Confused Scientist

271: Praising/Criticizing SLS/BFR 272: Hey, I have a solution to multiplayer! 273: No, seriously! I stole someone else's idea and ignored all of the problems that were pointed out by the yelling people in that thread! 274: Posting this in Challenges & Mission Ideas: "so i have this mun rocket and its crashing into the moon every time going really fast sideways can anyone land this please halp" 275: Using this font size: I think the white on the new textures is a little off, what about you?

Mumbai

2/10 That's just the default profile picture!

I'm glad to hear that after adapting from deep-space police chase shenanigans to seaside rocket-building shenanigans. Going through the engineering process of the rockets is going to be really fun, and since the basis of improvement is failure I'm eager to apply my new favorite literary device: the noodle incident. Just imagine... "Well," Jeb gasped, "I never thought I'd have to run like that in my life. Who knew that the liquid hydrogen storage tank would keep rolling for so long after it-" "Shut up," Valentina said.

Chapter 8- Begin the Begin A month later, Mortimer was eager to see what the Kontinental Startup Program had achieved in the time he was away. He came tearing down Route 77 without a chauffer this time, and pulled up in front of the garage. Bob ran out to greet him. “You’re just in time. Get back in the car, we’re going a few kilometers north from here.” “Wait!” Mortimer snagged Bob before he could run off. “Why do we need to drive somewhere else just to see your prototype?” “Because,” Bob replied, “it’s not just a prototype. It’s flight-ready. Come on, I’ll ride with you; I may as well since Sunny got the last spot in the truck.” Bob buckled up as Mortimer turned the key. “Just follow the truck,” Bob explained, “and we’ll be there in a few minutes.” As Mortimer pulled up behind the truck he noticed something covered with a tarp sitting in the bed. He could see lump a few meters long, and assumed it was a new kind of jet engine. He already had the rest of Kontinental working on a larger jet engine, but he still wanted to see what Gene and Wernher and the rest of the kerbals could do. A few minutes passed and the two cars pulled up to a metal platform a few hundred meters from the coast, far enough that it was still surrounded by grass. As Mortimer surveyed the scene he could see a squat metal bunker to the east and a flag flapping listlessly in the breeze. The truck doors opened. “Bob!” Gene called. “Good to see you were right behind us. We’ll need you to help us lift the trash can out of the truck.” “I told you,” Valentina muttered, “It’s the Jumping Flea.” Sunny shook her head. “You should have listened to me. Kermes would have made a good name for the papers. After all, I’m practically your public relations manager now.” Then they put their squabbling aside and lifted the tarp off of the truck. Mortimer looked at the truck’s payload. “That’s a strange jet engine,” he remarked. Jeb grinned. “That’s because it’s not a jet engine.” “Then what-” “Don’t worry,” Sunny said. “We’ll explain after.” “After wha-” Mortimer began, but he was interrupted by Bill. “On three,” he said. “One, two, three!” Jeb, Bill, Bob, Val, Gene, and Sunny strained together to move the Jumping Flea out of the trunk. As soon as they could they lowered it to the sand and rested. Then Bob went back to the truck and grabbed a dolly. He loaded the Flea on and wheeled it over to the launchpad, after which the team of six helped to lift it vertical. Finally, Wernher approached with a set of stairs. “It’s ready,” he announced. “Shall we draw straws?” Jeb, Bill, Bob, and Val approached him and in a moment Bob yelled. “I’m going up!” he shouted. “I’ll see you after the flight!” Although he was excited, he secretly wished that they hadn’t agreed that the winner would be the kerbal who drew the shortest straw. That’s just bad luck, he thought. Gene ran back to the truck and came back with an orange suit that made Mortimer gawk. “What’s that for?” “It’s a pressure suit,” Jeb explained. “If we lose pressure-” “I know what a pressure suit does,” Mortimer said. “Why is it orange, and why is it so substantial?” “It’s orange so the pilot can bee seen easily,” Valentina said, “and it’s heavier than normal because this flight will go up to twenty-one kilometers.” “Twenty-one kilometers?” Valentina nodded. “It took us four days to modify the pressure suit from a standard Air Force one. The rocket only took us two days because it’s Army surplus, the parachute took us another three, and the capsule took us three weeks.” “You made an airtight compartment with full life support, controls, and acceleration couch from scratch in three weeks?” “It’s not like we had anything else to do,” Gene said. “Besides, you’re picking up the tab, so we didn’t worry about saving money.” Mortimer winced as Gene inhaled to name the price of the Jumping Flea. “Over the month it took us to build, the Jumping Flea cost us eleven thousand dollars.” Mortimer nearly fainted before recovering. “Eleven thousand? Eleven thousand?” “Well… yes.” “Eleven thousand dollars. That’s unbelievable. If you’d have given this project to me, it would have cost at least five times that much. Great job.” “By the way, Jeb had an idea on how to save more money in the future.” Mortimer turned to him. “Go ahead.” “Well, I noticed there’s a big scrapyard down the road from here. Who knows what’s thrown away in there? If I bought it we could salvage anything useful, dump anything we don’t need there for future use, and charge other people to dump there before we picked up their waste and turned it into rockets. I can see it now- the sign would have a checkered background and there would be big red letters, saying ‘Jebediah Kerman’s Junkyard and Spacecraft-’” Valentina walked over. “That’s enough for now, Jeb. Let’s go wish Bob good luck.” They walked over to him dressed in the orange pressure suit. “Good luck, Bob,” they said. “We’ll be partying at the Bungalow Bar tonight,” Jeb said. Valentina nodded. “We’ll do our best to pick you up with the boat soon after your landing- Wait. We do have a boat, right?” “Yeah,” Gene called. “It’s docked back at the cabin.” “How come I never saw it?” “It’s behind a sand dune. Last night I moved it to the dock up here.” Valentina looked over at it. “So you did.” Then she turned back to Bob, quelling the thought that she might not ever see him again. “I wish I was in that suit right now,” she said, “but I think we picked the best kerbal for the job.” Bob nodded and then closed his faceplate. Jeb helped him into the capsule and then bolted the door shut. He pulled the steps away from the door- and then he paused. