Beck told me to go limp and pushed me down the corridor toward his quarters (which serve as the ship’s “sick bay” when needed).

Vogel went the other direction and closed the outer VAL door.

Once Beck and I got to his quarters, we waited for the ship to repressurize. Hermes had enough spare air to refill the ship two more times if needed. It’d be a pretty shitty long-range ship if it couldn’t recover from a decompression.

Once Johanssen gave us the all clear, Dr. Bossy-Beck made me wait while he first took off his suit, then took off mine. After he pulled my helmet off, he looked shocked. I thought maybe I had a major head-wound or something, but it turns out it was the smell.

It’s been a while since I washed… anything.

After that, it was x-rays and chest bandages while the rest of the crew waited outside.

Then came the (painful) high-fives, followed by people staying as far away from my stench as possible. We had a few minutes of reunion before Beck shuttled everyone out. He gave me painkillers and told me to shower as soon as I could freely move my arms.

So now I’m waiting for the drugs to kick in. My ribs hurt like hell, my vision is still blurry from acceleration sickness, I’m really hungry, it’ll be another 211 days before I’m back on Earth, and apparently I smell like a skunk took a shit on some sweat socks.

This is the happiest day of my life.

Watney finished his two slices of pizza and a coke. He had another half-hour to kill before going back to Johnson Space Center. Leaving the pizzeria, he sat on a public bench just outside.

Next week would be busy. He would be meeting the Ares-6 Engineer. He had read her file, but had never met her in person. He wouldn’t get much time to relax after that. The following six weeks would be filled with constant training as he tried to impart as much knowledge as he could.

But that was something to worry about later. Right now, he took a deep breath of the fresh air and watched the people go by.

“Hey, I know you!” Came a voice from behind.

A young boy had strayed from his mother. “You’re Mark Watney!”

“Sweetie,” the boy’s mom said, embarrassed. “Don’t bother people like that.”

“It’s ok,” Watney shrugged.

“You went to Mars!” The boy said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Sure did,” Watney said. “Almost didn’t make it back.”

“I know!” Said the boy. “That was awesome!”

“Sweetie!” The mom scolded. “That’s rude.”

“So Mr. Watney,” the boy said, “If you could go to Mars again, like, if there was another mission and they wanted you to go, would you go?”

Watney scowled at him. “You out of your fucking mind?”

“Ok time to go,” the mom said, quickly herding the boy away. They receded in to the crowded sidewalk.

Watney snorted in their direction. Then he closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face. It was a nice, boring afternoon.

Copyright Info

“The Martian” is copyright © Andy Weir, 2011. All rights reserved.

The cover art is an image from NASA and is public domain.

All fonts in this document are public domain.

Redistribution of this e-book is permitted, so long as it is distributed for free.

eISBN 978-0-804-13903-8