Farlight (Updated 8/15)

[Ten Key]

The Apex

"Ladies and gentlekerbs, boys and gerbals, step right up and get your tickets here! Plenty to see, plenty to do! A magnificent show at a magnificent price! Welcome one, welcome all, to the second annual Fair-line expo and symposium!"

The festivities had commenced just before dawn, the haze from the spirited fireworks display turning the sunrise a deep, magnificent red. By the time the calliope sounded out the hour at mid-morning, there had been two balloon races, a grand parade through the heart of the complex and an airship flyover, the big flying machine deploying a trio of stunt parachutists who had made the trip all the way from South Bay to perform for the crowd.

And what a crowd it was!

The entire pipeline community had turned out for the show-- even the extruder had been allowed to go idle for this one day of the year. Where the first expo had been a smaller, more organized affair, this year there were booths and displays spread from one end of the town to the other, and then out into the more manageable stretches of drained swamp on either side of the complex. Beyond that were the trundles, many from nearby Capitol City, some from as far away as South Bay, and even one all the way from West Lake. More than a few of the owners would return at the end of the day to find their vehicles stuck in the soft ground, but no matter. . .there would be plenty of enterprising locals around willing to lend a hand in exchange for some coin.

By midday the shows and performances had largely run their course, and the lingering crowds turned their attention to the exhibits lining the streets and plazas of the town. The items and lectures on offer ran the gamut, from trundle mock-ups to plaster fossil replicas, from field glasses and long scopes to sounding balloons. There was even a full scale locomotive, held in place by a large steel frame, that thrummed and rumbled as an experimental high-yield petrol engine hammered away inside it.

Aleny shoved another candied grasshopper into his mouth, signed in contentment at the sight of so many tents, so many stalls, so many people! He had arranged for a most remarkable demonstration of his new invention, and it was gratifying to know that so many would get to see it. And the news-sheets! Soon, the whole of the continent would know of his wireless telegraph! Well, Probodobodyne's wireless telegraph, but his name would be on the research papers. That was enough for him.

 

 

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The display was little more than a round wooden stage set up in a relatively clear area at the far end of the complex. They were not too far from the start of the bog, and in truth the ground was softer than Aleny would have liked, but his managers had assured them that the natural flow of foot traffic through the display areas would eventually provide a large audience.

And so it had.

The stage had three podiums on it, each with a single electric light and a pair of levers. A group of local dignitaries were congregated behind each of the podiums, with a handler at each to make sure others had a turn. Probodobodyne had carefully maneuvered the VIPs so that the first three at the podiums were a politician, a well heeled investor and a news-sheet reporter. Aleny had a seat on the stage off to one side, his managers trusting him to watch and little else. But Aleny had failed to even notice the slight, and he scanned the audience happily as the announcer started the show.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please! Today we will be showcasing Probodobodyne's latest and greatest invention! A telegraph that needs no wires, and a puppet that needs no strings! How about a round of applause for our puppeteers, ladies and gentlemen?" The announcer introduced the kerbal at each of the three podiums, each receiving a polite if not quite wholehearted acknowledgement from the audience. Aleny realized with a sudden start that a small section of the crowd was enthusiastically waving and cheering at him.

The little ones from the park!

"And you can't have puppeteers without a puppet! It is with great pleasure that I present to you the Probodobodyne A-1 wireless lighter!" The silk cover slid off the odd looking contraption right on cue. The crowd was largely silent now, obviously expecting something more than the strange, bulb topped tube. The lone exception was the gaggle of children clustered near the front, the kerblets quite plainly believing that something very exciting was about to happen. Aleny couldn't help himself, joined the little group in a whooping cheer, ignored the nasty look from his manager. Yes, this is going to be wonderful! And so many people are going to see it!

 

"Esteemed members of the audience, you may wish to cover your ears!" The announcer picked up the loose end of a lanyard that had been cleverly hidden behind a support. A wave of puzzled looks passed through the crowd, a few hands coming up as makeshift ear protectors.

The group of kerblets bounced to their feet and began to shrill in rough unison. "Three!"

 

"Puppeteers, on your marks!"

"Two!"

 

"Get set!" The announcer raised the lanyard, trying his best to appear dramatic and dignified in the face of the squalling children who were so brazenly spoiling his act.

"One!"

 

"Go!" The announcer yanked on the lanyard, and was promptly blown flat on his back for his trouble.

The rasping, tearing hiss of the KESTES-1 rocket motor drowned out the children and the rest of the crowd, blew Aleny clean out of his chair and sent more than a few people scrambling for cover. It also drew the attention of every single kerbal in the complex. The contraption leapt skyward at an incredible rate, accelerating as the heavy powder burned out of it. It shot up, and up. . .

 

 

. . .and up. . .

 

 

 

 

And up. Aleny watched in horror as his beautiful demonstration blasted through the cloud deck and then continued upwards until it was completely out of view. The soft voice of the Kestes engineer was embarrassingly loud against the stunned silence of the crowd.

"Oops."

Aleny just stared at the clouds, tried not to hear the increasing murmuring of the audience, tried especially hard not the hear the laugh. He could hear Bob's voice in his head now, the "self-heating metal fiasco", another scientist's reputation ruined in the court of public opinion. It didn't matter that his invention worked, how many problems it could solve. Any time anyone thought of the wireless telegraph, they would think of this failure.

And they would laugh. Perhaps, he thought. . .perhaps he could become a fisherman. Or maybe find work at the canning factory. Yes, the factory. Dull, repetitive, something soothing for his mind. . .

Suddenly, from the audience, there was a sharp voice with sharper eyes. "I see it!"

 

 

 

Aleny sat up, saw one of the kerblets standing on the tips of her toes, pointing skyward. He followed the gesture, didn't see anything at first. . .there! He scrambled to his feet, shoved the announcer out of the way, threw the switch that would energize the transmitter hidden below the floor of the stage.

Ten kilometers overhead, the lighter's mechanical computer twitched inside its spherical housing, a programmed response to the radio waves passing along its receiver. Gears turned over, a conductor dropped into place, and a trickle of power fluttered into the small transmitter welded along the inside of the round, metal shell.

The incandescent bulb on the announcer's podium seared to life.

 

Right. . .right lever for pitch! Yes, and left lever to bank.

The Kestes engineer was there now, eyeing the lighter with a pair of field glasses. "Okay Aleny, I have it. Bring the nose up a bit. Back on the pitch lever. . .good. A little more. . .a little, okay, hold it there. Unbelievable, it's working."

 

It's working! IT'S WORKING!!

"Okay Aleny, let's bring it down a little lower so the rest of these folks can see it, and then we'll let the others take a turn flying the thing."

 

 

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The politician took his hands off the levers, a thoughtful smile on his face as the light bulb on his podium cut off. Beside him, the light on the reporter's console flared to life, intense concentration quickly turning to wonder has she moved the levers back and forth.

Vern kept his eyes off the lighter, watched the people in the crowd instead. To most, it was a good performance that they would enjoy and eventually forget. Some of them would stop by his store and browse, and some of those might actually buy something. But as he scanned the faces of the crowd, he saw something else. There were some that understood, the awe in their expressions telling the story, the awareness that they were witnessing history.

History could be worth a lot of money. Vern looked back over at his engineer, the kerbal staying close to Aleny's side as the two moved around the stage. Yes, there might be an opportunity here. He just needed to figure out what it was.

 

 

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What goes up must come down, or so the saying went. Kestes had one of their own people at the controls now, the little lighter running out of sky as gravity tugged it closer to the ground with each pass. The return to Kerbin would not be gentle, and the Kestes pilot was trying to find a safe place to crash it. He'd gotten it low and level with the ground, had tried several times to "flare" the glider right before contact to lower the impact speed, but it kept fluttering back into the air. Finally, he pulled back hard on the pitch lever, hoping to damp the machine's airspeed in an attempt to dump the thing into a clear patch of bog.

The lighter responded to the command, its winglets flexing under the load, the little glider curving up. . .and up. . .

And up.

"Huh. That's weird."

A few seconds later the machine had sailed back up into the sky, the crowd "oooohing" their appreciation for the maneuver. The Kestes pilot just started at the controls, looked over at the engineer, the kerbal looking equally flabbergasted. Gliders were not supposed to do that. . .couldn't do that. . .

With absolutely no warning whatsoever, Aleny suddenly began jumping up and down and laughing hysterically.

"Gravity is a particle!"

The Kestes engineer looked at him like he'd gone mad. Aleny grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, a huge smile splitting his face. "Gravity is a particle! Don't you see? The glider! It all makes sense!" Aleny released the dumbfounded engineer, spun around, ran for his lab as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him.

By nightfall, Aleny had forgotten all about his wireless telegraph.

 

 

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"Please folks, just a few more questions and then we need to wrap this up!"

The lighter had sprung away from the ground several more time, dozens of kerbals taking a turn at the controls until the machine's batteries finally died, consigning the glider to an uncontrolled crash well south of the complex. As Vern had predicted, most of those assembled quickly went about their business, but among those who stayed there had been no end of questions. And now the only ones left were the more astute members of the press, trying to sneak in a few more questions while the opportunity was still there.

"What's it called? What's the name of the thing?"

"As we've already mentioned, we're calling it a 'wireless telegraph', and that. . ."

"No no no! What's the flying machine called? What do we put with the pictures?"

"Ah, well, it's the Probodobodyne Apex One Wireless Lighter!"

The Probodobodyne representative looked quite pleased with himself, but the reporters just stared, some shaking their heads, two of them getting up to leave. Vern stood up, cleared his throat, had to think fast. . .Aleny, the kerbal with the prodigious appetite for insects. . .

"Dragonfly." The reporters were looking at him now, their pencils moving across their notepads.

"We're calling it the Kestes A-1 Dragonfly."

