A/N Hey everyone! Thanks to everyone who had taken time to read my story and for the favorites, follows, and for the wonderful reviews! It is so encouraging. Just want to be clear that this story is a mash up of The Hunger Games and The Martian. This is a slooooow build/ slow burn fic, but I promise you Everlark is coming.
I've dropped a few Star Wars quotes into this chapter and a few THG quotes too.
**edited and reposted because I forgot to format the page breaks in.
Chapter 6: Contact
The smell of peanuts, coffee, and body odor permeated the small conference room turned impromptu Pathfinder Control. Everyone had been running on little sleep, fueled by pizza, Red Bull, Dr. Pepper, and doughnuts. A menagerie of machines littered the tables and a set of shelves on one side of the room. Endless coils of wires and cords wended their way between machines and under tables.
Technicians, engineers, and controllers had worked around the clock to find antiquated computers, repair broken components, and install hastily made software that allowed the old system to interact with the new Deep Space Network. Some of the technicians hadn't been home in days, and took what snatches of sleep they could. In the corner, a pile of pillows and blankets testified to how precious a commodity sleep had become. There was equally little time for personal hygiene, which accounted for the BO.
Haymitch stood at the back of the room, one arm crossed over his chest and the other arm folded with his hand resting on his jaw, staring at a monitor. Waiting. Dark shadows bloomed under his eyes. His long salt and pepper hair lay limply on his head. His grey eyes were weary, but eager.
Plutarch Heavensbee burst into the room and wrinkled his nose. "My what an incredible smell you've discovered!" he commented, picking up a peanut canister and helping himself to a handful of the nuts.
"It could be worse," retorted Haymitch.
"It's worse," said Plutarch, handing the canister back to Haymitch, who helped himself to another handful.
Despite the fact it was 2:30am local time, all the techs sat alert at their stations. The AP news team was crammed off to the side, trying, and failing, to stay out of the way as they recorded the momentous occasion.
The sun had just risen on Sol 97. Earth and Mars were in a better position to communicate. Peeta would soon be up. They would know today if the whole Pathfinder trip had been successful.
Together, the small crowd of men and women waited with bated breath.
...
...
"Something's coming in!" exclaimed the technician nearest Haymitch, "Yes...YES! It's Pathfinder!"
The room erupted in cheers and applause.
Plutarch slapped Haymitch on the back, "We did it! We did it!"
Haymitch's reaction was more subdued. This success was a huge step forward, but with 140 million miles separating them from Peeta, even a big step was so far short.
Haymitch gave a little half smile to Plutarch, then turned to the technician nearest him. "Hey, what did you say your name was? Ted? Tim?"
"Thom."
"Well, Thom, what's next?"
"We automatically sent the return telemetry signal. That will get there in eleven minutes. And when Pathfinder gets it, it will start sending high gain transmissions. It'll take eleven minutes to get back so that means twenty-two minutes bef-"
Haymitch cut him off. "Boy, I've been in this business since you were in diapers. I don't need you to explain transmission times to me."
"Sorry," answered Thom contritely, "You never can tell with managers..."
Plutarch asked, "So what was in the signal we got?"
Thom answered, "Bare bones. Just the hardware check. Most of the systems are nonfunctional because of the panels Mellark pried off."
"The camera?" asked Haymitch, his voice gruff with long use.
Thom swiveled his chair to turn back to Haymitch. "It says the imager's working."
"Then have it take a panorama ASAP."
"Consider it done."
Just then Haymitch's cell phone rang. Johanna. He excused himself from the room with its loud buzz still going on. Plutarch continued chatting amiably with Thom while they waited on the next transmission.
Johanna began immediately. "I saw everything on livestream. Looks like you pulled it off old man."
"It wasn't just me. These guys have been working around the clock." Haymitch demurred. "And Plutarch-"
"Yeah, I know, but you spearheaded it," Johanna insisted.
"Yeah."
"Yeah? That's all you have to say? Just fucking 'yeah'? You don't sound very excited."
Haymitch sighed. "There's just so much more to do. Am I ever that excited?"
"No, I guess not. Press conference is in an hour. Try to sound a little enthusiastic."
"I'll be sure to smile."
"Please, don't. You ready?"
"No."
"Well, go get 'em, Tiger. Maybe you could imagine them all in their underwear, or that they're all whisky bottles or something."
"Johanna, you're a wonderful human being."
"That's true, dear. I'll be in touch."
"Got it. Bye."
Haymitch sent a text before going back in.
