Current Space Debris Mitigation Measures Are Not Sufficient

debris Current debris mitigation approaches are not sufficient to ensure long-term orbital sustainability as the number of satellites and debris objects grows. (credit: ESA/Spacejunk3D, LLC) From debris mitigation to orbital sustainability The next stage of space governance by Graham Turnock Monday, October 5, 2026 For more than two decades, the international response to space debris has followed a broadly consistent model. Technical experts have developed guidelines for reducing debris generation, those guidelines have been endorsed through the United Nations, and individual states have progressively incorporated them into national regulatory systems. Debris mitigation is improving, but the orbital environment is continuing to deteriorate. That model has achieved a great deal. Debris mitigation is now an accepted element of responsible space activity. Standards for post-mission disposal, passivation, and collision avoidance have become progressively more demanding. National regulators increasingly expect satellite operators to demonstrate how they will limit debris generation and dispose of spacecraft after their missions. Yet there is an uncomfortable paradox at the center of the system: debris mitigation is improving, but the orbital environment is continuing to deteriorate. The European Space Agency’s 2025 Space Environment Report concludes that adherence to mitigation standards is slowly improving, particularly in the commercial sector, but that this is not sufficient to halt growth in the debris population. More fundamentally, ESA concludes that even if no further spacecraft were launched, collisions and fragmentations among objects already in orbit would cause the debris population to continue growing. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee, or IADC, has reached a similarly troubling conclusion. Its 2026 Report on the Status of the Space Debris Environment examines the long-term evolution of the debris environment under scenarios including a continuation of current launch traffic, fragmentation and disposal behavior, as well as a hypothetical no-further-launches case. The results reinforce a central point: improved mitigation remains essential, but the future condition of the orbital environment cannot be understood solely through the behavior of future missions. This is not an argument that mitigation has failed. On the contrary, the standards have tightened significantly, and that progress deserves recognition. The problem is that the orbital environment has changed faster than the governance system designed to protect it. The next stage of space debris governance therefore cannot simply consist of persuading more operators to comply with existing standards. The international community increasingly needs to ask a different question: what constitutes a sustainable orbital environment, and how should regulation be adjusted over time to keep us within it? Answering that question requires a shift from governing individual spacecraft towards governing the orbital environment as a system. A governance system built around mitigation The present international framework emerged largely through the work of the IADC. Its members are national and multinational space agencies and other governmental bodies, and its principal purpose is technical cooperation on space debris. Since 2002, the IADC has developed and periodically revised technical guidelines intended to limit the creation of orbital debris. These address issues including objects released during normal operations, on-orbit break-ups, collision avoidance and post-mission disposal. The governance challenge has evolved from preventing unnecessary debris creation to managing the cumulative environmental consequences of intensive orbital activity. The IADC’s work provided the technical foundation for the Space Debris Mitigation Guidelines adopted by the UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space, or COPUOS, in 2007. COPUOS subsequently broadened its approach, adopting 21 Guidelines for the Long-Term Sustainability of Outer Space Activities in 2019. The result is an unusual but broadly coherent governance structure. Technical norms are developed through international cooperation and COPUOS provides wider political legitimacy, but implementation occurs primarily through national regulation. That architecture reflects the underlying legal structure of outer space. Article VI of the Outer Space Treaty makes states internationally responsible for national space activities and requires the activities of non-governmental entities to be authorized and continually supervised by the appropriate state. There is consequently no international space regulator equivalent to a national aviation or telecommunications authority. Internationally agreed principles and guidelines are instead translated into national licensing and regulatory requirements. The number of objects placed into orbit has increased rapidly. The growth of large satellite constellations has transformed activity in low Earth orbit, particularly in the altitude bands used for Earth observation, communications, and broadband services. ESA now estimates based on data collected to the end of 2024 that around 40,000 objects are tracked in Earth orbit, including approximately 11,000 active payloads, while the estimated population of debris larger than one centimeter exceeds one million objects. The result is a progressively more crowded and operationally demanding environment. Collision-avoidance maneuvers are becoming more frequent. Operators must increasingly respond to conjunction warnings involving objects whose trajectories are uncertain or whose future behavior is difficult to predict. A single fragmentation event can create thousands of trackable objects and many more smaller fragments, imposing risks on every other operator using the same orbital region. The governance challenge has therefore evolved from preventing unnecessary debris creation towards managing the cumulative environmental consequences of intensive orbital activity. Progress has been real—and standards have tightened The international community has progressively strengthened its expectations. The original IADC guidelines and the 2007 COPUOS mitigation guidelines established a baseline for responsible behavior. The 2019 Long-Term Sustainability Guidelines broadened the focus to include issues such as space-weather information, conjunction assessment, registration, information sharing and the safety of operations throughout the life cycle of a mission. The United States Federal Communications Commission adopted a five-year post-mission disposal rule in 2022 for space stations ending their missions in, or passing through, low Earth orbit below 2,000 kilometers and planning disposal through uncontrolled atmospheric reentry. The United Kingdom’s licensing framework has incorporated debris-mitigation expectations and requires operators to address end-of-life disposal and collision risk. France has applied debris-related requirements through its national space-operations legislation. Other states and regional institutions have developed their own licensing standards, technical guidance and supervisory practices. The standards themselves have also become more ambitious. For large constellations, the relevant objective is no longer simply that most spacecraft should be removed from orbit. Recent technical work has increasingly focused on disposal success rates approaching 99%. A regulatory regime can achieve high compliance with its rules while still failing to achieve its underlying environmental objective if those rules are inadequate. That ambition reflects the mathematics of large constellations. A 90% disposal success rate may sound high, but applied to a constellation of several thousand spacecraft it could still leave hundreds of objects in orbit at the end of their missions. A 99% success rate would still leave some failures, but it would substantially reduce the number of large objects remaining in the environment. The tightening of the standard is therefore rational and necessary. It demonstrates that the technical community has recognized that requirements developed for a smaller and less crowded orbital environment cannot simply be applied unchanged to modern constellations. But it also reveals the limits of a mitigation-centered approach. If the environment continues to deteriorate despite progressively stricter recommendations, the question is not only whether operators are complying. It is whether the standards are sufficiently ambitious, sufficiently comprehensive, and sufficiently responsive to changing conditions. Compliance is only half the problem If operators reliably passivate spacecraft and remove them from congested orbital regions after completing their missions, debris generation can be substantially reduced. Conversely, poor disposal performance leaves large intact objects in orbit where they may subsequently collide or fragment. But there is a second question that may ultimately be more important: are the standards themselves sufficient to achieve a sustainable orbital environment? A regulatory regime can achieve high compliance with its rules while still failing to achieve its underlying environmental objective if those rules are inadequate. The IADC’s latest assessment reinforces this concern. Its 2026 Report on the Status of the Space Debris Environment models the future evolution of objects larger than ten centimeters under both a continuation of current behavior—including present launch traffic, fragmentation rates, and disposal performance—and a hypothetical scenario in which no further launches occur. The results underline that improved mitigation remains essential, but that the long-term condition of the orbital environment cannot be understood solely through compliance by future missions. ESA’s modelling illustrates this through its projections of collision activity. Under a continuation of current behavior, the number of collisions is expected to increase over time as the population of large objects grows. The increase is not simply a matter of more conjunction warnings. Collisions generate new fragments, which in turn increase the probability of further collisions. This is the mechanism behind the possibility of a self-sustaining debris-growth process. This is why the 99% ambition for constellation disposal is so important—but also why it cannot be the whole answer. A 99% success rate would sharply reduce the number of new large objects left behind by future missions. It would not remove the legacy population, prevent every fragmentation event or eliminate the collision risk created by objects already in orbit. The implication is not that mitigation is pointless. It is that mitigation needs to sit within a broader approach that also considers improved tracking and coordination, spacecraft design, remediation of legacy debris and other measures directed at the condition of the environment as a whole. ESA has taken this thinking a stage further. In 2025 it introduced a Space Environment Health Index designed to quantify how present behavior affects the future orbital environment. Associated with it is an “orbital sustainability threshold”—an attempt to distinguish potentially manageable environmental risk from an unsustainable trajectory. Space governance needs mechanisms capable of reinforcing international standards beyond the immediate relationship between an operator and its licensing state. ESA’s analysis indicates that continuation of current behavior would take the orbital environment well beyond this threshold. This represents an important conceptual development. It changes the central question from: “Are individual operators complying with debris-mitigation rules?” to: “Are the combined activities of all operators producing a sustainable orbital environment?” But an ESA sustainability threshold is not an internationally agreed sustainability threshold. COPUOS has adopted the long-term sustainability of outer space activities as a broad policy objective and remains the principal international forum for dialogue on the implementation and review of its sustainability guidelines. What it has not done is establish an internationally agreed quantitative definition of a sustainable orbital environment against which collective performance can be assessed. Nor does the current system yet provide a sufficiently strong institutional feedback loop through which changes in the measured condition of the orbital environment systematically result in reassessment of internationally recommended mitigation standards. Lessons from the high seas Both contain areas beyond national sovereignty in which states nevertheless retain important responsibilities for activities conducted under their jurisdiction. Maritime governance has consequently developed around flag-state responsibility, internationally agreed standards, and national implementation. Flag-state regulation is supplemented by international monitoring, liability regimes and, importantly, port-state control. A foreign ship entering a national port can be inspected for compliance with applicable international standards. The International Maritime Organization describes port-state control as a “second line of defense” against substandard shipping: primary responsibility remains with the flag state, but other states can use access to their ports as an additional means of enforcing agreed standards. A purely jurisdictional system creates the possibility of regulatory arbitrage. If the regulatory burden imposed by one licensing state becomes substantially greater than that imposed by another, operators may have incentives to seek more permissive jurisdictions. Space governance therefore needs mechanisms capable of reinforcing international standards beyond the immediate relationship between an operator and its licensing state. Access to national markets and ground infrastructure offers one possible analogue to port-state control. States can condition access to earth stations and