A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you are continuing to enjoy the story. I just wanted to say thanks to my beta greenwool who helps me whip the chapters into shape, my hubs who prereads and helps me with wordsmithing and sciencing the shit out of this thing, AlwaysEverlark who made me an amazing banner that you can see on my tumblr (my url is on my profile), and last, but not least, you all who read, comment, fave, and follow this fic. I appreciate every message I get!
EVERLARK NEXT CHAPTER! This author thanks you for your patience :)
Songs for this chapter are: 1. Killers- Flesh and Bone, 2. Linkin Park- Leave Out all the Rest, 3. Linkin Park- Final Masquerade, 4. Starset- Halo, 5. Lifehouse- Halfway Gone, 6. Really Slow Motion- Suns and Stars
Summary: Peeta writes to his crew. Beetee has an idea. Gale has had enough.
REARDON: Hey, man! I'm writing to you because Dr. Aurelius says it'll help me stay connected to humanity or some shit. I think it's total bunk, but whatever. Orders. So, I just want to say:
Hey, brother from another mother. You have been my best friend since I joined this crew. You're the best damn pilot I've ever known and you fly the ship like a leaf on the wind. I can't imagine flying with anyone better.
As my best friend, if, you know, I don't make it back, I want you to talk to my dad. Let him know what things were like first-hand. Since I won't be there to do it. I'm not planning to die, but I have to prepare for contingencies. It's what I do.
Also, you can have anything you want from the bakery on the house, forever. Tell my dad I said so.
Tell Ace and Star "Hi" for me. I miss our hikes together. What are those weird rock piles called? I wished I had some when I went to get Pathfinder.
Take good care of Liv and Zach. I know you can't wait to get home to them. Anyway, be well brother.
Johnson Space Center- Houston, Texas
Seneca listened intently to the voice on the other end of the phone line. They finished what they had to say then waited for his response. He thought about it. What they had to offer. What they wanted in return. He gazed out of the window at nothing in particular and stroked his perfectly manicured beard deep in thought.
Finally, he replied.
"Yes."
NASA had a new rocket. And the Chinese would have an astronaut on Antares 5.
DE LA ROSA: I'm just going to be blunt. You scare the shit out of me. What is it with you and knives? You are such a nerd, but you are terrifying. How'd you manage that?
Did you know Commander Odair warned us not to hit on you? If we did, we'd be off the mission. I don't think he needed to worry. You seem like you could take care of yourself. I'm pretty sure if any one of us propositioned you, we'd be a eunuch shortly afterward.
It was awesome that you did get the tattoo. You can deal with some serious shit, but lighten up okay? You're tough, but you're still a nerd.
Remind me to give you a wedgie next time I see you.
JPL- Pasadena, California
Once again, Plutarch stood at the front of the project planning room. He looked out over the group of exhausted engineers and department heads.
"I am sure everyone has heard the news- the Chinese have given us the Taiyeng-Shen rocket, and with it a second chance to send a resupply to Mellark-"
"Why would they do that?" asked Dan Jensen.
"Humanity?"
Ed Michem snorted.
Plutarch added, "And to express their appreciation of the generosity of the Chinese, NASA has promised to include one of their scientists on a future mission."
"Hmph," Dan huffed.
"Okay! Forget the politics." Plutarch swept his hand through the air, as if to sweep the topic away. "Leave that to the administrators. We need to focus on building a probe.
"We made history when we completed the Iris probe in sixty-three days. So now we're going to have to top that by making a final probe in twenty-eight days."
The number written on the board in red dry-erase marker glared out at them.
"That's impossible!" Neil declared.
"There's no way," said Jason.
"The time alone…" Dan began.
Plutarch pointed at Dan. "We're going to save a lot of time by removing landing gear completely."
Shocked gasps and muttered curses filled the room.
Plutarch continued, "We have to get food to Mellark. It doesn't have to be pretty. Just edible."
"And just how is he going to get food from a smoking fucking crater?" asked Kenneth from the back.
"That's what we will be spending our time on. I want to split you up into two teams." He wrote "Team 1" and "Team 2" on the board circling each one.
"The first team is going to focus on the probe, the hull, the navigation." He wrote the list as he spoke. "I want it to have a high gain antenna- we need to be able to talk to it. Team two, you'll be focused on the food. We don't want him to be eating protein scented sand. Ensure that food can survive a high speed impact."
He wrote 'food + protection' on the board next to 'Team 2'.
