The Martian

by Энди Вейр

  Upon arrival, the package was carefully transported by special convoy to Pasadena. Once there, it was moved to the JPL White Room for probe assembly. Over the next 5 weeks, engineers in white bodysuits assembled Presupply 309. It contained AL102 as well as 12 other Hab Canvas packages.

  LOG ENTRY: SOL 116

  It’s almost time for the second harvest.

  Ayup.

  I wish I had a straw hat and some suspenders.

  My re-seed of the potatoes went well. I’m beginning to see that crops on Mars are extremely prolific, thanks to the billions of dollars worth of life support equipment around me. I now have 400 healthy potato plants, each one making lots of calorie-filled taters for my dining enjoyment. In just ten days they’ll be ripe!

  And this time, I’m not replanting them as seed. This is my food supply. All natural, organic, Martian-grown potatoes. Don’t hear that every day, do you?

  You may be wondering how I’ll store them. I can’t just pile them up; most of them would go bad before I got around to eating them. So instead, I’ll do something that wouldn’t work at all on Earth: Throw them outside.

  Most of the water will be sucked out by the near-vacuum; what’s left will freeze solid. Any bacteria planning to rot my taters will die screaming.

  In other news, I got email from Venkat Kapoor:

  Mark, some answers to your earlier questions:

  No, we will not tell our Botany Team to “Go fuck themselves.” I understand you’ve been on your own for a long time, but we’re in the loop now, and it’s best if you listen to what we have to say.

  The Cubs finished the season at the bottom of the NL Central.

  The data transfer rate just isn’t good enough for the size of music files, even in compressed formats. So your request for “Anything, oh god ANYTHING but Disco” is denied. Enjoy your boogie fever.

  Also, an uncomfortable side note… NASA is putting together a committee. They want to see if there were any avoidable mistakes that led you to being stranded. Just a heads-up. They may have questions for you later on.

  Keep us posted on your activities.

  -Kapoor

  My reply:

  Venkat, tell the investigation committee they’ll have to do their witch-hunt without me. And when they inevitably blame Commander Lewis, be advised I’ll publicly refute it.

  Also please tell them that each and every one of their mothers are prostitutes.

  -Watney

  PS: Their sisters, too.

  The presupply probes for Ares-3 launched on 14 consecutive days during the Hohmann Transfer window. Presupply 309 was launched third. The 251 day trip to Mars was uneventful, needing only two minor course adjustments.

  After several aerobraking maneuvers to slow down, it made its final descent toward Acidalia Planitia. First, it endured reentry via a heat shield. Later, it released a parachute and detached the now expended shield.

  Once its onboard radar detected it was 30 meters from the ground, it cut loose the parachute and inflated balloons all around its hull. It fell unceremoniously to the surface, bouncing and rolling, until it finally came to rest.

  Deflating its balloons, the onboard computer reported the successful landing back to Earth.

  Then it waited 23 months.

  LOG ENTRY: SOL 117

  The Water Reclaimer is acting up.

  Six people will go through 18 liters of water per day. So it’s made to process 20. But lately, it hasn’t been keeping up. It’s doing 10, tops.

  Do I generate 10 liters of water per day? No, I’m not the urinating champion of all time. It’s the crops. The humidity inside the Hab is a lot higher than it was designed for, so the Water Reclaimer is constantly filtering it out of the air.

  I’m not worried about it. Water is water. The plants use it, I use it. If need be, I can piss on the plants directly. It’ll evaporate and condense on the walls. I could make something to collect it, I’m sure. Thing is, the water can’t go anywhere. It’s a closed system. Plus, I made like 600 liters from MDV fuel (remember the “explosive Hab” incident?). I could take baths and still have plenty left over.

  NASA, however, is absolutely shitting itself. They see the Water Reclaimer as a critical survival element. There’s no backup, and they think I’ll die instantly without it. To them, equipment failure is terrifying. To me, it’s “Tuesday.”

  So instead of preparing for my harvest, I have to make extra trips to and from the rover to answer their questions. Each new message instructs me to try some new solution and report the results back.

