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Space Sustainability Comes Down To Earth
Falcon 9 launch
The growing number of launches, and eventual reentries of the satellites on board, have prompted concerns about how they may affect the upper atmosphere. (credit: SpaceX)
Space sustainability comes down to Earth
by Jeff Foust
Monday, October 27, 2025
The growth of spaceflight activity has resulted in several recent major milestones. Earlier this month, SpaceX launched its 10,000th Starlink satellite, of which more than 8,700 are currently in orbit. Over the weekend, SpaceX also performed a Falcon 9 launch doubleheader, bringing its total orbital launches so far this year to 136. In less than ten months, Falcon 9 conducted more launches than the Space Shuttle did in its 30-year flight history.
“The underlying uncertainty here is what exactly is being emitted: what, where, and how much?” Herberhold said.
This surge in activity in the United States, China, and elsewhere has prompted questions about space sustainability. With more satellites and debris in orbit than ever before, the risk of collisions between objects creates fears of the Kessler Syndrome: a chain reaction of debris collisions that renders some orbits effective unusable.
However, the increase in launches and satellites has also created questions about terrestrial sustainability. For the last few years some researchers have pointed to potential effects of launches on the atmosphere, such as soot deposited in the upper atmosphere (see “What is the environmental impact of a supercharged space industry?”, The Space Review, February 6, 2023). Those concerns continue today, compounded by worries about what happens when those thousands of satellites being launched reenter.
Launch emission concerns
While the issues about effects of launches and reentries on the atmosphere have existed for several years, there remains little data about what impact they really have on atmospheric chemistry and climate. There are, though, ongoing efforts to get a better handle on how significant they could be.
One example is ongoing work at the German Aerospace Center, or DLR, to model emissions from launches into the atmosphere. In a talk on the final afternoon of the International Astronautical Congress in Sydney earlier this month, Moritz Herberhold of DLR noted that the total amount of propellant consumed by launches has more tripled since 2019, an increase that will continue with more, larger vehicles entering service.
“The underlying uncertainty here is what exactly is being emitted: what, where, and how much?” he said.
The project he discussed in his conference presentation was an effort to model emissions from all launches in 2024, with a goal of analyzing 95% of propellant consumed. As of the presentation, the project had modeled 88% of emissions based on publicly available data on more than 200 launches.
The study of the emissions, and their effect on climate, is not complete, but Herberhold identified one area of concern: emissions of black carbon into the upper atmosphere. Launch emissions are a tiny fraction of those from aviation, but launches deposit black carbon much higher in the atmosphere, where it can have a far stronger effect. He said some analyses estimate that black carbon from launches could be as much as 500 times more potent than the same amount emitted from aviation.
The data collected so far from the modeling of 2025 launches show that black carbon emissions are between 10 and 40% those from aviation two decades ago. If black carbon emissions from launches are 500 times worse than from aviation, he concluded, “we could already have a significant impact from spaceflight with only 250 launches.”
That assessment, he acknowledged, still needs to be confirmed by climate modeling that will be a later phase of the project, “but this, to me, shows how important it is to look into this, because we have this huge range.”
The potential for significant impacts, but also the uncertainties in existing models, have attracted more researchers to the field. Among them is Michele Bannister, a senior lecturer at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand.
“This is an engineering problem,” Bannister concluded. “It can have an engineering solution.”
She has done research on the impact of launch emissions on the ozone layer. With the projected growth in launches needed to deploy the many planned megaconstellations, she said during a panel at the New Zealand Aerospace Summit earlier this month, “we will see damage to the ozone layer, and we will see that most severely over latitudes like New Zealand.”
The work, she said, presented an opportunity for industry and academia to work together. “How do we think about how we make vehicles that are going to ensure that we can grow this economy in low Earth orbit but also retain the things we care about, like being able to have life on Earth?”
“This is an engineering problem,” she concluded. “It can have an engineering solution.”
“I don’t know what to do”
An emerging area of study, and concern, involves the atmospheric impacts of satellite reentries. SpaceX has launched more than 10,000 Starlink satellites, but more than 1,300 of them have reentered. Satellite operators are increasingly encouraged to deorbit their satellites as soon as possible after the end of life to avoid contributing to the growing debris problem in orbit and to ensure they “fully demise” upon reentry so no debris makes it to the ground.
That means, though, that a growing amount of material is being deposited into the upper atmosphere, where its effects on climate and atmospheric chemistry are only now starting to be studied.
“Is this really a problem, or is this a case of just a drop in the ocean?” asked José Pedro Ferreira, a researcher at the University of Southern California, in a talk last week at the Secure World Foundation’s Summit for Space Sustainability.
“Broadly, the conclusions were that we really don’t know anything,” Young said. “We really don’t know much about what the atmospheric impact is of reentry.”
He argued that, at the very least, the effect of satellite reentries cannot be ignored. He found that 2024 was the first year that the mass of aluminum deposited in the atmosphere from satellite reentries exceeded that from natural sources, like meteors, with a confidence level of 95%. “This doesn’t mean that there is a negative environmental impact,” he said, “but there is a change in the status quo.”
His presentation was the prelude to a panel discussion on the environmental effects of satellite reentries, where people from industry and academia examined both the potential adverse impacts but also the uncertainty surrounding them.
“When it came to reentry and the effects of reentry, we just didn’t know what exactly the impacts of those would be,” said Chris Young, space sustainability senior lead at the UK Space Agency.
The agency commissioned several studies to explore those impacts, which were recently completed and discussed at a workshop the day before the main summit. They did not necessarily alleviate much of the uncertainty on the topic. One was a study of literature on atmospheric chemistry relevant to the topic. “Broadly, the conclusions were that we really don’t know anything,” he said. “We really don’t know much about what the atmospheric impact is of reentry.”
Other studies looked at how to model atmospheric ablation of spacecraft materials in labs and various ways to optimize reentry to minimize those effects. One more concerning study found evidence of metallic material from spacecraft being deposited in the polar regions. “There is evidence that space activity is causing environmental harm in the polar regions due to the atmospheric conditions,” he said.
The limited information offers little guidance for satellite operators. On the one hand, they are being encouraged, if not required, to deorbit their spacecraft as quickly as possible to prevent debris creation in orbit, while doing so in a way to prevent debris reaching the ground. On the other hand, those same practices could damage the ozone layer or contribute to climate change.
“I’m lost,” said Vijay Thakur, technical authority in the engineering department of Eutelsat, whose fleet of spacecraft includes the OneWeb constellation, second in size to Starlink. “The difficulty that I have as a responsible operator is, in this particular case, I don’t know what to do.”
On the panel, he compared the uncertainty about atmospheric impacts from satellite launches and reentries to another environmental issue, the effect satellites have on astronomy through reflected sunlight and radio emissions. In the case of what’s commonly called “dark and quiet skies,” he said there are clear requirements on what operators need to do to minimize the impact, such as brightness limits on satellites. Companies can they take mitigation steps to try to reach those requirements.
“In this domain, it’s much more difficult,” he said. Companies have requirements to deorbit their satellites and do so with jeopardizing safety on the ground, which have clear metrics and ways to comply.
“It may be that I’m dumping too much of the wrong material—aluminum and anything else—somewhere in the atmosphere,” he said, but with little insight into how much is too much and what alternatives his company should pursue.
At the panel and other events, there was very little in the way of a push for regulations on launch or reentry emissions in the upper atmosphere, even among those concerned about potential adverse effects. Instead, there were calls for more research, from data collection in the atmosphere and in the lab to improved modeling.
Thakur, for example, said companies could provide data on what kinds of materials are in their satellites without giving up proprietary information on their designs. He also suggested that spacecraft could carry sensors designed to measure conditions during reentry, similar to radiation sensors that measure conditions in orbit.
There are some initial steps, though, that could lead to regulations. Earlier this month, the European Commission released an initial draft of a document called Product Environmental Footprint Category Rules for the space sector, or PEFCR4Space. It is part of a broader European effort to develop ways to measure the full lifecycle environmental impacts of products, from sourcing of raw material to disposal.
“Sustainability doesn’t stop at the edge of our atmosphere,” said Vera Pinto, policy coordinator for DG DEFIS, the European Commission directorate responsible for the defense industry and space, in a speech at the Summit for Space Sustainability. “The satellites that are helping us fight climate change are also becoming part of the problem.”
The PEFCR4Space guidelines are part of a long-term effort to address that issue. “If we can measure the impacts of space activities, we can manage them,” she said. “And if we can manage them, then we can make space activities more sustainable.”
“We are not doing sustainability to the space sector. We are doing sustainability with the space sector, with you,” Pinto said.
The draft document, open for public input until December 1, covers topics like emissions from launches and material deposited in the upper atmosphere from reentering satellites. It also covers a far broader range of impacts, from how the raw materials that go into the satellites are procured to how the employees of the satellite or rocket manufacturer commute to work, all to try to quantify the full impact of an individual satellite or launch vehicle.
The document doesn’t set out rules for limiting emissions or other impacts but instead offers an agreed-upon methodology to calculating impacts. “It makes sure we all measure the environmental performance of products or services in the same way,” said Carolin Spirinckx of Vito, a consultancy involved in the development of the PEFCR4Space guidelines, during a webinar Friday about the draft document.
Pinto noted in her speech that the rules can also help companies and policymakers make “more informed and more sustainable choices” and aligns with broader European initiatives, such as “climate neutrality” by 2050.
She emphasized that this effort is intended to be collaborative with the industry, including the ongoing public consultation and plans for pilot studies next year to see how the rules would be applied. “We are not doing sustainability to the space sector. We are doing sustainability with the space sector, with you.”
The final PEFCR4Space guidelines won’t be published until the end of 2027, she said. That is little help for now for companies who say they are interested in minimizing their environmental impact, including for launch and reentry, but have little data or guidance to help them.
“Once again, I’m lost,” Thakur said on the panel. “And, by the way, I’ve got to launch my next constellation by 2026.”
Jeff Foust (jeff@thespacereview.com) is the editor and publisher of The Space Review, and a senior staff writer with SpaceNews. He also operates the Spacetoday.net web site. Views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author alone.
Is Star Fleet Military or Scientific?
Star Trek
From the very beginning, Star Trek had military influences, but the ship and crew were on a mission of exploration. This conflict between the military and science has persisted throughout sixty years of the franchise, and is similar to aspects of the American space program, where military and civilian goals sometimes conflict. (credit: Paramount Pictures)
Is Starfleet military or scientific? Yes.
by Dwayne A. Day
Monday, October 27, 2025
Glen Swanson, in his recent book Inspired Enterprise: How NASA, the Smithsonian, and the Aerospace Community Helped Launch Star Trek, explored the connections between Star Trek in the 1960s and various institutions such as NASA, the Smithsonian, and the aerospace industry. Swanson noted that Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry modeled much of the show on the Navy. Although Roddenberry had been a pilot in the Army Air Corps during World War II, “I was always rather envious of the Navy and rather wished I had joined that service instead,” Roddenberry once wrote. The show used military ranks and hierarchy, and was heavily modeled upon the US Navy, such as the names of the starships that appeared or were mentioned throughout its three seasons. But the Starfleet in Star Trek had a scientific mission that at least rivaled its military one. The Enterprise’s mission wasn’t power projection or border enforcement, it was to “seek out new worlds and new civilizations.”
The show used military ranks and hierarchy, and was heavily modeled upon the US Navy. But the Starfleet in Star Trek had a scientific mission that at least rivaled its military one.
