When We Were Lemmings

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

(formerly ‘From Kerbin to the Mun’ The story, as Professor T said, grew in the telling)

(Slightly Re-Vised, Re-Dacted, Re-Edited, Re-Named, Re-Submitted, and Re-Posted in a new Easy-To-Read â„¢ format!)

*Now! With an all-new Afterward â„¢ written exclusively by the author, available free, at no extra charge!! (plus shipping and handling)*

*(contains less than 5% new content)*

Sort of a Space Odyssey

Staring Major Jebediah Kerman

With the Reluctant Participation of Bill and Bob Kerman and a cast of thousands*.

(*May not actually include cast of thousands)

Written, posted, ripped-off, and plagiarized by Lar-E (me)

***

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part I: The Right... um, er, ah, Stuff?

President John F Kerman stood in front of the assembled Kerbal Kongress. A motley crew indeed. The place reeked of perspiration and cheap aftershave.

“Avocados,†he muttered to himself, “Booger-Eaters. Rabble-rousers. Can’t even tie their own ties. A bunch of mindless political hacks who would sell their own mothers to the Kraken if they thought it would help them get elected.â€Â

The President's words boomed through the somewhat-tastefully decorated post-neoclassical hall of power. “Er, Mr. President,†an aide whispered, “That mic is hot.â€Â

None of the Kongressmen noticed. They were too busy picking their noses, checking their voice mails, negotiating the sales of their mothers, accepting bribes from aerospace industry lobbyists, and pretending to admire (while secretly sneering at) the knots in each others' ties.

President Kerman tapped on the mic, sending painful waves of feedback echoing through the auditorium. Aggrieved and injured Kerbals clutched their ears and looked resentfully up toward the podium.

The President was in his element. His handsome green skin gleamed with confidence. He blinked as several dozen flashbulbs went off at once. His stomach growled. What would he have for lunch?

“My Fellow Kerbals,†he began, “I believe that this nation should commit itself to the goal, before next week is out, of landing a Kerbal on the Mun!†More flashbulbs. Thunderous applause. The aide whispered in Kerman’s ear. “And, ah,†the President went on, “Returning him safely to Kerbin!†His last words were lost in the applause and general hubub.

President Kerman’s stomach growled again. So hungry! He was sick and tired of peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches. What should he have for lunch?

A journalist raised his hand. “Mr. President, what will the name of this new space program be?â€Â

“A ham and cheese sandwich,†The hungry president mused.

The next day, the newspaper headlines screamed “HAM AND CHEESE TO GO TO THE MUN!!â€Â

*

The mood in the kerbonaut ready room was glum. The boys had just finished their tour of the Vehicle Assembly Building, and Bob and Bill were not impressed. Wernher Von Kerman had proudly shown them what they had at first assumed was a hastily built, rough scale model of a prototype spacecraft. Perhaps this was a piece of conceptual artwork, or a backyard toy for the local Boy Sprout troop. The thing appeared to have been thrown together with plywood, aluminum foil, and bailing wire.

Von Kerman quickly disabused them of any optimistic illusions as he proudly showed off his creation, the Ham and Cheese I, its paint still tacky and the whole contraption smelling strongly of fresh sawdust and Bondo.

“Um, where is the center of thrust?†asked Bill.

“And what is the specific ISP of those... er, are those supposed to be engines?†put in Bob.

“You fellows ask such interesting questions!†beamed Von Kerman.

“What safety features does this thing have? What happens in the event of a structural failure or an abort?†asked Bill.

“Is there going to be an escape tower or an ejection seat or parachutes or anything?†asked Bob.

“You young fellows use such big words!†Von Kerman said happily, “Such fine vocabulary! The tour is over. I really must get back to work. After all, tomorrow is Launch Day!â€Â

Back in the ready room, Bob and Bill looked at each other and shook their heads. What poor sap was going to get stuck flying in that monstrosity?

The toilet flushed with a space-age roar, and Jebediah Kerman came out of the bathroom, wearing his customary idiotic grin. The zipper on his flight suit was wide open, and a toilet paper flag waved merrily from the bottom of his space-boot.

“Hi guys! Did I miss anything?â€Â

*

“This is a test flight,†Bill explained to Jeb, “You'll be blasting off into Low Kerbin Orbit.â€Â

“That means you'll circle the planet,†Bob explained patiently.

“If, um, all goes well, you'll orbit three times, try some maneuvers in zero-gravity, perform a retrograde burn, and then, ah... splash down safely in the ocean.â€Â

“On the off chance you survive, you'll be famous.†Bob added helpfully, “The first Kerbal in space!â€Â

Jeb nodded wisely and smiled. He liked Bill and Bob. Such nice guys. And so smart! They know some really big words.

*

The KSP Kerbonaut Transfer Vehicle (an old Pinto spray-painted white) rolled up to the launch pad, backfired twice, and stalled. Jebediah Kerman stepped out, eyes bulging, idiot grin plastered all over his face. He waved cheerfully at the assembled journalists.

“Poor sap,†said Bill Kerman back in Mission Control. “He's a goner.â€Â

“A dead man,†confirmed Bob, sipping his coffee. They watched on the monitor as Jeb ascended the tower, waved one last time for the cameras, and entered the command module. A technician secured the door and scurried hurriedly away to a safe distance.

“Now remember your pre-flight instructions,†said Bill Kerman over the radio, “Fasten your seatbelt, sit still, and don't touch ANYTHING.â€Â

Inside the command module, Jebediah Kerman twiddled his thumbs and fidgeted impatiently. 'Gosh, this is exciting!' he thought. 'I should have peed before I got into this thing...'

The radio crackled with terse conversation with Cap Com. (Not “Cap Con†as Jeb had originally mis-understood, the hat makers and wearers convention)

“T-minus fifteen minutes,†said Bill.

'Good old Bill,†Jeb thought, 'He's really smart. I like him.'

“Systems check,†Bill went on. “Propulsion?â€Â

“Go!â€Â

“Guidance?â€Â

“Go!â€Â

“Avionics?â€Â

“Oops! Dropped my slide-rule.... Er, um, go!â€Â

“Medical? ... Medical...? Somebody wake up Slimbo Kerman!â€Â

“Oh, uh, sorry. Uh... medical, go. I guess.â€Â

“Roger.â€Â

Roger Kerman, the guidance officer, looked up from his clipboard. “What? I already said ‘Go’.â€Â

“Not you,†Bill said. “T-minus twelve minutes. SAS on.â€Â

“Roger.â€Â

“Huh?â€Â

“Never mind. Throttle to 100%. We're on internals.â€Â

Jeb fidgeted and squirmed. This was taking forever. They'd told him not to touch anything. They'd been most emphatic on that point. But that big red button taunted him. So large. So shiny-red. So tempting...

“T-minus eight minutes and counting... what the...?!?â€Â

Smoke bellowed and belched out of the Ham and Cheese I. The craft trembled and shook. A powerful shock wave knocked the assembled press corps flat on their backs.

“Oh, boy,†said Bill to Bob, “Now he's gone and done it. Silly nit.â€Â

“He's dead,†confirmed Bob.

“Holy cats...†exclaimed Bill, “I think it's actually lifting off!â€Â

“WHAAAAAAA!†hollered Jebediah Kerman, “This is awesome! This is fantastic! I'm flying! This is the greatest day of my life! I'm King of the World! Um, how do I work this thing?â€Â

“You're passing ten thousand meters,†Bill said over the radio, “trajectory um... nominal! Looks like you're go for orbit! It's a good thing we convinced Von Kerman to staple a parachute onto that thing. Stand by for stage separation.â€Â

“What do I have to do?â€Â

“Nothing!! Fold your hands and place them in you lap. Remember what we told you in the pre-flight briefing?â€Â

“I know, I know... 'Don't touch anything'.â€Â

There was a hideous rending tear, a flash of light, and a puff of smoke high up in the sky. “OK, stage separation confirmed. Second stage motor... start. Jeb, you still with us? Looking good.... Jeb, you moron, what are you doing?!?â€Â

“I'm flying!†Jeb's voice crackled over the radio, “Whee! This is fun!â€Â

“Trajectory flattening out...†Bob said, “His nose is pointing down. Silly little avocado. So much for that orbital trajectory.â€Â

“That's the last of his fuel. Engine shutdown confirmed. Final stage separation... and go. Huh, I wondered who packed that parachute?â€Â

“Uh, that would be Gilrim Kerman.â€Â

“Well that could be good or bad. Old Gilrim tends to hit the Bubbly Bounce Beverage pretty hard at lunch break. Oh well, we'll find out in a minute. Somebody pour me a fresh cup of coffee.â€Â

*

To everyone's surprise, the big white parachute performed flawlessly, poofing open 800 meters above a sapphire-blue ocean. The command module of the Ham and Cheese I splashed gently down, carrying one excited and very much alive Jebediah Kerman.

