The Martian: A Novel

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

But no amount of careful design by NASA can get around a determined arsonist with a tank of pure oxygen.

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 Mar

No plan survives first contact with the enemy.

The airlock itself has electronics, but it ran on Hab power. I guess NASA never considered what would happen if it was launched fifty meters. Lazy bums. Plastic might not burn, but anyone who’s played with a balloon knows it’s great at building up static charge. Once I do that, I should be able to make a spark just by touching a metal tool. Fun fac

I could have finished faster, but I figured caution’s best when setting fire to rocket fuel in an enclosed space.

The fourth one is “Survived Something That Should Have Killed Me” because some fucking thing will happen, I just know it. I don’t know what it’ll be, but it’ll happen. The rover will break down, or I’ll come down with fatal hemorrhoids, or I’ll run into hostile Martians, or some shit. When I do (if I live), I get to eat that meal pack.

My asshole is doing as much to keep me alive as my brain.

It’s true, you know. In space, no one can hear you scream like a little girl.