Page 8
T h e A S T R O N O M I C O N E s s a y s
Fig. 1. Henry creates life while trying to program his DVR.
X.
Dr. Hawking, meet Dr. Hankenstein
An imaginary, near-future scenario that envisions a large and elaborate laboratory, complete with all the miscellaneous trappings and paraphernalia one might expect to find in a fully equipped, surgically sterile scientific setting. Some of the machines and devices appear familiar such as computers, banks of monitors that display all manner of technical data, plus several work stations complete with all manner of meters, dials, and other, less familiar gadgetry.
Emotional tension mounts as groups of white-cloaked technicians scurry about in preparation for “throwing the switch” on some kind of major experiment. Something that involves the gigantic piece of heavy equipment situated in a separate room, behind a wall of thick, protective glass. The massive assemblage within the enclosure appears spherical in nature, balanced and held suspended by polished, metallic arms and beams. An open framework, the apparatus contains multiple, internal spheres of diminishing size, one within the other. Each of the globes rotates independently on its own axis, and rides on magnetic levitation tracks which are fitted into the spars of the next larger sphere that houses it.
Located in the exact center of the mechanism, some form of containment chamber comprises the smallest, innermost sphere. A colorful display of hazardous waste markings indicate the vessel holds a quantity of radioactive material.
As alarms and warning buzzers sound, a final signal is given to commence with the strange procedure. Amid the increasing whine of precision electrical motors, flashing lights and blazing computer screens, the individual spheres, plus the unit as a whole, begin to rotate and spin. While the gleaming machine continues to gyrate ever faster, its separate, internal components moving both together and counter to one another, an unearthly glow begins to emanate from the blurring center of the structure.
Called a Motion Decelerator, or MD for short, the instrument described is designed to lessen, reduce, counteract or cancel altogether, the intrinsic, preexisting motions that are cumulatively endemic to all earthborn matter.
Once in operation, the central hub area of the MD receives the full effect and benefit that results from the multiplicity of motions and movements both produced and reduced. The rotational speeds attained are such that the whole contraption takes on the appearance of a solid, translucent shell. The immediate environment about the MD is carefully monitored and, despite the near vacuum of the containment facility itself, is designed to compensate for the tremendous heat generated by friction alone.
Several computer monitors display read-outs that indicate dates and times, local and otherwise. Many of the technicians gather themselves about the screens which are directly associated with the eerie brightness that shines ever brighter inside the center of the machine. Sets of numerals click away, increasing at a furious pace with each passing moment. Date and time enumerations are accompanied by tags such as years, months, weeks, hours, minutes and seconds. As evidenced by the various measuring devices in use, entire years seem to elapse in mere fractions of seconds.
Presently, the whirring of motors subsides, the glow fades from the interior of the MD, the mechanism gradually slows, then stops completely. Exhaust fans quickly remove the smoke and fumes that rise from super-heated metal surfaces. A moment later, several technicians, in full hazardous material (hazmat) garb, rush through a doorway and enter the glass-enclosed room that houses the MD. Armed with Geiger counters, the group opens the central containment chamber and confirms the absence of all residual radioactivity. The waste materials, highly radioactive when the experiment first began, are now completely inert and safe to handle.
Still registered on the computer clocks are the final tallies which tell the story of what has happened. They reveal the truth of the modern miracle that just transpired. The various chronometers indicate Greenwich Mean Time, plus the local date and time inside the laboratory, plus a third clock that initially defies explanation.
Though the operation has become commonplace and lost much of its primary shock value, a special clock displays the recorded time and date as calibrated and recorded for the primary containment vessel located within the MD. During the relatively brief period the experiment required, approximately 200,000 years have elapsed within a small zone that temporarily enveloped the vessel. The chronological figure represents a jump into the future, undergone by everything, every molecule and atom, located in what might be described as a time-related event threshold inside the very center of the MD. The time measured is somewhat arbitrary, being an estimate of what was considered necessary to reduce a batch of Plutonium to a bunch of harmless bricks suitable as paperweights.
A further analysis explains how the waste inside the container was slowed from all its previous motions, was moved counter to each directional movement it shared with everything outside itself, plus all that lay beyond the room it occupied. Time both in and around the vessel, simply sped up. A process that involved things at the sub-atomic level and thus achieved the results being sought. And continued to do so as the Decelerator went into high gear.
Within the innermost affected zones of the MD, as a state of absolute rest was approached, time increased at a geometric rate. At an appropriate moment, one determined by a certain span of years, or decreased levels of radioactivity, a sophisticated braking system was implemented, which halted the process and brought the machine to a stop.
