Ad Astra

[The Bard]

I've had this idea for a while, and I've finally decided to post a sort of prologue thing and see what the community thinks of it.

All feedback much appreciated!

Dramatis Personae

Main Characters

• Octavian Kerman (Protagonist and researcher at the KSC.)
  

Octavian's family

• Rosa Kerman (Octavian's wife.)
  
• Theores Kerman (Octavian's son.)
  

R&D Department

• Wernher von Kerman (Senior researcher and Bob's direct superior.)
  
• Bob Kerman (Head of Satellite Development at the KSC.)
  
• Jaines Kerman (Octavian's fellow researcher.)
  

Rockomax Conglomerate

• Carlton Rockomax Jr (Head of PR at the Rockomax Conglomerate)
  

Prologue

Nervous. Nervous nervous nervous nervous! I try to calm myself down. It's just a job, Octavian. It's just a job. It's just a job working for the governmentatthebloodyKerbalSpaceCenter-nervous! Nervous! I look down and see my knuckles whitening as I grip the armrests. On reflection, that may have been due to the rather... flamboyant driving of the Kerbal in charge of the Space Center's transport bus. A mix of cheery whistling and blatant attempts to bludgeon his passenger to death with speed bump impacts.

I reach into the pocket of the pristine white lab coat given to me at the entrance. It's big enough to hold all kinds of scientific paraphernalia, but currently it's empty save for three things - my ID card, pristine and new, a folded form from the receptionist listing my name, superiors (Bob Kerman and Wernher von Kerman) and assignment (Satellite Development, Wing Three) and a tattered, sepia photo. I take out the latter and spread it out carefully, flicking away the dust with a gentle swipe. It depicts three kerbals, smiling and apply, standing in front of a typical suburban house. I smile. That was Theores' sixteenth nameday, the official marker of the transition between a Kerling and a Kerman, ready to find their own way in the world. Theores was off now, studying at the Anbel Kerman College of Engineering, following in the path of his mother, my dear Rosa.

I fold the paper carefully and place it back in my pocket. Enough reminiscing. I'm already missing my family, and I don't want to add more and more to that feeling. Instead I look up, staring out of the window, watching the departments fly by. Kerbin Air Force development. Engine and Propulsion development. I'm just craning my neck to see if I can catch a look of the stately, imposing Mission Control when my head snaps forward, the seatbelt tightening its grip around my torso as the bus screeches to a halt. Moments later a cheery voice calls out from in front:

'Alrighty, we're here! Hope you enjoyed the ride!'

I choose not to reply to that comment.

Stepping out of the bus for the first time for me is one of those indescribably special moments that you cannot put into words - a feeling of awe (and, perhaps, fear) that rolls over me like a huge wave, breaking over my head. I'm still standing there, mouth open, gawping, when a voice from my right breaks my reverie.

'Wonderful sight, isn't it?'

The voice jolts me into stammering several half-completed apologies as I turn and see another Kerbal in a lab coat standing next to me. He's about my height, with a disorganised lump of dark hair resembling something a cat would cough up and thick black glasses. He sticks out a hand. When I take it, almost tentatively, he near-crushes my hand in a firm grip and pumps my arm vigourously.

'Jaines Kerman, researcher. You must be Octavian.'

Nodding, I am about to introduce myself when he launches into another good-natured tirade of rapid speech.

'Well, good to meet you! Come on in. You've got your pass, haven't you? Good, good. Just go right on in and present yourself at that little desk there. Not that one, that one. The one with the pot plant? Yes, yes. Good! I'll meet you in briefing in fifteen minutes.'

With that he slaps me on the back and walks off, striding jauntily.

Dismissing the fact that I have almost no idea what just happened. I gather myself and grip hold of the door handle, which is when it finally hits me.

This is the Kerbal Space Center, and I work here now.

Edited March 1, 2015 by The Bard

[KSK]

This is the Kerbal Space Center, and I work here now.

What a great way to finish the prologue! Sounds - and felt like Octavian just got the best job on Kerbin.

