LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 701
You'd think after a year and a half of talking to myself I'd be ready to shut the fuck up, but nope. Turns out that the shrinks at NASA want me to keep a running log of my "reintegration experiences" now that I'm back on the Hermes with honest to God other human beings to talk to. Apparently there were "some concerns" after they had a chance to read through the log entries I'd copied and brought back with me during that looney rollercoaster ride on the MAV up to Hermes.
I'd actually considered leaving it behind in the rover. I didn't think that the data stick's miniscule weight, less than five milligrams, would affect the launch, but by that point I was so paranoid about getting the MAV up to escape velocity that I nearly herniated myself taking one last dump before launch in the makeshift toilet I'd made with a sample box. Believe me, it was a deeply satisfying moment to drop that last potatoey turd upon the planet that had given me so much grief. After accomplishing that feat, I figured the datastick wouldn't be that much of an issue.
Actually, that brings up another thing: You might be wondering what I used for toilet paper after I ran through the supply NASA had sent along in the pre-supply probes. First off, they only sent twelve rolls, one for each of us plus the inevitable emergency backup. That sounds insane, until you realize our Hab toilet also functioned as a bidet, with more gadgets in it than the fancy seats you find in a Japanese hotel. We weren't expected to use the rolls unless the toilet malfunctioned, or wereally had to go while out in the Rover. I used almost all of them up on the Sirius expedition to retrieve Pathfinder.
So what did I do during the long ride from Acidalia Planitia to the Ares 4 MAV? Let me put it to you this way: Hygiene became a severe issue for me after I ran out of soap and alcohol wipes. Thank God the only germs in the Rover were my own.
Okay, I'm getting off track. It's been four days since I returned to the Hermes , I suppose I should bring you up to speed on what's been happening. While Beck was examining me and taping my ribs, Commander Lewis ordered the ship's habitation wheel be spun back up to 0.3G rotation. Which was lucky for me, because it gave me the chance to have my first shower since leaving the Hab way back on Sol 449. Four months of scrubbing with just water and a hand towel had left me rather fragrant. It wasn't quite the same as the hot baths I'd rigged using the RTG back in the Hab, but man it felt good.
Next: Food. Oh my God, food. Once the rest of the crew finished double-checking the ship's systems to make sure nothing was damaged after Lewis' emergency decompression trick, they made me a meal , with mixed vegetables and a freeze dried steak that had been sent up on the Iris 2 resupply probe just for me. When the smell of that steak hit my nostrils I thought it was mana from heaven.
Then I had to do my damnedest not to barf as I ate. Remember, this was the first meal I had that was over 1500 calories since I'd started rationing way back on Sol 7. Just trying to finish it made me feel like my stomach was going to explode, never mind the overwhelming tastes and smells of something that was Not Potatoes. I think I got through a quarter of it before I had to push it away and ask Johanssen to put it back in the galley fridge. I felt kinda bad, since we were all together for the first time in a year and a half, having a meal together to celebrate my rescue. Beck figured it out quick though, and gave me some antacids to settle my stomach down before I embarrassed myself.
I'm actually rationing out that steak. Since the Iris 2 had to be carrying food for the entire crew, rather than just myself, most of the supply was the same protein bars that had caused so much trouble on the first Iris launch. I want to enjoy the taste of meat as long as I can.
After that we sat and listened to audio message the president sent us, congratulating our crew for the incredible rescue, showing a fine example of human determination, blah, blah, blah. I'll be honest, I wasn't listening it much. Aside from my stomach bothering me it just felt so damned good to be with everyone again that I was kinda spacing out.
Then Johanssen uploaded a video message to my personal laptop. I took it back to Beck's room cum medical suite and watched it. It was from my parents, recorded just after Commander Lewis sent confirmation that I was safely aboard. It says something about NASA's priorities that they reserved the bandwidth for a full video message for my parents, and had the President make do with an MP3. Good going guys
Fuck they look tired, and maybe about ten years older than the last time I saw them, just before the ferry launch from Cape Canavaral up to the Hermes. They both said congratulations and how much they're looking forward to seeing me when I come home. I sent an email back letting them know I'm okay. Beck advised me against sending any video. After looking at myself in the mirror I gotta agree. No sense in scaring the shit out them by showing off my cool zombie cosplay. I really do look like one of the walking dead, what with yellow teeth and sunken cheekbones and pain lines from all the shit I went through during the launch.