The term, braking, as stated, is an oxymoron, however. As the MD slowed, reducing its desired and imparted effect, the influenced matter in question was once again sped up -- catching up -- to its normal counterparts throughout the world.
After the successful conclusion of the procedure, the scientists eye one another in anticipation of when they might begin work with live specimens. And someday with human volunteers, fondly referred-to as “explorers”.
Emotional tension mounts as groups of white-cloaked technicians scurry about in preparation for “throwing the switch” on some kind of major experiment. Something that involves the gigantic piece of heavy equipment situated in a separate room, behind a wall of thick, protective glass. The massive assemblage within the enclosure appears spherical in nature, balanced and held suspended by polished, metallic arms and beams. An open framework, the apparatus contains multiple, internal spheres of diminishing size, one within the other. Each of the globes rotates independently on its own axis, and rides on magnetic levitation tracks which are fitted into the spars of the next larger sphere that houses it.
Located in the exact center of the mechanism, some form of containment chamber comprises the smallest, innermost sphere. A colorful display of hazardous waste markings indicate the vessel holds a quantity of radioactive material.
As alarms and warning buzzers sound, a final signal is given to commence with the strange procedure. Amid the increasing whine of precision electrical motors, flashing lights and blazing computer screens, the individual spheres, plus the unit as a whole, begin to rotate and spin. While the gleaming machine continues to gyrate ever faster, its separate, internal components moving both together and counter to one another, an unearthly glow begins to emanate from the blurring center of the structure.
Called a Motion Decelerator, or MD for short, the instrument described is designed to lessen, reduce, counteract or cancel altogether, the intrinsic, preexisting motions that are cumulatively endemic to all earthborn matter.
Once in operation, the central hub area of the MD receives the full effect and benefit that results from the multiplicity of motions and movements both produced and reduced. The rotational speeds attained are such that the whole contraption takes on the appearance of a solid, translucent shell. The immediate environment about the MD is carefully monitored and, despite the near vacuum of the containment facility itself, is designed to compensate for the tremendous heat generated by friction alone.
Several computer monitors display read-outs that indicate dates and times, local and otherwise. Many of the technicians gather themselves about the screens which are directly associated with the eerie brightness that shines ever brighter inside the center of the machine. Sets of numerals click away, increasing at a furious pace with each passing moment. Date and time enumerations are accompanied by tags such as years, months, weeks, hours, minutes and seconds. As evidenced by the various measuring devices in use, entire years seem to elapse in mere fractions of seconds.
Presently, the whirring of motors subsides, the glow fades from the interior of the MD, the mechanism gradually slows, then stops completely. Exhaust fans quickly remove the smoke and fumes that rise from super-heated metal surfaces. A moment later, several technicians, in full hazardous material (hazmat) garb, rush through a doorway and enter the glass-enclosed room that houses the MD. Armed with Geiger counters, the group opens the central containment chamber and confirms the absence of all residual radioactivity. The waste materials, highly radioactive when the experiment first began, are now completely inert and safe to handle.
Still registered on the computer clocks are the final tallies which tell the story of what has happened. They reveal the truth of the modern miracle that just transpired. The various chronometers indicate Greenwich Mean Time, plus the local date and time inside the laboratory, plus a third clock that initially defies explanation.
Though the operation has become commonplace and lost much of its primary shock value, a special clock displays the recorded time and date as calibrated and recorded for the primary containment vessel located within the MD. During the relatively brief period the experiment required, approximately 200,000 years have elapsed within a small zone that temporarily enveloped the vessel. The chronological figure represents a jump into the future, undergone by everything, every molecule and atom, located in what might be described as a time-related event threshold inside the very center of the MD. The time measured is somewhat arbitrary, being an estimate of what was considered necessary to reduce a batch of Plutonium to a bunch of harmless bricks suitable as paperweights.
A further analysis explains how the waste inside the container was slowed from all its previous motions, was moved counter to each directional movement it shared with everything outside itself, plus all that lay beyond the room it occupied. Time both in and around the vessel, simply sped up. A process that involved things at the sub-atomic level and thus achieved the results being sought. And continued to do so as the Decelerator went into high gear.
Within the innermost affected zones of the MD, as a state of absolute rest was approached, time increased at a geometric rate. At an appropriate moment, one determined by a certain span of years, or decreased levels of radioactivity, a sophisticated braking system was implemented, which halted the process and brought the machine to a stop.
The term, braking, as stated, is an oxymoron, however. As the MD slowed, reducing its desired and imparted effect, the influenced matter in question was once again sped up -- catching up -- to its normal counterparts throughout the world.
After the successful conclusion of the procedure, the scientists eye one another in anticipation of when they might begin work with live specimens. And someday with human volunteers, fondly referred-to as “explorers”.
