Against the Infinite - A KSP Story

[Selective Genius]

Chapter 1: The Expo-sition

The polished floors of the expo hall reflected the sharp overhead lights like the surface of a calm ocean—sterile, cold, and intimidating. Rows of booths stretched across the massive space, buzzing with activity. Executives in tailored suits barked orders into comms devices, salespeople gestured at holographic displays, and PR teams shuffled papers with the desperation of people who knew their bonuses depended on this weekend.

This was Kerbin Aerospace Expo 2142, the largest showcase of new spacefaring technologies in the world. Deals worth billions were inked here every year, shaping the future of off-world commerce and exploration. For most, it was an opportunity to rub shoulders with corporate giants. For Micah Kerman, it was something else entirely: survival.

Micah’s booth sat on the far edge of the hall, past the glossy pavilions of companies like Stratolux Orbital and Celestia Systems. Unlike theirs, his setup lacked polish—just a simple table, a 3D-printed robotic arm mounted on a tray of simulated Minmus regolith, and a few clear chambers connected by insulated tubing. It looked like something out of an R&D lab, not the slick, consumer-ready displays most booths flaunted.

But it worked.

Micah flicked the switch, and the familiar hum of his rig filled the small space. The arm descended methodically, its drill whirring as it bit into the ice-like substrate. The first dribble of melted water streamed into the processing chamber, where electrodes began splitting it into hydrogen and oxygen. In the real world, this system could mine munar, minmus or duna’s ice, convert it to fuel, and store it cryogenically for interplanetary operations. It was crude, but it was scalable. More importantly, it was practical.

Not that anyone cared.

Across the aisle, Stratolux’s display drew a steady crowd. Their hologram featured a rotating model of their latest luxury orbital resort, Haven One, a behemoth with six decks, centrifugal gravity, and zero-gravity golf courses. A charismatic man in a dark suit stood at the center of the crowd, gesturing animatedly at the hologram as his assistant distributed branded pamphlets.

Caleb recognized him immediately: Damien Kerman, Stratolux’s Senior Vice President of Orbital Development. The man had been making the rounds all week, pitching Stratolux’s new initiatives like they were a divine gift to humanity. Damien was everything Caleb wasn’t—polished, confident, and backed by corporate money that could buy loyalty and attention.

Damien spotted Micah and his booth and gave him the faintest flicker of a smirk before turning back to his audience. “And with Haven One, we’re not just offering luxury—we’re offering stability,” Damien said smoothly, his voice projecting across the aisle. “The kind of long-term vision that ensures your investments pay off, whether you’re in the tourism sector or high-orbit manufacturing.”

Micah forced himself to focus on his own demonstration. The system was nearing the final stage: cryogenic transfer. The hydrogen and oxygen had been liquefied in the cryogenic chambers, and now, a pump began directing the hydrolox into an insulated storage tank. It was a delicate process, but if done right, it could simulate the exact operations required for on-site fuel production at a lunar base.

As the last of the fuel drained into the tank, Micah glanced up, hoping for a reaction from the sparse crowd. Nothing. A man in a rumpled blazer paused briefly to examine the setup, then shook his head and wandered off.

“Mining ice for fuel?” A voice broke through the ambient noise of the hall. Micah turned to see Damien standing a few feet away, hands tucked casually in his pockets. “That’s a clever little demo,” he said, nodding at the setup. “Old-school, but clever.”

Micah wiped his hands on his jumpsuit, trying to keep his irritation in check. “It’s more than a demo,” he said evenly. “This system could supply an entire off-world outpost with sustainable fuel. No resupply runs, no dependency on Earth.”

Damien raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Sure, if you’re running a research base or maybe a small mining outpost. But the future’s not in base camps, buddy. It’s in big ideas. Scale. Vision. Stratolux isn’t looking at single operations anymore—we’re looking at ecosystems.”

Micah’s jaw tightened. “And how exactly does an orbital spa fit into that vision? Or is it just another overpriced playground for people who already have too much money?”

Damien chuckled, completely unfazed. “Luxury pays the bills, Micah. You can’t fund interplanetary expansion on dreams and duct tape.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “But hey, keep at it. I’m sure someone will find a use for your little science project.”

He walked off before Micah could respond, leaving him standing next to his prototype, fists clenched at his sides.

Damien’s mocking voice still rang in his ears: “Dreams and duct tape.” Micah clenched his fists, biting back a retort he wished he’d delivered. Stratolux could afford to dismiss his work—they didn’t have to beg for funding or fight for a sliver of attention. They had fleets of orbital resorts and armies of investors ready to throw money at every slick hologram they produced.

“Nice work,” a gravelly voice interrupted.

Micah turned, startled. An older Kerbal stood at the edge of his booth, arms crossed. He was tall—at least for a Kerbal—with a lean frame and an air of authority that Micah couldn’t ignore. The green of his skin had faded slightly with age, and a small scar bisected his left brow. His jumpsuit bore the unmistakable insignia of the Kerbal Space Center, though it was worn and faded like the man himself.

