CatastrophicFailure

Given that Kerbals are already down a couple of digits, that seems a bit unsporting, no? Then again, if all he had was a certain finger...

Aye, yes, yar. And occasionally Derpy too.

All things serve the Beam. tho it never ceases to amaze me how characters take on lives of their own.

Interlude: Heavy is the Head Time is a funny thing. It is not a creation of the Cosmos, which has no need of such frivolity, but rather of certain sapient beings, who have no more than but a handful of senses with which to contemplate the Infinite. Time ebbs and flows, pulling its creators along, dominating their existence, and, like creatures born in a cave who have no comprehension of darkness because they have never known light, ultimately blinds them. They are bound by it, unable to the relate to the reality around them without its crutch, and because they cannot see past it, assume there is nothing past it to see. Thus they wallow in a prison of their own creation, chained to walls that exist only of their own will, all the while proclaiming their own enlightenment; and while they sit blind and dumb and do not see the reality around them, it, most certainly, sees them. There are other things, out there in the wilderness beyond Time, free of such shackles. They do not know physical need, but nevertheless, are very, very hungry. In an unremarkable corner of Time, a pale blue dot sat suspended in a sunbeam. It was called Kerbin by some. It had been called many other things. It might be called many others yet. In the northern hemisphere, now clad in white, a nation dominated the vast continent. It was called Ussari by some. It had been called many other things. It might be called many others yet. Perched on the southern border, next to a river, was a sprawling city. It was called Kermangrad by some. It had been called many other things. It might be called many others yet. In the middle of this city, stood a fortress. It was simply called the Fortress. It had never been called much else. It might be called other things yet, but other things yet watched it from the wilderness. And they were, indeed, very, very hungry. There was a palace, within the towering, crenelated walls of this fortress, and for all its grandeur, it still cowered in the shadow of an enormous concrete dome. In a wide tower rising from that palace was a window, and in that window, staring out past the walls at the bustling city beyond, stood a Lady. Her Imperial Majesty Alexandra II, Regent of the Union, First of Ussari and Nihacima, Lady High Vizier of the City of Kerman, and Doge of Erakonia. She, too, had been called many other things, some of them quite impolite, especially of late. There were no bars on the window. There was no need, the Empress thought, raising a hand to crimson Münstone on the golden choker around her neck. Everyone in this... peculiar arrangement knew their place. The shadow of a smile crept across her serene face. Still... she had certainly put one over on those old goats this time. The punishment had been severe, of course, yet through it all she had just laughed. The damage had already been done. Besides, what were they going to do, kill her? They had surely learned from history by now. The first time, it had quite literally blown up in their faces. They had turned it to their advantage in the end, or so they thought, squeezing their grip into an iron fist. They never knew what had slipped through their fingers. The second time, well... They still had not rebuilt the West Tower. She could just see its charred, crumbling skeleton from her own window. No, she thought, turning away, her family was not so easily disposed of. The old goats would not make the same mistake thrice. Her eyes then fell on the long-empty bassinet in the corner of her bedchamber. No, they would not. The Empress sighed, very unimperially, once more silently cursing what her beloved country had become. Then again... she ran her fingers up one of the solid gold bedposts holding up a silken canopy... the fate of the Empire had not been undeserved. A century ago, the old Ussari Empire had finally mined the last fleck of gold from the Duchy of Erakonia, leaving the once-prosperous nation a devastated husk, its vassals destitute, its people starving. What had finally happened there while the Troubles raged across the rest of the nascent Union had been inevitable. The rebels had fought like wolverines. It was easy to fight like that, when you had nothing left to loose. They raged with such ferocity that to this day no one would go within ten kilometers of the border that emerged, winning themselves a fragile but lasting peace, and their own little spit of land. She walked on, her eyes passing over the extravagant trappings of just this room. Rich hardwood paneling that had once been an old-growth forest in Nusad, jade mined from beneath a village in Bylia, a marble statue from a sacred temple in Kerbistan, a tapestry that was all that remained of a country now beneath a lake in Athiland. Trespasses repeated time and time again, going back a thousand years. By the time of her Grandfather's reign, these things were all just memories, their perpetrators and observers long departed, but they were powerful memories, they fused with and fed the grievances of the day. The fate