StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Darn Zenobians. Oh well, just like in real life. Space flight is halted by politics.

Well, fuck.

Frankly, I am more than a bit annoyed with the game right now. Murcans were supposed to get their budget slashed, but it was to the level of 75 megabucks, which amounted to about 90 MB per year with prestige included.

Now the game wants to go to the level of 25 megabucks, which is basically a "you lose, fucker" random event. There is some random variation, and I've been trying to savescum out of it (because let's face it, it's extremely lame), but so far all attempts have failed.

This may take a while, and may never succeed.

That is too lame. Aaaargh.

Well, you must have seen the event coming in the less-bad way, so it has to be possible... good luck, is all I have to say.

Or you might just brute-force edit the relevant parameter; either arbitrarily give the Murcans more money, or adjust the figure for their budget.

"We are really having tremendous luck lately, da?", Unnamed Zenobian Engineerski joked, "Someone up there must be..."

The comissar shot Engineerski a steely gaze. It was a practiced gaze, designed to instill fear of the Party in any heart it touched. It was all for the better, for if the man said something religious, the comissar would sadly have to reeducate him.

"Luck, comrade, has nothing to do with it", Syrgy Pavylyvych was more gentle, "It is through labor, commitment and technical skill that we succeed so much."

The Chief Designer crossed his fingers. Labor, commitment and risks, he thought, remembering the probe they were launching was rid of its backup battery, and they skimped on several safety checks on the rocket...he quickly crossed himself, careful so that the comissar wouldn't notice, and turned the ignition key.



And the rocket worked. Thirteen hours later, the Proton's upper stage ejected its payload from Earth orbit, hurling it towards Mars.


That was yet another flight full of risks. On the Chief Designer's authority, the capsule would be going up despite known problems with its avionics.

Fortunately for the space program, only a mannequin called Pyotr was sitting in the pilot's seat. His companion was a particularly large burlap sack containing a load of vegetable samples (moslty potatoes) - the science team thought that since the capsule would be going up anyway, they might as well see what effects space radiation would have on food.

Or so the reasoning went. Syrgy wasn't sure if the experiment actually had value, but the workers at the Comrade Ztalin Communal Farm sure were proud their produce was going into space.



All automated systems performed to specification, thankfully. The capsule docked, undocked and accomplished several maneuvers autonomously, before reentry.

All potatoes survived the trip.


"We are holding at T-15 minutes."

"Spacecraft lockout crew reports final checkouts complete, they are clearing the pad."

"Fuel cell heat treatment complete. Running systems diagnostics on the payload."

"Plugs out. Spacecraft under own power."

"All right, people, we are go. Resume the countdown."

Johny von Braun nodded sagely, observing his little underlings go through the countdown checklist with skill and elan, holding their heads high and proud. Jawohl, almost like Thanasians in their efficiency!, the Director thought. The Commies have launched their probe already, sure, but their equipment would surely FAIL upon reaching the Red Planet. No such thing was possible for Murcan hardware on this flight, nein!



The mighty Titan rocket roared towards the heavens, carrying upon its nose a message of FREEDOM to the Martians. The probe would arrive in a year, ready to perform its gentle tasks upon achieving orbit.

Director von Braun was interrupted in his musings by an underling who handed him a piece of paper with a note scribbled on it.

"NEIN!", he inexplicably yelled in his carefully cultivated Thanasian accent. He didn't get rid of it because, somehow, the Murcans trusted a visionary scientists more if he sounded Thanasian.

Von Braun claimed all those movies about agent Jim Bob for that.

He crumpled the paper and threw in a wastebin. Goddamn Zenobians.


The Space Bus was stopped about halfway on its way towards the launch pad. Its driver got out for a smoke, the reporters did a few shots of vodka, and the two brave comrade cosmonauts who were to fly into space and bring gloury and prestige to the Motherland were currently working on a far more important task.

They were peeing on the bus.

"Da!", comrade Didaditch was peeing, but also somehow gesticulating wildly and grinning and CONSTANTLY TALKING, "We will show those Murcans, eh? Show them good! Such an adventure awaits us! Spacewalks and docking and orbital rendezvous! Hahaha!"

Cosmonaut Borisov grunted in response. Digaditch continued to talk, "That will sure be a great mark on my resume once they send me off to the Red Army, hah! I will be a great persona in there, I tell you my friend!"

