UndeadInside

Thank ya, thank ya. Not ashamed to say that I had to Google that. I wrote the story immediately after it happened, and may have been at an emotional high of sorts. I liked the feel of the silly yellow journalism manner from the last one, and wanted to keep running with it. Now that I think about it, I should have just tacked this onto the last one.

Thank ya! I added a second one when I did the password reset shenanigans. If people keep liking them, I'll keep writin' 'em.

Approximately twenty-one days ago, a lone Kerbal strapped himself into our rocket. Its progenitor we found mostly serviceable, minus the capsule, which we have been regrettably unable to rescue. We must take small steps, cautious steps, to reach our first souls brave enough to break free of Kerbin. So, with a new capsule out of due deference, we must touch the sky once more. This rocket was almost flawless. Flying high into the heavens, reliably shot and truly sent. Those next few, short bursts that launched us skyward brought the Mun tantalizingly close to our fingers. Twice our ship passed over the Mun, its Kerbal pressed nose to the helmet to the crew hatch in awe and amazement. Returning to Kerbin with smiles and amazing stories, a rabid chase for success was begun. These are still but our early days - mistakes are expected - and they are frequent. There wasn't enough fuel to close our orbit. Our pilots weren't as familiar or experienced with orbitals as they should have been, a sore reminder to our children (and those hoping to enjoy all [charmingly] superfluous launch-day discussions) to pay attention to conic sections, astronomy, and so forth in school. We have spoken with other technicians nearby us, and they have assisted our math and circular understanding. Our rocket gained an attribute this day. No longer the single, shining spear of our people piercing that starred veil, now, this vehicle resembled something more like a particularly red fish at the end of a spear. Those first three triple-stacked ballistic outriggers made the vehicle ungainly. The ship spun in mighty circles, and strayed slightly to the left. The launch we were so accustomed to became a thing of the past as those shades of blue rolled past the crew hatch once again. Our technicians pored over the ship, searching this way and that for the cause of the wobble, the cause of the never-ending two-seventy list, and to cease the spin to save on cleaning duties inside Kerbal helmets. Struts were added upon the vehicle's return. Another stack of solid fuel boosters were tacked onto the bottom, causing no end of nightmares for our logistical team, a myriad of troubleshooting fake launches, and possibly a drinking problem for an engineer. Finally, our second and third stacks of boosters sat on the launch pad. As the timers counted down, the crowd held their breath in a single mighty inhale, threatening to starve our boosters of much needed combustible material. Perhaps the viewing area should be moved further back to preserve the safety of both sides of the issue. Ignition came, and our rocket soared skyward, the sun gleaming over the nose cone until again, that cursed leftward lean and spin set in. Luckily the engines of our craft were loud enough to block out the coarse and profane language that came spewing from the design team. Aborting this launch, and returning our slightly miffed Kerbal back to home, we set about our vehicle once again with hammers and spanners. An idea came, and as it moved from brain to mouth, there was trepidation. Maybe it was the fact there were only three ballistic outriggers. Maybe - maybe we needed six. Could we? Should we? The last time we did such a thing, well, the memorial to those three still stands out front, its cast metal almost cooled. After deliberation, we decided that the best course of action would be to attach these extra three outriggers. Three outriggers, twenty seven boosters. It was almost serendipitous. Launch day came again, and as the launch pad became a source of heat that would make the sun blush, our rocket sped skyward. Monitoring instruments, we marveled. Gone is the wobble! Gone is the list! The spin, well, the spin adds flair and a punch of panache anyhow - helmet cleaning costs be damned. Our orbit set nicely, and, lo and behold, the entirety of our original rocket was now in orbit above Kerbin. The Mun would answer. The Mun would know Kerbal feet, Kerbal hands, and possibly Kerbal hindquarters if a landing were botched. Alas, our lack of skill with things round had come to haunt us at this point. The Mun sailed by our window, but in the distance, we saw something else. A target equally reachable, equally attainable, and easily twice the glory! The circles were slap-dash smashed together once again, and all thrusters were set to overheat. Minmus loomed behind our rocket, the Kerbal inside gazing through the window at an alien landscape as it neared, and thankfully, mashing the counter burn on our deorbital rocket. At three thousand meters, we deployed our ingenious near-exact proximity estimator and decoupled the deorbital thruster and its component fuel tank to the ground. Two thousand kilometers passed before a thunderous boom announced the near-coming to any indigenous life on Minmus. Landing feet, never before used, and still shiny from their packaging extended as RCS thrusters sputtered. One thousand meters, and the whole of creation could have held its breath. There was a thud, a whizz, a thud, a scream, a whizz, and a final thud before nothingness. Jubilation ensued as our past came to haunt us. Was there enough fuel for a return trip? Our brave Kerbal wasn't pleased with the notion of a fate similar to his three predecessors. After a brief sojourn to scout which yielded soil samples and a particularly shiny rock, he pressed the button and aimed the nose home. As an incredibly long orbit finally made itself apparent, we checked the fuel gauge. Half a tank left. Half a tank left to get him home. The apex of the ellipse was aimed for, and the Overheat button smashed hard enough to dent the console. The orbit shrank steadily. Our fellow engineers had told us of this possibility, and we had half-heeded. Now, as half a tank of fuel was all that remained between shame and success, we might have half wished we listened harder. With a sputtering gasp, and the tiniest sliver of fuel detectable, the orbit collapsed on the far side of Kerbin. The hours passed, the vessel drifting through space until capsule and parachute decoupled, and brought our brave Kerbal home.

