Cheaper spaceflight and in-space resources could also revolutionize our terrestrial energy infrastructure. Earth's atmosphere blocks most sunlight but is almost transparent to microwaves. Solar-power satellites beaming microwaves to antenna farms on the ground will be much more efficient than surface-based solar-power generation.
To study, reach, and change the orbit of a NEO will take a significant investment. Perhaps the fortunes to be made will make a more compelling case for that investment than fear of an unlikely—but devastating if it happens—collision. Of course, NEO exploitation, like NEO deflection, raises issues of trust. Whom do you trust to aim an asteroid toward Earth?
Fear and greed are great motivators. Here's hoping at least one of them motivates humanity enough to avoid the dinosaurs’ fate. n Copyright © 2009 Edward M. Lerner
* * * *
To Read Further:
* NASA FAQ page on asteroid and comet impact hazards, impact.arc.nasa.gov/ introfaq.cfm
* NASA's Near Earth Object Program, neo.jpl.nasa.gov/
* Minor Planet Center (the clearinghouse of record for asteroids and comets, including their designations and orbits), www.cfa.harvard.edu/iau/mpc.html
* B612 Foundation (dedicated to “significantly alter the orbit of an asteroid, in a controlled manner, by 2015"), www.b612foundation.org/
* 1st IAA Planetary Defense Conference: Protecting Earth from Asteroids, www. aero.org/conferences/planetarydefense/ index.html
* Lifeboat Foundation (dedicated to “encouraging scientific advancements while helping humanity survive existential risks") Asteroid Shield white paper, lifeboat.com/ ex/asteroid.shield?white
* * * *
About the Author:
A physicist and computer scientist, Edward M. Lerner toiled in the vineyards of high tech for thirty years. Then, suitably intoxicated, he began writing SF full time. His most recent novels are Fools’ Experiments, Small Miracles (October), and (with Larry Niven) Destroyer of Worlds (November). Ed's short fiction and fact articles appear most frequently in Analog. His website is www.sfwa.org/members/lerner/
* * * *
Footnotes:
1: This isn't a criticism of Jefferson, who was perhaps the most scientifically inclined of all American presidents. He not only chartered the Lewis and Clark expedition, he personally instructed Lewis on the information to be gathered and trained Lewis in surveying techniques. Long after (1962), while entertaining forty-nine Nobel Prize winners at the White House, President Kennedy said, “I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent and of human knowledge that has ever been gathered together at the White House—with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone."
2: “The Tunguska Mystery,” Luca Gasperini, Enrico Bonatti, and Giuseppe Longo, Scientific American, June 2008. The event may have been more than an air burst. In the article, the authors assert that pieces of that exploding object survived to reach the ground, and that Lake Cheko was carved by such a fragment.
3. www.theatlantic.com/doc/200806/asteroids
4: One astronomical unit (AU) = the mean distance between the Earth and the Sun, about 93 million miles or 150 million kilometers.
5: An orbit's eccentricity expresses its deviation from circularity.
6: Energy dissipated in ocean tides slows the Earth's rotation. To conserve the Earth-moon system's total angular momentum, the moon's orbital radius grows at about 4 cm/year. Similar effects slowly alter the orbits of other planet/moon systems.
7: We SF types attended as members of SIGMA, a pro bono group of authors (and the occasional editor)—many with names familiar to Analog readers—that offers the government our outside-the-box perspectives on a spectrum of issues. For more about SIGMA, see the group's website at www.sigmaforum.org/home.php.
8: This is as good a spot as any to stress that practically every number in this article is an estimate. I'll mention some major sources of uncertainty as I go, but a disclaimer before every number would get tedious. Different references (and the same reference at different times) may give different estimates. Legitimate scientific uncertainties do not detract from the overall message: lots of big rocks in the neighborhood that could do Earth (and us) harm.
