THE BARTDON PAPERS - "Cancel all previous directives."

[Geschosskopf]

23 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

With a blast! I slammed the receiver back down, grabbed my coat and took the rest of the afternoon off.

Bartdon reminds me of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz

 

10 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

Sort of. Camwise is unavailable at the moment...

This report/story is now being told by at least two narrators (both writing in the 1st person). The narrator is, of course, specified at the start of each entry (CAMWISE / BARTDON, maybe others in the future...) but I just wanted to make it totally clear who is talking in each episode. I'm always worried that this story is confusing enough as it is, without making it even harder for you guys with a sneaky change of narrator....

Your thoughts? If this is a bad idea, I can change it back...  

I would entitle it "The Camwise Logs (the Bartdon Papers)" so folks would know it was the same thread.  I was confused myself to start with.

[UnusualAttitude]

55 minutes ago, Geschosskopf said:

Bartdon reminds me of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz

Oh yes, in that he is grumpy, canny, fussy about procedure, probably part of a huge Old Boy Network, and doesn't see why anyone else should be having a good day if he isn't. He's not a cruel monster though. And fortunately, he's into golf instead of poetry.

If you want to see the spark of inspiration that spawned Bartdon, watch this sketch that dates back to the 1980s by Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie. For those of you who have only ever heard of Laurie as Doctor House, prepare to be surprised.

55 minutes ago, Geschosskopf said:

I would entitle it "The Camwise Logs (the Bartdon Papers)" so folks would know it was the same thread.  I was confused myself to start with.

Good Idea.

Edited June 1, 2016 by UnusualAttitude

[Geschosskopf]

58 minutes ago, UnusualAttitude said:

Oh yes, in that he is grumpy, canny, fussy about procedure, probably part of a huge Old Boy Network, and doesn't see why anyone else should be having a good day if he isn't. He's not a cruel monster though. And fortunately, he's into golf instead of poetry.

Is there really any difference between Vogon poetry and golf?  I think not

But your reference to a "Good Ol' Boy Network" has made me curious.  I live in a former French colony where many tres patois versions of French are spoken. But all of them use the word "lagniappe".  As I understand things, this came into the local versions of French via the Spanish who were here first, and the Spanish got it from the Inca Indians of Peru.  It originally meant the same as the Persian "baksheesh", a bribe to a bureaucrat to get him to act in your favor, although now it usually means an extra item thrown into a deal for free.  Either way, "lagniappe" still carries the stigma of "Good Ol' Boy" cronyism.  So my question is, do the French over there in France use the word "lagniappe" or is that just a colonial thing?

 

58 minutes ago, UnusualAttitude said:

If you want to see the spark of inspiration that spawned Bartdon, watch this sketch that dates back to the 1980s by Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie. For those of you who have only ever heard of Laurie as Doctor House, prepare to be surprised.

Damn, I need a drink

 

[Mjp1050]

On 5/31/2016 at 3:38 PM, UnusualAttitude said:

He still wouldn't recognize a good brew if one jumped up and bit him on the damned nose

Kerbals have noses? STOP THE PRESSES!!!

 

[UnusualAttitude]

7 hours ago, Geschosskopf said:

So my question is, do the French over there in France use the word "lagniappe" or is that just a colonial thing?

I think it must be, because I've never heard that word before, neither had a bunch of my French colleagues when I asked them this morning. To talk specifically about corrupting a bureaucrat, one would usually use pot de vin (I know, the French fixation on wine...), but I've also occasionally heard the use of the word bakchich which probably came from Persian via Arabic.

4 hours ago, Mjp1050 said:

Kerbals have noses? STOP THE PRESSES!!!

Well spotted. This leaves me with a conundrum. What bit of a Kerbal do you bite to get his attention, then? Forum-friendly answers only, please....

[Geschosskopf]

5 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

I think it must be, because I've never heard that word before, neither had a bunch of my French colleagues when I asked them this morning.

Well, we both know new words or phrases   FWIW, in the decadent accents of Lousy Anna, "lagniappe" is pronounced "lan yap" with zero nasality.

 

5 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

Well spotted. This leaves me with a conundrum. What bit of a Kerbal do you bite to get his attention, then? Forum-friendly answers only, please....

