by Lee Brainard
She accepted his apology but looked at him as if waiting for further clarification. He noticed her concern and added, “Yesterday afternoon, after eight weeks of brain-numbing effort, I shipped my prospectus to Richard Fairchild at NASA via overnight air—I hope I never have to get so entangled in government bureaucracy again. But I was way too exhausted and numb to immediately take up your comet. I went home, collapsed in my recliner for the evening with a glass of scotch in my hand, and watched Humphrey Bogart until I fell asleep. But here I am today, ready and raring to give your discovery the attention that it deserves”—he waved her folder as he spoke. She smiled, “Better late than never.” When he saw her smile, he knew things were going to be okay. He smiled back and walked away.
Several hours later Dr. Goldblum, after checking and rechecking Irina’s observations and calculations, and running a few calculations of his own, sat at his desk trembling with mingled apprehension and exuberance. That moment—a career-defining epiphany—was enshrined in his ego. Irina’s comet, as she had tried to tell him, wasn’t just another typical long-period comet. It was stupendously enormous . . . it was paradigm-shattering . . . it was like discovering concrete evidence that Sasquatch really did exist after all. When he ran simulated occultations of Irina’s occulted star with a Hale-Bopp size comet, the star manifested a corona. When ran simulations with a comet twice the diameter of Hale-Bopp, the occluded star still manifested a faint corona. There was no doubt about it, a comet significantly larger than Hale-Bopp was going to smash its way through the asteroid belt and pass very close—dangerously close—to Mars. He stared off into space, overcome with the magnitude of the discovery that had fallen into his lap.
From that moment he was a changed man, electrified, driven with a passion that made his former self look like a slacker. He gave the comet priority attention and took charge of the entire project, directing and organizing every aspect—research, analysis, calculations, and projections. He kept in continual contact with Sally at Mt. Wilson, George at Whipple, and Gloria at Mauna Kea, whom he had enlisted for help in the project. And he helped Irina prepare a journal article, so they were ready to publish when that day came.
At first Irina was glad for his generous help, but over the next few weeks, it slowly dawned on her that he wasn’t assisting. He was domineering. His involvement was more than a boss micro-managing his team or overly-involving himself in their projects. His involvement was egotistical, self-promoting, and coldly calculated. Here was a man with a big ego making sure that one of the biggest astronomical feathers of the past century, if not the biggest, was stuck in his hat. Lady Luck had given him a golden opportunity to upgrade his status in the astronomical world from rising star to superstar, and he was making every effort to capitalize on it. Irina felt vulnerable, like he was trying to take ownership of her baby, but there was nothing she could do about it. She steeled her inner woman and pressed forward, committing the painful situation into the hands of God.
12
Cornell University
September 2017
Dr. Goldblum delayed sending the report for Irina’s discovery to the MPC. This wasn’t a matter of uncertainty regarding the identification, size, and direction of the comet. It was a matter of political investment. His future—his destiny—was linked to this comet. If he was going report a planet-size comet on a dangerous trajectory, he was going to do so with a presentation ready at hand for the big shots—a presentation that was bulletproof, that left no stone unturned, that was forward looking, that would impress the movers and shakers in the astronomy world . . . and the White House . . . and whatever other hallowed enclaves mattered.
Inflamed by this spirit he pressed his team, pushing them to put together a sheaf of research that went far beyond the already stringent criteria that he had set for Cornell’s TNO program. The climate became so intense that some of the team members joked that they had been baptized into a cult. Even Sally at Mt. Wilson had started to feel like his requests for data were really demands. While she didn’t sour on him, she did feel hurt—similar to the way she felt when in a relationship where she was giving but not receiving back.
***
After reviewing the latest round of data he had ordered from Mt. Wilson, Whipple, and Mauna Kea on the transit time for the occultation, Dr. Goldblum was shell-shocked. The diameter of the comet was vastly larger than they had anticipated. The new calculations pegged it at 900-1000 kilometers in diameter, about fifteen times the size of Hale-Bopp comet—it was an outlier of gigantic proportions.