other domestic facilities on compliance with recognized debris-mitigation requirements. Lessons from spectrum management The radio spectrum is a finite shared resource in which the actions of one user can impose substantial externalities on others through harmful interference. International management is centered on the International Telecommunication Union and its Radio Regulations, a binding international treaty governing use of radio-frequency spectrum and satellite orbit resources. Implementation, however, remains substantially national. ITU member states license satellite systems and are responsible for ensuring that their operators comply with the international rules as well as domestic requirements. The FCC’s 2020 Orbital Debris Mitigation Report and Order provides a useful example. It comprehensively updated the Commission’s debris rules and established requirements applicable to both US-licensed systems and foreign-licensed systems seeking US market access. For foreign systems, the rules allow an applicant to demonstrate that its debris-mitigation plan is subject to “direct and effective regulatory oversight” by its home regulator. In its 2024 Order on Reconsideration, the FCC clarified that this does not amount to automatic recognition: Commission staff may examine the foreign regulatory regime and the Commission may impose additional conditions where necessary for space safety. The analogy should not be pushed too far. The ITU’s mandate concerns radiocommunications and associated orbital resources, not environmental regulation of physical objects in space. The lesson is therefore not that debris governance should simply be transferred to the ITU. It is that access to valuable national markets and infrastructure can provide leverage for enforcing internationally recognized standards even in the absence of a supranational regulator. COPUOS could encourage wider use of this approach through recommended regulatory practices accompanying its existing Long-Term Sustainability Guidelines. Lessons from climate governance Orbital debris and greenhouse gases share a fundamental collective-action problem. Individual actors receive most of the benefits from their own activities while bearing only part of the long-term environmental costs. Both problems are also cumulative. The important question is not simply whether one emission—or one abandoned spacecraft—causes identifiable harm. It is whether the accumulated activity of many actors pushes the shared environment towards an undesirable state. In the present geopolitical environment, agreement on an ambitious new treaty governing orbital sustainability would be extremely difficult. A more realistic approach would be to strengthen progressively the institutions and regulatory mechanisms that already exist. The Paris climate regime has developed institutional mechanisms specifically intended to address this problem. States report information under an enhanced transparency framework, submitted information is subject to technical expert review, and a periodic global stocktake assesses collective progress towards agreed objectives. Climate governance has hardly solved climate change. But its architecture contains a principle that is highly relevant to orbital sustainability: regulatory ambition should be assessed against the measured condition of the shared environment rather than assumed to remain adequate once standards have been adopted. ESA’s orbital sustainability threshold demonstrates that a comparable environmental indicator is technically conceivable for space. Work within the IADC community on environmental and sustainability metrics likewise points in this direction, but no internationally agreed quantitative sustainability objective has yet emerged. The challenge is therefore not simply to devise a metric, but to connect technical assessment to an internationally legitimate institutional process. A roadmap for strengthened governance None of this requires the immediate creation of a new international organization or negotiation of a comprehensive new space treaty. Attempting either at the outset may be counterproductive. In the present geopolitical environment, agreement on an ambitious new treaty governing orbital sustainability would be extremely difficult. A more realistic approach would be to strengthen progressively the institutions and regulatory mechanisms that already exist. First, COPUOS should move from a general commitment to long-term sustainability towards an explicit objective of maintaining a sustainable orbital environment, defined in measurable terms. The existing Long-Term Sustainability Guidelines provide the political foundation. The next step should be to determine what success means at the level of the orbital environment. That objective should not be limited to a single number. It might include indicators for the population of large objects, the rate of fragmentation, collision probability, the number of objects in particularly sensitive orbital regions, and the reliability of post-mission disposal. The 99% disposal ambition for large constellations could form part of this framework, but it should be treated as a means of achieving environmental sustainability rather than as sustainability itself. Second, the relationship between COPUOS and the IADC should be strengthened and formalized. The IADC already provides important technical material to COPUOS. But it should be explicitly tasked with advising COPUOS on quantitative indicators of orbital sustainability and periodically assessing whether existing mitigation standards are sufficient to achieve the agreed objective. That assessment should examine not only compliance with disposal requirements but also whether the requirements remain adequate in light of changing launch rates, constellation sizes, collision statistics, and the condition of the existing debris population. The important principle is that technical standards should follow from an agreed environmental objective rather than the environmental objective simply being inferred from existing technical standards. Third, the IADC’s emerging annual environmental-reporting cycle should be institutionalized, made more transparent, and explicitly connected to the review of international mitigation standards. The 2026 IADC Report on the Status of the Space Debris Environment is the latest iteration of this assessment process, while ESA’s annual Space Environment Report provides a complementary and more detailed public environmental analysis. Together they demonstrate much of what is technically possible. An international assessment should report both the condition of the orbital environment and the adequacy of existing mitigation metrics. It should include projections under different assumptions, including continued current behavior, improved compliance, very high disposal reliability and no-new-launch scenarios. Where projected debris levels or collision rates diverge from an agreed sustainable state, the assessment should identify the scale of that divergence and the principal options for closing it. Institutional independence would also matter. As environmental assessment becomes more consequential for national and commercial activities, consideration should eventually be given to how technical assessment can be insulated from the interests of the agencies whose activities it is assessing. Fourth, national compliance reporting should progressively be introduced. States should publish aggregate information on compliance by operators under their jurisdiction with internationally recognized debris-mitigation standards. This should include, where possible, information on post-mission disposal success, the number of spacecraft and rocket bodies remaining in protected orbital regions, failures to comply with disposal plans, and the treatment of fragmentation or loss-of-control events. This need not require disclosure of sensitive military capabilities or commercially confidential information. The purpose would be to establish whether international standards are actually being implemented and to identify where deficiencies lie. Initially such reporting could be voluntary and standardized through COPUOS. Over time it could become an expected element of responsible national supervision of space activities. The central question in space debris governance should therefore no longer be simply: “Are we mitigating debris?” It should be: “Are we maintaining a sustainable orbital environment—and if not, what must change?” Fifth, the evidence underlying international environmental assessment should be as open as practicable. Data and methodologies feeding international assessments should be publicly available except where genuine security or commercial considerations require confidentiality. Independent researchers should be able, as far as possible, to reproduce, test, and challenge international assessments. This is particularly important because debris projections are sensitive to assumptions. Different models may produce different estimates of collision rates, disposal performance, and long-term population growth. Transparency about those assumptions would make disagreement more productive and help distinguish scientific uncertainty from political reluctance to strengthen standards. Over time, COPUOS could also consider an independent periodic review of gaps in national monitoring, reporting and verification, borrowing selectively from international environmental governance. Sixth, states should make greater use of regulatory leverage points. Market access, satellite communications authorization, and access to ground-station infrastructure provide mechanisms through which responsible behavior can be encouraged even when an operator is licensed elsewhere. The FCC model demonstrates that such leverage is not merely theoretical: market access can reinforce internationally recognized debris standards without replacing the primary responsibility of the licensing state. COPUOS could develop recommended regulatory practices under which states recognize demonstrably equivalent regulatory regimes while retaining the ability to impose additional requirements where effective oversight cannot be demonstrated. Over time, groups of states applying comparable requirements could perform a function loosely analogous to regional port-state-control regimes in maritime governance, reducing incentives for the emergence of orbital “flags of convenience”. Finally, formal international law should consolidate successful practice rather than precede it. If a system of agreed sustainability objectives, technical assessment, national reporting, and coordinated regulatory practice gradually develops, it may eventually be appropriate to put elements of it on a stronger legal footing. That might ultimately take the form of an international agreement supported by protocols, technical annexes, standards, and recommended practices, together with an appropriately independent technical body responsible for continuing assessment. But a treaty should be the culmination of institutional development, not its starting point. From spacecraft regulation to environmental governance The international community has made substantial progress on space debris over the past quarter-century. The IADC helped establish technical consensus around debris mitigation. COPUOS converted much of that consensus into internationally recognized guidelines. National regulators have progressively translated those norms into enforceable requirements. The technical recommendations themselves have tightened, with increasingly demanding expectations for constellation disposal and growing recognition that success rates approaching 99% may be necessary for large fleets. The problem is that the nature of the challenge is changing faster than the governance system. In a lightly used orbital environment, regulating the behavior of individual spacecraft may have been sufficient. In an environment populated by large constellations and tens of thousands of tracked objects, the cumulative condition of the environment itself increasingly needs to become an object of governance. That does not mean abandoning debris mitigation. It means placing debris mitigation within a wider system. We need to know what a sustainable orbital environment looks like. We need to measure whether we are achieving it. We need to know whether states and operators are complying with the standards intended to deliver it. We need to understand how current behavior affects future collision rates and debris growth. And when those standards prove insufficient, the institutional system needs to be capable of changing them. Other global commons regimes suggest that such an evolution is possible. Maritime governance demonstrates the value of layered national and international enforcement. Spectrum governance shows how international coordination and domestic licensing can manage access to a finite shared resource. Climate governance demonstrates both the value and the difficulty of connecting scientific assessment, collective objectives, transparency and progressively stronger national action. None provides a blueprint for space. But together they point towards a plausible next stage. The central question in space debris governance should therefore no longer be simply: “Are we mitigating debris?” It should be: “Are we maintaining a sustainable orbital environment—and if not, what must change?” The institutions needed to begin answering that question largely already exist. The challenge is to give them the mandate, information and regulatory mechanisms to do so. This article developed from a talk delivered to the Oxford Space and Astronomy Society on March 11, 2026, based on research undertaken while the author was a Visiting Fellow at All Souls College, Oxford. Graham Turnock is a former Chief Executive of the UK Space Agency, ESA Special Advisor and Director General of Eurisy. While at ESA, he led the Accelerator program for three years and initiated the ESA Zero Debris Charter. He is now an independent adviser and researcher in the space sector.