H. Abernathy: We've got a signal, Sweetheart. Just thought you'd like to know.
SatCon- Houston, TX
Katniss had gotten in at 4:15 am today. Her days were getting closer to Earth-time again. That was good. In about a week she'd be golden, then, in two weeks she'd be on late shift, then in 3 weeks she'd be overnight again. She was pulling up the first batch of images with a hot mug of coffee (little sugar, lot of cream) in her hand. Peeta had had Pathfinder back at the Hab now for a couple of days and she hoped he'd be successful at communicating with JPL. What she was really worried about was how they were going to communicate with him. After realizing he was going after Pathfinder, she looked it up on the intranet. It had almost nothing movable. It really was just like a box. With a camera. But the camera was on a boom that could lift it up so it could take panoramic pictures of Mars. She wondered if it was even possible for NASA to do more than just look at the Antares 3 site.
Her phone buzzed suddenly on her desk, making her jump, incidentally sloshing coffee on her shirt. "Shit!" she cursed under her breath, then checked her phone. It wasn't a call. It was a text. From Haymitch.
H. Abernathy: We've got a signal, Sweetheart. Just thought you'd like to know.
She replied, fingers shaking so much it was hard to type on her tiny phone screen.
K. Everdeen: Thanks for letting me know. Glad I'm here. Must stink there.
She knew they'd been pulling long hours; many of the technicians were camping out at JPL. She easily imagined their hygiene suffered. She knew all too well how easy it was for that to happen, her own blanket and pillow were tucked neatly under her desk.
H. Abernathy: You don't even want to know. Keep up the good work.
K. Everdeen: I'll try.
Katniss was relieved they had a better way of knowing how Peeta was doing than what they had thus far.
Sol 97
After a night of fitful sleep, anxious to check the lander, Peeta was up at dawn.
He had suited up and just exited the air lock when he looked over at Pathfinder and saw, unmistakably, the antenna had moved!
"It worked! Holy shit! It worked!" he said, moving over to the lander.
"They know I'm alive," he thought to himself and bit his lip to stop it from trembling.
He laid his gloved hand on top of the lander. "Good job." Then he bent down and laid his helmeted head down on it. "Thank you," he whispered.
In a stupor he walked back to the Hab. He had often imagined what his reaction would be: jubilant fist pumping, excited yelling, hooting and hollering, doing a back flip (he never could do one on Earth), flipping the whole fucking planet off since it seemed to be out to get him.
He did none of those things.
Inside the Hab, he shed his EVA suit, knelt in the dirt, and cried like a baby. He was no longer alone.
All cried out, he felt at peace. A sort of heavy calm. Like being enveloped in a warm, heavy blanket. It was a good feeling, though it was not at all how he expected to feel. He hadn't felt that way in a long time.
He wiped his eyes and calmed his breathing. He had a lot to do, namely, figure out how to talk to a camera platform, to people for the first time in months. It was time to get to work!
He also thought he really would need to be more careful about log entries...
JPL - Pasadena, CA
Haymitch wished that bastard Seneca was here. He loved attention and being in the spot light. Press Conferences were his bread and butter. For Haymitch they were a form of torture. He hated them, but they were a necessary evil. Right now, public support meant more funding, which in turn meant a better chance of rescuing Mellark.
He sighed resignedly and climbed the stairs to the podium in the JPL pressroom.
"Thank you all for coming. We have successfully received a signal from Pathfinder and just over a half hour ago received the first high-gain transmission. We will have panoramic images available in about an hour. Questions?"
The sea of reporters clamored.
Haymitch pointed at Caesar Flickerman. Best to get that windbag out of the way first. "Go ahead, Caesar."
Caesar beamed at the favoritism. Haymitch smirked at his mistake. "Thank you Mr. Abernathy. Have you heard from Mellark?"
"No. We can only hope that Mellark will have some sort of message when we take the panorama."
"Have you had any contact with Sojourner?"
"No."
"Is anything wrong with Sojourner?"
"I can't even speculate on that. We have no way to communicate with Sojourner directly and there's no telling why Sojourner isn't talking to the lander. It's been on Mars for decades. Anything could be wrong with it."
"Aw, C'mon Haymitch! What about best guess?"
Haymitch huffed. "Best guess? It's inside the Hab. The lander's signal wouldn't be able to penetrate the Hab canvas."
Haymitch was done talking with Caesar.
He pointed to a new reporter, "You!"
"Cressida Troy, NBC News," Cressida said, "How will you communicate with Mellark?"
"That's up to him. All we have is a camera. He could potentially write us messages, but our ability to communicate back is severely limited." He shifted on his feet. "We're not sure yet."
"Why not?"
"The only moving part on the lander is the camera. That's it. We're relying on Mellark to come up with something. He's resourceful. We just have to wait and see what he comes up with. We'll, uh, follow his lead."
Haymitch pointed at another reporter, "Go ahead."
"Jill Watson, BBC. With a twenty-two minute transmission time and nothing but a single rotating platform to talk with, it will be a dreadfully slow conversation, won't it?"
"Yes it will." Haymitch confirmed.
