Are We Safe From Meteors?

     Does this look like a place hit by a meteor?  The quaint town of Noerdlingen, Germany, lying between Munich and Stuttgart, certainly looks peaceful in  this view from its ancient church tower, known to locals as the Daniel.  But about fourteen and a half million years ago, a meteorite more than a kilometer in diameter slammed into the earth,creating a crater over twenty-eight kilometers across. The force was so great, equivalent to nearly two million Hiroshima-style bombs, that tons of diamonds were instantly compressed into existence.  The native stone in the town's buildings is peppered with tiny, glistening jewels.  Rocks were thrown hundreds of of kilometers away, into what is now the Czech Republic. Despite endless years of erosion, the giant crater is easily visible from space and the rim can be traced through the surrounding woods and fields.   A smaller crater in nearby Steinheim, thought to be formed by a fragment of the same meteor, is more easily appreciated from the ground, since it is under two kilometers wide.

     The recent flyby by a meteor much, much smaller, raised some alarms on Earth, although scientists had calculated that it would miss our planet by a fortunately large margin.  Still, it is almost inconceivable how much damage to our present civilization an impact on the scale of the one that formed the Noerdlingen-Ries crater would produce.  To avert such a catastrophe, measures are being taken.  Earlier this month, NASA announced a new initiative to investigate possible ways of dealing with approaching meteors with nuclear weapons, as portrayed in the sci fi movie Armageddon.  The agency also recently released a  map showing impacts with small meteorites called fireballs or bolides over the last couple of decades.   Furthermore, a study by Stefan Hergarten and Thomas Kenkmann of the University of Freiburg reveals that almost all of the large impact craters on Earth have already been discovered and that the theories about the rareness of such collisions are probably correct.  

     The news from Freiburg offers some comfort for those worried, like Chicken Little, that the sky is in imminent danger of falling.  Further comfort may come from the fact that our space programs are now mainly focused on asteroids, comets, and meteors.  The impetus for this interest is not, it is true, simply a matter of prudence.  Greed plays a large part, since the prospects of asteroid mining are driving the imaginations of NASA authorities and private enterprise alike.  One asteroid has been identified that might contain many times the total amount of gold ever found on Earth.  This would be nice to have in one's bank account, but before we start hallucinating about the benefits, we should remember that the discovery of vast new sources of gold in Mexico and Peru by the conquistadores wound up destroying the economy of Spain just at the moment it was about to dominate most of Europe.  At the same time, we need not be so pessimistic that we ignore the opportunity to control our planetary destiny better than we do now.  Nuclear bombs have a privileged place in Washington's psyche, but hopefully scientists can also point out possibilities of rerouting meteors with new technology such as ion drives.  

      We can never count ourselves as totally safe from meteors.  Our understanding of events out at the edge of the solar system, in the mysterious Kuiper Belt and the Oort Cloud, is still too incomplete to rule out the appearance of some "unscheduled" visitor from space bashing into our world. However, if we follow the advice of the reporter at the end of The Thing From Another World and "keep watching the skies," we may preserve Noerdlingen behind its quaint medieval town wall (one of only three remaining in Deutschland) and the rest of us in our cities, suburbs and farms.

Just a quick note of welcome to our new viewers in Venezuela, Czech Republic, Slovakia, and the Ukraine.  Add a comment if there's something you'd like to discuss.

Keep Your Eyes on the Prize

     What do prizes have to do with sci fi?  Oh, there are the Hugos and the Nebulas and such and those are marvelous stimulants for our imagination, but I'm not thinking specifically of literary prizes.  

     Then there was the government's prize for the development of supply rockets for the ISS that led to the emergence of SpaceX and Orbital Sciences as private entities for space transport.  This was an unqualified success, and we will return to it later.

