“It really was,” his father answered.

Leo thought back to that moment on the Orins’ planet, confronting Crayt, trying to convince him to help, and what he said about the natural state of a universe, full of conflict and violence. About hope and good intentions and the futility of even trying.

And yet here they were. The three of them. Together at last. And there she was, waiting for them.

“It’s not impossible,” he said.

Dr. Fender looked at his son with longing eyes. “I’m sorry, Leo, but it really was just a fantasy. I was fooling myself. I mean, I wouldn’t even know where to get started anymore.”

Making the universe a better place?

Leo looked back at the fragile blue planet before them.

“I think I do,” he said.

It was almost time to go.

He didn’t want to, but it wasn’t his choice to make. He was set to board the Beagle in a matter of hours. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever make it back here, but at least he would do what he could to make sure there would be something worth coming back to.

Leo went into the garage and grabbed the watering can from its spot beside the shovel and the robotic mower. It hadn’t rained in nearly two weeks, and though the flower boxes lining the windows had been empty for some time, there was still one thing he could try to take care of.

He filled the can to the top in the kitchen and then carried it with both hands, careful not to slosh any water onto the floor, then he ambled across the backyard to the cherry tree, still little more than a sapling. So far it showed no signs of the disease that had taken its predecessor; no white splotches bloomed on its trunk, and its leaves were soft to the touch, holding on tight to their branches like little white fists. His father was right: nature was resilient. But it could still use some help.

Leo tilted his watering can and circled around, soaking the ground at his feet, hoping the roots would take it all in, that they would continue to spread out and grow thick and strong, anchoring the fledgling tree, making sure it stood tall against the tremors that sometimes shook the shells off his shelf, most of which he would be leaving behind. If the roots were strong enough, if they ran deep enough, no amount of drilling or detonating would unearth them.

That was the hope.

Leo finished his watering and set down his mother’s watering can. He looked at the tree his father and brother had planted with him, plucked one of the blossoms, and rubbed it between his fingers, savoring its satiny touch. He brought it up to his nose and took in its scent with a long, deep breath, locking it away for safekeeping.

“Wait for me,” he said.

Leo heard his name and turned to see his father standing in the open door.