Eyes Turned Skywards

So it would seem that after a generation and more of the time not being ripe for major divergences from the disposable one-shot rocket launch concept, suddenly it's "steam engine time" and everyone in the world (well, you didn't mention the Russians yet...) wants to develop each of half a dozen rival reusuable concepts, more or less positioned to mature about when we sadly expect the TL to end as it pulls up to contemporary times. Thus making the completed ETS, archived, the annals of the ATL where the mistake of jumping into reusable systems too soon was avoided, specifically documenting its one-shot launcher era.

Since Lockheed's venture comes first in the narrative I have been musing on it. The advantage of siting their launch operations at Matagorda seems clear enough at first; unlike their rivals they have a convenient downrange location for their first stage to recover to. Since the later description of NASA and Europaspace options mentions they would have to include airbreathing jet engines to recover back to their launch sites, I infer that Starclipper's first stage does not have any such; it lands at its downrange recovery site by gliding. Thus if there really could be an option for self-flyback, it would involve refueling the stage with no upper stage attached, and launching it "backwards," on a westward trajectory. Which fights Earth's rotation rather that benefits from it, but a glance at my little globe tells me the distance to be achieved is about 15 degrees; a minimum ballistic trajectory would require a remarkably low speed, and some of the distance would be taken up with the boost phase and the terminal glide back to Matagorda, so the ballistic phase would be shorter still and hence slower.

With a rocket launch required, self-flyback is not as attractive as it might seem at first then, unless it perhaps instead involves fitting a removable jet pack to the launch stage and taking off and flying under jet thrust like an airplane. Then removing the jets before the next launch and thus saving the mass from the burden of the launch to orbit. This way one still has to shuttle the jet pack back to Florida, but that's all.

Either way, or with the third, cheap and simple if slow option of putting it on a barge and returning to Texas that way, the path is clear, both for the eastward launch and the westward return, across the Gulf of Mexico. Operations would be impeded during hurricane season and by lesser but still major Gulf storms, but this must be pretty much true of Canaveral too.

It seems obvious to me that unless NASA wants to do an about-face and buy into the Lockheed concept, abjectly surrendering the whole Saturn concept, the thing to do is build whatever it takes for the recovery site--landing strip, and either seaport or launching pad (or both)--on the west coast of the Florida peninsula. Flying the Starclipper first stage over the peninsula to Canaveral (which does not have the exact type of launch facility desired, though maybe they can improvise something that exists--but then would have to launch west, right over inhabited Florida--and is on the wrong coast of Florida for a barge transfer--obviously possible but far longer) seems like a pointless risk.

Of course the exact dynamics of the launch and glide come into play. If the first stage burnout happens far enough east, it might be difficult to come to a stop as early as the west coast and much better to make for the east coast instead. But I doubt it would work out exactly that way.

Conspicuous by absence in the discussion of possible landing sites for Starclipper's orbiter stage was Matagorda itself, obviously the place where the craft wants to wind up for another launch. Again the globe reminds us, coming in from the west as almost any orbital craft would, it is only possible to approach the southern Texas coast over Mexico. Implicit in the omission of the launch site as the planned landing site of Starclipper's upper stage is the judgement that the liability of reentering over Mexico is too great to offset the obvious advantage of landing at the launch site.

Indeed a landing trajectory that approaches the final site over a large swathe of land should be avoided. But STS did it all the time OTL. I'd think it would be worth Lockheed's while to consider making the Mexican government an offer. The "stick" the US company holds is simply walking away without making an offer and pursuing their other options instead. The carrots, though, would surely include a bond to cover liability should Mexican citizens be inconvenienced (or God forbid hurt), as a minimum. They can go farther though and offer Mexico the incentive of being involved as a space-faring nation, offering incentives for cheaper tickets to ride up to Mexican concerns, or even go so far as to earmark some of the prospective launcher fleet for Mexican ownership, so Mexico could claim to itself be a space-launching nation in its own right (well, in close partnership with a Yanqui concern of course).

If direct return to Matagorda for the orbiter from space by overflying Mexico is ruled out, obviously there are still decent options for return of the orbiter from other sites. I'd think that with a recovery site for the first stage already in place, presumably on the western Florida peninsula coast, that would be the obvious one, with Canaveral much less attractive for the same reasons it would be poorer for the first stage. Why build two facilities in Florida when one would do?

"Self-ferry" is mentioned--this seems problematic enough for the first stage, which at least is designed to launch as a rocket from sea level. How would the second stage self-ferry, unless it has built-in jet engines? Or as I suggested for the first stage, strap-on temporary jets.

If rocket-boosted self-ferry is an option for the first stage, launching from a light pad on the west Florida coast, perhaps the orbiter can be attached and a heavier though still light load of fuel can launch both together to fly to Texas. I'd think it would be necessary for the two stages to separate though, and thus the orbiter would have to have some propellant too to move away from the other stage's trajectory so both can approach Matagorda separately.

