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The first time Marcie met Commander Lewis, she was reminded of her fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Hernandez. It was a favorable comparison. Mrs. Hernandez had been strict, and a lot of the other kids hadn’t liked that, but she was fair and organized and had transparent standards that Marcie found easy to meet.
It would have gotten Marcie to relax except she wasn’t nervous in the first place: she already knew they weren’t going to pick her. The Commander was a woman, and there was a limit to the number of XX chromosome pairs NASA would tolerate on their missions, PC diversity statements notwithstanding. Plus, Marcie’s specialties were male dominated fields, and she knew enough about unconscious bias to understand that meeting the requirements wouldn’t cut it, not this time.
Despite the fact that she wanted to be an astronaut so badly she could taste it, so badly that she dreamed of floating down white corridors and walking across rust colored deserts with the wind blowing back her hair, she had adopted the Charlie Bucket approach to this interview process: she was just lucky to be here.
Still, it meant a pleasant few hours discussing her resume and credentials, her skills and weaknesses, instead of pulling teeth like some of the NASA trainers made such conferences.
She thought she’d played it pretty close to the chest, but Commander Lewis was sharp, and asked her about it, bluntly, as they were wrapping down.
“You don’t seem very concerned with making a good impression,” Commander Lewis said.
“Have I not done a good enough job convincing you how awesome I am?” Marcie joked. “I’ve been doing my best, but maybe bigging myself up needs to go on my weakness list so NASA can drill me on it.”
Lewis raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “I meant, a good impression on me in particular.”
Marcie debated trying to give a bullshit, what-NASA-wanted-to-hear answer, but Lewis was too smart for that and seemed to appreciate honesty, so Marcie gave it to her. “You’re not going to pick me,” she said.
“Why not?” Lewis asked, expression not shifting one bit.
“Because they’ll only let you pick one additional female crew member,” Marcie replied, matching her matter of fact attitude.
“Ares 2 has three women in the crew,” Lewis said, but it was a leading statement, not a dismissal.
“Yeah, but not one in command,” Marcie argued. “You can’t tell me the psychologists aren’t shitting bricks about that already.”
Lewis set the clipboard down and leaned forward, giving Marcie the feeling that this was the first time she’d given the interview her full attention. “So, one slot for a woman, and it won’t be you. Who is it then?”
“My guess?” Marcie said, which was a stall, really, a check that she could speak freely. When Lewis nodded, she continued, “Johanssen. Her aptitude for programming is practically breaking the charts, and she’s tiny, which is useful in an emergency and means she can take the highest Gs. But more importantly, her personality is naturally calm and shy, so NASA won’t have to worry about her challenging your command, even inadvertently.”
“Would you challenge me?” Lewis asked.
Marcie wanted to say no immediately, knew that was the right answer, but she made herself pause and really think about it. “I wouldn’t challenge your decisions,” Marcie explained finally. “But I have opinions, and I’d express them, and I’m sure they’re worried about that.”
“But you’re not,” Lewis said, leading again.
“No,” Marcie said. “At least with you, I know you’d listen. The upper ranks are filled with some particularly patronizing bastards, and I’d follow your orders at lot easier than theirs. Besides, even if I did challenge your command, you could handle it.”
Lewis made a considering noise and picked her clipboard back up, leaning away. “Thank you, Candidate Watney. That’ll be all.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Marcie said and made sure to execute a textbook salute when she stood before turning on heel and leaving.
(She passed the first cull, and the second, and when she saw Commander Lewis after the roster was finalized, she must have had stars in her eyes because Lewis just smirked at her. “You were right about one thing,” Lewis said. “I can take anything you throw at me.”
“Never doubted it for a second, Commander,” she said, her smile so wide it hurt in the corners of her mouth.)
*
Marcie made a small involuntary noise as the fake (and, she swears to god, heavier than usual) solar panel slipped free of its mount and slid right into her chest, the corner of it hitting with some force.
