“But he’s probably not listening,” said Venkat. “Why would he be?”
“We have a plan for that. We’re going to make a bunch of bright green ribbons. Light enough to flutter around when dropped, even in Mars’s atmosphere. Each ribbon will have ‘MARK: TURN ON YOUR COMM’ printed on it. We’re working on a release mechanism now. During the landing sequence, of course. Ideally, about a thousand meters above the surface.”
“I like it,” Venkat said. “All he needs to do is notice one. And he’s sure to check out a bright green ribbon if he sees one outside.”
“Venk,” said Bruce. “If he takes the ‘Watneymobile’ to Ares 4, this’ll all be for nothing. I mean, we can land it at Ares 4 if that happens, but…”
“But he’ll be without a Hab. Yeah,” Venkat said. “One thing at a time. Let me know when you come up with a release mechanism for those ribbons.”
“Will do.”
After terminating the call, Venkat opened his laptop to get back to work. There was an e-mail from Mindy Park waiting for him. “Watney’s on the move again.”
“STILL GOING in a straight line,” Mindy said, pointing to her monitor.
“I see,” Venkat said. “He’s sure as hell not going to Ares 4. Unless he’s going around some natural obstacle.”
“There’s nothing for him to go around,” Mindy said. “It’s Acidalia Planitia.”
“Are those the solar cells?” Venkat asked, pointing to the screen.
“Yeah,” Mindy said. “He did the usual two-hour drive, EVA, two-hour drive. He’s one hundred and fifty-six kilometers from the Hab now.”
They both peered at the screen.
“Wait…,” Venkat said. “Wait, no way…”
“What?” Mindy asked.
Venkat grabbed a pad of Post-its and a pen. “Give me his location, and the location of the Hab.”
Mindy checked her screen. “He’s currently at… 28.9 degrees north, 29.6 degrees west.” With a few keystrokes, she brought up another file. “The Hab’s at 31.2 degrees north, 28.5 degrees west. What do you see?”
Venkat finished taking down the numbers. “Come with me,” he said, quickly walking out.
“Um,” Mindy stammered, following after. “Where are we going?”
“SatCon break room,” Venkat said. “You guys still have that map of Mars on the wall?”
“Sure,” Mindy said. “But it’s just a poster from the gift shop. I’ve got high-quality digital maps on my computer—”
“Nope. I can’t draw on those,” he said. Then, rounding the corner to the break room, he pointed to the Mars map on the wall. “I can draw on that.”
The break room was empty save for a computer technician sipping a cup of coffee. He looked up in alarm as Venkat and Mindy stormed in.
“Good, it has latitude and longitude lines,” Venkat said. Looking at his Post-it, then sliding his finger along the map, he drew an X. “That’s the Hab,” he said.
“Hey,” the technician said. “Are you drawing on our poster?”
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Venkat said without looking back. Then, he drew another X. “That’s his current location. Get me a ruler.”
Mindy looked left and right. Seeing no ruler, she grabbed the technician’s notebook.
“Hey!” the technician protested.
Using the notebook as a straight-edge, Venkat drew a line from the Hab to Mark’s location and beyond. Then took a step back.
“Yup! That’s where he’s going!” Venkat said excitedly.
“Oh!” Mindy said.
The line passed through the exact center of a bright yellow dot printed on the map.
“Pathfinder!” Mindy said. “He’s going to Pathfinder!”
“Yup!” Venkat said. “Now we’re getting somewhere. It’s like eight hundred kilometers from him. He can get there and back with supplies on hand.”
“And bring Pathfinder and Sojourner rover back with him,” Mindy added.
Venkat pulled out his cell phone. “We lost contact with Pathfinder in 1997. If he can get it online again, we can communicate. It might just need the solar cells cleaned. Even if it’s got a bigger problem, he’s an engineer!” Dialing, he added, “Fixing things is his job!”
Smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks, he held the phone to his ear and awaited a response. “Bruce? It’s Venkat. Everything just changed. Watney’s headed for Pathfinder. Yeah! I know, right!? Dig up everyone who was on that project and get them to JPL now. I’ll catch the next flight.”
Hanging up, he grinned at the map. “Mark, you sneaky, clever, son of a bitch!”
CHAPTER 9
It’s the evening of my eighth day on the road. Sirius 4 has been a success so far.
I’ve fallen into a routine. Every morning I wake up at dawn. First thing I do is check oxygen and CO2 levels. Then I eat a breakfast pack and drink a cup of water. After that, I brush my teeth, using as little water as possible, and shave with an electric razor.
The rover has no toilet. We were expected to use our suits’ reclamation systems for that. But they aren’t designed to hold twenty days’ worth of output.
My morning piss goes in a resealable plastic box. When I open it, the rover reeks like a truck-stop men’s room. I could take it outside and let it boil off. But I worked hard to make that water, and the last thing I’m going to do is waste it. I’ll feed it to the water reclaimer when I get back.
Even more precious is my manure. It’s critical to the potato farm, and I’m the only source on Mars. Fortunately, when you spend a lot of time in space, you learn how to shit in a bag. And if you think things are bad after opening the piss box, imagine the smell after I drop anchor.
After I’m done with that lovely routine, I go outside and collect the solar cells. Why didn’t I do it the previous night? Because trying to dismantle and stack solar cells in total darkness isn’t fun. I learned that the hard way.
After securing the cells, I come back in, turn on some shitty seventies music, and start driving. I putter along at 25 kph, the rover’s top speed. It’s comfortable inside. I wear hastily made cutoffs and a thin shirt while the RTG bakes the interior. When it gets too hot I detach the insulation duct-taped to the hull. When it gets too cold, I tape it back up.
I can go almost two hours before the first battery runs out. I do a quick EVA to swap cables, then I’m back at the wheel for the second half of the day’s drive.
The terrain is very flat. The undercarriage of the rover is taller than any of the rocks around here, and the hills are gently sloping affairs, smoothed by eons of sandstorms.
When the other battery runs out, it’s time for another EVA. I pull the solar cells off the roof and lay them on the ground. For the first few sols, I lined them up in a row. Now I plop them wherever, trying to keep them close to the rover out of sheer laziness.
Then comes the incredibly dull part of my day. I sit around for twelve hours with nothing to do. And I’m getting sick of this rover. The inside’s the size of a van. That may seem like plenty of room, but try being trapped in a van for eight days. I look forward to tending my potato farm in the wide open space of the Hab.
I’m nostalgic for the Hab. How fucked up is that?
I have shitty seventies TV to watch, and a bunch of Poirot novels to read. But mostly I spend my time thinking about getting to Ares 4. I’ll have to do it someday. How the hell am I going to survive a 3200-kilometer trip in this thing? It’ll probably take fifty days. I’ll need the water reclaimer and the oxygenator, maybe some of the Hab’s main batteries, then a bunch more solar cells to charge everything…. Where will I put it all? These thoughts pester me throughout the long, boring days.