KSK

But he wasn't talking about 'all the possible energy forms in the universe'. He was talking about plasma and giving some good reasons why it's incapable of forming complex structures and therefore why 'plasma life' is impossible Yes you can provided that you've either got multiple sound or radiation sources at the same frequency, or you've got some kind of reflecting cavity to set up a standing wave. Unless we're invoking an intelligent designer here, I find it extremely difficult to imagine how such a system would arise spontaneously, be capable of evolving to more complex systems and ultimately to a sufficiently complex system to constitute a living thing. Which is technically honest but also a complete cop-out that shuts down any sort of reasoned debate before it's begun. Generating wild hypotheses is, at best, a very small part of the scientific method. Justifying those hypotheses by saying that they 'might be true because we don't know they're not true' is the complete antithesis of the scientific method.

I'm not holding my breath. From what I've read on the Unity 5 updates, they seem to be spending quite a bit of time making sure the interface works the way it always has.

I pronounce it 'hasn't this meme died yet.'

Jet Set Willy on a borrowed ZX Spectrum.

Ay-poh-apsis and peh-ree-apsis. And I build my rockets from aluminium alloys. None of these strange aluminum alloys for me, thank you very much.

Heh - I facepalmed when I finally figured that reference out. Took me a while.

Ahh, gotcha. Maybe a little opaque but: "We're falling back to the islands, Vanguard. Your weapon passes are westbound, repeat westbound. Target the command vessels - bulbous bows, twin radio masts at the stern. Two releases on the first pass, give them time to retreat, second pass only if required." They didn't need a second pass.

I don't know how much it helps but this Wikipedia page goes through a method of computing position along an orbit as a function of time. It looks complicated though.

If it's the last part that's conflustering, that particular story arc has been brewing for a while. See chapters: 34 - Uncharted, 39 - Stormclouds and 46 - Preemptive. That's the problem with monthly updates (or thereabouts) - easy to lose track of the different plot threads in the interim.

