Rendezvous With Karma

[Lar-E]

Rendezvous With Karma

Sort of a Space Odyssey

Written by Lar-E (me)

I

Karma slipped quietly and unobtrusively into the Kerbol sphere of influence, like a 10th level halfling thief doing a little recreational breaking-and-entering into the lair of a myopic and rather deaf semi-retired old dragon.

It passed unnoticed through the orbit of Eeloo. The duty officer at the Tracking Station that day was Emmyloo Kerman, and she was still recovering from the after-effects of attending an all-night rave. She had a wicked Bubbly Bounce Beverage hangover, and when the tiny distant object popped up on her radar screen, she was busy trying to remember the name of the handsome young kerbal she had given her phone number to the previous night. (Jub? Jab? Jib? He'd said that he was a kerbonaut...)

The object passed discreetly through the orbit of Jool, still unseen and unremarked. The duty officer that day was Ludfurt Kerman; he hadn't noticed anything in twenty-five years as a tracking officer and he wasn't about to start now.

Gaining speed as it fell inward, the object slipped through the orbit of Dres, the Tracking Station still blissfully unaware. Rodblat Kerman, a political appointee, was duty officer of the day; and quite frankly, Rodblat Kerman wouldn't have noticed a 10,000 metric ton boron steel asteroid if it had made an impact crater right in the middle of his pointy little green head.

The object was finally noticed as it crossed inbound past Duna. The Tracking Station was manned that shift by Trudat Kerman, an unpaid intern and an astronomy doctoral student at the Kerbin Mail-Order Institute of Technology, who had been banished to the Tracking Station after annoying his thesis adviser one time too many.

“Holy macaroni!â€Âexclaimed Trudat, excitedly knocking his coffee over onto a fantastically expensive high-tech console. “What the heck is that thing?â€Â

“Ohboyohboyohboy!†Trudat gibbered happily to himself as he mopped up the spilled coffee and discreetly hung an 'Out of Order' sign on the billion-bitkoin console. The odds were slim that he'd actually discovered a new comet, but he was excited despite himself. Stranger things, Trudat reminded himself, as he forwarded the object's telemetry over to the mainframe at Kouston, had happened.

*

The mainframe dutifully received the incoming data, stopped what it was doing, and proceeded to calculate trajectories and intercepts for the unidentified object for the next six thousand years or so, as if it had nothing better to do with its time.

The mystery object appeared to be neither imminently dangerous nor edible, so the mainframe assigned it an identifying number, stored it away in its memory banks, and went back to playing Ketris. The computer was on the verge of achieving a new high score, a number so big that it could only be expressed using scientific notation.

*

Trudat's thesis adviser had said “Go to the Tracking Station and study comets for a while. Call me if you find anything interesting.†Upon reflection, Trudat Kerman figured the professor probably hadn't mean that last part literally.

“Tell me again,†asked Professor Kerman grimly, "why you woke me up at three in the morning to tell me you discovered a new comet?†He had been up late entertaining a pair of undergrads, and was not in the mood for any guff from Trudat.

“I don't think it's a comet!†exclaimed Trudat, eyes bulging with excitement.

“OK, so it has an unusually high surface albedo. Do you have any other reason to believe this is something other than an exceptionally shiny chunk of rock?â€Â

Trudat was hopping from one foot to the other. “Professor, comets don't usually make course corrections!â€Â

The professor yawned and scratched his bald pate. “Alright,†he said. “Let's wake up Gene Kerman. I'll make the phone call. If you're wrong,†the professor smiled coldly, “It's test-pilot school for you.â€Â

*

They named the object "Karma", after one of Trudat Kerman's ex-girlfriends. Well, not really an ex-girlfriend. More of a rendezvous-turned-friend-turned-friend-with-benefits... it's complicated.

"We can just scrape together enough delta-v to arrange an intercept inside the orbit of Moho," Gene Kerman said importantly, "But I'm afraid that due to budgetary constraints, we can't do a return flight. Whoever flies this mission is buying himself a one-way ticket." He eyed Bill Kerman pointedly.

"I know just the man for the job," Bill said hastily. "Jebediah Kerman!"

"Hmm," said Gene. "Bring the sneaky little pimento stuffed olive to me!"

Liftoff!!

Buckle your harness, fold your hands, and place them in your lap.

Don't Touch Anything.

Have a Nice Flight.

