Asteroids with ‘unstable orbits' hide around Venus—do they threaten Earth?
But despite what several histrionic headlines have claimed, Earth is not at risk of one of these asteroids suddenly sneaking up on us and vaporizing a city. While some of these asteroids could be large enough to cause this sort of damage, there is no evidence whatsoever suggesting any of these Venus-pursuing asteroids are currently heading our way.
'I wouldn't say that these objects are not dangerous,' says Valerio Carruba, an asteroid dynamicist at the São Paulo State University in Brazil and a co-author of both studies. 'But I don't think there is any reason to panic.'
These studies simply highlight that asteroids near Venus have the potential to fly our way on sometime in the next few thousand years or so. 'The likelihood of one colliding with Earth any time soon is extremely low,' says Scott Sheppard, an astronomer at the Carnegie Institution for Science in Washington, D.C. who was not involved with the new research. 'There isn't too much to be worried about here.'
The real problem, though, is that asteroids like this are remarkably difficult to find, and you can't protect yourself against a danger you cannot see. Fortunately, in the next few years, two of the most advanced observatories ever built are coming online. And together, they will find more asteroids—including those hiding near Venus—than the sum total already identified by the world's telescopes.
While the Japanese and European space agencies mostly request time on busy telescopes to search for these space rocks, NASA leads the pack: It funds a network of observatories solely dedicated to finding sketchy-looking asteroids.
Planetary defenders are chiefly concerned about near-Earth asteroids. As the name suggests, these have orbits that hew close to Earth's own. Many of these asteroids were removed from the largely stable belt between Mars and Jupiter, either through the chaotic gravitational pull of the planets (often Jupiter, as it's the most massive) or through asteroid-on-asteroid collisions.
If one gets within 4.6 million miles of Earth's orbit, there's a chance that, over time, both orbits cross and a collision becomes possible. And if that asteroid is 460 feet long, it's big enough to plunge through the atmosphere and (with a direct hit) destroy a city. Combined, these characteristics describe 'potentially hazardous asteroids'—and finding them is of paramount importance.
Asteroids are first found because of the sunlight they reflect. That works well for most, but there are known to be asteroids hiding interior to Earth's orbit, toward the direction of the sun. And that's a problem.
Astronomers seeking out these asteroids cannot just point their telescopes directly at the sun: It would be like trying to see a lit match in front of a nuclear explosion. Instead, they look in the vicinity of the sun in the few minutes just after sunset, or just before sunrise. Not only are these surveys severely time-limited, but by aiming close to the horizon, they are peering through more of the Earth's atmosphere, which distorts what they are looking at.
'All of these factors make it hard to search for and discover asteroids near Venus' orbit,' says Sheppard.
(Here's how researchers track asteroids that might hit Earth.)
Asteroids have occasionally been spotted in this sun-bleached corner of space. And twenty of them have been found scooting along the same orbital highway Venus uses to orbit the sun. These are known as co-orbital asteroids; similar rocks can be found either following or trailing other planets, most notably Jupiter.
Co-orbiting asteroids tend to cluster around several gravitationally stable sections, known as Lagrange points, along the planet's orbital path. But over a timescale of about 12,000 years or so, it's thought that the Venus co-orbital asteroids can dramatically alter their orbits. They remain on the same orbital path as Venus, but instead of maintaining a circular orbit, they get creative: Some migrate to a different Lagrange point, while others zip about in a horseshoe pattern around several Lagrange points.
Some of these new, exotic orbits become quite stretched-out and elliptical—and, in some cases, these orbits can eventually bring these asteroids closer to Earth. When they do, 'there is a higher chance of a collision,' says Carruba.
In their first study, published in the journal Icarus earlier this year, Carruba and his team looked at the 20 known co-orbital asteroids of Venus. Their simulations forecast how their orbits would evolve over time and show that three of the space rocks—each between 1,000 and 1,300 feet or so—could approach within 46,500 miles of Earth's orbit. (For reference, the moon is an average of 240,000 miles from our planet.)
That proximity may make them potentially hazardous asteroids. But there's no need to worry—it can take as long as 12,000 years for an asteroid to end up on an elliptical, near-Earth orbit. Perhaps they will be a problem for our very, very distant descendants.
