The Martian

All right, team,

stay in sight of each other.

Let's make NASA proud today.

How's it looking over there, Watney?

Well, you'll be happy to hear...

that in Grid Section 14-28,

the particles were predominantly coarse...

but in 29, they're much finer...

and they should be ideal

for chem analysis.

Wow. Did everybody hear that?

Mark just discovered dirt.

Should we alert the media?

Sorry, what are you

doing today, Martinez?

Making sure the MAV is still upright?

I'd like you to know that

visual inspection of the equipment...

is imperative to mission success.

I also would like to report

that the MAV is still upright.

Watney, you keep leaving

your channel open...

which leads to Martinez responding...

which leads to all of us listening...

which leads to me being annoyed.

Roger that.

Martinez, the captain would like you to please...

shut your smart mouth.

We'd prefer to use a different adjective

to describe Martinez's mouth.

Did Beck just insult me?

"Dr. Beck." And yes.

Happy to turn the radios off

from here, Commander.

Just say the word.

Wait, Johanssen.

Constant communication is the hallmark...

Shut 'em off.

No.

No. Excuse me.

I apologize for my countrymen, Vogel.

Accepted.

How many samples do we need, Commander?

Seven.

100 grams each.

We have a mission update.

A storm warning.

Commander, you should come inside.

You're gonna want to see this.

What is it?

A storm warning.

I saw that in this morning's briefing.

We'll be inside before it hits.

Yeah, they upgraded their estimate.

The storm's gonna be a lot worse.

Martinez, how does it look?

Not good.

"1,200 kilometers in diameter,

bearing 24.41 degrees."

That's tracking right towards us.

"Based on current escalation,

estimated force of 8,600 newtons."

What's the abort force?

7,500.

Anything more than that

and the MAV could tip.

Do we scrub?

Begin abort procedure.

We are estimating

with a margin of error.

We could wait it out.

Let's wait it out.

Let's wait it out.

Commander?

Prep emergency departure.

Commander?

We're scrubbed. That's an order.

Martinez, how long before take-off?

12 minutes.

Visibility is almost zero.

Anyone gets lost,

hone in on my suit's telemetry.

You ready?

Ready.

-Commander, are you okay?

-I'm okay.

Commander, we're at 10 degrees,

and the MAV is gonna tip at 12.3.

Hey! We might be able

to keep the MAV from tipping.

How?

Use the cables from the comms mast

as guy-lines...

anchor it with the Rover's.

Watch out!

Watney!

Warning. Suit breach detected.

What happened?

-He was hit.

-Watney, report.

Before we lost telemetry,

his decompression alarm went off.

-Where did you last see him?

-I don't know where he is.

-What are the vitals on his suit?

-He's offline.

A complete loss of signal on Watney.

-Beck!

-Yeah.

How long can he survive decompression?

Less than a minute.

Line up, walk west.

He may be prone.

We don't wanna step over him.

Commander...

We're at 10.5 degrees.

Warning. Excessive tilt.

Tilting to 11

with all the gusts of wind.

Copy that.

Everyone, hone in on Martinez's suit.

It'll get you to airlock.

Get in, prep for launch.

What about you, Commander?

I'm gonna search a little longer.

Get moving!

Go!

Watney!

Watney, report!

The MAV's at 11.6 degrees.

One good gust and we're tipping.

If it tips, you launch.

You really think

I'm gonna leave you behind?

That's an order, Martinez.

Mark!

Mark! Can you hear me?

Martinez, what about the proximity radar?

Could that detect Watney's suit?

It's made to see

the Hermes from orbit...

not a little piece of metal

from a single suit.

Give it a try.

Roger.

What is she thinking? She knows

the infrared can't get through a sandstorm.

She's grasping for anything.

We've got negative contact

on the proximity radar.

Nothing?

No. I can barely see the Hab.

Commander, I know

you don't wanna hear this, but...

Mark is dead.

Commander!

Hey, what the hell

is wrong with you, man?

My friend just died.

I don't want my commander to die, too.

Stability warning.

We're tipping!

Commander, you need to get back

to the ship, now!

13 degrees.

If we pass balance,

we'll never rock back.

I've got one more trick left,

and then I'm following orders, Commander.

You're firing the OMS?

That's right.

Commander!

On my way.

Johanssen, let's go.

Mark!

We're at 11.5 and holding.

Ready to go on your command.

Ready to launch.

Commander.

I need you to verbally tell me

whether or not to.

Launch.

At around 4:
30 a.m.

Central Standard Time...

our satellites detected a storm approaching

the Ares 3 mission site on Mars.

At 6:
45,

the storm had escalated to severe...

and we had no choice

but to abort the mission.

Thanks to the quick action

of Commander Lewis...

astronauts Beck, Johanssen,

Martinez and Vogel...

were all able to reach

the Mars Ascent Vehicle...

and perform an emergency launch

at 7:
28 Central Time.

Unfortunately, during the evacuation...

astronaut Mark Watney

was struck by debris and killed.

Commander Lewis

and the rest of her team...

were able to intercept safely with

the Hermes and are now heading home.

But Mark Watney is dead.

Director Sanders!

Oxygen level critical.

Oxygen level critical.

Oxygen level...

Pressure stable.

F***.

Okay.

Okay.

Hello, this is Mark Watney, astronaut.

I'm entering this log for the record...

in case I don't make it.

It is 06:
53 on Sol 19...

and I'm alive.

Obviously.

But I'm guessing that's gonna come as

a surprise to my crewmates and to NASA.

And to the entire world, really, so...

Surprise.

I did not die on Sol 18.

Best I can figure...

this length of our primary

communications antenna broke off...

and tore through my bio-monitor...

and ripped a hole in me as well.

But the antenna and the blood, really,

managed to seal the breach in my suit...

which kept me alive, even though

the crew must have thought I was dead.

I have no way to contact NASA.

And even if I could,

it's gonna be four years...

until a manned mission can reach me.

And I'm in a Hab designed

to last 31 days.

If the oxygenator breaks,

I'm gonna suffocate.

If the water reclaimer breaks,

I'll die of thirst.

If the Hab breaches,

I'm just gonna, kind of...

implode.

And if by some miracle,

none of that happens...

eventually I'm gonna run out of food.

So...

yeah.

Yeah.

I'm not gonna die here.

32...

33...

34...

35, 36.

Sweet and sour chicken.

What do we got?

Right, let's do the math.

Our surface mission here was

supposed to last 31 sols.

For redundancy, they sent 68 sols

worth of food. That's for 6 people.

So for just me,

that's gonna last 300 sols...

which I figure I can stretch to 400

if I ration.

So I got to figure out a way to grow

three years' worth of food here.

On a planet where nothing grows.

Luckily...

I'm a botanist.

Mars will come to fear my botany powers.

Pressure stable.

Staple came out.

F*** you, Mars.

Johanssen, Jesus.

Sunday, Monday, Happy Days

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