The Martian

by Andy Weir

“We’ll remove the nose airlock, the windows, and Hull Panel Nineteen.” Venkat blinked. “You’re taking the front of the ship off?” “Sure,” Bruce said. “The nose airlock alone is four hundred kilograms. The windows are pretty damn heavy, too. And they’re connected by Hull Panel Nineteen, so may as well take that, too.” “So he’s going to launch with a big hole in the front of the ship?” “We’ll have him cover it with Hab canvas.” “Hab canvas? For a launch to orbit!?” Bruce shrugged. “The hull’s mostly there to keep the air in. Mars’s atmosphere is so thin you don’t need a lot of streamlining. By the time the ship’s going fast enough for air resistance to matter, it’ll be high enough that there’s practically no air. We’ve run all the simulations. Should be good.” “You’re sending him to space under a tarp.” “Pretty much, yeah.”

“We’ll also have him remove the back panel of the pressure vessel. It’s the only other panel he can remove with the tools on hand. Also, we’re getting rid of the auxiliary fuel pump. Sad to see it go, but it weighs too much for its usefulness. And we’re nixing a Stage One engine.” “An engine?” “Yeah. The Stage One booster works fine if one engine goes out. It’ll save us a huge amount of weight. Only during the Stage One ascent, but still. Pretty good fuel savings.”

[08:41] MAV: You fucking kidding me? [08:55] HOUSTON: Admittedly, they are very invasive modifications, but they have to be done. The procedure doc we sent has instructions for carrying out each of these steps with tools you have on hand. Also, you’ll need to start electrolyzing water to get the hydrogen for the fuel plant. We’ll send you procedures for that shortly. [09:09] MAV: You’re sending me into space in a convertible. [09:24] HOUSTON: There will be Hab canvas covering the holes. It will provide enough aerodynamics in Mars’s atmosphere. [09:38] MAV: So it’s a ragtop. Much better.

Finally, I fired up the fuel plant, and it got to work making the additional fuel I’d need. I’ll need to go through this process several more times as the launch date approaches. I’m even going to electrolyze my urine. That’ll make for a pleasant smell in the trailer. If I survive this, I’ll tell people I was pissing rocket fuel.

“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.”

“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.”

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 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.

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.

“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.

“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. “Mission Control, this is Hermes Actual,” Lewis reported. “We are go for launch and will proceed on schedule. We are T minus four minutes, ten seconds to launch … mark.” “Did you get that, Timekeeper?” Mitch said. “Affirmative, Flight” was the response. “Our clocks are synched with theirs.”

“ABOUT FOUR minutes, Mark,” Lewis said into her mic. “How you doing down there?” “Eager to get up there, Commander,” Watney responded. “We’re going to make that happen,” Lewis said. “Remember, you’ll be pulling some pretty heavy g’s. It’s okay to pass out. You’re in Martinez’s hands.” “Tell that asshole no barrel rolls.” “Copy that, MAV,” Lewis said.

“T-MINUS TEN,” said Johanssen, “nine … eight …” “Main engines start,” said Martinez. “… seven … six … five … Mooring clamps released …” “About five seconds, Watney,” Lewis said to her headset. “Hang on.” “See you in a few, Commander,” Watney radioed back. “… four … three … two …”

“MAV to Hermes.” “Watney!?” came the reply. “Affirmative. That you, Commander?” Watney said. “Affirmative. What’s your status?” “I’m on a ship with no control panel,” he said. “That’s as much as I can tell you.” “How do you feel?” “My chest hurts. I think I broke a rib. How are you?” “We’re working on getting you,” Lewis said. “There was a complication in the launch.”

“I can’t see you having any control if you did that,” Lewis said. “You’d be eyeballing the intercept and using a thrust vector you can barely control.” “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.” “Stand by,” Lewis said.

HOUSTON,” Lewis’s voice rang through Mission Control. “Be advised we are going to deliberately breach the VAL to produce thrust.” “What?” Mitch said. “What!?” “Oh … my god,” Venkat said in the observation room. “Fuck me raw,” Annie said, getting up. “I better get to the press room. Any parting knowledge before I go?” “They’re going to breach the ship,” Venkat said, still dumbfounded. “They’re going to deliberately breach the ship. Oh my god …”

“We’re going to vent atmosphere to get thrust.” “How?” “We’re going to blow a hole in the VAL.” “What!?” Watney said. “How!?” “Vogel’s making a bomb.” “I knew that guy was a mad scientist!” Watney said. “I think we should just go with my Iron Man idea.” “That’s too risky, and you know it,” she replied. “Thing is,” Watney said, “I’m selfish. I want the memorials back home to be just for me. I don’t want the rest of you losers in them. I can’t let you guys blow the VAL.”

“Aboard!” Beck said. “Airlock 2 outer door closed,” Vogel said. “Yes!” Martinez yelled. “Copy,” Lewis said.

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.

LOG ENTRY: MISSION DAY 687 That “687” caught me off guard for a minute. On Hermes, we track time by mission days. It may be Sol 549 down on Mars, but it’s Mission Day 687 up here. And you know what? It doesn’t matter what time it is on Mars because I’m not there! Oh my god. I’m really not on Mars anymore. I can tell because there’s no gravity and there are other humans around. I’m still adjusting.

I think about the sheer number of people who pulled together just to save my sorry ass, and I can barely comprehend it. My crewmates sacrificed a year of their lives to come back for me. Countless people at NASA worked day and night to invent rover and MAV modifications. All of JPL busted their asses to make a probe that was destroyed on launch. Then, instead of giving up, they made another probe to resupply Hermes. The China National Space Administration abandoned a project they’d worked on for years just to provide a booster. The cost for my survival must have been hundreds of millions of dollars. All to save one dorky botanist. Why bother?

Part of it might be what I represent: progress, science, and the interplanetary future we’ve dreamed of for centuries. But really, they did it because every human being has a basic instinct to help each other out. It might not seem that way sometimes, but it’s true.

If a hiker gets lost in the mountains, people will coordinate a search. If a train crashes, people will line up to give blood. If an earthquake levels a city, people all over the world will send emergency supplies. This is so fundamentally human that it’s found in every culture without exception. Yes, there are assholes who just don’t care, but they’re massiv...