The Emotional Catharsis Board picked the Victims’ names at random. A Hunter was allowed six months in which to make his kill. This had to be done by his own ingenuity, unaided. He was given the name of his Victim, address and description, and allowed to use a standard caliber pistol. He could wear no armor of any sort.
The Victim was notified a week before the Hunter. He was told only that he was a Victim. He did not know the name of his Hunter. He was allowed his choice of armor, however. He could hire spotters. A spotter couldn’t kill; only Victim and Hunter could do that. But he could detect a stranger in town, or ferret out a nervous gunman.
The Victim could arrange any kind of ambush in his power to kill the Hunter.
There were stiff penalties for killing or wounding the wrong man, for no other murder was allowed. Grudge killings and gain killings were punishable by death.
The beauty of the system was that the people who wanted to kill could do so. Those who didn’t —the bulk of the population—didn’t have to.
At least, there weren’t any more big wars. Not even the imminence of one.
Just hundreds of thousands of small ones.
* * *
Frelaine didn’t especially like the idea of killing a woman; but she had signed up. It wasn’t his fault. And he wasn’t going to lose out on his seventh hunt.
He spent the rest of the morning memorizing the data on his Victim, then filed the letter.