Houston

April 13

And we're right back where we started, Henderson thought, as he looked at a live feed of Iris on the launchpad at Cape Canaveral. Iris was mounted high atop the booster for EagleEye3, its former name still just visible between the booster engines.

The launchpad was dressed and ready; brightly backlit in the predawn darkness, with a hundred different cameras trained on it. The boosters were steaming slightly, as fueling commenced. It was six in the morning; in another hour it would be daybreak. For now, just the barest hint of dark blue was creeping up, across the horizon of black water.

It was going to be a beautiful day, he thought.

A beautiful day to light the fuse. One more launch for Ares III. They'd all gone off flawlessly thus far, this one would be no different.

Mitch knew one thing for certain, though. He was going to sleep so much better tonight, once they had this thing safely to orbit.

He slid on his headset, took a deep breath, and sat down.

Time to get to work.

Mindy twisted uncomfortably in her seat, behind the wheel, to try and relieve some of the pressure on her lower back.

It didn't help.

Nothing helped.

Sitting upright just plain sucked, at this point in her pregnancy. Living in Houston, her car's built-in seat warmers didn't get much use, but they felt great on her lower back, as she flipped the switch to turn them on.

Secret weapon, she grinned. It might be too warm for the balmy April weather, but it felt nice on her aching back.

Well, usually it did. Today, not so much. Her back still hurt, horribly, by the time she got to work. She hauled herself out of the front seat and even though she tried, lord have mercy she tried not to walk that way. But she knew that as her center of gravity had shifted, her gait had morphed into the perfect approximation of the "pregnancy waddle" anyway, and she hated it.

Less than a week until her due date. She planned on working every day that she could; even though today was Easter Sunday, she still planned on working a full ten hour shift.

It was just a few hours until Iris would fly; all her hopes along with it.

When she reached her office, the first thing she did was to recline her office chair all the way back, and perch her feet on a stool that she'd stolen from the copy room.

Backlogged imagery needed to be sorted into batches and sent off to the usual suspects

The most recent batch of images were not the sharpest, but they were good enough that she could tell that Watney was in the Hab; he didn't seem to be going anywhere or doing anything today. The DSN link had been quiet, as well.

There were plans in the pipeline to put Watney back to work, assigning him a science schedule that would keep him busy.

Busy astronauts were happy astronauts, according to Dr. Shields. At the most recent department head meeting, she'd described Watney's recent mental state, and she was cautiously optimistic that a successful launch for Iris and the science schedule would go a long way towards improving the depression and anxiety that had been plaguing him since the Hab breach.

There was a minor dust storm moving in towards Acidalia Planitia today, but it wasn't really anything to worry about. It was on dusty days like today that she was grateful for Pathfinder; the daily panorama really helped to give them a better picture of how things were on the ground.

Mark's parents would be on campus by now to be on hand for the launch.

No pre-launch party at a posh hotel for this one, Mindy grinned, remembering it. Even if Iris was going to be the most-watched unmanned launch in the history of the space program, there would be no celebrating until it had successfully launched.

Mindy's abdomen seized up, at that moment, painfully constricting, as her eyes went wide.

"Uh oh," she whispered.

It was probably just Braxton-Hicks contractions again. At least, that's what she thought at first, but ten minutes later when another one hit, even harder, Mindy was pretty certain she was in labor.

SOL 131

Ever since he'd decided to make like an Egyptian and build a ramp out of rocks, Mark had been having continuing trouble with his lower back. Three weeks straight of sleeping in the rover had compounded the problem. Too much time in the EVA suit, and the extended clean-up duties, post-Hab breach had made it even worse.

Today, though… he was in agony, and he decided he'd ask Dr. Shields to talk with someone, Beck, probably, to make him a physical therapy protocol that he could follow, to start trying to get it back under control.

He'd mostly gotten everything in the Hab set back to normal; it seemed like ages since anything had tried to kill him. Iris would launch today, in just an hour or so, and that would be another load off of his mind.

It had been too long since he'd replied to his parents, so he suited up and went to the Rover and wrote them a quick note.

Just a brief few lines. Happy Easter, et cetera.

What he really wanted to ask them about, of course, he didn't.

Why the hell had they moved to Houston, apparently, and not told him about it?

And what were they not telling him?

There were no pecan trees in Chicago; but his mother had ever-so-casually mentioned that the one outside the upstairs window was starting to get new spring growth.

Mark knew that pecan trees were common to Houston, however, and his mother knew that he knew it. And their house, the one that he'd grown up in, was a one-story.

It was a code, he'd realized. Look carefully, it said. There's something they want to tell me, something I'm not supposed to know, he thought. NASA had censored it, whatever it was, in that very first message they'd sent, and now they were fighting back.

There was something, maybe a lot of somethings, that NASA wasn't letting them say. And if he asked them about it, straight up, NASA would clamp down even harder.

He would play along, for now, and maybe, if they were careful and he was observant, they could give him enough hints so that he could figure this thing out for himself.

They had his attention now.

At the very least, it was a very welcome distraction.

Houston

"So hey," Mindy started, trying to sound cheerful, as Richard answered his cell, "I was wondering if you guys could do me a favor."

"Almost launch time, kid," he informed her, gruffly, as though maybe she didn't already know. "Where are you? Your office?"

"Not exactly," she said, gasping again as another contraction rolled through. She scrambled around in the hospital bed, trying to ease the pressure. "Shit!" she burst out, as the pain really started to break through.

"What the- Where are you? Are you-"

Caroline had snatched his phone away.

"Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm at St. John's," she bit out. "Can you," she paused to breathe deeply, trying to fill her lungs, "stop by the house," she broke off again, sighing as the contraction faded, "after the launch, and get my bag? And the car seat?"

