A/N: This is Part 2 of Chapter 9: Airlock. Be sure to read Part 1 first. I broke it up for easy reading.
Sol 120-Mars
A thin stream of light poured through the small porthole window of the airlock door. Peeta had been rolling the airlock all day and all night. It only worked one in ten tries. He had to stop often to stretch or rest. Or sit there steeling himself to get up and body-slam the wall again. It was now Sol 120. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours. He hurt all over: his legs ached, his head throbbed, and he knew the muscles in his back were fucked up.
He peered out of the window and saw with relief he was now only ten meters from the Hab. The debris field lay between him and it. There was no rolling over that shit.
He slid himself into his EVA suit, more slowly than usual, with a generous amount of cursing. He tucked his left arm close to his body, leaving the remainder of the left arm of his suit swinging free, and twisted his helmet into place.
Even with EVA suit material covering his faceplate, he wasn't blind. He had an arm-mounted camera that acted as his eyes. Astronauts can't turn their head to look at things in an EVA suit, so they have to turn their whole body, which is cumbersome. Instead, they have cameras mounted on their arms that project the scenery onto their faceplate, like a heads-up display. This makes work easier because they can look around with ease. It was yet one more small detail that was going to help save his life. The camera projected a view on the EVA suit material faceplate-substitute. It was a little distorted and uneven, but Peeta could see.
Now was the moment of truth. The second he opened the airlock, he'd begin losing air and pressure in the suit.
In four minutes he had to be safe inside the rover or he'd be unconscious and, in short order, dead.
He took a deep steadying breath. With trembling hands he twisted the manual valves to equalize the airlock with the outside air pressure. He wasn't interested in being shot across Mars again. He pushed the door open and climbed outside. With quick careful steps, he darted through the debris field trying not to think about everything that was out there and everything he'd lost. He was focused on his goal: get to the Hab, get a new spacesuit, make a break for the rover.
Only it wasn't so straightforward. He got into the Hab easily enough (through the gaping opening where the airlock used to be) and Reardon's suit was near where he expected it to be, but he had only one arm to hold up the Hab canvas and the suit was trapped under one of the science tables from the middle of the Hab. When he let go of the canvas it weighted down the the table. He was strong. He knew that. But it was awkward and difficult to hold up the canvas, lift the table one-handed, and grab the suit at the same time.
He was running out of air.
He couldn't yank on the suit and risk damaging it.
He breathed raggedly. His heart hammered in his chest. He was running out of time.
He had to leave for the rover. Now. He took one last look at the suit that was within his reach, but not his grasp.
In a sudden movement, he twisted off the helmet and ran.
He was gasping for air now. The rover. His safe-haven was in sight.
He staggered the final few steps to the rover and slapped the button that would open the rover's airlock. The door released and swung open. He collapsed inside, closing the door behind him. Darkness closed in on the periphery of his vision. As he lay there, his ears popped with the loss of pressure, he saw stars, his lungs burned, he gasped and worked his jaws like a fish out of water, trying desperately to pull non-existent air into his lungs. Then a mechanical hum reached his consciousness, his ears popped again, his vision cleared.
He was safely in the pressurized airlock of the rover with his badly damaged suit, his new helmet, and with it, extra patching resin.
With an effort he got on his hands and knees, then hit the control panel that gave him entry to the rover's main compartment.
Despite his exhaustion, he tried to send a message through to NASA but it was a nogo. Pathfinder was powered by the Hab, which was currently offline. Just one more in a long line of problems he needed to solve. He managed to survive the night and get to safety, but he was a long way from ensuring his survival of this catastrophe. With nothing left to do, he gave in to the overwhelming desire to close his eyes and go to sleep.
Houston, TX-Wednesday night
Wednesday on Earth was waning. Katniss gave up on sleep. She folded her blanket and tucked it under her desk with her pillow. She freshened up in the restroom, finger combed her long dark hair, her slender fingers easing through the snarls, and rebraided it. The cafeteria was still open so she headed there to get a hot meal before the long night ahead of her.
