Stranded Astronaut Quotes

She had tricked him. She had made him leave his old self behind and come into her world, and then before he was really at home in it but too late to go back, she had left him stranded there--like an astronaut wandering about on the moon. Alone.

I’ll spend the rest of the evening enjoying a potato. And by “enjoying” I mean “hating so much I want to kill people.

I’m pretty much fucked. That’s my considered opinion. Fucked.

To them, equipment failure is terrifying. To me, it’s “Tuesday.

It’s a strange feeling. Everywhere I go, I’m the first. Step outside the rover? First guy ever to be there! Climb a hill? First guy to climb that hill! Kick a rock? That rock hadn’t moved in a million years! I’m the first guy to drive long-distance on Mars. The first guy to spend more than thirty-one sols on Mars. The first guy to grow crops on Mars. First, first, first!

The battery was a lithium thionyl chloride non-rechargeable. I figured that out from some subtle clues: the shape of the connection points, the thickness of the insulation, and the fact that it had “LiSOCl2 NON-RCHRG” written on it.

I’m pretty much fucked. That’s my considered opinion. Fucked. Six days into what should be the greatest two months of my life, and it’s turned into a nightmare.

But there’s something more important we need to discuss: What is it with you and disco? I can understand the ’70s TV because everyone loves hairy people with huge collars. But disco? Disco!?

If I make any mistakes, there’ll be nothing left but the “Mark Watney Memorial Crater” where the Hab once stood.

If I survive this, I’ll tell people I was pissing rocket fuel.

Fun fact: This is exactly how the Apollo 1 crew died. Wish me luck!

Now I’m in a rougher neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood where you keep your rover doors locked and never come to a complete stop at intersections.

Yuri Gagarin had a much more reliable and safe ship than I do. And Soviet ships were death traps.

In high school, I played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons. (You may not have guessed this botanist/mechanical engineer was a bit of a nerd in high school, but indeed I was.) In the game I played a cleric. One of the magic spells I could cast was “Create Water.” I always thought it was a really stupid spell, and I never used it. Boy, what I wouldn’t give to be able to do that in real life right now.

I’m not a mama’s boy or anything. I’m a full-grown man who only occasionally wears diapers (you have to in an EVA suit).

I would have done it today, but it got dark and I got lazy.

Sure enough, the water heated up. That’s not really a surprise, but it’s nice to see thermodynamics being well behaved.

Why does ‘Elrond’ mean ‘secret meeting’?” Annie asked. “Are we going to make a momentous decision?” Bruge Ng asked. “Exactly,” Venkat said. “How did you know that?” Annie asked, getting annoyed. “Elrond,” Bruce said. “The Council of Elrond. From Lord of the Rings. It’s the meeting where they decide to destroy the One Ring.” “Jesus,” Annie said. “None of you got laid in high school, did you?

You’d think after almost killing myself twice, I’d be able to stop screwing around with hydrazine. But nope.

So instead, I went to good old “Spare Parts” Rover 1 and stole its environment heater. I’ve gutted that poor rover so much, it looks like I parked it in a bad part of town. I

So far, I think it’s been working. But who knows? I can see it now: me holding a map, scratching my head, trying to figure out how I ended up on Venus.

She had tricked him. She had made him leave his old self behind and come into her world, and then before he was really at home in it too late to go back, she had left him stranded there - like an astronaut wandering about on the moon. Alone.

I unraveled Martinez’s bed and took the string outside, then taped it to the trailer hull along the path I planned to cut. Yes, of course duct tape works in a near-vacuum. Duct tape works anywhere. Duct tape is magic and should be worshiped.

If there were no storm, I’d be going directly southeast toward my goal. As it is, going only south, I’m not nearly as fast. I’m traveling 90 kilometers per day as usual, but I only get 37 kilometers closer to Schiaparelli because Pythagoras is a dick.

Something very hot and very explodey had happened, and I wasn’t sure what. Or how.

The problem with small pressure vessels is CO2 toxicity. You can have all the oxygen in the world, but once the CO2 gets above 1 percent, you’ll start to get drowsy. At 2 percent, it’s like being drunk. At 5 percent, it’s hard to stay conscious. Eight percent will eventually kill you. Staying alive isn’t about oxygen, it’s about getting rid of CO2.

YOU believe in God, Venkat?” Mitch asked. “Sure, lots of ’em,” Venkat said. “I’m Hindu.

So yeah. I’m fucked.

