Roddenberry's hand held the car phone tightly. "Three men on foot," he was saying into the mouthpiece. "How far can they have gotten? You've got to keep looking until you find them." He hung up, slid out of his auto, and saw the boy watching him from the lawn.
"Hi, Uncle Gene," called Peter Kirk.
"Hi, Peter." He forced himself to grin. "Your mom around?"
"Out back, on the patio." The boy ran up to him and took his hand. "Come on, I'll show you."
Janice was sitting quietly in a wicker chair, an untouched glass of iced tea on the wrought iron table beside her. "Hello, Gene."
"You're looking fine," he said, sitting near her.
"All things considered. Can I offer you anything?"
"Nothing, thanks." He shook his head. "Is everybody okay?"
She turned to her son. "Go play, Peter."
"Uncle Gene, when's my dad comin' home?"
"We'll talk about that before I go," Roddenberry promised.
"Hoo-kay," the boy forlornly, as he reluctantly shuffled away.
"You haven't told him?"
Janice looked around to make sure the boy was gone. "No, I haven't. What more do we have to talk about?"
"Well, Janice," began Roddenberry, "there's going to be a memorial service on Tuesday, here in Houston, at the Veterans Cemetery. The President will be coming, to make a speech."
"Oh, nice. Instead of Jim I get a folded flag."
Roddenberry watched the shadowy patterns on the patio stones. "Please come."
"Why?"
"I know how tough everything is right now," said Roddenberry. "It's just that it would be good for everyone if you'd come to this service with me."
Janice, suddenly overtaken with outrage, shuddered. "How can I tell Peter that his father burned to death? You're a murderer, as far as I'm concerned."
"Janice, Jim and his crew never suffered, I promise you. When the heat shield separated----it was over in less than five seconds. There's nobody to blame but the technicians who didn't put the heat shield on correctly,"
"He went through five seconds of hell! And for what?! Just to return from a visit a giant ball of red dust in the sky!"
"He knew the risks of the mission." Roddenberry told her. "And he died doing what he wanted to do, something he felt was important enough to die for."
"Did you know the risks, Gene?" said Janice. "That's the trouble with you geniuses---always busy trying to pull some kind of stunt without any thought as to whether or not you should."
"I understand your frustration." Very slowly he got out of his chair. "I'm sorry to intrude on you like this, Janice. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"All right, damn you," she said, "I'll go."
"Thank you," he said. "You're a very special lady."
"He was a very special man."
"He was indeed." Roddenberry turned his back on her and walked away.
Peter was sitting on the front lawn, poking at the grass with a twig. "Uncle Gene...." he said.
Roddenberry crossed over and squatted beside him. "What, Peter?"
"You said you'd tell me when my dad's comin' home?"
"Peter, I...I..."
"How did he go to Mars?" said the boy. "What was it like there?"
Roddenberry put an arm around the boy's narrow shoulders. "Okay, I can tell you about that."
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