Store of the Worlds: The Stories of Robert Sheckley Read Online Free PDF Page A

why peace had never lasted in the past.
    â€œBecause men like to fight,” was their answer.
    â€œOh, no!” screamed the idealists.
    But the men who engineered the peace were forced to postulate, regretfully, the presence of a need for violence in a large percentage of mankind.
    Men aren’t angels. They aren’t fiends, either. They are just very human beings, with a high degree of combativeness.
    With the scientific knowledge and the power they had at that moment, the practical men could have gone a long way toward breeding this trait out of the race. Many thought this was the answer.
    The practical men didn’t. They recognized the validity of competition, love of battle, courage in the face of overwhelming odds. These, they felt, were admirable traits for a race, and insurance toward its perpetuity. Without them, the race would be bound to retrogress.
    The tendency toward violence, they found, was inextricably linked with ingenuity, flexibility, drive.
    The problem, then: To arrange a peace that would last after they were gone. To stop the race from destroying itself, without removing the responsible traits.
    The way to do this, they decided, was to rechannel Man’s violence.
    Provide him with an outlet, an expression.
    The first big step was the legalization of gladiatorial events, complete with blood and thunder. But more was needed. Sublimations worked only up to a point. Then people demanded the real thing.
    There is no substitute for murder.
    So murder was legalized, on a strictly individual basis, and only for those who wanted it. The governments were directed to create Emotional Catharsis Boards.
    After a period of experimentation, uniform rules were adopted.
    Anyone who wanted to murder could sign up at the ECB. Giving certain data and assurances, he would be granted a Victim.
    Anyone who signed up to murder, under the government rules, had to take his turn a few months later as Victim—if he survived.
    That, in essence, was the setup. The individual could commit as many murders as he wanted. But between each, he had to be a Victim. If he successfully killed his Hunter, he could stop, or sign up for another murder.
    At the end of ten years, an estimated third of the world’s civilized population had applied for at least one murder. The number slid to a fourth, and stayed there.
    Philosophers shook their heads, but the practical men were satisfied. War was where it belonged—in the hands of the individual.
    Of course, there were ramifications to the game, and elaborations. Once its existence had been accepted it became big business. There were services for Victim and Hunter alike.
    The Emotional Catharsis Board picked the Victims’ names at random. A Hunter was allowed two weeks 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. 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