A/N: Thank you so much readers for continuing to read/ follow/ favorite this story! Thanks to my husband who prereads and helps me wordsmith. Thanks to my beta greenwool who helps me get these chapters into shape and take them to the next level.
Sol 122
Mellark: Test
JPL: Received! You gave us quite a scare there, boy. We got your A-OK message. Thanks for that by the way. What's your status?
Mellark: Physically, I'm okay, besides a minor cut on my forehead and a lot of soreness.
JPL: Our analysis of the imagery shows a complete detachment of Airlock 1. Is that correct?
Mellark: If by "detachment" you mean "shot me like a bullet across the surface of Mars" you'd be correct. By the way, who am I talking to?
JPL: This is Haymitch Abernathy. JPL is routing all of your communication to me. You'll be talking directly to me from now on. What's the status of the Hab?
Mellark: Hey, Haymitch! I've repaired the Hab and repressurized it. The patch seems to be holding. I just got the power back on before messaging you earlier. Air and water tanks are intact. Computers all seem to be functional, I'll run diagnostics as soon as I'm done talking here. Mission rations were unharmed. Farm is dead. I've collected the potatoes. I count 1841. Between the potatoes and mission rations I'll start starving on Sol 584.
JPL: We figured. Botanists here hoped you'd have enough to get through Sol 600. Tell me about the Hab systems.
Mellark: Oxygenator is functioning perfectly. Environmental regulator is okay. Water reclaimer is completely offline. Water freezing probably burst some tubing. Doubt it's anything I can't fix. The main computer is up and running. Any idea what caused the Hab to blow up?
JPL: Best guess is fatigue on the canvas seam near Airlock 1. The pressurization cycles combined with added stress from strong storms didn't help. Advise you alternate using Airlock 2 and Airlock 3 for the duration of the mission. Also, we'll be sending you a checklist for a full canvas exam.
Mellark: Yay! I get to stare at a wall for hours! Let me know if you find a way for me to not starve.
JPL: We're already on it, boy.
Saturday, March 10 (Sol 122)
Plutarch bustled into the project planning room at JPL headquarters, late, with an armload of documents and a messenger-style leather satchel thumping his hip with his hasty strides.
The room was large with rows of tables. Dry-erase boards lined the front of the room. A rolled up projection screen and a projector hanging from the ceiling made the room feel more like a mini-college auditorium than a conference room.
Plutarch took his place at the front of the room. He grabbed a dry-erase marker, fumbled it, bent over searching for it, found it, and shot up again. All the while talking to the group of department heads and lead engineers assembled before him.
"Well, uh, good afternoon! Oops! Ah! Here we go. Thanks for coming. I trust everyone is doing well."
Murmurs circled the room as no-they obviously were not doing well. They had worked so much overtime that they had gone days without seeing the sun. Plutarch included.
"All right." Plutarch brought his hands together in front of him in a resounding clap. "I called this meeting because that Iris probe you've been working on? Well, our timetable has just changed."
Groans resounded.
"And we have to have the probe ready for launch much sooner than we thought."
"How soon are we talking about?" Ed Mitchem asked.
"Two-hundred days sooner."
Cries of disbelief echoed in the room.
"Iris needs to be ready to launch in forty-eight days." Plutarch continued.
There were muttered curses with a 'Jesus' from the back.
"So we are here to figure out just how exactly we're going to accomplish that." Plutarch plowed ahead, undaunted.
"You're shitting us right? There's no way," came a voice from Plutarch's left.
"If we don't do this, Mellark dies." He let out a deep sigh. "We have to try."
The group sat up in their seats and got their pens in hand.
"So first, we've got to figure out what stays and what goes." Plutarch turned to the board. The pressure gave him a clarity of focus that little else could. When others might crumple under the weight of it, or be paralyzed with indecision, he planned and delegated, undeterred. It was an odd mixture, how his body coursed with the frenetic energy of it, but his mind was unwaveringly calm. He pushed the team steadily towards their goal with his strong will, his can-do attitude allowing no room for giving up in defeat.
A young Indian woman, Remi, spoke up first, "We have to figure out priorities. Obviously food first. Anything beyond that is a luxury."
"Wait. How are we landing this thing?" Neil asked.
Without missing a beat, Plutarch answered, "Bounce and roll."
"We're not going to use a powered-descent lander? Shit," said Jason from Plutarch's right.
Neil nodded agreement and said, "No, he's right. That saves both time and weight. The precision landing gear is expensive time-wise; it takes longer to build and has a lot more check lists and testing procedures."
"Exactly!" Plutarch pointed at Neil, he had written "food" under "Stays" and "precision landing gear" under "Goes". "Next!" he called out.
Dan Jensen spoke up, "If we are doing a bounce and roll landing. We won't be able to send some of the more sensitive equipment…so that scraps what? The water reclaimer, oxygenator…" He ticked them off on his fingers.
"And environmental regulator," added Kenneth from the back. He was the same guy who said 'Jesus' earlier. He slouched in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "Whose idea was this landing anyway?"
Plutarch turned back around to face the group and his eyes searched out Kenneth. "Mine."
Kenneth huffed. "And launch? We don't have time for ULA to build a launch vehicle."
"We're using the Eagle Eye 3 booster."
Low whistles went around the room. Someone muttered, "Big ass booster." Someone else whispered, almost reverently, "That's a Delta IX."
Plutarch continued, "It's big and it's fast. It's the only launch vehicle that can get the payload to Mellark in time."
"The radio can stay," Jason added, "The radios are robust and have handled tumbler landings before."
Remi piped up again, "And maybe some thumb drives with messages from loved ones, music, new TV shows?"
Hums of approval sprinkled the room.
