Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void

by Mary Roach

Nothing works as it’s supposed to in zero gravity, or zero G, as it’s also known. “Even something as simple as a fuse,” astronaut Chris Hadfield told me, mistaking me for someone who knows how a fuse works. Now I know: Fuses have a metal strip that melts in response to a surplus of current. The molten bit drips away, leaving a gap that interrupts the power flow. Without gravity, the droplet doesn’t drip, so the power continues to flow until the metal boils, by which time the equipment has fried.

One day at Johnson Space Center, I visited Mike Zolensky, the curator of cosmic dust and one of the caretakers of NASA’s meteorite collection. Every now and then, a piece of asteroid slams into Mars hard enough that the impact hurls small chunks of the Martian surface way out into space, where they continue to travel until they are snagged by some other planet’s gravitational pull. Occasionally that planet is Earth. Zolensky opened a case and lifted out a Martian meteorite as heavy as a bowling ball and handed it to me. I stood there taking in its hardness and heft, its realness, making an expression that I’m sure I’d never before had call to make. The meteorite wasn’t beautiful or exotic-looking. Give me a chunk of asphalt and some shoe polish and I can make you a simulated Mars meteorite. What I can’t possibly simulate for you is the feeling of holding a 20-pound divot of Mars in your hands. The nobility of the human spirit grows harder for me to believe in. War, zealotry, greed, malls, narcissism. I see a backhanded nobility in excessive, impractical outlays of cash prompted by nothing loftier than a species joining hands and saying “I bet we can do this.” Yes, the money could be better spent on Earth. But would it? Since when has money saved by government red-lining been spent on education and cancer research? It is always squandered. Let’s squander some on Mars. Let’s go out and play.

A meteoroid is a bit of debris, usually planetary, hurtling through the solar system. If it’s bigger than a boulder, then it’s an asteroid. If any part of a meteoroid makes it to Earth intact rather than burning up as it barrels through Earth’s atmosphere, then it’s a meteorite. A meteoroid’s visible path through the atmosphere is a meteor. An astronaut struck by a meteoroid is a goner. A meteoroid the size of a tomato seed can pierce a spacesuit.

If it’s cordless, fireproof, lightweight and strong, miniaturized, or automated, chances are good NASA has had a hand in the technology. We are talking trash compactors, bulletproof vests, high-speed wireless data transfer, implantable heart monitors, cordless power tools, artificial limbs, dustbusters, sports bras, solar panels, invisible braces, computerized insulin pumps, fire-fighters’ masks.