The launching was a good one. The _Rainbow 6_ rode its Saturn booster like a bird on jet-fire wings, and the bright star of its passage seemed to linger in the morning sky long after the booster had fallen away. The television cameras caught the action beautifully, and the American public, reminded once again that the noblest thing a person can do is to risk his life for his country, looked on in awe and admiration. The orbit was a good one too: apogee--203 miles; perigee--191 miles. Rosemary radioed back that she was A-okay. She was supposed to complete three orbits, then climb into the escape capsule, jettison it and herself, re-enter the atmosphere, and parachute into the Atlantic. There, a task force waited eagerly to pick her up. Her mission was to orientate the satellite's weather-factor instruments to the existent cloud patterns and jet streams. Once this was accomplished, the telemetric readings would, through the medium of the Main Weather Control Station in Oregon, dictate future weather. Weather control had been in effect since the middle sixties, but the telemetric readings of the unmanned weather-control satellites, owing to faulty orientation, had fallen far short of the one-hundred percent accuracy needed to make the regulation of rain and sunshine something more than a half-realized dream, and it was hoped that the present satellite, given a human boost, would bring the dream to fruition. One can picture Rosemary high in the sky, faithfully carrying out her assignment. One can see her sitting there before the instrument panel of the _Rainbow 6_ looking at dawns and sunsets and stars. One can see the slow drift of cloud and continent beneath her. Australia now, and now the vast blueness of the Pacific ... and now the west coast rising out of mists of distances and air, and beyond it, the vast green blur of the land that gave her birth. Little Barbara Frietchie riding on a star.... Far beneath her now, highways wind; rivers run down to seas. Patternings of field and forest blend into pale blue-greens. Fresh-water lakes look up at her with blue and wondering eyes. Now the sea of night drifts forth to meet her. Bravely she sets sail upon the dark waves in her little silvery ship. Brief night, soft sunrise, new day. _I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams._ Little Barbara Frietchie riding on a star.... Jettisoning took place exactly on schedule. The weather-control satellite continued on its orbital way, and Rosemary plummeted earthward in the escape capsule. That much, at least, is known. But what took place during re-entry--whether the retro rockets failed to fire, whether the attitude controls malfunctioned, or whether the heat shield proved to be defective--is not known and never will be known. All that is known is that Rosemary became a falling star.