Kieve

Back when "Natural Wonders" was still a retail outlet in our local malls, my favorite thing was to head towards the back and solve all the puzzles they had set out. Mostly that was sliding-tile puzzles though. As far as exotic twisty puzzles, that "Magic Snake" thing was always a blast. I got really good at rolling it back up into a ball, but if you asked me to now, it'd probably take ages to remember how. There's another one I got for my birthday or Christmas one year, a sort of pyramid twist-puzzle with flattened ends. I've been googling for the last fifteen minutes, Amazon, Ebay, cannot for the life of me find a picture of the blasted thing. It's basically like a simpler Rubik's pyramid though. I'm fairly good with "weird" puzzles, but for whatever reason I could never seem to master the basic Cube. Curse you, Rubik! EDIT: FOUND IT. Turns out I was spelling "Crazee" wrong. Stupid marketers and their stupid funky stylized "misspellings."

I have a particular fascination with meteors, comets, asteroids, and other assorted stellar debris. There's a certain dread anticipation to knowing that, of all the myriad cosmic detritus out there, one or more of them may eventually have "Destination: Earth" stenciled on the side. Which isn't to say I'm about to start prepping for Doomsday, but it's humbling to know that for all the wonder and possibility up there in the black, there's a chance one of those "possibilities" could be Game Over. Daylight Dawn didn't break, this morning. It shattered. The world turned on its side, and bloody lances of illumination fell on the hills, sundering them. There's an old rhyme about red skies at dawn, but we had no warning, no time to take warning. When the sun rose, it was angry, and everything on our side of the horizon bore its wrath. You think I'm speaking in metaphor? That some calamity we can't name fell on us from the heavens and started tearing up our world? No, my friend, this is literal. Every morning is like this. Our world is being continually ripped apart as it turns, and no matter where you live, dawn is the worst of it. That's when the absolute cold of night meets the shock-heating of solar exposure and the surface goes from freezing to vaporizing in seconds. So of course your next question would be, "why do we live in such a hellish place?" This is all we've got left. It used to be a planet - decent one, too. Had water, air, ecosystems, the works. Guess the cosmos didn't like that too much, since they sent another rock on a collision course with ours. But not just any rock. No, friend, there are little ones that melt in the sky before they hit the ground, there are crop-dusters and city-killers, crater-makers and harbingers-of-the-apocalypse that'll wipe your world clean so what's left can start over fresh. And we'd seen them all, over the millennia. But this rock, oh this one was the great-grand-daddy of them all. This was a planet-buster, may as well have been a planet all to itself. Twice our mass, less than a quarter our size. It was an interstellar musket-ball of a rock, and when it hit dead-center after getting a nice slingshot off the other side of our sun? Most of us are just counting our blessings there was enough of our mudball left to make a comet from. I'll bet even your planet blinked when that thing hit us. Winced, more like. So we live on a comet now, half a hundred left out of a few trillion. Preserving the species, amirite? Somehow our little bunker managed to hold together when the world itself got blown to shreds, riding what's left of the mountain it was buried in through space. But hell, you already know all this don't you? You can see it in your telescope when you look up at night, hurtling down out of the black. We've had a good run, even all these centuries after The End, but it was bound to catch up with us eventually. Maybe the rock that hit us was in our shoes now, carrying the last remnants of some other poor sucker's civilization with it. Our turn to pay it forward, I guess. But hey, for whatever little it's worth? We're really sorry to bump into you like this.