"Enough, you two!", the driver yelled, eliticing an annoyed grunt from Borisov, "The bus is certainly well watered now! You did your good luck, now get aboard, we have to strap you onto a pile of explosives."



"Cosmonauts Digaditch and Borisov are aboard the spacecraft, comrade Chief Designer"

"Thank you, comrade Engineerski. What is it I hear about communication problems with the tower?"

"Oh, that's just comrade cosmonaut Digaditch. He has his voice-activated microphone on and won't shut up. We're working on the problem now, but you understand comrade, it's difficult to tell him to...", Engineerski listened to something on his headset, "...oh. Problem solved, sir. A tower crewman just hit comrade Digaditch with stick. Channels are clear now."

"Good.", Syrgy raised an eyebrow, but decided not to comment on that. As long as it worked..."Proceed with launch checkouts."

The stretched Semyorka was a fine piece of Zenobian technology. Syrgy was still worried, though - this five-day mission contained several procedures never before attempted in space. A first-orbit rendezvous, deemed a crucial capability to accomplish a docking in lunar orbit ; First manned docking ; A record-setting EVA and then several days of experiments.

So many things to go wrong. At least the electrical problems were solved now.

"Checkouts complete. Tower crew is clear. Spacecraft is running under its own power. We are ready, comrade Chief Designer."

Syrgy nodded, took a deep breath, and turned the launch key.



"Poyekhali, comrades! We will see you in a week!", the radio passed on the voice of comrade cosmonaut Digaditch.

"Engines stable. Good fuel flow, no vibration."

The rocket climbed quickly and perfectly, as befit such a thoroughly tested creation of Zenobian industry. Before long, its payload, the Voskhod capsule, was safely in orbit.



"Good flight, comrades. My congratulations to the crew of the cosmodrome for such splendid work!", comrade Digaditch called out, and a grunt from Borisov confirmed that he agreed.

All systems were working ; The spacecraft soon approached its target - the Zvezda docking module, circling the Earth in low orbit. With deft thrusting, Digaditch brough the capsule close to its target.

But before docking could be attempted, the crew has scheduled to perform another task. In order to ensure they has the capability to solve any unforeseen problems that could arise, comrade Borisov would perform an EVA with several complicated tasks scheduled. And, because the mission apparently did not have enough firsts, the EVA would not use the Voskhod's airlock ; The cosmonaut would leave through the main crew hatch, since Voskhod X was equipped with all-new vacuum-safe avionics.

As the crew began to seal their suits up, the mission control centre began filling up with foul smelling cigarette smoke. The bunker's ventillation systems couldn't really handle the volume, so it created a thick haze under the ceiling.

"Everything checks out, comrades. Wish us luck. We are depressurizing the cabin."

With baited breath, the engineerskis watched pressure drop. One man fell unconscious, not being able to handle the cigarette smoke and holding his breat for so long.

"We are at zero pressure. Avionics are working fine. Unlocking the hatch now."

"Main screen turn on!"



Everyone gathered watched comrade Borisov perform his spacewalk thanks to many cameras dotting the outside of the spacecraft.

"The suit is much improved...much easier to work in. I will be photographing the capsule, and then proceed to remove film rolls from the docking module."

Furious activity commenced. Comrase Borisov, who mysteriously replaced his usual grunting with poetic and verbose descriptions of what he was doing, was being monitored by at least two dozen people, who constantly watched his physical readings, suit parameters, asked him questions and gave instructions.

"Uh...control, I am having...I am having trouble undoing the...last cover..."

The head of the medical team walked up to Syrgy Pavylyvych and whispered, "His heart rate is getting high. He's been out of the spacecraft for nearly two hours now, and I am afraid he might be close to overexhertion."

"It is a little hot in here. I will attempt...", the radio feed crackled and went dark.

"Comrade?"

"Comrade Borisov, come in. Come in!"

There was nothing but silence.

So Digaditch gets even louder when he gets nervous / takes a slash on the bus?

Tune in next time to see what happens to Digaditch and Borisov!

Oh man. SPACE EMERGENCY!

Oh crapski. Oh crapski.

No harm putting an EVA into a mission, they said. It's a low-risk step, they said.

AAAAAGH!

Uh oh.

The bar looks fine but I don't know if that image is from the actual mission...

Well, it's from some iteration of Voskhod 2 (Voskhod X to the game); the reliability figures on the capsule are too high to be anything else. And yeah, the bar looks fine, I didn't notice that. Even so, though.

