The Oklo Device

221

The Oklo Device

by Roger White

Cover by Steve Willgren

Published by Roger White at Smashwords.

Copyright 2013 by Roger White.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

Fact: In the spring of 1972, nuclear scientists at a uranium enrichment plant in southeastern France made a startling discovery. While studying samples from the Oklo uranium mine in the central African country of Gabon, the French researchers found that the quantity of the isotope U²³⁵ was considerably depleted from uranium mined at Oklo. Uranium can be depleted in this way by only two means—through either an atomic explosion or a nuclear reactor. It was clear from their evidence that these uranium samples had undergone a nuclear reaction hundreds of millions of years ago. After considerable consternation and debate, researchers theorized that this must have been a very unique but natural process. Although the Oklo site is the only known location on Earth where such a reaction has occurred, this sole explanation for a prehistoric nuclear event has been accepted as fact to this day.

Chapter 1

In the great asteroid belt between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, NASA’s unmanned craft Dawn glided silently in the dead cold of space. With its solar array completely extended on either side of the fuselage, Dawn measured a full 65 feet from wing to wing. One of the very first exploratory spacecraft to use ion propulsion, Dawn’s xenon thrusters intermittently hissed to life, correcting course in short bursts. By degrees, the icy dwarf planet Ceres loomed larger in the craft’s filtered framing camera. A colossus as asteroids go, Ceres, at 597 miles in diameter, accounted for one-third of the asteroid belt’s entire mass. NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory had constructed its robotic probe to study the protoplanets Vesta and Ceres, two of the largest bodies in the vast ring of asteroids that separated the planets of the inner and outer solar system. Dawn reached Vesta in July 2011. In its yearlong orbit, the spacecraft endlessly photographed and analyzed the rocky and cratered spheroid, which was found to be shaped like an M&M approximately the size of a small country. Now, three and a half years later, Dawn had entered orbit around the titanic asteroid Ceres, a bluish-white ice-covered body as large as Argentina. Scientists had long theorized that Ceres contained a liquid ocean beneath its surface crust; the NASA team overseeing the Dawn probe hoped to discover the answer.

At the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in La Cañada Flintridge, six miles northwest of Pasadena, California, a mission specialist keyed in adjustments to his monitor as the craft simultaneously took video, photos, and infrared spectrometer readings of the icy, majestic monarch of the asteroids. With a burst of two ion thrusters, Dawn rotated slightly in its tight orbit around Ceres. The JPL mission specialist adjusted the 20-mm aperture on the ship’s framing camera, keeping the eerie blue-white protoplanet centered in the frame.

Getting good readings on the scope? The spectrometer team leader had come up behind the specialist, peering over his shoulder at the monitor.

"Si, signore, the specialist replied in an affected Italian accent. Buono."

The Dawn mission was a cooperative effort among NASA and several European space agencies, including the Germans, Italians, and the Dutch. Agenzia Spaziale Italiana, or ASI, had provided the mapping spectrometer equipment; as a lighthearted tribute, mission and payload specialists at JPL spoke what Italian they could when referring to ASI equipment.

The team leader kissed his fingers and gestured to the heavens. "Bello!"

The entire Dawn mission team was particularly pleased with, and quietly proud of, the craft’s smoothly functioning ion propulsion system. Utilizing electromagnetic acceleration of ions, this method of pushing the craft through space, though not nearly as powerful as conventional fuel systems, held a keen advantage in space, as a greater portion of input power was converted into exhaust power than in a chemical rocket. Thrust was weaker, but efficiency was greater. And little thrust was needed to correct course in deep space. The joke among team members was that Dawn was the SMART Car of interplanetary travel, with a top speed of zero to 60 in four days—which, indeed, was highly accurate.

In an instant, every monitor relaying video and photo feed from Dawn went black.

What the hell? The mission specialist jolted in his chair, then immediately began checking his control panel. As the blackout continued, murmurs and confusion swelled in the control room.

Seconds later, images reappeared on monitors throughout the room. But the asteroid Ceres was almost completely out of frame; only a thin crescent of the milky blue-white orb shone on the feed.

Christ.

It took forty-five more seconds for the specialist to rotate the spacecraft’s camera to gain a solid fix on Ceres, which by now was growing smaller in the frame.

Have we been thrown out of orbit?

Conversations ceased one by one as team members eyed their monitors. A dark brownish-black spot blotted out a huge portion of the icy asteroid, and for several silent moments, no one could comprehend what they were seeing. The spot, initially enormous and fuzzy, grew rapidly smaller, sharper, in focus. Craters on its tumbling surface came in and out of view.

We’ve lost orbital trajectory! the senior flight engineer yelled, tapping his monitor.

Few in the control room seemed to take notice of the flight engineer’s stunning revelation. Every eye in the room was fixated on the somersaulting, rocketing mass heading straight for Ceres.