Space Suit Design

spacesuit visor Space engineering requirements and influence design, as in the case of spacesuits. (credit: Axiom Space) Beyond the spacecraft: how space exploration became a design language by Syed Hasan Monday, October 5, 2026 Space exploration has influenced far more than the technology required to leave Earth. Over the past several decades, the visual language of spacecraft, spacesuits, launch vehicles, satellites, and planetary exploration has gradually found its way into fashion, automotive and industrial design, architecture, consumer electronics, and other aspects of everyday life. Reflective surfaces, lightweight materials, protective structures, aerodynamic forms, technical fabrics, continuous curves, and shield-like shapes are now familiar elements of modern design, even when the objects incorporating them have no direct connection to aerospace. Technologies developed to operate in space influence the way people imagine the future, while that cultural image of the future subsequently influences the products and designs created here on our planet. I have spent more than two decades working in the space program, and that experience has given me a somewhat unusual perspective on this relationship. I am currently employed by KBR as a contractor supporting NASA. From 2004 through 2014, I worked at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in the Flight Dynamics Facility, where I served in lead roles supporting human spaceflight, expendable launch vehicle support, and spaceflight trajectory analysis. Since 2014, I have worked as a lead satellite collision avoidance engineer supporting NASA’s Earth Science Mission Operations fleet. Across those positions, my work has required me to understand spacecraft not simply as objects in orbit, but as integrated systems operating within a demanding physical environment. That perspective has made me increasingly interested in what happens after the engineering problem has been solved and the spacecraft becomes an image. The public does not necessarily see the equations, subsystem constraints, thermal requirements, orbital mechanics, or operational considerations behind a spacecraft. Instead, people see the finished object and its operation. They see the shape of a spacecraft, the reflective surface of a thermal blanket, the visor of an astronaut, or the silhouette of a launch vehicle against the sky. Over time, those images become cultural references, and eventually designers begin incorporating the visual vocabulary of space exploration into products that have nothing to do with spaceflight. The result is a feedback loop between engineering and culture. Technologies developed to operate in space influence the way people imagine the future, while that cultural image of the future subsequently influences the products and designs created here on our planet. Spacecraft are unusual objects because nearly every aspect of their design is constrained by an engineering requirement. Mass matters because getting anything into orbit requires enormous amounts of energy. Thermal behavior matters because spacecraft can transition between sunlight and darkness while operating in an environment where heat transfer occurs differently than it does on Earth. Radiation, structural loads, power generation, communications, guidance, navigation, propulsion, reliability, and maintainability all affect how a spacecraft is designed and operated. Consequently, many features that appear futuristic to the public are simply visible consequences of engineering decisions. The aesthetic began as a solution to a problem. Reflective materials provide a good example. Spacecraft use specialized materials and coatings to manage the absorption and emission of energy, helping maintain temperatures within the limits required by spacecraft systems. Multilayer insulation, reflective surfaces, and optical coatings are all familiar parts of spacecraft thermal-control engineering. To an engineer, a reflective surface can therefore represent a thermal-control solution. To a photographer looking at a spacecraft against the blackness of space, however, that same surface becomes part of an immediately recognizable visual identity. The engineering solution becomes an image, and the image eventually becomes part of popular culture, mostly because space engineering represents one of the highest levels of technological achievement. The spacesuit example This transformation from engineering solution to cultural symbol has happened repeatedly throughout the history of spaceflight. Perhaps the clearest example is the spacesuit. A spacesuit is fundamentally an environmental-control and life-support system designed around the human body. It must provide pressure, thermal protection, mobility, communications, and protection from the surrounding environment while allowing an astronaut to perform complex tasks. The spacesuit can effectively be considered a personal spacecraft, and its development has involved continuous tradeoffs among protection, mobility, visibility, weight, and reliability. Yet the spacesuit has also become one of the most influential fashion images associated with the Space Age. The reason for this is relatively simple. Unlike a spacecraft, the spacesuit is designed around a person. It is therefore already halfway between industrial equipment and clothing. When the Apollo astronauts appeared on television and in photographs, millions of people saw human beings wearing equipment that looked unlike anything previously associated with ordinary clothing, and they were struck by the style. A designer does not need to reproduce a spacecraft component to be influenced by spacecraft. The designer can instead borrow the visual language created by aerospace engineering and reinterpret it for a completely different purpose. The helmet and visor were particularly important. The visor provided protection and visibility in an environment where the unprotected human eye could not simply function as it does on Earth. Some astronaut visors have incorporated specialized coatings, including gold, to help manage solar radiation. To the engineer, the coating is functional. To the public, the gold visor became an icon. That distinction helps explain why reflective visors continue to appear in fashion and industrial design decades after the Apollo era. The cultural meaning of the visor has expanded beyond its original technical purpose. It now communicates ideas of exploration, technology, protection, and the future even when it is attached to an object that never leaves our planet’s atmosphere. The Apollo program was particularly influential because it arrived during a period when designers were already fascinated by new materials, modern manufacturing, automation, and the possibilities of technology. The Space Age gave those trends a powerful visual impact. The public saw spacecraft constructed from materials and shapes that had previously existed primarily in engineering environments. They saw astronauts wearing highly technical garments, launch vehicles with immense geometric structures, and photographs of Earth taken from beyond the atmosphere. Spaceflight provided a tangible representation of technological progress. Fashion responded to that imagery. The influence did not always involve directly copying spacecraft. Instead, designers adopted characteristics associated with aerospace, such as metallic finishes, reflective surfaces, streamlined forms, synthetic materials, geometric construction, and a preference for functionality that could be expressed visually. This is an important distinction. Cultural influence does not require technological duplication. A designer does not need to reproduce a spacecraft component to be influenced by spacecraft. The designer can instead borrow the visual language created by aerospace engineering and reinterpret it for a completely different purpose. That process is common throughout industrial design. Automotive designers have borrowed aerodynamic ideas from aviation. Architecture has incorporated structural forms associated with aerospace. Consumer electronics have adopted the visual language of precision engineering. Clothing has incorporated technical materials originally associated with industrial applications. Space exploration fits naturally into this history because it represents perhaps the most concentrated expression of engineering ambition in the modern era. SpecTrims glasses SpecTrims sunglasses with space-related design features. (credit: SpecTrims) Influence on eyewear Eyewear occupies an interesting position within this design history because sunglasses already combine fashion and function. A pair of sunglasses is simultaneously a consumer accessory and a device intended to interact with sunlight and protect the eyes. The lens has a functional purpose, while the frame and overall shape communicate style and identity. That makes eyewear unusually receptive to the visual vocabulary of aerospace. The relationship becomes especially apparent with continuous shield designs. Traditional sunglasses generally divide the optical field into two separate lenses connected by a bridge. A shield design instead creates a broad, continuous visual surface across the face. The result naturally recalls the visor of a helmet, even though the two products are obviously engineered for completely different purposes. The connection is therefore cultural rather than technological. A pair of shield sunglasses do not become aerospace hardware simply because they resemble a visor. Rather, they borrow an established visual association. The shape suggests protection, technology, and the future, while reflective finishes reinforce the connection to the mirrored surfaces that have become so familiar in images of spacecraft and astronauts. This makes eyewear an unusually effective medium for translating the space aesthetic into an everyday object. Unlike a spacecraft displayed in a museum or an illustration of a planet hanging on a wall, eyewear is worn. The person becomes part of the design. My interest in this relationship eventually led me to explore the concept through my own independent eyewear company, SpecTrims. I recently developed a small space-inspired collection that uses celestial bodies and the visual language associated with space exploration as design references. The collection can be viewed at spectrims.com/space. The collection currently consists of six designs: Galaxy, Mars, Neptune, Terra, Luna, and Sol. Each uses the same general category of product, a continuous-shield sunglass, but interprets the celestial reference differently through color, lens finish, and geometry. The intent was not to reproduce spacecraft or claim that the products are aerospace equipment. Instead, the designs explore how a familiar set of space-related visual cues can be translated into a contemporary consumer product. That difference is part of what makes aerospace design so culturally powerful. The objects look purposeful because they are. Galaxy uses a purple mirrored lens and a broad shield silhouette that references the deep-space imagery familiar from astronomy and space exploration. Mars uses a red mirrored treatment, drawing on the distinctive visual identity of the planet that has occupied such a prominent place in human exploration plans and popular culture. Neptune takes a blue planet approach, while Terra uses the concept of Earth’s greenery itself as the reference point rather than an extraterrestrial destination. Luna draws on the silver-gray appearance associated with the Moon, and Sol uses striking gold as a visual reference to the Sun and to the solar reflective materials that have become strongly associated with space hardware and astronaut visors. What interests me most about the feedback I have received regarding the collection is how little information is necessary to establish the connection with space. A color, a reflective surface, a particular silhouette, and a name can be enough to evoke decades of imagery associated with spaceflight. That is the power of space design language. Once a visual vocabulary becomes sufficiently established, people no longer need an explanation for every reference. The cultural power of aerospace design My professional experience has also changed the way I interpret that aesthetic. During my first decade working at Goddard’s Flight Dynamics Facility, my work required thinking about spacecraft and launch vehicles in terms of trajectories, operational constraints, mission objectives, and the physical realities of getting a vehicle from one point to another. My work for the last 12 years, however, has focused on satellite collision avoidance and operations, and that role has required an even broader understanding of spacecraft because collision-avoidance decisions cannot be made by considering orbital trajectories alone. Understanding the spacecraft involved requires familiarity with their operational characteristics, maneuver capabilities, configuration, and the broader systems that allow them to perform their missions. Over the course of this career, I have had to learn about spacecraft subsystems and the space environment in which those systems operate. That experience makes it difficult for me to look at a spacecraft purely as an aesthetic object. A solar array is not simply an interesting geometric feature, but rather it is part of a spacecraft power system. A reflective surface is not