Asimov's Future History Volume 4 Read Free Page B

He looked about as though he were searching for the salt-pinch dispenser. “I see nothing out of the ordinary.”
    But he said it without conviction. The mob of diners was only a vast conglomeration of chaos to him. And when R. Daneel turned his impersonal brown eyes upon him, Baley suspected uncomfortably that those were not eyes he saw, but scanners capable of noting, with photographic accuracy and in split seconds of time, the entire panorama.
    “I am quite certain,” said R. Daneel, calmly.
    “Well, then, what of it? It’s crude behavior, but what does it prove?”
    “I cannot say, Elijah, but is it coincidence that six of the watchers were in the crowd outside the shoe store last night?”
     
     

11: Escape along the Strips
    B ALEY ’ S GRIP TIGHTENED convulsively on his fork.
    “Are you Sure?” he asked automatically, and as he said it, he realized the uselessness of the question. You don’t ask a computer if it is sure of the answer it disgorges; not even a computer with arms and legs.
    R. Daneel said, “Quite!”
    “Are they close to us?”
    “Not very. They are scattered.”
    “All right, then.” Baley returned to his meal, his fork moving mechanically. Behind the frown on his long face, his mind worked furiously.
    Suppose the incident last night had been organized by a group of anti-robot fanatics, that it had not been the spontaneous trouble it had seemed. Such a group of agitators could easily include men who had studied robots with the intensity born of deep opposition. One of them might have recognized R. Daneel for what he was. (The Commissioner had suggested that, in a way. Damn it, there were surprising depths to that man.)
    It worked itself out logically. Granting they had been unable to act in an organized manner on the spur of last evening’s moment, they would still have been able to plan for the future. If they could recognize a robot such as R. Daneel, they could certainly realize that Baley himself was a police officer. A police officer in the unusual company of a humanoid robot would very likely be a responsible man in the organization. (With the wisdom of hindsight, Baley followed the line of reasoning with no trouble at all.)
    It followed then that observers at City Hall (or perhaps agents within City Hall) would be bound to spot Baley, R. Daneel, or both before too long a time had passed. That they had done so within twenty-four hours was not surprising. They might have done so in less time if so much of Baley’s day had not been spent in Spacetown and along the motorway.
    R. Daneel had finished his meal. He sat quietly waiting, his perfect hands resting lightly on the end of the table.
    “Had we not better do something?” he asked.
    “We’re safe here in the kitchen,” said Baley. “Now leave this to me. Please.”
    Baley looked about him cautiously and it was as though he saw a kitchen for the first time.
    People! Thousands of them. What was the capacity of an average kitchen? He had once seen the figure. Two thousand two hundred, he thought. This one was larger than average.
    Suppose the cry, “Robot,” were sent out into the air. Suppose it were tossed among the thousands like a...
    He was at a loss for a comparison, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen.
    A spontaneous riot could flare anywhere, in the kitchens as easily as in the corridors or in the elevators. More easily, perhaps. There was a lack of inhibition at mealtimes, a sense of horseplay that could degenerate into something more serious at a trifle.
    But a planned riot would be different. Here in the kitchen, the planners would themselves be trapped in a large and mob-filled room. Once the dishes went flying and the tables cracking there would be no easy way to escape. Hundreds would certainly die and they themselves might easily be among them.
    No, a safe riot would have to be planned in the avenues of the City, in some relatively narrow passageway. Panic and hysteria would travel slowly along the