Sweat began to pour down Kesley's back. He glanced at the screen, saw Winslow's advancing forces. They had somehow tracked him to Wiener. But the City _couldn't_ throw him out now! It just wasn't fair! Grimly, he started to run. He charged forward toward the long shadowed corridor and heard his footsteps ringing loudly as he ran. The corridor was a helix that wound deeper and deeper into the Earth; Kesley ran, feeling the pure cold air whipping past. Gleaming blue mechanical men turned to look at him as he went by. "Two minutes, plus or minus one," the machine warned. Its voice seemed to be everywhere. Kesley saw the familiar grids studding the wall at regular intervals. He had to hide. He had to avoid the City's commands, avoid Winslow, stay here where he was safe. He found a dark alcove and stepped in. There was a door; he opened it, stepped through, and found himself in the midst of an intricate network of machinery, row on row of relay and stud. "One minute, plus or minus one," the ubiquitous voice said. Kesley scowled. There wouldn't be any escape, it seemed. He kept running. "We have requested that you leave. Your time is now exhausted, and we must remove you." Kesley whirled desperately and saw four of the metal men coming toward him. They seized him gently, grasping him in the thick paws of their upper arms. His fists thudded against the solid metal of their chest, bruising his knuckles but failing to stop their advance. They lifted him and began to move, sliding forward at an incredible pace up the long corridor and toward the beckoning iris of an opening door. XII Once again, he was fleeing. _Always on the run_, he thought bitterly, as the mutant horse flashed over the prairie, its six legs pistoning as it drew away from Winslow's men. The City had been considerate; the City had been kind. The teardrop-vehicle had not deposited him sprawling at Winslow's feet, and for that mercy Kesley had to be grateful. The four implacable robots had carried him effortlessly toward the opening door; the uncomplaining horse had already been led through the opening and into the waiting vehicle. Still yelling, Kesley had been crammed into the silvery vehicle, and it had started away from the confines of the City. Winslow's men were advancing steadily. The City had ejected Kesley to save its own titanium skin, its own guts of transistors and cryotrons. He was ejected from the vehicle and left in the midst of the hot sands, with Winslow's men still a distant green-and-gold blur on the horizon. For a moment Kesley had stood there uncertainly, staring back at the City that had cast him forth; then, mounting his wobbly-legged horse, he began to ride. He headed north, back the way he came. Winslow had obviously pursued him through Illinois, perhaps tracked him from Mutie City to the Colony to Wiener--but the City had avoided disaster by ejecting him. Now, northward.