The Final Option - Mun landing and return, KSP 1.0 demo

[SiriusRocketry]

So I had a challenge idea: land on the Mun and return with demo parts. This means no gimbal, no liquid fuel engines other than LVT-30, no control surface fins etc. Along the way, I got rather attached to Jeb, and built a story around this mission: why is he alone? Why are the parts so primitive? What drove him to spend a space visit locked up in a conical metal box? So here it is:
 

The story of one kerbal.

One Mun.

One destiny.

For Jebediah Kerman, this is...
 

The Final Option

 

 

 

Stay tuned for the prologue!

Edited January 29, 2020 by SiriusRocketry
sty is for pigs; stay is for staying tuned

[RealKerbal3x]

@SiriusRocketry Welcome back! Looking forward to seeing where this goes

[KerballingSmasher]

10 hours ago, RealKerbal3x said:

@SiriusRocketry Welcome back! Looking forward to seeing where this goes

who said he ever left? 

 

[SiriusRocketry]

Alright, here's the prologue. This'll be a primarily story based report with some pictures thrown in. I do apologise for the small size of the prologue; subsequent chapters will hopefully be a bit longer. Each chapter will have a leitmotif, which is a bit of music that describes the writing, and one in all likelihood that I was listening to or provided the main inspiration during that particular chapter. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

 

 

Prologue

Leitmotif: https://youtu.be/pfA5UqEU_80

 

It was precisely 7:13 AM when Jebediah Kerman’s world ended.

At the time, he was zipped into his specialized heat-conserving tent, 3,470 meters above sea level near the peak of Mt. Marker, within sight of the township of Shoreton, and his workplace, the legendary (or not so much anymore) Kerbal Space Center. However, he was camping behind an outcropping on the western edge of the lower slopes, and so had no view, except that of a ochre-streaked, pointed cliff face directly opposite. Jeb was an avid mountaineer, and had shot to fame by climbing 6,764m to the peak of Mount Melancholia, the tallest mountain on Kerbin. This, of course, was before his hot-headed and reckless younger self signed up to be bolted into manned cruise missiles and shot onto various sub-orbital trajectories around Kerbin. He’d retired from active corps duty three years ago- too much strain on the old back, being compressed under 12 G’s- but had taken up an advisory role on the KSC’s directorial board. Fat lot of good that did, thought Jeb bitterly, nine years we’ve been blasting those bloody things away, and what? Four manned orbits, and a couple probes to Mun and Minmus, which have all stopped working now, of course. Our technology is a shambles. We’ve got one viable liquid fueled engine, for Kraken’s sake! The military’s weapon tests have been to space more than we have!

And unfortunately, it was the truth. Kerbin’s nuclear missile program had heated up recently: Lusikrantz to the north had 250 missiles, Jeb’s own nation of the United Kerbinai Republic had about 400, and the crazy eastern stand-up guys in Kolusia were rumored to have tested a ‘super-yield’ bomb, twenty times more powerful than the UKN’s biggest. And that wasn’t even half the threats pointed at Kerbalkind: the civil war in Lusikrantz had some pretty nasty biological bombs being lobbed around, and the mineral drilling off the Alverian coast had caused that 200-meter tsunami a couple years back. Rumor had it at least fifty thousand square miles of the coastline were still flooded. No wonder the scientists had moved the Big Ticker’s hands to fifteen seconds before lunch. Lunch being the metaphorical date that the entire Kerbal species was taken out for ‘lunch’, although what lunch was, nobody knew for sure. Probably best if I stick to the mountains for now, Jeb chuckled inwardly. 

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a ear-burning whine, coming from somewhere above his head. Curious and more than a little terrified, Jeb poked his head out of the tent’s front flap, and peeked over the nearest outcrop just in time to see the sky turn from the lightening mauve of early dawn, to a searing, cold white light. All the microhairs on his skin stood on end. Suddenly, there was a distant boom, like the clap of a giant audience, and Jeb was bowled over, cracking his head against a rock and screaming as the lights behind his eyes went out.

 

White. Blink. Snow, cold, orange. Blink. Tent, rock, cliff. Jebediah Kerman, Jr. sat up and rubbed his eyes, massaging his head as he did so. Aw, sap. What on Kerbin happened? he wondered aloud as he shuffled back to his seemingly undamaged tent to collect his supplies. Unzipping the front flap and clutching the threadbare straps of his climbing kit bag, he groped around for the retractor strap that would compact the tent and allow it to fit in his backpack. He grabbed the little red strap at the same moment his right foot slipped. The involuntary reaction caused him to yank the strap while his head was still enclosed in the tent, which instantly closed around Jeb’s head, exactly as the bag had been designed. 

