Don climbed back into his battle-station saddle for a better view. The fabulous canali were already plain to the eye; he could see them cutting through the soft greens and the dominant orange and brick red. It was winter in the south; the planet wore its south pole cap jauntily, like a chef’s hat. The fancy reminded him of Old Charlie; he thought of him with gentle melancholy, memory softened by all that had gone between.
Mars at last… he’d be seeing his parents perhaps before the day was out—and give his father the ring. This was certainly not the way they had planned it.
Next time he would try not to take the long way round.
THE END