     In the larger world of prizes, though, several factors make us wonder about their effectiveness, at least in the present context.  Consider the prize of prizes, the Nobel.  Regardless of the enormous prestige and undeniable financial comfort that results from receiving the prize, does it really serve as a stimulant for achievement?  The instance of President Obama's peace prize gives pause for thought.  He was awarded it for calling an end to conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, but neither has ended.  Despite our having our way in running those countries through Western-approved (if not installed) regimes, the fighting, the bombings, and the recruitment of further militants rages on.  Other Peace Prize recipients have been so fortunate as to be murdered shortly afterward by their own countrymen.  Of course, these may be exceptions, but they are noteworthy ones.  The Nobel is awarded to many great scientific researchers, as well.  Usually it comes relatively late in their careers, as a crowning achievement to their initiatives and sacrifices.  Was it really necessary, or even instrumental in producing those results?  Probably not.  Those men and women would have forged ahead in their crusades without the carrot of the Nobel being held before their noses.  There is still a common value in recognition, whether or not it is a stimulus as well.

     Much the same can perhaps be said if we step down a notch to the so-called MacArthur "Genius Grants."  These five-year fellowships have been awarded for decades to promising individuals in a surprising number of fields.  According to the foundation's own guidelines, they are not necessarily directed to a single designated outcome, such as the design of a building, the writing of a book, or the establishment of a particular institution.  I have always been interested in hearing a sort of longitudinal report on what happens to the recipients after they receive the awards.  A nagging doubt makes he wonder if any wound up the worse off for the honor, like the "lucky" individuals on the old television show, "The Millionaire," who frequently crashed soon after their success.  To hope that the awardees would go on to live full and happy lives would certainly be a desirable outcome for these worthies.  Yet, the question remains: in terms of strict effect, what do the awards do?

     So often in our society, prizes seem essentially "rigged" beforehand.  Reading the astonishing variety of reactions to the recent Wayweather-Pacquiao championship boxing match, it seems that many fans are disappointed.  Commentators cite the fact that the "take" was already largely calculated before the match began, assuring that both fighters would be so wealthy that the decision would not have much influence on their subsequent lifestyles.  Many fans felt that one or both of the fighters was just going through the motions and failing to deliver a performance worthy of the high price. I would take exception to this, since anyone who has spent even one round in the ring with a trained boxer knows that it can be an experience so grueling that questions of dollars rapidly fade from relevance.  Could a bigger purse, a super-prize, have made them produce what some of the fans wanted?  Perhaps a better question is: might not such a super-prize have been more meaningful if both men had been able to confront each other at the height of their abilities, rather than late in careers that the boxers were making superhuman efforts to maintain and extend, knowing that they were a step behind, a punch slower, than they once were.

     This brings up the fundamental question -- and here we jump back into the future -- of what we really want to use prizes for.   What are the collective goals?  Are great journeys one of them?  Can a great journey into our solar system be one?  Jules Verne's Phileas Fogg, in Around the World in Eighty Days, sets out on his adventure to win a bet that was essentially a financial prize. Henry Stanley crossed Africa in pursuit of Doctor Livingstone, motivated by a prize in the form of a commission. Both were effective in producing desired results, despite hardship.  Both involved considerable risk, as did the ventures of SpaceX and Orbital Sciences.  Elon Musk, father of SpaceX, sees the colonization of Mars much in terms of a prize objective, one the company is already planning for before a prize is offered.  Will he, will we, be willing to go all fifteen rounds until the final bell sounds?  Do we really want to?  These are questions waiting for answers.

Giving It All Away?

by James and John Gaines

     A recent op ed article in Popular Science discussed the advisability of trying to communicate proactively with intelligent aliens.  It gave prominence to Stephen Hawking's warning that broadcasts may attract dangerous attention to the planet,making it a target for nomadic alien intellects that would treat our world as nothing more than a disposable resource.  But then it went on to suggest that perhaps such "Here I am!" messages might be justified on grounds that give cause for doubt to any skeptical mind.