 

 

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The arc lamps beat back the growing darkness, the thick humidity holding in the heat of the day in spite of the fading sunlight. Jeb pitched the tow cables into the back of the trundle, pulled the heavy gloves off, fished a sandwich out of the cooler. It had been a good day. He'd hauled a dozen different trundles out of the muck, earning a handful of coin for each one. And a business card too, a particularly grateful fellow driving a government trundle with a 'C7' logo on the side of it.

It wasn't the kind of cash flow he was used to, but it was a start.

Jeb leaned back in his camp chair, took his time eating the sandwich, looked out over the swamp. His swamp. His trash. His problem. Jeb shook his head, propped his feet up on a handy crate. One of his old professors had been fond of saying, Sometimes, you just have to throw yourself at hardship and trust yourself enough to find your way back out of it. It was true enough, as sayings went, but he was in for a rough time of it. Jeb had sold his business, sold all but one of his trundles, used most of the money to move what he needed down here to the coast. The cost of the land itself had been mostly inconsequential, its previous owner mostly just happy to be rid of it and the liability it represented. Jeb had a little less than a year before the government fines started kicking in. But there was an energy here that had been lacking up in the mountains, so many opportunities to be had-- he was confident that he could work something out.

Jeb flipped off the lamps to spare the battery, crawled into the back of the trundle and was soon sound asleep.

 

 

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The bell on the door rang as it opened, the sound of it wearing on Vern's last nerve. It had been a long day, two of the reporters actually following him back to the store and keeping him from getting any work done. There were things that needed to be ordered, wires that needed to be sent. The shop was dark except for a few lights behind the counter, illuminating little more than the inventories and ledgers spread out on Vern's workbench in the back of the building.

"We're closed," he called towards the counter, "come back tomorrow."

The next bell that rung wasn't the bell on the door-- it was the service bell on the counter. Vern tamped down on his annoyance, plastered a friendly smile to his face, walked towards the counter from the back of the shop.

"I'm sorry, but . . .we're. . ." He stopped, and he stared.

There were five of them, hauling a heavy, briefcase sized object that looked suspiciously similar to a sounding balloon's instrument gondola. One of them held up a freshly printed news-sheet, pointed to the black and white photo of the Dragonfly.

"Can you make it bigger?"

 

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Edited December 29, 2015 by Ten Key
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[KSK]

Heh - sounds like "Can you make it bigger?" is going to be a catchphrase.

Storming chapter! Didn't quite get the 'gravity is a particle' stuff but loved the show-stealing kerblets and very much enjoying Jeb the slightly down on his luck entrepreneur. I'm also guessing that we'll be seeing that C7 business card again sometime.

[Whirligig Girl]

"No." The man simply stated. "We can't make it bigger." Jeb's face drooped.

"Why?" He asked.

"it uses gunpowder, the charge just doesn;t produce enough thrust to lift off if you make it any bigger." Verne stepped into the open.

"Gunpowder? What if you used a more efficient explosive, like a mining charge or something?" Jeb was insistent.

"I suppose so, but how you're going to get it to keep from exploding all at once is the problem."

Jeb had a better idea of course. It was called the LV-T15 Liquid Fuel Engine. It would combust petrol and liquid oxygen and-

Just as Jeb set down the blueprints, he noticed he'd left the door open, and that a Kerbal had wandered in. "Um.. Hello. Must've wander..." Jeb stared at him.

"Who are you?"

He laughed a bit. "I'm... ah. Bob. Bob Kerman." Bob glanced at the drawing. "What's..."

Jeb covered the papers.

"Nothing. It's nothing." Jeb folded the paper up. "Please leave."

[Ten Key]

Storming chapter! Didn't quite get the 'gravity is a particle' stuff but loved the show-stealing kerblets and very much enjoying Jeb the slightly down on his luck entrepreneur. I'm also guessing that we'll be seeing that C7 business card again sometime.

A bit of a sideways explanation follows, but the "TL;DR" version is that no one but Aleny understands his "eureka" moment, and. . .well, I guess the takeaway is that Aleny's brain doesn't always play by the same rules as everyone else's.

This chapter wasn't part of the original outline at all-- I only included it because I found I needed a bit more "runway" to cover all the introductory points I wanted to hit. If you'll pardon the pun, it kind of ballooned on me, and actually ended up changing some things that might cause some problems later on. But that's okay.

One of the charming things about Kerbal Space Program is that it sometimes encourages/forces you to run missions for reasons other than scoring points or climbing the tech tree. Especially for a new player, there are times when you'll throw a mission or a machine together just for the sake of testing something. The Dragonfly wasn't my first flight-- the winglets it uses are not actually available on the first node of the tech tree. But all of the initial BTSM sounding rockets end up looking exactly alike so I decided to skip over that. The Dragonfly carried no instruments, and without a parachute there was no way to get science points for recovering it. I built it solely as a way of testing my flightstick with Kerbal Space Program.

The test flight actually happened at night, and I don't have any screenshots. The thing went straight up to, oh, about 30 - 35 km, and then nosed over and dove, becoming controllable at around 8 - 10 km altitude. It flew a lot better than I thought it would. The joystick worked well, and the throttle worked too, though there was no engine so adjusting the throttle didn't actually do anything. But my throttle has an analog thumb stick on it, so I could move the camera with my left hand and fly with my right.

It was supposed to be a short flight, but the Dragonfly suffers(benefits?) from the "infiniglider" bug, and below about 2,000 meters the lift/drag ratio gets silly and the thing can stay in the air for the 40 minutes it takes for the batteries to run down. It was. . .surreal. I was out over the water, and it was very dark, but there were sections of the coastline that were illuminated by a "city lights" mod, and there was a full Mun. And the stars! There was just a little bit of cloud cover, and with no engine noise the only sound was the wind from the "atmospheric sound effects" add on. And I remember looking at the stars, and realizing that a few of them were actually planets, faithfully rendered at extreme distance and drifting along in the sky like it was no big deal. And here I was, flying along in something I had built, and having a magnificent time of it, and thinking that those planets looked close enough to touch. And I remember it really hitting me that those planets weren't part of a skybox. They were really "up there", and eventually I could build something that could cross that distance and actually reach them.

I've done a lot of neat things in KSP, but that really was "The Moment". The moment when KSP went from being a $20 toy, to a game I absolutely had to play. And a story I needed to write.

But, back to the chapter. The above moment was made possible by the screw ball stock aerodynamics system, and it didn't really fit into the story. Should I include it, or leave it out? It didn't seem right to acknowledge it without doing something with it, so Aleny had his own "moment" where he made some mental connection in the "gravity as a field force or as a particle" debate. This moment is absolutely inconsequential to the story, except for the fact that Aleny is now off developing the Probodobodyne Gravioli Detector.

"It uses gunpowder, the charge just doesn't produce enough thrust to lift off if you make it any bigger."

Yes Greg, this is exactly correct. You've hit the nail squarely on the head.

[BagelRabbit]

First of all, smashing job: your depiction of an incandescent blub is un-matched. Sorry, I just liked that little typo...

Seriously, though: I was really, really happy with your depiction of Kestes Model Rockets. Your statement that "F" models were the most powerful that they offered? Fantastic! (Although there is that Pro series that they ripped off from Aerotech.) Your mentioning Uncle Vern? Absolutely great! (The closest I've gotten to one of those giants of model rocketry was when I met up with Tim van Milligan. He ended up signing the rocket that's on my avatar )

I really like this story so far. Please keep going.

-Upsilon

[Whirligig Girl]

I still like to think that Kerbals eat Graviolis, because of Kaspervld's comment and Dahud's speculation on the Food and Not Food drawers in the Hitchhiker Storage Container.

[Ten Key]

First of all, smashing job: your depiction of an incandescent blub is un-matched. Sorry, I just liked that little typo...

Oh nuts.

I must have read over that sentence a dozen times during the editing process. When I saw your comment, I spent about 30 seconds trying to figure out how I'd misspelled "incandescent". Bleh, I think I need to have my brain's "auto-correct" function calibrated.

I'll go back through and do a quick clean up once this next chapter is finished-- just some spelling errors, one or two missing words and perhaps a slight rework of the airship section based on Ortwin's feedback. I'm starting to run into a bit of burn out on this end, but I should be able to get the next chapter up by the deadline.

Thanks for the feedback everyone. I'll see you all "up there".

[Ten Key]

The End of the Line

 

The light of the setting sun crawled slowly along the bones, oozing up the vertebrae, the huge ribs, and the pair of hideously oversized claws before finally settling onto the mammoth skull. The jaws were open, the skeletal maw filled with seemingly endless rows of teeth. The creature stood nearly as tall as the air distillery tower, and the menacing, crouched posture had been necessary to keep the skeleton clear of the high roof. The curator was pleased with the results, especially the way the sunset highlighted the creature through the windows. He made a mental note to congratulate the staff that had done the assembly.

"And here is the star of the collection ladies and gentlemen, the largest and most complete kinosaur skeleton to be found in the swamp to date. This particular specimen probably lived sometime between 50 and 70 million years ago, which would seem to support our theories that this region was one of the last to be affected during the Great Dying. As with the other specimens, note the crenellations and scalloping along the bones where the layers of sediment built up during the fossilization process. Now, our records show that fossils of this particular species have previously only been discovered in more northern climes, leading to speculation that there must have been a large migration near the end of the Great Dying. That hypothetical migration ended here, ladies and gentlemen, and the great variety of animal life that was drawn into the resulting mire is responsible for the addle that makes the pipeline possible!"

The crowd murmured appreciatively, the few flash bulbs going off throwing shadows of the huge skeleton along the far wall. The curator gave them a few moments, then nodded to a kerbal standing off to the side. "My assistant here will show you the newest samples, and then the tour will conclude with a trip to our gift shop. Thank you for your time ladies and gentlemen, and good evening to you."