9: Current surveys involve narrow field-of-view astronomical instruments and mostly visible-light frequencies. The soon-to-come Panoramic Survey Telescope And Rapid Response System (Pan-STARRS) survey will take a different approach. The instrument nearing completion will have a 3o field of vision (wide for a large telescope), allowing full-sky surveys (of the sky visible from the Hawaii observatory) four times a month. The instrument will also observe in the infrared band. Dark, faint objects that are difficult to spot by reflected visible-wavelength sunlight are expected to reveal themselves through the contrast between their sun-heated surface and the cold background of space.
10: neo.jpl.nasa.gov/neo/groups.html
11: www.spaceref.com/news/viewpr.html?pid=22583
12: In a topic rife with assumptions, the prospective fatalities/impact is among the most subjective. The Tunguska event of 1908 had no known human casualties—because it happened in a remote part of Siberia. The area devastated by the event is larger than metropolitan Washington or New York. Location matters.
13: The “Fatalities (in 100 Years)” entries reflect a Poisson distribution of collision probabilities around the mean estimated arrival rate given in the “Typical Rate (Years Between Events)” column.
14: neo.jpl.nasa.gov/apophis/
15: www.planetary.org/blog/article/00001684/.
16: Spheres make for easy calculations. The term often used to describe actual asteroids is “potato-shaped."
17: The Yarkovsky effect describes the force on a rotating body from differential emission of thermal photons. The sunlit side of an asteroid is hotter than the dark side, making the emission of heat—thermal photons—asymmetric. See en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yarkovskyeffect.
18: Ion thrusters use electrical fields to expel a high-speed stream of charged particles, typically xenon ions. Ion thrusters produce low acceleration but can maintain thrust for much longer than chemical rockets. See en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ionthruster
19: Formally known as Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, Including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies. See
20: www.nasa.gov/missionpages/constellation/main/index.html
21: Phobos orbits within 10 thousand kilometers of the center of Mars. Light-speed communication delay between Phobos and a robot on the Martian surface would be negligible. The current Mars rovers are terrific, but there is a reason—Earth/Mars comm delays—why their explorations are measured in months per mile. With real-time control, robots could explore much farther and faster.
22: The 1998 disaster movie Armageddon, about an asteroid threatening Earth, had a reported budget of $140 million. Deep Impact, same year, same subject, had a reported budget of $75 million. Our priorities seem wrong.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Novelette: AMABIT SAPIENS by Craig DeLancey
Taking a long view is commendable, but easier in planning than in foreseeing or obtaining actual results....
A key turned in the heavy lock. The sound echoed in the concrete and steel of the hall. I lifted my head, listening, tense like some fragile, frightened animal. Which is exactly what I was.
A great steel door creaked open. A gust of warm air touched my chest. It felt, for a moment, almost pleasant. Footsteps clacked across the threshold. The door swung closed, the latch snapped into place with a clang that ricocheted tightly in my bare cell, and the freeze of the heat-thieving concrete bit into me again.
"Ms. Sumaran.” This was a new voice. I could see only a dim silhouette of the man through the course nylon weave of the black bag over my head. He seemed my height, or smaller, with broad shoulders. American, with a voice of middle age. Or maybe younger.
"Let me down,” I croaked. My chest and shoulders shifted as I spo
ke, and agonizing pain shot through my arms. I thought I had grown adjusted to the dull agony, but discovered now rather that my stillness had merely rendered me numb. A crushing, consuming ache overwhelmed each muscle with the slightest movement.
One, two days before—I could not judge how long—I had worked past sunset in the field office at the oil well test head. As I walked to my car in the sweltering Argentine night, someone came behind me and pulled a bag over my head. I screamed, tires screeched, and car doors clattered open, and I was packaged away in a van within seconds. The prick of a needle in the arm put me to sleep. I awoke here, shivering and naked but for my underwear and bra, surrounded by a cacophony of voices as two men dragged me through long halls.