      Just as specious is the purportedly practical argument that intelligent contact would allow us a shortcut to solving our planet's foremost problems: disease, starvation, traffic jams, pollution, or the difficulty of making a good hollandaise.  Why should we assume that an alien intelligence would be interested in alleviating these woes?  Would aliens not object that most of these are problems that we could certainly address, if not completely dispel, ourselves.  Our own planet's historical record provides ample proof that a "civilized" culture does not race to solve the perceived problems of a "primitive" culture, but rather to address its own, and to impose conditions on the primitives that generally exacerbate rather than ameliorate their general state of being.  To put it one way, the might only help us with the hollandaise in order to see if we tasted good in it.  

      One underlying rationale for such messages is that we should do it simply because we can.  Even in the relatively closed system of life on Earth, the ethical bases of the assumption are questionable. Most consequences of human action within our atmospheric bubble are fairly well known, or at least predictable.  This has not prevented our philosophies from constructing elaborate systems of checks and balances to restrain actions undertaken on no better justification than because it is physically possible to do.  The consequences of human actions in a cosmic environment, where there are literally no limits to the dimensions of activity and no baselines for establishing predictable reactions, are far more daunting.  This is not to say that we humans should contradict our own natural and eventually unavoidable curiosity.  Yet it does reinforce the necessity for careful reflection on any actions outside our planetary sphere, even when actions may seem benign or "natural."

   

     The article in question goes on to offer several "safe" ways that communication may be undertaken, ranging from setting off a kind of colossal laser fireworks display to broadcasting the entire Internet into outer space.  The latter possibility could lead to some amazingly negative outcomes that make one wonder how it could be proposed in the first place.  The article's major justification seems to be that it would allow for easy translation because it would make available such a huge sample of material.  Therein lies a problem.  It would not be just a sample, but an effective (though not permanent) totality.  

     A first question to be asked: do we really want the rest of the universe to know how stupid we are?  So much of Internet communication consists of porno, reports on lethal military and criminal adventures, or simply insipid Facebook posts and chats!  Might not a true interplanetary intelligence legitimately conclude that our race is merely insane or too undependable to work with?  There is such a thing as knowing too much that you really don't want to know.  

       A second question: is it really a good idea to tell a potential partner EVERYTHING?  The Internet includes our planet's entire economy, its defensive systems, its most vital needs, its biological secrets, and the accurate location and importance of every man, woman, and child, as well as most of our fellow inhabitants.  Can we assume that an alien intelligence is just some Daddy Warbucks eager to please our every whim, and not a collection of beings with its own agenda that may or may not include us?  To broadcast even an unsifted compendium of our knowledge or communication into space would be tantamount to giving out all one's bank accounts, one's tax returns, one's family history, one's criminal record, and one's most embarrassing moments to a potential blind date. Furthermore, in this case, we would not even know if the "other" was remotely like us or what it meant by a date.  I propose that if we do communicate, maybe it should be more in the nature of a mathematical "speed date" -- an encounter where we could gain some knowledge about what we might be dealing with, without giving away more information than we are comfortable with.  As one contemporary commercial states, "Like comes before love.  Like is good."

"Take Me To Your Leader!"

by James F. Gaines





One of the oldest myths of First Contact is the famed punchline, “Take me to your leader!” uttered by an alien upon landing on Earth. Just imagine if that were to happen today. A visitor asking to be conveyed directly to Barack Obama would soon receive a letter from 47 Republican senators hinting that we might legislatively secede from Outer Space! Moreover, it was not just recently that the preposterousness of a face-to-face meeting with one or more of our planet’s leaders was pointed out by forward-thinking sci fi creators.





In the 1951 Robert Wise film classic, The Day the Earth Stood Still, the interplanetary messenger Klaatu, having landed right behind the White House, emerged from his shining saucer with a marvelous gift and a desire to see the President and was promptly… shot. In vain did he insist on his peaceful intentions and reiterate his request while recuperating in Walter Reed Hospital. (In retrospect, this very treatment seems amazingly indulgent; one can easily see contemporary scientists plant the injured traveler on a slab and start dissecting him – i. e. ET). Does Klaatu get to see the Leader? No, for the President sends a distinguished flunky who informs him that such an interview can only take place behind hermetically closed doors, rather than in the world arena Klaatu seeks. Other world leaders are no more comprehending than Harry Truman, since the British PM and the Soviet Chairman seem unable to decide where to meet each other, much less someone from another world.


