In the 1980s, I thought I saw a coherent justification for human missions to Mars. I imagined the United States and the Soviet Union, the two Cold War rivals that had put our global civilization at risk, joining together in a far-seeing, high-technology endeavor that would give hope to people everywhere. I pictured a kind of Apollo program in reverse, in which cooperation, not competition, was the driving force, inwhich tire two leading space-faring nations would together lay the groundwork for a major advance in human history—the eventual settlement of another planet.
The symbolism seemed so apt. The same technology that can propel apocalyptic weapons from continent to continent would enable the first human voyage to another planet. It was a choice of fitting mythic power: to embrace the planet named after, rather the madness ascribed to, the god of war.
We succeeded in interesting Soviet scientists and engineers in such a joint endeavor. Roald Sagdeev, then director of the Institute for Space Research of the Soviet Academy of Sciences in Moscow, was already deeply engaged in international cooperation on Soviet robotic missions to Venus, Mars, and Halley’s Comet, long before the idea became fashionable. Projected joint use of the Soviet Mir space station and the Saturn V-class launch vehicle Energiya made cooperation attractive to the Soviet organizations that manufactured these items of hardware; they were otherwise having difficulty justifying their wares. Through a sequence of arguments (helping to bring the Cold War to an end being chief among them), then-Soviet leader Mikhail S. Gorbachev was convinced. During the December 1987 Washington summit, Mr. Gorbachev—asked what was the most important joint activity through which the two countries might symbolize the change in their relationship—unhesitatingly replied, “Let’s go to Mars together.”
But the Reagan Administration was not interested. Cooperating with the Soviets, acknowledging that certain Soviet technologies were more advanced than their American counterparts, making some American technology available to the Soviets, sharing credit, providing an alternative for the arms manufacturers—these were not to the Administration’s liking. The offer was turned down. Mars would have to wait.
In only a few years, times have changed. The Cold War is over. The Soviet Union is no more. The benefit deriving from the two nations working together has lost some of its force. Other nations—especially Japan and the constituent members of the European Space Agency—have become interplanetary travelers. Many just and urgent demands are levied on the discretionary budgets of the nations.
But the Energiya heavy-liftbooster still awaits a mission. The workhorse Proton rocket is available. The Mir space station—with a crew on board almost continuously—still orbits the Earth every hour and a half. Despite internal turmoil, the Russian space program continues vigorously. Cooperation between Russia and America in space is accelerating. A Russian cosmonaut, Sergei Krikalev, in 1994 flew on the shuttle Discovery (for the usual one-week shuttle mission duration; Krikalev had already logged 464 days aboard the Mir space station). U.S. astronauts will visit Mir. American instruments—including one to examine the oxidants thought to destroy organic molecules in the Martian soil—are to be carried by Russian space vehicles to Mars. Mars Observer was designed to serve as a relay station for landers in Russian Mars missions. The Russians have offered to include a U.S. orbiter in a forthcoming Proton–launched multipayload mission to Mars.
The American and Russian capabilities in space science and technology mesh; they interdigitate. Each is strong where the other is weak. This is a marriage made in heaven-but one that has been surprisingly difficult to consummate.
On September 2, 1993, an agreement to cooperate in depth was signed in Washington by Vice President Al Gore and Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin. The Clinton Administration has ordered NASA to redesign the U.S. space station (called Freedom in the Reagan years) so it is in the same orbit as Mir and can be mated to it: Japanese and European modules will be attached, as will a Canadian robot arm. The designs have now evolved into what is called Space Station Alpha, involving almost all the spacefaring nations. (China is the most notable exception.)
In return for U.S. space cooperation and an infusion of hard currency, Russia in effect agreed to halt its sale of ballistic missile components to other nations, and generally to exercise tight controls on its export of strategic weapons technology. In this Way, space becomes once again, as it was at the height of the Cold War, an instrument of national strategic policy.
This new trend has, though, made some of the American aerospace industry and some key members of Congress profoundly uneasy. Without international competition, can we motivate such ambitious efforts? Does every Russian launch vehicle used cooperatively mean less support for the American aerospace industry? Can Americans rely on stable support and continuity of effort in joint projects with the Russians? (The Russians, of course, ask similar questions about the Americans.) But cooperative programs in the long term save money, draw upon the extraordinary scientific and engineering talent distributed over our planet, and provide inspiration about the global future. There may be fluctuations in national commitments. We are likely to take backward as well as forward steps. But the overall trend seems clear.
Despite growing pains, the space programs of the two former adversaries are beginning to join. It is now possible to foresee a world space station—not of any one nation but of the planet Earth—being assembled at 51° inclination to the equator and a few hundred miles up. A dramatic joint mission, called “Fire and Ice,” is being discussed in which a fast flyby would be sent to Pluto, the last unexplored planet; but to get there, a gravity assist from the Sun would be employed, in the course of Which small probes would actually enter the Sun’s atmosphere. And we seem to be on the threshold of a World Consortium for the scientific exploration of Mars. It very much looks as though such projects will be done cooperatively or not at all.
Whether there are valid, cost-effective, broadly supportable reasons for people to venture to Mars is an open question. Certainly there is no consensus. The matter is treated in the next chapter.
I would argue that if we are not eventually going to send people to worlds as far away as Mars, we have lost the chief reason for a space station—a permanently (or intermittently) occupied human outpost in Earth orbit. A space station is far from an optimum platform for doing science either looking down at the Earth, or looking out into space, or for utilizing microgravity (the very presence of astronauts messes things up). For military reconnaissance it is much inferior to robotic spacecraft. There are no compelling economic or manufacturing applications. It is expensive compared to robotic spacecraft. And of course it runs some risk of losing human lives. Every shuttle launch to help build or supply a space station has an estimated 1 or 2 percent chance of catastrophic failure. Previous civilian and military space activities have littered low Earth orbit with fast-moving debris—that sooner or later will collide with a space station (although, so far, Mir has had no failures from this hazard). A space station is also unnecessary for human exploration of the Moon. Apollo got there very well with no space station at all. With Saturn V or Energiya class launchers, it also may be possible to get to near-earth asteroids or even Mars without having to assemble the interplanetary vehicle on an orbiting space station.