That's perhaps too daredevil a stunt for anyone to seriously propose though.
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The Lockheed scheme has many attractions, but I foresee one key liability that will give any of its competitors a big edge--severely limited launch inclination window.

Matagorda combined with a peninsular west coast Florida recovery site is absolutely great--for one single launch inclination only! Looking at the globe, it's no problem to burn straight east; by the time the trajectory crosses Florida the first stage has long ago burned out and is approaching the coast on aerodynamic glide, whereas the second stage, barring a failure in a relatively narrow time range, is already boosted to a velocity where it will safely pass over the land, and probably I'd guess at such an altitude that sonic booms are no issue either. Achieving the most economical orbit that can be approached from that launch site, with inclination equal to Matagorda's latitude, is very doable.

But to achieve any dramatically different inclination (that is to say, a higher one) is very problematic indeed. Launching more northerly will take the craft over a swathe of the American Southeast. It is also possible to achieve inclination by veering south instead of north of course; but that would take the craft first over Cuba instead of Florida, and then farther south over Yucatan and then a grand tour of all Central America. Launching straight south would go over a big swathe of Mexico and launching straight north, over Texas and Arkansas.

Worse--the scheme depends on having a downrange recovery field for the first stage. For one fixed launched inclination, such a site can be provided in Florida. To vary it significantly would take that site out of the first stage's gliding crossrange and require that additional sites be developed, even if issues of overflight and the politics of the potential landing site could be considered solved.

Lockheed's Starclipper as configured here is then a one-trick pony, capable of delivering payloads to just one narrow range of orbital inclinations, at any rate unless a massive investment in half a dozen or more stage recovery sites is made.

Any of the rivals face rather steep challenges to match Starclipper's economy in reaching that particular range of orbits--but if any of them can be made to work, none of them face the same limits in orbits that can be achieved. All of them, eliminating dependence on a single developed downrange site (with only NASA's notion requiring any such site exist at all, and then only for certain missions, and proposed as a mobile oceanic installation that can be pre-positioned to suit any particular mission profile) can take full advantage of their respective sites' full range of launch inclinations available.

Recovery of their various orbiter components is another matter of course. We are familiar with how NASA handled returns to Canaveral OTL with STS; the final approaches being over US soil helped with the political liability aspect of course. Landing at Kourou requires the Europeans to negotiate with the Andean Pacific nations their craft would approach over, but there the craft is far uprange and chances of liability remote; more important is that a deal exist with Brazil. But the final approach paths would mostly be over sparsely inhabited Amazonian land; to be cynical about it the Brazilian government might be casual about the fates of many of the individuals living there, if funds for an indemnity are forthcoming from the European powers. Another reason I wish Kourou could avoid this liability is that anything that crash-lands short of Kourou's facilities would be out in the jungle, hard to locate and harder to haul back to base for a post-mortem.

But of course the goal is not to crash...

Balancing all the issues, I'd say that overall Cape Canaveral remains the best spot available, but Kourou is clearly superior for actual launching.

Perhaps the Europeans would do well to develop several landing sites in western Africa, from which their returned orbiters could be ferried across the Atlantic back to the launch site; this would have the political effect of strengthening ties between the European Community and selected African states (or rather the sites would be chosen with consideration of the state of relations already existing in mind, which might motivate some coastal African states to improve those relations to be considered).
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With the exciting new dawn of the era of the reusable launcher breaking at last, I still have to wonder--the ATL having thus far proven the strengths of the "big dumb booster," is any major launch player or contender going to consider bucking the current that has suddenly accumulated for reusuables, and attempt instead to so cheapen the construction and launch operations of one-shot rockets as to remain competitive with even the most efficient reusable system that emerges?

Is this perhaps what the Russians are thinking of, or the Chinese or Indians?

From all the debate on the subject I've gathered from this TL and others in the years it has been running, my impression is the major cost element in any rocket launch is not the hardware of the rocket itself, nor its fuel, but rather the operations and staff required to safely and reliably launch it. Thus, the path to a cheap and truly disposable launch system would seem to lie in the direction of making the rocket so robust and simple that these operations can proceed quickly with a minimum of staff, and still achieve good reliability. Perfection is not required since rivals will make their own mistakes, but a high standard of quality must be maintained. Still, can this be done with staffs and times much reduced from the norms routinely achieved, OTL and in this ATL?

Note that the same considerations apply to reusable operations as well. It won't matter if Lockheed or Northrop or the Europeans can devise spacecraft whose material two stages can be used a hundred times each, if the cost of paying for huge staffs of people pursuing intricate processes to recover them, check them out, mate them together again and then prepare them for their next launch remain the expensive legions they have been; they are still the big ticket item in the total costs the providers must charge their customers or go under.

This is the point Alan Bond et al at Reaction Motors OTL stress when touting Skylon; the dream of single-stage, utopian as it may seem, has the best potential to simple down the routine operations needed to take a reusable system from the completion of one mission to the operations of another.