Hope you do post more - I like your writing style and I'm definitely curious to see where a story that starts in Satellite Development goes!

[The Bard]

What a great way to finish the prologue! Sounds - and felt like Octavian just got the best job on Kerbin.

Hope you do post more - I like your writing style and I'm definitely curious to see where a story that starts in Satellite Development goes!

Thanks for your feedback! I will admit that I'm not entirely sure where this is going myself, but I have a few (hopefully decent) ideas.

Chapter 1 - Contacted and Contracted:

Small and spartan. Those are my first thoughts as I enter the briefing room. A single fluorescent strip of a lamp runs across the ceiling, throwing a sharp white light on a long, metal table surrounded at regular intervals by black leather chairs. The rest is blank, white space. I am the only one here, and it feels, well, intimidating. I check my watch, nervously drumming my fingers on the table. It's been ten minutes! Where are they!

I sigh and mutter to myself.

"You would have thought they would bother to-"

The door swings open. In step two Kerbals, cutting me off in midflow. Jaines is first, grinning from ear to ear, in the slightly inane manner of a clown at a children's birthday party. Behind him is a figure I recognise instantly. That close-cropped black hair, that authoritative but reflective look - it's a face i've seen on many a research paper. Bob Kerman. He looks at me disapprovingly, his brow creasing into a dark frown.

"Bother to what, recruit?" He spits the last word with a kind of accusatory venom. I look to Jaines with a face that I hope conveys my sense of abject terror at being in trouble on the first day, but I think I see a hint of sadism seeping into his grin and decide to abandon conversational direction, instead jumping to my feet and saluting so hard I feel a bruise on my forehead. I thought Jaines was on my side - well, he seemed so nice earlier, but I suppose you can never judge anyone's feelings towards you by how they act (citation: my early attempts at romance).

"Mr Bob! Uh... I mean sir! I mean Mr Kerman, Sir! I was just... um... you know... I was just..." I trail off, feeling the nerves well up again. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO MAKE A GOOD FIRST IMPRESSION, OCTAVIAN. WELL DONE.

His frown only seems to deepen as he strides round the table to look me in the eye, closely followed by Jaines

Then suddenly, Jaines dissolves into laughter and claps me on the back, the blow stinging between my shoulder blades. I really hope that's not going to be a habit.. "Welcome to the Kerbal Space Center, recruit." Bob manages to hold the frown for a second longer, but soon his deep, booming laugh joins in as he shakes my hand. I stand there, still confused as to what exactly is going on. When Bob takes a seat opposite me, I finally snap back to reality and sit down.

"So, here's the deal." He takes out a small piece of paper. As he slides it over to me, I see that it's a typed letter. "You know the Rockomax Conglomerate, right?" I nod dumbly, the nerves still wearing off. "You know how they like their over-the-top PR stunts. Well, ever since Kerbodyne started manufacturing the heavy-duty engines Rockomax's market share has been falling like it was a rocket with no fuel tanks. They've contacted us with a deal. They - well, read the letter for yourself."

The letter opens with corporate babble about company presence and market shares, and only gets down to business about halfway through. It's still packed full of corporate buzzwords and the kind of over-the-top hype that had become the Rockomax trademark, but with a skim read I get the gist.

"So, as the ultimate space PR stunt for a spaceparts company, they want us to build a satellite that will beam PR messages 24/7 from orbit?" Bob nods. "But that's against the whole principle of the KSC! We were built on the promise of never being a sell-out - of being a organisation dedicated to research, not profit! The bloody motto is Research, Diligence, Inspiration, not Money, Money, Money!"

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry, that was unprofessional."

Bob shakes his head. "No, no. I understand how you feel. Jaines feels the same way. The problem is, if we don't build it for them, they're going to sop providing us with parts. That means we're locked in to this contract. You and Jaines will be responsible for designing the communications methods. We'll have other two man teams working on reaction wheels, probe cores, power and so on. Any questions?" I shake my head, dumbfounded at such a betrayal of the founding principles of the Center.