“I did it!†he proclaimed, stepping out of the capsule onto the deck of the hastily-converted Space Vehicle Recovery Barge (formerly garbage scow). “The First Kerbal In Space! I'm a hero! A super-hero!!â€Â

“Um Jeb,†Bob said, “You do realize that you were just a passenger, right?â€Â

“Essentially ballast,†Bill put in.

“Thanks guys,†Jebediah beamed, “you fellows are the greatest. And you use such big words!â€Â

There were celebratory Cheesey-Poofs all round, and Bubbly Bounce Beverage flowed freely.

“Now let's all have a group hug,†said the flight director, Gene Kerman, who had just stepped up with the official photographer. “Next stop, The Mun! And I've already selected the crew...â€Â

“Oh boy,†lamented Bill through clenched teeth.

“Oh dear,†confirmed Bob with a heavy sigh.

“Oh GOODY!†exclaimed Jeb, squeezing his crew-mates tight and grinning idiotically. “We're going to The Mun!!â€Â

Lift off!!!

End Part One.

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part II: The Flight of the Ostrich

“So...? Vhat do you think?†Wernher Von Kerman looked at the two kerbonauts expectantly. The Ham and Cheese III towered above them, piercing the roof of the Vehicle Assembly Building. Technicians were busily applying duct tape, superglue, staples, and Bondo to the ungainly contraption.

“It's really...†began Bill.

“...Big.†finish Bob.

“Ja!†beamed Von Kerman. “Ve had to cut a hole in the roof just to make it fit.â€Â

Bob and Bill looked at each other. Should they point out the obvious flaw? No, he'd figure it out for himself when it was time to move the craft to the launch pad.

“So um,†said Bill, “What happened to the Ham and Cheese II?â€Â

“Ugh,†said Von Kerman, “Don't ask... Now, since Jebediah Kerman is the most experienced kerbonaut, he vill be mission commander.â€Â

“Great...†said Bill and Bob together, rolling their enormous eyes.

“Ja!†Von Kerman continued happily, “It vill be, how do you say it, one big happy family up there, ja? Now zee next step in the process is to fill the tanks with highly flammable and explosive rocket fuel. Ah, here comes Gilrim Kerman with the fuel truck now!â€Â

“Eh, gotta go!†said Bill, “Left a pie in the oven!â€Â

“Er, um...†Bob said, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as he watched Gilrim fumble clumsily with the fuel hose, cigarette dangling from his lips, “...see you later, Doctor!â€Â

*

“What do you mean I'm not covered for space travel?!? I'm a kerbonaut!!!â€Â

Bill Kerman was on the phone with his life insurance agent.

“Oh boy guys, this is going to be great!†Jebediah Kerman's eyes were popping with excitement, an idiotic grin plastered all over his clueless green face. “I'm bringing Scrabble, I'm bringing Twister, we can play charades...â€Â

Bob Kerman had a space-age ball point pen in hand, and was filling out his Last Will and Testament. “Darn KSC pen doesn't even write right-side up! This thing is useless!â€Â

“30 seconds to blast off. Secure all loose items.â€Â

Bill and Bob put away their phones and pens and tightened the buckles in their harnesses. “Now remember what they said in the pre-flight briefing Jeb...â€Â

“I know, I know...†Jebediah looked momentarily crestfallen. “'Don't touch anything'...†He brightened up, the customary idiotic grin returning to his sunny green face. “Hey, I snuck my banjo onboard!â€Â

“3... 2... 1... Ignitionâ€Â

“NOOOOOOOO!†Yelled Bob and Bill simultaneously as the great engines roared to life, crushing them back in their seat cushions, and Jeb began plucking out a very battered rendition of 'She'll be Coming Round the Mountain'.

(several hours later. The Mun looms large in the capsule windows)

“I wish all three of us could go down there... maybe if one of you sat in the other's lap...?â€Â

Bob and Bill rolled their eyes. “Now Jeb, we've been over this several times already.â€Â

“I know, I know. There's only room for two in the munar lander, and someone has to stay to pilot the command module. Too bad. It's going to be really pretty down there... Which one of you is coming with me?â€Â

“You know, we hadn't thought about this issue..†Bill said.

“Yeah,†said Bob, as they watched a quarter tumbled in midair, “flipping a coin in zero-G is kind of problematic...â€Â

A few minutes later, Bob (having lost the coin toss) and Jeb were safely ensconced in the Ostrich, the munar landing module.

Bills voice crackled over the radio, “Good luck fellows.â€Â

“We don't need luck,†Jeb responded. “I'm piloting this thing!â€Â

“Hey Jeb,†Bob said, “didn't you have to bail out of the Ham and Cheese II yesterday?â€Â

“Yeah,†Jeb said. [more-or-less an actual Neil Armstrong quote]

“Radar altimeter on-line,†Bob reported, “1000 meters and dropping... Jeb, are you paying attention?â€Â

“Look at me! I'm flying upside-down!!â€Â

“500 meters. 30 seconds of fuel remaining...â€Â

“100 meters. Rate of descent 25 meters per second. 10 seconds fuel remaining...â€Â

“I can make it do a loop-de-loop!â€Â

“20 meters... and engine flame-out. Brace for impact...â€Â

“Wheeee!†The spacecraft made contact with the munar surface. The Ostrich bounced twice, threatened to tip over, didn't, bounced a third time, and finally came to a rest on the vast munar plane. The landing gear, which had performed admirably so far, gave a sigh and sheered off, leaving the Ostrich balanced precariously on it's engine exhaust nozzle.

“The Ostrich has landed.†Jeb said, his head swelling visibly with pride. “Let's go for a walk!â€Â

“Um Jeb,†Bob said as Jeb started unlocking the landing module door, “Shouldn't we pressurize our space suits first?â€Â

“Right, good idea! I never thought of that!†Jeb never stops grinning, does he?

The two kerbonauts clambered carefully out of their space ship.

“Jeb, shouldn't you say something historic?†asked Bob.

“Holy #@$% #@$% !!†cried Jeb, “We're walking on the #@$% Mun!!!â€Â

They planted a flag, and gathered up a few pretty mun rocks.

“It's beautiful... magnificent desolation...†Bob said.

“Kind of boring,†Jeb said, “Where are all the trees? There’s all kinds of beach, but not water. Let's get back in the Ostrich and blast off back home.â€Â

“Uh Jeb...†Bob said, but Jeb wasn't listening.

“All systems go or whatever... 3-2-1-BLAST-OFF!! … why isn't anything happening?â€Â

“Um Jeb,†Bob sighed, “You ran us out of fuel when we landed.â€Â

“Oh...†said Jeb, slightly crestfallen.

“I say we split up,†Bob said. “I'll stay with the lander, you go look for help.â€Â

“I'm in command here, and you'll do what I say, gosh darnit! ...I say we split up. You stay here with the lander, I'll go look for help.â€Â

“Whatever you say, Boss...â€Â

*

“I'm about to initiate my trans-munar burn.†Bill crackled over the radio. “Hang tight down there Bob, I'm sure Von Kerman will send a rescue pronto.â€Â

“Roger that,†Bob said wearily. “Mun Base Ostrich out.â€Â

*

Jeb was tired. He had been walking a long, long time. He couldn't even see the Ostrich anymore. Good old Bob. He's really good at Scrabble. And he knows such big words. The jerry can was heavy in Jeb's hand. He switched hands, smiled and kept on walking. “There's got to be a gas station around here somewhere...â€Â

*

'So long, suckers,†Bill Kerman thought to himself. He was on a free return trajectory. All he had to do was one short retrograde burn, survive re-entry, and he was all set. 'As soon as I get down,' he thought, 'I'm retiring. Get me a good ghostwriter and hit the talk-show circuit.'

