Fatal Planet

By C.N. Samson

Stranded on a remote jungle planet, a freelance lawman and his prisoner are thrust into a deadly game of survival!

 

Rick McHarne is no mere bounty hunter--he's a Professional Apprehension Specialist. But when he and his con man prisoner Skauley end up on a remote jungle world, they quickly find themselves being hunted for sport by three game-obsessed youths who see them as the ultimate prey.

 

With no way off the world and little hope of escape, McHarne and Skauley must put aside their differences and work together to outwit their pursuers, survive the hostile environment of the jungle, and somehow make it off the planet alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.N. Samson
• Release date: Jan 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224377534

C.N. Samson

Author C.N. Samson lives somewhere in the Southwestern United States. He has always had a passion for writing, and his love of science-fiction and fantasy began in high school. He wrote short stories in the years before the invention of the internet, and he believes that fiction should be entertaining above all else. His favorite authors include Clive Cussler, James Rollins, and Matthew Reilly, and he strives to emulate their writing styles. With every word he writes, C.N. Samson endeavors to transport readers to an exciting world that is both familiar and fantastic.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The Hunt Begins

A SCREAMING SIREN JOLTED Rick McHarne awake. His eyes flew open.

A moment of panic.

Where the fercock am I?

He found himself seated in a chair at a small metal table. Across the table sat his prisoner, Adrian Skauley. The siren had awakened the other man as well, and the shocked look on Skauley’s face said that he also had no idea where they were.

The siren’s deafening wail ceased. McHarne rubbed his eyes and tried to make sense of the situation. The last thing he recalled was being in the lifepod with Skauley. Then there was that giant snake, and the soldier woman who injected him with something....

Skauley gazed around in confusion. Either I’m still in cryo and having a freeze dream, or this is some kind of weird new interrogation technique. Which is it?

McHarne saw that the man now wore a shirt, jacket and pants with a jungle camouflage pattern, instead of the clothes he’d had on before. He glanced down at himself and saw that his own outfit had been likewise replaced. He had on the same style of military pants and short-sleeved shirt, but no jacket.

It’s not my doing, McHarne answered. What’s the last thing you remember?

That’s not how it usually starts, but—

Seriously! The last thing!

Going into cryo, obviously.

What else? McHarne demanded.

What do you mean? What else would there be?

Come on, think!

Skauley began to laugh, but his amused expression fell when McHarne glared at him. All right, well, for a moment there, I thought I was awake, and it was like I was falling. And then there were people...can’t remember what they looked like. Hey, are you listening?

While Skauley was talking, McHarne took stock of their surroundings. The two of them were in the middle of a square room with walls of gray industrial metal. There were no windows, but the wall on his right bore the outline of a door. A lighting strip on the ceiling provided illumination.

Why are we wearing cheap military surplus? Did we get conscripted or something? Skauley asked.

McHarne patted himself down, then dug into the pockets of his pants and shirt. Empty. Do you have anything on you?

Skauley checked himself, shook his head. You’re acting very confused.

You’re right, I am. It occurred to McHarne that the wall to his left was composed of horizontal slats. Some kind of rolling door, like in a warehouse?

Skauley snapped his fingers. Wait, is this one of those reawakening pranks, like on that visicast channel? There was one where they made a man believe he’d woken up in the far future. Now that was supremely hilarious!

A digital display blinked on above the slatted wall. Red numbers showed 5:00 and counted down.

4:59.

4:58.

4:57.

A sudden insight made McHarne grin with relief. He stood, stretched. I think we’re in quarantine.

Quarantine? I don’t know, some people might not find that funny.

Yeah, it makes sense, McHarne said, ignoring Skauley. The search and rescue people must have brought us here.

Okay, that’s more interesting. But why would there be searching and rescuing?

McHarne got up and strode to the door. It failed to open at his approach. There was no palm plate on the wall, so no way to trigger the door to open. He returned to the table and sat back in his chair, rested his booted feet on the table.

There was an emergency on board the ship, McHarne stated. We had to eject in the lifepod. It landed on this swampy planet, and we were picked up by the search and rescue people. I, uh, don’t recall anything else. He had left out a great many details, but that was all Skauley had to know, for now at least.

And what about the pilot and co-pilot?

They stayed behind.

On the ship, trying to save it? All right, plausible enough, I guess. Now what’s the reason for quarantine, did we land on a diseased world? And if we’d been contaminated, shouldn’t they have dressed us more appropriately?

McHarne gazed coldly at the other man. I’m only going to say this once. We are not on some prank show; this is not a joke or a trick. I told you what happened, so be quiet until we know more about the situation.