Micah blinked. “Wait—you’re—”

“Jebediah Kerman,” the Kerbal said, extending a hand. “Though most people just call me Jeb. I’m retired these days.”

Retired. The word felt absurd. Jebediah Kerman wasn’t just a retired kerbonaut—he was a legend. A test pilot, a mission commander, and the first Kerbal to plant a flag on the Mun. Micah had grown up idolizing him, reading every report and watching every grainy mission recording.

“I—uh—I know who you are,” Micah stammered, shaking the offered hand. “It’s an honor.”

Jeb shrugged with a half-smile. “That’s what they tell me. What’s this you’ve got here?”

Micah motioned toward his setup. “It’s a modular system for in-situ resource utilization—mining ice, producing hydrogen and oxygen, and storing it as cryogenic fuel or life support. The idea is to make interplanetary missions sustainable without constant resupply runs from Kerbin.”

Jeb leaned in, inspecting the prototype. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp eyes scanned every component. “Looks solid,” he said after a moment. “A bit rough around the edges, but the concept’s sound. And scalable?”

“Yes,” Micah said, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. “With enough units, you could support an entire colony. Munar bases, Minmus operations, even long-haul missions to Duna and beyond.”

Jeb straightened, nodding thoughtfully. “Minmus, huh? You ever run this system under real-world conditions?”

Micah hesitated. “Not yet. I’ve run simulations, of course, but…” He trailed off, gesturing to the expo around them. “Funding’s been an issue. Without a sponsor or a launch vehicle, getting this to Minmus for field testing isn’t exactly feasible.”

Jeb’s smile widened, and for a moment, Micah saw a glimmer of the Kerbal who had once flown untested rockets with nothing but instinct and nerve. “Let me make a few calls,” Jeb said. “I’ve still got some pull with the launch vehicle companies. If we can get them interested, they might give you a shot. A real one.”

Caleb’s breath caught. “You’d do that?”

Jeb clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got potential, kid. And the way I see it, the big players around here could use a reminder that space isn’t just a playground for rich tourists.”

---

As Micah packed up his prototype that evening, the high from Jeb’s offer was still coursing through him. A chance to prove himself. A shot at real-world testing. It was all he’d ever wanted.

But the next morning, Stratolux’s logo greeted him like a stormcloud over the expo floor. Damien was waiting near Micah’s booth, sipping coffee from a branded mug, his expression one of lazy amusement.

“Morning, Micah,” Damien drawled. “I hear congratulations are in order. Word is, you’ve got Jebediah Kerman on your side.”

Micah froze. “How do you—”

Damien smirked. “You’d be amazed what you hear when people forget you’re in the room.” He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. “You’re not the first underdog Jeb’s taken a shine to, you know. He’s got a soft spot for ‘visionaries.’ Problem is, most of them flame out before they ever get off the ground.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Micah said, his voice cold.

“Just looking out for you,” Damien said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, if you’re serious about getting that thing to Minmus, Stratolux could make it happen. We’ve got launch capabilities that dwarf anything the old-timers can pull together. You’d get there faster, with better support, and a lot more publicity. All we’d need is a little… branding.”

He let the word linger, his smile widening.

“Not interested,” Micah said firmly.

Damien chuckled. “Your loss. But just so we’re clear—this isn’t a fair fight. Stratolux doesn’t play to lose.” He tipped his coffee cup in a mock toast, then strolled away, leaving Caleb’s mind racing.

Later that day, Jeb returned, his expression serious.

“I’ve set up a meeting for tomorrow morning,” he said. “The reps from Titan Launch Systems and Kerbin Orbiters are interested in what you’ve got. It’s not a sure thing, but it’s a start.”

Micah exhaled, relief flooding through him. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can repay—”

Jeb waved him off. “Don’t thank me yet. Damien’s been in their ears, trying to shut this down before it starts. Stratolux doesn’t like competition. But I told them what they needed to hear—that this isn’t about profit margins. It’s about the future.”

For the first time in days, Micah allowed himself a small smile. “I’ll be ready,” he said.

Jeb nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The conference room at the Kerbin Aerospace Expo wasn’t as glamorous as the main halls, but it carried an air of importance. The walls were lined with monitors displaying orbital launch statistics, spacecraft schematics, and real-time footage of launches from the major players in the industry. The logos of Titan Launch Systems and Kerbin Orbiters were prominently displayed, their executives seated at the polished table like generals preparing for battle.

Micah sat at one end, his prototype set up nearby. Jebediah Kerman stood behind him, arms crossed, his calm demeanor a quiet reassurance. On the opposite side sat Elias Kerman of Titan Launch Systems, a silver-haired veteran with the unnervingly polite smile of a man who’d spent decades negotiating high-stakes deals. Next to him was Maria Kerman, Kerbin Orbiters’ chief strategy officer, a sharp-eyed woman whose expression was impossible to read.