Since her body stopped the panel’s movement, Vogul was able to adjust quickly, maneuvering the panel away and securing it in place correctly this time.
“You okay?” he asked over the headset.
For a second, she couldn’t find her breath, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.
“Watney?” Beck asked from across the warehouse where the others practiced setting up the HAB.
“Fucking shit,” she said and swallowed when her voice came out too rough. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Beck pressed.
“I said I’m fine,” she replied. “Come on, Vogul, we’ve got another 13 of these fuckers to do.”
“If you’re sure,” Vogul agreed, but watched her stand and move over to the next unit, evaluating.
Marcie honestly didn’t think about it too much after that, falling into the routine of a long training day. The pulsing pain became a dull counterpoint to her omnipresent muscle soreness and general exhaustion, easy to ignore. So easy that she was pretty confused when Beck stopped her on the way to what Marcie jokingly called the locker room because it was where they kept their EVA suits, hanging like some kind of intricate sports equipment.
“Will you let me take a look?” Beck asked, waving to the general area of her chest.
“At my boobs?” she replied blankly.
To his credit, Beck’s face never lost its careful professionalism, even when Martinez passed by with a gleeful noise that turned quickly into a cough at a sharp look from Lewis.
“At your injury,” he corrected patiently.
She made a face. “It doesn’t even really hurt.”
“It’s probably fine,” he agreed. “But I’d like to make sure.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he added, “Mostly for our studio audience.”
“Ugh,” she said, because that was an inside joke about how NASA was constantly observing them at this stage like they were a disturbingly fascinating reality television show. It was true, though, they probably would use this as a test for Real Life Injury Situations. She didn’t want Beck to get in trouble for failing to examine a potential health issue, and she didn’t want to get shit about refusing him and what it might mean for the crew dynamics. “Fine.”
“Everything okay?” Lewis asked from where she was waiting for them in the doorway.
“Yeah,” Marcie called back. “Dr. Beck’s just going to make sure I haven’t permanently marred my amazing rack.”
Lewis waved a hand for them to get on with it and disappeared inside, and Beck gave a long-suffering sigh as he guided her into one of the physical therapy rooms that were situated depressingly close to the locker room for easy access.
He quickly stripped off the top half of his EVA suit, leaving it to hang down around his hips. Marcie started to do the same, but shifting the hard chest plate nudged against something tender and she hissed at the fresh pain.
“Let me,” he said and took over, his newly free hands making short work of the suit, a lot more gentle than Marcie had been. He removed her undershirt next, but thankfully didn’t try to take off her sports bra, merely shifting it around to examine the bruise that was forming, angry red with darkening purple tones across the top of her left boob.
“This would have broken skin without the suit,” he said, studying where the corner had dug viciously into the side of her tit, not as protected by hard ceramic the way the front of her chest had been.
“If I’m setting up solar panels without my suit on Mars, I’ll have bigger issues than getting a scrape,” she pointed out. “But I guess I’ll live this time?”
“You’re going to have a spectacular bruise, but yes, you’ll be fine.” Beck took his hands away from her skin and moved away to get an ice pack from the tiny freezer, wrapping it in a soft towel as she pulled her undershirt back on. “Ice will help with swelling and the pain, but don’t leave it on for more than 20 minutes at a time.”
“Sure,” she said, taking the pack and moving toward the door, exhaustion catching up to her suddenly and leaving her so completely done with how careful he was being and how awkward she felt. “Thanks, Doc.”
She half expected the guys to tease her when she and Beck came into the locker room, could hear their good-natured jibes already ringing in her ears, but they were blessedly quiet the entire time she stowed her gear, going through the checklist with meticulous attention. Then she took her ice pack and left, walking quickly back to her tiny bunk.
She stripped off her clothes and squinted at the bruise in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. “Honestly,” she muttered to her reflection. “Couldn’t I have gotten hurt pretty much anywhere else?
Then she rolled her eyes at herself and crawled into bed, shivering as she settled the ice pack into place.
