I look over at Sonar as he stands atop a boulder. The blue setting sun blots out his and the rock's features, leaving nothing but a black silhouette against plasma-shaded skies. His radio pack sticks out from behind him, a solid rectangle jutting from his figure. From the pack, a slim antenna cranes its neck to drink in the stars above, or perhaps to listen to their whispers about the two lost boys.
On the opposite side of his silhouette, his arm bends out, then back in towards his head. Another sharp box is held between his arm and head-- that is, the handset held against his ear.
He steps down from the boulder, disappearing in front of it for just a moment before emerging from its right side. He paces back and forth, and behind him I swear I can see the sky's neon blue beginning to shift to violet. The Milky Way looks different on this side of the galaxy, but only in subtle ways that astronomers like Sonar and myself can decipher.
He pulls the receiver away, performing a violent head-shake. I see him reel his arm back as if to throw the handset, but as always, it remains in his grip. He releases a groan that I can hear even from all these meters away, then walks back to me.
It looks like we'll be waiting for NASA's response.