Bad luck both - hope the redesigns are going OK. In the meantime, have a little something to distract you... Lightning The Skyhauler lumbered through the night sky. Twin engined, squat bodied and built for range rather than aerobatics, the old transport aircraft had rapidly acquired the less than flattering nickname of 'Airhog' from border patrol pilots used to faster - and nimbler - machines. Val hated it. She glanced at the artificial horizon and hauled her aircraft into a fractionally tighter turn. The flight direction indicator drifted reluctantly around, bright white digits marching slowly past the red inverted V that marked the Airhog's nose. A thin smear of light from the Doreni port glowed sullenly on the real horizon, fainter patches of light from other towns dotting the coastline to the north and south. "Vinenut three, Val." She rolled level, tipping the aircraft onto its opposite wing in a stately bank; threading the needle between the patches of light. Staying out of conceivable searchlight range whilst getting close enough for the racks of passive sensors stuffed into the Airhog's belly to do their thing. Or so the flight planners said. Plotted on the navigation charts, their routes resembled the erratically bulbous contours of a fresh vinenut and one of the early reconnaissance crews had promptly labelled all their waypoints accordingly. The joke had stuck. "Anything down there, Sig?" "Picking up the usual harbour radars," her navigator replied. "Shouldn't be a problem at this range. Nothing bigger or pointed in our direction - guess the Doreni aren't bothering to throw money down the same gronnek warren as the Wakirans." "Yet." "Yet," Sigrin acknowledged. She snorted softly. "They'll probably just pay Rockomax to launch them a nice satellite instead." Val sucked in her breath sharply. "They might. Or borrow that fancy mapping satellite from the KSA.You should kick that up the chain, Sig." There was a thoughtful silence from the back seat. "I think I will," Sigrin said slowly. "It'd beat flying round in lopsided circles, that's for sure." "With nothing else to do than limp away in a straight line if anyone sees us," said Val sourly. "Wish I knew what the Kerm is holding up the Humilisia airstrip. We could fly the Cloudrunners out of there in broad daylight and the Doreni couldn't do a damn thing about it." "Still takes a lot of concrete to build a proper runway," said Sigrin. "Even if we don't care whether the Doreni are watching...ahhh here we go." The ELINT system chimed twice in Val's ear. Behind her, Sigrin hunched forward over her instruments, streaks of light from the screens washing over her face, eyes flicking back and forth between the radar and infrared displays. "Well - they're still there. They've shuffled them around a bit but I'm counting the same number - and same types - that BB reported. Patrol boats mainly with a couple of bigger vessels for variety. Better take a swing past vinenuts four and five anyway to cover the angles but I don't think we'll need another full circuit." Val automatically checked her kneeboard as she eased the Airhog into a shallow climbing turn. The softly glowing figures simply confirmed what she'd already committed to memory. She glanced at the fuel gauges, nodded and shuffled back in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable spot. "You sure, Sig? I was starting to enjoy the scenery up here." Sigrin's snort echoed in her earphones as the Skyhauler droned onward through starlit Doreni skies. ----------- Jerfun's breath smoked in the freezing air. Sand crunched under his boots, loose grains skittering across the ice-glazed walkway and trickling over the edge in thin, gritty drizzles. The air smoked hotter with muttered curses as one foot skidded on the frozen planks, throwing him hard against the safety rail. Slowly, lifting his feet as high as possible in his stiffly awkward leggings and setting them with down with exaggerated care, Jerfun stepped into one of the low embrasures set into the log wall. From atop the palisade he stared down the road at the distant cluster of figures, black specks against the leaden evening sky. Silently, the guard passed him a pair of binoculars. Seen up close, the figures were a curious blend of traditional and practical; grey woollen robes belted around the more usual Wakiran cold weather garb. One of the robed figures was carrying a grey pack, another twelve were toting larger, dark brown bundles. The remainder carried conventional mountain gear, most of them festooned with far more than a single kerbals-worth of equipment. Jerfun's heart sank. "Have you seen any vehicles?" he asked quietly. "No, Ambassador. They haul their own loads." Jerfun leaned on the parapet to steady his hands, peering intently through the binoculars. The robed figures wore snowshoes, their companions were equipped with long, cross-country skis. Now that he was looking for them, both the sleds and the bundles of white fabric lashed to them were plain to see. Equally plain to see were the chunks of ice bobbing on the surface of the stream next to them. He straightened up. "I'll hold the watch. Take word to the village, return with fuel, wood and two days supplies for forty." "Supplies, Ambassador? For Kolans?" Jerfun scowled. “Truly? They carry no flag - of Wakira or Kolus. And if we cannot let them pass then neither are we barbarians." The guard nodded tersely. "My gun is yours, Ambassador." She unloaded her hunting rifle, presented the empty weapon and its ammunition to Jerfun, and turned away. The steady scrape of boots on coarse sand faded into the background as he automatically inspected the rifle, reloaded it and, snapping the safety catch on, propped it against the parapet within easy reach. Slowly, the band of Walkers drew closer. Jerfun made his way along the walkway, speaking briefly to each of the guards, before returning to his own embrasure. He checked his rifle, watching the Walkers milling around the base of the palisade, then set it aside and cupped his hands around his mouth. "What can I do for you, good