The Aftermath

by Samuel C. Florman

  The tension throughout the ship was now palpable. The sky continued to glow unnaturally, and the heat coming from every angle created the feeling that the vessel and everyone aboard was in a pressure cooker.

  After an hour—an agonizing hour—the red glow diminished, the sky turned a murky purple-blue, and the heat started gradually to ease. The immediate crisis seemed to have passed. Jane and the others felt relieved, dazed, and most of all, bewildered.

  —————

  The first shock wave arrived at a little past four in the morning with a dull thud and a shuddering of the ship. But there was no visible damage, and Captain Nordstrom again gave a brief and calming message over the loudspeaker system. Three hours later, the Queen of Africa felt a second impact, this time from pressure coming around the world the longer way. Close to the comet's point of impact, the blast effects had been cataclysmic. But for these survivors, so far distant, the explosive force posed no danger either to the ship or to any passengers.

  Shortly after the first shock wave passed, a large ocean swell, some fifty feet high, surged under the hull. Nordstrom and his officers had been on the alert for just such a contingency, and had positioned the ship so that the wave presented no threat to the vessel. Still, the sudden rise and descent was an unwelcome surprise to nervous systems already stressed to the maximum.

  The night hours eventually passed; but the sun did not appear at its usual time. There was a heavy gray cloud cover, tinted with patches of red, particularly to the northwest, where as was later discovered, fires were raging on the land. Then, in midmorning, instead of the sky brightening, light began to wane. Abruptly, the ship was plunged into total blackness. The outside temperature, which had been alarmingly hot, and then moderated, now began to plummet. Soon the deck railings were covered with thin sheets of ice.

  Inside their seagoing cocoon, most passengers felt relatively comfortable. But their mental and emotional state was anything but untroubled. In a strange way, incredulity served to avert panic. The situation was beyond anything these people could ever have imagined, or learned to fear, so that they were dazed almost more than they were frightened.

  About noon, the captain spoke again, giving reassurances about the well-being of the ship. "We were refueled and provisioned at Richards Bay the day before yesterday," he said, "so we are amply supplied and capable of cruising, if need be, through several weeks of dark and cold. Besides, my meteorologist has every expectation that the skies will soon clear." It was fairly obvious to all listeners that this "expectation" was based more on hope than on science.

  Several times during the afternoon, the captain repeated his reassurances, although since he had no new information, they became less and less comforting. Finally, Jane Warner contacted him to say that she had checked her figures one more time and was now ready to report on her conclusions. So, shortly before dinnertime, the captain was able to tell his anxiously attentive audience that he had something of interest to relate. With that, he informed them about Dr. Warner and the telephone discussion she had held with her fellow academics in Arizona. He concluded his remarks by announcing that Dr. Warner would deliver a lecture that evening, revealing what she had learned from her colleagues, and sharing with everyone her analysis of their situation.

  2

  If ever there was, in the history of the world, an ultimate bad-news-good-news message, Jane Warner's presentation was definitely it. Her scientific terminology could not soften the horrifying reality that apparently human civilization had been destroyed. On the other hand, the ship, along with portions of the land nearby, had so far been spared—and perhaps with good reason. This was, as Jane announced at the outset, the bottom line. It was critical, of course, that the darkness abate before too long, for without sunlight there can be no life. There was no way to predict reliably when this might happen; but at least the ship provided safe haven, if need be, for a period of weeks.

  From the beginning of that first day—a day without a sunrise— there had been a bustle of activity. The clergy on board held religious services devoted to memorial and supplication. Wilson Hardy asked leaders of the seminar to schedule sessions dedicated to post-disaster survival techniques. The cruise staff organized various diverting activities, such as word games, bingo, and exercise sessions. The children were entertained by a continual round of treasure hunts and capture the flag contests, anything to keep them from asking to go out on deck. But for most passengers—and crew as well—the main activities were listening to the captain's periodic reports, and peeking out the windows looking for light in the sky.

