A Brasilian Scientist Finds A Shortcut For Manned Missions To Mars

Space Astronomy Planets Mars 'I was not looking for this': Scientist accidentally finds shortcut to Mars that could slash travel time in half A new study suggests early asteroid trajectory data could help design faster Mars missions, potentially cutting round-trip travel time to under a year. Sharmila Kuthunur's avatar By Sharmila Kuthunur published 4 days ago in News An illustration of a white spacecraft with solar panels approaching an orange/red planet. An illustration of a spacecraft bound for Mars. New research unveils a possible shortcut to the Red Planet that could drastically cut down mission timelines. (Image credit: dottedhippo via Getty Images) Share this article 16 Join the conversation Follow us Add us as a preferred source on Google Newsletter Subscribe to our newsletter Astronauts could complete a round trip to Mars in less than a year someday, potentially cutting current mission timelines in half, according to a new study that drew inspiration from asteroid trajectories. Under current mission profiles, reaching Mars, which is located about 50% farther from the sun than Earth is, takes roughly seven to 10 months. Because Earth and Mars align for fuel-efficient transfers only every 26 months, astronauts must wait for a return window, stretching a full round trip to nearly three years. However, the new findings, published online in the journal Acta Astronautica in April, suggest that early, imprecise orbital estimates of near-Earth asteroids — which were historically used to assess impact risks, before being discarded in favor of more precise data — may contain valuable geometric clues for designing faster interplanetary routes. You may like A close up of Olympus Mons on the surface of Mars, its structure a pile of brown lava in a large circular mount on the surface of the planet An anomaly in Mars' mantle could trigger volcanoes to erupt — and may be causing the whole planet to spin faster Hubble image of 3I/ATLAS. White dashes on a black background. Scientists propose new plan to 'catch' comet 3I/ATLAS — but we have to act fast An illustration of two astronauts boarding a rocket on the moon Can NASA and SpaceX really build a moon base in the next 10 years? "Maybe this can change the idea that we need more than two years to go to Mars and return," study author Marcelo de Oliveira Souza, a cosmologist at the State University of Northern Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, told Live Science. "I was not looking for this" Souza first stumbled on the idea in 2015, when he was studying near-Earth asteroids. One object in particular, 2001 CA21, caught his attention because early estimates suggested it followed a rare path crossing both Earth's and Mars' orbital zones. Although later measurements refined the asteroid's true trajectory, its initial geometry during the October 2020 opposition — when Earth and Mars were aligned on the same side of the sun, and closest together in their orbits — hinted at the possibility of "ultra-short" routes between the two planets, Souza noted in the paper. "This was a surprise for me — I was not looking for this," he told Live Science. Sign up for the Live Science daily newsletter now Get the world’s most fascinating discoveries delivered straight to your inbox. Your Email Address By signing up, you agree to our Terms of services and acknowledge that you have read our Privacy Notice. You also agree to receive marketing emails from us that may include promotions from our trusted partners and sponsors, which you can unsubscribe from at any time. As more observations allow astronomers to refine an asteroid's orbit, those early trajectories change, so someone analyzing it later wouldn't have seen the same path, Souza added. "Maybe I was in the right place at the right time," he said. Round trip to Mars? For the October 2020 opposition, Souza's calculations showed that a very fast, roughly 34-day trip from Earth to Mars is geometrically possible if a spacecraft follows a path similar to the asteroid's early orbital plane. However, such a trajectory would require departure speeds of around 32.5 kilometers per second, well beyond current rocket capabilities, and a spacecraft would arrive at Mars traveling around 64,800 mph (108,000 km/h) — too fast for existing landing systems to handle safely, Souza noted in the paper. What to read next A diagram showing the Earth in a blue oval surrounded by a white and red dotted line showing the moon's orbit, with labeled areas for different levels of cosmic radiation Chinese lander reveals giant 'cavity' of radiation between Earth and the moon — and it could change how lunar exploration is done NASA wants to speed up its lunar missions and establish a permanent moon base. NASA announces 'near‑impossible' space plans, including $20B moon base and humanity's first nuclear-powered interplanetary spacecraft A photo of astronaut James B. Irwin standing on the lunar surface during the Apollo 15 mission in 1971. Artemis II: NASA is preparing for a return to the moon, but why is it going back? Two three-dimensional graphs show different circular colors along a white grid, all against a black background. The geometry of a 33-day Mars trip (left) compared to a 90-day voyage (right). (Image credit: Acta Astronautica / Marcelo de Oliveira Souza) Instead, Souza used the asteroid-inspired geometry to explore possible trips during future Mars oppositions in 2027, 2029 and 2031. By using a standard method for calculating paths between two points in space (called the Lambert analysis) and constraining those paths to remain within about 5 degrees of the asteroid's orbital tilt, Souza found that only the 2031 alignment offered a viable opportunity for rapid travel using near-term technology. In that window, a round-trip mission from Earth to Mars could be completed in just 153 days, or roughly five months, according to the study. In that scenario, a spacecraft would depart Earth on April 20, 2031, at about 27 kilometers per second, arrive at Mars by May 23 after a 33-day journey, spend about 30 days on the surface, depart June 22 and return to Earth by Sept. 20, with the return leg taking roughly 90 days. Souza also identified a lower-energy alternative within the same window, requiring a launch at about 16.5 kilometers per second for a mission lasting about 226 days, or about 7.5 months ‪—‬ still significantly shorter than current mission timelines. Related stories 'The Martian' predicts human colonies on Mars by 2035. How close are we? NASA's Mars Sample Return is dead, leaving China to retrieve signs of life from the Red Planet NASA rover uncovers rock with 7 new organic molecules on Mars — the 'most diverse collection' ever seen Still, the concept remains largely theoretical and would depend heavily on mission specifics — including spacecraft design, payload mass and propulsion capabilities — all of which would shape whether such fast transfers are feasible in practice. The method, however, could still prove useful as a way to narrow the search for viable trajectories. The required velocities are comparable to those achieved by missions such as New Horizons — the NASA probe, which, when launched in 2006 on a mission to flyby Pluto at 16.26 kilometers per second, was the fastest human-made object ever launched from Earth. Such high-speed trajectories could be within the reach of next-generation rockets such as SpaceX's Starship or Blue Origin's New Glenn, Souza told Live Science. Article Sources De Oliveira Souza, M. (2026). Using asteroid early orbital data for rapid mars missions. Acta Astronautica, 246, 354–366. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.actaastro.2026.04.018 What do you know about the Red Planet? Test your knowledge with our Mars quiz!

