My four-year-old daughter chats happily as I set the fish down on the table. My hunting's fed us for years. It's easy to forget that in happy moments like this.

A knock sounds at the door. I open it, and before I can talk a gun is pushed into my ribs.

"Serdum Dareas, you're under arrest for poaching." Barks the Peacekeeper.

I'm hustled out the door, my daughter crying behind me. The last thing I see before they put a bag over my head is the old man I fed, counting the money he was paid for turning me in.