Plutarch's marker squeaked as his fast, slanted writing filled the board. The list under "Goes" seemed to get longer and longer, while the list under "Stays" remained woefully short.
Zoe Pelletier's eyes brightened and she raised her hand then dropped it, shaking her head at herself. Damned classroom set-up. "But we do have some advantages," she said. All eyes swiveled hopefully in her direction. "A lot of components have already been built for the Antares 4 mission." A lot of heads nodded. "If we can steal a Delta IX booster from Eagle Eye 3 team, we can get components from the Antares 4 team. That should speed up production and parts of assembly."
"Yes!" Plutarch agreed and wrote, "Loot A-4" on the board, then enthusiastically circled it.
Instead of focusing on the impossibility of the new timetable, they were finding solutions.
Now, this meeting was rolling.
Saturday, March 10: Houston, TX- Spring Break with Prim
Katniss wasn't home when Prim got in late Friday night. She hated that she wasn't there to greet her sister. At the end of her shift Saturday, she packed up her things and dragged herself home, thoroughly exhausted by the events of the week, but relieved that Peeta was safe again. He repaired the Hab today and all systems were functioning within operational parameters.
She stood on the porch fumbling for her keys, when the door swung open revealing her baby sister. A thrill ran through her and she forgot her exhaustion. She dropped her things right there and pulled her sister close in a fierce hug.
After Prim's squeals died down and Katniss finally released her, Prim moved into the house, and Katniss shouldered her backpack and came inside. Prim followed her upstairs and plopped down on her bed and chatted all about school, midterms, her roommates, and plans for spring break while Katniss cleaned out her backpack. Once Katniss got her stuff put away, they headed downstairs to the kitchen.
"Hungry?" Katniss asked.
"Sure," Prim answered, "I had a late breakfast, but I could definitely eat again." She sat at the small cafe-sized table Katniss kept in the kitchen.
Katniss rummaged in the fridge and pantry. "Ugh. I should've gone shopping before I came home."
Katniss threw her frozen dinner in the microwave and started the timer (she didn't even need to look at the instructions anymore). She found a few pieces of fruit that weren't overripe or badly bruised and stood at the counter chopping them. They could have been eight and twelve again; it was so familiar.
"Sooo, I was talking to Mom about summer break..."
"Hm."
"A week at the beach together would be nice. Or even just a weekend."
"We have beaches here."
"Mom would like to see you."
The knife slipped in Katniss's hand.
"I can't get off work," she said with a huff as she started slicing again, "I only just started getting weekends off again."
"No one else can download pictures and look at them?"
"It's not like that. I've studied the mission, I can pick up on subtleties someone else might miss."
"Sounds like a cop out."
"I really need to be here, Prim." She couldn't stand the idea of being far away even if it was a convenient excuse to not see her mom. What if she had been in Florida when the Hab blew? And she had to work out flights to get back. The hours between her and SatCon would have driven her wild with uncertainty.
Prim looked away. Katniss let out a relieved sigh. The conversation about their mom was over. For now.
"Bringing work home with you?" she teased as Katniss plopped a plate of fruit in front of her.
Katniss, who had grown accustomed to the map and picture on the living room wall, was momentarily at a loss for words. "Oh, uh, yeah, that. It's nothing." She waved her hand dismissively. "Just...Haymitch drew on the map and it had to be replaced. I thought it would be interesting to bring home." She turned to get her meal out of the microwave and sit next to her sister.
"And interesting to bring home Peeta Mellark's picture?" Prim pointed out the photo Katniss had taped over the top left-hand corner of the map. It was the first photo they'd gotten of Peeta from Pathfinder-the one with the "rock on" hand gesture and a sign that said, "Wassup!"
Katniss's cheeks heated at the insinuation and she stabbed at her food. Prim's grin was wide as she flustered her sister.
"Do you have a poster of him somewhere in here?" she asked her bright blue eyes wide with a spark of mischief.
"No, I don't," Katniss insisted, keeping her head down. But she did have that one picture in her purse. And another at her desk. Prim didn't need to know that. She wouldn't understand. Katniss lived, breathed, ate, and slept Mars now. It made perfect sense to have a few pictures of the astronaut she watched over everyday around. It wasn't at all what Prim was insinuating. Prim, who always kept posters of boys on her walls.
"I've seen him on the news. He's amazing. He's so strong and optimistic...and you can't deny he's handsome."
Katniss choked.
"It's not like that. You know me. It's just…it keeps me focused."
Prim snickered. "Focused?"
"On my job," Katniss snapped, "Now, shut up and eat your pears."
Prim mercifully let the subject of Mom drop for a few days. It was midweek, while they were sitting on the back patio, a cider in Katniss's hand and a lemonade in Prim's when she tried again.
They had been watching the breeze sway the trees, and the clouds pass overhead, musing on whether they might venture to Galveston to walk along the shore and go to "Olympia Grill" or the "Fin and Feather", Prim's favorite seafood restaurants.
Prim was staring down at her lap when she took a couple of deep breaths and said, "I like being here with you."
A smile bloomed on Katniss's face. "I like having you here too, Little Duck."
"It's just...I really...wish...you'd come home sometimes."
Katniss stiffened in her chair, blindsided by the sudden shift in conversation. "This is my home," Katniss replied flatly.
"You know what I mean Katniss." Prim sighed. "Home to Florida. And Mom."
"I can't do that, Prim. I thought you understood that."
"I did."
Katniss snorted.
"I do!" She amended. "But...don't you think eleven years is enough?"
Katniss sat silently staring off into the trees.
"I know what happened, Katniss. I know it got bad. But Mom came back to us."
"How did I know she wasn't going to check out again?"