Does the alien persist? Certainly not. Neither Wise nor original short story writer Harry Bates imagined that a being who could traverse so many million miles would be a moron. Klaatu elegantly escapes and seeks out more understanding humans. He has to go pretty far down the food chain before he succeeds in finding a candid boy named Bobby and his stenographic mother Helen (Bobby naively explains, “She’s a real secretary, not like that man they call the Secretary”). The numerous humans in between Bobby’s broken little Benson family and the President are more likely to resemble the latter in their mixture of fear and contempt for aliens, be they doctors, soldiers, Klaatu’s bureaucratic and bigoted fellow boarders at the rooming house at 1412 Harvard St. NW, or Helen’s treacherous fiancé Tom Stephens. In his greed for diamonds, power and recognition, Tom rats out Klaatu’s disguise as Mr. Carpenter and almost gets our little orb incinerated by the mechanical policeman Gort. The only exception to Earth’s hostility, other than the Bensons, is Professor Barnhardt, an enlightened by ultimately ineffectual scientist whose plans for a global conference are ruthlessly quashed by the commander-in-chief and his minions. Only Klaatu’s personal inclination to forgive and forget, following his death and Christ-like reanimation by Gort, offers some redemption for an apparently undeserving planet.





Surely, one may object, mankind has come so far since 1951 that such a scenario could never play out today. Reality check: the Cold War has been heated over. America is even more fear-crazed over Vladimir Putin than it was over Molotov and Khrushchev, and Putin hasn’t even taken off his shoes! Once again, we are trying to topple Iran, though this time the targets are Ayatollahs rather than the vaguely socialistic Mohammad Mossaddegh. The nations cannot get together to decide how to tackle the imminent demise of our own world from pollution of the bottom couple of miles of our atmosphere, never mind matters beyond the ionosphere. Suffice it to say that a twenty-first century Klaatu would have no better recourse than the 1951 model.




Richard Attenborough reminded television viewers recently in an overview of his career that our ape ancestors first applied their collective intelligence to more or less cannibalistic hunting, which is still reflected in today’s chimpanzees. We are still in many ways naked apes. Louie Thoreau’s BBC documentary on America’s Most Dangerous Pets featured one of the most prominent chimp wranglers of our day, who proclaimed that he felt much safer among 500 lb. Siberian tigers than among chimps, since their devious primate minds were always watching, waiting, and actively plotting for ways to unleash their lethal aggression. Politicians, the chimps of our marble domes, are, for their part, far more likely to display humankind’s negative characteristics than any potential upside. They would make most undesirable partners for a First Contact situation.





Perhaps ET had it right after all. Marooned on a scary world, he sought out the company of kids and stayed hidden among them as long as he could. Revived from death, not by human doctors but by his own kind, he telekinetically separated himself from NASA and the CIA and offered to initiate none of them to the secrets of space travel. The only things he consented to take back to his realm were a potted plant and the boy Elliott. Presciently prudent. Humans have an undeniably morbid tendency to neglect knowledge that is merely beneficial in favor of that which is destructive. Ned Land on the Nautilus. Put an astronaut on ET’s craft and he would bypass the medical suite and immediately search for a phaser to retro-engineer. All that passes for sophistication in the human mindset may one day in the future be interpreted as something closer to psychosis by beings with interplanetary capacities. Or at least we can hope so.




