The Currents of Space by Isaac Asimov Read Free Book Online Page B

It was one of the armed ground-cars of the patrollers.
    Natives yelled and began running. They might have no specific reason to fear, but they scattered anyway. One man, nearly in the path of the car, stepped aside reluctantly. He had been hurrying on his way, intent on some business of his own, when the shadow caught him. He looked about him, a rock of calm in the wildness. He was of medium height, but almost grotesquely broad across the shoulders. One of his shirt sleeves was slit down its length, revealing an arm like another man’s thigh.
    Terens was hesitating, and Rik and Valona could do nothing without him. The Townman’s inner uncertainty had mounted to a fever. If they ran, where could they go? If they remained where they were, what would they do? There was a chance that the patrollers were after others altogether, but with a patroller unconscious on the library floor through their act, the chances of that were negligible.
    The broad man was approaching at a heavy half trot. For a moment he paused in passing them, as though with uncertainty. He said in a conversational voice, “Khorov’s bakery is second left, beyond the laundry.”
    He veered back.
    Terens said, “Come on.”
    He was sweating freely as he ran. Through the uproar, he heard the barking orders that came naturally to patroller throats. He threw one look over his shoulder. A half dozen of them were piling out of the ground-car, fanning out. They would have no trouble, he knew. In his damned Townman’s uniform, he was as conspicuous as one of the pillars supporting the Upper City.
    Two of the patrollers were running in the right direction. He didn’t know whether or not they had seen him, but that didn’t matter. Both collided with the broad man who had just spoken to Terens. All three were close enough for Terens to hear the broad man’s hoarse bellow and the patrollers’ sharp cursing. Terens herded Valona and Rik around the corner.
    Khorov’s bakery was named as such by an almost defaced “worm” of crawling illuminated plastic, broken in half a dozen places, and was made unmistakable by the wonderful odor that filtered through its open door. There was nothing to do but enter, and they did.
    An old man looked out from the inner room within which they could see the flour-obscured gleam of the radar furnaces. He had no chance to ask their business.
    Terens began, “A broad man——” He was holding his arms apart in illustration, and the cries of “Patrollers! Patrollers!” began to be heard outside.
    The old man said hoarsely, “This way! Quickly!”
    Terens held back. “In there?”
    The old man said, “This one is a dummy.”
    First Rik, then Valona, then Terens crawled through the furnace door. There was a faint click and the back wall of the furnace moved slightly and hung freely from the hinges above. They pushed through it and into a small room, dimly lit, beyond.
     
    They waited. Ventilation was bad, and the smell of baking increased hunger without satisfying it. Valona kept smiling at Rik, patting his hand mechanically from time to time. Rikstared back at her blankly. Once in a while he put a hand to his flushed face.
    Valona began, “Townman——”
    He snapped back in a tight whisper, “Not now, Lona. Please!”
    He passed the back of his hand across his forehead, then stared at the dampness of his knuckles.
    There was a click, magnified by the close confinement of their hiding place. Terens stiffened. Without quite realizing it, he raised clenched fists.
    It was the broad man, poking his immense shoulders through the opening. They scarcely fit.
    He looked at Terens and was amused. “Come on, man. We’re not going to be fighting.”
    Terens looked at his fists, and let them drop.
    The broad man was in markedly poorer condition now than when they had first seen him. His shirt was all but removed from his back and a fresh weal, turning red and purple, marked one cheekbone. His eyes were little and the eyelids crowded