 

 

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The curator took a sip from the mug, sifted through another stack of papers. Tending a museum was interesting work, but it didn't pay the bills. He looked up at a sudden commotion out in the hallway, smiled, had just long enough to compose himself before his door burst open and his office filled with yabbering kerblets.

"I take it you all have finished your homework then?" The reply came as a ragged chorus of "Yeses" and bobbing heads. "Good! No copying this time, I take it?" He made note of the speed of the replies, the eye contact or lack there of, the telltale signs of which papers he needed to pay extra attention to. "Well, give them here then."

"Are you going to go see the big rocket tomorrow?"

The curator blinked. "Why, I hadn't intended on it."

"You should come see it! It's gonna be really big, and really loud!"

"Yes, well, perhaps I will. Now, off with you!" The kerblets shuffled out of the office, and he picked up the lesson plan he had been working on, sniffed his annoyance.

Rockets indeed.

 

 

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Bill stretched in the lounge chair, the open deck on the top of his railcar providing the perfect vantage point for viewing the sunset. Tonight, he was just an ordinary businessman. Tomorrow, he would take a step into the big leagues. His assistant dropped into the chair next to him, nudged the seat into its reclining position.

"It's done. The paperwork's been filed and all the necessary wires have been sent. As of midnight tonight, we are the official transport company of the Fair-line Project." Bill smiled, brought his glass up to his lips, realized it was empty. He held it out towards his assistant, rattled the ice cubes around meaningfully.

Richvan brought her pocketwatch up, gave it a good look. "I'm off the clock." She smiled into the sunset, watched as the bright disk faded and slipped behind the mountains. Bill grumbled his annoyance, got up and headed for the wet bar. By the time he got back the sun was completely gone.

He handed Richvan a second glass and reclaimed his seat, watched as the stars came out over the mountains. He thought of his competitors, sitting fat and happy back in their offices with no real idea as to what was going on. Today they were his peers. . .tomorrow, merely an annoyance.

"This changes everything. More trains, stable contracts, tighter payroll. I finally made it. It's finally done." He sniffed. "Not sure I need an assistant anymore."

He looked down at his drink, pondered a moment. "But I could use a partner."

The clink of the glasses was barely audible over the rising sound of the insects from the swamp.

 

 

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The curator locked his office up, checked his pocketwatch. Midnight. He was going to have to stop fussing over his grading, or he was never going to get any sleep.

He passed into the main area of the museum, the darkness broken only by a few dim lights. The skeleton was still there, half visible through the gloom. Most would have found the creature terrifying in such lighting, but the curator had seen it enough times to not be bothered. In fact, it almost looked like the skeleton itself was frightened, crouching in the shadows against some unseen threat. He wondered at that, wondered what it must have been like to make such an incredible journey, only to run out of room and time as the inevitable closed in around you. Had the creature known it was doomed? Or had it struggled on in ignorance to the very bitter end?

It was ironic, that this creature's despair would turn into hope for so many, millions of years after its passing.

"See you tomorrow, old friend. Sleep well." The curator flipped the last of the lights off, leaving the creature alone in the dark.

 

 

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Bob sat bolt up right in the bunk, his mind still thick with sleep. Something was wrong, something was. . .the engines were running. It was night, and the barge's engines were running. Hard.

He levered himself out of the bunk, the deck heaving underneath him, began moving towards the hatch. He could hear yelling now, muffled by the engine noise, something very, very wrong. He reached the hatch, pulled himself through it, made for the ladder that led up to the main deck. The sea spray that hit his face was cold, bone cold, but why. . .

"Kraken! Sakes alive, it's the KRAKEN! We gotta get outta here!"

Bob got out of the kerbal's way, no sense left in the panicked sailor at all. He pushed his way out to the railing, looked out over the dark water, followed the glare of the barge's spot light. There was another barge close by, caught in the harsh white of the arc lamp. It was foundering badly, the water around it churned into a thick foam by some force far greater than its own propellers. There was no damage that he could see, no reason for the. . .Bob watched in horror as the big ship slipped lower into the froth and sank. In seconds, the barge was gone. The sailor was cowering in the hatchway now, crying softly. "It's gonna get us!"

Bob swallowed hard, the gears in his mind turning, hands tightening on the railing until his knuckles turned yellow. There was no kraken, no mythical sea creature to explain this problem away. That would have been too merciful. He closed his eyes against the reality of it, the helplessness, and the fear.

The pipeline had burst.

He had begged them not to pressurize it, but the Peninsulites had been so sure of their great machine that they felt comfortable ignoring the advice of a single, freelance contractor. And now the ocean had finally found a weak point, had crushed the pipeline like so much tin foil. Another barge briefly wallowed in the swells, before it too pitched over and sank. Bob understood what was happening, knew that the automatic systems back at the complex were still trying to force air into the shattered pipeline. The resulting column of froth boiling up from the seafloor had lowered the density of the water to the point where the barges could no longer displace enough of it to support their own weight. The barge Bob was riding on looked to be clear of it, but some of the others. . .were not.

He watched, helpless, as a third barge wavered and slipped beneath the waves.

Bob growled his frustration, couldn't help but think of Aleny. That stupid kerbal with his stupid insects. And his stupid invention, the one that could send messages instantly without a wire. He looked in the direction of the complex, was far enough out to sea so that he couldn't even see the lights. His mind screamed, as though he could somehow hurl his thoughts through the darkness and have someone hear him.

Turn the gas off! Turn the blessed gas off!!

 

 

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Kerbals were not built for running.

Swimming? Sure. Climbing? Maybe. Lying in the sun? Absolutely! But running? No. The best Kinsey could manage was a loping, wobbling trot that carried her across the barren airfield and towards the administration tower. The air was thick with the worst of the biting insects that this cursed island had on offer.

Kinsey didn't even notice them.

The airship had come in just after dawn, had brought in the first of the promised lighthouse sections. But it had brought news as well, and had left in such a hurry that it hadn't even bothered to offload the construction materials.

Kinsey didn't care. She teetered to a stop next to the tower, snatched the receiver off the wall, hauled at the crank that forced power into the line.

"It's Kinsey, get me the director. No, get me the director now. We have a problem."

 

 

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Gusmin hummed as he walked along, happy enough to soak in a bit of the morning light before he started his shift. The work he did at the extruder was boring, but Gusmin didn't mind. It gave him time to think, to dream. And it put food in his belly. That was good enough for him.

Others were moving with him up the street, and he recognized more than a few faces, exchanged waves and friendly greetings as he went. The traffic was lighter than usual, and it slowly dawned on Gusmin that there were no workers moving in the other direction.

He reached the extruder's side entrance a few minutes later, only to find a crowd gathered outside. Polite as always, it took Gusmin a while to ease his way forward. And when he finally got to the front, he joined the others in staring dumbly. The doors to the assembly area had been chained shut, and all the lights were turned off.

Gusmin could see through the windows, could see that all of the furniture inside was gone.

 

 

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Vern watched as his crew put the finishing touches on the new rocket. "Bigger" just hadn't worked, no matter which way they'd turned the problem, the KESTES-1 motor already pushing the limits of its proprietary powder charge. In the end, the solution had been to make it smaller-- the new vehicle was little more than a KESTES-1 with three of the new KESTES-1.5 augmenters welded onto the cylindrical housing. The augmenters would fire first, and then a series of burnout fuses would ignite the central KESTES-1 engine.

They'd commandeered a large pitch-ball court near the edge of the complex for the launch, the site actually recommended by several of the young rocketeers that had taken to following his team around like a bunch of band groupies. They were there now, dutifully pacing off the requisite safety distance, carefully sweeping away any debris that might get thrown by the backwash, keeping onlookers from getting too close to the rocket. Vern couldn't help but smile at the thought of it-- his very own miniature army.

 

 

 

 

There were others standing around the rocket, Probodobodyne engineers who were busy fussing with the wiring, checking the batteries, calibrating the instruments. Unlike the A-1, this sounding rocket would be completely unguided, but it would carry a pair of thermographs, a barometer, and, most importantly, a wireless transmitter that would send the data back to the scientists on the ground. No balloon had been able to do that, and the scientists were thrilled at the prospect of finally being able to validate their atmospheric profiles. As for Vern, well, he was just happy to be launching rockets. He waved to one of the kerblets, got a huge smile and a thumbs up in return.

It looked like he wasn't the only one.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

The afternoon had settled into the swamp like a thick, damp blanket, the air so oppressive that even the bugs seemed to be taking a breather. Jeb wiped his face off on a towel, picked up his clipboard, moved towards the next pile of debris. He was going to finish this survey today, no matter what nature decided to throw at him.

His newly acquired property covered about 40 hectares of land, sandwiched between the rail line and a deep bog. It certainly looked more promising than it actually was. . .there were a lot of places where the water table was just below the surface, and it didn't take much to sink into muck up to your knees.

The debris itself told a story, one Jeb was slowly learning to read as he carefully canvassed the lot from one side to the other. Some of the pipe segments showed signs of saltwater corrosion, and others still had traces of sediment in them. Others looked factory fresh, had been carefully stacked in place as if this dumping ground had been meant as a temporary home. This last stretch had debris strewn about haphazardly, and some of it looked like it had been tossed off of a slowly moving train. Part of the history of the pipeline project was here in the junk, and Jeb recorded it along with the general inventory as he went. If nothing else, it might be worth something to someone.

Someday.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

The airship had arrived that afternoon, its only cargo a group of gloomy dignitaries from Capitol City. They had insisted on an immediate meeting, only to then insist on waiting for a message packet from the capital before they would proceed. Kinsey had spent the better part of the last hour in the conference room at the top of the admin tower, waiting for the meeting to start.

And now that it had, she found herself wishing she could go back to waiting.

