The large Martian channels, especially Kasei, Ares, Tiu, Simud and Mangala Valles, show morphological features strikingly similar to those of ‘Channeled Scabland.’ Features in the overall pattern include the great size, regional anastomosis, and low sinuosity of the channels. Erosional features are streamlined hills, longitudinal grooves, inner channel cataracts, scour upstream of flow obstacles, and perhaps marginal cataracts and butte and basin topography. Depositional features are bar complexes in expanding reaches and perhaps pendant bars and alcove bars.
Scabland erosion takes place in exceedingly deep, swift floodwater acting on closely jointed bedrock as a hydrodynamic consequence of secondary flow phenomena, including various forms of macro-turbulent vortices and flow separations. If the analogy to the Channeled Scablands is correct, floods involving water discharges of millions of cubic meters per second and peak flow velocities of tens of meters per second, but lasting perhaps no more than a few days, have occurred on Mars …
FromThe Bulletin of Geophysical Research, vol. 23, pp. 27–41 (1974). Copyright 1974 by Academia Press, Inc.; all rights reserved.
July, 1976 Jet Propulsion Laboratory, Pasadena
Later, York would pinpoint the divergence in the trajectory of her life to a couple of days in the middle of 1976.
After that point, things just seemed to unravel, for her, as she fell toward a new destiny.
York wished she had something to drink. Even with all the windows open, the sun beating down on the roof made the car as hot as hell. Her sunglasses kept slipping down her nose, and every time she rested her arm on the sill of the window frame she burned her skin.
She rattled her nails on the steering wheel, waiting for Ben Priest.
In the middle of the aimless mess of her life, she seemed to be regressing, to some kind of childhood.
She’d had a huge image of Mars taped to her bedroom wall, a black and white photomosaic compiled from fifteen hundred Mariner 9 photographs, with the scar of Olympus Mons square at the center. At least, she’d had it there until Mike had made her take it down. He said Olympus Mons looked like a huge nipple.
And now here she was hanging around at the gates of JPL – without a security pass – like a goddamn groupie, hoping to get an early look at the Soviets’ new pictures from the Martian surface.
At last, here came Ben Priest. With his graying crew cut he looked every inch the military man. He was carrying a fat cardboard folder with a blue NASA logo stenciled on the front. He was moving at a half-trot, despite the heat, but he showed no signs of sweat; his crisp short-sleeved shirt glowed white in the brilliant noon light.
This time he hadn’t been able to get her into the lab itself. Nobody was supposed to see the stuff the Soviets were sending back from Mars.
Ben clambered into the car beside her. ‘Got it.’
She reached over. ‘Give.’
‘Hell, no. Is that any way to greet an old friend? Let’s get out of this heat first. Mars can wait a few more minutes.’
She suppressed her eagerness. Be polite, Natalie. And, after all, this was Ben. She started the car. ‘Let’s find a bar. Do you know anywhere?’
‘Only the waterholes where the JPL hairies hang out, and I’d rather take a break from them.’
‘I’m staying at the Holiday Inn. It’s only a few minutes from here.’
‘Go for it.’
She pulled out.
‘I was expecting to see Mike too,’ Ben said.
‘Oh, in the end he couldn’t get away. He has his head shoved much too firmly up a NERVA 2 exhaust pipe.’ Or up his own ass, maybe, she thought sourly.
‘You know the NERVA thing still isn’t going too well. My flight on Apollo-N has been delayed again, and –’
‘Mike doesn’t tell me anything. Half of it’s classified, anyhow.’
‘Well, that’s the word in the Astronaut Office. So how’s life for my favorite girl-geologist?’
She grunted, and pushed her slippery sunglasses back up her nose. ‘Shitty, if you want the truth. My professor at Berkeley – Cattermole – is a jackass.’
Priest laughed out loud. ‘I wish you’d say what you mean.’
‘Cattermole’s smart at departmental infighting, and putting together grant applications. But that’s it. The rest of his head shut down long ago. His projects are lousy, as are his methods. He sees Berkeley’s Space Sciences Lab as just a way to chisel money out of NASA. If I was smart enough to have seen that before I signed up, I wouldn’t have gone within ten miles of the man.’
‘But your contract is only short-term.’
‘Yeah, and then I have to find another.’
‘Which you will. If you want it. You’re a bright girl, Natalie.’
‘Don’t patronize me, asshole.’
He laughed again.
‘Yes, I’ll find another job. Maybe I’ll even get an assistant professorship somewhere. But …’
‘But you don’t think life as a rock hound is going to work out for you.’
‘I don’t know, Ben. Maybe not.’ Not even working on Mars data was satisfying her.
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