But there are reasons for caution. These provocative results are not generally thought to be good evidence for life on Mars: The putative metabolic processes of Martian microbes occurred under a very wide range of conditions inside the Viking landers—wet (with liquid water brought from Earth) and dry, light and dark, cold (only a little above freezing) to hot (almost the normal boiling point of water). Many microbiologists deem it unlikely that Martian microbes would be so capable under such varied conditions. Another strong inducement to skepticism is that a fourth experiment, to look for organic chemicals in the Martian soil, gave uniformly negative results despite its sensitivity. We expect life on Mars, like life on Earth, to be organized around carbon-based molecules. To find no such molecules at all was daunting for optimists among the exobiologists.
The apparently positive results of the life detection experiments is now generally attributed to chemicals that oxidize the soil, deriving ultimately from ultraviolet sunlight (as discussed in the previous chapter). There is still a handful of Viking scientists who wonder if there might be extremely tough and competent organisms very thinly spread over the Martian soil—so their organic chemistry could not be detected, but their metabolic processes could. Such scientists do not deny that ultraviolet-generated oxidants are present in the Martian soil, but stress that no thorough explanation of the liking life detection results from oxidants alone has been forthcoming. Tentative claims have been made of organic matter in SNC meteorites, but they seem instead to be contaminants that have entered the meteorite after its arrival on our world. So far, there are no claims of Martian microbes in these rocks from the sky.
Perhaps because it seems to pander to public interest, NASA and most Viking scientists have been very chary about pursuing the biological hypothesis. Even now, much more could be done in going over the old data, in looking with Viking-type instruments at Antarctic and other soils that have few microbes in them, in laboratory simulation of the role of oxidants in the Martian soil, and in designing experiments to elucidate these matters—not excluding further searches for life—with future Mars landers.
If indeed no unambiguous signatures of life were determined by a variety of sensitive experiments at two sites 5,000 kilometers apart on a planet marked by global wind transport of fine particles, this is at least suggestive that Mars may be, today at least, a lifeless planet. But if Mars is lifeless, we have two planets, of virtually identical age and early conditions, evolving next door to one another in the same polar system: Life evolves and proliferates on one, but not the other. Why?
Perhaps the chemical or fossil remains of early Martian life can still be found—subsurface, safely protected from the ultraviolet radiation and its oxidation products that today fry the surface. Perhaps in a rock face exposed by a landslide, or in the banks of an ancient river valley or dry lake bed, or in the polar, laminated terrain, key evidence for life on another planet is waiting.
Despite its absence on the surface of Mars, the planet’s two moons, Phobos and Deimos, seem to be rich in complex organic matter dating back to the early history of the Solar System. The Soviet Phobos 2 spacecraft found evidence of water vapor being out-gassed from Phobos, as if it has an icy interior heated by radioactivity. The moons of Mars may have long ago been captured from somewhere in the outer Solar System; conceivably, they are among the nearest available examples of unaltered stuff from the earliest days of the Solar System. Phobos and Deimos are very small, each roughly 10 kilometers across; the gravity they exert is nearly negligible. So it’s comparatively easy to rendezvous with them, land on them, examine them, use them as a base of operations to study Mars, and then go home.
Mars calls, a storehouse of scientific information—important in its own right but also for the light it casts on the environment of our own planet. There are mysteries waiting to be resolved about the interior of Mars and its mode of origin, the nature of volcanos on a world without plate tectonics, the sculpting of landforms on a planet with sandstorms undreamt of on Earth, glaciers and polar landforms, the escape of planetary atmospheres, and the capture of moons—to mention a more or less random sampling of scientific puzzles. If Mars once had abundant liquid water and a clement climate, what went wrong? How did an Earthlike world become so parched, frigid, and comparatively airless? Is there something here we should know about our own planet?
We humans have been this way before. The ancient explorers would have understood the call of Mars. But mere scientific exploration does not require a human presence. We tan always send smart robots. They are far cheaper, they don’t talk back, you can send them to much more dangerous locales, arid, with some chance of mission failure always before us, no lives are put at risk.
“Have you seen me?” the back of the milk carton read. “Mars Observer, 6’ x 4.5’ x 3’, 2500 kg. Last heard from on 8/21/93, 627,000 km from Mars.”
“M. O. call home” was the plaintive message on a banner hung outside the jet Propulsion Laboratory’s Mission Operations Facility in late August 1993. The failure of the United States’ Mars Observer spacecraft just before it was to insert itself into orbit around Mars was a great disappointment. It was the first post-launch mission failure of an American lunar or planetary spacecraft in 26 years. Many scientists and engineers had devoted a decade of their professional lives to M. O. It was the first U.S. mission to Mars in 17 years—since Viking’s two orbiters and two landers in 1976. It was also the first real post-Cold War spacecraft: Russian scientists were on several of the investigator teams, and Mars Observer was to act as an essential radio relay link for larders from what was then scheduled to be the Russian Mars ‘94 mission, as well as for a daring rover and balloon mission slated for Mars ‘96.
The scientific instruments aboard Mars Observer would have napped the geochemistry of the planet and prepared the way for future missions, guiding landing site decisions. It might have cast a new light on the massive climate change that seems to have occurred in early Martian history. It would have photographed some of the surface of Mars with detail better than two meters across. Of course, we do not know what wonders Mars Observer would have uncovered. But every time we examine a world with new instruments and in vastly improved detail, a dazzling array of discoveries emerges just as it did when Galileo turned the first telescope toward the heavens and opened the era of modern astronomy.
According to the Commission of Inquiry, the cause of the failure was probably a rupture of the fuel tank during pressurization, gases and liquids sputtering out, and the wounded spacecraft spinning wildly out of control. Perhaps it was avoidable. Perhaps it was an unlucky accident. But to keep this matter in perspective, let’s consider the full range of missions to the Moon and the planets attempted by the United States and the former Soviet Union:
In the beginning, our track records were poor. Space vehicles blew up at launch, missed their targets, or failed to function when they got there. As time went on, we humans got ;)otter at interplanetary flight. There was a learning curve. The ,adjacent figures show these curves (based on NASA data with NASA definitions of mission success). We learned very well. Our present ability to fix spacecraft in flight is best illustrated by the Voyager missions described earlier.