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Farlight (Updated 8/15)


Ten Key

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The kerbal eased down into the sand, old bones and old joints protesting even these careful motions, the life time of hard wear finally coming due. It didn't matter. Not anymore.

"Now, pay attention, see? Or would the lot of you rather go play outside?" Suddenly it was mouths closed, all eyes front. "I thought not. Now, settle down, and pay attention." The sand underneath him was still warm, held into the shape of a crude seat by a carved stone depression.

"Now then, some physicists will tell you that gravity is the most powerful force in the universe, and I know of a few pilots who would agree with them. Eh, what's that? What's a pilot? Well, it's a, ah. . .never mind that, we'll get along to it in a bit."

"An accountant now, they'll tell you the most powerful force in the universe is compound interest and, well maybe some physicists would too. A geologist might tell you the most powerful force is erosion, or perhaps water or wind, or maybe time itself. A poet might tell you the most powerful force is love, while a soldier might tell you it's loyalty. I've seen enough of both to say a case could be made for either, and a mighty strong one at that."

He closed his eyes now, the memories sudden and close, felt the warmth of the sand fading as the heat leached away into the stone floor. He remembered his own schooling, the fresh air, the warm sun, wooden desks with wooden chairs. Wooden pencils. And all the paper they could want. He remembered the folded airplanes, the waste. . .what fools they'd all been. Now there was just. . . sand. And rocks. And cold. He drew in a slow breath, opened his eyes before the tears could start. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but it doesn't matter.

Not anymore.

"They're all wrong, you see. The most powerful force in this universe is boredom, and it can move mountains, bridge seas, tear a people down or build them back up again. It's the reason there were billions of us, and the reason that, one day, it might be so again."

"It all started out with a pipe dream and a swamp and. . .hmm? What's a swamp? Well, it's. . .oh for goodness sake, stop interrupting!"

"We'll get there in a bit."

 

________________________________

 

I did not intend to write this.

I picked Kerbal Space Program up several months ago on a lark. I figured I would spend a few hours with it here or there, and I did. And then a few days, and then weeks. The words started slowly, just a few notes at first, detailing altitude thresholds and biomes and such. But soon there were more words, a crude scaffolding to provide context for the hundreds of screenshots suddenly piling up on my hard drive. This in turn became a few paragraphs here and there, detailing the machines rolling out of my VAB and the various problems they were being asked to solve. And then some backstories and "context" for the kerbals that would fly them, just to keep everything straight in my head.

And then, well. . .this happened.

The story that follows is primarily a game play through, and so the narrative can wander in strange ways and the tone can shift wildly in reaction to the triumphs and frustrations of a first time KSP player. Perhaps there's a certain charm in that though. . .I guess we'll see. :)

This play through employs the following mods:

Kerbal Space Program, version 0.23.5.464 (pre-dates the contract, currency and reputation system)

The KSP Renaissance Compilation Pack, which includes-- Active Texture Management v 3.1, Environmental Visual Enhancements v 7.3, Texture Replacer v 1.5.1, Distant Object v 1.3, Hot Rockets v 7.1, Cool Rockets v 0.4, Chatterer v 0.5.9.3, Soundtrack Editor V 2.1, Atmospheric Sound Enhancement v 2.1.1, and an alpha version of the Squad Retexture Project.

Final Frontier, v 0.4.20

Toolbar, v 1.7.3

Module Manager v 2.1.0

KerbQuake, v 1.21

Steam Gauges, v 1.5.1

Deadly Reentry Continued, v 4.7

And finally, Flowerchild's fantastic progression mod, Better Than Starting Manned. First version 1.56, and then later updated to 1.57.

All piloted flights have been/will be conducted from an IVA perspective where ever possible. I seem to have lost a lot of my screenshots from the very early portions of the game, and I need to backfill story at the beginning anyways, but, fair warning-- at some point there will be a lot of pictures. :)

 

 

 

________________________________

 

 

The provost swore through gritted teeth, leaned into the turn, the narrow wheeled trundle just barely keeping to the plank roadway as it strained through the curve. The harsh stink of overburdened electronics bled into the thin mountain air as the trundle's electric motor slowly labored itself to death. Someone was going to pay for this. There was a flash of sunlight on metal up ahead, the sharp chuff of a steam engine. The provost twisted the throttle hard as the roadway straightened out, the narrow seat bucking as the trundle lurched over a freshly broken plank. That hole hadn't been there yesterday. . .someone was definitely going to pay for this.

The two carts barreled down the roadway as it narrowed and twisted towards a tunnel, the mountains looming close on either side. The steam trundle shot into the opening at a recklessly high speed and the provost followed, the siren painfully loud in the confined space. Like much of the new construction in the mining town, the tunnel had been built with sections of surplus pipe, and the riveting flashed past in regular patterns as the trundle rattled down the tube. The tunnel ended in a sudden burst of daylight, the trundles blasting out of the tube and through a small market. The stalls of the vendors sped past on either side, wooden placards, fabric awnings, and even a few bits fashioned from metal, the thin lengths of pipe gleaming in the morning sun. The provost's trundle tipped up onto two wheels as it slid past the last stall, the wooden planks of the road giving way to bare rock, the electric motor making an unhealthy noise as they started up an incline.

The steam trundle was starting to pull away, its antiquated but powerful engine giving it an advantage on the steadily increasing slope. The provost blinked, anger giving way to fear as the realization dawned. "Citizen, STOP! There is no road ahead!!" But the old trundle did not stop, instead accelerating up the rise. There was a hissing pop, gouts of fire and then quickly plumes of smoke jetting from the small pipes that had been welded to the steam trundle's frame. It accelerated faster still, and then even faster, more of the pipes igniting. The provost came to a sliding stop, eyes watering against the smoke as the steam trundle went up and then. . .over.

A few wild, disbelieving heartbeats, and then, a single cry of warning, followed by the sickening crunch of metal against rock as the steam trundle dashed itself onto the ground far below.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

 

The wreck was still burning, had thankfully not landed on anything important. A small crowd had gathered around a nearby tree, a pool of soft murmurs and pointing hands that gave way reluctantly as the provost approached. The kerbal dangling from the tree was painfully young, was twisted up in what looked like a homemade parachute. He bounced happily within the makeshift harness, seemed completely at ease with his predicament. The provost stopped, the helmet coming off slowly, the lingering anger not quite enough to keep the sound of awe out of her voice.

"Citizen. . .what is your name?"