By the time I get back it's going to be over three years since they saw me in person. That's seriously weirding me out.
Jesus fucking Christ I can't wait to walk on a planet without needing a spacesuit.
Chapter 2LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 702
My life for the past five days, while my ribs heal up, has been frighteningly like when I was stuck on Mars, ie: sitting on my ass watching TV. Of course the major difference is I'm watching TV shows that were filmed in this century, instead of Lewis' endless supply of 70's crap. I'm sticking mostly to documentaries at the moment. I'm in no mood to feel sad watching a drama, and I super really do not want to laugh while my ribs are still healing.
Side Note: You may be wondering why I didn't just listen and watch my own music and shows while I was on Mars. Well, the reason why was because I left my datastick in my cabin. I was going down to Mars to work my ass off for thirty sols. I thought I was going to be too busy to lay back and watch TV. The irony was not lost on me during my long periods of downtime sitting in the Hab watching Three's Company.
Right now I'm sharing a cabin with Martinez. We're in Beck's, while Beck is with Johansen since Martinez and I's quarters are unlivable at the moment. I'm glad he and Beth hooked up like I was hoping they would. I'm sure Commander Lewis gave them a bit of shit about it, but given the length of the mission the unresolved sexual tension would have just gotten annoying after a while. Once Beck allows me to start moving around again I'm going to take a crack at fixing that piping between our walls. The Hermes has been without a ship's engineer for way too long. I know Johansen is my backup for those duties, but between being the ship's sysop and the reactor tech, I can't blame her for putting cabin repairs low on her priorities.
In other news, I think I'm finally coming down from the emotional high of being rescued. Or maybe Beck is cutting back on my Vicodin. Anyway I'm losing the fun floating sensation that came with the realization that all the insane plans that had to come together for my rescue actually worked. I have to be luckiest asshole in space since the crew of Apollo 13 had their little accident on the way to the Moon.
Now I have to start thinking about what to do with the rest of my life once we get back to Earth. Seriously, what the hell do you do to top spending a year and a half alone on Mars, and then be successfully rescued? I mean, what did Neil Armstrong do after going to the Moon?
Oh, yeah. He hawked cars for Chrysler. And was a professor of aeronautical engineering, which was also cool.
Chapter 3LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 705
Ate the last of the steak today. Guess I'm back to being a vegetarian until we get home. I don't mind too much. My stomach has finally settled enough that I can be full without feeling like my intestines were going to burst. Those damned protein bars are already starting to get really boring though.
Fuck it, I can take it. I ate potatoes for a year. At least the protein bars have chocolate flavoring.
After I was reduced to an all potato diet, I spent entirely too much time fantasizing about what foods I'd eat when I finally got home. It was a pointless exercise, and probably counted as self-torture, but in a weird sorta way it kept me motivated to continue my survival efforts. Instead of a carrot and a stick to keep me going it was meat and a stick. Or maybe meat on a stick. Steak on a Stake was one of my favorite things to eat at the Michigan RenFaire back when I was a kid.
I swear to God, when I get on the ground I'm going to order the greasiest, bacon and cheese slathered burger in the fucking world.
No fries though.
Seriously, I am done with all potato products. I'm not touching anything even remotely resembling a root vegetable for the rest of my life. I don't even want to play with a Mr. Potato Head.
Chapter 4LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 710
I've been moving around more. Beck was satisfied enough with the state of my health that he's allowed me to start walking without supervision, though I'm still stuck in the habitation segment of the Hermes' carousel. 0.3G or not, he and Lewis don't want me climbing ladders to the hub to transit to the other segments, a necessity since for safety reasons they aren't directly connected into a single pressure vessel, until I'm more healed up. It's making me a bit stir crazy, I'll admit. Together the pressurized areas of the Hermes aren't that much bigger than the Hab back on Mars, so I'm stuck in ¼ of that until further notice.
In other news I celebrated Christmas today. Sorta. I know it's June, but if this had been a normal mission then we would have celebrated the holiday while in transit back to Earth, so NASA made sure to include Christmas presents in our personal items weight allotment. Actually everyone else celebrated the holiday when Hermes left Mars the first time, but as you can imagine it was a pretty sorry affair, what with me being presumed dead and all. They left my own present unopened for obvious reasons, but Beck and Lewis presented it to me today as a celebration for my health milestone.