"Dan Jensen, I want you to lead the first team with Remi and Jason. You can hand pick the rest."
Dan nodded and began to collect his things. He leaned over to a nearby colleague, already beginning the recruitment process.
Plutarch continued, "And Zoe, you lead Team Two. You've already done impressive research on securing payloads for interplanetary flight and less than ideal landings."
Zoe smiled at his praise and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement.
Plutarch looked to his left, "Neil, focus on making the protein bars as robust as possible." Then he looked over their heads at Kenneth. "Kenneth, I want you on Zoe's team too. Zoe, you can fill out the rest of your team.
"Alright, let's not waste time talking here. Go!"
Despite their fatigue, the men and women who had shuffled tiredly into the meeting filed out in record time, energized with new purpose and a raging desire to beat the odds. Slumped shoulders were now squared, and bent backs were now straight. Their faces were a mixture of determination and worry, the desire to push the limits, and the fear that they may not succeed. No one smiled. There was no erasing this weariness that had seeped deep into their bones. They had a month and after that, for better or for worse, it would all be over. Once again, Mellark's life was in their hands.
NASA: Johnson Space Center- Houston, Texas
Haymitch was buried in emails he needed to write, messages he needed to return, and papers that he needed to sign off on. Dark circles underlined his eyes. He was exhausted, but he pressed on. He could sleep when he knew Mellark was safe.
A knock at the door cut through his thoughts and he looked up to see a head poking in his office.
"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly, irritated at the interruption, irritated that he didn't know who this guy was, irritated because he was out of coffee and the admin wasn't there to get him more.
"Actually," the man began nervously, "I was thinking I could help you."
"Who are you?"
"Bernard, uh, Bernard Thomas Latier, but most people just call me Beetee. I'm from astrodynamics," the man answered.
"Okay, Beetee, what have you got?"
Beetee entered the room now and heaved a huge stack of papers on the desk and Haymitch moved his coffee mug only just in time. He gave a bewildered look at the papers. What was all this?
"A way to save Mellark."
"We're already working on that."
"Oh, you mean the Taiyeng-Shen?" Beetee snorted. "That's impossible; you'll never get a probe ready in a month." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and blinked. "And crash landing it on Mars? You can't really be serious."
"And you think you have a better idea?" Haymitch asked drawing his brows together skeptically and leaning back in his office chair.
Beetee began rifling through the papers. "Yeah, actually. I had a summary here…Ah! Here it is!" He held a paper up triumphantly, then lifted his glasses and peered under them at the paper. He read over it for a moment, then frowned. "No, that's not it." He began going through the papers again.
"Why don't you just tell me this grand plan of yours."
Beetee blinked at Haymitch, "I, uh, just had such a good summary." He looked down again. "I'll find it. Just a minute. Ah! Yes! Here." He handed the summary to Haymitch.
Haymitch smirked as he took the proffered paper in hand, but made himself read it. The more he read, the wider his eyes got. He studied Beetee. His grey eyes were keen, hopeful, questioning.
"You sure this'll work?"
"Absolutely." Beetee's confidence in his theory was an odd contrast to his nervous mannerisms and habit of speech.
"We'd still need Taiyeng-Shen…"
"It's essential to the plan, actually."
"Have you told anyone about this?"
"Who would I tell?" Beetee asked honestly.
"I don't know, your boss, coworkers, friends?" Haymitch fished.
"I don't have any friends."
Haymitch rolled his eyes.
"Well, just...keep it under your hat. Okay?"
"I don't, uh, I don't wear hats."
"It's a figure of speech."
"Oh."
SOMERS: I've been assigned by Abernathy to do your science. My days are a bizarre mix of fighting to survive and titration. What the hell?
I've watched all your B-movies at least twice, some of them more. They are fucking hilarious. Where have these been all my life?! When I get back we totally need to have movie nights starting with my personal favorite, "Gamera".
Time is short so I'm just going to shoot straight with you. You need to tell Atwood the way you feel. If you don't you'll regret it for the rest of your life. She's really quiet and private so I don't know for sure how she feels about you, but it's worth it to find out. And if she does like you? Well, that'd be great. But keep it in your pants till you get back to Earth. You know Commander Odair warned us against that sort of thing.
And Clove and knives. You do not want to get on her bad side. I'm just saying.