I'm one of those people whose head is constantly filled with random threads of narrative, stories both silly and serious, long and short. I've found the best way to "let them out" is through writing, which has lead to a somewhat bizarre catalogue of short tales and snippets. Not sure how many would interest the community here, but I had one recently I thought might strike a chord, and figured I'd share. (Untitled) "You'll die," said Marco. "No," replied Weston, "I will finally live. I will be immortal." He looked upon the great white machine with the adoration of a proud parent. This ship, this ugly, boxy, angular vessel, which brooked no comparison to the sleek rockets his grandfathers had envisioned, whose hide was composites and ceramics and materials so strange and alien they would never have imagined in their time - this fine thing was to be his, and his alone. "You're a fool, and you'll die a fool's death," his pessimistic companion declared. "If it is foolish to chase your dreams, to live them, I would not wish to be a wise man. How many hundreds of years, Marco? How many has Mankind waited for this moment, dreamed of it? How many since we looked up at the stars and took it in our heads that we should be out there, among them? To stride vast distances of nothing, as the Gods do. I shall meet them all, Marco, the Christian and Islamic and Jewish, Buddhist and Hindu, Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Myan, Sumarian, and all the rest! I shall shake Ra's hand, ride Apollo's chariot, help Orion fasten his belt!" Weston's eyes grew wide as his excitement tumbled from his lips. "I will see with the eyes of Hubble and Kepler, Chandra and Spitzer and Herschel, drink from the ice of comets, breathe from distant nebulae, bask in the warmth of newborn suns. The whole of the universe, the length and breadth of infinity, all of it within our reach at last. Our mother Earth, a green bud, at last blossoming, flowering, spreading the pollen of human civilization into the cosmos. It all begins here, Marco, with this. With us!" Marco shook his head, hiding a smile. Weston's passion would not, could not be undone, by words or force. Death itself might not stop him, he considered wryly. The boy had been born with stars in his eyes, rocket fuel in his veins, his head forever far, far above the clouds, where molecules of gas danced lonely waltzes through the edge of space before bumping into another of their kind. His future on this world had only ever been to leave it. "I will miss you, my friend." Weston clapped him on the back. "Oh cheer up already! You're standing at the feet of history as it's being written, this is no moment for melancholy!" A heartbeat of silence, two, ten... "I'll miss you as well. And Renee. Florida. Earth. But just look out there." He pointed to the night sky, the star-flecked darkness behind the spacecraft on the pad. "All of it, this whole solar system, the Milky Way, someday we'll look at it as 'home,' they way we think of our towns now. Someone will ask where we're from and we won't answer 'New York,' or 'Cincinatti,' no sir, we'll say 'Earth,' or 'Proxima Centauri,' or 'Gliese 667.' They'll teach geography in stellar terms, not national ones. Just imagine it Marco, imagine that day!" "You really are a madman, Weston," Marco told him, laughing. "But by God, I wish we had a million more like you. Just don't forget to send us some damn fine pictures when you get up there, would you?" "Pictures? I'll send holovids. People will have the wonders of the universe, right at the tips of their eyeballs. But it won't be the same, you know. They won't feel the warmth of a new sun, they won't hear the patter of dust on the hull or the radio-band sonatas of gas giants singing them to sleep. There's only one way to have that - they'll have to follow me up." For a moment, Weston's voice grew low, serious. "Make sure they do, Marco. Space is vast, but it's not empty and it's not meant to be lonely." "We all do our part, Weston. Get some rest, you'll need it tomorrow." I've always liked Ray Bradbury's work, but somewhere along the line he became my "favorite" author (at least of Sci-fi). There's an earnestness in his writing I greatly admire, and I've been itching to try and capture some of that. So you might consider this a sort of literary homage to his style. Hopefully I succeeded. "Hide & Seek" was another I thought might have some merit, short as it is. Maybe one day my muse will feed me a continuation of it, but for now I suppose it stands well enough on its own. Hide & Seek No one knew for sure where the Rocket came from. One day it was simply there, a gleaming silver Fifties-style space needle, perched on three stubby fins. There were no visible hatches or windows of any kind, no openings in its smooth metallic surface except the exhaust nozzle in its base. And perhaps most mysterious of all, the ground below it was still green and fresh, without a single trace of scorching or interstellar fire. For days, people crowded around the Rocket, cautiously poking and prodding and snooping. When the craft stayed silent and dead, they grew bolder, tapping and hammering and even attempting to cut into the metal to get at whatever workings might be inside. Their efforts were wasted. The Rocket stood silent and impassive, its hull unblemished and whole despite their drills and saws and torches. No diamond tip or fiery plasma could make so much as a scratch on the strange craft. Since it had "landed" in the park, out of the way of all but the weekend Frisbee-throwers, the townsfolk were content to leave it alone and forget about it. Certainly, the mystery remained, but it was neither an obstruction nor a danger, and so it became an idle curiosity instead. Gossip, rumors, and fanciful stories circulated through the town, and the surrounding counties, but there were no answers to be had. Three months passed. A small group of children were playing in the park, enjoying their last few days of freedom before school resumed once more. They dodged around and between the Rocket's fins, heedless of the black exhaust nozzle over their heads as they pursued one another in a game of tag. But as bottomless as a child's energy may seem, they did eventually grow tired and turn to the more passive activity of Hide & Seek. And that was when it happened. While the other children scurried off to hide among the bushes and trees of the park, seven-year-old Victoria had a different idea. She crept around one of the Rocket's fins, looked up at the tall gleaming object, and asked quietly, "Please, let me in?" And so it did. A doorway appeared in the base of the Rocket, a small oval of white light, and it extended a ramp down to where she stood. Hesitating for only a second, young Victoria walked up the ramp and disappeared inside it. "Five!" counted down the Seeker, whose name was Timothy. "Four...! Three...! Two...! One...! Ready or not, here I come!" And ready or not, there went Victoria, streaking skyward on a tongue of orange flame and white smoke. To this day, no one's been able to find her. She always was the best at Hide & Seek.