Satellite Vulnerability In The 70's

ASAT The Soviet co-orbital anti-satellite weapon was first developed in the 1960s and became operational by the 1970s. This one is in a Russian museum. By the 1970s, the Soviet Union was developing additional anti-satellite weapons. (credit: TV Zvezda) Battle for the heavens: intelligence satellite vulnerability in the 1970s by Dwayne A. Day Monday, May 4, 2026 Starting in the late 1960s, the Soviet Union began testing a new anti-satellite weapon system that maneuvered a satellite close to its target and then fired a shaped explosive charge at it, showering it with metal fragments. The United States detected these tests and, over the next few years, US satellite operators became concerned that in event of a war, the Soviet Union could negate America’s military and intelligence space assets. There was another and more obvious response to the increasing vulnerability of US satellites to attack: make them less vulnerable. American satellite vulnerability became a major concern by the mid-1970s and, in July 1976, President Ford signed National Security Decision Memorandum 333 (NSDM 333), titled “Enhanced Survivability of Critical U.S. Military and Intelligence Space Systems.” It shifted the United States from a policy of assuming space was a “sanctuary” and satellites would not be attacked, eventually to development of an American capability to attack Soviet satellites. By the late 1970s, space warfare had become a real possibility (see “To attack or deter? The role of anti-satellite weapons,” The Space Review, April 20, 2020.) But there was another and more obvious response to the increasing vulnerability of US satellites to attack: make them less vulnerable. In response to NSDM 333 in October 1976, the National Reconnaissance Office, which managed the nation’s fleet of intelligence satellites, produced a report on the vulnerability of its satellites to attack and plans to reduce their vulnerability. The executive summary of the report was recently declassified and provides a fascinating insight into the emerging threats to American satellites in the mid-1970s. Titled “Survivability Enhancement Action Plan,” with a clever 1970 cover illustration produced by Soviet military officers depicting “The Space Networks of Espionage,” the summary stated that, up to this point the NRO had assumed “that reconnaissance satellites are stabilizing in times of crisis, and that reconnaissance spacecraft are therefore sanctioned,” in other words safe from attack. But this situation was changing and they could no longer assume this. ASAT The cover of a 1976 study on how to make American intelligence satellites more survivable. The cover art was produced by two Soviet officers for a Soviet military journal and probably not used with their permission. (credit: NRO) The document added: “In the belief that the programmatic goal at this point is to define a general survivability objective and level of effort, the NRO has developed several alternative programs of graduated cost and effectiveness against the foreign threat. To assure confidence in the resulting cost estimates, these alternatives have been constructed from specific projects identified for each system.” Because of the speed of the study, the cost estimates were rough and a detailed follow-on study would be required. The study focused on the next five to ten years, developing remedies for systems already in acquisition. It noted, “Such remedies are typically only partially effective, since they basically require retrofitting systems not initially designed for survivability. The far-term offers greater opportunity. New reconnaissance system concepts can be developed from the beginning with survivability as a major system performance criteria. Systems specifically emphasizing survivability can be conceived, taking advantage of such recent introductions as the Space Shuttle.” The NRO indicated that it might also investigate fundamentally different systems, such as quick-reaction imagery and signals intelligence systems. Countermeasures came with costs, however. These were not only monetary—hardening a satellite could be expensive—but could affect satellite operations. The study divided existing NRO satellite systems into three categories: most critical, critical, and least critical. In the most critical category was the KH-11 KENNEN near-real-time imaging satellite, which would have its first launch in December 1976. Two other systems with their names deleted were also included in the most critical category and these were most likely high-altitude signals intelligence satellites, such as the recently declassified JUMPSEAT satellite. Several systems with their names deleted were included in the “critical” category, probably including the newly-fielded PARCAE ocean-surveillance system and at least one other high-altitude signals intelligence system. In the least critical category were the HEXAGON and GAMBIT imagery satellites, and the Program 989 low-orbiting signals intelligence satellites. A primary characteristic of these three systems was that they did not deliver their data to the ground very quickly and therefore were not as vital during a crisis situation. The DoD/Intelligence Community NSDM 333 Response Working Group developed a list of operational options: Maintain space operations in peacetime (but during interference) Manage and control escalation or deescalation of US/Soviet crisis/confrontation Manage and control escalation of a conventional conflict involving the US but not involving the Soviet Union or vital Soviet interests (e.g., Vietnam) Maximize military support of a conventional conflict involving the US but not involving the Soviet Union or vital Soviet interests (e.g., Vietnam) Manage and control escalation of a US/Soviet conventional conflict Maximize military support during a US/Soviet conventional conflict Manage and control escalation of a NATO/Pact conflict Maximize military support during a NATO/Pact conflict Support the conduct of limited strategic nuclear options Support the conduct of strategic nuclear conflict ASAT In the mid-1970s, the US military determined that there were multiple potential threats to American satellites from Soviet weapons, not only operational anti-satellite weapons, but also newly emerging threats like high-powered lasers. (credit: NRO) The Soviet threat The vulnerability study summarized the Soviet threat, noting that: The Soviet ASAT threat to U.S. satellites consists of a variety of systems and capabilities. The Soviets have a coorbital intercept system that uses a fragmentation warhead. It uses a modified SS-9 ICBM booster and can intercept targets at up to 2,500 NM altitude. Using a larger space booster, it could intercept targets in semi-synchronous and synchronous (19,300 NM) orbits. A probable high power ground-based laser, possibly already in operation, may be an ASAT system under development. It is likely the Soviets will undertake development of a very high power ground-based laser ASAT system. The Soviets intend to conduct electronic warfare against satellites during wartime and are believed to have such a capability. The Soviets are reportedly developing a space-based laser weapon for use against satellites which could be demonstrated in the early 1980s. In addition, the nuclear-armed Galosh ABM interceptors would undoubtedly be used in an ASAT role against satellites thought to threaten Moscow. The Soviets could develop nuclear intercept systems for attack of very high altitude satellites. There is no evidence of such development. The Soviets also have the capability for covert attacks on space systems ground facilities in the U.S. and overseas. It is highly likely that the Soviets will develop radio-frequency damage weapons, in spite of the uncertainty in achieving kill inherent in such weapons. The NRO also noted that its “systems are also vulnerable to inadvertent destruction from non-targeted nuclear weapons and sabotage of ground facilities.” The report stated that “the development of very high value National Reconnaissance Program collection systems has placed a premium on survival techniques to allow mission completion by existing or replacement systems. The application of sophisticated U.S. space technology in the survival enhancement area is expected to provide a high payoff in mission completion and in increasing the difficulties encountered by the Soviet ASAT forces.” ASAT A table showing potential threats to American intelligence satellites and potential countermeasures to defeat them. (larger version) (credit: NRO) Surviving the Soviet threat The summary included a table of “Major Survival Enhancement Options” that identified both the threat and the countermeasure. For instance, countermeasures to orbital interceptors included evasive maneuvers, homing sensor deception and jamming, as well as the proliferation of systems (i.e. not putting all the NRO’s eggs in one basket.) For a high-power laser threat, the countermeasures included avoiding the laser site and hardening the satellite. Physical attacks on ground stations and launch vehicles could be countered with increased physical security. Countermeasures came with costs, however. These were not only monetary—hardening a satellite could be expensive—but could affect satellite operations. As the report noted, maneuvering would make an attack more difficult, but would also limit the effectiveness, and maybe the orbital lifetime, of the satellite. In the future, if decreasing vulnerability was a design goal, satellites could be designed with more fuel, increasing their lifetime and making it possible to change orbits to dodge threats. The report stated that encryption was by then fully implemented on several systems and would be included in all new systems and retrofitted onto older ones. “Minimal on-board verification sensors for laser attack” were included on HEXAGON and KENNEN satellites, and a “more complete verification package, including an expanded sensor complement to respond to other threats and reduce ambiguities” would be developed in the near-future. Certainly, the issue of satellite vulnerability has become more urgent today, as many more governments now have access to anti-satellite capabilities. But as the report makes clear, this has been true for a very long time. Eighteen months earlier the NRO had started an effort to harden its ground facilities against attack. However, some of these facilities, like the ground tracking and communications station at Buckley Air Force Base north of Denver, and the Space Tracking Center in Sunnyvale, California (famously referred to as “The Blue Cube”), were located very close to busy civilian areas. It would not be difficult for an enemy special operations team to get close to them to attack, even if that only meant firing rocket-propelled grenades from the back of a pickup truck on the 101 Freeway in California. Vandenberg Air Force Base, where many NRO satellites were launched, was a sprawling facility with vast, open, lightly-patrolled spaces. Throughout its history, there is evidence that both amateur rocket enthusiasts and possibly even Soviet special operatives penetrated the base. One of the major recommendations was that survivability should be included as a system performance evaluation criteria. It had to be considered from the start, not added in after all the other performance decisions were made. Although the summary is not highly detailed, the fact that the NRO even declassified it is remarkable. Certainly, the issue of satellite vulnerability has become more urgent today, as many more governments now have access to anti-satellite capabilities, and space has become, in the euphemism of the warfighter, “a contested realm.” But as the report makes clear, this has been true for a very long time. Dwayne Day can be reached at zirconic1@cox.net.

