So Perry was free; as free as an aging husband who has just dispatched his jaded wife. He sang a little and danced around the shattered scraps of plastic and wire and metal.
Then he heard the plaintive bleating beep of sound issuing from the central core of the Serve-All. He bent over it and read engraved lettering on the steel: "Central Registry No. C187-D69."
Good God! Any idiot would know that every piece of equipment was centrally registered and carried a built-in signal to summon repair machinery.
And destruction of mortgaged property was a criminal offense.
So what now?
Escape?
Escape! He must be out of the house when the repair machine arrived. He must run and keep running, from the law and the Master Salesman and Serve-All, Inc.
How much time did he have? Not more than a few minutes for the smooth central machinery to reach across the city to him; machinery which even now was on its way to rescue a damaged brother.
Perry snatched his coat from the closet and ran to the door.
Food. If he would hide from the methodical meat grinder of society, he must have food to live. He raced to the kitchen bar.