Storied Biosphere Bound for Market The 27 adobe bungalows on the Biosphere site were once used as a hotel, which management closed in 2003 after Columbia University decided to pull out. by JACK LYNE T here it sits in the distance: the Biosphere, the giant glass-and-steel structure built as a one-of-a-kind model space colony, a living lab in isolation.       We can empathize. We've come to Arizona's Sonora Desert to see the Biosphere. Right now, though, we'd settle for seeing another living soul. Interview directions somehow never materialized, and the entranceway guard station was empty. Finally, we followed a sign marked "Administration."       And now we're in a ghost town. We wander through a cluster of locked, empty buildings, finally finding an open door. We enter, then knock on a large wooden door. It creaks open, revealing a massive wooden table, surrounded by 20 empty chairs.       What the flip is this? A Board of Ghosts meeting?       Much, much later, we stumble upon our target: Biosphere General Manager Christopher Bannon's office.       "Oh, those empty buildings were formerly Columbia University's west campus," the affable Bannon explains. "There's no active research or experimentation going on now."       What's more, he says, the Biosphere is bound for the real estate market. 'Nature Took Over'       A strange pass, that. Built by billionaire Ed Bass for US$150 million, the Biosphere was on-the-edge stuff. But the edge won.       "The biggest lesson from the Biosphere? That you can't replicate that," says Bannon, pointing to the virgin landscape outside. "This was the first attempt at a sealed mini-world. And then nature took over and ran amok."       That it did. Eight biospherians entered on Sept. 26, 1991, carrying three months of food, plus chickens, pigs and goats. The building's airlock sealed behind them. For two long years, they were to grow their own food, recycling air, water and waste.       And then all hell broke loose.       El Niņo created the two cloudiest years ever. Many crops failed; others barely produced. The pigs died off, while the chickens laid only 256 eggs the first year. Moreover, low plant yield and unforeseen building absorption soon thinned oxygen to high-Himalayas levels. The hard-breathing biospherians logged 70-hour weeks creating enough food to survive. Bush Backing Space Colonies       It was a wacky, cautionary tale. Today, though, space colonization is presidential policy. "Human beings are headed into the cosmos," President George W. Bush said in January 2004.       And they're headed for major mental stress, the Biosphere experiment suggests. NASA, which designed part of the building, wanted psychologists to study isolation's effects, but the Biosphere's managers refused. NASA's shrinks would have had a field day. Stress sharply splintered the biospherians into two groups of four, which rarely spoke. The issue: whether outside elements should be brought in to ease suffering.       Finally, the let-it-in group prevailed. The building's seal was broken and oxygen was pumped in. But management denied it, leaving a lasting stain.       "If they'd just told the truth," Barron asserts, "and said, 'Hey, we're really trying to make this work and keep our people healthy.' The press would have loved it."       Instead, the press ripped them to shreds. The experiment was labeled a scam. Will NASA Come Calling?       But the Biosphere soldiered on, with a six-month colonization in 1994. Then the experiments stopped.       With project credibility sagging, Bass fired Biosphere's management and inked a 15-year agreement with Columbia University, which began setting up environmental science and research programs and building a campus in 1995.       But Columbia abruptly pulled out in late 2003. Bass sued, then settled out of court. Now, paid tours provide the only revenue. But with a $10-million operating budget, it's not nearly enough. So the Biosphere's off to market.       "We've been doing a lot of leg work, determining the market and value," says Bannon. "There's really nothing like this, with a ready-made campus and 100 other buildings on 250 acres [100 hectares]."       The site probably won't hit market until fall. But since October 2003, notes Bannon, "we've been contacted by more than 50 groups, including universities, biotech companies, national church groups, hotel resorts, spas and developers."       NASA hasn't come calling, "but we've prepared talking points and memos in case we're approached," says Bannon. "The Biosphere probably isn't what NASA would want on Mars, but it could simulate some conditions and ramp up the program."       So what's the Biosphere's legacy? Right now, it looks like a giant question mark.       "Fortunately, none of us have ever lived in the Biosphere," Bannon says. "Every time I've gone in there -- and that's hundreds of times in my 10 years here -- I come out shaking my head and thinking, 'What was that?'"

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