The Martian

by Andy Weir

I’m pretty much fucked. That’s my considered opinion. Fucked. Six days into what should be the greatest month of my life, and it’s turned into a nightmare.

An ironic death for someone with a leaky space suit: too much oxygen.

Of course, I don’t have any plan for surviving four years on one year of food. But one thing at a time here. For now, I’m well fed and have a purpose: Fix the damn radio.

One thing I have in abundance here are bags. They’re not much different from kitchen trash bags, though I’m sure they cost $50,000 because of NASA.

Chemistry is messy, so there’s unburned hydrogen in the air. All around me. Mixed in with the oxygen. Just…hanging out. Waiting for a spark so it can blow the Hab up!

They say no plan survives first contact with implementation. I’d have to agree.

“All right,” Teddy said. “Get on it. Take anyone you want from any department. Use as much overtime as you want. Find a way to talk to him. That’s your only job right now.”

There’s too much shit to think about all at once. So for now, I’ll just think about power.

So far as 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 four hours of meetings before telling me to cover it with duct tape.

Me: “This is obviously a clog. How about I take it apart and check the internal tubing?” NASA: (after five hours of deliberation) “No. You’ll fuck it up and die.” So I took it apart.

I told NASA what I did. Our (paraphrased) conversation was: Me: “I took it apart, found the problem, and fixed it.” NASA: “Dick.”

Lewis stayed behind as the rest filed out. Watching them leave, she saw they were smiling. All four of them. For the first time since leaving Mars, they were back to their old selves. She knew right then no one’s mind would change. They were going back to Mars.

“Message reads: ‘Houston, be advised: Rich Purnell is a steely-eyed missile man.’ ”

Life is amazingly tenacious. They don’t want to die any more than I do.

Sigh… Just once I’d like something to go as planned, ya know? Mars keeps trying to kill me. Well…Mars didn’t electrocute Pathfinder. So I’ll amend that: Mars and my stupidity keep trying to kill me.

Conclusion: I don’t need the water reclaimer at all. I’ll drink as needed and dump my waste outdoors. Yeah, that’s right, Mars, I’m gonna piss and shit on you. That’s what you get for trying to kill me all the time. There. I saved myself 3.6 pirate-ninjas.

As with most of life’s problems, this one can be solved by a box of pure radiation.

I tested the brackets by hitting them with rocks. This kind of sophistication is what we interplanetary scientists are known for.

The fourth one is “Survived Something That Should Have Killed Me” because some fucking thing will happen, I just know it. I don’t know what it’ll be, but it’ll happen.

I can’t wait till I have grandchildren. “When I was younger, I had to walk to the rim of a crater. Uphill! In an EVA suit! On Mars, ya little shit! Ya hear me? Mars!”

“Funny,” Venkat said. “Be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you at your company. See how that works out.” “Oh no,” Mindy said. “I might lose my job as an interplanetary voyeur? I guess I’d have to use my master’s degree for something else.” “I remember when you were shy.” “I’m space paparazzi now. The attitude comes with the job.” “Yeah, yeah,” Venkat said. “Just send the e-mail.” “Already sent.”

I’ll spend the rest of the evening enjoying a potato. And by “enjoying” I mean “hating so much I want to kill people.”

“You’re sending him to space under a tarp.” “Pretty much, yeah.” “Like a hastily loaded pickup truck.” “Yeah. Can I go on?” “Sure, can’t wait.”

If I survive this, I’ll tell people I was pissing rocket fuel.

“Hmm,” he said to nobody. “I wonder how much longer—” The MAV launched with incredible force. More than any manned ship had accelerated in the history of space travel. Watney was shoved back into his couch so hard he couldn’t even grunt.

“I admit it’s fatally dangerous,” Watney said. “But consider this: I’d get to fly around like Iron Man.” “We’ll keep working on ideas,” Lewis said. “Iron Man, Commander. Iron Man.”

Lewis’s voice echoed across the world: “Houston, this is Hermes Actual. Six crew safely aboard.” The control room exploded with applause. Leaping from their seats, controllers cheered, hugged, and cried. The same scene played out all over the world, in parks, bars, civic centers, living rooms, classrooms, and offices.

“Guess you don’t need the red folder today,” Venkat said. “Honestly, I didn’t make one.” As he walked out he added, “Good work, Venk. Now, get them home.”

But really, they did it because every human being has a basic instinct to help each other out.