• Published 2nd Jan 2018
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The Maretian - Kris Overstreet



Mark Watney is stranded- the only human on Mars. But he's not alone- five astronauts from a magical kingdom are shipwrecked with him.

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Sol 232

MISSION LOG – SOL 232

Well, we’re back from our visit to the farm, which is going to be a daily thing. Today Starlight made four new batteries and put a new casing on the one that failed, bringing the total battery count up to eighteen and a half (counting by power capacity). Once that was done, we let the magic sparks fly a while longer, letting Dragonfly soak up all she can, while we read aloud from where we left off in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I can’t do very much. The sols I spent not eating my full ration weakened me more than Dragonfly did. I’m trying to eat a little more to gain back lost energy stores. The problem is, I was already forcing myself through fourteen good-sized potatoes with a garnish of alfalfa leaves every day, and I do mean forcing. Trying to eat any more than that… ugh.

All weeds and no meat make Mark something something…

Anyway, I’m still working out how I feel about Dragonfly. For months I made all those jokes about her being an adorable little xenomorph, and then she really becomes a hissing, drooling xenomorph. Well, the hissing, anyway. I remember the hiss very well. It’s one bracket on a long period of sleepwalking, the other end being a rush of terror at seeing Cherry walking up to what I didn’t know at the time was Dragonfly’s cocoon.

There have been tales of cannibalism in dire situations- the Donner party, Snowcrash, all sorts of shipwrecks and the like- and when we hear about those things we think, “It’s horrible, but I understand they had no choice.” Well, it’s another thing entirely when you’re the one on the menu- though I think I’m the first human to have been the meal and lived.

And yeah, I’m a bit afraid. I don’t remember much from my time as one of the walking dead. I didn’t care to. And I mean that literally- I did not care about anything. I was kind of aware that there was a world out there, but it had nothing to do with me. The most emotion I remember having the entire time was a mild irritation. Looking back on it, that’s terrifying. Ninety percent of what makes me me just… checked out.

But the thing is, I also read Dragonfly’s suicide note- and that’s what it is, is a suicide note. She might still be alive in there- something was making that weird magic shadow again when the field projector was on- but the note made it clear she didn’t expect to ever come out again. That wasn’t a monster writing that note. That was a scared little girl.

So I’m not going to let my fear get in the way. We need Dragonfly back- not least because the pony suits probably won’t survive more than fifty more sols without maintenance. But more important, we want her back. We want our silly, clever, overconfident daredevil back. Our crew is weaker without her. And we’re going to get her back.

Anyone with suggestions on how we can make that happen, mail them along with a self-addressed stamped envelope to Save The Bug, Box 1, Acidalia Planitia, Planet Mars, 81009.

For now, we’re going to come out here every day, all of us, to spend at least an hour in the cave with our very own Sleeping Ugly. We’re going to burn a field projector for a few minutes every day- about half of the the daily recharge. We’re going to give her all the love we can. No matter what else we have scheduled to do, every day, without fail, all of us go to the cave.

We’re astronauts. And human or pony, we do not leave one of our own behind.

Author's Note:

Buffer back at one. More tomorrow. Today was more decompressing and letting my brain recover than actual work.

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