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what, but he knew that if the Flea launched the way it was configured now Bob would die. Letting his subconscious take over, he opened up a small hatch in the side of the capsule and used a flashlight to illuminate the compartment. What he saw made his heart speed up. “Gene, Wernher,” he yelled, “Come look at this.” They ran out of the bunker and left Sunny to finish setting up her portable typewriter. Gene arrived first and looked over Jeb’s shoulder. “That would be bad,” he said. “I’m glad you found that.” From inside the capsule, Bob keyed the mike. “I hear some kerbals messing around outside. What’s going on?” Valentina sat inside the bunker with a radio, which she had painted the word “CAPCOM” onto. When asked, she said it stood for CAPsule COMmunicator. “Don’t worry about it, Bob,” she replied. “We’re still on track for this launch.” Jeb uncrossed the two wires that had scared him so, sealed the compartment, and ran back to the bunker with Gene and Wernher. “What happened?” asked Sunny. “Two wires were crossed,” Jeb explained. “The way it was before, the parachute would have deployed at the same moment as engine ignition.” “But you fixed that, right?” Jeb nodded. “Good.” Sunny typed for a minute and then looked up. “Well? Aren’t you going to do it?” Jeb opened his mouth but nothing came out. “Yes,” Valentina said. “Yes we are.” She stood up and addressed the whole bunker. “Attention! We are currently at t-minus two minutes and counting to the launch of the Jumping Flea Mk1. Can we have a systems check?” “Communications are go,” Valentina continued, looking at her radio. “Timekeeper?” “Go,” Gene said without looking up from his stopwatch. “Pilot?” “Go,” Bob called. “Okay, then. We are go for launch. Timekeeper, proceed from t-minus ten seconds when ready.” Gene started the watch. “T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, ignition!” Inside the capsule, Bob pulled the ignition cord and an igniter assembly scorched the inside of the solid rocket booster beneath him, propelling him into the sky at nearly seven Gs. “Ooooof…” He arced out over the ocean and raced up into the blue. “About five seconds left on the booster, Bob,” Valentina called. Wernher tracked his flight through a pair of binoculars. “See, Gene, the fins are holding. I told you we could make them out of cardboard.” “Booster cutoff in three, two, one-” All at once nine Gs turned to zero, and he was back in the null gravity that he had known for so much of his life aboard Station One and the Kraken’s Spit, both of which were now relics to him, forgotten memories of a past life. “I think-” he said, and then stopped, swallowed. “I think I’ll separate the capsule now.” “He’s good if he wants to,” Jeb said. “You’re good if you want to,” Valentina called. “Okay, then.” Bob took a deep breath. “Three, two, one-” He pulled a lever and the booster fell away beneath him. Almost at once the capsule swung around, and then kept twisting, gyrating, forcing Bob to take his eyes away from the window. Wernher was terrified. “Ask him to report!” he yelled at Valentina. “Bob, come in.” “Well,” Bob began, “the forces on the capsule now are maybe .25, .3 Gs, but I’m swinging around a good deal… out of curiosity, what was my maximum velocity during ascent?” “Four hundred and thirty-seven meters per second,” Valentina said. Then she paused. “Say, doesn’t that make you the first supersonic pilot?” “Yeah,” Bob said. “To think we were so caught up in everything else we forgot about speed. Speaking of which, forget about speed- I seem to be reaching my apoapsis… yep, my maximum altitude above sea level was ten kilometers and one hundred and seventeen meters. Almost certain that’s a record.” And now Bob was falling back to the sea. “The spinning has almost stopped… from this perspective I can examine the underwater topography,” he reported. “Roger, Bob. Remember that once you get down to three kilometers you need to deploy the parachute and then we’ll come and get you.” Bob nodded. “The G-forces are picking up now… they’re topping off at about five... and here I come through the clouds!” He kept his eye on the altimeter and his hand on the parachute lever. “Okay, three and a half kilometers… three kilometers. Parachute deployment.” His hand came down on the lever and everybody waited impatiently for the silk to unfold as Bob fell towards the ocean at over two hundred meters per second. Just a few seconds later, although it felt like years to the observers on the ground, the parachute deployed into a reefed position at twenty-five hundred meters. “About two minutes to go, Bob. You can expect the parachute to deploy completely at five hundred meters.” Bob tightened his grip on his parachute and the hatch lever, not that bailing out would do him much good at five hundred meters. “Seven hundred fifty…,” he called, reading the altimeter, “…seven hundred.” Nobody said a word in the control bunker. Jeb put all of his willpower into commanding the squibs holding the parachute in the reefed position to fire, as if his pure will could make the last bit of the mission go right- And just then, the capsule passed five hundred meters and the parachute opened all the way. At four hundred meters, Bob was descending at a leisurely four meters per second. Finally he was just ten meters up, and he braced for the big splash, glad that he had remembered to stuff a blanket beneath him in the acceleration couch before liftoff. He was crushed into the blanket at splashdown, but none the worse for the wear when he keyed the mike and said, “Jumping Flea Mk1 reporting, successful flight. Awaiting recovery. Over.” His words greeted a breathless mission control, which, after one second of pure silence, erupted in cheering and laughter.

