Superman: Starting with Witrum

Chapter 5 Do respectable people keep diaries?

Diary: Sol7 (Day 7 of Mars Landing)

I'm probably 90% dead.

This is my conclusion after careful consideration.

It's over.

These seven days were supposed to be the highlight of my career, but they turned into a trailer for "Man vs. Wild" on Mars.

God knows who will read this; maybe a hundred years from now, some archaeologist will unearth my tablet.

By the way, official log: Sol7, I'm currently back from the dead.

My teammates are probably writing my eulogy right now, but I don't blame them.

Congress might be lowering my flag to half-staff right now; Wikipedia has even updated it: "Mark Watney - Exclusive Permanent Resident of Mars (Involuntary)".

Precise, incredibly precise! The only difference is the date of death. You all thought I died on the last day of God's creation? How naive.

Let's start with a very brief overview of this Mars mission (after all, the dead need to keep things concise):

Project Ares, aiming to send humans to Mars and forever expand humanity's horizons, sounds like a mission of great significance.

First, let me explain how a Mars mission works:

We entered Earth orbit in a conventional manner and boarded the Hermes spacecraft. This precious spacecraft was so expensive that NASA could only afford to build one.

Once aboard Hermes, during the preparation period, there will be four unmanned flight missions to deliver fuel and supplies to us.

Once all preparations are complete, we will embark on our journey to Mars.

Hermes is powered by an ion engine that ejects argon atoms backward at ultra-high speeds, thereby achieving a small acceleration for the entire spacecraft.

In other words, it propels itself by spewing argon atoms, and uses nuclear power to make milk tea.

As for the voyage itself? Ha, 124 days of being crammed into a can... We're lucky no one died.

After entering Mars orbit, we will land using an MDV (Mars Landing Tank), which is essentially a flying trash can, a cure for fear of falling from great heights.

Of all the supplies that arrived, the real star was the MAV (Mars Return Rocket). This thing is amazing: it can bring 1 pound of hydrogen to Mars and produce 13 pounds of fuel!

The principle? A buffet in the Martian atmosphere. The downside: slow service, you have to wait two years. So it arrived earlier than us and ended up on Mars as a left-behind child.

The mission manual says it can help us cope with sandstorms of 150 kph.

So when we encountered the 175kph gale-force winds and the resulting suffocation, the Houston command center staged a collective suffocation performance on the spot.

We huddled in our roosting pods like quails, but the problem lay with the MAV—how could such delicate instruments withstand such destructive treatment?

After 90 minutes of relentless storming, NASA had no choice but to tearfully call for a halt: "Withdraw!"

No one is willing to give up this mission that was originally scheduled to last a month. We've only been here for seven days, but if the MAV is seriously damaged, everyone will have to lie here.

So we staged "The Martian Rampage Team," with everyone braving a sandstorm that could blow people into kites, tumbling and crawling towards MAV... except for me.

At that moment, the magnetic field of the entire planet suddenly vibrated like the strings of a musical instrument disturbed by a ferocious beast. Our main communication disk was flung out by the storm like a flying disc and hit the antenna array precisely.

Then, a long, thin antenna flew straight toward me.

That thing went right through my spacesuit like a bullet through butter. Getting stabbed in the back muscle by that thing really hurt.

I vaguely remember a strong gust of wind knocking me over (actually, it completely flipped me over), the air pressure in my spacesuit suddenly dropped, and my ears throbbed with pain.

The last thing I remember is Johnson desperately trying to reach out and grab me.

I was woken up by the low oxygen alarm beeping from my spacesuit.

I was completely unconscious, but this incessant and annoying beeping sound completely woke me up.

The storm had subsided, and I lay face down, almost completely buried in the sand.

When I slowly woke up, I was puzzled as to why I hadn't died any more cleanly.

That antenna could have pierced through my spacesuit and my waist, but it was stopped by my pelvis.

As a result, it only left a hole in the spacesuit (of course, I also have a hole in mine).

That gust of wind carried me quite a distance, tumbling down the steep slope. I finally landed face down, bending the antenna at a large angle, which created enough torque at the opening to create a slight seal.

Soon, the blood gushing from my body began to gather at the cave entrance.

When blood comes into contact with a wound, the water in it evaporates rapidly under strong airflow and low pressure, leaving behind a sticky residue.

As the bleeding increased, the viscous residue became more concentrated. This residue slowly strengthened the seal of the hole, reducing the spacesuit leak to an acceptable level.

The spacesuit was handled exceptionally well.

Upon detecting a pressure drop, it immediately released gas from my nitrogen tank to replenish the pressure. Once the leakage rate slowed down, the amount of gas needed to compensate for the loss was greatly reduced.

The pre-mission training required for carrying out a space mission is unimaginably complex.

On Earth, I spent a whole week specifically practicing emergency scenarios for my spacesuit. So, I know what to do.

I carefully peered at the side of the helmet and touched the patch pack.

To put it simply, this thing is a funnel. The larger end contains highly viscous resin, and the smaller end has a small valve.

The procedure is to open the valve and seal the opening with the larger end. Any leaking air can escape through the valve without interfering with the resin forming a seal. Then you close the valve, and the opening is sealed.

The problem is, I have to get the antenna out first.

I pulled it out as quickly as possible. The sudden drop in pressure made me dizzy, and the excruciating pain from the wound in my lower back triggered muscle spasms, making me suffer terribly.

I sealed the hole with a patch. The spacesuit immediately repressurized with more oxygen. The panel on my arm told me that the oxygen concentration was now at 85%.

For comparison, the oxygen concentration on Earth is 21%. It's alright, as long as I don't stay in this environment for too long.

As I limped back to my hull:

Good news: The house didn't collapse!

Bad news: The return rocket has taken off!

At that moment, I knew I was going to die. But I didn't want to die on the ground like that.

Back inside the habitat, the first thing I did after removing my spacesuit was to carefully examine the wound. It looked like it needed stitches.

Fortunately, each of us had received basic medical training, and there were sufficient medical supplies in the habitat.

Local anesthesia, wound cleaning, nine stitches, done. I'll need to take antibiotics for a few weeks, but otherwise there shouldn't be any problems.

I knew it was futile, but I still tried restarting the communication array. The result, naturally, was no signal.

Remember? The main satellite dish was destroyed, and the receiving antenna was also destroyed along with it.

The pod also contains secondary and tertiary communication systems, but they can only communicate with the mav, which can use its high-powered device to relay signals to Hermes.

However, this is on the condition that the MAV is nearby.

That's the situation. I'm stuck on Mars. I can't contact either Hermes or Earth.

Everyone thinks I'm dead. My current habitat can only last for 31 days.

If the oxygenator fails, I'll suffocate. If the water circulation system malfunctions, I'll die of thirst. If the habitat leaks, I'll be blown to bits.

Even if none of these things happen, I will still starve to death after the food runs out.

Unless... a miracle happens!