It was a hand knitted sweater from my mom, because (as the note in the box put it) "Space is cold."
I'm gonna wear that sucker every day until we get back.
Speaking of clothes, do you have any idea how nice it is to wear clean underwear? Hell, clean anything ? Our pre-supply clothing allotment covered a 31 day surface mission. Which meant I was given a whopping fifteen sets of underwear and pairs of socks for surface ops, plus three sets of shirts and pants, assuming the latter were changed every ten days. I could wear Martinez and Vogel's clothes as well, even if they didn't fit great, but NASA didn't include a clothes washer in the Hab for obvious reasons, and things got seriously skanky even with me trying to scrub clothes in a sample container with hot water from the microwave. I couldn't even use soap when I washed them, because I had to ration that out for my personal hygiene.
Since I got back up to Hermes I've been wearing the clothes that I was supposed to wear when the original mission profile said we'd be heading back to Earth after a nice, normal 31 sol ground mission. Which not incidentally means I'm the only one wearing clothes that haven't been washed six jillion times in the Hermes' washing machine.
Which we no longer have soap for.
Needless to say I'm ahead of pretty much everyone else sartorially at this point. But that's not the worst of it. At least as a guy I don't have to worry about certain things that I'm sure have been on Commander Lewis and Johanssen's mind. Like I said, Iris 2 had food and only food aboard when it when it rendezvoused with Hermes . I haven't asked what the hell those two are doing to compensate and I ain't gonna. After surviving so long on Mars, it'd be embarrassing to get spaced by Lewis for asking about the ship's tampon supply.
Actually, come to think of it, that would go for birth control as well. Lewis is faithful to her husband I'm pretty sure, but Johanssen had to have run out of pills months ago. I hope to hell she and Beck are being careful. I mean presumably they're keeping track, but low gravity can screw a woman's period like it throws almost every other bodily function out of whack. It's not like NASA is going to send a supply of condoms along for the mission just in case.
Then again, it is NASA. They prepare for everything.
Just checked the ship's online inventory. Nope. No condoms, and definitely no more tampons.
I need to seriously stop thinking about this.
Chapter 5LOG ENTRY
MISSION DATE 715
Okay, I broke down and asked Beck. Turns out Johanssen and Lewis both had IUD's installed that are good for at least five years, a couple of months before launch. So neither of them need to worry about getting pregnant or having periods until we get back. Unless we get sucked into a wormhole and visit the Planet of the Apes, the Series for at least three seasons.
They had some seriously fucking weird shows in the 70's. I mean, a bunch of guys in rubber ape masks instead of CGI? Sheesh. On the plus side, I now know why my parents thought Professor Bobo on MST3K was so hilarious.
On a more serious subject, I have been reminded by the mission psychology team that I have been dancing around talking about something. Mostly because I didn't feel like talking about it at all. The question being: "Did I have suicidal thoughts at any point during my period on Mars?"
Gee, ya think ?
Look, re-reading my log entries from my time on Mars, you might get the impression that I'm a bit of a Pollyanna. I was writing down my thoughts more or less stream of consciousness, but I'll admit to doing some editing in brain before typing it all in. Yeah, I thought about it. That first evening when I started taking inventory of everything I'd have to do to stay alive, my side aching from the self-surgery was one low point. The worst though was right after losing the potato farm. I had worked so damned hard on that thing, and I knew then that any attempt by NASA to build a resupply probe would now be a desperate rush job, and might not make it. Honestly, when Venkat broke down and told me the probe had a launch failure, that was just the icing on the cake. By that point I wasn't so much suicidal as numb.
But that was it really. Part of it is that I'm an engineer. I fix problems. So long as I had something occupy my brain, and I always had something , even if it was routine Hab maintenance, I could keep going, one problem at a time. Hell, even killing myself was an engineering problem, but one I was more than willing to put off until I faced some other problem I just couldn't fix.
So long as I had some hope, be it meeting the Ares 4 crew at Schiaparelli, getting a resupply probe to my location, or even that loony launch in the remains of the Ares 4 MAV, I could keep going. If the MAV's engines had failed to ignite, or the Hermes missed the rendezvous for some reason, yeah, then I would have done something really permanent to myself. But until then I was determined to keep going, if for no other reason than I really didn't want to put my parents through the same pain that they'd experienced once already.