Methodical engineer that he was, Bill went through the pre-retroburn checklist out loud: “RCS- set. Navigation Computer- set. Throttle to 100%. Parachutes... parachutes... #@$% ?! Damn you Wernher Von Kerman, you forgot the parachutes!!â€Â

Bill did a quick course correction and plugged the numbers into the navigation computer. The good news was that he wasn't going to burn to death while he plunged through Kerbin's atmosphere. The bad news...

“Look at that apoapsis... sheesh, they didn't even teach us numbers that big at the Kerbin Mail-Order Institute of Technology. And what's my orbital period? ...wow... it's going to be a long, lonely flight. Oh well, at least I'll have some piece and quiet for a change.â€Â

Twenty minutes later, Bill was already missing Jeb and his Scrabble set. But not the banjo.

Structural Failure on Linkage Between TT18-A Launch Stability Enhancer â„¢ and Rockomax Jumbo 64 â„¢ Fuel Tank

All Systems Nominal

Stage Separation Confirmed

End Part Two

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part III: Like a Mun Over Troubled Waters.

The Mun is pockmarked with craters. It is a vast wasteland of craters. There are impact craters that are kilometers wide, and craters the size of a dime. Craters within craters. Craters that have been there for billions of years. And others that aren’t nearly so old.

The wreckage from the latest impact was still glowing. ‘Nuclear engines? Gee,they’re really grasping at straws back in Kouston, aren’t they?’

Bob Kerman sipped his Bubbly Bounce Beverage and watched as a grey-suited figure climbed laboriously out of the latest crater, staggered, spun unsteadily around, and collapsed.

“The nice thing about a vacuum,†he commented aloud to himself, “Is that you don’t have to hear them scream.â€Â

Far above the Ostrich I, a tiny point of light was quickly growing bigger and brighter. The latest rescue ship. It was coming in like a meteor, burning full throttle. Bob could have turned on the radio and listened to the panicked chatter, but that had long since grown stale. He watched as the doomed craft described a ballistic arc across his field of vision, finally crashing a couple of hundred meters from where he sat on a deck chair improvised from solar panels. The vibrations from the impact rattled his molars.

A few seconds later, a large square package nearly beaned him. It was orange nylon fabric, neatly folded and crisply creased. It contained a little handwritten note that read: ‘Packed by GK’. A parachute.

“Oh Jebediah,†Bob said to himself, “You may have been a goon and a total knee-biter, a blithering idiot even, but I almost miss you. Dude never gets tired of playing Scrabble, but never plays a word longer than three letters either. And oh, that banjo. I do *not* miss that banjo. He was one hell of a pilot though. Boy could land a washing machine if Von Kerman strapped a thruster to it. In fact, I think he did, the other week. I wonder whatever happened to old Jeb?â€Â

*

Jebediah Kerman had been walking for a long, long time. Forever, in fact. Behind him, across the dusty gray wasteland of the Mun, his footprints trailed off to the horizon.

Where was he supposed to be going? He couldn’t quite remember. What was he supposed to do when he got there? He was unclear as to that detail as well. Surely he would get there soon. He’d been walking a long, long, long time, and his legs were getting tired.

He was holding a jerry can in one hand. Oh yes, that was it, they had run out of fuel, and he was looking for a gas station. There must be one around here somewhere.

Blinking lights, just this side of the horizon. Ah, at last, a filling station! He’d get fuel, and bring it back to the Ostrich. Wouldn’t Bob be pleased?! Good old Bob! They’d gas up the Ostrich, fly home, and be famous or whatever. But first, he’d use the facilities. Stupid spacesuits should come with built-in plumbing or something.

High above him, Kerbin hung in the sky like a beautiful blue and green marble. An idiotic grin brightened Jeb’s sunny green face as he trotted cheerfully toward the distant structure.

“I sure hope they take credit cards!â€Â

*

Bill Kerman slipped out of Kerbin’s sphere of influence with a soft sigh and a gentle yawn. The wreckage of Jebediah’s banjo floated aimlessly through the capsule. Bill suspected that he might be going crazy. Just a little bit. But mostly, he was bored.

Mission control had been suspiciously vague about the rescue mission, and the auxiliary telemetry thingamabob had started making an annoying hum that rattled through Bill’s bulging eyeballs. Behind him, through the viewing port, Kerbin was a tiny dot of light. Bill gnawed at his fingernails, and discovered he had none left to gnaw.

He’d already read all the instruction cards and safety manuals on board (chock-full of useful tidbits of information: “When in 'Target' mode, the yellow prograde and retrograde indicators on the navball describe pro/retrograde *relative to* your target.†Who knew?!)

What’s this?! A glossy magazine rolled up underneath Jebediah’s seat. Something? Anything! Bob picked it up and read the title. “Kollywood Unclothed: Naked and Nearly Nude Celebrities�?? What the hey?

Final transmission from the command module Ham and Cheese III:

“My God! It’s full of stars!â€Â

*

Funny looking gas station. It looks just like a space ship.

As Jeb got closer and closer, he became more and more convinced. It was a space ship. The good old Ostrich I, to be exact. There was Bob, sitting on a pile of solar panels, sipping a Bubbly Bounce Beverage.

Jeb grinned idiotically and jogged toward the Ostrich, empty jerry can swinging aimlessly in his hand.

“Boy, oh boy, won’t Bob be surprised to see me!â€Â

Decoupler 1-2 was Damaged By Engine Exhaust From Liquid Engine 1-2

Stage Separation Confirmed

End Part Three

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part IV: Gravity is a Harsh Mistress

“O-R-B-I-T-A-L†Bob carefully placed the letters on the board. The low Mun gravity made it tricky, but he had plenty of practice. “Fifty-five points... and the triple word score makes it... er, 175. Your turn!â€Â

“Is that a real word?†Jebediah asked.

“Yes.â€Â

“OK, let's see... hmmm... mmmm... 'O-N'. That makes... um… 2 points! Your turn!â€Â

High above the two kerbonauts, a tiny point of light streaked across the Munar sky. Another rescue ship. Neither of them paid it much attention.

“V-E-L-O-C-I-T-Y for 112â€Â

“Is that *really* a real word?†asked Jeb. “What does it mean?â€Â

“One doesn't have to know the meaning,†Bob Kerman said primly. “Just the spelling. Your turn.â€Â

“OK, OK... ummmm.... 'S-O-N'. That makes... 3 points.â€Â

The little point of light high above them was getting steadily brighter and brighter. Pieces of debris were starting to rain down all around the Ostrich, impacting silently and kicking up little plumes of Mun dust. The rescue craft du jour was shedding parts like a burlesque dancer stripping out of fancy and superfluous sparkly underwear. An un-deployed parachute bounced off a nearby boulder. A sheered-off RCS thruster block smashed the Scrabble board, sending letters flying off in ballistic arcs. The two kerbonauts silently nodded in agreement and retreated to the nominal safety of the Ostrich landing module.

The rescue craft wobbled and dithered, hesitated, and finally settled on a final approach. At the last second, the pilot seemed to think better of it. The little grey ship stopped just centimeters from the surface, kicking up a cloud of Mun dust, and hopped back up skyward. A moment later, it began to descend again, this time with it's landing gear fully extended.

Billy-Bobree Kerman clambered down the ladder of the Emu XXXVII, and bounded across the Mun dust. He rapped on the hatch of the Ostrich with the official secret KSC knock. (Shave-and-a-haircut). Jebediah opened the door.

“Major Jeb, I presume?â€Â

There were congratulations all round. Bubbly Bounce Beverage flowed freely. Cheesey-Poof crumbs threatened to overwhelm the air-recirculation system of the old Ostrich. Finally, Billy-Bobree stood up.

“I don't know how say this guys, so I'll just tell you. There are only two seats in the lander, so someone is going to have to stay here and wait for the next rescue...â€Â

Jeb and Bob looked at each other and nodded.

“Uh, why are you guys looking at ME...?†asked Billy-Bobree, the smile slowing fading from his green face.

Two point two-five seconds later, Jeb and Bob were strapped into the Emu XXXVII, and Billy-Bobree was secured to a defunct landing leg, stolidly wrapped in ubiquitous space-age duct tape.

*

Space is big. Really, really big. Really, really, really mind-bendingly big. Really, really, really, really... meh, well you get the picture.

Bill Kerman sat in the Ham and Cheese III command module and contemplated the vastness of space. He'd grown his hair long and his fingernails were dirty and unclipped. He'd superglued the pieces of Jeb's banjo into a sitar; he'd studied transcendental meditation until that got stale. He'd tried going EVA and pushing his spaceship; that had altered his periapsis by a few kilometers. These days he mostly stayed inside and drew up plans for ever bigger and more complex spacecraft.