Thank you! Glad you're enjoying it. Apologies to all readers for the delay in getting the next part up. My girlfriend and I discovered Empyrion recently, and it's diverted a lot of my writing momentum (at least for KSP stuff). Fear not, I refuse to let this stagnate for another year+. 1.1.3 is coming, just as soon as I round off the 0.90 stuff.

So amused by all this. Sims 2 is still one of my favorite games (heavily modded, of course). But why Belladonna? I'd think Strangetown would be far more appropriate. Of course, Desiderata was always my favorite, but that's drifting a little off-topic. To the story, it seems like the crossover is more of a diversion / digression than plot development, but I trust you know where you're going with it, and I can't deny it's fun reading anyway. Looking forward to the next chapter!

How did I not notice this before? Those screenshots are pure artwork. I'm not generally a fan of "graphic novel"-style stuff, but this is gorgeously done.

Part 12: Global Warning Jenners stared at the blank drafting sheets, feeling lost. His KAV-1X series VTOLs had served well thus far – Burhat's praise for the Spyder still left his cheeks warm – but the space center's needs were already outpacing short-range atmospheric craft. They needed to go further, higher, carry more, do more. They needed a spaceplane, and Jenner's mind was not delivering. He was as blank as the paper in front of him. “Late night, Jenners?” Shelbree peered into the mechanic's office. “Saw the light still on and thought I'd check up on you. Need a pick-me-up?” She held out a mug of steaming koffee. “Ker yes, thanks.” He accepted the offered drink, blew softly to cool it, took a small sip. The hot liquid settled in the bottom of his stomach, eased some of the frustration he was feeling. “It's this damned SSTO puzzle, Shel,” he grumped. “Balance liquid fuel with LFO mix, balance the weight between dry and full tanks, jet thrust against rockets... I can't do it. I even dug up those old Valkyrie and Phoenix designs, but they're garbage now. Valkyrie was a one-seater that barely scraped orbit, and Phoenix was basically the same thing with cargo space. And to top it off, I need VTOL capability – I know I don't need to tell you what a headache that is, trying to keep thrust and mass centered.” He let out a long sigh as his head hit the desk with a thunk. “I wish Wernher were still here.” Shelbree bit her lip, fighting a sudden tide of emotions. Wernher von Kerman had been her inspiration, and many others who'd joined KSC to build rockets. The old scientist had retired in the wake of Hurricane Beta, citing his age and failing health. He wasn't dead, yet, but his absence left a hole in KSC just the same. “Every bird has to learn to fly on its own,” she said at length. “You'll figure it out, I know you will.” “The weight balance is the worst of it,” he explained. “A full tank weighs more than empty, and you can't balance vertical thrust against horizontal mass shifting. That's why KAV-12 and up have dedicated fuel tanks, per engine.” “What if you could shift the engines too?” A light went on in Shelbree's head. “Come to the VAB with me, I have something to show you.” Intrigued, Jenners followed her out of the small office and down across the grounds to the towering Vehicle Assembly Building. “I'm not sure I understand,” he wondered aloud. “How can you move the engines with the mass shift?” Even late at night, the work crews were busy inside the massive structure. There was always another rocket to build, another launch to prep for. Shelbree guided him through the chaos to the planning offices in the rear of the building. Shelves lined the far wall, cluttered with scale models and parts catalogues, and it was the latter she was looking for. “Something in here might work,” she said, handing him a thin volume. “Magic Smoke Industries? Wait, I heard about this.” Jenners skimmed through it, taking in the collection of mechanical components. He'd looked at it briefly once before, as he did all the catalogues they received from industrial suppliers, but now his eyes took in the contents with renewed interest. The gears weren't just turning again, they whirred madly in his head. Motorized rails, hinges, and rotational joints would add untold complexity to any vessel, particularly one as intricate as a spaceplane. And yet, it gave him options he hadn't considered before. A craft that could change and adapt, alter its control surfaces and thrust vectors “on the fly” – it was exactly the answer he'd been looking for. Then he spied something else on the shelf, a new flyer from Tetragon. “When did we get this?” “Just yesterday. I haven't looked at it myself, why?” Jenners held the pamphlet up for her to see. A pair of blocky engine designs graced the front, labeled VA1 and VS1 – engines whose primary feature was a pivoting thrust assembly. Engines purpose-built for VTOL use. “This is perfect!” Kerston's eyes went wide as the mechanic gave her a swift hug. “Thank