Mars, the alluring tempter of a planet, now exists in map form, easily accessible at the touch of a computer key. That’s it, just above the copy of this blog post. As you can see, there’s peaks and valleys, plus polar ice caps. From the shape of things, one can imagine where water might have flowed and accumulated.
Here’s another view: rotating Mars
The last map was created in 1987, when technology and resources were scant and crude, compared to today’s standards. Previous maps consisted of data taken from Viking probes and other sources. What made this latest incarnation possible is the use of the Mars Global Surveyor and the laser altimeter, which bounces up to 600 laser beams to the surface. Such details, as ages of rocks, were gathered from these sources.
Clearly, we’ve grown bored with the Earth. It’s that lover one always strives to please, yet somehow no matter what one does, it’s never right. In the end, one gives up and goes elsewhere to find love and acceptance. Its inhabitants have, in equal parts, loved and abused it, ignored its warnings and acted surprised when it fought back. In the end, we all know it’ll get its way and beat us, but no one who borrows time trodding on its grassy plains and thick muddy fields ever thinks about that prospect.
Instead, our eyes shift upward, looking elsewhere for a better situation and a second chance.
Ever since the discovery of exoplanets, or those outside of our own solar system, space explorers have been determining which of those planets will host life and, optimistically, life that we can identify, and, how we’re going to to meet up one day. Average citizens, whose off-world opportunities are rather limited, have to rely on imagination and conjecture to supply possibilities. After all, those alien spaceships have to come from somewhere, right? They can’t all be bad. Those Antarians from the movie “Cocoon” did benefit the forgotten population of greying Floridians, even supplying a ride back to Antarea to seniors deserving of a new life.
Closer to home, it’s simpler to take advantage of our backyard planets and subsequent moons. Once humans figured out what planets actually were, they’ve also contemplated living upon them.
Take, for instance, the moon. Relatively ancient technology got us there and back for a short visit way back when. Nowadays, it’s entirely feasible to build a craft to ship us there enmasse to create a colony there, given its relative nearness. We already know there’s a supply of water and rare earth elements just hankering to be mined. Nearly every genre of science is hankering to conduct experiments there, driven by desire, curiosity and the uniqueness of the lunar environment. Americans, Russians, as well as private interests all have plans in the works to get up there by the 2020s and make a homestead claim.
Humans attach great meaning to the color red. Anger, temptation, danger and naughtiness are all meanings associated with it – just about everything we’re not supposed to have and desperately crave. I’m assuming that’s the subliminal reason why Mars is so magnetic. After all, this red planet practically begs someone to come hither. Probes coyly hint at the richness of Mars’ treasures. Water’s there, too, although not behaving the way we’d like it to be, adding more to its mystique. And like a forbidden love, the more determined we are to have it, the more money it costs to secure it. I’ve no doubt there’ll be a batch of humans trying to tame the Wild Red Planet’s surface, but it’ll come at a price, no one will be happy, but we’ll be never be satisfied until we at least have a first date. Then we’ll see.
Until then, I’m going to bide my time and see what openings Virgin Galactic has in the near future. I might want to book a ride.
There’s a brisk business in the sci-fi fiction world wherein writers devise plots regarding worlds thousands of millions of light years yonder, only reachable by wormholes or imagination. At the same time, astronomers here on earth keep their eyes stuck to their favorite observing instrument of choice seeking out new planets, and, because there appears to be an obvious lack of wormholes (or so I believe; I could be wrong), they use their imaginations to conceive images of what these new worlds would look like.
On Independence Day, I sat on the porch of my parents’ house (so hard still to visit and not see my mother there) and flipped through the offerings on Endgadget. A posted article entitled, “The first potentially habitable alien planets we ever found – might not actually exist,” written by Richard Lawler caught my attention. In it, he writes about Gliese 581g, a planet orbiting Gliese 581, a star located in the constellation Libra. What made Gliese 581g so intriguing is its location in the “Goldilocks zone,” so called because it’s the correct distance from its sun to possess a moderate temperature for liquid water – not too hot or cold. It had also been determined that the planet didn’t spin on its axis and one side was perpetually in the dark. Artists created imaginative drawings, dreaming up visions of what this planet could look like.
Alas, it appears to have been all for naught. Spectrographic readings taken from Gliese 581 now indicate that 581g might actually not exist. How is that possible? The short answer is that the very signals that determined a planet might be located in a particular place also can be attributed to another source, say, “space stuff.” What would have produced a signal for the spectrometer to read no longer exists. It faded. Disappeared. Or, alternatively, may have been misread.
What a delicious idea for a plot.