Johnson Space Center- Houston, Texas
"The fuck is Project Elrond?" Johanna said as she entered the small conference room on the fourth floor, swiping her phone to cancel the notification. Gale and Haymitch, who stood at the window, framed in late afternoon sun, exchanged glances.
Gale grinned and walked over. "You mean to say you don't know who Elrond is?"
Johanna glowered at him and took a seat at the glass topped table.
Haymitch chuckled. "The council of Elrond. It means it's a secret meeting," he drawled as he walked over and took a seat next to her. Gale sat across from them, next to Plutarch who was working furiously on his laptop.
Seneca arrived and quickly moved to a seat.
Johanna turned to him. "Do you know who Elrond is?" she asked.
"Sure," Seneca replied, "The head Elf in Rivendell? Lord of the Rings? Everyone knows that…or well most people." He finished sheepishly under a withering glare from Johanna.
"I'm surrounded by nerds," Johanna muttered and rubbed her temples. "Did none of you get laid in high school?"
"I went to an all-boys school," replied Seneca. Everyone turned sharply in his direction. "So what's with the secret meeting?" Seneca asked.
"You mean even he didn't know what this is about?" Johanna twisted in her seat to look at Haymitch.
"That would be the point of a secret meeting, Jo," said Haymitch.
She rolled her eyes.
"Are we about to make a momentous decision?" asked Plutarch finally looking up from his laptop.
Haymitch cleared his throat and began. "I had a visit from someone…unexpected, Bernard Latier. He's an astrodynamicist and he's been working on a plan to get a resupply to Mellark."
"We're already working on a plan," said Seneca.
"Yeah, but that plan sucks and this one I think could really work."
"He's right," said Plutarch, "It really does suck."
"Okay. I'm listening." Seneca leaned back in his chair with his fingers steepled.
Haymitch cut straight to the chase. "We use the Hermes."
"What?!" They all asked in unison.
"We mount a resupply probe on the Taiyeng-Shen like we've already planned, then send it up to the Hermes. Hermes sling shots around Earth. It's going to have so much speed that it will be at Mars on Sol 549. Well before Mellark runs out of food."
Plutarch eyes were alight with the possibilities. "This is huge! Even the Iris wouldn't land before Sol 588."
Haymitch continued, "But, there's more. If Mellark can get to the Antares 4 site and operate the MAV, they can pick him up and have him home in time for Christmas next year." Haymitch finished on a triumphant note.
Seneca's brows were pinched in thought. "But the MAV is only good for low Mars orbit."
"That's right. It needs to escape Mars gravity if it's going to rendezvous with the Hermes."
Plutarch nodded enthusiastically. "It would have to lose weight to reach escape velocity. A lot of weight. I can get my people on that right away."
Seneca looked skeptical. "Can Mellark even make the journey to the MAV? It's what? Three-thousand kilometers away…"
Haymitch said, "It's three-thousand, two-hundred and thirty-five kilometers to be exact."
They all looked thoughtful. Gale twirled a pen around his fingers.
Seneca asked, "Why not just have them drop the food and then come home. Peeta could use the food until Antares 4 can pick him up."
"The Antares 4 plan was problematic from the beginning." The others squirmed. He held back a wince. The Antares 4 plan had been an elephant in the room that they'd been able to avoid once the food issue took preeminence. He felt bad voicing doubt on a long-held plan, but kept going. "But more urgent is the fact that the Hab is already falling apart. One seam blew and luckily Mellark was already in an EVA suit and in the airlock. Had he been outside he could have been hit with debris. Inside he could have been incapacitated by lack of air and damned cold temperatures. He could have died."
The sobering thought gave him pause and he looked around at the others gathered at the table. All eyes were on him. He had their attention, so he continued.
"Every day on that planet is a risk and fight for survival. You don't see it in his messages, but you can't tell me that that's not hanging over his head. When is the next sudden 'accident' going to come? Another blown seam? Critical life support failing?"
He swept his arms in an open gesture as if to encompass all of the unknowns. He got grunts of agreement from Gale and Plutarch.
"Despite what he says, not everything can be fixed. We need to get him off the planet as soon as possible. There's no way to get Antares 4 there fast enough."
Seneca, at the head of the table sat near-motionless taking in everything Haymitch was saying. He could almost see the gears turning in the man's piercing blue eyes.
"We need to send his crew back. And he needs to meet them. It's his best chance."
"You think he can make the journey to Schiaparelli crater?" asked Seneca.