The new data also confirmed earlier calculations that the comet’s path would directly intersect the orbitary path of Mars and would come with 25,000 miles of the planet. This made for an extremely unsettling situation. Theoretically, it could collide with Mars.
Another unnerving observation was the extremely low albedo that the comet exhibited. Although it was 900-1000 kilometers in diameter and only a little ways past Pluto, yet it was still invisible to optical telescopes—even Keck’s 394-inch at Mauna Kea. By way of contrast, Eris, which is twice the size but three times more distant, was discovered with the 48-inch telescope at Mt. Palomar. It seemed to have been a stroke of luck—or the providence of God—that Irina had discovered this comet. If it hadn’t been for her almost quixotic desire to look for occultations in Taurus starting in the region of the Pleiades—traced to her fascination with the prominence that the Bull and the Seven Sisters enjoyed in ancient mythology—the comet could have passed deep into the solar system before anyone noticed its presence.
When Irina looked over the new data and calculations, she felt a cold chill from head to toe. It upped the scare-factor to apocalyptic proportions unknown to modern man except in Hollywood productions. She shuddered to think what would happen if this wandering giant knocked two or three large asteroids into eccentric orbits . . . that could spell disaster for Earth . . . maybe not in the immediate future . . . but looming on the horizon. Worse . . . what if it was deflected by Mars into an orbit that would eventually intersect Earth?
The situation filled her with inner turmoil. She didn’t—couldn’t—feel the same elation that she had felt over the discovery of the two dwarf planets and the other TNOs. Her usual sense of scientific satisfaction was muted by a nagging uneasiness. She knew exactly why. TNOs weren’t a threat . . . they were benign. But this comet was . . . ominous . . . it posed a tangible threat to Earth. She smiled at her naiveté. She wasn’t handling this as well as she had imagined she would. It was one thing to grapple with a dangerous comet as a theoretical concept in a thesis. It was another thing to discover one that was headed for your neighborhood.
Her usual enthusiasm for prophecy was also somewhat subdued. While it was exciting to think that this comet might have something to do with Bible prophecy—maybe it was the impetus that causes the fulfillment of Luke 21:26, “the planets of the heavens shall be loosed from their orbits”—yet the apocalypse spelled sorrow for the inhabitants of the world.
Dr. Goldblum, on the other hand, wasn’t experiencing emotional struggles like Irina. Though he could articulate the potential threats which the comet posed to Earth, he was emotionally removed from that aspect of the subject. His eyes were fixed on what the comet could do for him—name recognition, promotion, NASA, maybe even a book deal. Increasingly he exuded a haughty self-importance, a trait that tarnished him in Irina’s eyes. While an inflated ego might be desirable in some circles, to her it was an unsightly blemish.
13
Cornell University
Early October 2017
Dr. Goldblum contacted Hugh Beckinsall, a high-level systems analyst at NASA, seeking a threat analysis for a hypothetical situation in which a 1000 kilometer comet passed through the asteroid belt and threatened one of the inner planets, like Mars or Venus. Hugh laughed at the request and jokingly replied that that was like asking for a threat analysis on the damage we could expect were Godzilla to show up on the shores of Japan near Tokyo. When Dr. Goldblum said
he was serious and pressed him for help, Hugh said that he would look into the matter, but doubted that he would find anything.
To his surprise, Dr. Goldblum received a 106-page study in the mail three days later with a provocative title—Rogue Apocalypse. It wasn’t exactly what he was looking for, as the hypothetical scenario involved a comet which was a mere hundred kilometers in diameter, but it did contain a wealth of research, dozens of graphs and charts, and a bibliography—more than ample to kickstart his own threat analysis.