kerbals?!" There was a brief conference and then one of the grey cloaked kerbals stepped forward. Jerfun was unsurprised to see the grey pack on his back. "We weren't told about this... roadblock, good kerbal!" the stranger called out, the rounded consonants in his accent clearly audible. "May I ask its purpose?" "Truly, a regrettable necessity," Jerfun answered. "But new villages require protection in these troubled times." Certainly against your like. "Surely not against a group of Walkers and their companions? Come now, good kerbal, we merely pass through and our time-honoured journey is an urgent one." “Good Ambassador," said Jerfun pleasantly. Along the palisade, the other guards reached for their weapons. "And truly your journey must be urgent if it has led you here." "I fear that I don't quite understand...Ambassador." "The Kolus border is several days away by foot," said Jerfun. "Were I in your party, I would be minded to verify the date on my maps." There was a pause. "May we request an escort through your Grove, Ambassador?" "You may not. You may shelter beneath our palisade tonight and if you wish we can offer transport back to the border in the morning." Jerfun surveyed the loaded sleds beneath him. "We can spare you fuel for tonight and - in honour of your journey - spare you two days of supplies." "That is... generous, Ambassador. Our thanks go with you." "It is no more than any Wakiran," the emphasis on the last word was unmistakeable, "would do in my place. And no more than any honorable kerbal would do for a new Kerm. I have already sent word to my village for your supplies." ---------- Enely tightened the belt of his grey cloak, shivering in the salt breeze. He dipped his hand into the grey pack at his feet, reaching for the Kerm seed within; twining his fingers through its fibrous husk for reassurance. His companion Walkers stood around him; tough, weatherbeaten kerbals, hardened by a lifetime spent in the semi-arid wastes of central Wakira. Growing crops under such conditions, even desert adapted species like pepper cactus, taxed the determination and ingenuity of Kerm and kerbal alike. Those that did banded together in close-knit, self-reliant communities, usually remaining kermol for their entire lives. The Bay of Dazj loomed on the horizon, choked with the boats and barges shuttling supplies and workers ashore from the small flotilla of transport ships anchored further out to sea. Flanking the bay, the twin volcanoes of Dazji Isle rose forbiddingly into the sky. Long dormant, the outpourings from their last eruptions had finally been sufficient to join them into a single island. Centuries of erosion had since carved out a spectacular natural harbour, each horn of the crescent bay guarded by a steep, cloud-wreathed peak. Further west, the Maldonian Archipelago tailed out in the jagged Pillars of Dunlin and a string of smaller volcanic islands; all uninhabited save for thriving seabird colonies. Like an gigantic, broken eggshell, a half completed radome loomed above the eastern headland, the antenna inside motionless for the moment but pointed unerringly at the eastern Maldonian islands. Nearby, a cluster of dark grey buildings stood wrapped in forests of scaffolding, their concrete walls made with local black sand. A steady stream of vehicles trundled along the coastline between the building site and the harbour. The younger Walkers watched in fascination as the Adelan Kerman's crew hauled the second of her two enormous skyfoil sails onto the deck and set about detaching it from the winch lines. The first skyfoil was already stowed on the opposite rail, runnels of water dribbling out of its folds and tubes and splashing into the sea below. The older Walkers and Enely paid no attention, instead staring impassively at their new home. Ceded from the newly formed Forseti Confederacy towards the end of the Age of Sail, the western end of the Maldonian Archipelago had nominally belonged to Wakira for centuries, although for much of that time it had lain abandoned, save as a line on a map. Dazji Island itself was barely habitable, the twin volcanoes trapping just enough moisture from the prevailing winds that its thin soil could support a sparse collection of hardy grasses and low, thorny shrubs. The deck thrummed softly underfoot and water suddenly churned around the Adelan Kerman's stern. Slowly she crept forward, cautiously edging towards her allotted berth at the bay entrance. Enely patted the Kerm seed one last time for luck and hoisted his pack onto his shoulders. The higher pitched whine of the ship's motor shifting into reverse was followed by a heavy splash and the clanking rattle of chain running through hawse pipe. We're here. Under the bosun's watchful gaze and blunt orders, the Walkers began boarding the ship's boats. Enely watched the deck crew wrestle back the heavy, folding cargo hatch and start unloading the hold. He recognised the bales of flat-packed shelters for the new village - my new village - but most of the other equipment and supplies were stowed in blandly anonymous crates, the stencils on their sides unreadable from where he stood. Suddenly there was a respectful tap on his shoulder. “Keeper?" He spun round to face the bosun. The older kerbal looked at him curiously for a moment then nodded. “Stern seat, Keeper." “Thank you. And please convey my thanks to the Captain." “Truly. You choose a harsh place to live, Keeper - I wish you and your Kerm good fortune." “Thank you," said Enely quietly. He tightened the buckles on his pack, glanced around the deck and clambered into the boat, clutching the gunwale nervously. The davit arms swung out and down. Enely braced himself for impact as the Adelan Kerman's hull sped past but much to his surprise, the boat slipped into the sea with barely a jolt. The motor started and they purred away towards Dazji Island. ----------- The siren wailed, numbingly loud even through the blockhouse wall. Val rolled off her bunk, grabbed her flight helmet and hit the ground running. High volume compressors screamed to life, as the