MacFarland stepped up to the pole and grabbed a handle. Trying hard to keep their faces blank, the three Belderkans grabbed the other handles. One of them trembled. Behind him the crowd murmured. He squeezed the handle. Pain shot up his arms and thudded through his body. His eyes closed. His face twisted. Holding back a scream, he made himself open his eyes and watch the dials over his handle. The dial marked by a red light was his. The other dials told him how much pain his opponents were enduring. Each man could end his agony by releasing his handle. Each man squeezed harder. Even as they screamed, they squeezed and made the needle move a little further right. No job, no promotion, no scientific enterprise or national need, could have made him do this. Feeling the pain hammer through his bones, he knew how weak all those motivations were. Through slitted eyelids he saw two of his opponents fall away from the post. His dial said he was enduring more than either of them. * * * * * He turned his face toward the other man. Clenching their handles, they grimaced at each other. MacFarland's grip tightened. His needle moved. The other needle edged past it. They hung there moaning and shaking. Oh God, he thought. Oh God. He made himself squeeze. Twin shrieks cut the air. Both men released their handles and fell away from the pole. MacFarland staggered in circles, bent over, clutching his stomach, trying to turn off the pain. "Are you all right?" Crawford Bell asked. "Look after him," he answered, still fighting the duel. "Look after him," he heard the other man moan. Hands grabbed him and he straightened up. When he saw the pole, he flinched. He couldn't do that again. He grabbed the mike. "You saw that," he mumbled. "Who's next? Who wants to do that next?" An aging man walked out of the line and took his position at the pole. MacFarland stared at the old man's disciplined face. He had been thinking no one would dare come forward now that they had seen a duel. The old man looked tougher than any of the last group. He stepped up to the pole and grabbed a handle. "Relax," the Belderkan said. "This time you'll lose or the good thing will happen, but whichever it is, this will be the last time. Good luck." Have you done this before? MacFarland squeezed to equal him. The old man squeezed his handle and his needle jumped a quarter of the way across the dial. MacFarland squeezed to equal him. Again pain hammered his bones. Again his face twisted and he moaned over his tortured body.