Reducing these costs will probably be the most vital aspect of bringing cost to orbit down to something less, um, astronomical.
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Finally, it occurs to me to pity the Japanese; it would seem that no matter how effective their planned spaceplane vehicle might have turned out to be it will be too little and too late to operate in the new competitive environment of three or four rival reusable two-stage projects; I expect the effort will be abandoned as soon as it becomes clear at least one of them will become operational at a competitive rate.:(

Or is it too soon to give up HOPE?:p
 
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From all the debate on the subject I've gathered from this TL and others in the years it has been running, my impression is the major cost element in any rocket launch is not the hardware of the rocket itself, nor its fuel, but rather the operations and staff required to safely and reliably launch it. Thus, the path to a cheap and truly disposable launch system would seem to lie in the direction of making the rocket so robust and simple that these operations can proceed quickly with a minimum of staff, and still achieve good reliability. Perfection is not required since rivals will make their own mistakes, but a high standard of quality must be maintained. Still, can this be done with staffs and times much reduced from the norms routinely achieved, OTL and in this ATL?

You have a lot of dependence on what type of payload you are going to launch, in regards to operation and staff. A DOD payload requires a lot more handling and operational costs than a commercial satellite launch. You can see this with the Falcon 9 cost of around $60 million for commercial but for bids for DOD launches the number that I have seen thrown around is about $90-$100 Million. You have same rocket with the same hardware but almost a 50% escalation in price. This escalation in price has a lot to with dealing with special handling of the payload that are above what a commercial satellite needs.
 
Morning all. To make up for the lack of illustrations last week, this week we have two for you!

First, the TransOrbital propellant depot and space tug that are doing so much to transform the economics of spaceflight.

depot.png


Looking further ahead, concepts such as Lockheed McDonnell's Starclipper TSTO launcher promise even cheaper space access in the future.

starclipper.png


(You may also notice from the new logo on the images that I've now got a Twitter account, @aebdigital, which I'm using to post various images. Feel free to follow!)
 
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You have a lot of dependence on what type of payload you are going to launch, in regards to operation and staff. A DOD payload requires a lot more handling and operational costs than a commercial satellite launch. You can see this with the Falcon 9 cost of around $60 million for commercial but for bids for DOD launches the number that I have seen thrown around is about $90-$100 Million. You have same rocket with the same hardware but almost a 50% escalation in price. This escalation in price has a lot to with dealing with special handling of the payload that are above what a commercial satellite needs.

I'd at least consider the possibility that it is more a matter of DoD famously has plenty of money to spend. With neither party particularly motivated to pare costs down to the bone, the blue-suited guys spend the taxpayer's money rather freely, confident based on long experience that Congress will not investigate military costs as closely as they would a civil project. If called on the carpet by some whimsical turn in Washington they can no doubt argue, with complete sincerity, that maintaining good relations with their contractors is very important to assure absolute perfection in their vital missions, and so they are admittedly inclined to err on the generous side.

The contractors of course are very keen to land a DoD contract because they know there will be, if not exactly double-dipping, opportunities for one and a half dips anyway; whatever it says on the contract they sign, they will get paid somewhat more. So they do indeed have incentives to deliver exactly what their military customers want. Just not at the lowest price possible.

I'm not necessarily claiming that 100 percent of the price difference must be entirely a matter of gold-plating the coffee maker, but on the other hand I doubt anyone can prove absolutely none of it is either. How would one verify that the Defense payloads do indeed require 50 percent more work, or even a fraction of that, independently of simply looking at the total price tag?
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Anyway, whether it is true that military missions have objective reasons to cost more in terms of personnel operations or not, it doesn't really address my basic question--if such operations are indeed the largest single component of launch costs across the board, what can be done to lower them without compromising quality--that is, success rates? If nothing can be done, does this not imply that the price of launches will not come down much no matter how nifty and often-reused the launch technology becomes?

Even if DoD payloads remain more labor-intensive than civil ones, and are objectively so, I'd think evolving procedures aimed at trimming down the operational costs would still benefit military launches as much as civil--if the absolute disparity in cost does not come down in proportion to savings on the cheaper launch, then the relative disparity will rise. But still both launches go forward with somewhat less money spent on each, if operations can be safely streamlined.
 
I'd at least consider the possibility that it is more a matter of DoD famously has plenty of money to spend. With neither party particularly motivated to pare costs down to the bone, the blue-suited guys spend the taxpayer's money rather freely, confident based on long experience that Congress will not investigate military costs as closely as they would a civil project. If called on the carpet by some whimsical turn in Washington they can no doubt argue, with complete sincerity, that maintaining good relations with their contractors is very important to assure absolute perfection in their vital missions, and so they are admittedly inclined to err on the generous side.

The contractors of course are very keen to land a DoD contract because they know there will be, if not exactly double-dipping, opportunities for one and a half dips anyway; whatever it says on the contract they sign, they will get paid somewhat more. So they do indeed have incentives to deliver exactly what their military customers want. Just not at the lowest price possible.