  At the appointed time for the lecture, nearly all of the adult passengers, and many of the crew, assembled in the largest ballroom to hear from the woman who knew the most about what had happened. For those who could not be present because of important duties, or for whom there was no room, her remarks were carried all over the ship on the loudspeaker system.

  "Yes, it seemed safe to assume that the diversion technique would work again. A real no-brainer," Jane Demming Warner said. Her words descended on the hushed audience like so much fallout, irradiating their minds and searing their souls. "To guard against the possibility of rocket failure, an additional two launches were added to the four that had been used previously. This time there were three rockets from the United States and three from Russia. Then, for assurance against failure of a bomb, each of the six rockets was armed with three nuclear warheads. All you really needed was one functioning warhead on one functioning rocket, yet the redundancy was warranted since there was time for only one attempt.

  "This was a high-speed chase scene," Jane continued. "The comet raced through space at a speed of forty-two kilometers per second, literally pursuing the earth—and we move pretty briskly ourselves with an orbital speed of about thirty kilometers per second. So, the overtaking velocity was twelve kilometers per second. Things would have been even dicier if the comet had been traveling toward us head-on—at a combined speed of seventy-two kilometers per second. But consider, twelve kilometers per second translates into more than one million kilometers per day. And, to picture the arena in which the event occurred, remember that the average distance between the earth and the sun is only about one hundred fifty million kilometers."

  The captain sat with his arms folded, his eyes half-closed, absorbing the information. Like nearly everyone else aboard, he had only half-listened to the news reports about the planned diversion. The event had seemed as unreal as a science fiction novel, and was now as ominous as the morning headlines that would never be published. It seemed absurd when reduced to physics and numbers, inconceivable, totally beyond comprehension.

  Jane shuffled through her papers and then continued. "NASA, DOD, the Russians, and other foreign experts, working in a joint committee, selected an intercept spot about as far away from Earth as the moon is—four hundred thousand kilometers, about two hundred fifty thousand miles. Fortunately, the moon was scheduled to be on the other side of the earth at the time of impact, so it would not get in the way. That was considered fortunate. Oh, yes! Some good fortune!" She looked up from her notes, hoping to catch a smile, but saw only blank, numbed faces. "Now, four hundred thousand kilometers is pretty far away when we consider the complexities of aiming a high-speed missile from Earth; but it's awfully close when we're dealing with an overtaking velocity of a million kilometers per day. If the mission somehow did not succeed, the comet would reach our planet about nine and a half hours after the planned explosion. Many experts had argued for a more distant intercept point; but a new theory, stemming from work on a missile defense system, and stressing the accuracy of powerful lasers established on Earth-circling satellites, carried the day for the closer site of engagement. Above and beyond all the studies, the tests, and the previous successful mission, everyone was confident that we had devised an overly redundant fail-safe strategy."

  Jane could tell that many in her audience were not really comprehending any of these details. Yet, judged by the a
bsence of sound and movement, they were totally mesmerized.

  "About twelve hours before the scheduled rendezvous with the comet, six rockets were launched without a hitch. Simultaneously, a European consortium sent up a rocket of their own, loaded with exotic television gear. Not to be outdone, the Chinese government launched a rocket carrying scientific recording instruments. Commercial airline flights were canceled worldwide, and astronauts working on the space station returned to Earth. No other precautions were thought necessary. At the planned time of impact, millions—no, billions of people all over the world turned on their TV sets to see the big fireworks show.

  "The bombs all detonated at precisely the planned moment, the light so blinding that, as most of you saw, it didn't make for very interesting television images. There wasn't much for the commentators to say except Wow, aren't we proud of our technological genius!"

  The astronomer kept her voice even, her emotions steady, as best she could. She periodically fingered her silver bangs away from her eyebrow. No one among the hundreds gathered in the vast ballroom—previously the site of dining and dancing and optimistic lectures—moved or spoke.