of the Empire had been an inevitability, then. She knew her Grandfather had been a good Kerb, but what the Empire needed then was a great one. There had been... other concerns, as well. Feeling the familiar tingle in the back of her head, the Empress smoothed her face, and stepped out into her sitting room. She took her place before the immense door to her apartments, folded her hands, and waited. A moment later there were three loud knocks, and the heavy door swung open. A guard appeared and ran his suspicious eyes over every surface of the room, looking for any sign of attack... or escape. They lingered on the Empress for a moment, then he stepped aside, and a wizened old Kerbal waddled in. The grizzled fellow had no hair on his scalp, but the wild mop on his chin gave the impression that it had all simply migrated south. He stepped smartly up to her, or as smartly as he could at his age, and bowed. The guard's eyes narrowed. "Majesty, I am told, she is away." The Empress nodded in acknowledgement, "very well." "Will there be anything else, Majesty?" "That will be all, Roland. Thank you." He bowed more deeply this time, the guard's glare now drawing out into a sneer, then pushed past the hapless ward as he waddled out, mumbling something under his breath. She thought it sounded something like "step aside, you feckless, beef-witted giglet," but wasn't quite sure. The guard turned his glare back to her, her face passive and serene as ever, before running his eyes over the room once more and slamming the door. There was a loud thunk, as the locking bolt slid home. The Empress raised a hand to her face in a futile attempt to hide the smile that blossomed across it. She did not think there was a Force or Power in this 'Verse or any other that could stop Roland from being Roland. Still... Her hand remained, but her smile faded. It seemed wrong to send that remarkable young girl off into the whumper's den like this, blind and dumb. It had taken every last bit of her finesse to arrange, but in the end... the smile returned... those old goats had thought it was their idea. Her hand dropped down to the golden links around her neck. After all, the chain pulled both ways. The hand fell away, and she turned, her slippered feet moving silently on the thick rugs. That girl... there was still a chance. Futile though it might be, maybe... just maybe... she could find the other. They would have an affinity for each other, she was sure of it. Well, nearly. If they could find each other... maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe... it could be stopped. But you know, a voice whispered in her head, there is another way... The Empress now stopped, standing before an immense case that looked like glass but wasn't. Towering above it, larger than life, was the Imperial Portrait from her coronation years ago. Herself, the Orb and Scepter gleaming in gold paint, Alexei, the Imperial Consort, looking so strong, and in the same bassinet, little Tatiana. But what was ensconced in the case below far outshone the grand painting. Not merely a king's ransom, but the ransom of several kings, demanded over the centuries. Gold, jewels, priceless antiquities, and before all of them, the Crown Jewels themselves. The same regalia as the massive painting above. Like so many times before, her eyes fell on the gleaming Scepter. She raised a hand that still trembled, the Münstone around her neck turning to ice against her skin as her fingers touched glass that wasn't glass. Not the Scepter its self, that was only a few kilos of gold, worthless in comparison. But within it... With that, she thought, I could change everything. Fix everything. Even after all these years, the old goats still had no idea what was hiding right under their... beards. Yes, yes she could fix everything... but for how long? A decade? A generation? A century? It wouldn't matter, she knew what using it would awaken. A chill ran through her, despite the roaring fire in the hearth. Alexei had known. He had known all too well. In the end, the knowledge... the temptation... the perverse dilemma, it had driven him mad. What she had done then had been a mercy. That's what she still told herself. Another chill crawled up her spine. She took an old shawl from the rack and wrapped it around her shoulders against the imagined cold. She had lost her husband and companion, and her infant daughter. But there was always... a price. Even that can be undone, the voice pleaded, you know it to be true... For an instant, the tear she had never let fall threatened once more, but the old familiar defiance welled up. No... She set her jaw. NO. She turned from the power, and walked back towards her window. Her face once again a mask of placid serenity, hands folded demurely before her, she regarded the thriving city outside. No. Let these people continue their blissful ignorance a few moments longer. This girl, this Valentina, she is this world's last hope. If she fails, and it rises from its prison, this world, this reality, will die. But the Empress knew, there were things beyond this reality, that were far, far, far worse, than even it. She pulled the shawl tighter around herself. No matter what happens in Ussari, or the world beyond... ...wherever it slumbers, the Crown of Worms must never be disturbed.

