Emily Baker was born in an Air Force Base Hospital with little fanfare and no military honors at 3:15 in the morning. Her father was on a mission and her mother was exhausted after a 5-hour delivery. She was placed in the hospital nursery and her first sensory input was the taste of the unwiped amniotic fluid on her lips. Her brain sensed no repulsion to the fact it was part of her own urine she was excreting for the last 25 weeks. Humans swim in their own piss as part of their tolerance training in preparing for life. Emily was a normal girl who grew up on numerous Air Force Bases. She witnessed high performance aircraft, practiced running to air raid shelters, and watched a lot of pompous parades while growing up. ln a regimented life that the military evokes, Emily’s life was full of technological wonder and barren of emotional excitement. She was a prime candidate for a future career as a Missile Combat Crew, otherwise known as a Missileer. This little-known profession uses select individuals to man nuclear Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles in silos scattered randomly in various states. Throughout the cold war, starting with the Atlas ICBM’S in the late 50’s, continuing with Titan I and Titan 2’s, and finally ending up with 450 Minuteman 3’s, these unsung heroes have been at the controls 24/7/365, for more than 6 decades in lonely crypts 50 feet underground. They await the presidential order to release the Mach 20 bullets that guarantees no tomorrows. One day Emily and her fellow Missileer received the verified command of the President. Like robots, the launch procedure is executed and their 10 ICBM’S are off on a non-recallable mission to vaporize millions of innocent people in a land far away. Days later, Emily Baker waits silently as an ominous yellow atmosphere approaches the building immediately above the command center. She jerks her head hard in repulsion when the flavor of vaporized urine hits her tongue. 

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