The kerblet looked down, seemed to notice the provost, and the crowd, for the first time. He grinned even wider, pumped his fists, raised his voice to the chill morning sky.

"My name is JEBEDIAH KERMAN!"

 

 

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Thanks KSK, I appreciate it. There is nothing in this world more intimidating than a blank piece of paper. :)

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Farlight

DsuU302.jpg

 

Writing Status: :blush:

Chapter List

Chapter 1 -- The Junker

Chapter 2 -- The Magnate

Chapter 3 -- The Frogman

Chapter 4 -- The Farlight

Chapter 5 -- The Apex

Chapter 6 -- The End of the Line

Part One -- Breakwater

Chapter 1-1 -- Datum

Chapter 1-2 -- Ordinate

Chapter 1-3 -- Abscissa

Chapter 1-4 -- Tangents

Chapter 1-5 -- Azimuth

Chapter 1-6 -- The Great Circle

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The Junker

 

A wash of noise filled the terminal, the drone of voices and thump of work boots echoing oddly along the high wooden ceiling. Jeb kept back from the press, scanned the framed news-sheet clippings on the far wall with feigned interest. He tried to focus his mind on the details of the contract, the points he needed to push for if the effort was to be worth his while. And he desperately needed it to be. Jeb had six trundles to his name now, but only two of them had motors. The other four were old, manually powered models that were barely adequate for hauling even modest loads. The labor pool in the small mountain community seemed to trickle lower every day, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hire the mechanics necessary to keep the trundles working, never mind finding kerbals actually willing to drive the pedal-crank machines. Jeb's waste disposal business was in trouble, and he needed this job if he was going to keep the lights on. It was either that, or cash out and go to work in the mines, and that was something he swore he'd never do.

One of the faded news-sheets mounted on the wall of the depot caught his eye, and Jeb stared at it for a long moment, his quick, half-hearted smile reflected in the glass that protected the yellowing paper. His much younger self stared back at him, the grainy black and white photograph taking him back to a much wilder time in his life. Jeb winced at the sight of the ragged parachute, his mother's best tablecloth. And sheets. And curtains. The brief article was headed by the words "I AM JEBEDIAH KERMAN!", the destruction of his father's expensive steam trundle earning him a few paragraphs on the local news-sheet's back page. Along with a world of hurt.

The date on the byline was thirty years old.

He hadn't been a Kerman of course, not yet. The schooling would come later, his parents suddenly as eager to get rid of him as he had been to leave. And so he'd given up his care free days for books and classrooms, long years of study and barely passing marks that had somehow culminated in a Kermanship. Not that it had helped him any in the long run-- there were only two dozen Kermans in the entire town, and all of them worked in the mines.

 

But not this Kerman. Not now, not ever.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

The rail platform was crowded with trundles and their handlers, the later struggling to get this particular train loaded and on its way before the next one arrived. There was a sudden cry, Jeb turning just in time to see three laborers narrowly avoid being crushed by a stack of crates cascading off the back of an overloaded trundle. He side stepped the resulting mess as best he could, hurried after the assistant beckoning him towards the train. Behind him, the pace of loading continued as though nothing had happened.

The engine's whistle blew once, loud and long, and the loaders scrambled to secure the last few bits of cargo. More than a few of them tried to secure themselves in among the tightly packed pallets and crates. The provosts made an effort to clear those desperate souls away from the train, but there were always some who escaped notice. And there were always a few bodies at the other end of the line, the remains of those who hadn't chosen their hiding places in the shifting cargo with enough care. Jeb clambered onto the train just before it started rolling, the provosts waving him past after a few words from his guide. Somehow he was going to have to find his way back home after this meeting was over-- if it went well, perhaps he could negotiate the cost of a return ticket into the contract. If not, well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to sneak onto a train in order to get somewhere.

The interior of the car had been converted into a small office space, a plain banker's desk and a pair of chairs tucked inside a thicket of file cabinets and stacked paper. The assistant threaded her way through the piles, motioned towards one of the chairs and then disappeared through a door on the other side of the car. Jeb kept to his feet, shifted his weight to counter the increasing sway in the floor. The sunlight coming in from the narrow windows set high on the walls slid around the compartment as the train picked up speed and the track curved underneath it. Jeb took note of the carefully ordered clutter, couldn't help but compare it to the disorganized morass of paperwork that littered his own office. Maybe there's a lesson here.

The train's whistle blew again, softer now, the attenuated warble having to travel almost the full length of the train in order to reach the little car. The far door popped open and the assistant reappeared, a fresh stack of papers in hand. She moved to the desk and sat, waved Jeb towards the door without looking up at him. "He'll see you now. Try not to track dirt on the carpets, he hates that."

 

________________________________

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Nice twist on the junkyard origin theme. Looking forward to finding out who 'he' is, and whether this is a case of the sun shining brightest on a new start, or the sun shining brightest - right before you're completely stuffed. :) I suspect the former, but this story could go either way!

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This has a significantly darker tone than most fanfics. Bad economics, educated kerbals who still can't get a decent job and have to work in mines to make a living, desperate souls risking all in an attempt to just 'get away' from their current misery. This creates an abundance of possibilities.

I like it.

Novel spin on the Kerman name too.

I'll stick.

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The Magnate

 

Rich wood paneling with a bright brass trim, thick carpets, recessed lighting in the walls that complemented the large skylights. There was a large liquor cabinet along one wall, filled with crystal decanters of all shapes and sizes. The opposite wall served as a mounting point for a number of hand painted portraits, framed photographs, plaques and diplomas, and all the various trophies of a successful business career. The compartment was suffused with the smell of expensive cigars and the gentle sound of a piano, the later provided by an ornate, mechanical phonograph.

William Kerman had spared few expenses on his private railcar, a concession to frequent and lengthy trips necessary for keeping his company running smoothly. Many of the major rail depots had telegraph stations now, and the pipeline complex had two. There was even talk of building one specifically for the Rockomax ore cracking facility that had produced the bulk of the raw material his train was currently carrying. Many of his peers had left their trains in the hands of subordinates and moved into large office suites with ready access to the telegraph lines, but he had resisted that so far. There was just too much happening right now for him to risk getting fat and happy in some office back where he couldn't see his operation with his own two eyes.

The door on the other end of the compartment opened and then closed. William made a show of ignoring it at first, couldn't help but glance over when his first interview of the trip didn't immediately move to the stiff backed chair opposite the desk. The junkman was actually taking off his shoes. . .