Parts scattered all over the surface, mission: complete success. Yup, that's doing it right all right. Pity about the contracts tho. Maybe chalk it up to a change of Administration? At least they didn't demand you scrap everything & start all over to go chasing asteroids.

When last we left our heroic Kerbals, they were stranded at the north Mohole with no hope of escape. Well, I figured, I just can't leave them there. Not on Moho. Eve, sure, that's a given, Joolian moon, ok, at least there's a nice view, well probably, but not Moho. Not the literal cornhole of the Kerbalverse. Like they said in that movie about the guy, bring 'em back! The Ussaris can wait a week! (WARNING VERY PIC HEAVY! PREPARE YOUR BANDWIDTH!) I hate you.

Ah, that is it then. A fellow on the 64k thread whose name escapes me ATM made some updated configs to restore some of the bumpiness to Kerbin, the Mün, & Minmus. The land around my KSC2 is a couple of kilometers ASL. Solar panel mod name plz?

Wow that really was awesome! You have a definite flair for cinematography! So many questions, but mostly, HOW DID YOU GET TWO KERBALS WALKING AT ONCE?! Cool, thanx

Hmm, now that's interesting. On my 64k setup, KSC2 is at the bottom of an enormous hole in the ground. Are you using the height tweaked terrain configs? What altitude is the ground there for you?

@SSgt Baloovwhat mod are the balloons from?

It's on the list, for sure, but a bit of a low priority ATM. Copy editing is just SO much fun. Might I get you to expound on this a bit?

It's only about 1/3rd of the way thru , tho I expect Act II to be a bit shorter, and a bit lighter. Might be a few familiar faces(?) too. Can't wait to introduce D. N. Kerman. At 58,000 words at this point & still going I think I'm firmly into novel territory too. Next goal while I write the Interlude is to finish un-derping the early chapters from the latest forum shenanigans and put together a proper chapter list.