Then I drove out to the RTG. It was right where I left it, in a hole four kilometers away. Only an idiot would keep that thing near the Hab. So anyway, I brought it back to the Hab.

Maybe I’ll post a consumer review. “Brought product to surface of Mars. It stopped working. 0/10.” So

Because if he takes off his helmet, he’ll die.

I mean, come on!” Morris said. “What are the odds?” Chuck turned to him. “One in three, based on empirical data. That’s pretty bad if you think about it.

Thing is,” Chuck continued, “without the dish, a signal would have to be really strong—” “Like, melting-the-pigeons strong,” Morris supplied. “—for him to get it,” Chuck finished.

But I want a pic of his face ASAP.” “Can’t do that.” “Why not?” “Because if he takes off his helmet, he’ll die.

Shaping the brackets involved a hammer and … well, that’s it, actually. Making an L doesn’t take a lot of precision.

But really, they did it because every human being has a basic instinct to help each other out. It might not seem that way sometimes, but it’s true. If a hiker gets lost in the mountains, people will coordinate a search. If a train crashes, people will line up to give blood. If an earthquake levels a city, people all over the world will send emergency supplies. This is so fundamentally human that it’s found in every culture without exception. Yes, there are assholes who just don’t care, but they’re massively outnumbered by the people who do.

Jesus, what a complicated process,” Venkat said. “Try updating a Linux server sometime,” Jack said. After a moment of silence, Tim said, “You know he was telling a joke, right? That was supposed to be funny.” “Oh,” said Venkat. “I’m a physics guy, not a computer guy.” “He’s not funny to computer guys, either.” “You’re a very unpleasant man, Tim,” Jack said.

I’m going to be setting a fire. In the Hab. On purpose. If you asked every engineer at NASA what the worst scenario for the Hab was, they’d all answer “fire.” If you asked them what the result would be, they’d answer “death by fire.

Space is dangerous,” Mitch snapped. “It’s what we do here. If you want to play it safe all the time, go join an insurance company. And by the way, it’s not even your life you’re risking. The crew can make up their own minds about it.

Mark, some answers to your earlier questions: No, we will not tell our Botany Team to “Go fuck themselves.” I understand you’ve been on your own for a long time, but we’re in the loop now, and it’s best if you listen to what we have to say.

And where will that “safety” be? Not a damn clue. Anyway, one problem at a time. Right now I’m fixing the EVA suit. AUDIO

Problem is (follow me closely here, the science is pretty complicated), if I cut a hole in the Hab, the air won’t stay inside anymore. I

THEY GATHERED. Everywhere on Earth, they gathered. In Trafalgar Square and Tiananmen Square and Times Square, they watched on giant screens.

Okay, I’ve had a good night’s sleep, and things don’t seem as hopeless as they did yesterday.

At 13:30 my ruination occurred, though I didn’t realize it at the time.

Yes!” They said, “Yes!” I haven’t been this excited about a “yes” since prom night! Okay,

Over time, the solar panels get covered with dust. Then winter brings colder temperatures and less daylight. This all combines into a big “fuck you” from Mars to your lander.

Jack, I’m going to buy your whole team autographed Star Trek memorabilia.” “I prefer Star Wars,” he said, turning to leave. “The original trilogy only, of course.

Everything you type is being broadcast live all over the world. [12:15] WATNEY: Look! A pair of boobs! -> (.Y.) •

You asked my opinion. Don’t like it? Go fuck yourself.” “You’re such a delicate flower, Annie. How’d you end up NASA’s director of media relations?

Really bad ideas, but they’re ideas. Today

Yeah. This all sounds like a great idea with no chance of catastrophic failure. That was sarcasm, by the way. Well,

Phobos gives me some moonlight, but not enough to work with. Deimos is a little piece of crap that’s no good to anyone.

Holy shit! They’re coming back for me! I don’t even know how to react. I’m choked up! And I’ve got a shitload of work to do before I catch that bus home. They

I’m a well-honed machine in times of crisis.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 61 How come Aquaman can control whales? They’re mammals! Makes no sense.

Even a small static discharge would have led to my own private Hindenburg.

But the safety protocols turned out to be in ROMs.

Schiaparelli!?

It seemed to work well. The seal looked strong and the resin was rock-hard. I did, however, glue my hand to the helmet. Stop laughing.

They were going back to Mars.

I started the day with a potato. I washed it down with some Martian coffee. That’s my name for “hot water with a caffeine pill dissolved in it.” I ran out of real coffee months ago.

