Jan bounced across the sea of sand, reached the top of the hill and suddenly disappeared. We had been instructed to remain in visual contact; I held my breath. A moment later her voice crackled inside my helmet. ‘Tom, you’d best come over here. You must see this.’

She stood on a rock staring across the sun-drenched valley, her space helmet held under her arm, and her golden hair wavered like a flag in the breeze. I gasped. My brows lifted. My mouth became dry. She should have been dead. Our instruments had registered zero life tolerance on this planet.

‘It’s safe to remove your helmet. The air is warm, thin and breathable’. She held up a single leaf with a whitish bloom, covered with a fine, bluish white powder in the shape of a human hand. It had a sharp, blade-like margin. An updraft of wind scattered the small blue leaves as they fell from the trees growing on the lee side of the hill. Each tree had five branches, each branch grew one blue leaf. I removed my helmet, breathed in the thin air, and reached for the leaf in Jan's fingers.

Smiling, I said, “Life.’

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