The other day I flew a full-on Gilly mission that included 1.) A nuclear tug to send all of the other components to Gilly; 2.) Crewed landers with fuel to fly to any other point on Gilly and return to the starting point; 3.) A large surface base; 4.) A seperate, smaller ISRU generator, which was sent down to the surface first. It was supposed to refuel the landers (using KIS and KAS) so they could do multiple sorties. Well, I took the ISRU module to the surface and spend half an hour waiting to fall to the ground. Then I warped to daytime and deployed the drills. It's important to note that I was using the largest size drill, which is longer than the longest landing gear. Luckily, I'm fine with not having to fly those landers all around Gilly, because I hate that gravity. The kerbals on the expedition will just have to sit around in almost zero-g (the worst kind of g) for a year and a half to wait for their launch window to open. I don't envy them. Frankly, I've got a flags-and-footprints mission to Eve on the drawing board that's probably going to go a whole lot smoother than this (or at the very least more exciting.) EDIT: No, wait, forgot the time that I designed a massive Duna ship, whose file was immediately corrupted. I had to redesign the whole thing. Needless to say, this ludicrous bug occurred in 1.1.x. EDIT (2): Wait... I have KIS/KAS. I can move those drills up. (Facepalm) Not that I really want to. I'm never going to Gilly again.