End Part One

***

Edited January 31, 2014 by Lar-E

[Lar-E]

RENDEZVOUS WITH KARMA

II

"Kerbin?! Sheeoot... I'm still only on Kerbin?"

Jeb had been planet-side a week now, waiting for a mission, and he was starting to get twitchy. He was doing some mandatory R&R, camping and fishing in the upper reaches of the Kong river.

Jebediah Kerman wanted a mission, and on a whim they gave him one. It was a real choice mission, and by the time it was over, he'd already want another.

One of the many duties in the job description of 'Unpaid Intern' at the Kerbal Space Program is 'Gofer', so they sent Trudat Kerman up the river to fetch Jeb. Not that he was particularly hard to find: Trudat simply followed a trail of empty Bubbly Bounce Beverage containers, Cheesy Poof wrappers, smoke, and the sound of explosions.

"Incredibly dangerous? Half-baked? Under-engineered? Poorly thought out? Practically suicide? Woo-hoo! Count me in!" Jeb whooped and tossed another live grenade into the river.

'Better him than me,' thought Trudat, wisely covering his ears as the grenade burst underwater, adding significantly to the number of dead and stunned fish already floating on the surface of the water. 'Better him than me,' he repeated to himself just for emphasis.

*

"Blah-de-boring-blah-blah-boring..."

Gene Kerman was droning on and on about stupid dull technical stuff: vectors and trajectories and intercepts and all that. Jeb fidgeted and fussed in his chair. Why couldn't he just blast off already?

"...so you'll rendezvous with Karma near periapsis, well inside the orbit of Moho. If all goes well with that encounter, and you don't fly too close to the sun and get burned to a crisp, we'll arrange a rescue flight on your outward-bound trajectory." It may have been a trick of the light, but the flight director's nose seemed to be getting longer and longer. "Jebediah Kerman, have you been listening to a single word I said?"

Jeb blinked two or three times and grinned idiotically. "Rendezvous means 'Around Yous'", he declared wisely.

"OK, now lets talk crewing," said Gene.

"Bob is my co-pilot," Jeb announced happily.

"I can be CapCom for this one," Bill said hurriedly, wincing as Bob kicked him viciously in the shin.

"Hmm," mused Gene, "We still need a command module pilot. What about that geeky little Lima bean over there?"

"ME??" asked Trudat, aghast. "I don't know the first thing about flying a space ship."

"Never stopped Jeb," Bill commented.

*

The Macho Burrito towered above the kerbonauts in the Vehicle Assembly Building. As usual, the immense rocket looked as though it had been assembled out of parts scavenged from a scrap yard by an overly-ambitious but underly-talented troop of Boy Sprouts. You know, the special troop.

“So?†Wernher Von Kerman asked, preening like a big green peacock, “Vhat do you think?â€Â

“It looks an awful lot like the old Chimichanga.†said Bob.

Von Kerman was crestfallen. “Ja, vell, ve did give it a fresh coat of paint...†He perked up. “Hey, here comes Gilrim Kerman mit his fuel truck! Can I interest anyvone in an asbestos suit?â€Â

“Oh my, look at the time!†said Bob. “We're late for our pre-flight briefing in the ready room...â€Â

*

All puffed up with self-importance, Bill Kerman stood at the front of the ready room, looking healthy and green.

“Alright fellows, you all know the drill: sit down, fasten your harness, and Don't Touch Anything!†Bill looked pointedly at Jeb, who was fidgeting and staring vacantly up at the ceiling. “Now lets all have a nice safe mission. I'd be going with you if I could, but my lumbago's been acting up a lot lately... Any questions?â€Â

Trudat Kerman waved his hand urgently in the air.

“Your space suit comes with built-in plumbing,†Bill said. “Good luck up there guys.â€Â

*

Bob, Jeb, and Trudat rode the elevator up the launch tower, and walked across the gantry to the waiting command module. The three kerbonauts looked glum and resigned; manically excited, and terrified beyond belief. In that order.

The countdown proceeded remorselessly, the seconds falling away like leaves off a shoddily manufactured K-Mart [no relation] wall calendar. Trudat Kerman tested the integrity and capacity of his space suit plumbing.

Jebediah Kerman was in his element: strapped into a flimsy seat atop a hundred tons of spot-welded aluminum, containing the most volatile explosive mixture Wernher Von Kerman could siphon off from other, better-funded agencies. He grinned like an idiot, his finger reaching out inexorably toward the shiny red LAUNCH button.