"You couldn't. But you keep pushing her away, keeping her at arm's length. You're punishing her over and over for something that was out of her control. Don't you think it's time to stop? To let her back in?"
Katniss's heart pounded. She had to work to keep her breathing calm. She wasn't ready to have this conversation now. Wasn't sure she'd ever be ready.
"I don't know if I can do that, Prim."
Prim flopped back in her chair with a huff.
"I'm tired of feeling like a kid getting shipped between custodial parents. I want us to be a family again. A whole family. All together. Without feeling like I'm constantly having to choose. I feel like no matter what choice I make, I'm hurting someone."
"I can't help you with that." Katniss's voice was tight and strained. She chanced a glance at her sister and instantly regretted it when she saw the tears brimming on the bottom lashes of Prim's big blue eyes.
"She made a mistake Katniss. We all make mistakes. But we forgive, we move on, we give each other second chances."
"It wasn't just a mistake Prim. She almost let us starve! You have no idea everything I had to do."
Prim shook her head. "I know more than you think. I know you didn't buy the food, or find money, the damaged boxes, old produce...I eventually figured it out."
Hot tears began to well in Katniss's eyes.
"I'm so sorry Prim."
"Don't be." Prim's voice was softer now. "You did what you had to do to survive. To keep us together, alive. I know that. But I can't go on with you and Mom ignoring each other. You don't have to start having heart-to-heart deep conversations or anything. Just, be in the same room, eat dinner, and maybe some time on the beach."
Katniss shook her head sadly. "I don't know if I can do that."
Prim's hand gripped Katniss's gently. "Promise me you'll think about it?"
Too overcome for words, Katniss could only nod.
Satisfied Prim leaned back in her own chair.
"We should go to Olympia Grill. There's a new putt-putt place nearby, if you're up for it."
Relieved, Katniss agreed. And just like a commercial break, the conversation about their mom was over and they were back to discussing plans for the rest of the week.
It had been a good week. Katniss got home later every afternoon. Prim made lunch and they watched tv shows together. Katniss was appreciative for the home cooked meals instead of the Boston Market dinner of the day. They had a good trip to Galveston, though the outing cut into Katniss's sleep hours. They enjoyed playing card games and fought about what tv show they'd watch. Prim met up with friends while Katniss slept through evening and early night. She was often still awake when Katniss got up at 11pm or later to go to work.
As any visit with her sister did, this one flew by. It seemed no sooner had Prim fairly well moved in that she was packed up and hugging Katniss on the front porch of the shared duplex, her friends waiting impatiently in the driveway.
"I've gotta go. I'll miss you," Prim said.
"I'll miss you, too." Katniss hugged Prim close.
They stood there for many long seconds.
"Um. You can let go now," Prim teased.
Katniss let her arms drop slowly. She could never let go. "Love you."
"Love you too," Prim said and turned and jogged down the steps towards her waiting friends.
She tossed her stuff in the trunk then smiled at Katniss and waved. "Bye!" she called out one last time.
"See you!"
And Prim hopped in the car to head back to Dallas.
Katniss sat on the steps alone for a long time afterward.
JPL: Good news, boy! We've got a way to get you food.
Mellark: That is good news. I look forward to not starving.
JPL: It's an alteration of a plan that's been in the works for a while. We won't be able to send an oxygenator, water reclaimer, or any other special components or sensitive equipment since we won't be using a powered descent, but you'll get food and a radio.
Mellark: That sounds great! I can keep stuff running here. So you'll get no complaints from me. By the way, all Hab systems are now fully operational.
JPL: That's good to hear. How's your water supply? Any idea how much you lost in the blast?
Mellark: I have 620L remaining. Lost 300L to sublimation. With water reclaimer operational again, it's plenty.
JPL: Good. Keep us posted on any mechanical or other issues.
Mellark: Will do.
JPL: They told me to tell you that the probe they're sending you is named Iris, after the Greek goddess. She is the messenger of the gods and the personification of rainbows.
Mellark: Gay probe coming to save me. Got it.
Offices at Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX- four weeks after Hab breach
Beetee Latier's office was small. Bookshelves crammed with well-worn books lined the walls. His desk sat on one side of the room covered in stacks of paper. This haphazard organization would have bewildered anyone, but Beetee could find anything in a matter of seconds. His office mates would sometimes test him, asking him for this or that paper they knew to be buried in the stacks. He always managed to produce the sought-for paper with alacrity, much to their undying delight and his own puzzlement when the proffered paper was no longer needed. Their game made no sense to him. On the opposite wall from his desk was a chalk board. He'd been given a dry erase board, but after brushing past it several times, and inadvertently erasing parts of important equations, he'd asked for, and received, a chalk board. Then, even if he accidentally swiped it, he didn't lose all the work he had done. His walls were covered in posters and pictures of space, satellites, and planetary orbits.
Though it was dark outside and all of his office mates had gone home, Beetee was at his desk. He lifted his glasses and peered under them at his computer screen. He turned to sip his coffee, but finding the mug empty, frowned, set the mug down again, then turned back to work. As an astrodynamicist his work was usually fairly straightforward. He calculated the exact orbits and course corrections needed for any given mission. Normally he started with a given launch date and calculated the orbital path. This time he had to calculate a path, but had no firm launch date. He'd never done anything like this before. He had to rewrite his program to work backwards.
He ran one last test and leaned back in his chair satisfied that it worked. There was now one course for each day of the twenty-five day launch window for Iris. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose then returned them, blinking. His fingers tapped softly on the keys as he wrote an email to his boss.
"….all 25 courses take 414 days, and vary only slightly in thrust duration and angle. The fuel requirement is nearly identical for the orbits and is well within the capacity of Eagle Eye's Delta IX booster.
