Category Archives: Space

Marswhelmed

So, the Mars Science Laboratory “Curiosity” has discovered evidence that, about three billion years ago, the environment on the planet Mars could have supported Earth-like microbial life. Some news outlets (including the MSL Twitter feed) are billing this discovery as the accomplishment of Curiosity’s mission.

I have a confession to make.

I don’t really find this discovery all that exciting.

The MSL team’s discovery is a confirmation of a long-expected hypothesis. (Indeed, with the number of planetary environments out there, it would be statistically silly to think that Earth is the only life-supporting place!) It’s valuable to know, and it’s important to the scientific method to rack up such confirmations even when we’re as sure as we can be, but it doesn’t exactly have the same allure as striking out into the unknown. I think the spirit of exploration is important to maintain in our space programs, because brand-new missions and discoveries are what keeps space exploration in the public eye. After all, a recent study shows that not only do most Americans want to see exploring Mars as a national priority, but most Americans want to see a human mission to Mars and three-quarters of Americans want to see the NASA budget doubled. I am confident that the dramatic landing of the Curiosity rover, with its brand-new mission architecture, has something to do with that enthusiasm.

There’s also something I find slightly foreboding about Curiosity’s confirmation. In 2011, the National Research Council’s Planetary Sciences Decal Survey of Solar System exploration listed and prioritized the objectives of our planetary science program for 2013 through 2022. This is a study done every ten years to identify which of the flagship-sized missions NASA should fund, design, and launch in the coming decade. First on the list for 2013-2022: a mission to return samples of Martian rock and soil to Earth. The announced “Mars 2020” rover is in line with that objective.

I’m going to go out on a limb and predict the conclusion sentence of scientific findings from a Mars sample return mission:

Chemicals and minerals present on the surface of Mars indicate that ancient Mars may have included wet environments able to support Earth-like microbial life.

In other words, I don’t think a Mars sample return mission will give us any dramatically new information that we didn’t already have from MSL, MER, MRO, or any of the Martian samples we already have. See what’s got me worried? I don’t think we’re going to actually discover life – in fact, I would be very surprised if the 2020 rover included any instruments actually capable of recognizing a Martian if it walked right up, poked the rover with a Martian stick, and walked away. (Curiosity doesn’t!) I am afraid that we will put this rover on the Red Planet in 2020, cache a sample, retrieve the sample in 2030, and the public response will be, “wait a minute, we spent two decades confirming what we already knew in 2013? Come on, space program…where’s my jetpack?”

A Mars sample return mission would be a triumph…for the niche sub-field of Martian geochemistry. I don’t think it would have the sort of broad scientific and public impact that we should expect from a flagship-scale mission. Basic research science plods along, making incremental improvements in understanding and slow-but-steady progress. NASA should be sticking its neck out, thinking big, and going for the most challenging – and rewarding – missions. Instead of looking for environments that might have been habitable three billion years ago, we should be looking for actual life.

You see, even before MSL’s discovery, we already knew of the existence of a watery, potentially life-supporting environment. Jupiter’s moon Europa has an icy crust with a subsurface water ocean beneath. The ocean is warm enough to be liquid, because of the energy input from Jupiter’s tides. And scientists have found that that ocean contains lots of salts and minerals – and even organic (carbon-containing) compounds. Liquid water, energy sources, and chemical building blocks: everything an Earth-like life form needs! The main difference between Europa and Mars is that, while we’ve been able to observe the desolation of the Martian surface for decades and know that we could only expect to find evidence of ancient microbes, we have no idea what’s under the Europan ice sheet. It could be nothing…but it could also be life as rich and complex as what we find, on Earth, under Antarctic ice, in sealed cave systems, or around hydrothermal vents. Unlike Mars, where we have been forming preliminary conclusions for years, we won’t know until we get something under that ice layer. That’s the kind of exciting exploration work that I want to see from my NASA flagship missions.

The Decadal Survey did recognize the potential for alien life on Europa. Its executive summary says that “the second highest priority Flagship mission for the decade 2013-2022 is the Jupiter Europa Orbiter” but notes that “that both a decrease in mission scope and an increase in NASA’s planetary budget are necessary” to fly a mission to Europa. Personally, I’d prefer to discover alien creatures within my lifetime…but I don’t make policy or control the purse-strings. So, instead, off to Mars we’ll go again.