"The pipeline is finished, the Peninsulites are gone."

Kinsey's boss leaned forward, both hands flat on the conference table. "How do you know that?"

"We received a brief diplomatic packet this morning. . .their ambassador certainly acted like it was more than they owed us. They've pulled out completely, declaring in no uncertain terms that they will have no part in the project from here on out."

"They can't do that."

"No, technically they can't. But the reality is, we have no good way of stopping them. The rest of the details don't concern you, but I'm afraid this means your work here will no longer be necessary."

"You can't do that."

"Director, a few fishermen and a canning factory don't require the services of a lighthouse, especially not one as big as you intend to build here."

"Your administration. . .you. . .signed a legal contract with Farlight Limited."

"So we did. So we did."

"We borrowed on the basis of that contract-- we can't just walk away from it. And I can make certain that you can't either. The Peninsulites may be able to do whatever they want, but here, there are laws, and there are consequences for breaking them!"

The councilor moved to the large windows that served as the walls for the conference room, looked out over the water. The barges were still out there, searching for survivors they probably wouldn't find. By some miracle the news hadn't gotten out yet, a testament to just how quickly and quietly the Peninsulites had pulled up stakes. But it was only a matter of time.

"It's not that simple. The funds required to cover your contract were contingent on the tax revenue from the pipeline. Without that revenue, we just don't have the money to cover the costs."

"You have a legal obligation to do so."

The councilor sighed. "I know."

He moved back to his seat, looked the Farlight director right in the eyes. "As of this morning, Capitol City assumed legal ownership of all of the assets of the pipeline project. As of right now, the lighthouse project is being abandoned, in accordance with the wishes of the Council. And as of this evening, Capitol City will be transferring ownership of the pipeline complex to Farlight Limited, on the condition that your company assumes full responsibility for the facility and keeps it running until after the next election."

"And if we refuse?"

The councilor's smile was forced. "I'm afraid you can't. If you check the fine print, you'll see that you have no right to refuse compensation in any legal form of tender. And property rights are a legal form of tender."

 

 

________________________________

 

 

"Places everyone, places!" Vern scanned over the pitch-ball court one last time, made sure the area was clear, no one closer to the rocket than they absolutely had to be. The sun was starting to set, but they still had enough light left, if only just.

The ignition coils had been set in place, the electrical wires running from the base of the rocket ending at a metal podium that was set back at a safe distance. Vern stood next to the podium, gave the Probodobodyne engineer a thumbs up. The kerbal trotted forward, did something to the rocket, waved a large green flag over his head as he stepped clear. Vern could hear a muffled ratcheting sound as the mechanical computer at the top of the rocket wound itself up. They were running on the batteries now.

"And start the count everyone!" He turned to the kerblet balancing on the stool behind the podium, lowered his voice, handed her a small, metal key. "You know what to do with this, I take it?"

The chorus of voices started, the enthusiasm building with each pulse of sound. Vern took a few steps back and quietly got out of the way.

"Thirty!"

"Twenty Nine!"

"Twenty Eight!"

 

 

________________________________

 

The elevated conference room offered a stunning view of the sunset, but neither Kinsey nor the director paid any attention to it. Kinsey had never seen her boss this distraught before, wasn't sure how to act.

"This is good, isn't it? I mean, they just handed us the keys to the hottest real estate on the continent!"

"It's a swamp. The only reason there's anything there at all is because the Peninsulites came in and started throwing money around like it just sprouted up out of the dirt. Without that, there's just nothing there."

Kinsey knew angry, could handle angry. But one thing she couldn't deal with was morose. "Capitol City has too much tied up in that complex to let it. . .to let us, sink. They'll come up with something, find a way to keep those assembly lines turning."

"Didn't you hear him? Weren't you listening? We're to keep things running until after the next election. The current administration is term limited, once they get reelected they won't much care what happens to the complex. In fact, they'll probably be looking around for a good scapegoat."

Kinsey blinked, hadn't thought of that. But the fire sparked again. "That extruder is the most sophisticated piece of equipment this part of the world has ever seen! And you're telling me we can't find a use for it?"

"It rolls out pipes Kinsey. That's what it does. . .that's all it does. What are we going to do with a machine that makes pipes?"

 

 

________________________________

 

 

"Sixteen!"

"Fifteen!"

"Fourteen!"

The kerblet pressed the key into the slot on the metal box, turned it 90 degrees from the SAFE to the ARMED position, raised her sharp voice to the warm evening sky. "The rocket is live!"

 

"Eleven!"

"Ten!"

"Nine!"

"Eight!"

 

 

 

________________________________

 

Jeb balanced himself on top of a section of pipe, stretched his aching muscles, squinted at the clipboard in the rapidly fading light. That was strange-- he'd inventoried the entire lot, and while some of the pipes were long and some were short, some thick walled and some thin, all of them had an exterior diameter of exactly 1.25 meters. . .

 

 

________________________________

 

 

 

"Four!"

"Three!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!!"

 

The kerblet brought her finger down hard on the ignition button, the soft pop of the photographer's flash bulb completely swallowed by the deep rush of the solid fuel motors. . .

 

________________________________

 

 

A flash of motion along the horizon caught Jeb's eye, and he turned, stared, his neck craning has he followed the rocket up. The sound arrived a few moments later, the strange, deep rasp of it damped by distance and the thick, humid air. Jeb watched as it went up, and up. . .and up. . .

 

There was a pop, more imagined than heard, as the augmenters burned out and the central engine flared to life in their place. Jeb eased down into a sitting position, eyes riveted on the rocket, watched as it burned higher and faster still. He watched as it climbed back up into the sunlight, briefly becoming the brightest object in the rapidly darkening sky. He watched it until it was gone, stared after it as the stars came out, watched the Mun rise over the mountains. Jeb leaned back on the pipe, and he was still staring at the stars when he finally drifted off to sleep.

 

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Edited December 29, 2015 by Ten Key
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[Whirligig Girl]

The pipes are 1.25m. THe Extruder... it MAKES 1.25m Rocket Tanks!

[KSK]

""It rolls out pipes Kinsey. That's what it does. . .that's all it does."

And it absolutely will not stop until we are on the Mün!

This whole chapter just made me smile. All the strands of a nascent space program starting to come together - and I love the kerblet countdowns.

[Ten Key]

Okay, I've cleaned up the spelling and made some small edits to the text here and there. No significant changes beyond basic word flow. There are a few parts I'm not thrilled with, but given the opportunity I could fuss with this for a year and still not be satisfied. So with that in mind, I've rested my brain a bit, flown some rockets, and am now ready to step back into this.

A few basic notes on the BTSM mod as we move past the introduction to the story. . .

BTSM is a progression overhaul that completely replaces the stock KSP tech tree. The very first thing it hands you is a probe core, and the first parts that carry kerbals are straight up terrible. The changes are too numerous to list, but I think the biggest things are. . .

-- Kerbals need to breathe. BTSM includes a rudimentary, "unified" life support mechanic that uses a single new resource called "life support". It is extremely restrictive, at least in the early portions of the game.

-- Spacesuits and EVA thruster packs are not available at the start of the game. You have to earn them back on the tech tree, and they are separate items. And no more infinite EVA fuel.

-- BTSM nerfs reaction wheels into oblivion. Especially the ones integrated into the various command pods.

The mod forces a 24 hour game clock. When I use the word "days" in the story, I am referring to the standard six hour day found on Kerbin. A week would be 7, six hour days, or 42 hours. But beyond that it breaks down, and I don't rigidly track time unless I'm following an actual flight. Anyone who tries to calculate the position of the various planets by keeping track of the passage of time in the story is going to be disappointed.

I may sometimes say "Kerbin days" in the story as a reminder to the reader (and myself), even though it wouldn't really make sense for a kerbal to do that. And at some point I'm likely going to mess that up, so if you catch me using Earth days instead of Kerbin days, feel free to smack me over the head.

I'm probably not going to have the next bit ready by Tuesday, but I may try to crank out two chapters between now and the 17th.

[Ten Key]

"What's a lighthouse?"

The kerbal exhaled his frustration, the rasp of it like wind coursing across dried leaves. Leaves these youngsters had never seen. What's a leaf? His mind groped for the right words, a way to span the gulf in life experience between the old and the young that could make the simplest concepts difficult to explain.

"A lighthouse is. . .it's like a refuse shaft, but built up instead of down, see? Long and narrow, but, up, out of the ground. They had a light on top you could see from a good ways off, and they marked harbors and hazards for ships at sea."

Another little hand went up, the face screwed into a mask of concentration. "Are lighthouses good things? Or bad things?"

He started to reply, hesitated, found he had to think about it himself. He focused on the student, tried to put a name with the face. Mabel. Good mind, that one. And on half rations too. She might make it.

"Bit of both, I suppose. A lighthouse is a guide, see? They hold back the dark, the unknown, and you'll often see them used as symbols of hope or safety. But they are also signs of danger, a warning of an unseen threat looming close in the darkness. Best thing to do when you see a lighthouse is to pay real close attention, 'till you figure out what it's trying to tell you."

 

________________________________

 

There is no story yet, not for this part. All I have are notes, most of them written in that syrupy, passive voice common to after action reports. These "AARs" are separated by vehicle, and while they are ordered as well as they can be there is a significant amount of chronological overlap that my notes don't really cover. Trying to tease out exactly what happened when is slowing me up quite a bit. . .I think the next few chapters will decide if Farlight is going to tip in the direction of a narrative or an "after action".

 

The first few screenshots are uniformly terrible, and the craft files that were featured in them have been lost to upgrades and obsolescence. I will do what I can, and they will get better, but please bear with me as I muddle through this first part.

