Jupiter’s orbit. The images had been run on successive nights, March 25 and 26. But the same area in another set of images taken six days earlier showed nothing. Nor did the object appear in a third series beginning March 30. The object had apparently been in the sky for ten nights at most and then vanished. Where had it gone? The postdoc was asking if anyoneelse had pictures of the area during the subject period.
Now, that was odd. They had two elusive comets.
Hoxon appeared and suggested Feinberg join him for dinner. “My treat,” he said.
Astronomers do not, as a rule, command large paychecks. Consequently, Feinberg wasn’t surprised when Hoxon took him to the local Shoney’s. They talked about the Chilean business. In fact, Feinberg knew he was babbling about it. But Hoxon’s only significant response was to observe that it was only a postdoc after all, and who knew what she really saw.
We’ve got the pictures, nit . But Feinberg let it go.
ACCDs functioned by counting photons and converting the results to optical images. Feinberg began thinking about photon counts and fingerprints somewhere between the meat loaf and the ice cream sundae he decided he deserved. Two objects, one near Jupiter, one near the Sun. Both hard to track.
He did a quick calculation to check the idea that had been unconsciously forming, and smiled at the result. He’d been scribbling on a napkin, and when Hoxon asked him what it was about, he shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, dismissing his result.
His host did not think it was a good idea to go back to work, announced that he was going home, and suggested that Feinberg also quit for the night. Feinberg wondered what would have happened to the spirit of scientific inquiry if everyone had possessed the director’s driving curiosity. “No,” he said, “I have one or two things to finish up.”
Unfortunately, what Feinberg wanted to finish up couldn’t be handled directly from his keyboard. He made two phone calls. The first was to the Skyport Orbital Laboratory, which had used its Venusian probe to make the images of Tomiko’s Comet; and the other was to Cerro La Silla. In both cases he asked for the photon count that had produced the comet images. Both sites said they would get back to him.
Cerro La Silla returned his call within the hour. Herecorded the result and waited eagerly for the response from the Orbital Lab. It was a procedure that could take time, especially if they were busy, as he suspected they were. At midnight he was still sitting by his phone.
He didn’t recall dozing off, but he remembered coming out of a deep sleep, seeing gray light coming through a window, uncertain at first where he was. The telephone was ringing.
Windy Cross at Skyport apologized for the delay, but gave him the data. “If you don’t mind, Professor,” asked Windy, “what use is it?”
Feinberg remembered the count from the Jupiter comet. It was almost identical. Not definitive, but damned near. They were possibly the same object . “I’ll get back to you, Windy,” he said. “When I’m sure.”
He stared at the numbers, puzzling over the problem. The Cerro La Silla sighting was way the hell out of range. Comets had an upper speed limit of about fifty kps. If this was the same object, it would have to be moving at eight or nine times that velocity. Four hundred—plus kilometers per second!
That meant it did not, could not , belong to the solar system.
There was no question that vast numbers of comets drifted through the interstellar void, unattached to any sun. The latest estimates Feinberg had seen placed the number of unattached comets in the neighborhood of the solar system and out to, say, the half-dozen or so nearest stars, somewhere in the range of a trillion . He did not personally subscribe to that view. It was true that comets were periodically ejected from the solar system by the Sun, and sometimes even by Jupiter. He could not see that the process happened
Now, that was odd. They had two elusive comets.
Hoxon appeared and suggested Feinberg join him for dinner. “My treat,” he said.
Astronomers do not, as a rule, command large paychecks. Consequently, Feinberg wasn’t surprised when Hoxon took him to the local Shoney’s. They talked about the Chilean business. In fact, Feinberg knew he was babbling about it. But Hoxon’s only significant response was to observe that it was only a postdoc after all, and who knew what she really saw.
We’ve got the pictures, nit . But Feinberg let it go.
ACCDs functioned by counting photons and converting the results to optical images. Feinberg began thinking about photon counts and fingerprints somewhere between the meat loaf and the ice cream sundae he decided he deserved. Two objects, one near Jupiter, one near the Sun. Both hard to track.
He did a quick calculation to check the idea that had been unconsciously forming, and smiled at the result. He’d been scribbling on a napkin, and when Hoxon asked him what it was about, he shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, dismissing his result.
His host did not think it was a good idea to go back to work, announced that he was going home, and suggested that Feinberg also quit for the night. Feinberg wondered what would have happened to the spirit of scientific inquiry if everyone had possessed the director’s driving curiosity. “No,” he said, “I have one or two things to finish up.”
Unfortunately, what Feinberg wanted to finish up couldn’t be handled directly from his keyboard. He made two phone calls. The first was to the Skyport Orbital Laboratory, which had used its Venusian probe to make the images of Tomiko’s Comet; and the other was to Cerro La Silla. In both cases he asked for the photon count that had produced the comet images. Both sites said they would get back to him.
Cerro La Silla returned his call within the hour. Herecorded the result and waited eagerly for the response from the Orbital Lab. It was a procedure that could take time, especially if they were busy, as he suspected they were. At midnight he was still sitting by his phone.
He didn’t recall dozing off, but he remembered coming out of a deep sleep, seeing gray light coming through a window, uncertain at first where he was. The telephone was ringing.
Windy Cross at Skyport apologized for the delay, but gave him the data. “If you don’t mind, Professor,” asked Windy, “what use is it?”
Feinberg remembered the count from the Jupiter comet. It was almost identical. Not definitive, but damned near. They were possibly the same object . “I’ll get back to you, Windy,” he said. “When I’m sure.”
He stared at the numbers, puzzling over the problem. The Cerro La Silla sighting was way the hell out of range. Comets had an upper speed limit of about fifty kps. If this was the same object, it would have to be moving at eight or nine times that velocity. Four hundred—plus kilometers per second!
That meant it did not, could not , belong to the solar system.
There was no question that vast numbers of comets drifted through the interstellar void, unattached to any sun. The latest estimates Feinberg had seen placed the number of unattached comets in the neighborhood of the solar system and out to, say, the half-dozen or so nearest stars, somewhere in the range of a trillion . He did not personally subscribe to that view. It was true that comets were periodically ejected from the solar system by the Sun, and sometimes even by Jupiter. He could not see that the process happened
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