The Moonbase Moment

lunar baee An illustration of a proposed lunar base, the centerpiece of the NASA Ignition event in March. (credit: NASA) The Moonbase moment by Jeff Foust Monday, May 4, 2026 Since early 2020, a group called the Lunar Surface Innovation Consortium (LSIC, pronounced “ell-sick”) has been meeting regularly to discuss the infrastructure needed for any future presence on the Moon, from power to resource utilization. The companies, universities, and other organizations that are part of LSIC had been working to identify key technologies and development strategies, even as NASA’s plans to use any such infrastructure were vague, at best. Leadership, budgets, and technology, said Garcia-Galan, “have aligned with us being here today to frickin’ build a Moonbase.” At this spring’s LSIC meeting, split between downtown Washington and the Applied Physics Laboratory in Laurel, Maryland, the mood was very different. A month earlier, NASA held its “Ignition” event where the agency not only declared its intent to develop a lunar base in lieu of the orbiting Gateway, but also committed spending tens of billions over the next decade to so do, with plans for dozens of lander missions, habitats, power systems, and more. Those advocates of lunar base found themselves in the position of being, if anything, not ambitious enough about their visions of lunar bases. In opening remarks, Bobby Braun, head of APL’s space exploration sector, compared one illustration of a lunar base from those earlier efforts with the expansive vision NASA presented at Ignition. “Our concept ended up being, I hate to admit this, small,” he said. “In hindsight, what were we thinking?” The biggest advocate for a lunar base at the meeting was the NASA person responsible for it, Carlos Garcia-Galan. His formal title is program executive for Moon Base, but at the Ignition event NASA administrator Jared Isaacman dubbed him the “lunar viceroy.” Garcia-Galan, though, prefers a different moniker, one he has even put on briefing charts: Moon Base Guy. “I was really not a lunar guy before,” he said in a speech at the meeting, having previously worked on programs like Gateway and the ISS. “I was a spacecraft guy.” He is, though, all-in on a lunar base. “Leadership has aligned with the technical capabilities, which have aligned with the state of readiness of industry, which have aligned with the budgets, which have aligned with us being here today to frickin’ build a Moonbase.” “From our perspective at Blue Origin, the number one absolute must-have is frequent, low-cost, high-mass access to the lunar surface,” said Cortese. The audience at LSIC didn’t need to be convinced that their moment had finally arrived. Over two and a half days, they discussed technologies and approaches that could be used to develop a lunar base. That included the key enabling technologies a Moonbase would need, which, not surprisingly, often aligned with the technologies companies at the event were developing. “From our perspective at Blue Origin, the number one absolute must-have is frequent, low-cost, high-mass access to the lunar surface,” said Jacki Cortese, vice president of civil space at Blue Origin, on one panel. Blue Origin, of course, wants to offer just that with its Blue Moon line of landers. The adjectives she used, she said, were deliberate. Frequent access is needed to build up experience and, with it, expertise in landing on the Moon. Reduced costs are important , she noted, “because the budgets aren’t getting any bigger.” Larger landers are also needed for the heavier infrastructure needed for a lunar base. That would enable other infrastructure, such as power, mobility, and in-situ resource utilization. “Once we get frequency,” she said, “we can embed power towers on every single [Blue Moon] Mark 1 and send these to every peak of eternal light,” regions around the south pole of the Moon that are in near-constant illumination. “You’re setting everyone up for success.” Garcia-Galan Carlos Garcia-Galan, NASA’s “Moon Base Guy,” discusses the agency’s plans at the 41st Space Symposium in April. (credit: Space Foundation) Another key technology is communications. “We should not be starting from scratch. We should not be reinventing the wheel,” said Thierry Klein, president of Bell Labs Solutions Research at Nokia, which tested using terrestrial mobile communications standards like 4G/LTE on the IM-2 mission last year. “We should take those investments, we should take those technologies, and adapt them for the environment.” Lunar Outpost, which was one of the companies competing for NASA’s Lunar Terrain Vehicle (LTV) program, emphasized mobility. “We see our Eagle LTV as the backbone to lunar surface infrastructure,” said Tim Mounsey, director of business development for commercial sales at the company. At Ignition, NASA announced it would not select proposals for an LTV submitted last fall by Lunar Outpost, along with Astrolab and Intuitive Machines, but instead have them offer different designs that would be less capable but also faster to build. He seemed unfazed by the change in direction. “We’ve got a fleet of rover solutions,” he said. “Rovers and mobility solutions are a key enabling, and critical, technology for the build out of the Moonbase.” At the LSIC meeting and other events, it was hard to find any company that was skeptical or dismissive of NASA’s lunar base plans, either because of an interest in supporting the effort or because of the funding NASA is proposing to invest in it. “We are putting the full force of SpaceX to attacking this problem because we are inspired by the vision of the administration and of NASA for the Moon,” said Nick Cummings, a senior director at SpaceX, during a panel at the 41st Space Symposium in Colorado Springs earlier in April. SpaceX’s interest, unsurprising, was transportation. “We need at least be able to transport things and people to the Moon as regularly, reliably and affordably as we do for the space station today,” he said. “We are putting the full force of SpaceX to attacking this problem because we are inspired by the vision of the administration and of NASA for the Moon,” said Cummings. In an interview during Space Symposium, Robert Lightfoot, president of Lockheed Martin Space, said his company was looking at leveraging the work it has been doing on inflatable habitat technology and applying it for a lunar base. Separately, Voyager Space announced earlier this year it was working with Max Space, another company developing inflatable modules for commercial space stations, on repurposing that technology for lunar habitats. However, while there is all this interest in supporting—and winning contracts for—development of a lunar base, there are still few details about how it will all come together. At Ignition, Garcia-Galan outlines a three-phase plan for its development from 2026 through 2036. That included a chart with showed all the landers, rovers, habitats, satellites and other components envisioned for the base. It also included cost estimates: $10 billion for Phase 1, from 2026 to 2028, another $10 billion for Phase 2, from 2029 through 2032, and at least $10 billion for Phase 3, from 2032 through 2036. chart A chart from a NASA presentation at Ignition listing all of the missions and infrastructure planned for its lunar base. (larger version) (credit: NASA) However, beyond that, NASA has offered few details about exactly how it will spend that money. That vagueness is deliberate in some respects: the agency issued requests for information on topics such as LTV, Moonbase capabilities, and a new version of its Commercial Lunar Payload Services (CLPS) contract, CLPS 2.0. NASA should lead development of the lunar base, said Nujoud Merancy, deputy associate administrator of the exploration mission directorate’s strategy and architecture office at NASA, during a panel at the LSIC meeting. But, she noted, the agency will look to industry for its concepts of how to provide the hardware and services it envisions for the base. “That’s what we’re doing and we’re looking to buy,” she said. “That doesn’t mean we tell you exactly how to build something.” How much NASA will be buying it also uncertain despite the dollar figures announced at Ignition. The agency is already more than seven months into the 2026 fiscal year, limiting how much it could spend on projects related to a Moonbase. (The agency has yet to publish an operating plan detailing how it would spend the money appropriated by Congress in January, well before the Ignition announcement.) NASA’s fiscal year 2027 budget proposal, released a week and a half after Ignition, did not include funding lines for the effort for 2027 or future years. One likely contracting vehicle for the lunar base will be CLPS. At Ignition and subsequent events, agency officials have talked about going to nearly a monthly cadence of lunar landings, including nine in 2027 and ten in 2028. That’s far more than the two performed last year and the two to four expected this year. Last week, NASA issued a procurement notice announcing its intent to increase the ceiling on the CLPS contract, which runs through 2028, from $2.6 billion to $4.2 billion. NASA has, so far, awarded less than $2 billion in CLPS task orders, suggesting it is planning a major increase in awards through the current contract’s final years. Companies participating in CLPS, who have been building on average of one lander a year, said at the LSIC meeting they’re ready to rapidly ramp up production, but offered few details about how many landers a year they can make or how quickly they can accelerate production. They emphasized expanded facilities and developing “build-to-print” landers rather than customized ones. “We’ve got the basic DNA and roadmap” to meet higher demand, said Dan Hendrickson, vice president of business development at Astrobotic. “We’re starting from a place in which we have facilities that were intended to have multiple landers in development.” In an earnings call Monday, Jason Kim, CEO of Firefly Aerospace, also said his company was ready to capitalize on NASA’s projected increased demand. “The lunar opportunity is here,” he said. “Our prior growth strategy was to extend from one moon landing a year to multiple a year, and now we have an amplified demand signal from NASA.” That included, he added, development of landers larger than Blue Ghost, which can carry up to 240 kilograms, with versions that can meet NASA’s needs to deliver several metric tons to the surface. “Those are all in our roadmap,” he said. “Our larger lunar lander designs are scalable to meet that demand.” “There’s a lot of reasons to build the Moonbase. The first is because we can,” said Charlie Powell. There is also a more fundamental uncertainty: what the Moonbase will be used for. NASA has said little about specific requirements for the facility, such as how many people it can support and for how long, how much power it will need, what amount of bandwidth it will use, or even general descriptions of activities that will take place there. All those, of course, drive the technologies that need to be developed and the infrastructure emplaced there. “There’s a lot of reasons to build the Moonbase. The first is because we can,” said Charlie Powell, assistant director for space and spectrum in the White House’s Office of Science and Technology Policy, during a session at Space Symposium. What has halted development of a base, he argued, was the “myopia of policy vision” and high transportation costs, both of which he believed were being corrected. “The second reason to build a Moonbase is that we must,” he said, citing its strategic importance and value in inspiring future generations. A base, he said, had value for science, “programmatic flexibility” in working with various partners, and commercial potential. One company examining the commercial potential of the Moon is Interlune, a Seattle-based company with ambitions to extract helium-3 emplaced by the solar wind in the lunar regolith. That isotope, relatively rare on Earth, could have applications in fields like medical imaging and quantum computing—and, of course, fusion power, eventually. Rob Meyerson, CEO of Interlune, said in an interview that his company doesn’t necessarily expect to operate at the lunar base, in part because of its location at the south polar region of the Moon: the lunar equatorial regions are thought to have higher concentrations of helium-3 that makes mining feasible. However, he said he expected Interlune to leverage the infrastructure that will be developed to support the base no matter where the company chooses to operate. “The Moonbase is going to be essential to us, whether we’re operating adjacent to the Moonbase or not,” he said. “We can serve, and we do serve, as a commercial partner and commercial use case for anyone that’s building infrastructure on the Moon.” In the coming months, NASA’s lunar base plans will likely come into sharper focus as the agency processes responses to its RFI and refines its budgets. That will help determine if the excitement NASA kindled at Ignition can be turned into a sustainable program that results in a real lunar base of any size. 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.

Governance Is Always Late to THe Party

servicing spacecraft Emerging in-space activitiers like satellite servicing pose governance challenges. (credit: Astroscale) Governance is always late to the party. Here's why that's not an accident. by G. Theresa Quitto-Dickerson Monday, May 4, 2026 Consider the governance position of nearly any operator who has completed an on-orbit servicing mission in the last three years. The hardware performed. The asset transferred. By every technical measure, the operation succeeded. And by the time the paperwork caught up, legal scholars were still sorting out which liability framework applied, whose safety standards governed the handoff, and whether the jurisdictional question had ever been formally resolved. This is a representative scenario: one that has repeated, in some configuration, across multiple missions and multiple actors in the emerging in-space services market. Nobody was surprised. This is how it goes. When governance lags, the instinct is to blame awareness. That diagnosis isn't wrong, but it’s incomplete. The commercial space industry has operated under a quiet assumption for decades: governance will arrive eventually, and in the meantime, industry moves. Standards bodies convene after incidents. Regulators draft rules after markets form. Frameworks appear after the operational reality has already hardened into practice. The sequence is so familiar it barely registers as a problem. It is a problem. A structural one, and a well-documented one. The gap is not a knowledge failure When governance lags, the instinct is to blame awareness. Policymakers didn't understand the technology fast enough. The fix: more technical expertise in government, more briefings, faster rulemaking. That diagnosis isn't wrong, but it’s incomplete. The deeper issue is architectural. Research on space traffic management and orbital debris governance has documented a recurring dynamic: when serious public problems new to government arise, there is often a lag between the problem and a coherent national response, with agencies defaulting to existing roles even as the problem outpaces them. This isn't bureaucratic failure in the individual sense. It is what reactive governance systems do by design. The clearest operational illustration is the conjunction data message, or CDM. When two objects are projected to come within concerning proximity, operators receive a notification: a potential collision is developing. The operator assesses, decides, maneuvers, or doesn't. There are standards. There are norms. The system works within its own logic. But notice what that system does not do. It does not ask why that orbital regime became crowded enough for conjunctions to multiply. It does not ask whether the licensing decisions that placed those objects there reflected any shared risk-reduction framework, or only individual risk-mitigation calculations made in isolation. The governance responds to the geometry of two objects already on a concerning trajectory. The conditions that produced the trajectory are upstream of where the rules live. Risk mitigation and risk reduction are not the same thing. Space governance has built sophisticated infrastructure for the former. The latter remains largely unaddressed, and research now suggests that mitigation alone is no longer sufficient to maintain the usability of near-Earth orbits. That last point is not an assertion. A 2021 NASA Office of Inspector General report, cited in recent cislunar governance research published in Space Policy, found that the rapid and uncoordinated growth of near-Earth space activity has led to orbital debris generation that will necessitate active remediation, because mitigation alone can no longer hold the line. We built the infrastructure for managing the problem after it arrives. The infrastructure for keeping it from arriving at all is still missing. The circular space economy is the test case In-space servicing, assembly, and manufacturing. Active debris removal. On-orbit resource utilization. Reusable upper stages. Life-extension missions. None of these are speculative — they are contractual, operational, and increasingly multinational. The circular space economy is happening now, at a pace that the surrounding governance infrastructure was not designed to match. Risk mitigation and risk reduction are not the same thing. Space governance has built sophisticated infrastructure for the former. The latter remains largely unaddressed. A 2024 global governance analysis found the existing framework, built on five UN space treaties drafted for a different era, now contains an absence of clear coverage for property rights, liability in collision, and licensing of novel activities. Individual nations have responded by creating their own distinct policies, producing a fragmented regulatory landscape that commercial operators must navigate mission by mission, jurisdiction by jurisdiction. What makes this domain particularly instructive is that the signals of governance friction are visible before the friction becomes hazardous. Operators are negotiating liability across jurisdictions that haven't formally defined the activity. Standards bodies are producing technical recommendations with no corresponding policy hook. Vocabulary mismatches exist between what industry calls the operation and what the regulator's mandate covers. These aren't edge cases. They are the current operating environment. And they are legible, if the analytical infrastructure exists to read them. What structured signal detection makes possible A pre-decisional approach to governance readiness treats regulatory misalignment as a detectable condition rather than an inevitable surprise. The logic isn't new: stress-testing in financial regulation developed precisely because point-in-time assessments proved structurally blind to systemic preconditions. The application to space governance is still developing, but the signal categories are already observable in current operations: vocabulary gaps, where operators and regulators describe the same activity in incompatible terms; standards-to-policy misalignment, where technical consensus exists but carries no enforcement mechanism; jurisdictional friction, where novel operations cross authority lines drawn for a different era; coordination lag, where multiple actors hold relevant authority but share no decision timing. The circular space economy will not wait for that infrastructure to be built through the conventional cycle of incident, response, and rulemaking. That cycle has a well-documented structural ceiling, and we are approaching it. None of these require classified data or proprietary records. They are present in public comment processes, standards body deliberations, licensing dockets, and the working group discussions already happening in communities like CONFERS, where practitioners are, among other things, generating exactly the kind of early signals that a governance-ready system would be designed to receive. The question is whether the analytical approach exists to convert those signals into extended lead time for governance actors, rather than the compressed reaction windows the current system produces. The circular space economy will not wait for that infrastructure to be built through the conventional cycle of incident, response, and rulemaking. That cycle has a well-documented structural ceiling, and we are approaching it. The signals are already there. The governance frameworks that could act on them earlier are not. That is not a technology problem or an expertise problem. It is a design problem. And design problems, unlike incidents, can be addressed before they become emergencies. G. Theresa Quitto-Dickerson is a doctoral candidate researching governance infrastructure and decision architecture for novel space activities. Drawing on two decades of federal and industry experience in program execution and policy, she works at the intersection of space governance, workforce systems, and commercial space policy. She participates in the CONFERS Circular Space Economy Special Interest Group and has an abstract under review for IAC 2026. Contact: theresa@quittodickerson.space | quittodickerson.space Note: we are now moderating comments. There will be a delay in posting comments and no guarantee that all submitted comments will be posted. Home Subscribe to our weekly newsletter email address