He returned his attention to the papers on the desk, let the phonograph continue to play as the junker settled into the chair. The whole routine was a well practiced act intended to make the poor soul on the other side of the interview as uncomfortable as possible-- even the chair itself, though ornate enough to match the rest of the decor, had been made to be just a little too small, a little too hard on the back. He'd tried it himself a number of times, had yet to meet anyone who could sit in it for any length of time without squirming. Yet when he finally looked up, the junkman seemed completely at ease as he waited for the interview to start-- it was time to turn up the heat. The phonograph cut off abruptly at the press of a discretely placed switch, and William picked up a stack of clipped paperwork and tossed it across the desk in the junker's direction.

"Standard contract terms, three month duration. Milestones and compensation are on page two, full indemnity terms on pages four through six. First one to sign the contract and file it with my assistant gets the job, and you accept full responsibility for the assignment at that time." The junkman picked up the paperwork, started reading it, didn't seem to be in any particular hurry.

"I should tell you, there are four other candidates who have that contract in hand, so you might not want to take too much time mulling it over." The junker just nodded, kept right on reading. "If you have any questions, my assistant can fill you in on the details." Nothing. The junker's cool facade was starting to grate. Somehow, he had managed to get comfortable in that chair.

"My name's Jeb by the way. Jebediah Kerman." The junker looked up from the paperwork, extended his hand across the desk in a motion that was at once respectful and relaxed. The tycoon felt the first, sharp rush of indignation, but then something else, some odd, half remembered flash of recognition.

"You're that, kid. . .the news sheet in the rail depot?"

 

 

________________________________

 

Somehow, the liquor cabinet had been opened and the glasses had come out. The contract came up, of course, as had general pleasantries and, eventually, the story behind the contract. William's rail business owned a large stretch of land adjacent to the construction project that had been driving so many of the mining start ups in the area. Originally, the land had been procured with an eye towards developing it as a warehouse district, but the initial surveys had been overly optimistic and the area was so swampy that it just wouldn't support buildings of any size. Meanwhile, the pipeline had gone through a major "false start" almost a full year into development, and the rail company had recouped some of their investment by allowing the builders to use the land as a dumping ground for the resulting construction waste. But as the project recovered and the workforce swelled, the land had become more valuable and the local government had decided to rezone it for development. The rail company had received notice that they had one year to clean up the land, or face stiff fines.

Jeb set his glass down. "Well, I think I can help with that. Rockomax has a good, long stretch of mining tunnel that is completely played out. They've been trying to sell it off as underground housing, but everyone knows the tunnel is unstable and no one is willing to risk it. The asking price is desperately low, and I can't think of a better place to park that construction waste. I can hire some people to transfer to the work site directly, and we can move the material by train up into the mountains. My trundles can take it from there."

"No, my trains are not available to move trash. You want this contract? You clear the land yourself and assume responsibility for the waste. How you move it and what you do with it is not my problem." The tycoon growled out the last few words, knew in that moment that the junker did not have the resources to do the job, that the roads were too poor and his trundles too few. Angry at himself for having wasted so much time, William gave this "Jeb" fellow a look declaring in no uncertain terms that the meeting was over. But the junker didn't flinch, made no move to stand, actually seemed to settle deeper into that horrible chair. He picked up his glass, seemed to consider the liquid inside it for a moment. William was beginning to wonder if this particular kerbal was even capable of sweating.

"What if I bought the land from you instead?"

 

________________________________

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Ah ha! Finally got the multi-quote thing figured out. :confused:

MasterSounis said:
This is interesting in that it takes a less "romantic" tone and plot. (No exciting disasters, crazy sci fi stuff, etc)

Thanks Sounis, but I can't promise you things will stay this way. The game itself will take care of the "how", but the story needs to take care of the "why". And given how difficult space travel is, I'm finding that the "why" needs to be pretty big.

OrtwinS said:
This has a significantly darker tone than most fanfics. Bad economics, educated kerbals who still can't get a decent job and have to work in mines to make a living, desperate souls risking all in an attempt to just 'get away' from their current misery. This creates an abundance of possibilities.

I like it.

Novel spin on the Kerman name too.

I'll stick.

I appreciate the kind words Ortwin. I'm going to try to stick to a schedule to keep things from dragging too much. . .if for no other reason than to get the words out of the way so I can start playing again. :)

KSK said:
Trains, telegraphs and tycoons - very interesting!

Also, I have to ask. "The junkman was actually taking off his shoes. . ." Is that a reference to a certain cosmonaut? :)

Busted. I may be having a little bit of fun here-- poor Jeb isn't going to know which way is up by the time this is over. :)

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The Frogman

 

The water was cold at this depth, even in the tropical oceans along Kerbin's equator. A suited figure emerged from the murk in a sudden rush, the heavy helmet stopping just short of the diving bell's ceiling. The figure eased to one side as a second suit rose from the frigid water, the two of them now filling the cramped compartment. There was room enough to sit, though it was not possible to climb completely out of the water. The dark ocean floor loomed unseen through the bell's open bottom. After about ten minutes of careful maneuvering, the two kerbals managed to disconnect enough of the cumbersome dry suits to get the helmets off.

"I told them this wouldn't work!" The spherical helmet landed on the overhead rack with a particular vengeance. "The tolerances are too tight, I don't care how good their machine is!"

Bob lifted his helmet off, cradled it carefully in both hands. "Calm down. There's not enough air in here for you to get worked up." The two locked eyes over the water, then both glanced at the box of gauges welded to the steel wall. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'm just cold and tired. But it's frustrating. . .what's the point of coming down here if no one's going to listen?" Bob leaned back as far as he could, shifted the weight of the helmet, gave his dive partner a meaningful look.

"Yeah, calm. Okay."

"They don't have to listen to us, they just have to pay us, right?"

"Right. Okay."

The two sat in silence, trying to find some modicum of comfort in the cold metal cylinder. The dim, red lighting was soothing in its own way, and soon both kerbals were nodding on the edge of sleep.

The sharp buzz of the surface phone was a sudden and unwelcome interruption. Bob did little more than bring his head upright, but his partner nearly jumped out of his suit, the motion setting the diving bell swaying ever so slightly. Again, Bob gave the meaningful stare. This time, his partner just sniffed his annoyance and hugged himself against the cold. Bob picked up the receiver and flipped the two way switch.

