A sharp cry was torn from Cliff’s lips as he dropped to his knees and grabbed his head with both hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you are now witnessing is only twenty percent of the Punishment Mode under Stage Three implantation.” He turned and looked at the trembling figure. “Dr. Cameron, are you ready to express regret for your crimes?”

“No.” The word was barely audible, but Travis had lowered the microphone to the kneeling figure so that it was touching Cliffs lips, and his answer went booming out over the speakers.

“Thirty percent!” the Major commanded.

Cliff screamed in agony as Nicole clamped her eyes shut, her fingernails biting into the flesh of her palms.

“Fifty!” The Major’s voice was an angry bellow. “Now, Dr. Cameron, now are you ready to speak to us?”

“Yes! Yes, oh help me! Yes! Please, yes!”

“Cut the power,” the Major said quickly, nodding in satisfaction.

A great sob of relief echoed out of the body that suddenly collapsed and went limp.

“Travis,” the Major said, now fully composed again, “will you help Dr. Cameron up? I believe he is ready to make a statement now.”

Travis’s arm went around Cliffs waist. He was trembling so violently that he could not stand alone. Travis helped him to his feet, heavily supporting him. Cliffs eyes were bulging and he was gasping for breath as Travis held the microphone to his lips.

For a long moment the only sound in the air was the tortured rasping of his breath. Then suddenly his head came up. “Eric!”

It was a cry of such anguish that it tore through Nicole and went bouncing off the grandstands in echoes that would haunt her forever. “Eric, don’t give up! Help free this people!”

For a split second the Major stared, his mouth open in stunned surprise. Then his hand flew up, jamming the radio to his mouth. “Eighty percent!” he screamed hoarsely. “Eighty percent capacity! Now!”

Cliff’s body jerked so violently that he was torn out of Travis’s grip, as though hit at point-blank range with a high-powered rifle. One long scream rent the summer air before Cliff collapsed into a crumpled heap at Travis Oakes’s feet.

For a full ten seconds there was not a sound in the stadium. Every eye was riveted on the still form on the platform in the center of the field. Then suddenly, high up in the center bleachers, a man leaped to his feet. In the stillness his voice echoed like a pistol shot, the sarcasm twisting it into a mocking cry. “Let’s hear it for Major Denison and the Guardians,” he shouted, “keepers of the peace, protectors of our freedom.”