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Going up

London

SEATED in a near-empty restaurant in a backstreet of Tampere in Finland,
Evgeny Podkletnov certainly doesn’t look crazy—even when he holds up the
superconducting disc he says he used to reduce the effects of gravity. The
Russian émigré’s claim caused such a storm he was thrown out of
his job at Tampere University of Technology five years ago. He now works as a
researcher in superconducting materials at the nearby University of Tampere, but
he’s not about to give up his quest to be taken seriously.

Podkletnov claims others have repeated the experiments with great success,
and for the moment at least, influential scientists around the world are giving
him the benefit of the doubt. Researchers at Toronto University in Canada, at
CNRS—France’s national research agency—and even an employee of
Boeing in the US all want to repeat his experiment, Podkletnov says. And perhaps
most significantly of all, NASA is ready to give the idea a shot. This month,
after a two-year wait, Ron Koczor and his team at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight
Center in Huntsville, Alabama, will take delivery of a machine that Koczor
believes could shield matter from gravity.

Koczor persuaded NASA to pay Superconductive Components (SCI) of Columbus,
Ohio, $600,000 to build a copy of Podkletnov’s apparatus. If SCI’s
replica works, it could change our way of interacting with a fundamental force
of nature. And that, Koczor says, would change everything. Wave goodbye to
rockets and the internal combustion engine. Say hello to energy-saving,
gravity-powered spaceships, aeroplanes, cars and elevators—and a whole new
branch of theoretical physics.

Koczor is aware of what the critics will say, but he believes there are hints
that it might work and he is determined to keep an open mind. This kind of
investigation lies within the Marshall Center’s remit to seek out new and exotic
forms of propulsion, and the potential payoff is huge, he says. “It’s worth a
little bit of effort to pursue it to its end.”

But that “little bit of effort” is, essentially, a gamble on Podkletnov’s
claims. In 1992 he published a paper describing how he had stumbled across a
“gravity shielding” effect while running a routine test on one of his
superconductors. The details were sketchy. But the basics are these: make a
superconducting disc 145 millimetres in diameter and 6 millimetres thick,
according to a special chemical recipe that Podkletnov did not make public. Cool
the disc to below –233 °C, then levitate it using a magnetic field.
Finally, apply an electric current alternating at around 100 kilohertz to coils
surrounding the disc. The current makes the disc rotate in the constantly
changing magnetic field, something like an electric motor
(see Graphic). So far,
there’s nothing extraordinary here.FIG-23253801.jpg

Podkletnov's antigravity device

But Podkletnov claimed that when the disc was spinning at more than 5000
revolutions per minute, objects placed above it lost around 1 per cent of their
weight. Increasing the spin speed, he claimed, reduced their weight still
further. In subsequent experiments, he claims to have seen weight reductions of
up to 2 per cent.

Podkletnov concluded that this apparatus somehow reduced the strength of the
Earth’s pull on any object placed above it and called it a “gravity shielding”
device. Stick a more powerful version of this apparatus on the bottom of a
spacecraft and rocket propulsion would be history: just the slightest nudge
would be needed for lift-off into space. Terrestrial transport would be
revolutionised too, together with a large chunk of theoretical physics.

At the time, the paper was greeted without fanfare. It would probably have
been forgotten, but for the fact that Podkletnov continued his experiments and,
in 1996, produced another paper. Physica D reviewed and accepted it,
but its contents were leaked to the press before publication. “The world’s first
anti-gravity device”, as The Sunday Telegraph in Britain called it, was
rubbished by scientists around the globe, who loudly proclaimed that it broke
the known laws of physics. In the academic scuffle that ensued, Podkletnov was
dismissed from his post. After withdrawing the paper (to protect his co-author’s
career, he says) he disappeared—for a while, at least. I caught up with
him in Tampere at the end of last year and found him still adamant that his
superconducting disc can shield matter from gravity.