"It's too bad. Earth and Mars are really badly positioned. Heck, it's almost easier to-"
He stopped typing.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his now balding head. His eyes widened. "Oh," he said, then gasped, "Oh!"
He grabbed his coffee cup and went to the break room for a refill.
Conference room, Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX- Four weeks until launch
Seneca strode into the conference room and looked at the people surrounding the tables. This was what he lived for. NASA's most brilliant minds were assembled here, like a parliament of genius and he was the prime minister. There was a lot to cover. Everyone was working furiously on getting the Iris probe ready for launch on a much tighter schedule. Seneca set his briefcase at the head of the table and drew out a neat stack of papers.
"Thank you all for coming," Seneca said, "I know you all are busy, so let's get started." He never failed to start a meeting quickly. He tapped the papers to square them in front of him, gave a quick glance to the top sheet before looking at Haymitch. "Tell me where we're at on the mission team."
Haymitch leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows. "The mission team's ready." Then he chuckled to himself. "There was a bit of a pissing match-"
"Language." Seneca quietly chided.
"There was a bit of a turf war," Haymitch restated, "But we've ironed out those details. Antares 4 was mad that it was their probe and Antares 3 was mad because it's their astronaut and thus technically still their mission."
Seneca's brows knit together. They didn't need departmental disagreements jeopardizing this mission. "Do you anticipate any further…friction?"
"Nah, Antares 4's gonna have their hands full with presupplies for the rest of their mission, they won't miss one measly probe."
Seneca nodded. "Alright, Flight." He turned to Gale. "Where are you at on launch preparations?"
"We're ready to go," Gale said, "We have a control room set up. We're running simulations every day. I'll oversee launch then hand it over to Haymitch's guys." He gestured toward Haymitch who nodded back.
This was going well. Seneca was pleased. He braced himself, then looked at Johanna.
"Johanna?"
"Well, the public is fully engaged. CNN's Mellark Monitor with Caesar Flickerman is getting top ratings."
"The attention is good," Seneca affirmed. Public support meant congressional support, which meant more funding for the rescue, which didn't seem to have a cap.
"Yeah, you could say that," Johanna hedged, "But they also know Mellark is fucked-"
"Language!" Seneca hissed, his eyes widening.
"They also know Mellark is fucked if this launch fails. And if it fails, we're fucked. They'll have our heads on a-"
"I'm sure we needn't be so dramatic, Johanna…" However, her words rang true. This had been one long media frenzy since Sol 6. If they came this close to helping the lost astronaut only to blow it now, with so many people engaged, there would be an enormous backlash. It could be the end of manned missions to Mars.
"I'm just saying, there's two sides to having so much public attention."
Seneca nodded and said, "You're right. Thank you, Johanna."
He turned to a new page in his notes then looked to the door of the conference room and gestured for someone to enter.
A dark-skinned woman entered the room, her curly hair tied with a brightly colored hair scarf. She was tall, held herself erect, and moved gracefully. Every eye in the room was riveted to her as she stood at the head of the conference room table next to Seneca.
"Everyone, I'd like to introduce Janet Paylor. She was the scheduled pad leader for the Eagle Eye 3 launch, so she'll be helping us with Mellark's resupply now. Thanks for joining our team, Janet."
"No problem. Glad I can help out." Janet said with a smile and nodded to the room.
"What can you tell us about the booster?" Seneca asked as Janet settled into one of the few remaining seats near the front of the room.
"Well, the booster is doing as well as could be hoped for. It was prepared for launch, but has been held for Iris. Boosters…aren't meant to sit upright like that for so long. But we've addressed that issue. We've drained the fuel to prevent corrosion and added external supports. It was safer than dismantling it or trying to get it horizontal again. I also have my people making extensive inspections every three days, part of which is running diagnostics on all systems. I can guarantee you the booster will be ready and waiting for your Iris probe."
"Thank you, Janet," Seneca said, and turned over another sheet of paper, "And that leads to our next question. Plutarch, how is Iris coming along?"
"We're behind." Plutarch slumped. He didn't beat around the bush. Seneca liked that about him, but he didn't like this news.
"How far behind?" Seneca asked.
"Two weeks."
"Is that as far behind as you're going to get? Or do you see potential for further delays?" This was concerning. The schedule was rigidly tight. They didn't have two weeks.
"Well, we have 19 days left of work on the probe and we still have 13 days to mount it to the booster and complete all the final diagnostics and inspections before launch. But anything could happen. There are always problems...delays."
"How much extra time will you need to finish?"
"If I had to give you a number," Plutarch scrunched up his face in thought, "I'd say we need fifteen extra days."
Seneca nodded and jotted down a note to himself.
He addressed Dr. Abioye Adeyemi, the flight surgeon for the Antares crews. "Dr. Adeyemi, what can you tell us about Mellark's health? Can he last an extra fifteen days until we get the probe to him?"
"He's going to be in a malnourished state. He's at minimal calories, but still does a lot of physical labor. He has undoubtedly lost weight. He won't have much in reserves when the probe gets to him. He'll need to have the energy and alertness to drive a rover to get to the probe. You need to land that probe as close to him as possible." Dr. Adeyemi jabbed his finger at the table. "And you need to get it to him as fast as possible."
Haymitch cleared his throat, "I'm with Dr. A, here. With a tumbler, you've gotta be prepared that it could take days for Mellark to reach it. Remember rovers don't have a lot of range. Not even his Mellarkmobile with all of its modifications can go very far when you consider just how far the lander can end up from him. He'd have to be strong enough to go out searching for it and return with it. That's…he's not going to be able to do it if he is literally starving for days waiting on it. The landing date needs to be firm."
