Three thousand tubes of what?

I'm currently reading Arthur C. Clarke's Prelude to Space, written in 1947 and set in 1978, which describes a first mission to the Moon. Clarke points out in his introduction to the 1977 reprinting of the novel that, "On July 20, 1969, all the countless science-fiction stories of the first landing on the Moon become frozen in time, like flies in amber. We can look back on them now with a new perspective...for we know how it was really done and can judge the accuracy of the prediction."

Clarke's description of the mission varies considerably from the final result, but not so much that the novel has the anachronistic feel of Jules Verne or H.G. Wells. (Actually, I find that Wells holds up much better than Verne over time, but that's another topic.) However, the part that really jumped out at me, sixty years in Clarke's future, was the following conversation after a tour of the ship's cockpit:

"It's a bit overwhelming, but not so very much worse than a transcontinental jet's cockpit."

"It is if you know what goes on behind all those panels," said Matthews grimly. "Arnold Clinton - that's the electronics king - once told me that there are three thousand tubes in the computing and control circuits alone. And there must be a good many hundreds on the communications side."

Three thousand vacuum tubes? I almost laughed out loud - relying on a system like that to go to the Moon would be like having someone say that a battleship would only be able to sail if none of the light bulbs on board burned out. Now, admittedly, when Clarke was writing the book, state-of-the-art computing was represented by ENIAC, which had close to 18,000 vacuum tubes and weighed 27 tons. The next time that you have a problem with your computer, remember the gentleman in the image at the left of this paragraph, who is troubleshooting a problem in ENIAC by looking for a dead tube - see, Vista's not that bad after all, is it.

Coincidentally, the needs of the Apollo program for a more reliable system for use in the Apollo Guidance Computer led to concentrated research into the development of the integrated circuitry that replaced the vacuum tube and which is now used in virtually every piece of electronics in existence. Sadly, the AGC crashed five times - only in the computer sense, fortunately - during the landing approach to the Moon by the Eagle module.

- Sid

"I suppose I'd rather die as a hero than as a meal."

Torrell: Well, I could kill you. But you strike me as the type of man who, despite being weak and cowardly on the outside, harbours a strength of character he doesn't even know he has.

Dr. Rodney McKay: I'm sorry - was there a compliment in there?

Living in Vancouver is a bit of an SF geek's dream, because so many science fiction series have been shot in and around the area. X-Files, Highlander, Andromeda, Smallville, Battlestar Galactica, Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, Flash Gordon - one could probably create one of those strange drinking games that would have people take a drink every time they identify a piece of local scenery in an episode.

If someone is playing that game, then the Stargate franchise has probably led to a few advanced cases of alcoholism, given the amount of location shooting that they've done here. Stargate Atlantis pays tribute to its real location by the inclusion of a unique character, that of Rodney McKay, the ascerbic Canadian scientist, brilliantly performed by Canadian actor David Hewlett.

McKay was originally introduced as a foil for Samantha Carter in Stargate SG-1, acting as someone who was (in theory) as smart as her and as such was able to suggest alternatives, or more often to shoot holes in her solutions. Sadly, he was usually proven wrong. In addition, he had a sort of smarmy sexual interest in Carter, which was completely unreciprocated.

However, as the resident genius on the Atlantis mission, the character of McKay has developed in a fashion unique to television science fiction characters of his stamp: he has, however slowly and reluctantly, become a hero. It is as if Lost in Space's Dr. Smith had developed into the saviour of the Robinson expedition instead of regressing from the cold saboteur of the first episode into a mincing, shrieking coward that seemed to be the cause of every problem that the crew faced.

I admire the writers' decision to develop McKay's character in the fashion that they have. TV science fiction is packed with heroic figures, but their heroics are a given: really, how much of a surprise is it to have the starship captain of your choice save the day? As a group, they're accomplished figures: scientists and diplomats, lovers and warriors, blessed with audacity, brilliance, cunning and determination.