*
“So everyone’s coming out drinking with me tonight, right?” Martinez asked with far too much enthusiasm for someone who’d spent the day killing them repeatedly in a flight simulator.
Vogul and Lewis politely declined while Marcie thought about it. She could go and not drink a lot, but knowing the mood Martinez was in, she probably would and regret it tomorrow.
Beck shrugged. “I could be convinced.” He looked over at her and then Johanssen, where his gaze stuck. “What about you guys?”
“Actually,” Johanssen said, a little hesitantly. “I was going to suggest a girls’ night. If you and the Commander are interested,” she added to Marcie.
“Oh,” she and Beck said at the same time. Beck’s voice was politely disappointed, and Marcie was surprised. She hadn’t thought Johanssen liked her much.
Lewis pointed at Johanssen from across the room. “Now there’s an idea. I downloaded Red Horror the other day but haven’t had a chance to watch it.”
“The horror movie they made up about Ares I? I heard that was terrible,” Martinez said.
“Oh, it’ll be awful,” Lewis said with relish. “Marcie?”
“Sounds fun, I’m in,” Marcie agreed, although she probably would have said yes even if it the plan sounded terrible in the name of womanly bonding. “I won’t be any good at hair braiding for obvious reasons,” she joked, waving her fingers at her close cropped hair, “but I’m killer at pillow fights.”
“I thought we’d just order Chinese,” Johanssen said quickly, but she was smiling.
“Extra egg rolls,” Lewis agreed.
They left Martinez trying to convince Vogul to join him and Beck for a boys’ night out and headed toward Johanssen’s apartment because she had the best AV equipment. Johanssen had talked about it once, how it was optimized for high quality game play, but all Marcie had really paid attention to was how much better the screen was than Marcie’s college relic.
Johanssen ordered the food on her phone as they walked, and the movie queued up quickly when they reached her apartment. Lewis and Marcie settled next to each other on the couch as Johanssen typed on her keyboard to get the acoustic settings just right.
Lewis pulled a small pouch out of her bag which turned out to contain an intimidating number of thin knitting needles and a tiny ball of bright green yarn.
“You knit?” Marcie asked stupidly.
“Yes,” Lewis said, her flat expression indicating that she would not accept any kind of teasing about it.
“I’m just surprised I didn’t know given how much time we've spent together,” Marcie explained. She hadn’t meant to make Lewis defensive about it. “I guess we’ve been a little busy with training. What are you making?”
Lewis rummaged in the bag and pulled out the tiniest sock Marcie had ever seen.
“Awww,” Marcie cooed, because even though she had no interest in babies, that shit was cute.
Lewis smiled. “My sister works in a neonatal unit, so I send them to her when I’ve made a bunch.”
“That’s really cool,” Marcie said and gave the sock back.
“Do you want to learn?” Lewis asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out another ball of yarn and some more needles, a bigger version of the set she was using. “Here,” she said, doing something incomprehensible with her fingers before handing two of the needles to Marcie, one with yarn looped all around it.
“Okay?” Marcie said, gripping them gingerly. She shot a panicked look toward Johanssen, who only grinned back with the smugness of someone who wasn’t being taught to knit.
“They won’t bite you,” Lewis said, amused, and then talked her through it, Marcie trying not to make a mess of it until the Chinese food arrived, her struggles extra pathetic against the smooth, quick motion of Lewis’ hands.
“It’s all muscle memory,” Lewis said as she traded her knitting needles for chopsticks. “You ought to think about picking it up for real. You’d be surprised how much downtime you have on a tour.”
“Are they going to let you take it?” Johanssen asked. The restrictions on their personal items were extreme since space had surprisingly little space, and NASA was paranoid about weight.
“We’ll see,” Lewis said, accepting a white box of kung pao beef.
“This is way better than whatever the guys ended up doing,” Marcie said as she tore her chopsticks free of the wrapper. “Do you think they convinced Vogel to go with them?”
“Probably not,” Lewis said. “He had a vidcall date with his wife.”
