“It is perfect,” Vogel said. “We are within one meter of projected path and two centimeters per second of projected velocity.”
“Good,” she said. “Beck, how about you?”
“Everything’s all set up, Commander,” Beck said. “The tethers are linked and spooled in Airlock 2. My suit and MMU are prepped and ready.”
“Okay, the battle plan is pretty obvious,” Lewis said. She grabbed a handhold on the wall to halt a slow drift she had acquired. “Martinez will fly the MAV, Johanssen will sysop the ascent. Beck and Vogel, I want you in Airlock 2 with the outer door open before the MAV even launches. You’ll have to wait fifty-two minutes, but I don’t want to risk any technical glitches with the airlock or your suits. Once we reach intercept, it’ll be Beck’s job to get Watney.”
“He might be in bad shape when I get him,” Beck said. “The stripped-down MAV will get up to twelve g’s during the launch. He could be unconscious and may even have internal bleeding.”
“Just as well you’re our doctor,” Lewis said. “Vogel, if all goes according to plan, you’re pulling Beck and Watney back aboard with the tether. If things go wrong, you’re Beck’s backup.”
“Ja,” Vogel said.
“I wish there was more we could do right now,” Lewis said. “But all we have left is the wait. Your work schedules are cleared. All scientific experiments are suspended. Sleep if you can, run diagnostics on your equipment if you can’t.”
“We’ll get him, Commander,” Martinez said as the others floated out. “Twenty-four hours from now, Mark Watney will be right here in this room.”
“Let’s hope so, Major,” Lewis said.
“FINAL CHECKS for this shift are complete,” Mitch said into his headset. “Timekeeper.”
“Go, Flight,” said the timekeeper.
“Time until MAV launch?”
“Sixteen hours, nine minutes, forty seconds… mark.”
“Copy that. All stations: Flight director shift change.” He took his headset off and rubbed his eyes.
Brendan Hutch took the headset from him and put it on. “All stations, Flight director is now Brendan Hutch.”
“Call me if anything happens,” Mitch said. “If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Get some sleep, Boss,” Brendan said.
Venkat watched from the observation booth. “Why ask the timekeeper?” he mumbled. “It’s on the huge mission clock in the center screen.”
“He’s nervous,” Annie said. “You don’t often see it, but that’s what Mitch Henderson looks like when he’s nervous. He double- and triple-checks everything.”
“Fair enough,” Venkat said.
“They’re camping out on the lawn, by the way,” Annie said. “Reporters from all over the world. Our press rooms just don’t have enough space.”
“The media loves a drama.” He sighed. “It’ll be over tomorrow, one way or another.”
“What’s our role in all this?” Annie said. “If something goes wrong, what can Mission Control do?”
“Nothing,” Venkat said. “Not a damned thing.”
“Nothing?”
“It’s all happening twelve light-minutes away. That means it takes twenty-four minutes for them to get the answer to any question they ask. The whole launch is twelve minutes long. They’re on their own.”
“So we’re completely helpless?”
“Yes,” Venkat said. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shitting myself. In four hours, I’m going to ride a giant explosion into orbit. This is something I’ve done a few times before, but never with a jury-rigged mess like this.
Right now, I’m sitting in the MAV. I’m suited up because there’s a big hole in the front of the ship where the window and part of the hull used to be. I’m “awaiting launch instructions.” Really, I’m just awaiting launch. I don’t have any part in this. I’m just going to sit in the acceleration couch and hope for the best.
Last night, I ate my final meal pack. It’s the first good meal I’ve had in weeks. I’m leaving forty-one potatoes behind. That’s how close I came to starvation.
I carefully collected samples during my journey. But I can’t bring any of them with me. So I put them in a container a few hundred meters from here. Maybe someday they’ll send a probe to collect them. May as well make them easy to pick up.
This is it. There’s nothing after this. There isn’t even an abort procedure. Why make one? We can’t delay the launch. Hermes can’t stop and wait. No matter what, we’re launching on schedule.
I face the very real possibility that I’ll die today. Can’t say I like it.
It wouldn’t be so bad if the MAV blew up. I wouldn’t know what hit me, but if I miss the intercept, I’ll just float around in space until I run out of air. I have a contingency plan for that. I’ll drop the oxygen mixture to zero and breathe pure nitrogen until I suffocate. It wouldn’t feel bad. The lungs don’t have the ability to sense lack of oxygen. I’d just get tired, fall asleep, then die.
I still can’t quite believe that this is really it. I’m really leaving. This frigid desert has been my home for a year and a half. I figured out how to survive, at least for a while, and I got used to how things worked. My terrifying struggle to stay alive became somehow routine. Get up in the morning, eat breakfast, tend my crops, fix broken stuff, eat lunch, answer e-mail, watch TV, eat dinner, go to bed. The life of a modern farmer.
Then I was a trucker, doing a long haul across the world. And finally, a construction worker, rebuilding a ship in ways no one ever considered before this. I’ve done a little of everything here, because I’m the only one around to do it.
That’s all over now. I have no more jobs to do, and no more nature to defeat. I’ve had my last Martian potato. I’ve slept in the rover for the last time. I’ve left my last footprints in the dusty red sand. I’m leaving Mars today, one way or another.
About fucking time.
CHAPTER 26
THEY GATHERED.
Everywhere on Earth, they gathered.
In Trafalgar Square and Tiananmen Square and Times Square, they watched on giant screens. In offices, they huddled around computer monitors. In bars, they stared silently at the TV in the corner. In homes, they sat breathlessly on their couches, their eyes glued to the story playing out.
In Chicago, a middle-aged couple clutched each other’s hands as they watched. The man held his wife gently as she rocked back and forth out of sheer terror. The NASA representative knew not to disturb them, but stood ready to answer any questions, should they ask.
“Fuel pressure green,” Johanssen’s voice said from a billion televisions. “Engine alignment perfect. Communications five by five. We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander.”
“Copy.” Lewis’s voice. “CAPCOM.”
“Go,” Johanssen responded.
“Guidance.”
“Go,” Johanssen said again.
“Remote Command.”
“Go,” said Martinez.
“Pilot.”
“Go,” said Watney from the MAV.
A mild cheer coruscated through the crowds worldwide.
MITCH SAT at his station in Mission Control. The controllers monitored everything and were ready to help in any way they could, but the communication latency between Hermes and Earth rendered them powerless to do anything but watch.
“Telemetry,” Lewis’s voice said over the speakers.
“Go,” Johanssen responded.
“Recovery,” she continued.
“Go,” said Beck from the airlock.
“Secondary Recovery.”
“Go,” said Vogel from beside Beck.