Keep in mind the customer is the one that sets the payload handling requirements. The DOD has very strict requirements for payloads and that starts with the demand for vertical integration. The standard for commercial launches is horizontal because it is easier to work with a payload closer to the floor but the DOD still demands vertical. All the DOD requirements add up to increased handling costs. Below is just a small list of what the DOD demands for their payloads that isn't demanded by a commercial provider.

N2 purges, extra fairing cleanliness, extra processing facility cleanliness, extra clean fairing air, clean access into the fairing after integration, fluid servicing, extra testing after integration, special fairing AC ducts,* no interruption of fairing AC or GN2 purge, safe to mate tests before any payload electrical interface mates, and the list goes on.


I'm not necessarily claiming that 100 percent of the price difference must be entirely a matter of gold-plating the coffee maker, but on the other hand I doubt anyone can prove absolutely none of it is either. How would one verify that the Defense payloads do indeed require 50 percent more work, or even a fraction of that, independently of simply looking at the total price tag?

Keep in mind with Govt contracts you have a lot of rules and regulations as part of the FAR (Federal Acquisition Rules). For launch contracts you have a lot of USAF personnel embedded into the launch provider basically checking everything. What is happening is the Govt has created so many rules and regulations that instead of saving money they are costing money because of the companies having to comply with all rules. An example I heard about was with the SR-71 program, it required 12 USAF oversight personnel onsite at Lockheed Skunkworks. About 2 decades later the F-117 program required 100+ USAF oversight personnel.

Anyway, whether it is true that military missions have objective reasons to cost more in terms of personnel operations or not, it doesn't really address my basic question--if such operations are indeed the largest single component of launch costs across the board, what can be done to lower them without compromising quality--that is, success rates? If nothing can be done, does this not imply that the price of launches will not come down much no matter how nifty and often-reused the launch technology becomes?

Even if DoD payloads remain more labor-intensive than civil ones, and are objectively so, I'd think evolving procedures aimed at trimming down the operational costs would still benefit military launches as much as civil--if the absolute disparity in cost does not come down in proportion to savings on the cheaper launch, then the relative disparity will rise. But still both launches go forward with somewhat less money spent on each, if operations can be safely streamlined.

If you have a $2 Billion dollar spy satellite that took almost a decade to develop and build. Do you really care if your additional handling adds 20-30 Million to the launch? Obviously no you don't because the cost when compared to the payload cost is a small fraction. Any additional risk isn't worth it. Same thing with a 2 Billion Mars Rover or a multi-billion space telescope. The additional risk of any short-cuts in handling isn't worth it. This demand for perfection drives up the costs but you cannot argue with ULA's track record for launch both NASA and DOD payloads. SpaceX is trying to break that hold by showing that you can still drive down costs while still having an excellent launch record.
SpaceX has trimmed the operational costs down and tried to simply when possible. With the current pricing of SpaceX, the biggest chunk of that $60 Million dollar cost is still hardware not operational cost. However launching satellites is still a serious business that is time intensive.


Here is a good link that shows spacecraft processing. http://forum.nasaspaceflight.com/index.php?topic=35367.0
 
More like BAC's, previously English Electric's, proposed Multi-Unit Space Transport And Recovery Device (MUSTARD) concept from the late 1960s. Rather than just the two however it used a main vehicle sandwiched between two boosting ones in a triamese system with them detaching and flying back to land like aircraft.

View attachment 253766

An early test render I did looked even more like this concept (though with 2 stages rather than 3), but the maths just didn't add up. The next iteration reduced the size of the orbiter whilst keeping the wedge shape, but that threw up new problems with the payload bay size and fitting in the propellant tanks.

Here's the first test render:

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Part IV, Post 20: Space based astronomy in the 21st century
Good evening, everyone! I actually remembered the implications of it being Friday after the gym today, so this week's post comes to you on time, for once. :) Last week, we talked about the revolution in reusable access to space, but this week we're looking at some of the payloads that enables: our eyes on the sky, in the sky, space telescopes.

Eyes Turned Skyward, Part IV: Post #20

With the launch of the Compton Gamma-Ray Observatory in 2005, high-energy astronomy entered a new and distinctly different phase from anything that had come before. Never before had so many instruments of such power flown simultaneously. In addition to Compton itself, equipped to see gamma-ray photons generated by only the most energetic cosmic events, there was Leavitt, able to peer into the lower (though still ferociously energetic) x-ray bands, the Particle Astrophysics Magnetic Facility (Astromag) on Freedom, sifting through the particle detritus left over from the same processes that had produced the light seen by Compton and Leavitt, and a host of optical, infrared, and even radio telescopes, both on Earth and off of it, poised to bring an unprecedented array of viewpoints to bear on the questions of the cosmos. In theory, if all of the instruments built around the world over the past several decades and used to study the heavens were used in concert, the activity of galaxies and stars could be examined from the mega-electronvolt output of their most energetic flares and paroxysms to the gentle radio hum of chemical activity slowly churning in vast, cold molecular clouds, spanning over twenty decades of spectrum, in the terms used by astronomers.