I'm on 1.3 instead of 1.3.1 because of laziness, and I think I have a few mods that were upgraded for 1.3.0 but not 1.3.1. I'll probably never update the game again, mostly because at one point I had one or two 1.2.2 mods jury-rigged to be barely compatible with 1.3.0, and even a 1.1.3 install of the DIRECT launcher pack that increased the load time by two minutes but worked fine otherwise. (Took me ten minutes of digging around the forum to find a GitHub link, by the way.)

More CNN: https://www.cnn.com/2018/04/01/asia/tiangong-1-china-space-lab-falls-intl/index.html

EDIT: CNN CONFIRMS TIANGONG-1 DOWN OVER SOUTH PACIFIC https://www.cnn.com/2018/04/01/asia/tiangong-1-china-space-lab-falls-intl/index.html?adkey=bn My work here is done. But first, Wikipedia has already documented the reentry. (Check the grey sidebar.) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiangong-1#Re-entry

Satflare is back up. Tiangong-1 is currently 133.5 km high and passing over the Ivory Coast.

You have had the same idea a million other people did on April First. That makes you a genius. (April Fool's!) I applaud the effort of @kerbinorbiter. A gold star for you. (April Fool's! I have no gold stars, as you may or may not know.)

Good point. I guess I meant the newcomers' rockets instead of ULA launchers.

At the moment, I see SpaceX as being way more relevant than NASA. Bloated, inefficient projects don't make much of anything relevant. Somebody else on this thread said that "if work on the SLS began today, it would have reusability." It's been said before, but SLS is simply too far behind schedule and over budget for the goals that are on the table (DSG and DSG only, not that DSG will actually accomplish much of anything). (I remember when we were supposed to fly to asteroids in 2019-2026.) It's too bad public opinion doesn't want NASA to build probes and launch them on (gasp!) someone else's rockets.

Wait, what? That's an option? EDIT: Since the thread's being locked anyway, I may as well go off topic and point out that @sh1pman has 1,000 posts right now. Pretty cool.