At last Sol 120 dawned and satellite imagery started pouring in.
Oh, how much Katniss wished it were a nightmare and she could wake up and it would be Tuesday evening again, and everything would be fine, but no: the Hab was still flattened and the airlock was poised at the edge of the debris field. Then the airlock was flattened again. Had he left it? Had he run out of air? A new image showed a white smudge between the Hab and Rover 2. He was getting to safety! They'd hear from him soon right?
Hours later, there was no message and just an educated guess he got into the rover.
By end of her shift there was still no message.
The silence was deafening.
Thursday Morning- Houston, TX
Thursday morning brought clouds and eventually rain to the Houston area. Katniss ran home and showered and grabbed some spare clothes and returned to NASA. She couldn't stay home while Mellark's fate hung in the balance.
Prim had been texting her since the news about Mellark broke, but Katniss had remained reticent. Sure, she had the satellite photos, but she knew as much as anyone else, which wasn't much. Katniss's tight lipped responses were driving Prim nuts. She could easily picture her little sister's fair cheeks tinged deep pink in frustration, but there was nothing she could do about it.
There was still no change in Mellark's known status. Alive, but unable to communicate. Any injuries or other concerns were as yet unknown and could not be known until Mellark contacted them again.
The geniuses at NASA worked around the clock to better understand the ramifications of the explosive decompression in the unforgiving environment of Mars.
The latest updates Seneca released to the media were that JPL had determined the breach occurred when friction in the Hab canvas, caused by the overnight windstorm, warmed up the resin in the ninety-degree seam between Airlock 1 and the Hab dome, making it malleable. It stretched, and the opening reached a critical point that then ripped open even larger, leading to a catastrophic failure of the entire airlock seam.
There was ongoing discussion on manned-spaceflight blogs and messageboards. Was the failure due to fatigue from repeated use? Or was there was some other reason the Hab couldn't stand up to a moderate strength storm? Was there a blemish in the canvas to begin with? The storm one storm shouldn't have been enough to have caused the tear; otherwise it would have failed during the storm on Sol 6.
Commentators on 24 hour-news channels had a heyday with the news:
Cressida Troy (NBC): Our next guest, Dr. Cho, is a former NASA medical contractor. Dr. Cho, is it possible this was not an accident?"
Dr. Cho: "It is worth considering that the Hab breach may have been an intentional act by astronaut Peeta Mellark, very possibly as a way to end his life in a quick and publicly visible way."
Cressida: "Why would he do such a thing?"
Dr. Cho: "Storm events on SOL 6…PTSD likely covered up by terse transmissions, depression possibly a contributor as well…perhaps he thought this would give closure to friends and family."
"BREAKING: BBC-News has learned that atmospheric scientists on a professional meteorological forum are suggesting that a rare but significant lightning strike from the departing dust storm struck the Hab, precipitating the breach.
NBC: "Planetary experts have confided with NBC News that, though unlikely, a small meteor, or even small black hole, could have struck the Hab, damaging it, and dooming our favorite astronaut."
Caesar Flickerman (CNN): "...Are you suggesting that Martians attacked Astronaut Mellark?"
'Expert': "Well, not in a "War of the Worlds" or "Edgar Rice Burroughs" sort of way, but yes. I think it is highly probable that there is life in the Martian soil, something like our yeasts, molds, or fungi. It is likely that the Hab fabric, possibly even the adhesive epoxy, is an attractive food to these organisms, and that their consumption of this newfound food gradually weakened the material until it finally failed."
Caesar Flickerman: "And the preceding Antares missions were unaffected because?"
'Expert': "I wouldn't say they were necessary unaffected, but that the Hab material was not critically weakened during the short duration of those missions. It is also possible the organisms that damaged the Antares 3 Habitat are local to that region of Mars."
On CNN's "The Mellark Monitor" a panel of experts speculated about whether Mellark could survive the disaster much less survive until rescue. They pointed fingers at higher ups in JPL and NASA, called for reviews, resignations, etc.