Dr. Adeyemi nodded in affirmation. "Yes, Haymitch is right. While Mellark could last longer than a week with no food at all, by the…say…fourth day, he'd have impaired mental faculties and he'd be so weak, he would not be able to operate the rover. He'd even have trouble staying awake. It is imperative this probe launches on time."
"So we get time somewhere else," Seneca said. Turning to Plutarch he offered, "I can get you more overtime."
"Nah," Plutarch said dismissively, "I've already got people working around the clock. Money and overtime can't fix this."
"Then we get it on the booster faster. Paylor? You said it takes thirteen days to get the probe on the booster and ready for launch, can we shorten that in any way?"
Paylor considered for a moment before speaking. "It only takes three days to mount the probe to the booster. The next ten days are for testing. We can mount the booster in two days with enough overtime, so that just leaves the testing process."
Seneca referenced his notes before asking, "Janet, how often do the tests reveal say a flaw or an error that would prevent launch."
Janet Paylor was ever ready with her answers, "In about one in twenty launches we'll have a problem kick back that needs to be solved, but in all of those, only about half of the problems would have resulted in a failed launch."
Haymitch leaned forward and asked, "So if we skip inspections, we have a one in forty chance of mission failure?"
"That's, two point five percent," said Seneca, doing the math in his head quickly, "Normally, that's grounds for a countdown halt. We can't do that."
"Normally was a long damn time ago," Haymitch drawled, "Can anyone think of a safer way to get more time?"
The room was silent.
"I'm with Haymitch," Gale spoke up, "We just don't have enough time. We're going to have to be willing to take some risks. Speeding up the mounting process and skipping inspections buys us eleven days." He gestured to Plutarch. "If Plutarch can pull a rabbit out of a hat and get done sooner," He waved his hand toward Paylor. "Janet can do some inspections. And malnutrition notwithstanding." Here, a pointed look at Dr. Adeyemi. "I'm sure Mellark can stretch the food supply an extra four days."
Dr. Adeyemi stuttered, "I-I can't…r-r-recommend-"
Seneca shook his head. "It's too risky," he rebutted.
Unable to remain seated, Gale stood up and leaned on the table. "Look." He swallowed thickly. "We have procedures. I know and you know that skipping procedures means risk-and NASA is built on minimizing risk. But right now, if we focus on covering our asses, Mellark dies! Do you get that?" His voice rose. "You perform all those tests and Mellark will starve to death in safety. And the whole effort will have been wasted when food arrives for a dead astronaut." He looked around the room and his nostrils flared as he exhaled heavily through his nose.
Haymitch nodded at him in a show of solidarity.
"And if the launch fails? What then?" Seneca asked cooly.
"It fails." Gale admitted simply. "But at least we went down swinging. If we sit on our hands dotting every 'i' and crossing every 't' when we know every second counts? And we have a successful launch that gets there too late? What then? We still failed. It's a risk no matter what we do. And I say we skip inspections. I'd rather take that risk and get the payload to Mellark in time."
"And I cannot approve that." Seneca dug in.
Plutarch interrupted, "If we are able to finish even a little bit early, we might be able to get some inspections done."
"And many of the inspections are redundant-to verify results," Paylor added.
Seneca took in what they had to say. His hard blue eyes lingering on Gale's smoldering grays. Finally after interminable minutes, he looked down, shuffled through his notes and neatened the stack. Clearing his throat he said quietly, "Plutarch, get that probe finished. Janet, we'll get you that overtime funding, you get the probe mounted in two days. And we'll do minimal inspections so we can launch in time. Dr. Adeyemi, you make the food last another four days."
"Uh, Beetee?" his boss, Mike, called from the doorway.
Beetee didn't hear him. He was leaned forward in his chair focused on his computer screen. His mug sat close by, filled with yet more coffee. The trash was overflowing with takeout containers and wrappers. Papers and printouts were piled on his desk; his usual haphazard organization was looking more haphazard than usual. He had been working long hours.
Mike took in the scene before him and he felt a little concerned for Beetee.
"Beetee!" he said more forcefully.
Beetee startled, then turned and looked at him over his shoulder, blinking owlishly.
"Uh, I was just coming by to check up on…" Mike's voice trailed off as he looked around the room. "Um, on the orbital adjustments for the, uh, satellites…Beetee?"
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing in here?"
"Oh! Just, a, uh…side project." He gave a small smile.
"Okaaay," Mike said slowly. "Well, just be sure you get those satellite adjustments for me." He began to leave.
"I need some supercomputer time."
"For satellites?" Mike asked and turned back into the room.
"No. For this project." Beetee gestured at the computer and a stack of printouts next to it.
"Sure, that'd be fine, but you need to do your real job first."
Beetee blinked at the computer, then rubbed his balding head. He faced Mike again.
"Is now an okay time for a vacation?"
"Well..." said Mike, quickly thinking it over, "...sure." Beetee had been working long hours on the Iris probe, he could use a break from work. "Why don't you head on out, get some rest."
"Oh no. I'm not leaving."
"Well, then, about those satellite adjustments…"
"I'm on vacation."
Mike walked away shaking his head.
Mellark: Hey, how's my care package?
JPL: Coming along. A little behind schedule. We'll get it done. We want to get you back to work, boy. They're putting together a science schedule. We'll send it to you as soon as it's complete.
Mellark: Good, I'm bored as hell and have sat on my ass long enough. What sort of fun stuff am I going to be doing?
JPL: Mostly EVAs collecting rock and soil samples and conducting soil tests. Flight surgeon, Dr. Adeyemi is creating a list of self-administered medical tests for you to complete once a week. Dr. Aurelius might have some stuff for you too. This is the best "bonus Mars time" since the Opportunity rover.
Mellark: Opportunity never went home.