Perception, Power, And Strategic Reality In Space

Artemis Accords signing The effect that spaceflight has on people, like William Shatner, may be misinterpreted. (credit: Blue Origin) The fallacy of the Overview Effect: perception, power, and strategic reality in space by Christopher M. Stone Monday, May 4, 2026 Since the dawn of human spaceflight, some astronauts have described a profound cognitive shift upon viewing Earth from orbit—an experience termed the “Overview Effect” (White, 1987). This phenomenon is frequently associated with desires for global unity, environmental awareness, and the perceived insignificance of political boundaries. From this vantage point, the Earth appears to be a single, borderless system, seemingly reinforcing the notion that divisions among peoples and nations are artificial constructs of limited importance. While compelling, such interpretations risk conflating subjective perception with objective strategic reality. The absence of visible borders from space does not imply their irrelevance, just as the invisibility of gravity or atmospheric dynamics does not diminish their decisive role in shaping life on Earth. Strategic reality is not determined by what can be seen, but by what exerts power and influence. The absence of visible borders from space does not imply their irrelevance, just as the invisibility of gravity or atmospheric dynamics does not diminish their decisive role in shaping life on Earth. This article argues that the Overview Effect, though psychologically meaningful for some, does not alter the structural realities governing international relations or strategic competition. Drawing upon the strategic theory of Colin S. Gray, this paper emphasizes the critical distinction between the nature and character of strategy. While the character of conflict evolves with new technologies and domains—including space—the nature of strategy, rooted in political purpose, human competition, and the pursuit of power, remains constant. The Overview Effect, therefore, represents not a transformation of strategic reality, but a subjective misinterpretation of perception elevated beyond its proper analytical scope. The Overview Effect: experience vs. reality The concept of the Overview Effect, popularized by Frank White, describes a cognitive shift in awareness resulting from viewing Earth from space (White, 1987). Astronauts such as Edgar Mitchell and Ron Garan have described this experience as transformative, emphasizing the perceived lack of borders and the fragility of the planet’s biosphere. However, these experiences must be properly categorized as phenomenological rather than empirical. They describe how individuals interpret what they see, not what objectively exists independent of perception. As Thomas Nagel famously argued, subjective experience—“what it is like”—cannot serve as a complete account of reality (Nagel, 1974). The Overview Effect falls squarely within this domain of subjective interpretation. Colin S. Gray’s framework reinforces this limitation. Gray consistently argued that strategy is anchored in enduring realities of human behavior and political organization, not in transient perceptions or emotional responses. The Overview Effect may alter how individuals feel about the world, but it does not alter the strategic structures that govern it. The leap from perceived unity to political irrelevance of division is therefore not an analytical conclusion, but a normative assertion lacking empirical foundation. The fallacy of the Overview Effect At the core of the Overview Effect’s broader claims lies a fundamental logical error: the assumption that invisibility implies insignificance. This assumption is demonstrably false across both physical and political domains. Gravity, for example, is entirely invisible to the human eye, yet it governs orbital mechanics, planetary formation, and the conditions necessary for life itself (Newton, 1687). The atmosphere, which appears from space as a thin and fragile line, is in fact a complex system essential for sustaining life and regulating climate. Electromagnetic forces—largely unseen—underpin modern communications, navigation, and technological infrastructure. Political structures operate in a similar manner. National borders are not geological features but political constructs, enforced through legal systems, military power, and political authority (Waltz, 1979). Their invisibility from orbit is therefore expected and irrelevant to their function. Here, Gray’s distinction between the nature and character of strategy is decisive. The Overview Effect mistakenly elevates a change in character—a shift in human perception resulting from technological vantage point—into a claim about the nature of strategic reality. Yet the nature of strategy, as Gray argues, is rooted in enduring human conditions: fear, honor, interest, and the pursuit of political objectives. These do not disappear despite one’s subjective views from orbit. Thus, the Overview Effect represents a category error: it confuses a change in perspective with a supposedly discovered “true condition.” Borders, sovereignty, and strategic structure Borders remain foundational to the international system. They define sovereignty, regulate movement, structure economic systems, and delineate the scope of political authority (Mearsheimer, 2001). Their importance derives not from visibility, but from enforcement and recognition within the international order. The optimism surrounding the Overview Effect is not without precedent. In the early 20th century, the advent of aviation inspired similar claims. Examples such as the Korean Demilitarized Zone or the US-Mexico border illustrate that boundaries exert profound influence regardless of how—or whether—they are visually perceived. These borders shape military deployments, migration patterns, economic exchanges, and diplomatic relations. They are embedded within national and international institutions and sustained through various instruments of national power. Gray’s strategic theory underscores that geography, including political geography, remains a persistent and critical factor in strategic reality. The physical and political organization of space—whether terrestrial, orbital, or beyond—structures the possibilities for action and interaction. Borders, in this sense, are not illusions dispelled by altitude; they are expressions of power and authority that operate independently of visual confirmation. To argue that borders are insignificant because they are not visible from space is therefore to misunderstand both the nature of political order and the foundations of strategic analysis and execution. Historical analogy: aviation and the persistence of war The optimism surrounding the Overview Effect is not without precedent. In the early 20th century, the advent of aviation inspired similar claims that technological advancement would render war obsolete and foster global unity. The ability to transcend geographic barriers was seen as a means of dissolving political divisions. History decisively refuted these expectations. During World War I, aircraft were rapidly integrated into military operations for reconnaissance and bombing. By World War II, airpower had become a central instrument of warfare, enabling large-scale strategic bombing campaigns that inflicted destruction and strategically decisive outcomes (Overy, 2013). This trajectory illustrates a fundamental principle articulated by Gray: technology changes the character of warfare, not its nature. Aviation expanded the reach and lethality of conflict, but it did not eliminate the underlying drivers of competition and violence. The same pattern is evident in the space domain. The Overview Effect represents a contemporary form of a space-centric, technological idealism, projecting hopes for unity onto a new vantage point. Yet, as history demonstrates, new perspectives do not override enduring strategic realities. Space and strategic competition Despite narratives emphasizing unity and cooperation, space has emerged as a contested strategic domain. Satellites are integral to modern military operations, enabling communication, intelligence, surveillance, reconnaissance, and missile warning (Dolman, 2002). These capabilities are not neutral; they undergird and enhance all instruments of national power. Proponents of the Overview Effect interpret a change in how humans perceive the world as evidence of a change in how the world operates. Major powers, including the United States, China, and Russia, have developed capabilities to disrupt or destroy space assets, reflecting the growing military utility of the domain. This competition is consistent with Gray’s conception of strategy as the bridge between political purpose and military means. Space support, deterrence, and warfighting capabilities therefore serve national objectives, reinforcing rather than dissolving geopolitical rivalry. The Overview Effect does not negate these realities. Astronauts may experience a sense of unity, but space activities—civil, commercial, and military—operate within frameworks defined by national governance, international law, and strategic competition. The domain of space, far from transcending politics, is merely an extension of it. Nature vs. character: a Grayian correction to space idealism Colin S. Gray’s most valuable contribution to this discussion lies in his clear articulation of the distinction between the nature and character of war and strategy. The nature of strategy is constant, rooted in the political use of force, human competition, and the pursuit of advantage. The character of strategy, by contrast, evolves with changes in technology, culture, and context. The Overview Effect is fundamentally a phenomenon of character. It arises from a newer technological capability—human spaceflight—and reflects a particular psychological/spiritual response by some to that capability. However, it does not—and cannot—alter the nature of strategic reality. By conflating these two levels of analysis, proponents of the Overview Effect commit a serious analytical error. They interpret a change in how humans perceive the world as evidence of a change in how the world operates. Gray’s framework exposes this mistake and reasserts the primacy of enduring strategic realities over transient or idealistic perceptions. Conclusion The Overview Effect provides a compelling and often inspiring perspective on Earth’s natural, physical unity. However, it does not alter the political and strategic forces that govern life on and beyond the planet. Invisible forces—whether physical, such as gravity and atmospheric systems, or political, such as sovereignty and power—remain decisive in shaping international relations. Ultimately, the view from space may enrich human understanding and inspire reflection, but it does not redefine strategic reality. As Colin S. Gray’s work makes clear, the nature of strategy endures regardless of technological or perceptual change. Human affairs continue to be shaped by power, institutions, and the persistent dynamics of competition. Perception may inspire—but it does not decide. References Clarke, F. (1910). Aviation and Peace. Dolman, E. (2002). Astropolitik: Classical Geopolitics in the Space Age. Gray, C. S. (1999). Modern Strategy. Gray, C. S. (2010). The Strategy Bridge: Theory for Practice. Mearsheimer, J. (2001). The Tragedy of Great Power Politics. Nagel, T. (1974). “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” Newton, I. (1687). Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica. Overy, R. (2013). The Bombing War. Waltz, K. (1979). Theory of International Politics. White, F. (1987). The Overview Effect. Christopher Stone previously served as Special Assistant to the Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for Space Policy (2018–2019). His insights and opinions reflect independent analysis of space deterrence challenges and do not reflect the opinions of the Department of War or United States Government.