*

“Uh, Jeb? You're going the wrong way... we need to do a retro burn to get ourselves on a sub-orbital trajectory back to Kerbin.â€Â

Jeb beamed benevolently. He liked Bob. Such a nice guy. And he uses such big words! “We're not going to Kerbin!†he said.

“Um, we're not?â€Â

“Nope. I want to land on Minmus. We've got plenty of fuel this time!â€Â

“Uh, Jeb, are you sure that's a good idea?â€Â

“Trust me!â€Â

'That's what you said last time.â€Â

Jeb grinned like a maniac and engaged the main engines as Bob buried his face in his hands.

*

The little bluish-greenish world dominated the view through the portholes of the Emu XXXVII: rugged mountains interspersed with flat and icy lakes.

“We're in the tube, five by five!†Jeb announced happily.

“Are you SURE this is a good idea?†asked Bob resignedly, already knowing the answer.

“This,†said Jeb with absolute certainty, “Is going to be GREAT! Hey, what's that flashing red light?â€Â

“That,†sighed Bob, “Is the low-fuel indicator.â€Â

“No problemo,†Jeb announced happily, “We'll just land on RCS. I've totally done it before in simulation!â€Â

Whatever else you say about Jebediah Kerman: Jerk, Idiot, Dweeb, Goon, Knee-Biter, Goofball, Philistine, Plagiarist, Creep, Stalker, Sociopath; he is without a doubt one damn fine pilot.

“Easy... Easy...â€Â

“Uh Jeb, don't forget to deploy the landing gear...!â€Â

“Oh, right. Thanks!â€Â

The Emu XXXVII gently settled down on the frozen plain of Minmus, retro-thrusters puffing softly. The Kerbonauts didn't even feel the impact of landing until the weak gravity of the moonlet tugged at their harnesses.

The Emu was balanced precariously on her nose, swaying slightly atop her docking port, legs extended skyward, looking for all the world like an upside-down beetle.

“Jeb,†Bob said levelly, “I'm going to kill you.â€Â

“It's beautiful,†gushed Jeb, grinning idiotically, “It looks just like mint ice cream!â€Â

*

The spacecraft was derelict: dark and silent, coated with a thin layer of rime ice. It tumbled slowly and aimlessly through space, like the screen-saver on the computer of some bored god.

Dinkles and Joejoe Kerman piloted their craft meticulously, carefully matching orbit and rotation to the soft strains of Chopin.

The 8-track ran out with a *click*. “SUNSHINE, LOLLYPOPS AND RAINBOWS AND EVERYTHING...†blasted through the cabin, and Dinkles jumped, RCS thrusters firing at random, sending the Flounder IX into a wild spin.

“Oops, sorry!†said Joejoe. “Wrong tape.†He pulled the fader down as Dinkles wrestled the craft back into control.

At last there was a satisfying *clunk* and they were docked. The drifting ship was ancient, the airlocks surely incompatible; Dinkles used a cutting torch to open the hatch.

“Or,†said Joejoe, “We could just have turned the handle...â€Â

Before Dinkles could come up with a suitably snide retort, a green face with bulging eyes and long, unkempt hair appeared in the smoking hole.

“I've been working on a novel,†Bill Kerman announced to the startled kerbonauts. “All I need now is a title. What do you guys think? How about 'All Work and No Play Makes Bill a Dull Boy'? Or perhaps 'Beyond the Valley of the Kerbals'?

“Well,†said Joejoe Kerman, “There goes our salvage...â€Â

Stage Separation Confirmed.

Structural Failure Between Your Ears, Sucka.

End Part Four

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part V: Beyond the Valley of the Kerbals

It was, quite simply, the biggest spacecraft Jebediah Kerman had ever seen. His eyes goggled, and for once the idiotic grin was wiped right off his face, displaced by an open-mouthed look of simple-minded awe and wonder.

The Chimichanga I dominated the Space Center, squatting atop the launch pad like an enormous deep-fried burrito. The thing truly was immense. It was criss-crossed with trusses and strut connectors. Fuels lines formed strange loops. Boosters were stacked on boosters stacked on top of boosters. From time to time it farted kethane with a hiss, off-gassing foul-smelling white clouds that lingered in the still morning air, startling the rats and seagulls.

“It's... beautiful,†Jeb whispered.

“It's my own design,†Bill said. “I drew it up during those three years I was stranded in interplanetary orbit.†His left eye twitched violently. “I made it just for you.â€Â

“Oh boy, oh boy!†Jeb rubbed his hands together. “So when do we blast off?â€Â

“There is no 'we', Kemosahbee,†said Bob. “This time the honor is all yours.â€Â

“Gee, you guys are the greatest! I don't know how to thank you fellows.â€Â

“Don't. It was our pleasure.â€Â

*

“Five minutes to launch...†Bill Kerman idly stirred his gin-and-tonics. The ice cubes made a pleasant tinkling sound in the glass. “Safety officer? Oh, I forgot: we don't have one of those. Telemetry? Guidance? Navigation? Control? Ah, screw it. All systems 'Go' or whatever!â€Â

“Are you sure you feel OK about doing this?†Bob Kerman fidgeted guiltily and shuffled his feet. “I mean he's a goon, but he is our goon...â€Â

“This is so cool!†Jeb's voice crackled over the radio. “I can't believe I'm really going to... which planet was it again?â€Â

“Eve.â€Â

“I can't believe I'm going to Eve!†Jeb gushed. “You guys are the greatest. I totally forgive both of you for screwing up the Mun mission and getting us stranded on Minmus. When my book comes out, you're both definitely getting footnotes!â€Â

“Right,†said Bill, stabbing his finger down on the big red launch button. “Let's blow this thing up so we can all go home.â€Â

“Wrong idiom,†Bob said.

“Oh is it, Bob?†Bill's left eye was twitching again, and his finger was still holding the launch button down, white-knuckled with pressure. “Is it really?â€Â

The Chimichanga I roared with fury, belching white smoke and red flame, quivering and shaking, but up it went not.

“Oops,†said Bill, “Heh. Forgot the barking brake.†He pushed another button on the console and an even dozen Clamp-O-Trons™ released their grip. The Chimichanga leaped skyward.

*

Eve loomed large, poisonous, and purple in the Chimichanga's forward port holes. Jebediah Kerman squirmed with excitement. It had been a long, boring voyage, but here he was at last!

Most of the orbital transfer and maneuvers were done by remote-control or were automated. All Jeb had to do was –yeah, yeah, he remembered from the pre-flight briefing-- DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING.

The immense ship danced a delicate cha-cha in orbit, more-or-less gracefully shedding superfluous fuel tanks and engines as it fell closer and closer to the looming violet orb. Slowly and gently, like a Monday-morning hangover coming home to roost after an all-weekend bender, gravity started to kick in. The command module got a little spring-cleaning as shards of Cheesy-Poofs, spent Bubbly Bounce Beverage containers, crumpled and well-thumbed skin magazines, and large stacks of safety cards and instruction manuals (mint-condition, unopened and still in their plastic shrink wrap) all came crashing down to the floor of the capsule, which was quickly becoming both highly cluttered and alarmingly hot.

The spacecraft was shrouded in flame as it hurtled downward.

“YAAAAHOOO!†Bellowed Jeb, “YEEEEEE-HA!â€Â

A tier of parachutes deployed, caught the thick, noxious atmosphere, and were ripped off, only to be replaced by another tier of chutes. Retro-rockets thundered to life, making a sound like a thousand stagehands shaking a thousand sheets of tin. Jeb's rugged, handsome features were compressed and distorted like something out of a Dali painting until he resembled nothing more than a bulging-eyed, big-mouthed green pancake.

The Gravmaxâ„¢ g-force indicator climbed to the upper end of its range, maxed out, hiccupped, and summarily exploded. The twisted, hellish landforms of Eve loomed large in the aft portholes as the radar altimeter ticked altitude away like a metronome.

“This,†said Jeb to no-one in particular, “is so freaking COOL!â€Â

The final stage of the Chimichanga, slightly seared from re-entry, settled with a gentle CLUNK accentuated by the ear-splitting sound of folding and tearing metal on a rugged outcropping of schist amid a tossing mauve sea. The landing legs, as was there habit, sheered off immediately, and the craft was left balancing delicately on the nozzle of its one remaining engine.

