URANIAN VIOLET

URANIAN VIOLET

The Uranus Robotic Survey Assignment mission of 2133 had been successful. The URSA probe had returned after orbiting Uranus seven months, thrice dipping into its gaseous atmosphere, sending back streams of data and taking samples. Big media coverage of the returned probe landing had possibly caused the error. Scientists and astronomers had gloated over the information disks, passing over a few seemingly unobtrusive, purple stains on the skin of the probe. They were briefly studied, determined unexplainable and forgotten in the wealth of other details.

Perhaps they should have analyzed further, for it was not noticed until later that the Uranian clouds were also purple. However, they still may get the opportunity...

The Jeep's dash console blared a live conference feed as Drs. Simmons and Petrikov made their observations of the gathering storm. Dr. Petrikov, peering at instruments, listened with only half his attention.

"Far overhead, layers of Earth's atmosphere exist with very little comprehension by the majority of the human race, even now. Ionosphere, troposphere, exosphere and stratosphere, among others, describe vast regions. We humans run and crawl, swarm like bees, grovel like ants only in the bottommost slice of troposphere where all weather..." Dr. Petrikov leaned in, scowling as he listened for only a moment longer to the pontificating speaker. "...up to fifteen kilometers. Higher activity becomes increasingly esoteric and of interest mainly to scientists in obscure facilities..."

"Obscure, indeed! Without us to discover it, we'd have lost all the ozone in the last century!" Dr. Jason Petrikov was one such scientist. He withdrew his pudgy arm from the jeep's window, having shut off the announcer's science-popularizing speech with a deft twist.

"I wanted to hear him tell what the rest of the world thinks. Besides," Dr. Petrikov's younger colleague said, her voice nonchalant, "He's a sweet old man. I like him. I've read all his books."

"You know how they think. And him, too. It's all we've heard for the past week. It's all I need to hear Carl explain my field! He still interprets everything as only he can."

"He is a venerable spokesman and, at his age, he gets away with it." Dr. Carla Simmons, defending the science commentator, came up behind Dr. Petrikov where they stood upon the hill west of Flagstaff and encircled her arms around him. As she did so, her dainty, heart-shaped locket fell forward. He was a solid, short man of fifty-six, balding evenly, and bearded with graying fullness. His small eyes and outward bent ears could often make him seem amused even when upset. A few inches shorter than he, she snuggled her face to the nape of his neck.

Dropping the binoculars to his chest, Dr. Petrikov straightened to his full height and reset his wire-rimmed spectacles, which had gotten askew. The glasses added to the jovial, rabbi-like appearance that his non-Jewish friends teased him about with affection. "I may seem cheery, but you do realize I'm very anxious about this--this atmospheric oddity, do you not? And, having Jim Vogan popularize my study domain is infuriating!"

"I know you're upset, but he has been a public figure for a long time. I'm certain of my hunch about the clouds. It has to be true!" Dr. Carla Simmons had a wild array of thick brown hair and a plump, attractive face, also with glasses--hers were silver frames with Navaho turquoise inlays. Her appearance, with her colorful, Southwestern skirt and embroidered jacket, was hardly that of a young, female Einstein out West. Yet, her image belied the prestigious and multi-lettered astrophysicist she was. "Besides," she continued, "I'd like to hear the rest. Perhaps he'll mention something about my hypothesis."

"Unlikely, my sweet. I doubt if the world is ready--even from him. And be careful to tuck your locket back in so you do not lose it out here." Dr. Petrikov resumed watching the towering weather-front rearing up beyond the Flagstaff Peaks of central Arizona, feeling mixed awe and trepidation. He worked at the National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) near Denver and usually enjoyed his frequent visits to Flagstaff to visit Carla--Dr. Simmons to the scientific establishment--whom he happened to be seeing romantically. He had taken a sudden interest in the development of a certain storm due to the startling revelation and subsequent hypothesis by Carla. After a moment, he grudgingly moved to flick on the jeep's radio. The luxury model's radio was way at the bottom of the console.

"...begun as electrical activity in swirling cloud-tops over the Bering Sea, three hundred miles Southeast of Point Barrow, Alaska. Satellite imagery had appeared..." The old, familiar voice now deepened by age, droned on from the speakers. "...only another storm to drench the Pacific Northwest if not for the worst lightning ever recorded. After only one week, the President has declared a national emergency. Its impact southeastward from Washington State..." Dr. Petrikov reached in, turning down the volume.

"Impact! Probably a global emergency if you're right. With all those people killed and the lightning-struck cattle all over the west, this storm could prove to be--"

"Hush up, now." Dr. Simmons opened the door, sat down and abruptly raised the volume. "I said I want to hear Dr. Vogan’s analysis. Keep looking and let me know if you see anything."

"...an eight-thousand mile swath out into the Pacific. Monstrous clouds, oddly purplish, soared over twenty-five kilometers up into the stratosphere--far higher than normal weather. The front has covered the terrain like a continent of cloud, gliding on friction of nearly continuous lightning. Most storms generate lightning which we know to be..."

"Just think, Jason," Dr. Simmons said, switching off the radio herself, not wishing to hear the probable explanation for lightning, "the Hopis seemed to know. They've honored their Sky Kachinas with dances for centuries probably. They're conducting excited ceremonies for their Cloud-Beings right now."

