Sorry

Sorry

April 04, 2025

I woke up.

Finally.

My lander will never again leave this planet. By my quick inventory of supplies, my air will run out long before my food and water. The batteries are low. The radio receives, but cannot transmit. It is cold and two hours until sunset where it is sure to get colder.

And, I have a broken left hand.

I have hope. Not much, but some.

The orbiter is as damaged as the lander. The meteor strike broke our fuel lines and ruptured our hull. Major Williams was lucky. He died on impact, his body now being the first to orbit Mars.

He will be the first to undergo reentry, technically entry, without a spacesuit. If there is anything remaining, which I doubt, near me, I will dig that grave.

If I can.

Because of the relative position of Mars to Earth, it would take nearly 15 minutes for a signal to reach me. The orbiter has (had) a more powerful radio, so this idea might have been possible two hours ago. But not now.

So I sit in the faint blue of the Martian atmosphere waiting for darkness. The outside temperature is 10 degrees Celsius. Soon, it will be -30. I do not have enough air to see a sunrise, so the thought is moot.

I can’t get the hatch open. I cannot move out of my seat. Even if I could, where would I go?

This mission has been a failure. I have been a failure. I have no family and few friends who will mourn my passing. All I can accomplish is to preserve what provisions I do have that I will not be using. I secure the rations. I isolate that last air cylinder by closing the valve. I have nothing in which to leave a message. Anyone who does find me might be able to use what I didn’t, but they most likely will not be able to tell the story of my demise.

That is if someone actually cares to come looking.

It is getting more difficult to breathe. The pain in my hand has ceased. I have no feeling there. I have no feeling anywhere. Ironically, I never did have any feeling anywhere, for anyone, before.

I guess it was all for the best.

Sorry.