“I'm s-scared,†Trudat said to Bob. “I'm not sure this is a good idea at all.â€Â

“It's not,†Bob replied. “I advise you do what I do.â€Â

“What's that?â€Â

“Panic.â€Â

And that is exactly what they did.

Jebediah Kerman finally succumbed to temptation and pressed the LAUNCH button a full two minutes ahead of schedule, and the Macho Burrito leapt into the skies of Kerbin, riding a pillar of flame high, high, high into the air, failing (rather to the disappointment of the crowd of onlookers) to explode into a million tiny pieces.

“Yahoo!†bellowed Jeb, “We’ve got a date with Dharma!â€Â

“Er, that’s ‘Karma’, Jeb.â€Â

“Whatever.â€Â

Stage Separation Confirmed

End Part Two.

Edited February 7, 2014 by Lar-E

[Lar-E]

RENDEZVOUS WITH KARMA

III

“Call me Ishmael.â€Â

“Why the @#$%& should we call you ‘Ishmael’?†Bob snapped. “Your stupid name’s stupid Jeb!â€Â

“Sheesh, I just thought it sounded cool, OK?â€Â

It had been a long and boring flight (despite Jeb’s seemingly endless supply of ‘knock-knock’ jokes), and tempers were running a little thin. The only excitement had been at the mid-trajectory course correction, where a viscious name-calling argument had broken out over whether the directions meant ‘our left’ or ‘their left’, and what ‘those stupid little yellow wingdings’ on the navball meant.

They finally had a visual on their target. It was, in fact, a spaceship. An enormous, bizarre alien spaceship.

“It’s enormous!â€Â

“It’s bizarre!â€Â

“Where are all the boosters?â€Â

“Where are the struts?â€Â

“What the heck kind of stupid name is ‘Usa’?â€Â

“Maybe it’s pronounced ‘oosa’.†Trudat suggested helpfully.

“Cool!†exclaimed Jeb. “Let’s all go EVA and check it out!!â€Â

“Um, Jeb, don’t regulations require at least one kerbonaut to stay with the ship at all times?â€Â

“Ah, what are safety protocols for if not for flouting?â€Â

Bob did not disagree.

*

Karma was long and cylindrical, with what looked like engines at one end, and what was presumably an airlock at the other (“Party at one end, business at the other!†said Jeb. Bob dope-slapped him.) The skin of the craft was smooth and white, with a series of ribs near the equator, presumably for her pleasure.

Kerbol flared huge and hot in the middle distance as the kerbonauts slipped like lemming out of the Macho Burrito, their odds of getting cancer tripling, and their health insurance rates simultaneously quintupling, as they were exposed to the harsh, unshielded solar radiation.

The three kerbonauts floated, like an exceptionally disorganized herd of cats, toward the front of the alien craft. Jeb rested lightly on a delicate-looking control surface, just under a sign that read “NOT A STEPâ€Â.

“Open the pod bay doors, Bobâ€Â

“I’m sorry Jeb, I’m afraid I can’t do that.â€Â

“Right. I thought you might say that. So I came prepared!†said Jeb, pulling from his space-backpack a blowtorch, tinsnips, a come-along, a crowbar, a cold chisel, a lump hammer, a slimjim, and a jaws-of-life.

“We could just try the handle,†suggested Trudat.

“Killjoy,†responded Jeb sourly.

Bob pulled the handle, and the great airlocks swung open, smoothly and silently. Just as if they had been designed for that express purpose or something.

“Oh my God, it’s full of stars!†said Jeb, his nose buried deep in the dog-eared copy of ‘Kollywood Unclothed’ that he kept on his person at all times.

“Oh come on,†said Bob. “We used that joke in the last story!â€Â

“Wait a second,†said Trudat, aghast. “You mean people actually read this tripe?!â€Â

Stage Separation Confirmed.

End Part Three

[Xacktar]

The duty officer that day was Ludfurt Kerman; he hadn't noticed anything in twenty-five years as a tracking officer and he wasn't about to start now.

Hehehe. I'm liking this.

[Lar-E]

RENDEZVOUS WITH KARMA

IV

“Shouldn’t we get permission from CapCom before we go inside?†asked Trudat.