you!” he exclaimed, tucking the catalogue and flyer under one arm. Without waiting for a response, he turned and dashed back toward his office in the hangar. It was going to be a long night. ---===--- “Munwell Thermo reading all tanks full, Control. Disengaging docking clamps.” Seanden keyed the release, and MT2 drifted slowly away from the science station. “Thermosat is free. She's all yours again.” “Acknowledged, Munlab. Maneuvering to final surface node. Deorbit coming up in five minutes.” A brief pause. “Thanks for topping us off.” Seanden laughed. “Anytime, Control. What'm I gonna do with a quarter-tank of LFO out here? Good luck on the landing!” He meant it, too. While great thought had been given to Munwell Thermo's fuel and docking capabilities, including a compact RCS, the VAB crew had overlooked a critical element to its mission – landing struts. The thermosat was forced to touch down on its miniaturized Atlas engine, which had an impact tolerance to rival egg shells. He did not envy the pilot who had to guide it down by remote. For the next few minutes, Seanden kept watch over the nearby satellite. There was no announcement when the time came – MT2 simply twisted in place, aimed its Atlas retrograde, and fell backwards from Munlab in a flare of blue flame. With its orbital velocity cut in half, the satellite would descend to the Munar surface far below and collect the last of its required temperature readings. He shrugged and pulled his book from a storage cupboard. The thermosat's mission was not his concern, and J.J. Kerman's “Emiko Saga” was far more interesting anyway. ---===--- “Descent at six-point-four meters per second. Surface altitude below five-hundred. Burn is steady.” Jeb's hands were slick with sweat, but he dared not release the controls to wipe them. “Six-point-oh meters a second, still slowing.” “Looking good, Kerman. Keep her steady. Slight drift southwest.” Except for reading off critical data, everyone in Mission Control was holding their collective breath. The tension in the room was palpable. “Altitude two-fifty, five-point-seven meters a second. Almost there...” Jeb urged through gritted teeth. “Retracting solar panels.” Another fault in the thermosat's design – its solar panels were angled back, away from the shielded docking port. A wise choice for refueling, but its short profile meant the panels extended past the engine itself. For landing, there was no choice but to pull them in and rely on battery power. Fortunately, the OKTO consumed very little power, and the additional batteries would keep it going long enough to land and perform its duties. “Vertical speed decreasing, fifty meters to go...” With a steady hand, Jeb guided the thermosat down. It bled speed and altitude in equal measure, touching the surface at less than one meter per second. He cut what little thrust remained, and a cheer went up throughout the room as Munwell Thermo came to rest. Gene clasped Jeb's shoulder, beaming with pride. “Well done, Kerman,” he grinned. “Dansen, log that reading. No solar means no time to waste.” “Already done, Gene. That's the last one.” “Good job. Jeb, get her back to Seanden for refueling. We might need her again.” “You got it Boss.” MT2 launched itself back into Munar orbit as Jeb laid in a course for Munlab rendezvous. Gene turned his attention to one of the kerbals monitoring the incoming data. “Mitchell, get a copy of that down to Linus in R&D. I want to know why everyone is falling over themselves for thermal scans.” Minwell Thermo, MT1, still had four days left before Minmus intercept. And with every hour that passed, Gene Kerman was growing more and more certain they would not like what they found when it arrived. ---===--- When Burhat saw the KAV-16, he wasn't certain what to make of it. With the exception of KAV-11, Jenners' designs were slim, elegant, beautiful in their minimalist approach. The plane on the runway awaiting him harkened back to Skipper's squat, bulky profile. But where KAV-11 had been the work of necessity, making do with the parts at hand, the KAV-16 “Sirius” resembled a linebacker with wings – it was muscle, with purpose. Though eager to see what she could do, Kerbalski remembered the last time Jenners had tried to build a VTOL with aerodynamics in mind. Stratus had not been the mechanic's crowning achievement. “Don't let her looks fool you,” the mechanic said, reading his thoughts. “She'll fly straight, and she's got enough range to fly clear 'round Kerbin and back.” “What kind of engines are those?” Burhat asked. “They don't look like anything I've seen before.” “VA1 VTOL jet engines, fresh from Tetragon. They have built-in thrust vectoring, so no more pointing your nose at the ground to go forward. Just lift off, use staging to switch alignment modes, and she'll fly like a real plane should.” Jenners was all smiles, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed a hint of delirium. He clearly hadn't slept at all last night. Burhat nodded slowly. “Mission