simply visually striking, as it may have a thermal purpose. A particular spacecraft configuration can reflect constraints imposed by launch, communications, power, thermal control, attitude determination and control, propulsion, or mission operations. The public sees the result. Engineers see the chain of decisions that produced it. That difference is part of what makes aerospace design so culturally powerful. The objects look purposeful because they are. Their appearance is often inseparable from the constraints that produced them. Another recurring characteristic of space-inspired design is the visual suggestion of protection. This makes sense because spacecraft are designed around the problem of surviving an environment that is fundamentally different from Earth’s surface. Astronauts require pressure and thermal protection. Spacecraft require protection from radiation, temperature extremes, micrometeoroids and orbital debris, and numerous other environmental hazards depending on their mission and location. Consumer products obviously face much less extreme conditions, but designers frequently borrow the visual language associated with protection. Wraparound eyewear suggests a larger field of coverage. The consumer does not necessarily know what engineering problem inspired a particular shape, but the design simply communicates an impression that this object has been engineered for a purpose. That impression is closely related to the cultural image of spacecraft. Space as a cultural representation of the future There is also a deeper reason that space continues to influence design. Space exploration has become one of the strongest cultural representations of the future. Every generation has its own version of that future. For one generation, it was Apollo and the promise that humans would walk on the Moon. For another, it was the Space Shuttle and the idea of reusable spacecraft. For another, it has been the International Space Station, robotic exploration of Mars, images from the James Webb Space Telescope, and the development of increasingly capable commercial launch systems. The hardware changes, but the cultural association remains. Space represents a place where familiar limitations are challenged. That makes it particularly attractive to designers who want an object to communicate progress, technical sophistication, or a departure from conventional forms. The space program did not simply produce machines. It produced images, ideas, and expectations about the future. This also explains why the influence of space can persist even when the original technology is no longer new. The Apollo spacecraft are more than half a century old, yet the visual language associated with Apollo remains recognizable. The same is true of astronaut visors, launch vehicles, mission patches, spacecraft silhouettes, and planetary imagery. The technology may age, but the symbolism does not necessarily age with it. The relationship between space exploration and design therefore moves in both directions. Spaceflight creates new technologies and images. Those images enter popular culture, where designers reinterpret them. The resulting consumer products, clothing, architecture, films, and artwork then reinforce the public’s visual understanding of what space and the future are supposed to look like. The same basic process applies more broadly to space imagery itself. An astronaut’s visor may have originated as a technical solution to a problem involving visibility and environmental protection, but after decades of photographs and television coverage, the visor has acquired an independent cultural meaning. Once that happens, a designer can reference the visor without expecting the consumer to understand its engineering history. The reference works because the cultural association already exists. It may seem insignificant to consider the influence of space exploration on something as ordinary as sunglasses when compared with the scientific and technological accomplishments of the space program. Satellites provide communications and Earth observations, robotic spacecraft explore other worlds, and human spaceflight has expanded our understanding of what people can accomplish beyond Earth. But cultural influence is part of the legacy of exploration as well. The space program did not simply produce machines. It produced images, ideas, and expectations about the future. Those ideas have become embedded in everyday life in ways that can be difficult to trace back to a specific mission. A reflective surface on a consumer product may have no direct technological relationship to a spacecraft, yet the reason that reflective surface can communicate “space age” to a consumer is connected to decades of aerospace imagery. A shield-shaped pair of SpecTrims sunglasses may have no functional relationship to an astronaut’s helmet, but the reason the shape can suggest exploration and technology is partly because the public has learned to associate broad reflective visors with human spaceflight. The influence is therefore not necessarily a transfer of technology. It is a transfer of meaning. After more than two decades of working with spacecraft and spaceflight operations, I find that aspect of the space program very interesting. Much of aerospace engineering is necessarily focused on highly specific technical problems, such as how to control a spacecraft, how to protect it from its environment, how to navigate it, how to communicate with it, how to maintain it, and how to operate it safely. Yet the finished spacecraft inevitably becomes something more than an engineering solution once people see it. It becomes an image of possibility. That image can travel surprisingly far from the launch pad. It can appear in fashion, industrial design, architecture, transportation, entertainment, and consumer products. Sometimes the connection is explicit and other times it is so subtle that the original source is almost invisible. Eyewear happens to provide this example clearly because the relationship between vision, protection, reflective surfaces, and the human face makes the analogy to the astronaut visor almost immediate. My own Space Collection is simply one small attempt to explore that relationship from the perspective of someone who has spent his career working with the real systems behind the imagery. The larger story, however, is not about sunglasses. It is about what happens when engineering becomes culture. Space exploration has given humanity new technologies and new scientific knowledge, but it has also changed our visual vocabulary. The shapes and materials developed to help machines and people survive beyond Earth have become symbols of modernity and exploration. The astronaut’s visor, the reflective spacecraft surface, the streamlined vehicle, and the technical garment all communicate ideas that extend well beyond their original functions. In that sense, the Space Age did not remain in space. It returned to Earth with us, embedded not only in the technology we use, but in the way we design and imagine the objects around us. The next time a product looks futuristic, it may be worth asking why. Sometimes the answer is not that the designer invented a new vision of the future, but rather the past has already taught us what it should look like. Syed Hasan is an aerospace engineering professional with more than two decades of experience working with spacecraft and spaceflight operations in support of NASA. His work has given him a firsthand perspective on the engineering, technology, and visual language of the Space Age. He is also the founder of SpecTrims, an independent eyewear company exploring the intersection of aerospace, space exploration, and contemporary sunglasses design.

Military Space Museum-Quo Vadis?

Air Force museum The National Museum of the United States Air Force opened its new space gallery in 2016. With the creation of the Space Force, does the museum have any incentive to continue to display the Air Force’s space history? (credit: All photos by Dwayne Day) Military space museum, quo vadis? by Dwayne A. Day Monday, October 5, 2026 For decades, the National Museum of the United States Air Force had very little space history on display. A decade ago, the museum, located next to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton, Ohio, opened a new military space gallery, raising the hope that the subject was about to get greater attention. However, during a recent visit, I realized that this hope is apparently fading. Air Force museum In June 2016, the museum opened its fourth building, which was intended to house four galleries: the museum’s impressive collection of presidential aircraft, a “global reach” gallery of transport aircraft, its research and development aircraft, and its space artifacts. The presidential aircraft and research and development aircraft had long been kept in hangars on base that were only accessible by limited bus tours. The museum’s leadership had long ago made the decision that fighter planes and bombers were more important to display than these other aircraft like the X-15 and XB-70 and X-3. Air Force museum The new building was supposed to rectify that. It cost $40.8 million, covered 224,000 square feet, and was privately financed by the Air Force Museum Foundation. If you have never been to the museum, you have little idea of just how incredibly big it is. Having spent multiple visits there, I have concluded that to adequately see all the exhibits you need one and a half days, and you will be exhausted by the end of your visit. Air Force museum Like all museums, only a small portion of the museum’s collection is on display, and because its artifacts are often airplane-sized, that means that even with a big new building, there was always going to be a struggle for room for artifacts. The space exhibits that appeared in 2016 included a space shuttle Crew Compartment Trainer along with the once-notorious Teal Ruby infrared spacecraft inside, the Apollo 15 Command Module, a massive Titan IVB rocket, a DSP missile warning satellite, and an X-15 experimental rocketplane. Some smaller items were also scattered around the gallery. Also included were several artifacts from the “black” space program: a HEXAGON reconnaissance satellite engineering test item, a GAMBIT-1 reconnaissance satellite, and the shell of a GAMBIT-3 reconnaissance satellite mockup (never adequately explained when it was first put on display). Along with several rockets in a nearby connecting room, it was a decent display of military space history, although it lacked much explanatory text. Air Force museum In December 2019, the Space Force was created, spinning off many former Air Force space assets, and also creating a bit of a dilemma for the museum. The museum added a display about the creation of the Space Force, but considering that the Air Force leadership—run primarily by the so-called “fighter mafia”—never really cared about space, they now had even less reason to care about space. Air Force museum The National Reconnaissance Office, which provided the reconnaissance satellites, has done a better job of recording its history than the Air Force has done recording its space history, so putting those artifacts on display at the Air Force’s museum was a bit of a risk, one that has not really paid off. After a few years, the GAMBIT-3 mockup was removed and has not returned. The HEXAGON, which once was prominently positioned, was moved underneath the Titan IVB rocket. Without having actually measured the “space gallery,” after my multiple visits over the last decade, it feels like the space gallery now has less floor space than it had when the new building was first opened. Air Force museum Some space artifacts that were previously on display have now disappeared. The museum has been pulling aircraft out of storage and putting them on display in the main museum, and of course it’s not possible to display everything, but why must the space gallery retreat while other galleries seem to be expanding? Is there nothing left to display in the space gallery? Where are the DSCS satellites and the IUS and Agena upper stages and the Milstar and WGS and A-EHF mockups? Where is the text that explains how and why the Air Force started its space program and how it has evolved over the years? Air Force museum During my visit last weekend, it was hard not to get the impression that the National Museum of the United States Air Force is (once again) neglecting its space heritage. After a promising start in 2016, they’re pushing the space artifacts off to the side. They have no reason to respect the National Reconnaissance Office history, and now have no reason to respect the Space Force’s history. Air Force museum There are other museums around the United States that cover the Air Force and now Space Force and even NRO space history. Vandenberg and Cape Canaveral Space Force Bases both have small museums. The Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum in Washington has some artifacts as well. None of them tells an institutional and comprehensive history of American military space. Now that the Space Force has a massive budget, maybe it will devote some attention and money to establishing a proper museum. The National Museum of the United States Air Force would probably be glad to hand over its space artifacts and bring in more fighter planes. Air Force museum Dwayne Day can be reached at zirconic1@cox.net.

