CatastrophicFailure

BEHOLD! IT RISES! [ominous science chanting]

Not painted, just another sexy bare composite structure on the B5.

They’ve been conspiring with the dryer socks. Hide your skivvies, beware of gnomes...

Quite so, tho in the same breath I’d say to a new writer, don’t let fear of this scare you off. We learn by doing, and if one is going to write fiction, one is going to start out with some cringy, poorly-worded, overly adverby crud. Some of the crap I remember writing in high school... [shudders]. But that’s just the learning process, and it’s surprising just how often one can, in fact, polish a literary turd. NOT to be confused with a literal turd.

Now you need a celestially named cat to carry it around on its collar... and whatever you do, stay away from any place that sells peroshki.

That’s not technically supposed to happen, but weird things happen in KSP when you bang stuff against rocks at the bleeding edge of their breaking point, and the results can be... unpredictable. Its a feature, not a bug.

Heh, quite, tho I’m wondering in the other direction... ...is there perhaps an asteroid or an alien spacecraft or a ginormous, weird-lookin’ planet on an intercept course and this is our last, best hope for a team of plucky misfits to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and save the day (all to an epic soundtrack, of course)?

Wait, what? Are those Merlins? They can’t have that many field-ready Raptors already... can they? Dang, this is serious!

Oh, Rest assured, they are not forgotten... ...probably just waiting for that nuclear winter... if it is a nuclear winter... ...might be worse...

Wooooo! Mod fight!

So... solar power minus the solar cells?

Year 13, Day 119... So, after locking up ALL the fake mai tais in Triti's room- where they'll be extremely secure (oddly enough she had no gripes about guarding them)- the engineering team has come up with a potential solution. Which mostly involves going around in a rush bolting on a bunch of extra stuff to a nearly-finished rocket that was already threatening to tip the scales beyond what the new launcher could loft <breath>. And then not testing the setup at all. Not even simulating it.And, of course, launching at night.

Well, so I’m a couple of holidays behind, here, but at least I got some kind of holiday release. But you can be sure, one way or the other... winter is coming.

Yup. There’s this impression out there that the place rises and falls on the whims of Elon Musk and his flights of fancy, but that’s just not true. All of these changes we’re seeing now have no doubt been in the pipes for a very long time, Musk has made a bigger habit of surrounding himself with some very smart people. There’s a method to this madness, and none of these decisions have been made lightly. I think this is more or less what we’re going to see “in June” as Musk has said, re: S2 recovery attempts for data logging. Something like a hybrid S2/Starship, probably more conventional construction, that drops off a few Starlinks (since either way it’d be pretty radical changes to risk on a customer’s payload) then tests all the reentry stuff. Combine that with the data that will be flowing back from the hopper tests going on at the same time, and all the data they’ve gathered so far and this fantastic ginormous fully-reusable launch vehicle starts to sound more and more reasonable. Heck, even their timelines don’t sound all that unfeasable with that.

Booger hook off the bang switch, yeesh!

Y'arn't. Dang, you're quick.