Chapter 7- The Kontinental Startup Program A black sedan paused at the fork in the road on Route 77 outside Juno’s Landing as if it was hesitant to leave the paved route, but then it slowly eased onto the dirt road and covered the last few kilometers to the shore. As it drew closer from the south a wooden shack appeared, and a few kerbals milled around a large shed. The car stopped, and from there the passenger could see what he had come for. He stepped out and walked around to the shed. “Knock, knock,” he said. Nobody heard him. “I think we could replace this pump,” Valentina murmured. Wernher looked over her shoulder and nodded. Jeb was busy welding some pipe in the corner of the garage, and Bill and Bob were testing a spare tire for the landing gear. Only Gene was absent, having gone to the cabin for some lunch. Just as the visitor was about to invite himself into the cabin Gene came up behind him. “Mortimer!” he exclaimed. This time everybody heard him, and they turned to face him. “Everybody, this is Mortimer Kerman, CEO of the Kontinental Plane Company. I managed to invite him here to take a look at our jet engine. Mortimer, it’s right this way… be careful, now, don’t bump into that can of paint.” Mortimer stood at the rear of the plane and took a look into the engine, with the panel cover removed for a better view of the inner workings courtesy of Bob. The CEO murmured to himself for a few minutes before looking up and saying, “Impressive. Can I take a look at the intakes?” He walked around to the side and peered down into the turbines. “Incredible design,” he noted. "Can I see a test flight?” Gene shrugged. “Sure. Give us ten minutes.” _____________________________________________________________________________ As it turned out, Wenher and Bill helped to wheel the Junkers Jello out onto the grass strip just eight minutes later. “I feel like I’m on the pit crew for the Daykona 500,” he admitted. Wernher grinned. “I tell you, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.” They wheeled up a staircase and Jeb looked at Gene. “Who should fly?” he asked. Gene shrugged. “Well, I used to be a pilot, so I guess if I had to say-” “You used to be a pilot?” Jeb exclaimed. “Bill, Bob, Val- Gene used to be a pilot!” He gestured to the airplane. “You should fly it this time.” Gene looks a bit nervous, Valentina thought. “Well, I only flew prop planes…” He broke into a grin. “And I think it’s time I changed that! Mortimer, I’m taking the plane up!” Mortimer murmured a reply and looked down at his watch. As Jeb and Val ran back to the shed to get a ladder for Gene, Jeb asked, “How did we get the CEO of Kontinental Planes to come out to Juno’s Landing?” “After Sunny published her account of us buzzing the KWZZ tower one of the larger papers took it,” Valentina replied. “Mortimer decided that it was worth his time to personally oversee-” Jeb gasped. “Sunny! We forgot to tell her about Kontinental Planes picking up her contract.” They ran into the shed, where Bob was standing. “Bob! Get on the phone and tell Sunny that Mortimer Kerman is here and he wants to buy our patent!” He nodded and wordlessly ran off to the cabin, where a single phone line ran back to town. Jeb and Val returned to the Junkers Jello with a stepladder just as Bob was dialing. Gene went around the shore on a short flight and, at Jeb’s request, briefly rode the thermals over the ocean. “It’s really made more for high-Mach numbers,” he noted. “There’s just enough wing to get it off the ground and not much else.” Mortimer applauded as the Junkers Jello came in for a landing. As Gene stepped out of the cockpit he ran over and shouted, “Incredible! I never thought I’d see anything like this- as revolutionary as the airplane itself!” “So,” Wernher bluntly enquired, “you’ll buy our patent.” Mortimer thought it over for a moment. “No,” he said. Jeb nearly fainted. “No,” Mortimer repeated, “I won’t. You see, I don’t want the patent for the jet engine. I want you and me to work together on jet engines and whatever else you can think of. I want you to be the all-new experimental division of Kontinental Planes!” Bill ran to tell Bob, who would tell Sunny that the small costal operation would be bought by Mortimer Kerman to work for the Kontinental Plane Company. She would write about it the next day, and in a stunning bit of foresight, note that an economic boom was about to come to Juno’s Landing. The boom never could have come, she argued, if Wernher and Gene had been contracted by the government to push the envelope. If that had happened, they would be contracted for a few years for public-relations stunts and short-lived defense programs before funding was cut to nearly zero. Instead, Sunny argued, Kontinental Planes would push money into Juno’s Landing and get just as much out- and before long the sky would be filled with jets. She even suggested, as an afterthought, that a high-performance vehicle could break the sound barrier. The one thing she didn’t include in her report, however, was a thought that she kept to herself, because she knew how fantastical and idiotic it was. Specifically, she thought that kerbals could walk on the Mun- but she dismissed it quickly, and sent her manuscript to the press. Meanwhile, out on the peninsula, Mortimer and his new hires were still jubilant. “Just think of what you’ll think of next!” the CEO exclaimed. Gene and Wernher glanced at each other. “Actually, Mortimer,” Wernher began, “I used to work on a top secret program during the war.” “If it’s top secret then why are you telling me?” Wernher shrugged. “No one cares anymore. But what we were doing was playing around with high-performance fuels and some experimental engines that used no atmosphere for their combustion. Sort of like fireworks, but with liquid fuels. I don’t want to say too much now, but I can assure you that greater things are in store.” “And we can do more than assure you,” Gene said. “Come over here.” The kerbals followed him around to the back of the shed, where a tarp lay on the sand with a bulge in the middle. “This is the K-2 missile Wernher was working on,” Gene said, and then pulled the tarp aside to reveal a skinny black and white tube only about twice as tall as Jeb. “Only, this one’s souped up a little… we think it could go to space.” “But all that’s secret, of course,” Wernher hastily added. “But still- we hope it gives you confidence in your purchase of- what should we call our operation?” Everybody thought for a minute. Finally, Valentina spoke up. “How about the Kontinental Startup Program? It’s a bit of a mouthful, but we could abbreviate it KSP.” Mortimer nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I think that would do quite nicely.”

I already wrote the next one so I wouldn't have to during spring break, and I think it's going to be killer (somehow, probably). If that word choice at the end of that sentence looks weird to you... search for some acronyms () and stay tuned for when it goes up next Tuesday!