  So far we’ve worked out it’s not the electronics, refrigeration system, instrumentation, or temperature. I’m sure it’ll turn out to be a little hole somewhere, then NASA will have 4 hours of meetings before telling me to cover it with duct tape.

  Lewis and Beck opened Presupply 309. Working as best they could in their bulky EVA suits, they removed the various portions of Hab canvas and lay them on the ground. Three entire presupply probes were dedicated to the Hab.

  Following a procedure they had practiced hundreds of times, they efficiently assembled the pieces. Special seal-strips between the patches ensured air-tight mating.

  After erecting the main structure of the Hab, they assembled the three airlocks. Sheet AL102 had a hole perfectly sized for Airlock 1. Beck stretched the sheet tight to the seal-strips on the airlock’s exterior.

  Once all airlocks were in place, Lewis flooded the Hab with air and AL102 felt pressure for the first time. They waited an hour. No pressure was lost; the setup had been perfect.

  LOG ENTRY: SOL 118

  My conversation with NASA about the Water Reclaimer was boring and riddled with technical details. So I’ll paraphrase it for you:

  Me: “This is obviously a clog. How about I take the it apart and check the internal tubing?”

  NASA: (After 5 hours of deliberation) “No. You’ll fuck it up and die.”

  So I took it apart.

  Yeah, I know. NASA has a lot of ultra-smart people and I should really do what they say. And I’m being too adversarial, considering they spend all day working on how to save my life.

  I just get sick of being told how to wipe my ass. Independence was one of the things they looked for when choosing Ares astronauts. It’s a 13-month mission, most of it spent many light-minutes away from Earth. They wanted people who would act on their own initiative, but at the same time, obey their Commander.

  If Commander Lewis were here, I’d do whatever she said, no problem. But a committee of faceless bureaucrats back on Earth? Sorry, I’m just having a tough time with it.

  I was really careful. I labeled every piece as I dismantled it, and laid everything out on a table. I have the schematics in the computer, so nothing was a surprise.

  And just as I’d suspected, there was a clogged tube. The Water Reclaimer was designed to purify urine and strain humidity out of the air (you exhale almost as much water as you piss). I’ve mixed my water with soil, making it mineral water. The minerals built up in the Water Reclaimer.

  I cleaned out the tubing and put it all back together. It completely solved the problem. I’ll have to do it again some day, but not for 100 sols or so. No big deal.

  I told NASA what I did. Our (paraphrased) conversation was:

  Me: “I took it apart, found the problem, and fixed it.”

  NASA: “Dick.”

  AL102 shuddered in the brutal storm. Withstanding forces and pressure far greater than its design, it rippled violently against the airlock seal-strip. Other sections of canvas undulated along their seal-strips together, acting as a single sheet, but AL102 had no such luxury. The airlock barely moved, leaving AL102 to take the full force of the tempest.

  The layers of plastic, constantly bending, heated the resin from pure friction. The new, more yielding environment allowed the carbon fibers to separate.

  AL102 stretched.

  Not much. Only 4 millimeters. But the carbon fibers, usually 500 microns apart, now had a gap eigh
t times that width in their midst.

  After the storm abated, the lone remaining astronaut performed a full inspection of the Hab. But he didn’t notice anything amiss. The weak part of canvas was concealed by a seal-strip.

  Designed for a mission of 31 sols, AL102 continued well past its planned expiration. Sol after sol went by, with the lone astronaut traveling in and out of the Hab almost daily. Airlock 1 was closest to the rover charging station, so the astronaut preferred it to the other two.

  When pressurized, the airlock expanded slightly; when depressurized, it shrunk. Every time the astronaut used the airlock, the strain on AL102 relaxed, then tightened anew.

  Pulling, stressing, weakening, stretching…

  LOG ENTRY: SOL 119

  I woke up last night to the Hab shaking.

  The medium-grade sandstorm ended as suddenly as it began. It was only a category 3 storm with 50kph winds. Nothing to worry about. Still, it’s bit disconcerting to hear howling winds when you’re used to utter silence.