Where did that— the mission controller began. He stood from his chair in awe. Holy…

One of Dawn’s long solar array panels had been neatly sliced off as the smaller asteroid sideswiped her, pushing her clear of Ceres’s orbital pull. Other than losing the panel, the spacecraft suffered surprisingly little damage. Ceres grew smaller by minute degrees in the control room monitors at JPL, as the celestial intruder hurtled toward the frozen dwarf planet.

Speechless, every controller, specialist, and scientist in the room watched, some now standing, some seated on the edges of their chairs. The dark, rocky mass appeared to dive low and to the left on their screens. For several long seconds, it seemed the asteroid might miss Ceres completely.

The bottom crown of Ceres, a white ravined curve of ice and stone the size of a major city, suddenly rocketed downward and out of frame. Great white and gray shards, immense monoliths of ancient stellar material, exploded instantly in all directions. A sheet of stone the color of gunmetal shot toward the monitors, expanding in seconds from a distant and dark chunk to a massive wall of cold gray, shimmering as if wet. Some in the control room even flinched. Instantly, every screen in the control room went black.

We’ve lost propulsion.

No data feed.

Camera controls inoperative.

Voices from every team confirmed the unthinkable. Deep within the mammoth asteroid belt, approximately 150 million miles from Earth, hundreds of shattered remnants of the spacecraft Dawn spiraled haplessly through space.

The southern crown of Ceres, a watermelon slice of ice and rock as big as New York City, plunged through the asteroid belt toward Mars and the inner solar system.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Six miles away from JPL, two days after mission specialists lost contact with the spacecraft Dawn, cultural anthropologist Evelyn Gilmore was wrapping up her lecture at a California Institute of Technology social sciences seminar. Her session was entitled Long-term Ramifications of Former Slave-based Economies throughout History. Attendance had been scant. Pasadena’s shining star, CalTech produced some of the world’s brightest scientific and engineering minds, rivaling MIT in prestige. Humanities and the social sciences, offered as undergraduate courses, were considered by most CalTech students as fluff electives. Gilmore had been asked by an old colleague to deliver the lecture, and she agreed more out of friendly obligation than sense of purpose. CalTech prided itself on acquiring the best of guest professors and speakers, even in minor fields. It went about as she expected; the only question from the scattered audience came from a young bearded student, concerning mechanical engineering advancements of harvesting equipment over the last two centuries and their possible inverse relationship to slave physiology.

I’m not sure if there could be a direct correlation there, but I know this, Gilmore had replied. The invention of the cotton gin may well have pushed the United States into the Civil War.

How so? the student asked.

Gilmore walked from behind the lectern, pacing slowly. Her slender legs, the color of creamy chocolate, were lithe and smooth, shining ever so slightly under the proscenium lights. Her straight black hair flowed to her shoulder blades. Slavery was actually losing steam. Slaves were expensive to keep, and the chief slave crop, cotton, was particularly problematic to grow and harvest. Hand-separating the cotton fiber from the plant itself was a long, arduous process. Many slave owners at the time were considering other economic options. But Whitney’s new cotton gin completely revolutionized the harvesting process. Cotton became highly profitable in a very short time, and plantation owners did an about face. In fact, they needed more slaves now as they grew more crop, thanks to the marvel of Eli Whitney’s invention.

Gilmore’s voice rose in intensity as she delved into the area of study she knew so well. An adjunct faculty member at Stanford University’s Graduate School of Anthropology, she had written critically acclaimed papers and two books on the long history of slavery, its insidious vestiges, its myriad effects and consequences years, decades, and even centuries beyond its abolition. She paused for effect after her damning statement about Eli Whitney, whose ingenuity and creativity so many had learned at a young age had bestowed upon him visionary status.

Whitney surely had no idea at the time how his inventiveness contributed to one of history’s bloodiest conflicts, Gilmore said. It was simply the capricious timing of fate.

Gilmore smiled just slightly at her restive audience. No one said a word. With that, she kindly thanked them for their attendance and began powering down her laptop. The PowerPoint slide on the wall screen went black, then Gilmore’s screensaver shined briefly over her shoulder for all to see. An adorable little girl, no more than six or seven, smiling a huge gap-toothed smile, her teeth gleaming white in contrast to her dark brown skin, hugged a long-haired dachshund puppy. This was Gilmore’s daughter, Charlotte Rose.

Excuse me. The deep voice came from behind her as Gilmore gathered her things on stage. The resonant voice was at once startling and familiar. I represent the estate of Mr. E. Whitney, and I have in my possession a cease and desist order.

