A Backstory

[Pthigrivi]

So this a first shot at creating a real backstory for Jeb, Bill, Bob, and eventually Val and the whole gang. I'd like to as much as possible stick to canon, and create a kind of loose bedrock for characters and relationships to set up the outset of the game. I'll admit its a bit silly, but I think its in keeping with the lovable cartoonish style of the cinematics and the tone set so far.

Scene 1 – The Dream

Dim yellow florescent lights flickered in the corridor as Bob Kerman synched and buckled straps on his bright orange spacesuit. His brother Bill was already lifting a polished helmet over his head. The roar of the crowd was building, echoing thunderously through the concrete. Bob snapped the last few clasps to secure his helmet and looked anxiously at Bill.

“Ready?†asked Bill, his smile broadening.

Bob mustered all of his courage to smile back with worried eyes. Bill put his arm on his bother's shoulder for reassurance. They turned and stepped forward toward the starlit exit of the tunnel.

There it was, its tall slender shape darkened and draped in shiny white cloth, but unmistakable from nosecone to tailfin. The crowd roared in surrounding bandstands as the brothers emerged and waved. High above, light shone down from the full Mun through the barest wisps of cloud in the cold evening air.

Chungff! Chungff! Chungff! Spotlights ignited and the silvery veil slid gently off, billowing as it fell to the launch pad. In all its shining white glory, Mun 1 emerged, its shining needle antenna, fuel hoses shrouded in clouds of falling coolant, portholes aglow in the flickering light of the rocket’s controls. A hatch screeched as it opened, and a hidden ladder popped open, rotated, and telescoped down before the intrepid explorers as the crowd once again burst to life.

Bob was stiff with apprehension, but seeing the glowing orb of the Mun above him, and the brightness in Bill’s bulging eyes stirred his will. They stepped forward. Brother Bill strutted with confidence. Bob's mind was whirring. Had he calculated enough fuel? Were the parachutes big enough? What if the staging misfired? Had he remembered the batteries? He looked up nervously, not even noticing the long yellow fuel hose snaking along the ground in front of him.

His foot snagged. Bob squealed helplessly as he fell forward, and the crowd gasped. He strained and tumbled forward, the hose looping and coiling around his foot and then his helmet and arms as he flopped and rolled. His head stopped just before the landing strut. The crowd held its breath. Nothing stirred. Bill broke from his horror to rush forward. Bob sat up and checked himself, only his pride wounded, it seemed. He carefully uncoiled the hose and stood up. The crowed roared again… but as it did, Bob could hear the tiniest whistling above him. Where the hose met the rocket there was a little burst of air, and a clatter, and a pop.

Bill raced to a console at the side of the launch pad to turn off the fuel. It was too late. The hose snapped away with a burst of coolant steam, snagged around the landing strut, clattered against the tailfin, and, still looped around Bob’s ankle, it carried him with it. He was tossed into the air, then yanked back down, and sideways to slam against the top of the rocket where he was held fast. The end of the hose kept whipping, wrapping around Bob's chest, then down around the engine nozzle and finally into the open hatch. The end rattled and banged about as the hose whipped outside. Suddenly lights flashed inside. Sparks burst from the console that Bob had been furiously banging at. On a large light-board a number flashed on. Ten. The engine rumbled. Nine. Terror washed over Bill’s face. Eight. Sparks flashed beneath the nozzle. Nine. Bob squealed as he struggled to wriggle free from the tightening hose strapping him to the top of the rocket. Six. Steam blasted from the broken connection where the fuel-line had been attached. Five. Bill raced toward the rocket and the still floundering hose. Four. He dove on top of it. The hose struggled for a second before lifting Bill into the air. Three. Bob managed to free himself from the hose around his chest, flopped downward, but the hose still wrapped around his ankle held tight. Two. The Engine stirred and sputtered. Bill gained his footing and strained and yanked down at the hose to free his brother. One. Flames belched from the engine and lapped about the launch pad. Smoke poured out and into the stunned fans in the bandstand. They panicked and cried and began to scramble and flee. Bill’s eyes met Bob’s in terror. Liftoff! Clamps released from the hull as the rocket shuttered to life. It rumbled upward. The hose, with Bill still clinging to it, stretched, then yanked, pulling him bobbing and swinging into the air. The console sparked as it ripped free, trailing behind in the engine's exhaust. Bill clung for dear life, bonking and bouncing against the tailfins as the rocket twisted and corkscrewed higher and higher. The Mun reflected in Bob's eyes as he wailed, tonsils waggling all the way.

