Mindslip, page 1
Table of Contents
Mindslip
1 FOURTEENTH CENTURY STARGAZER
2 A LIKELY SUPERNOVA
3 TOMORROW
4 AWAKENING
5 FALLING
6 UNDERSTANDING
7 CAPTIVE
8 GOVERNMENT
9 FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS
10 SLOW PROGRESS
11 MAKING WAVES
12 ORDER FROM THE CHAOS
13 NO ESCAPE
14 HOME ALONE
15 SPECIAL DELIVERY
16 VIVE LA DIFFÉRENCE
17 MOUNTAIN
18 FACE TO FACE
19 LONG AND WINDING ROAD
20 TEN DOWNING STREET
21 DEADLY ASSAILANT
22 FAMILY
23 REUNITED
24 THE CURSE
25 HUMANIMAL FARM
26 REPATRIATION ARRIVALS
27 CLIVE THE PIG
28 TIME TO TAKE STOCK
29 COBRA FIELD TRIP
30 INEXPLICABLE SUCCESS
31 PHILOSOPHY OF CATASTROPHE
32 NIGHT CALL
33 NO ASTRONOMER ROYAL
34 A TIME FOR REFLECTION
35 PLUS ÇA CHANGE, PLUS C'EST LA MÊME CHOSE
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© 2012-20 A G Harmsworth
Cover © 2020 by Books Covered (Stefanie)
Orion Constellation © 2008 Matthew Spinelli
A G Harmsworth has asserted his moral rights.
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CONTENTS
1 Fourteenth Century Stargazer
2 A Likely Supernova
3 Tomorrow
4 Awakening
5 Falling
6 Understanding
7 Captive
8 Government
9 Fasten Your Seatbelts
10 Slow Progress
11 Making Waves
12 Order From The Chaos
13 No Escape
14 Home Alone
15 Special Delivery
16 Vive La Difference
17 Mountain
18 Face To Face
19 Long And Winding Road
20 Ten Downing Street
21 Deadly Assistant
22 Family
23 Reunited
24 The Curse
25 Humanimal Farm
26 Repatriation Arrivals
27 Clive The Pig
28 Time To Take Stock
29 COBRA Field Trip
30 Inexplicable Success
31 Philosophy Of Catastrophe
32 Night Call
33 No Astronomer Royal
34 A Time For Reflection
35 Plus Ça Change, Plus C’est La Même Chose
1 FOURTEENTH CENTURY STARGAZER
Note for non-British readers – Tony writes using UK English spel ing, punctuation, and grammar.
Elias loved the pristine clearness of his rural night sky. He picked out the ancient constellations with ease. The W
of Cassiopeia overhead, Andromeda, with its strange smudge nearby and spectacular Orion lower in the heavens –
his favourite. The five key areas were so distinctive. Betelgeuse, a bright red star at top left indicating Orion’s right shoulder; two similar bright stars, Bellatrix at top right and Saiph at bottom left; plus brilliant blue-white Rigel at bottom right. In the middle of the constellation, Orion’s stunning belt of three stars supported his sword which contained the pink crab nebula as if a jewel in the hilt.
As the cornfield stubble gathered its nightly moisture, Rossa kissed him, rose and departed to prepare supper.
His stargazing solitude would not last much longer. The burgeoning dew would seep through his linen leggings and tunic, forcing him to abandon the mysteries of the heavens. He wondered what these sparkling jewels were, which so enthralled him?
A shooting star sped from left to right across the entire sky, its incandescence growing to a peak and then vanishing. Was this a star dying? There were too many to count. How could he ever know if one of those tiny specks of light had forever vanished in that instant?
He sat up, resting back on his outstretched arms to better see the southern horizon. Bloodshot Betelgeuse shone like a ruby. Despite all stars appearing to be no more than points of light, somehow this one gave him the impression of grandeur. Its colour and relative brightness made it stand out in the night sky.
He loved it and, with winter approaching, it would be rising earlier and earlier, giving him more opportunities to enjoy its reassuring presence. On this still, moonless night, he noticed nothing different or unusual about his prized heavenly, ruby, yet at that very instant, it was collapsing.
Elias could never know that Betelgeuse was so enormous that, if it sat at the centre of our solar system, its diameter would extend beyond the orbit of Mars. Nor could he envisage its eventual death throes. Such things were beyond his comprehension. The death of this monster would be no shooting star.
The collapse was swift and, after a brief pause, the almightiest explosion occurred. The star had gone supernova, spewing out deadly gamma rays and the heavy elements essential to life in the universe.
To Elias, there had been no change in his sky. He knew nothing of the speed of light or the concept of gamma rays, radiation and gravitational waves.
His palms, pressing against the ground, became damp. Time to go. The dew was penetrating his leggings.