The dichotomy of Starfleet in many ways mirrors the American space program. Early depictions of an American space program in the 1950s portrayed it as a military mission, with scientific support. Popular movies often portrayed a Space Corps sending astronauts into space. This close relationship was also mirrored in reality—for example, the V-2 rockets that the United States Army captured and brought to the United States were launched in the American southwestern desert by Army personnel with scientific payloads. Congress, particularly Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson, wanted a civilian space agency. President Eisenhower, who had long familiarity with the military and did not inherently trust it, agreed that after Sputnik, the United States should have a civilian space agency, named NASA.
Star Trek
A new book by Glen Swanson explores the ties between Star Trek, the military, the aerospace community, and the Smithsonian Institution.
Star Trek and the military
In his book, Swanson writes:
Starting with the first season, terms such as “Star Service,” “Spacefleet Command,” “United Earth Space Probe Agency,” and “Space Central” were used to refer to the operating authority that owned the Enterprise and governed her crew. In the series’ second pilot, “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” an “academy” is mentioned (though not “Starfleet”) along with reference to “The Service.” In the episode “Mudd’s Women,” the show established that captains, like their modern-day counterparts, have authority to convene a board of inquiry. It wasn’t until the fourteenth episode, “Court Martial,” that audiences first heard the term “Starfleet.” The third edition of the Star Trek Writers Guide, which came out near the end of the first season, stated that “the USS Enterprise is a spaceship, official designation ‘starship class’; somewhat larger than a present-day naval cruiser, it is the largest and most modern type vessel in the Starfleet Service.
Star Trek had other links to the military, some of them very esoteric. As Swanson wrote: Jack Hartley, “a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force, wrote a book on dental standards for the selection and examination of space crewmen. He also was an avid Star Trek fan.” Hartley later was in contact with Gene Roddenberry, and may have contributed to or inspired some of the medical devices seen in the show.
In 1968, the Air Force’s prestigious Aerospace Pilot Research School, located at Edwards Air Force Base, California, where NASA obtained some of its first astronauts, invited Shatner and Nimoy to attend the graduation exercises of its class of 1967. The invitation read “The staff and students will be wearing their Air Force winter mess dress uniforms,” as written by Colonel Eugene P. Deatrick, commandant of the school, “and we would be pleased if Messrs. Shatner and Nimoy would wear their Star Ship dress uniforms.” Shatner and Nimoy could not attend.
Despite these early ties, over the decades, Star Trek sometimes wrestled with the subject, not only on screen, but behind the scenes. For instance, the 1982 movie Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan was directed by outsider director Nicolas Meyer, who sought a more nautical look and feel to the movie, something that Roddenberry objected to. When Roddenberry became producer of the series Star Trek: The Next Generation in 1986, he wanted to portray Starfleet as much more of an exploration organization. His new Enterprise looked more like a cruise ship than a warship, and even had families aboard. Roddenberry wanted the crew’s phasers to look less like guns and more like non-threatening instruments, earning them the nickname “dustbusters” because they looked like they were intended to clean between sofa cushions, not disintegrating Klingons. After Roddenberry’s death, several of the shows included storylines about major wars, something that Roddenberry had opposed featuring during his tenure.
Starfleet has a dual mission, two core missions that often live in conflict with each other: to peacefully explore space and expand the bounds of human knowledge, and to defend the interests of the Federation.
Recently, an episode of the latest Star Trek series, Strange New Worlds, sought to take on this question that has run through the franchise’s six decades and hundreds of episodes. The episode “What is Starfleet?” was presented as a documentary where several of the crew of the starship Enterprise were confronted with the question of whether Starfleet is a noble organization with the primary goal of exploration, or just a military organization trying to justify its existence.
The episode presented the Enterprise crew with a dilemma: they are assigned to transport a weapon of mass destruction to a planet to assist it in a war so that planet can join the Federation. But it turns out that the weapon is actually a subjugated sentient lifeform. What is the Enterprise’s mission, to protect the Federation, or to seek out new life and behave morally when encountering it? The episode was not satisfying to many reviewers. Although it concluded with the Starfleet crew doing the moral thing, the story took shortcuts to get there.
The episode took on an issue that had been inherent to the show since it first aired in 1966, although never fully settled. In Star Trek, Starfleet has a dual mission, two core missions that often live in conflict with each other: to peacefully explore space and expand the bounds of human knowledge, and to defend the interests of the Federation.
Star Trek
The starship Enterprise was on an exploration mission, but also equipped with weapons. (credit: National Air and Space Museum)
NASA and the military
NASA was created as a civilian agency in 1958 rather than part of the military. Over many decades, it has been primarily, even overwhelmingly, civilian in its goals and operations. Although NASA space shuttles did launch some military satellites during the 1980s and 1990s, its primary mission has always been science and exploration, with national defense left to the military and their space agencies, most recently the Space Force. This has enabled NASA to engage in diplomatic efforts, like the International Space Station.
NASA always had a close relationship with the military, including using military launch ranges and support services. During the Apollo years, a senior military official, General Sam Phillips, was on loan to the agency to manage the program. American spacecraft were recovered at sea by US Navy vessels. But NASA was clearly civilian, with the military assisting; NASA was not performing military missions.
NASA always had a close relationship with the military. But NASA was clearly civilian, with the military assisting; NASA was not performing military missions.
NASA also benefited from using classified intelligence technology. The Lunar Orbiter spacecraft used technology developed for the Samos reconnaissance satellites. NASA also had a program named the Lunar Mapping and Survey System that used a converted reconnaissance camera, but never actually flew. Sometimes this relationship became strained, as the intelligence community was wary of the civilian space agency drawing too much attention to classified reconnaissance technology.
But the issue has recently come into the news because of a new presidential executive order that stipulates that NASA will now “have as a primary function intelligence, counterintelligence, investigative, or national security work.” This appears not to be a result in a change in NASA’s mission. Any change in NASA’s mission would require a change in its charter via an act of Congress. Much more recently, the NASA acting administrator has been proposing that NASA be incorporated into the Department of Transportation—is Starfleet is military or scientific, will NASA be military or transportation?
As Star Trek—both on screen, and in the writer’s room—has demonstrated, this conflict will probably persist, maybe for centuries.
Dwayne Day can be reached at zirconic1@cox.net.
The Europlane Space Plane (Part 2)
Eurospace
Figure 1. The British 3+1 cluster variant of “MUSTARD”, roughly 1964. [7,13] Concept art with permission from and © by Daniel Uhr https://duhraviationart.com/
EUROSPACE and the European spaceplane (part 2)
by Hans Dolfing
Monday, October 27, 2025
[Part 1 was published last week.]
While the North American X-15 spaceplane program was in full swing, and Apollo picking up speed, the USAF Dyna-Soar X-20 space glider was cancelled in December 1963. [20,31] This part two about Eurospace and European spaceplanes studies follows the technical aspects of the European studies between roughly 1962 and 1966. The European engineers were well aware of the contemporary efforts in the United States and there are several detailed comparisons. [26,27]
Yes, a payload fraction of 1%. Let that sink in. It shows why single stage to orbit has proven elusive so far.
Figure 1 captures the 1963 Eurospace and Sänger dream of flying into space with a reusable spaceplane. In this particular example, it involves a system that would take off in a vertical manner (VTOHL). Many Eurospace Aerospace Transporter concepts were planned with a horizontal takeoff and landing (HTOHL) from conventional airfields to maintain flexibility of operations and target orbits. Before the individual connects are discussed, here is one short engineering section to facilitate later comparisons.
Mass fractions
In Sänger’s ten-page paper titled “The Historical Background and Motivation for a European Aerospace Transporter Proposal”, he outlines in a very succinct way some back-of-the-envelope calculations and engineering parameters for an Aerospace Transporter concept. Basically, maximize the payload fraction fp to orbit. [1,2]
To illustrate, here is an outline which closely follows Sänger’s calculations. [2] In terms of the proportion of fuel mass or fuel fraction ff in a modern rocket propulsion system based on a specific impulse Isp of 460 seconds and an orbital mission with a typical characteristic velocity of 30,000 feet per second (9,144 meters per second) then the fuel fraction ff is calculated as:
Eurospace
Therefore, with a structural, dry, or inert mass fraction of fs = 0.12 or 12%, the payload fraction is derived from the fuel fraction and structural mass fraction as
Eurospace
Yes, a payload fraction of 1%. Let that sink in. Such a mass fraction tuple (0.12, 0.87, 0.01) shows in a few numbers why single stage to orbit (SSTO) has proven elusive so far.
Sänger suggested several improvements to the payload fraction fp. For example, it is possible to increase Isp via nuclear engines or air-breathing and/or augmented engines and double the Isp to reduce the fuel fraction to something around 0.7.
Another suggestion was to minimize the inert weight ms via lighter and stronger materials such as titanium. Keep in mind though that the Aerospace Transporter structural weight fraction fs had been estimated in the 1960s for HTOHL anywhere between 0.12 to 0.36 and roughly in between ballistic rockets and normal aircraft. Another improvement was to use a catapult start and achieve a start velocity of 1,600 feet per second (about 488 meters per second) velocity.
Two-stage-to-orbit (TSTO) options were popular. A simple division of the orbital velocity across the two stages would be 15,000 feet per second (4,572 meters per second) for each leg which gives a fuel fraction ff1 = 64% for the first leg to orbit and a payload fraction of fp1 = 24% for the first stage.
If the second stage is then the payload for the first stage and the structural weight is kept identical to 12% for both stages, then the payload fraction for just the second stage becomes via Sänger fp2 = (1. - 0.12 - 0.64)² = 6%. Several other options were calculated to explore the Aerospace Transporter design space. [2]
In a nutshell, concepts can be compared with a tuple of three mass fractions (fs,ff,fp). This is a coordinate on a 3D unit sphere as the three numbers sum up to one. Despite some uncertainty based on incomplete and conflicting documents, these tuples are very handy for comparisons between rockets, airplanes, and aerospace transporters in the paragraphs to follow.
For example, there are modern rockets such as Atlas V and Starship+Booster which are summarized roughly as (0.07, 0.90, 0.03) and (0.06, 0.88, 0.06), respectively. Both are optimized for hauling heavy loads to space with loads of fuel, but still only have a payload fraction of about 3% to 6%. On the other extreme, there are airplanes that haul around their wings, passengers, and undercarriages and generate lift via those wings in the atmosphere. These have a much higher structural mass, something like (0.44, 0.49, 0.07) for a Boeing 747-400 and (0.43, 0.55. 0.02) for a SR-71.
Dassault “Transporteur Aérospatial” (TAS)
To start with the more detailed examination of Aerospace Transporter concepts, let’s start with a design by the Dassault Aviation company. In French, Générale Aéronautique Marcel Dassault (GAMD). Dassault was involved from 1962 with the reusable Aerospace Transporter studies based on a design called TAS, where TAS stood for the French “Transporteur Aérospatial”. The study considered the theoretical design space without a plan for a demonstrator. Results were presented at an Eurospace conference in Brussels in January 1964 and the “Le Bourget” Paris airshow in 1965. Many years later, this study was the basis for the French STAR-H study. [3-5, 33.xiii ]
The TAS was a TSTO system with a recoverable air-breathing first stage plus second stage orbital plane. A payload of roughly three tons to an orbit at 300 miles (500 kilometers) was envisioned. The system would have been able to do some maneuvering in space and return cargo to Earth. Initially, both vertical and horizontal takeoff was considered though both with horizontal landing. [3]
Two TAS versions were designed. The first had two stages and was fully recoverable with a takeoff weight of 230 tons. The second was partially reusable and added an expendable booster stage to the second, orbital stage which reduced the takeoff weight to 150 tons. In the latter case, imagine a small spaceplane attached to a solid-fuel rocket and all attached under stage one. This TAS-150 design reduced the takeoff weight by about 33% based the inclusion of a booster rocket.
