Chapter 12 #2
Unable to see the ground, Lewis shuffled forward.
Remembering something, she reached to her back and got a pair of rock-drill bits.
She had added the one-meter bits to her equipment that morning, anticipating geological sampling later in the day.
Holding one in each hand, she dragged them along the ground as she walked.
After twenty meters, she turned around and walked the opposite direction. Walking a straight line proved to be impossible. Not only did she lack visual references, the endless wind pushed her off course. The sheer volume of attacking sand buried her feet with each step. Grunting, she pressed on.
Beck, Johanssen, and Vogel squeezed into the MAV airlock. Designed for two, it could be used by three in emergencies. As it equalized, Lewis’s voice came over the radio.
“Johanssen,” she said, “would the rover IR camera do any good?”
“Negative,” Johanssen replied. “IR can’t get through sand any better than visible light.”
“What’s she thinking?” Beck asked after removing his helmet. “She’s a geologist. She knows IR can’t get through a sandstorm.”
“She is grasping,” Vogel said, opening the inner door. “We must get to the couches. Please hurry.”
“I don’t feel good about this,” Beck said.
“Neither do I, Doctor,” said Vogel, climbing the ladder, “but the commander has given us orders. Insubordination will not help.”
“Commander,” Martinez radioed, “we’re tilting 11.6 degrees. One good gust and we’re tipping.”
“What about the proximity radar?” Lewis said. “Could it detect Watney’s suit?”
“No way,” Martinez said. “It’s made to see Hermes in orbit, not the metal in a single space suit.”
“Give it a try,” Lewis said.
“Commander,” said Beck, putting on a headset as he slid into his acceleration couch, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Watn—…Mark’s dead.”
“Copy,” Lewis said. “Martinez, try the radar.”
“Roger,” Martinez radioed.
He brought the radar online and waited for it to complete a self-check. Glaring at Beck, he said, “What’s the matter with you?”
“My friend just died,” Beck answered. “And I don’t want my commander to die, too.”
Martinez gave him a stern look. Turning his attention back to the radar, he radioed, “Negative contact on proximity radar.”
“Nothing?” Lewis asked.
“It can barely see the Hab,” he replied. “The sandstorm’s fucking things up. Even if it wasn’t, there’s not enough metal in— Shit!”
“Strap in!” he yelled to the crew. “We’re tipping!”
The MAV creaked as it tilted faster and faster.
“Thirteen degrees,” Johanssen called out from her couch.
Buckling his restraints, Vogel said, “We are far past balance. We will not rock back.”
“We can’t leave her!” Beck yelled. “Let it tip, we’ll fix it!”
“Thirty-two metric tons including fuel,” Martinez said, his hands flying over the controls. “If it hits the ground, it’ll do structural damage to the tanks, frame, and probably the second-stage engine. We’d never be able to fix it.”
“You can’t abandon her!” Beck said. “You can’t.”
“I’ve got one trick. If that doesn’t work, I’m following her orders.”
Bringing the orbital maneuvering system online, he fired a sustained burn from the nose cone array. The small thrusters fought against the lumbering mass of the slowly tilting spacecraft.
“You are firing the OMS?” Vogel asked.
“I don’t know if it’ll work. We’re not tipping very fast,” Martinez said. “I think it’s slowing down…”
“The aerodynamic caps will have automatically ejected,” Vogel said. “It will be a bumpy ascent with three holes in the side of the ship.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Martinez said, maintaining the burn and watching the tilt readout. “C’mon…“
“Still thirteen degrees,” Johanssen reported.
“What’s going on up there?” Lewis radioed. “You went quiet. Respond.”
“Stand by,” Martinez replied.
“Twelve point nine degrees,” Johanssen said.
“It is working,” Vogel said.
“For now,” Martinez said. “I don’t know if maneuvering fuel will last.”
“Twelve point eight now,” Johanssen supplied.
“OMS fuel at sixty percent,” Beck said. “How much do you need to dock with Hermes ?”
“Ten percent if I don’t fuck anything up,” Martinez said, adjusting the thrust angle.
“Twelve point six,” Johanssen said. “We’re tipping back.”
“Or the wind died down a little,” Beck postulated. “Fuel at forty-five percent.”
“There is danger of damage to the vents,” Vogel cautioned. “The OMS was not made for prolonged thrusts.”
“I know,” Martinez said. “I can dock without nose vents if I have to.”
“Almost there…,” Johanssen said. “Okay we’re under 12.3.”
“OMS cutoff,” Martinez announced, terminating the burn.
“Still tipping back,” Johanssen said. “11.6…11.5…holding at 11.5.”
“OMS Fuel at twenty-two percent,” Beck said.
“Yeah, I see that,” Martinez replied. “It’ll be enough.”
“Commander,” Beck radioed, “you need to get to the ship now.”
“Agreed,” Martinez radioed. “He’s gone, ma’am. Watney’s gone.”
The four crewmates awaited their commander’s response.
“Copy,” she finally replied. “On my way.”
They lay in silence, strapped to their couches and ready for launch. Beck looked at Watney’s empty couch and saw Vogel doing the same. Martinez ran a self-check on the nose cone OMS thrusters. They were no longer safe for use. He noted the malfunction in his log.