With reluctance, he stood and, guided only by starlight, made his way towards his nearby turf-built home. A subdued glow emanated from behind the door and shutters, accompanied by the welcome aroma of a meaty stew. He secured the chicken coop, checked the paddock gate and had a final loving glance towards his heavenly ruby.
He would never know his favourite star was already hurling its deadly emissions towards Earth. They would not arrive for more than six hundred and forty years.
2 A LIKELY SUPERNOVA
‘So,’ said Geoff, ‘we’ve covered the details of type one supernovae. Now we’ll look at type two.
‘These are massive stars up to fifty times the mass of the sun. As we’ve discussed, they start to fuse heavier and heavier elements until the core of the star reaches a limit. What’s the limit?’
A really bright student at the front, who’d answered lots of questions, put his hand up and I nodded.
‘The Chandrasekhar limit,’ he said.
‘Correct... and what is it?’
‘About one point four solar masses,’ he said.
‘Correct again. When the core of the giant star reaches that limit, it has a cataclysmic implosion taking only a few seconds. The outer regions of the star then collapse inward at around twenty per cent of the speed of light.
The resultant explosion is seen as a blinding flash. If the star is close enough, it would be visible in the daylight sky and could remain so for weeks or even months before it finally dies. The core becomes an extremely dense neutron star.’
I changed the slide and waved at the projected image on the screen.
‘This is the closest type two supernova progenitor. Does anyone recognise it?’ I asked.
There were several calls of ‘Betelgeuse’, but the same young man in the front row, who’d been taking copious notes, shouted, ‘Alpha Orionis.’
‘Correct. All of you. In fact, the constellation of Orion has two potential supernovae – Rigel is the second –
Beta Orionis. To the naked eye, variable Betelgeuse sometimes appears brighter so was designated Alpha Orionis.
But, why have I chosen Betelgeuse?’
I pointed at a girl in the fifth row.
‘Rigel is further away,’ she said.
‘Yes, it is, but that is not the main reason for my choosing Alpha Orionis.’
The young man’s hand shot up once more, ‘It is reaching the end of its expected life. Beta Orionis is an even younger star.’
‘Yes. Betelgeuse is only six hundred and forty light years away and could go supernova tomorrow, or maybe it already did... in the mid-fourteenth century... and we’ll see the result tomorrow!’
Some chuckles emanated from the audience.
‘Betelgeuse would produce a type two supernova, but is so distant, it is unlikely to cause us any real harm. It might be as bright as the full moon for a few months. If it were closer to us, say, fifty instead of six hundred and forty light years, it might be more serious, bombarding us with gamma rays and other radiation.’
The student’s hand shot up again and I nodded.
‘Alpha Orionis has been shown to be reaching another peak luminosity recently. Is that a clue to when we might see it explode?’
‘You are keeping up to date with my recent work. Yes, it is variable to a considerable deg ree, but the report you refer to is old. Over the last few months it has been dimming rapidly, rather than brightening. Just look at it one evening. You’ll see that it is barely the luminosity of the belt stars. This dimming has given some scientists the hope that we might see it explode in our lifetimes, although, to be fair, it could continue to be a variable for another hundred thousand years.’
More hands shot into the air, but I’d been given the signal that time was up. ‘Sorry, all, but Professor Wozniak has called time. I’ll be in the lobby for a while and happy to sign my book, The Not Quite So Big Bangs, and answer further questions. Thank you so much for being a most interesting and attentive audience. Keep stargazing!’
Professor Wozniak joined me on the stage and took the microphone. ‘Well, students, I hope you have found Dr Geoffrey Arnold’s talk as interesting as I have. We are honoured to have one of Britain’s foremost astronomers and astrophysicists give us this lecture on supernovae, or, should I say, the “not quite so big bangs”? Please show your appreciation in the usual way.’
Applause rang out.
3 TOMORROW
A blinding flash lit the sky.
‘Geoffrey, what on earth’s that?’ cried Caroline as she shielded the children’s eyes.
I covered my own and hastily threw a blanket from the washing-line over the family as I hurried them to the back of the house where the shade provided some protection. What could it be? A nuclear strike in the atmosphere? If so, our lives would be over in seconds. We were motionless, crouching between the coal bunker and the kitchen wall, waiting for a blast to crush us or heat wave to incinerate us. The glare penetrated the blanket.
‘Daddy, what’s happening?’ screamed Sandra, our eight-year-old.
‘Is it a war?’ A deathly whisper from Wilson, two years Sandra’s senior and inquisitive as hell.
‘Don’t know. Follow me! Keep tight to the wall!’ I said, and we shuffled towards the kitchen door, keeping out of the brilliant light which washed out the colours of the garden and neighbouring properties.
‘Can’t be a bomb,’ I said.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, Cas. If it was, we’d all be dead by now. No physical blast, just the light.’
‘I’m afraid, Mummy.’ Sandra was in tears as I guided them through the kitchen extension to the body of the house where we’d be protected by more substantial bricks and mortar.
‘Supernova comes to mind,’ I said.