Eurospace
Figure 2.TAS with an expendable third stage as booster rocket. [3] © Dassault Aviation
For both versions, the second stage was carried under the first stage, which roughly looked like the Concorde jet as illustrated in Figure 2. Lifting the second stage under, not above, the first stage might seem unusual but it was rationalized with previous experiences and tests with the Mirage IV plane dropping nuclear bombs at high speed. TAS designs were heavily influenced by Dassault’s previous supersonic experiences. [4]
Takeoff was planned from normal airfields to eliminate costly, rocket infrastructure. The cost of the combined system was hard to gauge but some argued it should be similar to the Concorde. [5] Both stages had ejection systems for the crew. The second stage was designed for a crew of two.
Eurospace
Figure 3. The TAS second stage orbiter [5] © Dassault Aviation
Six turbofans and turbofan-ramjets were the preferred option for the booster stage until Mach 4.5. At that point, the second stage liquid oxygen/liquid hydrogen (LOX/LH2) engine with an assumed Isp of 435 seconds would ignite and the combined vehicle would accelerate till Mach 6 and 40 kilometers high, where it separated. To prevent the second, orbiter stage from arriving in orbit with empty tanks, the first, booster stage was augmented with extra LOX/LH2 tanks front and aft which would be used in this stage of flight. These days, this is sometimes referred to as “cross-feed”.
The payloads were small compared to the structural masses and the fuel fraction half of a vertically launched orbital rocket.
Acceleration was limited to less than 3Gs per Eurospace study instructions. For reentry, the second stage had a special alloy heat protection which would have required refurbishment after every flight. The second, orbital stage in Figure 3 was designed with a variable wing geometry like a fighter jet to improve the lift-to-drag ratio during reentry. [3]
Payload to orbit was only about 1 ton plus a dV in orbit of 3,300 feet per second (1,000 meters per second ) when mass was allocated to fuel for orbital maneuvers. If no orbital maneuvers where required then the payload increased to about 2.5 tons in the partial reusable case and four tons for the full reusable version.
In terms of mass fraction tuples, the TAS-150 was roughly summarized as (0.59, 0.40, 0.01) and TAS-230 as (0.39, 0.60, 0.01). The payloads were small compared to the structural masses and the fuel fraction half of a vertically launched orbital rocket.
Le Mistral
“Le Mistral” in Figure 4 was a TSTO study by the French Nord-Aviation, SNECMA, and the German ERNO roughly between 1964 and 1966. [30] Similar to the Dassault concept, it started horizontally. The first stage was designed by Nord-Aviation and had obvious similarities with the Concorde supersonic plane. For comparison in Figure 5, the Concorde was planned to have a takeoff weight of 148 tons.
The Mistral air-breathing first stage with four turbo-ramjet engines planned to accelerate to Mach 7 before separation at 115,800 feet (about 35 kilometers). Takeoff weight was 200 tons, with the first stage 120 tons (52 tons of propellant) and second stage 77 tons (62 tons of propellant). The first stage was planned to have a length of 51.8 meters with 72 tons of thrust. [12] The second stage was carried under the first stage and was 25.9 meters long with six LOX/LH2 engines. The system in Figure 4 and 5 was prominently displayed at the 1965 air show at “Le Bourget” near Paris, France. [6,9]
Eurospace
Figure 4. “Le Mistral” French-German (ERNO, Nord-Aviation,SNECMA) concept 1964. [12]
A later source says that the first stage was redesigned and now would accelerate to Mach 6.5 at 35 kilometers height with an angle of about 15 degrees before separation. For thermal control, transpiration cooling and ablation were studied. Although the system would be fully reusable, an expendable thirst stage rocket was considered. [14,30]
The Mistral was summarized in terms of mass fractions as (0.47, 0.51, 0.02), which are more similar to an airplane than a rocket. Whether the second stage should be carried in a first-stage payload bay for heat and aerodynamic reasons remained an open question. [10]
Eurospace
Figure 5. Mistral summary. [10]
MUSTARD
From the United Kingdom and illustrated in Figure 1, there was a 1964 Aerospace Transporter contribution by the British Aircraft Corporation (BAC) with a VTOHL concept named the Multi-Unit Space Transport And Recovery Device (MUSTARD). [15,33.v] While different compared to most HTOHL concepts, BAS considered the rocket-powered vertical takeoff an advantage based on its earlier air-breathing horizontal takeoff studies.
The concept was vaguely inspired by the contemporary Douglas “Astro” concept and possibly the NASA M-2 flying body. With a takeoff weight of about 450 tons, it was projected that a payload of about three tons would be delivered to a 300-nautical-mile (555-kilometer) orbit. The system was 35 meters high and composed of three almost identical boosters. Three copies of the single vehicle design would be “clicked” together and launched, after which one of them would continue to orbit. [7,13]
Each vehicle had a central LOX tank and LH2 titanium tanks in the wings. This triamese design used propellant cross-feeds between the units. Various geometries were suggested and the most ingenious looked like a cake split into three slices of 120 degrees each. Alternatively, the three boosters in the cylinder form would carry a fourth unit on the top to orbit as vividly illustrated in Figure 1.
The one or two pilots would sit up front. Some design variations included a “pop out” jet engine on top to maneuver after reentry and before landing. Each unit had four engines clustered together. Booster burn out was projected at 150,000 feet (about 45 kilometers) with a velocity of 6,600 feet per second (about 2 kilometers per second). [7] The available reports point to mass fractions such as (0.15, 0.84, 0.01), which seems like a very small payload fraction.
Another HTOHL British concept came from Hawker Siddeley Aviation but details are scarce. [6,8,26]
Junkers “Sänger I”
With respect to the German Aerospace Transporter studies, the story is really a combination of people, companies, and “zeitgeist”. Legally, after World War II, space and rocket research could only commence in West Germany around 1954. [11] As most experienced rocket engineers had left for the USA and USSR in 1945, a generation was missing when fledging aerospace companies commenced a new start around 1960.
The new generation worked in companies such as Junkers GmbH and Bölkow in the Munich area, the Entwicklungsring Nord (ERNO) in Bremen, and Dornier. Junkers privately funded and studied an early space transporter concept since about 1960. [ 23, 24] It was the first such project in West Germany at the time and based on earlier ideas by Eugen Sänger, who was enlisted as consultant. Therefore, this concept is sometimes referred to as “Sänger I”.
The concept in Figure 6, named RT-8 for “Raumtransporter-8”, was envisioned to use a steam-based catapult start like on an aircraft carrier. The three-kilometer-long catapult used a 2G acceleration to produce a liftoff speed of 500 meters per second at 15 degree angle for the complete system.
At 50 kilometers altitude and around Mach 4, the two stages separated and the second stage ascended to a circular 300-kilometer orbit. Both stages were reusable and would return and land horizontally like planes. The first stage had three LOX/LH2 engines with 295 kilonewtons of thrust and 430 seconds of specific impulse, while the second stage had one similar engine. The first stage had two pilots and second stage one or two. [17,22]
A driver for piloted and man-rated stages was that computers were not powerful enough at the time to do the landing and rendezvous.
A small team drove most of the work on the Junkers Aerospace Transporter. Led by Julius Henrici and Jürgen Lambrecht, who was freshly hired from Aerojet in the United States, and later Ernst Högenauer, who joined the Junkers team in 1961 and became the head of space division at Messerschmitt-Bölkow-Blohm GmbH (MBB). [19,21]
In 1962, the German government started an umbrella national research program “Forschungsprojekt 623 Raumtransporter”, abbreviated as “FSK 623” or “FKZ 623”, to coordinate the German work on the Aerospace Transporter. [18,23-26] This also encapsulated the early Junkers work and the Eurospace studies.
In 1963, the goal was to study a reusable carrier with a payload of three to five tons to an orbit of 300 to 500 kilometers. [23] Parameters like number of stages, engine type, propellants,s and takeoff methods were studied alongside of tracking and rendezvous in orbit.
Eurospace
Figure 6. Junkers RT-8-01. [16]
One conclusion was that an earlier concept for a one-stage spaceplane with catapult start and fluor-hydrazine propellant (F2/N2H4) would not result in an economically useful payload to orbit. Hence work in 1963 concentrated on multi-stage solutions.
A driver for piloted and man-rated stages was that computers were not powerful enough at the time to do the landing and rendezvous. Furthermore, three-stage solutions did not add significant payload in their studies, which is why two-stage solutions were preferred. The engine selection struggled between LOX/LH2 rockets and air-breathing engines based on the staging velocity, but ultimately they preferred the LOX/LH2 for both stages.
A horizontal start with catapult launch was still under consideration. However, it would negate one of the main advantages of “aircraft like operations” and limit the takeoff locations.
Towards the end of the studies, seven different multi-stage systems, A to G, were thoroughly analyzed. [25]. All could deliver about three tons of payload to LEO. The takeoff weights varied between 162 and 460 tons. Unpractical choices like nuclear stages and supersonic combustion were not considered. System A used a catapult start like RT-8 and was projected to be the cheapest to construct. System G had the smallest takeoff weight but required unavailable air-liquidification engines.
System F was more practical. With a combined takeoff weight of 230 tons, roughly 180 tons for stage 1 and the rest for stage 2, a staging speed of Mach 7.5 was envisioned. While this was one of the more costly systems to construct, it had the most spinoff possibilities including hypersonic passenger transport. On a visual basis, it looked similar to Figure 6.
While projects like the Aerospace Transporter are probably still too large for single European countries or companies, Europe and ESA should keep the Aerospace Transporter findings in mind and build on this legacy with a uniquely, innovative European approach to access space.
Interesting observations included that the development costs scaled roughly with the staging speed Mach number, more stages meant more complication, and any hypersonic air-breathing solution at least twice as costly compared to better understood LH2 rocket engines. [25]
Based on the available reports, with sometimes conflicting mass and other numbers, the mass fractions seem to be about (0.15, 0.82, 0.03). Studies in 1964 would optimize this design. Again, this was a small payload but with a fuel fraction much closer to a modern airplane.
Conclusion
Sixty years later, construction materials have improved and better structural mass fractions seem achievable. Keep in mind that certain materials like titanium hulls would improve the empty mass fraction but might make the construction costs very high. The tradeoff between mass, economics, and missions is still very much the same as in the past.
While “mass to orbit” is important for many, there could be a market for smaller and more versatile transporters. For example, in daily life many people have a car to get around but there is a market to zip around on electric scooters, which almost no one envisioned a decade ago. While projects like the Aerospace Transporter are probably still too large for single European countries or companies, Europe and ESA should keep the Aerospace Transporter findings in mind and build on this legacy with a uniquely, innovative European approach to access space. [32]
References
[1] E. Sänger, N64-32878#, “Aerospace Transporter”, by EUROSPACE Working Group III, “Technical Studies” at National Aerospace Library, Farnborough (UK), CID 59959, 58 pages, October 1964.
[2] E. Sänger, “The Historical Background and Motivation for a European Aerospace Transporter Proposal”, at The Eurospace Conference on the Aerospace Transporter, 23-24 January 1964, Brussels, Belgium. 10p.
[3] P. Coué, M. Rigault, “Dassault Aviation’s Aerospace Transporter an historical perspective”, 6 pp, id 7024, IAC-10.E4.3.7, 44th History of Astronautics Symposium, IAC 2010, September 2010.
