It occurred to him to watch for more tenth level mechanoids, and he saw three immediately, moving with him several yards away. An autocar cruised patiently.
"You are heading due west, on Street 751 West, at a speed of three and eight tenths miles per hour."
He saw the mechanoid with three wheels again, clocking him helpfully.
"Go away," he said.
His breath came hard; he was not used to walking such a distance.
How long can I last? If I keep going, I'll get hungry, and there won't be any food. They don't serve food out here. I can go until I drop from exhaustion. Then they'll take me back ... ask me if I want therapy.
He would refuse, then try it again later. He would try it day after day, probably, maybe getting a little further each time, and each time the mechanoids would patiently bring him back. On and on ... until he requested therapy....
"You are now one mile from zone," said his clocker. "The time is eleven-twenty-eight p.m."
The lights burned on into the distance. His legs were beginning to ache, but still the urge to cross the city was intense.
Maybe I'll go till I come to the ocean, he thought, sucking his breath. He had seen pictures of the ocean, that featureless blue with its concrete wall stretching away for thousands of miles.