“Just between you and me,†Jeb said confidentially over his space suit radio, “Old Bill’s a bit of a stick in the mud. Kind of a pansy really.â€Â

Bob did not disagree. “Let’s do it!â€Â

The inside of Karma appeared remarkably similar to the inside of a kerbal space ship, only on a rather larger scale of course, and equipped with much more modern and sleek high-tech gear: there were LCD screens, laptop computers, digital gauges, and heads-up displays all over the place. The most shocking difference was absence of clutter. The alien spaceship was completely lacking in fuzzy dice, empty Cheesy-Poof wrappers and Bubbly Bounce Beverage containers; pine-tree-shaped air fresheners, graffiti, sticky notes, adult magazines, assorted litter, crumpled and mis-folded delta-v maps, underwear, and odd stockings. The unnatural order and cleanliness was disorienting.

“According to this,†said Bob, studying the read-out on his portable music player carefully, “the air in here is safe to breath. We can take off our space suits.â€Â

“My friend,†said Jeb, “I never take off my space suit.â€Â

“Never?†asked Trudat.

“Never ever,†confirmed Jeb emphatically.

Karma was rotating slowly on her long axis, generating a kind of pseudo-gravity that was definitely not for the feint of stomach (i.e. Bob and Trudat). Jeb remained unfazed by the Coriolis, or any other effect. He wandered happily through the interior of the alien space ship, exploring deeper and deeper inside, touching things he probably shouldn’t, and pilfering the odd office supplies.

Toward the back, inside three monstrous high-tech sarcophagi, the aliens lay supine, slumbering deep in cryogenically-induced hibernation. Or possibly just dead. The creatures were hideous; tall and gangly, with unnatural-looking pink and/or brown skin, beady little piggy eyes, and five fingers on each hand. They definitely looked as if they might be willing to try eating kerbal, given the slightest opportunity.

In space, no one can hear you scream. Unless, you know, you leave your mic hot, with smart repeaters broadcasting every word you say across half the solar system. In that case, everyone can hear you scream.

“ALIENS!! LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!†hollered Jeb, and the other two followed suit, jetting helter-skelter, pell-mell, roly-poly back to the Macho Burrito in a very poor imitation of a calm tactical retreat.

The kerbonauts sealed their own airlock and initiated a burn, essentially at random, heading (as Bob said) “Anywhere but here!â€Â. They sped away from the alien spaceship, leaving behind no clue that kerbals had ever visited, except for a few Cheesy-Poof crumbs, a lingering smell of kethane, some greasy fingerprints, a dog-eared skin magazine, and the words “JEBEDIAH KERMAN WUZ HERE†scrawled across the screen of an LCD monitor in indelible green crayon.

*

As she approached periapsis, Karma began to maneuver. Her great engines, long cold and dormant, silently ignited and, milking the Oberth effect for all it was worth, she accelerated away in a huff, vectoring off on the most direct trajectory she could calculate, straight out of this ridiculous little star system.

The three kerbonauts watched as the tiny point of light faded into the distance.

“So that was first contact,†said Jeb, idly twiddling his newly-acquired NASA ballpoint pen (which didn’t write in zero-G any better than the KSP ones).

“Kind of an anticlimax, really,†said Bob.

“Oh well,†said Trudat. “You know what they say about Karma...â€Â

The other two looked at him expectantly. “What’s that?â€Â

“Nice girl, good kisser, but not real s-a-m-r-t.â€Â

Stage Separation Confirmed

The End

(did you remember to pack parachutes, Lima-bean head?)

Edited January 31, 2014 by Lar-E

[KSK]

Lol, I can just picture the scene 10 years later.

"OK Houston, drive is safed, life support systems are nominal. OK, that's strange. The flight log indicates unexplained ingress through Pod bay alpha."

"Yeah we're thinking a glitch too Houston. It's not like anyone was likely to drop in and say howdy."

Crew member approaches carrying a dog-eared, mildewed and somewhat sticky magazine in a pair of (thoroughly) sterilized tongs.

"One moment Houston."

"Ohhhhhh K. Houston we have a positive diagnostic on Pod bay alpha. Trust us - you're not going to believe this..."

[Xacktar]

*Spray paints 'XAKCTAR WUZ HERE' on the thread.*

[DJEN]

*Spray paints 'XAKCTAR WUZ HERE' on the thread.*

You vandal! People like you are the BANE of SOCIETY!