The last lonely Mainsailâ„¢ groaned, gave up the ghost, and crumpled with soft screech. The command module dropped the remaining meter to the ground, and the main computer threw up its transistors, fizzled, and shut down with a sigh and a puff of lightly toasted electronics.

Jebediah Kerman appeared silhouetted in the hatchway, idiotic grin plastered across his ever-cheerful green face. “Time to do some SCIENCE!†He promptly fell on his face, belly-flopping into the deep and restless cough-syrup ocean.

Back in Kouston, Bill Kerman pushed back his chair and removed his headset.

“Jeb's dead baby,†he announced with satisfaction. “Jeb's dead.â€Â

*

Retirement suited Bill Kerman. Semi-retirement anyway; he was now officially a 'consultant'. He lounged on the sunny beach, sipping a froo-froo drink and playing Ketris on his KSC-issued suitcase-sized laptop computer. His duties were nominal, his salary was full, and his ghost-written autobiography was coming along nicely. The tic in his left eye had diminished. Life was good.

Something eclipsed the sun, casting a dark shadow across Bill's little slice of paradise. Bill started to protest, and then shut his mouth with a snap. The stern visage of Gene Kerman loomed above his beach chair, insomuch as it is possible for any Kerbal to loom. The scowling flight director was flanked by a sheepish-looking Bob and an obnoxiously cheerful and healthily alive Jebediah Kerman.

“You creep!†Bill said, pointing at Jeb, “How did HE get here?â€Â

“Well,†said Jeb, “It's a long story...â€Â

“Save it. What do you guys want? I'm trying to work here..â€Â

“Work?†Gene Kerman eyed the laptop and the cocktail skeptically. “Pack your bags Bill,†he announced. “You're going to Nuda.â€Â

“Er, that's Duna sir.†Bob put in. Gene ignored him.

“With all due respect sir,†Bill said, “I'm not going anywhere. I'm retired.â€Â

“Semi-retired,†Gene corrected him. “Do you have any idea how much it cost to rescue you guys from the Mun, and then to rescue you again off Minmus?â€Â

“No...â€Â

“Well us neither. Calculating the figure crashed the KSC accounting computer. But we do estimate that, to pay off the entire amount at your current salary would take somewhat longer than the lifetime of the solar system.â€Â

“Erm, is this a bad time to ask for a raise?â€Â

“Son,†said Gene Kerman pedantically, climbing up onto his metaphoric pedestal, “Get ready to make history. You're going to Nuda.â€Â

“Duna, sir.â€Â

“Whatever.â€Â

Bob looked worried and scuffed his feet. Jeb was elated, and danced a little jig. “Oh Goody,†he gushed, “It's going to be just like old times...!â€Â

Bill sighed forlornly as Ketris tiles stacked up at the bottom of his laptop screen, for all the world like a pile of spent rocket stages. His left eye twitched violently. Jebediah was right; it was going to be just like old times.

Fuel Tank 1-1 Damaged By Engine Exhaust From Sepratron â„¢ Motor

Stage Separation Confirmed.

End Part V

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part VI: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Interplanetary Transfers

Jebediah Kerman gazed out the porthole at the tiny red speck of light in the distance that had steadily, over the last couple of weeks, been growing bigger and brighter. Despite the idiotic grin plastered across his cheerful green face, Jeb was bored. Behind him, Bill and Bob were engrossed in a game of chess. It seemed like they'd been playing forever. The fact that nobody onboard could remember which piece was supposed to move diagonally did nothing to speed up the pace of their games.

A little red indicator light was flashing on the console. Jeb didn't like chess. But he did like flashing red indicator lights. The computer display announced: Entering Duna Sphere of Influence. Now, what was a 'sphere of influence' again?

Jeb thought about telling Bob or Bill about the flashing light, but they were both wrapped up in their game, and they had in the past made it eminently clear that they didn't like to be interrupted.

“Stork sidles over to Lawyer's six; takes Prawn.†Bob moved one of his black pieces, knocking over one of Bill's white ones.

Weren't they supposed to do something when they entered a 'sphere of influence', like turn off cruise control or something?

Jeb knew which button was cruise control. He'd watched Bill engage it himself, months ago, shortly after blast-off. It was shiny and red. Jeb longed to push it. He loved pushing buttons. But he remembered his instructions from the pre-flight briefing. “DON'T TOUCH ANYTHINGâ€Â. They'd been most emphatic.

The cheerful little red indicator light stopped flashing. The computer read-out changed: “Leaving Duna Sphere of Influenceâ€Â. Jeb sighed. He couldn't wait to get to this Nuda planet. The grin stretched wide across his face. Boy-oh-boy, space exploration is fun!

“Jester to Magician's seven,†Bill said reluctantly, sliding one of his own pieces backward across the board. “Hey, shouldn't we be getting close to Duna sometime soon?â€Â

“Nah,†said Bob, “We're still weeks away.â€Â

Jeb considered saying something, but for once in his life he decided to keep his big fat mouth shut.

Structural Failure Between Rockomax Jumbo 64â„¢ and FL-T200 Fuel Tank.

Warranty Void, No Returns or Exchanges

Stage Separation Confirmed

End Part Six

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part VII: Heretics of Duna

The planet loomed large in the window, a giant spherical watermelon, so close you could almost reach out and touch it. Jeb had in fact tried to do just that. The plexiglass once again stopped his hand short. The three Kerbals gazed through the forward port holes of the Enchilada VII (The first six Enchiladas had blown up on the launch pad, much to the consternation of the ground crew and launch technicians), momentarily silent, stunned with awe, space sickness, and/or constipation.

“Wow,†said Jeb.

“I didn't expect Duna to look so... green,†said Bob Kerman.

“Or so... big,†said Bill Kerman.

“Wow,†said Jebediah Kerman.

“Or to have so many moons...†said Bob.

“Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear,†quoted Jeb sagely.

“Listen,†said Bob, “I've been doing some calculations...â€Â

Jeb nodded his head wisely. He knew what calculations were: creepy-crawly things with shells instead of bones, like crabs and lobsters. Delicious.

“...we definitely don't have enough thrust to generate the delta-v to get back to Kerbin. I'm not sure we even have enough delta-v to achieve orbit. We may end up being sling-shotted out to who knows where. We could end up in the Oort cloud or the Co-Prosperity Sphere or something.â€Â

Bob and Bill both looked worried. “What does 'delta-v' mean?†asked Jeb.

“Delta-v is a scalar which takes units of speed. It is a measure of the amount of effort that is needed to change from one trajectory to another by making an orbital maneuver.â€Â

“Uh-huh,†mused Jeb. “And what does 'trajectory' mean?â€Â

“A trajectory is the path that a moving object follows through space as a function of time.â€Â

“I see,†said Jeb, forehead wrinkled with non-comprehension. “And what does...â€Â

“Shut up Jeb,†Bill advised. He keyed the radio transmitter. “Kouston, we've got a problem.â€Â

In response, CapCom crackled and hissed unintelligibly. The high-gain antenna was on the fritz again; they'd wrapped the moorings in duct tape and whacked at it with a wrench several times to no avail.

“We could try aero-braking,†Bob said. “It'd be dangerous, but it might be our only option.â€Â

“You can't fool me,†Jeb laughed. “Everyone knows Nuda doesn't have an atmosphere.â€Â

His fellow kerbonauts ignored him as they maneuvered the Enchilda VII into position for a retrograde burn. Graceful, it wasn't.

“Let's check the survival kit,†suggested Bob. “$100 in BitKoins. One flare gun with flares (expired). One umbrella. One sheet aluminum foil. One novelty KSP spaceship-shaped pen. Three lipsticks. Three pair nylon stockings. One prophylactic (also expired). One note: 'IOU one case of Cheesy-Poofs, signed Jebediah Kerman.' One six-pack Bubbly Bounce Beverage.â€Â

“Shoot, a fella could have a pretty good weekend in Kouston with all that stuff!†said Bill. Jeb nodded in agreement. From experience, both bitter and sublime, he knew it to be true.

The Enchilda VII fell toward the great green planet, faster and faster, deeper and deeper into the gravity well. The kerbonauts facial expressions were (from left to right): worry, mindless jubilation, and abject terror..