Micah cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore the sweat forming at the back of his neck. “Thank you both for meeting with me,” he began, glancing at Jeb for a split second of reassurance. “What I’m presenting today is a system that can revolutionize off-world operations. This prototype simulates the process of mining ice from celestial bodies like Minmus and converting it into cryogenic fuel. With a scalable network of these systems, we could enable long-term interplanetary exploration without dependency on resupply missions from Kerbin.”

He activated the demonstration, and the room filled with the hum of machinery. The robotic arm began its work, drilling into the simulated Minmus terrain and extracting water. The liquid was channeled into a transparent chamber, where electrodes began the electrolysis process. Blue hydrogen gas bubbled on one side, while oxygen collected on the other. Slowly, the cryogenic transfer system activated, filling the small storage tank with liquid fuel.

Micah looked up, gauging their reactions. Elias nodded faintly, his expression neutral. Maria scribbled something on her tablet, her face betraying nothing.

“It’s impressive,” Elias said finally. “A lot of thought clearly went into this.”

Micah allowed himself a small flicker of hope. “Thank you. With the right backing, this system could be deployed to Minmus within the year for field testing. Once it’s operational, it could supply—”

“It’s a good concept,” Maria interrupted, her tone cool and measured. “But I have concerns about scalability. For operations of this nature, reliability is everything, and this system is… well, it’s unproven. The simulations are promising, but we’d need far more data to justify the cost of a launch.”

Elias nodded. “She’s right. We can’t gamble on something this experimental. Our investors need guarantees, and while your technology is intriguing, we can’t commit to speculative projects.”

Micah’s stomach dropped. “With all due respect,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “the risks are minimal. The core technologies are already tested. This isn’t speculative—it’s a practical solution to a real problem. Minmus is the perfect testing ground.”

Maria glanced at Elias, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I think we’ve heard enough,” she said, standing. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Micah. Best of luck.”

Elias rose as well, extending a hand toward Micah. “It’s a solid pitch, son. Keep at it. I’m sure someone will see the potential.”

The two executives left without another word, the door clicking shut behind them.

---

For a moment, Micah sat in stunned silence, his mind racing. Jeb was the first to break the quiet.

“That was too smooth,” he muttered, his voice low.

“What do you mean?” Micah asked, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “They didn’t even give me a chance to argue! They just… dismissed it like it was nothing.”

Jeb’s jaw tightened. “They weren’t dismissing you—they were shutting you down. There’s a difference.”

As if on cue, the door opened again, and Damien Kerman strolled in, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

“Well, that was a shame,” Damien said, crossing the room and leaning casually against the table. “I was really rooting for you, Micah. Truly.”

Micah shot to his feet. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Damien feigned innocence. “I was just passing by. Thought I’d check in, see how things went.” His smirk deepened. “Though I imagine I already know the answer.”

“You bribed them,” Jeb said flatly, his voice calm but sharp as a blade.

Damien tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. “Bribed? Such a dirty word. Let’s just say Titan and Orbiters both understand the value of a… mutually beneficial relationship. Stratolux has been good to them, and in return, they’re good to us. Nothing personal, Voss. Just business.”

“You stand-up guy,” Micah hissed, his fists clenched.

Damien shrugged, unbothered. “I warned you, didn’t I? This isn’t a fair fight. You’re playing chess with someone who’s already taken most of the pieces off the board. But hey, I respect the hustle. Maybe next time, try working with Stratolux instead of against us.”

Jeb took a step forward, his calm demeanor slipping just slightly. “This isn’t over, Damien. Not by a long shot.”

Damien grinned. “I’m counting on it.” With a casual wave, he strolled out, leaving Micah and Jeb alone in the room.

---

Micah collapsed into his chair, running a hand through his hair. “What now? He’s right. This isn’t a fair fight. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Jeb placed a hand on Micah’s shoulder. “You’re not competing with him, kid. You’re competing for the future. Don’t forget that.”

Micah looked up, his frustration warring with determination. “But the launch companies—he owns them. They’re not going to work with me, not as long as Stratolux is pulling the strings.”

Jeb nodded slowly, as if weighing his options. “Then we’ll go around them. I know some folks who aren’t as tied up in corporate politics—smaller launch companies, independent operators. They might not have Stratolux’s resources, but they’ve got something better: integrity.”

Micah hesitated, the weight of the rejection still pressing down on him. But Jeb’s steady gaze gave him a flicker of hope.

“Do you really think they’ll listen?” Micah asked quietly.

Jeb grinned, a spark of the old kerbonaut fire lighting up his eyes. “They’ll listen. Trust me.”

Micah straightened up, ready for whatever came next.

Edited 4 hours ago by Selective Genius