"_I knew you'd be here_," I said, and then I drew him close to me. "_It's been a long time._" "_Don't ever forget_," I said, and opened myself to him at last. * * * * * The lights in the Arena dimmed, rose, dimmed again. The first signal I pressed against the straps, but they were firm and unmoving. Yet I--we--leaned forward, and watched the panel with its blue light. Our stomach was knotted like tight leather cords. The blue light flashed. I reached out a hand to the small red button. The straps bit into our flesh. The panel was dim, ghostly beneath the glaring lights from the dark above. A thousand hands touched a thousand red buttons. One of them was the first to touch the button, the first to complete the circuit. No one knew who he was. No one even knew if every button was connected, but someone touched a button and somewhere the circuit was completed. _Shock!_ Pain jerked our body rigid! We _screamed_; our skin blistered as hair singed and fell away. And there was a greater shock, a pain somewhere else, as our images cleaved and I fell away from her. I reached out my hand to her, and almost felt her touch ... but my hand was on the button, and she was slumped in her chair on the floor of the Arena. I jerked my hand away from the button as though it were hot electricity. My whole body was moist with perspiration. I stared about me, suddenly and deeply frightened. Which of us had screamed? I'd felt it surging up in me, felt it tearing at my throat, bursting from my mouth--but next to me the others were unconcernedly waiting for me to rise from my seat so that we could file in an orderly fashion from our places in the Arena. They had noticed nothing. When I stood up my legs were trembling. I could still feel where the leather straps had bitten into them. I stepped carefully up the stairs and went out into the morning sunshine. Though the floodlights had been bright in the Arena, still the sunlight hurt my eyes. I paused at the door, and looked at my ring-watch. It was nine-thirty. Only half an hour had passed. How long does it take to destroy a few spoiled lives? It was over. I forced my breathing into a more normal rate and stepped onto the sidewalk. Don't think about it, I told myself. After all, it had been years earlier that I had really lost her.... I had almost made it to the corner when I felt the tap on my shoulder, began to turn, saw the green-sleeved arm extending toward me a familiar black indicator, and heard the proctor say: "This is the one. Definite case: schizoid condition, latent telepath." "We're all sorry," said another of them. And they led me away to face it again. End of Project Gutenberg's I, Executioner, by Ted White and Terry Carr