“You don’t think they’ll be upset that I suggested a girls’ night, do you?” Johanssen asked. “I wasn’t planning to ask in front of everyone.”
“I doubt it,” Marcie said. “They all seem pretty cool. I think NASA screened them for misogyny, for real. They haven’t made any offensive jokes, not even when I was whining about my boob hurting. And the doc hasn’t made a move even though he’s got a massive crush on you.”
“He what?” Johanssen asked, eyes going wide, at the same time Lewis said darkly, “He better not.”
“Um.” Marcie said, glancing between both of them before deciding to answer Johanssen. “I didn’t think it was a secret? He’s pretty obvious.” Then she shoved a huge piece of orange chicken in her mouth as if it could keep her from saying anything else she maybe shouldn’t.
“Obvious?” Johanssen repeated.
Lewis sighed. “I don’t know how he feels, but I made it clear to all three of them that if they hit on you or pulled any kind of shit that made either of you uncomfortable, they’d be grounded so fast that their balls would be the only part of them to reach escape velocity. So anything more than feelings will be up to you.”
“Huh,” Marcie said through her full mouth, feeling strangely conflicted about this information. On the one hand, knowing Lewis had their backs, completely and unflinchingly, was fucking amazing. One the other, she’d thought the guys had been those rare creatures that understood women were people, instead of astronauts on their best behavior under threat of grounding.
She finally finished swallowing her massive bite and sighed. “It’s probably not a good idea to start something during the mission, anyway.” Lewis and Johanssen both nodded, although Johanssen looked thoughtful. Not wanting to get into that any more than she already had, Marcie smiled and said, “Are we going to watch this movie, or what? Anything with a Rotten Tomatoes score of 13% deserves a viewing.”
*
Marcie obviously hadn’t given Lewis enough credit, because she went straight to Annie Montrose with a proposal to knit for preemies in space and then visit several hospitals across the country to donate them when they returned to Earth, photo-ops galore. Few things could trump NASA weight limits, but amazingly good PR turned out to be one of them.
It ended up being a godsend for when Marcie was ancy during her NASA mandated downtime. Making tiny stitches turn into baby hats took her whole attention, and she felt productive while still resting.
Lewis often joined her, both because she needed help fairly often - don’t even get her started about casting on - and because she suspected that Lewis took her responsibility for each of them as Captain very seriously.
It was nice, even if it often devolved into an argument about what kind of music to play while they worked.
She didn’t mind that Martinez was giving her crap about it, either, since that was their normal vibe, but the first time he went to call her “stitchy bitch” and almost swallowed his tongue when Lewis walked into the room clued her in to the fact that he never teased her about it when Lewis was around. After that, it started to annoy her, mostly because he knew he was crossing a line Lewis had drawn but did it anyway.
Marcie didn’t say anything, although she was maybe a little snappier with Martinez than usual. Apparently nothing got past Lewis though because next time they met up to knit, Martinez meekly followed her into the lounge. Marcie paused to watch, eyebrows raised, as Lewis got him started, patiently teaching him how to hold the needles, which looked particularly tiny in his broad hands.
Lewis eventually looked over, her lips twitching just slightly at Marcie’s expression. “We’re going to be filming the knitting in microgravity video soon, and NASA is concerned about the optics of only having female crew members involved.”
Marcie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She had absolutely no proof, but that was definitely bullshit.
“I still say that Beck would be a better choice,” Martinez said, frowning at the pale pink yarn held gently in his hands. “Surgery is basically arts and crafts with the human body, right?”
“They probably picked who was the most expendable,” Marcie said, mildly. Lewis tilted her head as Martinez scowled, so she added quickly, “You know, the one with the most free time. Hermes doesn’t really need a pilot right now.”
“Beck volunteered to do the filming,” Lewis said quellingly, and Martinez stuck his tongue out at her.
They all focused on their knitting for awhile, Lewis occasionally correcting Martinez, and Marcie was unable to keep from smiling.