Probably mindful of the fact that she was in a room full of NASA executives, Caroline's reply was cool and collected.

"Yes, that's fine. We'll take care of that, right away, and we'll see you in a little while."

"I've probably got a few hours at least," Mindy told her, "and probably a lot longer. Stay for the launch. Keep your phone handy, okay? They're taking me in for the epidural soon, so if you can't get me on the phone that's probably why."

"We're on our way, right after launch," she repeated.

"Mmkay," Mindy agreed, "I gotta go, need to call my mother and let her know," she said, as the anesthesiologist strolled in with a med cart, and introduced himself as Dr. Danarmein.

"Feel free to call me Dr. Dan," he smiled, "everybody does."

She managed a weak smile in return, but holy shit. That needle.

She wasn't exactly a needle-phobic. She could get through a blood draw, or her annual flu shot, but…

"Um, I think I changed my mind," she told him, ruefully, looking at the offending instrument, which dominated the cart.

"Nah, girl, you'll be okay," he grinned at her, disarmingly. "Worth it. Trust me." He was cute, for a guy holding a lethal weapon.

A few minutes later, between contractions, her new best friend that wanted to jam a six-inch needle into her spinal column was counting off and labelling her vertebrae, one by one, with a fine-tipped marker.

A shrimp, he'd told her. Curl your spine over, just like a cocktail shrimp, to get some distance between those vertebrae.

The last time she'd had cocktail shrimp had been the night of that Pre-Launch party and look where that had gotten her.

"Okay, here we go," he was saying, in a gentle tone, "gotta stay real still, now. 3, 2, 1, and…"

Mindy felt a pinch, and then an alarming 'pop' and then… she was seeing sparks. Her eyes were squeezed closed but there were bright red and blue sparks, and then the sparks were moving, seizing up one side of her body, as she jerked, convulsively.

"What the…" she barely breathed it, but he understood.

"S'okay," the doctor reassured her. "You're seeing things? It's normal. Okay, we're good," he was taping something into place, and then he took his hands away, and motioned for Mindy to lay back.

She shook her head, wildly, as another contraction started.

"No, no," she said, looking at him as though he were crazy, "you left that thing in my fucking back, I can feel it in there!"

He chuckled.

"That's just the tube. To keep the spinal block going. The needle is out, see?" He held it up to show her, her eyes going wide at the sight of it, again.

"Oh my god, it just stays in there!?" she demanded, angrily. "Get that fucking thing out of my fucking spine, before I…" and she trailed off, as the contraction faded away to nothing.

"Worth it, told ya." He grinned at her.

"Oh." she said. "Okay, I'm shutting up now."

"Get a nap, Mindy," he advised her, and it sounded, suddenly, like the best advice she'd ever gotten. "Gonna be a long night, rest up while you can."

Her eyes were closed almost before he'd finished saying the words, and she laid back against the pillows. She couldn't feel the tube anymore, or anything else below her waist. And it was absolute bliss. It was wonderful.

Nothing hurt.

She'd meant to call her mother. But her phone went forgotten, as she drifted off, for what felt like the most satisfying sleep she'd gotten in months.

When she opened her eyes again, it was dark. Dark outside, dark in the labor room. She wasn't alone, though, she realized.

Caroline was holding her hand, on one side, while Richard stood at the window, staring at nothing.

"Shh," Caroline said. "Go back to sleep, if you can, honey. They just checked you a few minutes ago, and it's not time yet."

Someone had tucked a blanket around her, and even though she was warm and relatively comfortable, she started to get a sinking feeling, at the worn expression on Caroline's face, and the sadness in her voice.

She glanced at Richard. He didn't seem able to reach her eyes with his, looking at the floor, instead.

"The probe?" she asked. But she already knew. Damnit, she already knew.

Caroline squeezed her hand.

"Broke up before it made orbit," Richard confirmed, looking as tired and drawn as he had that day of Mark's funeral, when they'd met, as he took a seat on her other side.

Mindy was silent.

That's it, then. Game over, she thought. Mark's going to die on Mars. All alone. Tears began to slide down her face.

Caroline looked, literally, as though she'd taken taken a beating since Mindy had seen her that morning.

"Oh honey, she said, with a game attempt at a smile, even though her eyes were welled up with tears, too. "This is going to be a happy day, anyway."

"Yeah," Richard affirmed, with a gruff voice. "The kid still has time. We can still talk with him. We'll have plenty of time, to…" he trailed off for a moment, swallowing, "say goodbye, if it comes to that. But today… why don't we make today about saying hello, how about that?"

Mindy nodded, and sniffled, as Caroline passed her a tissue.

"Okay," she tried to smile. "Hello to our new family member. Let's go with that," she agreed.

[16:03] WATNEY: How'd the launch go?

Venkat stared at the message on his computer, there in his darkened office, relayed to him via Pasadena and the DSN. He had no words. He sighed. How do I tell him, he thought. We couldn't save you. We tried. We rushed it, and we failed.

It wasn't an entirely lost cause, Venkat tried to remind himself. There was still hope.

Watney's only remaining chance was a very slim one indeed, though, and Venkat knew it. When fabricating the probe, it was standard procedure to produce many multiples of the different elements, in case the first one failed inspections or required a replacement, for whatever reason. A second Iris could be built much more quickly than the first; that was just the nature of pipeline research and development.

Before the hour was out, there wasn't much doubt that the process to build it out would have already commenced.

But oh, gods, he thought. It was the hardest words he'd ever typed in his life, as he sentenced Watney to certain starvation and an ever-slimmer chance of rescue.

[16:15] JPL: I'm sorry, Mark. It was a RUD. We'll have to rebuild and try again.