The Martian (39 page)

This is it. There's nothing after this. There isn't even an abort procedure. Why make one? We can't delay the launch. Hermes can't stop and wait. No matter what, we're launching on schedule.

I face the very real possibility that I'll die today. Can't say I like it. It wouldn't be so bad if the MAV blew up. I wouldn't know what hit me.

If I miss the intercept I'll just float around in space until I run out of air. I have a contingency plan for that. I'll drop the oxygen mixture to zero and breathe pure nitrogen until I suffocate. It wouldn't feel bad. The lungs don't have the ability to sense lack of oxygen. I'd just get tired, fall asleep, then die.

I've had my last Martian potato. I've slept in the rover for the last time. I've had my last EVA on the surface. I'm leaving Mars today, one way or another.

About fucking time.

They gathered.

Everywhere on Earth, they gathered.

From Trafalgar Square to Tienanmen Square to Times Square, they watched on giant screens. In offices they huddled around computer monitors. In bars, they stared silently at the TV in the corner. In homes they sat breathlessly on their couches, their eyes glued to the story playing out.

In Chicago, a couple clutched each other's hands as they watched. The man held his wife gently as she rocked back and forth out of sheer terror. The NASA representative knew not to disturb them, but stood ready to answer any questions should they ask.

“Fuel Pressure green,” Johanssen's voice said from a billion televisions. “Engine alignment perfect. Communications 5 by 5. We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander.”

“Copy,” came Lewis's voice. “CAPCOM”

“Go,” Johanssen responded.

“Guidance.”

“Go,” Johanssen said again.

“Remote Command.”

“Go,” said Martinez.

“Pilot.”

“Go,” said Watney from the MAV.

A mild cheer coruscated through the crowds worldwide.

Mitch sat at his station in mission control. They monitored everything and were ready to help in any way the could. The communication latency between Hermes and Earth made any such need highly unlikely.

“Telemetry,” Lewis's voice said over the speakers.

“Go,” Johanssen responded.

“Recovery,” she continued.

“Go,” said Beck from the airlock.

“Secondary Recovery.”

“Go,” said Vogel from beside Beck.

“Mission control, this is Hermes Actual,” Lewis reported. “We are go for launch and will proceed on schedule. We are T minus four minutes, 10 seconds to launch... mark.”

“Did you get that, Timekeeper?” Mitch said.

“Affirmative, flight,” came the response. “Our clocks are synched with theirs.”

“Not that we can do anything,” Mitch mumbled, “But at least we'll know what's supposedly happening.”

“About four minutes, Mark,” Lewis said into her mic. “How you doing down there?”

“Eager to get up there, Commander,” Watney responded.

“We're going to make that happen,” Lewis said. “Remember, you'll be pulling some pretty heavy G's. It's ok to pass out. You're in Martinez's hands.”

“Tell that asshole no barrel-rolls.”

“Copy that, MAV,” Lewis said.

“Four more minutes,” Martinez said, cracking his knuckles. “You ready for some flying, Beth?”

“Yeah,” Johanssen said. “It'll be strange to sysop a launch and stay in zero-g the whole time.”

“I hadn't thought of it that way,” Martinez said, “but yeah. I'm not going to be squashed against the back my seat. Weird.”

Beck floated in the airlock, tethered to a wall-mounted spool. Vogel stood beside him, his boots clamped to the floor. Both stared through the open outer door to the red planet below.

“Didn't think I'd be back here again,” Beck said.

“Yes,” Vogel said. “We are the first.”

“First what?”

“We are the first to visit Mars twice.”

“Oh yeah. Even Watney can't say that.”

“He cannot.”

They looked at Mars in silence for a while.

“Vogel,” Beck said.

“Ja.”

“If I can't reach Mark, I want you to release my tether.”

“Doctor Beck,” Vogel said, “The Commander has said no to this.”

“I know what the Commander said, but if I need a few more meters, I want you to cut me loose. I have an MMU, I can get back without a tether.”

“I will not do this, Doctor Beck.”

“It's my own life at risk, and I say it's ok.”

“You are not the Commander.”

Beck scowled at Vogel, but with their reflective visors down, the effect was lost.

“Fine,” Beck said. “But I bet you'll change your mind if push comes to shove.”

Vogel did not respond.