Aiaiaiaiai... I hate playing Zenobian roulette.

I'll be incommunicado for the next several hours. Catch you all later.

The comissar burst into the control room upon hearing the bad news. It was a site of frantic work as engineerskis attempted to diagnose the problem, and ascertain if the cosmonauts were even still alive, "What is going on? Why have we lost contact with the spacecraft?!"

"We do not know yet, comrade comissar. Communications were cut abruptly."

A research aide ran into the room, stumbled upon the door and fell flat on his face. The comissar sneered and helped him get up, "And this is how it's done?"

Syrgy sighed, "Please, comrade. We will know soon enough."

The assistant dusted himself off, "Comrade Pavylyvych, we just received a call from the tracking ship Strength Of The Proletariat. They have been caught in a freak storm and were unable to maintain communications with the capsule.

"Telemetry coming back online!", someone else shouted, "We've switched to a groundside tracking station in Shitholeistan!"

Comrade Digaditch's voice soon filled the control room, to everyone's relief, "Come in, control! What is going on?!"

"Good to hear your voice, comrade! We had a temporary communications blackout. What is your status?"

"We are both back inside the capsule. Once we've lost communications I have cancelled the last task of the EVA. Comrade Borisov has returned to the capsule, we have repressurized and we are both fine."

Digaditch's voice sounded utterly professional now, with no sign of the alomst childish excitement from before the launch and most of the flight. The relief felt in the control bunker was palpable.

"Good. Stand by while we review data."

A group of missions directors conferenced quickly on the floor. It was decided that despite the problem, most goals have been accomplished, including the principal one: should a problem occur with the docking module, the crew would be able to perform repairs outside the craft with only minor trouble.

The docking was a go.

"Voskhod, you are cleared for your docking attempt. We are powering up the module, proceed with the preparatory checklist."



"That is affirmative, comrades."

The docking module powered up without problems for the fourth and final time. It dutifully reported, as befit a product of the proletariat, that it was ready to perform its duty to the end, with copious fuels and power still remaining. The engineers performed some systems tests. At the urging of the medical team, however, the cosmonauts were given an additional orbit to rest - especially Borisov had to rehydrate and get his heart rate under control. Finally, when they once again were flying in the light, the control team sent the signal.

"Clear for docking. Voskhod, you are clear to proceed."

"Here goes nothing", murmured Digaditch as he released the controls to Borisov. The cosmonaut, fresh from his spacewalk, proceeded to gently maneuver the craft. He spent long hours in the simulator practicing the maneuver over and over, but this was the real thing.

Both craft approached closer and closer. The docking radar began making an annoying ping. It was deliberately made that way, of course.

Digaditch began talking again. Loudly.

"Ten metres. Approach rate .25 metre per second. You are doing fine, very fine! Keep it up! Nine and a half metres! Approach rate constant, da, that is a great job you are doing here keep it up!"

Borisov grunted in frustration. Seconds crawled past with extreme slowness, and Digaditch...kept talking.

"Right on the mark, right on the mark. Da. Da! Excellent! We are halfway there! Slow down a bit there, comrade, slow down!"

With a grunt, Borisov fired the thrusters for a short burst which slowed their approach to a crawl. It took intense concentration to make sure the docking reticle etched on the special periscope remained perfectly aligned with the target, and Digaditch's nervous rambling wasn't helping.

And then, finally, clang, bang, wham and the clicking of springing latches.



"Capture and dock. Lights green. Good connection, comrades, good connection."

"We understand, our data shows a good docking too! Congratulations, comrades!"

"Outstanding work. The Premier was listening in, and he wants you to know the Zenobian Onion is proud of her two bravest sons!"

"We thank comrade premier for his kind words, and wish the proletarian workers everywhere the best of luck. We could have never accomplished this feat without you!"

The cosmonauts proceeded to perform a long, long series of tests, that were ascertaining if the flight computer could fly the entire spacecraft properly. The docked Voskhod performed rolls, turns and spins, and then even used its engines to boost its orbit.

But all things come to an end, and finally, the flight crew abandoned the docking module and prepared for re-entry.

It was accomplished without problems ; The longest manned space missions so far was complete, and with great success.



All that was left was to grin for Pravda reporters while resting on their crew couches.

Fuckfuckfuck. I stop checking thread for a few days and this is what I get.

Good luck, cosmonauts. And did our budget ever get unfucked? (Yeah, I remember those "fuck you" random events. Welcome to BARIS!