Heritage

Today, I saw a piece in The Space Review about what makes spacecraft launches complex and difficult. It occurred to me that this was a rather odd essay, coming as it does on the heels of the successful, high-profile flight test of a rocket that promises to seriously shake up the launch game. The essay is a full-throated defense of the Old Launch paradigm; the idea that the people who have been approaching space the same way for decades are the best at it by virtue of their heritage. If this essay had come out a few years ago, when SpaceX was experiencing strings of launch failures, it might be relevant; but now it is a perfect illustration of what’s wrong with space industry thinking.

Building and launching spacecraft is hard, no doubt about it. Satellites and rockets are complex systems. A lot of things have to happen very quickly, and some things have to happen in regimes where we don’t fully understand all the physics. The success rate for space missions is not 100%. (These days, though, it’s pretty darned close.) However, the inherent difficulty and complexity of space exploration and exploitation is a poor reason to shy away from innovation.

The Space Review essay opens with the following paragraph:

One of the most challenging aspects of launching payloads into space is that you not only get only one attempt for a particular set of hardware, but usually that one attempt is the first time that particular set of hardware experiences the actual flight environment. It may even be the only time that overall hardware configuration ever flies. Every flight is a test flight, like it or not. For that reason it is very, very important that the hardware gets built every single time in exactly in the same manner of other examples that were found to work properly. This is not easy; in fact, it may be hardest single requirement in the space launch business.

I’ve added some emphasis to a statement with which I cannot disagree more. The author says that the most important requirement for space hardware to meet is that it should be exactly the same as other space hardware that has already flown.  think that what he should say instead is that it’s important to be sure that your hardware will work. Whether you prove that by simulation, analysis, experiment, back-of-the-envelope calculation, derivation, or by comparison to flight heritage is immaterial to me!

I think that this notion of valuing flight heritage above all other considerations is detrimental to the space industry, for a couple of reasons. First, it stifles innovation. If, over the past sixty years, we really hadn’t sent anything into space that hadn’t already been in space, we wouldn’t have any satellites at all. Or, if I’m going to give humanity the benefit of the doubt, we might have a couple satellites but they would all look like this. Space is a challenging but rewarding environment. Purely in economic terms, it’s worth it to stick our necks out a little and accept a couple failed launches in return for all the infrastructure that we have been able to deploy in space, from weather satellites to Earth imagery to military support. The more capabilities we want from our spacecraft, though, the more we need to innovate. Sometimes – heck, often – that means we have to build a vehicle that looks different from the things that have gone before.

Second, I don’t like the idea of flight heritage because it involves an implicit logical fallacy. Spacecraft engineers sometimes confuse a solution that worked in the past with the best solution to a problem. Sometimes, spacecraft launch with really state-of-the-art devices and programming. But, other times, they launch with only good hardware and software. Every now and then, they even launch with something on board that’s actually sub-par – and sometimes, that causes a problem. An engineer might think that if a design has heritage, it’s certain to work. But no such guarantees for success actually exist. Spacecraft are not like mass-market consumer goods: we can’t test thousands of samples and get a good statistical sense of whether we have the best design or not. We have to deal with small-number statistics for successful missions.

It’s important to look at spaceflight heritage with a critical eye: What worked? What didn’t? And why? Do we have the best solutions? Can we make them better? If so, what would it take? These are questions that drive innovation. They are more likely to come up at a New Space company – which has to innovate in order to survive – than an established Old Space company. I have great respect for the engineers that have been able to launch whole series of operational spacecraft. But I am wary of an approach that views prior success as a standard of perfection.

Original Fiction: “Conference” (final draft)

I had been trying to sell this story for a while now, but was not successful. There’s a bit of a catch-22 to selling a short story for the first time: without any feedback from editors and readers, there is no way for me to tell whether a rejection was because the story didn’t align with a publication’s interest at the time, or whether they didn’t think the story was very good. (And if it wasn’t very good…what it did wrong.)

This makes me sad, because I got lots of positive feedback from people who went to graduate school in a technical field. I think that maybe that’s the problem: the story appeals to too much of a niche crowd.

Anyway, here it is, the version of the story I most recently tried to sell. It’s about a young scientist presenting her findings at a research conference, and the unexpected reception she encounters there. It was inspired by some of my own experiences in grad school.

Conference

The numbers didn’t match up. Ceren Aydomi tapped her desk, frowning at the resonance spectra before her. The projections cast pale purple and green light over Ceren’s face, spilling down the front of her body and glinting from the polished glass surface of her desk. The peaks of each spectrum marched onward, rapidly deviating from her calculations. And the Three Hundred Seventy-Eighth Channel Interstice Studies Meeting was only two days away. Continue reading Original Fiction: “Conference” (final draft)

What’s the deal with Lagrange Points?