The team's latest study, uploaded to the pre-print server arXiv last month, delves into how easy it might be for any of Venus' co-orbital asteroids—including those astronomers have yet to find—to end up on these precarious orbits. To find out, they created virtual asteroids and simulated their many potential orbital voyages 36,000 years into the future.
Many things could perturb the orbits of asteroids over that many years, so any truly accurate predictions are impossible. But the simulations came to some broad conclusions. The first is that a Venus co-orbital asteroid is more likely to approach Earth if it switches from a circular to a considerably elongated orbit—it's zooming over a larger patch of the inner solar system, including our own planet's neighborhood.
The second, more surprising thing, is that some asteroids still manage to reach near-Earth space even they start out with only a mildly stretched-out orbit. It seems that their chaotic journeys through space, filled with gravitational disturbances, can still end up throwing them our way.
But to be clear, these potentially worrisome orbits develop over the course of many millennia. 'This is not something to be alarmed about, as these asteroids are still relatively dynamically stable on human timescales,' says Sheppard.
(These five asteroids pose the highest risk to Earth.)
For Marco Fenucci, a near-Earth object dynamicist at the European Space Agency, the paper raises awareness about these relatively mysterious asteroids in Venus' orbit. And that is a good point to make, he adds: We don't know much about these asteroids, including their population size, their dimensions, and their orbits, because we struggle to find them with today's telescopes.
Two upcoming facilities are about to make this task considerably easier. The first, the U.S.-owned Vera C. Rubin Observatory in Chile is set to officially come online in the next few weeks. With a huge field-of-view, it can see huge swathes of the night sky at once, and its giant nest of mirrors can gather so much starlight than even the smallest, faintest objects can be seen.
In just three to six months, the observatory could find as many as a million new asteroids, effectively doubling the current total. Meg Schwamb, a planetary scientist at Queen's University Belfast who was not involved with the new research, explains that Rubin will also conduct its own twilight surveys, the very sort used today to search for near-Venus asteroids.
If these surveys are conducted over the next decade, 'Rubin could find as many as 40 to 50 percent of all objects larger than about [1,150 feet] in the interior-to-Venus-orbit population,' says Mario Jurić, an astronomer at the University of Washington and who was not involved with the new research. But, as with all ground-based optical telescopes, Rubin will still have the sun's glare, and Earth's atmosphere, to contend with.
As long as the federal government decides to continue to fund the mission—something that is not guaranteed—NASA will also launch a dedicated asteroid-hunting space observatory, the Near-Earth Object (NEO) Surveyor, in the next few years. Unobstructed by Earth's atmosphere, it will seek out space rocks by viewing them through a highly-sensitive infrared scope, meaning it can see those hidden by the luminous sun.
Even those asteroids sneaking around near Venus won't be able to hide from NEO Surveyor. And, finally, says Carruba, 'we can see if the impact threat is real, or not.'
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Planets, moons, comets, asteroids, and even grains of space dust all scatter light like a glass bead catching an afternoon sunbeam. Telescopes observe this scattered light—the light curve—to track the object. In a binary system, when a smaller asteroid passes in front of a larger one, the amount of scattered light dips momentarily, as if a wandering fly blocked part of the glint from the bead. By tracing the periodic dips in Didymos's light curve, astronomers could see how long it took Dimorphos to orbit its companion: approximately 11 hours and 55 minutes. The same technique would be used after impact, along with precise radar measurements. Together they would help reveal if that orbit stretched by a few seconds, or even minutes—a sure sign that the rock pile had been sufficiently knocked off course. While determining Dimorphos's new orbit was the astronomers' main goal, the mission also offered the rare opportunity to study an asteroid up close. Planetary scientists knew where Dimorphos and Didymos were in our solar system and about how big they were, but little else—not their masses, composition, or surface texture. Everything scientists learned about these asteroids could inform critical kinetic impactor missions in the future, when human lives were at stake. 'Asteroid surfaces are really unintuitive places,' says Murdoch, a veteran of ESA's early planetary defense efforts who helped develop models of how the surface of Dimorphos might respond to DART. 