 

There is no science to be had on Kerbin's surface, not in Better Than Starting Manned. Climbing the tech tree requires climbing the gravity well, and doing it with a bare minimum of parts. I installed the mod for the technical challenge, and it certainly delivered on that point. But it was true to its name too, and getting a kerbal into space proved to be a lot harder, and a lot slower, than I thought it would be. I have seen some speculation about how the game would be better if probe cores were available before space capsules, and while it may be more realistic, I'm not sure it's as much fun. Having a flight roster you never use is kind of depressing. Until suddenly, gloriously, it isn't.

 

 

 

________________________________

 

Part One -- Breakwater

 

________________________________

 

 

The airship tugged at the mooring lines, seemed eager to be gone from this cursed place. The winds were picking up again, a prelude to another storm rolling in from the Inner Sea. The worksite had been stripped, the warehouses emptied of the few supplies had been brought out to the island. Kinsey frowned as the first raindrops landed hard on the dusty airfield.

It was time to go.

"Come on, we need to lift before that front gets here! What's the hold up?"

The loader turned towards her, started to say something, sputtered as he caught a particularly large plop of rain right in the face. "That capstone is just too heavy. There was a bit of rot in the drag lines and one of them just snapped. The thing was heavy before, but. . .well, I just don't understand it. The boys are looking around for some more rope."

Kinsey looked out towards the warehouse, could just see the dull bulk of the capstone around the edge of the wall. The openings for the ventilation system. She didn't even want to think about all the crawling, swarming, biting things that were probably nesting inside wretched piece of hardware.

 

Plop. Plop.

 

Plop. Plop. Plip, Plop. Plop. Plip.

 

Plop, plop, plip-plop, plop, plop PLAP plop plip plap-plop plip-plop-plip. . .

 

"Just leave it, thing's probably full of so much crud it'll never work right anyways. Get the crew aboard and let's go!" Kinsey blew a short, sharp whistle towards the front of the airship's gondola, pointed a finger skyward, spun it in a quick circle three times. The pilot nodded through the glass, said something over his shoulder. By the time Kinsey had accounted for the last of her team and pulled herself aboard the gondola, the airship's engines were already turning their way towards full power. The crew cut the last of the mooring lines and the airship bobbed upwards against the wind and rain. Kinsey settled into one of the seats, watched through a porthole as the airfield sank away into the gray dank below them.

And thus she began the longest journey of her life.

 

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Edited December 29, 2015 by Ten Key
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[Zuni]

More. Now.

[OrtwinS]

More. Now.

*Please*

[Ten Key]

Apologies for the hold up, I'm currently stuck on a bit of dialog that just will not shake itself loose. I've set aside some time tomorrow to hopefully get unstuck, and with most of the rest of the chapter already written I should have something up this weekend.

[Ten Key]

Sorry folks, but it looks like the party may be over for good.

Or. . .I could have possibly fallen for my first April Fool's joke since the 1980's.

Edited March 23, 2015 by Ten Key
owned. . .I hope

[0111narwhalz]

Errr... I can't see what happened. Evidently I don't have the priveleges necessary. Anyway, I hope it's the latter.

[Ten Key]

Errr... I can't see what happened. Evidently I don't have the priveleges necessary. Anyway, I hope it's the latter.

It was, sorry. There was an over-the-top announcement about changes to the forum that would have made threads like this impossible. It was an April Fool's joke, and I fell for it.

Nothing to see here.

The next chapter is finished, barring a single section of dialog that I just can't seem to smooth over. It should be up by Tuesday evening.

[Ten Key]

Datum

The rocket heeled over, its two small control surfaces finding no purchase in the rarefied air of near space. Its time above Kerbin's atmosphere was brief, but it was long enough for the little blue box attached to the base of the rocket to do its job. Its data transmitted and its batteries all but spent, the rocket continued its slow tumble and arched back towards the ground. By the time there was enough atmosphere for the control surfaces to work, they had seized for want of electrical power.

The skin of the rocket was heating now, rivets warping and welds softening in the steadily thickening air. Its batteries dead, its fate sealed, those keeping score on the ground turned away from their blank monitors and went about their business. That should have been the end of this particular rocket's story.

But it wasn't.

The mountain peak caught the sounding rocket right between its maneuvering fins, tearing the whole of it to pieces in the blink of an eye. The damaged welds at the tip of the rocket gave way under the strain, the spherical probe core popping free of the shrapnel and continuing on down the side of the mountain. It touched once, twice, started to roll and bounce its way down the rock face. It careened into a shallow gully, hooked around a bend and flipped high in the air, finally landing in a river west of the continental divide. Several hours later, the probe core struck a submerged plank, rolled slowly into a narrow draw, and then began picking up speed as it was pulled into the wooden irrigation inlet.

 

 

________________________________

 

 

 

There was a loud clunk of something heavy striking wood, and then a dull rolling sound that increased in pitch as the object accelerated. The rolling sound stopped abruptly with a sharp clack, and the object came to rest at the bottom of the trough.

Bob reached down and pulled the wooden ball free of the return chute. The crowd behind him grew louder, friendly cheers and jeers, bets being placed. He tightened his grip on the ball, tuned out the noise of the tavern, wound up and flipped the heavy wooden sphere onto the raised lane. It shot along the travelway, reached the ramp at the end and flipped up under the netting. The ball struck two spinners, ricocheted off a bumper and then dropped into a numbered chute half way up the board. The machine chimed and rattled, Bob's score clicking along the mechanical counter bolted to the top of the device. Not too bad!

The machine whirred and clunked, rolled and clacked. Another kerbal stepped up, gave Bob a friendly clap on the shoulder, pulled the ball out of the chute. The crowd hushed, seemed to hold its breath as the kerbal stepped out in front of the machine. He wound up, no hesitation, fired the ball out along the lane. It hit the ramp hard, launched into the scoring area in a wooden blur. The machine went wild, the sounds and lights easily wiping Bob's score away. Cheers erupted, coin changing hands, more friendly slaps and banter. Bob let himself be steered out of the crowd and towards the black marble bar at the back of the room-- he was in no mood to give the skip-ball machine another try.

The months following the collapse of the pipeline had been trying. With the steady flow of money from the Peninsulites gone, life at the complex had devolved into a vicious game of musical chairs. People would arrive in the morning for work, only to find a freshly built stage with a manager on it, telling them they had all been fired. It had happened so many times now that it was getting difficult to even get people to gather in groups, for fear of being "staged". As a contractor, Bob's position had never been secure, but even he had been surprised at the pace of the changes. Like many of those who had been cut loose, Bob had managed to hang on by finding temporary work on one of the reconstruction projects, but that contract had reached its inevitable conclusion. Tomorrow, he would have to find something else.

Tonight, he would try to relax.

Wurlitzer's Tavern was one of the more peculiar results of the change in ownership at the pipeline complex. The town's mechanical clock was connected to a large steam calliope that had been fed from the extruder's steam lines. When the axe had fallen, the lines connected to the calliope had been shut off and its caretakers had been told to go home. Most obeyed, one refused. Old Wurlitzer had single handedly refurbished the instrument, caring for it in a labor of love that had gone well beyond pay. Eventually, other idle hands started pitching in, someone cobbling together a crude steam generator that ran on the muck pulled out of the swamp, others putting up the building by hand, one plank, one brick at a time. One part brewery, one part power plant, Wurlitzer's Tavern had evolved into a oasis of stability for a community that desperately needed one.

There was a loud, rolling thunk and the machine went nuts again, whistles, flashing lights, the flag popping out of the top of it reading "HIGH SCORE!" in bright red letters. Bob just shook his head, turned at the sound of the thick, earthy accent rolling across the bar. "Difficult day, hmm?" A mug of something amber colored landed in front of him.

"Thanks. You could say it's been a rough day. . .and I thought I was better at that game too!" The laugh that echoed back at him across the bar was infectious, Bob's smile growing as the gray haired kerbal waved off the coin. "First one's on the house! And chin up, you have just been bested by our very own Jebediah Kerman!" The stool next to Bob was suddenly occupied, another friendly clap on the shoulder, a stack of newly won coins appearing on the bar.

"Easy now, it's just Jeb these days. All days, really. And it's not my fault old Wurli's skip-ball machines speak the same language I do."

Wurlitzer's eyes sparkled, his great mustache twitching in amusement. "Jeb-ah-die-ah has been coming in for weeks now, taking advantage of our less talented patrons and sponging power off the generator for his batteries." Jeb's look of feigned innocence was short lived, and soon the junk jockey and the barkeep were laughing up their own private joke.

"I see you have set a new high score on the machine! So, the rules say, you must have a prize!" Wurlitzer reached behind the bar, made a show of digging through the lost and found bin.

"Wurli, please, not another. . ." Jeb stopped as Wurlitzer plopped an old, worn fedora down on his head. "Someone left that fine hat here a month or so ago. Looks good on you, and it will keep the rain off of your head." Some of the coins on the bar disappeared and the barkeep with them. Jeb chuckled to himself, the private joke now truly private, settled the fedora properly on his head. "This hat make me look as ridiculous as I think it does?" Jeb got a half hearted grunt back in reply.

"Rough day?"

"That obvious is it?" Bob caught himself frowning at the reflection in his drink.

"Pardon the expression, but you look like someone just gobbled up your last potato." Another mug landed in front of Jeb with a dull thump. "I am sure Jeb-ah-die-ah has another story to cheer us all up." The mustache twitched. "How did that test flight go today?"

Jeb's smile was quick and wide. "Terrible! We got it airborne, but we got trounced in the fly through." He took a quick pull from the mug, expression almost wistful. "You should have seen it Wurli. The dragonfly just tore us up, wasn't even close! That Kestes pilot is one hot stick, or my name isn't. . ." Jeb seemed to catch himself, knew what was coming. The mustache twitched.

"Jeb-ah-die-yah." The two laughed their way through the private joke again. Bob found the jovial mood contagious, despite his best efforts to the contrary. "You don't seem particularly upset about losing."