Scene 2 – The Pitch

Pierpont Kerman’s mouth was agape, tonsils waggling as he yawned. Bob rubbed and blinked his eyes. He checked his chest and feet, then saw his brother safe and sound in the chair beside him.

Bill was staring absentmindedly out of the broad glass window of the corner office as he clumsily chewed at the eraser end of his pencil. Bob looked down at the cardboard box in his lap and remembered where he was. Pierpont Kerman smacked his thickly mustached lips and glanced skeptically over wire-rimmed glasses at the two brothers. He swiveled slightly in his tall-backed leather chair. His hair was slicked back and streaked with grey to match his pinstriped suit. A Newton’s cradle clacked steadily on his broad mahogany desk, folders and rolls of schematics strewn across it. On the wall behind Bill and Bob’s small armless chairs, above a bulwark of wood and brass plaques and awards of all shapes and sizes, in bright orange block letters scrawled the word “Rockomaxâ€Â.

Bob fiddled nervously at the box and eyed their ponderous, prospective investor. Pierpont pushed his glasses up and crinkled the cobalt blue drawing in front of him. In white lines a tall thin rocket was drawn in cartoonish detail. Loose loops showed a squiggling trajectory from Kerbin to the Mun, with a clumsy drawing of the two brothers holding a flag below it. Across the bottom were written the words “Bill and Bob’s Plumbing and Bicycle Shop.†Pierpont set the drawing back down and drummed the desk with his fingers.

“Well,…†Pierpont paused and squinted his eyes.

Bill nudged Bob, eyeing the box. Reluctantly Bob sat forward and brought the box to the desk. He sat it down, lifted the lid, and pulled out a crude model of the Mun bobbing from a wooden base on a spring, and then a small shiny white rocket, fuse dangling from its base, and stood it carefully on the desk. Pierpont studied it at first interestedly, then creaked lazily back in his seat. Bob looked back at Bill who smiled and gestured gleefully. Bob bit his thumb, then reached down to fumble in his pocket. He paused, then drew out a small box of matches. Piermont leaned closer. Bill sat forward in his seat expectantly. Bob drew out a match, lit it, and held it to the short black fuse. It sparked and fizzed. Bob drew back nervously and Pierpont pushed back in his chair with a broadening smile. Their eyes widened as all three watched the white sparking light slide across the mahogany and into the base of the rocket. It sparked, then proofed a tiny curl of black smoke.

Pierpont cocked his head and frowned, crossing his arms. Bob’s mouth was open, he looked down at the rocket and then back at Bill who blinked his eyes shook his head in disbelief. Bob stammered for a moment, scrambling for explanation, when suddenly the rocket began to jitter. It rumbled, fizzed, then stopped. Then it exploded.

When the smoke cleared papers were still fluttering about the office. A great star of soot marked a smoking crater in the wooden desk. Pierpont’s glasses were skewed, hair tussled, suit singed. Dust fell from the ceiling into his lap as he stared vacantly back at the two brothers. Bob's face was blackened. Bill was laying on the floor in his overturned chair, and still dazed, raised a thumb. More dust fell from the ceiling, followed by the Mun on a spring into Pierpont Kerman’s lap. Then the smoke alarm rang... and the sprinklers went off.

Bill and Bob tumbled unceremoniously onto the street through a spinning glass revolving door outside the Rockomax Headquarters, followed by their custom-made tandem bicycle, followed by the model of the Mun on a spring. Bill slumped forward and rubbed his still sopping eyes. Bob sat forward and picked up the model of the Mun. He thought he might cry. They had spent years huddled over drawings in their dusty little shop, calculating and modeling, mixing fuels and launching tiny rockets in their backyard. Of all their childhood dreams of exploration and glory, nothing was left but a smoldering crater in a mahogany desk. He looked over at his brother, who shrugged and began wringing out his shirt. Above he could see the slim crescent of the real Mun hanging above the city in the daytime sky. Bob held up the model Mun on a spring to match. As he did he saw a little red plane move across streaming white smoke. It curled and swooped and sputtered more smoke until four words spread across the sky. Then it circled back, and ignited rockets strapped to its wings, screeching out a billowing white underline. The skywritten advert read: “Jeb’s Junkyard & Spaceship Partsâ€Â.

Bob cracked a little smile.

Edited February 24, 2015 by Pthigrivi

[KSK]

I can totally see The Pitch as the opening cinematic for Version 1.0!