NASA and JPL worked in an even closer-knit partnership than usual. They had to keep this from happening again. Mellark still had most of the next four years to go and the Hab was already falling apart.
Katniss lay on the floor. She should have been sleeping, but instead she lay there wide-awake, flipping a nickel-sized token over and over in her fingers thinking about the stranded astronaut. His kind eyes, his shy smile. He was funny, hard working, good. He was stranded. So alone. He didn't deserve to die. Especially not like this.
She had gotten the token when she went to the gift-shop to replace the map from the break room that Haymitch marked up. At the register they had a small box of mission tokens. One for each Antares mission so far. "Collect all 3!" The front was an image of Mars and its two moons and the name of the mission and the back was the Hermes with the crew's names engraved around the edge. At only a dollar each, they were just a run-of-the-mill add-on purchase. But Katniss found herself getting one and keeping it in her pocket. Anytime she was particularly nervous about Mellark, or really just anything now it was becoming habit, she'd slip her hand in her pocket and rub her thumb over the engraving or flip the coin over and over.
She looked up from the coin to a picture next to her computer.
Mellark smiled out of the NASA-commissioned portrait, erect and confident. He was wearing the deep midnight blue uniform peculiar to the Mars missions that he filled out handsomely and that made his blue eyes pop. An American flag was to his right and a map of Mars hung behind him.
"Hang in there Mellark," Katniss whispered, "Just hang on."
Thursday night marked the morning of Sol 121 on Mars.
Katniss was relieved to get back to work. She studied each new set of satellite photos. At last, an hour after dawn on Mars, her labor was rewarded: a little white blob was next to the rover.
He stayed there.
Schematics on the intranet showed that the rover had external EVA air tank refill hoses. He must be refilling the tanks in his suit. It took a long time too, by the looks of it as each new batch of images from the satellites ringing Mars revealed he was still standing there.
Relief washed over her. For some reason he couldn't communicate, but for now just seeing him was enough. She felt like she could finally breathe again.
Sol 121
Peeta stood outside the rover looking for all the world like he was filling up the tank with gas.
Actually, in a literal sense that was true.
The rover had an external EVA tank refill port. It was painfully slow. Damaged as his old suit was, it wouldn't have worked, but with a new helmet and freshly resealed arm seam, he could refill his air tanks.
Peeta was grateful to not only be able to see, but now he had time to figure out a way to extricate Reardon's suit without damaging it and maybe get some idea of the state of the Hab.
He unplugged and got to work. It was still a chore moving through the Hab as he was still one-handed, but he was able to find a pole to leverage the table that was pinning Reardon's suit and pull it free. He dragged it back to the rover then spent the afternoon running diagnostics on it. The conclusion: he had a fully functional suit!
He also grabbed extra food. God, but he was starving. Full rations today! Rehydrated NASA-issue chicken stir-fry never tasted so good. He wished he'd grabbed some supplies from Rue's med-station, but the decompression had made things such a mess and he was lucky to have a suit and food.
He also wished he'd nabbed another uniform. This one was sweat-soaked and blood-stained. He looked down. It hung noticeably looser on his frame. He tried to ignore the irrefutable fact that he was short on calories every single day, and some of those days involved vigorous manual labor, but he was gradually losing weight. He let out a sigh. There was nothing for it but to just hang in there. NASA was sending food…
His poor potatoes. The farm had been wiped out by the blast. But he couldn't dwell on that right now, he needed to figure out just how he was going to repair the Hab and get everything up and running again.
He was frustrated by not being able to communicate with NASA. They doubtless were worried, but they must've seen the airlock move via those satellites they'd been using to spy on him-like some weird, fucked up guardian angel. He found himself looking up from time to time, despite the fact he couldn't see them. It was disturbing yet comforting; they were looking out for him, but were impotent to help. Especially in times like these.
That night, Peeta sat in the rover, finally safe, completely exhausted. He took off his watch and looked at the little strip of ribbon he had sewn onto the band months ago. It reminded him of his family and home, his nephew, Matthew, and promises.
