Part 3

Ker-jon tore his way through the mob. Cluny-ann lay in a sobbing heap on the floor and the ridge-head pointed his weapon at her, shouting for his men to disperse the mob. None of them moved. Undecided, they stood there uncomfortably, shuffling their feet. Clearly, they hadn't responded favorably to cold-blooded murder.

Flam-harol whirled, swinging his needle-gun around to face Ker-jon, but he didn't make it. They locked together, stumbled, fell to the floor and rolled about. The needle-gun clattered away harmlessly. Two or three ridge-heads tried to intervene, but growling ominously now, the crowd kept them away.

He had a fight on his hands, Ker-jon knew. And sometimes an immensely complex situation could boil down to something as elemental as that. If he lost, the old order would remain; if he won....

The thoughts hindered him, and he longed to drive them from his mind. Just a fight, that was all. Like any of a dozen brawls he had had because of his quick temper. But Flam-harol was superbly-muscled, like all ridge-heads--and strong, strong! He forced Ker-jon over, his back to the floor, and he felt strong hands closing about his throat and a rising-falling motion which pounded his head against the hard metal.

Out of a spreading haze, Flam-harol's face leered at him--

Ker-jon groped upward, blindly, got his fingers at the corner of the mutant's mouth, pushed in and tugged. Flam-harol screamed, rolled off him.

They stood up, glaring at each other. Ker-jon's breath came in ragged gasps. He wanted to rest, rest....

His hands felt weary, so weary that he hardly could lift them, and that was no good, for hard fists pummelled his head, his shoulders, his chest. He struck back, under the bigger man's guard, pounding trip-hammer blows against his belly.

Grunting, Flam-harol gave ground, lowered his hands to protect his mid-section. Ker-jon darted around him, swiftly, never standing still long enough to be struck, flicking out with his left hand and keeping the mutant off balance by cuffing his jaw. The hands raised again, formed a shield for Flam-harol's face. Hit the stomach, then, pound it, pound it....

* * * * *

Abruptly, it was over. Flam-harol puffed feebly, tried to catch his breath and failed. He spun about slowly, like a battered top, looking for his foe through bloody eyes. Once and once only, Ker-jon crossed his right fist and felt the knuckles crunch against the mutant's jaw. Flam-harol stood very still for a moment, one eye wide-open, the other swollen shut. Then he plunged to the floor, and he didn't try to rise.

After that, the crowd closed in. Flam-harol was a symbol for everything that had been wrong. A symbol for the fight of man against man, when together men should tackle loftier things. They climbed all over him....

* * * * *

"Know what happened today?" Cluny-ann demanded.

"Of course--"

"No, silly. I mean besides us getting married."

"What?"

"A ridge-head and a non-mutant, working together, patched up the astro-room. Oh, it isn't perfect yet, not by any means, but it works."

"And yesterday a couple of scaled mutants and an albino put that generator back together again. They had the books, sure, but I never could have done it. I guess that's where their aptitude lies."

"And listen to this! An old albino, a cousin of Wi'son-gil, I think, discovered all the old books on astronomy. He says Urth was a big globe, really big, which moved _around_ a star. We're going to another globe a lot like it, or our children are--and when we get there--"

"The best part of it all," Ker-jon said, "is that everyone's finding the job for which he's fit. Ab'nath tells me he thinks he wants to become an astronomer."

Smiling, Ker-jon took the girl's hand and led her to the library. It was a hell of a place to spend a honeymoon, but there was _so_ much to learn....