Rich looked up. “Yeah?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Just a little side project. Something I wanted to check up on.”
“Well… that’s fine, I guess,” Mike said, “but you need to do your assigned work first. I asked for those satellite adjustments two weeks ago and you still haven’t done them.”
“I need some supercomputer time,” Rich said.
“You need supercomputer time to calculate routine satellite adjustments?”
“No, it’s for this other thing I’m working on,” Rich said.
“Rich, seriously. You have to do your job.”
Rich thought for a moment. “Would now be a good time for a vacation?” he asked.
Mike sighed. “You know what, Rich? I think now would be an ideal time for you to take a vacation.”
“Great!” Rich smiled. “I’ll start right now.”
“Sure,” Mike said. “Go on home. Get some rest.”
“Oh, I’m not going home,” said Rich, returning to his calculations.
Mike rubbed his eyes. “Okay, whatever. About those satellite orbits…?”
“I’m on vacation,” Rich said without looking up.
Mike shrugged and walked away.
[08:01] WATNEY: How’s my care package coming along?
[08:16] JPL: A little behind schedule, but we’ll get it done. In the meantime, we want you to get back to work. We’re satisfied the Hab is in good condition. Maintenance only takes you twelve hours per week. We’re going to pack the rest of your time with research and experiments.
[08:31] WATNEY: Great! I’m sick of sitting on my ass. I’m going to be here for years. You may as well make use of me.
[08:47] JPL: That’s what we’re thinking. We’ll get you a schedule as soon as the science team puts it together. It’ll be mostly EVAs, geological sampling, soil tests, and weekly self-administered medical tests. Honestly, this is the best “bonus Mars time” we’ve had since the Opportunity lander.
[09:02] WATNEY: Opportunity never went back to Earth.
[09:17] JPL: Sorry. Bad analogy.
THE JPL Spacecraft Assembly Facility, known as the “clean room,” was the little-known birthplace of the most famous spacecraft in Mars exploration history. Mariner, Viking, Spirit, Opportunity, and Curiosity, just to name a few, had all been born in this one room.
Today, the room was abuzz with activity as technicians sealed Iris into the specially designed shipping container.
The off-duty techs watched the procedure from the observation deck. They had rarely seen their homes in the last two months; a makeshift bunk room had been set up in the cafeteria. Fully a third of them would normally be asleep at this hour, but they did not want to miss this moment.
The shift leader tightened the final bolt. As he retracted the wrench, the engineers broke into applause. Many of them were in tears.
After sixty-three days of grueling work, Iris was complete.
ANNIE TOOK the podium and adjusted the microphone. “The launch preparations are complete,” she said. “Iris is ready to go. The scheduled launch is 9:14 a.m.
“Once launched, it will stay in orbit for at least three hours. During that time, Mission Control will gather exact telemetry in preparation for the trans-Mars injection burn. When that’s complete, the mission will be handed off to the Ares 3 presupply team, who will monitor its progress over the following months. It will take four hundred and fourteen days to reach Mars.”
“About the payload,” a reporter asked, “I hear there’s more than just food?”
“That’s true.” Annie smiled. “We allocated one hundred grams for luxury items. There are some handwritten letters from Mark’s family, a note from the President, and a USB drive filled with music from all ages.”
“Any disco?” someone asked.
“No disco,” Annie said, as chuckles cascaded through the room.
CNN’s Cathy Warner spoke up. “If this launch fails, is there any recourse for Watney?”
“There are risks to any launch,” Annie said, sidestepping the question, “but we don’t anticipate problems. The weather at the Cape is clear with warm temperatures. Conditions couldn’t be better.”
“Is there any spending limit to this rescue operation?” another reporter asked. “Some people are beginning to ask how much is too much.”
“It’s not about the bottom line,” Annie said, prepared for the question. “It’s about a human life in immediate danger. But if you want to look at it financially, consider the value of Mark Watney’s extended mission. His prolonged mission and fight for survival are giving us more knowledge about Mars than the rest of the Ares program combined.”
“DO YOU believe in God, Venkat?” Mitch asked.
“Sure, lots of ’em,” Venkat said. “I’m Hindu.”
“Ask ’em all for help with this launch.”
“Will do.”
Mitch stepped forward to his station in Mission Control. The room bustled with activity as the dozens of controllers each made final preparations for launch.
He put his headset on and glanced at the time readout on the giant center screen at the front of the room. He turned on his headset and said, “This is the flight director. Begin launch status check.”
“Roger that, Houston” was the reply from the launch control director in Florida. “CLCDR checking all stations are manned and systems ready,” he broadcast. “Give me a go/no-go for launch. Talker?”
“Go” was the response.
“Timer.”
“Go,” said another voice.
“QAM1.”
“Go.”
Resting his chin on his hands, Mitch stared at the center screen. It showed the pad video feed. The booster, amid cloudy water vapor from the cooling process, still had EagleEye3 stenciled on the side.
“QAM2.”
“Go.”
“QAM3.”
“Go.”
Venkat leaned against the back wall. He was an administrator. His job was done. He could only watch and hope. His gaze was fixated on the far wall’s displays. In his mind, he saw the numbers, the shift juggling, the outright lies and borderline crimes he’d committed to put this mission together. It would all be worthwhile, if it worked.
“FSC.”
“Go.”
“Prop One.”
“Go.”
Teddy sat in the VIP observation room behind Mission Control. His authority afforded him the very best seat: front-row center. His briefcase lay at his feet and he held a blue folder in his hands.
“Prop Two.”
“Go.”
“PTO.”
“Go.”
Annie Montrose paced in her private office next to the press room. Nine televisions mounted to the wall were each tuned to a different network; each network showed the launch pad. A glance at her computer showed foreign networks doing the same. The world was holding its breath.
“ACC.”
“Go.”
“LWO.”
“Go.”
Bruce Ng sat in the JPL cafeteria along with hundreds of engineers who had given everything they had to Iris. They watched the live feed on a projection screen. Some fidgeted, unable to find comfortable positions. Others held hands. It was 6:13 a.m. in Pasadena, yet every single employee was present.
“AFLC.”
“Go.”
“Guidance.”
“Go.”
Millions of kilometers away, the crew of Hermes listened as they crowded around Johanssen’s station. The two-minute transmission time didn’t matter. They had no way to help; there was no need to interact. Johanssen stared intently at her screen, although it displayed only the audio signal strength. Beck wrung his hands. Vogel stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the floor. Martinez prayed silently at first, then saw no reason to hide it. Commander Lewis stood apart, her arms folded across her chest.