pilots sprinted for the hangar. A rapidly building roar joined the scream, both overlaid with a piercing banshee howl. Val burst through the hangar door into a wall of noise. She jammed her flight helmet over her head, glanced at the ominous shape of the Mark 3 fingrillin already slung under her aircraft and reflexively checked the hangar floor for debris. She raced past the starter-jockey sprinting clear of her aircraft, scrambled up the cockpit ladder and flung herself into the ejection seat. The ground crew hauled the start-cart away. Val plugged in her communication leads, reaching for the canopy lever with her other hand, eyes racing over the instrument panel. The aircraft rumbled under her, like a gronnek straining to be let off its leash. Hydraulics - check. Breakers - in. Caution panel - clear. MCL - off. “Vanguard - comm check." “Copy, Vanguard." Speed-brake - closed. Flight trim system - check, altimeter - norm. The flight control surfaces sprang to life; extending and retracting, flexing through their full range of movement. Inside the cockpit, Val's head swivelled back and forth, eyes intent. Satisfied, she pulled out the safety pins on her ejection seat, held them up to the canopy and stowed them. Flight controls - check. Brakes on. Canopy down and locked. Seat armed. Defog and cabin temp - check “Vanguard - ready for taxi." “Chocks clear, Vanguard. Proceed to apron." At the hangar entrance, an orange-jacketed kerbal lifted two circular paddles over his head and flipped their green surface round to face Val. She eased her throttle forward and released the brakes. The engine pitch rose a notch, deafening in the enclosed space. “Vanguard is rolling." And the day I need a chaperone to get me out of here without clipping my wings is the day I quit flying. Four Cloudrunner single-seater jet aircraft emerged from their hangars, waves of shimmering air rolling off their engines, the dawn sun gleaming from their prominent bubble canopies. Originally designed as high speed aerobatic and racing planes, the heavy torpedoes slung under their bellies added an air of menace to their lightly swept wings and gaping nose intakes. One by one, they surged forward onto the taxiway, swung lightly round, then catapulted down the runway, engines howling louder than the alert siren, hardly making it to the halfway marker before leaping nimbly into the air and vanishing into the clouds. "Vanguard is airborne, four by four. What's the drill, Control?" "No drill, Vanguard. The Doreni fleet slipped anchor at 06:00 this morning and, until further notice, are to be considered hostile targets. Your orders are to make best speed for Humilisia and provide air support for Commander Gusden." "We're not going to get a lot of loiter time, Control." "With luck you won't need any, Vanguard. If Gusden gets his way you'll either be too late for the shooting or just in time to buzz the beach barbecue he'll be throwing for our friendly Doreni neighbours. Until then, you're the big stick. Get in, drop the fish if and where you're told to and get out. Joker is grass on Humilisia." "Understood. Vanguard out." ---------- Gusden scoured the horizon, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the cutter surged and swayed under him. Already, the salt spray was working its way under his headset, making it chafe uncomfortably against his scalp. The Kolan fleet was drawn up in two parallel lines, facing east towards Doren. A skirmishing force of cutters led the way; all vessels abreast; their crews, like Gusden, searching the horizon for Doreni vessels. Behind them, a defensive formation of heavier torpedo boats stood off the Humilisian coast. Two picket groups circled the islands, keeping a wary watch for any flanking attacks. "Eyes right!" Gusden's head snapped round. A surprisingly small cluster of black shapes, just barely distinguishable as ships, were steaming into view. Gusden blinked, then realisation came crashing in. "All crews - rotate the line! Centre pivot! End crews - watch for envelopment chances!" The roar of marine engines split the air. Gusden nodded in satisfaction as the nearest cutters heeled over in opposite directions, churning the waves into foam as they swung round onto their new course. He tapped a button on his headset, shouting for his seconds in command but heard only faint voices over the din of engines. Swearing, he ran for the deckhouse, yelling orders as he went. "Anchors?" The responses were muffled but audible. "Swinging south, sir! Line's holding!" "Swinging north sir! Line's holding!" Gusden scowled out of the window, watching the cluster of Doreni boats uncoiling across the distant water, racing south at flanking speed, then slowing. Aye, that won't help you. Cut my line would you, ya crawling slasherns. The reports rattled in in quick succession, both seconds in command crisply confirming the new heading for their halves of the skirmish line. Gusden opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a flat crack echoing across the water, which was swiftly followed by a distant fountain of spray. He tapped his headset. "Ranging shot! All crews - hold the line and hold your fire!" The two lines of cutters, both now stretched out west to east, faced each other across the waves. A second shot smashed into the water, a third, then a fourth, all falling well short of the Kolan vessels. "It takes more than wasted shots to rattle a Kolan!" Gusden shouted. "All ahead - steerage way!" As if in reply, the Doreni line surged forward, trailing foaming V shaped wakes behind them. The Kolan line wavered, one boat after another breaking formation as more shots crashed into the sea around them. All, Gusden noted, aimed between his forces. A single shot flew the other way; one panicking Kolan crew returning fire. "Hold your fire!" roared Gusden. "They are playing with you. Do not enga..." Gusden watched in horror as another incoming shell ripped into a Kolan cutter, tearing into the deck and hurling equipment and screaming kerbals into the sea. Single shot one corner of his mind yammered. Not a volley - stray shot. Dimly, he heard himself issuing orders, bringing his own vessel about, powering ahead through the engulfing melee towards the figures bobbing in the water. Deck guns thundered in a continuous barrage as the opposing battle lines dissolved into chaos. Cutters from both forces darted this way and that, chasing each other across the waves, jinking as best they could to throw off enemy aim. Fountains of spray marked missed shots; inexperienced gunners and fast moving targets ensuring that very few shells found their mark. Gusden hung tightly onto the cabin rail, bellowing orders into his microphone as he tried desperately to make some sense of the battle. "Anchors - pull back and reform your lines! Pick your targets and cut across their bows - get both your popguns into the fight! And for Kerm's sake hold your fire for any vessel making a pickup. I don't care if they're Doreni or pink-skinned Dunans - you do not shoot at them!" One of his crew dashed into the cabin, stumbling against the doorway as a wave caught the cutter amidships. Gusden wheeled round, catching a brief glimpse of bleeding kerbals sprawled on the deck, two of them missing legs, eyes rolled back into their skulls. Another of his crew knelt by them; tending to his comrades, seemingly oblivious to the gunfire raging overhead. Then Gusden finally took in the bloodless face and wide eyes of his aft gunner. "Commander," he choked, "The north..." Gusden's head snapped round. What in the seven smoking hells... He jabbed at his headset, gesturing to the gunner to get back on deck. "Fingril line - sitrep!" "In position but observing fire! Your orders sir?" Gusden stared bleakly at the ordered line of Doreni reinforcements sweeping down on his forces. "East, half ahead," he replied. "Load all fingrillin tubes and stand ready to lay down screening fire." ----------- A handful of burning boats dotted the sea. Pools of flaming fuel dispersed rapidly on the waves but not rapidly enough for the charred figures floating by the wreckage; some barely recognisable as kerbals. Gusden clenched his teeth, dry heaves wracking his body. He swallowed hard, acid stinging the back of his throat. Then he issued the order. "All crews pull back to the islands. Flanking speed. Fingril line will provide covering fire." The retreat, Gusden reflected, was a bitter tribute to all the kerbals under his command. The Kolan forces slipped neatly from the jaws of the Doreni trap, a single line-ahead roaring towards the comparative safety of the Humilisian islands and the waiting line of torpedo boats. His seconds in command joined him in bringing up the rear; the three cutters harassing the pursuing Doreni vessels, offering themselves as targets to buy the others more time. The lead Kolan cutter fled through the line of repurposed fishing vessels. Gusden glanced fore and aft, gauging speeds and distances. Time for one fingrillin salvo before we're back to deck guns. He tapped his headset. "Vanguard - ETA?!" There was a brief pause then Val's voice crackled crisply in his ear. "Ten minutes out sir, Orders?" "We're falling back to the islands, Vanguard. Your weapon passes are westbound, repeat westbound. Target the command vessels - bulbous bows, twin radio masts at the stern. Two releases on the first pass, give them time to retreat, second pass only if required." "Yes, sir. Vanguard out." Gusden's spirits lifted briefly as the two cutters carrying his seconds in command raced past the advancing line of torpedo boats. The instant his own boat reached safety he gave the order. The response was immediate, keyed up kerbal gunners reacting instantly to his words. A wave of fingrillin arced out over the sea in a rush of rapidly expanding air and disappeared beneath the surface almost as one. Sweating deckhands struggled .to reload torpedo launchers as the ungainly vessels swung due west, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the oncoming Doreni. --------- Val hissed in dismay, hardly hearing the sudden oaths from the other Vanguard pilots. Wreckage strewed the sea beneath her, kerbals hanging grimly on to the shattered remnants of sunken boats. Other boats sped towards the wreckage, crews already throwing ropes over the side, glancing up only briefly at the Cloudrunners screaming overhead. Still other boats burned furiously, sending ugly plumes of oily black smoke into the sky. "So much for the barbecue." Val swallowed hard, bile rising at the back of her throat as she realised what she'd just said. Hands shaking, she toggled her microphone. "Cal - you're with me. Ferl, Gil, take the second pass. Remember what the boss said - give them a chance to retreat before going in." Although they sure don't look interested in retreating she added silently, hauling her aircraft skyward. Sea and sky wheeled past dizzyingly, blood rushed to her head; then she was through the half-loop, rolling the Cloudrunner upright and searching for her target. Twin radio masts. There - and there. "Cal, break left. I'll go right." Val threw her aircraft into a tight, spiralling dive, levelling out at rock-throwing height above the waves. Steel glinted in the corner of her eye; the enemy guns swinging down and round to follow her, a sudden muzzle flash throwing shadows over her ejection seat. Then she was through, finger convulsing against the weapon release trigger, the Cloudrunner lurching under her as the weapon pylon sprang open. Val hauled back on her flight stick, her other hand wrenching the throttle hard against its stops, clawing for every last metre... Gusden screwed his eyes shut against the sudden actinic glare. The cutter bucked under his feet; throwing him against the deckhouse wall. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he squinted out of the window. One of the spots resolved into a tiny figure, flailing wildly as it tumbled through the air, trailing thin ropes behind it... He sprinted for the deck rail, hand over his mouth. Unnoticed, four aircraft flew overhead, heading due west, two of them still carrying torpedoes. << Chapter 48: Chapter 50>>

