CatastrophicFailure

Interlude: Bodies in Motion There is another world, drifting in the indifferent abyss of space. It is a world... of contradiction. By any understood law of nature, it should not exist, even more so than the dozen or so other rocks locked in their eternal dance around a star that also defies reason. And yet, those same laws of nature have been harnessed to prove, beyond any shadow of doubt, that it does exist. It is a world that, at any sort of distance, appears green, due to a peculiar quirk of chemistry as photons bounce off the vaporized volatiles in its wispy exosphere. Yet within that tenuous veil, the surface is a mottled mass of black and white. There is no grey; hard rocks on the surface butt against pure white ices. They tower in near vertical cliffs, split again and again by cryovolcanic eruptions from below, churned into a hellish mass of razor sharp crags and ejected boulders. Yet between these cliffs are vast stretches of glassy, perfectly smooth ice, as if great seas from another age simply froze solid as they were. Yet even thee frozen seas are layered in contradiction. They, too, should not exist at all, for it is far too warm here, this near to the sun. While the rest of this world seems bent on tearing itself apart in geologic death throes, these seas live on in tranquil stillness. There is liquid water here, trapped below the ice. The sacred elixir of life, rich in amino acids, granted energy by the spewing hydrothermal vents on the sea floor far, far, far below, and constantly churned by the planetoid raging around it, it should teem with life like the azure and jade jewel ever in the green-tinted sky. Yet, like nearly everywhere else, this sea is sterile. For the water instead teems with ammonia and arsenic, toxic salts and cyanide, and a dozen other awful things. It is a world of poison and violence, utterly abhorrent to life. And yet, there is life here, after a fact. Stretching out across the featureless ice seas are hectare upon hectare of solar panels, for here is the great frozen forge of a new empire. Power from this forge flows into sprawling industrial complexes, where the tainted water from below is distilled and purified... and then ripped apart. At the outskirts of the fields of silicon and glass are more curious structures yet, enormous, spindly wheels stretching a hundred meters across or more, set parallel to the surface and slowly rotating, giving the denizens within some semblance of useful gravity. It is these stubborn, adaptable beings who have brought life even to this lethal place. For them, none of this is unusual, it is simply a job. The salary is mediocre, but the benefits are good, and one might say the hazard pay is, well, out of this world. From their slowly spinning refuges, the strange little inhabitants of this strange little place set off down long corridors, ant-like, towards equipment rooms and operations centers. Here, they maintain and oversee the largely autonomous machines that do the actual work, or perhaps slink over to one of the many domed pools clustered at the center of their wheeled outposts, to partake in the favored pastime of this unusual place: enjoying the peculiar sensation of swimming in only 5% gravity. Elsewhere, reduced to its bare atomic essences, the once lethal water now powers through the long night the very machinery that harvests it, or separated further and liquified, fuels enormous, bulbous tankers ever arcing skyward. Yet even these massive vessels, little more than tiny engines mounted to huge golden fuel spheres, are dwarfed by the craft they tend. If this world is the forge of the new empire, then these greater ships are its arms, reaching out across the cosmos to ensnare its sustenance. They drift serenely across the black, easily visible by those below, as if lifeless, or perhaps only sleeping. Long strings of gleaming white spheres, each one sprouting radiators that conjure a vision of