They were picking at everything that plagued him: would they be able to communicate at all, the slow transmission times, even if they worked out a system, how would they be able to tell Mellark everything they needed to? The frustration welled up in him.
"That's all the questions we'll take for now. We'll be back in an hour once we have the panorama done."
He hurried off the platform, out the door, and down the hall.
He was much more at home in the claustrophobic Pathfinder Control than in that damned pressroom.
"Got that panorama yet?" he asked Thom.
"Yeah, but we're staring at this blank screen because it's way more interesting than pictures from Mars."
"Smartass."
"Noted."
Haymitch smirked. He was going to like this kid.
Plutarch made his way across the room from where he talked with some of the techs. He was always talking to everyone. "He should do the press conferences," Haymitch thought sourly.
Eyeing the clock on the wall, Plutarch said, "A few more seconds!" His eyes were alight with excitement.
The room quieted to a tense silence.
"Getting something," Thom announced, "It's...it's it! It's the panoramic!"
Pictures appeared on Thom's screen, filling in from left to right. It was a painfully slow process with a twenty second delay between images. Haymitch and Plutarch couldn't help themselves, they began calling out what was in the images.
"Martian surface...more surface..."
"I think that's the MDV in the background there..."
"The corner of the Hab..."
"Hab!...more Hab...rover and more Hab..."
"Is that...?"
"A message?"
"That's a message!"
"What's it say?" called someone else in the room.
"It says, 'I'll write questions here...Are you receiving me?'" Plutarch read the card Peeta had placed at the camera's level.
"That's it?" asked a technician.
"Wait," said Haymitch, eyes narrowed at the screen, "There's another card. It says, 'Point here for 'yes'.'"
Plutarch chuckled. "It's like those notes you pass in elementary school. 'Do you like me check yes or no.'"
Thom said, "Well, I don't like him. Where's the 'no'?"
Haymitch straightened up. "Shut up, Thom. Finish the panorama and then point that damn camera at 'yes'. Take a new picture every ten minutes until we get a new message."
There was palpable excitement in the room. They had their first message from the stranded astronaut.
Sol 97 (2)
Peeta had waited in the Hab, his leg jumping from nerves. He couldn't focus on anything, so he just waited. When what he supposed was enough time he went out again.
The camera moved. It moved!
He skipped over (the fastest way to move in low gravity).
"Yes!" They said, "Yes!"
He hadn't been this excited about a 'yes' since prom night. His knees buckled. He knelt in the Martian sand, a myriad of emotions flooding him: relief, happiness, pride, excitement.
He could talk to them, but he had to figure out how to help them talk to him. "Yes/ No" questions only went so far. The camera could move three-hundred sixty degrees. At first he thought he could write out the alphabet and they could spell out messages, but that would be limiting because there were no numbers or symbols. He also had limited cards and too many cards set up around the camera would make it difficult to discern which card the camera was pointed at. He needed something better. Like ASCII. Clove had ASCII tables on her computer. All computer geeks do. With numbers and just a handful of letters, NASA could write anything. Using a pair of hexidecimal digits, they could create any character: letters, numbers, punctuation, etc.
So Peeta made the cards for the code: 0-9 and A-F and placed them evenly around the camera with a place for him to leave his own messages or responses.
He got another card and wrote, "Spell with ASCII 0-F at 21 degree increments. Will watch camera starting at 11:00 my time. When message done, return to this position. Wait 20 mins after completion to take picture (so I can write and post reply). Repeat process at top of every hour."
The first message came right at 11:00. Peeta stood by, ready with the ASCII cheat sheet he had made and a handy dandy antenna to write out the letters so he didn't forget them.
"S...T...A...T...U...S"
I'm healthy-no physical issues. Hab intact. All components working within operational parameters. Gutted Rover 1. Modified Rover 2 for long trips. Growing crops. Situation at Antares 3 NOT crew's fault. It was just bad luck.
"H...O...W...A...L...I...V...E"
Antenna punctured flightsuit. Decompressed suit. Took out biocomputer. I lost consciousness. Crew thought I was dead. Blood sealed hole. Suit repressurized. Woke up hours later. Crew gone. Not their fault.
"C...R...O...P...S...?"
Growing potatoes in the Hab in cultivated soil. Long story. Extreme botany and scientific badassery. Extends food supply, but not enough to reach Antares 4. Plan to drive modified R-2 to A-4 site after successful trip to pick up Pathfinder.
Three hours, three messages. Peeta was worn out. This was so slow. It was amazing to contact NASA, but at the same time, it was frustrating. They needed a faster way. A better way. And he was out of ideas and out of options. He wondered if they were feeling the same irritation.
Time for another message.
"W...E...S...A...W...-...S...A...T...L...I...T...E"
Wow! Government watching me with satellites? Need tinfoil hat. Any ideas to speed up communication? SPEAK & SPELL taking all damn day.