The Teddy Space Center was dead silent. Its personnel was gathered outside, around the copious PA speakers scattered throughout. They were listening to something very important - a speech by their President, their commander in Chief...

Their traitor. The Satan Mekratrig. The fucker.

"We must remember, that as the great president Ironhowler used to say, every dollar spent for bombs and missiles and tanks is ultimately a dollar stolen from those who are hungry and homeless.

The spending that was directed at the space program, in all its copious amounts, has accomplished nothing. As of now, the Zenobian Onion is leading in every statistic that matters. And yet, Murcan children go hungry. Murcan children go unclothed.

I therefore request that Congress, as of this year, institute spending cuts in the space program, and uses the money saved to fund new social development schemes. Unlike the Zenobians, we will not abandon out own people in the quest for glory and prestige in the cosmos. We cannot - we WILL not - look upon the heavens while there is suffering and death on Earth."

Johny von Braun didn't listen to the speech. He received a copy in advance, along with the spending bill that had every chance to pass. Somehow, even managing to screw over the base's doctor and learn it was Barn Est I who failed his physical and got grounded for a year, wasn't getting his mood up.

How the fick was he supposed to beat the Commienists on this chump change he was offered?!






The cosmodrome was dead silent.

It wasn't just a couple weeks before. There were parades of nubile young cadets. There was confetti, this terrifying Murcan invention which took months to clean up. There were medals and speeches and...

And vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.

A couple terrifyingly hungover people were moving, zombielike, through the littered and abandoned streets of Baikonurek. They were attempting to get to their stations, but it wasn't very likely they'd succeed.

The comissar was snoring loudly, hugging a trashcan somewhere in a back alley. Borisov was grunting to a sheep, explaining to it the notions of the the great world revolution, and how it failed to spontaneously appear. Two engineerskis were cuddling in the high grass right outside the perimeter fence. Snoring was the single loudest noise heard in the cosmodrome, and it was still often too loud for some.

Syrgy Pavylyvych put down his tea and got up from his desk. That was enough. It was time to use his old boots, the ones which served him so well at Khylima. Heavy and almost indestructible thanks to the copious layers of dirt and grime covering them.

They would serve good, Syrgy thought, putting these boots on. He left the office, and began rouisng the drunken rabble.

The horrible tales that began circling around the cosmodrome after that day would keep everybody sober.

Forever







GM Notes:

You know what? Zenobians were FUCKING LUCKY. There's no other way to put this: all three missions were a total success! Despite my sly attempt at scaring you, it all went incredibly well.

That is almost unbelievable. Man.

Anyways, they are now swimming in money, while Murcans get screwed. Frankly, despite my copious savescumming and underhanded maneuvers to give them the best possible outcome (because, say it with me, random events that make you LOSE THE GAME are lame), unless they pull off something outrageous and ballsy, they stand a really good chance of losing the race. I did try to play it out as Murca, though, and it's still entirely recoverable. You just need to be abit more bold, a little bit lucky, and of course Zenobians have to suffer a setback. But it's almost certain they will, eventually.

Anyways, they are now swimming in money, while Murcans get screwed. Frankly, despite my copious savescumming and underhanded maneuvers to give them the best possible outcome (because, say it with me, random events that make you LOSE THE GAME are lame), unless they pull off something outrageous and ballsy, they stand a really good chance of losing the race. I did try to play it out as Murca, though, and it's still entirely recoverable. You just need to be abit more bold, a little bit lucky, and of course Zenobians have to suffer a setback. But it's almost certain they will, eventually.

In my eyes it's not as bad as it looks for the Murcans; Titan is ready, and you have enough money for two full seasons of research on the XMS-2 and one for the boosters this year. I think you can manage.

They still have to do all the docking tests, though. That's the real kicker, since they don't have the low-cost option of doing that what with skipping Gemini.

EDIT: Also, Titan can't do a minishuttle lunar landing. They have to get themselves a shiny Saturn V for that.

Except docking tests with the minishuttle are cheaper than Gemini, since they only have to pay for the Titan + booster + docking module (as they would have to with Gemini) but don't have to pay the 7 MB for Gemini for each flight. If they do some (orbit) missions they can save even more.

You forgot you need two or more shuttles to do them in reasonable time, which are thirty a pop

Now I begin to regret that gentleman's agreement!

Well, XMS-2 is started now, so I don't see that there's much advantage in going back.