 

After a shout and a couple of choice words, Jeb’s first correctly marshalled thought was:
Great job, dingus, killed by a tent after a possibly extinction-level event. The Kraken’ll be having a ripe old laugh at that once you get up to Kerballa’s emerald gates.
His second, slightly more practical thought was:
Right. You’ve only got about three minutes of oxygen in here, but it’s only covering your head. Grab the strap with your hand, and release the tent.
A good plan, if truth be told. There was one major flaw, however; he couldn’t see his hands. With immense difficulty, he moved his now shrink wrapped head downward, eyes scanning the orange tinted fabric for a sign of his body. Wait! There! An ill-defined shadow! A hand, maybe? He told his brain to flex his fingers, and the shadow contracted and expanded. *Yes. Definitely a hand. Now, how do I use that hand to get me out? Where’s the tab from here? Jeb’s hand brushed up and down the fabric, probing any gap for a strap hidden in the folds. The air was definitely getting thinner now, Jeb realized, and his head began to feel fuzzy, the symptoms of early-onset oxygen deprivation. Desperately, he clutched at the fabric, scratching and flailing at every square inch.
Damn it to Bop! It’s hopeless. Better make peace with-
Jeb’s heart skipped a bit as his fingertips glided over a rectangular shape.
The..strap…
 

Jeb felt like he was thousands of meters under water. His vision was gone, his face was numb, and he was dimly aware of his own pained gasps. With all his might, he grabbed the strap… and yanked.

In about half a second, the text expanded outwards, expelling Jeb from its confines. Jeb himself flew back and landed flat on his back for the second time that day. Wheezing with exhaustion, Jeb laid a hand across his chest, heaving, and struggled to his feet, whispering half-formed curses with his not quite recovered vocal chords. He gently pulled the tent’s deflation flap, stuffed the resulting flat-packed rhombus unceremoniously into his bag, and hoisted himself over the treacherous rocky outcropping, shocked at the sight that met his eyes.

Shoreton was gone.

Not a single nuclear crater, no buildings, not even a single body. It was as if civilization had been plucked from his immediate field of view, with only the great sentinel of the KSC’s VAB watching on the horizon. It was an ineffable sight, to lose your home and everything you took for granted so inexplicably that no trace of it ever having existed was left behind. A normal kerbal probably would have cried their eyes out or have been reduced to gaping openly at the horizon for at least an hour. Jeb, being the pragmatist, shook himself from his reverie after a few seconds (okay, maybe minutes) of dumbstruck staring, and began the trip down to the base camp in the foothills 2,600m below, where he’d parked his 4x4 three.. Days? How long had it been? He had been knocked out on the morning of the third day, and it has presumably been late afternoon when he had first awoken: who’s to say he hadn’t slept for two days? Or two *months?* Sighing under the weight of all his uncertainties, Jebediah Kerman, Jr. began the long trek down Mt. Marker, heading to the last familiar place left in Shoreton, and for all he knew the entire planet: his trek towards survival was also, unbeknown to him, a trek towards his destiny.

[SiriusRocketry]

Right, so in the recent furore surrounding the KSP writing community, I returned here and noticed the 'old thread addendum'. I originally began this solely as a mission report, but to my chagrin, this little continuity and canon spiralled out of control, and I found myself writing a little story to accompany the screenshots. Now, this is no behemoth novel - at most, the planned draft of an outline calls for five to six chapters, with a maximum word count of 6-10k. Internally, I have a reputation for starting stories and losing motivation to finish them: I've set myself a goal of finishing this by the end of 2020. Perhaps then I can reinvigorate my writer's instincts to produce something more ambitious. I'm seeing The Final Option as the opposite of final: a battleground to recapture my writing mojo and inspiration, no matter how poor the writing may be in my eyes. 

For now, I'm focused on finishing the draft of the second chapter. I fly back home to New Zealand on June 1st - I want to finish the chapter and have it posted by then. 

TL;DR The story isn't dead, although the screenshot will be reduced thanks to hosting issues. Hopefully people haven't wandered off in disinterest by now (not that I'd blame them after more than three months). 

[KerballingSmasher]

*gasp* YOU'RE SAYING WE GET ONE LAST STORY??? *happy*