Chapter Text
EARTH
The Ares III mission began with lukewarm enthusiasm. The novelty of humans on Mars, after all, had already been diminished somewhat by Ares I. Ares II proved that the first time wasn’t dumb luck. Ares III, meanwhile, had a goal of researching and investigating the Mars surface in detail. More academic than PR, if you will.
In other words, it was not appealing to the public.
As Apollo 13 proved decades ago, what draws the public’s attention is drama . A smooth landing on Mars is a note in a history book. A tragedy, on the other hand, would be an international sensation.
That is exactly what the funeral of Technoblade is. A tragedy, and a field day for the media.
They organize a solemn march through the streets, people dressed in immaculate suits carrying an empty casket between them, a flag draped over it in honor of the astronaut’s memory. A national hero, the representatives from NASA proclaimed him, as millions of people around the world watched the funeral of the first astronaut to die on Mars.
THE HERMES
Much of the Earth’s population is watching the funeral. The Ares III crew, still on their return journey through space in the Hermes , are not.
Technically, they could. It would be a recording, and they would only receive it in the next data transfer a week away, but they could. The main reason is that they don’t want to.
The remaining crew of five was currently sitting (floating) in the break room with nothing to do. NASA had given them a week off from their normal research schedule, and it was far too much time to be thinking about what had happened.
“Phil, you have to stop blaming yourself for what happened.”
Commander Phil Watson turns his glare (previously burning a hole through the table) towards Wilbur, and the latter has to force himself not to flinch. Bravely, the ship medic presses on.
“Come on, there was nothing you could do. We had to get out of there, and there was no time. Besides, you saw the bio monitor too.”
“We could have at least found his body,” Phil practically growls, turning his gaze towards the windows that looked out into an infinite expanse. “I should have confirmed, before we left him.”
Dream exchanges an uncomfortable look with George. He clears his throat. “You know mission procedures, Commander. If a crew member is to die on Mars-”
“I don’t give a fuck about mission procedures.”
The newly appointed second-in-command shrinks back. Several months of travel aboard the Hermes together means that all of them had gotten to know each other quite well. And at this moment, all of them knew that Phil was pissed off enough to do something drastic. Most of them wisely decided to shut their mouths.
Not that they could blame him. They themselves still had nightmares of the evacuation two days ago.
The mission had started out smoothly enough. The landing with the MDV was perfect, in Dream’s own words, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. The setup of the Hab went without a hitch.
When they climbed out of their bunks on the morning of Sol 6, no one could have predicted that they would be fleeing the Martian surface in a matter of hours, with one less crew member aboard.
It started with a storm warning from NASA, to be on the lookout for a low grade sandstorm. Two hours after the warning, the six crew members were huddled inside the Hab, nervous eyes watching the wind speed rise without stopping.
Three hours after the warning, they were aborting the mission.
The MAV, the ship which they have to use to get back to the Hermes hanging in orbit, can’t tolerate strong winds. If it tips over and crashes on its side, none of them would be getting back to Earth. Therefore, when the ship showed the first signs of tilting, they were on a time limit.
If it had ended there, Ares III would have been declared a disappointing failure, a waste of government money, and that would have been that. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
Because while the Hab itself didn’t breach, the communications array was large, bulky, and located in a higher area. It was not a good mix.
The radio dish goes flying first, and then the antennas. One such antenna pierces through an astronaut on its flight.
The bio monitor is penetrated and dies, the astronaut in question passes out, and the rest of the crew are left with radio silence and a flatlined display in their visors. They assume the astronaut is dead, because what else could they think? How could he possibly be alive after that?
That doesn’t stop Phil from torturing himself with possible scenarios. He was, after all, the one who gave the final command to launch. The other crewmembers can only shove down their own doubts and grief to try and convince him otherwise, that there was no way Technoblade could still be alive.
Ironically, Technoblade was , in fact, still alive. Too bad that the only person who knew that fact was himself.
SOL 6
Well, I’m still here on Mars, and I’m still alive.
If any future Mars historians find these audio logs, then let it be known to the world that I didn’t, in fact, die on Sol 6 of the Ares III mission. If that incorrect fact had already made its way into an obscure textbook somewhere, please change it in my memory.
Look, I’m a realist. I know perfectly clear that I’ll probably be dead long before someone ever hears this.
That being said, I have no intentions of laying down to die. I plan to escape this barren wastescape of a planet, one way or another. By the time someone hears this, you will probably already know whether or not I succeeded.
I’m interested in history, myself, and I always hate how unclear the records of certain historical events are. I’m not one to brag, but I’m pretty sure this is worthy of at least a mention in a book somewhere. So I’m making these audio log, to make sure future generations know what really happened here.
It should be an interesting lesson. You know, the first astronaut to die on Mars and all that.
But if you’re wondering how I survived the sandstorm in the first place, then all I can tell you is that I know about as much as you do. All I know is that my spacesuit and the side of my torso both have a hole torn through them.
Yes, it hurt a lot. Thanks for asking.
It’s also still bleeding. I’ve patched myself up the best I could with the first-aid stuff Wilbur left behind. If Wilbur was here, he’d probably know how to stitch the wound properly.
But, obviously, he isn’t here. So I’m making do.
I’m pretty confident that the wound won’t kill me, but I also can’t bend down without feeling like I’m dying right now, so any physical work will have to wait a few days. If the Hab breaches tonight during my sleep then so be it.
With that lovely thought, sweet dreams to me. At least I’ve got painkillers.
SOL 7
I did a quick systems check this morning, and it seems that mostly everything indoors is still in working order. The Hab didn’t breach, which was my most urgent concern with the sandstorm and all. The oxygenator and water reclaimer are both functional, which is a relief as well. The communication system, however, is completely down - I won’t be contacting Earth or anyone else anytime soon.
I wonder who Phil chose to be the new second in command.
That being said, I still have lots of urgent problems to deal with. Food, for one.
Ironically, it’s a good thing the abort happened only six days into our mission instead of the month we originally planned. It means there’s more rations left for me. We had enough for about two months at the start, which means there’s around 54 days of food meant for six people left. In my case, that’s almost a year’s worth.
Not a bad start.
However, that’s not nearly enough. My best chance at getting off of Mars is to make it to the site of Ares IV and be there when they land, so I can hitch a ride back with them.
It’s a good plan. There’s only two massive problems with it.
One: The Ares IV site is located in Schiaparelli. The Ares III Hab, which I’m currently in, is located in Aciddalia Planitia. There’s about 3200 kilometers between them.
Two: The Ares IV crew won’t arrive until four years later.
So besides figuring out how I’m going to get to a location 3200km away, I’ll also have to somehow find enough food to last the other three years after rations are gone.
Luckily for me, I have plenty of time to figure this out.