World-Spirit weeps Kerm-Mother (no relation) Broken children fights Vengeance specter flies Chapter 33: Monster “...rioting on the grounds of the Capitol Building stretched into a fourth straight day, finally turning deadly as several demonstrators were struck by the blast of an improvised explosive where the two sides clashed. Capitol Police remain unable to quench or even stem the violence in the National Mall, having evacuated all government buildings and abandoned any further attempts at relieving the besieged Beige House. Fires can be seen illuminating clouds of smoke from below, burning more out of control every day as the Capitol Fire Department has refused to cross the Pokumkwat river until their safety can be guaranteed. “The two claimants to the Presidency remain no closer to an agreement, and with both houses of Congress fractured and seven of the nine Supreme Court Justices still unaccounted for in the daily chaos, any hope of a peaceful resolution seems to be slipping away with each passing day. Further complicating the matter, the legislatures of five provinces in the north of Kleptogart, including the two most affected by the nuclear blast several weeks ago, today declared independence from the Republic, citing ‘irreconcilable differences’ after regional pleas for aid have gone unanswered. Given the current situation in the Capitol, any response to this new development, diplomatic or otherwise, appears unlikely. “In other news, disturbing reports are rapidly pouring in from Dachland about a massive—“ “Buncha no-good, dirty traitors!” Hank Kerman spit across the darkened room into a can, “shoulda nuked the whole lot of ‘em while we was at it!” “That’s a horrible thing to say!” “Can it, Dorothy,” Hank spit again. She scowled at him, “we shouldn’t be watching TV anyway, that gennie’s not gonna run forever.” “Now you just let me worry about that,” Hank moved to the window, peering out as another gust of wind shook the house. The disquieting stillness of storms stretched out, the only sounds the ticking of the battery-powered wall clock, the muted rush of the wind, and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. “I’m worried about mom and da’,” Dorothy finally blurted out, “they been gone a long time.” “They’re fine, sis, urp” Jimmy slapped her on the back, a little too hard, “this ain’t their first rodeo. They know how to drive in a storm. BURP!” She turned her scowl on him, “you shouldn’t be drinkin’ that.” “Uncle Hank says I can, right Hank?” “Might as well while it’s still cold,” Hank kept staring out the window, “but mind your blood sugar.” It was noontime, or thereabouts, yet beyond the window was barely twilight. Didn’t help that all the streetlights were out, too. Transformer must’ve blown. “Your folks are fine, hun,” he said a little softer, “they know how to handle themselves. Storm will blow over soon.” Another gust shook the house, something gave a loud creak. “We have angered the Kerm-Mother (no relation), she sends her chastisement.” “Yeah, thanks Grandpa,” Jimmy rolled his eyes. “You watch your tone!” Hank turned and waved a finger at him. He walked back to the senior kerb, adjusted his wheelchair even though there was no reason, “almost time for your meds again, Dad.” Jimmy frowned at them both, then moved to take Hank’s place at the window. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the glass like that,” Dorothy didn’t look at him, just pulled her legs up and hugged her knees. “We have disobeyed,” the wizened old kerb in the wizened old wheelchair said to no one in particular, “the whole world is bleeding. The time of judgement is at hand.” Hank suppressed a grunt, but wiped at the old fellow’s mouth, “Dad, please, no more old stories. You’re scaring the kids,” he said gently. “Hey, um, Hank?” Jimmy said from the window, something in his voice shifting. But before he could say more, all the wind and thunder died away, leaving nothing but the slow ticking of the clock. The old kerb raised his head, his sightless eyes growing wide, “quiet, all of you!” And then a bare whisper, “a monster is coming.” “Hank?” Jimmy’s voice creaked like the house. They heard it, rising in the silence. A sound like a legion of banshees sweeping across the plain. Low, at first, but rising higher and higher. Drawing closer. Hank moved to the window, pulling down the blinds with a finger. An uncomprehending, barely-controlled fear worked up his spine and bored into his neck, “we gotta go.” “We shouldn’t go anywhere in this!” Dorothy’s head shot up. “We gotta go now!” Hank roared, spitting a curse, grabbing things from the shelf in a panic. Jimmy was turning in slow circles, gibbering, hands pressed to his mouth below his wide eyes. “Dorothy, help your brother,” Hank tried to force calm into his voice. He shoved the few things into a backpack, throwing it over one shoulder before kneeling down next to his father, “c’mon, Dad, we need to get out of here.” He flipped off the wheelchair’s brakes and shoved it ahead, “get the door!” Dorothy shoved her brother along, pulling open the front door and stepping out into air that seemed heavy and thick. She helped nudge the wheelchair over the threshold, then down the ramp to the driveway. The