"B...R...I...N...G...S...J...R...N...R...O...U...T"
"Placed Sojourner 1 meter due north of lander. If can contact Sojo, I can write numbers on wheels. You could send six bytes at a time."
This would be a good development and one he had hoped for since scooping little Sojo out of the dirt two weeks ago.
"S...J...R...N...R...N...O...T...R...S...P...N...D"
"Damn," thought Peeta. He really hoped it would work. There was nothing else to say. They had his status, the highlights of events on Mars. They apparently had some satellite thing going on, which now made him subconsciously look up at the sky more often. He wondered how much they watched, had been watching, him and why on Earth- Mars- he never thought of that before. He kinda wanted to look up and wave for the picture.
He just wrote a short note back to NASA...
"Damn. I'm out of ideas. Need faster communication."
…and then went back in the Hab to wait for the top of the hour. "Man this process is tedious," he thought. But he was still so grateful to be talking to people again.
"W...O...R...K...I...N...G...O...N...I...T"
"Good," thought Peeta. It was getting later so he decided it was best to wrap up for the day. He posted his last message.
"Earth is about to set. Resume 08:00 my time tomorrow morning. Tell my dad I'm okay. Give crew my best. Tell Commander Odair his boy bands suck. And tell Rue I want to start a book club."
JPL- Pasadena, CA
Haymitch was pleased when they were able to contact Mellark, but he was just as quickly frustrated by the painfully slow communication, especially as they had a hell of a lot they needed to be able to share with him if they were going to get the boy off mars. This Speak & Spell method wasn't going to cut it. It only took a few messages for Haymitch to be thoroughly frustrated with the new communication method. Really it only took the first message.
Between the third and fourth messages he went first to his desk, then scrapped that idea and found a small unused conference room on another floor that looked out over the hills to the north.
He dialed Chaff.
"Chaff," came a rough voice on the receiver.
"Chaff, you old bastard!"
"Haymitch, you asshole!"
"I need your help."
"Haymitch you asshole!"
"C'mon."
"Okay, okay, I'm listening."
"We've been able to contact Mellark."
"I saw that. Congratulations!"
"Well, the method we're using sucks."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, we have to spell words out and condense things and he's hand-writing responses back to us."
"Well, that'll never work."
"Shit Chaff, will you listen?"
"I am listening, you said you needed my help and the current method of communication sucks. You want to have my people help your people."
"Yes."
"No."
"What?"
"No."
"Why the hell not?"
"We already established that our department can't help you talk to Mellark. The Leeg twins talked to you about it."
"I know, I remember, but I thought with Pathfinder, maybe we could work something out you know between the satellites or, hell, I don't know." Haymitch rubbed his face and leaned his forehead against the window.
"Listen, Haymitch, my group can't help you, but I know someone who can, and you already know her, too. Nancy Ng. Nicknamed "Wiress". She's the top software engineer at NASA and she's already there, at JPL, working on software for the Antares 4 mission. She might be able to help you. She's knowledgeable about the missions and their components. She's incredibly intuitive though her mind can kind of wander sometimes, so try not to be your usual dick self around her okay?"
"Thank you, Chaff. I appreciate it, and yeah, I'll try to be nice."
"You owe me one."
"One more Scotch?"
"Yeah, that last one was fabulous! Best Scotch I ever drank!"
"Well, I'll send you another then."
"And Haymitch?"
"Yeah?"
"If anyone can get that boy home, it's you."
"Thanks Chaff. I'm doing my best...We're all doing our best."
"You're still an asshole."
Haymitch smirked and hung up.
The phone call to Nancy was brief, but she was willing to help. In fact, some of her people were already part of the team that assembled Pathfinder control and created the patches that allowed Pathfinder to talk to Deep Space Network. This was great news. She'd be by to see him after taking some time to familiarize herself with Pathfinder.
Houston, TX
The leaky faucet had kept her up all of the previous night. So when she got home from SatCon, Katniss knocked on Darius's door. He was already home from work too.
She told him about the leaky faucet and he came over to take a look at it. If he noticed the map of Mars on her living room wall, he said nothing.
"If I fix it today, will you give me a kiss?" he asked teasingly in his Irish lilt.
"If you fix it today, I'll give you three kisses," Katniss answered.
"Alrighty then, I'll get right to work," said Darius, clapping his hands and leaving to get his tools.
Katniss went out on her run.
The cool February air nipped at her nose. Her calves burned and sweat trickled down her temples, between her breasts, and between her shoulder blades. Inspired by Peeta's daily walks after setting out the solar panels to relieve himself of the cramped rover for a time, she realized that she had been cooped up in SatCon for much longer. With all her focus on Peeta and adjusting to living on Mars time she had let her runs lapse. Not anymore. At first she couldn't figure out how to schedule in a run when her schedule was different every day. So she simplified it. If she got up and it was light out, she ran. If it was dark, she ran when she got home. If it was still dark, she'd skip her run that day, it would soon be light again. It was working well. She felt refreshed and invigorated after a run in a way that the endless cups of coffee from the SatCon break room could never produce. It cleared her mind and helped her think better.