"Good. I'm sorry about this, but I have no choice. You'll be presenting your designs to Carlton Rockomax Jr in two weeks." As he gets up to leave, he turns back. "Oh, and recruit?"

"Don't mess this up, or we're all doomed."

I sit there, shocked, feeling like I've been sledgehammered. When I came here, I was idealistic and hopeful, thinking I'd landed the best job in the world. I check my watch.

It lasted twenty minutes.

[CalculusWarrior]

This is really good! I particularly like how you write Octavian and show us his thoughts.

Looking forward to future chapters!

[The Bard]

Sorry about the pause in chapters. I hope I'll be able to put something up on Friday, but I've binned a couple of copies of the next chapter. The writing process for me has essentially become slapping the keyboard and hoping something good comes out. Sorry.

[KSK]

Seriously don't worry about it. Take your time - it'll be done when it's done and we'll still be here waiting.

[The Bard]

((Disclaimer: This chapter is terrible. I kinda rushed it because I was falling behind, but hopefully chapter 3 will get the story going properly.))

Chapter 2: Tour Group, Step This Way

It's been a hell of a day. I arrived with my head full of dreams and my heart pounding, and what am I left with? A job working as a sell-out for the biggest sleazebags in West Kerbin. I thought this job was one in a million. That went out the proverbial window.

I laugh humourlessly, causing Jaines to spin round with an audible creak from the front seat of his old '87 Kerbsmobile. His dirving is even more reckless than his talking, and the sight of him taking his eyes off the road causes me to flinch.

"What's up? Why the laugh?"

He's looking at me confusedly, but I don't feel like explaining the miasma of confused thoughts in my head. Instead I shrug and look ahead.

"Nothing. Keep your eyes on the path, will you?

He shakes his head, then looks up and slams on the brakes, causing my head to fly forward and smack against the windshield. I mutter something unprintable under my breath, rubbing the sore bump already swelling up, and begin to reprimand him when he smiles ruefully and leans over, opening my door and cutting me off.

"Research and Development, Oct! Welcome!"

I look at him out of the corner of my eye for a second, then step gingerly out of the car. Oct? Seriously?

As I look up, I'm confronted by a domed marble stone building fronted with Doric columns and a giant glass window, shaded grey panes picking out the words "Satellite Development Center" in exquisite crystal lighting. My mouth drops further than I think is healthy, or indeed possible without serious dislocation, when I'm suddenly propelled forward by a vicious slap between my shoulders. I stumble forward and pitch sideways, landing hard on the tarmac. As I roll onto my back, I look up as intimidatingly as I can do when I'm completely winded and shorter than essentially all my coworkers I've met so far. Jaines grins ruefully and hauls me to my feet so jarringly I nearly overbalance and fall flat on my face.

I'm still sulking when he guides me through the front doors into an immense hall lit by the huge window we entered through (and another at the back). The room is full of desks spaced in regular arrangement - ten by ten square feet units with two desks, a miniature laboratory and a miniature assembly station, or, as Jaines tells me, 'pretty much a satellite manufacturing box'. Each unit appears to be manned by two researchers, although there are around a hundred more hovering around. The size of the room shocks me - there must be two hundred desks! When I report this to Jaines, he simply smiles and points to the hundreds of offshoot rooms on three levels.

"Board room, cantina, toilets, rec room, dorms, assembly labs one to six, vacuum testing chambers one and two, electronics labs one to four - we've got everything here."

He shows me to our unit - number sixty-two, near the back and by Impact Testing Chamber Three. His desk is a pile of folders, sticky notes, coffee cups and pizza boxes. Mine has simply a pristine computer, telephone and a lamp that, upon testing, casts a harsh white light. Utilitarian, but it'll do. I take the photo of my family and stick it to my computer. There. Personalised.

Jaines taps me on the shoulder (mercifully gently) and I turn to see him with a half-eaten pizza in one hand and a copy of the letter shown to us by Bob Kerman. Pretty much summing up his work ethic right there.