In practice, of course, there were too many specialized research programs—too many scientists chasing too many hypotheses in too many countries—for such a massively integrated research program to appear. Instead, the observatories of the world clicked through their own research programs, with only the occasional joint production, as Compton and Leavitt looked towards the same targets, or one of them and one of the giant new ground-based telescopes beginning to sprout around the world. Nevertheless, these occasional period of cooperation proved to be tremendously productive, even if they had been anticipated by nearly a decade by a series of more specialized spacecraft, designed to observe on multiple frequencies simultaneously.

The reason for building a generalized spacecraft like the High-Energy Event Explorers was simple: there was a problem only they could solve. Since the 1960s, with the launch of the Vela satellites by the United States Air Force in an effort to track nuclear testing worldwide, it had been known that, at irregular but frequent intervals, mysterious and powerful bursts of gamma-rays would appear, linger for a brief period of time and disappear in the background of space, with no detectable progenitor events waiting behind them to give a clue as to where these strange events could be coming from. Years of study and research through the 1970s and 1980s, once these events had been declassified, had yielded little progress, and the original plans for the Compton Gamma-Ray Observatory at that time had included a special instrument for studying these gamma-ray bursts. When it became clear that the Observatory would not even start construction for a decade or more, however, scientists interested in these odd gamma-ray bursts began to push for a specialized, dedicated mission, specifically designed to detect and map gamma-ray bursts and determine once and for all their distribution and origins.

The result was the first High-Energy Event Explorer. Naturally, it had a sensitive gamma-ray detector aboard as its first and most important instrument; gamma-rays were, after all, the signature of a gamma-ray burst. But it also had a small but capable x-ray telescope, intended to work together with the gamma-ray burst detector to find the cooler, longer-wavelength light that must be emitted from such a powerful event as its initial, prodigious energy output waned. While modest in size, it was designed to provide unprecedented precision in localizing any progenitor, far above and beyond the modest experiments that had been launched so far, and unprecedented swiftness in slewing these telescopes towards their targets, courtesy of on-board software capable of steering the spacecraft towards gamma-ray bursts without ground intervention. Over its six year mission, from 1989 to 1995, when the last of several reaction wheels needed to precisely steer the telescopes towards their targets failed, HEEE-1 created the first all-sky map of gamma-ray bursts, showing unambiguously that they were uniformly distributed on the sky. This seriously dented, though did not completely destroy, the hypothesis that gamma-ray bursts had a source near the Milky Way, instead suggesting a distant, extragalactic origin.

More importantly, however, HEEE-1 identified the first known GRB progenitor when, in late 1991, it caught a GRB as it was first flaring, fast enough that the newly commissioned and incredibly sensitive Keck Telescope on Mauna Loa was able to slew towards the coordinates in an emergency observation, catching the first faint traces of a GRB’s optical afterglow. As the burst’s light faded, these observations allowed astronomers to determine its location to exquisite, unprecedented precision, pinpointing the burst’s origin galaxy. Follow-up measurements of that galaxy’s redshift showed that the light that HEEE-1 and Keck had detected had come from a galaxy that was far, far away, billions of light years, and had been emitted when the universe had been substantially younger. This observation, while working together with HEEE-1’s all-sky map to answer one question, had only raised another: if gamma-ray bursts were coming from outside our own galaxy, indeed from galaxies billions of light-years away, then a few basic calculations showed that the events that gave birth to them must have released a truly astronomical amount of energy, far outstripping even the most powerful types of supernova theoretically possible. What, then could be generating such events, if nothing much short of the Big Bang seemed adequate? To answer this question, astronomers needed more data—and another mission to collect it.

This follow-up—the second High-Energy Event Explorer, or HEEE-2—would not be launched for nearly a decade, just beating the Compton observatory itself into space with a launch in 2004, but quickly began to prove its worth in conjunction with the Japanese Chasen observatory, another satellite specialized in gamma-ray burst observations. HEEE-2 took the basic design of the first HEEE and tweaked it, adding a small optical telescope to allow the spacecraft to track ultraviolet and visible emissions from located gamma-ray bursts without needing ground-based support and upgrading the spacecraft’s ability to precisely locate gamma-ray bursts and other transient events, allowing a new era of mechanized detection of bursts to begin. Over the past decade of operations, HETE-2 and Chasen have detected hundreds of gamma-ray bursts, which together with observations from other telescopes began to uncover the details behind their formation, showing them to most likely be the result of certain special types of supernova lining up in just the right way to aim powerful, luminescent “jets” at Earth, appearing far brighter than even their massive power would normally indicate.