"Not really, no. Kestes had us beat on price before we ever got off the ground. I think Farlight just wanted to see what would happen. We gave them their little show, got paid." Jeb shrugged. "Tomorrow it's on to something else."

"Now that sounds familiar."

Jeb turned towards Bob, and though the smile was still there, still cheerful, Bob had the feeling he was being appraised. After a long moment, Jeb turned back to his drink. "Nothing like being at loose ends, is there? I guess the trick is to grab the right thread and start pulling."

"There's going to be plenty of flyers at loose ends once those dragonflies start replacing the balloons and gliders."

Jeb gave him a sidelong look, the smile still there, but with a hard edge to it this time. "You're the diver, right? The one who's been working the rebuild out along the harbor? How long do you think it's going to be before someone figures out that those probe cores can swim just as well as they fly?" Bob nearly choked, had to struggle to keep from spraying his drink all over the bar.

"Now, Jeb-ah-die-ah. Let's not kill our new friend so quickly, hmm? Come, let's see what else we have on tap tonight. . ."

 

 

________________________________

 

 

The tour group had assembled early that morning, a collection of councillors and corporate VIPs who had made the trip from Capitol City in anticipation of the conference that would showcase the new services being offered at the complex. After months of cutbacks, consolidation and back breaking labor, Farlight Limited was finally ready to show its hand. Kinsey had been volunteered to lead the group around.

Under normal circumstances this would have elicited a blow out of grand proportions, but Kinsey was in an unusually accommodating mood. She'd waited, patiently, by the flagpole outside the hotel while the big wigs finished their breakfast. She'd endured the haranguing from the councillors as she'd shown them around the new research complex. How can you expect us to give you taxpayer money while you're busy laying off good, hardworking people? Part of Kinsey wanted to pat the fool on the head, another part of her wanted to lay him out on the concrete. She'd smiled instead, pointing them along to the new observatory.

It was, after all, a very good day.

The tour continued with a stop at the new wireless station, easily the most expensive, if not exactly the most impressive, structure on the site. More complaining, more grumbling. Kinsey just smiled at all the right times, shrugged her way along at others. The operations building had at least been built mostly on Farlight's dime. And of course they were already familiar with the convention center, with its covered parking and attached conference rooms and meeting halls. Finally they came to the last stop on the tour. Kinsey could feel the group slowing behind her, the reality dawning, the shock of what they were actually looking at.

"What have you done to the extruder?"

Kinsey relished the disbelief in that voice, savored the moment, didn't really care what any of these morons thought. Not today. Today she had a job, a permanent contract, and that wasn't even the best part. Kinsey had spent the last decade of her life working projects in some of the worst places their world had on offer. She'd endured driving gales stacking lighthouses along the southern headlands, had fought through blinding, choking sandstorms assembling windmills in the deserts along the western sea. There had been the blizzards in the mountains while they were driving the pylons for the main bridge on the east-west rail line, and then sleet and freezing rain while erecting the watch towers along the northern border region. Once, after a particularly nasty updraft during a job out near West Lake, she'd actually seen it rain fish. And she would never forget the humid, bug infested jungle on that miserable little island. But the tower builder had been patient, had done her time, and in the end had been rewarded in the most unexpected of ways.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? The largest enclosed area we can find in any of the records. The extruder is still under there, but now it has walls and a ceiling. It has a door that can close out the weather. It has air conditioning, humidity controls, filters. It has the biggest bug zapper that I have ever seen. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Vertical Assembly Building."

"And it is all mine."

 

 

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It was a hot day out, but they'd seen worse. Bit of dust in the air, but not too bad. Crop was looking a bit brown around the edges though. That might be a problem.

The irrigation system had gummed up, the water that should have been flowing out to the fields had instead pooled up into a small pond. They'd gotten the blockage cleared though, no idea where that roundish thing had come from. Things could have been a lot worse.

"Oh no." And suddenly, they were.

The others turned, followed the speaker's gaze, mumbled and groaned themselves. A few of them tried to turn away, but it was too late.

"Ho! A fine morning, indeed I say, a fine morning indeed! Just splendid, if I do say so myself!"

"Mornin' Hudbert."

"And a fine morning to you as well! I say, why so many disagreeable expressions, so early on such a pleasant day as this?"

"Oh, no reason Hudbert."

"I see. . .I see, yes! Your field is looking a bit browner than usual, it is at that! Why, I know just the thing that will spruce it right back to green! I do sir!"

"Water line was plugged Hudbert." The kerbal spat dust out of his mouth, motioned to the dented probe core lying nearby. "It's fixed."

"Why, I see! I see, truly! I say, I have walked these fields my entire life, know every thing there is to know about them, you see. And I tell you now, with the greatest of convictions. . ."

Hudbert pointed to the probe core. "That, good sir, is no potato!"

"We figured that Hudbert."

"Why. . .this is a most fortuitous event! Most fortuitous indeed!"

"Hudbert. . ."

"This is no potato, you may be sure of that! But, I do believe, it is the start of a grand adventure!"

"Guess you'd best be off then Hudbert. Wouldn't want to miss your adventure."

"Yes, splendid idea! Splendid indeed! If you good sirs would just help me get this wondrous. . .thing. . .loaded, I shall be on my way with the greatest of haste!"

Hudbert was delighted with how quickly those assembled jumped to the task.

"I must away then! To be sure, I shall mention all of you most kindly when my quest reaches fruition!"

"Take your time Hudbert." Most of them managed to keep the laughter on the inside. "Make sure you do it right."

"I will, truly! Oh, what a marvelous day, marvelous indeed! Farewell, one and all! Farewell!"

The farmers stood, calloused hands and slowly shaking heads, as Hudbert bounced his trundle back out onto the dirt road and headed away from the field. One of them sniffed his displeasure, and then the group turned and got back to work.

Water was flowing again. That was good. Might rain some too. That was better.

 

 

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Bob dreamed he was flying.

He soared high above the mountains, above the clouds. The airships floated below him, out over the grasslands, and now his little glider crossed the coast and out over the ocean. He could see the pipeline complex, the islands farther out to sea, could almost see the pipeline along the ocean floor. The thing in the ocean was pulling the barges down under the water, but it couldn't reach him up in the sky. There were storm clouds gathering, and they jostled his little craft, but there was still time yet.

Still time. The clouds up ahead began to part and Bob soared through them, up into the bright light of the sun.

"Mmmmphh. . ."

Consciousness returned slowly, reluctantly, crawling and dragging its way through the storm of a rising headache. The sound of his breathing was at once soft and yet painfully loud, the light too bright even through closed eyelids. Bob brought a hand up slowly, rubbed at his face. It seemed as though he'd relaxed a little too much the night before. But the pain in his head meant that it was. . .morning. Which meant it was time to pull himself together and start looking for another job. Bob peeled his eyes open, blinked a few times as an experiment. He was lying on his back looking up, and the sky looked back at him, clouds rolling past far overhead. And too bright by half. Looked like rain clouds? Could be a storm in a. . .

Bob's brain shot to full alertness as he realized he was looked up at the sky through an aircraft canopy.

He tried to sit up, the reclining seat underneath him resisting the motion. He croaked something unintelligible, grabbed for controls that weren't there, finally managed to lever himself up enough to look out through the front of the canopy.

Jeb was standing just outside, on the ground, grinning that grin of his and holding up what looked like a tin kofi pot and a pair of mugs.

"Was getting worried you were going to sleep all day. Breakfast's on, if you're interested."

 

 

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Bob clutched at the mug, the kofi gradually rinsing the fog out of his mind. "Breakfast" had been some kind of tinned fish from the canning factory and a handful of stale bread, but Bob decided he really was in no position to complain. Jeb was already up and about, moving from one pile of junk to the next, taking notes and looking thoughtful.

"You sleep in that thing?"

Jeb looked over at the now empty cockpit section. "Most nights. Seat's more comfortable than the back of the trundle and the canopy keeps the bugs off. Not last night though. Didn't quite seem right leaving you in the shape you were in."

Bob took another swallow from the mug. "Metalwork on the front looks new?"

"That's right. Hammered that nose piece out myself. There's a parachute underneath it. . .of sorts anyway."

"You planning on taking that thing somewhere?"

"Nope, just wanted to test the backplate on the nose cap. That cockpit is older than either one of us."

"That's an old K2 series, isn't it? Block Two?"

Jeb wasn't looking at the cockpit any more. He was looking at Bob. "That's right. There's a warehouse up near Capitol City that has dozens of these things in storage. They're protected historical artifacts so they can't just scrap them, but they're happy enough to be rid of them by any legal means. Any more questions?"

"Just one." Bob leaned over to refill his kofi mug. "Did I pass the test?"

Jeb laughed, patted the side of the K2. "You did, actually. Anyone who can laugh at themselves like you did last night is okay by me. And you seem to have a good eye for mechanics. Or at least, you talk mechanics pretty good when you've had too much."

Bob looked up from the mug. "Is there a job offer somewhere in there?"

"Could be, not that there's any work to be had at the moment." Jeb paused, looked up at the sky. "Looks like it could rain here before too long. Let's get some of this stuff squared away and I'll show you what I've got."

 

 

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Edited December 29, 2015 by Ten Key
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[Ten Key]

Ordinate

 

"Thank you all for coming. I know your time is valuable, so I'll try to move this along as quickly as I can." The Probodobodyne rep took a sip of water from the glass on the podium and adjusted the microphone. "We have an exciting investment opportunity to show you today, but before we get started, are there any questions? Yes, you sir, in the back?"

"Don't ya'll make medical equipment?" A few of the audience members squirmed in their chairs. "What does a rocket have to do with medical equipment?"

