Everywhere on Earth, they gathered.
From Trafalgar Square to Tienanmen Square to 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.
In Chicago, a couple clutched each other’s hands as they watched. The man held his wife gently as she rocked back and forth out of sheer terror. The NASA representative knew not to disturb them, but stood ready to answer any questions should they ask.
“Fuel Pressure green,” Johanssen’s voice said from a billion televisions. “Engine alignment perfect. Communications 5 by 5. We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander.”
“Copy,” came 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.
Mitch sat at his station in mission control. They monitored everything and were ready to help in any way the could. The communication latency between Hermes and Earth made any such need highly unlikely.
“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, 10 seconds to launch… mark.”
“Did you get that, Timekeeper?” Mitch said.
“Affirmative, flight,” came the response. “Our clocks are synched with theirs.”
“Not that we can do anything,” Mitch mumbled, “But at least we’ll know what’s supposedly happening.”
“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 ok to pass out. You’re in Martinez’s hands.”
“Tell that asshole no barrel-rolls.”
“Copy that, MAV,” Lewis said.
“Four more minutes,” Martinez said, cracking his knuckles. “You ready for some flying, Beth?”
“Yeah,” Johanssen said. “It’ll be strange to sysop a launch and stay in zero-g the whole time.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Martinez said, “but yeah. I’m not going to be squashed against the back my seat. Weird.”
Beck floated in the airlock, tethered to a wall-mounted spool. Vogel stood beside him, his boots clamped to the floor. Both stared through the open outer door to the red planet below.
“Didn’t think I’d be back here again,” Beck said.
“Yes,” Vogel said. “We are the first.”
“First what?”
“We are the first to visit Mars twice.”
“Oh yeah. Even Watney can’t say that.”
“He cannot.”
They looked at Mars in silence for a while.
“Vogel,” Beck said.
“Ja.”
“If I can’t reach Mark, I want you to release my tether.”
“Doctor Beck,” Vogel said, “The Commander has said no to this.”
“I know what the Commander said, but if I need a few more meters, I want you to cut me loose. I have an MMU, I can get back without a tether.”
“I will not do this, Doctor Beck.”
“It’s my own life at risk, and I say it’s ok.”
“You are not the Commander.”
Beck scowled at Vogel, but with their reflective visors down, the effect was lost.
“Fine,” Beck said. “But I bet you’ll change your mind if push comes to shove.”
Vogel did not respond.
“T-minus 10,” said Johanssen, “9…8…”
“Main engines start,” said Martinez.
“7…6…5…mooring clamps released…”
“About 5 seconds, Watney,” Lewis said to her headset. “Hang on.”
“See you in a few, Commander,” Watney radioed back.
“4…3…2…”
Watney lay in the acceleration couch as the MAV rumbled in anticipation of liftoff.
“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 in to his couch so hard he couldn’t even grunt.
Having anticipated this, he had placed a folded up shirt behind his head in the helmet. As his head pressed firmly in to the makeshift cushion, the edges of his vision became blurry. He could neither breathe nor move.
Directly in his field of view, the Hab canvas patch flapped violently as the ship exponentially gained speed. Concentration became difficult, but something in the back of his mind told him that was bad.
“Velocity 741 meters per second,” Johanssen quickly called out. “Altitude 1350 meters.”
“Copy,” Martinez said.
“That’s low,” Lewis said. “Too low.”
“I know,” Martinez said. “It’s sluggish; fighting me. What the fuck is going on?”
“Velocity 850, altitude 1843,” Johanssen said.
“I’m not getting the power I need!” Martinez said.
“Engine power at 100%,” Johanssen said.
“I’m telling you it’s sluggish,” Martinez insisted.
“Watney,” Lewis said to her headset. “Watney, do you read? Can you report?”
Watney heard Lewis’s voice in the distance. Like someone talking to him through a long tunnel. He vaguely wondered what she wanted. His attention was briefly drawn to the fluttering canvas ahead of him. A rip had appeared and was rapidly widening.
But then he was distracted by a bolt in one of the bulkheads. It only had five sides. He wondered why NASA decided that bolt needed five sides instead of six. It would require a special wrench to tighten or loosen.
The canvas tore even further, the tattered material flapping wildly. Through the opening, Watney saw red
