CatastrophicFailure

Nowhere near their best of, what was it? Like 11 days from the same pad? Great video too, you can really see the angle of attack it comes in at. I wonder what sort of glide ratio it has?

Nah, this one's in Cali. They don't seem to be trying for their incredible July cadence right now.

I'm out of likes for the day but this really demands a gif... or a full video.

! @Hotaru:

Year 6, Day 337... CETI-OTHO 2 NO ONE - NO ONE - NO ONE The investigation into Pete's abrupt disappearance... and arrival, for that matter... is on going. Which basically means I sent a couple of guys blundering through the facility at night with cheap flashlights. They're probably in the cafe pilfering snacks right now. What's more, that stupid "RESCUE" alarm started going off again. Even though the box was unplugged. And sealed in concrete. And dropped in the sea a year ago. Maybe. Time is strange, here. And apparently these new distressed damsels are on Ceti. Which we've only been to once. And I'm mostly sure we didn't leave anyone behind. Mostly. But, it's provided a convenient way to test our newest launcher evolution without having to thump and gag any volunteers down here.So I bring you, the new Otho-class heavy-lift launcher! And try not to squish them.

I was scratching my head, "wait, where'd I write the chicken & goat into this one...?" tho that does give me an idea...

They better look bad-S. They're contractually obligated to look bad-S. I wanna see bad-S.

Yup, as I suspected, got doodly squat done yesterday, at least textually. Conceptually tho, there's a brand new nationality for me to blatantly insult poke fun at.

Don'tcha just love the vagarities of the English language? I've got one more long intermoonar mission to post, then a couple short ones before I'm caught up and can actually start launching stuff again.

In my test game, landed on Rald at 6.4 scale. This thing did NOT want to fly S-first. Had to pop chutes to really slow down and get it stable for touchdown. (.5 ATM @ sea level in my setup) Dat view doe. (Credit to @KerikBalm for Rald) Now to find out if it can take off again...

That looks baaaaaaaaaaad S.

Dig it. Two Revelations chapters in the same week, and two ALIEN SKIES write ups done! I am on a roll this week! (Yes, I have no life.) But then... why do I have a bad feeling about tomorrow?

Still year 6, Day 260... Moving on... It's finally time for Negy and Hadald Pete to begin their decent to the surface. Which they seemed to be looking forward to, until Lodvin looked at them with that... look... he gives people, and ominously chided, "There's something down there." Before slamming the hatch shut. But, we've come this far, be a shame to waste the fuel. But oddly enough, it seems Pete's gone missing, now. Come to think of it, I'm not sure where he came from in the first place. I thought he was one of the random orbital pickups, but going back through the paperwork (we actually have someone here who does paperwork?), there's no record of him anywhere. That's... odd...