Three weeks before launch, his brothers helped him empty his apartment and put his things in storage. They put his motorcycle in the unit last. He looked at it wistfully as they shut the garage style door and he put the padlock on it, not to be opened again until fifteen months later when he was back on Earth.
He spent that night at Rye's house. The next day, his dad came over and his brothers grilled, his nieces and nephews played, and his sisters-in-law intermittently chatted, tended to the kids, or helped set things out for the meal.
Peeta tried to remember every detail, their laughs, their eyes, their smiles. His father's strong arms wrapped around him. His nieces' and nephews' sticky hands and popsicle stains on their lips, the baby's babble that was beginning to sound more like actual words, the twinkle in Rye's eyes when he teased him and the serious way Ban looked at him, each in their own way showing how much they loved him.
Once he left them tonight, he wouldn't see them again until after the mission. His heart hurt with already missing them; he was going to treasure up this time of laughter and smiles and love before he left.
His brothers teased each other like always, his dad chided them like always, the little ones vacillated between shrieks of delight and periodic outbursts of tears. It was hot, but the breeze felt good. The food on the grill smelled amazing, it was his dad's own special recipe. Kelly's fruit salad was the perfect cool crisp accompaniment to the warm weather, hot burgers, and salty chips.
After grilling they all went indoors to cool off and watch a movie while the little ones napped. They had a round of leftovers for dinner. Ban and Kel scooted out with the twins after dinner so they could give them baths and get them to bed. Even with it being the last time they'd see Peeta for a long time, they had to keep their twins on schedule, or there'd be heck to pay.
Rye and Delly got their kids cleaned up and Peeta was grateful for some time alone with his dad.
Later, Rye came down.
"Hey, Peet?"
"Yeah."
"Matty's asking for you. Says he wants 'Uncle Peeta' to tuck him in," Rye said, smiling.
"Sure thing." Peeta got up from the chair and made his way upstairs and down the hall to Matthew's room.
He had painted it for him when he was just a toddler: dark blue with shooting stars, swirling galaxies, clouds of nebulas, and colorful planets. He had posters all over the wall of the Apollo missions, the shuttle missions, and of the first Antares missions as well at the famous rovers, Spirit, Opportunity, and Curiosity. He even had a small one of Pathfinder and Sojourner, only slightly less well known, but essential in development of missions to Mars.
His twin bed was adorned with rocket ship bedding. He had a little shelf of NASA vehicles, and a little desk where he had drawn endless pictures of rocket ships and planets and aliens.
Peeta found him all snuggled in bed, his hair damp, and his face still pink from his mother's scrubbing. Despite her best efforts a faint popsicle stain still remained around his lips.
"Hey Matty," Peeta greeted his little nephew softly.
"Hi Uncle Peeta," he returned and Peeta thought he sounded a little sad.
"You want me to read you a story?"
Matthew pulled out a small stack of books and Peeta settled on the bed next to his little nephew and started in on the first book, Roaring Rockets.
As he closed the final book, the one about being the first kid on Mars, he turned to kiss the sleepy boy on the head, his silky blond hair now dry and smelling of apples from the shampoo Delly used. Peeta smiled. He associated apples with his little nieces and nephews because of that kids' soap. It was funny the way scents stuck with his memory like that. He couldn't eat an apple now or apple pie without thinking of downy blond heads, big blue eyes, and bright smiles, and Emily's little dimples.
"Uncle Peeta?"
"Yeah?"
"You'll come back, right?"
"'Course," Peeta replied with his usual easy confidence.
"Because, sometimes…" the boy's voice drifted off and his eyes flicked to his shuttle models and back.
"Aw, Little Buddy, I know." Peeta pulled his little nephew in close for a hug. "Sometimes some pretty scary things have happened, huh?"
The boy nodded.
"But I'll tell you what, we've, uh, learned from those things. Um, some people study what happened and they make new…rules…to follow so no one else gets hurt."