The airlock cycled. After removing her suit, Lewis made her way to the flight cabin. She wordlessly strapped into her couch, her face a frozen mask. Only Martinez dared speak.
“Still at pilot-release,” he said quietly. “Ready for launch.”
Lewis closed her eyes and nodded.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” Martinez said. “You need to verbally—”
“Launch,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, activating the sequence.
The retaining clamps ejected from the launch gantry, falling to the ground. Seconds later, preignition pyros fired, igniting the main engines, and the MAV lurched upward.
The ship slowly gained speed. As it did, wind shear blew it laterally off course. Sensing the problem, the ascent software angled the ship into the wind to counteract it.
As fuel was consumed, the ship got lighter, and the acceleration more pronounced. Rising at this exponential rate, the craft quickly reached maximum acceleration, a limit defined not by the ship’s power, but by the delicate human bodies inside.
As the ship soared, the open OMS ports took their toll.
The crew rocked in their couches as the craft shook violently.
Martinez and the ascent software kept it trim, though it was a constant battle.
The turbulence tapered off and eventually fell to nothing as the atmosphere became thinner and thinner.
Suddenly, all force stopped. The first stage had been completed. The crew experienced weightlessness for several seconds, then were pressed back into their couches as the next stage began. Outside, the now-empty first stage fell away, eventually to crash on some unknown area of the planet below.
The second stage pushed the ship ever higher, and into low orbit. Lasting less time than the massive first stage, and thrusting much more smoothly, it seemed almost like an afterthought.
Abruptly, the engine stopped, and an oppressive calm replaced the previous cacophony.
“Main engine shutdown,” Martinez said. “Ascent time: eight minutes, fourteen seconds. On course for Hermes intercept.”
Normally, an incident-free launch would be cause for celebration. This one earned only silence broken by Johanssen’s gentle sobbing.
■■■
Four months later…
Beck tried not to think about the painful reason he was doing zero-g plant growth experiments. He noted the size and shape of the fern leaves, took photos, and made notes.
Having completed his science schedule for the day, he checked his watch. Perfect timing. The data dump would be completing soon. He floated past the reactor to the Semicone-A ladder.
Traveling feet-first along the ladder, he soon had to grip it in earnest as the centripetal force of the rotating ship took hold. By the time he reached Semicone-A he was at 0.4 g.
No mere luxury, the centripetal gravity of Hermes kept them fit. Without it, they would have spent their first week on Mars barely able to walk. Zero-g exercise regimens could keep the heart and bones healthy, but none had been devised that would give them full function from Sol 1.
Because the ship was already designed for it, they used the system on the return trip as well.
Johanssen sat at her station. Lewis sat in the adjacent seat while Vogel and Martinez hovered nearby. The data dump carried e-mails and videos from home. It was the high point of the day.
“Is it here yet?” Beck asked as he entered the bridge.
“Almost,” Johanssen said. “Ninety-eight percent.”
“You’re looking cheerful, Martinez,” Beck said.
“My son turned three yesterday.” He beamed. “Should be some pics of the party. How about you?”
“Nothing special,” Beck said. “Peer reviews of a paper I wrote a few years back.”
“Complete,” Johanssen said. “All the personal e-mails are dispatched to your laptops. Also there’s a telemetry update for Vogel and a system update for me. Huh…there’s a voice message addressed to the whole crew.”
She looked over her shoulder to Lewis.
Lewis shrugged. “Play it.”
Johanssen opened the message, then sat back.
“ Hermes , this is Mitch Henderson,” the message began.
“Henderson?” Martinez said, puzzled. “Talking directly to us without CAPCOM?”
Lewis held her hand up to signal for silence.
“I have some news,” Mitch’s voice continued. “There’s no subtle way to put this: Mark Watney’s still alive.”
Johanssen gasped.
“Wha—” Beck stammered.
Vogel stood with his mouth agape as a shocked expression swept across his face.
Martinez looked to Lewis. She leaned forward and pinched her chin.
“I know that’s a surprise,” Mitch continued. “And I know you’ll have a lot of questions. We’re going to answer those questions. But for now I’ll just give you the basics.
“He’s alive and healthy. We found out two months ago and decided not to tell you; we even censored personal messages.
I was strongly against all that. We’re telling you now because we finally have communication with him and a viable rescue plan.
It boils down to Ares 4 picking him up with a modified MDV.
“We’ll get you a full write-up of what happened, but it’s definitely not your fault. Mark stresses that every time it comes up. It was just bad luck.
“Take some time to absorb this. Your science schedules are cleared for tomorrow. Send all the questions you want and we’ll answer them. Henderson out.”
The message’s end brought stunned silence to the bridge.
“He…He’s alive?” Martinez said, then smiled.
Vogel nodded excitedly. “He lives.”
Johanssen stared at her screen in wide-eyed disbelief.
“Holy shit,” Beck laughed. “Holy shit! Commander! He’s alive!”
“I left him behind,” Lewis said quietly.
The celebrations ceased immediately as the crew saw their commander’s expression.
“But,” Beck began, “we all left togeth—”
“You followed orders,” Lewis interrupted. “I left him behind. In a barren, unreachable, godforsaken wasteland.”
Beck looked to Martinez pleadingly. Martinez opened his mouth, but could find no words to say.
Lewis trudged off the bridge.