Chapter 40: The End of the Beginning "Papers, please. Yes, yes, good, good, ah, your cholesterol is down I see, excellent! As expected, all is in order. Now here is your authorization to travel, exit visa, entry visa, crew visa, transit visa, courtesy visa, diplomatic visa, and Visa gold." Valentina blinked at him. "Do keep the receipts." She stuffed the overflowing folder of papers into her travel bag, and turned back to the Political Officer. He clapped her warmly on the shoulders, "it is a Glorious, Glorious journey you begin! You bring our noble ideas to those poor backward Foreigners! Gird yourself, for the experience will no doubt be trying. They are strange people, with stranger ideas! I hear--" He leaned in close, raising a conspiratorial hand to his mouth, "I hear they eat their young. It is also said, there are many Parties there, and they..." The affable Kerbal paled, his eyes widening a touch more, "...they always find you." In an instant, it was gone, and he was upright and saluting again, "but, I am sure you will do fine! And remember..." Valentina returned the salute. "...Glory to Arstotzka!" And with that, once more, he was gone, leaving Valentina feeling quite bewildered. The day had dawned bright and sunny, if frigid, after more than a week of constant, light snow. Great white piles of it could be found on the lee of most buildings, and today the plows were taking advantage of the clear morning to try to get ahead of it. In a cleared spot, some distance away from the aircraft hanger, sat a Converter. It had been freshly painted in vivid reds and golds and whites, the paint shining brilliantly in the sunlight. For the umpteenth time, Valentina looked at it and frowned. They could have chosen something just a little more... diplomatic... as a diplomatic transport, really. This old thing would surely send the Foreigners running with their ears covered. Before she got that far, however, there was a veritable gauntlet of well-wishers patiently waiting. A long line of handshakes and salutes, udachi Comrade's and the drivers are crazy's, and the ever popular bring me back something foreign! Through it all, Valentina kept a polite smile, and somehow resisted the urge to walk down the line with a palm to her face. As if there weren't half a dozen stores just in Kermangrad that sold nothing but something foreign now. But this was the new normal now, she supposed. Probably best not to think on it too much, such is just life in the Great Ussari Union... right? And besides, she thought, releasing the hand of a particularly well-built young Kerb with an intoxicating smile, this new-found attention wasn't all bad. Finally she made her way through the crowd, finding Dibella and Tercella near the waiting aircraft. Tercella quickly wrapped her in a bear hug, "be careful over there. Do not do anything I would not do." Valentina smirked back, "that would surely get me arrested either way. But I will miss you." "I will miss you too." "You will not miss me," Valentina waved her hand dismissively, still smirking, "you will be too busy with training." "Who would have thought, yes? Assigned to Flight Engineer on Zarya 2 so soon." "Who better to put into practice the idea of training for EVA underwater than the one who came up with it?" Tercella shrugged, "I still say we should use gelatin instead. Combine EVA training with muscle training. Make us all strong like bool, no?" Valentina laughed, and clapped the other Kerbal on the shoulders, "never change." "I had to, the coffee machine exploded on me. It still needs some adjustments." Valentina blinked for a moment, then just hugged her. "Do take care of yourself," Tercella said more soberly, "and watch what you eat. I hear they have something called a 'hot dog' that is even more horrid than it sounds." "You will do fine. And it's no worse than a snail," Dibella broke in. She gave Valentina a comforting look, "they are just people. Not so different. But watch out for the mosquitoes, I hear they eat you alive." Valentina laughed again, "I think I can handle a few mosquitoes!" "See? Now that's the spirit!" But... was that a flash of worry on Dibella's face? Bah! Just more nerves. Dibella then wrapped her in a hug that would make any bear proud, "I will miss you as well, Tia. But you are doing a great thing. It will be worth it." "DФ SVIDДЙIУД, Dibella. Tercella. I will miss you both. And everyone. But I think it will all be.. all right." Valentina gave her friends one last hug, then a wave and salute to the small crowd. A quick sigh, then she slung her travel bag over her shoulder, and turned towards the plane. She ran her fingers along the flank as she did, feeling the smooth, slightly soft paint beneath them. It would feel good to fly again. It must have been months ago, now, the last time had climbed into a seat of something only moderately likely to explode. Igor was waiting by the open hull door. He looked... he looked... Valentina dropped her bag, "ЬЯЗZHЙЭVS SHФЗ, you are afraid to fly?!" Igor studied the stained concrete pavement, it seemed to retreat from his gaze. "Language," he said weakly. She put a finger to his chin, lifted his face and looked into his massive, slightly bloodshot eyes. He had been looking rather out-of-sorts ever since the announcement, but over this? She sighed, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Which wasn't easy. "Get on the airplane," she said, perhaps a bit sharper than she intended. Igor, looking crestfallen, did as she said. The large craft listed sideways and its structure creaked as he pulled himself up into the doorway. Then, from inside, Valentina heard a yelp. She deftly swung her small frame through the opening, what could that--? Igor had