Fig. 2. Night of a billion years. Or more.
XI.
The PLANEMOS
Cool & Creepy
Planemos are sunless worlds that do no orbit a parent star, but instead wander throughout the cosmos until captured by the gravity of a star, a larger planet, and in the case of neither, will continue to drift indefinitely through interstellar space.
Some planets, both large and small, either gas giants like Jupiter or smaller rocky worlds such as Earth, are sometimes ejected from the star system into which they were born. Any number of reasons can cause this to happen and the phenomenon is not as rare as once thought.
With the discovery of thousands of new planets orbiting parent stars, where giant worlds have spiraled inward and possess orbits very close to their suns, it surely happens that thousands, perhaps millions of other planets have departed their home solar systems for one reason or another. Still others will abandon their home galaxies entirely and travel the vast distances between the island universes.
Worth noting is the lack of external illumination that such planets would normally receive from nearby stars. Noonday on Pluto, furthest from the sun, is about the same as a dim, moonlit night on Earth. And even that is dazzling compared to the perpetual moonless midnight of a planemo. Such worlds are not, however, completely dark. At least those with some kind of atmosphere. With wind-driven, internally heated clouds. And lightning. In some cases lots of lightning. How strange might that be, from one moment to the next, to go from absolute darkness to blinding brilliance? Then back again.
Vulcanism, where geological forces generate lots of heat, some amount of light may emanate from molten rock and other super-heated fluids or gases. I can imagine no more nightmarish world (or one more beautiful) than a planemo where a visiting astronaut might be surrounded by glowing magma, phosphorescent gases and other self-florescing materials, all bombarded by endless bolts of lightning. Terms like grand and glorious likely fall far short of the true nature of such spectacles.
Strangest of all, with a beauty all their own, would be those frozen worlds without any light whatsoever, no atmosphere to speak of, no lightning, no vulcanism -- nothing but utter, absolute blackness. It’s easy to imagine asteroids and planetesimals wandering amid such bleak isolation, but an entire planet, maybe the size of Earth or larger, staggers the imagination in trying to fathom such a place. It should be noted, however, that planets which are part of a galaxy, or not that far from one, would be illuminated by the galaxy itself. In such instances, the galaxy might fill half the sky, more even, or be no larger (or brighter) than a full moon on Earth. On a clear, cloudless night, that is. And on this world, it's night every day.
The chances are good that many wandering planemos are not only interstellar, but intergalactic as well. On these planets, the nearest galaxy is little more than a pinpoint of light no bigger than a small, nighttime star. Although no word exists in English that can describe how dark such places might be, we do know that life exists in the lightless depths of the deepest oceans. And while oceanic trenches are likely still somewhat bright by comparison, one can’t help but pause and wonder. What if?
It's likely that many planemos possess molten cores. A sort of internal heater that maintains a liquid ocean of some kind, before reaching a surface where the coldest freezer is scorching hot by comparison. It's hard to imagine such places, such desolate, lonely environs. Then again, a warm sea might be teaming with a myriad of lifeforms, all waiting to greet their first human visitors. Either way, such worlds will be very interesting locations to go exploring; just don't forget to bring along a flashlight.
Some planets, both large and small, either gas giants like Jupiter or smaller rocky worlds such as Earth, are sometimes ejected from the star system into which they were born. Any number of reasons can cause this to happen and the phenomenon is not as rare as once thought.
With the discovery of thousands of new planets orbiting parent stars, where giant worlds have spiraled inward and possess orbits very close to their suns, it surely happens that thousands, perhaps millions of other planets have departed their home solar systems for one reason or another. Still others will abandon their home galaxies entirely and travel the vast distances between the island universes.
Worth noting is the lack of external illumination that such planets would normally receive from nearby stars. Noonday on Pluto, furthest from the sun, is about the same as a dim, moonlit night on Earth. And even that is dazzling compared to the perpetual moonless midnight of a planemo. Such worlds are not, however, completely dark. At least those with some kind of atmosphere. With wind-driven, internally heated clouds. And lightning. In some cases lots of lightning. How strange might that be, from one moment to the next, to go from absolute darkness to blinding brilliance? Then back again.
Vulcanism, where geological forces generate lots of heat, some amount of light may emanate from molten rock and other super-heated fluids or gases. I can imagine no more nightmarish world (or one more beautiful) than a planemo where a visiting astronaut might be surrounded by glowing magma, phosphorescent gases and other self-florescing materials, all bombarded by endless bolts of lightning. Terms like grand and glorious likely fall far short of the true nature of such spectacles.