Well it would be one way of tackling obesity. Think harder - burn more calories. The bigger skull required to house that bigger brain would be more of a drawback I think.

I don't think it does really. We've got a much greater understanding of the things you'd need to engineer in to improve athletic performance. We know how skeletal muscles work, we have some ideas about how we could improve the performance of cardiac muscle, we know how we could boost oxygen transport, we've got a pretty good handle on metabolism and some of the factors that affect it. It would still be difficult but at least we have some idea of what needs to be fixed or tweaked, biochemically speaking. Whereas, as Beowolf pointed out, we don't know where to start with the brain.

Udachi, Comrade Pilot... udachi.

Velcro would probably get around the 'sticky stuff losing its stick' problem. Maybe not everywhere in your spacecraft but the PanAm shuttle appeared to be carpeted so it should work in-film. They didn't lend themselves to natural walking though, even in the film. I don't think they would be a replacement for a centrifuge. Not enough resistance (without making them almost impossible to work in) and not providing resistance to enough muscle groups.

Yes, although probably not in the way you mean and, to the best of my knowledge, no. Quantum mechanics isn't physics breaking magic, it's a mathematical framework that lets us understand (or at least calculate) how matter behaves at an atomic and sub-atomic level. As somebody has already pointed out on this thread, lasers can only be explained using quantum mechanics and lasers are used in communication. Quantum key distribution for secure communications has been demonstrated and very much uses quantum mechanics. Therefore, yes, quantum mechanics can be used for communication. Facetiously, all chemistry is ultimately based on quantum mechanics, so lighting a fire to send smoke signals could be regarded as using quantum mechanics for communication. If we're talking about faster than light communication or instant communication at a distance, then quantum mechanics won't help you there. I don't pretend to understand any of the details but it seems that the Kerr metric predicts various features of black holes that would theoretically allow them to act as wormholes. However, that Wikipedia article also notes that such black holes are thought to be unstable, preventing this in practice. The article is also sprinkled with 'dubious - discuss' comments and the section on Kerr black holes as wormholes is prominently labelled as needing more citations for verification. Therefore, I would say that this is edge-of-physics speculation rather than accepted theory at this point. Even if black holes could be used as wormholes, there is a vast difference between 'might be possible in theory' and 'technologically feasible at any level'.

No - and not just on this thread. He (?) has scrawled graffiti over quite a few threads in the Science forum - I haven't bothered to check for his words of wisdom in any other forums.

Gentlemen, these are the Science Labs. You can't do science in here.