Chapter 6- First Flight Jeb, Bill, Bob, Val, Gene, and Wernher got up early in the morning a few days after Jeb’s flight and sat at the breakfast table drinking coffee. The Junkers Jello had been checked out the night before, and it was ready for its second flight at the hands of Valentina. Wernher cleared his throat. “We have to tell someone about this plane eventually. There’s a lot of money we could make, if we do things right.” Gene nodded. “After all, rockets don’t come ch-” He stopped as Wernher glared daggers at him. “I mean… rock and roll doesn’t, uh…” Valentina thought for a minute. “Wernher, is there a radio station in Juno’s Landing?” “Yes. They have a big antenna that they use to broadcast to the whole peninsula.” “Perfect. I know a way to get their attention.” She leaned in and told them her plan. Gene’s eyes widened and he smiled. Jeb was more doubtful. “Does the Jello have that kind of range?” Wernher nodded. “We don’t have to return to our base. Juno’s Landing has a modern airport. Valentina can get clearance there.” “But that means we need to split into three groups- one at the airstrip here, one at the radio station, and one at the airport.” Gene shrugged. “That’s what we’ll do, then. Wernher, you and Bill go to the Juno’s Landing airport. I’ll stay here, and that leaves Jeb and Bob to wait at the radio station.” Valentina stood up. “It sounds like a plan, then. Let’s wheel the plane out so Wernher and everybody else can get a head start for the city.” _____________________________________________________________________________ Four hours later, Wernher and Bill waited outside the terminal at the Juno’s Landing airport and Jeb and Bob waited outside KWZZ, the Juno’s Landing radio station. Both groups had radios, which were hooked up to the main circuit back at the airstrip, where Valentina was taxiing the plane out to the center of the field. A brief roar came through the speaker, and then a faint voice: “She’s in the air and already turning towards Juno’s Landing! You can expect her overhead in about fifteen minutes!” Wernher read a newspaper as he waited and Bob played a harmonica he’d picked up from Jay’s Music Exchange. Finally, they heard the whine of a plane overhead and Jeb looked up as it descended, coming closer to the rooftops, and rattling the windows as it passed the KWZZ transmitter and banked hard to the west before coming around for another pass. Jeb and Bob nodded before throwing open the doors to the radio station and running up to the front desk, where they found an old kerbal chewing on a cigar. “Kraken’s crackers, boys! Do you reckon you know what that was?” Jeb stepped forward. “We sure do, sir. That was our experimental aircraft on its second test flight. It has no propeller and uses a jet engine to-” The kerbal held up a single finger. “And you want me to report on it.” “Well… yes.” “Son, I don’t deal with scientists and their fancy ideas. I deal with news, and the news is made of people, so scram! I don’t want your airplane coming around-” “Excuse me, sir.” A young kerbal walked up from out of the hallway. “I’ve been listening to these engineers and their plane sounds quite exciting. I’ll report on them.” “No! I forbid it.” The other kerbal just smiled and walked up to his desk. “You forget,” she said, “that I don’t work for you. I work for the newspaper, and the newspaper pays you good money for airtime on your station. Good money,” she said, frowning, “that you need to keep broadcasting.” The older kerbal frowned, then sighed. “Fine. What you report on is not my concern. Take them back to your office if that’s what you want, Sunny.” The three of them hustled out the door. “Sunny,” Bob said, “I’m Bob and this is my associate, Jebediah Kerman. He made the first test flight of our jet plane.” “You can call me Jeb,” Jeb said. “Nice to meet you, Bob and Jeb. I work for the Juno Telegraph, and I’ve been looking for a fun story to do. Yours seems like quite the type. I’m surprised I didn’t hear about it earlier.” “Well, Sunny,” Jeb began, “we’re a small operation. It’s just me and Bob, and Valentina- she’s the one flying the plane- along with Gene, who’s out in a cabin on the shore right now, and Gene and Wernher. They’re at the airport right now, waiting for Valentina to land. Let’s hurry over there and see how it goes.” They met up with Bill and Wernher five minutes later just as Valentina made a perfect three-point landing. “Wernher, this is Sunny,” Bob said. “She’s a reporter who’s going to tell everybody about our planes.” “Nice to meet you, Wernher,” Sunny said. “This story is going to be gold, I tell you. I’m eager to see what you make next. Would you mind telling me, for the paper?” Wernher thought for a minute. “Well,” he said, “I don’t think we’re going to be building very many more airplanes. I think we’ll sell the patent for this one and expand our operation out on the coast. We’ll build some new hangars, some new workshops, and from there- well, from there…” “From there the sky’s the limit?” Sunny suggested. “From there,” Wernher shouted, “the stars are the limit!”