Strangest of all, with a beauty all their own, would be those frozen worlds without any light whatsoever, no atmosphere to speak of, no lightning, no vulcanism -- nothing but utter, absolute blackness. It’s easy to imagine asteroids and planetesimals wandering amid such bleak isolation, but an entire planet, maybe the size of Earth or larger, staggers the imagination in trying to fathom such a place. It should be noted, however, that planets which are part of a galaxy, or not that far from one, would be illuminated by the galaxy itself. In such instances, the galaxy might fill half the sky, more even, or be no larger (or brighter) than a full moon on Earth. On a clear, cloudless night, that is. And on this world, it's night every day.
The chances are good that many wandering planemos are not only interstellar, but intergalactic as well. On these planets, the nearest galaxy is little more than a pinpoint of light no bigger than a small, nighttime star. Although no word exists in English that can describe how dark such places might be, we do know that life exists in the lightless depths of the deepest oceans. And while oceanic trenches are likely still somewhat bright by comparison, one can’t help but pause and wonder. What if?
It's likely that many planemos possess molten cores. A sort of internal heater that maintains a liquid ocean of some kind, before reaching a surface where the coldest freezer is scorching hot by comparison. It's hard to imagine such places, such desolate, lonely environs. Then again, a warm sea might be teaming with a myriad of lifeforms, all waiting to greet their first human visitors. Either way, such worlds will be very interesting locations to go exploring; just don't forget to bring along a flashlight.
XII.
The LIGHT of OLYMPUS
The Cosmos is a place of extreme opposites. Where desolate worlds are frozen cold, or stars burn dimly compared to our own sun. But where the surfaces of other planets run molten hot while their stars shine millions of times brighter. In a cosmos where extremums are commonplace, planemos wander in total darkness as other places and other worlds incandesce amid unending noonday suns.
Now imagine if you can, giant stars that are millions upon millions of times brighter than our own sun. Then try to conceive of how such a radiance would affect whatever planets might orbit such a star, at almost any distance. Were our sun to shine as brightly, no spot on Earth would could escape its brilliance, regardless of which side faced the light or away from it. Whether at the bottom of the deepest ocean trench or hidden away inside the most recondite cave, the remotest recess would be filled with light and appear brighter than the sun does presently. Our minds cannot begin to comprehend a radiance of this magnitude -- where light itself is its own shadow. Even Pluto would be a world without shadows, with no demarcation between dark and daylit sides. Perhaps the most distant comets and asteroids at the very fringe of the solar system might finally possess shadowed faces when turned from the sun's still-blinding shine.
In terms of all the universe has to offer, especially as regards its seeming fondness for flamboyancy, common Earthlings live a rather sheltered and quiet, unspectacular existence. Although it's just a guess on my part, the ultimate irony may well be that it is precisely within the uninteresting, backwater outskirts of galaxies that life (as we know it) establishes its first fragile footholds. And if human beings serve as an example of what's possible, our exuberant, gregarious, and ebullient presence should one day make pale the brightest of stars.
Now imagine if you can, giant stars that are millions upon millions of times brighter than our own sun. Then try to conceive of how such a radiance would affect whatever planets might orbit such a star, at almost any distance. Were our sun to shine as brightly, no spot on Earth would could escape its brilliance, regardless of which side faced the light or away from it. Whether at the bottom of the deepest ocean trench or hidden away inside the most recondite cave, the remotest recess would be filled with light and appear brighter than the sun does presently. Our minds cannot begin to comprehend a radiance of this magnitude -- where light itself is its own shadow. Even Pluto would be a world without shadows, with no demarcation between dark and daylit sides. Perhaps the most distant comets and asteroids at the very fringe of the solar system might finally possess shadowed faces when turned from the sun's still-blinding shine.
In terms of all the universe has to offer, especially as regards its seeming fondness for flamboyancy, common Earthlings live a rather sheltered and quiet, unspectacular existence. Although it's just a guess on my part, the ultimate irony may well be that it is precisely within the uninteresting, backwater outskirts of galaxies that life (as we know it) establishes its first fragile footholds. And if human beings serve as an example of what's possible, our exuberant, gregarious, and ebullient presence should one day make pale the brightest of stars.
XIII.
VOYAGER III
Fig. 3. Shipping out.
XIV.
Hitching a Ride on the Space Tether
Docking with a Ribbon Elevator and Returning to the First Floor.
Fig. 4. Hey, Felix, your 24-mile jump just got beat by 21,000 miles.
Question: What do 21,748 miles (35,000 kilometers) and 23 hours, 56 minutes have in common? The answer is what's known as a geosynchronous orbit around the Earth. Positioned at a minimum altitude (distance) of approximately 35,000 km, directly above the equator, and traveling in sync with the Earth's rotation (a little over 1000 mph), a satellite or any other object will remain in a stationary position relative to a given point on the surface located along the equator. I know that's a mouthful, but I have every intention of explaining exactly what all this means and why it's important. Oh, and as you know, it takes about 24 hours for the Earth to rotate once on its axis. Thus the satellite in question takes the same amount of time to complete one full joint rotation with the Earth.
