Return to Space Mountain

Mission Summary

Pilots were ready to climb, after the yearly pilgrimage for SCUL Day was diverted elsewhere. We set forth in a squadron of 13 in Cosima's charge after Patent Pending christened his new ship Life Alert, with Dr.Claw navigating the fleet and LordMcFuzz tailgunning, cadet Truck Stop and guest-cum-maggot Vagrant in tow, in search of a high space mountain. To Mons Olympus on Mars we will go! It's cool, dry, and breezy there with interesting locals and plenty of methane ice, the perfect break for that summer-in-the-city prickly heat.

First we flew to a snaxxery and onboarded many unwholesome food substitutes. The operators of this depot had caught some indigenous nonsentients which were displayed for sale, and while most were well kept, one had fallen down into the display window and lay expiring at our feet. This would never do! Pilot Dead Bride drew the proprietors' attention to it, and the victim was soon rescued and set to rights.

We continued toward the mountain. The atmosphere stayed dankly warm as we flew onward, traversing wormholes and slingshotting through tight orbits, threading the byways of space, knowing we were just one brutal climb away from cool relief.

We found the forbidden surround, stealthed, and began our ascent. The 'air' stayed strangely warm and thick. We emerged at the topmost point only to find disaster: through some corruption of the navigational database, instead we've climbed the highest mountain on Venus. The view was fine but the tiny locals unpleasantly aggressive, and the searing black calm lay heavy -- not the tour we'd expected! Just one lone pilot had the energy to qualify for a Medal of Naked, though a brave few sortied to the former site of the REDACTED.

At least we've got snax. We broke out chips, Cosima's excellent oatmeal-chocolate-cardamom cookies, Mother's Sparkling Mythical Creatures and Fish of Sweden (Earth), and had a meat-off between BBQ Jerky in Korea galaxy style, and Bavarian Lil' Landjaeger (No Compromises) Beefy-Twigs. The sea monsters were delectable and the meat-off...well, whatever happened to those unholy lumps of protoplasm, none made it back to Earth. Ghu be thanked.

There was a flurry of last-minute paperwork, and when the requirements were satisfied Truck Stop was ready for knighting. She entered as a full SCUL pilot of the Blue order. With that done we dumped fuel and headed back down the mountain, it was still hot but at least the g-wells pointing the right way now. Whee!

As we returned via the Jamaicaspace wormhole, Wombat spotted a radiation containment unit which guest Vagrant recognized as Kilo3's, lost many light-years earlier on the way out. Recovery successful! We also had a mechanical as LMF dropped propulsion transfer during which USB Syntax Error tumbled into deep space, but with a little macgyvering and venturi torque everything was made shipshape, and we continued across the asteroid belt.

We landed in a desolate transMITian plain to try out some new-fangled aerosol chalk beacons and play a little dogfight derb; supplies were starting to run low but we'd be home soon...then Skunk realized his protocol droid had ejected back at the wormhole. Acehole and he went back to retrieve it, taking a radio and leaving Kilo3 to maintain contact. The rest of us waited in the sweltering gloom. And waited. Communication silence continued as the oxygen ticked down, broken only by a request for coordinates as we shared out the remaining hydration and food molecules. Finally they (or convincing facsimiles?) returned with the droid, which Acehole had been able to locate using only technology.

From there we returned to the fort without further incident. Mission success, Medal of Patronage to Acehole, and another space adventure is done.