bleached, skeletal serpents. At one end is a small collection of modules and trusses, and at the other, is yet another skeleton. A yawning, airy arrangement of metal and carbon fiber that looks something like a rocket engine bell, if it were somehow stripped of its metallic flesh. Here, the cadaverous celestial leviathans wait with all the patience of the grave as servants bear their food from the frozen, boiling world below. But even among these titans, there is one still greater. It drifts a little apart from the rest, as if in deference to its sublime majesty. This one is no mere backbone but a complete skeleton, if of a most curious-looking beast. It sprouts not one engine but two, separated a fair distance from the collection of modules in the center by a web of graphene struts and weaved nanotube cables, giving the impression of a manta ray... or perhaps a flower. She is the second of her class, and yet the more powerful. Her hydrogen-spiked fission-fragment engines represent the very pinnacle of engineering, the apex of a once-revolutionary design now relegated to a museum. With them, thrust and Isp have been raised to dizzying numbers, tuned and refined even over her sister’s. These, it is said, are engines that could venture to another star. But she, like her sister, has been built for a more mundane task. And, also like her sister Belladonna, she bears the name of a flower than can expand the mind, heal the body... or extinguish the soul. Presently, a small, winged shuttlecraft clings precariously to one of that cluster of modules, as the inner hatch swings open... *** “Heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy, Jack-KAY!” cries Sheb Kerman, the crew chief, a wide grin on his face, “How was shore leave, mi broski? You paint Bangkong red?” “Don’t. Ask.” Jack Kerman turns aside as he comes through the hatchway, spitting out an enormous wad of gum that sails through the air and into the bin marked SPACE TRASH. He pulls his duffle along with him, then scowls as he scrapes his tongue across his teeth. “Huh.” Sheb stares at him a moment, his own tongue fiddling with his shiny gold tooth. He seems to rouse himself, plucks a tablet from the wall and tosses it across the module to Jack, “here, this’ll cheer you up.” Jack catches it without looking, “eh? What’s this?” “We got a contract,” Sheb smirks, “Dres Trojan, special express delivery to LKO.” Jacks eyes scan down the text, “whoah, Class H?” “Someone wants to see what this babe can do,” Sheb gives the wall a loving pat, “but keep reading.” Jack does, “five percent heavy metals... 17% silicates.... 78% percent methane hydrate?” he raises a confused eye, “what do they want with that much methane in low orbit?” “Dunno,” Sheb shrugs, “don’t care. But keep reading,” his grin stretches wider than ever. “Holey—!” Jack spits a curse, “are you flarping kidding me?! You shopped this, added some zeroes!” Sheb raises a pledging hand, “not me, bro. That’s the contract. And guaranteed full shares.” Jack’s already freakishly large eyes bulge even wider, “I could retire on this!” He looks down again, “I could retire ten times on this!” He looks down again, “I could buy my own ship and pay them to retire for me!” “Gettin’ paid, bro!” “Gettin’ PAAAAIIID!” The two bump chests... which sends them careening about the cabin, laughing and hollering until Jack breaks into a fit of gaping coughs. He spits another wad toward the trash, raising his hand for a high-five, when a speaker crackles. “Uhhh... Shuttle Tydirium here... you guys wanna close the hatch please? We’d like to go home now and we’d rather not depressurize your ship in the process. We’d actually enjoy it, but you’re not worth the paperwork.” Sheb rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He floats over to the hatch, swings it closed, then hits a few buttons. A gentle hiss of air follows. He taps his ear, “hatchway closed and vented, you’re cleared to depart, Shuttle. “Wormwood out.” 