When she returned, Darius was gone, but the sink, Oh thank goodness! the faucet no longer leaked. And the work space was already cleaned up.
She got a shower then went over to give Darius his prize.
He answered the door, clearly having just showered himself. "Satisfied with my work?" he asked.
"Definitely," she answered. She was thankful to have such a good-natured and attentive landlord.
"Here to give me my prize then? I've not forgotten, you see. You promised me three kisses," he said with a waggish grin.
A small smile played on her lips. Katniss held out her hand. In it were three Hershey's kisses. He took them happily, enjoying their little joke.
"You know, my Gran knows about our little arrangement," he said conspiratorially tapping his temple.
"Oh, really?" said Katniss.
"Yeah, but she doesn't know that the kisses are only chocolate. I'll have a lot of explaining to do if she ever comes for a visit," he said with a smile.
Katniss gave a soft laugh. "See you later Darius." She let herself back into her side of the duplex and he locked up and headed for Ripper's bar.
A busy break room, JPL, Pasadena, CA
Haymitch's makeshift office was set up in a break room at JPL, down the hall from the ad hoc Pathfinder Control center. He had to deal with a steady stream of overworked employees using the vending machines, but he had a coffee pot close at hand that site services kept full at all times and in their lapse, a technician dutifully refilled it. They soon learned to not pester the surly Mars missions director, so even though they moved through the room with frequency, they disturbed him as little as possible as they patronized the vending machines.
He shuffled papers on the folding table that was now his desk. A person approached him. Without looking up he said, "The Dr. Pepper's out and I don't know when site services will be back to refill the fridge."
The small Asian woman shuffled her small feet. "Uh, actually I was here to see you, Mr. Abernathy."
He looked up. "Oh! Mrs. Ng! Yes, pull up a chair."
Wiress dove right in. "Pathfinder has two comm systems: One for talking to us and one for talking to Sojourner." She smiled thinking of the small rover. Haymitch waited patiently for her to continue, remembering Chaff's warning. "If we send a software update, we can get Pathfinder to talk to Rover 2 instead of Sojourner. Then you can type messages and Mellark could read them on the Rover's computer and he could type responses back."
This was fantastic news!
Haymitch grinned and said, "This is fantastic news!"
Wiress looked downward. She didn't look like it was fantastic news.
"We can update Pathfinder from here…"
"But…." Haymitch felt like there was a big 'but' hanging on the end of that sentence.
"But not Rover 2. Mellark will have to update Rover 2 himself."
Haymitch rubbed his chin. "So you think he can handle running a software update?"
"I have guys working on the software update. It's twenty meg minimum…"
"And…" Haymitch prompted.
Wiress focused again. "If we sent it via your current 'Speak & Spell" method it would take three years sending one byte every four seconds."
Haymitch snorted. "So why are we talking?" He didn't have time for games.
"Because software engineers are sneaky devils." Wiress grinned.
Haymitch leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and said, "Enlighten me."
Wiress went on to explain a "chink in the armor" or loophole. They could exploit the loophole and hack the rover. Rather than send an endless string of code, they could send a series of twenty instructions. It would open the door for Pathfinder to talk to the rover. Then Pathfinder would beam the update to the rover and they'd be in business.
Haymitch's sleep-deprived brain took several extra moments to process what Wiress told him. And when it did, a genuine smile broke across his face. It was like a Trojan horse.
"Nancy, if this works, I'll buy your whole team autographed Star Trek memorabilia."
"I'm more of a Star Wars fan myself." She demurred. "The original trilogy, only, of course."
"Of course."
Nancy left to rejoin her team.
Another tech approached Haymitch, "I can't find any Dr. Pepper. Are we out?"
Haymitch sighed. "Yeah, and I don't know when site services refills the fridge."
"Thanks."
He really did need to just make a sign. He was just starting to look for a Sharpie when the phone rang. Johanna. Shit.
"This is Haymitch."
"I need a picture of Mellark."
"Well, hello to you, too."
"Cut the bullshit."
"We can't do it."
"Fuck you, Haymitch. I've got everyone breathing down my neck. Your taking all sorts of effing panoramas, can't you get just one shot with your star boy?"
"It's not that easy."
"Why the hell not?"
"He writes the messages in the Hab and leaves them for us, then goes back in. We transmit at the top of the hour, but he's watching for the bytes." He sighed heavily, "It's just not easy."
"Just fucking tell him to wait."
"He'll be in his spacesuit; you won't even be able to see his face."
"I need something."