U.S. Space Dominance-Big Changes Ahead

Falcon 9 launch New policies will affect the space transportation and broader space industries in the US. (credit: SpaceX) US space dominance: big changes are ahead by Katie Inman, Peter Baumgaertner, Edward J. Rojas, Shiva Goel, Paul Stimers, David M. Ehrlich, and Elizabeth C. Perry Monday, October 5, 2026 President Donald Trump’s August 20, 2026, National Space Transportation Policy emphasizes infrastructure development and entry into the commercial marketplace for space manufacturing, research, launches, and other activities as steps to ensure US space dominance. In a separate publication the same day, the Office of Space Commerce (OSC) published a request for expressions of interest in participating in a “mission authorization proposal pilot process” by which space operators may obtain mission authorization in a streamlined manner. In addition, the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) published a request for information (RFI) on August 25 seeking input from industry on infrastructure development and establishment of safe corridors for space travel. The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) released a public notice that same day seeking comment on ways to advance the National Policy by expanding spectrum access for space launch and reentry activities. In broad terms, the space transportation policy and RFI will have the result of commercializing space launches and space industry activity more than ever. The policy states the government expects, by 2030, space transportation ranges to grow to support more than 1,000 launches and reentries each year. Similarly, the Department of Transportation’s (DOT) announcement of the RFI and the policy states that both actions are worthwhile because the US was responsible for 217 of the 329 commercial space launches worldwide in 2025 and that, by 2035, the government expects the total to “soar to 10,000 FAA-licensed launches and reentries.” In broad terms, the space transportation policy and RFI will have the result of commercializing space launches and space industry activity more than ever. The policy, RFI and OSC request for expressions of interest are all actions that align with other recent statements and actions from the federal government concerning the growth of the commercial space industry. The FAA published a notice of proposed rulemaking on July 30, proposing to waive the applicability of several statutes for spaceport licenses and launch or reentry licenses. The statutes that the government would waive generally involve environmental standards. Similarly, in August 2025, President Trump issued an executive order (EO), “Enabling Competition in the Space Industry,” that directed agencies to remove regulatory barriers and take specific actions to achieve an increased cadence of commercial space launches. Spaceport infrastructure The National Policy strongly emphasizes the need for improvements to existing space launch infrastructure and development of new sites. The memorandum, which places “Space Launch and Reentry Infrastructure” at the top of the space transportation policy, directs the Secretary of Transportation to coordinate with other heads of agencies to identify, within 180 days of the date of the memorandum, “potential locations for additional launch facilities and targeted development or improvement of launch infrastructure.” The National Policy directs both the Secretary of Defense and NASA Administrator to operate federal launch and reentry ranges and facilities in a manner that accommodates government and non-government users by, among other things, expediting facility permitting and environmental reviews and providing for flexibility and innovative solutions with regard to financing of infrastructure. The policy’s emphasis on infrastructure is consistent with the FAA’s RFI, which is primarily focused on improving or developing spaceport infrastructure. Four of the five categories of specific questions and solicitations for feedback in the RFI address the challenges and needs for robust infrastructure. The RFI refers to the FAA’s Spaceport Licensing Primer: An Introduction to the Spaceport Licensing Process and recognizes that a critical component of ensuring the development of spaceports is funding. Spaceport locations In acknowledging that lags in infrastructure development are a primary source of concern, the RFI seeks input on additional locations that might be suitable for spaceport development. The RFI seeks specific input on potential locations for new spaceports. New locations would complement or augment many of the operations from Cape Canaveral Space Force Station, Kennedy Space Center, Vandenberg Space Force Base, and NASA’s Wallops Flight Facility. This suggestion of relocating certain potential launches to new sites is not surprising, given the June 22, 2026, NASA Office of Inspector General report, which found that NASA’s launch infrastructure is dated and generally lacks capacity to fulfill the demands of NASA, other government agencies and commercial stakeholders, as the demand for launches continues to grow.2 The RFI seeks input not only on new sites but on existing sites and sites that the FAA had previously considered for issuance of an appropriate spaceport license. The RFI asks whether the federal government can take certain actions to increase orbital launches from existing spaceports and why underutilized spaceports have not yet been developed sufficiently. The RFI also indicates the agency is inclined to reconsider its assessment of Spaceport Shiloh in Florida, Camden Spaceport in Georgia, Puerto Rico Spaceport and space launch rig sites, which are sites on converted oil rigs or custom-developed launch platforms. Perhaps the most notable aspect of the spaceports bond financing provision is its breadth, as compared to bond financing for airports. As for criteria that apply to new sites, the RFI seeks input on prioritizing certain geographic criteria, asking whether proximity to the Equator, separation from densely populated areas, or other criteria should prevail in considerations. The RFI further seeks input on considerations concerning logistics and the potential for spaceport island sites. The RFI acknowledges the safety criterion of 0.0001 casualties per operation and appears to seek input on how an applicant for a new spaceport can fulfill this primary safety criterion. In addition, the RFI seeks input on development of new vertical spaceport sites and ideas on how it can encourage, facilitate and promote such development. It asks for ideas on actions the DOT can take to address “four challenging areas” concerning spaceport development: “(1) stakeholder engagement, (2) co-location with an airport, (3) environmental issues, and (4) airspace integration.” The RFI seeks ideas specific to steps concerning expedited construction and supply chain constraints. In sum, the RFI is consistent with the space transportation policy, which orders the Secretary of Transportation to identify new spaceport sites within 180 days and directs the Secretary of Defense and NASA Administrator to consult with other agency heads such as the Secretary of Commerce, support the US space transportation industrial base, maximize buying power and cost efficiencies, and, within 90 days, identify federal lands that might be suitable as reentry sites. Costs of spaceport infrastructure The space transportation policy directs agencies to incentivize co-development of space transportation infrastructure with private sector partners, expedite permitting and environmental reviews, develop fair and transparent cost recovery policies for common space services and infrastructure, and develop range scheduling criteria and publish range schedules to maximize allocation of launch resources. The RFI observes this direction by requesting specific information concerning the costs of spaceport development. The RFI asks, in part: What are the primary costs associated with developing a new spaceport? What strategies and technologies could be utilized to expedite construction? What are the supply chain constraints for construction, and how could they be addressed? What funding constraints exist, and how could they be addressed, including alternative financing structures? How could public-private partnerships best be leveraged to finance spaceport development? In observing the challenges presented by the significant costs of spaceport development, the RFI explicitly acknowledges that funding is a critical aspect of spaceport development. In furtherance of resolving concerns regarding funding, the National Policy directs the heads of relevant executive departments and agencies to consult with state, local, tribal, territorial, and industry partners and develop fair and transparent cost recovery policies for common services, commodities and infrastructure. Bond financing for spaceport infrastructure As noted in a Holland & Knight webinar and prior publications featuring Holland & Knight commentary, the One Big Beautiful Bill Act added an “exempt facility” designation for spaceport bonds. Adding spaceport bonds as a qualified exempt facility bond will likely reshape financing and development opportunities in the commercial space sector because it expands access to tax-exempt bond financing for a broad range of spaceport-related facilities. The provision also creates flexibility for public-private partnerships, manufacturing and infrastructure projects. Perhaps the most notable aspect of the spaceports bond financing provision is its breadth, as compared to bond financing for airports. Similar to airports, spaceport bonds are not subject to the volume cap limitations, and spaceport bonds may finance specific facilities that may be unavailable for conventional airport bond financing. For example, a spaceport proprietor or owner may finance manufacturing facilities or industrial parks. Unlike airports, however, spaceports can have facilities that are used by a single commercial entity that are otherwise limited in exempt facility airport financings. In addition, spaceport property located on land leased by a government unit from the US is not disqualified from being treated as governmentally owned if the lease and any subleases meet certain statutory requirements, including an irrevocable election by the lessee (the developer) not to claim depreciation or an investment credit with respect to such property. Moreover, spaceport bonds are not treated as federally guaranteed merely because the US (or any agency or instrumentality thereof) pays rent, user fees, or other charges in exchange for use of the spaceport. Public-private partnership opportunities and arrangements To meet the goal of supporting more than 1,000 launches and reentries every year by 2030, the RFI states the government must add and modernize launch and reentry infrastructure. Part of the solution for meeting the challenge, it states, lies with incentivizing co-development of infrastructure, including by facilitating leases, commercial development and public-private partnerships for capital improvements on federal property. The space transportation policy directs heads of executive departments and agencies to consult with state, local, tribal, territorial, and industrial partners and routinely consider and evaluate opportunities to improve launch and reentry access to infrastructure. In addition to addressing the immediate need for infrastructure improvements and development, the space transportation policy clearly prioritizes growth of the commercial space industry. A public-private partnership is a contractual arrangement between a public sector entity (such as Space Florida), a county industrial development agency, or a state industrial development agency and a private enterprise for the long-term management of infrastructure. As applied to spaceport infrastructure, a public-private partnership arrangement could provide for spaceport infrastructure and related facilities. Public-private partnership arrangements are particularly valuable in highly technical fields such as