[4] P. Coué, “Dassault Aviation, designer of spaceplanes”, 8 pp, IAC-22-E4.3.69225, 73rd International Astronautical Congress (IAC), Paris, France, 18-22 September 2022.
[5] H. Deplante, P. Perrier, “A French Concept for an Aerospace Transporter”, Space Technology Conference, SAE 670388, February 1967.
[6] H. Tolle, “Review of European Aerospace Transporter Studies”, Space Technology Conference, SAE 670385, pp 120-128, February 1967.
[7] T.W. Smith, “A British Reusable Booster Concept”, British Aircraft Corporation (BAC), Space Technology Conference, SAE 670389, pp 159-167, February 1967.
[8] R. H. Francis, “Air-Breathing Reusable Launchers”, Hawker Siddeley Aviation Ltd. SAE 670390, pp. 169-174, February 1967.
[9] “Europe Firm on Space Transporter Goals”, Aviation Week & Space Technology, pp 77-78, June 28, 1965.
[10] T. Moulin, “L’avion lanceur de satellites”, Icare, n.50, pp 56-68, 1969.
[11] H. E. Sänger, A. D. Szames, “From the Silverbird to Interstellar Voyages”, IAC-03-IAA.2.4.a.07, 54th International Astronautical Congress of the International Astronautical Federation, the International Academy of Astronautics, and the International Institute of Space Law, 29 September 2003, Bremen, Germany.
[12] P. Bono, K. Gatland, “Frontiers of Space”, 279 pages, ISBN 978-0025428102, 1976.
[13] “Reusable Launch Systems”, Astronautics & Aeronautics, January 1964.
[14] J.C. Carbonel, “French Secret projects”, “French and European Spaceplane Designs 1964-1994”, ISBN 9781910809914, 2021.
[15] D. Sharpe, “British Secret projects”, “Britain’s Space Shuttle”, ISBN 9781910809020 , 2016.
[16] K. Rainer Deutsches Museum, Digital neu zusammengestellt von birkho, CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
[17] “Junkers / Raumtransporter Junkers RT-8-01”, 1961.
[18] H. Billig, “Forschungsprojekt 623, Raumtransporter”, ERNO, 124 pages, Bundesarchiv BArch B 228/13832, December 31, 1962.
[19] “ESA oral history of Europe in space”, “Interview mit Ernst Högenauer”, ESA INT68, 15 pages, 2010.
[20] “The DORIAN files revealed : A compendium of the NRO’s Manned Orbiting Laboratory documents”, edited by James D. Outzen, Ph.D., incl. Carl Berger’s - “A History of the Manned Orbiting Laboratory Program Office”, Aug. 2015.
[21] J. Lambrecht, “Probleme bei der Verwirklichung eines einstufigen Raumtransporters”, presented at “3rd European space flight symposium”, Stuttgart, Germany, 1963, in English “Design problems for a one-stage transporter”, 20 pages, N71-71498, NASA TT-8573, NTRS 19710066184, November 1963.
[22] “Junkers GmbH RT (Space Transporter, Saenger)”.
[23] “Junkers Arbeitsbericht 1963: Band 1,2 and 3. Forschungsprojekt 623 Raumtransporter”, RFT 32, 537 pages, Bundesarchiv BArch B 228/2985, 228/2986, 228/2987.
[24] J. Henrici, “Forschungsvorhaben 623, Träger- und Raumflugsysteme, Technische Studie eines Raumfluggerätes RVI/623/01/64 und RFT 32/1963”, 188 pages, Bundesarchiv BArch B 228/7823. https://invenio.bundesarchiv.de/invenio/direktlink/a96b0788-dbbb-498e-a1ca-8bb4118a2e9d/
[25] J. Henrici et al,”Forschungsvorhaben 623, Studie über wiederverwendbareTrägersysteme” “RV 3 - 623/01/65”, 87 pages, München, April 1966, Bundesarchiv BArch B 228/1762.
[26] “Jahresbericht 1963 des Forschungsprojektes 623 Raumtransporter-studien”, 185 pages, Bundesarchiv BArch B 228/2984, 1963.
[27] J. Lambrecht, “Auslegungskriterien des Raumtransporters”, in “Projektstudie 623, Raumtransporter-Symposium”, 34 pages, pp 58-90, KPAR-A720, München, Germany, March 1964. https://dlr-archivkatalog.bsz-bw.de/cgi-bin/koha/opac-detail.pl?biblionumber=2197
[28] J. Lambrecht, E. Schäfer, “A West-German Approach to Reusable Launch Vehicles”, Junkers FMW, Space Technology Conference, SAE 670387, pp. 144-148, February 1967.
[29] R. Nah, “A Comparison of Fixed Wing Reusable Booster Concepts”, Convair, Space Technology Conference, SAE 670384, pp. 99-111, February 1967.
[30] J. Hasseloff, “Untersuchungen zum Raumtransporter und zur Rückführung der Oberstufe”, “ERNO Forschungsbericht W 69-23”, N69-37772, 88 pages, Juni 1969.
[31] J.E. Love, W.R. Young, “Operational Experience of the X-15 Airplane as a Reusable Vehicle System”, NASA, Space Technology Conference, SAE 670394, pp. 198-204, February 1967.
[32] S. Stappert et al, “European Next Reusable Ariane (ENTRAIN): A Multidisciplinary Study on a VTVL and a VTHL Booster Stage”, DLR, 70th International Astronautical Congress (IAC), Washington DC, United States, IAC-19-D2.4.2, 17 pages, 21-25 October 2019.
[33] The Eurospace Conference on the Space Transporter, 23-24 January 1964, Brussels, Belgium. All were presented at the conference. They have NTIS accession numbers via STAR but no copies located yet except (*). i. N65-23958#, Maurice Roy, “Minutes of the Technical Meetings held during the Eurospace conference in Brussels on the Space Transporter”, also called “Aerospace plane transporter systems engineering, structural designs, and cost estimates”, Eurospace Report-6525, Eurospace, Paris (France), 32p.
ii. N65-23959#, M. Kaufmann,”HIGH PRESSURE ROCKET POWER UNITS FOR SPACE TRANSPORTERS”, Bölkow Entwicklungen K. G.. Munich. (West Germany), 14p.
iii. N65-23960#, D.G. Thomas,”PERSONNEL SUB SYSTEMS”, Martin Co., Baltimore, Md., 23p.
iv. N65-23961#, M.B. Dunn, “STRUCTURES PROBLEMS OF SPACE SYSTEMS”, Boeing Co. Seattle Wash, Aero-Space Div, 27p.
v. N65-23962#, T.W. Smith, “ENGINEERING PROBLEMS OF NEAR FUTURE HYPERSONIC VEHICLES”, British Aircraft Corp., London, England, Preston Div, 18p.
vi. N65-23963#, J.C. Peters, “SPACE LAUNCH VEHICLE COST CONSIDERATIONS”, United Aircraft Corp.. Farmington, Conn. Corporate Systems Center, 17p.
vii. N65-23964#, Max A. Hauzeur, “THE SPACE TRANSPORTER--GENERAL MISSION ANALYSIS”, Sociétés Anonyme Belge de Constructions Aéronautiques (SABCA), 8p .
viii. N65-23965# George Mounis, “OUTLINE OF METHODS AND DATA REQUIRED FOR HEAT SHIELD CALCULATIONS”, Sud-Aviation, Paris (France), 31p.
ix. N65-24024# R.J. Lane, C.J. Austin, and M. J. Welch, “COMPARATIVE METHODS OF SPACE BOOSTING”, Bristol Siddeley Engines, Ltd. (England). Advanced Propulsion Research Group, 25p.
x. N65-24027# J. Tubeuf and J. Bedel, “CONSIDERATIONS ON ROCKET PROPULSION FOR AN AEROSPACE VEHICLE”, 29p.
xi. N65-24031# J. Lambrecht, “COMPARED COSTS OF SPACE TRANSPORTERS AND OF BOOSTER ROCKETS”, Junkers Flugzeug- und Motorenwerke A. G.. Munich (W. Germany), 15p.
xii. N65-22883#, P.O. Hawkins, “ELECTRONIC ASPECTS OF SPACE TRANSPORTER”, Elliot Bros. Ltd., London (England), 8p.
xiii. N65-23324# H. Deplante and P. Perrier, “ABOUT A CONCEPT OF AN AEROSPACE TRANSPORTER”, Dassault (Marcel) Aeronautique-Electronique (GAMD), France, 10p.
xiv. E. Sänger, “The Historical Background and Motivation for a European Aerospace Transporter Proposal”, 10p. (*)
Hans Dolfing is an independent computer scientist with a passion for spaceflight, software, and history. With thanks to DLR, Dornier, German National Archives, Deutsches Museum (Munich), ESA, British Library (London), National Aerospace Library (NAL) (Farnborough, UK) , Library of Congress (Washington, DC) and nasaspaceflight.com. The author is interested in more original, technical reports and leads for any lost reports via beta_albireo@protonmail.com.
The P-Camera Experiment
P-Camera
In 1963, the Itek Corporation quickly created a small but powerful camera to fit into an existing reconnaissance satellite to take photographs of a suspected anti-ballistic missile facility in Leningrad. This rocket was prepared for launch in early June 1963 equipped with a mockup to test if the satellite could carry the camera. This flight was successful. (credit: Peter Hunter Collection)
The P-Camera Experiment
by Dwayne A. Day
Monday, October 27, 2025
The early years of the American satellite reconnaissance program, particularly the photo-reconnaissance satellites, have been declassified for some time now. We know the history up through the mid-1970s and the CORONA, GAMBIT, and HEXAGON programs, as well as more obscure projects like ARGON and LANYARD and Samos. However, there are still some minor mysteries from this early era, and one of them concerns something known as the “P-Camera Experiment.”
In March 1963, the first LANYARD reconnaissance satellite was launched from Vandenberg Air Force Base in California but failed to achieve orbit. LANYARD was an adaptation of an existing camera system that had been developed for the Samos E-6 program. It was, as one CIA official put it, an effort to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear—trying to salvage something from a string of Samos failures. But LANYARD also had an important target for its first mission: a location near Leningrad that was suspected to be a new anti-ballistic missile launch site. That could indicate that the Soviet Union was about to deploy a nationwide anti-ballistic missile system. Intelligence analysts wanted higher quality photos of the target to determine exactly what it was.
P-Camera
In March 1963 the Air Force launched the first LANYARD reconnaissance satellite. LANYARD carried a more powerful camera than the proven CORONA system. This launch failed, however. It prompted a rush effort to develop a reconnaissance camera for a special mission. (credit: Peter Hunter Collection)
At the time, the National Reconnaissance Office, which was responsible for managing America’s intelligence satellite program, was developing a new, more powerful satellite named GAMBIT, then scheduled for launch in the summer. GAMBIT was designed to produce higher-resolution photographs using new and unproven technology, and some within the intelligence community had their doubts about it.
In April, Director of Central Intelligence John McCone wrote to National Reconnaissance Office Director Brockway McMillan that “since the success of the GAMBIT system is quite uncertain,” it was a good idea to purchase additional LANYARD reconnaissance satellites to cover the period August 1963 to August 1964. [1]
P-Camera
The KH-4 CORONA reconnaissance satellite had enough room in the conical section between the reentry vehicle (top) and the dual reconnaissance cameras (in the cylinder) to carry a small but powerful camera known as the "P-Camera" named after reconnaissance advisor Dr. Edward M. Purcell of Harvard. The camera port would have been on the side facing the wall. (credit: NRO)
But McCone was also concerned about the future of satellite reconnaissance. In April, he flew to Boston to persuade Dr. Edward M. Purcell of Harvard to chair a panel to survey the future of reconnaissance satellites and ways to improve their imagery.