I've always considered Kerbals to be more into hitting each other like the Three Stooges than biting.  After all, Kerbal mouths are usually full of snacks so biting each other would be difficult to do without choking.  And Kerbals have no wildlife at all, biting or not, so have nothing in the natural world to get the idea of biting from.

[insert_name]

3 hours ago, Geschosskopf said:

Well, we both know new words or phrases   FWIW, in the decadent accents of Lousy Anna, "lagniappe" is pronounced "lan yap" with zero nasality.

 

I've always considered Kerbals to be more into hitting each other like the Three Stooges than biting.  After all, Kerbal mouths are usually full of snacks so biting each other would be difficult to do without choking.  And Kerbals have no wildlife at all, biting or not, so have nothing in the natural world to get the idea of biting from.

Frankly I think throwing of sharp objects would be the main method of combat. Either that or headbutting.

[UnusualAttitude]

YEAR 7, DAY 283. BARTDON.

If you want something done properly, then do it your damned self.

Morning. And so here I am, coasting towards the Moon, sitting in the cramped crew quarters of that monstrosity I asked Froemone to design six months ago. And as monstrosities go, I must confess that the boy surpassed himself. Can't recall precisely but the blasted thing must weigh nearly forty-five tonnes fully fueled. In fact, it consists almost entirely of a huge hydrolox fuel tank with a crew capsule and four over-sized landing struts slung underneath. If the tank doesn't collapse into our accommodation when we touch down, it will be a miracle.

It has been given some of the most awful nicknames by the boys back at the VAB, the least offensive of which is The Quadropus. But, out of respect for the memory of our Head Engineer, the damned tradition of giving West European names to our vessels has stuck and the official designation of our craft is Saillac.

It took one of our largest Prayssac boosters just to get it to LEO, and even with that talented young lass called Catbeth at the controls, it maneuvers with all the grace of a beached whale. But if it does what Froemone says it can, this lander, once refueled at Drygalski, will allow us to visit the two sites on the Moon's surface that I have selected for close scrutiny and monitoring.

But three days in this tiny capsule with three other Kerbals has been hell. No place to stretch one's legs, and certainly no room to practice my stroke, which will have gone to the blazes by the time I get back to Earth. Even if you disregard the difficulty and associated risks of waving a club in zero-gee, there's not even enough room in here to swing a nine-iron.

At least my crew is a quiet bunch, which is one of the reasons why I chose them. I wouldn't go as far as saying that they are the most intrepid team of Kerbonauts ever to venture into space, with the possible exception of that girl Catbeth who seems to have things under control. She is sharing the cockpit downstairs with Froemone, who I assume won't be talking anyone to death during our trip. He's damned good at what he does, I'll give him that, but he has been almost totally mute and acting a little nervously for the past seventy-two, ever since we rode Carderie up from Kourou to meet Saillac in LEO.

The other reason why I chose Froemone for this flight is because it's his ride, and I've always believed that having the chief engineer of a project on board for the maiden flight provides great incentive to get things done properly. If his design is not damned good enough for him, why should it be good enough for us?

And sitting across the upper level of the crew capsule from me is the Deputy Investigator of this mission, Steledith. She must have uttered three sentences at most since we left the runway, and only one of those made sense to anyone else. She spends hours on end gazing out of the view-port next to her seat at the stars, just like she did when we went on that two-month harebrained excursion out into solar orbit with Cernin. I'd briefly considered bringing Neldan or Siggy with us, reasoning that I'd rather have those two somewhere where I can keep an eye on them. But there wasn't room for the pair anyway, so Steledith it was.

Besides, they say that she's a genius, and that's something that may be useful on this trip. This is our last chance to prove we can make headway and come closer to understanding the mystery of this alien presence in our solar system. Or maybe it's an excuse to show that we're still working on it, just to buy us some time.

Lunch. Or at least, something only remotely edible that is supposed to remind us of what the folks back home are tucking into. Taken with Steledith and Froemone, in silence.

Afternoon. We're coming up for orbital insertion and Earth is about to disappear behind the limb of the Moon. I've been to Lunar orbit once before and I always hated the moments when we were cut off from mission control. I suppose some part of me always wonders if the Earth will still be there where I left it when we swing back out from the farside. The sight of that blasted blue marble dipping beneath that cold, cratered horizon, is a sobering one. Note to self: order the deployment of a decent communications network covering the blasted Moon ASAP, even if it means canceling the end-of-year gala and everyone's annual bonus.

