"Now," he began.
"Give me the tape," Juba interrupted.
He jostled a flat box out of the wall, held the tape up to the light and snapped off a small portion and handed it to Juba.
"Come outside," she said, taking his hand. "My world is more beautiful than your space ship."
"Can't deny that," he said, watching the branches of the Untouchable Bush draw away as they walked through it.
"Now," he said, when he was stretched out on the undulant moss. He felt at the patch of moss sprouting under the warmth of his palm, and watched while an exploratory tendril curled around his little finger. "Now—do you know what it is I want of you?"
"I have," Juba said, "some idea." She hadn't known they talked about it. She thought they just did it.
"Well, you're wrong."
"Oh," she said, and stood up and walked over to the brook so he would not see her face. For she wondered wherein she was lacking and she was embarrassed. "Then," she asked, "what do you want of me?"
"There is, as I said, a war on. I am, as I said, a scout. I'm looking for a communications base halfway between a certain strategic enemy outpost and a certain strategic allied outpost."