[The following content contains an excerpt from Chapter 12 of "The Martian" by Andy Weir. Please see full reference below.]

Weir, Andy. The Martian: A Novel. Broadway Books, 2014. 143-145. Print.

NASA was loathe to waste research time. Trips to and from Mars were as busy as surface operations. The crew had almost caught up with the backlog of work. The schedule had been made for six, not five. Beck tried not to think about the painful reason he was doing zero-g plant growth experiments. He noted the size and shape of the fern leaves, took photos, and made notes.

Having completed his science schedule for the day, he checked his watch. Perfect timing. The data dump would be completing soon. He floated past the reactor to the Semicone-A ladder.

Traveling feet-first along the ladder, he soon had to grip it in earnest as the centripetal force of the rotating ship took hold. By the time he reached Semicone-A he was at 0.4g.

No mere luxury, the artificial gravity kept them fit. Without it, they would have spent their first week on Mars barely able to walk. Exercise regimens could keep the heart and bones healthy, but none had been devised that would give them full function from Sol 1.

Because the ship was already designed for it, they used the system on the return trip as well. Johanssen sat at her station. Lewis sat in the adjacent seat while Vogel and Martinez hovered nearby. The data dump carried emails and videos from home. It was the high point of the day.

"Is it here yet?" Beck asked as he entered the bridge.

"Almost, " Johanssen said. "98%."

"You're looking cheerful, Martinez, " Beck said.

"My son turned three yesterday, " He beamed. "Should be some pics of the party. How about you?"

"Nothing special, " Beck said. "Peer-reviews of a paper I wrote a few years back."

"Complete, " Johanssen said. "All the personal emails are dispatched to your laptops. Also there's a telemetry update for Vogel and a system update for me. Huh… there's a voice message addressed to the whole crew."

She looked over her shoulder to Lewis.

Lewis shrugged. "Play it."

Johanssen opened the message, then sat back.

"Hermes, this is Mitch Henderson, " the message began.

"Henderson?" Martinez said, puzzled. "Talking directly to us without CAPCOM?"

Lewis held her hand up to signal for silence.

"I have some news, " Mitch's voice continued, "There's no subtle way to put this: Mark Watney's still alive."

Johanssen gasped.

"Wha-" Beck stammered.

Vogel stood agape as a shocked expression swept across his face.

Martinez looked to Lewis. She leaned forward and pinched her chin.

"I know that's a surprise, " Mitch continued. "And I know you'll have a lot of questions. We're going to answer those questions. But for now I'll just give you the basics.

"He's alive and healthy. We found out two months ago and decided not to tell you; we even censored personal messages. I was strongly against all that. We're telling you now because we finally have communication with him and a viable rescue plan. It boils down to Ares 4 picking him up with a modified MDV.

"We'll get you a full write-up of what happened, but it's definitely not your fault. Mark stresses that every time it comes up. It was just bad luck.

"Take some time to absorb this. Your science schedules are cleared for tomorrow. Send all the questions you want and we'll answer them. Henderson out."

The message's end brought stunned silence to the bridge.

"He…He's alive?" Martinez said, then smiled.

Vogel nodded excitedly. "He lives."

Johanssen stared at her screen in wide-eyed disbelief.

"Holy shit, " Beck laughed. "Holy shit! Commander! He's alive!"

"I left him behind, " Lewis said quietly.

The celebrations ceased immediately as the crew saw their commander's inconsolable expression.

"But, " Beck began, "We all left togeth-"

"You followed orders, " Lewis interrupted. "I left him behind. In a barren, unreachable, godforsaken wasteland."

Beck looked to Martinez pleadingly. Martinez opened his mouth, but could find no words to say.

Lewis trudged off the bridge.

[Excerpt from Chapter 12 of "The Martian" by Andy Weir.]

The crew of Hermes was gathered in The Rec. Beck, Martinez, and Vogel were in the midst of a heated discussion. Johanssen sat curled around her computer.

While the rest of the crew had used their liberated schedules to congregate and discuss Henderson's message, Lewis had spent her spare time at the gym. Pushing herself through the last five kilometers had hurt, but she welcomed the momentary distraction from her thoughts.

"Commander," Vogel greeted, nodding in her direction.

Lewis claimed a seat, her gym towel slung around her neck. Other than brief mission-related interactions, the Commander had been quiet all day. The data dump was scheduled to arrive shortly.

"Good evening," she responded, dabbing at her forehead, "What're we talking about?"

"Watney," Martinez said. "How he did it."

Lewis nodded. She'd expected as much. Hell, she'd been doing the same. "So, what are your theories?"

"To save you some time and the pain of another orbital dynamics lecture, we've agreed that Johanssen and Vogel have a good theory as to how NASA discovered Watney, assuming he had no way of communicating with Houston immediately following the storm. And now Beck and Vogel are discussing his food supply. Again."

"Let's hear it." Lewis said.

"Food or communications?" Beck asked.

"Both. But hang on a second, Johanssen, how long until data dump is completed?"

"Data upload at 63%," Johanssen said, eyes not leaving her computer. "Completion in four minutes, forty seconds. It's a larger upload than usual."

"Must be the backlog of messages NASA redacted," Lewis said. "I've changed my mind. Let's hear the food theory first."

Vogel nodded at Beck to begin.

Beck settled into his seat, "Well, we agree that assuming little to no damage to the Hab, the remaining food supply as of Sol 6 would feed six people for 50 days, or one person for 300," he began. "Rationed, the calorie supply could last Watney 600 days. Ares 4 isn't scheduled to land until Sol 1412. Realistically, a sustained food supply could not be grown in the few Earth soil samples we brought with us."