The de-orbit burn and approach to Drygalski went smoothly, and Catbeth got us down in time for tea. She hit the landing site spot-on, putting us down on the ridge that extended northwards from the crater's central peak. The Quadropus had landed, however because Saillac was not equipped with a remote command station, it took bloody ages to get the rovers over to meet us, with the drivers back at Omelek taking care not to blunder into anything with the signal delay.

We suited up and Froemone went out first to link up the fuel line to the mining rover. I swear the boy's voice sounded all tearful at being reunited with his previous monstrous design. The transfer, capture and landing burns had used up most of our fuel, so we would have to leave the old pumps and drills running for at least the next forty-eight before we could fly again. But the good news was that the more spacious quarters of Drygalski base awaited our presence. Now it was time for us to perform a tactical retreat, before that nuclear reactor powered up. Besides, I could've murdered a snack.

I dropped off Saillac's ladder onto the lunar surface and looked up at the peak to our South, before remembering I'd just taken my first steps on the Moon and I was supposed to feel elated and mutter nonsense about coming here in peace for all Kerbalkind. Damn all that, we came here with a job to do.

Arcambal, the rover with the crew cabin, still trailing its rear wheel damaged by Camwise's attempts at stunt driving more than a year ago, interrupted my thoughts and droned up to take us over to the habs. I settled on one of the bunks in the back and relaxed for the first time in days as Froemone drove us the short distance towards the crater peak where the base itself was situated. I began to wonder what state the modules would be in after spending eighteen months unattended, including two freezing polar winters. Not that I really gave a damn, as long as the shower still worked.

A few minutes later we had pulled up outside the command station and were standing in front of the main airlock. A weighty silence had fallen upon my crew, and despite the facade of our enthusiasm at reconquering our outpost, I could feel the tension amongst the ranks. Froemone was obviously thinking about his departed colleague, as was Catbeth. This place must drum up some powerful memories for her, poor girl.

I cracked open the airlock and went in first with Froemone to power up the hab and bring climate control back on line. It took a good half hour before the temperature and pressure stabilized allowing us to remove our helmets and suits. The atmosphere was still glacial and Catbeth, exhaling mist into the chilly air, was staring at the table in the centre of the living area where a couple of plates and cups had been hastily abandoned prior to her previous departure from Drygalski.

“Let's keep a stiff upper lip, lads and lasses!” I attempted to say forcefully, but I must admit that it wasn't very convincing. We've only just got here and I find the place pretty damned creepy when I stop to think about it. In fact, I can't wait to get these two listening devices set up on the lunar surface so that we can get the hell out of here.

 

Edited July 12, 2016 by UnusualAttitude

[Geschosskopf]

4 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

there's not even enough room in here to swing a nine-iron.

I'd have thought he'd have only brought a putter

 

4 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

The other reason why I chose Froemone for this flight is because it's his ride, and I've always believed that having the chief engineer of a project on board for the maiden flight provides great incentive to get things done properly. If his design is not damned good enough for him, why should it be good enough for us?

An admirably logical strategy which the Travelling Circus does not subscribe to, despite several mutinies by pressees..

 

4 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

The sight of that blasted blue marble dipping beneath that cold, cratered horizon, is a sobering one. Note to self: order the deployment of a decent communications network covering the blasted Moon ASAP, even if it means canceling the end-of-year gala and everyone's annual bonus.

Bonus goes between gala

 

4 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

I dropped off Saillac's ladder onto the lunar surface and looked up at the peak to our South, before remembering I'd just taken my first steps on the Moon and I was supposed to feel elated and mutter nonsense about coming here in peace for all Kerbalkind. Damn all that, we came here with a job to do.

The more I read of Bardon,the more I like him.

 

4 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

“Let's keep a stiff upper lip, lads and lasses!” I attempted to say forcefully, but I must admit that it wasn't very convincing. We've only just got here and I find the place pretty damned creepy when I stop to think about it. In fact, I can't wait to get these two listening devices set up on the lunar surface so that we can get the hell out of here.

