The Nature of the Human Being

[Myroria]

The war was over. Myrorian soldiers were being prepared to return home, and for a new set to be sent to Canada for peacekeeping. Things were looking up. Myroria was looking up. The citizens were looking up.


The wheels of a black Mercedes sedan - typical of the Myrorian government - screeched on the dry pavement. Curled brown leaves were kicked up on the side of the street, as the blocky lettering on the side of the car screamed out "IMPERIAL MESSENGER". The Imperial Messengers had become mostly useless since the advent of the telephone, but a few were kept around when the absolute, solid evidence that the Empeurer wanted something was needed. The messenger was headed to Ivorheart, for the Imperial Space Administration's (Recently renamed) headquarters. Though the capital was in Pelagis, it appeared that everything was located in Ivorheart, the second-biggest city in Myroria next to Novrith. A yellowed paper - the yellow dye was purely for flavor, it looked like parchment, thus, more official - lay on the seat next to the driver. The Myrorian government could contract this out to one of the tens of private mail services in Myroria - House Quarrovth Mail Service, Myroria Express - but when a messenger had permission to scream through the autobahn, at speeds that would cause police to arrest anyone else for speeding. This was something, considering the Myrorian Autobahn had no speed limit.

A few hours later, the car screeched to a stop in front of the ISA's headquarters. The driver picked up the paper, slipped it into a folder, and walked inside, barging into the office of Assistant to the Imperial Space Administration Master. Alvar Hanso was never in, he had more important things to do. The folder was slammed down on the desk, the men shook hands, and the driver left without a word. So spy-movie esque.

The AISAM opened the manila folder left on his mahogany desk. It was reeeeaaaal official, with a red ink (everyone thought it was blood, and Meneldur never went out of the way to deny it) Imperial Seal, a ribbon, everything. It looked like it should be framed next to the AISAM's diplomas, not slipped into countless other folders. It read:

To Whom It May Concern (Preferably the Imperial Space Administration Master, but cleared for one Imperial Messenger and the Assistant to the Imperial Space Administration Master):

I have studied with growing interest my father's landing on the moon, perhaps the defining moment of his short tenure as Empeurer. It appeared he threw millions of Kolonialreich marks into this program, only for the astronauts to scoop up some soil, sample some rocks, and return a few hours later. Never to set foot on the moon again.

Thus, I grant the ISA an addition of Five Billion Kolonialreich Marks [a hasty signature followed it] for three missions with the intent of beginning another attempt at landing on the moon. It must be of the utmost secrecy; Myroria will not give up this scientific marvel in the making to any n'wahs who would love to snatch up the title of "We Actually Tried To Do Stuff On The Moon '10". Do not call the palace; this has been cleared ONLY for myself and the aforementioned personages at the beginning of this letter. You will communicate with me via the messenger that gave this to you, and HIM ONLY. If any other messenger or alleged messenger asks for the information and he does not show you a valid ID card, do not, under any circumstances, give any information to him. Call the security and he will be escorted in for questioning. The real messenger could use some exercise anyway; so again, don't call the palace or Tar-Ilium Plantation. I hope to hear from you soon.

From the Office of the Ascott House,
Birmingham, Inglo-Scotia
Dated October 26, 2010.

The paper was shuffled into a folder on the desk of the assistant, and he withdrew his own, simpler paper and a pen (Astronaut pen, because God-knows the ISA needed to spend thousands making one when you could use a pencil). He scribbled a response and continued to work. It was rumored in the Myrorian government that you didn't need to call the messengers...they knew.

[Myroria]

Clytemnestra One

"Alright CLY stations, we've got our T-minus 45 seconds final check now. Aeromed?"

"Go."

"Ivorheart infometry?"

"We're go, CLY."

"ACS?"

"We're go."

"RCS?"

"Go."

"Flight Control?"

"Go."

"ASCS?"

"Go."

"AMR telemetry?"

"Go."

"Electrical?"

"Go, ground." The final part of the tedius check-in was nearly complete.

"Oxygen?"

"Go."

"Propulsion, Hydraulics?"

"Go, go."

"Land lines?"

"Go."

"Pnuematics?"

"Go."

"And...engines?"

"We're go, ground."

"Status check 45 seconds complete. T-minus 15 seconds. T-minus 10 seconds. 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4 - engine ignition - 2, 1, 0. We have commit, we have liftoff. You're the first men to start the moonshot, gentlemen. We'll see you in 55 minutes. Enjoy the ride." Ground cut with a chuckle.

The capsule perched on top of the Electra rocket rattled. Captain Archie Huys, the only man aboard the three-seat Clytemnestra CEV, was worried. This thing was a death trap. Panels ajar, with wires just hanging out. Sure, the wires were covered, the ISA insisted, but it was still an electrical nightmare. It seemed that if he nudged a wire flipping a switch cover, he'd fry. Boil. It was amazing there were no losses of life ever on an ISA mission. There was a 97% chance one would happen with the Clytemnestra Moonshot, he'd always say to himself. He was just hoping it wouldn't be him.

Clunk. His thoughts were interrupted. Oh my God, what is that?! Just the bottom stage of the rocket. next thing you knew, the ground evacuation rocket was falling back to Taijitu; a red streak. He could see stars outside the small porthole. The entire rocket seemed to be weighed down with the Orbit Departure Stage; it was full of fuel, and would just be jettisoned once the climax of the mission was reached. The commanders wanted to measure how it would impact the flight of the Electra Rocket; the Electra Rocket was just a modification of the Ares rocket to be taller and to accomodate the ODS. If it was too heavy, the ISA feared, the entire operation could quite literally come crashing down, delaying the time to get to the moon by at least a few months. But at the same time, they insisted their calculations were perfect.

But who could trust the ISA? Just look at those wires, Archie said to himself. Archie. He sounded like a fucking sitcom character, not an astronaut. Maybe he would change his name. Thomas? Thomas Huys. Hupprecht? Hupprecht was the name of that Conquesteur. Again his thoughts were interrupted with a clunk. Second stage. The capsule was on the edge of space, and would hopefully come down somewhere between Inglo-Scotia and the two Americas. Hopefully. This is the ISA we're talking about.