aerospace and space exploration because: Private sector expertise. Engineering firms and developers in transportation and aerospace have specialized expertise to implement the design, building, construction, financing, management, and operation of complex facilities such as spaceports. Government resource constraints. Governments typically lack both the budget and the personnel to manage specialized facilities such as spaceport infrastructure. Combining capabilities. By outsourcing to the private sector, public-private partnership arrangements combine government authority with private expertise to facilitate the use of qualified private activity bonds and create positive infrastructure outcomes. A typical public-private partnership structure consists of the following: Public sector entity. Serves as the conduit for the private sector, thereby providing public benefits and acting as the issuer for tax-exempt bonds Private enterprise. Takes the lead on design, construction, financing, management and operation of facilities Tax-exempt bonds. Issued through the public sector conduit; proceeds are used by the private sector to build improvements Given the highly technical nature of aerospace, public-private partnerships will be useful avenues for making spaceport projects a reality by combining public-sector authority and sponsorships with private-sector technical expertise and capital. Consistent with this framework and the long-standing benefits of such arrangements, the RFI states, “[p]ublic-private partnerships could be a valuable and innovative tool for structuring spaceport development.” The RFI further references the DOT’s newly established National Infrastructure Development Office, which is focused on expanding and promoting the use of public-private partnerships in infrastructure development. Entry into the marketplace In addition to addressing the immediate need for infrastructure improvements and development, the space transportation policy clearly prioritizes growth of the commercial space industry by facilitating new entrants’ efforts to engage with or enter the commercial space industry. The policy directs agencies to facilitate access to federal launch and reentry sites for commercial users by providing opportunities, such as engaging in international markets, while simultaneously protecting national security and keeping US technology competitive. The space transportation policy addresses the space transportation industrial base strategy by requiring, within 180 days, the Assistant to the President for Science and Technology to work with relevant agencies to create a strategy that keeps the US space industry competitive by: Ensuring the US maintains leadership and superiority in space transportation Improving US space transportation by making it more capable, affordable, secure and resilient for government and private users Developing the workforce by supporting training programs, helping military personnel transition to civilian space jobs and creating pathways to attract talent The space transportation policy further requires achieving certain steps to ensure market access for space transportation stakeholders. Within 120 days and every two years after that, the Secretary of State and Secretary of Commerce must update policies to promote US space capabilities internationally through export policies, protecting intellectual property, advocating for US industry abroad and developing foreign partnerships. Moreover, the policy directs appropriate agencies to update export controls to enable US companies to sell space-related technology to friendly nations. The requirement for a national strategy concerning US superiority in the space transportation industry is consistent with Section 6 of the policy, which requires heads of relevant agencies to ensure that US government payloads are launched by or transported in space on vehicles manufactured in the United States, subject to distinct exceptions. The focus on US-manufactured products and vehicles is consistent with many other recent actions of the administration, which has concluded that foreign-produced unmanned aircraft systems and other devices pose a national security threat. Required changes to the industrial base for other notable industries is currently resulting in creativity and increased awareness of U.S. companies that design, produce and market products in the US. FCC spectrum availability The Launch Communications Act of 2024 and the FCC’s swift implementation of its provisions have streamlined licensing and expanded frequency ranges available for commercial launch and reentry operations. Nevertheless, launch and reentry frequency bands remain heavily coordinated with other users, raising questions about the sufficiency of the current regime in a future with many more launches occurring at a much more rapid cadence from more locations and with greater radio frequency (RF) performance needs. The space transportation policy thus tasks the Commerce Department and FCC to “ensure reliable access to spectrum for commercial and Federal space launch, reentry, recovery, and on-orbit activities” in coordination with other impacted agencies. On August 25, the FCC released a public notice broadly seeking comment on the commercial aspects to the directive, including actions the FCC can take to support growth in launch capabilities in the short term (within two years), medium term (within five years) and long term. The FCC seeks input on current and future spectrum requirements, the need and suitability of additional frequency bands and priority allocations, improvements to existing coordination processes, and spectrum support for uncrewed surface vessels and uncrewed aircraft systems (UAS) that interface with launch activities. The FCC’s action comes on the heels of its recent overhaul of space and earth station licensing rules, demonstrating a broad commitment to facilitate growth in the US commercial space industry. Space travel corridors In addition to its heavy emphasis on spaceport infrastructure development, both the space transportation policy and RFI address questions concerning prioritization of space operations in airspace. In response to the policy’s direction to the DOT to “designate priority airspace for critical space launch corridors,” the RFI seeks input from the space and aviation industries and other interested stakeholders. In particular, the RFI solicits input on considerations for developing priority airspace for critical space launch corridors, the ideal requisites for priority airspace, and concepts for differentiating standard airspace used for commercial space activities from priority airspace. Designation of priority airspace based on launch needs or plans could result in changes to the longstanding means of airspace management. Potential designation of priority airspace is a significant topic for all aviation and space stakeholders. As indicated in many comments concerning operations of unmanned aircraft systems and potential reconsideration of the general rule that UAS operators must yield to manned aircraft, the aviation operator community will likely express concern about revisiting the long-standing framework of rights of way. As a matter of principle, the FAA generally declines to designate certain priorities for certain types of operations; rather, the agency safely manages the most complex airspace in the world by ensuring operators comply with requirements that are based on the class of airspace in which an operator enters or operates. The FAA further manages airspace by overseeing and administering the well-known Notice to Air Missions system, in which operators obtain necessary information concerning potential risks or changes in the area in which they intend to operate. Designation of priority airspace based on launch needs or plans could result in changes to the longstanding means of airspace management. Moreover, given the current effort to modernize the national airspace system and critical tools the FAA uses to manage the airspace, introducing the concept of prioritization or corridors for space launches or operations could introduce complexity. Stakeholders should monitor the public comments and consider expressing ideas or concerns in response to the RFI. Novel in-space activities In addition to the space transportation policy and RFI, the OSC simultaneously published a Federal Register notice inviting interested operators to submit expressions of interest by October 5, 2026, to participate in a pilot of the proposed Space Commerce Certification program. this is designed to coordinate federal review of commercial space activities that generally fall outside existing regulatory frameworks. The goal of the pilot program is to provide a consolidated review process for novel space missions. The notice implements Section 5 of EO 14335, “Enabling Competition in the Commercial Space Industry,” in which President Trump directed completion of several steps focused on removal of regulatory barriers or process updates to promote growth of the commercial space industry. Under the pilot program, the process for obtaining certification will involve a single-application, coordinated interagency review process. The FAA, FCC, and OSC’s Commercial Remote Sensing Regulatory Affairs office will remain responsible for their areas of airspace safety, communication, and licensing of private Earth remote-sensing satellite systems. Applicants may still need to obtain separate legal authorizations from these agencies, as applicable. During the pilot program, OSC expects to coordinate with the FAA, FCC, Defense and State Departments, NASA, and other relevant agencies. The required information includes evidence of US entity ownership or operation, a clear mission concept, anticipated timeline for launch or deployment, and other detailed information. Expressions for interest should also contain a statement “confirming the submitter’s commitment to working with OSC, in a manner as transparent to the public as possible, to develop best practices consistent with U.S. Government interests applicable to their intended operations.” The streamlined process for interagency review will not only benefit applicants that meet the criteria but also provide an avenue for applicants to potentially influence the process or assist OSC with making improvements that lead to increased efficiency. Next steps Stakeholders should review the space transportation policy, RFI, and OSC request for expressions of interest and determine whether submission of any feedback or applications would be worthwhile for their goals. The policy’s clear emphasis on the federal government’s plans to facilitate rapid growth of the US space transportation industry likely indicates a willingness to fund infrastructure development, remove regulatory barriers, and ensure efficient processes exist that enable increased launch cadence. In addition, stakeholders should remain mindful that, given the upcoming FAA reauthorization discussions that will soon occur in Congress, opportunities may arise for congressional engagement that will further stakeholders’ achievement of goals regarding space transportation and development. Katie Inman, Peter Baumgaertner, Edward J. Rojas, Shiva Goel, Paul Stimers, David M. Ehrlich, and Elizabeth C. Perry are attorneys with Holland & Knight LLP. Note: we are now moderating comments. There will be a delay in posting comments and no guarantee that all subm

Book Review-Space Capitalism

