A New Jersey Soth tossed a psychology instructor and his three students out of a third floor window of their university science building, and all four ended an attempted morbid investigation on the broad, unyielding cement of the concourse.
My phone shrieked while they were still scraping the inquiring minds off the pavement. The Soth was holed up in the lab, and would I come right away?
I picked up Ollie Johnson, who was now sort of a public relations man for his tribe, and we arrived within an hour.
The hallway was full of uniforms and weapons, but quite empty of volunteers to go in and capture the "berserk" robot.
Ollie and I went in right away, and found him standing at the open window, staring down at the people with hoses washing off the stains for which he was responsible.
Ollie just stood there, clenching and unclenching his hands and shaking hysterically. I had to do the questioning.
I said sternly, "Soth, why did you harm those people?"
He turned to me as calmly as my own servant. His neat denim jacket, now standard fatigue uniform for Soths, was unfastened. His muscular chest was bare.
"They were tormenting me with that." He pointed to a small electric generator from which ran thin cables ending in sharp test prods. "I told Professor Kahnovsky it was not allowed, but he stated I was his property. The three boys tried to hold me with those straps while the professor touched me with the prods.