May Bartdon suffer as much as Camwise

 

[NotAgain]

When did you install Ven's Stock Revamp?

[UnusualAttitude]

11 hours ago, Geschosskopf said:

I'd have thought he'd have only brought a putter

Putting certainly might help to pass the time, although they would have to spin up the capsule to get some artificial gravity for Bartdon to practice in. In such a small capsule, he would then have to contend with a huge Coriolis effect that would probably make him dizzy and require him to aim well to one side of his target in order to account for the curved trajectory of the ball. I think golf in space is just a non-starter unless your ship is enormous...

However, for practicing bunker shots on the lunar surface, a nine-iron or a sand wedge would be more appropriate.

12 hours ago, Geschosskopf said:

The more I read of Bardon,the more I like him.

May Bartdon suffer as much as Camwise

From the author's point of view, Bartdon is certainly less rambly and more to-the-point than Camwise. He allows me to get the story moving forward (see how I got him from his office to Drygalski base in a single episode? Try doing that with Camwise!).

But suffer he will, nontheless.

5 hours ago, NotAgain said:

When did you install Ven's Stock Revamp?

When I started this save.

However, I believe the first screenshots of Camwise on the Moon were taken with 1/8th resolution textures (that's just how bad things are on my old Mac), so you are forgiven for not recognizing Ven's beautiful textures, as I hope he shall forgive the shortcomings of my graphics card and what they do to his work.

I managed to turn things up a bit when Cernin got to Mars, and things will get a little better still when I finally get a 1.1 install up and running. RVE is looking unlikely though, unless I change my computer.

[Creature]

12 hours ago, Geschosskopf said:

The more I read of Bardon,the more I like him.

 

Hehe, I was actually going to quote that exact same line and say pretty much same thing about Bartdon

I like how the Bartdon's rambling is so different from Camwise's and they both have their own, strong voices. To be honest I'm maybe even liking Bartdon more than Camwise. Or well, at least I'd like to see how he manages if when something goes utterly wrong.

[UnusualAttitude]

Evening all.

Today was a most productive day in the long and slow process of bashing things back into shape. After many hours of .cgf file hacking and gnashing of teeth, Carderie v1.1.2 took to the skies for the first time (unless you count the 27 previous attempts that ended in the drink at the end of the runway).

Spoiler

 

 

The pleasant surprise was that she made it to space first time, albeit with an empty cargo bay.

Spoiler

 

 

And to my amazement, re-entered without meeting a firey end...

Spoiler

 

 

...and landed with Boris-Barboris' excellent Atmospheric Autopilot keeping her rock steady to a gentle touchdown. Not a single gear 'xploded.

Spoiler

 

 

Plus, things are starting to pay off down my garden.  

Spoiler

 

 

Time for a well earned cold one. Cheers. 

 

[Geschosskopf]

On 6/9/2016 at 3:48 PM, UnusualAttitude said:

Today was a most productive day in the long and slow process of bashing things back into shape. After many hours of .cgf file hacking and gnashing of teeth, Carderie v1.1.2 took to the skies for the first time (unless you count the 27 previous attempts that ended in the drink at the end of the runway).

Congrats!  Actually flying your creations is the least of it.  Making them work is where the real effort lies.

 

Quote

Plus, things are starting to pay off down my garden.  

Looks like your garden is going quite well. But how will the deer ever get into it with such walls all around it?  A garden only exists, after all, to season the venison that comes to eat it.  Or have things changed since the Upper Paleolithic?

 

Quote

Time for a well earned cold one. Cheers. 

À vôtre santé!

Edited June 11, 2016 by Geschosskopf

[UnusualAttitude]

5 hours ago, Geschosskopf said:

Looks like your garden is going quite well. But how will the deer ever get into it with such walls all around it?  A garden only exists, after all, to season the venison that comes to eat it.  Or have things changed since the Upper Paleolithic?

Many things have changed since the Upper Paleolithic, for better or for worse. The ice caps have retreated and one can no longer walk from Britain to continental Europe. The aurochs became extinct. The primitive ape-like beings roaming the region where I live went from painting on the walls of caves to building a large city with a million inhabitants (mostly in the past century), and my garden is situated in its suburbs. I would never have expected to see deer anywhere near my home until one summer night at 2 am, I was sitting on the steps of my front door and a deer trotted casually down the street before disappearing into the darkness. My first thought was that I'd had one too many, but I managed to snap a picture (which unfortunately turned out to be too dark and blurry to be worth sharing here).

