NEON BOREALIS (C)1996 Alan M. Schwartz The Northern Lights (aurora borealis) are not only pretty. A fat solar flare will spew a deluge of energetic protons traveling at a good piece of lightspeed toward Earth. The local magnetic field funnels them to the poles where, spiraling about magnetic lines of force, they slam into the upper atmosphere. All heaven breaks loose, lighting up the northern/southern skies and feeding a sustained electromagnetic pulse into power grids and telephone lines. Circuit breakers blow and bandpass filters sizzle. Gigawatts of energetic stimulation hover there, wasted. But not necessarily. The substance of physical reality can be bent to our collective will. "Science" 272(5266) 1256 (1996) tells us that untold tens of millions of dollars have been spent to build, launch into orbit, and maintain the Polar satellite. It looks at ultraviolet and x- ray emissions of the aurora, because scientists in the same position would get dizzy, short of breath, and demand overtime for evenings plus double-time for weekends. If we as a great nation are willing to spend as much money as a HUD Public Housing project burns in a single year each year to do this, why stop at half measures? If I as a taxpayer am forced by jackbooted impositions of the State to shell out the bucks to enable a scientist or two to look at the pretty lights at their leisure, I want a piece of the action! Instead of spending tens of millions of dollars to loft into orbit a glorified garbage can holding a video camera, I want my tens of millions of dollars to entertain me and my honey when we get all close and snuggly. I want a few kilotons of neon to be sprayed into the ionosphere high above the North Pole, there to dissociate into electrons and atomic ions, be trapped in the convergent magnetic field, and GLOW! Project Neon Borealis will reshape the cultural and social evolution of Gaia. We as an advanced technological civilization embrace the power to fashion the very atmosphere of our planet into a Brobdingnagian light sculpture writhing within the contorted energetic force fields strung between heaven and Earth. We can cajole plasma into mirroring the face of God in neon light. What Vatican or Madison Avenue wag ever offered more? It is foolish to believe that our government would embark upon any project unless there were sinister undertones and luscious porkbarrelling gushing at every seam. No problem. While the smoke and mirrors of Project Neon Borealis provide evening entertainment for the masses, the Pentagon will be amply awarded its jollies. What could be nicer than a few hundred thousand cubic miles of neon plasma pumped to gigawatt brilliance by the local star, plus a pair of synchronous orbital mirrors? The resulting neon laser could be trivially aimed to transform into molten slag any city whose latitude is north of Baltimore, MD. (A certain failsafe re Washington, DC is sure to be appreciated.) But wait, there is more! A whole universe surrounds us, unquestionably awaiting our first hesitant steps into the galactic dominion. How are >they< to know we are ready unless there is a sign? It must be a sign of such improbable magnitude that there is no doubt left within any outworlder's mind that we Terrans have arrived and want a key to the executive washroom. Popping little H-bombs is not sufficient. Lighting up the Earth's planetary magnetic poles with neon - incontrovertible manifestation of advanced civilization - is just the way to do it. Yo! Homeboys! Hie thy buns from lambda-Auriga or beta- Hydrus and come on down! The folks at Sol-3 are open for business! Is there a down side to this coming age of plasma hydrodynamic miracles and neon wonder? Environmentalism is that philosophy and dialectic in direct opposition to progress in its every form. It fears the future and condemns the present. It solicits an imaginary Eden where tooth decay never occurred. We expect oodles of rabid Environmentalist Luddites caterwauling about photonic emissions, leading petition drives, and demanding Federal subsidy of their personal indignations. Picture Meryl Streep holding her Alar-contaminated apple high, leading forth a kingdom of snit to protect our children against invidious machinations lest they be statistically reduced one and all to puddles of oozing putrescence. To these maniacal harpies wailing within the hungry and impenetrable night of their withered souls, I say "Fiat lux!" Neon Borealis - it works for me, and it's the right thing to do.