‘But why’s it still so bright? It’s brighter than the sun. Aren’t supernovas just a flash?’
‘Can last a long time, but there should be some fading soon. We need to stay indoors for a while. Could be danger from X-rays and gamma rays. Keep the children in the hall or dining room while I make some calls.’
Caroline shepherded the children into the room and gave Sandra a drawing book and Wilson his Nintendo.
‘Hello.’ My boss, head of the Royal Observatory, answered my call.
‘Justin, did you see it?’
‘Yes, think it’s in Orion.’
‘Betelgeuse?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘I’m going to call a few astronomers and set up a meeting at the Royal Institution for eleven tomorrow. That okay with you?’
‘Yes, Geoff. Go ahead. I’ll call Jodrell Bank and see if there’s any data yet.’
I hung up and rang colleagues. Within the hour, I had some of the most senior astronomers in the south of England promising to attend the meeting.
‘You kids stay in here. Cas, come see.’ I tugged on my wife’s hand. ‘We’ll take a look at it.’
‘Can I come?’ shouted Wilson.
‘Not tonight, Wils. You can in the morning.’
‘Aaaaw, Daaaad. It could be gone tomorrow.’
‘Might be with us for weeks, but it could be dangerous for children right now. Some fade more rapidly than others, but it’ll still be bright for some time. Stay with Sands for now.’
‘Must I?’ he moaned.
‘Yes, and keep out of the light.’
‘Okaaaay, Daaaad.’
I grabbed the four-inch refractor from the hall cupboard, mounted it on its tripod and Caroline and I headed to the front door. Just in case, we both pulled on wax jackets and hats for ultra-violet protection.
‘Don’t look at it directly, Cas. Keep the light off your face,’ I said as I opened the door and the unearthly brightness flooded in.
Outside, I directed the telescope at the source of the light and projected the image onto a sun-viewing card. I’d done it many times before to show the kids sunspots. Unlike the sun and its visible disc, what we saw now was but a single point of incredibly bright light.
I read the tripod coordinates, ‘It is Betelgeuse.’
‘Amazing,’ said Caroline.
She also had an interest in astronomy. It grew after we met as students in Cambridge. She was a chemist and I
accused her of an interest in magical potions. She called me an astrologer because she knew how the term riled me. After a few months of trading insults, we fell hopelessly in love.
‘We’ve all been waiting for a local supernova. To have actually witnessed it is amazing.’
‘How close?’
‘About six hundred and forty light years. Must say I’m surprised at the initial brightness, but it’s dropped to similar to the sun now. Any serious danger of radiation should pass soon. Better keep the kids in for the rest of the evening to be safe.’
The phone rang.
‘Doctor Arnold? It’s Joan Lightly.’ The daughter of a friend and colleague. She sounded upset. 'Dad looked at the nova through a smoked glass. It split and we're afraid he's been blinded. Mum's at the hospital with him.'
‘That’s dreadful, Joan. With any luck, the blindness will be temporary.’
‘He won’t make the Royal Institution tomorrow.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Tell him not to worry. Let us know what happens. Here’s Caroline.’
I handed the phone to Caroline to continue the conversation while I called Justin on my mobile.
‘Tim’s got himself blinded. Looked at it though a smoked glass which split.’
‘Oh dear. That’s dreadful news.’
‘We’ll miss him tomorrow.’
‘Yes. Listen, Geoff, I’ve had Jodrell Bank on the blower. It was magnitude minus thirty-two after ten minutes so could have been up to two hundred times the brightness of the sun during that first flash. Magnitude minus twenty-four when I came off the phone, so similar to the sun.’
‘Wow. Incredible. We were in the garden but took cover pretty quickly.’
‘Very wise. Unexpected to be so bright at that distance.’
‘Yes. By a huge factor. Did they say anything about radiation?’
‘Broad spectrum but includes gamma,’ said Justin.
‘What? Atmospheric gamma penetration.’
‘Yes. Worrying to say the least.’
‘Glad we dived for cover.’
Aside, I spoke to Cas, ‘No one goes out tonight. Gamma rays getting through.’
Justin and I ran through a list of the astronomers and astrophysicists who had promised to come to the meeting.
‘Can you chair it for me, Geoff? I’ve got the press clamouring for interviews.’
‘No problem. My laptop’s in the office, so I’ll get in early. It’ll be difficult sleeping in this strange daylight, anyway. Can you get a message put out about staying under cover?’
‘Already being broadcast. I was glad when the sun set. The double shadows were most disturbing. When will Orion set tomorrow?’
‘I guess about eight in the morning roughly.’
Next Morning
‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ I repeated over and again as I weaved my way along the railway platform. Betelgeuse, bright as a hazy sun, was low to the horizon. People were still having to shield their eyes, most wearing dark glasses. Having two suns in the sky meant forever tilting your head in different directions to avoid the glare. Bizarre.
