Not Cut Out for Astronauts. Part 3

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