Dead inside No other satisfies My blood runs dry, take my life Save me from this death inside Chapter 8: Dead Inside Edgas sat huddled by the window, a once-fresh mug of damp coffee grounds growing cold on the tiny table. He turned from watching the snow swirl in the inky twilight outside, instead looking for the steady, slow rise-and-fall from the blanket on the bed. The machines were all off, now, that was good. She seemed to be healing at a remarkable rate. At least, her body did. That, alone, was troubling. He turned back toward the window, absently rubbing at the little crescent scar in his right palm. For a moment... just a moment... the snow seemed to whirl into something recognizable, but just as fast it was gone again. Jumping at shadows, he thought, like always. Once more he looked to the bed, then down at his own hands. He paused, staring at them, turning them this way and that. Faint lines had already begun to set in on his left, marking the spots that would one day bear wrinkles. They criss-crossed up over his knuckles, slowly wearing into the skin from a thousand subtle daily motions. Some days, cold ones like this, he could just feel a dim, distant aching deep in the joints. His eyes moved to his right hand. Here, the skin was soft, smooth, flawless save for the scar. As fresh and ageless as it had been years ago, when— Say dummy again. Unbidden, his hand curled into a fist. Edgas could feel it even now, the strength and power of youth that the young are ignorant to. He balled his left hand. It was not weak, not yet. A regular routine in the station gym saw to that. But in a few years, another decade, maybe two... and yet his right arm would always lag behind. His eyes returned to the slumbering form on the bed. Mystery Goo had... restorative properties that, oddly enough despite its use as a standard experiment medium, had never been explored. And Edgas had never mentioned. Things had been... difficult enough, after... ...But even then, he had learned to trust his gut. With that thought, he produced his evanescent tablet, and tapped at it. Jagged lines filled the screen. Her latest brain scan, taken while she slept. Still with the same chaotic patterns. The ones he recognized, from a mental hospital a lifetime ago. Again he tapped, and new lines appeared. Muted, serene, logical. His own scan, from just this morning. Being in here all the time at least made that easy. Every week, the same routine, creeping into the AutoDoc while the station slept. Always vigilant, always searching his own mind for any hint of... Tap. And there it was, but in the un-dead Ussari Kerbonaut's mind. How? Could she have been to the Mün? The Ussaris were known— notorious, even— for doing such things and covering them up when they went bad. But why a KSA command pod? And how? Not that much of a stretch, the Practical Kerbal in him chided, after all, decades ago, a wayward Omorkian bomber landed in their territory by mistake. They managed to not only copy but mass produce from that one example within months, and by every measure the copies were superior to the original. Edgas nodded at himself. But still, where—? The Company has been supplying the Ussaris with technology since their space program began, the Scientist in him added, for all anyone knows they simply handed them the plans. Edgas nodded again. But still, why? He didn't have an answer for that. But these were all ancillary concerns, anyway. If she had been to the Mün, stood before the Anomaly like Edmund and— His lips drew into a thin line. If she was... tainted... even after everything he had done on Bop, and on the Mün itself, after Burdous's own odyssey... Coincidences. All coincidences. He never would have thought any of it possible, until... His fingernails dug into his palms as his hands balled into fists once more. Where did that kerb on the talk show get the broken seal of the Kraken?!? They were on Bop! They'd been left on Bop! Burdous had left them on—! A thought tried to pry its way into his head, but Edgas rejected it like a parasite. Yes, they are, the Scientist said, the kerb on the screen was obviously clever, but not quite stable, either. You know his type. You've seen them before. Used them before. If he's done the reading, it's a simple enough thing to fabricate evidence to draw attention, and attention is what he's really after. Yes. Attention. Like all the others. The figure on the bed groaned, and rolled over just slightly. A light, breathy snore added some sound to the small room. Edgas looked at her. He'd already made up his mind long ago. Tainted or not, whatever the cost, he already knew he'd do whatever it took to protect her. No sooner had the thought formed in his head than the shadows in the dim room began to shift and writhe. They twisted into horrifying, eye-watering forms, wriggling like worms in carrion. The