him. As Ling had climbed back along his
lost evolutionary trail, Parr had thought that he himself was slipping
down....

"Don't stop and scratch your head over it, Parr," Sadau scolded him.
"It'll take a lot of explaining, and we haven't time. You said you'd
help get Miss Pemberton out of her jam. Come on."

* * * * *

It was like the television thrillers, after all, Parr reflected. But
Sadau was right on one count--Parr didn't quite fill the role of the
space-hero. He had neither the close-clipped moustache nor the gleaming
top boots. But he did have the regulation deep, unfathomable eyes and
the murderous impulse.

It was just after noon. Shanklin, as chief-king, had also set up for a
priest. In the center of the village clearing, he stood holding a sullen
and pale Varina Pemberton by one wrist, while he recited what garblings
of the marriage service he remembered. His subordinates were gathered to
leer and applaud. They did not know of the rush until it was all over
them.

Parr smote one on the side of the neck and spilled him in a squalling
heap. Sadau, Ling and Rupert overwhelmed the rest of the audience, while
Parr charged on into Shanklin. His impact interrupted the words "I take
this woman" just after the appropriate syllable "wo". As once before
with Ling, Parr dusted Shanklin's jaw with his fist, followed with a
digging jab to the solar plexus, and swung again to the jaw. Shanklin
tottered, reeled back, and Parr closed in again.

"I always knew I could lick you," Parr taunted. "Come on and fight,
bridegroom. I'll raise a knot on your head the size of a wedding cake."

Shanklin retreated another two paces, and from his girdle snatched the
Martian knife. He opened its longest blade with a snap. Varina Pemberton
screamed. Then, above the commotion of battle, sounded the flat smack of
an electro-automatic. Shanklin swore murderously, dropping his knife.
His knuckles were torn open by the grazing pellet.

And Parr, glancing in the direction whence the shot came, realized with
savage disgust that the space-hero had come after all. There stood a
gorgeous young spark in absolutely conventional space-hero costume, not
forgetting the top-boots or the close-clipped moustache. Parr moved
back, as if to allow this young demigod the center of the stage.

But Varina Pemberton was not playing the part of heroine. Instead of
rushing in and embracing, she set her slim hands on her hips.