The vid came out awesome: their yarn balls floated gently next to them, shifting around as they pulled gently to unravel them, Marcie actually looked competent next to Martinez managing to tie a massive knot that Lewis ended up cutting out later, and Beck got some killer close ups of the needles shifting in their fingers and how the yarn behaved in microgravity.
Her hats were starting to look pretty good, too, with none of the dropped stitches or unevenness she’d had at first. She actually looked forward to handing them out when they got back to Earth.
*
Marcie took a deep breath, in for a count of 5, held for 2, and slowly released. As much as NASA was pissing her off, she’d worked really hard to get Pathfinder. She needed them to survive. Having a tantrum and destroying her only way to communicate with Earth was not okay, and it wasn’t like she could throw it across the room like a phone, anyway.
She opened her eyes and looked back at the end of the message on the screen, cursor blinking at her below.
[12:34] JPL: Please run a full diagnostic on the oxygenator and water reclaimer and report the current environment readings in the HAB.
It wasn’t an outrageous request, except that this was the literal fifth time she’d received it. She added it to her to-do list, hitting the touchscreen on her suit a little harder than necessary.
[12:35] WATNEY: Copy.
She put her suit helmet back for the short EVA to the HAB and tried to calm herself down. She knew that NASA was paranoid as fuck, and they’d been watching, helpless, for Sols while she survived on her own. If she’d been able to see past her burning need to tell them she was alive, she would have seen this coming.
The HAB airlock cycled while she steamed with anger, and once inside, she stripped out of the EVA suit with practiced ease. She transferred the to-do list from the suit to a tablet and got to work, but not before pausing to check on her potatoes, sprouting green and healthy. She did need NASA to get home, but that didn’t take away from the awesome stuff she’d already accomplished.
She went in order through the list so that the oxygenator and water reclaimer were the last things she did, and as she followed the diagnostic procedures for the fifth time, she couldn’t help but wonder if NASA would be acting the same if it were Vogel or Martinez in her place. Three times, sure, but five? It was like they refused to believe she was capable of doing the tests and providing them with the real numbers.
She’d already had to tell the condescending prick in charge of botany to go fuck himself. The fact that the others were more circumspect in their patronizing didn’t make it any easier to take.
[15:19] WATNEY: ... And last but not least, the oxygenator and water reclaimer are both reading green across the board. The HAB temperature is a balmy 28 degrees with a humidity of 70% with the usual level of 21% oxygen. 8===D
She watched the clock and every minute past the round trip delay made her smile grow bigger.
[15:46] JPL: Copy. Please remember that everyone on Earth can read this.
[15:46] WATNEY: Copy that, I remember. 8===D
[16:09] JPL: Marcie, is there a point to that symbol?
She laughed aloud, the sound echoing in the tiny space of the rover. She usually had to push pretty hard to get her first name from Kapoor or the guys in Mission Control. Good to know this was working.
[16:11] WATNEY: It’s an ASCII dick. The balls are the bottom part, see: 8===D
[16:11] WATNEY: And while a dick does indeed have a point, I added it because you didn’t seem to believe my numbers. I thought the problem was due to the lack of dick on my end and took steps to remedy the situation.
[16:35] JPL: Our appropriate level of caution is due to the extended wear on the equipment and concerns of resulting failure. It has nothing to do with your abilities and certainly not your genitalia. Given that, can you please leave out any further ASCII embellishments in your reports?
[16:36] WATNEY: You’re stifling my creativity, but as long as I don’t have to run diagnostics on the oxygenator and water reclaimer for a sixth time in two days, sure.
Marcie does end up running the diagnostics twice more that week, but it’s with a smile on her face, and her reply is completely professional. She figures making NASA talk about dicks in an interplanetary conversation that will go down in the history books is a pretty big win, and Marcie can be magnanimous in victory.