light fled as if forsaking the world. Yet in the darkness, Edgas saw the figure on the bed rise. It turned its not-face to him, stared into him with two abyss-like pools of nothing. Pressure.... pressure in his mind, and then— YOU DARE ASCRIBE TO SUCH LOFTY NOTIONS? YOU, WHO DOES NOT KNOW SACRIFICE, WHO HAS NEVER TASTED REGRET? Edgas felt his eyes grow wide, his lips pull back from his teeth in a rictus of horror. PERHAPS... IT IS TIME THAT YOU LEARNED! The shadows washed over him, tearing at him, pulling the air from his lungs. The taste of alkali stung through his throat. He raised his hands against the tempest, and saw only the bleached off-white of dry, weathered bones. Edgas jolted upright, screaming, flailing against... There was nothing there. The room was as it always had been, quiet and dim, a slumbering form on the bed. He stared at his trembling, but quite normal hands, before wiping a crust of drool and sweat and coffee grounds from his chin. Just a nightmare... hallucinating... You know better than most what sleep deprivation does to a person... Yes, Edgas did indeed. And he also knew that such things were not to be ignored. ———————————————————— A jaunty tune came whistling down a darkened, empty hallway, followed closely by the custodian pushing a mop and bucket. It was late, of course, it was always late, but a custodian's work was never done. That seemed to be especially true, these days, he mused as he whistled along. There was never a shortage of... unusual cleanups in a busy hospital like this, even one far away from the bustle of the big cities. And lately they had been well, a bit more unusual. And a bit more frequent. But the pay was good, and he didn't have a boss breathing down his neck all day. Er, night. And sometimes he nicked snacks from the cafeteria. Those were very good. As long as they came from the bin marked "staff." Anything in a bin marked "patients" was, well, not good. He'd just come from there now, with a belly full of staff snacks and a bucket full of, presumably, patient snacks. Slightly used. Management wanted the space spotless for tomorrow, some sort of big news conference. People coming in from all over. He took no interest in such things. As long as the checks cleared he'd scrub what they wanted scrubbed and see it done well, to boot. But the snacks were a nice bonus. In fact, he even— The jaunty whistle ended on a sour note. Hmm. That was... odd. The custodian raised a hand to his chin, tapping a finger against it thoughtfully. He walked up to the large double doors at the end of the hall. Now... who would go and do a thing like that? Raising an eye... bulge, he bent and picked up a name badge lying on the floor. He wiped away a smear of black with a thick thumb. Ah, an orderly. That figures. He rubbed at the much bigger black smudges on the doors. Dried. That's going to be a royal pain to clean. His hand returned to his chin as he read aloud the words scrawled on the doors, "don't... dead... open... inside..." Now what on Kerbin did that mean? Whoever put it on there appeared to have shackled the doors together with a heavy chain and a stout lock, too. That was... very odd. But it simply would not do. So, he produced his trusty set of bolt cutters that no custodian should ever be without. But... clamping the jaws around the lock hasp, he heard... ...or did he? With a frown, he pressed his ear to the door. No... Yes... Wait... no... ...Yes? He almost... could hear something, like... mumbling... and shuffling... just on the other side of the door. Or was it just those rickety old air handlers again? Well either way, a locked door in his hospital just would not do! He was the custodian after all, and he locked all the doors around here! Except for management, and, well... anyways... He set the cutters on the lock once more and gave them a mighty squeeze! The lock snapped with a loud ping, and he quickly tore off the chains and threw the doors open wide. And screamed. Inside... inside, he saw... ...two people dancing around dancing around in a field of flour to some truly horrendous music. Face white as a sheet, the custodian slammed the doors shut again and braced his back to them, chest heaving. Now, he was as open-minded as you please but that was simply not the way to go about making bread! The custodian quickly pulled the chains back on, pausing to frown at the ruined padlock. With only a moment's further consideration, he simply tied a good, strong knot in the chain, then stood back to admire his handiwork with a little smile on his face. It faded. There was still the matter of the black paint sprawled on the doors. That absolutely would not do, horrible music or no. But, a custodian's work was never done, so he turned to the broom closet across the hall and unlocked the door. Now, to find the turpentine and— "Whaguggle?" "Gaaaaaah!!!"