He quickly read the introduction. The study had been published three years earlier by a JPL analyst who was known for thinking outside the box—the under-appreciated Mitchell Grand. He had run a thousand simulations of the scenario and then derived probabilities from them for such a rogue knocking a large asteroid out of its orbit and for one of these displaced asteroids impacting Earth.
He turned to the conclusion—and had the wind taken from his sails. The author had concluded that there was only a twenty percent probability that such a rogue would displace a large asteroid and less than one percent probability that one of these displaced asteroids would impact Earth within a thousand years. Such low probabilities weren't sufficient to impress the folks he wanted to impress. He needed numbers with a little more wow factor.
He quickly did some rough estimations and calculations. His comet—he liked the ring of that—was in a class of its own—about ten times the diameter of the comet that had been hypothesized in the study. So it wasn't unreasonable to figure that it was a virtual certainty—nearly one hundred percent probability—that it would displace a few asteroids that were one kilometer or larger in diameter. And there was a good chance—say a ten percent probability—that one of these dislodged asteroids would impact Earth in the next century.
He liked these numbers. The ten percent probability of impact seemed like an ideal working figure. High enough to garner attention. Low enough to avoid panic. He hoped that further investigation and calculations would validate this hunch. He needed to make a big splash with his colleagues and with the heavyweights. The hunger to be a power player at NASA gnawed away. He had to make the best of this opportunity. While Irina had actually discovered the comet, he shared in the credit because the discovery had occurred under his supervision. But close association only opened the door. It wouldn't usher him in. His golden ticket was going to have to be expertise. He smirked to himself. It was within his reach to be regarded as the foremost expert in the world on this comet—in threat estimation and threat preparation—if he greased the proper wheels and did his homework.
14
Cornell University
Mid-October, 2017
“Run a few more simulations,” Dr. Goldblum insisted, “using slightly larger numbers. I have a hunch that we’re underestimating the size of the comet.” He started to walk away, then wheeled back around. “Oh, before I forget. Meet me for lunch today. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you regarding our discovery.”
“Sure,” Irina replied, shaking her head to herself, trying to frame what she had just heard in good light, fighting a sense of indignation that was straining against the leash. “Our” discovery? How does that not sound presumptuous in your ears?
“Let's rendezvous for lunch, say about twenty minutes after one. Will that work for you? I know it's late . . . I wish I could make it earlier. But I have two important phone conferences over our usual lunch break—one with Mitchell Grand at JPL and one with Gloria Kamealoha at Mauna Kea.”
“No problem.” She turned and started to walk away.
He pressed her. “Is everything okay, Irina? You seem a little distant lately.”
She stopped in the doorway, cast a nonchalant glance in his general direction, and stated in a laconic manner, “I'm fine. Just focused on my work.” But she wasn't fine. She was perturbed at the knight in crusty armor. I'm not fine! . . . and if you can't figure out what's bugging me . . . you don't deserve to have a woman in your life! . . . She winced. Probably a little harsh.
***
They settled into a booth at Dr. Goldblum's favorite sushi restaurant. Irina didn't like eating here. She wasn't wild about sushi and loathed the atmosphere—it was just another raucous bar, except that you got good sushi with your beer instead of a mediocre hamburger. But this is where he brought her when he took her out for lunch. It was a status-symbol thing for him. She agonized over the menu—she wasn't much of a Japanese food fan—and finally settled on the swordfish. To humor him she ordered a sushi appetizer and ate most of it. The squid stayed on the plate. She couldn't stomach the taste and texture. And she couldn’t fathom how could anyone enjoy cooked rubber.
After they had finished their meal and made Caltech small talk for a few minutes, Dr. Goldblum reached into his satchel, pulled out a copy of the research paper he had gotten from his contact at NASA, and slapped it ceremoniously—and rather noisily—on the counter in front of her. “You gotta check this out, girl!”