“T-minus 10,” said Johanssen, “9...8...”

“Main engines start,” said Martinez.

“7...6...5...mooring clamps released...”

“About 5 seconds, Watney,” Lewis said to her headset. “Hang on.”

“See you in a few, Commander,” Watney radioed back.

“4...3...2...”

Watney lay in the acceleration couch as the MAV rumbled in anticipation of liftoff.

“Hmm,” he said to nobody. “I wonder how much longer-”

The MAV launched with incredible force. More than any manned ship had accelerated in the history of space travel. Watney was shoved in to his couch so hard he couldn't even grunt.

Having anticipated this, he had placed a folded up shirt behind his head in the helmet. As his head pressed firmly in to the makeshift cushion, the edges of his vision became blurry. He could neither breathe nor move.

Directly in his field of view, the Hab canvas patch flapped violently as the ship exponentially gained speed. Concentration became difficult, but something in the back of his mind told him that was bad.

“Velocity 741 meters per second,” Johanssen quickly called out. “Altitude 1350 meters.”

“Copy,” Martinez said.

“That's low,” Lewis said. “Too low.”

“I know,” Martinez said. “It's sluggish; fighting me. What the fuck is going on?”

“Velocity 850, altitude 1843,” Johanssen said.

“I'm not getting the power I need!” Martinez said.

“Engine power at 100%,” Johanssen said.

“I'm telling you it's sluggish,” Martinez insisted.

“Watney,” Lewis said to her headset. “Watney, do you read? Can you report?”

Watney heard Lewis's voice in the distance. Like someone talking to him through a long tunnel. He vaguely wondered what she wanted. His attention was briefly drawn to the fluttering canvas ahead of him. A rip had appeared and was rapidly widening.

But then he was distracted by a bolt in one of the bulkheads. It only had five sides. He wondered why NASA decided that bolt needed five sides instead of six. It would require a special wrench to tighten or loosen.

The canvas tore even further, the tattered material flapping wildly. Through the opening, Watney saw red sky stretching out infinitely ahead. “That's nice,” he thought.

As the MAV flew higher, the atmosphere grew thinner. Soon, the canvas stopped fluttering and simply stretched toward Mark. The sky shifted from red to black.

“That's nice, too,” Mark thought.

As consciousness slipped away, he wondered where he could get a cool 5-sided bolt like that.

“I'm getting more response now,” Martinez said.

“Back on track with full acceleration,” Johanssen said. “Must have been drag. MAV's out of the atmosphere now.”

“It was like flying a cow,” Martinez grumbled, his hands racing over his controls.

“Can you get him up?” Lewis asked.

“He'll get to orbit,” Johanssen said, “but the intercept course may be compromised.”

“Get him up first,” Lewis said. “Then we'll worry about intercept.”

“Copy. Main engine cut-off in 15 seconds.”

“Much smoother now,” Martinez said. “It's not fighting me at all anymore.”

“Well below target altitude,” Johanssen said. “Velocity is good.”

“How far below?” Lewis said.

“Can't say for sure,” Johanssen said. “All I have is accelerometer data. We'll need  radar pings at intervals to work out his true final orbit.”

“Back to automatic guidance,” Martinez said.

“Main shutdown in 4,” Johanssen said “3... 2... 1... Shutdown.”

“Confirm shutdown,” Martinez said.

“Watney, you there?” Lewis said. “Watney? Watney, do you read?”

“Probably passed out, Commander,” Beck said over the radio. “He pulled 12 G's on the ascent. Give him a few minutes.”

“Copy,” Lewis said. “Johanssen, got his orbit yet?”

“I have interval pings. Working out our intercept range and velocity...”

Martinez and Lewis stared intensely at Johanssen as she brought up the intercept calculation software. Normally, orbits would be worked out by Vogel, but he was otherwise engaged. Johanssen was his backup for orbital dynamics.

“Intercept velocity will be 11 meters per second...” she began.

“I can make that work,” Beck said over the radio.

“Distance at intercept will be-” She stopped and choked. Shakily, she continued. “We'll be 68 kilometers apart.” She buried her face in her hands.

“Did she say 68
kilometers
!?” Beck said. “
Kilometers!?
”

“God damn it,” Martinez whispered.

“Keep it together,” Lewis said. “Work the problem. Martinez, is there any juice in the MAV?”

