[Writing] Comrades, Kerbals, and Countrymen, I bring news once again.

[UndeadInside]

Approximately twenty-one days ago, a lone Kerbal strapped himself into our rocket. Its progenitor we found mostly serviceable, minus the capsule, which we have been regrettably unable to rescue. We must take small steps, cautious steps, to reach our first souls brave enough to break free of Kerbin. So, with a new capsule out of due deference, we must touch the sky once more. This rocket was almost flawless. Flying high into the heavens, reliably shot and truly sent. Those next few, short bursts that launched us skyward brought the Mun tantalizingly close to our fingers. Twice our ship passed over the Mun, its Kerbal pressed nose to the helmet to the crew hatch in awe and amazement. Returning to Kerbin with smiles and amazing stories, a rabid chase for success was begun.

These are still but our early days - mistakes are expected - and they are frequent. There wasn't enough fuel to close our orbit. Our pilots weren't as familiar or experienced with orbitals as they should have been, a sore reminder to our children (and those hoping to enjoy all [charmingly] superfluous launch-day discussions) to pay attention to conic sections, astronomy, and so forth in school.

We have spoken with other technicians nearby us, and they have assisted our math and circular understanding. Our rocket gained an attribute this day. No longer the single, shining spear of our people piercing that starred veil, now, this vehicle resembled something more like a particularly red fish at the end of a spear.

Those first three triple-stacked ballistic outriggers made the vehicle ungainly. The ship spun in mighty circles, and strayed slightly to the left. The launch we were so accustomed to became a thing of the past as those shades of blue rolled past the crew hatch once again. Our technicians pored over the ship, searching this way and that for the cause of the wobble, the cause of the never-ending two-seventy list, and to cease the spin to save on cleaning duties inside Kerbal helmets.

Struts were added upon the vehicle's return. Another stack of solid fuel boosters were tacked onto the bottom, causing no end of nightmares for our logistical team, a myriad of troubleshooting fake launches, and possibly a drinking problem for an engineer. Finally, our second and third stacks of boosters sat on the launch pad. As the timers counted down, the crowd held their breath in a single mighty inhale, threatening to starve our boosters of much needed combustible material. Perhaps the viewing area should be moved further back to preserve the safety of both sides of the issue.

Ignition came, and our rocket soared skyward, the sun gleaming over the nose cone until again, that cursed leftward lean and spin set in. Luckily the engines of our craft were loud enough to block out the coarse and profane language that came spewing from the design team. Aborting this launch, and returning our slightly miffed Kerbal back to home, we set about our vehicle once again with hammers and spanners.

An idea came, and as it moved from brain to mouth, there was trepidation. Maybe it was the fact there were only three ballistic outriggers. Maybe - maybe we needed six.

Could we? Should we? The last time we did such a thing, well, the memorial to those three still stands out front, its cast metal almost cooled.

After deliberation, we decided that the best course of action would be to attach these extra three outriggers. Three outriggers, twenty seven boosters. It was almost serendipitous.

Launch day came again, and as the launch pad became a source of heat that would make the sun blush, our rocket sped skyward. Monitoring instruments, we marveled. Gone is the wobble! Gone is the list! The spin, well, the spin adds flair and a punch of panache anyhow - helmet cleaning costs be damned.

Our orbit set nicely, and, lo and behold, the entirety of our original rocket was now in orbit above Kerbin. The Mun would answer. The Mun would know Kerbal feet, Kerbal hands, and possibly Kerbal hindquarters if a landing were botched.

Alas, our lack of skill with things round had come to haunt us at this point. The Mun sailed by our window, but in the distance, we saw something else. A target equally reachable, equally attainable, and easily twice the glory!

The circles were slap-dash smashed together once again, and all thrusters were set to overheat. Minmus loomed behind our rocket, the Kerbal inside gazing through the window at an alien landscape as it neared, and thankfully, mashing the counter burn on our deorbital rocket. At three thousand meters, we deployed our ingenious near-exact proximity estimator and decoupled the deorbital thruster and its component fuel tank to the ground. Two thousand kilometers passed before a thunderous boom announced the near-coming to any indigenous life on Minmus.

Landing feet, never before used, and still shiny from their packaging extended as RCS thrusters sputtered.

One thousand meters, and the whole of creation could have held its breath.

There was a thud, a whizz, a thud, a scream, a whizz, and a final thud before nothingness.

Jubilation ensued as our past came to haunt us. Was there enough fuel for a return trip? Our brave Kerbal wasn't pleased with the notion of a fate similar to his three predecessors. After a brief sojourn to scout which yielded soil samples and a particularly shiny rock, he pressed the button and aimed the nose home.

As an incredibly long orbit finally made itself apparent, we checked the fuel gauge. Half a tank left. Half a tank left to get him home. The apex of the ellipse was aimed for, and the Overheat button smashed hard enough to dent the console.

The orbit shrank steadily. Our fellow engineers had told us of this possibility, and we had half-heeded. Now, as half a tank of fuel was all that remained between shame and success, we might have half wished we listened harder. With a sputtering gasp, and the tiniest sliver of fuel detectable, the orbit collapsed on the far side of Kerbin. The hours passed, the vessel drifting through space until capsule and parachute decoupled, and brought our brave Kerbal home.

[Duxwing]

Great! Just great! I would go a little lighter on the lacrymose language, though. It's beautiful, but think of it like bold; it emphasizes a certain section by making it of a different style. Imagine if you wrote your entire story in bold: the effect would be at first good, then become annoying, and then finally be ignored entirely. Doing so also alters the rhythm of the story because graceful sentences tend to 'stop' the rhythm for a while (hence the emphasis) and cause the reader to ponder what you just said. However enthralling as that possibility may be, sometimes you just have to say, "See Spot run. Run, Spot!" so that you can continue presenting the story.

-Duxwing

[UndeadInside]

Thank ya, thank ya. Not ashamed to say that I had to Google that. I wrote the story immediately after it happened, and may have been at an emotional high of sorts. I liked the feel of the silly yellow journalism manner from the last one, and wanted to keep running with it. Now that I think about it, I should have just tacked this onto the last one.

[DarkFromWK]

Awesome! I love how you write these things. More, Please!