Sergey

<p>Sergey switched the systems on and found himself foddling with the new technology that lay before him. I have never quite seen something like this in my life. The ship is powered by some other energy source than fuel. Sergey shifted between the analog and the digital versions of the ship trying to figure out if the ship could transcend space time and enter through worm holes. He looked around everywhere like a playful child would. The exterior of the ship is much like our own but the interior is all alien. The ship if examined back at earth could be groundbreaking. Sergey got busy tearing apart the mechanics of the ship in his head glanced through the windows of the spaceship. He saw his good friend, the trusk slowly wander away from the ship. 
A true friend, thought Sergey. Sergey wasted no time to switch on the energy systems and get up to speed. The ship was ignited now and ready for space travel. Let me wait for my friend to get a little further away, he thought so as to not scare him. Sergey went through the manuals trying to work out what the remaining buttons were for, the ones he did could not figure out what their purpose was. Sergey's wait was over. Sergey put in the co-ordinates where his old ship was located. The ship flew with such a speed, one Sergey has not felt before. Before he knew the ship had landed at the location of the his own ship. Sergey quickly went over and loaded the items from his old ship onto the new one he had found himself in. He looked at the cave that gave him a home and bid farewell to it. Sergey went into his new ship and put all the items needed in place and punched a set of co-ordinates that was very new to him. The ship however had a memory of its own and it instantly recognized the co-ordinates. 
Planet 101. It beeped and showed in red on the screen. Sergey did not bother much about it, he okayed the co-ordinates and the ship set sail for the new location. I better be awarded a medal of honor for all the accomplishments that I have done, he praised himself.

Romanov 
Romanov was in his room writing something in his notes. You could say something troubled him now. He had a cigarette on him and failed continuously to ash the smoke. He did not even notice the ash spilling over to the carpet area of the room. He was embroiled in his own thoughts. The travelers now will commemorate everyone with a medal of honor, the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a civilian. They will make an event out of it and make the awardee fell that the world is now a better place because of their efforts. And so did I, when i received a medal for my achievements. And I was naïve enough to think that the wheels of bureaucracy would start to spin in the other direction. That is what we all think, do we not. And it never does, no matter what happens. It continues to spin the way it always has. The curtains are lifted and the show is over. And the medal winner goes back to his house and puts it in a glass house looking at it when things were down or he never felt respected enough. He wears it around his neck all the time, not physically but in mind. He thinks everyone notices it, that they notice him. And yes they do, for a while. They remember his heroics until the next hero come along, and the cycle spins. And the hero now starts to wear the medal a little less and less until one final day it only paints the walls of his house. And one day when he is weary and old he forgets about the medal. And when he looks at it, by mistake or so, it reminds him of a very sweet victory not for himself, but for the machine called bureaucracy. The old man would now think that, they might as well have awarded themselves. Or given away no medal at all, it might as well not wasted some resource. Romanov shut his book and finally let go of the ash of his cigarette, finally. 
I wish Sergey does not return , I really wish that he has found a home for himself somewhere, far, far away. There is nothing for him here, there is nothing here for Plato nor Constantine nor the countless people whose mind have not yet been polluted by the lies of old men who twist and turn the books, until it fits their vision!</p>