  "My colleagues"—Jane Warner caught herself—"My late colleagues in Arizona were able to explain to me what happened. As they put it, there was 'a slight complication.' One of the rockets had gone astray, following a flight path to the opposite side of the comet—exactly opposite from what was intended. As a result, although the comet was diverted, it wasn't diverted quite enough, and it remained on a collision course with Earth. Who could have predicted that a backup system would become the cause of such a colossal failure? It was nothing less than the greatest technological screw-up of all time. Some of my friends at the lab thought it might be sabotage. If so, it was surely the Mother of All Suicide Bombings.

  "At first, hardly anyone was aware that there was a problem. With all the bombs having detonated on schedule, the mission was an apparent success. And even after the first few experts who were monitoring the situation discovered the mishap, their assumption was that the comet would still miss us by a comfortable distance. But minute by minute, as new readings were taken and new data analyzed, scientists from around the world began to realize that something was wrong. Then they could not reach agreement on revised projections. By the time they reached consensus, calculated the spot where the collision would occur, and reported the appalling news to government leaders, impact was only six hours away. Even then, there were no agreed-upon predictions about what the nature of the cataclysm would be."

  In her mind, Warner heard the anguished voices of her friends and longtime co-workers over the fading telephone connection. They were going to die—and they knew it. For her, on the other side of the world, perhaps there was hope.

  From the lecture audience a voice rose: "One lousy little comet and the whole world destroyed? You gotta be kidding." But no one acknowledged the skeptical comment. All eyes were on the rangy female astronomer.

  "It may seem impossible," Jane answered softly. "I only wish that were so." She avoided the incredulous but sympathetic gaze of her husband, who sat in the front row.

  "The destruction of the world was mercifully quick," she continued, "if you can say there was anything merciful about it. The comet, which we had estimated to be almost sixteen kilometers in diameter, approached the earth at an angle of about forty-five degrees, moving at a relative speed of twelve kilometers per second, as I have said. Encountering the atmosphere at eighty kilometers above the surface, the intruder, which had for days glowed in the light of the sun, now began to burn. It was about one P.M. in the target area, off the coast of California. Here aboard our ship, off the coast of South Africa—on the opposite side of the world—it was about eleven p.m. Nine and a half hours had elapsed since the failed nuclear intercept.

  "A mere six seconds after entering Earth's atmosphere, its speed having increased to 16.4 kilometers per second under the influence of the planet's gravity, the comet struck the surface of the Pacific Ocean. As best I can estimate from the information my friends shared with me, the point of impact was 40 degrees North, 128 degrees West, about 350 kilometers west of Eureka, a city located on Humboldt Bay, north of San Francisco."

  A collective gasp escaped from the ship's passengers. Many of them were from Northern California. Their families and friends had suffered the direct impact of the disaster.

  "The collision generated forces that within seconds turned the nucleus of the comet from solid state material to vapor. Yes," Warner emphasized, "that's right. Difficult as this may be to grasp for some of you, the huge missile was transmuted almost instantaneously to a gaseous state. A large amount of material from the earth's surface—mostly basaltic ocean crust—also vaporized, and the mixed gases expanded upward in an incendiary plume. This is the sort of event that most of us find essentially inconceivable. We've all seen large, solid objects collide; there's a lot of noise, shaking, dust, and the like. But vaporization? Yet the calculations are straightforward. According to my figures, an impactor slightly less than sixteen kilometers in diameter, with density 1.2 times that of water, traveling at a speed of 16.4 kilometers per second and striking the earth at an angle of 45 degrees, will release energy of about eighty million megatons.

  "That's a lot of energy. Enough to vaporize the comet and a considerable chunk of the ocean bottom along with it. A single megaton is equal to the explosive force of a million tons of TNT. A single megaton is also equal to the energy generated by a one thousand-megawatt power plant over a period of seven weeks. The entire world nuclear arsenal was estimated to contain ten thousand megatons, and here we are talking about eight thousand times as much. I cannot go into all of the underlying science at this moment, but I hope this gives you some idea of the terrible scale and power of the event.