Oh, c'mon, I'm only 8 chapter in! But speaking of which, it's been an unusually productive week, at least for writing. Chapter 8 is done pending a final readthru and should be up later tonight, and I've even got the beginnings of chapter 9 down, and it's not even Friday.

Don't open, bread inside.

Irony of a Dragon bearing ice cream...

Grimlock: Me Grimlock love @DerekL1963's war stories. Grimlock: Tell Grimlock about petro-rabbits submarine hatches again. no doubt belongs in its own thread but I could listen to that kinda stuff for days...

I'll just leave this here...

That! Is! Awesome! Now 'shop into Dr. Phil with the "cash me outside" wench.

The Kraken would totally kick Cthulhu's S, if for no other reason that Cthulhu has one and the Kraken does not. I figure sooner or later things will calm down for ol' absolutely not Thompy and he'll end up doing the daytime talk show circuit out of sheer boredom. @KSK:

In those days, truth shall be reviled, And those who speak it cast out into the night. A Great Plague shall shall be called down upon Kerb Thus shall he be smitten in his hubris. Chapter 7: Truth and Consequences *Any reference to other works of fiction is coincidental and completely unintentional They're eating her! And then they're going to eat me! Oh my Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerm! She blinked at the wall. Dozens of questions flowed across her mind, like the images flowing across the wall. Chief among these was what exactly had been in that last injection. The one she asked was, "er... but what is Kerm?" "Eh, who knows," Doc said, trying to suppress a giggle, "probably makes more sense in context." "Even in context, nothing in this flick makes sense!" the... Gas-man added, choking back his own laughter. She frowned, and blinked once more. At least she could blink, not just... squint-wink, like yesterday. The images from her eyes still seemed distorted, somehow out of synch, and it might not have even been yesterday, but... that was still an improvement, right? Anything... anything but here-and-now just seemed all fuzzy, like trying to remember a dream within a dream. Occasionally, images flashed in her mind. People, places, things. She had no idea if they were real or not. Shadows and ghosts. It was as if she were watching the pictures on this wall within her own head. Something about that even... Some indistinct part of her brain said she should be amazed at images of such depth and quality just appearing like that, with no discernible screen of any kind. The other Kerbals seemed to just "flick" them onto the wall from those little transparent tablets they carried about. Even in context... "...Nothing makes any sense..." Doc eyed her as he rubbed at his chin, "ok, maybe not the best lunchtime entertainment. I'm afraid the options are pretty slim, thanks to this storm messing up comms. We can't stream anything, so all I've got is what Siri DVR'd last month." She stared at him, the fuzziness flaring in her mind, "I... have no idea what you just said." He seemed to share an uncomfortable glance with the Gas-man before tapping at his little plastic device again, "er, let's see what else I have here... nope... nope... nope... hey, how bout this?" then frowned, "dangit, it picked up in the middle. Well, here..." he flicked something onto the wall. Lukewarm applause from a small audience filled the room out of unseen speakers. The view panned across several people seated in chairs on a sort of stage: a rather questionable looking lady chewing gum, someone in what appeared to be a sports mask, a little girl in pigtails who was quite obviously evil incarnate, and... what looked like a probe core with two glowing green lights and a jutting pair of antennae. A fellow appeared holding a microphone, with hair that bore a striking resemblance to an well-used pot scrubber. "Welcome back to Town Talk with George," he said, "our next guest this evening is the author of a new e-book that's sold dozens, yes, dozens of copies. Because anyone can get one of these published these days. Please welcome Mr. Giorgio A. Tsoukermanos!" Someone clapped. Someone yawned. Someone burped. The view panned to a kerb in another chair, whose hair looked like it was trying very hard but unsuccessfully to get as far away from him as possible. "Now Mr. Tsoukermanos," the host continued, "please explain, in a nutshell— because that's all I have patience for— the topic of your latest work." With an odd little smile, and an odd little squint, the fellow in the chair held his hands up, "Krakens." "Krakens." the host said flatly. "Krakens," he did the squinty-hand-thing again. "Krakens. As in the legendary sea monsters that rose from the abyss to drag hapless sailors down to their doom?" Snickers from the audience. "Well, names are really such a social construct, George," the alleged author explained, "this entity has been called by hundreds if not thousands of monikers over the eons." "Entity," the host raised an eye... bulge, "yet a moment ago you were using the plural!" "Such ideas, too, are really little more than a construct so that our limited minds can even conceive the inconceivable. Are there many Krakens? Can it be in multiple places at once? Or is it simply omniscient? Is such a thing even possible?" he gave a wink, "yes, it