The Martian Page #4

Who also had copies of Zork II...

and Leather Goddesses of Phobos

on her personal laptop.

Seriously, Johanssen...

it's like the Smithsonian

of loneliness on there.

Not that I'm complaining.

Yes!

Who am I to talk about loneliness?

I know where he's going with this.

"F, O."

"7, W."

Vincent.

Vincent, wake up.

Now that we can have more

complicated conversations...

the smart people at NASA have sent me

instructions on how to hack the Rover...

so that it can talk to Pathfinder.

If I hack a tiny bit of code...

just 20 instructions in the Rover's

operating system...

NASA can link the Rover to Pathfinder's

broadcasting frequency...

and we're in business.

"Mark...

"this is Vincent Kapoor.

"We've been watching you since Sol 54.

"The whole world is rooting for you.

"Amazing job getting Pathfinder.

"We're working on rescue plans.

"Meantime, we're putting together

a supply mission...

"to keep you fed until Ares 4 arrives."

Okay.

Okay.

"Glad to hear it.

Really looking forward to not dying."

"How's the crew?"

"What did they say when they

found out I was alive?"

Guys, can we get some space please?

Me?

Yeah, you.

Give me a sec.

Just tell him.

"We haven't told the crew

you are alive yet.

"We need them to concentrate

on their mission."

What the f***?

What the f***?

Okay, he says,

"They don't know I'm alive?

"What the..." F-word.

F-word in gerund form.

F-word, again, "is wrong with you?"

"Mark, please watch your language.

"Everything you type is being broadcast

live all over the world."

Yeah?

Oh, my God.

Yes, sir. He is under a tremendous

amount of stress.

I understand. We're working on it.

I'm sure he didn't mean what he said.

Thank you, Mr. President.

Problem is, Mark's right.

The longer we wait,

the worse it's gonna get.

We need to tell the crew.

You're bringing this up while

Vincent is in Pasadena...

so he can't argue the other side.

I shouldn't have to answer to Vincent.

Or anyone else.

It's time, Teddy.

Commander Lewis?

Go ahead.

Data dump is almost complete.

Copy that. On my way.

You're in a hurry.

Yeah.

My son turned three yesterday.

Should be pictures of the party.

Got a batch of personals.

Dispatching them to your laptops now.

I don't need to read Vogel's

weird German fetish emails.

They're telemetry updates.

Hey, whatever does it for you, man.

There's a video message.

It's addressed to the whole crew.

Play it. Come on, guys.

I wanna get in on that telemetry action.

Hi, hello. It's Mitch.

Mitch Henderson.

I have some news.

There's no subtle way to put this.

Mark Watney is still alive.

Oh, my God.

I know that's a surprise and I know

you will have a lot of questions.

But here are the basics.

He's alive and he's healthy.

We found out two months ago

and decided not to tell you.

-Two months?

-Oh, my God.

I was strongly against that decision.

We're telling you now because...

we finally have

communication with him...

and a viable rescue plan.

We'll give you a write-up of what happened,

a full write-up of everything.

But it's not your fault.

Mark stresses that

every time it comes up.

So... Yeah...

Take some time to absorb this.

And send all the questions you want.

We'll answer them.

All right. Henderson out.

Holy sh*t, he's alive.

I left him behind.

-No.

-No.

We all left together.

You were following orders.

I left him behind.

So now that NASA can talk to me,

they won't shut up.

They want constant updates

on every Hab system...

and they got a room full of people

trying to micromanage my crops.

Which is awesome.

Look, I don't mean to sound

arrogant or anything...

but I am the greatest botanist

on this planet, so...

One big bonus to this communication

with NASA again...

is the email.

I'm getting them again.

Big data dumps

like when I was on the Hermes.

I even got one from the president.

The coolest one, though,

the coolest one I got...

was from University of Chicago,

my alma mater.

They say that

once you grow crops somewhere...

you've officially colonized it.

So, technically...

I colonized Mars.

In your face, Neil Armstrong.

In other news, there's been a request...

for me to pose for a photograph

on my next transmission.

I'm trying to figure out whether

I should go with "High School Senior"...

or "coquettish ingnue."

But I'm not really sure how that's

gonna look with my spacesuit on.

Hey!

What is he doing?

I asked for a photo, and what,

he's The Fonz?

Just be grateful

we got you something, Annie.

I can't use this, Vincent,

and you know that.

I need a picture of his face.

I could tell him to take off his helmet...

but then he'd, you know, die, so...

We'll release the photo when we detail

the rescue operation.

I want to announce we're launching

some supplies to him next year...

during the Hohmann Transfer Window.

Bruce, your team's still on schedule?

It'll be tight, but we'll make it.

Nine-month travel time.

That puts the probe to Mars on Sol 868.

Did we get the botany team's analysis?

Yeah, they estimate Mark's crops

will last till Sol 912.

They grudgingly admit that

he's doing great work.

Grudgingly?

Yeah. Mark has a tendency to tell them

to have sex with themselves...

whenever they question

one of his decisions.

Get him in line, Vincent.

We can't afford any miscommunication.

I hate this margin.

912 Sols worth of food.

We get there on 868.

And that's assuming nothing goes wrong.

Suit breach detected.

Oxygen level critical.

Oxygen level, 10%.

Oxygen level, 5%.

Suit pressure, stable.

Pressure stable.

God! God, God, God, God!

Crops are dead.

Complete loss of pressure boiled off

most of the water.

Any bacteria that survived,

died in the subzero temperatures...

when exposed to Mars' atmosphere.

How long does he have?

He can still eat the potatoes he has,

he just can't grow any more...

so give him 200 sols.

Rations get him to what? Sol 409?

So with potatoes, 609.

So by Sol 868, he'll be long dead.

We're gonna have to launch

as soon as possible...

which changes our travel time.

Yeah, we're working on it.

Prelim estimates call

for a 414-day trip.

It's Sol 135 now.

We need 13 days to mount the boosters,

perform inspections...

which gives Bruce and his team...

47 days to make this probe.

I'll let you call Bruce,

give him the news.

Okay.

I'm gonna need a change of clothes.

"Dear Mark...

"Apparently NASA's letting us

talk to you now.

"And I drew the short straw.

"Sorry we left you behind on Mars.

"But we just don't like you.

"Also, it's a lot roomier

on the Hermes without you.

"We have to take turns doing your tasks.

"But, I mean, it's only botany.

"It's not real science."

Oh, Jesus.

"How's Mars?"

"Dear Martinez, Mars is fine.

"I accidentally blew up the Hab...

"but unfortunately, all of Commander Lewis'

disco music still survived."

"But unfortunately, all of Commander Lewis'

disco music still survived."

"Every day, I go outside and look

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