Podkletnov has the air of a persecuted man. While talking about his work his
mood shifts constantly between suspicion, seriousness and wild
excitement—there are echoes of the cold fusion debate here. But his
frustration is clear. “I am a professional scientist and have published more
than 30 papers and hold many patents,” he says. “Some people say ‘Podkletnov is
a fool,’ but there are too many other people in the world who have seen this and
they all can’t be wrong.” His English is almost perfect with only a faint
Russian accent. He peppers his conversation with references to private
conversations with eminent scientists who would come right out and support him,
were they not so scared of losing their credibility.

His confidence—and Koczor’s—stems from the fact that he is not
alone in suggesting a way to modify gravity. In 1995, Koczor and his team were
approached by Ning Li, a researcher at the University of Alabama in Huntsville.
Li had never met or even heard of Podkletnov, yet she was developing a theory,
based on the idea of converting electromagnetic fields into gravitational
fields, that came very close to explaining Podkletnov’s experiment. She claimed
her theory pointed to the possibility of producing a “gravito-magnetic effect”
by spinning a supercooled superconducting disc: the angular momentum of
fast-spinning ions in the superconductor would produce a gravitational field,
she said. By 1995 Li felt she had reached the point where she could approach
NASA to fund an experimental test of her ideas.

“We were interested in her theories,” says Koczor. “But we thought her
experiment was undoable.” Then, in a literature search, Koczor and Li found
Podkletnov’s 1992 paper in the journal Physica C. “We were intrigued.
It was essentially the same experiment, only simpler,” Koczor says. “Physica
C is not a trivial journal. If [the experiment] got in there then it must
have got through sufficient scientific vetting to take to a higher level, so we
decided we’d try it ourselves.”

For the following two years, Koczor and Li tried to duplicate Podkletnov’s
experiment. They bought some small superconducting discs, levitated them, put
high-frequency electromagnetic fields into them and did a few experiments to
measure the gravitational effects. “We tried to see if there was one or other of
these factors that could be isolated and identified as responsible for the
Podkletnov effect,” explains Koczor.

Their experiments were unsuccessful. In 1997 Koczor’s team reported their
lack of findings in Physica C, saying that for their 10-centimetre
discs the measurable effect on gravitational pull was a mere two millionths of 1
per cent—small enough to have been background noise in the measuring
equipment. But they were not disheartened.

“Podkletnov told us we wouldn’t see any effect unless we repeated his
experiment faithfully,” Koczor says. “We never did the full Podkletnov
experiment—we were still learning to work with these superconductors.” And
so the team focused on producing a 30-centimetre yttrium-barium-copper-oxide
(YBCO) superconducting disc like that used by Podkletnov. But they still didn’t
have his recipe. Eventually, in 1999 Koczor gave up and commissioned SCI to
build a replica of Podkletnov’s apparatus. At the same time, Li set up an
independent laboratory to pursue the research. SCI contracted Podkletnov as a
consultant on its project, asking him to advise on some technical aspects of
building the superconductor. “Podkletnov has been as helpful as he could be to
get our mission fulfilled,” says J.R. Gaines, vice president and general manager
of SCI. And so this month—a year behind schedule—Gaines will hand
over the finished apparatus.

High hopes

NASA is not the only bona fide organisation that has been taking Podkletnov
seriously. When British military and aerospace company BAE Systems learned that
Clive Woods, a superconductor researcher from Sheffield University, was trying
to replicate the experiment it decided it too would hedge its bets and help fund
his attempts.

“We know we’re out on a limb,” says Ron Evans, director of Project
Greenglow—BAE Systems’ research programme into alternative forms of
propulsion. “But even though we got negative advice from several professors, it
seemed to me that for a small amount of money it’s worth the gamble. Experts
have been wrong before and that’s the only thing that makes it worth doing.”

Evans is giving Woods an undisclosed sum to reproduce Podkletnov’s
experiment. So far Woods, too, has been unsuccessful. Like Koczor, Woods
believes this could be because he has not managed to reproduce all the
conditions Podkletnov says are necessary—the specifications are extremely
demanding. “That does not mean there is no effect to be observed,” Woods
says.

