Congratulations to the Deep Impact team, especially to Jay Melosh, Peter Schultz and Alan Delamere, not because I know they did any more than anyone else, just because they're the ones I know best. This was by all accounts not an easy mission, with hardware problems, budget problems, a greatly shortened cruise phase and all in all a lot of headaches. And yet they pulled it off.
There's a pretty gallery of pictures at space.com. David Chandler points out that the brighter-than-expected plume may make it impossible to get images of the crater, but that its dimensions may still be inferred from other data. It's also worth noting that the surface images from before the blast are fascinating, and may yield up a lot of insights on their own. And there's a chance of sending the mothership off to another comet, too (though there are no more bullets to shoot).
In the Guardian, the excellent Tim Radford puts things in context for op-ed page readers who may avoid the science pages. I particularly like his phrase that "Life is a kind of murder mystery in reverse: life emerged, and then proceeded to trample around and erase the evidence of its own origins." But I would pick a couple of nits. One is that, though it's true that an imminent impact by something like Tempel 1 would be beyond our capacity for defelection, far lesser objects that are far more likely threats would be more amenable to a change in trajectory. Another is that, by my count, this is the fourth American comet exploration mission (predecessors in order of launch: ISEE-3/ICE, Deep Space 1 and Stardust) not the fourth all in all. Admittedly, the Soviet Vega 1 and Vega 2 missions to Halley didn't contribute a great deal, and nor did the Japanese missions Sakigake and Suisei (and nor did ISEE-3/ICE, for that matter), but ESA's Giotto did. (You might argue that Stardust shouldn't yet be on the list because the samples aren't safe and sound on the ground, and we definitely shouldn't count our chickens, but it has visited a comet and sent back pictures, which should count for something.) Other missions have revealed a lot about comets from a distance: Galileo took some wonderful images of comet Shoemaker-Levy 9, and SOHO has discovered almost 1,000 of the things.
And in general I think the "where we come from" origin-of-life stuff can be rather overblown. It is true that much of the water and many reduced carbon compounds (which means almost all carbon bearing stuff that's not carbon dioxide ) present on the early earth may well have been delivered by comets; many of the carbon atoms in our bodies, and to some extent the water in the rain, were once components of comets, and before that components of distant stars. The sublime aura of such a thought leads scientists and those of us who write about them to trot it out a lot -- it moves the scientists, and they know it can move many of us.
But we already know that these materials were probably provided by comets, and it's not clear to me how much more about the supply of comets back then and the importance of the volatiles they delivered we'll learn from looking at this particular one now. (Education on these matters welcome). It seems to me that the difficult origin problem is how materials such as this (or others) get caught up in the self-perpetuating processes we understand as life -- the problem of how geochemical reactions became biochemical reactions -- and that's not a problem that this research addresses. If I wanted to be dismissive, I'd say that to tie the study of contemporary comets to the origin of life is a bit like a geologist who finds a particularly fine outcrop of slate on a hillside in Wales saying that he's offering basic insight into the origin of my roof; he's found similar components, but not the process, and the process is what explains the roof. (Not a great analogy, and possibly misleading in that it evokes thoughts of roof design, but serviceable).
I worry about such things (not, I should add, a great deal) because it seems to me that you don't need to oversell things that much. Comets definitely tell us a great deal about the conditions that held sway at the time the solar system formed, and for most of us that should be wonder enough. And if that isn't wonder enough, the ways in which we investigate such things are wonders in and of themselves. Tim argues that we should feel humility in the face of such things, and I think that's salutory. But let's take some pride, too.
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