[19:29] JOHANSSEN: When we pick you up, I will make wild, passionate love to you. Prepare your body.
[19:29] JOHANSSEN: I didn’t type that! That was Martinez! I stepped away from the console for like 10 seconds!
[19:29] MAV: I’ve really missed you guys.
I’m… done?
I think I’m done.
I did everything on the list. The MAV is ready to fly. And in 6 sols, that’s just what it’ll do. I hope.
It might not launch at all. I did remove an engine, after all. I could have fucked up all sorts of things during that process. And there’s no way to test the ascent stage. Once you light it, it’s lit.
Everything else, however, will go through tests from now until launch. Some done by me, some done remotely by NASA. They’re not telling me the failure odds, but I’m guessing they’re the highest in history. Yuri Gagarin had a much more reliable and safe ship than I do.
And Soviet ships were fucking deathtraps.
“All right,” Lewis said, “tomorrow’s the big day.”
The crew floated in the Rec. They had halted the rotation of the ship in preparation for the upcoming operation.
“I’m ready,” Martinez said. “Johanssen threw everything she could at me. I got all scenarios to orbit.”
“Everything other than catastrophic failures,” Johanssen corrected.
“Well yeah,” Martinez said. “Kind of pointless to simulate an ascent explosion. Nothing we can do.”
“Vogel,” Lewis said, “How’s our course.”
“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. “I linked all the tethers I could find and spooled them up in Airlock 2. My suit and MMU are prepped and ready.”
“Ok,” Lewis said. “The battle plan is pretty obvious. 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 52 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 12 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. “24 hours from now, Mark Watney will be right here in this room.”
“Let’s hope so, Major.” Lewis said. “Dismissed.”
“Final checks for this shift are complete,” Mitch said in to his headset. “Timekeeper.”
“Go, flight,” said the Timekeeper.
“Time until MAV launch?”
“16 hours, 9 minutes, 40 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 12 light-minutes away. That means it takes 24 minutes for them to get the answer to any question they ask. The whole launch is 12 minutes long. They’re on their own.”
“Oh,” Annie said. “So we’re just observers in all this?”
“Yes,” Venkat said. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shitting myself. In 4 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 41 potatoes behind. That’s how close I came to starvation.
I carefully collected samples from my entire 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 some day 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.
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’ve had my last Martian potato. I’ve slept in the rover for the last time. I’ve had my last EVA on the surface. I’m leaving Mars today, one way or another.
About fucking time.
Chapter 26
They gathered.
Everywhere on Earth, they gathered.
From Trafalgar Square to Tienanmen Square to 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 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 5 by 5. We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander.”
“Copy,” came Lewis’s voice. “CAPCOM”