*
Sometimes she wonders if the world would have supported all rescue efforts and the Hermes returning for her if she was a dude. Would people have cared if they believed she was a rational human being capable of making her own decisions? She can’t ever know the answer, but it’s probably for the best that she’s a woman.
*
She didn’t remember her actual reunion with her parents because she’d just been reintroduced to Earth’s gravity well and Beck had drugged her good before the descent, but everyone assured her that it was very touching. She remembered their second one in the hospital, which mostly consisted of crying a lot and then her mom basically refusing to leave her bedside for 48 hours.
For the third visit, though, her mom came in while the rest of Ares III had dragged chairs in and crowded around her bed. Martinez immediately stood, shaking his head against a slight headrush as he moved aside. Everyone else was in better shape than her, but they’d all been in Martian gravity for years with the attendant muscle atrophy and other side effects. Beth squished to share Beck’s chair and gave hers to Martinez.
“I brought you a present,” her mom said.
“We can give you some privacy, Mrs. Watney,” Beck said, looking uncomfortable.
“Nonsense,” her mom said, digging through her bag. “And call me Martha.”
“Okay, Mrs. Watney,” Beck said.
Martha Watney fixed him with a sharp look, but didn’t argue further.
Marcie smiled broadly. “She’s gonna fuck you up if you don’t listen.”
“Language, Marcia,” Martha said quellingly, and then pulled a huge book out, the cover padded and strewn with lacy ribbon.
Marcie’s eyebrows were in her hairline as she took it gingerly. “What the fudge is this?” she asked.
Martinez looked like he was going to bust something with the strain of not laughing.
“I made you a scrapbook of articles about your rescue and trip home,” Martha said.
Marcie wasn’t sure she wanted to read about that, but her mom looked so proud. She opened it carefully to the first page, spreading it open on her lap.
She stared, frozen in place for a few second, and then started to tear up.
“Oh, honey, don’t cry!” her mom exclaimed. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I do,” Marcie said and cleared her throat. “It’s perfect.”
“Can we see?” Beth asked hesitantly.
Marcie didn’t answer, just picked the book up like it’s something precious and turned it around so that everyone could see the page she was looking at.
It’s a cut out of an actual print news page, one of the ones that survived the digital age by being completely trashy and cheap besides, and the headline said, in large bold print, I had to stay on Mars to deliver my alien baby!
Below that was the most unflattering picture of Marcie that she’d ever seen with a clearly photoshopped, swaddled alien in her arms.
Marcie turned the page, and the next headline read, Getting Lucky on Mars: Details of Hermes Love Nest! (Images on pg 15).
Martinez’s face is red but he miraculously isn’t laughing, and Vogul has a hand over his face.
Marcie reverently turns the book around and turns the page again. “Mom, you're like 95% of the reason that I had to make it back to Earth. Seriously, you're my favorite person on the planet.”
“What's the other 5%?” Martinez asked.
“Food that isn't potatoes,” Marcie answered immediately.
“How come I wasn’t included in this love nest?” Lewis asked, blank faced with her professional Commander voice. They all instinctively freeze, but then the corners of her mouth tick up.
The whole crew burst out laughing. It went on for a few minutes, until her mom, looking particularly pleased with herself, said, “I taught you to share better than that.”
“Eww, Mom!” Marcie protested, but she was still laughing.
Martinez slid out of his chair, gasping for breath, and then the whole party was interrupted by nurses responding to increases in their heart rate monitors.
*
Obviously not all the press was like that. Marcie managed to avoid the worst of it with everyone’s help, especially Annie’s, but it still came up.
It was worst when she wasn’t expecting it, when legitimate media hosts and journalists brought it up.
“You’re looking great, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Rose said, smile wide and fixed in the way of talk show hosts the world over.
“Thanks,” Marcie said, although she kind of did mind. “Earth has been an adjustment, but I’m finally feeling healthier.”
Rose perked up. “Glad to hear it! Can I ask about a certain set of rumors? When you say finally healthy, do you mean healthy enough for a baby?”