The ship plunged into the upper atmosphere of Jool like a high-velocity rifle bullet piercing a key lime pie (“Mmm, pie...†mused Jeb). The Enchilda VII was sheathed in flame as the great engines roared to life, grumbled, belched, hiccupped, and expired.

The kerbonauts were crushed into their gravity couches, squashed flat by the immense g-forces. “What does 'g-force' mean again?†asked Jeb. Bill and Bob, with other questions (and their own craniums) pressing on their minds, declined to answer.

The Enchilada VII emerged from the cloudy Joolean atmosphere, rather well-done, but largely undamaged.

“Well,†said Bill, consulting the navigation computer, “The good news is we've got an orbit, and we're not dead. The bad news is our main engines are out of fuel, and we've lost our high-gain antenna, our wizard, and our way.â€Â

(“We had a wizard?†asked Bob. “Figure of speech.†explained Bill.)

“Well,†said Bill. “We could try and land on that small moon over there.â€Â

“That's no moon!†said Jeb.

The Exasperatronâ„¢ meter, which measures units of exasperation on a logarithmic scale, had long-since maxed out, and was starting to smoke.

“YES IT IS!†yelled Bob and Bill in perfect harmony.

The Enchilada jettisoned its transfer stage, shedding the excess mass faster than obese dieter on a late-night infomercial. Bill Kerman carefully maneuvered the remainder of the ship, the command module and lander, into the sphere of influence of the small, blue moon.

The greedy, sticky little fingers of the upper atmosphere grabbed hold of the Enchilda VII, dragging her relentlessly into a sub-orbital trajectory.

“Um Bill,†said Bob, “Weren't we supposed to transfer into the lander and separate while we were still in orbit?â€Â

“Well, I know that NOW!†said Bill. Their ungainly craft was already starting to tumble.

“I'll take it from here,†cried Jeb with an idiotic grin. Bill yielded the controls. He might be a knee-biter, a pervert, an imbecile, an insatiable glutton, and a manic plagiarist, but Jeb was still an ace pilot.

With a combination of parachutes, thrusters, RCS, SAS, sleight-of-hand, harsh language, strength of will, and blind luck, Jebediah wrestled the Enchilada VII back into control. Soon, she was hanging upright beneath a bouquet of parachutes, landing legs fully extended, falling toward the surface at an extremely survivable rate of descent.

The outstretched legs touched the surface of the water and promptly exploded.

“I don't know why they always do that,†Bob said. “There isn't anything even remotely flammable in them.â€Â

The Enchilada VII tipped over, belly-flopped into the water, and snapped in half. The lander segment immediately sank like bag full of metaphors; the command module bobbed in the waves like a fat trout stunned by a hand grenade.

“I didn't even know Nuda had oceans,†mused Jeb.

“I don't even know where to start with that,†said Bill. “First of all it's not Nuda, it's Duna. And secondly, it's not Duna!â€Â

“Huh?†said Jeb and Bob together.

“Well, we might as well stick our heads out the hatch and have a look around,†said Bill. “See where we are.â€Â

“Outta my way!†yelled Jeb. “I'm going to be the first Kerbal on Nuda!â€Â

He shoved past Bob and Bill and flung himself through the open hatch, landing face-first with a splash.

“Come on in boys,†hollered Jeb. “The water's fine!â€Â

RT-10 Solid Fuel Booster â„¢ Splashed Down Hard and was Destroyed.

No Deposit, No Return

Stage Separation Confirmed.

End Part Seven

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part VIII: Somewhere Over Gravity's Rainbow

The life raft floated real good; once it had been inflated, all the holes located and patched, turned right-side-up, and then re-inflated.

Bill and Bob spent most of their time in the command module, playing endless games of chess that invariably ended in a stalemate. Jeb hung out in the life raft, sunning himself (such as he could with the pale orb of Kerbol 65 million kilometers away),or swimming laps around the little flotilla. Anything to keep up his chiseled green physique.

“Say boys,†Jeb said as he lounged atop the life raft in his painfully skimpy Karmani™ swim shorts and his stylish Ray-Kan™ aviator glasses. He looked pretty sharp; or to be more precise, kind of obscene.

“Say boys,†Jeb said again, and Bill and Bob glanced up from their game, annoyed. Bill's minotaur was being threatened by Bob's leprechaun. Or was it? Could leprechauns move diagonally? Nobody could remember.

“'scuse me fellas,†Jeb went on, trying a slightly different tack. “How long do you suppose it'll be before we can expect a rescue?†He looked slightly embarrassed. “'cause, um, you see... I'm all out of Sunblock. And a guy does like his skin to look its greenest...â€Â

“You know Jeb, between the inverse square law, and the high atmospheric albedo, you hardly need to worry about sunburn…†said Bill, not looking up from the board.

“We're not getting rescued,†Bob said, also not looking up from the board.

“Without the high-gain antenna, we can't communicate with Mission Control,†Bill explained. “They don't even know we're missing.â€Â

It took a while for this information to penetrate Jebediah's thick cranium, and even longer for it to be processed by his small, rodent-like brain. Meanwhile, Bob's joker slid over three, skipped back two, and jogged over another three, capturing Bill's minotaur.

“I've got an idea...†said Jeb slowly.

“Huh?†said Bill.

“You've got a what now?†said Bob.

“I've got an idea,†Jeb mused. “Back when I was a kid, in the Boy Sprouts, we used to practice signaling with mirrors. I wonder... could we use the umbrella and the aluminum foil from the survival kit to make a makeshift signal mirror to call back to Mission Control for more sunblock?â€Â

Bill's jaw dropped.

Bob's joker captured Bill's leprechaun, threatening his attorney and resulting in yet another stalemate.

Soon enough, photons were flashing out from the surface of the moon, spelling out O-S-O to anyone who happened to be looking in their direction and who could read Korse code. A very small population indeed.

*

The Kerbal Space Center was nice and quiet, just the way Gene Kerman liked it. With Bill, Bob, and Jeb absent, the whining, squabbling, boasting, nagging, and complaining had generally ceased; and there had been a 70% reduction in explosions. Gene looked with satisfaction at his radio transmitter, which had been silent for weeks. Buying a wah-wah pedal for the thing had been the best purchase he had ever made.

Gilbro, Gilbald, and Macdorf Kerman, grey-suits all, cowered before his desk. Gene let them suffer for a long moment before he spoke.

“Boys,†he said importantly, “We're going to plant a Kerbal flag on the surface of Nuda, or my name's not Scottmanley Kerman.â€Â

“Um, Gene Kerman sir.†said Macdorf.

“Shut up,†continued Gene Kerman. “Now I need you fellows suited up and ready for blast-off by 0800 tomorrow...â€Â

“And it's Duna sir.†put in Macdorf unfazed.

“What did you say?†Gene aimed his paralyzing icy-cold stare at Macdorf Kerman.

“The planet's name is Duna sir, not Nuda,†an unfazed Macdorf said. “I saw it on the back of a cereal box or something.â€Â

“Get the hell out of my office,†the launch director said genially. “0800 tomorrow. And DON'T be late!â€Â

*

“Thirty seconds to blast-off,†crackled over the radio. The Chili Con Carne I was poised atop the launch pad, three unwilling and clue-free grey-suited kerbonauts wedged inside the command module like sardines. Green sardines, well past their expiration date.

“I have to go pee-pee!†whined Gilbro.

“I have to go poo-poo!†moaned Gilbald.

“My tummy hurts!†complained Macdorf.

“...all systems nominal... ignition solid rocket boosters...†The Chili Con Carne shivered and shook, belching smoke and fire.

“My space suit's wet†complained Gilbro.

“My space suit's dirty†whined Gilbald.

“I'm going to throw up.†moaned Macdorf.

Back in mission control, Gene Kerman sighed and rubbed his ear. This was not at all how he'd imagined the post-Jeb space program. “And blast-off,†he said into the microphone, taking a big swallow of heavily whiskey-laced coffee and pushed the big red launch button.

“WAAAAAH!†wailed three terrified Kerbals. “WE WANNA GO HOME!!!â€Â

“All systems green. Beginning roll program now.â€Â

“AAAAARGH!! STOP THE RIDE! WE WISH WE WERE DEAD!!â€Â

“You may just get your wish, my little avocados,†Gene Kerman thought out loud. His wah-wah pedal was going to be getting a workout on this mission.

“Gilbald's on my side of the capsule,†complained Gilbro.