Book Review: Open Space

book cover Review: Open Space by Jeff Foust Monday, May 4, 2026 Open Space: From Earth to Eternity—the Global Race to Explore and Conquer the Cosmos by David Ariosto Knopf, 2026 hardcover, 384 pp., illus. ISBN 978-0-593-53503-5 US$35 One aspect of NASA’s revamped lunar exploration plans announced in March is a sharp increase in the number of lunar lander missions the agency plans to help develop its lunar base (see “Igniting a new vision for NASA”, The Space Review, March 30, 2026). The first of three phases of the plan calls for 21 landings from 2026 through 2028, including nine landings in 2027 and ten in 2028. “Can you get there by March?” Altemus said Nelson asked because of the administrator’s concerns that China might attempt to lay claim to the south polar region of the Moon. That’s a remarkable pace because, so far, there have been only three landings by American companies on the Moon so far as part of Artemis: one in 2024 and two in 2025. There are as many as four planned for 2026, but NASA’s own charts at the Ignition event projected only two taking place. Adding to that challenge is the difficulty in getting to the surface of the Moon: only Firefly Aerospace’s Blue Ghost 1 lander in March 2025 remained upright and completed its full mission. Intuitive Machines’ IM-1 lander in 2024 and IM-2 in 2025 both fell over upon touchdown, and IM-2 operated for only half a day before shutting down. There’s rocket science, it appears, and then there’s lunar-lander science. These challenges came to mind when reading part of Open Space, a new book by David Ariosto that examines many of the emerging frontiers in space. (Disclosure: Ariosto hosts episodes of the “Space Minds” podcast by SpaceNews, but the book was not associated with that.) That includes the efforts by the United States and China to land on and explore the Moon. For the book, Ariosto got behind-the-scenes access at Intuitive Machines as they were developing their IM-1 mission. That included the difficulties the company faced as it developed the lander, with its methalox engine, through witnessing the launch among the VIPs at the Kennedy Space Center, and then through the nail-biting landing. Interspersed with that account of IM-1 is an examination of China’s space program and its lunar efforts. He talks with Chinese officials and goes to Argentina, where China has established a ground station for communicating with those lunar missions—and, likely, for military applications as well. The book’s chapters are short, almost giving the reader whiplash as he frequently toggles between the US and China. That emerging space race is a theme of this section of the book: on one of Ariosto’s visits to Intuitive Machines’ Houston facilities, the company's CEO, Steve Altemus, gets a call from then-NASA administrator Bill Nelson. “Can you get there by March?” Altemus said Nelson asked because of the administrator’s concerns that China might attempt to lay claim to the south polar region of the Moon. There are chapters on war in space, orbital debris, SETI, planetary defense, interstellar propulsion, nuclear propulsion, terrestrial fusion research, and faster-than-light travel (roughly in that order.) If that was the entire scope of Open Space, it would be an enlightening, tightly paced account of one company’s efforts to go to the Moon as part of a broader geopolitical competition in space between the United States and China. (The book doesn’t discuss Firefly’s successful landing in 2025 and mentions Astrobotic’s Peregrine mission, which malfunctioned hours after liftoff, only in passing.) With a picture of Intuitive Machines’ Nova-C landers, used for IM-1 and -2, on the cover, you might think the book is principally about that. However, the second half of the book wanders off into other topics. It loses its focus on the Moon to examine, well, a lot of things. There are chapters on war in space, orbital debris, SETI, planetary defense, interstellar propulsion, nuclear propulsion, terrestrial fusion research, and faster-than-light travel (roughly in that order.) Ariosto again leverages his detailed reporting, including a visit to the Mars Society’s Mars Desert Research Station, where one of the analog astronauts there is the CEO of an Italian space company, to CERN’s “Antimatter Factory” that produces minute amounts of antimatter. Yet, it’s difficult in that part of the book to find a definitive theme, other than there are fascinating people doing fascinating things that are often, if not entirely, related to spaceflight. That can make for entertaining reading, but it’s not obvious it’s subject matter for a book—or, at least, this book. What Open Space does show is the current interest in the Moon and the difficulty in turning that interest into hardware that can launch and then land on the Moon. The amount of hardware making that journey may soon increase, but the difficulty level will likely not soon decrease. 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.