The late Arthur C. Clarke, renowned scientist, writer, and futurist, was perhaps the first to suggest the idea that something in geosynchronous orbit afforded a unique opportunity to travel into space without the need for a chemical rocket booster or any other typical lifting vehicle. One of the biggest drawbacks and obstacles to space travel is the need to slow the speed of reentry for a vehicle returning to Earth from space orbit. Billions of dollars, maybe a trillion or more, have been spent on research and development of so-called "heat shields" and special "tiles" like those glued to the vulnerable surfaces of space shuttles. None of that would be necessary if we could just coast down into and through the atmosphere, traveling at some leisurely pace of several hundred miles per hour, Mach-1 or so, or even a few miles per hour. Or better yet, at zero mph (laterally speaking).
Felix Baumgartner recently broke the world's record for high-altitude skydiving. Jumping from a height of 24 miles, Baumgartner returned to Earth from the very fringes of outer space, minus a heat shield or special heat-resistant tiles or anything else. Although the speed of his free-fall descent, at 834 mph, surpassed that of sound (761 mph)) it was so relatively miniscule, that heat build-up from friction with the atmosphere was never a consideration. Just the opposite of returning space vehicles for which that same friction is of the utmost concern. Another example of streaking through the thick air of the atmosphere is the 1997 land-speed record of 763 mph. Not surpassed since and set by Great Britain's turbofan vehicle, Thrust SSC, the event demonstrated the first time that a land-based craft had achieved supersonic velocity. In 2003, the tragic death of the crew of the space shuttle Columbia gave grim testimony to the fact that some form of low-velocity reentry was essential if travel to and from Earth orbit -- either high or low -- was to become both routine and practical.
As things stand presently, a modern rocket must achieve what is called "escape velocity" in order to reach any kind of orbit around the Earth. The speed required is about 18,000 mph. Any slower and a rocket will fall back to Earth as both gravity and friction with the atmosphere work progressively to drag a vehicle or satellite back to the surface. The biggest problem, alluded to earlier, isn't so much getting into orbit, but rather coming back down at that same 18,000 mph. Which is where all the effort (and money) comes into play, just trying to survive the intense (and deadly) heat of reentry.
By comparison, a satellite in geosynchronous orbit is traveling at approximately 6,876 mph. A far cry from the near insane velocities necessary for their lower-orbit counterparts. Or shuttles and such. Not only is the geosync satellite moving at a relatively slow speed, but compared to the point along the Earth's equator over which the satellite is positioned, it isn't moving at all. Its velocity is essentially zero. Think of a dust speck on the very outside of a rotating phonograph record. The particle is revolving about the center spindle of the player, which I only mention so as to clarify the difference between the terms, rotating and revolving. The record itself is rotating.
Any point along the surface of the platter that can be connected by a straight line to the speck, is analogous to a line drawn from the Earth's equator to a satellite in geosynchronous orbit. Therefore any point along the line itself is, in relation to any other point on the same line, virtually motionless. Interestingly, the speed of rotation varies for each point while the line, as a whole, revolves as a singular element -- as if the line simply represented the diameter of a much larger (and spherical) dust speck. Fortunately, one needn't be a math wiz to hear the music playing; I can barely do arithmetic. All the foregoing is true, of course, for a rotating CD, in case you're not sure what a phonograph record is.
Long before reading that Arthur Clarke had envisioned the potential of having a stationary satellite orbiting high overhead, I (and likely many others) had looked into the nighttime sky and imagined that one of the brighter stars was one of those special kind of satellites. The thought occurred to me even then, that if some type of rope or other tether could be strung between the ground and the satellite, an astronaut need only climb the rope (Jack and the Beanstalk?) and pull him or herself into space. No rocket needed. If Felix Baumgartner could literally drop from space to the Earth, then why couldn't the process be reversed? I always wondered what would happen if a satellite in orbit, traveling at 18,000 mph, was suddenly stopped in its tracks, so to speak, and brought to a complete stop. Baumgartner and others have certainly shown us the answer -- and the way. A large rocket engine attached to the satellite in question, if such an experiment were attempted would, when ignited, slow the satellite to such an extent that friction with the atmosphere might well be reduced to a totally moot concern.
