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Omacron Delta 1
March 12, 1996

It was supposed to be the greatest space exploration mission ever to occur in the history of NASA. The first occupied schedule landing on Omicron Delta, a planet untouched by man and his destructive ways; a planet with its own unique personality and appearance. Lt. Areongo was to command the vessel that would carry a crew of five astronauts, to bold new experiences and discoveries in the exploration of space and all its vast unexplored regions.

Even though expectations for this mission were high among most of the crew, some faced personal conflict, as to whether this mission was accomplishable. Many civilians believe that the mission was to be another fraudulent mystified attempt by NASA and the government to test new weapons of war on astronauts that were labeled as expendable property of the United Nations government and their many covert organizations.

In 2289, a group of scientists were launched into space to study the effects of long-term weightlessness. The mission was to define a reference point for future launches into space. It was soon discovered that the scientists, unknowingly, were being used as guinea pigs to test new chemical weapons against the Lexicon's, a race of beings whose situation was much like our own.

In a public address, the president explained why HE believed such a highly uncertain mission was necessary.

"It's time to excel into the next century. Our planet is overpopulated and its sources are dwindling.

We must complete this mission to discover any alternative place to live!", his said dementedly.

As I stood there and continued to listen to what I believed was nothing but a cover-up my the president, my entire body became droned. My vision became bury and voices were nothing more then mumbling gibberish. I assumed it was because I was tired from the preparation training from the night before and I was desperate in need of a long nap. As I walked up stairs of my two story apartment, the television continued to blare the words of our president.

"Some people say that I am a sadist; that I am signing astronauts death warrants by sending them on this mission. You people need to stop trying to aloof me, and let me do my damn job!"

For the next forty-five minutes the president was hounded by the press, asking the same questions worded differently.

"Why should we take such a risk?"

"Do you really think that such a mission is possible?"

One press member even called the United Nations "a

self-centered hierarchy that shell burn in hell one day."

The look in the president eyes sent chills down my spine. He looked as though he wanted to strangle every member of the press sitting in the audience. At this point I believed the president regretted passing the Press Freedom Act of 2291.

Before the PFA was passed in 2291, the Nations of the Press were controlled by the UN itself.

 The UN Press limited the amount of coverage that could be released to the public, occasionally allowing the general press to televise their footage of governmental elections or any event that affected a single community. In that same year, a man name Durgan Rails; considered omniscient because he had been around before the dissolving of the Freedom of the Press Act in 2278, formed a group of press renegades, who called themselves Freedom Writers, a sort of a pun to the Freedom Riders of the 1960's. These Freedom Writers raided the UN press office responsible for forcing NOTP to print and televise articles extremely subjective to the actual truth. The continuing developments forced President DuBoss to sign a bill declaring the NOTP independent from the United Nations Press.

At the end of the grueling press briefing, the president quickly walked of the stage, out the auditorium door and down the hallway. As he passed I could hear him mumble under his breath and metaphorically comparing the NOTP to some of the most hideous creatures on the plant.

"They're nothing but a bunch of self-centered SOB's; leaches determined to suck the life right out of me. "

I was delighted that the president did not repeat such words aloud, feeling that if he had done so, he would have degenerated himself to their level. At the end of all, there I stood at the door of an empty room, pondering to myself, "What am I doing here?"

The first major step before the launch was finally here. After several weeks on training, it was time to perform the first test burn. We were instructed that we would individually be tested to see how we would perform under pressure. Before the test or spirits were without melancholy. As a group we felt that both our ship and ourselves were impregnable.

Jeff was the first of our crew to be tested under pressure. The test produced a simulated negative role, of which Jeff would try to correct the roll to a positive one. Being that this portion of the test was a relative easy part of the test, Jeff had the problem correct with in three minutes. Coming out of the stationary test schedule, we all receive hive-fives for our fellow crewman. This act further strengthened our confidence that this mission was possible.

For the next hour each one of us were tested to help correct our conscience on the procedure that were required to be followed by the books. Finally, Mike, the mechanical genius of our impregnable crew was given the ultimate test. The test called for computer hardware malfunction which Mike was to correct as quickly as possible. Little did we know that this test would end as quickly as possible. Two minutes into the simulation, a fire broke out in the cockpit. In an effort to try and free himself for the grasp of the strapped chair, Mike hit his head on an overhead oxygen pipe and was knocked unconscious. Emergency units quickly rushed to the scene. While mission control tried to contact Mike over the short-wave radio, emergency crews slowly took the elevator up to the hatch of the simulator.

For several minutes these crews tried to get the hatch open, which was secured by an airlock. There efforts failed.

Mike was dead from third degree burns over ninety-four percent of his body. It was at that I decided I no longer wanted anything to do with the mission to Omicron Delta. I was tired of the chagrin, tired of the subterfuge, and I was sick of all the media crap.

I attended the Mike's funeral three days later. I felt it was proper that he was being buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I was unable to think of anyone more than Mike to receive a 21 Gun Salute. Looking around I saw little mien in the faces of those present. The mood that surrounded me began to diminish the innocence I had and conscious thoughts began to crowd in my head. I could see that the accident had taken away the crew's innocence and replaced with either fear and hatred, much like myself, or determination of finishing the mission in the remembrance of our good friend Mike.

At the end of the funeral I approached the casket for the first time. Flowers around the casket tried to brighten what was otherwise a mood of dreariness. I was please to see that Mike was being buried with both his dignity and his good looks. His suit was dark blue with silver strips on the blazer running the length of his body. However, his make was covered by a mask to conceal the burns on his face. Trying not to cry out in anger, I placed a small piece of paper in the casket that read, "Mike, you were a one true friend.

Together we have been to hell and back. We have experienced just about everything two best of friend could possibly experience. When I suffered the pain of my divorce, you too had a similar experience and we help each other through those difficult times. I WILL NEVER FOR GET YOU MIKE."

After the funeral, I proceeded to Moe's local Tavern and Bar. I was never much of a drinker, but tonight I had a feeling that I was going to abate myself to nothingness.

Walking across the floor I could hear the peanut shells crack from the pressure of my foot. I sat down and asked for a double Jack Denials. My mind was belligerent with the rest of my body, trying to discern what had gone wrong and why it had to happen to my best friend Mike. Continuing my pondering, I looked around the smoky room. I could see a lot of people befuddled, obviously because of the amount of alcohol they had drunk. After about two hours of drinking, my mind began to experience a serious case of nostalgia. Everything around me was a total blur and voices were nothing but mumbles in my ear. The last thing I remember see before I passed out from the alcohol was watching the dancers on stage profiling.

The next morning I found myself still at the bar; the bar tender standing over me telling me to wake up. I awoke with a pounding headache and everything around me was still a blur. With solicitude in his voice he asked me why I was there, since he had never seen me there before. After explaining to the total stranger the events up to the moment, the bar tender began giving me what seemed like one of my parent's lectures when I was a child.

He said that he had gone through something of the same with his family.

"My family and I decided to take a trip to the Rocky Mountains. Three days after we reached Colorado, my wife and kids contracted a virus made them all so sick that they could not eat, talk, or move because the pain and other feeling were so much. My wife and kids both died from that virus a week later. The doctor said that the only reason that I was not infected was because it was the same virus that killed my mother after I was born; and somehow I developed an immunity to it."

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