is." The host's expression never changed, "so you actually believe these mythical leviathans exist?" "George, the concept of the Kraken is merely our one society's manifestation of a fear older than history itself. What I have spent the last decade studying isn't some rubber-suit movie monster... it is the very embodiment of chaos itself. It is a force beyond reason or morality, far too big to fit into our limited Kerbal minds." "I'm terrified," the host said, clearly not. The alleged author continued on without seeming to notice, "for it to truly be revealed to us, for it to touch this world unfettered, would be the end of all things, everywhere. After all, another word for revelation... is apocalypse." The host stared at him, then glanced at his own watch. "But more importantly, I've discovered incontrovertible evidence that ten years ago, someone tried to reveal it, to let it into this world." "And obviously they didn't succeed! Wow, that's a relief! That coulda got ugly!" the host bellowed with a wide, fake smile, "Thanks very much for joining us today Mr. Tsoukermanos. My next guest—" "It didn't succeed because someone else stopped it." The host's smile evaporated. The hand not holding the microphone began to twitch. "Someone, I'm not sure who, took a secret prototype torch ship to the fourth moon of the planet Jool, broke open the Kraken's prison, then somehow sealed it again, even deeper than it was." The fake smile came back, "and how 'bout a big round of applause for this great, unsung hero! Thanks again for coming, Mr. Tsoukermanos, now—" "But he's not. He doesn't know what he's done. He's put Kerberos to sleep, the door is unguarded," he leaned forward, his squinty eyes suddenly going wide, "and now, Hell is coming." The host's irritation seemed to crack for a moment. Perhaps it was something in the guest's eyes that fractured his own demeanor. "Um... er..," he stammered, "well why should anyone believe you, right folks? Do you know how many people I've had on this show crying about some impending cataclysm? It's a zombie apocalypse! No, it's head-sucking quasi-sapient foliage! No, it's a grand conspiracy to make rockets out of an old pipe extruder at a secret underground lair! Why should anyone believe you?" His expression remained mild, "because I have proof." "What proof?!" The guest reached into his coat pocket... ...and next to her the Gas-man suddenly went into a fit of coughing and choking. His eyes practically bulged from their sockets, his head shaking back and forth in little twitching motions. "Ack, don't mind me..." he gasped, trying to compose himself, "sorry... swallowed wrong..." Doc stared at him for a long moment, "boss, you really need to get some proper rest. Or maybe add a little more water to your cup of coffee grounds." He waved it away, "I know, I know..." She frowned, then looked back to the image. The author was holding up..." "A broken dish," the host said, "a broken dish?! That's your proof for all this, a broken dish?!? Wow, it's a good thing they didn't crack the teacup too, or we'd really be screwed!" "No, this is a—" "Waste of our time! The next thing you'll be telling us, society was created by ancient aliens!" The guest's face twisted into a snarl, "I'm not crazy!" he spat, "there's a lost city where—" "Oh, shut up, you pinhead!" the hose raged, producing a glass of water, "you make me sick!" then promptly splashed it in the other's face. He stormed up to the camera, "up next on Town Talk, orphaned disembodied brains in jars abducted by UFO's and forced into weight loss programs... and the kerbelles who love them! Right after this—" A chair smashed over his head. "Ok, maybe that's not the best either," Doc admitted, "how about..." Tap. "He is... Conan! The Librarian!" Tap. "Wheel! Of! Fish!" Tap. "We don't need no steenking badgers!" The wall went blank. "You know," the Gas-man said, successfully downing a lump of coffee, "I'm really being to question your taste in entertainment." His eyes looked... haunted. "Eh, what can I say? I like the old over-the-airwaves stuff," Doc shrugged, "but maybe you're right. Too much of that will turn your brain into cottage cheese." She... really didn't have much to judge against, but once again she noted, these people are so strange. Though, speaking of cottage cheese... She turned her attention back to the bowl on the tray in front of her. Too grey to be cottage cheese, probably not porridge, either, and the texture was just all wrong for oatmeal. Still, her stomach gave a soft growl. "What... is this, again?" Doc smiled, "hull—" and flinched. "Erm, we just call it mush," the Gas-man offered, shooting a look at Doc, "it honestly tastes better than it looks." She frowned at it, but nevertheless tried a spoonful. For... just a moment... she somehow had some odd expectation of extremely specific visions... but no, it just tasted like, well, mush. The other fellow was right, it certainly wasn't bad all, actually rather good, though she couldn't quite pin it down. It seemed to have an oddly adhesive flavor. Yet her stomach gurgled once more at the first morsel, and she realized how hungry she was. "Well, your appetite's certainly returning," Doc observed, "but slow down and chew or you'll end up like this guy." The Gas-man scowled at him. "Anything