"Or dies," Matthew stated with a directness peculiar to kids his age.
"Or dies," Peeta conceded. "But there have already been two successful trips to Mars. They've got this pretty well dialed in, Little Buddy. It'll be easy peasy lemon squeezy." He gave Matthew a little tap on the nose.
The little boy couldn't help but chuckle at his big grown uncle using that silly phrase he and his sister used.
"You know what? When I'm gone, you're going to go to Kindergarten and it will be fall, and then winter, and you'll have your birthday and then it will be spring, and then summer again, and then, when it's fall again and you're starting first grade, I'll be home. And you'll have to tell me all about school and your friends and show me how well you can read and how you can count to a hundred-"
"And my artwork!" the boy added. He liked to draw and paint and do crafts and show his creations to his doting uncle.
"And your artwork!" Peeta enthusiastically agreed.
The boy's smile shrank and he became thoughtful again. He twisted to get his teddy bear from beside him and handed it to Peeta.
"What's this Little Buddy?" Peeta asked, "Want me to tuck him in too?" He was prepared to give the bear a kiss and tuck him in as Matthew sometimes insisted on.
Instead, in a small voice, Matthew replied, "No, I-I want you to take him."
"Take him?"
"With you."
"With me."
"To Mars."
Peeta's eyes got misty. "Oh, Matty," Peeta's breath shuddered.
"Then you'll have to come back, to bring him back to me, and he'd get to go with you to Mars even though I can't."
"Matty, I can't do that. You love Bill-the-Bear, I can't take him from you, and you know you'd miss him too much." Peeta's voice was hoarse as he talked around the lump in his throat.
"I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, buddy, but I can't take Bill." He tucked Bill in next to Matthew.
Matthew's little lip pooched out in a frown. His fingers fiddled with the blue and grey plaid ribbon around the bear's neck lost in thought. Then he untied it and held it out to Peeta. "Could you take this?" he asked, his eyes were getting shiny with the beginnings of tears.
Peeta took the ribbon in his hand. He smiled sadly, tears pooling in his eyes. "Sure Matty, I can take the ribbon."
"And you can think of me."
"Yes, I'll keep the ribbon with me and think of you, and your sisters, and our whole family."
A little tear trickled down Matthew's cheek and he gave a watery smile. Then he nodded, seemingly satisfied his uncle had accepted his little token.
It was getting late and Peeta had been upstairs for a while.
"I've gotta get going, Matthew, thank you for the ribbon, I really will keep it with me, always." He let out a shaky breath as he hugged his nephew close.
"Thank you Uncle Peeta, I love you."
"I love you too Little Buddy."
"Promise you'll come back?"
"Promise." He mustered the best smile he could even as a tear slid down his own cheek.
Peeta gave one last kiss on Matthew's head and rose to leave. Matthew snuggled down in his warm covers and turned on his side to go to sleep. Peeta shut off the light and smiled when the stars he had painted continued to glow, bathing the room in a faint, soft light.
He shuffled back downstairs and took his leave of the rest of the family and they gave him their love.
Two hours later he was at the extended-stay hotel where he'd spend the next week before leaving for Cape Canaveral and the crew quarters where he'd live until launch.
He sat in a chair looking at the ribbon. Then he got out the travel sewing kit he kept with his things and with the tiny scissors, cut off an inch of the ribbon. He threaded a needle with black nylon thread and sewed the small scrap to his watchband. He examined his handiwork with a smile. It was a little coarse, but would serve him well. The ribbon would be with him, always, a reminder of what he had to return to, of who he would return to when he came home. He thought happily of that reunion. All the kids would be so much bigger and Matty would be able to read by then. His heart swelled with love for the people who meant so much to him.
He put his watch back on and rubbed the strap with his thumb as he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. It connected him to his family; it tethered him to Earth. He was glad he hadn't given up. He would continue to fight this god-forsaken planet for as long as possible. There was still hope. He could repair the Hab. He'd hopefully be able to communicate with NASA and they'd work together to make a plan to get him home despite this colossal setback.