During the meeting, McCone also mentioned to Purcell the need to obtain imagery of the suspected anti-ballistic missile site at Leningrad. Purcell suggested a method of obtaining imagery quickly—even before the first GAMBIT launch scheduled for that summer: put a telescope and strip camera in an upcoming CORONA satellite specifically to photograph the Leningrad site. McCone passed Purcell’s suggestion to the CORONA program office, which took it to Itek, developer of both the CORONA and LANYARD cameras.
P-Camera
P-Camera
Illustrations from a 1962 intelligence report on a suspected anti-missile missile (or anti-ballistic missile) launch site near Leningrad. The intelligence community needed higher quality satellite photos to determine what this site was. (credit: CIA)
Itek’s engineers developed a proposal for a 240-inch (610-centimeter) focal length Cassegrain telescope using “folded optics” and attached to a 127-millimeter strip camera. This was ten times the focal length of the CORONA camera that was then operational (for comparison, the KH-8 GAMBIT-3 had a focal length of 175.6 inches, or 446 centimeters). This was soon known as the P (for Purcell) camera experiment, or the P-Camera. Amazingly, they managed to build it in only two months, although it is likely that they were collaborating with Purcell before they started building.
In California, Lockheed engineers came up with a way to use the empty space in the conical film transport area of a KH-4 CORONA-MURAL satellite. This was where the film traveled to the single reentry vehicle. They built a dummy unit to fly in a CORONA spacecraft and cut an opening in the side of the spacecraft with a door that would be blown off by a pyrotechnic device after orbital insertion, like the doors for the two CORONA-MURAL cameras.
P-Camera
In later June 1963, the Air Force launched a CORONA reconnaissance satellite into orbit using this Thor rocket at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California. Also onboard this satellite was the "P-Camera" specifically designed to photograph the suspected anti-ballistic missile site near Leningrad. Although the CORONA operated properly, the cover door for the P-Camera did not eject and the film was blank. (credit: NRO)
On June 12, 1963, a CORONA mission was launched from Vandenberg Air Force Base carrying the dummy P-Camera. The flight was intended to determine if the P-Camera would disrupt the main camera operations, if the rocket could carry the heavier load into orbit, and if the Agena spacecraft could still stabilize the spacecraft. The CORONA mission went normally.
P-Camera
IA higher resolution GAMBIT reconnaissance satellite took this photo of a suspected anti-ballistic missile site near Leningrad. By the time the U.S. intelligence community obtained good resolution photos of the site, the Soviet Union had shifted its ABM focus to defending Moscow. No substantial ABM defenses were built at Leningrad. (credit: Harry Stranger)
On June 26, a second CORONA mission, number 9056, was launched carrying the only P-Camera onboard along with a standard CORONA-MURAL camera. Unfortunately, telemetry indicated that the P-Camera’s door had not blown off as planned. In the hopes that this was faulty telemetry, Lt. Col. Vernard Webb, the CIA chief of satellite operations on the West Coast, ordered that the camera be turned on during the next pass over Leningrad. When the Satellite Recovery Vehicle was deorbited on June 30 and the film recovered and developed, it was blank, indicating that the optical-port door had not blown off.[2]
Probably because it was rushed and unsuccessful, there are no surviving illustrations or photographs of the camera. Its design remains mostly an enigma, but it would be interesting to know how such a large focal length camera was fit into a relatively small volume. The “P-Camera experiment,” as it became known, may have been inspired by the March launch failure of the first LANYARD mission, as well as McCone’s lack of faith in the GAMBIT. It was a backup to the backup program. Now that it had failed, they would have to wait for better imagery of that suspect site in Leningrad.
P-Camera
P-Camera
By 1965, the US intelligence community was gaining a better understanding of Soviet ABM developments. These excerpts from intelligence reports indicate some of what was known about Soviet ABM missiles and their launchers. Most Soviet ABM development was focused on defending Moscow, and soon that effort began to slow down as it became evident to the Soviets that ballistic missile defense was extremely difficult, and expensive. (credit: CIA)
Endnotes
Robert Perry, “A History of Satellite Reconnaissance, Volume IIB – SAMOS E-5 and E-6,” October 1973, pp. 378; 381-382.
Frederick C.E. Oder, James C. Fitzpatrick, and Paul E. Worthman, “The GAMBIT Story,“ National Reconnaissance Office, 1988, p. 181; CORONA Mission 9056 Performance Report, July 8, 1963, pp. 6-7.
Dwayne Day can be reached at zirconic1@cox.net.
Book Review: Facing Infinity
book cover
Review: Facing Infinity
by Jeff Foust
Monday, October 27, 2025
Facing Infinity: Black Holes and Our Place on Earth
by Jonas Enander
The Experiment, 2025
hardcover, 368 pp., illus.
ISBN 979-8-89303-085-3
US$30
Black holes have an attraction for science writers that rivals their gravitational influence on spacetime. Hundreds of books have been written over the decades about these objects, covering the theory behind them and efforts to study them with various telescopes. However, while black holes are a staple of science fiction and even of broader culture, they have remained largely abstract: as distant astrophysical phenomena, they have little direct influence on our lives.
One researcher mentions that, while she is from Italy, she has worked in the US, UK, and France, moving from job to job. When asks if she is a nomad, she responds, “No, I’m an astrophysicist.”
The book Facing Infinity starts down a familiar path. Jonas Enander, a Swedish physicist and science communicator, examines the history of studies of black holes, from initial concepts centuries ago of stars so massive light could not escape to modern efforts like the Event Horizon Telescope to take the first images of supermassive black holes at the heart of galaxies. The book at times has a travelogue feel, with the author touring observatories atop Maunakea in Hawaii and the LIGO gravitational wave observatory in Washington state and going to conferences in Paris and Spain.
The focus on the book is as much on the people who do the science as it is on the science itself, recounting the histories of earlier scientists and talking to present-day scientists. The latter provides perspectives regarding both what drew them to their field as well as the challenges they face. One researcher mentions that, while she is from Italy, she has worked in the US, UK, and France, moving from job to job. When the author asks if she is a nomad, she responds, “No, I’m an astrophysicist.”
The third and final part of the book, though, makes a sharp turn. Enander turns his attention to the influence black holes—or, rather, studies of black holes—have had on humanity. That includes the impact of astronomy and space research on indigenous peoples, such as the protests by native Hawaiians about observatories on Maunakea and those by locals about conditions in French Guiana, home to the spaceport that launched the James Webb Space Telescope. “Even the term ‘black hole’ has a bloody colonial history,” he writes, linking the term to the “Black Hole of Calcutta” during Britain’s colonial rule in India.
Black holes have other influences. The study of quasars, linked to black holes, provide fixed points of reference to help monitor even the smallest terrestrial changes, like the movement of landmasses. Such work showed, for example, that Europe and North America are moving apart due to plate tectonics, and how land is rising and sinking. (He describes a fascinating connection between astronomy and Earth science: Alfred Wegener, who first proposed plate tectonics, was trained as an astronomer. He was also a German army officer in World War I and crossed paths with another officer, Karl Schwarzschild, an astrophysicist who developed a formula for a black hole during free time while serving in the war.)
The result is a book that makes the case that black holes are more than just an intellectual curiosity. Studies of black holes have an impact on society in ways that go beyond simply better understanding the nature of the universe, while black holes themselves may play a role in life on Earth: some astrophysicists believe they help distribute the elemental building blocks of life throughout the universe. No wonder black holes are such an attractive subject.
Jeff Foust (jeff@thespacereview.com) is the editor and publisher of The Space Review, and a senior staff writer with SpaceNews. He also operates the Spacetoday.net web site. Views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author alone.
Sunday, October 26, 2025
Thursday, October 23, 2025
Wednesday, October 22, 2025
The Planet Mars Has Life!!!
Perseverance Pays Off
Humans have always wondered whether they are alone in the universe.
Now, scientists have examined a sample that NASA’s Perseverance Mars rover collected last year from an ancient dry riverbed in Jezero Crater and found that the sample could preserve evidence of ancient microbial life.
The sample, known as Sapphire Canyon, was collected from a rock known as Cheyava Falls: A new study has found that it contains potential biosignatures.
“This finding (…) is the closest we have ever come to discovering life on Mars,” acting NASA administrator Sean Duffy said in a statement. “The identification of a potential biosignature on the Red Planet is a groundbreaking discovery.”
A potential biosignature is a substance or structure that might have a biological origin and could confirm the presence of life, with more analysis.
The rover reached Cheyava Falls in July 2024 while exploring the Bright Angel formation, a series of rocky outcrops along the northern and southern edges of Neretva Vallis – an ancient river valley carved by water that flowed into Jezero Crater long ago.
Perseverance found that the formation’s sedimentary rocks are made of clay and silt, which on Earth are known as great preservers of past microbial life. They are also rich in organic carbon, sulfur, oxidized iron (rust), and phosphorus.
“The combination of chemical compounds we found in the Bright Angel formation could have been a rich source of energy for microbial metabolisms,” study author Joel Hurowitz said in the statement. “But just because we saw all these compelling chemical signatures in the data didn’t mean we had a potential biosignature. We needed to analyze what that data could mean.”
Similarly, the rover’s instruments found what looked like colorful spots while examining Cheyava Falls, which may have resulted from microbial life if it had used the rock’s materials – vivianite and greigite – as an energy source, Hurowitz explained.
Vivianite is often found on Earth in sediments, peat bogs, and around decaying organic matter. Similarly, some forms of microbial life on Earth can produce greigite.
Still, the minerals can also be the product of high temperatures and other causes not related to biological life.
Even so, the rocks at Bright Angel didn’t display evidence that they underwent high temperatures or other conditions that produce those chemicals, researchers said.
The discovery is all the more surprising because it comes from some of the youngest sedimentary rocks the mission has investigated. Researchers had believed that signs of ancient life would come from older rock formations. This indicates that Mars could have been habitable for a longer or later period in its history than once believed, and that older rocks might contain signs of life that are more difficult to detect.
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Tuesday, October 21, 2025
Spinning, Spinning, Spinning To Mars
Mars
In 1984, a workshop at The Case for Mars II conference produced a proposal for a human mission to Mars that would use Mars resources and lead to a permanent presence on the red planet. Artist Carter Emmart illustrated the various phases of the mission and his illustrations appeared in numerous publications over the years. (credit: Carter Emmart)
Spinning, spinning, spinning to Mars
by Dwayne A. Day
Monday, October 20, 2025
In 1984, a group of scientists, engineers, and graduate students meeting in Colorado for a conference and led by a core group of enthusiasts who a journalist nicknamed the “Mars Underground,” developed a concept for a human mission to Mars. Because the group included an artist named Carter Emmart who sketched and later illustrated the phases of the Mars mission, for at least a decade or longer that Mars concept appeared in books and even novels as the way that humans would explore the Red Planet. It influenced both the culture and thinking about human missions to Mars.
Mars
The Mars cycler spacecraft would be assembled in Earth orbit at a space station. The three Habitat vehicles would then head to Mars. (credit: Carter Emmart)
Origins of the Case for Mars Conference
Two weeks after the launch of the Space Shuttle Columbia in 1981 on its first mission, a group of Mars enthusiasts met for a conference. The organizer was Christopher McKay, then an astro-geophysics Ph.D. candidate at the University of Colorado at Boulder. They based their conference on NASA’s 1976 study “The Habitability of Mars.”