"This is Bob. Yes. Yes I think we're all finished down here." He listened for a moment, cocked his head, checked one of the dials on the gauge box. "Yes, we found some hairline cracks in this section of the line. I'm sure, yes. Well, unless you know of a camera that will work down here, you'll just have to take my word for it." Now it was his partner's turn to provide the meaningful glance. Bob just shrugged.

"Okay, we're ready. Go ahead and bring the bell up to the first decompression stop." He put the receiver back into its cradle and settled down to wait.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows on the distant mountains and playing along the tops of the ocean swells in dazzling flashes of light. Barges and skiffs of all shapes and sizes jostled for space on the open water, some headed to shore for the evening, others lying at anchor in the gentle currents. The lazy bulk of an airship drifted overhead, the soft drone of its engines barely audible to those down on the water.

The breeze was warm, the air heavy with the smell of saltwater and coastline. Bob cupped the kofi mug, leaned against the railing fixed to the side of the barge, gazed westward towards the pipeline complex. The lights in the adjacent hamlet were starting to come on, the soft glow contrasting with the darkening bulk of the giant extruder. To the north, farther along the coast, the lights of Capitol City shone brighter and appeared more inviting than those nestled close to the pipeline. But although Capitol City had larger warehouses and a better harbor, most of the barge traffic was headed towards the complex. Bob had learned, as the locals had known for years, that Capitol City traded in promises, not answers. These days, to those living as far up and down the coast as the rail lines reached, and indeed over the mountains to the western coast, the pipeline was the only answer they had.

And that answer was starting to ask difficult questions of its own.

50 years ago, Kerbin had seen the outbreak of the Great War, a conflict that had eventually engulfed most of the planet. The war burned for years before ending in a stalemate of mutual exhaustion, the belligerents no longer capable of the industrial output needed to stay in the fight. But there were exceptions, those few regions that had managed to stay clear of the war. And Grand Peninsula had been a very special exception.

Comprised of more than a dozen semi-independent city states, Grand Peninsula not only avoided becoming involved in the war, they had discovered themselves uniquely positioned to profit from it. When the war finally ground to a halt, the Peninsula's various potentates quietly arranged to sell weapons and material to all sides of the conflict. When war broke out again after only a few years respite, the belligerents lashed out mercilessly, each believing they were the only ones who had been able to rearm through their clandestine trade agreements. The city states grew quite wealthy during the resulting conflagration, but the steady stream of armaments flowing from their factories allowed the conflict to last much longer and be fought much harder than it otherwise would have been. When Grand Peninsula finally decided that things had run their course and the city states cut off their war trade, the balance of Kerbin's industry and civilization had been cast down into ruin.

In the decades that followed, much of the recovery had been driven by the whims of Grand Peninsula, and that recovery had been slow. If you needed something built, you had to trade with the Peninsula on their terms, and the asking price was almost always too high, the "better tomorrow" always seemingly out of reach. But at least they still had trade routes to the Peninsula. . .it was said that in many of the far flung places around the world, industry had disappeared entirely, the locals returning to the days of myth and camp fires. Here however, in the lands under the sway of Capitol City, the inhabitants were at least making a go of it.

Bob Kerman had attended a well funded engineering academy in the heart of the capital, only two blocks away from the sprawling structure that gave the city its name. The coursework had been challenging and thorough, but most of the emphasis had been on irrigation and transport systems for the inland potato plantations, or on mining techniques and refining processes. And there was always plenty of need for the steam engineers who worked for the rail companies. Bob had focused instead oceanography, had completed his Kermanship with an analysis of deep sea diving techniques. There certainly hadn't been much call for that kind of work, but Bob had distinguished himself by being one of the few kerbals willing to operate the primitive diving bells in use at the time. He'd made his way well enough as a contractor, moving from job to job and trusting those who stayed on the surface to do their best to keep him alive on the cold dark of the ocean floor.

And then the pipeline had happened.

The swamp south of the capital went on for miles, and had long been viewed as a deep, impenetrable mire with no economic value. That had all changed when prospectors discovered that the addle drawn from the swamp was highly combustible when properly dried and processed. A few unsuccessful attempts at developing the swamp as a fuel source came and went with little notice over the years. And then Grand Peninsula decided they wanted that fuel for their own use.

Eschewing a long, overland route through the rugged northern mountain ranges, Grand Peninsula announced that they would build a pipeline straight across the Inner Sea from the swamp to one of their port cities. Running roughshod over the local authorities, the Peninsulites had moved in and set up shop, clearing the vegetation and draining enough of the swamp to establish a work site. The government protested at first, but as more locals were hired to work on the pipeline and the tax revenue started coming in, the protests grew quieter. When it became obvious that the project was sustaining and even expanding local mining interests, those protests turned into tacit support. For two long years, the pipeline project had fueled an economic resurgence that had resonated from one end of the continent to the other. The hamlet surrounding the work site was growing into a proper boom town, with businesses springing up to support the workforce, and then suppliers to support the businesses. There was a school now, and a small hospital. And of course the port and rail depot. And even some rudimentary laboratories, staffed by underfunded and under appreciated scientists who had been drawn by the influx of money.

And now, the pipeline had cracks.

Bob took another draught from the mug, the gently rolling ocean having a calming effect. It was not his way to worry about things beyond his control, and this certainly qualified as one of those things. A year ago, the expensive decision had been made to increase the interior width of the submerged pipe so that laborers could work inside sealed off portions. Bob had argued against that, but he was only a contractor and the change had gone ahead. But the water was getting deeper, the sea bed less forgiving, and the strain on the pipe was growing with each additional meter. Soon, well. . .sooner or later they would figure something out. If everything went according to plan, he would be out of a job.

The light dimmed suddenly, Bob frowning as the airship momentarily passed in front of the setting sun. He had to admire the workmanship, the delicate balance of weight and power that allowed the big machine to take to the skies. The airship was almost certainly owned and operated by the government, probably headed for the secondary work site that had recently sprung up on the island chain southeast from the complex. That was another change they were going to have to get used to-- after two years of alternating between railing against the pipeline and pretending to ignore it, Capitol City was finally starting to get involved.

The sudden clank and rattle of the barge's anchor signaled an end to their trip, the barge's engines stilling as the sun dropped out of sight behind the mountains. It was too dangerous to try and navigate through the crowded waterway in the dark. . .they would have to finish the trip in the morning. Bob swallowed the rest of his kofi and headed below decks, already mulling over the suggestions he would make to his employers when the barge finally reached shore.