With on-going study clearly locating gamma-ray bursts in other, distant galaxies, the ever-growing coalition behind the Large Infrared Space Telescope found that it could count on another band of supporters. With Leavitt, at least, having many productive years ahead of it, and Compton having just started its observational career, many high-energy astronomers were now interested in having a new infrared telescope to complement their data, one that could peer back into the distant past and begin to uncover the earliest galaxies that were giving birth to these hyper-energetic events. This was part of the reason that LIST saw such dedicated support in the first decadal survey of the 21st century, and certainly a major factor in how smoothly it moved from proposal to ongoing project.

Elsewhere, other observatories continued to move forwards, if in LIST’s large budgetary shadows. While Artemis missions had begun to explore the potential of the Moon as an astronomical platform, the establishment of the semi-permanent Orion moonbase had allowed Earth’s sister body to become a fledgling, yet in some ways important, astronomical center. Beginning with the establishment of the FROST-2 dishes shortly after the base’s construction, subsequent Orion missions continued to carry more specialized and larger-scale astronomical hardware, too expansive or complex to be suitable on a expedition mission yet too experimental or valuable to be deferred to a more permanent base. Among the first of these payloads were the first elements of the Lunar Low Frequency Observatory, a project seeking to take advantage of certain unique properties of the Moon to enable observations impossible from Earth. Although the ability of the Moon’s bulk to shield observatories on the Moon’s farside from the home planet’s intense radio traffic is well-known, less publicized is the fact that ionospheric heating and auroral waves prevent terrestrial radio observatories from receiving radio waves below about 20 MHz, leaving Earth’s astronomers completely blind to a vast swath of radio spectrum, and ignorant of what physical processes might be described by it. Only an observatory in space could detect the hum of these long wavelengths in the sky and help relieve that ignorance, but no space-based radio telescope capable of exploring these frequencies had ever been launched.

The reason was quite simple. Although simple dipole antennas, much like those that had served the first radio astronomers, would be more than sufficient for detecting the massive electromagnetic waves being looked for, a large number of them, spread over a large surface area or volume of space would be necessary for conducting precision observations of the low-frequency sky, and in Earth orbit would still be disturbed by terrestrial low-frequency sources. With a complex implementation and a somewhat speculative payoff, the idea had never even come to the proposal stage. Only with the Artemis missions, and the possibility of a future Moon base, was it raised, as astronaut labor, or at least carefully teleoperated robots, could be used to emplace the thousands of antennas needed for a proper array, with the antennas themselves forming part of the payload of one or several cargo missions. The Artemis missions themselves were unsuitable for experimentation, as implanting and connecting the antennas would take up all or more than all of the available surface time, but the semi-permanent Orion moonbase was perfect for the project, with emplacement spread over weeks instead of days, and the concept quickly began development with the beginning of the Orion project. Soon after the base itself was established, containers of dipole antennas began making their way up to the base site, to be slowly removed and planted in the ground, one by one, gradually allowing astronomers on Earth to begin building a picture of the low-frequency sky. LLFO observations continue to this day, working in conjunction with high-frequency measurements like those conducted by the FROST-2 dishes and Earth-based low frequency instruments to provide a more complete picture of the sky.

Alongside the Low Frequency Observatory, astronauts on the Moon were also deploying the next “advanced” lunar astronomy experiment. While the earlier Lunar Infrared Fixed Telescope had shown that an infrared telescope in the Moon’s permanently shadowed craters could function well, its design had limited its scientific value in favor of sheer mechanical simplicity, focusing completely on demonstrating the concept. The appearance of astronauts, at least periodically, able to repair and maintain potentially finicky low-temperature mechanical components meant that a more complex and scientifically useful telescope could be practically deployed with Orion than would have been possible for Artemis missions. From the very beginning, the scientists and engineers behind LIFT had hoped that a LITT—a Lunar Infrared Tracking Telescope—could be deployed at a future lunar base, and as soon as the Orion program began so did development of LITT. Taking the lessons learned from LIFT and merging them with a telescope of a more conventional optical and mechanical design, LITT was intended to serve as a perfectly conventional infrared telescope, conceptually similar to the array of instruments that had been built on Earth since the 1960s but with the twin advantages of a permanently cryogenically cool environment to improve sensitivity and the absence of infrared-absorbing atmospheric gases to impede observations. While considerably smaller and much less capable than the parallel LIST design, it would also be cheaper to build than that instrument, and could be operated for an indefinite period, periodically being upgraded with new instruments and technology. It would also have the advantage of having a virtually unimpeded view of the southern sky, something most Earth-based telescopes—located in the northern hemisphere—lack. Although LIST, too, would have such a view, and one of the northern sky that LITT would lack, time on the big instrument would be fiercely contested, and a smaller instrument would be just as good for many research programs. Since its emplacement during Orion 3, LITT has been a quietly valuable, though not revolutionary, scientific instrument.