  I’m worried about Pathfinder. If the sandstorm damaged it, I’ll have lost my connection to NASA. Logically, I shouldn’t worry. The thing’s been on the surface for decades. A little gale won’t do any harm.

  When I head outside, I’ll confirm Pathfinder’s still functional before moving on to the sweaty, annoying work of the day.

  Yes, with each sandstorm comes the inevitable Cleaning of the Solar Cells. A time honored tradition by hearty Martians such as myself. It reminds me of growing up in Chicago and having to shovel snow. I’ll give my dad credit; he never claimed it was to build character or teach me the value of hard work.

  “Snow-blowers are expensive,” he used to say. “You’re free.”

  Once, I tried to appeal to my mom. “Don’t be such a wuss,” She suggested.

  In other news, It’s seven sols till the harvest, and I still haven’t prepared. For starters, I need to make a hoe. Also, I need to make an outdoor shed for the potatoes. I can’t just pile them up outside. The next major storm would cause The Great Martian Potato Migration.

  Anyway, all that will have to wait. I’ve got a full day today. After cleaning the solar cells, I have to check the whole solar array make sure the storm didn’t hurt it. Then I’ll need to do the same for the rover.

  I better get started.

  Airlock 1 slowly depressurized to 1/90th of an atmosphere. Watney, donning an EVA suit, waited for it to complete. He had done it literally hundreds of times. Any apprehension he may have had on Sol 1 was long gone. Now it was merely a boring chore before exiting to the surface.

  As the depressurization continued, the Hab’s atmosphere compressed the airlock and AL102 stretched for the last time.

  On Sol 119, the Hab breached.

  The initial tear was less than 1 millimeter. The perpendicular carbon fibers should have prevented the rip from growing. But countless abuses had stretched the vertical fibers apart and weakened the horizontal ones beyond use.

  The full force of the Hab’s atmosphere rushed through the breach. Within a tenth of a second, the rip was a meter long, running parallel to the seal-strip. It propagated all the way around until it met its starting point. The airlock was no longer attached to the Hab.

  The unopposed pressure violently launched the airlock like a cannonball as the Hab exploded. Inside, the surprised Watney slammed against the airlock’s back door with the force of the expulsion.

  The airlock flew 40 meters before hitting the ground. Watney, barely recovered from the earlier shock, now endured another as he hit the front door, face first.

  His faceplate took the brunt of the blow, the safety glass shattering into hundreds of small cubes. His head slammed against the inside of the helmet, knocking him senseless.

  The airlock tumbled across the surface for a further 15 meters. The heavy padding of Watney’s suit saved him from many broken bones. He tried to make sense of the situation, but was barely conscious.

  Finally done tumbling, the airlock rested on its side amid a cloud of dust.

  Watney, on his back, stared blankly upward through the hole in his shattered faceplate. A gash in his forehead trickled blood down his face.

  Regaining some of his wits, he got his bearings. Turning his head to the side, he looked through the back door’s window. The collapsed Hab rippled in the distance, a junkyard of debris strewn across the landscape in front of it.

  Then, a hissing sound reached his ears. Listening carefully, he realized it was not coming from his suit. Somewhere in the phone-booth sized airlock, a small breach was letting air escape.

  He listened intently to the hiss. Then he touched his broken faceplate. Then he looked out the window again.

  “You fucking kidding me?” He said.

  Chapter 14

  AUDIO LOG: SOL 119

  RECORDING:

  I’ve been laying here for a little while, trying to figure out what happened. I should be more upset, but I took a pretty good whack to the head. It had a calming effect.

  So…

  Well, ok.

  I’m in the airlock. I can see the Hab out the window; it’s a good 50 meters away. Normally, the airlock is attached to the Hab. So that’s a problem.

  The airlock’s on its side, and I can hear a steady hiss. So either it’s leaking or there are snakes in here. Either way, I’m in trouble.

