CatastrophicFailure

Noooooooooo, we're not done with that stage yet! Hey, you get back here too, we're not done with y--! WHY IS EVERYTHING EXPLODING?!? Not going to space today if the fiery end points to space: CONFIRMED.

That's good. But still odd that it's taking so long on a brand new game. I'd suggest posting your most recent log in case there are still errors.

Sigh. Forget the video card fund, where can I donate to buy @Galileo an extremely cold, absolutely not alcoholic carbonated malt beverage of choice?

Ok, right off the bat, you've got two ModuleManager .dlls. But before that, you need to start over from the beginning. Delete your KSP folder (or just unzip it into a new one, RUN THE GAME ONCE WITH ZERO MODS. Start a game, doesn't matter the settings, just get to the space center scene. THEN install GPP exactly according to directions. You shouldn't end up with two ModuleManager (MM) .dll files, use only the one that's in the GPP bundle. Go ninja go ninja go!

Glad you've enjoyed it. I apologize for the rather rough shape of the last half or so, I still haven't finished editing everything after the forum goofed it up a while back. And also, as you noticed, typos.

TO THE PAIN! @Vanamonde with trident and net, @Dman979 with gladius and shield! Bread! Circuses! Absolutely not any secret plans to start a Rebellion! And also, click.

Well, actually, if the problem really is that simple and #2 goes well, they can probably start calling #3+ RevenueStream .

This looks totally awesome! Unfortunately, since I'm still flarping about in 1.2, it will be a long time before I actually get to experience it.

er, just as soon as it's confirmed this is sanctioned by Big G himself...

¡Olé! Now I'm craving tacos So.... will you do the fandango? or maybe buy me a taco? Abandon all hope, ye who enter here...

"This Time, For Sure! No, Seriously, We Mean It This time. Absolutely."

Some interesting tweets coming out from Rocketlab right now, guys. I'm on mobile so I'll just paraphrase: the failure to reach orbit on the test launch was due to a misconfigured piece of ground equipment owned by a third party, and should be an "easy fix." Eh, flarp it. This is interesting enough to drag my tired S out of bed and walk 30 feet to the computer. OK, nevermind, even on an actual computer tweets aren't embedding. Flarp this flarping forum software, I'm going back to bed. Eventually. Instead of tweets, here's a meme: Apparently the launch was going just fine until thanks to some third party twit the signal burped, they lost contact for a moment, and following procedure, they blew the darn thing up. Poor Electron. IiiiiithinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcani*urp*BOOM! ETA: Seriously, forum? Seriously? Tweets WILL work but I have to past as plain text?! OK I really am going back to bed this time. Maybe. The wife'll probably smack me for waking her up.

@ShotgunNinja Erm... so I'm sure I'm disabling the right thing here, how do I disable the signal?

Thanx for the nod. I'll have to check back through the archive and see if I still have a bloated save left (I should, I collect backup saves like a crazyman.)

Sounds like you're in the same boat as me. I'm about 300 miles north of the path of totality, and local news says 93% totality here, so you should still get a pretty spectacular show. Get your glasses now.

Well, in all fairness, it's not unproven. Dropping the heat shield after reentry has a very long track record with Soyuz, and landing airbags (with detaching heat shield) were used on Mercury. Propulsively landing a capsule from Earth orbit has never been done, however. Like @Nibb31 mentioned, such data, even from unrelated vehicles, probably plays into their probability numbers.

Yeah, go make your own challenge, with blackjack and h-- Er... well give me a holler, I'll join you. MJFTW!

