By Andy Weir
Six days in the past, astronaut Mark Watney turned one of many first humans to stroll on Mars.
Now, he is certain he will be the 1st individual to die there.
After a dirt hurricane approximately kills him and forces his group to evacuate whereas pondering him lifeless, Mark reveals himself stranded and entirely on my own without method to even sign Earth that he’s alive—and whether he may possibly get observe out, his provides will be long gone lengthy earlier than a rescue might arrive.
Chances are, notwithstanding, he do not need time to starve to demise. The broken equipment, unforgiving atmosphere, or plain-old "human blunders" are more likely to kill him first.
But Mark isn't really able to quit but. Drawing on his ingenuity, his engineering skills—and a constant, dogged refusal to quit—he steadfastly confronts one likely insurmountable situation after the subsequent. Will his resourcefulness be adequate to beat the most unlikely odds opposed to him?
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Bruce? It’s Venkat. every thing simply replaced. Watney’s headed for Pathfinder. Yeah! i do know, right!? Dig up every person who used to be on that venture and get them to JPL now. I’ll trap the subsequent flight. ” placing up, he grinned on the map. “Mark, you sneaky, smart, son of a complain! ” bankruptcy nine LOG access: SOL seventy nine It’s the night of my 8th day at the street. Sirius four has been successful up to now. I’ve fallen right into a regimen. each morning I get up at sunrise. very first thing I do is cost oxygen and CO2 degrees. Then I consume a breakfast pack and drink a cup of water. After that, I brush my the teeth, utilizing as little water as attainable, and shave with an electrical razor. The rover has no rest room. We have been anticipated to exploit our matches’ reclamation structures for that. yet they aren’t designed to carry twenty days’ worthy of output. My morning piss is going in a resealable plastic field. while I open it, the rover reeks like a truck-stop men’s room. i'll take it outdoor and permit it boil off. yet I labored difficult to make that water, and the very last thing I’m going to do is waste it. I’ll feed it to the water reclaimer whilst i am getting again. much more useful is my manure. It’s serious to the potato farm, and I’m the single resource on Mars. thankfully, for those who spend loads of time in house, you the right way to shit in a bag. And if you happen to imagine issues are undesirable after starting the piss field, think the scent after I drop anchor. After I’m performed with that beautiful regimen, i am going open air and acquire the sunlight cells. Why didn’t I do it the former evening? simply because attempting to dismantle and stack sunlight cells in overall darkness isn’t enjoyable. I discovered that the demanding approach. After securing the cells, I get back in, activate a few shitty seventies song, and begin riding. I putter alongside at 25 kph, the rover’s most sensible pace. It’s cozy inside of. I put on swiftly made cutoffs and a skinny blouse whereas the RTG bakes the internal. whilst it will get too scorching I detach the insulation duct-taped to the hull. whilst it will get too chilly, I tape it again up. i will cross virtually hours earlier than the 1st battery runs out. I do a brief EVA to change cables, then I’m again on the wheel for the second one half the day’s force. The terrain is particularly flat. The undercarriage of the rover is taller than any of the rocks round the following, and the hills are lightly sloping affairs, smoothed through eons of sandstorms. whilst the opposite battery runs out, it’s time for an additional EVA. I pull the sunlight cells off the roof and lay them at the flooring. For the 1st few sols, I coated them up in a row. Now I plop them anyplace, attempting to continue them with regards to the rover out of sheer laziness. Then comes the particularly boring a part of my day. I sit down round for twelve hours with not anything to do. And I’m getting ill of this rover. The inside’s the dimensions of a van. which may look like lots of room, yet test being trapped in a van for 8 days. i glance ahead to tending my potato farm within the broad open area of the Hab. I’m nostalgic for the Hab. How fucked up is that? i've got shitty seventies television to monitor, and a number of Poirot novels to learn. yet as a rule I spend my time brooding about attending to Ares four.