You may have read about rumors that NASA is considering building a space station at a place called the “Earth-Moon L2 Point.” The “L” is short for “Lagrange,” and this is one of the places in space known as a “Lagrange Point.” Unless you’re familiar with the basics of orbit mechanics, you may be wondering – who the heck is Lagrange, and why does he have points in space? More to the point (ha!), why is NASA interested in building a space station there?

To explain what a Lagrange Point is, I’m going to take you through a couple analogies.

Imagine you are standing on the top of a perfectly rounded, symmetric hill.

Right where you are, the ground is flat and level. You don’t feel any forces moving you one way or the other: you are in equilibrium. But if you take a step in any direction, the ground begins to slope and a force pulls you out further away from the top of the hill. The magnitude of this force is your weight, times a factor that accounts for the angle of slope:

The force always pulls you out from the center of the hill. Let’s call this direction r, for “radial.” There’s another direction on the hill, the “circumferential” direction c – this is a direction that always takes you walking around the hill in a circle. There is no component of force pulling you in this direction.

From physics classes, you are probably familiar with the idea of potential energy. Potential energy is a quality associated with points in space, and we express that quality with a single number measured in joules. Where I am sitting, space might have a potential energy of six joules, and where you are standing space might have a potential energy of ten joules. This energy comes from sources like gravity or magnetism. The difference in potential energy between two points tells us how much work it takes to move something from one point to the other: if I want to visit you, I need to spend four joules of energy. If you visit me, you actually get four joules out of the deal, which you can spend on something else (such as moving faster).

Potential energy has a direct connection to force. If you are in a place which has a high potential energy, and nearby is a place with low potential energy, you will feel a force pushing you towards the lower-energy spot. Mathematically, we say that the force is equal to the gradient of the potential energy. So, on this hill, the top of the hill has the most potential energy (we’ll call it zero, though) and there is less and less energy as we move off in the +r direction. In the c direction, the potential energy is always the same, depending on your current position in the r direction. If you go up the hill, in the direction –r, you will go towards higher potential energy and the force of your weight will work against you. You could imagine making a topographic map of the hill, only instead of the contour representing different heights, they represent different potential energy levels.

If you were to let yourself go and slide down the hill, your total energy would be about constant. You may recall the definition of kinetic energy: mv2/2, where m is your mass and v is your speed. The sum of potential and kinetic energy must stay the same, so as you roll and your potential energy drops, your kinetic energy (therefore, your speed) will rise. The equation for your total energy will have the pieces from both, though: E = U + K = –mgrsin(theta) + mv2/2. Notice that in this equation we have one term that depends on our position in space and on term that depends on our speed.

Got the hill down? Great. Now I’m going to stick you someplace else!

Suppose we go and find a merry-go-round, and we convince the operator to clear out all the horses and chariots and stuff so that it’s just a big, flat, rotating disk. Let’s also put a curtain around the outer edge, so that we can’t see outside from within. Then, you go and stand in the very center and we slowly start rotating the disk until it reaches a constant, slow angular velocity.

In the exact middle of the disk, you will notice very little. However, take one step away – in the +r direction – and you will begin to feel a centrifugal force: a force that you perceive as pulling you outwards. But thinking about forces in rotating reference frames is hard, and we’ll immediately get into pedantic debates about which forces exist and which don’t. So let’s think about energy again!

The disk is flat, so every point on it will have the same gravitational potential energy – it doesn’t really matter what that energy value actually is, since it’s differences in potential energy that are valuable, so let’s call it all zero. As you walk in the +r direction, you will have kinetic energy from two sources. First, there is your own motion, which contributes energy mv2/2. Second, there is the energy you have from spinning in a circle, because your feet are on the disk. If the spin rate w of the disk is slow enough, you might not notice it, but it’s there – and the energy is mr2w2.

Your total energy, therefore, is U + Kmr2w2mv2/2. Now–

Huh. Wait a second. That equation has a term that depends on your position in space and a term that depends on your speed. The piece that depends on speed is exactly what we had on the hill, too!