Yeah, I think the end result of that scenario is: Rocket, one; Car, nothing. But you wouldn't be able to use either one afterwords. I see the shroud as being more "scraping protection" than "accelerator wedged to the floor protection" in a collision scenario. You could definitely damage the bells if you were going fast enough, but cracking them for example is probably much harder if they aren't exposed. The thing I want to compare the shroud to is a laptop case: it can handle a lot of minor abuse, but it's no good for one giant collision.

"Here at Liberty Mutual, we believe in driver forgiveness for your first... oh." Looking at the picture @tater provided I'm willing to believe that a collision on the back of the rocket would most likely cause damage to the shroud they have around the engines, especially given that in most scenarios (ignoring the yellow cars they have on either end of the convoy to protect the oversized load) a motorist would not have enough clearance behind the rocket to accelerate to dangerous velocities relative to the trailer. In fact, they way they have that rocket mounted makes it seem like the engines are about as high up as the hood of your average car, which probably makes it a lot harder to bump up against them by accident. I think a much worse scenario would be a "swidesipe" occurrence where a car slowly scrapes along the side of the entire rocket, which might require replacement of the entire core or extreme refurbishment instead of swapping out one engine. But, again, it looks like the rocket is covered with a material that would conceivably withstand something like that. So, my worst-case scenario is a T-bone collision right in the middle of the rocket from a car that ran a red light at sixty miles per hour.

Dragon needs the ability for an emergency water landing in case of a launch abort. SpaceX wants to focus on flying the Dragon 2 before they want to focus on landing it propulsively- a reasonable decision given that will all of the other unknowns of building a spacecraft, there might not be anything to land if other things, (life support, heat shield) aren't worked out first.

This is the saddest I've been in a long time. Stephen Hawking was the single most inspirational person of the last fifty years, period.