Going to need to read the original work - that layman's summary was next to useless. For openers: "For over 40 years we have assumed that DNA changes affecting the genetic code solely impact how proteins are made." is blatantly incorrect. Also, check out the date on the linked article. This isn't exactly new and I don't recall hearing about it anywhere else despite working at a university with a lot of bright people whom I'd expect to be very excited about it. I'm sure one of the actual biologists here will correct me but it sounds like the article has blown these results out of proportion.

Short answer: no. Longer answer: please could we have a separate forum for science fiction.

If you could find a model with a longer nozzle for the 909 that would be perfect but otherwise that sounds good. It's not explicitly covered in the story I don't think but let's have the 909 modified for vacuum operations and the 905 as a pressure fed atmospheric engine. I'd keep the actual stats reasonably similar though rather than going for the extreme differences that KSP currently has between atmospheric and vacuum engines. As mentioned before, think of the the Merlin engine - essentially the same engine used for both but the vacuum version has a larger nozzle. LV and LVT engines are lifter engines through and through. All turbopump driven, all intended primarily for atmospheric use. For looks, the LV-T30 could use the current KSP model (but with gimbals added as you say). I haven't checked but if there are any differences between the LV-T30 and LV-T45 models then the '45 would be the one to use. The LV-T20 could use the same model for simplicity. I'll have a think about the the LV series but if we don't find anything else, lets use the LV-15 model that you chose as a generic LV engine but just have different stats for the '15 and '20.

There was an accident with a liquid lunch, a particle accelerator and a rogue autocorrect. Sorry about that - should be fixed now. The 905s are pressure fed - there's a bit in 'Project Moho' after the crew selection scene, where Wernher and a couple of the propulsion team are testing the 905 prototype, that gives some background. The 903 was the original pressure fed version of the 902 (with upgraded combustion chamber) but it suffered from pogo problems. Wernher had to redesign the fuel lines to get rid of an unwanted resonance mode and after a couple of iterations that redesign was given the 905 version number. Pressure fed engines are a thing incidentally. They're great for reliability because they have very few moving parts. Open a couple of valves and whoosh - hypergolics mix and engine fires. I think all the on-orbit engines for Apollo were pressure fed for that reason. The downside is that they - unsurprisingly - need quite a bit of pressurised gas to force the propellants out of their tanks, and that pressurised gas needs to be stored in a relatively heavy tank of its own. Edit - they're also limited by mass flow - turbopumps tend to be better at shifting large amounts of propellant than pressurised gas. So I think they tend to have relatively low performance compared to pump fed engines. They have been used a couple of times as atmospheric engines (so Wernher isn't completely crazy ) but their weight and performance makes them an outsider choice for that role. Here endeth the lecture.

Thanks very much! Very glad you're enjoying it and the second chapter after 'Best Laid Plans' has my personal favourite opening lines of any chapter in the story so far. Too bad they're kind of borrowed from another author, rather than something I can claim much credit for myself! And, yes, I know exactly what you mean about the Kermol sections. The spaceflight sections are fun to write but at the same time they're quite difficult to write - I think most KSP players will have a rough idea of where they're going although hopefully I can keep folks guessing about the fine details. There's much more leeway for storytelling with the Kermol. Speaking of which, first draft of the next chapter is about done. It needs polishing, which is much easier on my desktop machine (rather than my tablet), so it'll be a few days yet before it gets added to this thread. But yeah - getting there.

For the same reason that there's been a Fan Works forum on this board since it was set up. Folks like to write their own stories. It helps that KSP is a great game for stories because a) rockets and spaceflight and there's very little official backstory or canon to KSP, so plenty of room for players to fill in their own. Moving on. In my fanon, Val isn't even a kerbonaut right now. She'll have heard of Jeb and maybe seen him on TV but that's about it. As for them getting together - they're probably too similar for that to work. Although.... "I'm either starting to like her or I'm going to kill her." #HanSolo.

First give me a reasonable definition of intelligence. Then show me its genetic components. Then tell me how you realistically expect to improve it through genetic modification. Then prove that those modifications are invariant and will result in raised IQ regardless of confounding genetic factors. Finally, describe how to perform that modification with a sufficiently low failure rate to be anywhere near ethically acceptable. At that point I might start getting worried about the implications of this technology on society at large. Until then I have better sci-fi to occupy myself with. - - - Updated - - - Aldous Huxley begs to differ.

Oggy is like Jeb but without the self restraint and regard for safety precautions.