I watched with the rest as it came across the floor, not because I'd never seen a puppeteer but because there is something beautiful about the dainty way they move on those slender legs and tiny hooves. I watched it come straight toward me, closer and closer. It stopped a foot away, looked me over, and said, «You are Beowulf Shaeffer, former chief pilot for Nakamura Lines.»

Its voice was a beautiful contralto with not a trace of accent. A puppeteer's months are not only the most flexible speech organs around but also the most sensitive hands. The tongues are forked and pointed; the wide, thick lips have little fingerlike knobs along the rims. Imagine a watchmaker With a sense of taste in his fingertips …

I cleared my throat. «That's right.»

It considered me from two directions. «You would be interested in a high-paying job?»

«I'd be fascinated by a high-paying job.»

«I am our equivalent of the regional president of General Products. Please come with me, and we will discuss this elsewhere.»

I followed it into a displacement booth. Eyes followed me all the way. It was embarrassing being accosted in a public drugstore by a two-headed monster. Maybe the puppeteer knew it. Maybe it was testing me to see how badly I needed money.

My need was great. Eight months had passed since Nakamura Lines had folded. For some time before that I had been living very high on the hog, knowing that my back pay would cover my debts. I never saw that back pay. It was quite a crash, Nakamura Lines. Respectable middleaged businessmen took to leaving their hotel windows without their lift belts. Me, I kept spending. If I'd started living frugally, my creditors would have done some checking … and I'd have ended in debtor's prison.