Superman: Starting with Witrum

Chapter 6 Rescuing People from Dire Straits

Venkat Karp pushed open the heavy wooden door to his office, casually tossed his briefcase onto a low cabinet in the corner, and sank into the leather office chair that had been with him for fifteen years.

He gazed out the window at his office in Building 1, which offered a commanding view of the large parking lot of the Johnson Space Center complex.

Looking further afield, a series of buildings stretch to Lake Made in the distance, dominating the entire field of vision.

The computer screen glowed dimly, and the email icon in the lower right corner kept flashing, showing 47 unread emails.

Those headlines, filled with words like "urgent," "please review," and "follow-up plans," sounded like a group of incessant debt collectors.

They can continue to wait. Today is a sad day; a memorial service for Mark Watney was just held.

The president delivered a speech praising Watney's courage and sacrifice, as well as Commander Lewis's swift response that ensured the safety of the other crew members.

Commander Lewis and the surviving crew paid tribute to their lost comrades from deep space via Hermes' long-range communication system. They still had ten more months of travel ahead.

The executive director also delivered a speech, reminding everyone that deep space exploration is extremely dangerous, and stated: We will never back down in the face of disaster.

They also asked Winklet if he could say a few words. He refused.

What's the point? Watney is dead, and a few polite words from the Mars project manager can't bring that humorous botanist back to life.

Meanwhile, Watney, struggling to survive on Mars, was unaware that he was already having his funeral.

He's in big trouble—the habitat has leaked.

The initial gap was no more than one millimeter.

The crisscrossing carbon fibers should have prevented the cracks from widening further, but countless uses have broken the vertical fibers and completely loosened the horizontal fibers.

The atmosphere of the habitat was being ejected out of the leak at full force, and in less than 1/10 of a second, the crack had expanded to a length of one meter, running parallel to the sealing strip.

It quickly expanded along the perimeter, completely separating the airlock from the habitat.

The immense pressure, completely unobstructed, erupted from the leak, blasting the airlock out like a cannonball.

Inside the airlock, the immense inertial force slammed the bewildered Watney against the back door.

The airlock flew 40 meters through the air before landing. Before he could recover from the impact, Watney was thrown against the front door, this time landing face-first.

His face mask absorbed the impact, and the safety glass shattered into hundreds of small pieces. His head hit the inside of the helmet, knocking him unconscious.

The airlock bounced another 15 meters on the ground. The thick padding in Watney's spacesuit saved him from multiple fractures.

He wanted to figure out what was going on, but he wasn't quite clear-headed yet.

Finally, the turbulence stopped, and the airlock chamber was facing downwards, surrounded by billowing smoke and dust.

Watney lay on his back, staring blankly upwards through his shattered mask. He had a deep wound on his forehead, and blood was streaming down his face.

After rousing himself, he began to determine his location. He turned his head to one side, facing the window of the back door.

The collapsed habitat was faintly visible in the distance, the whole place a huge garbage dump littered with wreckage.

At that moment, he suddenly heard a hissing sound. Upon closer listening, he realized that the hissing sound was not coming from his spacesuit.

Inside this airlock, about the size of a phone booth, there's a tiny crack that's letting air hiss away.

He continued to listen intently to the hissing sound, then touched his tattered mask and glanced out the window again.

"What the hell are you kidding me for?" he said.

Look at this mess! Damn it!

Fuck this airlock, fuck this habitat, fuck this whole planet!

Honestly, just accept your fate! I'm done for! In a few minutes, once the air runs out, I'll be dead.

Trying to play house with Mars is just asking for trouble. I've had enough of this damn thing!

All I have to do is sit here and wait to die, until all the air leaks out.

I'm definitely done for. There's no more hope, no more self-deception, no more problems to solve. I'm fucking done for!

boom--!

A deafening roar, like a meteorite crashing to the ground, came from outside the habitat.

The decompression alarm wasn't triggered? This means the impact didn't break the airtightness... but the acoustic signature analysis shows it was a biological object that landed.

But the only living being on Mars is bandaging his wounds inside the capsule.

The hydraulic system of the sealing door suddenly started with a screeching sound.

Mark grabbed the wrench and shrank into the shadows, watching as the hatch was melted away from the outside by some force—not by laser cutting, but by pure, intense heat, the molten metal dripping down like crimson lava.

Against the rusty Martian light, the figure hovering in the crack of the door frame defied all physics.

The white Wittrum uniform fluttered in the thin atmosphere without wind, while the hem of the shawl hung down like lead, defying the laws of gravity.

"Mark Watney." His voice was so clear it reached my eardrums.

"Earth is 12 light-minutes away," he pointed to the sky, "I can easily send you and MAV back to Earth."

Mark was stunned: "So?"

"So you can take a 3-minute private flight."

Isaac casually tore off the circular emblem from his chest and pressed it onto Mark's chest.

The rhomboid metal instantly liquefied, extending into a thin iris membrane that enveloped his entire body: "Liquid Intelligent Dimensional Polymer, pressure resistance coefficient 10¹⁰ Pascals."

"Three minutes?" Mark asked hoarsely, his voice muffled in the space encased in the thin membrane. "From Mars to Earth... three minutes?"

"This is a compromise speed that takes into account both your physiological limits and the stability of the polymer," Superman explained.

His cloak stretched out like solidified flames in the vacuum. "Of course, I could fly even faster if I were flying alone."

The moment it was hoisted onto his shoulder, Mars shrank rapidly like a kicked marble. The plasma jets roared past outside the membrane, but the pressure inside the chamber remained as stable as a cradle.

Mark forced himself to shift his attention away from the details that violated the laws of physics.

"Wait a minute," he suddenly remembered something.

"The airlock of the habitat... how did you find me?"

The golden figure hovering in front of him turned its head slightly.

Against the sunlight reflected from the earth, Mark could only see his sharply defined jawline and the faint golden-red halo in his eyes.

"I heard you," Isaac said simply.

"What did you hear? Radio? NASA communications?"

Mark was stunned.

He recalled the despair and resentment he felt as he lay in the leaky cabin, facing the shattered mask and the hissing cracks that seemed to burst through his chest.

"So you...'ve been on Mars all this time? Are you a Martian?"

"I just happened to be on vacation on Mars for a week," Isaac replied casually, while adjusting his flight attitude.

Of course, the reason he came to save the person was also because he wanted to help this unlucky guy who was caught in the crossfire because of him.

The Isaac's Kryptonian powers awakened and went berserk for a full week, causing the Martian magnetic field to become disordered and triggering a Martian dust storm.

The powerful dust storm destroyed their antenna array, causing one of the Martian antennas to pierce through Mark, leaving him stranded on Mars.

Of course, our Lord Isaac always enthusiastically saves people from dire straits. As for where the dire straits come from—asking again might just get you a taste of iron fists!

Soon the shadowy side of the Earth unfolded before them, and city lights strung together like pearls along the coastlines of the continents.

As the blue patch of Earth expanded into his field of vision, Mark suddenly remembered the most crucial question: "How are we going to land? You're carrying the MAV like an intercontinental ballistic missile!"

“No need for MAV,” he said, flipping over to begin his dive. “I have a more efficient buffer.”

"Satellite data shows an unidentified object breaching the Kármán line, its speed dropping abruptly to zero... Thermal imaging of the impact point reveals two biological sources!"

"Mr. President, the Pentagon is requesting authorization to use—"

"Shut up! Zoom in... isn't that the astronaut we all had his funeral for today?!"