After a multitude of trials, a number of catastrophic failures, and a series of evolutionary and revolutionary changes, three brave Kerbals have found themselves loosened from the surly grip of our home world forever. Who would have thought, from our first rudimentary rocket sending these souls skyward a few thousand meters, we would find ourselves in our current situation? Stability testing came next, followed shortly thereafter by a test run for the upper reaches of atmosphere. We came to the conclusion that more thrust must be added, and we regrettably lost lives in this endeavor at the first trial. Our quest for the stars, and our thirst for thrust would not be slaked, however. Surely, safety would be a concern. Slimming down, bulking up, fortifying, fueling, and finding the correct trajectory and comfortable enough seats for our pilots came next. Booster packs, experimental decouplings and fiddling with thrust settings were all tested and implemented into our greatest rocket to date. Our latest, and most our successful launch to date came from a trio of experimental under-the-pilot boosters. Those against us said it was foolish, and looked slapped together, but they are only six and nine - what do they know of rocketry? We remained confident that the only thing we would slap were the stars. Our new rocket featured a slimmed-down capsule, and that new shiny trio of boosters. We waited, anticipating the roar of the boosters as the computer systems worked out our trajectory. We held our breath as the countdown ensued, we smiled again as our engines fired. Here, we counted our previous successes as we mounted and surpassed them. Nearest us, where the atmosphere is thick - our first barrier - shattered. Glee took hold as sky blue became Prussian blue became black. We held our breath as our latest innovation neared, stage by stage, peeled away like layers of an onion. The last of the fuel cells broke free, lost to burn behind the craft. Ground control\'s navigation instruments had the vessel nearing apex at our local satellite moon when the commander\'s finger came to that shiny red button and gently pressed. Those last boosters came to life, unfettered by heavy layers of air, and carried our Kerbal cosmonauts further, faster. Our instruments watched as the expected return curve became a straight line. Jubilation became horror instantaneously as the new course was charted before our eyes. How could we not have foreseen this? Surely, we had expected to break orbit at some point, but our lust for thrust had put us in this predicament. Frantically, we scoured our schematics for what we were sure we must have included - but alas, did not. Our success has come at a heavy price. We have no return plan for our Kerbals. Bill, Jebediah, and Bob look down on us, from up there, as they orbit the sun waiting for us to join them. It would be a disservice and a dishonor to shame them by abandoning our endeavors.