In the Anthropocene, one is also required to possess a licence to hunt. In France, hunting licences are traditionally distributed a little too liberally to red-nosed, trigger-happy individuals who will gladly open up on anything that moves and even on some things that don't. My youth as a mountain biker in the beautiful Lot Valley was spent in fear of this rural militia when the hunting season opened every September. Fortunately, I survived to post on the KSP forums.

So, if I wave a pointy stick at a deer nibbling my tomato plants, do you reckon I need a licence?

5 hours ago, Geschosskopf said:

À vôtre santé!

We've been chatting for a few months now. Je pense qu'on peut se tutoyer, non?

[Geschosskopf]

3 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

Many things have changed since the Upper Paleolithic, for better or for worse. The ice caps have retreated and one can no longer walk from Britain to continental Europe. The aurochs became extinct. The primitive ape-like beings roaming the region where I live went from painting on the walls of caves to building a large city with a million inhabitants

No more aurochs?!?!?!  Egad, 

Well, at least some things never change.  The apes continue to scrawl graffiti on cave walls.  It's just that now they have to dig the caves themselves first.  I'm convinced that subways really exist simply to satisfy this ancient habit, and the idea of putting trains in the tunnels came later

 

3 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

So, if I wave a pointy stick at a deer nibbling my tomato plants, do you reckon I need a licence?

Well, that is the traditional way of acquiring venison, so you might get an exemption as a "living history" performer  

Where I live, it's legal to kill animals that are destroying your crops whether it's hunting season or not, whether you have a license or not.  The problem is, if it's not hunting season, you have to leave the carcass lying where it fell.  This isn't something you want to do right next to your house, but OTOH, if you've got a big enough field, the carcass becomes useful bait for coyotes and feral hogs, which sometimes pay bounty money.

 

3 hours ago, UnusualAttitude said:

We've been chatting for a few months now. Je pense qu'on peut se tutoyer, non?

C'est un honneur.

[UnusualAttitude]

YEAR 7, DAY 286. BARTDON.

Today we head onwards into the unknown.

Morning. Froemone headed out early with Catbeth to wrap up Saillac refueling operations and to prepare the lander for our first hop across Luna. Steledith and I hung back at Drygalski, finishing the clean-up we'd had to perform to make sure our little bit of real estate up here on the Moon would be ship-shape for the rest of our stay, as well as future crewed missions to the base. A lot of damned boring routine checks, really. Everything seemed to be still working more or less as we had intended when we'd sent the modules up here in the first place.

According to Catbeth, everything was exactly as she and Camwise had left it eighteen months ago. Not that we'd expected to find anything missing, of course. One could hardly imagine alien visitors popping in to visit our base while we'd been away and leaving a note on the table saying “Greetings, new neighbours! Fresh out of sugar so we borrowed a cup. We will drop some off next time we're passing through. Thanks!”

Having said that, I can't get rid of the blasted feeling that someone or something is up here with us on the Moon. It's unsettling and will undoubtedly affect my swing if I let it take hold of me. I mean, it's preposterous. That alien saucer thingy had been there for ages, if Camwise's description was to be believed. Surely nothing living could have survived for many thousands of years in such a blighted hostile environment? Surely the ship's reaction to our presence was just an automated response in self-defense, designed to protect it's long-gone former occupants?

Realising that we had never asked her for her opinion on the matter, I attempted to put the question to Steledith, who was spending far more time staring out of the window across the ashen landscape than she was running through her share of the checklists.

“So, old gal. Have you spotted those blasted alien visitors yet?”

Steledith turned from the window and looked around for a moment, as if she wasn't sure I was speaking to her. When she realised that there was no-one else at Drygalski Base I might be talking to, she fixed her dreamy gaze on me for a second before answering, “Aren't we the alien visitors?”

“I was thinking more of the occupants of that alien ship we found not far from here...” I attempted to clarify, but already getting the impression that I was fighting a losing battle.

“Yes, I understood Barty,” she retorted looking slightly vexed. “And they were here first, you know.”