I look around again, feeling a vague sense of contentment washing off some of the anger.

This is my home now, I suppose.

[VelocityPolaris]

I like it!

[Whirligig Girl]

This god sad quick. Intrigued to see how this goes. I've never really seen a story about one of the Kerbals in the R&D Facility.

[Ten Key]

Sometimes stories have to go down a little bit so they have room to go back up again.

[The Bard]

Quite literally, in most KSP cases.

New chapter tomorrow, if I'm not incompetent! Which is not a safe bet.

[The Bard]

Chapter III: Breaking Point

I sigh dejectedly and crumple up the design in front of me, flicking it into the wastepaper basket. Jaines compliments my technique - I've marked him down as the kind of Kerman that makes a game out of everything by now - but I just pull out a new sheet and keep sketching. It's been a few days now, and already the basket is overflowing with rejected designs. 50cm, Octavian. This should be easy! A nice simple job, but you keep messing up. Nice one, genius.

A loud crash followed by several unrepeatable phrases comes from the impact testing chamber beside us. Startled, my pencil jumps on the page, crossing off the design I've been working on. I almost growl with frustration as I ball this one up and hook it over my head into the bin. I'm about to pull out another one when I hear Jaines' chair scrape across the floor. I look over my shoulder to see him leaning on my chair, looking on sympathetically.

"Come on, Oct, take a break. Maybe something'll come to you later?"

I look up at him, a mixture of anger and confusion on my face, both at him and at my own incompetence. "We're working to a deadline here, Jaines! We've got to finish this!"

His tone stays even and soft. "Look, banging your head on an empty page won't help. We've been working hard on this project but we can't do everything in one go. Ease off, recruit."

I know he means well, but his words sting, especially recruit, and I feel anger welling up inside me. What right does he have to lecture me? What has he done while I've been slaving here, drawing and drawing and drawing? Why does he have the right to take the credit for work I'm doing? The frustration is boiling now, roaring, screaming, clawing at my throat.

Suddenly I jump up. Kick away my chair. The words come spilling out, roiling over my tongue. "We?" Incredulous. "WE!?" More forceful this time, and suddenly I can't stop myself from pouring out the frustration inside me. "You... YOU... I slave here, day after day, working and working, while you play stupid games and make childish jokes! Can't you take things seriously for one day? ONE DAY?"

The room's fallen silent. Everybody's looking at us, but I keep going, ignoring Jaines' look of confusion and, perhaps a hint of sorrow. He places a hand on my shoulder, and suddenly I go over the edge. A strange, animalistic scream of fury wells up inside me, and suddenly the barriers are finally down. I've passed the point of no return. My fist comes up and slams into his gut, hard. As he stumbles backwards, shocked, I take off running. Running from my anger, my hatred, my fear, my confusion, desperately hoping I can outrun the black dog at my heels. Head down, I sprint through the building, shoving aside researcher and engineer alike, but the dog's still at my side. I keep going, keep working my legs, keeping pounding the floor, but it's still there. I reach out my fingers, clasp the door handle and in one movement I'm through. I slam it closed behind me and manage to totter a few steps before collapsing, screaming and crying in equal measure, chest rising and falling like some sort of strange dance accompanying the tortured noises from my throat.

I'm still screaming when three Kerbals turn up ten minutes later.

Author's Note, because professionalism and stuff

Thanks very much for reading! I really appreciate all your feedback, and I'm very glad that there is someone who (hopefully) enjoys my stories.

[Whirligig Girl]

Calm down Octavian. You just fell down some stairs. No need for such melodrama.

[OrtwinS]

Call the men in the white coats, this one is ready for the fruit-cake department.

Single ticked to the loony bin!

That was a short career.

[VelocityPolaris]

No, this is normal activity at KSC.

[0111narwhalz]

I knew nothing good could come of having one's office next tom Impact. I can see tht wearing one's nerves down quick. "ZZZTHUD!" *unintelligible speech* "ZZZTHUD!"

And so on ad nauseam.