says EVA surveys to the southeast, near the Badlands Sea. Not halfway around Kerbin, but that'd still be a long way to fly staring at the ground, so thank you. Just switch them over through staging controls?” “Yep. Ascend 'til you're comfortable with the altitude, flip them forward, and away you go.” The mechanic took several steps back as Burhat climbed into the cockpit. “Oh, one thing Kerbalski.” “Yes?” “I read your report, about Spyder's heat-trail. That... should not have happened.” He looked worried. “Those jet engines shouldn't have been able to push her hard enough for shock heating. So be careful up there, alright?” The pilot opened his mouth for a wry comment, like “Don't worry, I'm not Jeb,” but the concern on Jenners' face made him think better of it. “I will,” was all he said. The cockpit hatch sealed tight, and he focused on making his pre-flight checks. While it was barely dawn at KSC, at his survey locations it was closer to noon. Time zones were strange that way. “KSC Tower, this is KAV-16 Sirius reporting ready for takeoff.” “Understood Sirius, you are clear for departure. Hasta la vista, Kerbalski.” Burhat grinned as he urged the throttle forward. “Hasta la vista, Tower. I'll be back.” KAV-16's engines had a distinct high-pitched whine as they awoke, and the plane floated swiftly upwards. After a few seconds, the nose began to pitch up substantially, but he remembered Jenners' instructions. With an electric hum, the engines rotated in their housing, aiming their thrust laterally, and Sirius jolted forward. Just as the mechanic said, she flew straight and proper. Burhat grinned, and opened the throttle wide. As his speed indicator spun upwards however, he began to wonder if he'd made a terrible mistake. “Sirius to Tower, do you read me?” The reply was audible, but laced with thick layers of static. “T-wer -eads y-- S--ius, barely.” “Atmospheric speed exceeding one kilometer per second, altitude fifteen kilometers and climbing. Experiencing significant shock-heating up here, cockpit's getting toasty.” Burhat eyed the throttle, itching to bring it down, but he intended to push Sirius to her limits, and at this rate she was practically hitting escape velocity. “S-- -gain, Si---- --d not …” The signal was completely lost, KSC Tower's reply drowning in a sea of static interference. The flames around the craft roared brighter, then faded away to nothing as Sirius reached the upper limits of Kerbin's atmosphere. The VA1s coughed and died, sending the craft into a slow yaw. Quickly, Burhat wrenched the controls back in line, and looked at his trajectory. Then looked again, disbelieving. Apoapsis, 102,098m. Impossible! But it was very possible – the four boxy engines had pushed him into low Kerbin orbit, and there was no longer a thing he could do except ride it out until reentry, several minutes later. He took quick stock of his situation – the cockpit had its own life-support, however minimal, so at least he wouldn't suffocate. But the craft had only what battery power was integrated with the cockpit, so leaving the SAS on was probably a poor idea. He switched it off, letting the KAV-16 drift slightly. No matter, he'd realign it when he hit atmosphere again. Where would he be when that happened? SCANsat altimetry showed him well beyond his survey destination. He'd already overshot the Badlands Sea and was likely to pass over the eastern half of the continent, too. Well, Jenners sure wasn't kidding about range, Burhat thought with dry amusement. He'd barely consumed any of the fuel in the tank. Lesson learned though, throttle down for the return. What in Ker's name did Tetragon build these engines with? Live demons? As if on cue, flames began licking the plane's nose once more. He watched as the atmospheric gauge began detecting useable air again. Then an idea struck him. He forced Sirius into a hard dive, rolling a full hundred-eighty degrees in the process. The ground was above him now, his plane pointed forty-five degrees downward, aiming straight at it. Reentry fire roared over the glass. Straining against the g-forces, he staged the engines back into VTOL alignment and threw the throttle wide open. And prayed to Ker he survived. This isn't where I'd intended to end the chapter, but after some deliberation I realized there's simply too much to try and cram into this one update. MT1 won't reach Minmus for another couple days, and is a key piece in the events still to come. As a side-note, my flights with the KAV-16 reminded me of some crucial information I'd forgotten - something to do with B9 jet engines not scaling a velocity curve properly (or at least, different from stock). Bear in mind this is still 0.90 and probably fixed at this point. But anyway... as you read above, those four little engines sent Burhat hypersonic and put him into LKO with ease. My first test-flight actually managed an AP of around 150km. Crazy. Needless to say, I don't expect this design will be anywhere near as effective come 1.1.3.

