Not Cut Out for Cosmonauts. Part 2

I’ve already lived a life. But I got a second chance. Again, 1966. I live in the USSR. Now I don’t want fame and wealth like before. I want that even twenty-five years from now Soviet schoolchildren dream of becoming doctors and astronauts—not bandits and “currency prostitutes.” I want Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin to live to the next millennium. I want apple trees to bloom in the Soviet colony on Mars. Fantasy? Reality. Because I have Emma.