Irina stared at the paper for a moment, taken aback by his clownish antic—“A man is but a beer away from a buffoon” her mom used to say—then rotated the paper so the cover faced her. Rogue Apocalypse. She liked that. It was a captivating title. Apocalypse was a term that had often been on her mind since she had discovered the invisible leviathan. And Rogue had a ring to it, hinting of unpredictability and danger. It was the right name for her comet—she could picture it wreaking havoc in the inner solar system, like a jumbo elephant gone rogue and trampling a village. But she was skeptical that the CSBN (the Committee for Small Body Nomenclature) would bite on the idea. The time-honored convention would name the comet after her, the discoverer, assuming that she was the first to report it. And they, like most institutions, tended to be married to their conventions. But maybe if she convinced Dr. Goldblum, he might add a little weight to her case.
“I think the comet should be called the Rogue,” she blurted out. “I know that cuts across the grain of naming protocol, but it doesn’t seem right to name something this big and dangerous after . . .” She trailed off.
“. . . after a classy female,” Dr. Goldblum interjected.
She smiled sheepishly. “I was going to say a woman. But I changed my mind. Kind of a sexist statement when you consider that women can be as mean and nasty as men.”
He smiled. “You have a valid point. Naming it after a human being—any human being—regardless of sex—seems out of place. But try convincing the traditionalists at CSBN.”
Irina smiled—an impish thought had crept into her mind. “Rogue is my nickname . . . kind of . . . my babushka used to call me шахрай (shock-ray) because I preferred hot dogs to borscht and classical music to Ukrainian folk music.”
But Dr. Goldblum was no longer paying attention . . . he was drifting . . . the wheels were turning. He wasn't sure if the CSBN would agree to name the comet Rogue, but he was sure that he would use the handle, at least informally. It was apropos and had a stickiness to it. It would definitely catch on. He imagined himself dropping the name in a room full of big shots—NASA, bureaucrats, and military—and watching a sea of heads nod in approval.
15
Cornell University
Monday, November 6, 2017
Irina read, for the third time, the report she was going to send to the MPC on the discovery of her comet. She fumed a bit as she read—still peeved with Dr. Goldblum and his foot-dragging. Normally they would have invested two months maximum in preparing a report, but he seemed to have his own agenda in the matter. While she had spent six months analyzing plates and data and adjusting her calculations on the comet’s orbit and diameter, he had been working on his own project, which was obviously associated with the comet, but which he was tenaciously secretive about.
She hesitated—it was tough being a perfectionist—but she was confident that the report was ready. She walked briskly to his office and poked her head in the door. “Here’s the report . . . ready to send to the MPC.”
He g
lanced up from the project on his desk—several books and papers on comet impact, a legal pad filled with notations, and his timeworn Texas Instruments calculator—and gestured to a spot on his desk that was only half-cluttered. She sighed to herself and placed the manila folder holding her MPC report on a chaotic pile of astronomy periodicals, photocopied articles, and letters, wondering how he could possibly find anything in this mess.
“I’ll get to that within the hour,” he said, “then, if everything is in order, we can send our report to the MPC.”
She shook her head—there’s that “our” again—and stared at him for a moment with that nice-ice look that some women are capable of—a thin veil of pleasantry covering an iceberg of displeasure or scorn. She turned and started back to her cubicle, then spun the other way and made her way to the break room. Her nerves were frazzled . . . coffee break is coming early this morning.
Three hours later, right before lunch, Dr. Goldblum summoned Irina back to his office. “Everything looks good on the MPC report,” he exclaimed. “Shall we?”
Irina nodded. He placed the pages in the hopper on his fax machine and hit the send button. She braced herself. The sounds that fax machines made were extremely obnoxious—like fingernails on a chalkboard. You would think, with all the techno-wizardry at our fingertips, that manufacturers could program them to make sounds that didn’t sound like chintzy, B-grade, sci-fi sound effects. But this time she hardly noticed the sounds. Her eyes were glued to the panel, watching the lights as they flashed . . . sending . . . sending . . . received. She relaxed. Her long odyssey was over.