"He made the journey to Pathfinder. I have every confidence he can modify the rovers to make a longer journey."
Plutarch looked between the two men. "We can make the plans here and send them to him."
"But if we do this…there's no way for the crew to-They'd be in space for another, what? Year?" asked Johanna.
Haymitch's face was sober. "A year and a half. I know it'd be a sacrifice. But I think we should ask them. This is truly Mellark's best bet."
"No," said Seneca, "We'll make the decision here."
"They'd be for this!" Gale interjected. "I know it. If they knew there was a chance to save Mellark, they'd do it in a heartbeat."
"We can't ask them to do this, Gale. They are too close to the situation. We will make the decision and inform them when necessary."
"We can't NOT ask them!" Gale said.
"That's enough, Gale," said Seneca. He turned his attention back to Haymitch. "When do we need to decide?"
Haymitch double-checked his notes from Beetee. "If we decide to go for it, they'd have to start the burn to accelerate within the next thirty-three hours."
"That doesn't leave us much time," Seneca said thoughtfully, "And if we don't do this?"
"We crash-land protein bars on Mars and hope that not only will Mellark find them, but that they'll be in some way edible," said Haymitch.
Johanna leaned back in her chair and said, "Neither option is ideal."
"I think sending the crew back is the better option," said Plutarch.
"Better?" asked Seneca, "It's risking five more lives for the sake of one. I'd say it's more dangerous. We could have six dead astronauts."
"So we waste billions of dollars on probes, overtime, and borrowed rockets for an astronaut we have no intention of saving?" Gale's voice was heated.
"I do intend to save him. But I want it to be safe," said Seneca evenly.
Gale shook his head. "Space travel is inherently not safe. They have been not-safe since they strapped their asses on the Delta IV that got them to the Hermes. They have been not-safe since they agreed to the program. They accepted that risk with their eyes wide open. We're here, in this cozy office, with our feet grounded nice and secure on our planet, and we want to discuss the safety of people who have only millimeters of aluminum hull separating them from the cold void of space. It's laughable. I can't believe you won't send them back to Mellark just to keep them 'safe'!" Gale flung his arms out in a gesture of exasperation.
"Gale," Haymitch warned.
"He's right though," mumbled Plutarch.
Seneca answered, "I've heard your position, Gale, but I have to think of everyone involved. This is a huge decision and I do not make it lightly."
Gale scoffed, "Thinking of yourself and the bottom line no doubt."
"Gale!" Haymitch warned again. "You've made your point."
Gale pressed his lips in a thin line. His eyes smoldered. But he remained silent.
Seneca looked carefully at each person at the table. "Alright. You've given me a lot to think about. Meet back here tomorrow morning at nine and I'll give you my decision then. In the meantime tell no one."
They all left the room with grim expressions.
ATWOOD: I miss your doctor skills, especially when my back is out of whack.
Would you believe I miss your nagging? What I wouldn't give for a 5 minute health interrogation from Dr. Rue Atwood. I'm drinking my water, taking my vitamins, and my bowel movements are normal. You know you're the only person I can talk to comfortably about them? Other than my brothers, but that's different...
Anyway, I think your folk music made my potatoes grow better. I wasn't a fan before, but I'm definitely a fan now. I'm grateful for it. I'm pretty sure Commander Odair's boy bands could be used as a form of torture.
I think you have got to be the sweetest, kindest person I have ever known. How you put up with all of us is beyond me. So please accept my heartfelt gratitude for that.
Thanks to your classic novel collection, when I get back to Earth, I'll be the king of book clubs. Take care of yourself. And be gentle with Somers.
The next morning: Johnson Space Center- Houston, Texas
It had been less than twenty-four hours, but already "Project Elrond" haunted the halls. There were whispers at the water coolers and conjecture in the break rooms. It's purpose was shrouded in mystery, with only a handful of higher-ups in the know. Not even the admins had juicy info to share. It sounded ominous. Time and resources were running out for Mellark and this project was most definitely connected with him.
"No," said Seneca.
"What?" Both Haymitch and Gale turned to Seneca.
"No. There are too many unknowns. I'm NOT going to risk five more astronauts for the sake of one." Seneca shook his head. "We can't do this."
"There's got to be a way. I know the crew would totally be on board. Whatever the outcome in the end," said Gale.
"Another year away from their families? After all they've been through, for what might be a fool's errand that could get them killed in the process? I can't approve this," Seneca insisted.
"So that's it?" asked Gale.