Enough about that. I lived through it, and I'm sure as fuck never going to go back to Mars to experience it again. I intend to live to a ripe old age so I can bitch to my descendants how easy they've got it compared to the old days.
Chapter 6Chapter Summary
Mark finds out just what the rest of the crew gave up, for the chance to rescue him.LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 725
I am so fucking furious right now I'm having a hard time typing it all in. I wanna punch my fist into a wall, but I know if I did that I'd just make more work for Beck, I gotta get all of this on the page though, so I can look at it, in case I forget to be mad for some reason.
Deep breath.
Okay, the day actually started out great. After yet another exam , Dr. Bossy Beck finally gave me permission to me move around the rest of Hermes. As soon as he gave me the word, I climbed up the ladder and did a happy little dance in the zero-g section of the hub. Then immediately regretted it as my inner ear started bouncing like a fucking pinball. Once I was sure my lunch was going to stay put I went over to the control room just because I could.
Commander Lewis was there, typing up the daily mission status report, correlating items concerning the ship's health that NASA couldn't monitor directly, and also attaching all the results from the science experiments that the crew had run the day before. Once it was all together she'd send it in the daily data dump over to Mission Control, same as they'd send us our marching orders for the next day around the same time. I hung around near the hatch until she saved the file, and she waved me over.
"How are you feeling, Watney?" she asked.
"Beck is letting me move around and use the ladders," I replied. "I'm glad. I was starting to go stir crazy in my room. Did you know Martinez farts in his sleep? I think he was saving up beans in his colon before we left Earth, just in case he needed to really gross us out."
"I'll make a note of it," Lewis said, chuckling a little. Despite the weird obsession with 70's sitcoms, Lewis is probably the most low-key member of our team, and a hard one to make laugh. She's always taken her responsibilities as mission commander incredibly seriously, and does her best to treat everyone with an even hand. Even her resident class clown, me. I guess I'm the Horshack to her Mr. Kotter or something.
Oh, God I've got to watch more 21st century videos.
Anyway, I went on, "Any word on when I'll be put back to work with ship's maintenance and my science schedule? I don't want Beck screwing around any more with my poor plants."
"If you can move around now to the science labs, I don't see any reason why you can't take up your experiment schedule again," Lewis said. "As for maintenance, I want your ribs fully healed up before you start work on that. Interior duties only. Beck and Vogel can handle any required EVA's. NASA and I both want you to avoid any unnecessary risks during the trip back to Earth."
"Fine by me," I said. "I'll be happy to stay inside, just so long as we get back home in one piece. I don't want to ever wear a spacesuit again in my life if I can help it. I did enough EVA's on Mars that I'm probably going to hold the Guinness World Record until the Sun burns out."
That got another chuckle out of her. "What do you think you'll do when you get back?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Eat food that isn't potatoes or protein bars. Maybe get a job as a teacher. Mom and Dad were contacted by the University of Chicago. They said I can name whatever professorship I want, and I can have it."
"So you're done with NASA?" Lewis asked.
"I"m done with space period," I said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that NASA worked so hard to rescue me, but my ass is going to stay on a nice, safe planet with normal gravity, food I can eat, and air that won't kill me if I walk outside."
"Maybe you can write a book," she suggested. "I was reading your logs. You actually went into a lot of detail about your efforts to survive. People would be interested in reading about that."
"Yeah, maybe," I said, thinking about how many fucks I'd written down in those logs. "I'd have to do a lot of editing before I'd send it to a publisher though."
"Keep it as it is," Lewis said. "It's very you , Mark."
"What, a foul mouthed asshole?"
"An honest asshole," she said. "Yes, you've got a dirty mouth, Mark. Sometimes it's made me uncomfortable, but I always knew you were completely upfront with me about anything we discussed."
"Thanks," I mumbled. Talk about a backhanded compliment! To change the subject, I asked, "So what are you going to do? I mean after you've had some downtime. Kinda hard to top any kind of mission after this one."
"Yeah," she agreed. "I'm like you. I'm done with space, and the military. I'll probably get a job as a consultant, or maybe a teacher like you're considering."
