Matt Christian was guiding his skimmer down toward an active volcano jutting up from the planet Welkin's ocean when Sarbin contacted him over the datalink to confess he'd beached himself again.
Matt shook his head in frustration as he halted the skimmer's descent well short of the looming plume of the volcano's smoke and ash; as much as he admired the Aquatile, this was becoming a bad habit. "Can't you make it back into the water?" he asked.
Matt envisioned his native friend much as he'd discovered him twice previously--his broad, walrus-sized body flopped over onto its back, stubby arms flailing, wet round eyes taking in the brilliant, moonless night sky and all its wonders (the name Welkin meant "arch of heaven").
"I'm sorry, Matt. I cannot," Sarbin said. "The stars above--they were so wonderful, and I cast myself high upon the shore so the waves wouldn't pull me back. But it was too far."
Matt understood the pull the stars exerted upon Sarbin--that same pull had brought him to this planet after all. He cast a wistful eye down at the volcano--any secrets it possessed as to how Welkin had formed with so little land area would remain hidden a while longer. He eased the skimmer back the way he'd come, toward the spit of land, not a kilometer across, that Sarbin favored for his contemplation of the stars.
Then he thought of something. "Sarbin."
)