"I want them home and safe. We'll try the Taiyang-Shen for Mellark. It's the best we can do."
"You're signing his death certificate," Gale hissed.
"If I am, I am, we've done everything we could."
"Not everything."
"Gale," Seneca said, exasperated.
"I say we let the crew decide. Mellark is their crewmate and their friend. They should at least know there's an option to save him."
"And I say, things have been stressful enough for them. We can't put that burden on their shoulders. We don't even know if the Hermes can make the trip. It's always re-outfitted between trips to Mars and things are fixed, upgraded, replaced, restocked. They won't be able to get those things."
"We can load as much as we can on the Taiyeng-Shen. Supplies for Mellark and for them," supplied Plutarch.
"Look. We can't. We just can' 's too much risk. That's all." Seneca was finished talking about this and packed up his briefcase.
Gale fumed. Haymitch slouched. Plutarch looked thoughtful. And Johanna huffed, "Well there goes Project fucking Elrond."
Standing to his full height of well above six feet, Gale strode over to Seneca. His eyes were liquid mercury. Inches away, Gale spoke in a low voice that was all the more threatening because he wasn't yelling, "You're a coward. A goddamn coward." He stormed out of the conference room and slammed the door.
Plutarch shut down his laptop. Johanna shouldered her tote and stood. Haymitch continued sitting, rubbing his temple.
Seneca looked around at them. "I'm really sorry about this guys."
Johanna strode across the room and stopped to open the door. Her body tensed. Then she looked over her shoulder, and said, "I was hoping he'd kick your ass."
Seneca's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"If you had balls, we might be able to save Mellark." And with that she left the room.
COMMANDER ODAIR: I've told you not to blame yourself, but if I know you, I bet you still do. Don't. You did what you had to and that's why you're such a great commander. It was just bad luck.
But on a more serious note: the fuck is up with you and boy bands? I get the knots. I get the trident fetish and all because of your family's fishing business, but boy bands? Seriously? Even '70'S disco would have been better.
I'm glad to have had you as my commander. You kept our rag tag crew shipshape and disciplined, which I'm sure is no easy feat. I wouldn't want to fly with anyone else.
Give Annie and Ridley and Quinn my best.
Drink some unsweet tea for me ;)
Hermes- en route to Earth
"Come on dammit!" Marvel Reardon smacked the laptop that sat on his lap. Frustrated, he finally got up and went in search of Clove De La Rosa. Maybe she could fix it.
He knocked on the door to the bunk room she shared with Rue Atwood. "Hey, De La Rosa? Got a sec?"
"What, can't open a file?" She smirked at him and her green eyes flashed mischievously. Her hair was in a messy bun. She, like most of the others, had been getting ready for bed.
"Actually, yeah," Marvel replied sheepishly.
"Did you try turning it off and back on again?"
"Ha-ha," Marvel answered dryly. "But, yeah, seriously-I tried everything. It's an email from my wife. Olivia says it's 'our son'. There's no text, just an attachment, so I think it's supposed to be a picture of him."
"Well, I'll take a look." She took the proffered laptop and set it on a small foldout tabletop. Marvel sat next to her, looking over her shoulder.
"Thanks, it's just, it wouldn't be so important, but it's him. Zach's only 3 now. Seems he changes a little every time I see him."
"This is weird..." Clove said as she attempted to pull up the file attachment on Marvel's e-mail.
"He's riding a bike now..." Marvel continued oblivious to De La Rosa's comment.
"Something's off with the code. I'm going to pull up the hex editor."
"It's one of those kinds they make without pedals."
"Let's see..."
"He can balance real well now Liv says. He gets up to speed, picks up his feet, and just glides," Reardon finished wistfully. His hand swooped through the air mimicking the motion.
"I'm in!"
"Oh that's great! Wait...that's not..." Marvel gazed at the screen, puzzled.
"No. It isn't."
"Then what is it?"
"A message. Commander Odair should see this."
The group sat around the table in the rec room. Marvel shared the message with the crew and had Thresh interpret the flight equations embedded in it.
"We have a chance to rescue Mellark?" asked Rue Atwood.
"That's about the sum of it." Commander Odair leaned back in his chair his arms crossed over his chest.
"I'm in," said Reardon without hesitation.
"Me too," joined Somers.
"I'll do it," said Atwood.
"Why the fuck not?" said De La Rosa.