Our awkward attempts at discussion were cut off by a call from Froemone saying that Saillac was ready to fly and that he was on his way to pick us up. Oh, and uhm, would we pack some sandwiches for the trip? Damn it, boy. He'll be asking me to bring the hard boiled sweets for his capsule sickness next, no doubt. Why is it starting to feel like I'm the only responsible adult on this jaunt?

Lunch. Froemone was right. Despite being nearly two years old, food from Drygalski is far better than that unspeakable excuse for nourishment we flew in on Saillac. Froemone ate all the dehydrated fish-paste sandwiches I'd been looking forward to though, damn his hide.

Afternoon. Pre-flight checks were completed and take-off went smoothly, with everything firing up properly when we asked it to. As soon as we had grabbed some altitude and cleared the peak at the centre of Drygalski crater, Catbeth pitched the lander hard over and started chasing the horizon, hugging the highest points of the Moon's terrain as we swept over the South pole. This gave us a stunning view of the black pits of eternal night that surrounded the pole itself as we sped on towards the rough ground in between Amundsen and Idel'son, with our fingers crossed for a clean landing site.

The Earth remained well above the horizon for the duration of the trip, and would still be hanging up there in the sky at our landing site. There was some sort of superficial comfort in being able to keep an eye on our home world, but it was also part of my plan as the listening device we would set up would beam its signal straight back to our deep space network on the ground. The slightest vibration or tremor of the dusty surface would be picked up by the ceaseless vigil of our tracking stations. If something was still going on up here, we would damn well be the first to hear it.

After a little more than ten minutes of coasting towards our target in silence, Catbeth flipped Saillac over in a muffled sputter of RCS jets and fired up the engines again to slow us down. Our trajectory steepened as we dropped back towards the cold, choking embrace of the lunar regolith. Catbeth rolled off figures in that calm and professional tone that presumably meant we weren't about to be dashed against the surface at more than a kilometre per second. You can prang this ship as hard as you like, lassie, I found myself thinking, as long as we get to set up our damned equipment first.

And then we got close enough to begin to see our target. At least, our pilot could, as well as Steledith who had chosen the seat next to the crew cabin's view-port. The magnetic anomaly I'd traced seemed to be situated in a relatively small crater that appeared to be quite deep. From orbit at least, we couldn't make out the blasted bottom as it was hidden in the shadows. Our goal was to drop down next to it, make a visual inspection of the crater itself, and set up shop wherever the lander settled. A few hundred metres wouldn't make much difference, or so I was informed.

“Oh... interesting,” Steledith cut in unexpectedly, as she peered out at the landscape below.

Before I could take her up on that one, Catbeth chimed in suggesting that we hold on tight as Saillac began the final burn that would bring us down to the surface. The deceleration was surprisingly sprightly for such an unwieldy vessel and I braced in silence for touch down, although Steledith was muttering something that I couldn't make out over the hum of the engines and the life support system.

Saillac contacted the surface with a thump and the engines shut down. Catbeth reported that we were eight hundred metres to the west of the crater rim, and a slight depression in the Moon's terrain separated us from our target. That would be fine. After nearly a week cooped up in the confinement of various small capsules and modules, I could use the exercise.

Steledith already had her helmet on and was waiting impatiently at the hatch as if our wretched ship was on fire. The very instant everyone was ready and we vented, she tore open the hatch and was already clambering down the ladder to the surface below. By the time I'd reached the bottom rung myself and turned to see what she was up to, she was loping away across the Moon towards the crater in a determined gait that sprayed small clouds of dust in all directions with every step.

“Hold on old gal,” I cried at her rapidly receding back, “Wait for me! Don't go out there alone.”

“Hurry up, Barty! This is incredible! They tried to call home...” she called back breathlessly, without breaking her step in the slightest.

“What the hell is she on about?” I bellowed at no-one in particular, however Catbeth replied.

“There was something down in the target crater... an unusual shape. I didn't get a good look, I was focused on the landing site.”

“Damn, double damn, and a big fat blast!” I swore, “Alright, HE. Start setting up that equipment. I'm going after her.”