Meanwhile, Podkletnov has been quietly continuing his research. “I am not a
rich man,” he says. “But I have some funds from other projects and I put
everything I have into gravity research. This is my life’s dream, my hobby, my
Dz.”

He has made good progress, he says. With the help of friends in a laboratory
that once belonged to Moscow’s Institute for High Temperatures, he claims to
have built an “impulse gravity generator”. He says its pulse—produced by a
spinning superconductor with a strong electrical charge—is capable of
knocking over a book placed on end more than a kilometre away.

The pulse has the same properties as a gravitational field, says Podkletnov.
It is unaffected by an inch-thick steel plate fixed in the beam path, and the
force it exerts is changed only with the target’s mass, not its constituent
material nor its chemical or electromagnetic properties. As he talks about it,
he suddenly becomes animated. He thinks it could one day be used to nudge
satellites into the correct orbit, and even knock incoming missiles off course.
“This is a very powerful device, and I am now in the process of arranging a
future project on the gravity generator with serious European firms,” he says,
almost in a whisper. But, he adds, he cannot divulge which firms—he has
signed confidentiality agreements.

Although Podkletnov is happy to discuss his work, he says no one can come and
look at the gravity pulse experiment. It requires extremely high voltages, and
the required generating equipment is, unfortunately, in a restricted area of
Moscow State University’s campus. So he refused my request to watch the gravity
generator in action.

Evans, too, has suggested that an independent observer might visit
Podkletnov’s Moscow laboratory. Again, Podkletnov refused. “He told me that he
once hosted some Japanese visitors to his lab, but they tried to bribe his
technicians for the secrets on how the experiment worked,” Evans says. “As a
result he decided not to bring any other visitors.”

Podkletnov, who says he is in the process of patenting his work, is also
scared someone might steal his intellectual property rights to the experiment.
But Robin Tucker, a theoretical physicist at Lancaster University who is also
investigating possible ways to control matter with gravity, thinks Podkletnov’s
secretive behaviour is odd, to say the least. “Any normal physicist who found
this kind of effect would be shouting about it from the tops of the trees and
asking people to come and verify it,” he says. “It would mean a Nobel Prize if
you’d actually discovered some kind of gravity focusing.”

Podkletnov’s refusal to open up to scrutiny leaves the scientific world
lacking any independent, verifiable observations of gravity modification. He
gave me an untraceable e-mail address for a Takashi Nakamura, who he claimed was
a senior physics professor employed at Toshiba Electronics in Japan. Nakamura
responded to my e-mail question, saying that he had managed to reproduce
Podkletnov’s experiments with even better results. “With all my respect to
Evgeny-san, our ceramics is better and we got 8.79% of the weight reduction,” he
wrote. “Our programme of research has already shown much better efficiency.”

However, when I asked for references documenting these results, Nakamura
terminated the correspondence.

Quantum suspects

Podkletnov’s only current collaboration is with Giovanni Modanese, an Italian
physicist who is trying to build a theoretical explanation for Podkletnov’s
results. But because physicists have such a poor understanding of the mechanisms
behind both gravity and high-temperature superconductivity, his explanations are
necessarily vague. He suggests that quantum processes within the superconducting
material are interacting with quantum processes in the gravitational field. But,
he admits, he can’t go far with the work because there are too many unknowns.
Again, Tucker is sceptical even of this attempt to formalise what’s going on. “I
think the correlation between the experiment and the theoretical description is
very tenuous,” he says.

So, frustrating as it is, that’s as much as we know at the moment. I
contacted several of Ning Li’s ex-colleagues, but all said they did not know of
her current whereabouts or the state of her research. NASA and BAE Systems still
don’t know whether they have been sent up a blind alley by Podkletnov’s
enthusiasm. But Koczor believes he’ll soon have the answer. “Running the
experiment will take six months at most,” he says. If it fails to confirm
Podkletnov’s experiment, that will be the end of the matter. But if the
experiment succeeds, and they can modify gravity, then who knows what could be
possible? In the end, pigs really might fly.

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