So I wasn't surprised to learn years later that other scientists had not only imagined the implementation of a physical link between satellite and ground, but sophisticated designs had been drawn and some amount of experimentation performed. The latest incarnation of the concept, last time I looked, is a flat ribbon kind of affair that acts as a sort of vertical roadway. Attached to this ribbon would be a passenger compartment, container, or vehicle in one form or another. Using electricity, the capsule would power its way up the ribbon and be capable of stopping, starting, dropping off or picking things up, anywhere along its 22,000 mile journey into space. This also means the ribbon needs to be 22,000 miles long. Which is a lengthy strip of anything no matter how you cut it. Let alone expensive. But chemical rocket launches don't exactly come cheap either. And if the booster vehicle fails for some reason, there's a lot of money up in smoke -- literally.
Thus money isn't necessarily the issue. Or shouldn't be. Yet we don't see anyone rushing out to string up either ribbons or bows. I think the day will come, however, when the space "elevator" will become a reality. Maybe not in my or your lifetime, but the concept is so elegantly simple and the benefits so plentiful, it truly must be only a matter of time.
Like something out of a wild, big-budget science fiction movie, I can easily picture the land-based attachment of a ribbon-elevator, if the final version is indeed ribbon-like. Perhaps twenty to thirty-feet wide or so (or a lot less), but very thin, can you imagine seeing this huge strip of material rising up out of its elaborate housing -- a major ground structure of some sort -- and stretching skyward, higher and higher until it disappeared among the clouds. Then you realize that this seemingly endless ribbon is attached at its other end to a satellite (or other object) tens of thousands of miles in space. Wow, what a trip. Which it would definitely be as a number of passengers hop aboard their capsule and prepare for a very special voyage.
It's fun (and challenging) to think of all the possibilities such an apparatus could provide. How much easier would be all future trips to the moon if the vehicles were launched from a platform stationed in geosynchronous orbit? A virtually ceaseless parade of materials and personnel (including fuel and other supplies) would replenish permanently established bases in space, probably located at many stops along the way. Powered vehicles never designed to land on Earth's surface would attend to lone satellites and other objects in any number of other orbits. When availability of fuel and other consumables are no longer a problem, our whole relationship with space-travel takes on a new and exciting dynamic. How much less problematic are journeys to Mars and the other planets when comparatively casual preparations replace the violence of dangerous, chemically-fueled rocket boosters?
More than any other single factor, the ability to go into space -- deep space -- and return peacefully and leisurely once again to the Earth's surface, represents a milestone that must occur in one form or another, at some point in the future. Hopefully the near future. I think part of the hold-up in the past has been a lack of composite material(s) which would be strong and resilient enough to comprise the actual ribbon itself. At least during the first twenty miles or so, strong winds, tidal forces, and other physical elements would constantly attack the elevator and repair and replacement should always be a problem to some degree. Even so, the wondrous idea of a winged airplane quietly perched in space, which could simply glide back to Earth, is both compelling and profound.
I believe the space elevator, a number of them, will one day rise up out of the Earth like the strings of helium balloons which float unseen high above the clouds. In addition to astronauts, average people will ride the cars, or capsules, both for fun and for business, and views of the Earth from hundreds, even thousands of miles in space. The practice will be as commonplace to them as looking out the window of a present-day airliner is for us. The phrase, "Going up!" will certainly take on a whole new meaning.
The late Arthur C. Clarke, renowned scientist, writer, and futurist, was perhaps the first to suggest the idea that something in geosynchronous orbit afforded a unique opportunity to travel into space without the need for a chemical rocket booster or any other typical lifting vehicle. One of the biggest drawbacks and obstacles to space travel is the need to slow the speed of reentry for a vehicle returning to Earth from space orbit. Billions of dollars, maybe a trillion or more, have been spent on research and development of so-called "heat shields" and special "tiles" like those glued to the vulnerable surfaces of space shuttles. None of that would be necessary if we could just coast down into and through the atmosphere, traveling at some leisurely pace of several hundred miles per hour, Mach-1 or so, or even a few miles per hour. Or better yet, at zero mph (laterally speaking).
Felix Baumgartner recently broke the world's record for high-altitude skydiving. Jumping from a height of 24 miles, Baumgartner returned to Earth from the very fringes of outer space, minus a heat shield or special heat-resistant tiles or anything else. Although the speed of his free-fall descent, at 834 mph, surpassed that of sound (761 mph)) it was so relatively miniscule, that heat build-up from friction with the atmosphere was never a consideration. Just the opposite of returning space vehicles for which that same friction is of the utmost concern. Another example of streaking through the thick air of the atmosphere is the 1997 land-speed record of 763 mph. Not surpassed since and set by Great Britain's turbofan vehicle, Thrust SSC, the event demonstrated the first time that a land-based craft had achieved supersonic velocity. In 2003, the tragic death of the crew of the space shuttle Columbia gave grim testimony to the fact that some form of low-velocity reentry was essential if travel to and from Earth orbit -- either high or low -- was to become both routine and practical.