"Wait, what?" I asked. "You're going to resign your commission?" I felt my stomach knot up. Lewis loved being an astronaut, but she was even prouder of being a Navy commander. For her to resign just because of one lousy accident was just fucking wrong. "You can't do that," I exclaimed. "Jesus Christ, what happened to me on Mars was an accident . You weren't responsible for it, I told you that already!"
"I'm not resigning because of that, Mark," she replied. "I've got other reasons."
"What other reasons?" I demanded. "Christ, you're a hero . You pulled off the greatest rescue mission in NASA history. Once Teddy Saunders retires you could be made head of the agency!"
"NASA isn't going to make me the head of anything," Lewis said. She rubbed her forehead briefly, as if she was in pain. "I was going to drop this on you after we got back to Earth and you had some time to recuperate, but I guess I should tell you now."
"Tell me what?" I said.
"Mark, the original mission for Hermes was to just come home, while JPL built a second supply mission for you, to be sent on the Taiyang Shen booster. It would have been a last-ditch effort. The Iris 2 wouldn't even have had a landing system. They were hoping enough supplies would survive a crash landing that you could make it until the Ares 4 crew arrived," she explained to me. "NASA decided it was better to for one astronaut to be placed at high risk, rather than place all of us at a lower risk with the extended mission to swing back towards Mars to pick you up."
"I guess that makes sense," I said. "What changed their minds?"
"They didn't. We forced their hand. Someone managed to slip Rich Purnell's course into an email sent to Vogel, with all the details of the maneuver and also the reasons why NASA decided against it. This person thought we should have the right to decide whether to place our own lives at risk, in order to give you a better chance to survive."
Right then Lewis looked more grim than I'd ever seen her. "Vogel brought it to my attention. I knew it had a much better chance at rescuing you successfully than depending on the Iris 2 reaching you. So I discussed it with the rest of the crew, and we made the decision together that we would execute the Rich Purnell maneuver. That forced NASA to change the Iris 2 mission to be a resupply probe for Hermes . Publically they claimed the decision was from NASA's leadership. In truth we committed mutiny. However we're praised when we get back, no one on this crew is going into space ever again." She smiled sadly. "The best I can hope for is some desk job with an impressive title and no responsibilities. Given my actions, I also wouldn't be comfortable in a Navy command. I think the private sector is the best place for me."
"Let me see if I've got this straight," I said slowly. "You, and everyone on this crew, willingly trashed their futures with NASA for the sake of my sorry ass? Goddamnit Lewis, I know how much your Navy career meant to you. You just threw it all away on some half-baked hope that you'd be able to pick me up?"
"Not half-baked," she replied, frowning. "If I'd thought the maneuver wouldn't work, or that the second probe had a better chance to reach you, I would have never brought it to the others' attention. As it was, I thought it had much higher chance of success than crash landing Iris into Mars."
"What the hell would you have done if Iris had missed the Hermes ?" I demanded. "What the fuck would have happened if you lost life support, or the reactor, or the water reclaimer while you were on your way to pick me up?"
"We would have died," Lewis said flatly. "And we would have died knowing that we did everything we could to save you, rather than just come home with our tails between our legs, hoping that Ares 4 would reach you in time."
I was so angry I pushed myself back and forth across the tiny control room as I talked, literally bouncing off the walls. "You guys are heroes . You should be looking forward to fucking parades . Instead Director Saunders is going slam the door in your faces even while he's telling the world what a great job you did, the prick."
"You're right," Lewis said, her tone growing hard. "But we all made this decision with our eyes wide open, Watney. Respect that. "
Those last words stopped me short. Respect is a really important word for Commander Lewis. She gave it to us, working with a bunch of quirky PhD's wearing astronaut uniforms, that didn't always follow the military protocol she was used to. In turn we gave it to her, trusting that when she made a decision that affected the whole crew, it would be the right one. It was at the core of what made her Commander Lewis, USN and not just Melissa Lewis, NASA Astronaut.
"All right," I said, trying to calm down. "You, all of you, made this decision to rescue me. I'll respect that. But I'm sure as fuck not going to respect NASA if they sink your careers. And I'm going to tell Teddy Saunders what an asshole he is to his face, even if I have to do it behind a closed door."
"Fair enough," Lewis replied, her tone returning to normal. "Thank you, Mark."
I knew a dismissal when I heard it, so I kinda ducked my head and headed back down to my bunkroom. I've been in here ever since, stewing.
