Pale Blue Dot - Carl Sagan [72]
The colors of Io, even though exaggerated in NASA’s color-enhanced images, are like none elsewhere in the Solar System. The currently favored explanation is that the Ionian volcanos are driven not by upwelling molten rock, as on the Earth, the Moon, Venus, and Mars, but by upwelling sulfur dioxide and molten sulfur. The surface is covered with volcanic mountains, volcanic calderas, vents, and lakes of molten sulfur. Various forms and compounds of sulfur have been detected on the surface of Io and in nearby space—the volcanos blow some of the sulfur off Io altogether.* These findings have suggested to some an underground sea of liquid sulfur that issues to the surface at points of weakness, generates a shallow volcanic mound, trickles downhill, and freezes, its final color determined by its temperature on eruption.
On the Moon or Mars, you can find many places that have changed little in a billion years. On Io, in a century, much of the surface should be reflooded, filled in or washed away by new volcanic flows. Maps of Io will then quickly become obsolete, and cartography of Io will have become a growth industry.
All this seems to follow readily enough from the Voyager observations. The rate at which the surface is covered over by current volcanic flows implies massive changes in 50 or 100 years, a prediction that luckily can be tested. The Voyager images of Io can be compared with much poorer images taken by ground-based telescopes 50 years earlier, and by the Hubble Space Telescope 13 years later. The surprising conclusion seems to be that the big surface markings on Io have hardly changed at all. Clearly, we’re missing something.
A VOLCANO in one sense represents the insides of a planet gushing out, a wound that eventually heals itself by cooling, only to be replaced by new stigmata. Different worlds have different insides. The discovery of liquid-sulfur vulcanism on Io was a little like finding that an old acquaintance, when cut, bleeds green. You had no idea such differences were possible. He seemed so ordinary.
We are naturally eager to find additional signs of vulcanism on other worlds. On Europa, the second of the Galilean moons of Jupiter and Io’s neighbor, there are no volcanic mountains at all; but molten ice—liquid water—seems to have gushed to the surface through an enormous number of crisscrossing dark markings before freezing. And further out, among the moons of Saturn, there are signs that liquid water has gushed up from the interior and wiped away impact craters. Still, we have never seen anything that might plausibly be an ice volcano in either the Jupiter or Saturn systems. On Triton, we may have observed nitrogen or methane vulcanism.
The volcanos of other worlds provide a stirring spectacle. They enhance our sense of wonder, our joy in the beauty and diversity of the Cosmos. But these exotic volcanos perform another service as well: They help us to know the volcanos of our own world—and perhaps will help one day even to predict their eruptions. If we cannot understand what’s happening in other circumstances, where the physical parameters are different, how deep can our understanding be of the circumstance of most concern to us? A general theory of vulcanism must cover all cases. When we stumble upon vast volcanic eminences on a geologically quiet Mars; when we discover the surface of Venus wiped clean only yesterday by floods of magma; when we find a world melted not