Lord, C.L., Gilmore said as she turned. She smiled and shook her head at the tall, pale man with the mop of reddish-brown hair. C.L. Brody was comfortably clad in a western long-sleeve shirt and blue jeans. Never again. I mean it. Honestly, a humanities lecture at the West Coast bastion of science? You owe me one.

Hey, I had to do it, too. The tall, smiling Brody shrugged. Yesterday’s sessions. I had a worse turnout than this. Apparently, very few CalTech students have any interest in the historical effects of ancient cross-linguistic misperceptions. The chair apologized to me in advance. He said that tomorrow is Ditch Day, and practically the entire student body is deep in last-minute preparations.

Ditch Day? Gilmore cocked her head up at the lean and lanky Brody.

Brody glimpsed his colleague’s raven hair that tumbled off her shoulder as she leaned up at him, then he looked her in the eyes. Yes, he laughed. It’s an annual CalTech tradition. Seniors skip class on Ditch Day, and they construct these elaborate, high-tech puzzles and booby traps to keep underclassmen from entering their dorm rooms. It’s apparently a very serious affair.

Gilmore shook her head again. And these are tomorrow’s captains of industry and technology?

Boys will be boys.

Now, that’s a sexist comment if I ever heard one. I’ll have you know the percentage of females in the incoming class here is almost forty percent. I read that on the university’s web site.

I stand corrected. Brody walked with Gilmore as they went down the short flight of stairs backstage and into the hallway. Want to get some coffee?

I’d love some.

Brody, at six foot three, had to consciously slow his long gait so his former classmate and faculty colleague didn’t have to break into a jog. C.L. Brody, a professor of historical linguistics at the University of Texas at Austin, had studied as an undergrad at UT, where he and Gilmore met. Before her sophomore year, Gilmore had transferred to UT from Texas Southern College in Houston, where her father taught in the College of Behavioral Sciences. 

Were you there for my whole lecture? Gilmore asked. I didn’t see you.

In the back. I didn’t catch all of it. I think I fell asleep.

Gilmore fixed her companion with a scornful stare, smiling nevertheless. Funny, C.L. You must have owed somebody here a serious favor. After college graduation and several intensive years of field study, Gilmore taught at UT for three years before deciding to make the move to Palo Alto and Stanford. It all seemed long ago for Gilmore, the years so busy and fleeting.

Actually, Professor Davis asked me once, and that’s all it took.

A free week in LA didn’t hurt, either.

Well, yeah. Brody opened the door that led to a campus square. They walked through the cool, gentle afternoon to a coffee shop at the west end of the square. Sunlight streaked in golden bands through the graceful maples. Seriously, thanks for doing this. I could not have handled three presentations in two days.

As the two old classmates sipped their coffee at a booth near the café window, Gilmore and Brody caught each other up on the small details of their lives and relived a few memories.

You still caving? Brody asked.

Of course. Gilmore nodded. A group of us at Stanford heads out every couple of months or so. We heard about some terrific, scarcely explored caverns near Barstow. Out in the desert at Fort Irwin. We had to get permission from the base. Really deep, pristine chambers. You should see them.

No, thanks. Above ground is fine with me. Brody fought a shudder thinking of crawling and twisting through the black unknown, with miles of earth and rock overhead.

Amateur spelunking was one of Evelyn Gilmore’s first loves, an obsession she had possessed since her parents took her to Carlsbad Caverns when she was nine. Gilmore had been one of the few females on the initial deep explorations of the Lechugilla Cave near Carlsbad. Lechugilla was eventually confirmed as the deepest cave system in the continental United States.

Hey, was that Charlotte Rose on your screensaver? Brody asked. God, Evelyn, the last time I saw her she was, what, two years old?

Gilmore smiled proudly. She’ll be eight next month. She’s so incredibly smart, C.L.

Brody grinned and took a slow sip. No surprise there, miss summa cum laude.

No, I think she gets it more from her dad. I’m talking smart as in analytical, problem-solving. She’s amazing. I can even see his face sometimes when I look at her.

How is Cornell?

I don’t know. OK, I guess. I could have sworn he would have muddled through one winter in Massachusetts and caught the first plane out of there. But he’s been up there for four years now.

Massachusetts? I thought he was in New Mexico. Is he still with LINEAR?

Gilmore nodded. Moved up from detection to data confirmation to analysis. The telescopes are at White Sands, but they do the computer analysis at an Air Force base near Lexington. They moved him up after his second year. I imagine he’ll be running the place in a few years.

He does have a clockwork mind, doesn’t he?