They chained my hands behind me at my waist, then ratcheted them up to a hook on an icy steel pole. My bare feet just touched the coarse, cold cement floor. I don't care how other people fight over definitions: anyone who has been hung up like that knows it is torture. That's why they did it, after all. Your tendons and muscles first burn fiercely, and you become convinced they are being torn apart from the shoulders. Then that pain seems almost insignificant as all of your muscles start to twist into burning knots. Finally, after endless hours, this pain dulls—though it never ends—but the slightest movement, even a flinch, sends it roaring back with even greater force.
They weren't criminals then. Kidnappers seeking ransom would not begin with torture. And rapists would not have waited.
"What do you want? Let me down."
"No, Ms. Sumaran, not yet. Before we let you down, you're going to answer all of my questions."
"This hurts. It hurts!” He gave no response. I added, “I haven't done anything. I have nothing to hide. I'll answer any questions. Just let me down."
"You're lying.” Metal scraped along concrete as he pulled a chair out of the corner and to the center of the room. It creaked as he sat in it, too close, carrying a hint of cloying cologne. “You have done something. You did something to the oil well. You are working with other people."
A shuffling of paper. He opened a folder, turned pages. “These other people include Allen Reed."
I lifted my head. Had they snatched Allen? Were they torturing him too, now?
"I see that interests you, Ms. Sumaran. We know far more than you think we know. For that reason, I will know when you are lying. And I will punish you. So if you want things to get better, not worse, you will have to tell me the truth. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Let's start with your relationship with Allen Reed."
"Our fathers knew each other,” I whispered. “We both became geologists. That's all."
"And you went to the same private school. The Marrion School."
"Our fathers both supported it."
"And then you went to the same graduate school. I know these are not coincidences."
"Harvard is the best school for geology,” I whispered. I took a long pause to get my breath, slowly, evenly, with the minimum of motion. “No coincidence."
"So how did you both end up geologists? Who told you to become a geologist?"
"I wanted to be a geologist."
"I want to be a mathematician,” I told my father. He had come on my fourteenth birthday to the Marrion School, to bring me presents. He offered me a box and an envelope: from my “uncle” David a gold bracelet, and from my parents, two spring-break plane tickets to Barcelona for my mom and me.
I put on the gold bracelet and showed it to my father. It was a very heavy chain of irregular, organic kernels of gold. It sparkled but otherwise seemed like something you might discover lying on a forest floor.
"You like it?” my father asked.
"I love it. Thank uncle David for me!"
"He'll be very pleased."
We settled in one of the libraries, pulling two seats close to the crackling fireplace. We were alone among the long oak shelves stuffed with worn books.
I had come to Marrion, a private boarding school, when I turned eight. I cried when I went and Mom and Dad cried, but they said this was the best school in the world for people with my special talents. I didn't know what my special talents were, but all the teachers at Marrion School acted as if I had one and they knew what it was, so I didn't much worry about it.
My father now leaned back.
"Math, honey?"
"Yep."
"I'm impressed. And proud. I still don't know what I want to do."
I laughed at him. I bet it was true.
"What about biology?” he asked. “You said biology last time I visited you."
"Biology, too, but I like math more. Everything is math—I mean, you need math to describe anything, to do a science of it. Right? Well, I can do math and biology, right? Or be of use to biologists."
He furrowed his brow in thought.
Allen came into the room then. Allen also studied and boarded at Marrion, same year as me. Allen's father had named him after my father, as everyone knew. Our dads were really tight friends. Sometimes I teased Allen because his dad was gay, but mostly we were close even if we didn't hang much. Allen was thin and kept his hair long enough to hide his eyes and seemed always a little embarrassed about something.
"Hey Uncle Allen,” he said. He pushed the door closed carefully, moving slowly, methodically. “Hey, Lyta.” My name is Hippolyta, but I insisted upon Lyta.
"I asked Allen to join us,” my father said softly. Then he called to Allen, “What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"A paleontologist."
