If she’s so lovable, why did you leave her?

Killing that guy in front of me had a little something to do with it, he quipped immediately. Then he took another vicious bite of the ration bar, effectively silencing himself for the next twenty seconds or more. Finally, he managed to swallow it. How do you manage to live on these things? he wondered incredulously.

I don’t. Again the armor somehow concealed the shrug while simultaneously making it clear to see. I picked those up when I got the cage. I eat real food.

He made a face and looked down at the remaining ration bar in his hand. You couldn’t have sprung for decent food for your prisoners?

I don’t usually bother with live captures, she replied diffidently.

That had a chilling effect on the man, and he resumed eating his bar in silence. She watched him for a minute or so longer, and then turned away to leave him to finish his meal in peace.

Chapter Four

The Scorpion Asana.

The room was as large as the one housing her telepathic captive, but far better furnished. Padded flooring all about. Padded walls, too – even the doors of the lockers lining one wall were surfaced with protective padding. Whatever training equipment she might have had, it was all stowed away safely, secured in the event of emergency. Leaving her with a vast, safe place in which to stand on her hands, her powerful torso curved in a neat bow with her thickly muscled legs curling behind her like the tail of a scorpion, feet just above her head.

As her shoulders and arms bulged, a few veins displaying themselves in a classic example of vascularity, she tensed her abdominal muscles and hip flexors, contracting her quadriceps. Slowly straightening her body to a full hand stand, as stiff and straight as a board. Then down she went, arms bending as she lowered herself to a head stand, her green hair nestled in a tidy bun, additional padding for her head. Then came the shoulder stand, and then finally she made her way to the Corpse Asana, laying flat on her back to rest and recover from the physically demanding movements.

The daily workout finished, it was time for a shower. Out she went and down the short hallway to the portion of the ship meant for cleansing, defecation, urination, and bouts of self-loathing. The shape-memory polymers were already shifting as she approached, flowing and melting like wax under a torch. The toilet collapsed into the floor, the sink recoiled into the wall, and several spigots emerged from the ceiling and from two of the walls. She let the door slide shut behind her, and gave herself over to the bliss of hot soapy water spraying from three directions at once. The rich fragrance of Sensual Sensation’s Woodland Scent shampoo filled her nostrils as she unwound with the nostalgia inducing aromas of a simulated forest after a springtime rainfall.

It was once again time to check on her prisoner and bring him his meal of discount ration bars and clean water. Once again she stayed to watch him eat, offering him the solace of conversation. So... he began, then paused to resume chewing until he could finally swallow the bite of ration bar. ...So, what made you decide to become a bounty hunter?

Fairly standard as subject matter for a casual conversation, but it proved a sensitive topic for her. That’s my secret, she said curtly, a hint of warning in her tone.

He glanced up at her, responsive to the implied threat, then looked at the long thick cylinder that jutted out from her elbow joint where a gauntleted hand ought to be. Did it have something to do with that? he asked, pointing in the direction of the prosthetic weapon.

Yes. The warning was more evident now, as he pushed his limits.

He chewed another bite of the ration bar before saying anything more. Then another bite, just to give himself an extra minute. I’m not like that, he said quietly, as if arguing with himself. I never hurt anyone.

The bounty hunter appeared to disagree. You left a lot of broken hearts behind you, she observed. Not to mention taking their money.

He shook his head vehemently. I only lived with them. I never drained their funds. I showed them a better world.

A loud sound came out of the expressionless helmet, a sharp barking noise. A sudden and incredulous laugh. A better world? she sputtered disbelievingly.

The telepath raised his head and looked directly at the helmet, where her eyes could meet his own. I let them see themselves through my eyes, he said, in a quiet but firm voice. "They always think I’m so wonderful. They think I’m too good for them... and then I make them believe that they do deserve me... He sighed and added, ...at least, for a little while. Until the self-loathing gets too much, or their families decide I’m a parasitic monster, or something else happens... and then I have to move on."

There was silence for a time, until it was broken by the sound of him opening the second ration bar. You said you had an... ice beam? He nodded in the general direction of her prosthetic weapon. How does that even work? I never heard of a weapon like that.

She raised up her weapon arm, holding it up to eye level, contemplating the device. That’s because most people don’t understand the nature of weapons.

He paused in the act of biting down, and pulled his head back to inquire, and that is?

A weapon is a tool, nothing more.

He lowered the bar from his mouth, giving her an odd look. Tools are used to make and repair things, he observed. Guns and weapons are meant to kill people.

Tools are devices for making a task easier, she corrected him. Sometimes killing someone is the task.

He nodded slowly at that, acknowledging her words completely. You’re very good at delivering those scary one-liners, you know, he complemented her. Have you done any theater work?

Heh. No, she replied, sounding amused despite herself. But yes. Every weapon is just a tool. Most weapons started out as tools for other jobs, before being repurposed.

Yes. Axes for chopping wood, bows for hunting... he readily conceded, ...but once you make a sword, you’ve made something that’s only good for killing people. And then there’s guns...

Which are repurposed technologies used for entertainment and transportation, refined to be used in hunting as well as for sport or combat, she retorted. And a sword is a very large knife meant for cutting flesh, and possibly bone and protective coverings. It’s a specialized meat cleaver for specific situations. Or a skewer that can penetrate to a specific depth in spite of tough surface layers. Or... And here she held up the arm, as it made a soft little whining sound, It is an electromagnetic field of atomic scale cross section, rotating at close to light-speed.

The telepath gaped at the sight before him. Then he gulped, swallowing hard as he stared in fearful fascination with the glowing beam that now jutted out from the business end of her weapon. The soft hum was a steady and terrifying constant as she slowly waved the blade through the air. ...You have a lightsaber built in, he managed at last. Nice.

She shut off the beam with evident satisfaction at the reaction she’d achieved,