Marcie laughed and hoped the fundamental what-the-absolute-fuck quality wasn’t completely obvious. “I hadn’t heard those rumors. But no, I’m not pregnant. Or trying to get pregnant. Or anything like that.” She gave another laugh, feeling awkward. “Seriously, no babies. I’m not sure where anyone would get that idea.”
“Well, I’m not sure where it started, but I know several pictures of you eating out with your crew added flames to fire.” Rose laughed and leaned in, adding in a more intimate tone, “You certainly could have been eating for two!”
Marcie blinked and tried to get those words to mean something else, but nope. Nope. She’d actually said that. Marcie looked over at Annie off camera, but she was glaring ferociously at the host, one hand over her mouth as if to keep herself silent, an anxious PA milling next to her.
Marcie nodded slowly and adopted a more serious tone. “I hope you’re not suggesting that a woman can only eat tasty food if she’s pregnant,” Marcie said and watched with satisfaction as Rose’s smile became even more fixed. “As you know, I was severely malnourished when I was rescued from Mars. I had to go on a refeeding diet, and I still talk to NASA nutritionists regularly about what I eat. I’m planning to gain another 15 pounds, and it won’t be for any other reason than getting healthy.”
Rose gave an awkward twitter of a laugh, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “I guess that means no more Watney Slim Quick Potato diet for you!”
Marcie stared at her in horror. “Is that a thing?” she asked, hoping it was Rose’s sad idea of a joke. She glanced at Annie again, who met her eyes and gave a sharp, angry nod, yes.
She took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera, giving up any pretence of speaking with Rose. “I want anyone out there who is on this diet or thinking about it to listen to me very closely: I want all of you to be as healthy as possible. Eating nothing but potatoes, especially the limited amounts I had access to on Mars, is extremely bad for you. When the Hermes rescued me, I wasn’t ‘runway ready’,” Marcie used finger quotes around a phrase describing her body that had slipped through NASA’s censorship, “and I certainly didn’t feel good or beautiful. I was literally starving to death. It was terrible and painful, and I hated it. I want better than that for you, so please be kind to yourself.”
Marcie sat back in her uncomfortable chair, and after a few seconds, Rose regained her composure and said, “Thank you for that inspiring message. We’ll be back after a word from our sponsors.”
She hardly remembered anything else from the interview, which Annie cut short, but apparently it went viral. Marcie didn’t pay attention to the response, but she did spend a few hours tweeting body positivity blogs and fat liberation resources. Beck added a few reputable medical studies that evaluate the dangers of dieting and Johanssen slapped together a website with all the information that looks better than most professional firms could make.
Marcie looked through the website that night, including the ever growing hitcount, and decided dealing with that shit might be worth it if she could help people.
*
They’re at a high school panel session in DC, and while most of the kids were awesome and engaged and asking some impressively high level questions, Marcie could tell just by the face that this one was… not that.
“Hey, uh, Marcie,” he began, and she suppressed a smile when Lewis muttered a stern rebuke of, “Dr. Watney,” under her breath too low for the microphones to pick up. “How did Mars change your… you know?”
“Sorry,” Marcie said placidly. “My what?”
“Your woman stuff?” He said, and he’d had enough bravato to come up here, but now he’s blushing and refusing to say menstruation like it might be catching if you dared to speak it aloud.
“I don’t understand,” Marcie said, because like hell was she going to make it any easier on this little shit.
The crowd came to his rescue, someone screaming out, “Your period!” and then a few more colorful euphemisms that were mostly drowned out by a round of laughter in the room.
Marcie waited until they quieted, and then said, as sweet as she could manage, “That question is a little personal, but Dr. Beck here is a doctor and could no doubt tell you about menstruation and space travel in general.”
Beck paused just long enough to sigh quietly, but Marcie didn’t feel the least bit guilty about throwing him under the bus like that. She grinned as the fuckboy at the microphone started looking uncomfortable at the completely inoffensive scientific terms Beck was using.
Someone else should have to put up with this shit for change.