Cassini

   There was something odd about my feelings as I watched the final countdown of Cassini, the joint-venture spacecraft so carefully monitored by both the European Space Agency and NASA.  Just three weeks shy of 20 years since its launch, the Cassini craft was faithfully obeying its final order to enter the atmosphere of Saturn, an entry that would heat it into oblivion and end its mission.  Almost as if mirroring the wait for an execution, NASA's live coverage had a clock on the side as the craft sped past 75,000 mph breaking into the new territory 1,000 miles above the surface.  "We are less than two minutes away from loss of transmission," said the announcer, herself watching the clock.  "Radio transmissions still look good, both S and X bands strong but now in high mode."  The thrusters were starting to fight the pull of Saturn's gravity, the craft struggling to keep the antenna pointing to earth; fuel was down to 1 or 2% as the craft dutifully collected and sent data about the gases it was picking up near its end.  The clock reached the zero hour but the craft still broadcast weakly, then within a another 20 seconds, nothing.  Mission control dryly reported that in another 45 seconds, the craft itself would disintegrate.  The director stood up and announced the official "end" of the mission; headphones came off workers and emotions mixed together with awkward pats on the back and equally awkward handshakes.  Cassini was gone.

   For such a tiny craft, one launched with 1990's technology, Cassini produced enough to fill a book. There were oceans of methane and other gases and liquids far different from our own watery definitions (oceans on moons and other planets??).  Plumes shot into the darkness of space and wobbly grooves appeared in the rings...moons forming was the speculation, or pieces big enough to begin forming their own slot in the ring, creating yet another dark "line."  Move in between the rings, Cassini; move behind Saturn, Cassini; move above Saturn, Cassini.  The craft, operating on just 600 watts (or as one engineer reported, about half the power of an ordinary hair dryer) responded with precision without question, its camera and monitors sending trillions of bits of data back to earth for its waiting scientists.  National Geographic put together a grand interactive simulation of Cassini's travels, and together with NASA, presented just some of the trove of photos Cassini sent home (worth scrolling through and watching).

View from back of Saturn, courtesy NASA's Cassini craft

   So there I stood, watching the NASA channel on television (who does that?) as they monitored Cassini's final minutes, my emotions swirling in a way that I didn't quite understand.  Why would I feel so teary about a machine, for this was after all, just a machine.  Granted, it had responded to each command without any hesitation, even the command ordering it to head into Saturn's atmosphere and thus end its "life."  No hesitation.  It seemed no different that purposefully crashing a car that you drove for years, or casting off your old refrigerator.  We did that finally, our fridge a faithful energy hog that had entered its 28th year but was still cooling and freezing whatever we put into it; okay, so it made a bit of noise when the compressor came on, much as we did when we woke up and had to creak down the stairs; and its one 40-watt bulb would go out now and then but was easily replaced.  And no it wasn't the bright new LED-lit model with multiple doors and temperature settings that all can run on 1/4 the amount of electricity...ohh, ahh, dazzling.  But we made the decision that it was time, and when the new fridge arrived and the delivery folk asked us if we wanted to keep the old fridge and we said no (just recycle it we said, thinking it would head to a family to use or be carefully hauled away), they tore into it like a mad demolition machine, ripping off the handles and tossing the inside drawers around like Tinker Toys.  Can't it be used again, I asked?  We get $5 for this from the recycler, they told us; they have tons of these.  It seemed so sad, this faithful machine now cast aside as if it were a piece of junk (which it would soon be), our loyalty and gratitude now possibly reduced and viewed as a cynical anthropomorphic "so this is the thanks I get."

   In the end, that's pretty much all it becomes it seems.  We noticed this when our friends' mother passed away some six months ago, her daughters only now having her goods being sold in an estate sale.  Everything, from half-empty bottles of whiskey to piles of old firewood were up for sale.  Her prized antique mirror, her massive dining room table from Ireland, her antique bar cabinet, each priced with minimum amounts that the daughters felt the items would fetch ($3000 for the table as an example).  The estate sale began and over three days, the small items disappeared quickly, dresses, the booze, trinkets like used ovenware, basically everything edible in the fridge (what??).  But at the end, the table and mirror and wood and so many of her other prized possessions remained (I counted the wood since she loved a roaring fire during cold winter nights).  Anybody want them, the daughters asked?  Free to whoever wants them.  A bulk email went out to Facebook friends.  Nobody answered.  Last chance, charities would be called.  No response.  All the high-priced items, the items they wanted set aside for minimum prices, were now sitting there unsold and unwanted.  For many of her close friends, there was embarrassment, a feeling of some predisposed disrespect and of not wanting to almost insult our deep friend by taking some of her treasures like greedy scavengers.  But the daughters just wanted out, they were done; take whatever you want, they said (if said a little late).  The charities came and took away the goods.  So there it was, our own Cassini, a life hurtling into oblivion along with everything she treasured, all now forgotten except for the memories and images etched into the minds of a few of her friends.  All the dinners and parties, the holiday gatherings and watching her daughters grow into adults and have their own children...that life now burned up and dissolved as it entered an atmosphere we will all soon encounter.  There was no way to know what the daughters' were thinking, or what there childhood was like; it was not our place to judge.  We were there only to witness, to watch our friend crumble and now watch as everything material-wise about her disappeared as well.

   Cassini proved a marvel of 20th century technology, a machine launched in October 1997 atop another machine that was even older.  In some ways we should all hope to become Cassinis, working and observing and marveling until the end whenever that may be.  Perhaps the discoveries we present to others during our lives will prove as fascinating as the discoveries of Cassini, opening new worlds and destroying old notions.  Life is an exploration for all of us, not only during our journey but also from the trails we leave behind, good and bad.  And in some ways we are all just machines, complicated machines yes, but mechanical in our habits and histories (strange as it may sound, robots are now working on our DNA strands)...and as Nature has reported, we are still evolving.  So hats off to Cassini, hats off to our friend.  Perhaps they are both happily singing along together..."goodbye cruel world."  Or perhaps they're just singing "thanks for the memories."

Just one of NASA's Cassini photos...more at the NY Times compilation