Chapter 5- Jack and the Beatnik Jeb was right. He remembered nothing. He just knew that incredible forces had turned his life around in an imperceptible manner. He stepped out of the jet as Wernher applauded. "Of course, I should have anticipated that the combustion chamber would be flooded when pulling negative Gs. A simple valve should solve the problem." Gene slapped Jeb on the back. "That's the fanciest flying I've seen since the war. You did good, flyboy. It's almost like you've done that before." Valentina glanced knowingly at Bob. Both of them nodded. "This calls for a celebration," Gene continued. "I see the sun is getting low on the horizon. Let's take the truck into town and toast this success at the Bungalow Bar." Wernher nodded. "I'll bring the truck around." He walked back to the shack on the beach and drove the truck to the landing strip. Gene took shotgun and Jeb, Bill, Bob, and Val climbed into the cargo bed. "Hold on tight," Valentina said. Gene guided the truck up a dirt road away from the peninsula and through some small hills away from the coast. They drove for half an hour until they came to a fork in the road; they turned right onto the path marked with the sign "Transkerbican Route 77." After that there was a mile marker and a highway sign that read "Juno's Landing: 13 Kilometers." From the back, Bill spoke up. "So, you get all of your machine parts and your fuel from Juno's Landing?" Gene nodded. "The army took us out here after the war to survey for drilling fields. We didn't find a single drop of oil, so they demoted us and didn't pay for a flight away from here. We quit and got a job loading ships heading out of Port Juno, and then later we would refuel planes flying out of Juno Airfield. We saved all of our money and bought an old Junkers Jello PC-3 plane to convert into the jet you just flew." The road became paved as the lights of Juno's landing lit up on the horizon. Route 77 took them straight down the center of town where motels and diners had their neon signs buzzing. A train station sat near the edge of town, and Bill noticed an old pair of trolley tracks as they passed it. A few high-rises dotted the west side of town near the mountains, but before Wernher's truck reached them they turned onto a side street and parked in front of the Bungalow Bar. Gene put some coins into a parking meter as Jeb pushed open the door to the bar. He waved aside a waft of cigarette smoke as the rest of the kerbals followed him to a table. Wernher brought back six drinks and handed them out. "A toast," he said, "to the success of the Junkers Jello MP-3 jet plane!" A small spotlight came on as Valentina drank, illuminating a stage in the corner. Three kerbals walked up, all of whom were smoking. They were dressed in black berets and black turtleneck sweaters. They took the stage, where a double bass and a pair of bongos were set up next to a microphone. One kerbal sat crisscrossed next to the bongos and the others stood at their proper places. The kerbal at the microphone cleared his throat and began to speak very quietly in a high voice. I walked down Main street, To the pharmacy drugstore, Oh yeah. Everybody else in the bar, who Bill noticed were all dressed exactly like the kerbals onstage, clapped for several minutes. One called out, "Groovy!" another shouted, "Hip!" and a third yelled "That's deep, Daddy-O!" Jeb shrugged. "It's a fine opening act, I guess," he muttered under his breath. Three more kerbals took the stage. Again, they played the bass and bongos while the third read his poem in the same voice as before. The world turned around And looked at me, Oh yeah. Everybody else in the bar except for Jeb's contingent clapped for several minutes. One called out, "Groovy!" another shouted, "Hip!" and a third yelled "That's deep, Daddy-O!" A new trio went onstage. Another performance began as the cigarette smoke thickened. Pablo Picasso painted my face In front of a lily pond, Oh yeah. Everybody else in the bar except for Jeb's contingent clapped for several minutes. One called out, "Groovy!" another shouted, "Hip!" and a third yelled "That's deep, Daddy-O!" Valentina stood up as the performers walked by her table. "Excuse me, who are you exactly?" The first one looked at her. "My name is Moonstar," she said. "I'm Riverstream," said the vocalist who stood next to her. "And I'm Poison Rose," the bassist said. "How can we help you?" "Well... what was all that, exactly?" Riverstream smiled. "That was progress, Daddy-O. We use our new art forms to enlighten kerbalkind. But it's not just poetry. For example, cool cat, I have some of my fine arts displayed on that wall." Valentina looked past Riverstream to the wall he pointed at and frowned. "But there's nothing... whatever. Does anyone else ever perform here?" Poison Rose shook his head. "We're all that ever plays here, but it's great. One guy plays some drums that are too small, another plays a bass that’s too quiet, and the third whispers bad poetry in a voice that’s too high, and all of them wear black hats and sunglasses. What’s not to like about it, Daddy-O?" Valentina did not think any of what Riverstream had just said was sarcastic in any way. "Besides, groovy-O, the only other music there is in this country is big orchestras playing but only the guy who sings gets famous. The start of those songs alone takes three minutes, and they all sound exactly the same." Valentina shrugged and walked back to her table. "Listen up," she said as she looked at her crewmates from the Kraken's Spit. "There's a music emergency in this town, and I need to fix it. Follow me." And they walked outside before Gene or Wernher could figure out what was going on. They crossed the street and entered Jay's Music Exchange. Bill walked up to the counter. "We need to rent amps, fenders, a keyboard, a drum set, and a saxophone for about an hour and some dollies to get them into that bar." Jay looked at them from behind the desk. "And what do ya got to pay fer all of that?" Bill smiled. "We want to get rid of those post-modernists across the street once and for all." Five minutes later, Jay was smiling as he helped to wheel the piano across the street. "You know, boys, I got into jazz years ago. I'm surprised those beatniks in the bar didn't get into that more. Eh, what we got is what we have, and what we have is you. That's a good thing." As they entered the bar with their instruments, a group of poets was finishing up at the stage. Valentina shoved the trio aside and plugged in their speakers, and leaned over into the microphone. "This ain't rock and roll," she yelled, "this is... this is... HIT IT!" There was a little country boy In a railroad shack And he always knew He would never get back But he had a fender that was beyond compare And when he would jam his notes would float Through the air. So from the south and to the north And east and west, Everybody knew who was the best. Go, go! Go, Kerb, go! Go! Go, Kerb, go! Go! Go, Kerb, go! Go! Go, Kerb, go! Go! Kerburry played good.

I thought about a spaceplane where the wings detached and were left in a low orbit before being redocked prior to reentry. I also had a practical application for this exact scenario, but I forget what it was. You'll find out when a 737 crash-lands in your local golf course, and its wings land in a nearby forest.

$ GULAG $ $ GULAG $ $ GULAG $

It was not a coincidence. I, for one, welcome our new capitalist overlords.