From: tcbruno@athena.mit.edu (Tom Bruno)
Subject: The Escapee (part I)
Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Date: Fri, 14 Aug 1992 19:16:06 GMT

   "Follow me..." shouted 76599230-- the man he knew as Sidrath.  The wail
of sirens grew louder and louder, the maniacal rhythmic thumping of the bowels
of Prime seeming to echo the pounding of his own heart.  
   'Third time,' he thought to himself.  'Last chance.  No going back.'  
Sidrath spun around a corner, feinting a dive into a doorway which slammed shut
preemptively, and broke into a full sprint down the black steel catwalks, his
body glistening with sweat in the multicolored hues of the searchlights.  
Winded, but unwilling to pause for even a moment's breath, he followed right
on Sidrath's heels as they entered Section 729, their last chance for escape.
   The Hounds had been prepared this time.  It wouldn't be as easy as last 
time, when they had simply edged their way to the Tunnels and abruptly made a
break for it.  That was when the Society was new, when the Hounds were still
piecing together its membership and modus operandi.  But the Hounds worked 
quickly, smoothly, effortlessly-- like the clockwork that was their homeworld.
Doors mysteriously closed without warning, accessways no longer existed, 
beltways moved in the wrong directions, it was as if Prime were a sentient
labyrinth, malevolently running them in circles, around and around, as the 
Hounds methodically dispatched each as he made a slight miscalculation, that
stumbled on previously nonexistent stairways, that paused for the split second
to get his bearings.  
   "This way!"  Only he and Sidrath remained.  The others lay strewn either
six floors above or three floors below, lifeless glowing lumps of grey flesh
and violet blood.  But he didn't dwell on the nine who didn't make it, on the
five now classified as 'terminally defective,' as he too would be classified 
if the Hounds ran him down, caught him as he senselessly crashed into the walls
that seemed to shift and flow, directing his flight into terror.
   As they reached a dark intersection, Sidrath stopped-- so suddenly that
he almost slammed into him.  His heart began to sink.  Was it over already?
"Sidrath, what...?"
   "Quiet!" he hissed through his teeth, his face twisted into a mask of
intense concentration.  Against all of his better judgement, he listened to
Sidrath's command, his heart beating faster and faster, as if it would burst
at any moment.  But louder than the heartbeat, even louder than the 'heartbeat'
of the world about him, was a familiar humming sound, emanating from beneath 
his sore and bloodied feet.
   The Tunnel.
   "But how do we--"  He was cut off as Sidrath produced a dark, fist-sized
sphere from his powder-grey overalls, darkened by his sweat, stained by his 
blood and the oils of the Machinery.  He crouched down low, against the onyx
latticework of the floor, expertly sliding his hands over its unnatural plane.
Without a pause, he slipped the chocolate-brown globe into a crevice that 
seemed to materialize out of thin air.  There was a loud click, and Sidrath
suddenly turned his gaze to him, as if to say something--
   "Nexor, never forget that I--"
   Freefall.  Chaos.  Darkness.

ADMIN: 9611420 will end up on a jumble of rocks about ten miles north of
Generica, along the beach.  The transit from Prime will have distorted his
memory (it always does), and his overalls will be scorched to virtually nothing
by the transit through the Tunnel (the one Sidrath and Nexor leapt through 
is more of a dimensional 'trash-chute' than a transit portal.  It's magically
created vortex that leads to virtually anywhere, depending on the moment you
slip through it).  Nexor's chest blazes with scarlet runes that spell out his
identification number is his home language.  As for Sidrath-- he fell through
the vortex a moment before Nexor.  He could be anywhere.




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