Year 11, Day 111... And, we're back! Well, at least Triti is, along with the Iota crew, and a lovely new rug...But more on that later, first off in the flurry of activity of late, we head back to Gauss. NOVA Gauss, specifically, which, after spending the last few months in a high orbit of the large moon of Catullus waiting for the tenuous link home to improve , now makes another low pass of the moon moon of Tarsiss. Ugh, too many dire portents for one report. I'm going to curl up on Triti's new rug with a few comic books. Who knew bears had such a talent for weaving?

ProTip: pointy end goes up, flamey end goes down, or you will not get to space today.

StratoLaunch Mission 1 An AbsurdlyLong™ Post Part 1 So finally, after much faffing about, I finally ran my actual StratoLaunch mission! The one that was supposed to be a single afternoon's distraction. Weeks ago. That I'm still doing. And thanks to FMRS, I flew every single part of it. Sigh Anyways... Everything's loaded up, full power, Captain! Then promptly slam on the brakes cuz I realized there's no crew in the StratoLaunch craft itself.

w00t w00t! Also: Now let’s have another in two months...

BFR fears no storm, BFR is the storm. ಠ_ಠ

Interesting. Wish they'd be a little more forthcoming about this stuff, have they finally reached the point of delaying a launch due to possible recovery failure?

That is a depressing lack of launches. We may not see anything out of the Cape until the crew demo.

West coast last I heard.

You would asphyxiate after maybe 30 seconds of useful consciousness. Most of the really unpleasant stuff would only happen to you after you were dead. The Soviets actually had a plan to do this. Unfortunately, their rocket kept failing to get to space today.

Just a reminder mostly for myself... This thread is not dead. Doug is coming.

And I'm sure when someone at NASA suggested this he was just shouted down. SMH.

The massxacceleration is strong with this one. I couldn't even find the right dang web page. Tho the number does "seem" low. All stock-size KSP planets are crazy dense, Minmus is even denser than a solid lump of iridium, and I don't think the numbers scale linearly (I could be completely wrong on this), so it would seem 6.4x Minmus should end up denser than an "average" moon. Commence with the brain-running-out-ears-ness. It's no moon... I'm contractually obligated to say that, now. Actual spoiler.

Wouldn't be the first time I've invoked improper use of kerman-skirts... And I probably shouldn't but... Also: So... 100 meters is a nice, round number, any coning so minor as to be insignificant, got it, thanks all. Now, on to the bonus round! All this for blink-and-you-miss-it passing mentions... KSP wiki page for Minmus. I can only get about as far as calculating the needed surface area before my brain starts running out my ears, anyways: In a 6.4-scaled system, with .05g surface grabbity, and a radius of 385ish km, what would the average density of such a body be?

An Incomprehensible -hensive Unscientific Analysis of Air-drop Launch Vehicles A Stupidly Long Post. As I keep tweaking the concept to the point of ridiculousness, I thought I'd do some uncontrolled testing so see how much benefit there is.

Now you just need to figure out how to harness that energy, stick some people on board... and shoot the Mün’s eye out...

That was already a thing with Block 4 I thought? That would be cool if they could just slap the nose on down at the launch site. If it’s that simple, I wonder if they’re still considering flying boosters back from the drone ship?

Wait, so you’re using the Kerbal to move the module around? What mod enables that?

Interesting. Didn’t the first two FH boosters arrive already integrated tho?

It’s a special thing when an artist’s take so embodies a work that it essentially becomes their own, like a certain other cover that may soon be making an appearance. I’m old and cynical, but the first time I heard this version it actually gave me chills, and it’s the version that was playing in my mind as I wrote the words. Other comments... I can’t comment on. There’s a much shorter Interlude coming, and then the opening to Act II will for sure be another monster. In more ways than one. And now we come to the audience participation part of the thing. To assist me with a thought experiment, Can someone who’s better at math than me (which should be easy) tell me how big a ring structure would need to be to simulate 1/3g, at an RPM low enough that it’s inhabitants wouldn’t experience the more unpleasant parts of the Coriolanus effect(which is probably hard)? Bonus points for describing such a structure as a conical section turning horizontally in a 0.05g gravity field.

Sadly, I think the overall design has hit its limit. This is actually my smaller, original design, the bigger one only summoned the Kraken. Altho... @JadeOfMaar does have some pretty big SABRE-type engines, I wonder if... Ahhhhh, crap.

Are any of them escaping on their own at Mach 3.5?

Curse you. This happened.

Solpugid! I love solpugids! Actually, I just like saying solpugid. It kinda rolls off the tongue in exactly the way an actual solpugid would not. I think that’s a whip scorpion, anyway. But yep, shoulda called in sick. Ended up doing so anyway, more or less. Come around the corner just before work and the truck starts whining (also in a way a solpugid would not), pull in to the yard and find it’s bleeding out. Definitely ATF, probably the steering, question now is, is it that leaky fitting I’ve dealt with before or do I need to replacing the flarping steering box again? Neither of which can be ascertained here in the parking lot, so now I’m waiting on a tow truck. On one of the busiest travel days of the year. With a multi-hour wait for the ferry looming. Shoulda listened to the dang spider. Or even a solpugid.