While astronauts on the Moon were emplacing LLFO and LITT, LIST was moving towards its own apotheosis of sorts. After over a decade of planning and design work, construction might have been expected to go smoothly, but like NASA’s previous great optical observatory, Hubble, LIST has had more than its fair share of trouble. Despite conservative budgetary estimates, unexpected problems in manufacturing the telescope’s main mirror, a beryllium alloy selected for its reflectivity in the infrared and stability against thermal stresses delayed construction and sent the telescope’s price tag upwards, grinding the project against the expense of constructing an operating the Orion moonbase and continuing to maintain Freedom. Other problems in the spacecraft’s bus, essential for providing power, communications, and pointing control; in diplomatic and technical negotiations with the European Space Agency and JAXA, participants in the telescope’s development; and in the complex deploying sunshade system, needed to shield the ultra-sensitive detectors from the heat of the Sun also contributed delays and unanticipated costs to the program. As the third-largest single line item in NASA’s budget, LIST’s overruns had an outsized effect on the rest of the agency’s programs, mostly by reducing (though not, fortunately, eliminating) the number of smaller, more specialized observatories that NASA launched during LIST’s construction.

After all of that, its launch last year was fortunately and blessedly anticlimactic, with its Saturn-Centaur launch vehicle lofting it into space with all the quiet reliability and performance that launch vehicle family has built a reputation for. After a month of travel, the observatory reached its final observation point around the second Sun-Earth libration point, joining the aging but still functional Leavitt and several other observatories from Europe and Japan in one of the newest telescope clusters in the solar system. Although observations have only recently started, results from the observatory’s calibration and testing period indicate that it is fully functional, and, with a mirror nearly five meters in diameter, is now the largest space telescope in history, with an unparalleled sensitivity to infrared emissions. Lyman Spitzer, were he still alive, would surely be as pleased to see the telescope that now bears his name returning terabytes of scientific data to astronomers on Earth as he was to see the launch of Hubble and Leavitt, and as excited about the prospects for future researchers.

Unfortunately, Spitzer, were he alive, would also have to contend with a community of space astronomers more divided than anything he had ever seen. With the growth of fields like exoplanet observations and the discovery of dark energy, more and more large projects have been developed, each promising attractive scientific breakthroughs, and each conflicting with the others over available funding and resources. Half a dozen ‘large’ projects—projected to cost over a billion dollars apiece—had significant degrees of support during the last decadal survey process, ranging from an ambitious proposal to build a gravitational wave detector in space to merely replacing the aging Leavitt observatory with a larger, more capable successor. Such division resulted not in productive competition between good ideas and the eventual selection of one truly outstanding concept, but instead to infighting within the decadal survey committee and, eventually, to none of the large missions being chosen for development at all. Instead, the decadal survey recommended that NASA continue and expand its successful Explorer program of small and medium-sized astronomy missions, and “explore cooperation” with the European and Japanese programs on missions seeking to observe exoplanets and the effects of cosmic inflation and dark matter. Although this has opened a window of opportunity for some mission concepts, continuing debate and the lack of European or Japanese missions to cooperate with has prevented any firm large mission plans from beginning. Instead, the American astronomical community remains in a state of uncertainty, unable to continue the program of large observatories that has made NASA the operator of some of the world’s most capable and desirable telescopes for the past thirty years.
 
All spacecraft have a limited life in one way or another. Much though was made of the need to cool IR scopes earlier (hence the value of the lunar polar fixed scope--using shadowed hectares of moonscape in lieu of a finite supply of coolant was revolutionary.

So--the Spitzer scope--is it also revolutionary in this respect, in employing some closed-cycle, power driven cooling system not used on prior (or OTL) IR telescopes, or will it have a lifetime limited by a finite supply of coolant that is exhausted?

If that is possible I'd say it puts the Lunar observatory in the shade, except that the shade is exactly where you want an IR telescope.:p

But being able to manage the trick of keeping it cool indefinitely while not grounded on a large mass body that limits one's field of view is a great trick for an IR telescope.

It seems we might have three categories of IR telescope in space: coolant evaporators with lifespans limited by the coolant supply; recycling coolant types which I am guessing can't get the sensors quite as cool as the evaporative or shaded types, and finally shaded telescopes, which either take advantage of a planetary body of some kind, using it as heat sink as well as sunshade, versus launched sunshade systems--by which I mean shades and recycling radiator on such a scale that they compete with the planetary shaded variety; these last would clearly be the best. But must wait for a time when either launches of an astronomical instrument in multiple tens ton mass ranges, or space-based fabrication industries can construct at least the bulkier elements of the craft, which would imply at a minimum of many dozens of people, probably hundreds, residing at least for many years each in LEO and beyond.
 
The Lockheed scheme has many attractions, but I foresee one key liability that will give any of its competitors a big edge--severely limited launch inclination window.

I think the narrative makes it quite clear this isn't an issue "anymore" under the circumstances:

You have a propellant depot in orbit, going anywhere beyond LEO (any any inclination) just takes hooking up to the "tug" and going there. Propellant on-orbit isn't "cheap" of course but getting it to LEO and into the tug solves almost all your issues for a lot less than the hassles of doing it with the launch vehicle.

