Pilots Need Pampers
Failure, glorious, absolute failure.
Seven pilots assembled with the original goal of pampering ourselves -- do our nails, take it easy, bring some stuffed animals, and maybe take a nap -- all while wearing our PJs. Straight out of the gate, everything started going wrong. The radar showed a radiation blob overhead, which struck just as we left the fort for the launchpad. On the way, we briefly picked up Kpafun, who was spotted lurking in a doorway near the Market Basket. As we prepared for launch, Skunk discovered that a chain link he had removed from Cloudbuster's propulsion transfer conduit earlier in the evening was having an adverse effect on his ability to attenuate the flagship's warp factor.
While Skunk and Excess scrambled to retrieve the tools necessary to re-install the missing links, the radiation intensified and pilots began dropping like flies. First Rad Max succumbed to space madness before even a single lightyear had been flown, spontaneously combusting in a spectacular ball of flame right there on the launchpad. As the Cloudbuster fix went on and on, we lost Kpafun too, who developed an acute case of radiation sickness. After three rounds of discovering more problems and sending sorties back to the fort for more parts (a larger chain tool, lost master link clip, stripped axle nut), the call was finally made to just go back to the fort to finish making the repairs as the radiation intensified further.
Back at Fort Tyler, the fleet was divided on whether to forge onward after repairs were complete or just call it a night. The yeas ultimately won out, but at this point Skunk suddenly remembered he is made of sugar, and that further exposure to radiation could have dire consequences for his structural integrity, so he too bowed out from the mission. The remaining pilots launched to little fanfare, and made a beeline for the Davis Constellation, where hot cocoa and other sweet snacks were procured and consumed. Out of nowhere a wild Pastry Queen appeared, who had just gotten out from work and happened to be in the area, albeit sans ship. Despite Tard's repeated threats to become the record shattering 4th pilot to burn up if we didn't follow a direct route back to the fort, she stuck things out with us, even despite her wet butt. Back on the landing pad, Pastry Queen surprised us once again, rolling in on her new steamroller ship built for the upcoming Lowell Kinetic Sculpture Race. After the mission had officially ended, Lordmcfuzz was still determined to get in his DIY manicure, so he painted his nails neon orange back at the fort.
The moral of the story is: always give your ship a proper test flight after modifying its drivetrain, kids!
Yeet this mission into the sun.
Mission plan: Pretty Icelandic and Shetland unicorns with sweet downy wings will swoop down to the launchpad, boop us with their velvet noses, and carry pilots up to lounge on fluffy comfy clouds. They'll swoosh their rainbow tails for us, bring us hot chocolate, paint our toenails and massage our hoofsies while cute kittens funk down a smooth groove for our delectation.
Mission reality: A nasty old nag kicks Cloudbuster, wets all the pilots and dookies on the launchpad. Morale plummets, Rad Max and Skunk burn up while remaining pilots medicate their despair by going for lousy overpriced ice cream in a neighborhood we can't afford. There's nowhere to sit unless you want a sopping wet rear admiral. Then we go back to the launchpad and throw our commemorative badges in a dirty puddle. Waah! Also we miss Nova (and she misses the Gang, too). The radiation cleared up but no one cares anymore.
Valour to Dr Claw for pushing failure further into the jaws of more failure.
Then apparently we got in a fight about who's writing the mission report and I'm never speaking to Wombat again. Or whatever.