Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “What, me?”

“You are Calvin Fender’s son. As I believe the Earth saying goes, the seed-bearing fruit drops within close proximity of the tree that produced it.”

“Nobody says that either,” Kat remarked.

Leo glanced again at the dull gray rock resting in its container, of as much value as the broken shells he used to sift through searching for one worth keeping. Crayt was right: this would change everything, but all Leo could think about was his father, and if this was what he intended when he gave him that chip. If he imagined that the only way to stop the Djarik was to take away the most precious resource of all. The very thing his father had spent half his life dreaming about and the other half studying, suddenly all gone.

Everything has a cost, Leo reminded himself. You just have to decide what something is worth to you.

Leo nodded to Crayt. “Okay,” he said. “What do you need me to do first?”

He waited until they left. Then he waited a little while longer. Long enough for his brother to leave and his father to wander into the kitchen and request a cup of coffee from the voice-activated dispenser. Your wish is my command. Gareth had programmed it to say that every time it took an order. He said it made him feel like he was in charge. Leo thought Gareth always felt like he was in charge anyway.

Dr. Fender sat across from his son at the round wooden table—the same table he and Grace had bought the year they got married, bolting the legs on by candlelight because they hadn’t turned on the electricity in the house yet. His dad looked tired. More tired than usual.

“Who was at the door?” Leo asked.

“Admirers,” his father said, taking a sip from his steaming cup. “Groupies. Fans. Followers of my work.”

“They were wearing uniforms.”

“I have a lot of fans in the military, apparently.”

Leo’s father winked at him, but Leo wasn’t going to let him get out of it that easily. “And what did they want?”

“My autograph?” Dr. Fender smiled. Leo didn’t return it. “All right. Truthfully they wanted my help. Ultimately, I believe they want the same thing as the rest of us. Peace and prosperity. Trouble is, none of us can agree on how to get it.” He took another drink. Leo could trace the steam rising up, swirling, vanishing. He watched it for a moment.

“And how do we get it?”

It was a big question, he knew. Too big for Leo’s nine-year-old brain to attempt an answer to. But he knew his father would have one. And not just any one. The right one. Or at least the best one.

Except not this time. This time, his dad’s forehead folded, his mouth tucking in at the corners. “Honestly, I’m not sure. If I knew for sure I would have already done it, or told others how. I know how we don’t get it, though. At least I know what I’m not willing to do for it. And I’m afraid that wasn’t what our visitors wanted to hear.”