Just in case anybody is hanging out in Jovian neighborhood

Just in case anybody is hanging out in Jovian neighborhood

Artist's depiction of Galileo exploring Jupiter • NASA/JPL (Public Domain)

Originally published 8 July 1991

Space­craft Galileo is on its way to Jupiter.

The orig­i­nal itin­er­ary would have tak­en the craft along a sim­ple arc from Earth to Jupiter, but the Chal­lenger shut­tle dis­as­ter in 1986 forced a 3½-year delay in the launch, and a cir­cuitous new tra­jec­to­ry for the journey.

After the dis­as­ter, NASA insist­ed on a small­er, safer upper-stage rock­et to be car­ried aboard the shut­tle. So Galileo’s new course takes it twice around the sun, includ­ing two fly­bys of Earth to pick up grav­i­ta­tion­al boosts for its out­ward jour­ney. The tech­nique is rather like bounc­ing sev­er­al times on a tram­po­line to jump ever higher.

The first fly­by occurred in Decem­ber, 1990. Galileo skimmed just 600 miles above the Atlantic Ocean east of Flori­da. As the space­craft zipped over­head, it trained its cam­eras and instru­ments on the home planet.

Spec­trom­e­ters aboard the space­craft observed the Earth­’s upper atmos­phere and record­ed — among oth­er things — oxy­gen and traces of nitrous oxide and methane in non-equi­lib­ri­um con­cen­tra­tions, tell­tale signs of bio­log­i­cal activ­i­ty on the plan­et’s sur­face. One mis­sion sci­en­tist said: “If this were a vis­it­ing Arc­turi­an space­craft, I’d be telling you that life abounds on Earth.”

Instruments passed the field test

OK, so there is life on Earth. No big sur­prise. But the fly­by pro­vid­ed a sat­is­fy­ing test of the instru­ments that will study the atmos­phere of Jupiter when Galileo arrives there in late 1995. The space­craft is ready for any surprises.

Here’s anoth­er way to think about Galileo’s fly­by of Earth, and the search for life on appar­ent­ly life­less planets.

Imag­ine a tiny space­craft that flies with­in an inch or two of the human body. Is there life on plan­et Us? And, if so, how detect it?

Oh yes, it’s there. The human body sup­ports a flo­ra and fau­na as pro­lif­ic and vig­or­ous as that of Earth. With­in the savan­nas of the trunk and limbs, the jun­gles of the armpits and groin, the cool woods of the scalp, the Grand Canyons between the toes, and the dark caves of hair fol­li­cles live vast num­bers of bac­te­ria, mites, lice, and fungi.

The num­ber of bac­te­ria per square meter on the fore­head is more than a hun­dred times greater than the num­ber of meta­zoans (mul­ti­celled ani­mals) per square meter of salt marsh. In an armpit the ratio is a thou­sand times greater. Some areas of the human skin are as dense­ly pop­u­lat­ed with microor­gan­isms as the soil in your garden.

This huge and var­ied pop­u­la­tion is invis­i­ble to the eye, just as the ele­phants, whales, and red­wood trees of Earth were invis­i­ble to Galileo’s cam­eras. To detect life on Us requires the use of sci­en­tif­ic instruments.

We owe a debt first of all to the Dutch­man Anton van Leeuwen­hoek, inven­tor of the micro­scope, for the dis­cov­ery that our bod­ies are teem­ing ecosys­tems. In 1683 he wrote: “For my part I judge, from myself (how­beit I clean my mouth like I’ve already said), that all the peo­ple liv­ing in our Unit­ed Nether­lands are not as many as the liv­ing ani­mals that I car­ry in my own mouth this very day.”

The high-tech suc­ces­sors of Leeuwen­hoek’s instru­ment reveal the inhab­i­tants of plan­et Us in all their bristly, prick­ly, many-foot­ed glory.

Imag­ine a tiny space ship set­ting down on plan­et Us, with auto­mat­ic cam­eras whirring. What extra­or­di­nary images it would broad­cast back to its home planet!

Of course, the land­ing site would first have been recon­noi­tered by on-board instru­ments to mea­sure sur­face tem­per­a­tures, water con­cen­tra­tions, and the plan­et’s aura of vapors, some of them poten­tial­ly due to sur­face inhab­i­tants. This data would be ana­lyzed by computers.

Then comes the land­ing, at a care­ful­ly cho­sen site in an armpit, trop­i­cal­ly warm, thick­ly forest­ed, moist with sweat. And the pay­off: More than 2 mil­lion bac­te­ria per square cen­time­ter, squirm­ing, glid­ing, creep­ing, corkscrew­ing, hard­ly a place for our space­craft to set down with­out crush­ing inhabitants.

Galileo’s task was rather sim­i­lar as it sped by Earth. Could it detect the pres­ence of unseen life? The answer: Yes. And now, with its boost from Earth­’s grav­i­ty, the space­craft is climb­ing away from the sun. It will fly by the aster­oid Gaspra in Octo­ber of this year. Then it will fall back toward Earth, get anoth­er grav­i­ta­tion­al boost in Decem­ber 1992 (and take anoth­er look for life), then it’s off for the ren­dezvous with Jupiter.

Dropping in for a look-see

Does life exist in the atmos­phere of the solar sys­tem’s biggest plan­et? Almost cer­tain­ly not. But Galileo will look for any­thing inter­est­ing. It will go into orbit around Jupiter and drop a para­chut­ed probe into the Jov­ian atmos­phere. None of the exper­i­ments aboard the orbiter or probe are specif­i­cal­ly designed to look for life, but they will mea­sure vir­tu­al­ly every phys­i­cal and chem­i­cal prop­er­ty of the thick mul­ti­col­ored clouds that are the plan­et’s upper layers.

If Galileo does find evi­dence of teem­ing organ­isms float­ing into those clouds, well, the sur­prise will be no greater than Leeuwen­hoek’s when he peered though his new micro­scope at the appar­ent­ly bar­ren sur­face of plan­et Us.


Space­craft Galileo arrived suc­cess­ful­ly at Jupiter in 1995 and spent 8 years explor­ing the Jov­ian sys­tem. No evi­dence of life was detect­ed there. ‑Ed.

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