Ergo, it is not inconceivable that a future alien initiating First Contact would short-circuit the paths of power and opt for colloquy with a child, a woman, or a member of some neglected group. To return to Klaatu, we must recall that his original search for contact with heads of government had a specific and sinister motivation: it was those people and those alone who controlled the dangerous means (presumably, nuclear weapons) that had put the continued existence of Earth in jeopardy. With the help of Dr. Earnhardt, Klaatu devised a stunning demonstration of alien technology that could not be overlooked by the leaders he wished to reach, and who had so callously spurned him. Resorting to Plan B, he fulfilled his mission without having to unleash the awesome punitive power of his robot companion. More definite than the questionable, unstated response of Presidents, Chairmen, and other poobahs was the effect of the humble Bensons, who presumably provided reliable proof that our race was not irrécupérable. It puts one in mind of the Bible. When the Lord had decided to push the Reset button on Sodom and Gomorrah, he sent angels for a First Contact with Lot. Had he sent them to the kings or chief priests, they might simply have jumped in their helicopters (sorry, chariots!) and headed for Camp David or some other more secure spot in the Fertile Crescent, keeping their lives, their gold, and their sins to themselves. The humble Lot, unlike his leaders, actually tried to bargain the Lord out of this firestorm by offering to find ever-dwindling numbers of men as righteous as himself. Of course, it didn’t work, and even Lot lost his salty wife and a good part of his righteousness, too, after he fled the doomed cities of the plain. Nonetheless, life went on.





This is not a bad goal. It is worth remembering. Maybe we should engrave it on the NASA headquarters. And the White House. And even the Capitol, if Congress doesn’t immediately disavow or deface it. “Life must go on!” We should keep it foremost as we talk about exploiting the planets, bringing back treasures of precious substances, going where no man has gone before (So what, maybe somebody else has gone there before) or “discovering” life (Duh, it’s already been discovered by somebody or it wouldn’t be there at all). We won’t really be ready to take our own destiny in hand until we realize that it may depend on trusting and understanding somebody ELSE.

First Contact – The Germ Scenario

By James and John Gaines

                The February, 2015 issue of Popular Science has a thought-provoking article by Corey S. Powell entitled “Have We Found Alien Life?” (pp. 34-39 and 70).  It reports on the research by USC scientist Kenneth Nealson into a one-celled organism called Shewanella oneidensis that appears to be able to grow uniquely on the charges from an electrode.  This allows the bacterium to “breathe rocks” in a way unlike other earthly creatures, but perhaps like others that may be discovered eventually in outer space.  The article goes on to examine, in parallel, possibilities of microbial life on other planets of the solar system and ways to go about detecting it. 

                Nealson’s discoveries, while not oriented specifically towards alien biology, bring up the sensible scenario that when we make contact with other-worldly life, it may be us doing the contacting, and the life may not be intelligent by any existing standards.  Of course, this type of first contact scenario poses a number of significant risks that have been imagined in part by science fiction in the past.  H. G. Wells’s War of the Worlds treats the matter in reverse, since technologically superior and malevolent Martian invaders are eventually laid low by germs from earth.  B-movies of the 1950’s were concerned, in contrast, with the dangers to Earthlings from germs that would come to earth accidentally.  In the case of The Blob, an amoeba-like organism survives inside a meteor and winds up absorbing the tissues first of an imprudent hermit and then of much of the population of an isolated town.  Invasion of the Body Snatchers imagines a different sort of cosmic fallout in the form of spores that grow first into exaggerated peapods and then morph into humanoid form, taking over the psyche, as well as the body, of the nearest human.  These pod creatures are not strictly speaking microbial or one-celled, but the idea is similar.  Other films, such as The Crawling Hand, feature some kind of contagion that comes back to Earth with a space explorer and spreads (in this instance with merciful slowness) into the human race before it is stopped.  It is not quite clear in The Crawling Hand that the organic processes are due to a new species or simply to radiation-induced mutations of human cells, but as one can deduce from the title, this drive-in fare is more concerned with the sexual attributes of its “Swedish” female lead than with hard sci fi. 