As things stand presently, a modern rocket must achieve what is called "escape velocity" in order to reach any kind of orbit around the Earth. The speed required is about 18,000 mph. Any slower and a rocket will fall back to Earth as both gravity and friction with the atmosphere work progressively to drag a vehicle or satellite back to the surface. The biggest problem, alluded to earlier, isn't so much getting into orbit, but rather coming back down at that same 18,000 mph. Which is where all the effort (and money) comes into play, just trying to survive the intense (and deadly) heat of reentry.
By comparison, a satellite in geosynchronous orbit is traveling at approximately 6,876 mph. A far cry from the near insane velocities necessary for their lower-orbit counterparts. Or shuttles and such. Not only is the geosync satellite moving at a relatively slow speed, but compared to the point along the Earth's equator over which the satellite is positioned, it isn't moving at all. Its velocity is essentially zero. Think of a dust speck on the very outside of a rotating phonograph record. The particle is revolving about the center spindle of the player, which I only mention so as to clarify the difference between the terms, rotating and revolving. The record itself is rotating.
Any point along the surface of the platter that can be connected by a straight line to the speck, is analogous to a line drawn from the Earth's equator to a satellite in geosynchronous orbit. Therefore any point along the line itself is, in relation to any other point on the same line, virtually motionless. Interestingly, the speed of rotation varies for each point while the line, as a whole, revolves as a singular element -- as if the line simply represented the diameter of a much larger (and spherical) dust speck. Fortunately, one needn't be a math wiz to hear the music playing; I can barely do arithmetic. All the foregoing is true, of course, for a rotating CD, in case you're not sure what a phonograph record is.
Long before reading that Arthur Clarke had envisioned the potential of having a stationary satellite orbiting high overhead, I (and likely many others) had looked into the nighttime sky and imagined that one of the brighter stars was one of those special kind of satellites. The thought occurred to me even then, that if some type of rope or other tether could be strung between the ground and the satellite, an astronaut need only climb the rope (Jack and the Beanstalk?) and pull him or herself into space. No rocket needed. If Felix Baumgartner could literally drop from space to the Earth, then why couldn't the process be reversed? I always wondered what would happen if a satellite in orbit, traveling at 18,000 mph, was suddenly stopped in its tracks, so to speak, and brought to a complete stop. Baumgartner and others have certainly shown us the answer -- and the way. A large rocket engine attached to the satellite in question, if such an experiment were attempted would, when ignited, slow the satellite to such an extent that friction with the atmosphere might well be reduced to a totally moot concern.
So I wasn't surprised to learn years later that other scientists had not only imagined the implementation of a physical link between satellite and ground, but sophisticated designs had been drawn and some amount of experimentation performed. The latest incarnation of the concept, last time I looked, is a flat ribbon kind of affair that acts as a sort of vertical roadway. Attached to this ribbon would be a passenger compartment, container, or vehicle in one form or another. Using electricity, the capsule would power its way up the ribbon and be capable of stopping, starting, dropping off or picking things up, anywhere along its 22,000 mile journey into space. This also means the ribbon needs to be 22,000 miles long. Which is a lengthy strip of anything no matter how you cut it. Let alone expensive. But chemical rocket launches don't exactly come cheap either. And if the booster vehicle fails for some reason, there's a lot of money up in smoke -- literally.
Thus money isn't necessarily the issue. Or shouldn't be. Yet we don't see anyone rushing out to string up either ribbons or bows. I think the day will come, however, when the space "elevator" will become a reality. Maybe not in my or your lifetime, but the concept is so elegantly simple and the benefits so plentiful, it truly must be only a matter of time.
Like something out of a wild, big-budget science fiction movie, I can easily picture the land-based attachment of a ribbon-elevator, if the final version is indeed ribbon-like. Perhaps twenty to thirty-feet wide or so (or a lot less), but very thin, can you imagine seeing this huge strip of material rising up out of its elaborate housing -- a major ground structure of some sort -- and stretching skyward, higher and higher until it disappeared among the clouds. Then you realize that this seemingly endless ribbon is attached at its other end to a satellite (or other object) tens of thousands of miles in space. Wow, what a trip. Which it would definitely be as a number of passengers hop aboard their capsule and prepare for a very special voyage.