"Well, hang on now...we can talk this over. It's a huge commitment and-"
"This is Mellark! Hell yeah I'm going back!" said Reardon, "He's my best friend. I wouldn't be able to face my family or live with myself if I've turned my back on him. I'll do it. I'll go back."
"Same here," said Thresh.
"We're going to be going against orders. You know what that means right?"
De La Rosa smirked. "It means I've got to get the Hermes on manual mode-100% in our control. There are at least three layers of redundancy I'll have to defeat.
"In the event of our…death, Mission Control has a backdoor that will allow them to take over the Hermes and get it back to Earth. But it's an emergency feature and not protected from malicious code." Her eyes sparkled at the implications.
"You'll be a hacker?" said Atwood.
"Wouldn't be the first time." Clove said with a mysterious smile.
"Really?" asked Somers, intrigued.
"Yeah, just this one time in high school. Grade manipulation. Nothing big." She waved a hand dismissively in the air as if defeating county school system and rigging grades for her junior class were some inconsequential thing.
"Okaaay," said Odair, "But it also means we'll face consequences when we get back. This is mutiny. Plain and simple. We'll never fly again. Are you sure you're okay with that?"
There were nods all around. Odair couldn't help the smile that curled up the edges of his lips. He should have guessed they'd vote to go back. Unanimous. Without hesitation. Damn the consequences.
He'd really lucked out with this crew. He'd been a Navy man and an astronaut for a long time and this was the tightest-knit crew he'd ever commanded. And Mellark had a lot to do with that. There was no way in hell he'd leave him to die on that rock if there was a chance to save him.
They were going back.
They were going to hack the computers and mutiny.
Space pirates indeed.
"We have twelve hours till burn. If you change your mind or whatever, you need to say so before then. Send me a private message. We'll scrub the Beetee Latier Maneuver and continue home. I'll never reveal your identity to the rest of the crew. Give it some serious thought. Once we do this there's no take-backs. Got that?"
There were solemn nods all around.
But if Finnick knew his crew like he thought he did, he knew no one would change their minds so he wasn't surprised when the next morning the crew was all in place in the cockpit to begin the burn that would take them back to Mars and to Mellark.
"Hang in there Mellark," Finnick said under his breath, "We're coming. Just hang on."
Mission Control- Houston, Texas
Gale entered Mission Control and observed the scene unfolding before him. The room, normally the picture of organization and order, was a hive of activity. Controllers called out to one another. A group huddled around a central console pointing and gesturing, clearly frustrated.
Greg Ellis, flight director for White Team ripped his headset off, flung it on the table, and rubbed his face. His shoulders sagged under an unseen weight. His brown hair was disheveled as though he'd been raking his hands through it and tugging at it. He looked up and spied Gale.
Gale saw the man heading his way and braced himself. The scene before him could be for any number of reasons, but he hoped-
"Gale!" Greg called as he neared. Up close Gale could tell the man looked tired. They'd had a long night by the looks of it. "You won't believe what's happened. We've been working all night to correct it, but nothing…nothing's worked." Greg shook his head despondently.
"What is it? What's happened, Greg?" Gale asked, a knot beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. Maybe something bad had happened.
They walked together to the flight director console. Greg gestured at the console as if it held the answers. "We can't get in. We can't fix it. We can't get them back. It's going to be too late."
Gale was getting frustrated with the other flight director's gibberish.
"What. Happened. Greg." Gale grit out.
Greg looked up at the imposing figure of Gale next to him and seemed to collect himself and bent over the console. He scrolled up through the communications log, back to the transmission that started it all.
"Here. At two a.m. we got this." He pointed at the screen. "It was an unscheduled communication and completely cryptic."
Gale read the message. "Houston, be advised: Bernard Latier is a steely-eyed missile man." And he felt the tension coiled in the pit of his stomach begin to dissipate.
Continuing, Greg said, "And right after that, the Hermes went through a 27.8-degree rotation and fired thrusters for two minutes and forty-two seconds. We sent them a message, but they didn't reply. We tried to correct their course adjustment, but we were blocked. We can't get into any one of the three systems. Our guys are trying to write a code to hack back into the Hermes, but they haven't been successful. If they continue on this trajectory…they won't be able to slow down in time. They won't be able to return to Earth." Greg slumped tiredly into the seat.
Gale couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. They got the message. They were going back. "Well I'll be damned."
Greg turned around and looked at him. He noted the lack of concern on the other flight director's features.