                In more recent times, the discovery of quasi-microbial remnants in meteorites and the apparent evidence of water on Mars have revived speculation about microbial life that could be soon proven on one of the near worlds.  Some anxieties have arisen over the possible contamination of our own ecosystems by these strangers.  During the exploration of the Moon by Apollo astronauts, there had been relatively little concern that moon rock samples might pose any dangers.  For one thing, there was ample evidence that the Moon would be sterile, given the fact that water was not positively identified there until after the missions were finished.  Secondly, the samples were quite limited and were subject to careful scrutiny.  Thirdly, the astronauts themselves functioned to some degree as canaries in the coal mine, since the return to Earth was not instantaneous and any glaring peril might presumably unveil itself during the flight back.  After extended examination, moon rock samples were eventually distributed far and wide, so the fact that they have produced no discernible damage proves retrospectively that any anxieties were unnecessary.

                However, this comforting lack of extraterrestrial life so far may not hold true for future expeditions.  Asteroids, the immediate target for NASA missions, might seem to pose no greater danger than the moon rocks.  We must keep in mind, though, that one important goal of asteroid encounters is potential mining.  One wonders if importation of tons of material would be treated with the same scrupulous care as NASA’s tiny samples, especially if the goal were not pure science, but commercial capitalization.  This still limited risk is multiplied many times when it comes to samples from some of the other interesting bodies in our solar system, such as the moons of Jupiter, Saturn, and Neptune.  Besides satellites like Triton and Europa, which might have submerged liquid seas, other worlds may sustain underground microbial life.  Powell’s article specifically mentions Mars, Titan, and Ganymede as places that might sustain rock-consuming microbes not dissimilar to the ones discovered by Nealson and his team.  In regards to the Saturnian moon of Enceladus, Powell says, “hydrothermal vents below its South Pole… would be natural homes to rock-breathing microbes” (35).  NASA certainly embodies much of mankind’s present knowledge about biochemical contamination and could be counted on to apply what it knows, but in view of severe budget restrictions and the general neglect of much hard scientific R & D on a worldwide scale, we wonder if what we know now might really be enough to protect our planet against possible contamination. 

                In this regard, two additional B-movies deserve consideration.  It! The Terror from Beyond Space and 20 Million Miles to Earth postulate more substantive imports in the form of vaguely reptilian and bipedal creatures that are brought back on spacecraft.  In It!, the importation is strictly involuntary and unknown until after the return trip is initiated.  The ET kills several of the crew and menaces others before a drastic solution is found in the form of depressurization of the ship.  This was a good enough idea that it was duplicated years later in the film Alien, where the danger of exposing Earth to its dragon-like creature was far more explicit.  In 20 Million Miles, on the other hand, the importation is deliberate and the Venusian is thought to be utterly harmless until it is exposed to the air and rocks of Earth, which make it grow into a giant that terrorizes Rome before succumbing to a mere bazooka.  Leaving behind the sensational appearance of both monsters, let us ponder the means of transmission rather than the exterior, since a real danger may not come from something that roars or looks like a dinosaur.  The It! scenario, where a stowaway bacterium would not be discovered until it is already on the way to Earth and holds, so to speak, a human crew as hostages, is a frightening possibility.  In a worst case, it might lead to the termination of the mission and its human component.  A 20 Million Miles eventuality might be all the more ghastly, since control on our own planet could not be preserved simply with nets or bazookas. 

                Returning to the Nealson characterization of his organism as “rock breathing,” it may be worthwhile to examine a particular risk of an organism “hiding” itself inside the Earth.  Humans generally tend to think of the Earth as a vast machine for decontamination, rendering harmless everything from nuclear waste to plague remains.  However, what if a rock breathing microorganism got under the surface of our most important rock – this planet?  We who are mainly limited to controlling the surface of the planet do not currently possess the means to reasonably decontaminate the Earth itself I an alien microorganism managed to establish itself below us.  What could be the potential effect of a life form that could digest the very underpinning of our existence?  Only one sci fi example exists, as far as we know, of such a threat to Earth’s minerals, the rather far-fetched film Monolith Monsters, in which alien crystals begin to grow disproportionately and dehydrate any living things that come in contact with them.  Ironically, they are easily conquered when a dam is breached near a salt flat and the flood of sodium chloride dissolves them into harmless sand.  Yet this threat is literally superficial and does not begin to approach the complexity of having to deal with a harmful organism proliferating underneath the outer crust of the Earth. 