'We're often too biased by what we see on Earth to correctly predict what's going to happen.' Every new variable tested by Murdoch and the science team—from the composition of Dimorphos's surface, to the angle of impact, to the mass of the asteroid—yielded wildly different results. During some simulations, the asteroid barely budged; in others, DART plowed into the rocky surface, knocking Dimorphos way off course. But after years of work creating simulations that sometimes took weeks to run on supercomputers, the team had narrowed in on a goal: striking the small asteroid with enough oomph to increase the time it took to orbit Didymos by 73 seconds. Seven to 10 minutes would be a triumph. Then, two major crises shook the DART team. The first came in December 2016, when ESA couldn't secure enough funding for its observer spacecraft and canceled the program. With the mission severed in half, 'we questioned whether NASA would also pull out,' Chabot says. 'It was a pretty dark time.' But NASA remained committed, and thoughts turned to how to continue. First, they needed to reassemble the crew. 'We weren't just gonna kick all of our European scientists off the team,' says Chabot—a group that included Murdoch and the visionaries behind Don Quijote. So DART took the unusual step of allowing non-NASA-affiliated scientists to participate, which included people from 29 countries, some joining only months before impact. If 'they had something to contribute, we would welcome them in,' Chabot says. NASA then needed to find a replacement for ESA's observer spacecraft. The team turned to Italy, which had volunteered to design and operate a stowaway instrument called the Light Italian Cubesat for Imaging of Asteroids, or LICIACube. No larger than a shoebox, LICIACube would pop out of a spring-loaded compartment on the spacecraft 15 days before impact to get its space bearings in time to photograph our first cosmic clash with an asteroid. Borrowing from a design used on NASA's Artemis I mission, the Italian aerospace company Argotec would have less than three years to build the tiny satellite. Back in the APL clean room, Adams and her team were hard at work engineering the main spacecraft, which faced a grueling hundred-million-mile journey across the blackness of space. Integration Review, a NASA checkpoint to determine whether a mission is permitted to proceed with assembling and testing a spacecraft, was fast approaching. Before starting to build, the team needed to prove that every component of the craft could perform as expected—and survive long enough to do so. The first peril for the spacecraft would be its launch upon a SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket, with vibrations violent enough to rattle its instruments loose or disrupt its sensitive electronics. It would also face both blistering and chilling temperatures in space, as well as the force of traveling at four miles per second—about 26 times faster than a commercial jet. Even more exacting, DART would also rely on new variations of three mostly unproven technologies: giant solar arrays to power its flight once in space, an ion propulsion system, and autonomous navigation software called the Small-body Maneuvering Autonomous Real Time Navigation System (SMART Nav). Led by APL software systems engineer Michelle Chen, SMART Nav would take the wheel for the craft's final four hours to avoid the 1.5-minute time delay between human commands and spacecraft execution. With the spacecraft traveling at breakneck speeds, the software would need to be highly efficient, processing an image from DART's camera and telling the craft where to point while preserving fuel—all within a second. In March 2020, Adams led the DART team as they sailed through the Integration Review. Then, with less than a year and a half to launch, the second crisis arrived: The COVID-19 pandemic sent everybody home. As Adams watched her computer screen fill with boxes of her colleagues' faces, she wondered how her team could possibly engineer the mission from quarantine. 'You can't put a spacecraft together without actually being there,' she says. Though most normal activities on Earth had screeched to a halt, Didymos and Dimorphos still journeyed around the sun right on schedule. So, after a few weeks of quarantine, a small group of engineers returned to APL as essential workers. Ironically, strict air filtration standards for spacecraft builds made the clean room a safe environment. The once-bustling floors were eerily quiet, with machinery and tools left where they were last used before quarantine. Large platforms suspended spacecraft parts underneath ceilings that towered 60 feet. Engineers wore the usual uniform—white lab coats, booties, gloves, hair nets—but added face masks, some sewn by the APL personnel who make thermal blankets for spacecraft. The jobs of dozens of engineers were completed by only a handful, staggering in shifts to assess the spacecraft one by one. Supply-chain issues abounded, and those assembling the spacecraft were forced to inspect parts manufactured by contractors over Zoom. Other engineers dialed in from home. 