The piece that depends on position doesn’t quite look the same as it did on the hill. However, it has one very similar property: when you move out in +r, the value of that term changes. And, therefore, the magnitude of your speed v must change to keep the total energy constant! We can debate about whether centrifugal or centripetal forces are real, but effectively, the equation for your total energy behaves in the same kind of way on the spinning disk as it does on a hill. Effectively, your entire kinetic energy trades back and forth between the “translational” mv2/2 part and the “rotational” mr2w2 part, just as on the hill it traded between K and U.

So let’s call mr2w2 your “effective potential energy” on the disk! It behaves just like any other kind of potential energy – gravitational, magnetic, chemical, whatever – would, because it is energy that depends only on your position in space, even though it’s actually kinetic energy. We could even make a contour map of the effective potential energy.

Okay, then. Lagrange points, right?

Imagine the Earth and the Moon, sitting in space near each other. Don’t worry about orbital motions yet – just pretend that the two are fixed. Each body has a gravitational field, which we can visualize by a contour map of potential energy levels: far away from both the Earth and Moon, an object would fall generally inwards toward them, with potential energy decreasing as it goes in. The closer an object gets to either body, the stronger the gravitational pull, so the contour lines must be spaced closer together. And somewhere in the middle, the gravitational force of the Earth and Moon will balance each other exactly, so there is a level spot in the potential energy map.

This isn’t the whole story about bodies in space, though, because the Earth and the Moon aren’t fixed. They orbit around each other. An object we place near the Earth and Moon will also orbit around them. And because of that orbital motion, the energy of the object must include a component from rotation – which we can incorporate into the effective potential energy map around the Earth and Moon. Picture sitting in a spaceship somewhere “above” the Earth-Moon system that rotates at the same rate as the Moon orbits the Earth, such that from your perspective the Earth and Moon appear fixed in space. Then the effective potential energy map must have a component accounting for that rotation, just like on the merry-go-round. The map will look something like this:

Notice that there are five places on the map where the “topography” is locally flat – meaning that there is no net force acting on an object there. Between the Moon’s gravity, the Earth’s gravity, and the objects’ own orbital rotation, objects in those locations are at equilibrium!

These are the Lagrange points, and this is what makes them special: place a satellite at a Lagrange point, and it will stay there.

The reason why these points are attractive places to put a space station is because it’s easier to get to Lagrange points from the Earth’s surface than it is to go all the way to the Moon – and vice-versa.  In terms of our effective potential energy map, we have to cross fewer contour lines to get from the Earth to, say, L2 than we do to get to the Lunar surface. Every time we want to cross a contour line, we gave to make our spaceship gain or lose kinetic energy, and that means firing the engine – so crossing fewer contour lines directly corresponds to using less propellant or power.

If NASA located a space station at L2, then it could launch crews to the station with a smaller rocket than it would need to put the same crew on the Moon. NASA could also launch exploration vehicles and extra fuel to the station, so that the crew could eventually shuttle from the Earth to the station, and then take the station-to-Moon express from that point, at their leisure.

So: The reason why a station at L2 is exciting is not that L2 is an especially exciting place, but that the station would be part of a larger space exploration architecture. Not just flags and footprints, but more stations and vehicles and astronauts!

 

CubeSats are Cool Sats

This past week, some CubeSat developers got to see something that few space programs – and almost no CubeSat programs – ever do.

Floating by…

These CubeSats are “1U” size – 10 x 10 x 10 cm cubes – and deployed from a device mounted to the International Space Station. This deployment mechanism afforded Expedition 33 astronauts the ability to photograph the tiny spacecraft as they serenely drifted past the Station’s solar wings. Not many spacecraft builders ever get to see their work take flight!

A common scene in CubeSat concept art
A common scene in CubeSat concept art

CubeSats are awesome because they cost less than $100,000 to build and launch, which means that they can be playgrounds for new technologies. In an economic environment where it takes $30 or 60 or 80 million to put a satellite to orbit, and where businesses’ most intense priority is on increasing next-quarter earnings, very few private organizations are willing to gamble on new technologies or designs – even if those designs might improve the state of the art and give a company a huge advantage. But CubeSats are cheap. They fall within university research group budgets. They let technology developers take risks. They can be pathfinders for new ideas!

Space Carriers

Two space-fighter games recently came out in quick succession. Both are free, downloadable fan-made takes on popular franchises, and both show very high production values. The first is Wing Commander: Saga, based on the 1990s-era Wing Commander space simulator games.* The second is Diaspora: Shattered Armistice which lets you hop in the cockpit of your favorite fighter from Battlestar Galactica, accelerate out a launch tube, shoot up some Cylon raiders while flying sideways, and then burn in for a combat landing.** There’s also a recent article on the Foreign Policy web site about carriers in space. So now I’m thinking about that favorite military sci-fi trope: the space carrier!

