Tanks' move incites the others to close in, tri-beam lasers at ready, waiting for their commander's signal. Tanks himself only whistles at the words thrown their way, now finding amusement in the insults. His headache, of course, is gone. What a wonder shooting giant weapons did for stress.

"You had your chance," he says cheerfully. "But I suppose I'll give you another. Throw down your weapon, stranger, and we'll stop here."