  "The two-kilometer depth of ocean water at the site of impact presented negligible resistance. Within seconds, the blast formed a 'transient' crater of, I estimate, sixty-three kilometers in diameter.

  The ferociously expanding plume quickly blew aside the surrounding air and vented most of its material into the atmosphere. Eventually, after the dust settled, so to speak, the crater was destined to be one hundred and fifteen kilometers in diameter and four kilometers deep.

  "Some of the vaporized material hurtled upward at speeds exceeding the earth's escape velocity and rushed harmlessly into outer space. But, unfortunately, most of the material did not escape the earth's gravity. That's the problem—the horrible, ugly root of the tragedy. The tiny bits of matter, like projectiles from millions of Lilliputian cannons, hurtled through space above the atmosphere, following ballistic trajectories, and reached every part of the globe within about forty-five minutes."

  The term "ballistic trajectories" rang ominously through the room, causing backs to stiffen and faces to turn from the speaker to nearby loved ones and friends. There were a number of stifled sobs.

  "We're about as far away from the impact site as you can get, and if the holocaust reached us, you can be sure that it covered the entire globe. The phenomenon was hypothesized by the astronomer Fred Whipple as far back as 1950. The speedily disbursing vapor particles quickly cooled and condensed into tiny solid globules, most of them less than a millimeter in diameter. As these globules reentered the atmosphere—all over the earth—they began to radiate heat. Some of them burned up from friction, the way large particles do when they bump into molecules of air. Remember when you were a child, seeing those lovely meteorite showers in the late summer skies?" Jane did. That was why she became an astronomer in the first place, to capture and understand such beautiful, unearthly phenomena...

  "But most of the particles, being truly minuscule, plummeted down between the molecules of the various gases that make up the atmosphere, agitating these molecules and being agitated in turn, in a phenomenon called 'molecular drag,' creating heat through the workings of quantum molecular forces. Instead of burning up as in ordinary combustion, many of these tiny missiles maintaine
d their identity throughout entry, and arrived whole on the earth's surface. This global layer of debris rained in for about an hour, causing temperatures to rise above one thousand degrees Celsius—practically hot enough to melt copper—for several thousand kilometers from the site of impact, and above five hundred degrees Celsius— hot enough to ignite spontaneous forest fires—over most of the earth's surface. Yes, I know it's unthinkable, but a horrific conflagration ensued. Nearly the entire earth was engulfed in flame."

  "I don't remember anything like this being predicted," said one of the young chemical engineers who slouched low in his seat near the rear of the room. "And I read a hell of a lot of technical publications."

  "Well," Jane said, her face reddening, "there are apparently a hell of a lot of them that you don't read. This phenomenon was predicted by many responsible authorities, and not just because of the theoretical analyses of Whipple and others. There is compelling physical evidence that lies in the very ground under our feet. I'm sure that many of you are familiar with the story. The trouble is," she said, looking directly at her last challenger, "we scientists and engineers don't know enough about each other's specialties.

  "In 1980, scientists discovered a thin layer of gray clay that seemed to have been deposited all over the earth's surface some sixty-five million years ago—at the same time that the dinosaurs disappeared. This layer contains iridium and other heavy metals that are rarely found on the surface of the earth, yet are commonly found in objects that arrive on Earth from outer space. Much of the material consists of tiny particles, globular in shape, indicating that it is condensed vapor. The layer also contains large quantities of ash, clear evidence of widespread fires. Some experts have calculated that, as evidenced by this ash deposit, ninety percent of the earth's biomass was consumed in the flames. Ninety percent of every living plant, large and small, burned to a crisp. The ultimate inferno. If this material—the condensed vapor and the ash—was deposited all over the surface of the earth at one time, how else to explain it except as debris from a comet or asteroid crashing into the earth's surface? And if the dinosaurs, plus two thirds of the other living species, died off at the same time—as the paleontologists tell us they did—well... The combination of theory and physical evidence is, was, compelling.