 

________________________________

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Jeb the Junker -> raw materials, welding, large work space, miscellaneous machinery and possibly engines.

Bob the Frogman -> precision engineering, pressure hulls, breathing apparatus'

Bill the [TBA] -> [TBA]

Collect ALL the skill-sets :D.

Glad you know your diving, and that use of diving bells still requires decompression.

One tiny criticism, since deco takes longer the longer you are down, it would have been more logical if either Bob or his partner called up in stead of waiting for the guys at the surface to call down. Since there was nothing more to do, better go up and reduce the deco time.

Also, we need a map.

Where is Capitol city? Where is 'Grand Pennisula'? (Might you have misspelled 'peninsula'?)

Where is Jeb's place in relation to those?

Grab some paint and go wild:

http://i.imgur.com/GXLlgpl.jpg

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Heh - I just (mis)read Pennisula as Peninsula anyway. :) I'm guessing that it's the Africa shaped chunk of land (possibly even that whole continent) that KSC is on in-game, with Capitol City not a million miles from the KSC location.

Bill the money-kerbal by the looks of it, which is a nice twist on his usual role! Yeah - I'm liking the way the Original Three are presented here - very original.

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Jeb the Junker -> raw materials, welding, large work space, miscellaneous machinery and possibly engines.

Bob the Frogman -> precision engineering, pressure hulls, breathing apparatus'

Bill the [TBA] -> [TBA]

Collect ALL the skill-sets :D.

Glad you know your diving, and that use of diving bells still requires decompression.

One tiny criticism, since deco takes longer the longer you are down, it would have been more logical if either Bob or his partner called up in stead of waiting for the guys at the surface to call down. Since there was nothing more to do, better go up and reduce the deco time.

Also, we need a map.

Where is Capitol city? Where is 'Grand Pennisula'? (Might you have misspelled 'peninsula'?)

Where is Jeb's place in relation to those?

Grab some paint and go wild:

http://i.imgur.com/GXLlgpl.jpg

It's worth noting that Bill's the engineer, and he's stupid, while Bob's the scientist, and is smart. I guess Bob did change his course to oceanography instead of engineering.

I suspect Grand Peninsula is "Kerbafrica", judging from the mountains in the west and the tropical location of what would become the Kerbal Space Center. Capitol City, I presume, is probably about the same place as Hayoo's New Big City, just north of the little plateau of KSC.

Judging from the mountains in

, I suspect that Jebediah is west of the mountains, or perhaps north of them if closer to KSC. Point is, he's really close to the mountains, and I think this story seems to support that, with a mine being involved with Jeb's Junkyard.

I hope we get origin stories for Gene, Bobak, Linus, Mortimer, Wernher, Walt, and Gus.

- - - Updated - - -

Bill the money-kerbal by the looks of it.

No, Mortimer's the money guy!

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Oops. It looks like the forum's spellchecker skipped over "Pennisula" because I'd capitalized it. It's flagging it now though. Weird. The word processor I'm using doesn't have a spell check function, and it looks like the spell checker integrated into the forum doesn't always play nicely with the copy/paste process. Thanks for the heads up all. :)

One tiny criticism, since deco takes longer the longer you are down, it would have been more logical if either Bob or his partner called up in stead of waiting for the guys at the surface to call down. Since there was nothing more to do, better go up and reduce the deco time.

That's true, I'm taking a bit of creative license here. I remember reading that early astronaut candidates were placed in an isolation chamber and, after a period of sensory deprivation, subjected to loud noises to see how they'd react. This scene is kind of a play on that.

It's worth noting that Bill's the engineer, and. . .Bob's the scientist. . .

I hope we get origin stories for Gene, Bobak, Linus, Mortimer, Wernher, Walt, and Gus.

I'm afraid I'm running KSP version 0.23.5, so the professions and "economy" characters don't exist. Of the seven kerbals you mentioned, only Wernher is actually in game for me. And honestly, I almost never go into the science archives. I'm sorry Gregrox, but I don't think any of those seven are going to make an appearance.

-----

I may work on a map at some point, though I don't plan on geography being all that important to the story. Two quick questions though. . .

Is it okay to use maps from the Kerbalmaps site? I've seen other people do it, and I've been thinking about labeling landmarks on those maps later on in the story, but I can't find anything on the webpage about 3rd party use.

I'm trying very hard to "show, not tell" here, and I'm not quite finished laying my cards on the table yet, but I'm curious. . .why do you all think Grand Peninsula is the Africa continent?

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Oops. It looks like the forum's spellchecker skipped over "Pennisula" because I'd capitalized it. It's flagging it now though. Weird. The word processor I'm using doesn't have a spell check function, and it looks like the spell checker integrated into the forum doesn't always play nicely with the copy/paste process. Thanks for the heads up all. :)

The forum doesn't have a spell checker, some browsers (like chrome) do. It's not instant spell-check though, (I think Chrome uploads the text to Google for checking in the background)

Is it okay to use maps from the Kerbalmaps site? I've seen other people do it, and I've been thinking about labeling landmarks on those maps later on in the story, but I can't find anything on the webpage about 3rd party use.

I think it's meant to be used by as many people as possible.

I'm trying very hard to "show, not tell" here, and I'm not quite finished laying my cards on the table yet, but I'm curious. . .why do you all think Grand Peninsula is the Africa continent?

*cough*Not all, My most likely candidate is the peninsula in the inner sea north-west of the 'Africa' continent.

There are several other options, but those are all further away from the KSC location. I do expect the story to take place near KSC, given the economic distress of Kerbin and the strong suggestions that functional global transport options are currently lacking. We can't expect the Original Three to travel too far... (excluding unforeseen interesting plot developments... surprise me!)

You also mentioned the pipeline crossing an inner sea, as opposed to a (mountainous) northern overland route. There are several other peninsula's on Kerbin that fit that general description.

Using Kerbalmaps location coordinates:

30 -95 (the one north-west of 'Africa')

-25 13 (not 'Grand' though)

-35 108 (even less 'Grand')

35 144 (strategic location, unlikely to stay neutral during a WW)

Other peninsulas are either not located near inner seas, have no northern mountains to access another landmass, or are simply too strategic to have been able to stay neutral.

My money is on 30,-95.

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The Farlight

 

Kinsey Kerman hated bugs.

