The Huntsman and the Nix

By late morning, Sutter knew he'd guessed right, finding her trail again, part luck, part judgment. He'd have her by nightfall. Getting ahead of her, he made for the ridge. Finding a place with a clear line of sight, he stopped and pulled out his glasses, waiting. 

And there she was. About an hour later, she came up the narrow way in late afternoon, an indistinct, limping figure. Through the glasses, she stopped being a small figure, her pictures becoming a face he recognized, dark circles under eyes that seemed even bigger somehow.

It was because her hair wasn't long as it had been in the pictures, he realized. It was cut blunt at her cheekbones, black and wavy and unkempt. It made her look even more fragile, her neck long, her jaw delicate. There wasn't much to her garment, a thin undershirt, his brows going up, her breasts right there. Wasn't she pretty. She had some kind of bandage wrapped around her shoulder. A female Nix. 

He lowered the glasses. Yes, she was beautiful, and she was one of those women who just got more beautiful the rougher life treated her. Or, she would have, if he wasn't about to end her. He knew it shouldn't matter, but his gut was in knots.


Sutter hadn't brought a rifle, so he couldn't take the shot from here. He'd have to get closer and use his pistol. Putting the glasses away, he got himself to lower ground, backtracking toward her.

She'd turned from her path. He blended into foliage, pulling his pistol, thumbing the safety off, wondering if she somehow knew he was here. He found her trail and followed it to the river. 

Exhausted, hungry, injured and limping, Nivea-1 was still a Nix, still a trained, genetically enhanced killer, and Sutter checked everything before he moved forward. Finding a hiding place a little ahead, he watched, holding his pistol, resting it in his other hand, his stomach tense again.

He needed to see her up close before he took the shot. 

Nivea-1 came into his field of vision. He raised his pistol as she walked to get on her knees across from him, kneeling at the river to drink water in her cupped hands, Sutter sighting on her head, his finger moving to the trigger, breathing out. 

A moment later, he lowered the pistol, blinking as she changed in front of his eyes. He wanted to laugh, seeing her to scale. Sure, she was a real killer. The Nix was a little thing, compact and delicate, almost sculptural, all of her defined. This little drop had killed two men? Probably four, he reminded himself, but still. It was like expecting a Swazi gun and finding a straw shooter.

Sutter's smile faded, feeling the heft of the pistol in his hand. He shook his head. To hell with that. The little Nix wasn't any threat to anyone. He didn't care how badass she was. She wasn't going to mount an assault on the institute or get off this moon. If he just walked away from her now, she'd be dead in a week. Something was wrong here. 

Bruja laReine had told the system authorities that there was a rogue Nix loose, and his superiors wouldn't have wanted to endanger one of their own by asking a huntsman to capture such a dangerous target. That made sense, maybe, given what the Nix had been able to do. But she wasn't that.  

Maybe that was why Bruja laReine hadn't wanted to send the file. She hadn't bothered to inform his superiors about the true nature of Sutter's target. She'd sucked Sutter off and sent him on his way, hoping he'd kill the little Nix and take care of some problem for her. What a bitch.

System authorities were going to be upset at laReine when they learned about it. But how could they not know that? It was a kill order. Sutter holstered his pistol. It was a mystery he couldn't solve here, but she was no more dangerous than his other targets. A huntsman didn't assassinate people for private citizens. 

He'd tag the little Nix and bring her in and turn her over to the justica on Corsa and find out what was going on. Waves were going to ripple through the SCA to learn a d-order had been issued for a target a huntsman could easily bring in. In the meantime, a two-person escort would take the Nix to System Central Authority and a tribunal, where she'd be tried for her crimes, and Sutter would go his way a great deal lighter, that was for sure. 

He didn't mind this outcome at all, his gut easing for the first time since he'd started after her. He watched the little Nix, figuring how he was going to get his hands on her. 

Scanning around herself, she looked down into the water, her whole body going still, and then she snatched at something with a lightning stab, his brows going up. Little, yes, but fast. She was still a Nix. 

When her hand emerged, she had a long slimy legless black water animal that was curling and flopping in her fist. Her face said she thought it was gross. His mouth twitched. 

She put it on the ground and got a rock, bashing at it. When it wasn't moving anymore, she picked it up and smelled it. Sutter's mouth twitched again at the look on her face, her nose wrinkling. His smile widened. Fuck, she was cute. She got out a knife--probably the same knife with which she'd murdered the guard--and began to cut it up. She didn't even know to skin it first. If it had skin. 

