“Lift”
Draft One

Chapter One
“Ignition”



	Steam billowed wispily from the burgeoning craft.  It simply sat there, a gigantic metal monolith, obscured by the launch clamps grasping it from every direction.  Tubes snaked endlessly through the scaffolding like plastic serpents, reminiscent of myriad cylinders sustaining a hospital patient in critical condition.  In a sense, the rocket was in a critical state within its own.  One inch of the steely supports fails, and the entire multi-million-dollar project could sail to the ground and flatten the entire space centre in a nuclear-esque explosion; a single spark from a stray wire, and the hundreds of gallons of pressurized fuel ignite, blasting the surrounding area into a monumental inferno of blazing metal and thick smoke.  There was a margin for error so thin a lone hair could spring the trap.  But the Kerbals who built this work of scientific art know what they’re doing down to... well, a science.

	The scientists waddle around the launch site, tails of white lab coats swishing behind them.   Clipboards with countless notes scribbled upon them are scanned again and again with a diligent eye, held in their stubby hands.  The fluorescent vests of the engineers glint sharply in the afternoon sunlight and complement the vivid yellow hardhats on their heads.  Their fingertips resided in their trembling mouths, nails chewed to the quick; they watched the crawler slowly roll along, visibly worried that something may befall their soon-to-be-airborne iron “baby”.  Then again, those orange pylons used to lead various vehicles out of the assembly facilities also made great chew toys.  The dirt and soot besmirching their green faces acted as emblems of their hard work, proof of the countless hours put into riveting every sheet of material, soldering every wire of complex computers, and the occasional burn caused by an absent-minded Kerbal haphazardly wandering into the maw of a burning engine in the midst of a test.  All of them together weaved the tapestry of the future of space travel.

	A lively commotion rang throughout the Kerbal Space Centre while all the employees buzzed around, making last checks, a final calculation, a quick repair; news vans zipped about the asphalt, pointing cameras every which way, vying for the ultimate snapshot of that glorious launch; the uniform clacking of steel-toed boots could be picked up from all corners of the complex, connected to them the legs of rifle-toting soldiers patrolling watchfully.  But even that symphony of discord seemed like a pale aria of nerve compared to the blizzard of chaotic emotion that was whirling around inside the command centre.  The sound barely found its way into a pair of emerald ears.

	“Godspeed, commander.”
“Best of luck, commander.”
“Can you sign this for my son, commander?”
“I love you, commander!  Come back safely!”

	Common words that graced the astronaut’s ears.  Amongst the constant lectures about science and math and safety and all that boring stuff, where Jebediah’s neglect for the finer aspects of rocketry was criticized and belittled, it was a nice pick-me-up to be called ‘commander’, or feel important.  And despite the deadpan testimonials that claim otherwise, Jebediah Kerman LVIII did not have a big ego.  No one was ashamed to admit that he had skills - he once managed to get home from the Mün on a bicycle - but sometimes, he came off as more than a little cocky, confident he could return home from a direct trip to Kerbol without a drop of fuel or the like.  And still he had become a household name back on Kerbin, somehow navigating his way into the latest housewife gossip, often with the words “marry” or “hot” thrown into the conversation.  Who could resist that suave hairdo that screamed “bad boy”, that broad, toothy, pearly-white smile that could win a medal on its lonesome, or that heartwarmingly magnetic charisma, with which Jeb once talked the chief engineer into making him a personal wingsuit, complete with rocket boosters?  No one on that tiny blue and green ball seemed to be up to the task.  No one, that is, except for his brother.

	If there were one word in the dictionary that described second-in-command and chief navigator Bill Kerman, it would be “buzzkill”.  Despite being older, more learned, and self-proclaimed more mature than his bubbly brethren, Bill was always second fiddle to Jeb.  He does all the math and hard work on board, but noooo - Bill doesn’t get an ounce of credit.  A smile has not even tempted its chances to pass his lips, because he finds such folly entirely pointless.  His palm often finds respite on his face, whenever his little brothers hatch their next idiotic plan to get themselves killed or something along those lines.  Some days, he felt like the only thing that suspended him upon that fine line between being a retained, sane Kerbal and a blithering mad one is the drive and determination to keep his siblings alive long enough to do something productive.  Even though he innerly knew this was floccinaucinihilipilification (a word he had picked up through his studies, meaning totally useless without hope of success.)  His greatest efforts seemed to futile, however, because he was blindly stumbling from launch to launch, mission to mission; perhaps he did it because Jeb had coerced him with his smooth talk, or maybe it was out of pity for the dimmest bulb of the trio.

	Not much is known about Bob.  A Kerb of few words, he often traipsed into the pod, tightly knit with Jeb, without a care in the world, like this was just a roller coaster ride.  But then the launchpad gantries would disengage and he’s screaming out a lung.  Maybe it’s out of admiration, maybe out of fear, but Bob never seemed to be out of sight of Jeb.  As Bill had snidely said: “maybe Jeb spilled ketchup on his flight suit and Bob’s been trying to find the food.”  But, because of Bob’s insatiable appetite (but a distinctive lack of capacity for knowledge), that answer isn’t entirely out of the question.  Bob has as of yet failed to harness his maturity like his older brothers have, be it Jeb’s masculine aura or Bill’s form and smarts.  He has instead retained some form of childish innocence, with his curly straw-blonde hair and large buck-teeth.  It is common knowledge that every child’s dream is to be an astronaut and go to space, but why is Bob here, when he whooped with joy after earning his first straight B report card last year?  It remains a mystery to this day how the youngest Kerman earned his stripes when he can barely drive a car, though some mysteries are better left unsolved...