The two Krak guardsmen were staggering drunkenly toward them. This Sean saw as he turned. Their faces were twisted, working convulsively.
"Stop it," the foremost one muttered hoarsely. "It hurts the ears."
His figure towered over Sean, clutching fingers reaching. Sean darted aside. The second Krak had fallen, huge spatulate fingers scrabbling at the black-paved blocks. The first one turned hesitantly as if he could no longer control his feet, stumbled after Sean.
He lunged at Sean, succeeded only in tearing that metal contrivance from his back. A great weight suddenly pulled Sean to the pavement, seemed to triple the weight of his own body. It was pain to move his head, but Sean's red-thatch twisted so his green eyes could see.
The pursuing Krak toppled against the black bricks beside Sean, his bald head making a dull sound. The usually impassive eyes were staring at Sean's green orbs. There was pain and—was it defeat?—in them.
Every sinewy muscle in Sean's body strained as he tried to get to his feet. So that was what the metal pack was for, he decided irrelevantly, an anti-gravity device. He threw his body toward it.
Before he reached it, however, Mike had picked it up, was strapping it haphazardly on his back. The tremendous weight lifted and he crawled to his feet.
"You were right after all," Mike said, and there was a caress in it. "Laughter."
Sean stood a long moment, looking at the fallen Kraks.
Sean began to chuckle, the chuckle drifted into laughter. It was true! Humanity had forgotten its greatest weapon.