houston, we are go for mars orbit acquisition.
we have stable orbit. we've got three laps around, ninety minutes each. in four and a half hours, we will launch the mars entry vehicle. robby gallagher floats in through the hatch in the back. he's been waiting 309 million miles for this -
what the hell?? santen reaches for the radio as it begins to blare static.
single event upsets. all over the board. latch up. free flow. we're gonna lose chips. shut it down.
everything. sep, some kind of massive flare. gentlemen, correction, we will launch on this pass. in fact. in five. santen is shutting off every system he can get his hands on. she reaches to finish it off herself.
proton flux. multiple event upsets. ed, bye. santen is out of his seat and heading back as fast as he can. gallagher behind him. alarms ring now as he rushes out, the artificial gravity begins to fail.
gentlemen, it seems i will not be able to join you and will maintain the manual release for the mev from the flight deck.
you are go for mars descent, lieutenant. on my signal.
i promise. lieutenant santen, you have control authority of the mev. now. she holds the circuit closed.
any space adaptation sickness? vertigo? no? liars. you'll wake up all night long thinking you're falling. promise. i'll hear you scream. status?
anything else? gallagher holds back here a little. not a scientist, not an astronaut. suddenly feels like the most junior member of the crew.
i'll tell you what, unless we pass a recruiting station on an asteroid and you sign up for the military, you can call me kate for the next six months, okay?
why'd you come, gallagher? not expecting this one. takes a sec -
that's why they called. why'd you come? a beat, then -
i spent my entire life training to fly the biggest, fastest thing you can fly. this is it. it's the best job in the world. he's going 'cause he got the second best job in space. he's a little pissed about it, but he still came. she's nailed him so precisely, santen can only wince and look away. pettengill just pipes up. maybe no one's gonna ask and he wants to get it out in the open -
you're done. you can shower.
no. you're done. santen can't believe he's being thrown out. but he's also a product of the military and couldn't argue if he tried.
no. i did. if i didn't nip that in the bud, i wouldn't be doing my job. flying this beast is only half the job. the whole job's to get the crew in place in shape to do what they have to do. and the funny thing is, flying's the easy part. pettengill stands abashed for a moment and then his resentment just bubbles out.
you kept track of him. what happened to her? the girl. he has no idea. she grins at him -
little competitive? who's hardwired for what, cro-magnon guy? he can't help it, he grins, a little abashed.
we're gonna start with the bungees. try to quit being pissed off you weren't chosen for dodgeball, willya?
copy.
mev launched. radio contact zero. visual shows crash site, one body, no motion. believe entire crew to be end of mission. ares systems check at below 70 percent. telemetry to follow. she punches a button. starts to upload it to them.
air purge in fire control degraded orbital path. current orbit unstable. thirty-two hour projected failure. do you copy, houston?
no joy. she resets everything.
maybe we're trying to be way too subtle. why don't we just jettison the damn tank?
you want nervous.
a call for me?
you're alive?? you're alive?!
no.
i'm not stupid, john, i know what the question is. i'd ask it if i was there. and the answer is no. so let's move on. by my calculations, if i ditch my reserve tank now and commit to a three-second apogee burn, i stabilize my orbit for another eighteen hours. i'd like someone to check the numbers as my apogee's in seven minutes.
there's some concern at mission control. about the weather.
it's gonna get a little chilly.
you have a plan? any thoughts on how you might. stay alive?
hell, what's eight liters? it'll either save their lives or i've screwed up getting home and i'll spend the next three hundred years circling this planet.
it's okay. i had brothers.
the only way this works, is if we both make believe it doesn't matter.
maybe you should. he hesitates, leaves. she starts to vacuum dry her hair.
good morning, boys. martian weather today's clear and cold. warming to a high today of around sixty.
so. houston has an idea. cut to:
it's the only plan they could come up with.
there's an i.r. maintenance port on the cosmos. your h.h.c. should talk to it. you'll have to reprogram the launch sequence. the bad news is.
is it's programmed in a forty-year-old dead operating system no one uses anymore. it was something called. windows.
we're getting a copy of it from the smithsonian. we're gonna have to download it to you.
i've got coordinates for you.
i came to apologize. you were uncomfortable with a situation the other day, and i made you more uncomfortable for my own amusement. i'm sorry. it's too small a ship for playground games.
okay? no witty comeback? no gloating? no explanation for why the temperature in this sphere is up three degrees? she slithers by him before he can stop her to find burchenal tending a huge contraption of glass tubing, bunsen burners and filtration tanks.
fermentation? even when you make it out of high-tech glassware, a still looks just like a still.
you built a still?
so does three ounces of grape juice.
you're making moonshine vodka on my ship.
how's it taste? burchenal is the first to realize they're off the hook.
are you going to offer me a drink?
that's a little rough. how much have you made?
you're done. dismantle the science project. offer equal rations to the crew. mr. santen doesn't drink or approve of those who do. now tell me the truth. how much were you cutting this?
i learned to fly in the navy. wimps.
don't go outside.
he's okay. i bet there's a hell of a girl waiting for him back home.
you're serious?
i don't have a horse.
okay.
i don't wear a bra in space.