noise rose and rose, a shrieking torrent as if all the condemned souls of all the Nine Hells were cast out among the living at once. She turned toward it, all the strength in her body fleeing before what her eyes beheld, her knees growing weak and unsteady. Jimmy turned to follow her gaze, and began screaming as if he, too, were already among the damned. “Quiet!” a hand clamped across his mouth. Speaking in a hoarse whisper, Hank handed him off to his sister like a ticking bomb, “get him in the truck!” He shoved the youth’s legs into the back seat, then hauled his father out of the chair with a single motion and deposited him in the passenger seat as gentle as a mother with a baby. The wind began to rise again, tugging at his clothing, pulling him towards... Hank spat another curse, flew around into the driver’s seat, and turned the key. Click. Click-click. “I told you you should have plugged it in last night!” Dorothy hissed at him. “Hush,” Hank hissed back slamming a hand against the dash. He looked back in his mirror, scanned the road ahead. With another curse fouler than before, he jumped back out, but not before slipping the transmission into neutral. He made his way to the tailgate, squinting at the dust in the wind, trying not to look back. His shoulder met the cold steel, and he shoved forward with all the strength his old runner’s legs could muster. Just as the scream of agony and defeat rose in his own throat, five tonnes of metal and rubber lurched forward. He kept pushing, not daring to breathe, veins popping out on his face from the strain. At last the burden lightened, as the driveway began to drop away down the gentle hill. Hank raced back for the door, his legs feeling hollow and frail, as if the slightest misstep might cause them to shatter. That misstep came an instant later, his left knee seeming to fold in on itself just as he reached the door. A cry tore from his lungs. Somehow his hand caught the edge of the window channel, the sharp metal biting into his skin seemed vague and distant. His other hand found the handle he’d bolted to the body, he strained upward, muscles screaming as loud as his lungs, pulling his foot away from the hungry rear tire and instant before it bit down and dragged him under. Hank pulled himself up into the driver’s seat, ignoring the pain that licked at his mind. He turned the key on, watched the gauges twitch and sputter at the bare twitch of voltage they received. And then... he waited. Waited, while the truck slowly built up speed down the gentle driveway. “Hank...” Dorothy leaned in. He stuck up a finger, “not yet.” She looked back, “Hank...” “Not yet!” “It’s coming this way!” He looked in the mirror... and instantly wished he had not. His head whipped around, sticking out the open window, raw fear coursing through every nerve in his body. He saw... It. Silhouetted by lightning from the clouds above, reaching down to the world like a perverse, inverted sunbeam, it stretched out along the ground, long tentacles like shadow made form reaching... gathering... feeding... He felt his bladder release, a far off and unimportant thing. And then... just as the fear threatened to clench about his heart and squeeze it to stillness, he caught a glimpse of his brother’s children’s terrified faces in the glass, and some tiny, futile bit of light flashed through the darkness. Moving slowly, deliberately, Hank pushed the clutch in, slid the gearshift to second... and again he waited. He watched the needle of the speedometer rise with grating apathy while the fear scratched at his mind. A dark form swelled in the mirrors. “HANK!” Now! He let his foot slip off the clutch pedal. The truck lurched forward, tires skittered on gravel, and Hank knew his haste had just killed them all. Ker-BLAM! Fire and brimstone exploded from the dual stacks just behind the cab as 800 angry horses roared to life, and Hank slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The truck lurched the other way, acceleration shoving everyone backwards. It tore away down the path spitting a rooster tail of rocks and dirt back at the monstrosity that pursued it. “Way to go dude!” Jimmy cried out. “Woohoo!” Dorothy squealed. Hank pounded a fist on the wheel in jubilation, then jammed the gearshift into third and flew around the corner as the tires shuddered in protest. They rocketed down the empty street, dodging abandoned cars, heading for safety. “We cannot escape,” his father said softly. Before Hank could answer, Jimmy screamed again. Dorothy spun around, “it... it’s coming after us!” “That’s impossible!” Hank yelled back, even as he saw the truth in he mirror. Dorothy pointed ahead, “Third! Take Third Street! Lose it in town!” Hank didn’t argue. He spun them around another corner, shuffling gears, feeling the inside tires lose contact with the road for an instant. The truck slammed back down with a thud, wobbling back and forth. He corrected just in time to see— “Crap!” Dorothy cried. “Just hang on!” Hank braced against the wheel, held the gas pedal to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut against the explosion of glass and composite that came, as the other, lesser kar went pirouetting away up onto the sidewalk, trailing