  Also, during the… whatever the fuck happened… I got bounced around like a pinball and smashed my faceplate. Air is notoriously uncooperative when it comes to giant, gaping holes in your EVA suit.

  Looks like the Hab is completely deflated and collapsed. So even if I had a functional EVA suit to leave the airlock with, I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. So that sucks.

  I gotta’ think for a minute. And I have to get out of this EVA suit. It’s bulky, and the airlock is cramped. Besides, it’s not like it’s doing me any good.

  AUDIO LOG: SOL 119

  RECORDING:

  Things aren’t as bad as they seem.

  I’m still fucked, mind you. Just not as deeply.

  Not sure what happened to the Hab, but the rover’s probably fine. It’s not ideal, but at least it’s not leaky phone booth.

  I’m wearing Beck’s EVA suit. I haven’t worn my own since Sol 6 when I got shish-kabobed. Beck’s suit was about the right size and didn’t have a hole in it. Why does that matter right now? Because, unlike my original suit, this one still has an unused patch kit.

  Don’t get excited. It won’t do the suit any good. The patch kit is a cone-shaped valve with super sticky resin on the wide end. It’s just too small to deal with a hole larger than 8cm. And really, if you have a 9cm hole, you’re going to be dead way before you could whip out the kit.

  Still, it’s an asset, and maybe I can use it to stop the airlock leak. And that’s my top priority right now.

  It’s a small leak. With the faceplate gone, the EVA suit is effectively managing the whole airlock. It’s been adding air to make up for the missing pressure. But it’ll run out eventually.

  I need to find the leak. I think it’s near my feet, judging by the sound. Now that I’m out of the suit, I can turn around and get a look…

  I don’t see anything… I can hear it, but… it’s down here somewhere, but I don’t know where.

  I can only think of one way to find it: Start a fire!

  Yeah, I know. A lot of my ideas involve setting something on fire. And yes, deliberately starting a fire in a tiny, enclosed space is usually a terrible idea. But I need the smoke. Just a little wisp of it.

  As usual, I’m working with stuff that was deliberately designed not to burn. But no amount of careful design by NASA can get around a determined arsonist with a tank of pure oxygen.

  The EVA suit is made entirely of non-flammable materials. So is the airlock. My clothes are fireproof as well, even the thread.

  I was originally planning to check the solar array, doing repairs as needed after last night’s storm. So I have my toolbox with me. But looking t
hrough it, it’s all metal or non-flammable plastic.

  I just realized I do have something flammable: My own hair. It’ll have to do. There’s a sharp knife in the tool-kit. I’ll shave some arm hairs off into a little pile.

  Next step: oxygen. Back when I turned the hydrazine into water, I had tubing, garbage bags, and all sorts of other luxuries. I won’t have anything so refined is a pure oxygen flow. All I can do is muck with the EVA suit controls to increase oxygen percentage in the whole airlock. I figure bumping it to 40% will do.

  All I need now is a spark.

  The EVA suit has electronics, but it runs on very low voltage. I don’t think I could get an arc with it. Besides, I don’t want to tear up my suit’s electronics. I need it working to get from the airlock to the rover.

  The airlock itself has electronics, but it ran on Hab power. I guess NASA never considered what would happen if it was launched 50 meters. Lazy bums.

  Plastic might not burn, but anyone whose played with a balloon knows it’s great at building up static charge. Once I do that, I should be able to make a spark just by touching a metal tool.

  Fun fact: This is exactly how the Apollo 1 crew died. Wish me luck!

  AUDIO LOG: SOL 119

  RECORDING:

  I’m in a box full of burning hair smell. It’s not a good smell.

  On my first try, the fire lit, but the smoke just drifted randomly around. My own breathing was screwing it up. So I held my breath and tried again.

  My second try, the EVA suit threw everything off. There’s a gentle flow of air coming out of the faceplate as the suit constantly replaces the missing air. So I shut the suit down, held my breath, and tried again. I had to be quick; the pressure was dropping.

  My third try, the quick arm movements I used to set the fire messed everything up. Just moving around makes enough turbulence to send the smoke everywhere.