regained his composure, and was staring broadswords at a wide-eyed young Kerbal in a flight suit trying very hard to hide behind the pilot's seat. "Who are you, now?" She asked, confused. "J-J-J-Junior Lieutenant Kerman, ma'am," he gave her a trembling salute, "I'll... I'll be your pilot today please don't eat me." Valentina's mouth fell open, and her own glare quickly out-bladed Igor's, "pilot?! Since when?" The terrified Kerbal's eyes darted back and forth between Valentina and Igor, still holding his salute, "j-j-just got my orders this morning! I promise I don't taste very good..." "Orders?! They did not tell me... ugh!" She put a hand to her face, then turned it into a sloppy salute, "as you were, I suppose." Valentina folded down a jump seat from the wall and plopped into it roughly, crossing her arms. "If it's any consolation, Major, I don't even want to go to the Foreign lands! They're all a bunch of mindless automatons! I hear..." he glanced around and lowered his voice, "I hear their leader thinks he's a jelly donut." He nodded solemnly. Valentina just rolled her eyes. Igor then approached and glowered over him, "you can fly this?" Trying even harder to disappear into the floor, a squeak came out, "I-I-I'm fully type-rated and have a whole five hundred hours--" "You crash, I squish head like grape." "L...like grape?" Igor bared his teeth, then made a squishing sound deep in the back of his throat. Junior Lieutenant Kerman swallowed hard. "Igor," he swung his huge head toward Valentina, "do not eat him, please." Igor grunted, then stalked over to the wall opposite her and sank into a pair of jump seats, his glare never leaving the trembling pilot. Valentina leaned her head back against the hull with a thump, trying in vain to blow away the errant lock of hair that had worked its way loose again. Wonderful, several hours in the back of a noisy aircraft with a kerbling-faced rookie and grumpy behemoth afraid of flying. At least scowling at the newcomer seemed to have distracted Igor for the moment. She let her eyes wander around the inside of the hull while the pilot hesitantly went through his checks. The Ki-24 Converter was a spartan, basic utility craft. Its stubby rectangular hull and enormous tandem wings allowed it carry an impressive load a very long way, as long that load didn't care much about comfort. Or could be ordered not to. A bizarre design even by Ussari standards, perhaps its most notable feature was the strange setup of its nose. It looked more like the hull of a boat than aircraft, with only a handful of windows and port holes looking up. Looking down, however, was a huge expanse of braced plexiglass. The single pilot's seat was suspended in the center of this, giving him a nearly unimpeded view of the ground. Which, as it turns out, was an eminently practical thing to have on an aircraft that took off and landed vertically. It was said, however, that the Converter couldn't actually fly, it was just so loud and obnoxious that the ground repelled it. Something overhead suddenly began making a loud ticking noise. "What that?" Igor's head snapped around to it. "It is just the secondary fuel pump," Valentina said flatly. An alarm began blaring loudly. "What that?!" "Master alarm test, perfectly normal." The entire aircraft then shuddered, swaying back and forth. "What that?!" Igor nearly squealed. Which, coming from him, was a truly disturbing sound. "Just the landing struts unkneeling!" STДLIЙS STДCHЗ, this was going to be a nightmare! Valentina squeezed her eyes shut. There'd been no mention of a pilot in her briefings, although, she supposed, someone did need to fly the Converter back. And Igor. But still, she'd been greatly looking forward to flying again. Nothing to do for it now, after all orders were orders and-- Her left eye snapped open. Her right eye followed suit, then her face cracked open into a truly wicked grin as her eyelids came down again. "Oh, looooootennant...." she sang. He squirmed around, "ma'am?" With effort, the grin became her best winning smile. "Out of the seat, please," Valentina said brightly. "M-Major?" The smile devolved into a wry smirk. "That is right," she said, fingering the golden leaf insignia on her collar, "Major." After all, orders were orders. The Lieutenant's mouth fell open. Igor rose and frowned at him again. His eyes darted rapidly back and forth between the smirk and frown for a moment, then he wisely decided this was one pair he was not about to bet against, and quickly extricated himself from the pilot's seat. Valentina leapt into it like a beggar at a banquet. Her liquid hands flowed over the myriad knobs, buttons, and switches. In only moments, the engines rumbled, then began their slow, shrill spool from 'piercing' to 'obnoxious' to 'painful' to 'for the love of all that's decent please make it stop!' before finally settling in to their infamous, nearly ultrasonic whine. With a look, and a gesture, Valentina relieved the good Junior Lieutenant of his kneeboard and paperwork and quickly scanned over the relevant clearances and course. She put her flight helmet on, plugged in the audio cord, then motioned Igor to do the same until she realized the silliness of the idea. The way he was gripping the fuselage longerons behind him, and bending them, he seemed fairly secure, anyway. "Cosmodrome tower, avtomat four-seven at pad 1-D, requesting take off," she radioed, adjusting the mic boom just so. "Avtomat four-seven," the controller responded, stifling a yawn, "you are cleared for take off, fly heading one-nine-five." "Copy, cleared for take off." She laid a hand on the throttles, flexed it, then advanced them a touch, the engines responding in kind. She slid down her