"You're forgetting his superpower," Martinez objected. "He's a botanist. If he can't find a way to grow plants, what's he good for?"

"Could it be done?" Lewis asked.

"It is possible, but not without difficulty," Vogel chose his words carefully. "Mixing Earth biomatter with the Mars soil would add some bacteria to make the soil fertile," he explained, "But it is not enough. He would need to make the manure to supplement."

"Okay, so let's assume he's done this," Lewis nodded, "He'd need space to grow crops and water to germinate the seeds."

"Right?! Thank you, Commander," Beck said. "Water is what we're getting stuck on."

"This is where we disagree, Commander." Vogel keyed in a few commands on his computer and turned it around for Lewis, switching the language to English. "The Water Reclaimer in the Hab has 300 liters of water. Not enough to grow crops. However, there might be a way for him to make water."

"Make water?" Lewis raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Water is a product when the oxygen and hydrogen atoms are heated. There is extra supply of both oxygen and hydrogen in what we brought to the surface. It would not be difficult to create this reaction," Vogel explained.

"Agreed. But it would be difficult to create that safely," Lewis said. "He'd have to deliberately start a fire in the Hab."

"Ja."

"Which is absurd," Beck objected. "It's absolutely not safe. One false step and we've got Hindenburg all over again."

Lewis looked from Beck to Vogel.

Vogel nodded. "There is danger. But it is not impossible."

"It seems farfetched," Beck scoffed.

"So, what's your theory, Dr. Beck?"

"I've been re-reading his lab journals and notes. There's a lot of discussion around aeroponic farming: you know, growing plants in a soil-less environment. Making Mars' soil arable might be possible, but consider this. There's enough ceiling space in the Hab to suspend hundreds of germinated plants. Upkeep would include adjusting the life support settings to make the Hab environment more humid and using the Earth biomatter to mix a nutrient solution spray for the roots. With the materials we had, this could work." He looked pleased with his theory.

Vogel shook his head. "Risky."

"Not as risky as intentionally creating explosions!"

"Not enough certainty that this would work. There is more certainty in the chemical reaction."

"Th-" Beck had opened his mouth to argue when Martinez interrupted.

"Hey, lab geeks," Martinez asserted. "As much as we'd all love to listen to your bickering, what do you say to making this a bit more interesting?"

Four sets of eyes landed on him. He grinned.

"You're not thinking about gambling on Watney's life, are you?" Lewis asked, an edge of danger in her tone.

Martinez immediately looked reproachful, "No, never. I say Vogel and Beck place bets on their theories. Whoever's is closest wins." His childlike smile returned.

"I'm in." Beck's eyes flashed and he looked at Vogel. "Name your terms."

Vogel leaned back in his seat and pinched his chin thoughtfully. A slow smile spread across his face. "Have you heard of Struwwelpeter?"

When the crew shook their heads, he continued.

"It is a collection of fairy tales for children. My wife tells me that our youngest is having trouble sleeping. When I win, we will create video message to send to my family. I will narrate a story and Dr. Beck, you will act it out."

No one expected that.

Martinez broke the silence, laughing. "Tell me our Doctor gets to sit on your knee and be a dummy for some freak-show German ventriloquist act!"

"I have not decided. But I will not discount that as an option."

Beck looked horrified.

Martinez laughed heartily, nearly drowning out Johanssen's breathy chuckle.

Even Lewis cracked a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards at the indignity of it all.

Recovering, Martinez turned to Beck, "What do you win?"

"Data upload at 94%," Johanssen called out.

"I was thinking something along the lines of getting my breakfast served in bed," Beck said. "Clearly I'll have to up my game."

Vogel shrugged.

"Full body shave."

"Isn't that a little childish?" Lewis asked.

Vogel reached out to shake hands with Beck. "You have a deal, Doctor."

Martinez jumped in, grabbing both their wrists. "Right. By the power vested in me by the Martian gods, I pronounce this treaty legally binding. Loser pays up within seven Sols. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Lewis shook her head in mocked disgust.

"Just in time, too," Johanssen said. "Upload nearly complete. Looks like everyone has personal messages. Some dated from weeks ago. Martinez, it looks like they're expecting a complete fuel and diagnostic report from you soon. Have fun with that. Commander, there's a bunch of updates for you and your hydrogen isotopic lab results are in. Most importantly, it looks like we've received the full report on Watney. You have access to these from your computers now," she tapped the trackpad dramatically.

"Let's see who our winner is," Martinez opened Henderson's report eagerly and skimmed through the pages.

Incredulous silence hung in the room while they read.

"Watney, you cheeky bastard," Martinez laughed at last and looked up.

Johanssen clasped a hand to her mouth, happy tears escaping her eyes as she laughed.

Lewis remained composed, but sat taller, as if some weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"This is classic Mark Watney," Martinez continued. "NASA probably shit their pants when he sent them the photo looking like the freaking Fonz. Man, this needs to be my desktop background. Hey, Johanssen, how do I screen cap on this thing?"

Vogel sat back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head. He grinned at Beck. The doctor avoided him, pretending to finish reading the lengthy report.

"It is a shame that we do not have lederhosen," Vogel lamented, "I am certain they would suit you."

"Smug prick," Beck muttered. But he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching.

Johanssen looked up from Martinez's screen and caught Beck's eye across the table. "I can't believe you bet against Vogel," she said quietly, "And on a chemistry-related topic. Your brain must be turning to mush." She smiled.

He couldn't help but smile back.

For the next hour, the crew sat together, replying to each of the messages from home, tackling the staggering pile of required paperwork, or re-reading Watney's mission report. The mood on the Hermes shifted its crew worked, satisfied for the moment knowing that Mark Watney was alive and kicking.