JPL: You're right. Bad analogy.
Launch Day: Houston, TX- 60 days after the Hab Breach
Johanna took the podium alone.
"Good morning and thank you for coming." Johanna began. "I am pleased to report that the Iris probe is complete and ready for launch. The launch is scheduled for 9:14am Eastern Daylight Time, today.
"Once launched, the probe will remain in orbit for three hours until mission control initiates a trans-Mars injection burn. NASA mission control will handle the launch up through the trans-Mars injection burn, they will then hand the probe over to the Antares 3 presupply team. The probe will take four-hundred fourteen days to get to Mars where it will do a bounce and roll landing, much like MER landers in the past.
"I will now take questions," Johanna announced.
"What's in the payload? Anything besides just food?" queried a reporter.
"Yes, we have included a radio and some small luxury items on board," Johanna answered.
"What sorts of items?" the reporter persisted.
"Two thumb drives with messages and pictures from family and friends, new tv shows and movies, and music. And a letter, handwritten and signed by President Snow."
She pointed out Caesar Flickerman who had raised his hand.
"If this launch fails, will there be a Plan B to fall back on?"
Johanna expected this question and responded confidently, "While there are indeed risks to any launch, we don't foresee any problems. The weather forecast at the Cape is in our favor. Conditions couldn't be better for a launch." She deftly avoided answering Caesar's question and before he could ask again, she called on another reporter.
"Jill Watson with BBC news. All the talk about rescuing Mellark has been noble; it has moved the masses, but is there a spending limit? How much is too much? Some people are beginning to question whether all this expenditure worth it? Are there not other causes that could use all this funding that's being invested in one astronaut?"
Managing to maintain her composure and swallow the 'fuck you' that was on the tip of her tongue, she answered evenly, "Who's to put a value on human life? This is not about the bottom line, but about a person in need of rescue. Moreover, if you want to compare 'value' consider the intrinsic value of Mellark's extended mission. In addition to all of the science he has completed and will be able to complete, his fight for survival has given us more information than all of the other Antares missions combined ever will."
She fielded questions for the next ten minutes, most of them focusing mercifully on specific details of the launch. When the press conference was over she breathed a deep sigh of relief and felt like she should have earned a medal of valor for not losing it on that BBC reporter. She was going to need a stiff drink with Haymitch when this launch was over.
Haymitch stood next to Gale in Mission Control and observed the busy room.
"Well, I'd wish you luck, but I know you don't believe in it," Haymitch said with a small smile.
"Luck has no business in spaceflight," Gale answered gravely.
Haymitch smirked. "Yeah, I agree with you. I believe in men and women doing their best and Jack Daniels when they don't."
He reached out his hand and Gale shook it, but Haymitch could see the anxiety behind his eyes.
"Don't worry about it," he said, "You've done everything you can. We all have. That's all you've got to do."
Gale nodded soberly and turned to the control panel before him where he could keep track of the 25 engineers in charge of the hydraulics, pad water deluge system, electrical systems, comms, propulsion, ascent, and flight control, as well as the range coordinator, launch director, and Haymitch, who was the mission director.
He put his ear-piece in and adjusted the bright blue tie his wife, Madge, had made for him. She made one for each launch he oversaw. Since he led blue team, she made an assortment of blue ties. He wore them once and only once, for the launch, and it signaled to his team that after all those sims and drills, this was the real thing.
Haymitch took his place at his console.
Seneca entered the VIP booth, briefcase in hand. When he sat, he cracked it open and pulled out a blue folder, leaving a red folder inside.
Johanna was in the press room standing before a variety of screens that showed all angles of the launch.
Plutarch sat in a crowded cafeteria where most of the employees of JPL had assembled to watch the momentous launch that they'd poured so many hours and blood, sweat, and tears into. Handfuls of others were scattered through out break rooms, watching on tvs there.
Around the world people waited by radios, or watched TVs, or live-streamed the launch on their computers or phones.
In Mission Control, blue team had drilled the countdown Go-Nogo checklist dozens of times and could complete it with speed and precision. They'd practiced simulations to prepare them to deal with potential anomalies. They were thoroughly ready for today's launch.
But unlike all those practice runs, today there was a nervous tension in the air. A tinge of excitement coating every action and communication.
"T minus ten minutes to scheduled launch, Flight," the Timer informed Gale.
"T minus ten minutes," Gale confirmed, "Sterile control room starts now."
The buzz that had filled the room died quietly to silence, interrupted only by terse, necessary communications between systems engineers and flight controllers.
"T minus five minutes, Flight," the Timer informed again.
"Status check to proceed to terminal countdown," Gale announced, then started the script.
"Talker."
"Go."
"Iris systems propulsion."
"Go."
"Hydraulics."
"Go."
"Pneumatics."
"Go."
"Water."
"Go."
"LOX 1."
"Go."
"LOX 2."
"Go."
"Haz Gas."
"Go."
"Electrical systems."
"Go."
"Ground."
"Go."
"Facility."
"Go."
"Flight Control."
"Go."
"Instrumentation."
"Go."
"Comm."
"Go."
"Timer."
"Go."
"PCQ."
"Go."
"Umbilicals."
"Go."
"PCS."
"Go."
"Ops Safety Manager."
"Go."
"Eagle Systems Engineer."
"Go."
"Anomaly Chief."
"Go."
"Range Coordinator."
"Cleared to proceed."
"LD." There was a pause. "Launch Director." Gale repeated.
"Launch vehicle is ready to launch."
"Mission Director."
"You have permission to launch," said Haymitch.
"Proceeding with the count," said Gale.
The Timer announced, "Launch time is firm at 13:14 Zulu."
The countdown continued its relentless march of time. Each man and woman manning a console that morning felt every tick of the clock in their chest as their own pulse.