The University of Colorado Space Interest Group had started planning a year earlier, in spring 1980, and focused on Mars because Mars research had dried up after the Viking missions. Benton Clark had written a paper in 1978 called “The Case for Mars,” which provided the name for the conference. The 1981 conference consisted of around 300 engineers, scientists, and other enthusiasts. This was at a time when NASA had no active projects underway to explore the Red Planet. The Viking missions had created a lot of excitement about the possibility of life on Mars, and when it was not discovered, public attention and government funding went elsewhere. Journalist Leonard David coined the term “Mars Underground” in a November 1979 article for Future Life magazine, referring to them as “a small clique of maverick space enthusiasts, both in and out of government,” adding that they were a “the modest and secretive clan.” The Case for Mars conference was their debut party.
Several concepts for human exploration of Mars were presented at the 1981 conference, including a proposal for a human mission to the Mars moons Phobos and Deimos that would not land on the planet. But many of the attendees had greater ambitions. They wanted humans to walk on Mars. To live off the land. And to stay.
Mars
Mars
The Habitat vehicles would be boosted to Mars with propulsion stages. These would be jettisoned after use. (credit: Carter Emmart)
Case for Mars II Mission Workshop
In July 1984, the organizers held the Case for Mars II conference. This included a workshop to develop a “permanent Mars research base using year 2000 technology” as a “precursor to eventual colonization.” The participants had a goal to develop a concept that was not only a first human mission to Mars, but a continuing human presence, including the rotation of crews on the surface. This was admittedly bold and unrealistic, because any human exploration of Mars would start with a single mission rather than a continuous set of missions. But they picked “a Mars base as the much-needed long-term focus for the space program,” according to a summary written by James French, and chose a permanent base “rather than the more conventional concept of a series of individual missions to different sites, because the permanent base offers much greater scientific return plus greater crew safety and the potential for growth into a true colony.” A goal was to strive for self-sufficiency and autonomy from Earth, using Martian resources whenever possible. In April 1986, JPL funded a lengthy report on the workshop results. French presented his summary a year later.
Mars
The three vehicles would connect on the way to Mars and start spinning to produce the equivalent of Mars gravity. (credit: Carter Emmart)
Mission concept
The participants assumed that robotic precursor missions would be necessary before any human missions. These would be required to provide high resolution imagery of possible landing sites as well as information on resources such as volatiles (i.e. water) and scientifically interesting locations. The humans would travel to Mars in a “Mars cycler.”
The Mars cycler would use three spacecraft assembled at a space station in Earth orbit. The spacecraft would launch to Mars individually and then join up. They would then start rotating to provide artificial gravity. The transit time to Mars would take six months. The Earth return leg would last 20 to 30 months. The crews would spend two years on Mars. New crews would leave for Mars every 26 months.
Mars
Each vehicle would have two habitat modules and a Mars shuttle. (credit: Carter Emmart)
The Deep Space Habitat vehicles would travel on a Mars-powered flyby and return to Earth. The Deep Space Habitat vehicle would perform a propulsive maneuver as it flew by the planet. It would do this without a crew onboard—the crew having departed in Mars Shuttles to descend to the surface. Shuttles departing Mars would rendezvous with the Habitat vehicle on the outbound leg departing Mars. Mars Shuttles on the base would be refueled using carbon monoxide/oxygen propellant manufactured from Martian carbon dioxide. The returning crews would again get into their Mars Shuttles as the Habitat was nearing Earth and then aerobrake down to the space station. The Habitats would also aerobrake into Earth orbit for resupply for another trip.
The first mission would leave Earth in 2007, returning in 2012, followed by additional crews in 2009 and 2011. The schedule would require at least two cycler spacecraft. Crews would be transferred to the cyclers in Crew Shuttle vehicles. Each mission would deliver 15 crew members to Mars. Early on, some missions would return a lower number, perhaps nine, to Earth, enabling the population to gradually build up.
Mars
Mars
Crewed landers would be preceded to Mars by cargo landers. The plan was to establish a base that would be permanently crewed. (credit: Carter Emmart)
The Mars Shuttles were described as biconic two-stage vehicles that would aerobrake at both Earth and Mars. There would be two-stage crew-carrying vehicles and one-way cargo-carrying vehicles.
The Deep Space Habitat would consist of three identical sections assembled at an Earth-orbiting space station. They would each have two space station modules, a life support system, consumables storage, a propulsion system, and power supply. The two modules would be mounted along a boom and tunnel that terminated in a docking adapter allowing the three sections to dock in a pinwheel configuration that would rotate to provide artificial gravity. A Mars shuttle would be docked along each boom. The sections would be boosted separately on a Mars-bound trajectory and would rendezvous and dock on the way to Mars. A Trans-Mars injection stage, equipped with adaptations of Space Shuttle Main Engines, would boost the Habitat/Mars Shuttle assemblies out of Earth orbit and into Mars transfer trajectory. The cargo versions of the Mars Shuttle would travel to Mars individually, not attached to a habitat.
Mars
One of the key aspects of the mission design was the use of Mars resources, including converting the thin atmosphere into fuel for the shuttles as well as for ground vehicles. (credit: Carter Emmart)
Although the Space Shuttle would be used for some aspects of in-orbit assembly, the mission required a heavy-lift rocket capable of placing at least 75 metric tons in low Earth orbit. Twenty-four heavy-lift and 20 shuttle launches would be required to launch the first expedition.
Mars
The shuttles would return part of the crew to a cycler spacecraft bringing new crew and supplies. (credit: Carter Emmart)
The Mars base would use in-situ resource utilization (ISRU) to create propellant from the thin atmosphere of Mars, a concept that had been studied starting in the 1970s. The report stated that “propellant production on the surface of Mars is critical to reducing the cost of the program” because it “reduces the Earth launch weight by almost an order of magnitude.” Each Crew Mars Shuttle would require 150 tons of Mars ISRU-manufactured carbon monoxide/oxygen propellant to catch up with the passing Earth-bound cycler. The Case for Mars II workshop proposed that an automated probe should test ISRU propellant production on Mars before the Mars base program began.
The report added that “Mars is abundantly endowed with all the resources necessary to sustain life.” The base would include greenhouses for food production. As a summary noted, “Development of long-duration life support is seriously lagging behind other technologies relevant to human missions to Mars.”
Mars
The Habitat vehicles would aerobrake at Earth for refurbishment and reuse for the next outbound mission. (credit: Carter Emmart)
“The initial focus of activities at the Mars base must be the development of resource utilization technologies, since the continued presence of the base and the long-range science goals are contingent on establishing the resource base.” Additional subjects needing further attention included the power supply that could provide approximately 200 to 400 kilowatts, Mars spacesuit design, small engines that could run on fuel in-situ, and the study of life support and resource utilization.
Mars
A model built by Carter Emmart was displayed in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in the 1990s and again in 2014. It is not currently on display. (credit: Smithsonian Institution)
Artwork and Cycler model
Carter Emmart was a student at the University of Colorado, Boulder, and an artist and illustrator. During the workshop, he developed sketches of the spacecraft and overall mission concept. Over the next several years he refined his artwork, making color pencil illustrations that later appeared (in black and white) in the summary proceedings of the Case for Mars III conference, which was held in summer 1987.
Emmart later built two complete models of the Mars Cycler spaceship, donating one to the Smithsonian. One of the habitat modules had a clear panel side, revealing the astronauts living and working inside, including the obligatory person taking a shower (something that had appeared in earlier cutaway depictions of space stations and was sort of an inside joke among space artists.) The model went on display in 1992 in the “Where Next, Columbus?” exhibit about the future of space exploration at the National Air and Space Museum in downtown Washington, DC. A decade later when the exhibit closed it was removed from display but went back on exhibit in a new gallery in 2014. It is not currently on display.
Mars
Mars
TCarter Emmart built two models of the Mars cycler spaceship, one of which he donated to the National Air and Space Museum. That model included a cutaway section showing the living spaces. (credit: Smithsonian Institution)
Michael Carroll, another artist who was at the Case for Mars II conference, produced drawings and later color illustrations of aspects of the mission. They appeared in the proceedings and elsewhere. However, Emmart illustrated the mission’s various phases, and his artwork appeared in more publications.
Mars
Mars
Carter Emmart’s business card depicted the various phases of the Case for Mars human Mars mission concept. (credit: Carter Emmart)
Legacy
There have arguably been five general cultural phases of human Mars exploration concepts—“cultural” because they influenced the public discussion of human Mars exploration. The first was the 1950s Collier’s magazine spaceflight series, which included a mission to Mars illustrated by famed illustrator Chesley Bonestell, later followed by a 1950s Disney animated Mars mission. Bonestell’s version featured a large winged Mars lander. The Disney film depicted an umbrella-shaped Mars transfer spacecraft that rotated for artificial gravity.
Mars
Before the Case for Mars mission concept, during the 1970s and 1980s the most common depiction of a human mission to Mars was based upon a 1969 mission design produced by NASA. (credit: NASA)
The second phase was the 1970s era of the Integrated Mars Plan that had been developed in 1969 and featured large nuclear-propelled spacecraft flying to Mars. During the 1970s into the 1980s, artwork of the Mars spacecraft from the Mars Integrated Plan appeared in various non-fiction books, and the mission concept appeared in several novels (The Throne of Saturn and The Far Call, and Stephen Baxter’s Voyage). For people interested in future human Mars exploration during this time, it was a concept that they were most familiar with (see “Flights to Mars, real and LEGO,” The Space Review, July 6, 2021.)
The third phase was the 1980s era of the Case for Mars cycler plan. After the Case for Mars II conference, Carter Emmart’s artwork appeared in numerous publications, and the cover of a magazine. Michael Carroll’s artwork also appeared on the cover of a magazine and other publications. The mission concept also appeared in Allen Steele’s 1992 book Labyrinth of Night and Ian Douglas’ Semper Mars. These examples demonstrated the powerful value of having artwork to illustrate a concept such as a mission to Mars. There were admittedly other Mars mission concepts during this era, some of which appeared on the covers of books and magazines, but none were as wide-reaching as the Case for Mars concept.
Robert Zubrin later developed a different concept for human Mars exploration called “Mars Direct.” A primary aspect of Mars Direct was sending an unpiloted spacecraft to land at Mars to produce fuel before sending a human mission to land nearby, using the refueled spacecraft for return to Earth. Zubrin’s concept, like the earlier Case for Mars concept, used in-situ resources for rocket propellant. Zubrin later wrote a book called The Case for Mars, using the name of the conference, and was also the subject of a documentary called The Mars Underground, but although he appropriated the terms, he is not listed as one of the original workshop participants. Zubrin’s “Mars Direct” concept endured throughout much of the 1990s and influenced several movies, including 1998’s Mission to Mars (Zubrin was a technical consultant).
The Case for Mars workshop did not invent the concept of in situ resource utilization at Mars for propellant and oxygen, but certainly gave it greater visibility. The workshop also established the concept of a continuous presence on Mars rather than a single “flags and footprints” approach. Both that concept and Zubrin’s “Mars Direct” had greater public exposure than several NASA Design Reference Missions produced in the 1990s and 2000s. Today, the primary cultural influence on how the public perceives Mars missions comes from the SpaceX Starship program, although its incredible ambition—500 launches to Mars in 2033 and a million people living there within a decade—also makes it seem a bit fanciful.