The rep smiled. "Absolutely nothing, thankfully. You're thinking of Probodyne. . .note the "dobo" in the name?" The rep gestured at the image on the projector screen at the front of the room. "Just think of that as "Doesn't involve Bodily Orifices". A ripple of laughter passed through the room, the rep joining in.

"Now then, as you may know, Probodobodyne has been working on a new instrument that can respond to, and record changes in, the ambient gravitational field. I know that doesn't sound very exciting, but please, bear with me a moment." The rep hit a button on the podium, the slide projector at the back of the room clicking audibly as it advanced.

 

 

 

 

"All of us walk around every day without noticing the variations in our planet's gravity, because these variations are extremely small. Why should we care about them then? Because they can be caused by mass concentrations deep underground. Things like faults, or upwelling. . .or regions that are rich in minerals or fossil fuels." That got their attention, and suddenly the room was mouths closed, all eyes front.

"The scanner works at a distance, and there's no need for drilling or digging, or any surface based equipment at all, except for the fixed wireless receiver at the ground station. This device can sniff out ore pockets in the most difficult terrain, even along the bottom of the ocean. You can be confident of your find before you scuff your first drill head."

Most of the audience was on the edge of their seats now. The rep felt confident that the ones who weren't had thought this was going to be a presentation about medical equipment.

"Now, as with everything in life, there is a catch. This device is extremely sensitive, and can only work at a large distance from the target area. And that means going up, straight up and way up, far above what even the best airship can reach. So far, in fact, that we have to climb out of the atmosphere entirely in order to get a good reading." The slide machine rattled at the back of the room.

 

 

 

"These are the sounding rockets we've been using to test and calibrate the device. The Exosphere rockets use a pair of maneuvering fins to control their heading and have enough power to briefly climb above Kerbin's atmosphere. What we have found however is that the control force is too strong in the early phase of the launch, even under "precision" settings. If the rocket comes off its flight path, and they often do, even our best ground controllers are prone to over correction. And that almost always results in a crash. As the rocket approaches its operational altitude, the reverse occurs, with the control force becoming too weak as the air thins out. These rockets worked well enough during the proving phase of the project, but as we move forward to the operation phase, we feel we need a better platform. And that is where the investment opportunity lies." The slide machine rattled.

 

 

 

"This is the proposed Exosphere Series Two rocket, designed and built through a subcontract with the Kestes Corporation. It is lighter, owing to an optimized battery arrangement, and has a more balanced power curve. Most importantly, it has a passive control scheme that makes its flight path far more predictable. During the early phase of the launch, the low center of mass and relatively high drag at the tail tend to hold the rocket in a vertical position. As the drag force decreases and the fuel burns away, the carefully calculated asymmetry in the scientific payload causes the rocket to gently pitch over along a desired heading. Cheap, efficient, and predictable, the Exosphere Series Two promises to open the door to the exciting field of high altitude mineral scanning."

"Now, let's discuss our investment options." The slide machine rattled.

 

 

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Rain drummed along the canvas topper, the air thick with moisture and the smell of damp earth. Every so often a gust of wind would catch the trundle just enough to set it rocking on its suspension. Bob found the motion soothing, the illusion of being out at sea slowly easing his headache away.

"This is the machine you tested yesterday?"

Jeb double checked the number printed on the schematic, nodded. "Yeah, the LFA-1 Dart. Flew more like a brick though. It's basically an A-1 Dragonfly with the solid fuel motor swapped for a Farlight T800 bipropellant tank."

Bob ran his eyes over the drawing. "They wanted to see if they could use the gas from the Kerbodyne distillery as a fuel source." It wasn't a question. . .Jeb decided then and there that this Bob fellow was all right.

"That's right. And it did work. But whatever magic the A-1 uses to stay airborne just doesn't work with the Dart. It's too heavy."

Bob held out his empty kofi mug, eyes still on the diagram. Jeb moved to refill it. "The Kestes motors use the fuel itself as a casing to keep the chamber pressure up. Thanks." Bob took a drink from the mug. "What did you use as a combustion chamber?"

Jeb smiled. "I managed to work some magic of my own with the extruder." He held both his hands out, made a motion like he was shaping a vase on a potter's wheel. "I'll give the Peninsulites this, that machine of theirs is incredibly precise."

Bob looked out the back of the trundle, was quiet a long moment. "Not precise enough Jeb. Get cocky with that thing, and it will bite you."

"I know. Believe me, I've got 40 hectares of screw up that tells me the extruder isn't perfect. As they say, garbage in. . ." Jeb motioned out the back of the trundle. ". . .garbage out."

"So, then," Bob leaned back against the canvas, closed his eyes, "what's the plan?"

Bob would have thought it impossible for anyone to pace in the tight, cluttered confines of the trundle, but Jeb managed, the vehicle rocking ever so slightly with each energized step. "The Dart is a wash-- it was good once as an engine test, but it will never fly again. The Dragonfly, on the other hand, is a fantastic machine. It may have been intended as a throw away demonstrator, but accidentally or otherwise Kestes has managed to bottle magic with that one. I doubt anything we could do out here would even come close."

Jeb stopped, pushed some paperwork off a crate and sat down hard on it. "Rumor is that Probodobodyne is up to something big, but I have no idea what it is. Likely another sounding rocket, but the scientists I've spoken with say they've already managed to poke their way out of the atmosphere so I don't know what that buys them. With the Dragonfly down low and their rockets up high. . .I don't see what that leaves us."

"Alright then." Bob leaned forward, rolled the Dart blueprint up and tucked it away. "That leaves the combustion chamber. Can you. . .can we compete directly with Kestes? Not on the Dragonfly, but on the sounding rockets? If you already have a working template for an engine, the extruder should be able to turn them out pretty quickly."

Jeb scratched at his receding hairline, settled the hat back on his head. "I doubt it. Old Vern has his own machine he's been using to turn out his engines. Calls it "Mabel" I think. . .don't laugh! The thing employs twelve kerbals, and can stamp out an engine almost as quickly as the extruder can. The news-sheets have been eating it up. Don't underestimate the power of a good name."

Jeb inhaled sharply, seemed to think for a moment. "They're good engines too. Don't have too much power, but they're cheap, compact and completely self contained. Just the kind of thing you'd want for a throw away sounding rocket." He stood, crossed to the back of the trundle, leaned on the tail gate and looked out at the rain. "I don't know, I just don't. . ." He looked out at the junk, the debris, the mud, all of it softened by the dull gray mist of the rain. "Maybe, no. . ." His eyes wandered around the yard, finally settling on the cylindrical bulk of the K2.

Jeb blinked. His hands tightened every so slightly on the tailgate.

"What if. . .maybe we don't need to sell a complete vehicle." He turned back to Bob, the idea slowly spreading across his face.

"Maybe we just need to sell the seat."

 

 

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Jeb and Bob hunched over the bench in the trundle, dozens of discarded blueprints between them. The storm raged outside, the now closed canvas topper undulating with the force of it. Neither kerbal seemed to notice, both focused intently on the drawings in front of them. Bob shook his head slowly, gave Jeb a meaningful look. "Probe core, cockpit, parachute. Pick two."

Now it was Jeb who was shaking his head. "No, we need all three of them."

"The K2 only has two hard points, and the probe core only has one. Put all three of those things together and you don't have an aircraft, you have a static display. There's no place to put the engine."

"And without the probe core, there's no way to test it without getting someone killed. " Jeb pulled out a fresh piece of paper, set it out in front of him, stared at it for a long moment. "What if. . ." Jeb slowly traced out a probe core, a spherical shape with a flat plate on the bottom. After a moment, he took the paper and spun it so that the drawing was upside down. He drew in the cylindrical cockpit section, and then added the small, conical parachute on top of it.

"No more hardpoints Jeb. Where are you going to put the engine?"

"Well, he had better figure it out!" The canvas covering the tail gate flopped open long enough to admit a dripping, sputtering Bill Kerman.

"Or we are all finished."

 

 

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Hudbert gripped the controls, smiled into the wind through the open canopy. He lived for this, lived for it! The drama, the adventure, the excitement! He deftly maneuvered his craft out of the rain, raised the goggles up onto his forehead, adjusted the gleaming white scarf about his neck. One final check, a quick nod, all in readiness. This was his moment! Oh, it would be glorious!

Hudbert put the trundle's gear shift in park, opened the door, and stepped out onto the convention center's covered parking lot.

"Ho, good citizens! I bring wondrous news, and have something magnificant to share with you on this miserable, sodden day!" That was all it took to get someone to call for security.

"You, good sir, come, see what I have here in my vehicle! Oh, it is a most strange object indeed, but I believe it to have great import on our days ahead!" A group of uniformed kerbals entered the lot on the far end, others now speaking to them and pointing in Hudbert's direction.

"Yes! Good, come help me here, for this object is quite heavy! Heavy with import! Oh, what a magnificant find, I do declare!" The security guards eased into a line between Hudbert and the rest of the on lookers, seemed momentarily unsure of how to best deal with him.

"Do you see? Truly see? This is a grand portent of the future! A most marvelous omen! It is a vessel of hope! A vessel of dreams and daring! A vessel. . ."

". . .that survived a flight." The Probodobodyne rep eased around the security guards, his ID badge in hand. "I think this gentleman has something that my company would like to take a look at. If you'll allow it, we'll escort him to one of the conference areas and take it from there."

 

 

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Bob kept his face carefully impassive, looked back and forth between his tenative employer and the soaked newcomer. Jeb looked. . .amused? He smiled, his eyes dancing with some joke Bob wasn't privy too. "Make sure you wipe your feet Bill. Wouldn't want to get mud on my nice, clean trundle."

Bill took in the dirty, cluttered cargo compartment, barely enough room to stand, tools everywhere. He brushed at the muck on his overcoat, growled his annoyance. "I'm not in the mood for this, not now. That conference they're having up at the complex has gone completely closed door, no one is talking. My gut tells me they've figured out something they think will keep the complex running, and anyone on the wrong side of that door is going to end up being staged."