tinted sun visor, a pilot's grin of pure joy now spreading across her face as she nudged the engines slowly on. The ungainly craft wobbled for only a moment as its tires left the concrete. A kiss to the left rudder pedal, and it slowly swung about on its axis. The gathered crowd now came into view through the expansive nose glazing, hands pressed firmly to ears. The look on the Political Officer's face was really quite priceless. She didn't let the view linger, but kicked the left rudder pedal again, then just a touch on the right as the nose came to the proper heading. Throttles to full, engine nozzles forward 25 degrees, then the ground began drifting away. She pulled back on the flight yoke that looked more like the wheel of a ship, held it for just a moment, slid the engine nozzles full ahead. As lightly loaded as it was, the Converter was soon speeding over the landscape, speckled with white and brown, light and darkness, barreling into the brilliant blue sky. Valentina's course would take her south toward Kermangrad and its navigational beacon, then east across the Arm of Nusad, southeast through the Bylian gap, out across the Yaltik sea, then beyond, into kerba incognita. Below her, a train cut through the slumbering, snow-covered fields, black smoke oozing away like blood from the gash of the track. Car after car of shrink wrapped rocket cores followed along behind it, seeming to stretch for kilometers. How much things have changed, she thought, has it really only been a few months? Not even a year, since those pungent yak pastures ringed by towering mountains. Everything has been so secretive then, so protected, and now, here she was, flying over a train of Foreign rocket parts while bound for the KSC herself. She continued to watch it, as it wound through through the harlequined landscape like a worm. Worms destroyed, they undermined the roots of even the mightiest trees and sent them toppling to the ground. And yet, worms also renewed, consuming and recycling that which was already dead, often preserving the living. As the aircraft climbed higher and the air thinned, thoughts flowed and patterns teased. Someone, or something, killed poor Director Kermanev, Valentina was sure of that now. It killed Sergei Kermanski. It tried to kill Dibella. It moved in the shadows, always hiding, always scheming. And it wanted Valentina, spent so much effort trying to gain her, but why? Was she really that remarkable? Beneath her flightsuit, Dibella's Münstone suddenly went cold against her skin, caught by an errant breeze in the drafty cabin. It did that often, she noticed. The titanium must be a wonderful heat conductor. She turned to find Igor looking at her intently, slightly panicky. She nodded, and gestured to the oxygen mask hanging overhead. He secured it with little difficulty, Junior Lieutenant Kerman doing the same. She turned back and fastened her own, feeling the familiar cool, dry breath. There were no luxuries like pressurization on a Converter. The voice had been silent for some time now, at least that was something. If... it had ever been there at all. Voices in her head, shadowy conspiracies, even the Dead Girl who still occasionally haunted her dreams... it all seemed so distant now, here among the fluffy scattered clouds. The mind is an incredible thing... it can show you what you cannot see, and hide what you can. But... which was this? Was she seeing what was really there? Or was what was really there far, far worse? Valentina shuddered, a chill rolling down her spine as the Münstone caught a draft again. Questions, so many questions. You have questions? The Kommissar thudded in her mind, do not think on such things too hard. You may not like what it is you find. Another chill raced down her spine, having nothing to do with the cold. Do what is expected of you, do not ask questions, accept what you are told. That was the Imperious way, was it not? Do not question, or what you find will surely be much, much worse. Papers, please. Glory to the Union. Her deda had told her to see what was really there, but even he... never spoke of her parents. Barely acknowledged they existed. Such things, we do not speak of. Counterrevolutionary activities. Valentina knew that could mean anything. Or... nothing. But it still didn't tell her why. You have questions? And the Kommissar himself. His accent, his face, his hair. He looked like a... but no, that was impossible. Not a Kommissar, surely! And besides, they were all-- She shivered yet again. It was such an ugly word to apply to people, but her teachers were always specific. They were all... extinct. Yes, she had questions, reaching out from the dark recesses of her mind like desperate prisoners. But was asking them worth the price? The price must be paid. A sudden metallic rattling drew Valentina's attention. Her eyes flew over her instruments, wondering if a fuel pump has gone out. Then she looked around, and saw that Igor's longeron had torn loose and was now vibrating against the airframe. His wide eyes stared at her from over his mask. The good Junior Lieutenant had resigned himself to cowering under his seat in a ball. Valentina sighed. It was going to be a long flight. Off to the right, Kermangrad was now passing by, that ridiculous dome easily visible even at this distance. She pushed the questions out of her mind, at least for now. That was for another time, she would have enough troubles in the land of Parties and presidential pastries as it was. The needle on her directional gyro twitched, then began swinging towards its center. Dipping her left wing, turning away from the Old City and its silly dome, Valentina Kermanova headed east, and onward into the new day. End of Act I