bras are designed to hold your boobs in place on earth where there's real gravity. why would i need one in space?
you want me to wear a bra?
do you have someone waiting for you back home? or a horse?
or maybe you took those jobs 'cause you didn't want anyone waiting for you. or maybe.
you know, you're not who i thought you were at first.
an observation. they're very, very close. and very drunk. it's when he should kiss her. but he doesn't. the moment passes. they both know it was there and now it's gone. drift apart. feel stupid. damn.
ground crew, this is ares. you're a little more than half. you're doing great.
copy that, ground crew. mission control has heard as well. a beat, then -
ground crew, this is ares. how's it goin'? they look at each other. is she kidding?
you're not going to like what i have to say.
you have to pick up the pace. they laugh. it's not funny, but they really laugh.
at this pace, you'll make about ninety kilometers. burchenal shakes himself. digs into some deep reserve. picks up his speed and shouts -
what was that?
ground crew, this is ares. do you read? ground crew, this is ares. do you read?
zzzzz zzz, zzz zz, zzzzzz? and gallagher and burchenal are fast, fast asleep.
ground crew, this is ares. it was a pleasure and an honor to serve with you, gentlemen. sits quietly a moment, then turns off the screen. brings up a new image. shows her current fuel status, position and projected path. she begins to work on getting home.
ground crew?! status??
robby, i'm. still here. they both know he's caught her still here sheerly by happenstance.
how you doing?
you can do this. the maintenance port has a cover. it should be marked. gallagher looks it over. minor stumbling block.
all right, i'm gonna download this to you. gallagher yanks out his hhc. dozen adapters in the back. finds the one that fits the old modem port on the jerry-rigged radio.
you should be able to run diagnostics. there's a diagnostics check and launch check. he hits diagnostics. the two talk, link up, and - a windows error screen comes up on the hhc: "warning - your system has become busy or unstable. press ctrl-alt-delete to exit programs and reboot."
okay, this thing only has two settings. on and off. one sends it all the way back to earth. as you don't have air, food or water, that would be bad.
we want just enough lift for escape velocity. with the weight you left at and the suit. i peg you at 165. it was designed to take 200 pounds of rocks home. tanks are seven liters each. you need to take two liters out of each tank. there's a central purge; you're gonna have to be exact.
and you better try to find something to put the fuel in and get it the hell away from there, as we don't want it to go up when the rocket goes off. gallagher considers. yeah, it all makes sense. but how? cut to:
eleven and three quarters centimeters. he measures and scribes in the line.
launch diagnostics. avoid pressing anything that says ignition. he runs it - seals are good, pumps are good, engine's ready. and the ignition power force, all 300 volts of it, is dead as a doornail. the program suggests the replacement part number. and suggests he order it quickly. checks again. answer's the same. he slumps down, sits beside srm. he ain't going nowhere. just sits there. can't move. can't speak. after all this, he's fucked. stares out into the distance. finally -
gallagher?
how much do you need?
is there anything you can use?
is there anything you want me to do?
for you?
yeah. you shoulda kissed me. gallagher can't believe it. he could kick himself.
houston, this is ares, commencing return sequence.
ground crew, reduced to gallagher, reached cosmos, failed second diagnostics. no joy, no launch. while crew member is still extant, mission commander declaring him e.o.m. commencing return. there's silence in mission control. not everyone has followed the circumvention.
houston, this is ares. i am go for return ignition.
robby.  if you can still hear me. i'm so sorry. and i shoulda just kissed you.
gallagher.  no response.
reroute. orbital maneuvering. power the oms, power the r.c.s. i need roll, pitch, yaw, x, y, z. now. goddammit now!
i want ten milliliter bursts. now! and puff, puff, puff.
i want a 180 degree. now!
seal this level! open the dock. clips herself in just in time as the doors behind her slam shut and the giant doors in front of her open. air purges. and in front of her, 300 yards away, is the cosmos.
gallagher! gallagher! he doesn't respond.
hard dock! the ship pauses, like it's thinking. and refuses.
last acquisition. line release. full velocity. and it does. the linear accelerator wrenches her violently along the track and hurls her into space. reel and a line behind her whir. it's like the world's largest angler has cast her into the void.
seal! emergency atmosphere. now! the docking doors slam shut. the room is buffeted in white mist. she grabs an emergency cutting tool, hooks it into the front of gallagher's suit. rips it open from stem to stern. he's limp, unresponsive.
no. not after all that, dammit. no. she checks, he has no pulse.
dammit, no! a first aid station is bolted into the wall. she grabs him by the shirtfront, launches them over there. takes out a pair of pre-gummed heart paddles, slaps them onto his chest and fires them. gallagher is thrown entirely across the room by the current. slams into the far wall. opens his eyes. starts to breathe.
mission control. this is ares. recovered ground crew. request recalc and reconfiguration for return flight. orbit is stable but diminished. the scientists have been figuring madly. and they don't like what they're coming up with.
so much for saving humankind and living on mars. i guess the worms took care of that.
you brought them back? are you insane??
you wanna tell them back on earth the species is saved and we're gonna live?
if you could kiss me?
yeah. he does. she kisses him back. they continue for a long damn time. finally, they break apart and.
it's an extra fifty days back.