Okay, fine. If the crew wanted to toss their careers at NASA into the airlock for the sake of one nerdy botanist, that's okay. But goddamn it burns me. Look, it's not like I'd rather be dead, but I'm going to have to go on with the rest of my life knowing what they did for me, and knowing there's nothing in whole entire fucking world I could possibly do to pay them back.
Fuck. I gotta think about this.
Chapter 7LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 730
I am forced to admit that Beck managed to not fuck up my zero-g plant experiments, despite everything that happened on this trip so far. Blowing a hole in the inner door of the VAL and venting all the air out of the goddamned ship is what fucked them up. The only fortunate thing is that the ship remained warm enough during the brief period of vacuum that they didn't actually die, and the soil remained viable.
I've spent the past five days resetting all of my shit for the updated science schedule. I'm sure the botany team monitoring what I do back on Earth were gnashing their teeth at seeing their carefully planned experiments get thrown into the blender, but that hasn't filtered up to me. I'm back with my ferns, grasses, and even some tomatoes. I suspect when the tomatoes become ripe I'm going to become the most popular guy on the ship.
It's nice be back in the Botany Science groove. I'd missed it. Growing potatoes kept my brain engaged, but I was just using stuff I already knew. Doing zero-g and 1/3G botany and making brand new discoveries is what I joined NASA for.
In other news I'm still thinking about what Lewis and the rest of the crew sacrificed, all for the chance to save my ass. It's not like I can go back in time and change what they did, and I wouldn't (seriously, fucking with the time stream never ends well, at least going by every book, TV show, and movie ever made) but I don't know how I can ever thank them either.
Hmm. I wonder if I can get Lewis any original ABBA 8-tracks. She'd like that.
Seriously. The woman has an honest to God 8-track player in her living room. I saw it at the party she held in Houston before we went to the Cape for the launch to Hermes. Hell, she probably has a disco ball hanging from the ceiling in her bedroom.
Okay, now I've got an image in mind that you should never ever have of your mission commander. Gah! I'm going back to my science station.
Chapter 8LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 740
Almost died of radiation poisoning today, but other than that it was pretty boring.
Okay, that requires some explanation. One of the problems with flying in a tin-can in space is that we don't have several miles of atmosphere overhead for protection, especially when the Sun decides to be an asshole and fart solar flares at us. Basically a solar flare is an eruption on the surface of the Sun, blasting off megatons of hydrogen and releasing a buttload of radiation in the process.
Since weight is everything to a space mission, the Hermes' hull isn't thick enough to block the radiation. Instead, when we get a flare warning, we head towards what's called the storm shelter. Actually it's just a section of corridor in the central axis that's surrounded by tanks with the ship's water supply. Several hundred gallons of water turns out to be just what you need to block radiation, so we all have to do is basically sit tight for a few hours until we get the all clear from Mission Control.
As emergencies go, it's pretty routine. We went through it twice on the way to Mars, and had it all down pat. I grabbed my laptop and worked on collating some of my observations from my experiments, Beck read a medical journal on his tablet, Lewis zoned out on some music (wearing her earbuds, thank goodness), and so on. While it's not exactly something to look forward to, it's a break in the routine, which is always welcome given NASA usually schedules our waking time in ten minute increments.
After a while Martinez starting looking thoughtful, staring out the corridor past the red "Certain Death Beyond This Point" line that defined the safety limits of the storm shelter.
"What are you looking at?" I asked, finishing up my notes.
"I was just thinking," he said, and grinned. "If we had any bacon left on board, next flare warning I'd put it on a long rod and see if I could fry it out there, like in a microwave."
"Solar flares are made up of alpha, beta and gamma radiation. They'd be no good for cooking," Johanssen said, probably drawn into the conversation out of outrage for her profession as a reactor tech. "All you'd be doing is sterilizing it, not to mention yourself if you used a metal rod."
"Yeah, yeah," Martinez replied, waving her off. "Still, it would'a been useful if we'd had to go through with the plan to…"
Johanssen glared and cut him off. "We're not going there," she said.
Martinez gave me a funny look for some reason, and backed down. "Okay, sorry," he mumbled.
"What plan?" I asked.
Johanssen turned red. "It's not important."
" What? " I repeated.
She sighed and answered, "If we'd blown the rendezvous with the resupply probe, everyone except me would have committed suicide, to preserve enough food for at least one of us to get home. Except we really wouldn't have enough food still, so I would have eaten everyone's bodies."