Gilmore had agreed to marry Cornell Nye approximately a year after he’d begun asking her. They had dated throughout her senior year at UT. She’d met Nye on a warm summer night during one of the university’s astronomy field trips to rural Kerrville, where the city lights didn’t drown out the stars and planets. She was having trouble locating Venus in the telescope, and Nye showed her how to find it. He went on about ecliptic planes and how Venus was best viewed at its easternmost elongation. Nye had this thing about Venus. Astronomy had been an elective class for Gilmore, and she enjoyed it. But for Nye, it was a passion. He loved studying the stars, planets and celestial bodies, so much so that he managed to weave it into his career. For the last six years, he worked at the MIT Lincoln Laboratory’s LINEAR program, designed to detect and monitor NEOs—Near Earth Objects, as NASA termed them. The program’s mission was early warning of asteroids, comets, and other stellar travelers that could pose a risk of hitting the earth.

I honestly hoped you guys would make it, Brody said, his eyes taking in Gilmore’s beautiful brown skin and angled cheekbones. Despite what he thinks.

He never thought that, C.L. Gilmore set her cup down and laughed softly. He did love giving you a hard time, though.

Hands off, white boy. I can’t tell you how many times he said that to me. Evelyn, we dated for half a year, before you two even met!

Gilmore laughed again, despite a surfacing sadness. Speaking of dating, how are things between you and that young horticulturist?

I noticed you threw ‘young’ in there. Brody eyed her with a sly grin.

Well, she is young, relatively speaking.

We broke it off almost a month ago. Brody took a sip and sighed. Maybe she was too young. Or I’m too much of a historical linguist.

What does that mean?

I don’t know, actually. Except that I give bachelorhood three-to-one odds for my long-term future. How about you?

Those odds sound about right. Gilmore smiled a pouting smile at Brody. She placed a hand over his. Married to our jobs, huh?

Brody shrugged. Wow, I was just thinking. I haven’t seen Cornell, I guess it’s been maybe five years. Brody combed a hand through waves of his thick brown hair. Have you talked to him lately?

Gilmore nodded slowly. Funny you ask that. We hadn’t spoken in weeks. He called me out of the blue last night. Said he couldn’t sleep.

What did he want?

Small talk at first, just catching up. Then he said that LINEAR picked up a mass coming out of the asteroid belt, beyond Mars.

A mass?

He said it was very unusual, not something they normally detect. Most asteroids and comets that cycle in and out around us they have a good bead on, he said. Cornell told me this one was enormous. Apparently, it destroyed one of NASA’s unmanned ships. They haven’t gone public with any of it yet, until they know what to make of it.

Jesus, Evelyn. Do they know where it’s headed?

They’re not sure. He sounded uneasy, though.

Well, how long … if—

They don’t know. Not yet, anyway.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

JET PROPULSION LABORATORY

NATIONAL AERONAUTICS AND SPACE ADMINISTRATION

PASADENA, CALIF.

http://www.jpl.nasa.gov

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

NASA UNMANNED CRAFT CAPTURES BREAKUP OF CERES

The NASA robotic explorer Dawn captured startling images of the collision of the large asteroid Ceres with a smaller unnamed body amid the Main Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter on (DATE TBD). Moments after Ceres broke apart, transmission from Dawn was lost.

Analysts at MIT’s Lincoln Near Earth Asteroid Research Center (LINEAR) are tracking a large fragment of Ceres that was propelled into the inner solar system. Dawn was sent into space in 2007 to study Vesta and Ceres, two of the largest bodies in the Main Asteroid Belt.

Cornell Nye studied the undated release, trying to imagine the many questions, the ramifications of the terse bit of information. Every team member at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory and in the LINEAR program had been asked to review the release and either sign off on it or recommend possible revisions before it was made public.

It was the truth, or most of it. It was certainly all the general public needed to know for now. The mammoth, crescent-shaped asteroid, named 2015JN51 only that morning by the LINEAR team, had been confirmed the day before as a fragment of the breakup of the protoplanet Ceres. The stunning nine-second video clip captured by JPL had made the rounds at LINEAR. The destruction of the icy world looked like something from a Kubrick movie. The city-sized chunk of ancient rock and ice now hurtling inward from the main asteroid belt had not traveled far enough in space for the LINEAR analysts to verify a true trajectory yet. Normally, a mass that had progressed only as far as this one had wouldn’t be noticed at all, but the tremendous size of 2015JN51 was detected by the telescopes at White Sands almost immediately.

What do you think of it, Nye? Jason Hill, a rather corpulent and very bald member of Nye’s analytical team, sat two computer stations down, observing Nye as he read the proposed release.

What do I think of what, the press release or Libera? Nye put the paper down on the desk in front of him and rubbed his eyes. Since confirmation that 2015JN51 was a fragment of Ceres, someone on the LINEAR crew had nicknamed the new asteroid Libera, who, according to Roman mythology, was the daughter of the fertility goddess Ceres. The nickname had stuck. In the three and a half days since Libera’s detection, Nye had gotten little sleep.

Well. Both, I guess. Hill chuckled, adjusting his thick glasses.

"To be honest, if it