book cover Review: New Space Capitalism by Jeff Foust Monday, October 5, 2026 New Space Capitalism: The Entrepreneurial Path to the Stars by Rainer Zitelmann Skyhorse Publishing, 2026 hardcover, 304 pp. ISBN 978-1-5107-8821-3 US$32.99 NASA and commercial space station developers are facing a special case of the broader launch bottleneck plaguing the industry (see “Coming to terms with the end of the Falcon 9”, The Space Review, September 21, 2026.) When the Falcon 9 ends, so will Crew Dragon, the only operational orbital crewed spacecraft in the Western world. While Crew Dragon is under contract for several more NASA commercial crew missions to the International Space Station—a recent contract modification extended the contract through Crew-17, with Crew-13 having launched last week—those working on commercial successors to the ISS can no longer count on using Crew Dragon for their stations. At a briefing last week, NASA announced new measures to work with Boeing to get its commercial crew vehicle, the CST-100 Starliner, into service after a series of flawed test flights. NASA and commercial space station companies will have to rely on Starliner for the foreseeable future, with no other options likely available for years. The book makes clear his belief that government-funded space activities are inefficient and ineffective when compared to private efforts. “Hope for the future of space exploration lies solely in private spaceflight,” he writes. NASA administrator Jared Isaacman suggested at that briefing that there was an opportunity for new entrants, but without the financial support that NASA provided SpaceX and Boeing. “We currently do not have a plan to stand up a new commercial crew program right now,” he said. “There is, in this thriving commercial industry right now, lots of outside capital that seems to be eager to get involved. We’re giving you the demand signal.” That likely suits Rainer Zitelmann just fine. The German author is a champion of capitalism in general—a publicity photo shows him wearing a t-shirt stating “I ❤️ Capitalism”—and its role in spaceflight more specifically, which he spells out in his book New Space Capitalism. Government, he argues, would do well to get out of the way in space and let the market take over. The book extols the triumphs of private space activities, with a particular focus on SpaceX. Starship gets its own chapter with the title “A Ship for the Future of Humanity” with Zitelmann quoting one person who says the vehicle “will dominate space transport for the rest of the twenty-first century.” Other chapters explore topics ranging from Mars settlement to asteroid mining, as well as an examination of Chinese space activities. The book makes clear his belief that government-funded space activities are inefficient and ineffective when compared to private efforts. “Hope for the future of space exploration lies solely in private spaceflight,” he writes, again praising Starship as the “most magnificent spacecraft in history.” Government’s role is largely as a customer as well as providing legal certainty for commercial space activities, like property rights to support asteroid mining. That is, of course, not a novel idea. Zitelmann, in an extensively footnoted book, leans heavily on past works. The arguments he makes about the advantages of private space projects over government ones will be familiar for anyone who has followed the issue. There’s little in the way of novel policy prescriptions or recommendations here. And those arguments, of course, have familiar flaws. “Few people realize how much our lives already depend on space-based infrastructure,” he writes, going on to describe the importance of space-based positioning, navigation, and timing services. Of course, those services are provided by government-run constellations like GPS, Galileo, and Beidou, with commercial newcomers to the field largely focused on augmenting, not replacing, government systems. Several pages later, he writes, “Weather forecasting is almost inconceivable without satellites,” which, again, are predominantly government systems, although assisted in some cases by commercial data. The book was published before the current situation in space access as SpaceX withdraws the Falcon 9 from the commercial market and, with it, Crew Dragon, to focus on Starship. That’s led to some discussions about what the US government should do in response, including ways to pressure SpaceX to continue Falcon 9 and Dragon. Right now, such measures seem unlikely, given Isaacman’s response to a question about supporting new commercial crew entrants. But it suggests that capitalism alone can’t solve every issue in spaceflight. 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. Note: we are now moderating comments. There will be a delay in posting comments and no guarantee that all submitted comments will be posted

Orbiting Nuclear Weapons During The Cold War

nukes In 1961, a major aerospace company produced a secret report on orbiting nuclear weapons for attacking the Soviet Union. The details of that report have never been made public until now. (credit: Chesley Bonestell) Nuke the site from orbit: American orbiting nuclear weapons during the Cold War by Dwayne A. Day and Hans Dolfing Monday, September 28, 2026 In Robert Heinlein’s 1948 novel Space Cadet, the protagonist is tasked with the mission of maintaining a constellation of “rocket bombs” in orbit around the Earth, capable of being called down on a city at a moment’s notice and destroying it. In the immediate post-World War II era, when nuclear weapons, rockets, and satellites looked like the future of warfare, the idea seemed obvious. Yet it was never developed and deployed, and scholars of Cold War nuclear history have not mentioned it. What has now been revealed with the declassification of several documents is that in the early 1960s, an Air Force contractor evaluated an “Earth Satellite Weapon System (ESWS)” that would have placed three dozen nuclear bombs in polar orbits so that they could be commanded to reenter and destroy targets primarily within the Soviet Union. This concept, the analysts discovered, had many problems. nukes Putting offensive weapons in orbit made them vulnerable to enemy attack or interference. The study analyzed how to make them less vulnerable. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) Nukes in space Starting in the late 1950s, the United States Air Force began studying the prospect of putting nuclear weapons in space to extend America’s strategic forces to the ultimate high ground. Several of these efforts have been known for decades, such as studies for placing nuclear missiles on the Moon aimed at Earth, and insane proposals for the Orion space weapons system, propelled into and through space by detonating nuclear bombs behind it while carrying additional nuclear explosives for attacking targets on Earth. But until now, the most likely concept for space weapons—placing nuclear bombs in low Earth orbit for attacking the Soviet Union—has remained secret. There were senior government advisors who did not believe that weapons in space made much sense, although the subject was being evaluated during the late 1950s and early 1960s. James Killian, who was the president of MIT and a senior advisor to President Eisenhower, later wrote in his 1977 autobiography that he believed that space weapons were “clumsy and ineffective ways of doing a job.” In June 1958, the National Security Council considered a range of national security satellites, including bombardment satellites and a manned lunar base. The RAND Corporation studied bombardment satellites from 1958 to 1960, but due to continued classification, much of these deliberations remain secret. The report’s authors made clear that establishing and maintaining an orbital weapons system would be a major task with many difficulties. In May 1961, Douglas Aircraft produced a multi-volume report titled “Earth Satellite Weapon System Study.” Also given the more generic designation Special Report (SR) 79821, it was apparently one of several contractor studies of this subject, but the only one now available. It was a comprehensive report that addressed all aspects of an orbital nuclear weapons system, from the launch site to launch vehicles to the orbiting vehicles, their command and control, to operations, and finally reentry and recovery of weapons at the end of their operational lifetime. The report referred to “Satellite Bombs” that could be brought down on Soviet cities during wartime. Douglas’ analysts evaluated the population distribution of the 150 largest Soviet cities and selected 36 targets in the Soviet Union. The specific targets remain classified, but they likely were the same highest priority targets for the US Air Force’s Strategic Air Command. The report’s authors made clear that establishing and maintaining an orbital weapons system would be a major task with many difficulties. The report devoted substantial effort to subjects like the security necessary to make sure that the Soviet Union could not interfere with the weapons, particularly by taking over their electronic systems. Because the weapons would spend much of their orbits not over the United States and in fact over adversary territory, there would be opportunities for Soviet interference that were unavailable to the Soviets with other American strategic forces securely held on military bases, and/or within American borders. nukes The satellite bombs would operate in polar orbits, which meant that nearly every part of the Earth would be reachable by a weapon. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) Satellite bombs The satellite bombs would be placed in circular polar orbits at an altitude of approximately 525 nautical miles (970 kilometers). The 36 weapons would be randomly spaced, although their orbits would be adjusted somewhat to achieve a more even distribution. This spacing would eliminate the need to communicate with more than one weapon at a time. Each satellite bomb would tumble in orbit, only commanded to stabilize when necessary, such as before reentry. Each weapon would be accompanied in its orbit by 5 to 20 “decoy units” intended to make identification and destruction of the weapons more difficult. Each weapon would be launched unarmed and without targeting information loaded into its electronic systems. The report devoted significant discussion to survivability, which included protecting its command system from interference as well as protecting the weapons from physical attack. Interference could include sending false signals from the ground to the weapons, interfering with their communications systems on the ground, or physically attacking them. This would require careful selection of communications frequencies, encryption of command links, and other design parameters. Because the weapons would spend most of their orbit out of range of American communications systems and much of their time over Soviet territory, it was vital that they be highly secure. nukes United States for only a small portion of their orbits. This limited communications time, while exposing the weapons to interference over Soviet territory. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) The “decoy units” would consist of inflatable Mylar balloons of the same size and shape as the actual weapons. They would have to accurately mimic the visual, radar, and infrared appearance of the satellite bombs. They too would tumble like the satellite bombs. Although the report mentioned the effects of “solar pressure,” it is unclear how a lightweight inflatable decoy could maintain the same orbit as a heavy spacecraft that was less susceptible to drag effects. The vehicle would be conical, with a base diameter of ten feet (3 meters), the same as the launch vehicle, tapering down to 2.75 feet (0.84 meters). It would weigh 8,000 pounds (3,630 kilograms) in orbit with a de-orbit weight of 3,500 pounds (1,590 kilograms). The entry vehicle would be 886 pounds (402 kilograms). The satellite bomb would likely be assembled and handled on the ground in a horizontal orientation, because assembling it vertically would create handling problems. nukes The satellite bombs would have a lifetime in orbit of approximately one year. To prevent them from falling into enemy hands or causing radioactive pollution if destroyed in the atmosphere or in the ocean, the study proposed recovering them over White Sands, New Mexico. With 36 weapons in orbit, this meant that nuclear weapons would be reentering over the United States several times a month. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) Satellite bomb disposal Because the satellites would have a mean lifetime of only one year, they would have to be replaced on a regular basis. But even more problematically, they would also have to be recovered. The United States could not leave dead nuclear weapons flying overhead in low Earth orbit. Because they were designed to reenter the atmosphere, a dead nuclear weapon would fall intact, and nobody could predict where. Because the satellites would have a mean lifetime of only one year, they would have to be replaced on a regular basis. But even more problematically, they would also have to be recovered. The report discussed the various problems associated with leaving the bombs in orbit, destroying them in orbit, and recovering them, determining that recovery was the best option. Dropping them in the ocean was a possible solution but risked enemy recovery. “If the enemy were to recover one of these, our warhead state-of-the-art would be revealed. Detonation of the warhead by high explosives under water would distribute the radioactive debris in the ocean,” the report stated. Even burning them up in the upper atmosphere would result in the distribution of plutonium around the Earth. “Several hundred occurrences of this sort may present a distinct health hazard.” Before a satellite failed, it would be commanded to reenter over the continental United States. As it descended into the lower atmosphere, it would deploy a parachute and be recovered in midair by a specially equipped aircraft. This technique was already in use for the CORONA reconnaissance satellite and had been proven reliable. However, the CORONA reentry capsules with their reels of exposed film were relatively lightweight, in part because the reentry vehicle ejected its heat shield over the ocean. A nuclear reentry vehicle with its reentry shield attached would weigh significantly more. nukes Bringing the weapons back from orbit to hit their targets would subject them to intense heating during reentry. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) After the satellite bomb was stored in the recovery aircraft, the aircraft would land at a secure facility, the satellite bomb would be removed and then transported to a secure processing facility. This would have to occur on a nearly weekly basis: nuclear weapons reentering over the United States regularly, hopefully without incident. The designers had to assume that a reentering satellite bomb might not be caught by an aircraft and it therefore had to survive landing on the ground. It would include systems for aiding in this effort, such as a “package of scatter mirrors” made of polished aluminum that would be fired from the vehicle at an altitude of 5,000 feet (1,500 meters) and scatter over the ground near the landing point. The vehicle would also have a smoke generator to create smoke to serve as a post-landing aid. The parachute would be attached in such a way as to land the vehicle nose up, so that the back, with the used retrorocket, and not the nuclear weapon, would take the impact with the ground. nukes Although several California launch sites were possible for the satellite bombs, the study determined that an operational system should not be launched from the same complex as R&D flights, such as Vandenberg Air Force Base. An additional problem was that Vandenberg included a commercial railway that ran through much of the base and interrupted flights. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) Launch site The authors of the report selected a new, dedicated launch site for the weapons. San Clemente Island is located 60 miles (100 kilometers) west of San Diego. As they noted, the Atlantic Missile Range was not suited to polar launches. Point Arguello and Vandenberg Air Force Base, which were then adjacent but administratively separate, already had Atlas launch facilities operating or planned. But those locations were less than ideal. As the authors explained, further expansion of research and development facilities at those locations would be prevented by an operational satellite weapons system, and R&D and operations would be occurring at the same base “thereby presenting complex security and safety problems.” But a third reason was a mundane one that had already plagued launch operations on the West Coast: “A federal contract with the Southern Pacific Railroad restricts launching schedules when trains are in the vicinity of the base.” nukes The study looked at several possible launch sites for the satellite bombs and determined that San Clemente Island, off the California Coast, was the best location. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) San Clemente was the site of an abandoned military facility, but all new facilities would be required, including a new 10,000-foot (3,000-meter) runway, housing and other facilities, and up to five or more launch pads along the west side of the narrow island. nukes Artist impression of the Atlas-Centaur rocket at its A-frame gantry. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) Atlas-Centaur The Douglas study assumed that the satellite bombs would be placed in orbit atop Atlas-Centaur rockets. At the time, the Atlas-Centaur was expected to be operational by 1964. To attain high reliability for launch, the authors recommended having two vehicles undergoing simultaneous countdown. Atlas was derived from an existing ICBM, but Centaur was a new and unprecedented project, unlike any rocket in development by the military. It was a high-energy upper stage using liquid hydrogen as fuel. Liquid hydrogen was difficult to handle and its physical properties and behavior, particularly in a space environment, were not well understood. Centaur development had been assigned to NASA in 1959. nukes The Atlas-Centaur suffered some problems during its development. (credit: Peter Hunter Collection) The requirements and the difficulty of using liquid hydrogen meant that Centaur development was experiencing problems from the start. It was becoming clear to military leadership by January 1961 that the Atlas-Centaur would be a major pacing issue for planned military projects, like the Advent communications satellite. Pratt and Whitney was then working on development of the Centaur’s LR-119 engines. By summer 1961, the problems with Centaur were increasingly apparent even outside of NASA. By summer 1962, Centaur had fallen two years behind schedule. Had the Earth Satellite Weapon System entered into development, Centaur would have presented problems within a year. nukes The Centaur upper stage was under development in the early 1960s. It used liquid hydrogen, a remarkably persnickety fuel. Centaur began running into substantial problems around the time the Douglas study that recommended its use was delivered. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) In spring 1961, when the study was completed, the United States had only been launching rockets into space for three and a half years. Launch vehicles were still a new and immature technology. The study assumed a 20% launch failure rate. But considering that even decades later launch vehicles had failure rates of approximately 5–10%, the safety aspects of launching nuclear weapons into orbit were substantial. Simply establishing a constellation of 36 orbiting Satellite Bombs would result in multiple accidents that would destroy nuclear weapons in the atmosphere, dropping their radioactive wreckage into the ocean, possibly right off the California coast. nukes nukes nukes The launch vehicle would be vertically assembled at the launch pad. (credit: Douglas Aircraft Company) Cost and schedule Douglas also estimated the costs and schedules for the Earth Satellite Weapons System. The company assumed that the launch complex would be similar to pad 36 at Cape Canaveral, with six “soft” launch pads—meaning not capable of withstanding attack. These six pads would conduct four launches per month. The Atlas-Centaurs would be vertically assembled at the pad. The mean lifetime to failure of the satellites would be one year, with 36 satellites maintained in orbit. Approximately two thousand personnel would be required to support the launch operation. The satellite bomb recovery site would be based in the American southwest, and although the company calculated the cost of the recovery operations, it noted that facilities would probably be provided by the government, not the contractor, and would most likely consist of existing facilities in someplace like the Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada. Recovery operations would require approximately one thousand personnel. The Earth Satellite Weapon System never progressed beyond the study phase. The details of whether it was seriously evaluated at senior Pentagon levels are unavailable. Assuming that authority to proceed was granted by the last quarter of 1961, the first test vehicle launch using an interim booster could take place by the end of 1963, with the first test vehicle launch using an Atlas-Centaur occurring by the middle of 1964. Launch site construction would start at the beginning of 1963, with the site becoming operational by spring of 1965. The first launch of an operational vehicle would take place by summer 1967, with the system becoming operational by summer of 1968. Based upon these assumptions, Douglas estimated that the research and development would cost $424.2 million by the end of fiscal year 1964, with an operational cost of $2.569 billion by the end of fiscal year 1973. A year later, the RAND Corporation produced an estimate that an orbital nuclear bombardment system would cost five times a terrestrial-based system. nukes The Earth Satellite Weapon System would likely have been under control of the US Air Force’s Strategic Air Command. (credit: Columbia Pictures) No nukes in space During the time that the Earth Space Weapons System was being studied, the Air Force was also developing the X-20 Dyna-Soar, a winged spacecraft to be launched atop a Titan rocket and piloted by a single military astronaut. The X-20 was an ambitious and complicated program. But it lacked a clear justification. The Air Force and contractors proposed various missions that the X-20 could accomplish, one of which was “orbital bombardment.” But this mission made little sense when closely evaluated. There was no need to put an astronaut in a vehicle to drop a single nuclear weapon from orbit when that same weapon could simply be placed atop an ICBM. Dyna-Soar added tremendous complexity and cost to the mission, not any versatility. There were other proposed missions for Dyna-Soar, but none of them made much sense or justified the cost. By late 1963, Dyna-Soar was canceled. The Earth Satellite Weapon System never progressed beyond the study phase. The details of whether it was seriously evaluated at senior Pentagon levels are unavailable, although the Douglas study was prepared at a time when the new Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara was canceling many of the Air Force’s more complicated and expensive weapons systems such as the XB-70 Valkyrie bomber, the Skybolt air-launched ballistic missile, and later the X-20 Dyna-Soar. It was thus an expensive and complicated solution in search of a problem. During the next several years, a series of negotiations on the placement of nuclear weapons in space took place in the United Nations. On October 17, 1963, the United Nations General Assembly Resolution 1884 (XVIII) called on states “to refrain from placing in orbit around the earth any objects carrying nuclear weapons or any other kinds of weapons of mass destruction or from installing such weapons on celestial bodies.” The resolution was formalized in the 1967 Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies, aka the Outer Space Treaty. However, even while early negotiations were ongoing, the United States continued studying orbital nuclear weapons programs. They will be discussed in a future article. Special thanks to JB. Dwayne Day can be reached at zirconic1@cox.net. Hans Dolfing is an independent computer scientist with a passion for spaceflight, software, and history and can be contacted at beta_albireo@protonmail.com.