MAX NEEDS THERMAL CURTAIN FAILURE! MAX AND JINX, FRIENDS FOR-- BYE MAX...

Home sick the last few days with my left foot swelled up and trying to do it's best impression of a Kerbal foot (those things are scary!), so decided to mess around in my "just messing around" save and try to go to Moho again. Started with this thousand-tonne technological terror: (WARNING! PIC-HEAVY!) I hate Moho.

I imagine many writers (like me) thrive on feedback. Myself, I've never seen such comments as "pestering," it communicates that someone is interested . Never know when a little jewel like that might encourage an author who's a bit grumpy that day to throw a few more lines down. But that being said, I would mind the tone of a given thread before nagging too much, as not everyone might see it the same.

I do not like spaceplanes. But those things are farking beautiful!

Keep reading. There's a link to an "un-fixer" exe that will, well, fix that. Trust me, it does work.

Pssst........

I'm a fan of "push the button then pray" type launches, I like it when I have everything perfectly dialed in so I can just hit engage & space and watch the rocket go to space. Little things like having the launch clamps & umbilicals release in a cascade amuse me. I have the build formula in KCT cranked way up to something ridiculous, a typical KI booster takes around 20 days to build. I'll need three of them plus a huge cryo transfer stage and a bunch of never-before-build hardware. The initial payload to LKO is around 17 tonnes right now, it's a framerate-killing monster. I haven't tried other porkchop plotters but the MJ one can figure earlier departures for a little extra DV. It's amazing what a few hundred extra m/s will get for a transfer. Trying to go interplanetary from a 50* inclination, that will pretty much require it.

AAARgh I update RF & RealPlume, and now everything's stopped working. Engines AND tankes are all buggered up. All tanks look like this: Engine configs messed up too. I installed TAC life support at the same time, there's no weird interaction between the two, is there? Here's a log. MechJeb is throwing a bunch of errors but I think that's because RF is messed up, not causing it? https://www.dropbox.com/s/rrt61pyyakwbxzs/KSP.log?dl=0

The window is about 200 days out yet. KCT is telling me about 100 days to build the rocket. MechJeb's porkchop interplanetary transfer planner is a help too. Totally forgot to even check for a Duna window. But Eve is easier for an uncontrolled landing because: SMART PARTS! Love these things! I use them fairing deployment on every flight, and usually to time the launch clamp release. They can activate action groups based on fuel remaining, altitude, proximity, or simply time. Just before touchdown, a pair of timers activate that deflate the landing bags then deploy the dish & panels. Need to have the dish targeted BEFORE loss of signal, tho.

Been out of the loop for a while, lost all my subs with the forum upgrade. Last I saw, DRE didn't "do" anything any longer, other than add GForce damage. Is it back to doing stuff again? The OP is a bit ambiguous.

He probably collects people who make jokes about himself. Keeps them in a jar in the lower drawer. Been looking forward to in tofu tooting him for a while now, he will certainly get... interesting.