Many of the Case for Mars participants later went on to have prominent careers in the planetary science field. As one example, Penny Boston later headed NASA’s Astrobiology Institute. Carter Emmart, an exuberant, enthusiastic, eccentric space advocate, spent several decades working at the American Museum of Natural History where he created planetarium shows seen by millions of visitors.
Mars
Mars
Mars
Mars
Artwork by Carter Emmart and Michael Carroll appeared in publications after the conference and helped communicate the proposal and gain more public notice. The Case for Mars II Mars mission concept even appeared in novels in the early 1990s. (credit: Carter Emmart and Michael Carroll)
See additional illustrations of the Mars mission concept.
Notes
Univelt published the proceedings for the Case for Mars conferences, an invaluable resource on this topic for over a decade.
J.R. French, “The ‘Case for Mars’ Concept,” Jet Propulsion Laboratory, 1987.
The Case for Mars II: proceedings of the Second Case for Mars Conference held July 10-14, 1984, at the University of Colorado, Boulder.
Alcestis Oberg, “The Grass Roots of the Mars Conference,” AAS 81-225, Penelope Boston, editor, The Case for Mars (San Diego, CA: Univelt, Inc., 1984), p. ix.
S. M.Welch and C. R. Stoker, editors, The Case for Mars: Concept Development for a Mars Research Station (Boulder, CO: Boulder Center for Science Policy, 10 April 1986).
Thomas Paine, “A Timeline for Martian Pioneers,” AAS 84-150, Christopher McKay, editor, The Case for Mars II (Univelt, Inc., 1985), pp. 18-19.
Michael Duke, Wendell Mendell, and Barney Roberts, “Lunar Base: A Stepping Stone to Mars,” AAS 84-162, Christopher McKay, editor, The Case for Mars II (Univelt, Inc., 1985), pp. 207-20.
Humboldt Mandell, “Space Station—The First Step,” AAS 84-160, Christopher McKay, editor, The Case for Mars II (Univelt, Inc.,1985), pp. 157-70.
David S.F. Portree, Humans to Mars Fifty Years of Mission Planning, 1950–2000, NASA History Division, NASA Headquarters, Washington, DC 20546, Monographs in Aerospace History Series, Number 21, February 2001
Dwayne Day can be reached at zirconic1@cox.net.
New Zealand Seeks Its Place In The Commercial Space Industry
NZ Aerospace
Dawn Aerospace brought its Aurora spaceplane to the exhibit hall at the conference. (credit: J. Foust)
New Zealand looks for its place in the global space industry
by Jeff Foust
Monday, October 20, 2025
The protestors were no match for breakdancing stormtroopers.
In the days leading up to the New Zealand Aerospace Summit earlier this month, signs appeared on walls in downtown Christchurch. “No War Profiteers in Aotearoa!” they declared, using the Māori name for New Zealand. “Blockade the National Aerospace Summit”.
“As we’ve seen from the protestors outside today, some people have different perspectives on how aerospace technology is used,” said Mark Rocket, president of Aerospace New Zealand.
The summit was a two-day event at the city’s convention center, although the signs indicated the blockade was intended for only the second day, devoted to plenary speeches and panels. There were a few dozen protestors outside the center on the first day, October 7, some waving Palestinian flags and linking New Zealand aerospace capabilities to Israel’s conflict in Gaza. Others were more generally concerned about the militarization of space that they believed could draw the country into some future conflict.
Some protestors focused their attention on the country’s most prominent space company. “Rocket Lab Launches for Genocide,” one sign stated. “Peter Beck Makes NZ a Target,” read another.
On the second day, there were more protestors outside the center and more than a dozen forming a “blockade” in front of the main door, seated with linked arms. But the entrance was not blocked: people could simply walk around the blockade to get inside. The only drama came when several protestors raced for the entrance, either to join the blockade or to get inside (one tried opening a side door, only to find it locked); they were subdued by police and security.
NZ Aerospace
NZ Aerospace
Top: flyers posted around the center of Christchurch calling for a “blockade” of the conference. Bottom: protestors outside the convention center. (credit: J. Foust)
Inside the center, the protestors were out of sight and, largely, out of mind, with only a few passing references to them.
“As we’ve seen from the protestors outside today, some people have different perspectives on how aerospace technology is used,” said Mark Rocket, president of Aerospace New Zealand, in remarks opening the conference, arguing that most companies in the country focused on commercial or civil applications. “Some of our industry does work with the defense sector, but we have stringent laws that these New Zealand-based companies are in line with government policy.”
The event leaned into celebrating the country’s aerospace industry. Speakers were greeted with walkup music played by an onstage DJ: a woman in a silver bodysuit festooned with mirrors and wearing a mirrored helmet. It was an homage either to Daft Punk or to Humanity Star, the mirrored satellite placed in orbit by the first successful Electron launch in 2018.
Later, the emcee encouraged people to return to the auditorium promptly after lunch for a special feature, one not listed on the day’s agenda. Those who did so were greeted to a performance by dozens of dancers, most wearing Star Wars-themed costumes, while videos of accomplishments of New Zealand aerospace companies played in the background. Several of the dancers, dressed as stormtroopers, started breakdancing at one point, removing their helmets to perform their moves. The audience cheered, even if people were still puzzled about what they saw and what it had to do with the country’s aerospace industry.
NZ Aerospace
NZ Aerospace
Top: the conference has an on-stage DJ playing walkup music for speakers. BBottom: the post-lunch dance performance, before the breakdancing stormtroopers appeared. (credit: J. Foust)
Innovating versus scaling
Amid the entertainment inside and the protestors outside, one central question remained: what is the place of New Zealand’s space industry in a global space economy increasingly dominated by the United States, China, and a few other nations?
It is a growing industry. Space companies contribute about NZ$2.5 billion (US$1.45 billion) annually to the country’s economy and the industry is growing 8.9% per year for the last five years, noted Gerard Dale, a partner at law firm Dentons New Zealand, during one panel discussion at the conference.
“To put that into context, in the last five years the New Zealand economy has grown by about 9%,” he said. “You guys do that every year.”
“What if New Zealand decided to go after a piece of that $2.3 trillion market—and not just a little piece, but a decent piece, say, something like 10%?” said Beck.
It is also growing faster than the global space economy. The 53% growth in the country’s space industry in the last five years is greater the 40% growth reported globally in the same timeframe. “It’s not that I’m competitive,” Judith Collins, New Zealand’s space minister, said in a keynote at the conference, “but it’s really good when we’re beating everyone else.”
Dominating that industry, of course, is Rocket Lab. In a video keynote at the conference, Peter Beck, founder and CEO, said there was an opportunity for New Zealand to take a bigger stake in a space industry that he projected to be worth $2.3 trillion at some unspecified future date.
“There has never been a better time to think big beyond our borders,” he said. “What if New Zealand decided to go after a piece of that $2.3 trillion market—and not just a little piece, but a decent piece, say, something like 10%? That should be achievable, and that kind of productivity and capital injection into the country could mean incredible things for growth, innovation, and new technology.”
That meant New Zealand companies needed to think big. “Show me the path to becoming a billion-dollar company,” he said. “I’m only interested in things that have the potential to be big.”
Rocket Lab has become big, at least in terms of stock market valuation. While the company has yet to turn a profit, its share price has soared on the Nasdaq in the last year from about $10 a share to, as of market close on October 20, $67.35. That gives the company a market capitalization of more than $30 billion.
“If Rocket Lab was a New Zealand company, it would be the most valuable one in the country,” said one attendee on the sidelines of the conference.
But that’s the catch. Rocket Lab was founded in New Zealand and still has major operations in the country. A factory in Auckland produces Electron rockets—more than half a dozen were in various stages of production during a visit just after the conference—that are launched from its Launch Complex 1 on New Zealand’s Mahia Peninsula.
However, the company moved its headquarters several years ago to the United States, helping it win US government business. Most of its new projects, such as its work building satellites and components, as well as its Neutron rocket, are taking place in the US, not New Zealand.
That was a theme that emerged from conference discussions: New Zealand may be a good place to start a space company, but scaling it up there can be difficult.
“What is New Zealand good at? We’re good at innovation. We’re good at coming up with innovative products in the world. But we don’t have the resources,” said Imogene Lomax, a manager with New Zealand Trade and Enterprise. Companies, she said, often find they need to have “capability as close to your customers as you can.”
Raising money can be difficult for companies as well. “If you need more than $5 million you need to be running a global process,” said Angus Blair, general partner at Outset Ventures, a venture capital fund based in the country, citing limited investment resources within New Zealand.
That was the experience of Zenno Astronautics, a company based in New Zealand developing superconducting magnets for space applications, starting with attitude control systems. The company has raised nearly NZ$30 million (US$17 million) beginning in New Zealand but later branching out to investors in Japan and the United States.
“On of the reasons that we invested in Zenno is because of its state-of-the-art innovative technology really fits into the Japanese space industry,” said Ryo Kotera of All Nippon Airways, which invested in Zenno as part of its efforts to diversify its business. “Japanese satellite customers are facing problems with attitude control systems, and its product can solve this problem.”
“If we needed to fill Neutron with liquid oxygen, we would only be able to do so halfway with all of the liquid oxygen in New Zealand,” Lloyd said.
Max Arshavsky, co-founder and CEO of Zenno, acknowledged that focusing on components alone would not provide the returns that VC investors are looking for. “Our intention was always to start with a very narrow niche in an existing market, and then to evolve that product further, which will then create new markets and new capabilities,” he said.
He declined to elaborate on those new capabilities but did not lack in ambition. A company whose valuation exceeds $1 billion is often called a “unicorn” because such companies were once rare. “We are building a hyper-unicorn,” he declared.
NZ Aerospace
Judith Collins, the New Zealand government’s space minister, gives a keynote at the conference. (credit: J. Foust)
Capitalizing on strengths
Companies at the conference mentioned other challenges in scaling up a space business in New Zealand. They included educating a trained workforce as well as basic infrastructure.
Benjamin Lloyd, senior director for legal and global risk manager at Rocket Lab, said one reason the company is not launching Neutron from New Zealand is availability of liquid oxygen. “If we needed to fill Neutron with liquid oxygen, we would only be able to do so halfway with all of the liquid oxygen in New Zealand,” he said.
The country, though, has its strengths. One frequently cited at the conference was open access to airspace and a regulatory system that makes it easy for experimental vehicles to get approvals to use it. That has primarily benefitted companies in advanced aviation, such as developers of drones and electric vertical-takeoff-and-landing aircraft.
It has also helped Dawn Aerospace. The company is developing the Aurora uncrewed spaceplane, flying it to altitudes of 25 kilometers and speeds of Mach 1.1 from New Zealand. A new version of the vehicle in development will be able to go to 100 kilometers and faster than Mach 3.
The company started sales of that vehicle earlier this year, with the Oklahoma Space Industry Development Authority ordering one in June to fly from the state’s spaceport, a former Air Force base, starting in 2027.
The company has benefitted from New Zealand’s regulatory environment. “We could not have achieved the things that we have if we didn’t have a regulator who wanted to find a way to say yes,” said James Powell, co-founder and chief spaceplane engineer at Dawn Aerospace. “It doesn’t mean that this is all easy and it doesn’t mean this is all quick, but there is open-mindedness and there is an attitude of, ‘Let’s try to find a way.’”
Aurora is a first step towards long-term ambitions for orbital vehicles that offer the same level of reusability as aircraft. “It seems to us that there’s a pretty clear path here that we can start with an aircraft. We can have the full reusability from day one, and we can start to leverage this massive, globally deployed market of aircraft,” said Dawn Aerospace CEO Stefan Powell in a conference keynote, “and we can start plowing our way towards that Holy Grail.”