Old Abraham would raise his hands And mourn this very day, For his children left the promised land In search of their own way. They'd kick and scream like wayward sons Always wanting to sleep, And dream away these evil days In hopes that God can't see. Chapter 6: While You Were Sleeping She. She drifted... swirled in shadows. But rising... ascending... toward a distant, beckoning light... A shadow shifted, obscuring it. A dark form, a hidden face. A hand clamped tight to her mouth. A burning in her veins. And a horrible, wet gurgling noise. A voice whispered, "it's me! I'm just changing your IV bag." Slowly... painfully slowly... the world resolved into focus. She looked up at a vaguely familiar face with a finger pressed to its lips. "You—" "Shhhhh..." "You are Doc," she kept her voice low. Doc smiled, then nodded across the small room. She followed his glance, discovering the source of the awful gurgling sound. The one called... Gas-man... was asleep in a chair against the wall, head cocked back, a hefty river of drool running from one corner of his mouth. "First real sleep he's had in a few days," Doc whispered, "let's not wake him." She nodded. "How're you feeling, today?" Trying to drag herself from wherever she had been, it took some time to answer his question, "eye hurts..." "Hmm..." Doc produced a pen light, shining it around, "well, that's probably because it's almost open today. The swelling's gone way down, that's good. And you remember me, that's better. How 'bout Sleeping Ugly over there?" Her brow pinched at the term, but she answered, "he is... Gas-man..." "Well," Doc put a thoughtful hand to his chin, "that's close enough, I suppose. And you are..?" She... she tried... but only shook her head, "is... shadow... like trying to remember dream. Is something there, but I cannot..." Hmming again, Doc mused, "so you can't remember your name, but you know at least two languages. I wonder... könnst du Krünish?" She blinked, "ein bisschen. Aber ich war nie sehr gut," then quickly raised a hand to her mouth in surprise. Doc grinned. "How about," he began, "{blink}[squint] kidrock <right armpit fart> macklemore {gleek} (glottal stop) de vrieskou daar zat [twerk] ik toch al niet mee urp?" Her jaw dropped open, "you speak Ceriman?!" "No, I just know the one phrase." "What... does it mean?" Doc gave the back of his head an embarrassed scratch, "well, I'm probably getting it wrong. It's either 'the cheese is old and moldy, where is the bathroom?' or 'I shall bathe in the blood of your kin and make fiddles from their bones, you sweat from a baboon's nethers!'." She opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. "But you recognized it," Doc said with a wink, "Valentina Kermanova knows half a dozen languages. Ceriman isn't one of them. At least, I don't think it is..." The name called to her again, but distantly, like someone shouting across an open field. Shouting for someone else. Pulling her knees up with a wince and hugging them, she spoke to the blankets, "I know how to talk. I know that this is the North Pole. I know that is a table, and that is a chair, and that is... a disturbing amount of drool. But when I try to look beyond..." slowly, she shook her head, "I do not know what I know." Doc gave her a comforting smile, "you're healing. It will take time. This probably isn't the best place for finding familiar things to help kick-start your memory, but we'll try everything we can." She looked past him, to the spartan, cylindrical room, and the snow blowing in the twilight beyond the window, "is... more familiar than you know..." "Well, that's a start, isn't it?" he said, "now, when you feel like being conscious for more than a few minutes at a time, we'll see about getting you some real food instead of this glucose drip." Here he brandished the empty IV bag, "although, when I say 'real' and 'food,' I'm really stretching the meaning of both words." The barest hint of a smile touched her lips, "food sounds good—" then a wave of nausea billowed through her, "er... eventually." "You just let us know, we'll have you on your feet in no time," he grinned, "though I'll have to find you some slippers, floors are always cold, here." "Is alright, the cold—" "—never bothered me anyway," never opening his eyes, the Gas-man smacked his lips, snorted, then went to drooling out the other side of his mouth, "snooooooorlaxzxzxgzhzgxhzhgzhztypthbpthnzzzzzzzzzzz..." It was a sound like metal ripping underwater. She... could only stare. "He is... very strange," she finally managed. Doc seemed to consider this with a thoughtful frown, "yep, he is, alright. But he's a good guy, you should give him a chance." To this, the Gas-man added a somnolescent burp. "Oh?" she tried to raise an eye... bulge, but only winced in pain. "Mmm-hmm," Doc nodded, "he hasn't left your side since you got here." ———————————————————— "Morning, Dave." "Morning, Frank." Frank tried once more to rub some feeling into his weary face. Morning, it most definitely was, if only technically. Dave had fittingly left off the 'good.' Pouring the last gritty dregs from the coffee pot into a stained mug, Frank took a deep yet mechanical swig. "They're back." And promptly sprayed it all over the grease board. "Again?!" he coughed. Dave's chair gave a loud creak of protest against his bulk as he leaned back, a smug smile on his face, "tenants in warehouse 19 been birching to da bossman again. Say dey picking through da dumpster outs behind." Frank's teeth ground like a yellow-stained stone mill as his face split into a snarl, "kerm. Flarping. Dangit!!!!!" Dave snorted, "dafuggle is a kerm?" Frank could only stare, and blink. "Whatevah, yous knows what dat means," Dave's face practically oozed smugness. It dribbled down his cheeks and disappeared into the folds of his many chins, bringing with it crumbs from his last meal eager to join their lost brethren. "Sonnofadingdong, I am not getting paid enough for this carp!" Frank spat. "Yet yous keeps coming back ever night," he drew a napkin across a chin that only made it dirtier, "but da bossman dids leave yous a lil present dis time." He nodded toward the corner. Now Frank's face split into a cruel, smug grin as he hefted the electric cattle prod, "oh, flarp yeah! I'ma make those snart-smelling grubby mabberflabbers dance like [generic gelatin desert prodict]!" He thumbed the switch, and his smug grin glowed blue by the light of a thick, buzzing arc between the electrodes. "Then be off aboutcher noble rounds, good sah," Dave mocked with a creaky, greasy half bow, "but yous still paying for da coffee yous wasted." Frank shot him a final look as he reached for the door, "sprunk you, Dave. Sprunk you very much," and disappeared out into the darkness. "Lousy gobnobblers," he muttered as he hurried