load presented unequal force to the four remaining bolts, the defective one bearing the brunt of it. Soon, it failed as well. From there, the other three failed in rapid succession.
Iris slipped from its supports in the payload bulb, slamming in to the hull.
“Woah!” exclaimed the Ascent Flight Director. “Flight, we're getting a large precession!”
“What?” Mitch said as alerts beeped and lights flashed across all the consoles.
“Force on Iris is at 7 G's,” someone said.
“Intermittent signal loss,” came another voice.
“Ascent, What's happening here?” Mitch demanded.
“All hell broke loose. It's spinning on the long axis with a 17 degree precession.”
“How bad?”
“At least 5 rps, and falling off course.”
“Can you get it to orbit?”
“I can't talk to it at all; signal failures left and right.”
“Comm!” Mitch shot to the Communications Director.
“Workin' on it, Flight,” came the response. “There's a problem with the onboard system.”
“Getting some major G's inside, Flight.”
“Ground telemetry shows it 200 meters low of target path.”
“We've lost readings on the probe, Flight.”
Mitch zeroed in on that last comment. “Entirely lost the probe?” Mitch asked.
“Affirm, Flight. Intermittent signal from the ship, but no probe.”
“Shit,” Mitch said. “It shook loose in the bay.”
“It's dradeling, Flight.”
“Can it limp to orbit?” Mitch said. “Even super-low EO? We might be able to-”
“Loss of signal, Flight.”
“LOS here, too.”
“Same here.”
Other than the alarms, the room fell silent.
After a moment, Mitch said “Reestablish?”
“No luck,” said Comm.
“Ground?” Mitch asked.
“GC,” same the reply, “Vehicle had already left visual range.”
“SatCon?” Mitch asked.
“No satellite acquisition of signal.”
Mitch looked forward to the main screen. It was black now, with large white letters reading “LOS”.
“Flight,” came a voice over the radio, “US Destroyer Stockton reports debris falling from the sky. Source matches last known location of Iris.”
Mitch put his head in his hands. “Roger,” he said.
Then he uttered the words every Flight Director hopes never to say: “GC, Flight. Lock the doors.”
It was the signal to start post-failure procedures.
From the VIP observation room, Teddy watched the despondent Mission Control Center. He took a deep breath, then let it out. He looked forlornly at the blue folder, which contained the cheerful speech praising a perfect launch. Placing it in his briefcase, he then extracted the red folder with the other speech in it.
Venkat sat in his darkened office. He never decided to be in the dark. He'd just been lost in thought so long it got dark around him.
His mobile rang. His wife again. No doubt worried about him. He let it go to voice mail. He just couldn't face her. Or anyone.
A brief chime came from his computer. Glancing over, he saw an email from JPL. A relayed message from Pathfinder:
[16:03]WATNEY: How'd the launch go?
Chapter 16
Martinez:
Dr. Shields says I need to write personal messages to each of the crew. She says it'll keep me tethered to humanity. I think it's bullshit. But hey, it's an order.
With you, I can be blunt:
If I die, I need you to check on my parents. They'll want to hear about our time on Mars first-hand. I'll need you to do that.
It won't be easy talking to a couple about their dead son. It's a lot to ask; that's why I'm asking you. I'd tell you you're my best friend and stuff, but it would be gay.
I'm not giving up. Just planning for every outcome. It's what I do.
Guo Ming, Director of the China National Space Administration, examined the expansive paperwork at his desk. In the old days, when China wanted to launch a rocket, they just launched it. Now, they were compelled by international agreements to warn other nations first.
It was a requirement, Guo Ming noted to himself, that did not apply to the United States. To be fair, the Americans publicly announced their launch schedules well in advance, so it amounted to the same.
He walked a fine line filling out the form: Making the launch date and flight path clear, while doing everything possible to “conceal state secrets.”
He snorted at the last requirement. “Ridiculous,” he mumbled. The Taiyang Shen had no strategic or military value. It was an unmanned probe that would be in Earth orbit less than two days. After that, it would travel to a solar orbit between Mercury and Venus. It would be China's first heliology probe to orbit the sun.
Yet, the State Council insisted all launches be shrouded in secrecy. Even launches with nothing to hide. This way, other nations could not infer from lack of openness which launches contained classified payloads.
A knock at the door interrupted his paperwork.
“Come,” Guo Ming said, happy for the interruption.
“Good evening, Sir,” said Under-Director Zhu Tao.
“Tao, welcome back.”
“Thank you, Sir. It's good to be back in Beijing.”
“How were things at Jiuquan?” asked Guo Ming. “Not too cold, I hope? I'll never understand why our launch complex is in the middle of the Gobi Desert.”
“It was cold, yet manageable,” Zhu Tao said.
“And how are launch preparations coming along?”
“I am happy to report they are all on-schedule.”
“Excellent,” Guo Ming smiled.
Zhu Tao sat quietly, staring at his boss.
Guo Ming looked expectantly back at him, but Zhu Tao neither stood to leave nor said anything further.
“Something else, Tao?” Guo Ming asked.
“Mmm,” Zhu Tao said, “Of course, you've heard about the Iris probe?”
“Yes, I did,” Guo frowned. “Terrible situation. That poor man's going to starve.”
“Possibly,” Zhu Tao said. “Possibly not.”
Guo Ming leaned back in his chair. “What are you saying?”
“It's the Taiyang Shen's booster, Sir. Our engineers have run the numbers, and it has enough fuel for a Mars injection orbit. It could get there in 419 days.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Have you ever known me to 'kid,' Sir?”
Guo Ming stood and pinched his chin. Pacing, he said “We can really send a probe to Mars?”
“It's hardly notable, Sir,” Zhu Tao said. “We've sent several in the past.”
“Yes, I know, but we could really send the Taiyang Shen?”
“No, Sir,” said Zhu Tao. “It's far too heavy. The massive heat shielding makes it the heaviest unmanned probe we've ever built. That's why the booster had to be so powerful. But a lighter payload could be sent all the way to Mars.”
“How much mass could we send?” Guo Ming asked.
“941 kilograms, Sir.”
“Hmm,” Guo Ming said, “I bet NASA could work with that limitation. Why haven't they approached us?”
“Because they don't know.” Zhu Tao said. “All our booster technology is classified information. The Ministry of State Security even spreads disinformation about our capabilities. This is for obvious reasons.”
“So they don't know we can help them,” Guo Ming said, “If we decide not to help, no one will know we could have.”
“Correct, Sir.”
“For the sake of argument, let's say we decided to help. What then?”
“Time would be the enemy, Sir,” Zhu Tao answered. “Based on travel duration and the supplies their astronaut has remaining, any such probe would have to be launched within a month. Even then he would starve a little.”
“That's right around when we planned to launch Taiyang Shen.”
“Yes, Sir. But it took them two months to build Iris, and it was so rushed it failed.”
“That's their problem,” Guo Ming said. “Our end would be providing the booster. We'd launch from Jiuquan; we can't ship an 800-ton rocket to Florida.”
“Any agreement would hinge on the Americans reimbursing us for the booster,” Zhu Tao said, “and the State Council would likely want political favors from the US Government.”
“Reimbursement would be pointless,” Guo Ming said. “This was an expensive project, and the State Council grumbled about it all along. If they had a bulk payout for it's value, they'd just keep it. We'd never get to build another one.”
He claspe