Jesus.
"Oh," was my brilliant response. Followed by, "I'm sure as hell glad Plan A worked."
"Me too," was all she said. After that, Martinez and I kept our mouths shut.
Note to Self: Find something really fucking nice as a present for Johanssen when we get back. Like, I don't know, a signed Agatha Christie novel, or maybe one of John Lennon's original guitars.
Chapter 9LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 760
I have spent the past three days pounding my head against the problem of the coolant pipes embedded in the walls of the crew quarters. The shared wall between my quarters and Martinez's is laced with a spiral pattern of 5mm wide PVC pipes, carrying cold water to keep the rooms cool. Unfortunately there's a blockage somewhere in there, preventing the water from flowing. So if you spend any time in the cabins your body will eventually warm the place to a sweltering 37 Celsius, because thermodynamics hates uneven temperature ranges, and also thinks spontaneous human combustion is fucking hilarious.
Since the water not-flowing is part of our potable water supply, pouring Drano into the feed just wasn't an option. I needed to figure out how to basically Roto-Rooter the blockage out of there, using a snake that could fit into the narrow piping.
The obvious solution was wire. We've got plenty of it, about five thousand kilometers throughout the ship, going by the geeky stats you find in Popular Mechanics . Unfortunately most of it is being used already, and our fearless commander understandably frowns on the idea of ripping apart the junction boxes for emergency plumbing purposes. Which left the spare cabling that we have for repairs. That was also vetoed by Lewis, since we're already a bit short thanks to other maintenance needs.
Fortunately I did have a ready supply on hand: my EVA suit. Actually it was Martinez's EVA suit, which I'd worn since the Hab decompression incident back on Sol 119 all the way to my MAV launch to intercept Hermes . Four hundred and thirty sols of wear had done a number on it. The Beta cloth outer skin was embedded with rusty orange martian dust, no longer the brilliant white it'd started out as, and patched in several spots where I'd had to repair it like a old quilt. The interior lining smells of sweat, space farts, and piss. It was no wonder that Beck had almost gagged when he first took my helmet off. The upper torso was also in several pieces, our good doctor having literally cut me out of it in order not to waste time treating me once I was safely back aboard the Hermes .
The remains had been stuffed into what looked like a body bag, normally used to store our ascent/descent suits while we travelled on the route between Earth and Mars and back again. We'd had a spare for it since I'd left my damaged flight suit back on Mars. On the official manifest it was now listed as a critical return item, like the rocks and soil samples we would have been hauling home if the mission had gone as planned. NASA wanted to look it over to see how well it survived all the punishment I gave it, in order to make better suits for future missions. We'd also gotten word that the Smithsonian had dibs to place it in the National Air & Space Museum, next to Neil Armstrong's own EVA suit from the Apollo 11 landing.
With that in mind I began cutting it to pieces with a pair of heavy-duty safety scissors from Beck's medical supplies. Yes, I realize I spend a lot of time vandalizing historic space artifacts, but I wanted my old room back. Martinez snores like a fucking freight train. There's only so much one guy can take.
I got permission from Lewis for this crime against history by not bothering to ask her. I mean I know she'd figure it out once she got around to asking where the wire came from, but compared to digging into critical maintenance supplies it was a relatively minor sin.
Anyway, after a couple of hours of cutting away layers of suit and pulling copper wiring, I had about ten meters to play with, scavenged from the connections between the helmet's HUD interface and the computer running the backpack's life support. The next step was to get into the plumbing access point closest to the crew quarters and shut off the flow of water to the cooling pipes. Then like fixing any stuck pipe I had to drain the water, storing it in a plastic storage crate, which I then dumped back into the water reclamation system. I then spent the most boring and annoying three hours of my life worming that damned wire through the pipes, working around a couple of elbow bends and the long curve of the spiral.
I'd made a little hook on the very tip of the wire, hoping to snag whatever the hell was causing the problem. Once I'd guided the wire as deep into the system as I could, I started drawing it back slowly, hoping to hell it wouldn't get caught on something and break, making all my work moot.
As I'd hoped, when I finished drawing the last of the wire back out, there was a mass of unidentifiable black organic gunk on the end, probably just stuff that had accumulated during the reclamation process and made it past the filters, building up over time. I flicked it into a plastic baggie for Beck to do an analysis on later, if he felt that bored.