Take it from the 581g’s point of view. Of course, that wouldn’t be the name of the planet. In my head, it’d be more like Ulele or Onodon – a whispery moniker reminiscent of mystery and exotica. For millennia the habitants, fiercely protective of their unique home, shrouded their visibility because of a unique feature Ulele/Onodon hosts. A signal accidentally launched by a careless Uleleian/Onodonite as it lit its cigarette on a rations replenish break, triggers a spectrograph that sits in the Earth lab of Dr. Jill Jackson, a red-headed ball of fire pouncing on a grand opportunity to stake her position as the sharpest astrophysicist in the universe. Having maxed out her credit cards and on the brink of credit collapse, she aims for the Nobel Prize and its generous financial reward and reveals her discovery to fellow scientists. Unbeknownst to her, the Ulele/Onodons are hot on her trail, thanks to sensitive instruments tuned to the merest hint of detective devices such as the one Dr. Jackson uses, and seek revenge…but not before re-cloaking their planet. Vowing to hunt her down like an unwanted cockroach in a Harlem apartment, Ulele/Onodon Fowler Falx is hot on her trail, and won’t stop until she’s obliterated and vanishes from view…just like 581g.
See, that explanation is much more entertaining than, “We thought we saw something…honest!…but it just…disappeared. Or, a similar incident as detailed above really happened and no one will admit it, because as any watcher of any sci-fi series involving space generally hide evidence regarding alien encounters. Since the jury is out on aliens’ actual existence, I’d like to seize this celestial development and give it a life, thicken its plot and give it hope for the future.
Keep your eyes to the skies, folks. The universe is filled with enigmas.
There’s a really hard worker out there, a senior citizen by many standards, who labors daily to investigate new discoveries and justify employment. It’s a familiar circumstance, as anyone who’s been to McDonald’s lately and notices the grey-haired workers slinging burgers behind the counter.
Except this time, we’re talking about a enterprising, determined robot named Opportunity.
NASA’s ten-year-old scrappy little fella keeps plugging away, searching through the red dust looking for, well, new opportunities. And like many senior citizens out there, he’s survived wretched conditions: blazing heat, frigid winters, uncertain circumstances, life out in the open without so much as a complaint. Somehow, someway it’s continued to plug away at the only job it has ever known, and that’s reporting its findings back to the scientists who record its reports and disseminate whatever they contain in the name of research.
Those days might end a whole lot sooner than anyone thinks. The 2015 NASA budget has been slashed, with zero funds for our Earthern expatriate.
What’s becoming of America and its intrepidness? I mean, really?
I’m not really a political person, but when I see opportunities lost (and this isn’t a pun) such as the one on Mars, I feel a bit more of our prestige going down the toilet. We should be proud that a robot as resilient as Opportunity still continues to operate. as we almost certainly are with Voyagers 1 and 2. And yes, there are plenty other missions slated for Mars, including manned ones. But why quit an Opportunity now, when there’s still so much to be gained?
Our nation once threw itself into the space race full tilt. Those days have ebbed, but the drive to encourage and educate young scientists isn’t fostered as diligently as it once was, or should still be. I find this ironic, since we seem to be heading into second golden age of Sci-Fi. With all the interest in what’s going to unfold in the future, shouldn’t we take a little hunk of our past and keep it going?
Though we’re gaining ground of what sort of planet Mars truly is, it’s become a group effort among nations. Everybody who’s industrialized seems to have their eyes set squarely on Mars, for science and the inevitable drive for profit.
Which leaves me to wonder: is America up to the challenge anymore? Does America really care about its space legacy? Has it lost its imagination about how far we can go?
I sure hope not. I’m still betting Star Trek is a chronicle of the future, sent back to us here in the past, just like ST IV: The Journey Home.
It’s well known that in space, it’s quiet. No noise, no nothing. After all, it’s a vacuum, right?
Truth be told, there is sounds that can be heard, if you know how to listen. Thanks to NASA, they’ve shared terrific examples on their website. Here’s a brief sampling of what lie out there. Let’s start out and work our way in.
But first, a bit of an explanation. Some of these sounds were originally captured as radio waves and were converted into sound. What’s the difference? A sound wave is a longitudinal wave caused by particles passing on vibration. The radio wave is a transverse wave and is electromagnetic waves. In other words, sounds result from causing something to vibrate, whereas radio waves rely on electromagnetic origins.
Returning to our sounds…
In September 2013, Voyager project scientists released to the public sound captured on its durable (or should I say, ‘endurable’?) 8-track tape player. The high-pitched sounds provided evidence that Voyager had entered a region of cold, dense, interstellar plasma. Our worlds-weary intrepid friend had finally left our solar system for good, to seek out whatever lie ahead and dutifully report back its findings. Ready to give yourself the chills? Play this link: Voyager Reports Back.
As Cassini wended its way around Jupiter in 2001, it picked up some interesting radio waves. These are the results of scientists converting the radio to sound waves.
Galileo picked up these transmissions from Jupiter’s largest moon, Ganymede (the first 20 seconds are silent).
Here’s one from Earth. It’s the whistle heard when ultra-cold liquid helium-3 changes volume relative to the North Pole and Earth’s rotation.
And right here on our home planet, directly from the forest, are translated sounds from tree rings. No, it’s not space, but it’s kind of weird.
Moon, Stars and Beyond 