Old friends

My recent post about obsolescence reminded me of a forgotten Hacker News comment I wrote in response to early news about the ISEE-3 reboot idea. This was back before the effort even seemed feasible, when Bob Farquhar was trying to drum up support. He died last year, and it seemed like, under the circumstances, it was worth reposting.

"But at that point, Dunham says, who knows if the spacecraft would still be alive."

Something about this line struck me. The story is about an "old satellite"; an "old friend", and it needs "old equipment" and "old documents" to be made to run again. That word is packed with a lot of meaning because for us it means not just the passage of time, but maturity, senescence and, eventually, death.

But there's no reason yet to think that the capabilities of the satellite are in any way degraded. Unless there's been some kind of accident, it could well be in pretty similar condition to when it left. It's had a long life, for sure, but in a sense it hasn't aged at all.

Compare that to the situation back on Earth. The equipment NASA used to communicate with the satellite is gone. A lot of people who worked on it have retired. Maybe we don't even have the knowledge left to operate it. If you shift your perspective to that of our old friend the satellite returning home, it's us who have grown old and forgetful while it remains disgustingly young.

And ultimately, this is the story of Bob Farquhar and his creation. Farquhar is 81, the article says, and not in the best health. The satellite is his life's work: he coined the term "halo orbit", proposed the original mission, and came up with the idea for what that mission has now become. No wonder he feels a personal connection to this satellite; it's essentially a part of him.

And if this plan works, who knows how long that part could keep going, bumbling around its lab at the Sun-Earth L1, doing science just like always. Sure, it could be damaged or destroyed, but it'll never get old. Never wonder when the next attack's coming. Never feel a little worse than the day before.

And if we miss the timing window and the next one isn't for two hundred years? Well, who knows if the spacecraft will still be alive? Two centuries is a long time. Longer than we've got, at any rate.