As noted having a tug on-orbit "closed" the case for Lockheed and pretty much everyone else but on the other hand no one was going to step up and do it pay for it first. (Gee that sounds familiar :) )

This was a clear take-away from studies on the idea over the years but (again) no one has been willing to take that first critical step. (To be clear that's the propellant depot, no 'just' the tug :) )

Randy
 
The lunar astronomy developments are exciting

And they are clearly a great advantage to a man-tended lunar base on the poles - one too often overlooked in ongoing arguments about lunar return. There are great possibilities in this timeline that NASA and ESA are only beginning to exploit. I could see entire Saturn Heavy manifests devoted eventually to deploying much larger instruments down the road.

One niggle: I'm underwhelmed by calling the base "Orion." I urge that when Neil Armstrong passes on, the base get renamed for him. This is a good political move, too, by the way, always a consideration for NASA.
 
All spacecraft have a limited life in one way or another. Much though was made of the need to cool IR scopes earlier (hence the value of the lunar polar fixed scope--using shadowed hectares of moonscape in lieu of a finite supply of coolant was revolutionary.

So--the Spitzer scope--is it also revolutionary in this respect, in employing some closed-cycle, power driven cooling system not used on prior (or OTL) IR telescopes, or will it have a lifetime limited by a finite supply of coolant that is exhausted?
The use of powered cryocoolers is actually fairly normal in reality, though not for ultra cold telescopes (as it becomes increasingly difficult to cool at those temperatures). Spitzer is similar to the Webb telescope (though significantly different in the details; it uses a monolithic mirror design and is generally of fairly conventional construction, for example), and has a passive cooling system based on a sunshade (shown in Nixonhead's excellent illustration) and low-temperature cryocoolers.

It seems we might have three categories of IR telescope in space: coolant evaporators with lifespans limited by the coolant supply; recycling coolant types which I am guessing can't get the sensors quite as cool as the evaporative or shaded types, and finally shaded telescopes, which either take advantage of a planetary body of some kind, using it as heat sink as well as sunshade, versus launched sunshade systems--by which I mean shades and recycling radiator on such a scale that they compete with the planetary shaded variety; these last would clearly be the best. But must wait for a time when either launches of an astronomical instrument in multiple tens ton mass ranges, or space-based fabrication industries can construct at least the bulkier elements of the craft, which would imply at a minimum of many dozens of people, probably hundreds, residing at least for many years each in LEO and beyond.
No, not really. My understanding is that James Webb uses a sunshade system to achieve cryogenic temperatures, and it also has a cryocooler to keep things really cold where necessary. All without space-based infrastructure or multiple tens tons mass spacecraft.

Even with recycling cryocoolant you still lose some to leaks and run out eventually.

One niggle: I'm underwhelmed by calling the base "Orion." I urge that when Neil Armstrong passes on, the base get renamed for him. This is a good political move, too, by the way, always a consideration for NASA.

Well, Armstrong hasn't died yet, in timeline, so it would be a bit much to be naming it after him...though on the other hand Congress did say that any lunar base would be named after him before we were anywhere close to building one in the real world.

Also, it is an international base, even if the United States is clearly in the driver's seat, and my understanding is that the Japanese, in particular, don't like facilities named after actual people. So a relatively generic name is likely to be adopted in any case, and Orion does fit the bill.
 
No, not really. My understanding is that James Webb uses a sunshade system to achieve cryogenic temperatures, and it also has a cryocooler to keep things really cold where necessary. All without space-based infrastructure or multiple tens tons mass spacecraft.

In short, within the realm of practicality for the Orion program...

Well, Armstrong hasn't died yet, in timeline, so it would be a bit much to be naming it after him...though on the other hand Congress did say that any lunar base would be named after him before we were anywhere close to building one in the real world.

Yes, I ought to have mentioned that...

Also, it is an international base, even if the United States is clearly in the driver's seat, and my understanding is that the Japanese, in particular, don't like facilities named after actual people. So a relatively generic name is likely to be adopted in any case, and Orion does fit the bill.

I'm not quite clear how strong that Japanese aversion is. That said, it's hard to see it being a deal killer for JAXA. No numbers have been provided, but I have to think the U.S. contribution is something over 90% of the costs of this operation, or not far short of that. A compromise might be to call it the Armstrong Orion Base, or the Orion Habitat at Neil Armstrong Lunar Base, etc. and JAXA can shorthand it to "Orion" in their own documentation and discussion. There can be other compromises, too such as making it a point of placing flags of all participating countries at the site, naming selected features or facilities for noteworthy nationals of same (i.e., "The Alexei Leonov Lunar Resupply Landing Area," etc.). When Armstrong dies, there will certainly be congressional pressure to do it, and they are the ones who hold the biggest purse strings by far. But there are ways to do it, as I say, that can ease acceptance by partner space agencies.

This is, of course, a very small niggle. You're doing a great job. I read the updates religiously, even if I do not always post.
 
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