I set out across the surface using the quickest step I could maintain, however I was still not used to the low gravity and could manage only an ungainly shuffle. Meanwhile, Steledith already had a lead of at least a hundred yards and was on the verge of disappearing over a small ridge into the dark hollow ahead of us. The sun was low above the horizon and her figure cast a long shadow with a knife edge typical of the lunar vacuum. Visibility appeared to be poor on the slope that rose above us to the crater's rim. At the rate she was going she would run straight off into an abyss of unknown depths.

“Damn you to hell and back, Steledith. Slow down,” I panted.

“They tried to contact home, Barty,” she ranted.

“Stop calling me Barty,” I muttered.

After ten minutes of lumbering at a scorching pace, I had made it half way up the rise in the terrain to the crater's rim and Steledith was nearly at the top. I expected to see her disappear over the edge, never to be seen again when she suddenly skidded to a halt in a puff of regolith and stood there transfixed, contemplating the spectacle before her.

“You have to see this,” she managed to gasp between huge gulps of precious air from her backpack. “It's obvious they got stranded here somehow and built this to contact their home world.”

I staggered up the final few yards of the slope, lungs searing and light headed from the pure oxygen of my suit, furious at her reckless escapade.

“Steledith, you had better explain what the hell you are on ab-”

“Oh, I see...”

Edited June 21, 2016 by UnusualAttitude

[MatterBeam]

Entracing!

[NotAgain]

Oh. Such antenna. Very phone home.

[UnusualAttitude]

13 hours ago, NotAgain said:

Oh. Such antenna. Very phone home.

That would be the sort of thing I hope I never dream of...

Spoiler

 

[Andem]

[Geschosskopf]

On 6/14/2016 at 6:03 PM, UnusualAttitude said:

“Oh, I see...”

Steledith:   "Yes, Barty, it's the biggest golf tee in the universe, a present specially made just for you.  Happy birthday "

Sorry.  I've been stuck behind an evil firewall for the past week and have another week to go.  I've only managed this brief visit to the land of internet freedom and can't stay here long.  This experience seems to have unhinged me a bit more than normal.

Anyway, much coolness as usual.  Looks like Bartdon's now got more to investigate than he bargained for.  But I suspect that if the crew of the crashed saucer could build such a thing out of emergency stores, they could have fixed their ship.  So maybe this was already here and the saucer was just stopping by to change its batteries

 

[HamnavoePer]

On 18/06/2016 at 3:13 PM, Geschosskopf said:

"Yes, Barty, it's the biggest golf tee in the universe,

Well then. If its a golf tee then how large are these extra-terrestrials (spelling?).

[UnusualAttitude]

On 6/18/2016 at 4:13 PM, Geschosskopf said:

Sorry.  I've been stuck behind an evil firewall for the past week and have another week to go.  I've only managed this brief visit to the land of internet freedom and can't stay here long.  This experience seems to have unhinged me a bit more than normal.

I'm very sorry to hear you're having problems with your connection, and you have nothing to apologize for. In fact, you deserve to be mentioned in despatches for extreme selfless devotion to the mission reports forum.  If you like, I will transmit the next episode of The Camwise Logs in SSTV, and then you can pick it up from one of your local radio hams.

On 6/18/2016 at 4:13 PM, Geschosskopf said:

But I suspect that if the crew of the crashed saucer could build such a thing out of emergency stores, they could have fixed their ship.  So maybe this was already here and the saucer was just stopping by to change its batteries

That would make sense I suppose. But what if they were just hanging out on the Moon, cruisin' around in their saucers and building giant radio telescopes (as one does...). And then, something very bad happened....?

On 6/18/2016 at 4:13 PM, Geschosskopf said:

Steledith:   "Yes, Barty, it's the biggest golf tee in the universe, a present specially made just for you.  Happy birthday "

 

3 hours ago, HamnavoePer said:

Well then. If its a golf tee then how large are these extra-terrestrials (spelling?).

Even Bartdon couldn't mess up his putting practice with a hole that size...

Edited June 19, 2016 by UnusualAttitude

[Creature]

On 15.6.2016 at 1:03 AM, UnusualAttitude said:

Froemone ate all the dehydrated fish-paste sandwiches I'd been looking forward to though, damn his hide.
 

Dehydrated fish-paste sounds yucky At least it's not Lutefisk.

Edited June 20, 2016 by Creature