Padded arms swung from beneath the couch to enfold him, but he avoided the clumsy efforts. He sprang to the door. It was locked. He shook it, but it wasn't easily forced. He searched his pockets. Nothing to help him. Next time he wouldn't come unprepared.
Soft music crept into the narrow chamber. It was meant to be soothing; under the circumstances it wasn't. Danny pounded wildly at the door. The hinges gave a little, but not enough.
He looked frantically for something loose that could be used as a weapon. If he had tools he might detach the still waving arms of the couch and use one of them to beat his way through the door. But he had no tools. He pressed his nose longingly against the armored glass.
He got the first glimpse of the psych squad. Two were robots, large and evidently strong. They were pleasant enough to look at and gave an impression of gentleness. Whether their behavior matched their appearance was another matter. The third member of the squad was a man.
The group approached cautiously. Danny squatted low beside the door. "I'm in contact with the psych squad," said the S.P. "If you'll cooperate with them it will look good on your record. You'll get by with a minimum mental change. They may let you keep some of your enthusiasm for music. Will you go peacefully?"
"Yes," said Danny in a low voice.
"Then go out slowly when they open the door. Hold your hands above your head."
"I can't," said Danny. "I hurt myself. I think it's my leg."
S.P. was silent for a moment. "The robots will come for you. Remember, don't try to harm them. They're built to handle violent cases."
Danny faked a cry of pain. He peered through a crack in the door. It was getting dark, difficult to see the legs of the approaching robot.