In Season: Science Fiction

He stared, revolted, as the hatch opened and a chain of tall, willowy women with hair that moved in an invisible breeze stumbled down. Chain was the key word. They were chained to each other, hand and foot, and the bruises and cuts on their bodie3s showed that it had not been easy to do. "How can they do that?" he demanded, caution barely enough to keep his voice low. "Isn’t enslaving people illegal in every civilized quadrant? And isn't this supposed to be one of the civilized quadrants?" "Sure, but they were in season. Not the same thing." His revulsion grew. "You mean--" he gestured near his crotch in a hand-signal recognizable across all the quadrants. "No, no...nothing like that. The guilds would be up in arms, are you kidding me? No. Hunting season. Every five years, the season opens. Only good on people of a certain age, who wear bracelets indicating that they are valid prey. Some sick fucks go down to actually *hunt* them. Believe it or not, the people who capture them and bring them in as servants or bond-slaves or what have you--and yes, enslaving people may be illegal but there are still old laws on the books about how slaves must be treated once they exist--aren't the worst of the lot. The government says they do it because the natural selection pressures on their people became insufficient once their civilization advanced and it was that or massive civil war every five years. Me, I think they're all nuts."


Inspiration: Cookbook title: "Simply in Season." Tasty recipes, too.
Story potential: Medium? High?
Notes: Need to swap genders to avoid certain stereotype/fetish problems, have captive be male.