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The kerbal eased down into the sand, old bones and old joints protesting even these careful motions, the life time of hard wear finally coming due. It didn't matter. Not anymore. "Now, pay attention, see? Or would the lot of you rather go play outside?" Suddenly it was mouths closed, all eyes front. "I thought not. Now, settle down, and pay attention." The sand underneath him was still warm, held into the shape of a crude seat by a carved stone depression. "Now then, some physicists will tell you that gravity is the most powerful force in the universe, and I know of a few pilots who would agree with them. Eh, what's that? What's a pilot? Well, it's a, ah. . .never mind that, we'll get along to it in a bit." "An accountant now, they'll tell you the most powerful force in the universe is compound interest and, well maybe some physicists would too. A geologist might tell you the most powerful force is erosion, or perhaps water or wind, or maybe time itself. A poet might tell you the most powerful force is love, while a soldier might tell you it's loyalty. I've seen enough of both to say a case could be made for either, and a mighty strong one at that." He closed his eyes now, the memories sudden and close, felt the warmth of the sand fading as the heat leached away into the stone floor. He remembered his own schooling, the fresh air, the warm sun, wooden desks with wooden chairs. Wooden pencils. And all the paper they could want. He remembered the folded airplanes, the waste. . .what fools they'd all been. Now there was just. . . sand. And rocks. And cold. He drew in a slow breath, opened his eyes before the tears could start. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but it doesn't matter. Not anymore. "They're all wrong, you see. The most powerful force in this universe is boredom, and it can move mountains, bridge seas, tear a people down or build them back up again. It's the reason there were billions of us, and the reason that, one day, it might be so again." "It all started out with a pipe dream and a swamp and. . .hmm? What's a swamp? Well, it's. . .oh for goodness sake, stop interrupting!" "We'll get there in a bit." ________________________________ I did not intend to write this. I picked Kerbal Space Program up several months ago on a lark. I figured I would spend a few hours with it here or there, and I did. And then a few days, and then weeks. The words started slowly, just a few notes at first, detailing altitude thresholds and biomes and such. But soon there were more words, a crude scaffolding to provide context for the hundreds of screenshots suddenly piling up on my hard drive. This in turn became a few paragraphs here and there, detailing the machines rolling out of my VAB and the various problems they were being asked to solve. And then some backstories and "context" for the kerbals that would fly them, just to keep everything straight in my head. And then, well. . .this happened. The story that follows is primarily a game play through, and so the narrative can wander in strange ways and the tone can shift wildly in reaction to the triumphs and frustrations of a first time KSP player. Perhaps there's a certain charm in that though. . .I guess we'll see. This play through employs the following mods: Kerbal Space Program, version 0.23.5.464 (pre-dates the contract, currency and reputation system) The KSP Renaissance Compilation Pack, which includes-- Active Texture Management v 3.1, Environmental Visual Enhancements v 7.3, Texture Replacer v 1.5.1, Distant Object v 1.3, Hot Rockets v 7.1, Cool Rockets v 0.4, Chatterer v 0.5.9.3, Soundtrack Editor V 2.1, Atmospheric Sound Enhancement v 2.1.1, and an alpha version of the Squad Retexture Project. Final Frontier, v 0.4.20 Toolbar, v 1.7.3 Module Manager v 2.1.0 KerbQuake, v 1.21 Steam Gauges, v 1.5.1 Deadly Reentry Continued, v 4.7 And finally, Flowerchild's fantastic progression mod, Better Than Starting Manned. First version 1.56, and then later updated to 1.57. All piloted flights have been/will be conducted from an IVA perspective where ever possible. I seem to have lost a lot of my screenshots from the very early portions of the game, and I need to backfill story at the beginning anyways, but, fair warning-- at some point there will be a lot of pictures. ________________________________ The provost swore through gritted teeth, leaned into the turn, the narrow wheeled trundle just barely keeping to the plank roadway as it strained through the curve. The harsh stink of overburdened electronics bled into the thin mountain air as the trundle's electric motor slowly labored itself to death. Someone was going to pay for this. There was a flash of sunlight on metal up ahead, the sharp chuff of a steam engine. The provost twisted the throttle hard as the roadway straightened out, the narrow seat bucking as the trundle lurched over a freshly broken plank. That hole hadn't been there yesterday. . .someone was definitely going to pay for this. The two carts barreled down the roadway as it narrowed and twisted towards a tunnel, the mountains looming close on either side. The steam trundle shot into the opening at a recklessly high speed and the provost followed, the siren painfully loud in the confined space. Like much of the new construction in the mining town, the tunnel had been built with sections of surplus pipe, and the riveting flashed past in regular patterns as the trundle rattled down the tube. The tunnel ended in a sudden burst of daylight, the trundles blasting out of the tube and through a small market. The stalls of the vendors sped past on either side, wooden placards, fabric awnings, and even a few bits fashioned from metal, the thin lengths of pipe gleaming in the morning sun. The provost's trundle tipped up onto two wheels as it slid past the last stall, the wooden planks of the road giving way to bare rock, the electric motor making an unhealthy noise as they started up an incline. The steam trundle was starting to pull away, its antiquated but powerful engine giving it an advantage on the steadily increasing slope. The provost blinked, anger giving way to fear as the realization dawned. "Citizen, STOP! There is no road ahead!!" But the old trundle did not stop, instead accelerating up the rise. There was a hissing pop, gouts of fire and then quickly plumes of smoke jetting from the small pipes that had been welded to the steam trundle's frame. It accelerated faster still, and then even faster, more of the pipes igniting. The provost came to a sliding stop, eyes watering against the smoke as the steam trundle went up and then. . .over. A few wild, disbelieving heartbeats, and then, a single cry of warning, followed by the sickening crunch of metal against rock as the steam trundle dashed itself onto the ground far below. ________________________________ The wreck was still burning, had thankfully not landed on anything important. A small crowd had gathered around a nearby tree, a pool of soft murmurs and pointing hands that gave way reluctantly as the provost approached. The kerbal dangling from the tree was painfully young, was twisted up in what looked like a homemade parachute. He bounced happily within the makeshift harness, seemed completely at ease with his predicament. The provost stopped, the helmet coming off slowly, the lingering anger not quite enough to keep the sound of awe out of her voice. "Citizen. . .what is your name?" The kerblet looked down, seemed to notice the provost, and the crowd, for the first time. He grinned even wider, pumped his fists, raised his voice to the chill morning sky. "My name is JEBEDIAH KERMAN!" ________________________________