Well, at least Sutter could improve her diet. She didn't require a huntsman. The little Nix needed rescuing, fuck's sake. He moved parallel to her, staying under cover, getting closer. Going silently, seeing her in small breaks in the foliage, he kept moving. She was there, side-on to him now, in profile, on her knees cutting up the animal. On the next break, she was still cutting it up. He'd have her in a moment. On the next break, she was looking straight at him.  

Sutter faded back, the nape of his neck prickling. Her body was still and her stare was fixed, those large, intense light-gold-green eyes under straight dark brows. She didn't see him, but the Nix had enhanced senses. Regardless of how, she knew he was there. 

From a position on her knees, she bolted, leaving her food. Sutter broke cover, coming after her, but she was too fast, even limping. He didn't try to keep up. He'd have to continue to track her. 

It wasn't a problem. He'd have her by tomorrow. She couldn't possibly get away from him now. He jogged, following her trail.

Evidently the little Nix had come to the same conclusion. Her tracks disappeared. The nape of Sutter's neck prickled again and he looked up as she dropped on him, the knife in her hand. 

He had time to think that, little or not, smart and fast and crazy got her pretty far. He shed his pack, no need for his pistol, Sutter grinning as he rolled and came up with his knife in his hand, turning to face her. She was already coming for him, swiping at him, springing back when he evaded and made a grab for her, only speed saving her. 

She wasn't snarling or spitting at him, that same absorbed look on her face that she'd had when she was scaling the wall.

Sutter watched her, releasing his breath, straightening a little, shaking his head again. What the fuck? She wasn't a trained fighter. Little Nivea-1 wasn't even holding the knife right. 

She came in with a stab, again that speed, and Sutter caught her wrist and turned her, his arm around her neck from behind. She was delicate under his hands, Sutter careful not to hurt her. "Drop it, killer," he said. 

Ducking down, she twisted out of his hold, just really fast, but he still had her wrist with the knife, not letting go. For all her fierceness, she weighed nothing, his fingers and thumb overlapping. He surged forward and put his foot behind her ankle, bringing her to the ground with his body on top of her, shielding her fall a little, squeezing her wrist with his other hand, not too hard. 

She made a small pain sound. 

"Drop it," he repeated. 

Her hand opened and the knife fell. He brought his knife to her throat, getting hers and pocketing it. She looked back at him steadily, that intense, concentrated gaze. 

Sutter sat up a little, straddling her, his knife still at her throat. She didn't move as he got the shackle key out of his pocket, but she reacted when she saw it, Sutter pulling the knife back as she panicked, an explosion of struggling. Putting his knife away, he caught and tapped each of her wrists twice with the shackle key. 

Sutter straightened his legs, getting off her and backing up. It was done, the little Nix scrambling to her feet. 

She didn't know about these kind of shackles, he saw. "Don't run," he told her. 

Backing away from him, her eyes darted to the jungle around her. 

"You really don't want to run," he repeated. 

She bolted. He waited, his mouth tight. After a time--she could run fast--she gave a startled cry and then she began yelling, getting higher. It would take her some time to figure it out. He'd once had a target battle his way into unconsciousness against a proximity shackle, too stupid to figure that he had to reverse direction toward Sutter to be back in range and out of pain. 

The sounds stopped. Sutter picked up his pack, turned, and went in the opposite direction. 

After about an hour, he found what he was looking for, heading for a flat field. He drew her into the open. 

The little Nix paced with him, parallel and at the edge of proximity, her eyes on him, a fixed gaze. She was unhappy with him and so sexy. Untrained and the size of a drop, but definitely a fighter. The undershirt she had on left nothing to his imagination, and he had a good imagination in this area--beautiful tits, round and high, large nipples. A female Nix. 

He watched her, feeling a deep sinking, visions of stripping her bare, of taking her. He wouldn't, of course, but she turned him on. Maybe he should start finding out if he could be assigned the female targets that came in. He grinned at her, finding a clear spot and dropping his pack, making a fire. She circled until she had him in sight and then she sat down, careless grace. They watched each other across the distance. 

"I won't shoot you. I'm taking you back to Forsyte Institute. You can join me, if you'd like," he invited her. "You have to be cold. I have food. Water."

