"Saturn at your service." The thin man bowed. "But you, sir - who are you? The young lady, I already know."

Solo gave his name right out. If Saturn was a Thrush operative, he was low level. He was surely incapable of running a big project like Operation Breadbasket. There was only a self-satisfied gleam in his eye to mark him as easy prey for Thrush, an easy pawn. "I'm Napoleon Solo."

"An inspired name!" Saturn gushed. "An actor, naturally. I can tell by your stance."

"Mr. Solo isn't an actor at all," Gloryanna said. "He's -"

"A lover of the arts, only," Solo finished. "I was passing through Riverview, saw your signs, and hoped to see a performance. But you look a long way from opening night."

Saturn sighed. "Ah, yes. The tribulations. I came into town happily, balloons flying, banners streaming, and found only a morass of moroseness. It seems that the crops are failing or something. When doom sits upon the world, even drama must give way."

Solo's eyes still searched into the corners of the barn for anything that might be a lead. "You have a large company with you, judging by the trailers. It must be costing you a fortune to stay here inactive."

"True, Mr. Solo. I have a good-sized group of men. Most of them aren't performers, of course. They are stagehands, etcetera."

"It's a one-man show, then?"

"Not at all, dear sir. We have many, many acts. Tumblers, strong men, poetry readings, ballet, bits of classic drama, everything worthwhile. We use local talent where we can find it. I personally asked your delightful companion to read one of our roles, but she refused me."

Gloryanna blushed. "I'd be petrified."

"You'd be glorious, my sweet," Saturn said, and leered at her.

"Come now, Mr. Saturn," Solo said, "You can't travel a show like this without trained actresses. You must have a woman in your suitcase somewhere."

"They have a woman, all right." Gloryanna said it almost angrily. "Some kind of super woman. I think she really does come from the moon, the way she walks and the way she looks."

"Thank you, dear child," came a voice from the loft. "You just keep on thinking that."

Solo stared up the ladder again and this time the figure coming down was no caricature. It was all woman, her long legs swathed in the silk of full-legged lounging pajamas, her magnificent breasts barely contained by more of the silk, her wrists rattling with beads. She came down the ladder facing forward so each step was sensuous, snakelike, as she leaned back for balance. Black hair cascaded to her waist, and black eyes gleamed from behind long lashes. She was the first truly aware woman Solo had met since Rachel had run from him, and he turned his interested smile full on her.

Saturn stepped between them with one of his grand gestures and introduced them. "Napoleon Solo, this is Galaxy Talbot. A truly fine talent."

"Obviously," Solo said.

Saturn cleared his throat. "She is a fine ballet dancer." Solo grinned hard at the woman. "It seems to me that the last time I saw you it was pronounced belly dancer. And your name was something like Nasheba. I couldn't be mistaken."

Galaxy had moved away from the ladder, her head high, her body swaying, but now she stamped her foot. "You make me mad, Napoleon Solo! You actually saw me and remember me!"

"Why be mad at that?"

"My agent never told me I was so good I made a lasting impression. I would have stayed with my career."

"But this engagement paid more?"

"Pay! In this place?"

A hand tugged at Solo's sleeve. It was Gloryanna, her eyes fixed hatefully on Galaxy. "We'd better go now, Napoleon," she whispered urgently. "I have to get the car home."

"Not yet. I've only begun to soak up the atmosphere."

"There's nothing here to see," she insisted.

"Patience, Gloryanna." Solo pried her hand loose. "A few more minutes."

"Well, I'm leaving! I'll go find - you know who. He'll pay attention."

Gloryanna was stamping out the door before Solo could stop her. He let her go. Women seemed to be running out on him right and left lately, but it was always running to safety, so he felt relieved when she disappeared.

"Hates competition, doesn't she?" Galaxy said, tossing her long hair over her shoulder.

Mr. Saturn came forward with all of his commanding height. "Since your friend has left, Mr. Solo, perhaps you'd better follow. We have work to do and we're not open for business."

"Don't you dare kick him out, Saturn," Galaxy said. "He's the first human being I've seen in a week and I feel like having a talk."

Saturn waved his long-fingered, white hands. "Do it outside, then. All of our equipment is in here - costumes and everything - and I prefer not to have strangers wandering about."

Galaxy took off, too, and Solo had nothing to do but trail after her. Luckily she went through the length of the barn, so he had his chance to check around. Near the end of the building there was a door set in the wall, low, with steps leading down to it. It had to go under ground, into the hill on the other side. He spotted some freshly dug dirt at the edges.

"Where does that go?" he asked Galaxy innocently.

She didn't pause in her swaying steps. "To a root cellar or something. How should I know? I wasn't raised on a farm."

A new root cellar beside an old barn? He underlined the door on his mental list of things to examine more closely. There could be a shiny new laboratory down there. So far, that door and the paper were his only gains. Plus the fact that no one had yet made a hostile move.

They went down a ladder to ground level, where Solo saw abandoned stalls and stanchions for cows, and then stepped out into the sun. The brown fields were empty before them. Galaxy leaned against the barn, letting the sun bathe her face with gold. She already had a deep tan. Solo stared at her, at the empty fields, and back at her. Now was probably his best chance to investigate her and find out if he had a real bird in the hand or just some more window dressing. She could be part of the plot, or a pawn.

"How did you come to accept this job?" he asked, turning his interest in her full-on to make her talk.

"That wasn't hard. Their dancer ran off somewhere, I got a hurry-up call, rushed out here, and - vacationsville!

"You haven't performed yet?"

"Only on the streets of the town."

"I don't understand," Solo said.

"Every time I go into town, it seems to be a performance." She rolled her head back and forth, spreading the sun's rays evenly. "I have an audience just watching me obey the traffic light or walk down the street."

"I can understand that." Through the soft caress she gave him on the cheek, he continued the questions. "You've never performed with Saturn, then? Not anywhere?"

"Not once. We no sooner made our grand entrance when this drought came and killed our ticket sales."

"It's no drought, Galaxy."

"Then, whatever else it is that farmers are always fighting." She closed her dark eyes, bored. "A plague of locusts, maybe."

He thrust home the final test. "Not locusts, either. Perhaps thrushes."

"Well, birds, then. Honestly, Napoleon, I didn't come out here to talk about farming. I hate this place and I hate the sun and I want to come back to life. I thought you might help."