along, hugging himself against the unseasonably cold midnight air, "low down, goodfernuthin, lazy flibberflabs! I got a job, why can't they get a job, hah? I hate my job, but I got a job! Dragging me out here in the middle of the night, freezing my tiddlywinks off. I'll show em!" he brandished the cattle prod to the empty heavens, "I'll shove this so far up their whoopsidaisies they'll—" Ker-sploosh. Frank stopped in mid gabber. "Oooooooh, no!" he snarled, "I am not pulling your crusty, hoobastank S out of the harbor!" and stalked off towards the edge of the pier. "You better be dead!" he raged, "skittamirinkidinkidink, you better be dead or so help me I will—" There was nothing there. "Huh?" he clicked on his flashlight and shined the beam toward the water a few meters down. It swelled gently back and forth, on account of being the color and consistency of lumpy oatmeal. Frowning, he turned away to— Ker-splush. Some water sloshed onto a small floating dock below, and quickly tried to make a break for it before anyone noticed. That was... odd. Not the water, that was normal, but... Frank had never seen a fish this far up the harbor before. At least not a live one. A distant, nagging concern began to worm its way through his gut. Huffing, he made his way down the rickety, rusting ladder as it creaked and swayed. Something went ping, and he screamed as he fell... a few centimeters onto the bobbing wooden dock. With a grunt at his own nerves, he clicked his flashlight back on and shone it down over the grayish water. There! He almost saw... something. As the dock swayed beneath him, he crept out towards the edge. Yes, right there! He caught a fleeting glimpse of a small, dark form below the sludge. Going down to hands and knees, he peered out... leaning... There... there it was! A slowly undulating shadow just under the surface... circling... and... coming right this way... He leaned just a bit more... Rinky-tink-ting. Frank jumped up with a growl at the sound of a tin can skittering across the ground somewhere above. "Oh, that is it!" he practically flew back up the ladder, "someone gonna die tonight!" and charged away toward the dumpsters. "Mammerjammers!" he waved the heavy metal flashlight in one hand, the cattle prod in the other, "zimmy-zammy flimflams!" He came around the corner, and as expected, a hunched figure dressed in stained rags was leaning against a stack of pallets amidst the debris and trash. "Hey! You!" Frank cried, "you can't be here! You're tresp—!" The figure turned. "Oh... scat..." His eyes... The vagrant looked back, his own eyes wide, aware, and terrified. Angry sores weeping foul black pus covered a face of worn grey leather. His beard was matted to a clump with dark, dried fluid, what hair that remained draped in whispy tangles. But his eyes... His eyes..! "Whugle?" he said between ragged, agonal gasps, "glorp?" "Scat!" Frank muttered. He dropped his arms, his anger forgotten. Fear clamped tight around his stomach and... tiddlywinks. "Are... are you okay, old kerb?" he tried, "you... need some help?" "Glorp," the vagrant began shuffling toward him, "glorp!" "You... you want I should call the shelter?" dimly, Frank was aware of his mind trying to will his feet into motion, but they seemed frozen in place. "Glorp..." the old kerb stumbled closer, now reaching out for him. Blackness oozed over cracked lips, "glorp..." "Hey... hey, stop..." He shambled closer, fingers grasping, "glorp." "Hey, stop! You're freaking me out." "Glorp." "Stop!" Hands went for Frank's throat. In that instant, Frank suddenly remembered what was in his own hands. He brought the cattle prod up and jammed it right under the old kerb's chin. "Glugluglugluglgulgul!" he screamed, his wiry of old frame convulsing beneath layers of rags and filth. Then his wide eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a sack of rotted fruit. Frank was left to gape down in horror. His breath puffed out in vague clouds in the frigid air. The lump on the ground didn't move. "Oh, scrap," he breathed, "oh scrap! Oh skitterydingdong I killed him! I killed him! Oh scat, I just killed a guy!" Cautiously, frank went to nudge the vagabond with his foot. A hand shot out and grabbed it. "Gah!" Frank screamed as he toppled backward, light and prod flying from his fingers. Rough, irregular breathing filled the night air. The old kerb raised his head, his eyes two pools of pure misery, and began to drag himself forward. "Glorp," he pleaded. Frank squealed again as panic took him. He shook one foot free and jammed it into the vagrant's jaw, which snapped with a wet crunch. He tried to pull himself backward but the crusty old coot was incredibly strong. Finally, his questing fingers closed around the flashlight. He swung it around right into the other's head with a dull thud. Again and again, Frank drove the weighted butt into his skull. Foul, dark liquid splattered. The grasp released, and old kerb collapsed once more. Frank managed to pull himself back, and stumbled to his feet, panting. "What the front yard..?," he squeaked, shoulders heaving. Then louder, "what the front yard?!" The ragged form on the ground twitched. Wheezing, gasping, again it raised its head. One eye bulged grotesquely from its socket, the jawbone dangled by a scrap of flesh while the tongue continued to squirm. Hideous gurgling sounds escaped the ruined mouth. Again... again he reached out... Frank was distantly aware of a warm wetness that bloomed and ran down his leg. He pivoted on a heel and took off running. "Help me!" he screamed till he was raw, "somebody help me! Help—!" He slammed hard into more grasping hands. An old bag lady stared at him with those same wide, pleading eyes. Bones poked out through rotted mittens. "Whaguggle?" she said, "glorp! Hwork," she spat vile black goo onto him. Shrieking, Frank shoved her away. All around him, the chorus rose. "Glorp... glorp... glorp..." He ran. He ran in mindless panic, turning this way, that way. Figures loomed from every shadow. Finally, he turned down an alleyway and ran right into a chain link fence topped with heavy razor wire. His own eyes wide with madness, his lungs seeming to rebel, he threw himself against side door. "Let me in!" he cried, slamming his fists against it. Rough coughs racked his chest. Red and black streaked the metal surface. "Please, let me in!" But no answer came for him this night. At length he turned, and saw the entrance to the alley plugged with dozens of shambling, lurching, muttering forms. Glorp... Glorp... Whaguggle? Hwork! Whaguggle? Glorp... Glorp... Glorp... Hwork! Glorp... Glorp... Glorp... Whaguggle? Glorp... Alone in the darkness, while a sleepy town in northern Kleptogart dreamt the night away, Frank Kerman screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