Jason--as she called him--looked skyward. He liked the sights of the Reservation country of the Navaho and the Hopi Mesas.

"I think all the lightning was some adjustment to the new environment. It's already abated to less than an average storm." Carla spoke to his back, admiring the girth of his shoulders.

"Well, authorities have whipped the population into taking cover days ago!" Dr. Petrikov, always the skeptic, glanced back at his companion where she sat on the jeep's seat. The current newspaper was spread on her lap. He snatched up the front page, reading aloud for emphasis. "...coastal cities are still down after three days. Las Vegas, struck the previous night, has been in turmoil. Neon-tube damage may prevent the neon capital from lighting the desert for months..." He stopped, set the paper back down and gave her his most deadpan stare. "Abated or not, I still don't trust it as you do--or as the Indians, for that matter. We need to finish and get to the shelters quickly!"

Jason and Carla had been studying the storm almost from its inception a week before, from her duty station at the historic Lowell Observatory, where Pluto had been discovered. Dr. Simmons--the chief astrophysicist there--had made the curious assumption about the storm and had immediately called him. It was a hunch that held dire, unknown destiny for humanity.

Dr. Carla Simmons was a shrewd, fireball of a woman, who, at forty-five, had overseen the JPL in astronomical telemetry of the URSA probe. She'd seen, of course, every bit of the video transmission of the probe and had formed much speculation. She'd had little time to ponder her thoughts until she'd seen the purplish clouds on the TV coverage of the storm's approach to the mainland as its fury was being realized. It was then that she'd called to tell him her revelation.

Dr. Petrikov pulled his jacket snug as though to ward off the menace in the Northwest, even though the air temperature was a pleasant 19 degrees Centigrade.

"It looks and behaves a lot like the Uranian clouds recorded by the URSA probe. And," she continued, "Jason--this may sound totally unscientific--that probe and the plane carrying it to Japan vanished strangely over the Bering Sea--precisely where the disturbance started. Now, promise not to ridicule me, but I think something on that probe got into our atmosphere! I wish I had guessed while we still had the probe." She gestured toward one area of sky with particular emphasis.

"Yes, my sweet. But I doubt if we could have prevented anything. You yourself said that analysis of the probe had revealed nothing. I daresay--no one else would have remotely considered your hypothesis." He resumed looking at the roiling cloudbank looming purple and heavy over Arizona. He handed her the binoculars. "There are hundreds of purple globs floating around up there."

She glanced aside at him with a twinkle in her eyes, returning him the binoculars. "Will you share it?" He raised his brows.

"I'll consider it." The twinkle still shone in her eyes. "I wonder if we'll ever be able to communicate with something so exceedingly alien."

"A near global storm? Don't forget that little national emergency of injuries, power loss and thousands of lightning-struck cattle! You're aware of the general attitude of the scientific community."

"Do you think the clouds will survive in a non-methane environment?" She asked, pensive. No one could really know answers, but their combined efforts had already initiated a concentrated study by their peers, amid much skepticism.

"We still can't explain those curious purple stains on the probe." Dr. Petrikov could only assume the worst. It was his nature to assume hostility.

"It could rain on Uranus," Carla offered, stretching her neck to view the strange sky.”

Jason, allowing the heavy binoculars to rest on his chest, peered at her, curious. Just then, as Carla's face was upturned toward the sky, a small splotch of purple struck her cheek in a tiny pattern of splat like a drop of semi-frozen ink.

"This--" Carla said, touching her finger to her cheek, "is purple! Omigosh! It’s purple rain!".

"Quick!" He exclaimed, tugging her and shielding them with his jacket. "Into the jeep, now!" Luckily, the vehicle was directly behind them and they made it before they were dyed.

They sat in the jeep, fascinated as around them, pea-sized bombs of purple hale struck in a deluge that lasted for about twenty minutes. Some of the slushy hail was up to grapefruit size before it was over. The ground and everywhere they could see looked like a mad scene in some cartoon. It was as though a Grand Animator had squirted purple ink blotches over the entire cartoon world.

"Oh, Jason. My beautiful white jeep is ruined! And worse--now I look like I'm sick!"

"Oh well." He sighed, joking to lighten the severity of the situation. "I've always urged you to get out more. At least now you have some color in your cheeks!"

"With this one, horrible speck, I'm marked forever! What's to become of me?”

Jason shuddered as they watched the crisis turn into a drenching onslaught of purple. “We bear witness to what could be a most terrible fate for mankind." He reached over, rubbing her shoulder with affection. "My sweet, this is an historical event. I'll gladly mark myself to join any society with you." With that, he opened the door, leaned out and was promptly struck on the forehead.

"Oh Jason. Why did you? Now you look like old Gorbachev in the collapse of Soviet Russia!" And so they huddled, alone in the jeep as the acrid violet rain from Uranus began to turn the atmosphere into methane slowly suffocating them. Feeling grim sadness, Carla clutched her heart-shaped locket and pulled Jason, who had already succumbed, to her bosom. “Dear God, how could I have been so wrong?”

Soon, the world was washed continent by continent and life slowly perished in the violet torrent.

***End***