McKay, on the other hand, is frightened and horrified by the situations in which he finds himself, without the training or the inclination to seize the moment and save the day. Nonetheless, he does just that on more than one occasion, and his reluctant heroics are accompanied by the sort of reactions that any ordinary person would likely have under those circumstances: he sweats, he hyperventilates, he stammers, and even passes out in one episode.

The only criticism I have of the manner in which McKay has been developed is that, after all that he's been through, you'd expect that he'd be getting a little bit more used to it by now! That aside, full points to the Atlantis writers, and I look forward to seeing how the new Rodney's relationship with Samantha Carter will develop now that she's been put in command of the Atlantis mission.

- Sid

"A normal, routine flight".

It is difficult to think of a science fiction author who has had more of an impact on the real world than Sir Arthur C. Clarke. His early work with radar during WWII, his proposal of the geosynchronous communications satellite, his television appearances as a commentator, the movie adaptations of his work, and of course his countless stories, essays, novels and books, all combine to make him a cultural icon. 

 A large portion of Clarke's work occupies a sort of near-future niche: the Space Odyssey books, A Fall of Moondust, The Fountains of Paradise, The Hammer Of God, the Rama novels, and, to a lesser extent, Imperial Earth. Clarke has never attempted to create a unified history of the future, as have authors like Larry Niven, Robert A. Heinlein, or a host of other. However, the future as Clarke portrays it in those books demonstrates a logical, consistent, considered evaluation of how life in space might actually be lived.  

2001 is a perfect example of this: Heywood Floyd's trip to the Moon is, as it says in the narrative, "a normal, routine flight". That being said, let's look at Mr. Floyd's trip. 

He boards a booster-assisted spaceplane that takes him to Space Station One, where he transfers to a zero-g shuttle that takes him to the Moon. The boosters for the spaceplane are independent craft that fly back to Florida to be refueled and used again. 

Interestingly enough, in the course of the trip Floyd logs on with his Newspad and downloads a selection of current papers to read, clicking on thumbnail-sized images to select the pages he wants. Because Clarke is English, it is of course unlikely that Heywood would be looking at porn, but other than that it's pretty close to what most people do now with their laptops when they travel - not a bad guess for 1968. But I digress...

The craft used in 2001 are designed to occupy specific niches, and as such are completely different in their designs. The spaceplane is essentially the current Space Shuttle, but with better seating, stewardesses, and apparently less of a re-entry problem. The suggestion is that it's like an orbital 747, designed to operate for the most part within the atmosphere, but capable of limited vacuum operation. 

The zero-g shuttle is completely different. Other than the fact that it's laterally symmetrical (presumably for convenience of accelerating along its centre of gravity) it has all the aerodynamic qualities of a brick, because it will never feel the touch of air - it's purely a vacuum craft. And, like the spaceplane, it's a multi-use craft designed to perform the Earth-Moon circuit over and over again. 

The space station itself is a much more developed entity than the current ISS, although, like the ISS, it's a work in progress, as demonstrated by the bare skeleton that's visible. The station is rotating in order to use centrifugal force to create the illusion of gravity, cited in the novel as equal to the Moon's (1/6 of Earth's). As a sidebar, Clarke describes the lounge area of the station as having "a restaurant, post office...barber shop, drug store, movie theater, and a souvenir shop", making it sound pretty much like an airport concourse, as opposed to the movie version:

Any further comment would be superfluous. 

 In my previous posting, I cited some of the advantages of space stations, and I find it odd that the American space program has never made a serious effort to establish and maintain a permanent facility in orbit. I'm aware of the various difficulties involved in getting things up there, but on that basis shouldn't they be trying to make sure that everything that goes into near-Earth space stays there? 

 My younger readers - if there are any (readers, that is) - will not remember the Chicken Little experience of waiting to see where Skylab was going to impact when it lost orbital stability. Shouldn't it still be up there as part of the current Space Station, like building a home around the original log cabin? 

If I were in a position of authority at NASA, I'd be tempted to ignore the issues involved in manned missions to the Moon or Mars for some time, and just concentrate on developing an infrastructure based around three space stations: Earth, Moon, and Mars. I'd then establish a repeatable, reusable and reliable system of travel between the stations - in other words, a normal, routine flight.

- Sid