"Consistency! You said that last time I asked."
Allen nodded. He dragged one of the heavy armchairs over.
"How are things in New York?” Allen asked. He sat squarely down and crossed his hands formally on his lap as if unsure of where else to put them.
We talked about family and friends a while. Then my father said, “I want to ask the two of you for a favor."
"Sure,” Allen said. I nodded. But I felt afraid. My father seemed worried, suddenly. He frowned, and his eyes took on a sad look. It was confusing.
"Last time I visited, you remember how you both told me you wanted to do something about ... some of the problems in the world?"
"Of course,” I said. I blushed a little. We must have sounded like such kids. Who didn't want to make the world a better place? All people planned their life around that—that went without saying. Right?
"We—Allen's parents and Lyta's mother and I—we believe we know of a way that both of you can help. But you'll need to do two things. You'll need to study geology. We have found a tutor, a very good geologist willing to come here several times a week to tutor you two. And you would need to tell everyone that you are studying geology because you want to study geology. That it was your idea to have the tutor."
We were silent a long time. The fire popped. I looked at Allen, but he stared at the flames. Always serious.
"Why, Dad?” I whispered finally. “That's weird."
He looked really pained. It shocked me to see that he even looked about to cry. “It will take a long time to explain. And I will explain, I promise. What I can tell you now is that if you are good at it, you would have a chance to do something extraordinary, something to really ... force changes that would make the world a better place. But it would be best if first you just try this for a while. If you don't like it, if you are not good at it, we can stop the sessions. How would that be?"
The fire popped again. Allen nodded. “Of course. But for me it is not ... much to ask. Paleontology, geology. Mostly the same. Many of the great paleontologists were geologists.” He looked at me. The inference was obvious: of me more was being asked.
"This is weird,” I repeated. But I trusted my father. He had never lied to me. He had never spoken a word that he had not weighed. “But I'll try it. Geology sounds fun."
* * * *
"Geology is boring. It's just hard, boring facts,” the American said. “Like rocks. Yet, explain this to me. What do Ira
q, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, the North Pole and North Sea, the Gulf of Mexico, Nigeria, Canada's tar fields, Texas have in common?"
He poked me with a cold metal rod. I didn't expect that, I didn't know he had such a rod, and I gasped involuntarily in surprise, causing pain to shoot through my limbs as I jerked away.
"What do these places have in common?” he repeated.
"Accelerated biodegradation. Every geologist knows that."
"Yes. And this is a suspiciously interesting fact. Why, why is there accelerated biodegradation?"
"The new strains of hydrogenes, of hydrogen-generating bacteria, have spread there. They are eating the oil quickly."
"That is not my question.” He prodded me again. I gritted my teeth in anger. I suddenly wanted to scream at him, to tell him I would kill him or that my Uncle David would break his neck or that my father would turn the world upside down until he found me and then we would expose them all.
"That is not my question,” he repeated. “My question is, why? Why all of them, nearly simultaneously?"
"No one knows."
This time he hit me. Hard, in the thigh. The whipping motion of the rod sent sharp, bitter pain through my legs.
"No one knows!” I shouted. “The oil fields must be connected!"
"Perhaps, perhaps.” He jabbed the chill end of the rod against my ribs. “But the oil-eating bugs could never travel that fast. Around the world nearly simultaneously? No. You will tell me. How?"
"Christ, I'm a geologist and even I don't know."
He hit me across the thigh again.
"Oh,” I cried pathetically, starting to weep.
The chair scraped. He rose and his steps circled behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked. He pulled the hood off with a snap. I started in surprise, then blinked at the lights. Tears welled as the freezing, dry air hit my eyes. I saw my cell, finally. It was clean, perfectly cubic, with a green steel door. Glaring diode lights were arranged in a ring near the concrete ceiling and aimed at me. The air on my face was shockingly cold. It reeked of urine. My urine.
Analog SFF, November 2009 Page 11