                So to “get real” with this admittedly unusual sort of scenario, what could be done?  First, it seems prudent that a containment area away from the Earth would be a good idea.  The Moon might be a possible candidate, but let’s not forget that, thanks to tides, the Moon is also an important part of the Earth’s environment and may not make a good celestial guinea pig.  Better would be a moon around the Moon, since NASA is already proposing to tow an asteroid into lunar orbit as part of its preparation for missions to the Asteroid Belt and Mars.  Such an installation might cost more than one on the lunar surface, but would add a useful degree of separation in a worst case situation.  Secondly, it would be important to test possibly life-bearing samples not only in a vacuum, but in simulated Earth-like conditions.  If earthbound industries and laboratories are the eventual destination, it follows that we would have to be sure that organisms would not get out of hand if they were exposed to oxygen, moisture, cosmic ray protection, and the other privileges we enjoy.   Lastly, some consideration should be given to conducting materials processing at a location above the Earth’s surface.  This would be enormously expensive in the beginning, but might actually pay for itself to some degree by greatly reducing the mass of material that would have to be moved from space to Earth, given the fact that navigating our atmosphere is the most expensive and dangerous part of such transport.  Ultimately, it may be impossible to completely eliminate the danger of harmful exposure to organic life if we are determined to travel beyond our present home.  On the other hand, failures like the Challenger disaster should convince us that safety has to come first, especially on a planetary scale.

Closed-Loop Meme

                                             

                                                "Closed-Loop Meme"

                                                 by John Gaines

          
               A closed-loop meme is a concept used as a form of cultural shorthand between a select group to express a concept or emotion as a form of shorthand.  Although all memes function as a form of “cultural compression” in terms of abbrievating a concept to those “in the know”, closed-loop memes are unique in that the symbolic language they use is almost impenetrable to outsiders.

                One of the most famous uses of closed-loop meme in science fiction occurs in the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Darmok”, in which Picard must communicate with an alien being who communicates only in narratives from his species’ mythic cycle. Picard ultimately solves the problem of communication by understanding the common features of the alien’s narrative descriptions and the Epic of Gilgamesh.  The episode details the difficulties of cross cultural communication and the necessity to finding a common thread between cultures to connect them; without an understanding of the Gilgamesh legend, Picard could not have solved the puzzle of understanding the alien’s speech, which was entirely a form of closed-loop meme referencing its own legends.

                The concept of a closed-loop meme is often used as an intentional safeguard of knowledge between members of a subgroup to prevent infiltration from outsiders. In Life Sentence, the first book of the Domremy cycle, the religious group of Dissenters use a symbolic language called Crop Talk to communicate with each other to prevent their messages to each other from being decoded by the authorities. The main character, Klein, is introduced to the language of Crop Talk through a friend, and his communications in Crop Talk with the Dissenters form a major part of the novel’s plot.

 

                Although closed-loop meme can be used to safeguard minority groups for benevolent purposes, it can also be used to nefarious ends.  Our as yet untitled second book in the Domremy cycle portrays the flip side of closed-loop meme; a society where it functions as a tool for oppression and ignorance rather than the preservation of knowledge and group identity.  The Garanian species is ruled by a monolithic “Unity” government that preserves order and its own existence at the expense of individual joy and choice, and much of this is accomplished by eliminating knowledge of the planet’s history from all but a select ruling echelon.  Within this echlelon, concepts from the planet’s past, before its Unity government had arisen, are illustrated through a series of symbolic historical references that make no sense to the vast majority of the planet’s population, who are only taught a distorted version of history through “Approved” historical texts.  As the main Garanian character, Tashto, is deployed to a peace conference, he uses the rare opportunity to interact with other cultures to try to understand his planet’s history and how the Unity government came to be—and what truly came before.