Glad you enjoyed it! I was in the process of updating ATS with pt 12 and figured I'd share. The "birthday" thing is just one of those happy coincidences - icing on the cake, as they say. It took me a while to figure out which "part" of the Emiko Station saga to use. Nearly went with this one, but I couldn't find a suitable title to match it. That, and it didn't lend itself as well to book-cover sizes. I can't take too much credit though, since it's some quick slap-dash photoshop filters, and they were your screenshots...

@Just Jim In honor of your annual celebration of existence, I present a token of my esteem for this wonderful story of yours. In After The Storm, Seanden's job is a "station-keeping" pilot. He mans the controls for an orbital station. Kind of a dull task, really. So he brings along some reading material to keep himself occupied - he prefers classic sci-fi. So this seemed fitting. Larger version of the cover image: Happy birthday!

Small update: About half the writing for Part 12 is done, but this next segment is a long one. There's a great deal of story to cover, leading up to the switch to 1.1.3, however in game terms I've already reached that point. My game is about two or three "parts" ahead of the story at the moment, to where I've had to stop accepting / completing contracts because any further "progress" in 0.90 would only complicate the story. There's only one or two missions I have yet to launch, and those are strictly for narrative reasons. So basically, I'm done playing 0.90 now, and just need to catch up with my writing. As always, thoughts / comments / critiques are welcome.