Here’s the cool part: I will eventually go to Schiaparelli and commandeer the Ares 4 lander. Nobody explicitly gave me permission to do this, and they can’t until I’m aboard Ares 4 and operating the comm system. After I board Ares 4, before talking to NASA, I will take control of a craft in international waters without permission. That makes me a pirate! A space pirate!

Man I’m tired. Been up all night, and it’s time to sleep. But I’ll drift off to dreamland in the best mood I’ve been in since Sol 6. Things are finally going my way. In fact, they’re going great! I have a chance to live after all! LOG ENTRY: SOL 37 I am fucked, and I’m gonna die!

But I did wake up, and the main computer showed the slight rise in CO2 I had predicted. Looks like I’ll live another sol. Live Another Sol would be an awesome name for a James Bond movie.

It’s a strange feeling. Everywhere I go, I’m the first. Step outside the rover? First guy ever to be there! Climb a hill? First guy to climb that hill! Kick a rock? That rock hadn’t moved in a million years! I

Instead of eating raw potatoes during my trip, I’ll be eating (cold) precooked potatoes. First off, they’ll taste a lot better. But more important, they’ll be cooked. When you cook food, the proteins break down, and the food becomes easier to digest.

I still can’t quite believe that this is really it. I’m really leaving. This frigid desert has been my home for a year and a half. I figured out how to survive, at least for a while, and I got used to how things worked. My terrifying struggle to stay alive became somehow routine. Get up in the morning, eat breakfast, tend my crops, fix broken stuff, eat lunch, answer e-mail, watch TV, eat dinner, go to bed. The life of a modern farmer. Then I was a trucker, doing a long haul across the world. And finally, a construction worker, rebuilding a ship in ways no one ever considered before this. I’ve done a little of everything here, because I’m the only one around to do it.

no. This plutonium is way more dangerous!

The atmosphere is very thin—less than 1 percent of the pressure on Earth.

It’s so radioactive that it will get red hot all by itself. As you can imagine, a material that can literally fry an egg

I had to live in a cramped environment that was full of junk and reeked of body odor. Same as my college days. Rim shot!

Great Martian Potato Migration. Anyway,

Elrond,” Bruce said. “The Council of Elrond. From Lord of the Rings. It’s the meeting where they decide to destroy the One Ring.” “Jesus,” Annie said. “None of you got laid in high school, did you?

coordinate a search. If a train crashes, people will line up to give blood. If an earthquake levels a city, people all over the world will send emergency supplies. This is so fundamentally human that it’s found in every culture without exception. Yes, there are assholes who just don’t care, but they’re massively outnumbered by the people who do. And because of that, I had billions of people on my side.

It’s a strange feeling. Everywhere I go, I’m the first. Step outside the rover? First guy ever to be there! Climb a hill? First guy to climb that hill! Kick a rock? That rock hadn’t moved in a million years!

They’re astronauts,” Venkat confirmed. “Well. That’s a ludicrous idea and I’ll never okay it.” “We’ll work on it some more,” Venkat said. “Try to make it safer.” “Do that. Any idea how to keep him alive for four years?” “Nope.” “Work on that, too.” “Will do,” Venkat said. Teddy swiveled his chair and looked out the window to the sky beyond. Night was edging in. “What must it be like?” he pondered. “He’s stuck out there. He thinks he’s totally alone and that we all gave up on him. What kind of effect does that have on a man’s psychology?” He turned back to Venkat. “I wonder what he’s thinking right now.” LOG ENTRY: SOL 61 How come Aquaman can control whales? They’re mammals! Makes no sense.

Everyone thinks I’m dead. I’m in a Hab designed to last thirty-one days. If the oxygenator breaks down, I’ll suffocate. If the water reclaimer breaks down, I’ll die of thirst. If the Hab breaches, I’ll just kind of explode. If none of those things happen, I’ll eventually run out of food and starve to death. So yeah. I’m fucked.

There were plenty of wires and batteries around to make a spark. But you can’t just ignite wood with a small electric spark. So I collected ribbons of bark from local palm trees, then got a couple of sticks and rubbed them together to create enough friction to … No not really. I vented pure oxygen at the stick and gave it a spark. It lit up like a match.