Floods On Mars

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qv0jwlyzzKc

NASA Is For Real Developing A Nuclear Rocket To Go To Mars

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orzOG0KoCwE

ISS: Science Power Platform

Science Power Platform One of the 180GK configurations explored in the 1980s. Image: RKK Energia Science Power Platform: the ISS’s cancelled power module by Maks Skiendzielewski Monday, April 27, 2026 The Science Power Platform is a name many station enthusiasts have heard, but it’s one for which it is surprisingly hard to find a detailed description. Before the name disappeared from International Space Station planning documents and “Assembly Complete” illustrations in the late 1990s, the module it represented was a key element of the station’s Russian Orbital Segment and a vital part of the accelerated assembly sequence that convinced the US to push ahead with the international project at full steam. In the end, the SPP was not as necessary as initially thought and, after suffering from a wave of funding cuts that plagued the Russian program in the ’90s and a series of redesigns that aimed to simplify the module while maximizing its utility, it was ultimately quietly dropped from the launch manifest. Though it may at first glance look like it had been thrown together from parts laying around at the RKK Energia facilities like a number of other esoteric unflown ISS modules (looking at you, Enterprise!), it was actually a direct derivative of hardware designed for the Mir-2 station and, in a bizarre twist, parts of it did end up flying to the ISS—on the Space Shuttle. So, how did it all come to be? Power-starved and hot Almost as soon as the Mir space station started taking shape in orbit, it became clear that one of the major factors limiting the station’s science output and productivity would be the available electrical energy. By the time of Mir’s demise in 2001, the orbital complex had become covered by a forest of solar arrays of different shapes, sizes and origins sticking out from every module. While the station’s base block launched with a pair of solar arrays—more efficient and bigger than the ones on its immediate Salyut predecessors—they were quickly joined by a third array installed during a spacewalk. The Kvant-2 and Kristall modules both launched with two large arrays each and after Spektr was redesigned to house American equipment it sprouted a third and a fourth array. Even Kvant, the first, stubby expansion module, had been retrofitted in orbit with two solar arrays, brought to the station together with the Mir Docking Module. Priroda was the only “proper” module not to have power generation capability, though this is partly because the single solar array originally assigned to it flew with the Docking Module (which was more of a dongle than a true module, frankly) and was deployed on Kvant. Thermal management too was significant problem for Mir. During the mid-1990s Shuttle-Mir missions, where the station had to host the Shuttle crews in addition to the normal expeditions and visiting crews, the onboard systems seriously struggled with the extra heat generated by the new arrivals from Florida. With that in mind, a follow up to the world’s first modular station would clearly benefit from a new way to deal with electric power and excess heat. NPO Energia’s 180GK Work on a successor to the Mir space station began at NPO Energia in 1984 and intensified after the Mir core module was successfully launched in February 1986. NPO Energia’s internal space station project, designated 180GK, was based on 100-tonne modules and a massive truss structure to be launched on the superheavy Energia launcher and would accommodate up to 12 crew, but remained a “paper project” until further development of the concept was officially approved in 1989—though in January 1988 it had already been announced to the media under the Mir-2 name. Large solar arrays or novel parabolic concentrators attached to the truss structure—the latter pursued at the time by both NASA and the Soviets due to their smaller size for the same power output than photovoltaic arrays—would provide plenty of electrical power for the experiments aboard the station and generously sized radiators would ensure heat rejection headroom. Another benefit of the truss structure was the additional space inside the pressurized modules, freed up by moving a large chunk of the science hardware outside, with as many as 12 large experiment platforms on the truss. But one more possible reason for designing the station with a large truss could have been the desire to maintain parity in vanity with the American Space Station Freedom, which at the time was also designed around a massive truss structure. Whatever the true reason was, Freedom was most certainly at the back of the Soviet designers’ minds. Sometime in 1991 the 180GK design was abandoned due to delays and budget cuts and the focus shifted to a more modest design, based on the structural spare of the Mir core module and similar in structure to the Mir station. The core module backup, designated DOS-8, was built almost in parallel with the DOS-7 primary article in case DOS-7 was lost during launch or shortly after separation, but at further stages of assembly all work shifted to the primary to prepare it for launch. DOS-8 was left on standby partially complete, ready to be quickly built up to the same spec as DOS-7 or to a modified design. By 1992 the plan had shifted to building a new station using DOS-8 with a handful of research modules clustered around the core, but this time supplemented by a truss. The station reused the Mir-2 name and from this point its configuration evolved continually until the project’s eventual merger with (or maybe absorption by) Space Station Freedom to form the International Space Station. Ur-Platform At the center of the new Mir-2 design (designated 27KSM) was the DOS-8 core module with a crossbar truss named the Science-Power Platform (SPP) attached to its side and outfitted with retractable solar arrays at one end and a parabolic solar concentrator at the other, as well as radiators, experiment platforms, and control thruster packs. In this initial mid-1992 design, the SPP’s structure was to be a scaled-up version of the experimental Sofora truss deployed from Mir’s Kvant module by Anatoly Artsebarsky and Sergey Krikalev in July 1991. A special fixture was used to build Sofora. It held a square frame with a hole at each corner; the pins of four hinged V-shaped tubular aluminum elements were inserted through the holes into the sockets of the previous segment’s elements. Then, the fixture heated up the sockets, which, fitted with shape-memory alloy sleeves, contracted around the joint. The truss was moved one segment forward in the fixture and the process was repeated. Flat-packed elements of the Science Power Platform would be flown to the station onboard Progress-M cargo ships and assembled by cosmonauts in orbit, though an alternative option was considered where the pre-assembled SPP would be launched on one or two Buran flights. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform Mid-1992 configuration of Mir-2 with the in-space assembled Science-Power Platform truss, in the all-photovoltaic variant on the top and with solar concentrators on the bottom. Images: Novosti Kosmonavtiki, Aviation Week and Space Technology. Another part with Sofora heritage were the two orientation thruster blocks, which were similar in design to the VDU roll control thruster mounted at the end of the Sofora truss. Closer to the center, two large radiators were mounted and, opposite the thruster blocks, sat mobile experiment platforms that could orient the experiments as required; on Mir, some experiments required that the entire station be reoriented to point the instruments. Providing power to the Mir-2 complex were four pairs of photovoltaic Reusable Solar Arrays (MEB) of the same design that flew on Mir’s Kristall module and later with the Mir Docking Module, though at a later stage of assembly on one side of the truss the arrays would make way for a pair of parabolic solar concentrators. Science Power Platform Assembly sequence of the 1992 Mir-2 design. Image: Aviation Week and Space Technology. The concentrators work by focusing sunlight onto a circuit of working fluid that expanded and drove a turbine—alas, even in space every new method of energy generation is a steam turbine. The main advantages of the solar concentrators cited by NPO Energia representatives are the reduction of the area needed to generate the same power by more than a factor of two, lower mass, and decreased atmospheric drag. In this configuration, assembly of the station was due to begin in 1996 and be completed within three years, with the solar concentrators joining the station as early as late 1998. In mid-1992, talks between ESA and Russian space program officials on deeper cooperation intensified, with the European agency eyeing Mir-2 as the destination for the Russified version of the Man-Tended Free Flyer (MTFF), which had just been dropped from the plans for Space Station Freedom, and a new collaborative Euro-Russian spacesuit. When the Hermes spaceplane was cancelled later in 1992, they agreed to salvage the technology for its robotic arm, the HERA (HErmes Robotic Arm), and use it on Mir-2. The renamed European Robotic Arm (ERA) appeared in the station’s design in late 1992/early 1993, attached to a mobile platform that could slide along the length of the truss, similarly to how Canadarm2 operates on the ISS. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform Top: Illustration of the early Hermes Robotic Arm (HERA) in use on the Hermes spaceplane. Bottom: Late 1992/early 1993 illustration of Mir-2 and the Chromos observatory showing the appearance of the ERA and its mobile platform on the station’s truss. Images: ESA/Fokker, garni-cosmos.com Octagons! By May 1993, illustrations distributed to the media showed a significant change in the design of the truss. While still attached to the side of the core module, it was now octagonal in cross-section and made up of a handful of large, pre-assembled segments, though it is unclear if these would fly on Zenit or possibly Buran—work on the Soviet orbiter had by that time slowed to a crawl due to funding issues and was completely abandoned later that month. Western officials and experts had been eager to point out that the previous hand-assembled truss would have been a major challenge for the cosmonauts had it remained in the final configuration. Freedom itself transitioned to pre-integrated truss segments in 1991 in part due to a whopping 2,000 to 3,000 hours of EVA required every year to build and maintain the station with its original truss, according to studies commissioned by NASA. Science Power Platform The interim Mir-2 configuration of 1992. Images: Novosti Kosmonavtiki, ESA via danielmarin.naukas.com Final Mir-2 configuration In an effort to make station expansion easier, provide more docking ports, and allow for a potential swap of the core module after it outlived its usefulness, two Universal Docking Modules (USMs) were added to Mir-2 in mid-1993 and the orbital complex took on the form most familiar to space nerds. USM №1 would be attached to the core module’s forward port with the two halves of the octagonal-section Science Power Platform berthed to its lateral docking ports: the SPP was now “intersecting” the pressurized module instead of being braced against the core module’s side. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform The 1993 Mir-2 configuration. Images: ESA via danielmarin.naukas.com, capcomspace.net Each half of the Science Power Platform was made up of two large segments: the first was docked to the side of USM №1 and contained a pressurized compartment that provided space for control moment gyros and electrical batteries as well as the mounting points for the large 8.4-by-6.0-meter radiators; the second section contained a narrower extendable truss that was deployed to its full length once the module was berthed to the station. The segments would be paired with Progress-derived tugs and launch on Zenit. Science Power Platform General layout and dimensions of the Mir-2 truss. Image: ESA via danielmarin.naukas.com Attitude thruster packs, now named the Remote Propulsion System, were once again mounted on the SPP, but by this point they had changed their shape to octagonal prisms that would fly inside the unpressurised volume of the first SPP segment and be repositioned on the truss using the robotic arm. Just like before, power was provided by a mix of photovoltaic arrays at one end of the truss and parabolic solar concentrators at the other; both had two degrees of freedom to allow them to be pointed towards the Sun more efficiently—the original Mir had become so power-starved by the late ’90s that often the entire station needed to be reoriented to produce the power required. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform Images ESA via danielmarin.naukas.com Merger of equals? In the meantime, discussions on merging the financially unstable Mir-2 and Freedom (renamed to Alpha after the 1993 redesign) projects had been intensifying and finally culminated in an agreement to combine the two stations. The initial configuration of the new international Space Station Alpha unveiled on August 26, 1993, included most of the Space Station Freedom hardware—dubbed the US Orbital Segment—and a smattering of Russian pressurized modules with half of Mir-2’s Science Power Platform docked to the zenith port of one of the three Universal Docking Modules now present on the station, which formed the Russian Orbital Segment. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform Images: Novosti Kosmonavtiki Interestingly, the new Science Power Platform used solar concentrators instead of the more conventional photovoltaic arrays. While they did promise a higher power output, they also required additional heat rejection capacity, so the American side quickly requested they be downsized from 10 kilowatts to just 2–3 kilowatts, which the Russians promptly rejected as it negated the whole point of using solar concentrators to generate a lot of power. More criticism came from NASA engineers, who doubted that the system could be developed in just a couple of years and join the station early in the assembly process: the illustration above on the right is not just a cutaway or partial view, but how the station would have looked just before the US side started building the Integrated Truss Structure with its large solar arrays. One of the incentives for inviting Russia to the project was, along with lowering the station’s burden on the American taxpayer, the ability to reach “Permanent Manned Capability” (PMC) much sooner than with the revised Freedom. Instead of assembling the truss from one end, adding pressurized modules in the middle and only reaching PMC after 11 or so assembly flights, permanent crew occupation could start as soon as the first US modules were attached to the Russian segment and electrically connected to the Science Power Platform, which was scheduled for the fourth shuttle flight to the station. The main truss could then be built from the center out. Science Power Platform 1993 configuration of Freedom at Man-Tended Capability (achieved after six Shuttle flights). Image: NASA via National Archives By autumn 1993, the solar concentrators on the SPP were replaced with the photovoltaic arrays from the other end of the Mir-2 truss, though a possibility was left for the concentrators to join the station at a later stage, when they would be attached to the shorter end of the American truss. By the end of the year, after plans to test demonstrators of the concentrators on Mir (predictably) fell through, the technology’s inclusion in the space station design was abandoned altogether. In October 1993, two of the three Universal Docking Modules were replaced by a single Functional Cargo Blok (FGB), later named Zarya, and the Science Power Platform migrated to the FGB’s zenith docking port. On November 1, 1993, the “Addendum to the Space Station Alpha Program Implementation Plan” containing the new design was officially approved and presented at the White House. Science Power Platform 1 November 1993 configuration of the space station. Image: NASA via danielmarin.naukas.com Before the end of 1993, the Science Power Platform was moved from Zarya to the zenith docking port of the Service Module—the ex-Mir-2 core module, later renamed Zvezda. Science Power Platform The SPP in its new location on the station. Note the solar concentrators on the American truss. Image: NASA via National Archives The SPP retained its late-Mir-2 structure and required three launches on the Zenit: one each to carry the two truss segments and one carrying a modified Progress spacecraft with a special cargo platform holding now six solar arrays, and control moment gyros.[1] A special rail for the ERA would be mounted on the Universal Docking Module and the SPP to allow the components delivered on the third launch to be transported to their mounting location on top of the SPP. All three launches were planned for September-October 1997 as of early 1994. Science Power Platform Early 1994 configuration of the space station. Middle: Legend: 1 — SPP-1 segment; 2 — SPP-2 segment; 3 — two-axis solar array joint; 4 — SPP solar array; 5 extendable part of the SPP-2 segment; 6 — remote propulsion system; 7 — radiator; 8 — docking point of SPP-1 and SPP-2; 9 — pressurised compartment with control moment gyros; 10 — docking point of SPP-1 with Service Module. Right: a one-off illustration with the SPP turned 90 degrees. Images: Novosti Kosmonavtiki Consolidation By early 1994, the ISS regained the fourth solar array pair on its main truss, while the Science Power Platform design evolved. Information on this version is very scarce, but all illustrations show a somewhat simplified structure, with the extendable section replaced by a single long unpressurised truss. Instead of the octagonal Remote Propulsion System attitude control units, the SPP now utilized new Autonomous Thruster Facility (ATF) packs. Each ATF unit would house its own propellant tank, for a total of 1,760 kilograms of propellant across two units, of which 1,680 would be usable. The attitude thrusters on the ATF seem to be the NIIMash 11D428A-16 units with about 130 newtons thrust and 290 seconds of specific impulse, also used on Zvezda and the Soyuz service module. This propellant mass might not seem huge for a station of this size, but the ATF thrusters would have been over 15 meters away from the orbital complex’s center of mass, which massively improves their effectiveness, especially for roll corrections. In fact, the same fuel-saving trick is currently being used with thrusters on the Nauka module. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform 1995 configuration of the ISS with the Science Power Platform and Autonomous Thruster Facility units. Images: NASA via NTRS As in the previous plan, the main truss would be launched on two flights of the Zenit, but now the second flight would also carry the first ATF unit. A total of four ATF units, all launching fully-fueled, feature in the flight planning documents, despite drawings and diagrams of the station’s layout only showing two units. Completely replacing the first two units just two years after launch seems unrealistic, so there must be a different explanation. I have not, unfortunately, been able to find it. Science Power Platform A diagram of the two Science Power Platform segments in the 1994–1995 Zenit-launched configuration. Image: NASA As of 1995, the launch of the first SPP truss segment (assembly flight 5R) was scheduled for November 1998, followed by flight 6R with the second truss segment and first ATF unit in February 1999. The first solar arrays would be delivered on flight 7R in April 1999. After a short break, SPP assembly would resume with flight 12R in November 2000, carrying two ATF units and flight 14R in October 2001 would deliver the final fourth ATF unit and the remaining solar arrays. The solar arrays would launch aboard a dedicated Progress-derived cargo spacecraft launched on Zenit and, after arriving at the station, would be moved to their mounting point with the help of the ERA along the special rail running down the truss and the Universal Docking Module below. Science Power Platform Solar array delivery for the Science Power Platform aboard modified Progress spacecraft. Images: Robotics and Autonomous Systems, ESA New launcher, new platform The adopted assembly sequence emphasized Russian modules in its early phase, with a gradual shift of the balance towards American segment hardware later. For Russia’s strained space industry, the idea of supporting both the Mir program and the new ISS at full force was considered unfeasible, so after all shuttle flights to Mir were successfully completed, the orbital complex was to be abandoned in 1997, with all efforts redirected towards building the ISS henceforth. However, there was still some useful life left in the Mir complex—two modules, Priroda and Spektr, had not even been launched yet—and the RKK Energia proposal to start assembling the ISS by adding new modules to Mir and discarding the old hardware later was rejected by NASA. So, by 1996, the Russians started pushing for a simplification of the Russian Orbital Segment to allow the simultaneous operation of Mir and the ISS during the initial phase of the latter’s construction until the end of the decade. In January 1996, a delegation of Russian government and industry personnel travelled to Houston and reached an agreement for the US to join in on the utilization of Mir until 1999 and for both countries to fully shift focus to the nascent ISS thereafter. The Russian side also announced that to maintain the launch schedule they would abandon the use of the Zenit launch vehicle for ISS assembly, citing high launch costs and the availability of just one launch pad in Baikonur suited for the Zenit. The SPP would now be delivered to the ISS on two flights of the shuttle. In March 1996, the feasibility of launching the SPP on the shuttle was confirmed and, in May, the preliminary design of the module was presented to NASA officials in Moscow. Revision B of the ISS Assembly Sequence document scheduled the first SPP mission for flight 9A.1 in November 1999. The change of launch vehicle necessitated a thorough redesign. The new Science Power Platform retained the pressurized section (Block A) from the previous version, but now the entire module would launch pre-integrated, with the truss section (Block B) mounted directly to the pressure hull. Science Power Platform General layout of the Science Power Platform. Image: Semyonov 2001 via Nicolas Pillet, translated by Yours Truly Like in the pre-1994 design, a secondary truss would extend from the unpressurized section to provide clearance for the eight solar arrays: four arrays would now launch together with the rest of the SPP, temporarily mounted to the side of the truss, while the remaining four would be delivered together with micrometeoroid shields and extra hardware on the second shuttle flight. The module would mass around 15 tonnes at launch,[2] which would increase to around 20 tonnes after all outfitting hardware and payloads were installed. In the stowed position, the SPP’s length was 13.45 meters, which would increase to 19.90 meters with the secondary truss fully extended. The pressurized compartment was 5.9 meters long with a 1.0-meter unpressurised compartment directly above it, both with a diameter of 2.20 meters. The extendable truss measured 6.2 meters long and 2.55 meters in diameter. Science Power Platform Image: NASA via Wikimedia Commons Six gyrodynes would be installed to aid the station’s attitude control, together with orientation thrusters on the truss section. Of course, the design also included some lovely payload attachment trunnions to interface with the shuttle’s payload bay. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform Images: Lopota 2011 via Nicolas Pillet, RKK Energia via RussianSpaceWeb.com Shortly thereafter, the Russian Space Agency made the decision to develop a new heavy-duty variant of the venerable SSVP docking port for use on the station’s Russian segment, including the Science Power Platform. The “hybrid” SSVP-M8000 retains the soft-docking “pin-and-cone” mechanism from the standard SSVP-G but borrows the larger and stiffer hard-docking collar from the APAS-89/95 system to cope with the larger forces experienced by the unprecedentedly heavy space station. The new delivery method also required a unique berthing maneuver. As the shuttle’s Canadarm manipulator would not be able to reach far enough to position the SPP’s over Zvezda’s zenith docking port, the module would be “handed off” to the station’s Canadarm2 and only then berthed at its destination. No spoilers yet, but the “hand-off” would end up being performed for real some 15 years after being conceived for the SPP. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform SPP handoff maneuver and berthing. Images: IFAC Space Robotics, General Contact Dynamics Toolkit The European Robotic Arm remained part of the SPP complex, joined by a newly developed manually operated platform that would ride along the truss with one or two cosmonauts. A Regul-OS communications antenna was placed at the top of the truss; when plans were being drawn up for ATV flights to the ISS in 1999, there was briefly a proposal to place the antenna for the MBRL data link for approaching spacecraft on the SPP as well, but the hardware was installed on the Zvezda module instead. In addition to the 50 kilowatts of power generation, the Science Power Platform featured a five-segment radiator panel running on ammonia—a first for the Russian space industry—capable of rejecting 30 kilowatts of waste heat. The unit measured 4.15 meters at the widest point and extended 21 meters from the module’s centerline. Science Power Platform Image: ESA (cropped) During development of the two-phase ammonia circuit, the phase change behavior and heat transfer dynamics in microgravity proved to be difficult to control, so an experiment was devised to test the system before it was signed off. Named Kontur (circuit in Russian), the full-scale heat exchanger circuit was delivered to Mir on Progress M-42 and tested in the summer of 1999. The Kontur hardware was mounted on the outside of the Progress spacecraft to avoid the possibility of an ammonia leak finding its way into the habitable volume of the station. Despite a number of hiccups before the experiment even made it to space and some hilarious problems with the hardware when it did—like the discovery that when deployed, the radiator partially obscures the TORU docking antenna and two ammonia lines fall right over attitude thruster nozzles — the function of the system was validated. Staying true to its name, the Science Power Platform was also designed to house some experiments. In the Russian Orbital Segment’s 1999 configuration with nine modules, the SPP would account for 8% of all science payloads by number, at 24 experiments. Building the thing… In 1997 RKK Energia’s Experimental Machine-building Plant (ZEM) started preparations for the manufacturing of the pressurized compartment. By 1999, significant work was done on the pressure vessel, truss structure, solar panels, attitude control engine pneumohydraulic circuit, the electrical layout, and the control logic, and the testing campaign framework was developed. For the SPP, a new minimum service life requirement of 15 years—double that of Mir hardware—was introduced, which necessitated stricter tolerances and quality criteria. The ZEM plant was responsible for the assembly of the pressurized compartment, but delegated the fabrication of the pressure hull components and truss elements to the Progress factory in Samara. Outfitting hardware like solar arrays and a cargo boom, as well as final assembly and testing of the SPP remained the responsibility of the ZEM. At least two pressurized compartment hulls were fabricated: one static test article and one dynamic test article. Science Power Platform Science Power Platform SPP pressure vessels at RKK Energia. Images: Lopota 2011 via Nicolas Pillet The pressure vessel itself was divided into three main sections: the hemispherical forward section, the central cylindrical section, and the truncated conical aft section. The cylindrical section was welded from four shorter segments 2.20 meters in diameter. The forward section is essentially the front half of a Soyuz orbital module, with a spherical profile 1.1 meters in radius, though on the SPP the half-dome is densely packed with electrical connector feed-throughs. An active SSVP-M docking unit would be attached at this end. …slowly Between 1996 and 1998, work on the Russian segment of the ISS progressed at a very slow pace due to the perennially low funding allocated for the project. In May 1997, the launch of the SPP with the first four solar arrays was scheduled for flight 9A.1 in July 2000, with the remaining arrays arriving on flight 14A in May 2002 together with the ESA-built Cupola. By 1998 those dates had slipped to January 2001 and August 2002. Work conducted in 1998 and 1999 