sparks and flames from its batteries as if bleeding. “Hah!” Hank slammed a fist on the wheel again, “newfangled tinfoil junk!” He didn’t mention the shimmy he now felt beneath his own hands. Jimmy screamed again, “it’s still after us!” A new sound began to rise above the roar of the engines. The wailing of lost souls, screeching of demons, the howling of wind. Long, black tendrils stretched out to their right and left, ripping up dark street lamps, tearing apart buildings, drawing everything within reach into a maw of chaos that knew no satiety. “Faster!” Dorothy squealed, “must go faster!” “I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’!” Hank cut the wheel back and forth in long arcs, dodging what he could, simply going through what he could not. “We gotta get to the freeway!” Dorothy pointed off to the right, “we can outrun it there!” “Yeah!” They cut through a park, drove over a planted median, smashed through the plate glass storefront of a building without slowing, leaving their own trail of destruction. Yet no bit of flotsam they ripped loose ever touched the ground. All, all was swept into the gullet of the abomination bearing down on them. “HUUUURRRY!” Jimmy pressed himself up against the front seats, his wide eyes slowly giving over to madness. “On-ramp’s just around this bend!” another shuddering turn, and then another. Hank could feel the shaking in his hands growing worse, clung to the hope it was him and not the truck. One more turn and then— No... Dorothy spat the worst oath yet, “we can’t get through that!” “You watch your mouth!” Hank slowed. Ahead of them, across another park, a row of parked kars faced them down. He only hesitated a moment. His foot jammed down again, hurling them forward. “We can’t just ram through all that! Are you crazy?!“ “Probably.” The yawning hoods of the kars ahead seemed to rush at them, charging cables looped like sneers. Hank ran his fingers over the shifter, counted the seconds, once again waited for just the right time... Both feet came down on the clutch and brake pedals. The truck skittered, fighting to keep straight, bodies slamming into seatbacks. Then Hank’s feet and hands did an odd sort of dance, and one finger found the little button up under the dash for special occasions. KER-BLAM! Both exhaust stacks simply exploded. Fire bloomed from the undercarriage, bits of metal bounced away across the grass and knobby tires tore into it harder than ever before. The front end lurched up... then just kept rising and rising as they fell upon the row of kars. Now rubber tore at plastic and composite, glass shattered, and an instant later everyone inside felt their backsides leave the seat cushions with the peculiar sensation of weightlessness, while a certain 12-note tune rang from the horns. It lasted only a moment before the tires slammed back to the pavement. Something went prang! Yet the truck fishtailed up the on-ramp, leaving its courser behind to screech in rage. Whoops and hollers erupted from everyone inside with the open, unobstructed freeway ahead beckoning them onward. The speedometer climbed ever higher, the landscape outside all became a blur. But still... still... that awful, mind-rending wail built again over the roar of the engines. Hank saw in his mirror blackness beyond the deepest night stretching out to either horizon, ever larger, ever stronger. Now the lightning began to race ahead of them, tearing at the ground, sending eruptions of fire and debris into the air only be sucked backward. He saw, in those actinic blue silhouettes, the tendrils reaching out. “How can it still be after us?!” screamed Dorothy . Hank didn’t answer, only crouched over the jittering steering wheel, trying to will his foot through the floor. And yet he saw the speedo start winding down. “It’s got us!” Jimmy wailed. Rocks, trees, bits of junk along the road, all of it began racing and tumbling towards them, past them, back to the devourer. The truck ground to a halt. “All have fallen short and will be judged,” the old kerb said softly, “we are doomed.” “Like hells!” Hank reached down, found another knob, jammed the gearbox into six-wheel. Now the front tires, too, chewed into the roadway, ripped at the concrete, pulled the rig inexorably forward inch by inch. Smoke and fire spewed from the exhausts, the paint on the hood began to burn away, a dull red glow blooming beneath it. With stubbornness and sheer will they crept forward, gaining distance, denying the shadow to the very last. But... the last came, as the road itself crumbled at shattered, broke into a thousand pieces beneath them, all drawn back into the darkness. And the monster fed.

‘Twas the night before [nonspecfic winter holiday] and all through the thread, not a Kraken was stirring... ...or... was it?

Great googamooga, mods actually play the game. The Mod! But do mods use mods?

Their CGI is better.

tippity-tappy

Aw, what the flarp, forum, I’m out of likes already?!? I just got up.

Just read a thing on it, fascinating concept, but... I’ll stick with thermal paste and a big radiator, thanks.

You see, Ivan, when winter is greatest ally, even big space rock is defeated!

This guy gets it. tippity-tippity-tap. Apparently not.