My advice: fuck it. R&D XMS-2 and boosters to the max, stand by to recruit a new astronaut group next year, and go all-out for the first minishuttle flight. It's our only chance.

Approved by me. It's what I'd say anyway.

...Whoa.

I was planning to do a serious response post about now, but there's lots to take in and think about here, and I'm not really free for a long enough period of time until a good deal later today.Will come back later.

Congratulations to the comrade cosmonauts!

I'll let you work out the budgeting on it, but I think that's pretty much our only shot at this point.

That also means the Ranger we've got on the pad right now will be the last one for a while. Are there any planets we've missed? If so it might be worth scrubbing the lunar flyby and re-aiming it at a planetary mission. Otherwise, just fire the damn thing off. We do have to get this recon done and the hardware's paid for.

God, I forgot how fuckin' annoying some of those random events could be.

The Ranger and Titan you had in store were spent on the Mars probe, actually.

...Never mind, then.

There are no easy prestige milestones in sight. Full speed ahead on the XMS-2, and my fortune favor the foolish.

...In other news, Murca may very well be screwed. I'd be cackling about the inevitable victory of the Onion or something, but they harvested my organs and it was funny. Go Murca! Need another astronaut?

doom3607 wrote:...In other news, Murca may very well be screwed. I'd be cackling about the inevitable victory of the Onion or something, but they harvested my organs and it was funny. Go Murca! Need another astronaut?

January 1, 1967
Office of the Chief Designer

"Ah, yes, Herr Doktor von Evilstein. Remember the good old days? You... heh, heh. You promised the Kremlin the moon by the end of this year, da? You might have been worse off if you'd gotten what you wanted then."

(Remember, you got organs from a Jooish political prisoner to replace your existing organs. They work, though you feel occasional cravings for matzo balls. )

Eternal_Freedom wrote:Now I begin to regret that gentleman's agreement!

My apologies. If it's any consolation, I'd be a hell of a lot better off starting Soyuz than Lapot too- if we called off the agreement, even if you hadn't already started XMS-2, I suspect it would make my relative advantage larger, not smaller. In my opinion, your real mistake was not going for Gemini, where you'd have enjoyed a great safety advantage over Voskhod and been able to accomplish more with fewer test flights.

Also, a sporting hint to the Murcans:

GET YOUR ASS ASTRONAUTS OUT OF THE MERCURY PROGRAM!

This is exactly what happened to me when I started Voskhod too early: cosmonaut morale began to rot.

...Syrgy Pavylyvych put down his tea and got up from his desk. That was enough. It was time to use his old boots, the ones which served him so well at Khylima. Heavy and almost indestructible thanks to the copious layers of dirt and grime covering them.

They would serve good, Syrgy thought, putting these boots on. He left the office, and began rouisng the drunken rabble.

The horrible tales that began circling around the cosmodrome after that day would keep everybody sober.

Forever.

Da. Do not fear the Comrade Chief Designer. Fear the Comrade Chief Designer's arse-kicking boots, which survived an attempted bear beating-stick bastinado!

You know what? Zenobians were FUCKING LUCKY. There's no other way to put this: all three missions were a total success! Despite my sly attempt at scaring you, it all went incredibly well.

That is almost unbelievable. Man.

Anyways, they are now swimming in money, while Murcans get screwed. Frankly, despite my copious savescumming and underhanded maneuvers to give them the best possible outcome (because, say it with me, random events that make you LOSE THE GAME are lame), unless they pull off something outrageous and ballsy, they stand a really good chance of losing the race. I did try to play it out as Murca, though, and it's still entirely recoverable. You just need to be abit more bold, a little bit lucky, and of course Zenobians have to suffer a setback. But it's almost certain they will, eventually.

Da. We were lucky, and I will try to be sportsmanlike in an attempt to compensate for their bad luck- I can think of a few gimmicks that might screw over the Murcans depending on how things fall out, and I won't try them. Indeed, I somewhat regret trying the Mars probe gimmick- though that might yet backfire on me.

Obvious priorities for this year- hiring cosmonauts, and beginning new hardware. Lapot is the big ticket item for this year. Also, I need to begin some of the lunar operations infrastructure: Kicker-B, Duet, the N-1. If possible I'd like to do a lunar probe landing; need to consider that too.

Existing hardware is mostly quite mature, and the only remaining milestones I can grab with existing hardware are orbital Duration flights. So it's time to take things to the next level. Will need to give this some thought.