Although he'd shackled her, he hadn't really caught her yet. He'd really have her when she came to him, and she would, one way or another. Somehow he thought she'd exhaust her other options first, such as they were. 

Sitting, he put his hands out to the fire. She was waiting. He knew why. She wanted the proximity shackle key. Sutter grinned at the fire. Her vision was better than his at night. He'd told her he had food. She would wait until nightfall and plot in the meantime. It was really her only option, if she wasn't going to surrender to him.

Sutter threw a pod into the fire, the heat activating it. He got his water, drinking, and then ate supper. She didn't have any. When he'd eaten, her stare never varying, he got his bedroll out and activated it, taking out his jacket and putting it on. The wind was cold. She was huddled into herself, shaking.

It was still early spring, cold at night. She'd always slept in whatever shelter she could find, but she was exposed in the field. She hadn't eaten for days, not really. More importantly, he had the only water within the proximity boundary and he wasn't sharing unless she was in his custody. She didn't have days to wait for an opportunity to take him by surprise. Unarmed, untrained, he still thought she'd take her shot. Why? Because she was badass. If she had any weight to her, she'd be a nightmare.

Dusk came and then deepened, as well as the cold. Sutter sat at the fire, setting his pistol beside himself, unable to see out into the dark while she could see him clearly. She'd come for him soon, and then he'd have her. 

When she did, it was impressive. Firing rocks at him from outside the firelight, she followed them in, going for the pistol he'd put out to bait her, and she was fast. 

He had her in moments, putting her under him again, his hands on her wrists over her head. So fierce for such a little thing. Sutter slowly smiled down at her, enjoying the look of her, the feel of her under his body. "I have to admit, killer, you are the sweetest badass target I've ever hunted."

She did that thing, staring back at him, those eyes that were so focused that they punched straight into your lower regions. He put both her wrists in one hand because she was a badass, but she was also a drop. Reaching into his pocket for the tag gun, keeping it low where she couldn't see it, he set the trigger on her outer thigh under her hip, high up, and pulled. A heavy thudding sound followed. 

The Nix cried out and startled, tears springing to her eyes, blinking up at him. She looked so surprised and not-dangerous that he felt a pang. 

She'd killed two men, he reminded himself, and probably four. She had to go back and face a tribunal for what she'd done. "I put the tag in last so you'd understand and believe me when I say that the pain you felt with the proximity shackle is nothing compared to what you'll feel if I trigger it. It's agony, and I'd really rather not demonstrate that." He gave her the speech. "If I tell you to do something, you do it, or I'll trigger the tag. If you attack me again, I won't just trigger it. I'll leave it on until I'm satisfied you're going to behave. It's over, killer."

Her eyes said she knew that and hated him for it. She turned her head to the side, not looking at him. 

He peeled himself off of her, getting to his feet. "Go sit down by the fire," he said. 

She got up, walking and sitting, putting her arms around her knees, looking dejected, small and not dangerous at all. The bandage at her shoulder was red and looked tattered and stained, the edge folded under.  

Sutter caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, reaching for it. A locket, the chain delicate and broken. It was in the shape of a heart. She must have been wearing it when he'd caught her, the common letters I and then F on it. Why would a Nix wear a locket? 

Well, a deal was a deal, and he'd said he'd try to retrieve the data ring for laReine. He opened the locket. Empty, no ring. When he looked up, the Nix was gazing at the locket. She looked at his face, but she didn't ask for it back. She didn't talk to him at all. He put it in his pocket. It would go with her when the two-man escort took her to the justica on Corsa. 

Throwing a food pod into the fire, Sutter offered the Nix water, making her come to him. She rose and took it, drinking and handing it back, returning to her place, her eyes going to the food pod and then to his face. 

It was ready in a moment and he got it, holding it out. Once she retrieved it, he watched as she sat and opened it, her fingers trembling, but she didn't eat it too fast, glancing at him, chewing steadily. When she was done, she set it aside, putting her arms around her knees again. Still cold. He got up and took the jacket off. The coat was easily sufficient for him. He held it out. It still had his body heat.

She hesitated and then rose, taking it and returning to her spot. She didn't so much put it on as crawl into it, huge on her, fitting it around her whole body, her hands clutching the front. She was shaking and then the Nix began to blink heavily. As he watched, she glanced at him and then lay down, curling up in a little Nix ball under the jacket, and went to sleep.