Chapter 4 – Helios
It had all the appearances of a chance meeting, the kind that occurs repeatedly at these types of conferences, but it wasn’t, not by a long shot. Elizabeth Hunter was an unheralded genius of astrophysics. She had done multiple studies on coronal mass ejection (CME) events and solar flares but had published only a few, with most of her findings disseminated during conference lectures such as this one. Dr. Alan Somerville had found a picture of her on the McGill University’s website, and he arranged to follow her to Paris once he confirmed she’d be speaking. He was desperate to meet her, to pick her brain. If her prediction was correct, there was trouble ahead. Alan methodically scanned the room, tugging incessantly at the nametag around his neck to relieve bottled-up excitement.
The nametag was perhaps the most overlooked element of scientific progress. Not nearly as glamorous as a linear accelerator or an electron microscope but maybe, just maybe, responsible for more scientific discoveries than the two combined. Each conference attendee wore a colored lanyard around their neck attached to a clear plastic ID card holder. Inside, there was an ID card with their name and university affiliation on it. Speakers typically had a different nametag color that identified them as faculty. These nametags were designed to promote some degree of fraternization and social interaction amongst a group of people who were typically far from social animals. To say that the average person here was an introvert was like saying that the sun was hot. The nametag was the icebreaker, the wedge to open the door into the minds of some of the greatest thinkers of the time.
Alan kept a sharp eye out for a woman of average height and slim build with shoulder-length black hair and unframed glasses. At least, that’s what her online pictures showed. He spotted a woman of similar description approaching the podium, although her hair was tied back and she was not wearing glasses. Contacts? She had on a mauve two-piece suit and was walking with a very determined gait, seemingly eager to have words with the speaker, Dr. William Cooke. He had delivered a rousing (by astrophysics standards) talk on kinetic plasma processes in astrophysics. The room was clearing out after the question-and-answer period, but there were maybe a half dozen people left, the hardcore astrophysicist groupies looking for that little bit of something more than Dr. Cooke had delivered.
Alan approached the podium as well and waited. He was able to get close enough to see her nametag and confirm that she was, indeed, Elizabeth Hunter. She was more attractive than he’d anticipated, with wide hazel eyes and full lips turned in a warm smile. She waited patiently for Dr. Cooke’s attention, listening as he answered questions, nodding occasionally from the sideline. Once she’d had her own turn with the speaker and began to walk away, Alan made his move.
“Excuse me, Dr. Hunter, do you have a moment?” he shouted, running to catch up to her.
Dr. Hunter, caught in mid-stride, turned and smiled. “Of course, Dr. Somerville. What can I do for you?”
Alan was caught off guard by the recognition. Although known within his field of astrobiology and, more particularly, for his contributions in extraterrestrial research and the SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) Project, he had minimal contact with the world of astrophysics and certainly didn’t expect Dr. Hunter to recognize him.
“I have something I’d like to show you. It will only take a few minutes, and I think you’ll find it quite interesting,” Alan replied, reaching for his laptop. “Um, forgive me, Dr. Hunter, but have we met before?”
“Please, call me Liz, and no, we haven’t met, but I can read your nametag just as well as you can read mine,” she replied with a slightly mischievous grin.
“Touché,” Alan said, returning the grin.
“Well, I believe they are serving a faculty lunch downstairs in the Bistro. Why don’t you join me?” Liz asked.
Alan happily agreed, and, moments later, they were seated at a window table in the conference center’s Bistro Terroir Parisien. He soaked in the postcard-perfect view as Liz ordered them two glasses of wine – in perfect French, he noted.
“What did you want to show me, Dr. Somerville?’ Liz asked. The waiter returned and set two glasses of white burgundy on the table.
“Please, call me Alan,” he said, leaning over for his briefcase.
“Would you care to order?” the waiter interrupted.
“The special of the day would be fine,” Liz said. Alan ordered the same. Anxious for privacy, both Liz and Alan followed the waiter’s retreat to the kitchen.
Liz leaned in, all business now, and narrowed her eyes. “Alright, Alan, what have you got for me?”
With a subtle look over each shoulder, Alan opened his laptop. “Liz, I’ve been following your work on predictive solar flare mathematical models for several years. Your accuracy for predicting minor coronal mass ejection events is unparalleled.”
Something in the tilt of Liz’s head and the wide, inquisitive look in her eyes gave Alan a sudden sense of déjà vu. He quickly made the connection. He had attempted to explain the basics of this very topic to his eleven-year-old daughter, Alice, just a few months earlier: “Alice, it’s important that you understand and remember this. A solar flare is a sudden release of built-up magnetic energy from the sun’s atmosphere, releasing radiation across the entire electromagnetic spectrum, including deadly gamma rays. Some solar flares are associated with the release of a coronal mass ejection (CME) made up of massive amounts of matter and energy that, when carried in the direction of the earth upon solar winds, can cause a geomagnetic storm. The northern lights or aurora borealis is one of the commonly known byproducts …”
He remembered Alice nodding her head furiously, trying to show him that she understood. She had always been so intent to please, to prove to her professor-father that she was as worthy of his affections as any of his doctorate students. And he’d been too absorbed in his research to realize that words fit for the ears of advanced postgraduates – doomsday prophesies about natural disasters and the like – were entirely inappropriate for the ruminations of a young girl, no matter how bright she was. It was no wonder Alice had developed an anxiety disorder.
Alan swallowed the guilty memory and continued, “Of more interest to me, though, are your recent long-term predictions of serial CMEs and their devastating consequences. In particular, you’re predicting that one such series of events will occur seven years from now during solar maximum with potentially devastating effects. An occurrence like that would dwarf the Carrington Event of 1859, which caused telegraph systems in Europe and North America to fail, and the Quebec Blackout of 1989, which destroyed massive transformers.”
“Alright, Alan, I’m duly impressed with your knowledge of major coronal events, but what I’d really like to know is whether you’ve been ‘conference stalking’ me?” Liz asked teasingly. “I haven’t published any of that particular data set. I’ve only presented here and at three other meetings over the past year.”
“Unfortunately, my travel budget is limited. I was, however, able to obtain transcripts of your talks from all three conferences,” Alan admitted, “and I was able to incorporate the data you presented into my research.”
“I think I’d rather you were stalking me. That sounds more like theft.”
“Maybe, but I think it’s justified. The studies show that if a Carrington-like storm occurred today, it would affect up to 40 million people with consequences lasting up to 2 years or longer. I can only imagine the effects of a ‘Liz Hunter’ event that you are predicting to be magnitudes more powerful. Add to that my interpretation of your data with the resultant model, and I believe the fate of the world is at stake.”
“Hmm, Alan, so very serious. You’re not one of those doomsday crockpots, are you?”
“I believe the term is crackpot.”
“Are you a crackpot then?”
“You tell me,” Alan said, as he turned his computer screen towards Liz.
Initially, she merely glanced at the screen, a casual effort to pacify him. Something seemed to catch her eye, though, and she pulled the screen closer. Alan could see her level of concentration ramping up.
The appetizers arrived and were placed on the table, but Liz didn’t notice, her attention completely focused on the screen. After almost fifteen minutes, she looked up and asked, “What did you say your background was? I assumed it was astrophysics, but, clearly, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
“I’m also an astrobiologist, based out of Columbia University.”
Liz paused to take a sip of her wine and a bite of her artichoke salad. “You’re obviously sure about the model and your calculations?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