“He's looking at me,†whined Gilbald.

“I think I'm gonna be space-sick,†moaned Macdorf.

Gene sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. He had a headache. These jokers made Bill, Bob, and even Jebediah look downright professional. “Stand by for orbital circulization burn.â€Â

“Weeee!†hollered Macdorf Kerman, pulling the throttle to 100% and leaving it there. “We're going to Duna!â€Â

“You idiots,†snarled Gene Kerman over the radio. “You were supposed to wait six weeks in a stable orbit for the proper launch window!â€Â

“What's a launch window?†asked Gilbald Kerman, looking around the capsule for a mysterious port hole he might not have previously noticed.

“Are we there yet?†asked Gilbro Kerman.

“I threw up in my space suit!†announced Macdorf Kerman.

Unintelligible static was the only response from mission control. The three kerbonauts were on their own.

*

Space is big. Really, really big. Really, really, really big. Really, really, really, really, really big. And boring too. Did we mention boring? Space is made of nothingness: it is chock-full of nothingness, millions of square kilometers of inky-black nothingness; and all that nothing looks pretty much the same.

Every surface on the inside of the Chili Con Carne's command module was covered in tic-tac-toe grids. Macdorf (by dint of his marginal intellectual superiority) was the reigning champ. The three Kerbals had been in space for weeks and they hadn't heard one (intelligible) word from mission control.

They passed by a number of brighter-than-average stars that may or may not have been planets; and they ate an awful lot of the ship's supplies that may or may not have been food. They say a UFO immediately after flushing the toilet (correlation does not imply causation!) They saw strange and wonderful things. Things you people wouldn't believe... Asparagus ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. They watched K-beams glitter in the dark near the Kannhauser gate. All those moments lost in time... like tears in rain... and they wondered, wondered...

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“Are we there yet?â€Â

“...â€Â

“Are we almost there yet?â€Â

*

Slowly, inexorably, they were sucked into the great gravity well of Jool, like green specks of toe-jam getting sucked down the bathtub drain of the solar system.

The three Kerbals watched in awe as the great green planet spiraled closer and closer.

“Why do they call Duna the red planet? It looks green to me.â€Â

“It's Nuda, not Duna, dummy.â€Â

“I know you are but what am I?â€Â

“I know you are but what am I?â€Â

“I know you are but what am I?â€Â

“I know you are but what am I?â€Â

“I know you are but what am I?â€Â

It was Macdorf who first noticed the flashing light. He interrupted his colleague's witty repartee. “Hey, what's that bright flashing light down there on the surface of that small moon?â€Â

“That's no moon!â€Â

“Yes it is!â€Â

“No it isn'tâ€Â

“Yes it is!â€Â

“No it isn'tâ€Â

“Yes it is!â€Â

“No it isn'tâ€Â

“I think it's a landing beacon,†said Macdorf. He had been to flight school. Granted, he'd been the janitor there, but something must have rubbed off.

“I bet it's a MacKermans,†said Gilbald.

“I bet it's a K-Mart,†said Gilbro. [A Kerbal discount store and fast-food franchise; no relation to the terrestrial chain.]

“I hope they have customer bathrooms!†Gilbald and Gilbro said.

“It must be the Duna space port,†said Macdorf Kerman, who was wise in the ways of outer space. “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious. I'll pilot the ship down to it.â€Â

“You know how to fly this thing??â€Â

“It's called 'Cruise Control', my good friends.â€Â

Macdorf pushed a large, friendly red button, and the ship's navigation computer did the rest, homing in on the beacon and guiding the Chili Con Carne gently and precisely toward the flashing beacon of light, softly landing with a bone-jarring crash on a rocky archipelago some six hundred miles to the east.

The Kerbals were surprised to find themselves on a barren outcropping of rock with not a convenience store or a public restroom to be found. They were even more surprised when, three weeks later, a trio of disheveled kerbonauts showed up paddling a heavily patched rubber raft.

*

Once Cheesy-Poofs and Bubbly Bounce Beverages were exchanged and consumed in the traditional way of the Kerbals, Jeb feigned astonishment, pointing up at the sky with a gasp. “Hey, would you look at that! A flying monkey!â€Â

“What? Where? I don't see anything!†said Gilbald, Gilbro, and Macdorf. While the three grey-suits craned their necks, goggling their eyes at the sky, searching for a glimpse of an avian primate, Jeb, Bill, and Bob quietly boarded their ship and blasted off.

“Great,†said Bill from orbit. “Now we're in space again, but how do we get home? How do we know when the next launch window back to Kerbin is?â€Â

“Well duh,†said Jeb, grinning idiotically. “We just turn the ship around and go back the way we came.â€Â

Neither Bill nor Bob could fault the logic with that.

Stage Separation Confirmed.

Step Right Up, Every One’s a Winner

End Part Eight.

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part IX: The Duna Chronicles

“Space is big. Really, really big. Really, really, really big. Really, really incredibly, mind-blowingly…â€Â

“Oh come off it!†Jeb snapped impatiently, “It can’t be all that big. Look, we’ve already got an intercept thingamabob.â€Â

Bill and Bob looked at the navigation computer. It was true. Their random plunge inward toward the sun had resulted in an intercept and a decent periapsis to boot.

“Duna,†mused Bob. “I wonder… we should have enough fuel…â€Â

“It’d be a real feather in our caps…†said Bill.

“A star on our paper…â€Â

“A notch in our belt…â€Â

“A fly in our ointment…â€Â

“Oh Goody!†gushed Jeb, “I can’t wait to land on… wait, what was the planet’s name again?â€Â

*

Bill and Bob passed the time on the inward-bound journey playing chess; Jeb whittled small animal figurines out of bars of soap, devastated the remaining stores of Cheesy Poofs, and amused the boys with charades.

The encounter with Duna went about as well as could be expected: blind panic, a close-shave with Ike (which Jeb mistook for the Mun: “Aww, I’ve been there already…â€Â, more panic and course corrections, a shallow dive into the thin atmosphere, recriminations about forgetting to deploy the parachutes, a squabble about who’s job it was to remember to deploy parachutes, a brief and bumpy ride as the parachutes finally kicked in, and then Jeb piloted the Chili Con Carne to a surprisingly soft and shockingly uneventful landing on the red plains of Duna.

“Well,†said Bill, “That went better than I expected.â€Â

They extended the ladder, and descended onto the surface of the alien planet, Jeb pushing and shoving to be first.

Jeb planted his flag, and stood for a moment, posing photogenically in front of the banner flapping in the thin Dunar breeze.

“Wait a second,†objected Bill. “That’s not the official KSP flag… that’s just the centerfold from an old copy of Kenthouse magazine!â€Â

“Eh, close enough,†said Bob, admiring the view.

“Hey, I didn’t know we had a ROVER!†exclaimed Jeb, his eyes popping with excitement.

“Cooool!†all three kerbals mouthed in unison. [it is a strange and little-known philological fact that in both Kerbal and English the word ‘cool’ has the same sound, spelling, and meaning.]

Bob pushed a conveniently located little red button, a radial decoupler went *pop*, and the rover fell to the ground. All four tires deflated the moment it landed.

“We’ll have this fixed in a jiffy!†Bill and Bob scurried around the rover, repairing the burst tires, while Jeb attempted to remove a foreign object from inside his nostril, and was once again foiled by the visor of his space suit.

As soon as three of the four burst tires were fixed, the rover took off on its own, wending its way across the Dunar landscape like a besotted kerbal trying to walk home after a long night of drinking. The three kerbonauts chased it a short distance, but it was clear they were out-paced.

“Oops, forgot to set the parking brake,†said Bill, blushing green inside his space suit.

“Let us never speak of this incident again,†said Bob. The rover was doing donuts in the middle distance, kicking up little plumes of red dust.

“Agreed,†said Jeb. “What were we talking about again?â€Â

“Lets get out of here,†said Bill.

“Yeah, we come in peace, we hold these truths to be self-evident, there but for the grace of Gosh go I, yadda yadda yadda,†said Bob.

“Whatever you guys say,†said Jeb, grinning like a maniac. The three kerbonauts blasted off, leaving the sands of Duna undisturbed but for a few footprints, an R-rated little flag, a scattering of graffiti, a couple dozen empty Bubbly Bounce Beverage containers and Cheesy Poof wrappers, and a runaway rover.