"Shit, okay, in a few days. We're trying to patch Pathfinder to the rover-"
"FUCK! Haymitch! This, THIS, is all anyone's talking about. It's been months! They've been looking at satellite imagery of Mars, of the Antares 3 site, of the Hab, of the rover. They need something! Get me a fucking picture!"
Haymitch huffed. "Fine, we'll try to get you one tomorrow."
"Great," said Jo, "Looking forward to it." Haymitch could hear the fake smile in her voice.
"It's been great talking to you, dear. I do so love our little chats." It was his turn to fake smile.
"Fuck you, Haymitch."
"Bye, Johanna."
Sol 98
The rushing sound of a river filled his ears. Boulders dug into his back and reeds surrounded him. He was so thirsty, but he wasn't hungry. Hadn't been hungry in a while. He was sore all over. It was like he had tousled with his brothers, only ten times worse. Why was he so sore? He had been alone for a long time, kept company only by birdsong, the scuffle of squirrels in the trees, and the occasional unseen creature crashing through the underbrush. He remained undisturbed, but felt unsafe. He was concealed, but felt exposed. He reached for the water but nearly cried out in pain and rolled back. Then soft sounds, like the whisper of wind, a soft voice calling his name, and boots swam into his view and he smiled. He was found! He attempted to roll and sit up again...
but fell out of his bunk, his limbs tangled in his blanket.
He shook off the dream, it was early, but NASA would be talking to him today! He was excited, despite the weird dream that haunted him for a bit as he still worked to wake up. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and plodded through his morning routine, there was no rush. He did some random diagnostic stuff. He didn't need to, but he needed to keep busy. Then with nothing else to do and an hour till 8am, he laid back down in his bunk to read, picking up where he left off in The Scarlet Pimpernel. He hoped he'd find out if the Scarlet Pimpernel was able to survive the death trap set for him by Chauvelin.
Later…
"Talking to NASA would have been like a fun game if the stakes weren't so high," Peeta mused as he memorized half bytes, looked up their equivalents in the ASCII cheat sheet, then marked the character in the Martian sand with one of the antennas from the worthless comm array. Ironic. Still using the antennas to communicate, only in a much more rudimentary fashion.
He read over the now completed message.
CNHAKRVR2TLK2PTHFDERPRP4LONGMSG
It reminded him of when he and his brothers puzzled out vanity plates. Ban was always the fastest, but Peeta had been able to figure out some of the more cryptic ones. Rye just laughed at them and tried to come up with what he'd get on his plates someday, which was usually some crude baker innuendo that was too long to fit anyway.
It took Peeta a minute. JPL had started dropping vowels to economize messages. "Can...hack...rover...to talk to Pathfinder...prepare for long message." Once he discerned the message, Peeta's expression brightened. Using the rover would be a game-changer. Communications would be faster and they'd be able to write more back and forth. He left a sign that said, "Roger" then waited in the Hab until the next transmission.
When it was time, he went back out, and nosed around the comm array. He wanted the longest antenna he could get.
Then he cleared a large swath of sand so he had plenty of room to write. The long antenna allowed him to reach any point without having to step into the cleared area.
Then he stood by. Waiting. Doodling with the antenna, then sweeping the sand clean again with his boot.
At exactly the top of the hour, the camera moved and the message began.
LNCHhexeditONRVRCMP, :2AAE5,OVRWRT141BYTSWTHDATAWE'LLSNDNXTMSG,STANDINVIEW4NXTPIC20MINFTERTHSDONE
Peeta stared. Shit...Okay. By the end of several minutes Peeta had the whole thing decoded.
JPL wanted him to "Launch 'hexedit' on the rover's computer, then open the file ' ', scroll down until the index reading on the left of the screen is 2AAE5, then replace the bytes there with a 141-byte sequence NASA will send in the next message."
He got that.
He was however, perplexed by the end of the message. They wanted him to hang around for a pic. He wasn't special. Why they wanted his picture was beyond his comprehension. They couldn't see any part of him anyway. Even the face plate obscured his face. Whatever. What NASA wants, NASA gets. Especially if they were going to rescue his ass.
Peeta copied the message down in the Hab for future reference, then wrote a short note and went back out. But instead of pinning it to an antenna, he remained.
When the camera servos whirred to life and the camera clicked, it captured Peeta, giving a "rock on" hand gesture and a card that said, "Wassup?" He stuck his tongue out too, but they couldn't see that.
JPL-Pasadena, CA
"What the fuck was that?!" Johanna demanded of Haymitch without preamble.
"Why hello, dear, how are you?" Haymitch mocked.
"Don't bullshit me Haymitch. I asked for a picture and I get what? A-a...Dude bro?"
"I don't see why that's a problem."
"Waaasssuuupp?," Johanna exaggerated the very casual greeting. "What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Have you met Peeta Mellark? This is just like him. Seriously Johanna, that boy just did you a favor. What was your goal with the pic?"