Gale said, "ROC report range status."
"Range green,"came the reply.
"T minus twenty-five seconds," the Timer announced.
"Status check," said Gale, finishing the pre-flight script. Three voices answered him in succession.
"Go Iris."
"Go Delta."
"All systems are Go for launch."
This was it.
"T minus 10 seconds, 9, 8, 7, 6," the Timer announced.
The whole room held their breath.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1."
"Ignition."
All eyes were on the screen at the front of the room. Fire ignited under the booster with a flash. There was a pause and then the booster began to inch upward. The crowd gathered at the Cape cheered and waved.
Support arms swung out of the way. Umbilicals released. The booster picked up speed and moved upwards to the sky.
"We have lift off."
Sighs of relief filled the room, but it wasn't over yet. It wouldn't be until the probe reached cruise and they handed over control to the Antares 3 mission team.
Iris moved higher and higher.
"Trim," queried Gale.
"Trim's good, Flight."
"Course?"
"On course."
The cameras panned up and zoomed in to follow the booster as it soared high over the Atlantic Ocean.
"Altitude one thousand meters," someone said.
"We've reached safe-abort," another person called out. Should anything go wrong, Iris could crash harmlessly into the ocean.
"Altitude fifteen hundred meters."
"Pitch and roll commencing."
"We have an anomaly," said ascent flight director.
"Be specific," Gale demanded.
"Just a shimmy. Onboard systems guidance is handling it," the ascent flight director reassured.
"Keep an eye on it," Gale said tensely.
"Altitude twenty-five hundred meters."
"Pitch and Roll complete."
"Twenty-two seconds till staging," said Timer.
"Shimmy's getting violent," reported the ascent flight director.
"How violent?" said Gale.
"More than we like, but the guidance systems have compensated and adjusted the engines' thrusts to counteract the shimmy. We're still good."
Gale clenched his jaw and pressed his lips in a thin line. "Keep me posted," he said.
"Thirteen seconds till staging. 10, 9, 8…"
"First stage engine cut off."
"Separation sequence initiated."
"Separation of first stage complete."
"Second stage ignition in 3…2…1. Ignition."
"WOAH!" exclaimed the ascent flight director. "Flight, we're getting a large precession."
"What?" Gale said as his console suddenly lit up light a Christmas tree. A quick scan of the room, and lights were going off everywhere. His heart raced.
"It's spinning on it's axis," said the ascent flight director.
"Force on Iris at seven g's," called one voice.
"Intermittent signal loss," called another voice.
Gale tried to make sense of all the alerts, warnings, and buttons lighting up his console.
"Ascent, what is going on?" he demanded.
"All hell broke loose. Iris is falling off course. She's spinning like a top, at least 5 rps."
"Get it into orbit."
"We can't talk to it at all."
"Comm!"
"We've got signal failures left and right." Comm reported.
"Get that probe back online!" shouted Gale.
"We're on it, Flight!" Comm shouted back.
"We're getting some major g's, Flight."
"Iris is two hundred meters below scheduled flight path, Flight."
"We've lost reading on the probe, Flight."
"Entirely lost the probe?" Gale asked his voice thick. In a matter of seconds a routine launch had gone to shit.
"Affirm Flight."
"What about the ship, can we get it back in low-orbit-"
"Unable."
"Loss of signal, Flight."
"LOS here, too."
"Same here."
Other than alarms, the room fell silent.
Gale looked around. "Reestablish?" he asked, his voice thin, like it came from somewhere else.
"Unable," said Comm.
"Ground?"
"GC. Vehicle had already left visual range."
"SatCon?"
"No satellite acquisition of signal."
The main screen at the from of the room was black now, with large white letters, "LOS".
"Flight," said a voice over the radio, "US destroyer Farragut reports debris falling from the sky. Source matches last known location of Iris."
Gale hung his head and leaned his weight forward on one hand on the desk, the other was on his hip. He swallowed thickly. "GC, Flight. Lock the doors...Start post-failure procedures."
Up in the VIP booth, Seneca placed the blue folder, that contained a speech for the press conference immediately following the successful launch, back in his suitcase, and pulled out the red folder that contained the other speech.
Once Haymitch was released from Mission Control, he headed back for his own office, seeking solace in solitude. He collapsed in his chair. He yanked the top drawer open and the flask rattled around, but he just as suddenly shut the drawer again. There was no drinking this away. He suddenly didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere. Then he thought of the only person he knew he could stand to be around. He knew she cared for Mellark as much as he did, likely more. She'd be alone too. He made his way to SatCon, with purpose if not with speed, because his legs felt leaden. She was not in her office. He smirked. She was so like him. She couldn't stand to be in her office anymore than he in his. The break room was full of technicians still discussing the incident, though a fair amount of time had passed. Katniss was not among them. He nudged open the restroom door and called her name, but there was no answer. He noticed a supply closet at the end of the hall in a neglected little nook. The perfect place. He knocked on the door. "Sweetheart?"
Katniss had been watching live-stream of the launch on the TV in the break room. Her hands clasped tightly together as she mouthed quietly to herself, "Come on, come on, come on," rooting along with the rest of NASA, the nation, the world, that the probe would make it to the stranded astronaut. When the booster began the pitch and roll maneuver and began to spin on its axis, her heart sank and a lump rose in her throat. Then it became more pronounced, but the gyros were handling it and keeping the probe on course. Then cameras on board the vehicle showed first stage separation. Katniss was relieved. The second stage would get the probe to orbit and from there the third and final stage would point it toward Mars. Right after the second stage fired, the on-board camera blacked out, then turned on, then blacked out again. With each brief glimpse of the probe, it was maneuvering wildly. Finally the screen went blank and camera feeds switched to ground where the launch site, once a buzz with activity was eerily silent. The SatCon techs watched the crowd on the TV who watched unfolding events with horror. News anchors who had been announcing the launch informed viewers that lookouts aboard USS Farragut reported debris had been seen falling from the sky and was believed to be the remains of Iris.