'I can't tell you how many times I watched screws being put in remotely,' Adams says. Amid the challenges of lockdown came confounding engineering hurdles. When a model of DART's camera was put through a launch vibration simulation, its mirror shattered, prompting a redesign of its mounts. And the star trackers, which would help the camera point, seemed to capture too much noise. That required another redesign of its mounts. Then, in February 2021, the team faced another hurdle: NASA leadership pushed back the launch date by four to six months. The decision, due to supply chain issues and a need to reinforce and retest the camera mirror for launch stress, was 'a really tough time' for the project, Chabot says. While the spacecraft would still arrive at Dimorphos in fall 2022, there was less time to work out any post-launch kinks. In other words: There would be no margin for error. Finally, launch day arrives—November 24, 2021. Engineers gather at California's Vandenberg Space Force Base, many of them together for the first time since the start of the pandemic. With hearts in their throats, they watch as the product of years of their work begins to shake violently, carried up into the cosmos aboard a fiery SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket. Humanity's first cosmic roughhouser officially begins its journey at 1:21 a.m. ET; no parts break on the ascent. Mission operators at APL coax DART to release its solar arrays around 4 a.m.; each of these has been designed to unfurl from compact cylinders to 28 feet in length once airborne. After two weeks, the camera begins surveying the twinkling stars that will guide it over the next 10 months to its final destination. Though its path is set on Dimorphos, the camera takes some time to stargaze, snapping more than 150,000 pictures of celestial bodies as engineers at APL calibrate its optics. The first problem arises a few short weeks away from impact, when it becomes apparent that the star trackers are still catching too much noise. The engineers discover that when a certain heating system turns on, the trackers can drift by 20 microns—about 20 percent of the width of a human hair. That's enough to make DART miss its target half of the time. So they hastily write new software that will allow the spacecraft to cycle heat differently. NASA has fitted the craft with a secondary ion-propulsion system that uses xenon propellant, which it wants to test for future missions. Now that's causing problems too. During a trial run, engineers spot strange readings from DART's power system, forcing them to stop the propulsion system and rely solely on the main thrusters to avoid endangering the spacecraft. As impact day approaches, preparations ratchet up. In July 2022, powerful telescopes in Arizona and Chile confirm the orbit and location of Dimorphos. At APL, Adams and her colleagues, now working in person, lead practices of every scenario they can dream up, including one in which Dimorphos turns out to be donut-shaped and they fly right through its belly. Chen's team tests SMART Nav's targeting using the moons of Jupiter. LICIACube deploys successfully. Astronomers track other asteroids as test runs for impact. And Lister refines the software he plans to use for the light curves, finally getting it working just two days ahead of the scheduled collision. 'We get exactly one shot at this,' says Lister. 'We couldn't just tell the spacecraft to back off a bit and do it tomorrow because we're not quite ready yet.' On September 26, 2022, thousands of astronomers, planetary scientists, and engineers gather at watch parties around the world to follow NASA TV's livestream of DART's final hours. Their screens show the spacecraft camera's view, one jolting photo every second. In the APL control room, the team of engineers work away at their computers, buoyed by specially made fortune cookies that Adams had snuck under their chairs before work with messages that read, 'Today you will make an impact.' With four hours to go until the planned collision, SMART Nav takes the reins. Though DART has been targeting Dimorphos for months, its cameras won't pick up the asteroid until it is an estimated 90 to 75 minutes away, which it will transmit back to APL as a tiny pixel of light. Didymos, which had come into view as a large, gray mass 45 days earlier, still fills much of the screen. Despite the practice runs, Adams, with Chen sitting behind her, watches excitedly as the minutes tick down. Hundreds turn into 90, then 80. If Dimorphos doesn't appear from behind Didymos by 70 minutes to impact, the engineers need to consider manually intervening to retarget. When the clock hits 75, Adams pulls a few people into a huddle. She doesn't need to remind them that if DART missed, an accurate U-turn would take two years, and there wasn't enough fuel on board for that. Then, with 73 minutes remaining, a new pixel of light appears on screen, the team's first glimpse of the tiny asteroid. For the next hour, Dimorphos remains just a speck of light on the NASA screens, not much different from the stars that had guided its journey. With two and a half minutes and 500 miles left, SMART Nav turns off to avoid transmitting shaky images, leaving the spacecraft coasting undirected by people or software. Like a game of darts, SMART Nav has taken its aim at the board; the spacecraft will either hit a bull's-eye, or miss the target. Moments later, Didymos slides out of view, indicating that SMART Nav has correctly narrowed in on Dimorphos. Finally, with just a minute to impact, the asteroid's crater-pocked, boulder-filled surface appears on screen, revealing itself for the first time to the legions of scientists following the project. From California to Maryland, cheers ring out: DART is headed straight for the center, which thankfully looks nothing like a donut. At 7:14 p.m. ET, the last image fills the televisions of the APL control room: a horizontal sliver of gray, jagged boulders before the image cuts out to piercing red static, DART's last attempt to communicate home over seven million miles of cold, dark space. Impact. Despite the preparations, the celebrations feel organic. 