I’ve been thinking about laws on Mars. Yeah, I know, it’s a stupid thing to think about, but I have a lot of free time. There’s an international treaty saying no country can lay claim to anything that’s not on Earth. And by another treaty, if you’re not in any country’s territory, maritime law applies. So Mars is “international waters.” NASA is an American nonmilitary organization, and it owns the Hab. So while I’m in the Hab, American law applies. As soon as I step outside, I’m in international waters. Then when I get in the rover, I’m back to American law. Here’s the cool part: I will eventually go to Schiaparelli and commandeer the Ares 4 lander. Nobody explicitly gave me permission to do this, and they can’t until I’m aboard Ares 4 and operating the comm system. After I board Ares 4, before talking to NASA, I will take control of a craft in international waters without permission. That makes me a pirate! A space pirate!

Two vehicles and 238,900 miles: three days there and three days back. Twenty-one hours on the surface of the Moon for two astronauts in the lunar lander, while the service module circled the heavenly body in a parking orbit. Katherine knew better than anyone that if the trajectory of the parked service module was even slightly off, when the astronauts ended their lunar exploration and piloted their space buggy back up from the Moon’s surface, the two vehicles might not meet up. The command service module was the astronauts’ bus—their only bus—back to Earth: the lander would ferry the astronauts to the waiting service module and then be discarded. If the two vehicles’ orbits didn’t coincide, the two in the lander would be stranded forever in the vacuum of space. The leadership of the Space Task Group set a risk standard of “three nines”—0.999, a criterion requiring that every aspect of the program be projected to a 99.9 percent success rate, or one failure for every thousand incidences.

During NASA’s first fifty years the agency’s accomplishments were admired globally. Democratic and Republican leaders were generally bipartisan on the future of American spaceflight. The blueprint for the twenty-first century called for sustaining the International Space Station and its fifteen-nation partnership until at least 2020, and for building the space shuttle’s heavy-lift rocket and deep spacecraft successor to enable astronauts to fly beyond the friendly confines of low earth orbit for the first time since Apollo. That deep space ship would fly them again around the moon, then farther out to our solar system’s LaGrange points, and then deeper into space for rendezvous with asteroids and comets, learning how to deal with radiation and other deep space hazards before reaching for Mars or landings on Saturn’s moons. It was the clearest, most reasonable and best cost-achievable goal that NASA had been given since President John F. Kennedy’s historic decision to land astronauts on the lunar surface. Then Barack Obama was elected president. The promising new chief executive gave NASA short shrift, turning the agency’s future over to middle-level bureaucrats with no dreams or vision, bent on slashing existing human spaceflight plans that had their genesis in the Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, and Bush White Houses. From the starting gate, Mr. Obama’s uncaring space team rolled the dice. First they set up a presidential commission designed to find without question we couldn’t afford the already-established spaceflight plans. Thirty to sixty thousand highly skilled jobs went on the chopping block with space towns coast to coast facing 12 percent unemployment. $9.4 billion already spent on heavy-lift rockets and deep space ships was unashamedly flushed down America’s toilet. The fifty-year dream of new frontiers was replaced with the shortsighted obligations of party politics. As 2011 dawned, NASA, one of America’s great science agencies, was effectively defunct. While Congress has so far prohibited the total cancellation of the space agency’s plans to once again fly astronauts beyond low earth orbit, Obama space operatives have systematically used bureaucratic tricks to slow roll them to a crawl. Congress holds the purse strings and spent most of 2010 saying, “Wait just a minute.” Thousands of highly skilled jobs across the economic spectrum have been lost while hundreds of billions in “stimulus” have been spent. As of this writing only Congress can stop the NASA killing. Florida’s senior U.S. Senator Bill Nelson, a Democrat, a former spaceflyer himself, is leading the fight to keep Obama space advisors from walking away from fifty years of national investment, from throwing the final spade of dirt on the memory of some of America’s most admired heroes. Congressional committees have heard from expert after expert that Mr. Obama’s proposal would be devastating. Placing America’s future in space in the hands of the Russians and inexperienced commercial operatives is foolhardy. Space legend John Glenn, a retired Democratic Senator from Ohio, told president Obama that “Retiring the space shuttles before the country has another space ship is folly. It could leave Americans stranded on the International Space Station with only a Russian spacecraft, if working, to get them off.” And Neil Armstrong testified before the Senate’s Commerce, Science & Transportation Committee that “With regard to President Obama’s 2010 plan, I have yet to find a person in NASA, the Defense Department, the Air Force, the National Academies, industry, or academia that had any knowledge of the plan prior to its announcement. Rumors abound that neither the NASA Administrator nor the President’s Science and Technology Advisor were knowledgeable about the plan. Lack of review normally guarantees that there will be overlooked requirements and unwelcome consequences. How could such a chain of events happen?