The lifeline Peeta was depending on disintegrated over the Atlantic Ocean. Katniss walked out of the room in a daze. She felt physically ill. She couldn't go back to her office, at least not yet. She couldn't face pulling up imagery of the Antares 3 site or of the astronaut.
Instead she went down the hall and quietly shut herself in a closet. Amidst the paper towels, toilet paper, chemical cleaners, and office supplies, she wept. She had hated Peeta and the colossal inconvenience he had been. She had cursed his name every morning, exchanged imaginary sarcastic banter with him over her coffee, she had rooted for him as he retrieved Pathfinder, and had come to truly care about him. She wanted so much to protect him, but she was powerless. She cried herself out and continued to just sit there, staring at nothing in particular, her mind like static.
A quiet knock. "Katniss?" And the door opened a crack.
"Sweetheart?"
Haymitch.
And suddenly her grief morphed into a red-hot anger. "You lied! You're a liar! You son of a bitch!" She flew at him and beat her small fists on his chest and he let her. "You promised! You said this would work! You liar! You said we could do it," she finished hoarsely.
When she slumped against him, her energy spent, he just held her.
And she allowed him because she knew he cared about Peeta as much as she did, if not more.
"I'm sorry, kid, I'm so sorry," he said as he held her. "We'll think of something. I promise you, we'll find a way."
"You don't need to apologize to me," she said, turning away from him, wiping her eyes.
"I know. I know how much you care about him. You try not to let on, but I can see that you do."
Katniss sniffled. Having to talk about it made all those feelings of helplessness wash over her in a fresh wave. Her knees buckled and she sunk down.
Haymitch lowered himself stiffly to the floor to join her.
"I can't watch him die, Haymitch, I can't," she rasped and began to cry anew. Her legs were drawn up and she wrapped her arms around them and buried her face in her knees. "Please don't make me watch him die."
"I know Sweetheart. We'll figure something out. I promise," Haymitch whispered. Though he didn't know exactly how he'd be able to keep that promise.
Mellark: So, how'd the launch go?
...
...
JPL: Launch failed.
Peeta felt nothing. He was totally numb. For a long time, he just sat there, thinking nothing, doing nothing, feeling...nothing. Then he somehow knew he needed to move. He got up and donned his spacesuit, and moved mechanically into the airlock of Rover 2. Then just as mechanically walked to the Hab. When he was inside, he took off his helmet, and hung up his suit. He stared blankly at the sealed gash where Airlock 1 was once attached then turned his gaze to the clean floor where he once had thriving farm. That was when the emotions hit, like a tidal wave of hopelessness and despair. His knees buckled and he clutched at his hair. He leaned forward till his forehead touched the floor. His chest felt heavy and ached. He choked and gasped desperately for air. When he finally caught his breath, he wept. He rolled on his side and lay curled there, arms covering his head, as his body was wracked with sobs and he cried long and hard.
He eventually spent himself and got back up. He wasn't hungry, so he skipped dinner. He tucked himself into his bunk. He lay quietly for a while when all of a sudden his chest heaved and shoulders shook as the emotions overwhelmed him again.
He missed his family. He missed Earth. He'd wanted so very much to get back home. But more than that he mourned losing his future. He couldn't accept that this was it. This was the sum total of his life and where it would all end. He tried to wrap his head around this slow-motion death sentence, but he just couldn't. He'd wanted to help train future astronauts, to find love, and have his own kids someday. All these things had once seemed so near and now seemed to recede from his grasp.
The next morning, he lay on his back, his arms behind his head. He stared at the bottom of the bunk above him, thinking.
Mars had him in a full nelson, its fingers on his throat, his arms locked in place and useless. This whole thing had been a meatgrinder from the start. But he wasn't down for the count yet. He wasn't going let himself get pinned. They'd think of something. Or maybe he'd find a way out of this. There was still time. A whole year even. No, he was going to keep on fighting, keep on living, and give them time to work out a new plan. He was nothing if not one optimistic bastard.
A/N-Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think. Every review means a lot. Or come talk to me on tumblr kleeklutch.
NASA History: Gene Krantz is probably the best-known flight director in NASA. He played a prominent role from the beginning of the Mercury program up through Gemini and Apollo. He started out in the Air Force flying F-86 Sabres in Korea, then worked temporarily for McDonnell Aircraft Corporation before finally joining NASA's Space Task Group. In the Air Force, Gene Krantz's squadron had a distinctive insignia and his wife, Marta, once made them all scarves with that insignia on it. At NASA he felt the need for a unifying something, like the insignia had been in the past, and she volunteered to make him a vest. She made him a new white vest for each launch he was in charge of while he was flight director. His team was the "white" team, thus the white vest. It became tradition. In Apollo 13 they have a scene where a runner brings Gene his new vest from his wife. She understood the Air Force culture he had come from and the new NASA culture he was a part of now. I thought it'd be fun to include a nod to that with Gale and Madge. The blue tie is her way of supporting him and encouraging the team by giving them an 'insignia' or 'good luck charm'.
Songs for this chapter are: 1. Kings and Creatures- Timelapse, 2. Gabrielle Alpin- Home, 3. Susie Suh- Here with Me, 4. OK GO- Needing/Getting, 5. Audio Machine- Impera, 6. Linkin Park- Lost in the Echo, 7. Lifehouse- Broken, 8. Gothic Storm- Destiny Awaits