Ahem: As one creative to another, I know the feeling. I really, honestly do. I've left a long string of broken, failed, abandoned projects behind me over the years. Novels, films, mods, music, games, artwork, even wire sculpture. My muse is a fickle wretch and she rarely provides me enough inspiration to completely follow through with anything. "After The Storm" was on hold for over a year before I got back to KSP. There's a little clockwork spider still waiting for me to animate him. I'm over 62k words into a sci-fi novel... and have been stuck there for the last six months. My FTL mod has been in limbo for ages, and will probably never see the light of day. The list goes on. But do you know what they all have in common? I learned something new from each one. When I was twenty, I didn't know the first thing about texturing, 3d modeling, rigging, animation, programming, or game design - and the book I was writing at the time? Complete garbage! Ten years later, I can do all these things, and while I'm no industry expert - you'll never see me credited to some triple-A title, certainly - the potential is there. All it takes is a willingness to learn, to fail, to make mistakes. STOP telling yourself "this is worthless, I'm wasting my time, I can't do it, I don't have the skill..." Those are all BS excuses. I know motivation can be hard to find sometimes, but until those "big ideas" of yours are worth your time, they sure as hell aren't worth anyone else's. Don't say "I can't," because what you're really saying is "I won't." Click here. Start somewhere. See where it takes you.

You have all the fun.

My last reply was a little harsher than intended, I was rushed for time (late to work) and probably should've waited a bit before posting. My comments stand, but sorry if they came across as rude. The bottom line is, no one will ever care about the ideas in your head, except you. What matters is trying to make good on them. And all it really takes is that one moment where you decide to just start. That's it. Find out what you need to make that idea a reality, take it one step at a time, piece by tiny piece. But if you never take the time to start, to even try? That says all those ideas swimming around in your head aren't even worth your time and effort, and if they don't interest you enough to make the attempt, they certainly won't interest anyone else.

So... you're unmotivated because school sucks. First off, college is a vastly different animal than basic education. Figuring out your classes, schedule, credits, basic living situation... balancing a job on top of that if needed - classes aside, the place is a life-simulator which will help prepare you for becoming an independent adult. Now whether the degree is useful or not, whether the debt is worth it... that's for you to decide, but if you assume college is simply "more of the same," you're in for a very rude awakening. Secondly, I've read through this thread and for every encouragement someone tries to offer, it seems like your go-to response is "excuse, reason, why bother." If that's so, then you made this thread purely to dredge up some sympathy from the internet, which I can tell you from experience is almost never a good idea. Stop trying to find reasons not to try. Everyone has big ideas, but they only matter if you resolve to act on them. Ask Bill Gates, Elon Musk, or any of these people - keeping those ideas in your head and complaining how they'll never see the light of day, that's the real failure. If you try and fail, you learn from the experience. You make another attempt, a little wiser for it. But if you'd rather give up before you even make the attempt... why even make this thread? Unity is free. Blender is free. Gimp is free. There are a wealth of resources you can use - and don't quote me a reply about your "lack of skill," you're bloody 19 and haven't had the time to develop it yet - that's just another excuse for not trying. Commit to those ideas in your head, learn what it'll take to channel them outward. That's the only real answer here.