In the process, “we can also cut straight through this market of supersonic and hypersonic research,” he said. “We can build real businesses there. This doesn't have to be a massive chasm we have to cross as a company.”
“We could not have achieved the things that we have if we didn’t have a regulator who wanted to find a way to say yes,” said Dawn Aerospace’s James Powell.
Some in the country’s space industry are looking to the government for increased investment to address some of the challenges they face. In her keynote, Collins, who also serves as New Zealand’s defense minister, suggested the country would spend more in national security space capabilities. She cited a strategy the country released in April that called for increasing defense spending by NZ$9 billion (US$5.2 billion) over the next four years, including in space systems.
More details will come in a separate defense space sector plan to be released in the next six months, she said. “It will set out how we will grow and sustain a space industry that supports defense capability and contributes to innovation and export opportunities,” she said.
That risked putting it at odds with the protestors outside the conference, but she dismissed those concerns in an interview after her speech. “The people outside today are the usual suspects who turn up every single thing we ever do,” she said, saying there was “huge public support” in general for the country’s space activities.
The open airspace and regulatory environment were a particular strength for the industry in New Zealand, she said. “We don't have any near neighbors. We have an environment where we can have the high cadence of launches,” she said. “We also have regulatory system that is agile as well as safe.”
“If I take someone like Peter Beck of Rocket Lab, a home-grown New Zealand engineer now responsible essentially for us being the third in the world for successful vertical launches, I reckon we have a place” in the global space industry, she concluded.
“New Zealand could be a leader in aerospace,” Lloyd said. “If we put government behind it, we put industry behind it, if we put our collective minds behind it, that could be New Zealand’s next big industry.” No breakdancing stormtroopers required.
Jeff Foust (jeff@thespacereview.com) is the editor and publisher of The Space Review, and a senior staff writer with SpaceNews. He also operates the Spacetoday.net web site. Views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author alone.
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The Soviet R-16 ICBM
R-16
In early 1966, a GAMBIT reconnaissance satellite took excellent quality photos of Soviet SS-7/R-16 ICBMs outside their horizontal hangar. The missiles did not have warheads attached, but the photos enabled accurate measurements of the missiles. The R-16 was the first practical Soviet ICBM, and approximately 200 were in service by this time. (credit: Harry Stranger)
Unleashing hell: the R-16 ICBM
by Dwayne A. Day and Harry Stranger
Monday, October 20, 2025
In early 1966, an American reconnaissance satellite overflew the Soviet Union and hit the jackpot: during several passes over the Yurya ICBM complex, it captured Soviet SS-7 ICBMs sitting outside, apparently being transported to or from their launch pads. In a summary report, a photo-interpreter described the imagery as “excellent quality.” The photographs enabled experts to accurately measure the ICBMs.
According to the March 1966 intelligence report about the new satellite photos, “although re-entry vehicles were not attached to these missiles at the time of photography, accurate dimensions for this system were derived by correlating mensural data from this mission with previously published ratios obtained from a Soviet released photo of an SS-7 being launched from a silo.”
R-16
R-16
The R-16 ICBM (which NATO designated the SS-7) was launched from external launch pads as well as underground silos. The missiles could carry five- to six-megaton thermonuclear weapons. These satellite photos represented an intelligence coup for the US intelligence community. (credit: Harry Stranger)
As the report indicated, the satellite photos were the second intelligence coup on the SS-7 in only a few months. In June 1965, the Soviet magazine “Ogonek” published a photo of an SS-7 launch on the back cover. The Soviets had never released photos of their ICBMs. When Ogonek published the photo, the CIA correlated the ground photograph with satellite photography taken by reconnaissance satellites. “It is believed that the view shown in ‘Ogonek’ was taken at Launch Area D-1, Tyuratam Missile Test Center,” a CIA report stated. The CIA noted that the photograph showed a W-shaped exhaust, which indicated ports on either side of the launch silo, and also speculated that studs on the top of the missile first stage indicated that it rode out of the silo on rails.
Those two developments provided much better info on the SS-7 than what the US intelligence community previously had. What the CIA referred to as Tyuratam was known to the Soviet Union as Baikonur. Baikonur was also the location where a SS-7 launch had gone terribly wrong several years earlier, dealing a major setback to the Soviet ballistic missile program.
R-16
In summer 1965, the Soviet magazine Ogonek published a photo (top) on the back cover showing the launch of an SS-7/R-16 ICBM. This was the first time a photo of the missile appeared in any Soviet publication, and the CIA used it to estimate the missile’s size. (credit: Ogonek via Asif Siddiqi)
Saddler
The SS-7, known as the “Saddler” to NATO and R-16 to the Soviet military, first entered service in 1961. It was the first practical Soviet ICBM, with storable propellants. It followed the SS-6, known as the R-7 “Semyorka” to the Soviet military. The R-7 used liquid oxygen and kerosene, meaning that it had to be fueled before launch because the oxygen could not be kept in the missile. Fueling was a slow process and made it vulnerable to attack. The R-7 was retired from its ICBM role but went on to a long and successful career as a space launch vehicle. It was used to launch both Sputnik and later Yuri Gagarin into space. The R-7’s descendant, known as the Soyuz rocket, is still in use today.
The newer SS-7/R-16 used hypergolic propellants, unsymmetrical dimethylhydrazine (UDMH) and red fuming nitric acid (RFNA) as oxidizer. When mixed, the substances immediately ignite. They can be stored. But they’re also corrosive, meaning that they eat away at seals in pumps and valves. The R-16 could stay fueled for a few days at a time. This wasn’t ideal, but it was superior to the R-7, and the missiles could be fueled and stay on alert for several days in event of crisis. However, if there was an explosion or leak, RFNA could produce what American missileers referred to as a “big fuming red cloud,” although they didn’t use the word “fuming.” If you saw a BFRC, you were supposed to run for your life.
R-16
CIA drawing of the SS-7/R-16 ICBM with measurements deleted. This drawing and the measurements were derived from both the 1965 magazine photo and satellite photos taken in early 1966. (credit: CIA)
The R-16 was first deployed to Yurya in 1961. The missile was initially deployed to hangars and could be rolled out, erected, fueled, and prepared for launch. While outside, they were vulnerable to attack, and their inability to be permanently fueled also presented problems. It was after being rolled out of a hangar that the American GAMBIT satellite photographed them on a surprisingly clear winter’s day.
The R-16 had an 11,000-kilometer range and was equipped with a five- to six-megaton thermonuclear warhead. With a smaller three-megaton warhead the missile’s range increased to 13,000 kilometers. Like all early Soviet ICBMs, it was not very accurate, with a circular error probable (CEP) of 2.7 kilometers, meaning that 50% of the missiles fired would fall outside of a circle with a 2.7 kilometer radius. The large warhead compensated for the poor accuracy.
Starting in 1963, some R-16 missiles were based in silos. However, the silos had to be located relatively close together so that the missiles could use the same fueling system, making them vulnerable to a single US missile.
R-16
In November 1960, a CORONA reconnaissance satellite photographed the sprawling missile and rocket test center at Baikonur (then referred to as Tyuratam by the CIA), including the damaged SS-7/R-16 pad that was the site of the October 24 explosion.
The Nedelin disaster
On October 24, 1960, at Baikonur, a prototype R-16 missile exploded on the pad while dozens of workers were around it. Many were killed. The exact number is unknown but is believed to be 60 to 150. Chief Marshal of Artillery Mitrofan Ivanovich Nedelin, who was the head of the R-16 development program, was killed in the explosion, which was then commonly referred to as the “Nedelin catastrophe.” Another fatal accident involving a different missile occurred on October 24, 1963, and that date is now referred to as the “Black Day” at Baikonur. As a result, Russia no longer launches missiles or rockets at Baikonur on October 24.
R-16
The aftermath of the October 1960 explosion. The number of people killed in the explosion is unknown because of the devastation, but estimates are that 60 to 150 people were killed. The day became notorious within the Soviet space and rocket program. (source: Russian documentary footage)
The Soviet Union announced that Nedelin had been killed in a plane crash a day after his death, and this was reported in The New York Times on October 26. The deaths of two other senior officials were also announced by the Soviets in the weeks after the explosion, without details. The rocket explosion was first reported by an Italian news agency in December 1960, listing the names of three people, including Nedelin, who were killed in the explosion. For decades Western independent experts speculated about the accident. Some, such as Jim Oberg in his book Red Star in Orbit, noted that the explosion happened during a Mars launch window and theorized that it was a Mars mission that had gone bad when an upper stage had fired while the fueled rocket was on the pad.
R-16
The day after the explosion, the Soviet Union announced that the head of their rocket forces had been killed in a plane crash. Several months later, his and several other deaths were linked to the October 1960 explosion. It was not until 1989 that more details were publicly revealed. (credit: NY Times)
A few weeks after the explosion, an American CORONA reconnaissance satellite photographed Baikonur—the first reconnaissance photos of the sprawling test site. An astute photo-interpreter might have noted the disturbed ground near the R-16’s launch site, an indication that something had recently exploded there.
The CIA had figured out that it was an SS-7/R-16 missile that blew up in 1960. It is unclear exactly when the CIA connected the Baikonur explosion to the R-16, but an October 1965 CIA report clearly connected the dots (see “A mystery, wrapped in an enigma, surrounding an explosion: US intelligence collection and the 1960 Nedelin disaster,” The Space Review, November 14, 2022.)
R-16
On October 24, 1960, an R-16 ICBM test missile exploded on its pad at Baikonur, killing dozens of technicians and military officials nearby, including several senior missile program officers. (source: Russian documentary footage)
Coincidentally, in 1989 it was Ogonek magazine that first revealed details of the Nedelin catastrophe, including that it was an R-16 ICBM and not a Mars rocket that had exploded in 1960. In the 1990s, a Russian source also released horrific film footage of men running away from the burning conflagration, some of them apparently on fire.
The deaths of many people working on the R-16 caused delays in the program. The missile’s first flight finally occurred on February 2, 1961, and it entered service on November 1, 1961. By 1965, when Ogonek published the missile launch photo, the Soviet Union had deployed 202 of the missiles. The R-16 served until 1976 when it was withdrawn from service.
Notes
Central Intelligence Agency, Photographic Intelligence Report, “Construction Status of Soviet Single Silo ICBM Sites,” and “Mensural Data on Soviet SS-7 ICBM,” March 1966. CIA-RDP78T05161A0004000100034-8
Central Intelligence Agency, Photographic Intelligence Report, “ICBM Silo Launch,” September 1965. CIA-RDP78T05439A000500310060-0
Bart Hendrickx, “Building a Rocket Base in the Taiga: The Early Years of the Plesetsk Launch Site (1955-1969) – Part 1, Space Chronicle: JBIS, Vol. 65, Supplemental 2, 2012.
Bart Hendrickx, “Building a Rocket Base in the Taiga: The Early Years of the Plesetsk Launch Site (1955-1969) – Part 2, Space Chronicle: JBIS, Vol. 66, Supplemental 1, 2013.
Osgood Caruthers, “Chief of Rockets Killed in Soviet,” The New York Times, October 26, 1960, p. 22.
“Rocket Cited in Deaths,” The New York Times, December 10, 1960, p. 6.
The authors wish to acknowledge the assistance of Asif Siddiqi and Bart Hendrickx. Dwayne Day and Harry Stranger have been working on illustrating Cold War historical events using declassified satellite imagery. Dwayne Day can be reached at zirconic1@cox.net. Harry Stranger’s website is https://spacefromspace.com/
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