Jeb nodded. "So, why are you out here dripping mud instead of trying to beat that door down?"

"I tried. Almost got arrested for my trouble."

Jeb started to make a joke, but the look on Bill's face stopped him cold. "Is it that bad?"

"It is. The. . .my trains are gone, I had to sell them. There's a bit of traffic from the Rockomax facility in the mountains, but not much, not nearly like it was. Not enough to justify an 'official transport company'. Certainly not enough to support one." Bill set his jaw, looked around the trundle again, his gaze settling on Bob. "Do I know you?"

"Bob Kerman. I think we met briefly on one of your trains when I was moving my equipment down from Capitol City."

"Right, the diver." He took Bob's hand, shook it, turned back to Jeb. "I am standing here, shivering and covered in muck, because I have a feeling that of all the people unfortunate enough to be caught up in this mess, you are the only one that might be able to deal yourself back into the game."

Bob slid over, Bill lowering himself down onto the bench next to him. Jeb turned the drawing so Bill could see it. "This is the idea. I figure, Kestes has the low altitude drone market cornered with their Dragonfly, and whatever Probodobodyne is working on will probably cover all the high altitude stuff. Now this, has a probe core, so it can be properly tested and controlled from the ground. It has single seat cockpit for either a pilot or a passenger. And it has a parachute, so both core and kerbal can be recovered safely."

"What it doesn't have", Bob cut in, "is any way of getting off the ground. And to be honest Jeb, if you put a kerbal in that thing, you're running a real risk of breaking the powered flight laws."

Bill grumbled, cast a wary glance at the twisting canvas. "So that's it? That's all you've got?"

Jeb laughed. "Patience, Capitol City wasn't built in a day. Maybe we could get that assistant of yours to take a look at this? Fresh set of eyes, and all. . ."

For one brief, fleeting instant, Bob thought Bill was going to launch himself over the table and take Jeb apart with his bare hands. The moment passed, Bill looking away, struggling with the words. "She's gone, had to fire her along with just about everyone else." He stabbed a finger down on the drawing. "When I tell you that this thing is our last chance, I mean it."

Jeb looked back down at the drawing, nodded slowly. He looked from Bob, to Bill and back again, smiled. Both of them would later remember his expression, a blend of confidence and focus that was almost frightening in its intensity. "Then we'll make it work."

He picked up the pencil, began attacking the drawing. "Let's forget the liquid engine, it's too heavy and like Bob says it might be illegal. Let's get our hands on some of those Kestes motors and. . .here." The pencil moved. "Those little motors are designed to be welded onto other motors, but what if we weld them directly to the probe core?" He turned the paper around so the other two could see it.

"You want to use the casing on the probe core as a structural member?" Bob expression was calm, neutral, contrasted sharply with Jeb's. Bill studied them both, saw the makings of a great partnership.

"Sure, it'll hold. Yes, like this!" He began sketching wings onto the motors. "We can use the fins on the tail here as supports when it's on the ground, fire it straight up. By the time it levels out, the motors will be empty so it will qualify as a glider under the law. We can test the whole thing remotely with the probe core, and then once it's safe we can pitch it as an observation aircraft. And a trainer too, give new pilots a chance to fly with an experienced pilot on the ground able to over ride the controls through the probe core!"

Bill leaned forward, seemed to energize. "I know a fair number of kerbals who would pay decent money for a ride in this thing. Never mind learning to fly it, just give them a guided aerial tour from the ground."

"If Probodobodyne will sell us the probe cores."

"They will, leave that to me." Bill stood up, nodded to Jeb. "I think I can sell this, just get it working."

 

 

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The rocket pitched over, its central core still burning as it breached the upper layer of Kerbin's atmosphere and continued on into space. The attached payload, carefully balanced through fiery trial and error, had finally worked as advertised. The Exosphere Series Two layed itself level with the horizon, held this orientation for several seconds before the central core coughed and died.

A mechanical relay inside the probe core closed, routing power to the little blue box mounted halfway up the rocket's side. The antenna opposite the box extended, the wireless transmitter inside it powering up and pushing the onboard batteries to their limits.

Back on the ground, a group of kerbals clustered around a bank of consoles. The mood was already exuberant, but when the gravimetric data hit their receivers and began to pour out on their screens the room burst into a series of whoops and cheers, all of them knowing they finally had a payload that would actually pay. The telemetry feed blanked out as the rocket's batteries died, only to be swiftly replaced by a crude, 2d output of the local gravity field.

The resolution was stunning.

 

 

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The weather had finally cleared an hour or so before sunset, and the party was in full swing. Politicians, business owners, social gadflies and other discontented souls crowded the manor house, nibbling on hors d'oeuvres and spewing invective about the current government in Capitol City. The former councillor found it maddening, had finally retreated to his office on the upper floor to get away from the noise. After all, he didn't need their ideas or complaints.

Only their votes. And their money.

The opposition leader sipped at his drink, looked through the large office windows at the estate behind his manor house. Trees, hedges, a great many flowers, and farther back, a large, shallow pool that glowed with submerged lighting in the rapidly gathering darkness.

"Not thinking of stepping out for a swim, are you?"

The kerbal smiled, fingered the glass, tossed back the rest of the liquid. "It's tempting, of course, but we wouldn't want to disappoint our guests."

"How did it come to this? What are we going to tell them?"

The pool beckoned, warmth and soft light that would offer a few minutes of refuge from their current predicament. The old texts promised that good, hardworking kerbals would enjoy a blissful afterlife floating in a warm, mythical ocean far away from all of life's troubles. If they didn't find a solution, and soon, the opposition party seemed bound for that afterlife.

"It's maddening, the way Capitol City has been able to twist every single setback to their own advantage. Having a head start with this new "wireless" gadget certainly hasn't hurt them any." The opposition leader shook his head. "They trumpet every success, and lay every misstep at the feet of the Peninsulites, all the while continuing to curry their favor. And the people believe them. Eventually, that story will grow stale, but I fear that by the time it does the election will have passed and our window of opportunity will have closed."

He turned away from the window, began to pace. "We need something we can pin on them that they can't explain away. Something to convince people to believe in us, in our vision for the future! And we need to find it soon! We can't afford to just, stand around and wait for the answer to fall out of the sky!"

And with that, the Exosphere Series Two rocket landed in the swimming pool and exploded.

 

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Edited December 29, 2015 by Ten Key
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[Kieve]

Skimmed the first paragraph out of curiosity.

Three hours later, I'm finally caught up.

The world-building and characterization is fantastic, without question. I love stories that manage to weave a number of seemingly disparate threads into a single tapestry, and you've done it here with a master's touch. I am envy, sir.

If I had any complaint, it'd be that this tale began three months ago and you still seem to be in "prologue" phase, building up to the point where KSC is actually whole and operating. Hopefully the trials of (ker)manned spaceflight are coming soon? Though I think we're both well-acquainted with the struggles of KSP's early game, so mind you it's not too noisy a complaint.

(Also, is it sad that I knew immediately which landmass the "Grand Peninsula" was?)

[Ten Key]

If I had any complaint, it'd be that this tale began three months ago and you still seem to be in "prologue" phase, building up to the point where KSC is actually whole and operating. Hopefully the trials of (ker)manned spaceflight are coming soon? Though I think we're both well-acquainted with the struggles of KSP's early game, so mind you it's not too noisy a complaint.

It is starting to drag, isn't it?

There are two basic things at work here. First, I'm trying to cram all of the world building stuff in early, so later I can focus mostly on space. And since I'm writing a lot of this "off the cuff", I'm not able to be all that efficient with it. I keep thinking of things I need/want to include, and I don't think I'll have a chance to later, so. . .it's dragging.

The second thing is that Better Than Starting Manned is meant to start slowly. More of a challenge than a slog, the mod is designed to teach basic concepts that you need later on in the game. Would you believe I'm already half way through the fourth tier of the tech tree? At this point I have no gimbaled engines, no reaction wheels, and I think I just unlocked the first RCS system. That cockpit Jeb is playing with is two tons. It has SAS, but that's it. I don't even think there's a battery in it. And it is not pressurized. The first "space capable" crew module is on tier five of the tech tree, and it is very primitive. And I'm not pretending to have no idea what I'm doing for the sake of the story. I actually have no idea what I'm doing. At this point, stuff is crashing left and right and I am having a terrible time controlling my rockets. Oh, and I don't have struts either. Wiggle wiggle wiggle BOOM.

Control was the issue for me at the start of this. I'm afraid the various factions at the complex are going to be beating their heads on that problem for a while longer yet-- I just can't resist a bit of Junkyard Wars. Once they solve it though, things will start to move.

I love stories that manage to weave a number of seemingly disparate threads into a single tapestry. . .

I'm not sure if you've seen these yet, but KSK and CatastrophicFailure both have stories up that are very much worth reading.

(Also, is it sad that I knew immediately which landmass the "Grand Peninsula" was?)

I came to Kerbal Maps fairly late, so I got used to looking at Kerbin as a cloudy globe from orbit. Most of the stuff that started picking up names did so because I was using them as orbital landmarks. "Grand Peninsula" was easily visible, even on Kerbin's night side, and I often use it to gauge my deorbit burns.

Thanks for the feedback Kieve. I appreciate it.

[0111narwhalz]

May I demand more?

[Ten Key]

Sorry for the hold up, I had some issues with another project that have finally been resolved. Going to start up on this tomorrow, will hopefully have the next chapter up by Friday.

[pendant]

[...] More than a few of them tried secure themselves in among [...]

should be:

[...] More than a few of them tried to secure themselves in among [...]

Edited May 17, 2015 by pendant
User laziness, check before post: fail