Gale said, "They seem to be fine. Don't worry about them, Greg. Everything's going to be fine. More than fine." And with that, Gale put on his headset. The rest of Blue Team filtered in for the shift-change.
Greg was baffled and wondered if he just dreamed it all, until he looked at the monitors again and the data coming in was undeniable. Hermes had made a deliberate course adjustment. What were they up to? What did Gale know that he didn't? And what did Bernard Fucking Latier have to do with all of it?
After a longer than usual overlap as Blue Team and White Team exchanged information, the White Team filed out drained and exhausted.
With his hand on the door knob, Greg turned back to Gale and said curiously, "You knew, didn't you?"
Gale looked up from the console. He answered, "Don't worry about it, Greg." His tone was clipped, terse, final.
Greg nodded. "Just tell me one thing. Who is Bernard Latier?"
Gale's eyes were sharp as flint and his lips were pressed in a grim line. "A hero."
Johnson Space Center- Houston, Texas
Seneca shut the door behind Gale then moved back to his desk. He stared at the tall, dark man sitting across from him. Gale stared back, his steel grey eyes giving away nothing. Then after long consideration, Seneca asked, "Why'd you do it Gale?"
"Do what?" asked Gale, the picture of wide-eyed innocence.
"I know it was you. Don't you bait me. I don't know how you sent them that maneuver, But-"
"So what you're saying is you don't have any proof."
"We're going to figure out how you did it."
"Well, whatever I allegedly did, do you think that is the best use of your time? I mean, you've got a near-Earth resupply to plan, two rovers and a MAV to modify, and an astronaut to rescue." He shrugged his shoulders. "You're swamped."
"You're making jokes." Seneca's hard blue gaze pinned Gale to his seat. "You may have killed them all."
"Regardless of who sent the…information, the Commander and the crew made the decision to go back."
"It's too risky and they were too close emotionally to make a rational decision. That's why we were supposed to make the decision for them." Seneca bit out.
"If Commander Odair let emotion cloud his judgment then he'd be a shitty commander, and he is not a shitty commander."
"If they all die-" Seneca pointed at Gale. "That will be on your hands."
Gale looked smug. "And if they didn't do it and Mellark died that'd be on yours." He leaned back in the chair and stretched his long legs in front of him. "What's done is done as far as I can tell and this is a waste of time. I suppose you'll have Johanna tell the press that this was all NASA's plan."
"Yes. We can't have insubordination on the inside and crew mutiny in space. We'd look ridiculous."
"So I don't see what the problem is. You'll look like a hero."
Seneca shook is head and scoffed. "I desire no credit for such a reckless stunt." Gale rolled his eyes. Seneca rose from his chair, smoothing his tie, and strode over to the door. "I'm going to figure out how you did it and when I do I'll be sure you are summarily fired." He opened the door signifying the meeting was over.
"Okay," said Gale, holding his hands up in a placating gesture as he rose from his chair, "I'll agree it's a huge risk they are taking on. And whoever sent them the course equations was taking a risk."
He paused at the door and looked back at Seneca. "But if I wasn't willing to take a risk to save lives…well…I'd be you."
Mars- Sol 192
JPL: Good news boy! It's too early to pack your bags, but we've got a plan to get you off of that rock.
Peeta: I'm all ears. And hands. And feet. And…well…other things. Anyway, I'm definitely interested in knowing more. What's the plan?
JPL: We got a second chance to send you a resupply, but instead of landing it on Mars, it's going to rendezvous with the Hermes. They're coming back to get you boy. The decision was unanimous.
Peeta: So what do you need me to do?
JPL: We'll be sending you plans as soon as we finish them. You're going to have to modify the rovers. You're going to Schiaparelli, boy! Don't worry, you still have plenty of time.
Peeta: When will they get here?
JPL: Sol 549, according the the calculations of a very intrepid astrodynamicist, Beetee Latier.
Peeta: Wow, this really is good news! Thanks Haymitch! And tell Beetee thanks for me too.
They were coming back. They were coming back to get him. Peeta leaned back in the seat and looked out over the nearly monochromatic rust-red landscape spotted with darker basalt. He might actually make it after all. A grin spread slowly across his face until he was sure he was smiling like an idiot. He whooped and chuckled to himself all the way back to the Hab. He turned around at the airlock and flipped off the whole planet. "Fuck you Mars. I'm outta here. Gimme 357 Sols and I'm fucking outta here!"