Skauley sat still for a long moment. He looked up at the countdown clock and grinned. Is that how much time is left until the show starts? Is this a live broadcast?

The clock read 3:33.

McHarne accessed his ECM, the embedded communications module implanted in his brain. He instructed the module to acquire a GalSigNet link but a red symbol flashed in his visual field: the code for an 039 error, meaning no link found.

Have you tried calling out? he asked.

Skauley’s eyes unfocused for a few seconds. No connection, but of course they’re going block the signal until the end of the show.

Did you not hear what—

I heard you. I understand what you said. Skauley stood up from the table, marched across the room and went to stand beside the slatted wall. I think this is where they’re going to come out when they do the big reveal.

You are a total fercocking idiot, McHarne said.

Skauley knocked on the slatted wall; it made a slight rattling sound. Sorry to be a bother, but could you edit out what he just said? It’s rather rude and unnecessary.

When the rattling died down, Skauley’s eyes went wide. A guttural sound, a snarling or growling, came from behind the wall.

A sense of unease chilled McHarne. You might not want to do that again.

Skauley returned to the table. Both of them looked up at the countdown clock. It read 1:07.

McHarne lowered his feet to the floor and rose up out of the chair.

1:05.

1:04.

1:03.

Why would they have a dog back there? asked Skauley.

I can’t think of a good reason, McHarne replied.

At some unspoken agreement, the two of them retreated to the opposite end of the room.

Skauley banged on the door. Hey! Could I talk to someone in charge? Anyone?

McHarne watched the countdown clock.

0:45.

0:44.

0:43.

Maybe it wasn’t an S&R patrol that found us, McHarne thought. The soldier that he had spoken to never showed identification. She’d shot him up with a sleep drug before he could even ask.

0:33.

0:32.

0:31.

The time! McHarne checked his ECM’s chronometer. It was now almost twenty-four standard hours since they had abandoned ship. What had happened to them in all that time?

This is really happening! Skauley said, fear edging his voice. I checked my signifier, called for an exit...this is realspace.

It hadn’t occurred to McHarne that they might be in artificial reality, given that it was impossible to force someone into a LIBRA scenario. Even so, that was one possibility eliminated.

The seconds ticked away. Sweat formed on McHarne’s brow. He tensed, anticipating the worst.

0:03.

0:02.

0:01.

0:00.

Another deafening siren blast, then silence. The slatted wall rattled as it rolled up into the ceiling, revealing another wall composed of vertical and horizontal metal bars. Another barred wall ran perpendicular to this, dividing the space in half. A pair of prison cells, side by side.

Several transparent containers of various sizes were mounted on the walls of the left-hand cell. The cell on the right held a gray-skinned canine creature. Around its neck hung a bright orange collar that supported a small circular device. The canine leaped at the bars and barked, saliva dripping from pointed teeth.

What in the Great Lord’s holy name is that thing? Skauley blurted out as the creature stood on its hind legs and pawed through the bars.

A harrowfang, McHarne answered, suppressing a clutch of fear. He recognized the animal’s narrow muzzle, well-defined musculature, oversized eyes and ears. Modified hunting dog. Not good around children.

A life-sized holographic figure materialized inside the harrowfang’s cell. Though the man’s form had a monochrome color, the details of his face and his business suit marked him as an older, wealthy gentleman. The canine didn’t appear to see the hologram, yet it grew quiet and began to pace around the cell.

Come closer, please, said the gentleman, his voice emanating from some hidden speaker. You are perfectly safe, for the time being.

McHarne approached the cells, urging Skauley ahead of him. They stopped a few feet away from the bars.

What’s that thing wearing? Skauley asked.

McHarne ignored the question as he eyed the compartments in the other cell. Each of them contained a weapon; either a firearm, a knife, or some kind of handheld explosive. A green metal chest lay in the corner of the cell; McHarne couldn’t see what was inside, but it probably contained ammunition or similar gear.

Congratulations, the holographic man said. You have been chosen to participate in the time-honored tradition of a hunt.

Are you the man in charge here? Skauley queried. Because if you are, there’s been some confusion. I’m supposed to be on my way to prison.

McHarne shushed him, then said, Who are you? And what is this place?

My name is Ternholm. This planet does not have an official designation, but you can call it Lostgrove, came the response. The names he spoke appeared in white letters above him. Now please pay attention, as this information will not be repeated. You will be pursued by three hunters. With a wave of his hand, three smaller holo-figures materialized, two male and one female. That was all McHarne was able to discern before they vanished with another hand-wave. Their goal will be, of course, to catch and kill you. But if you are able to incapacitate or kill all three of them, you will be allowed to leave the planet.