"To have something to give the media and the masses. To keep his story compelling and maybe make it more personal."
"Well, he just made himself more relatable with his humor showing through."
"But I wanted-"
"Look, this isn't about writing the all-time drama of the century-that's been done for us. If you wanted to sway public favor to Mellark, I'd say you've been successful. Loosen your corset. Have a drink."
Johanna huffed. "Fine, but I want a pic of his face ASAP."
"Shit, Jo, we can't do that."
"Why the fuck not?"
"Because if he takes his helmet off, he'll die." Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose.
"But-"
"Look, I've got to go, I've got some programmers from JPL that I need to talk to, it's urgent."
"Haymitch!-" Johanna tried again, but the call was already disconnected.
Nancy "Wiress" Ng stepped forward, soft steps in well-worn flats. "It's really not urgent...I could come back."
"Haymitch looked up at her, "No, that's fine. What did you want to see me about?"
"Well, we were thinking...the rover hack may not be entirely straightforward. We may need to do some back and forth communications with Mellark."
"That's fine," said Haymitch gruffly.
"Well…" She hesitated to say it. "If we could shorten transmission time..."
Haymitch smirked. "You have an idea of how to move Earth and Mars closer together?"
"I'd like to use Hermes..."
"No."
"It would be faster..."
"No."
"De La Rosa could walk him through it, as the mission sysop- she's the expert..."
"No. I'm sorry, but no. We'll just have to deal with the slow transmission times."
"With all due respect sir, if telling them could help Mellark-"
"But it won't help them. They're in space. If you look at the odds, they're in more danger than Mellark. At least he's on a planet."
Wiress moved to the door and sighed resignedly, "Fine, we'll do it your way...the slow way."
SatCon- Houston, TX
Katniss printed off the new image of the stranded astronaut and tucked it in her purse then went back to examining satellite imagery and keeping up with orbital telemetries.
Sol 98 (2)
NASA was going to send a 141 byte message...in half byte increments. Peeta knew drawing in the sand wasn't going to work this time so he decided to bring a computer with him. He could just type the message as they sent it. It didn't need air to work and the electronic components would stay warm enough.
No sooner had the air lock door opened than the screen on the computer went black. Liquid Crystal Display. Damn! It either froze or boiled off. He shook his head at the boneheaded mistake. He really needed to be more careful.
He headed back into the Hab for a camera. They were specifically designed to work on the Martian surface.
NASA sent the half bytes, Peeta looked them up on the ASCII table, drew the character in the sand then took a picture with the camera.
It took for-goddamn-ever to get all 141 bytes, then he still needed to transcribe them in the Hab. By the time he finished, it was late. The sun had set. It was time to eat and kick back and relax. His brain was too fried for Rue's novels tonight, so he watched "Gamera" again. It was one of the first movies he watched after finding himself alone and even though he had watched pretty much all of Thresh's movies, it remained one of his favorites.
The day had been mentally taxing and not even the destruction of Tokyo could keep him awake. He was soon curled up in his bunk, asleep, his hair a messy mop of blond curls.
JPL- Pasadena CA
It was 4 am. Gradually, their "days" marched to normal Earth days. Not that that mattered much for the men and women in Pathfinder Control. They were pulling extra shifts and still working around the clock.
Thom's tall frame was folded in the small swiveling office chair. He scratched at his dark beard nervously as he waited staring at the blank monitor.
...
Sol 99
Peeta was up early again without even trying. He was eager to input the 141 byte hack into Rover 2.
Afterward, he did his normal daily routine. He checked on the potato plants (they were thriving). Did a few routine diagnositics (they were boring). Swept off the solar cell farm. Had an early lunch. Tried and failed to read the next chapter of The Scarlet Pimpernel. He was jittery with nerves and didn't know how long to expect the patch would take, it couldn't be much longer.
...
JPL
Haymitch and Plutarch came in with Wiress. All gave little coughs and wrinkled their noses at the notable smell of too many bodies and warm machines in too small of a space. Haymitch maneuvered Plutarch next to Thom. Wiress stood on his other side.
"How long will the patch take?" asked Plutarch.
"Should be pretty much instant," said Wiress.
"Mellark entered the hack in the morning..." she paused for a few moments, then continued to speak, "It worked. We updated Pathfinder. We sent the patch which Rover 2 should have received."
Haymitch added, "All we need now is for Mellark to restart the computer and execute the file."
...
Mars
He climbed in to the rover's airlock. Once in the cab, he shed his EVA suit. He rebooted the computer. His heart thudded. This was it. If the hack worked, he'd be in business with NASA.
...
JPL
"We're in!" announced Thom.
"We did it!" exclaimed Plutarch.
"No shit!" said Haymitch.
"It worked," Wiress added quietly, sighing in relief.