'I think we had like five or six different cheers [rehearsed],' Chen says. But 'the look on everybody's faces... there's no way you could rehearse that.' After hugging her team, Adams steps out of view of the cameras and cries. 'Emotionally, you've been running so fast for so long,' she says. 'We all came in the next day not knowing what to do.' For Adams and Chen, the work is largely over. But hundreds of scientists around the world are getting started on the mission's next phase. Scientists had estimated that gathering enough observations to calculate the new orbit of Dimorphos around Didymos—the proxy for DART's success—would take weeks, followed by an extensive campaign to study its composition and shape. But at 3 a.m. PT, from his home in Southern California, Shantanu Naidu, a radio astronomer with NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory, logs on to his work computer to check the initial radar observations. He finds that Dimorphos is out of sync with his earlier predictions—by a lot. While NASA had hoped for a 73-second orbital bump, Naidu sees a staggering change. The asteroid's orbit appears to have stretched by 36 minutes. 'I didn't tell anyone about these results,' he later said, worried that they were too extreme to be accurate. 'Maybe I should wait for the next day's data.' But the excitement is too great and he shares his estimates to the DART team over Slack less than 24 hours after impact. The news spreads fast within the team. And as 42.5 cumulative days of observations across telescopes on all seven continents eventually confirm, Naidu isn't far off. Dimorphos's orbit around Didymos has shortened from 11 hours 55 minutes to 11 hours 22 minutes—a whopping 33 minutes, plus or minus two. 'We were pretty floored,' says Chabot. Then the trickle of results turns into an avalanche of exciting observations. 'As nighttime would go around the globe... [results] were just coming in hour after hour after hour,' Chabot recalls. The scientists first notice a giant, high-speed plume of ejecta rising from Dimorphos's surface, then watch as it forms into tails tens of thousands of miles long that follow the asteroid for weeks. Photographed with LICIACube, ground-based observatories, and even the Hubble and James Webb Space Telescopes, the plume of dust and boulders is so large—10,000 tons in total—that some astronomers initially speculate that DART has blown up the asteroid entirely. 'What the heck is that? Is that real?' Lister recalls asking his colleagues. While Dimorphos had not in fact exploded, scientists discover that it is a type of asteroid known as a 'rubble pile,' a loosely held conglomerate of boulders prone to dramatic spews of material when hit. Planetary scientists think the release of material gave the asteroid some kickback, pushing it even farther off its orbit around Didymos. However, the moment wasn't entirely explosion-free: part of the plume was unused xenon gas from the faulty ion thruster. In the following weeks, planetary scientists also learn that DART's impact had set Dimorphos on a slightly unstable course around Didymos, wobbling like a top. They even find that the impact changed Dimorphos's shape from a lumpy sphere to an elongated watermelon, taking a chunk off with it. The DART mission officially ended in the fall of 2023 when the binary system traveled too close to the sun for telescopes to follow it. To keep studying the changes to Dimorphos and inform any future kinetic impactors, ESA's Hera spacecraft will arrive at the cosmic crime scene in December 2026. For now, asteroid monitoring efforts will continue in force, buoyed by DART's success. 'We have no idea how to prevent hurricanes or earthquakes,' NASA's Johnson says. 'But we're a long ways now along the road of preventing an impact from an asteroid or comet.' For the first five decades of its existence, NASA was tasked with exploring the cosmos and Earth's place within it. But the more astronomers learned about the space rocks whizzing by our pale blue dot, the clearer it became that knowledge couldn't protect us from a wayward asteroid any more than scales and spikes protected the dinosaurs. If we wanted to persist in space, we could no longer be cosmic bystanders. Millions of miles away, a chunk of boulders glued together by gravity and forged from the same ancient elements that built the planets likely has a missing chunk etched by a vending machine–sized hunk of metal. A newly laid sign, for any meandering asteroids nearby, that Earth now packs a Might Also Like The Do's and Don'ts of Using Painter's Tape The Best Portable BBQ Grills for Cooking Anywhere Can a Smart Watch Prolong Your Life? Solve the daily Crossword