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The Puppet came awake beneath budding apple trees, lying prone in a patch of twisted weeds and dry
brown grass. He was a big man, well over six feet and consider-ably more than two hundred pounds,
though none of the weight seemed to be fat. When he was still, his body was a chiseled hulk of rugged
muscles, as if a crude but heroic-minded sculpture had hacked out his uneven ver-sion of Ulysses. When
he moved just the slightest, the sharp edges melted away, and the chiseled look gave way to the sleek,
oiled smoothness of a cat. The muscles no longer jutted, but rippled. He had the look of a trained fighter,
He was dressed in a black suit of tough nylon that looked vaguely like leather and fitted as well as a
scuba suit bought a size too small. There was a black hood that fitted over his head, holding his
white-blond hair back from his forehead. He carried a pack on his back, but hardly seemed aware of the
added weight. He gave the impression that, had the pack been a two ton Buick, he would still only
slightly feel its weight.
He rolled onto his back and looked up through the nearly bare branches to the dully gleaming stars
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