Whether it makes sense, from a military, technical, or economic point of view, to build a carrier vessel to launch smaller fighting craft is a complex argument. (The FP article discusses more of this than I will here.) The major reasons to do so would be the same reasons why we build naval aircraft carriers now: the ship provides a base of operations for the aircraft, and allows them to participate missions that they could not perform on their own. That’s the sort of argument that even a far-flung space military would go for – if backed up with plenty of supporting evidence – but whether their space carriers launch single-seat fighters, small-crew attack ships, or robotic drones is up for grabs. I think that we can’t completelyanswer that question without knowing more about the reasons for this space military’s existence and the socioeconomic conditions during the Space War!

Let’s just suppose that it makes sense to have some kind of mother ship carrying some kind of smaller craft in a space military. I’m going to take a couple examples of carriers from military science fiction and grade them on what they do well and what they don’t. My examples are going to illustrate some common types of space carriers in media: space carriers from Star Wars, space carriers from the 2004-2010 TV series Battlestar Galactica, and space carriers from from the “Wing Commander” games.

Continue reading Space Carriers

Stoking our Curiosity for Other Worlds

In the wee hours of last Monday (Eastern US time), a jubilant Mission Control erupted at the successful landing of the Mars Science Laboratory “Curiosity.”

Curiosity has demonstrated some amazing technological feats. Now, that portion of its mission is nearly over, and the rover will go over to science operations. The hair-raising, fist-pumping, frenzy-whipping part is done – but it’s been great practice!

While the MSL entry, descent, and landing system may seem harebrained and silly, it is in fact quite conservative and driven by fundamental engineering decisions. The engineering triumph of this system demonstrates to me how spacecraft engineers can set extraordinarily technically ambitious goals and achieve them in dramatic fashion. The JPL engineers who devised it are the types of people who design a device to last for three months and find it still happily ticking away six or eight or more years later. This thing was going to work. The toughest part was probably selling the concept to the NASA brass!

So, now we’ve got reinforcing knowledge that we can aim for the stars and hit them (well, planets, anyway). Let’s set out with some crazy-ambitious goals! And let’s set out for some places that let us answer fundamental questions.

This is my core disagreement with the NASA Decadal Survey, which prioritizes a Martian sample return mission above all else: such a sample return will advance the sub-sub-field of Martian geochemistry an incremental amount. This is not an ambitious enough goal to meet our demonstrated engineering capability! I don’t want to discover evidence that some place may have been habitable sometime in the distant past – I want to go someplace where we discover life because it’s staring right back at us.

Not so long ago, I proposed a mission concept for a subsurface probe to Jupiter’s ice moon Europa. Europa is intriguing because we already know that it has liquid water, and we already know that it has a strong energy source from Jovian tides – both of which are key ingredients for life as we know it! Even better, there are certain surface features on Europa, which – if our best models for how those features form are correct – are conduits from outer space to the ocean beneath. I suggested that we might develop a space vehicle that conducts a high-wire act above one of these exposed ice fractures, dropping probes down into the ocean below.

Soft landing on a Europan double ridge

Continue reading Stoking our Curiosity for Other Worlds

The kind of technology that NASA needs to embrace wholeheartedly

I’m always happy to learn that NASA is conducting new technology demonstrations – and the recent success of an inflatable heat shield is no exception!

Inflated heat shield (from SpaceRef)

Congress has determined that NASA should follow the 1960s vision of space travel: you launch in a vehicle, you travel through space in that same vehicle, and you land in that vehicle. Sounds all nice and cozy, except that the last five minutes of your trip require a heat shield, which is massive – eating into the amount of food supplies, scientific instruments, and astronauts you can launch in the first place. Until the moment of re-entry, the heat shield is just dead weight, doing nothing and eating into the mission planners’ mass budgets. This whole architectural problem is one of the big reasons why I favor assembling interplanetary exploration vehicles in space and then taxiing up and down to those vehicles with capsules, instead of trying to take capsules to the Moon, asteroids, or Mars.

How about if your heat shield didn’t have such a huge mass? And how about if your spacecraft could stow it neatly away, so that its size and shape wasn’t a design driver of the launch vehicle or capsule shape? Some of those problems wouldn’t be so bad.

This is a big step towards opening up more flexibility for mission architects. I hope the technology finds its way onto some real missions in the near future!