Sol 122
Enough laying around, it was time to roll up his sleeves and get to work. Today he would repair the Hab.
But first, he got out his first message since the Hab breach. He lined up rocks near the rover so they spelled out "A-OK". That should take care of NASA crapping their pants about him.
He now had a fully functional suit with two arms and went back into the Hab. The last time he'd been in there, he was laser focused on getting Marvel's suit, this time he had more time to survey the damage: overturned tables, debris everywhere, drawers and cabinets blown open, their contents scattered.
And the farm.
The potatoes.
The soil.
Ruined.
The frozen plants crunched under his boots making him cringe. They were supposed to get him to Sol 900 with a resupply coming to Mars on Sol 856. Now, with no way to grow more food, by Sol 856 he'd be long dead.
He had to swallow the bile that threatened to rise. It was all so overwhelming. One thing at a time, he reminded himself, like a mantra, one thing at a time.
His back still hurt like a bitch, but the work gave him something else to focus on, so he was grateful.
He secured the poles back in their seatings, recoupling them in a few places, giving the Hab a frame again. The canvas still hung loosely. He was able to find the spare canvas as well as the seal strip. He'd be able to fix the Hab, that was good news.
They had trained for this, but it was awkward and unwieldy doing it alone. There was no one else to hold up the canvas while he worked on the seam or to help press the seams together while the resin in the seam seal cured. But he got it done. Like everything, he found a way and got shit done. Sweat dripped in his eyes and down his back by the end from exertion.
With the repair done, he worked on getting the Hab back online. He had no idea how the computer fared under such severe circumstances. He nearly wept with joy when it powered back up, albeit a little slow, and then the other systems began to power up and the lights winked on. He was going to be okay…mostly.
The food rations were unaffected by the blast. They were little ice bricks for now, but when life support was fully functional again, they'd thaw. He wondered how the medicine would be affected by the temperatures, but took an educated guess that it'd be fine too. Thanks to NASA's planning, the science-lab components were nearly indestructible, so he at least didn't have to deal with shattered glass. They were all in good enough shape to use again. The water situation would be okay too. He still had Clove's suit full of water, which was now slowly sublimating ice. There was plenty of water in the reserve tanks, too.
He started the process to pressurize the Hab, then went out through Airlock 2 to Pathfinder. It just needed to be cleared of sand, it looked okay in all other respects. He still had the whole solar cell farm to clean off too. But right now, he needed to talk to NASA. so he walked over to Rover 2.
He booted up the rover's computer and typed:
"Test."
"Please work. Please work. Please work," he chanted to himself while he waited for a reply, hands clasped, his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on the display.
Cheers erupted at JPL.
Seneca hung his head in relief.
Haymitch smirked.
Katniss's shoulders released the tension they'd held all week.
The silence was broken.
A/N: Thanks to my husband who prereads, edits, and helps me wordsmith. Also, he came up with the entire news-media montage in this chapter, so give him a hand! :)
Thanks to my beta greenwool who has helped me and guided me in the discipline of writing and helps me take this fic to the next level. Be sure to check out her fic, (on AO3). It's an intense zombie!Everlark fic and it will keep your heart racing!
Thanks to all of you who read and comment and favorite. I enjoy replying to you :) Every e-mail that comes with your comments or that I got a new favorite or follow makes me smile. So really truly thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and I can't wait to get the next chapter written for you!
Songs for this chapter: Two Steps from Hell-Strength of a Thousand Men, Linkin Park-Castle of Glass, P!nk-Try, Radical Face-Welcome Home, Two Steps from Hell-Skyworld, Linkin Park-Irridescent, Starset-Dark on Me
For fun, the stack of books Peeta reads to Matthew is: 1. "Roaring Rockets" by Tony Mitton, 2. "How Many Stars in the Sky" by Lenny Hort, 3. "If You Decide to Go to the Moon" by Faith McNulty, 4. "You are the First Kid on Mars" by Patrick O'Brien.