It welded itself shut during reentry, by design. Not very reuse freiendly. However, the Soviet VA capsule also had a hatch in the heat shield, as was successfully reused more than once (I think). The space shuttle had all sorts of holes doors in the heat shield. I got the impression that the problem for SpaceX wasn't so much technical as bureaucratic-- they wouldn't have been able to get the system approved by NASA without extreme effort (cost).

Year 6, day 189... Hey, remember this old thing? That's good, Hopefully the after-mission discussion will keep the crew distracted from the fact that they only have 18 days of supplies left...

You've got a point. I might be tempted if I weren't so heavily invested into it already. It's such a lovely level of challenge for me, tho.

Not when your rocket is exploding on the pad and the doofy little thing just makes your pod spin in circles then smash into the ground before the chutes can open.

Sooooo... You've not addressed the little gear icon next to the ON button. It pulls up a bunch of rather ominous important looking other icon buttons, none with any explanation. Before I go clicking things randomly and exploding things (as entertaining as that can be), what do those little icons in the sub menu do?

My jealously for your convenient blasphemy target has reached a zenith. @Vaporo I haven't had much chance to play with that excel thing, other than to learn that Microsoft™'s free excel viewer only does exactly that, and being Microsoft™, they want certain favored parts of my anatomy for the privilege of clogging up my hard drives with Office®. I'll have to see if OpenOffice is still around... but in other news, despite getting stuck in a bus with a stuck-on horn, I had a surprisingly good day and next chapter is complete, just needs a final edit. Should be up some time this weekend.

Does it go straight or have that obnoxious and useless-at-low-alt spinny thing like the stock one?