After that it was just a matter of sealing up the plumbing again and turning on the water. I heard a hiss as the pipes filled up again, and went to my room to check the situation. A thermocouple I'd attached to the wall confirmed what I felt with the palm of my hand; the wall was cool to the touch, just the right amount to offset the buildup of my body heat once the door was shut. I wasted no time moving all my stuff back to my room, and sending a note to Martinez through the ship's IM client that he could access his own again. Beck would probably be just as happy to stay shacked up with Johanssen I'm betting.
LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 761
Here's how Commander Lewis took the news of my repair.
760: 1905, WATNEY: Plumbing problem in the cooling pipes for Cabin Divider C4 has been fixed. Coolant now flowing normally. Noted repair in the daily log.
760: 1907, LEWIS: Good job. Martinez will be happy. How did you clear the blockage?
760: 1910, WATNEY: Salvaged wire from some non-functioning equipment and used it to clear the gunk out.
760: 1912, LEWIS: What equipment did you get it from?
760: 1918, LEWIS: *WHAT* equipment?
760: 1920, WATNEY: My old spacesuit. It's not like it wasn't chopped to pieces already.
760: 1923, LEWIS: NASA wanted the remains for further testing. Whatever is left of the suit is probably useless now.
760: 1927, WATNEY: I was going to go homicidal if I had to sleep with Martinez one more night. Consider it a sacrifice to the cause of inter-crew harmony.
760: 1930, LEWIS: Noted. I'll let you write the apology letters to NASA and the Smithsonian.
760: 1932, WATNEY: Okay, I deserve that.
Chapter 10LOG ENTRY
MISSION DAY 793
Y'know what the worst part of going vacation was for me when I was a kid? The trip back. Going to wherever we were going during the summer was a hassle, but it was made better by the knowledge that when we got there fun stuff was going to happen. Leaving wasn't exactly fun, but I was so busy packing my stuff up and hoping I didn't forget anything that it wasn't that bad. But the drive back sucked, because not only was I not on vacation anymore, I also wasn't home either. All I would think about was how nice it would be to sleep in my own bed, but I couldn't because I was stuck in a car for eight hours with my mom and dad and not much to do except stare out the window at the traffic on the interstate.
Right now we are halfway home. The MAV intercept with Hermes was on Sol 549/Mission Day 687. We're due to finish decelerating into Earth orbit on Mission Day 898, or December 21st to non-astronauts. So I'm not on Mars, but I'm not home either, and I gotta admit I'm going a bit stir crazy.
By this point NASA has its shit together when it comes to long duration missions, and they know one of the most dangerous points isn't during the highlight of landing and exploration. It's the trip back, when the crew has finished the major mission objectives, and are cruising back to Earth. That's when boredom and a bit of antsy-ness sets in, as the anticipation of arrival mutates into the genius IQ astronaut equivalent of chanting Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? That's the point where a crew has the biggest chance to fuck up something through carelessness, all the drills and knowledge of the dangers of spaceflight be damned.
So to fight it, we're kept busy. I've got ship's maintenance and my plants to play with. Beck raises his lab mice and monitors the crew's health. Vogel and Martinez conduct astronomical observations. Johanssen minds the ship's reactor and computer network, and assists me as needed for repairs, and Lewis keeps an eye on the ship and crew overall, and also does some miscellaneous science duties. Basically NASA tries to keep our brains engaged all day, so we don't get bored and lazy, sitting around watching the 89th rerun of Gilligan's Island Meets the Harlem Globetrotters.
(Yeah, that exists. I may have left Lewis' entertainment data stick on Mars, but I'll never be able to erase the horror of watching it from my brain.)
Honestly, Lewis has it the worst of us. If we'd had a normal mission she would have been kept busy analyzing five hundred kilos of Martian rock and soil samples during the trip back. All she has now is the contingency sample we immediately took when we first arrived on Mars and stored in the Ares 3 MAV in case we (ahem) had to abort the mission unexpectedly. Ten measly kilos of rock and dirt that she's been studying the shit out of for the last nine months. NASA's science team have found other things for her to do, but there isn't much geology involved at this point, which is what she trained for.
So we're all stuck together in the car. We can't step outside for a walk. And all we've got to do is homework or stare out the window at, well, nothing.
Are we there yet?