else?" he then asked her, "any memories?" She shook her head, not looking up. Yet, there was something... "You are getting better," he offered a smile, "when you feel well enough, I'd like to take you to the equipment bay, and show you where we found you. Maybe that will help jog something." Still not looking up, she gave a vague nod. Space pods. The North Pole. And now... what was that about a Kraken? It all seemed so silly. And yet... why should anything seem silly, or not silly, when she couldn't even remember was silly was? Yet something... "Something..." she murmured. "Hmm?" the Gas-man raised an eye... bulge. "There is... something I must do..." the words came as if a revelation, "something important..." "Like what?" She looked at him, but once more only shook her head. Something... something in those moving pictures... For a moment it had flashed, like a meteor across the sky. But then, only darkness. Perhaps... Yes, the Librarian. Perhaps... she had a book overdue. ———————————————————— "How many," Heywood said, watching through the thick glass. It wasn't really a question. Just beyond, gurneys crowded a space meant to hold a fraction of what was there now. Two figures in Level A biohazard suits wandered amongst them making observations, the large block-letter emblem of the Kleptogart Centers for Disease Control standing out on their backs. The two nurses inside wore only plastic splash protection garb. "Thirty-seven," the Chief Physician responded. "All from the clinic." "The clinic, and those directly exposed. Twenty-four more isolated for observation, not currently showing any symptoms. "Have you run out of ventilators?" Heywood asked. The Chief scoffed, "we deemed them unnecessary. Breathing is labored but spontaneous, and surprisingly strong despite the irregular pattern." "But you don't have enough ventilators..." "The situation is under control, Doctor." Heywood finished a mental count, "wait, where's Patient Zero?" "Upstairs, in the isolation ICU. We thought it best to keep him separated for special observation." "Prudent," Heywood nodded, "yet your staff here is only wearing contact prophylactics." The Chief's scowl deepened, "the illness is not airborne. We have definitively traced it to direct contact with the infected, or with the black substance they excrete. It is extremely virulent, yet easily contained with standard protection protocols, and entirely neutralized by exposure to high temperature." "I see," he tapped at his tablet, "and you believe the progression of symptoms is... accelerating with each newly infected generation?" Jaw clenching, the Chief took a moment to answer, "that is correct." She pointed through the window as she spoke, "these first few who were at the walk-in clinic when the index case arrived, by their own record they began showing symptoms five to seven days after exposure. The next group: family, close associates, the EMT's who brought them in, three to four days." Veins stood out on her otherwise calm face as she continued, "and finally, hospital staff exposed before we realized the primary vector was the black substance. Twenty-four hours. At most." "And you don't think that alone is a concern?" Heywood looked at her, "such a rapid shortening of the incubation period?" "Of course it is. One that we have already taken prudent measures to deal with." "Are you still administering high doses of blood thinners?" "That protocol has not been changed. How is that even relevant?" "Just keeping a record." "Doctor", now she turned to him, drawing up to her full height, "this is the modern age. People can live and work on the Mün and Minmus, kars can operate autonomously, information can be shared around the world in an instant... and a well-funded county hospital can respond quickly and adequately to a minor outbreak of an illness like this. Your own reports have recognized this. I fail to see what benefit there might be to layering in more National bureaucracy. The situation is under control." Heywood kept his face neutral, "there's half a million people in this county, two hundred thousand in this city alone. Have you canvassed the greater area for any victims that might have been missed? That's exactly the sort of thing National assets would be useful for." "There are no other victims. Any reported cases would have already been brought here." "What about vulnerable populations? Those who might be hesitant or unable to seek medical care. The homeless, the indigent, shut-ins..." The Chief's eyes flared wide, "this is a close-knit, engaged community, Doctor, not some Southend urbanized cesspit!" He looked at her. She glared at him. "There are no other victims. The situation is under control." "Glorp... glorp!" "Hold him—GAAAH!" "Hwork!" Their faces snapped back to the glassed-in room just in time to see a nurse stumbling to the sink, his plastic face-guard torn off. A long, dark smear stained one cheek. He scrubbed at it until his nails left angry red scratches on his skin, and the two KCDC agents pulled him away to a bed. "I hope you're right, Shirley," Heywood began scrolling through the contact list on his tablet, "I most sincerely do."

New sponsor: That insanely clean soot line continues to trip me out.

It's all GPS, IIRC. Plenty of accuracy inherent in that system for their needs.