Nicole punched the keys, and a second light came on the screen so close to the first as to almost form one point of brightness. The line of print beneath the two blinking lights expanded to read: TRACKING ERIC KARL LLOYD, 445512 AND CLIFFORD CLARK CAMERON, 446823.

“See,” Clayne said, pleased with himself, “they aren’t moving, and they’re right next to each other. I’d guess they’re eating dinner together. Eric can’t be too emotionally crushed if he’s eating already.”

“I could have sworn—” Nicole didn’t get to finish her sentence, because suddenly the monitoring alarm clanged wildly. The two points of light disappeared and bright red letters flowed across the screen. WARNING! WARNING! WRIST COMPUTER, 445512, ERIC KARL LLOYD HAS BEEN SEVERED. TERMINAL VOLTAGE SEQUENCE NOW INITIATED.

“What!” Nicole exclaimed, unable to believe her eyes.

Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the alarm shut off, and a dull buzz took over. ERIC KARL LLOYD, 445512, HAS NOW BEEN TERMINATED. SUBJECT CAN NO LONGER BE MONITORED.

Nicole’s hand flew to her mouth. “No!” she whispered.

“Terminated!” Clayne cried. “How can he be terminated?”

Shirley snatched up the phone on her console and punched two buttons. “Get the Major!” she shouted. “Eric Lloyd has been terminated.”

Nicole shot one stricken look at Clayne, then spun back around to gape at the screen again.

“What is it?” Clayne roared.

“He must have cut his band,” she whispered hoarsely. “That triggers the automatic termination voltage sequence in the computers.”

“Cut it?” Clayne cried again, shaking her gently, trying to pull her out of her shock. “How could he cut a wrist computer band? That’s impossible.”

“They did, Clayne! Look at the screen. He’s dead. Eric’s dead!”

“Something’s wrong. Maybe a computer error.”

“No,” Shirley answered firmly, “in that sequence there are three back-up systems. Only one thing can bring this up on the screen. They have somehow cut his band.”

Suddenly the buzzing stopped, the flashing red letters faded away, and a single point of light reappeared. Across the bottom came the white explanation. TRACKING CLIFFORD CLARK CAMERON, 446823.

“That’s Cameron. He’s still there, standing in the same place as before.” Then suddenly his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He must have cut Eric’s band.”

He spun around and started for the door. “Tell the Major I’m headed for Cameron’s apartment. I want to see what’s going on over there.”

As the door shut behind him, the two women stared at the screen for several long seconds before Shirley finally said, “He was so depressed. Maybe he did it deliberately.”

Nicole turned and gave her an empty stare, then finally her eyes focused, and she shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t do that. They were trying to get it off. Didn’t they know what would happen?”