...
[11:18] JPL: Peeta, this is Haymitch. Good job, boy! We've been watching you since Sol 49. We're making plans to rescue you with the Antares 4 MDV. Working on sending a resupply probe soon. Genius move with rover refit, getting RTG, and retrieving Pathfinder. It's a game changer, boy.
[11:29] Mellark: Thank you! I'm really looking forward to not dying. I just want to make sure you know that my being stranded here is not the crew's fault. It's just bad luck. They did the right thing. Side Question: What did they say when they found out I was alive? Also, "Hi, Dad!"
[11:41] JPL: Estimated food would last 400 days. Sending resupply. Did not know you had food you could grow. Tell us about your crops. Side Answer: We did not tell crew you were alive. They need to focus on their own mission.
[11:52] Mellark: Crops are potatoes they sent for us to have at Thanksgiving. But with limited space, it's not sustainable. Best case scenario, potatoes extend food supply to Sol 900. Side answer answer: What in the hell? Tell the crew I'm alive. What the fuck is wrong with you?
[12:04] JPL: Sol 900 is great news! That gives us extra time to prepare the resupply probe. Also we'll get botanists on board to double-check your work. Just to be sure. Side note: Watch your language boy. Everything you type is being broadcast live all over the world.
[12:15] Mellark: Look! A pair of boobs! - (.Y.)
...
JPL
Haymitch snickered. Thom chuckled. Plutarch guffawed. And Wiress blushed.
A new message came in.
[12:17] Mellark: Anyway, any last words of advice before I go?
Haymitch shifted on his feet and rubbed his face. A fresh wave of worry washed over him. The communications made them feel closer to Mellark, but it was an illusion. His melancholy thoughts surfaced, Embrace the probability of your imminent death and know in your heart there is nothing I can do to save you. Instead he leaned forward and typed, "Stay alive."
….
Mars
[12:28] JPL: Stay alive.
Peeta laughed at that. It was absurd. What else had he been doing all this time? He sent out a simple response, "Roger."
Seneca Crane's office, Johnson Space Center- Houston, TX
Seneca returned the phone to its cradle, his heart bursting with pride. He had just gotten off the phone with the President of the United States. President Snow was pleased with the efforts of NASA and JPL to rescue Peeta Mellark and pledged his full support. (He was also up for reelection this year.)
Restless, Seneca got up and went to his office windows. As was his habit of late, he searched out the small red dot in the sky and contemplated the plight of the stranded astronaut. He heard the quick stride of purposeful footsteps coming down the hall then stop at his office.
"I was expecting you," Seneca said without turning.
Gale Hawthorne paused in the doorway, confusion clouding his features. "You were?"
Seneca turned his intense blue gaze on Gale and explained, "Haymitch is in Pasadena. He's not here to argue. It's just you and me. Go ahead." He gestured at Gale.
Gale was frozen in place, still dumbstruck. He came all hell and fury, prepared to present and defend his case. "W-What?" he stuttered.
"Go ahead and ask me. That's what you've come for isn't it? That's why you're here?"
Gale faltered. "Well, yeah, um..." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask for...permission," he gritted the word out, "to tell the crew on the Hermes about Mellark."
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"I knew once Haymitch left you'd be here sooner or later and I've given it thought. I told you months ago: If we had hope, we'd tell them. Well, we do now. He's got the potatoes, we're sending a resupply, and while the method is practically medieval, we're communicating with him. So, yes, go ahead and tell them."
Gale's fire was snuffed out. He expected an argument, heated words, a confrontation. His body coursed with adrenaline and now there was no fight to be had.
He nodded and shifted on his feet.
Seneca turned back to the windows. "We have hope, but if you consider the odds..." he said sadly.
Gale didn't need him to finish that thought. He knew what he was hinting at. Mellark could still die on that godforsaken planet. The crew could end up mourning him a second time. All their efforts could be for nothing.
He also knew that long shots were shots nonetheless.
The oldest son of a widowed single mom, he didn't just grow up on the bad side of town, but the worst side of town. At fifteen he fought a man who laid hands on his mother. His nose still had a bump from where the man broke it, but he never came back and no man mistreated his mother again after that. He worked through high school, giving every extra dollar to his mom to help take care of his siblings. Then he joined the air force, and later, joined NASA in Mission Control. The odds said he should be a criminal, an addict, an alcoholic, a deadbeat. Instead, he was successful, had a lovely wife, and two great kids. His mom eventually remarried a good man, also widowed, and his brothers and sister all went to college. Posy would graduate this spring.
His fire rekindled and his eyes flared as these thoughts flashed through his mind.
"Never tell me the odds," he said hotly and left to give the Hermes the news about Mellark. Damn the odds, Mellark would make it back.
Gazing out the window, into the night sky, Seneca whispered, "Hang in there Mellark, we're coming."