Big ones. Little ones. Biting ones! She slapped at the air, the gesture doing nothing to ward off the invisible swarm around her. The swamps and tidal plains around the pipeline complex were bad enough, but this was on a whole different level. They were going to need to requisition some insecticide for the next shipment, along with a hundred other things management hadn't thought to provide. It was going to be slow going, and that was the last thing her bosses wanted to hear.

Navigation lights winked overhead, to be answered in turn by the glowing wands of her ground crew as they guided the giant airship down towards the thin slip of airfield that had been clawed out of the island's foliage. With most of the local barges already under contract, these airships were the only way to get personnel and material to and from their work site. And despite their size, the delicate craft just couldn't carry very much. Kinsey sighed -- there had been a time, long ago, when great loads had been hefted skyward by graceful, winged machines of metal and wood. She'd seen the pictures, carefully tucked away in old history books. But that technology had been warped and twisted by war, a terrible march of "progress" that had eventually culminated in the infamous V-2.462 missile. The weapon had been produced en masse, its deadly accuracy made possible at the expense of the "volunteer" sealed inside it. The horrors of that weapon had burned deep into the psyche of civilized kerbals everywhere-- though balloons and light gliders were still commonly used, airships were tightly restricted. All other powered flight was technically illegal.

The drone of the motors faded, replaced by the whispering rustle and soft thumps of the mooring lines. The airship would be grounded soon. . .it was time to take inventory and figure out what needed to be included on the next shipment.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

They had all gathered in warehouse two, the large building little more than a roof and two walls intended to keep the worst of the weather off their supplies. The structure should have been filled with building material, construction equipment, shelters and food. And insecticide. Kinsey held her left arm still, brought her right arm over slowly, vented her wrath on a particularly greedy aphid. The loud smack echoed through the nearly empty warehouse. The airship had dropped off a single crate, and while it was a very large crate it was still only one crate.

Really, how was she supposed to work like this?

At first, Capitol City had turned a blind eye to the increase in sea traffic around the pipeline complex, content to sit back let the tax revenue come in. But the steady stream of skiffs, barges and work platforms had begun to crowd out the local fishermen, and there had been three major collisions over the last six months. What started as a small, government funded study had quickly ballooned into a major project. And from there, things had gotten truly ridiculous. Capitol City had laid claim to an island just off the coast, and had decided to solve the problem by building the largest lighthouse the world had ever seen. Or at least, the largest one they knew about. A group of contractors had been brought together to plan and draw up blueprints for the structure, and the new company had in turn hired Kinsey to over see the actual construction.

They'd gotten the work area cleared well enough, and had two warehouses now that could hold most of what they would need going forward. But the lighthouse itself was no where to be seen, the huge segments of pipe that would eventually form the outer shell having failed to materialize. Kinsey didn't know if that was because the pipeline complex was reluctant to give her company time on the extruder, or if Capitol City had just neglected to pay for the work. But she did know that they were supposed to be stacking the lighthouse sections by now, and at present they had no sections to stack.

But now, they had what was in the crate.

It was the capstone for the lighthouse, a sealed metal object that contained the spot lights and various other doodads that would make the massive tower worth having. The base of it was a wide, squat cylinder about as high as Kinsey was tall, which was mounted in turn to a truncated cone that narrowed towards the top. The whole thing had the shape of an instant noodle container that had been flipped upside down. Kinsey didn't know how it worked, only that it was Peninsulite technology and very, very heavy. And now they were going to have to store it and keep it safe while the lighthouse went up.

And that was just wonderful.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

Aleny Kerman loved bugs.

Big ones. Little ones. But, especially, the crunchy ones. He helped himself to another of the fried cicadas, popped it in his mouth, followed it up with a large wad of potato noodles. It was true that kerbals didn't need to eat, per se, but a solid portion of calories now and again did wonders for the mind. And with so many scientists and engineers flocking to the pipeline's growing community, the food carts and cafes had been multiplying at a satisfactory rate.

Aleny had made a point of trying all of them.

"So. . .mmmphm. As I was saying. . .crunch. . .I've done some small scale experiments. Slurhp. And it really does work!"

The other kerbal at the small table looked up from his notes and equations. "Aleny, please. Chew. Swallow. Talk. In that order." The tone was mild, the speaker more bemused than annoyed. Aleny was beginning to wonder if this Bob fellow ever got angry at anything. Judging from the amount of crossed out formula and furious scribbling on his papers, he had plenty to be angry about.

"Yes, sorry. As I was saying, it worked! I was able to send a short message to a receiver in a lab on the other side of the complex!"

"So. . .what? Like a telegraph?"

"Yes, but there was no wire! It's a wireless telegraph!"

Bob set his pencil down, scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "How are you planning on proving that?"

"I'll set up a demonstration! Two stations, one each to send and receive! I'll. . ."

"Aleny." Bob was giving him that look of his. . .Aleny glanced down at the handful of cicada that was halfway to his mouth. "Right, yes. Two stations. We'll have witnesses at both, and each. . .each will have sealed envelopes with identical letters inside! One station will open their message, send it, and then the receiving station will open theirs and compare. Then we'll assemble everyone so they can see that the two letters are identical!"

Bob tapped his pencil on the table, thought for a moment, shook his head. "It won't work Aleny, the news-sheets will say you ran a wire underground and faked the whole thing. Everyone's going to be very skeptical after that "self-heating metal" fiasco last year."

"But. . ."

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Bob pushed the platter of cicadas towards Aleny and went back to his notes. He had his own problems to worry about. The two were soon sitting in silence, save for the scratching of the pencil and the crunching of carapaces. The steam calliope at the edge of the town sounded out the hour, the harsh, bright tones carrying across the tenements and shops, the labs and warehouses, all the way down to the harbor. Aleny nudged Bob, the cafe growing loud and crowded with the shift change at the extruder. Bob gathered up his notes and followed Aleny out onto the street.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

The train huffed and sighed as it idled on the tracks, giving Jeb the impression of a mechanical beast anxious to return to its labors. William Kerman didn't seem to share the machine's impatience. He surveyed the mire adjacent to the track, took a long pull off the cigar, blew the smoke into the air with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I've swindled people before, but this may be the first time I've felt bad about it."

Jeb laughed, took in a quick lungful of the thick, humid air, smiled broadly. "It's fine, there's an opportunity out there. I can feel it." William took another pull off the cigar. He's just been saddled with a swamp full of garbage, and he's grinning like an idiot. This one's either completely off his tracks, or. . .