It's fun (and challenging) to think of all the possibilities such an apparatus could provide. How much easier would be all future trips to the moon if the vehicles were launched from a platform stationed in geosynchronous orbit? A virtually ceaseless parade of materials and personnel (including fuel and other supplies) would replenish permanently established bases in space, probably located at many stops along the way. Powered vehicles never designed to land on Earth's surface would attend to lone satellites and other objects in any number of other orbits. When availability of fuel and other consumables are no longer a problem, our whole relationship with space-travel takes on a new and exciting dynamic. How much less problematic are journeys to Mars and the other planets when comparatively casual preparations replace the violence of dangerous, chemically-fueled rocket boosters?
More than any other single factor, the ability to go into space -- deep space -- and return peacefully and leisurely once again to the Earth's surface, represents a milestone that must occur in one form or another, at some point in the future. Hopefully the near future. I think part of the hold-up in the past has been a lack of composite material(s) which would be strong and resilient enough to comprise the actual ribbon itself. At least during the first twenty miles or so, strong winds, tidal forces, and other physical elements would constantly attack the elevator and repair and replacement should always be a problem to some degree. Even so, the wondrous idea of a winged airplane quietly perched in space, which could simply glide back to Earth, is both compelling and profound.
I believe the space elevator, a number of them, will one day rise up out of the Earth like the strings of helium balloons which float unseen high above the clouds. In addition to astronauts, average people will ride the cars, or capsules, both for fun and for business, and views of the Earth from hundreds, even thousands of miles in space. The practice will be as commonplace to them as looking out the window of a present-day airliner is for us. The phrase, "Going up!" will certainly take on a whole new meaning.
XV.
Elevator Into Space:
Japanese firm determined to proceed with bold engineering project.
Report by Trevor Mogg
Published September 23, 2014
Published September 23, 2014
Japanese construction giant Obayashi first talked about building an elevator into space a few years ago, and this week it wants everyone to know it hasn’t given up on the idea. While the idea may sound somewhat fantastical to many observers, the Tokyo-based firm said it believes it will have a space elevator operating by 2050.
Obayashi, whose work includes the construction of the world’s tallest tower – Tokyo’s Skytree – says the cable carrying the elevator could reach as far as 60,000 miles into space with a counterweight at the end, while the terminal station would be located 22,400 miles above Earth. The system would comprise robotic cars powered by magnetic linear motors, Australia’s ABC News reported Monday. Once built, the cost of transporting humans and cargo into space would be significantly lower than traditional rocket-based travel.
The cable could, for example, enable small rockets to be transported into space to the terminal station, from where they could launch, saving huge amounts of money on fuel costs in the process. With the cars designed to carry up to 30 people, the elevator could also prove a real boost for the space tourism industry. However, you’d have to be OK about spending seven days together, as that’s how long the journey to the ‘top floor’ is expected to take.
Yoji Ishikawa, a research and development manager at Obayashi, said the project has been made possible by the development of carbon nanotechnology, which has a tensile strength around 100 times greater than steel cable. “Right now we can’t make the cable long enough,” Ishikawa said. “We can only make 3-cm-long nanotubes, but we need much more. We think by 2030 we’ll be able to do it.”
Engineering departments at universities across Japan are holding regular contests to try to further develop the technology for Obayashi’s ambitious space elevator plan. A major study conducted two years ago on the project’s feasibility found that Obayashi’s space elevator was not merely the stuff of science fiction but actually a real possibility. However, in order for it to become a reality, it recommended some form of international co-operation.
Obayashi, whose work includes the construction of the world’s tallest tower – Tokyo’s Skytree – says the cable carrying the elevator could reach as far as 60,000 miles into space with a counterweight at the end, while the terminal station would be located 22,400 miles above Earth. The system would comprise robotic cars powered by magnetic linear motors, Australia’s ABC News reported Monday. Once built, the cost of transporting humans and cargo into space would be significantly lower than traditional rocket-based travel.
The cable could, for example, enable small rockets to be transported into space to the terminal station, from where they could launch, saving huge amounts of money on fuel costs in the process. With the cars designed to carry up to 30 people, the elevator could also prove a real boost for the space tourism industry. However, you’d have to be OK about spending seven days together, as that’s how long the journey to the ‘top floor’ is expected to take.
Yoji Ishikawa, a research and development manager at Obayashi, said the project has been made possible by the development of carbon nanotechnology, which has a tensile strength around 100 times greater than steel cable. “Right now we can’t make the cable long enough,” Ishikawa said. “We can only make 3-cm-long nanotubes, but we need much more. We think by 2030 we’ll be able to do it.”
Engineering departments at universities across Japan are holding regular contests to try to further develop the technology for Obayashi’s ambitious space elevator plan. A major study conducted two years ago on the project’s feasibility found that Obayashi’s space elevator was not merely the stuff of science fiction but actually a real possibility. However, in order for it to become a reality, it recommended some form of international co-operation.
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