“And now home,†Jeb said, pointing the nose of the Chili Con Carne at Kerbin and pulling down on the throttle and holding it there while Bill and Bob protested.

“Jeb!†said Bill, “We were supposed to wait in a parking orbit for six months before doing our burn… What part of ‘Launch Window’ don’t you get?!â€Â

“Well duh,†said Jeb. “Obviously, the whole concept. Let’s play charades! See if you can guess who I am now:†He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Duhhh, I’m Bill Kerman…â€Â

Bill was studying the navigation computer. “It looks to me like if we did a small course correction, we might get an encounter with Moho, and be able to slingshot effect ourselves back into the Kerbin sphere of influence. Maybe Kouston would send up a rescue bird,†he speculated optimistically.

“But we’re out of RCS monopropellant,†Bob said. “We can’t maneuver anywhere unless *someone* goes EVA and gives us a nudge.†Both kerbonauts looked pointedly at Jeb.

“I’ll go,†said Jeb. “I want to go.â€Â

Thirty seconds later, Jebediah Kerman was out the airlock, idiotic grin plastered across his cheerful green face. He let go of the ladder, thumbed the maneuver controls, and instantly jetted off at a random tangent to the Chili Con Carne.

“Wheeeee!†crackled over the radio as he quickly disappeared from sight.

“Huh,†said Bill. “Looks like old Jeb is on a sub-orbital trajectory with the sun.â€Â

“Well, whoop-de-do for him,†said Bob. “What about us? Without that course correction, we don’t get any kind of intercept at all for the next… eight hundred years.â€Â

“Yes,†said Bill, “But that’s eight hundred Jebediah Kerman-free years!â€Â

“True,†said Bob. “How about a good game of chess?â€Â

Jebediah Kerman crashed into the sun and was killed.

Stage Separation Confirmed.

End Part Nine

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Part X: The Trouble with Kerbals/Beyond the Green Event Horizon Thingamabob

There was a tap at the door. Gene Kerman guiltily tucked his 1/6th complete Kubik’s Rube ™ behind his desk. “Enter,†he said. It had been quiet around Kouston of late. Suspiciously quiet.

Things had never been better at the Kerbal Space Center. Jeb was certifiably dead; and Bill and Bob were stuck on a highly elliptical interplanetary orbit. Productivity was up, explosions were down, funding was nominal. Gene should have been happy. Instead, though he hated to admit it… he was bored.

The knocking at his door continued. “Come in already!†he yelled.

Wernher Von Kerman poked his green head around the door. “I’m sorry,†he said. “I thought I heard you say ‘Enter’…â€Â

“Von Kerman, what a pleasure! I was just thinking of you,†Gene Kerman said. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about some of the line items on your latest spacecraft budget.â€Â

“Exactly!†Von Kerman beamed. “Which is vy I want to show you my latest creation. Shall ve take a stroll?â€Â

Outside the space center administration building, the Taco Supreme leaned heavily against its Clamp-O-Tron â„¢ moorings, silver duct tape glistening in the morning sun. In front of the launch pad was parked a brand-new shiny red convertible.

“This is exactly the budget item I wanted to speak to you about,†said Gene Kerman.

“Ah yes,†said Von Kerman happily. “The critical component of my latest project. Simply take one late-model, high performance sports car, a Kamborghini â„¢ , say…â€Â

“And you strap a bunch of boosters to it? Turn it into a time machine?â€Â

“No…†said Wernher Von Kerman, getting into the convertible next to a busty, blonde-haired, green-skinned female kerbal. “Well, I’m glad ve had this little discussion. See you on ze flip side, ja?†He started the car and peeled out with a roar, leaving Gene Kerman coughing and sputtering in a cloud of high-test unleaded exhaust.

“Excuse me, sir?â€Â

Gene Kerman wheeled around. There, healthy as lemmings, were the three stooges: Jeb, Bill, and Bob Kerman.

Bill Kerman pointed at the Taco Grande, sagging dangerously against its moorings. “I’m concerned about the thrust-to-weight ratio on that thing.â€Â

Bob Kerman said “And I’d like to talk about the return-stage delta vees.â€Â

Jebediah Kerman said “Green crayons are technically non-toxic.â€Â

Oh boy, just like old times. “Where the heck did you guys come from?†Gene was going to have to plug in his wah-wah pedal again.

“Well,†said Jeb.

“You see,†added Bob.

“It’s a long story…†concluded Bill.

“Can it,†snapped Gene. “Alright you pimento-stuffed olives, into that command module this instant! I want all three of you strapped in and ready to go. Blast-off is in two minutes. Don’t be late!â€Â

“But sir,†protested Bill, “Where are we going?â€Â

“What’s our destination?†asked Bob.

“Can I have another green crayon?†asked Jeb.

Gene Kerman regarded the three kerbonauts with loathing. It seemed he’d chosen the wrong week to stop snorting keth. “Anywhere,†he growled, “but here.â€Â

“I hear Eeloo is very nice this time of year,†said Bill, thumbing the SAS to the ‘on’ position.

“What’s an eeloo?†asked Jeb, eyeing the big friendly red ‘launch’ button with twitchy fingers and lust in his heart.

“Here we go again,†said Bob with a sigh, clipping the buckle on his harness and adjusting the straps.

Plot Collided with Storyline and was Destroyed.

All Ashore What’s Going Ashore

Stage Separation Confirmed.

The End

[Lar-E]

WHEN WE WERE LEMMINGS

Afterward: There’s No Fool Like and Old Fool

“Are you sure this thing is safe, Grandpa?â€Â

Young Timmytim Kerman eyed the contraption skeptically. To the untrained observer, it might look like a shoddily-built homemade kid’s wagon, pieced together out of off-cuts and scrap lumber, with a couple of ill-conceived and borderline-illegal solid rocket boosters strapped onto it with bailing wire. But to Jebediah Kerman, it looked like a work of art.

“Of course it’s safe!†Jeb said, patting his grandson fondly on the head. Jebediah’s hair was white, his bulging eyes riddled with cataracts, and his green skin was drab and wrinkled, but he still wore that same old idiotic grin. “When I was your age we did this all the time! Now get in!â€Â

The two were perched atop Suicide Hill, the tallest and steepest elevation in the neighborhood. Timmytim could see his house, small and fragile-looking, away in the distance.

“I don’t know…†Timmytim climbed dubiously into the rickety little wagon as Grandpa Jeb lit a sputtering, smelly match.

With one spry movement, Jeb lit the fuses of the home-brewed boosters, and gave the wagon a vicious shove.

“Yaaaaaah!†yelled Timmytim as the contraption carooned down the steep slope, bouncing and shimmying, and threatening to capsize. The wagon hit an especially violent bump, and was catapulted into the air, spinning wildly on three axes. Just then, the solid rocket boosters (cobbled together out of left over Kerbal-Day fireworks) kicked in.

The little wagon rode a trail of fire and white smoke several hundred meters into the sky, before exploding in red, white, and green stars. Jeb watched, an approving smile on his wizened old face.

Finally, a small parachute (made of several of Timmytim’s mom’s best bed sheets hastily stitched together) popped open, and young Timmytim floated gently back to terra firma, slightly scorched, but otherwise unharmed.

Timmytim ran all the way home. “This is the greatest day of my life! Mom! Dad! When I grow up, I want to be a kerbonaut, just like Grandpa!!â€Â

Jebediah stayed atop the hill for a while, beaming idiotically. “That’s my boy,†he said aloud to the gunpowder-infused breeze, “That’s my real son! Not like that… accountant and his music teacher wife down there.â€Â

Jeb lingered a little longer on the top of Suicide Hill. The Mun was on the rise just above the horizon, fat and full and pale. If you listened carefully, once in a while you could just make out the sound of explosions from the Kerbal Space Center away in Kouston.

END

(for real)

[zaky133]

This is the greatest thing I have ever read on the forums. You sir, are hilarious. Too many quotes to mention. One question, are you going to write anything else? because you have an amazing talent.

[KSK]

That was a heartwarming epilogue. Crazy, borderline homicidal but definitely heartwarming.

[Generalstarwars333]

*sees there's a second page* NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! XD. That was nice...though the last part about the accountant and his wife may have been a bit mean, it was still all good. rep.

- - - Updated - - -

If the part before the rep causes trouble, I take full responsibility.

[Tw1]

It's nice to see this pop up again, it is a classic.

[The Optimist]

Bob is dumber than Jeb.