Then and there, he made a vow to never play poker with this particular kerbal.

There was a loud rap-rap-rap behind them, both kerbals turning to find William's assistant leaning out of the train, gesturing meaningfully at a pocket watch. The tycoon growled under his breath, pitched the nearly spent cigar to the ground and stamped it out. "Annoying woman. Don't know why I put up with her sometimes."

"Well, actually I might be looking to hire a capable assistant if. . ."

"Absolutely not!" The two laughed, William turning to look out at the swamp one last time.

"Anything else then?"

"I don't think so. Looks like your workers got my trundle unloaded okay. I think we're set. It's been a pleasure doing business with you William."

"Please son, " the tycoon took Jeb's hand in a firm handshake. "Call me Bill."

 

 

________________________________

 

 

Bob and Aleny ambled down the main thoroughfare, the warm sun energizing both of them despite the heat of the day. Bob was headed for the town's growing library, intent on finding some older engineering texts that he hoped would offer some answers. Aleny. . .well, Bob wasn't sure where Aleny was going.

"What about a balloon? I can put the wireless device in a balloon, and we can send the message back and forth from the balloon!"

"They'll say you ran a wire up the mooring line."

"Oh. Well. . .I'll wait for a still day then! No wind, no mooring line!"

"You must be cheating by sending signals up with flags or lights or something."

Aleny looked crestfallen, withdrew into silence, but kept up the pace. Bob knew it wouldn't be long before the scientist came up with another idea. He didn't know Aleny at all, had only met him through the forced necessity of sharing a table in the crowded cafe. But it had been this way from the beginning, everyone living and working in and around the complex so eager to share ideas and collaborate with complete strangers. It was a big change from the sharply competitive environment Bob was used to, and part of him was still struggling to adjust.

But, why not? Everyone here seemed so happy. The workers were happy, the researchers and the shop owners were happy. The children were happy, Bob having to suddenly dodge to one side to avoid being run over by a pack of kerblets headed in the direction of the park. He glanced over at Aleny to see if there had been a collision, and regretted it instantly.

"What about ships? We could put the device on a pair of barges, sail them around opposite sides of those islands out there! Surely, no one could say we'd used a wire then!"

"Hydrophones."

"Oh really, you are impossible!"

Then go bother someone else. But Aleny kept pace, mumbling to himself as we went along-- it wasn't long before he was smiling again. Happy as a kerbal in the sun. They turned a corner, the Kerbodyne air distillery looming at the other end of the street. The dense tangle of tanks and pipes squeezed large volumes of gas out of the air and ocean, some of it used to refine the swamp addle into fuel, some of it put to work in welders or even as lifting gas for the great airships flying out of Capitol City. It was dangerous work, yet even here there was mirth-- someone had adjusted the pipes so that they formed a crude smiley face near the top of the distillation tower. So much optimism. . .so much hope. Bob frowned, the equations bouncing around in his head with renewed vigor. He really needed to get to the library.

Aleny stopped, momentarily distracted by a strange hissing noise from the direction of the park. When he looked back over, his new friend Bob was gone, lost somewhere in the crowd. He started to head after him, then realized he had no idea where Bob had been headed. Oh bosh. He had been full of good ideas too. Aleny had in his hands the greatest discovery since the steam engine, he was sure of it! But, how to convince people to believe him? He plopped down on a bench, looked down at this hands. What was he going to do? How was he going to. . .

The toy rocket dropped into his hands with a hard slap, the spent powder charge inside it still smoking with a pungent, charred smell. Aleny yelped in surprise and then pain, made to drop the thing, something stopping him at the last moment. He turned it over, his hands still stinging from the impact, his eyes running over the bent nose cone, the broken tail fin.

"Hey mister! You found our rocket!" Aleny looked up, embarrassed, was quickly surrounded by the swarm of kerblets that had nearly bowled them over earlier. "Child, tell me. . ."

". . .where did you get this?"

 

 

________________________________

 

 

It was getting late, but there were still customers in the lobby waiting to be served. The clerk was tired, his cheerful facade fading with every petulant kerblet and overprotective parent. "Welcome to Kestes Model Rockets and Plush Toys, how can we put the fun back in your day?"

"Yes, hello. Um, I was wondering. . ."

The clerk took the toy rocket out of the kerbal's hands, noted the damage to the nose and tail. "Here, sir, you've packed the parachute incorrectly. If you'll follow the instructions that came with our quality product, I'm sure your next flight will be full of fun! Next!"

"What? Oh, I see, yes. . .wait, no! I was wondering, could you make it bigger?"

The clerk blinked once. Hard. "Our fine line of F series models is well suited to more advanced enthusiasts. They're the largest models we carry. You can find them over there. Next!"

"No! I mean, could you make it much bigger?"

The clerk sighed audibly, any chance of closing the shop on time rapidly slipping away. "Sir, we make all of our products in house and can handle custom orders, but they will be priced accordingly. How much bigger?"

"Much! Lots!"

"'Lots' bigger is 'lots' expensive sir. How are you planning on paying for this?"

Aleny waved the question off, fumbled for something in his pocket. "I'm sure my employer would be happy to pick up the tab. Here's. . .yes, here's my card."

The clerk took the business card reluctantly, nearly choked at the sight of the Probodobodyne logo. "Why, yes sir. . .I think we can accommodate you. Vern! VERN! I need you to come work the counter! Sir, if you'll follow me, we can start on the plans right away. . ."

 

________________________________

Edited by Ten Key
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Woot, new instalment :D.

Those were some horrible weapons :( (more like suicide-flying-bombs than 'missiles', but I get that the average working Kerbal doesn't know the difference).

I foresee widespread panic if anyone starts firing up rockets again...

"It was true that kerbals didn't need to eat, per se"

:D I KNEW it, they photosynthesize :D (though you could mention they do eat when young and growing, they do have a functional digestive tract for some reason right?)

AHA! William=Bill :D The financial guy. The set is complete, lets build some rockets :P.