“Negative, Commander,” Martinez responded. “They ditched the OMS system to lighten the launch weight.”

“Then we'll have to go to him. Johanssen, time to intercept?”

“39 minutes, 12 seconds,” Johanssen said, trying not to quaver.

“Vogel,” Lewis continued, “how far can we deflect in 39 minutes with the ion engines?”

“Perhaps 5 kilometers,” he radioed.

“Not enough,” Lewis said. “Martinez, what if we point our attitude thrusters all the same direction?”

“Depends on how much fuel we want to save for attitude adjustments on the trip home.”

“How much do you need?”

“I could get by with maybe 20 percent of what's left.”

“All right, if you used the other 80 percent-”

“Checking,” Martinez said, running the numbers on his console. “We'd get a delta-v of 31 meters per second.”

“Johanssen,” Lewis said. “Math.”

“In 39 minutes we'd deflect...” Johanssen quickly typed, “72 kilometers!”

“There we go,” Lewis said. “How much fuel-”

“Use 75.5 percent of remaining attitude adjust fuel,” Johanssen said. “That'll bring the intercept range to zero.”

“Do it,” Lewis said.

“Aye, Commander.” Martinez said.

“Hold on,” Johanssen said. “That'll get the intercept
range
to zero, but the intercept
velocity
will be 42 meters per second.”
 

“Then we have 39 minutes to figure out how to slow down,” Lewis said. “Martinez, burn the jets.”

“Aye.” Martinez said.

“Whoa,” Annie said to Venkat. “A lot of shit just happened really fast. Explain.”

Venkat strained to hear to speaker over the murmur of the VIPs in the observation booth. Through the glass he saw Mitch throw his hands up in frustration.

“The launch missed badly,” Venkat said, looking past Mitch to the screens beyond. “The intercept distance was going to be way too big. So they're using the attitude adjusters to close the gap.”

“What do attitude adjusters usually do?”

“They rotate the ship. They're not made for thrusting it. Hermes doesn't have quick reaction engines. Just the slow steady ion engines.”

“So... problem solved?” Annie said hopefully.

“No,” Venkat said. “They'll get to him, but they'll be going 42 meters per second when they get there.”

“How fast is that?” Annie asked.

“About 90 miles per hour,” Venkat said. “There's no hope of Beck grabbing Watney at that speed.”

“Can they use the attitude adjusters to slow down?”

“They used all the fuel they could to close the gap in time. They don't have enough to slow down.” Venkat frowned.

“So what can they do?”

“I don't know,” he said. “And even if I did, I couldn't tell them in time.”

“Well fuck,” Annie said.

“Yeah,” Venkat agreed.

“Watney,” Lewis said “Do you read?”

“Watney?” She repeated.

“Commander,” Beck radioed. “He's wearing a surface EVA suit, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It should have a bio-monitor,” Beck said. “And it'll be broadcasting. It's not a strong signal; it's only designed to go a couple hundred meters to the rover or Hab. But maybe we can pick it up.”

“Johanssen,” Lewis said.

“On it,” Johanssen said. “I have to look up the frequencies in the tech specs. Gimme a second.”

“Martinez,” Lewis continued. “Any idea how to slow down?”

He shook his head. “I got nothin', Commander. We're just going too damn fast.”

“Vogel?”

“The ion drive is simply not strong enough,” Vogel replied.

“There's got to be something,” Lewis said. “Something we can do. Anything.”

“Got his biomonitor data,” Johanssen said. “Pulse 58, blood pressure 98/61.”

“That's not bad,” Beck said. “Lower than I'd like but he's been in Mars gravity for 18 months, so it's expected.”

“Time to intercept?” Lewis asked.

“32 minutes,” Johanssen replied.

Blissful unconsciousness became foggy awareness which transitioned into painful reality. Watney opened his eyes, then winced at the pain in his chest.

Little remained of the canvas. Tatters floated along the edge of the hole it once covered. This granted Watney an unobstructed view of Mars from orbit. The great red planet's horizon stretched out seemingly forever as the wispy atmosphere gave it a fuzzy edge. Only 18 people in history had personally seen this view.

“Fuck you,” he said to the planet below.

Reaching toward the controls on his arm, he winced. Trying again, more slowly this time, he activated his radio. “MAV to Hermes.”