Then, back to the rover. Once inside, I take off the EVA suit and start driving. I drive for almost four hours, and then I’m out of power.
Once I park, it’s back into the EVA suit for me, and out to Mars again. I lay the solar panels out and get the batteries charging.
Then I set up the bedroom. Pretty much the reverse of the sequence I use to stow it. Ultimately, it’s the airlock that inflates it. In a way, the bedroom is just an extension of the airlock.
Even though it’s possible, I don’t rapid-inflate the bedroom. I did that to test it because I wanted to find where it’ll leak. But it’s not a good idea. Rapid inflation puts a lot of shock and pressure on it. It would eventually rupture. I didn’t enjoy that time the Hab launched me like a cannonball. I’m not eager to repeat it.
Once the bedroom is set up again, I can take off my EVA suit and relax. I mostly watch crappy seventies TV. I’m indistinguishable from an unemployed guy for most of the day.
I followed that process for four sols, and then it was time for an “Air Day.”
An Air Day turns out to be pretty much the same as any other day, but without the four-hour drive. Once I set up the solar panels, I fired up the oxygenator and let it work through the backlog of CO2 that the regulator had stored up.
It converted all the CO2 to oxygen and used up the day’s power generation to do it.
The test was a success. I’ll be ready on time.
Today’s the big day. I’m leaving for Schiaparelli.
The rover and trailer are all packed. They’ve been mostly packed since the test run. But now I even have the water aboard.
Over the last few days, I cooked all the potatoes with the Hab’s microwave. It took quite a while, because the microwave can only hold four at a time. After cooking, I put them back out on the surface to freeze. Once frozen, I put them back in the rover’s saddlebags. This may seem like a waste of time, but it’s critical. Instead of eating raw potatoes during my trip, I’ll be eating (cold) precooked potatoes. First off, they’ll taste a lot better. But more important, they’ll be cooked. When you cook food, the proteins break down, and the food becomes easier to digest. I’ll get more calories out of it, and I need every calorie I can get my hands on.
I spent the last several days running full diagnostics on everything. The regulator, oxygenator, RTG, AREC, batteries, rover life support (in case I need a backup), solar cells, rover computer, airlocks, and everything else with a moving part or electronic component. I even checked each of the motors. Eight in all, one for each wheel, four on the rover, four on the trailer. The trailer’s motors won’t be powered, but it’s nice to have backups.
It’s all good to go. No problems that I can see.
The Hab is a shell of its former self. I’ve robbed it of all critical components and a big chunk of its canvas. I’ve looted that poor Hab for everything it could give me, and in return it’s kept me alive for a year and a half. It’s like the Giving Tree.
I performed the final shutdown today. The heaters, lighting, main computer, etc. All the components I didn’t steal for the trip to Schiaparelli.
I could have left them on. It’s not like anyone would care. But the original procedure for Sol 31 (which was supposed to be the last day of the surface mission) was to completely shut down the Hab and deflate it, because NASA didn’t want a big tent full of combustible oxygen next to the MAV when it launched.
I guess I did the shutdown as an homage to the mission Ares 3 could have been. A small piece of the Sol 31 I never got to have.
Once I’d shut everything down, the interior of the Hab was eerily silent. I’d spent 449 sols listening to its heaters, vents, and fans. But now it was dead quiet. It was a creepy kind of quiet that’s hard to describe. I’ve been away from the noises of the Hab before, but always in a rover or an EVA suit, both of which have noisy machinery of their own.
But now there was nothing. I never realized how utterly silent Mars is. It’s a desert world with practically no atmosphere to convey sound. I could hear my own heartbeat.
Anyway, enough waxing philosophical.
I’m in the rover right now. (That should be obvious, with the Hab main computer offline forever.) I’ve got two full batteries, all systems are go, and I’ve got forty-five sols of driving ahead of me.
Schiaparelli or bust!
CHAPTER 22
Mawrth Vallis! I’m finally here!
Actually, it’s not an impressive accomplishment. I’ve only been traveling ten sols. But it’s a good psychological milestone.
So far, the rover and my ghetto life support are working admirably. At least, as well as can be expected for equipment being used ten times longer than intended.
Today is my second Air Day (the first was five sols ago). When I put this scheme together, I figured Air Days would be godawful boring. But now I look forward to them. They’re my days off.
On a normal day, I get up, fold up the bedroom, stack the solar cells, drive four hours, set up the solar cells, unfurl the bedroom, check all my equipment (especially the rover chassis and wheels), then make a Morse code status report for NASA, if I can find enough nearby rocks.
On an Air Day, I wake up and turn on the oxygenator. The solar panels are already out from the day before. Everything’s ready to go. Then I chill out in the bedroom or rover. I have the whole day to myself. The bedroom gives me enough space that I don’t feel cooped up, and the computer has plenty of shitty TV reruns for me to enjoy.
Technically, I entered Mawrth Vallis yesterday. But I only knew that by looking at a map. The entrance to the valley is wide enough that I couldn’t see the canyon walls in either direction.
But now I’m definitely in a canyon. And the bottom is nice and flat. Exactly what I was hoping for. It’s amazing; this valley wasn’t made by a river slowly carving it away. It was made by a mega-flood in a single day. It would have been a hell of a thing to see.
Weird thought: I’m not in Acidalia Planitia anymore. I spent 457 sols there, almost a year and a half, and I’ll never go back. I wonder if I’ll be nostalgic about that later in life.
If there is a “later in life,” I’ll be happy to endure a little nostalgia. But for now, I just want to go home.
“WELCOME BACK to CNN’s Mark Watney Report,” Cathy said to the camera. “We’re speaking with our frequent guest, Dr. Venkat Kapoor. Dr. Kapoor, I guess what people want to know is, is Mark Watney doomed?”
“We hope not,” Venkat responded, “but he’s got a real challenge ahead of him.”
“According to your latest satellite data, the dust storm in Arabia Terra isn’t abating at all, and will block eighty percent of the sunlight?”
“That’s correct.”
“And Watney’s only source of energy is his solar panels, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Can his makeshift rover operate at twenty percent power?”
“We haven’t found any way to make that happen, no. His life support alone takes more energy than that.”
“How long until he enters the storm?”
“He’s just entered Mawrth Vallis now. At his current rate of travel, he’ll be at the edge of the storm on Sol 471. That’s twelve days from now.”
“Surely he’ll see something is wrong,” Cathy said. “With such low visibility, it won’t take long for him to realize his solar cells will have a problem. Couldn’t he just turn around at that point?”
“Unfortunately, everything’s working against him,” Venkat said. “The edge of the storm isn’t a magic line. It’s just an area where the dust gets a little more dense. It’ll keep getting more and more dense as he travels onward. It’ll be really subtle; every day will be slightly darker than the last. Too subtle to notice.”