Bob seems a lot like me: shooting holes in other peoples ideas with ease :P

Critic time! (if at any time you find my observations counter-productive for your creative process, please say so)

  • Airships don't require holding patterns, they have no need for continuous motion (unlike heavier-than-air craft, which need movement to make the wings work). Especially since weight and trim is so important they rather just float and maintain position (bow in the wind). Saves fuel and weight.
    You also might want to know that Airship fields only have some open space with one (or more) mooring tower(s).
    So if you start introducing heavier-than-air vehicles you should know that there ARE NO RUNWAYS present in the current infrastructure (or only very short ones for the gliders).
  • I recommend changing 'powered flight was strictly forbidden' -> 'heavier-than-air flight was strictly forbidden' since airships are powered (unlike balloons, which drift with the wind)
  • "Kestes Model Rockets..." What model? do they have full size rockets? In a Steam-electro time? Might want to call them 'Toy rockets' or 'rechargeable fireworks'...
  • There is a little discrepancy in Aleny's character. One moment he is the over-enthusiast naive-thinking brilliant scientist, and in the final section can apparently wave around cards and make big-money decisions on his own...
    I don't know how your Kerbal world works but judging from William (Bill), and how G-Peninsula can apparently play the world economy as a puppet using complex bureaucracy... Nowhere on Earth can scientists wave around with blanc cheques, especially not the naive-brilliant kind... Unless Probodobodyne has a very unique internal R&D culture. There is just some explanation/character development missing...

Edited by OrtwinS
bbcode typo
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Those were some horrible weapons :( (more like suicide-flying-bombs than 'missiles', but I get that the average working Kerbal doesn't know the difference).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaiten

I foresee widespread panic if anyone starts firing up rockets again...

Maybe, though this generation was born well after the war concluded. I'm trying not to get too bogged down in detail, but I have it in my head that the war would have been fought by the grandparents of the current cast, and they would have been fairly young at the time. This new generation has only read about the war in books, and doesn't necessarily have the same feelings about it that older generations did. You can see this a bit in the first scene-- Kinsey thinks on aircraft with longing, not fear.

Though you could mention they do eat when young and growing, they do have a functional digestive tract for some reason right?

. . .but a solid portion of calories now and again did wonders for the mind.

The above statement is a little more literal than it probably sounds. Expect more on this later. :)

Critic time! (if at any time you find my observations counter-productive for your creative process, please say so)

Not at all, it's flattering to think that someone liked the story enough to want to take the time to parse back through it and offer comments. And goodness knows, after fussing over this for so long I'm to the point where I'm reading it without really reading it, if that makes sense. I'm going to try to intersperse my replies into the spoiler list below. . .we'll see how well this works.

Airships don't require holding patterns, they have no need for continuous motion (unlike heavier-than-air craft, which need movement to make the wings work). Especially since weight and trim is so important they rather just float and maintain position (bow in the wind). Saves fuel and weight.

That's true, an airship wouldn't fly a holding pattern like a fixed-wing aircraft would. I suppose the phrase I want is "station keeping". But I have it in my head that the winds around the island shift with little warning, the airfield is small and crude, there's a pretty good sized mountain nearby and the airship has arrived right before sunrise. So the airship is maneuvering in response to the winds, trying to stay close enough to the airfield to communicate with lights and far enough away to keep clear of the mountain. It's waiting for an opening where there's more light and less wind. "Holding pattern" seemed like the best phrase to use without going into a ton of detail, but maybe I need to go back and change some words up.

You also might want to know that Airship fields only have some open space with one (or more) mooring tower(s). So if you start introducing heavier-than-air vehicles you should know that there ARE NO RUNWAYS present in the current infrastructure (or only very short ones for the gliders).

Yes, and even with fixed-wing aircraft a paved runway isn't always necessary. I almost used "aerodrome", but that word means different things to different people and "airfield" seemed more generic. There are runways, but they are very old and most are in very poor condition.

I recommend changing 'powered flight was strictly forbidden' -> 'heavier-than-air flight was strictly forbidden' since airships are powered (unlike balloons, which drift with the wind)

Ah, but gliders are heavier-than-air aircraft, aren't they? The engines are the problem, with a special exception made for airships. I think I'll change that line to read along the lines of "all other powered flight was strictly forbidden."

"Kestes Model Rockets..." What model? do they have full size rockets? In a Steam-electro time? Might want to call them 'Toy rockets' or 'rechargeable fireworks'...

I know, I know. :) Kestes Model Rockets and Plush Toys is a company in the Better Than Starting Manned mod, and they provide the very first rocket engines on the tech tree. A lot of what I'm doing here in these first chapters is setting the stage for the start of the gameplay progression. For example, one of the early parts mentions that it's a "KKII Surplus" component that came out of a war museum. And although it looks like this has been corrected in current versions of the mod, the version I'm using is heavily biased towards rockets-- the airplane parts and engines are pretty far up the tech tree and don't seem to serve much purpose. I felt I needed to answer the "why" of that.

That said, I don't imagine the concept of a rocket is unknown. Black powder rockets predate firearms, and they were certainly used during the "Great War". The problem wasn't the rocket itself, but rather how to control it.

There is a little discrepancy in Aleny's character. One moment he is the over-enthusiast naive-thinking brilliant scientist, and in the final section can apparently wave around cards and make big-money decisions on his own...

I don't know how your Kerbal world works but judging from William (Bill), and how G-Peninsula can apparently play the world economy as a puppet using complex bureaucracy... Nowhere on Earth can scientists wave around with blanc cheques, especially not the naive-brilliant kind... Unless Probodobodyne has a very unique internal R&D culture. There is just some explanation/character development missing...

Hmm. Certainly there is a risk here-- it wouldn't be the first time a reader saw something in a character that was the exact opposite of what I intended. I don't see it, but honestly I've been staring at this so long my brain may just be glossing over flaws without my realizing it. There is this bit though. . .

He didn't know Aleny at all, had only met him through the forced necessity of sharing a table in the crowded cafe. But it had been this way from the beginning, everyone living and working in and around the complex so eager to share ideas and collaborate with complete strangers. It was a big change from the sharply competitive environment Bob was used to, and part of him was still struggling to adjust.

There are a few other things at work here as well. Aleny isn't making a money decision. . .he's side stepping one because it's not important to him. I work with scientists and, well, let's just say they don't always seem to live on the same planet as the rest of us. :)

Also, Probodobodyne has money, and while they are under no obligation to make good on any promise Aleny makes, given the value of a working radio system they'll almost certainly play ball. And Kestes is a toy company. Their idea of expensive and Probodobodyne's idea of expensive are probably different by an order of magnitude. It would be like IBM or some other big corporation asking a model shop to put together a custom gizmo for a field project-- a windfall for the model shop, but perhaps a "petty cash" expense for the corporation.

I tried to convey that through the clerk's reaction to the business card, but maybe I didn't try hard enough?

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