at a cost of 161.7 million rubles was completely self-funded by RKK Energia as Roscosmos refused to include it in the contract and, in mid-1999, work practically stopped. The 9A.1 flight slipped to November 2001 and the 14A flight, which would now also carry MMOD shields for the Zvezda module, slipped to August 2003. In early 2000, Roscosmos appropriated less than 25% of the requested amount of funding and, after a short burst, work had to be stopped again. By August, the 9A.1 flight slipped further to October 2002, and the second assembly flight was split into two: dtwo arrays with their beam would now fly on the 1J/A flight in February 2004, with the two remaining arrays joining during flight 14A in May 2005. By 2001, the Russian Space Agency realized that the plethora of ISS modules they had designed were beyond their means and had to be cut back, which triggered a three-year effort to land on a workable, more modest configuration of the Russian Orbital Segment. Science Power Platform US Congress delegation visits shop 439 at ZEM in 2000. A Science Power Platform pressure vessel visible in the background. Note the presence of the payload bay attachment trunnions. Image: Semyonov 2001 via Nicolas Pillet Contraction One of the early proposed configurations from this period reduced the Science Power Platform to a simple truss with just four solar arrays, berthed to the Pirs docking module, which would be relocated to Zvezda’s zenith port for this purpose. Science Power Platform Simplified version of the Russian Orbital Segment: 1 — Science Power Platform (simplified); 2 — Functional Cargo Block; 3 — Multi-Purpose Module; 4 — Universal Docking Module based on FGB-2; 5 — Service Module; 6 — Docking Dompartment. Image: Lopota 2011 via Nicolas Pillet While this configuration would have been the easiest to develop, it sacrificed half the power generation capability and transferred all of the heat rejection responsibility to the redesigned Universal Docking Module and the Multi-Purpose Module. The SPP’s gyrodynes, orientation thrusters and science payloads would also need to be transferred elsewhere. After further studies, in February 2003 a revised proposal which featured the Science Power Module, a reworked version of the SPP, was approved by Russian Space Agency management. By this point, the launch of the Science Power Platform had slipped to January 2007, with the launch carrying the remaining solar arrays scheduled for January 2008. After the redesign, the new Science Power Module was scheduled to launch sometime in 2009. The Science Power Module would gain an extension to the pressurized compartment with a radial docking port, where Pirs could be redocked. The extendable truss section and the radiator were reduced in size, but the solar arrays retained their size. A smaller radiator was now part of the new Multi-purpose Laboratory Module, compensating for the reduction on the SPM. The European Robotic Arm was also moved to the MLM, together with roll control thrusters and some payloads. The MLM, built using FGB-2, the structural spare of the Zarya module, has since been given the name Nauka. Science Power Platform Russian Orbital Segment — 2003 version: 1-Science Power Module; 2 — Functional Cargo Module; 3 — Multi-purpose Laboratory Module; 4 — Small Research Module 2; 5 — Small Research Module 1; 6-Reseach Module; 7 — Service Module; 8 — Docking Compartment. Image: Lopota 2011 via Nicolas Pillet This change in direction came but three weeks after Columbia disintegrated on reentry, putting a three year pause on shuttle flights and ISS assembly. A year later, in 2004, the Science Power Module received a minor redesign, with more payloads on the exterior of the pressurized compartment, wider spacing between the solar arrays, and tweaks to the truss structure. Science Power Platform Science Power Module as proposed by RKK Energia. Images: Zemlya i Vselennaya In 2005, the decision was made to retire the Space Shuttle by 2010 and reduce the number of remaining flights to the bare minimum to finish the assembly of the space station. By joint decision of NASA and the Russian Space Agency, flight 9A.1, which would have carried the Science Power Platform and its successor, the Science Power Module, to the station, was among those cut. This marked the end of the Science Power Platform. The original module was a vital part of early ISS assembly plans as it provided power to the American modules before the large ITS truss was built, but with the introduction of the Z1 truss, which allowed the American solar arrays to be temporarily attached above the Unity module before the truss was ready, the Science Power Platform lost its strategic importance. It was still the main powerplant for the Russian segment, though, and was designed to provide power and heat rejection capability for nine modules then planned for the ROS. With more and more Russian modules revised, scaled back, combined with others, or simply cancelled, the SPP made increasingly less sense, especially as its science return was relatively low for the cost of building the 20-meter tower. After the shuttle program started winding down, the Russian side negotiated for a continuation of the power supply deal from the US segment to the Russian modules, which let it get away without its own power module. Still, the arrival of the Nauka laboratory in 2021, along with its solar arrays, noticeably lowered the Russian electricity bills owed to the Americans. A new Dawn In June of 2005, the MLM was relocated to Zvezda’s nadir port which, together with the decision to exclusively use the Soyuz for crew rotation from 2009, created a shortage of available docking ports on the Russian segment. At the same time, even with the flight of the Science Power Platform/Module cancelled, NASA remained contracted to deliver a spare elbow joint for the European Robotic Arm and outfitting equipment for the MLM such as the radiator and science airlock. In 2006, RKK Energia started working on how to solve these two problems and came up with a rather elegant solution: the Docking Cargo Module. The DCM would be around six meters long and 2.2 meters in diameter, with one active SSVP-M docking port and one passive SSVP-G to accept visiting Soyuz and Progress spacecraft; the module would be delivered by the Space Shuttle together with the MLM outfitting equipment. Two designs for the DCM pressure hull were considered. The first—а) in the diagram below—used two forward halves of the Pirs-type docking module welded back-to-back with extra shuttle payload bay trunnions attached. This was essentially a copy of the Mir Docking Module that flew to the ISS’ predecessor on STS-74 in November 1995, but with different docking ports. Science Power Platform Two DCM variants. Image: Lopota 2011 The chosen design—option б) in the diagram—used an asymmetric pressure vessel based on the Science Power Platform pressurized compartment and was proposed by ZEM specialists to make use of the leftover hardware. In May 2007, the module’s creation was approved and its delivery to the station was agreed with NASA. Later that year, it was redesignated as the Mini-Research Module 1 (MRM-1) and given the name Rassvet, meaning Dawn in Russian. To modify the SPP’s pressure vessel for MRM-1, its aft-most cylindrical section segment and the aft section were removed and a new short aft section based on the Pirs docking module was attached, with extra strengthening and an additional payload bay trunnion. The forward end and the first three cylindrical section segments together with the original payload bay attachment trunnion were retained from the SPP design. Two mothballed Science Power Platform pressurized compartments were used to build Rassvet: the static test article was used for both static and dynamic tests, while the dynamic test article was used build the flight article. Science Power Platform SPP pressure vessel before conversion into the Rassvet pressure vessel. Image: Lopota 2011 via Nicolas Pillet One more feature Rassvet inherited from the Science Power Platform was the hand-off maneuver from the Shuttle’s Canadarm to the station’s Canadarm2. Science Power Platform Image: Novosti Kosmonavtiki At this point I should probably note that Rassvet is not a copy of the Mir Docking Module. It’s ultimately derived from the same hardware and shares many similarities, but it’s a distinct development that differs in the structural layout. This confusion was probably not helped by the frequent mentions that Rassvet is the “mirror image” of the MDM. This is true insofar as the handedness of equipment installed on the module is flipped because Rassvet flew “feet forward” in the shuttle’s payload bay, with the active port pointing at the aft bulkhead, while the MDM flew with the active port pointing forward, but it does not mean that the design of the module is identical and mirrored. Epilogue By December 2009, Rassvet’s assembly was completed and the module was transported to Florida for launch on STS-132 aboard Atlantis. The mission lifted off on May 14, 2010, and Rassvet was successfully berthed to Zarya’s nadir port four days later, bringing Science Power Platform hardware to the space station almost two decades after the module was conceived. In the end, the Science Power Platform did not get built as initially designed, but it eventually made it to the ISS in one form or another despite the endless configuration changes. The space station we know in 2026 is made up of hardware first drawn up in the ’80s on the US side too, but the Russian segment hardware seems to have an especially esoteric background with ’80s plans often still veiled in Iron Curtain secrecy all these years later. After all, the Pirs docking module, its twin Poisk, the European Robotic Arm and, of course, the Zvezda Service Module, all formed part of the impressive Mir-2 complex. Just like Mir-2 itself, the Science Power Platform used to be the future once. [1] The RKK Energia company history mentions four Zenit launches in the plan agreed in June 1994. [2] 14.7 or 15.6 tonnes depending on the source. Thank you to Nicolas Pillet for providing images for this article. References B. Hendrickx, “From Mir-2 to the ISS Russian Segment”, British Interplanetary Society, 2002 Yu.P. Semyonov (ed.), “S.P. Korolev Rocket and Space Corporation Energia: at the Turn of the Two Centuries”, Moscow, RKK Energia, 2001 V.A. Lopota (ed.), “Rocket and Space Corporation Energia named after S. P. Korolev in the first decade of the twentieth century. (2001–2011)”, Moscow, RKK Energia, 2011 V.F. Utkin, “International Space Station and Applications Programme”, Zemlya i Vselennaya, №4, 1995, pp. 3–7 “‘Mir-2’ Space Station Under Construction”, 12 March 1989, in: JPRS Report Science & Technology USSR: Space, 2 May 1989, p. 53 S. Leskov, “Blagov on Plans for ‘Mir’ Modules, Mission Durations”, Izvestiya, Moscow, 21 February 1989, p.3 News Conference Held at Ministry on Space Research Plans to 2005, Moscow World Service, 21 August 1989, in: JPRS Report Science & Technology USSR: Space, 22 November 1989, p. 53 V.A. Likhachev, A.I. Razov, A.G. Cherniavsky, Yu.D. Kravchenko, S.N. Trusov, “Truss mounting in space by shape memory alloys”, Proc. of 1st Int. Conf. on Shape Memory and Superelastic Technologies, Pacific Grove, California, USA, 1994 “The Mir-2 long-term orbital station: projects and plans. (VIDEOKOSMOS review)”, Novosti Kosmonavtiki, №25, 1992, pp. 16–19 “Soviets Preparing Energia Booster/Buran-2 at Baikonur As Follow-On Mir-2 Station Is Canceled in Economic Crisis”, Aviation Week & Space Technology, April 22, 1991, p. 23 J. Lenorovitz, “Russia to Upgrade Mir 1 Space Station, Prepares for New Orbital Facility”, Aviation Week & Space Technology, May 4, 1992, pp. 84–85 C. Covault, “Russia Forges Ahead on Mir 2”, Aviation Week & Space Technology, March 15, 1993, pp. 26–27 J. Lenorovitz, “Russia Redesigns Mir 2; Primary Module Underway”, Aviation Week & Space Technology, August 10, 1992, p. 62 R. Boumans, C. Heemskerk, “The European Robotic Arm for the International Space Station”, Robotics and Autonomous Systems, Vol. 23, 1998, pp. 17–27, doi.org/10.1016/S0921-8890(97)00054-7 A. Zak, “Problems in U.S. Space Station Program, Plans for ‘Mir-2’ Proceeding”, Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 6 May 1993, p. 6, in: JPRS Report Science & Technology: Central Eurasia — Space, 28 June 1993, pp. 17–19 R. Bentall, “Reaching Out on Space: Europe’s Robotic Arm”, On Station, ESA Publications Division, March 2, 2000, p. 10 J. Rylaarsdam, “International Space Station Traffic Modeling and Simulation”, Master’s Thesis, Air Force Institute of Technology, March 1996, p. 40, after: R. Puckett, “DAC-1: Propellant Resource Assessment TDS 3.1.1–4. Final Report. Transmittal Memo #95–0034–04”, McDonnell Douglas Aerospace Houston Division, March 30, 1995 J. Smith et al., “Avionics Architecture for the U.S. Segment of the International Space Station Alpha”, AIAA, 1995 “Assembly Sequence Rev. D” in: “International Space Station Familiarization Manual,” NASA Technical Reports Server (NTRS), July 31 1998, ntrs.nasa.gov/citations/20250005232 “International Space Station Assembly Sequence (Revision E, June 1999)”, NASA Johnson Space Center, July 1999, IS-1999–06-ISS012JSC, nasa.gov/spacenews/factsheets/pdfs/rev_e.pdf “Preliminary ISS Assembly Sequence, Revision B, as of March I, 1996” in: “Space Cooperation: International Space Station. Protocol Between the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA and the RUSSIAN FEDERATION”, June 15, 1996, csps.aerospace.org SPP responsibility distribution agreement, Appendix 3, ibid. “International Space Station Assembly Sequence: Revision F (August 2000)”, in: “STS-106 Press Kit”, August 29 2000, A. Zak, “Science and Power Platform, NEP”, accessed 05.03.2026, available russianspaceweb.com/iss_nep.html “International Space Station: Assembly Flight Sequence as of February 2, 2003”, accessed 05.03.2026, spider.seds.org/shuttle/iss_030202.html V. Mokhov, “SM sent to Baikonur”, Novosti Kosmonavtiki, №6, 1999, pp. 56–57 K. Lantratov, “Zvezda: the way to space”, Novosti Kosmonavtiki, №9, 2000, pp. 5–13 K. Lantratov, “Composition of the ISS Russian Segment”, Novosti Kosmonavtiki, №10, 2001, pp. 22–23 Yu. Zhuravin, S. Shamsutdinov, “NASA paid for the flights of its astronauts until 2011”, Novosti Kosmonavtiki, №6, 2007, pp. 20–21 Maks Skiendzielewski can be found on The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter at @galopujacy_jez. A version of this article was previously published by the author on Medium. Note: we are now moderating comments. There will be a delay in posting comments and no guarantee that all submitted comments will be posted.