Part 11: New Data “You're joking. They want what now?” Gene stared at the agreements in disbelief. “Comprehensive thermal analysis of Mun and Minmus,” the sharply-dressed kerbal across from him replied. “Periapsis and Reaction Systems were very satisfied with the atmospheric data from Kerbin, and forwarded their recommendations to Kerbodyne. They, along with JSI, need temperature readings on Kerbin's moons as well. Confidentiality arrangements prohibit me from explaining further, but my superiors trust the funding speaks for itself.” “The money is fine, Mr. Kenbas. It's these deadlines that concern me. It takes at least five days to reach Minmus, in ideal positioning. Factor in orbital maneuvering and plane-shift –” “The assured me time was critical in this matter. If KSC isn't up to the challenge, I'm sure another program will be happy to accept these contracts.” “Give me those,” Gene snapped. His pen scribbled madly as he signed all four. “I hope you folks understand what you're asking for here.” “Mr. Kerman... Gene, I know thermal scans of the moons may not seem like much, compared to interplanetary travel or building orbital stations,” the contract rep said quietly, “but trust me – this may be one of the most important things KSC will ever do.” ---===--- Jeb tried to hide his disappointment. The way Calger talked about his experience with the Centipede had made it sound like both the grandest adventure and greatest ordeal at once. The best stories usually were. He'd hoped to see some of that himself, here, but the Centipede would not permit it. A fault in the control circuits had locked the brakes in place, and even Bill's engineering expertise had been unable to convince the rover to rove again. For all practical definitions, the Centipede was a more functional base than the outpost it was parked at. Bill was in the lab now, helping Bob analyze some of the experiments. It was a good way to unwind, spending a couple hours in the rover. The Centipede was designed to seat seven, giving the three of them plenty of breathing space before they all piled back into the MunTwo and returned to Kerbin. ---===--- Seanden's voice crackled over the radio. “Munlab is green across the board, Control. Proceed with the count.” “Rodger, Munlab. Launch in T-minus sixty seconds.” Munlab was a much smaller affair than Kyrano Station, with a budget to match. One contractor wanted a station around the Mun, another wanted the results of a particular Science experiment, and that was the extent of it. Thus, Seanden was the craft's only occupant. The Science lab and rear quarters – a refurbished Lander Can – were empty. He didn't mind the impending solitude. Several of his favorite books were stashed in the rear. Seanden was no stranger to space travel, and he knew station-keeping duties were dull. Even after KSC launched the mission for crew to join him, there'd be ample time to catch up on his reading. “T-minus ten seconds. Main thruster fuel pumps online. Secondary thrusters online. T-minus five... four... three...” The engines roared to life, raging against the launch clamps. Munlab shuddered and trembled at their fury, shaking Seanden in his seat. He rode an earthquake, a volcano of steel and flame, a force of un-nature that gripped him in its metal fist and hurled him viciously upward. The sky faded, blue to navy to indigo, until blackness swallowed his craft. Then the fist eased its grasp, opened, the earthquake over, the volcano's fury spent. Weightless and alone, Seanden drifted high above Kerbin. Munlab belonged to the stars now. ---===--- The pad had hardly cooled before the first of the two “thermo-sats” rolled out for launch. Minwell Thermo, MT1, was the first for several reasons. Travel time and simplicity were the most significant. It was a basic Maxwell-style satellite, with additional fuel and the requisite thermometer fastened to the probe core. The VAB crew had slapped it together in no time, which was perfect because “no time” was exactly how much they'd been given. Munwell Thermo, MT2, was another matter. Multiple locations on the Mun required a reading from the surface, which took substantially more fuel than simple orbital adjustments. Somehow the thermo-sat would need to refuel itself during the mission. Briefly, the engineers considered Karbonite refinement. MT2 could land, extract and refine the peculiar substance into liquid fuel and oxidizer, refuel, and continue its mission. The prospect of finally doing something with the extraction technology excited them. However, the designs had to be scrapped when it became clear that such a process simply wasn't feasible for a small-scale probe. The size and weight of the drill and Karbonite converter necessitated a heavier vehicle, making orbital translations less efficient, landings heavier and more risky, and prolonging a mission already on an incredibly tight timetable. A docking port was the simple solution, but required a vessel to dock with, to supply the needed fuel. Designing a fuel station would take even more time, require a bigger launch, and add periodic rendezvous time to the thermo-sat's mission. That is, until one of the junior engineers stopped chewing his pencil's eraser and spoke up. “What about refueling from Munlab? Seanden still has his transfer stage attached, and there'll be fuel left over from circularization.” The other engineers looked at him. “When MT2 launches, we'll already have a fuel station in place. Sort of.” By that time the following day, the compact dumbbell-shaped satellite was streaking through low Munar orbit. I am honestly amazed at how nicely the contract requests are playing into my storyline. After Burhat got done with the two coastal "temperature scan" contracts, another one popped up on Minmus. Then on the Mun. Then two more on the Mun... it's like KSP is reading my mind. Spooky. In other news... odd glitches with Arc Luna and the Centipede made them both substantially less interesting than I'd hoped. The toggles at the top for "lights, gear, brakes" are locked into whichever state they were at when I copied the vessels over - lights grayed out, unclickable, brakes on the Centipede forever in "parking" mode and no clicking or keypressing could release them. So no joyriding for Jeb & the gang. Still, it was cool to get some use out of the place again, if only for a little while.