Let me suggest another option, said Skauley. How about you allow us to leave right now?

McHarne silenced him with a sharp look.

You will begin in the center of my private preserve, Ternholm continued. A three-dimensional map shimmered into view, depicting a jungle landscape contained in a square area bordered by a high wall on each side. Normally, the hunt would be restricted to the preserve, but my clients have requested the maximum challenge. Thus, the gates will be left open. A green rectangle appeared in the center of each wall.

Should you manage to escape the confines, you will face the untamed wilderness beyond. However, there are places where you may seek refuge. The map view widened to encompass the region outside the walls. Three pulsing dots popped up, one each to the north, west, and south of the preserve. McHarne tried to spot distinct features on the map, such as mountains or coastlines, but saw nothing else before Ternholm waved again, dismissing the image. He gestured to the adjacent cell.

As you can see, there are a number of weapons available for your use. You will have twenty seconds to choose whatever you like. If you take any longer than that, the dog shall be released, and the hunt will be over before it begins.

McHarne wanted to ask more questions but knew he wouldn’t get any answers. All they could do for now was play by the rules.

Good luck, said Ternholm. His hologram faded away.

The harrowfang shook itself and barked, jaws snapping the air.

Stand by! a female voice boomed out.

McHarne seized Skauley’s arm. Don’t go for the weapons, he said. Get whatever’s in the chest.

A buzzer sounded. The door of the weapons cell clicked and opened slightly.

Time starts now, the voice announced. Twenty. Nineteen.

McHarne flung open the cell door and shoved Skauley inside. Go, hurry!

Skauley dove for the chest, flipped back the lid. McHarne had already noted a number of possible weapon selections; he dashed over to his first choice, an automatic pistol. The compartment cover slid aside at his touch.

Rothcutt 14M, McHarne thought as he snatched the gun off its mounting. He checked the magazine before shoving the pistol into his pocket.

Thirteen. Twelve.

McHarne spun to his next selection, a Pulsarion Arms rifle. General purpose, Piercer Sentinel series. He extracted the rifle, slung it over his shoulder.

Eight. Seven.

What next, what next?

McHarne hesitated before choosing a sheathed tactical knife. He kept this in his hand as he turned to the cell door.

Three. Two.

Skauley was still rummaging around in the chest. McHarne grabbed the back of his collar, hauled the man up upright and pulled him away.

The siren blared.

A half-height gate in the wall between the cells retracted upwards.

McHarne cast Skauley out of the cell and followed. He pulled the door shut, slammed it in the face of the harrowfang that had shot through the gate. The creature barked in fury and reached through the bars, paws flailing.

The two men retreated behind the table. Breathing hard, Skauley pointed at McHarne’s rifle. Maybe you should use that while you have the chance. He inclined his head at the gray-skinned canine.

Before McHarne could answer, the slatted wall crashed down and cut them off from the cells.

I suppose not, McHarne said. What did you get?

Skauley held up a green canvas backpack. A bunch of useful things.

The Ternholm hologram reappeared and said, You now have five minutes before the animal is unleashed. I would suggest that you get as far away from here as possible. The hologram vanished as a new countdown began.

Four minutes, fifty-nine. Four minutes, fifty-eight.

The door on the other side of the room slid open. Natural light flooded in, along with a gust of warm, moist air. McHarne clipped the knife sheath to his belt and pushed Skauley toward the exit. The two of them fled from the room.

As soon as they were out and over the threshold, they skidded to a halt on damp grass. Long banks of clouds stretched across a pinkish-gray sky, while the shapes of tall tropical trees and thick vegetation loomed all around them like misty phantoms in the dim twilight. McHarne looked over his shoulder and saw that the room they had been in was actually a big metal shack, situated in the center of a clearing.

I still say we should ambush that harrow thing, said Skauley.

McHarne shook his head. No way. It’s too quick. If I missed, I’d be dead. Then you’d be next.

Four minutes, thirty. Four minutes, twenty-nine, the countdown voice announced, the sound blasting from an external speaker.

Skauley hefted the backpack. Want to see what I got?

Later. Let’s go. McHarne unslung the rifle and aimed it at the other man.

Oh, come on! Is that really necessary?

You’re still my prisoner. And I think I should have that, as well.

Skauley rolled his eyes, held out the backpack, let it fall to the ground.

"Pick it up and hand it to