Miles prudently bounces away again, aiming his weightless flight to bring him and his battle-spoils to the dubious shelter of the pilot's chair. He's afraid for a moment that whatever he took from that vest pocket was the power pack to an artificial heart, or something similarly vital, to have provoked such a scream—but that theory is disproved by a moment's glance at the man's continuing violent struggles. Dead men are not habitually so lively.