A few moments later the door burst open, and Travis darted into the room. She started to give him a nonchalant wave, but then she realized her hand was trembling so violently that it would instantly give her away, and she stuck it down her lap. “Hi,” she managed, forcing a smile. “Have you got a broom?”

“Are you okay, Nicole?” the Major demanded, as he joined them at the table in the cafeteria.

“Yes, I’m fine. I—”

He clenched his fist and smacked it into his palm. “I can’t believe how stupid, how utterly stupid this boy is. Right on the verge of freedom, and he pulls this.”

“Sir,” Nicole said, “if it weren’t for his sister, I don’t think—”

“I know,” he snapped impatiently, “but we can’t have someone who goes berserk on us, even in a crisis.”

Suddenly, to her amazement, Nicole wanted to defend Eric Lloyd, the sight of Becky collapsing into a heap on the floor still vivid in her mind. “Major,” she said evenly, “I know that what he did is unacceptable, but I think what happened was very unusual provocation.”

“Agreed,” he conceded reluctantly. “Travis, I want to know who implanted his sister and why she was overprogrammed.”

“I’ve already ordered an investigation.”

“Good. Everything we do with this young man seems to be botched up. If we do turn him around, it’ll be a wonder.”

Nicole’s head shot up. “You mean you’re not rejecting him?”

“Oh, no. We’ll give him one more shot at it. But starting right now, I want a twenty-four-hour monitor of his movements kept in Central Control. If he so much as tweaks his nose in the wrong direction, that will be it. We’ll slap a Stage Three implantation on him.”

Even Travis’s eyes widened at that. Nicole knew personally of only five in Shalev who had ever received Stage Three—two vilelooking men caught trying to penetrate the Outer Perimeter, and three others declared to be incurable psychopaths.

“Nicole, I want you to oversee the monitoring of his movements. Check the tapes every day.” The Major turned to Travis. “Who’ll be his training officer? Have you decided yet?”

“Clayne Robertson.”

“Ah, yes, a good choice. Have you told him yet?”

“I was briefing him when Eric went off his gourd.”

“I want Clayne to actually move in with Lloyd until we’re perfectly satisfied he’s turned. We’ll give him a month and then decide whether to lift the implantation.”

“You’re going to implant him?” Nicole blurted, feeling her stomach drop.

“Of course,” the Major said, surprised at her question.

“But you said you were going to give him another chance.”

“We are, but not without implantation. We can’t risk any more outbursts.”

“Oh.” Nicole dropped her eyes under his probing gaze.

“Can we?”

“No, sir, of course not. I don’t want to face any more flying stools.”